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by Madame D'Arblay

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Title: The Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay Volume 3

Author: Madame D'Arblay

Release Date: September, 2004  [EBook #6457]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on December 15, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY VOLUME 3 ***




This eBook was produced by Marjorie Fulton.



                           THE DIARY AND LETTERS
                                    OF
                              MADAME D'ARBLAY
                             (FRANCES BURNEY.)

                         WITH NOTES BY W. C. WARD,
                  AND PREFACED BY LORD MACAULAY'S ESSAY.

                             IN THREE VOLUMES.

                                 VOL. III.
                               (1792-1840.)

                   WITH A PORTRAIT OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

                           LONDON AND NEW YORK:
                          FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
                                   1892.

19. (1792-3) THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS: MISS BURNEY MARRIES
M. D'ARBLAY--11-70

Arrival of French Emigrants at juniper Hall--The Doctor's five
Daughters--A Visit to Arthur Young--The Duke de Liancourt's
abortive Efforts at Rouen--The Duke's Escape to England: "Pot
Portere"--Madame de Genlis's hasty Retreat--A Nobleman of the
Ancien Regime--Ducal Vivacity and Sadness--Graceful offers of
Hospitality--The Emigrants at juniper Hall described--Monsieur
d'Arblay--M. de Jaucourt: Madame de Stael--Severe Decrees against
the Emigrants--Monsieur Girardin--The Phillipses at juniper
Hall--Mystery attending M. de Narbonne's Birth--Revolutionary
Societies in Norfolk: Death of Mr. Francis--Departure of Madame
de la Chatre--Arrival of M. de la Chatre--English Feeling at the
Revolutionary Excesses--Louis XVI's Execution--A Gloomy Club
Meeting--Madame de Stael at juniper Hall--Miss Burney's
Admiration of Madame de Stael--Failing Resources--The Beginning
of the End--"This Enchanting Monsieur d'Arblay"--Talleyrand is
found charming--A Proposed Visit to Madame de Stael disapproved
of--M. de Lally Tolendal and his Tragedy--Contemplated Dispersion
of the French Colony--Madame de Stael's Words of Farewell: M.
d'Arblay--Regrets respecting Madame do Stael--M. d'Arblay's Visit
to Chesington--The Matrimonial Project is Discussed--Dr. Burney's
Objections to the Match--The Marriage takes place--Announcement
of the Marriage to a Friend.

20. (1793-6) LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR--
71-121

The French Clergy Fund: The Toulon Expedition--Madame d'Arblay on
her Marriage--Mr. Canning--Talleyrand's Letters of Adieu--M.
d'Arblay's Horticultural Pursuits--Mrs. Piozzi--M. d'Arblay as a
Gardener--A Novel and a Tragedy--

page vi
Hastings's Acquittal: Dr. Burney's Metastasio--Baby d'Arblay--The
withdrawn Tragedy--"Camilla"--An Invitation to the Hermitage--
Presentation of "Camilla" at Windsor--A Conversation with the
Queen--With the Princess Royal and Princess Augusta--A Present
from the King and Queen--Curiosity regarding M. d'Arblay--The
King approves the Dedication of "Camilla"--A delicious Chat with
the Princesses--The King notices M. d'Arblay--The King and Queen
on "Camilla"--Anecdote of the Duchess of York--A Visit to Mrs.
Boscawen--The Relative Success of Madame d'Arblay's Novels--A
Contemplated Cottage--The Princess Royal's first Interview with
her Fianc`e--Opinions of the Reviews on "Camilla"--Death of
Madame d'Arblay's Stepmother--The French Emigr`es at Norbury--Dr.
Burney's depressed state--Covetous of Personal Distinction--Baby
d'Arblay again and other Matters.

21. (1797-8) "CAMILLA" COTTAGE: SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL
FAMILY--122-169

A Disagreeable journey Home--Burke's Funeral at Beaconsfield--
Death of M. d'Arblay's Brother--From Crewe Hall to Chelsea--At
Dr. Herschel's--Hospitality under Difficulties--War Taxes:
"Camilla" Cottage--Visitors arrive inopportunely-Another Visit to
the Royal Family--Interview with the Queen--The King and his
Infant Grand-daughter--Admiral Duncan's Victory--The Prince and
Princess of Orange--Some Notable Actresses--The Duke of
Clarence--Princess Sophia of Gloucester--Indignation against
Talleyrand--The d'Arblay Maisonnette--Interview with the Queen
and the Princesses--Royal Contributions towards the War--
Invitation to the Play--Mrs Schwellenberg's Successor--Madame
d'Arblay's Little Boy at Court--His Presentation to the Queen--
Mlle. Bachmeister produces a Favourable Impression.

22. (1798-1802) VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WEST HANIBLE: DEATH OF
MRS. PHILLIPS: SOJOURN IN FRANCE--170-247

A Visit to Mrs. Chapone--Mrs. Boscawen, Lady Strange, and Mr.
Seward--A Mysterious Bank-Note--The new Brother-in-law: a Cordial
Professor--Precocious Master Alex--The
Page vii

Barbaulds--Princess Amelia at juniper Hall--Death of Mr. Seward--
Dr. Burney again visits Dr. Herschel--Dr. Burney and the King--
Overwhelmed with the Royal Graciousness--War Rumours--Illness and
Death of Mrs. Phillips--A Princess's Condescension--Horticultural
Misfortunes--A Withdrawn Comedy--M. d'Arblay's French Property--
Home Matters--Contemplated journey to France--M. d'Arblay's Rough
Sea Passage--Suggested Abandonment of Camilla Cottage--M.
d'Arblay's Proposed Retirement from Military Service--M.
d'Arblay's Disappointment--On the eve of Madame d'Arblay's
journey to France--In France during the Peace and subsequently--
Arrival at Calais--"God save the King!" on French Soil--A Ramble
through the Town--Sunday on the Road to Paris--Engagements,
Occupations, and Fatigues--Aristocratic Visitors--Anxiety to see
the first Consul--At the Opera-bouffe--Difficulties respecting
Madame de Stael--Madame de Lafayette--Sight-seeing at the
Tuileries--A Good Place is Secured--M. d'Arblay's Military
Comrades--Arrival of the Troops--An Important New Acquaintance--
Madame c'est mon Mari--Advent of the first Consul--The Parade of
Troops--A Scene--With M. d'Arblay's Relatives at joigny--Some
joigny Acquaintances--The Influenza in Paris--Rumours of War--
"Our little Cell at Passy"--The Prince of Wales eulogized--Dr.
Burney at Bath--Affectionate Greetings to Dr. Burney--Dr.
Burney's Diploma.

23. (1812-14) MADAME D'ARBLAY AND HER SON IN ENGLAND--248-291

Narrative of Madame d'Arblay's journey to London--Anxiety to see
Father and Friends--A Mild Minister of Police--Embarkation
Interdicted--A Change of Plan--A New Passport obtained--
Commissions for London--Delay at Dunkirk--The MS. of "The
Wanderer"--Spanish Prisoners at Dunkirk--Surprised by an Officer
of Police--Interrogated at the Police Office--The "Mary Ann"
captured off Deal--joy on arriving in England--Young d'Arblay
secures a Scholarship--The Queen alarmed by a Mad Woman--Weather
Complaints: Proposed Meeting with Lord Lansdowne--A Young Girl's
entry to London Society: Madame de Sta`el--Rogers the Poet--
Interview with Mr. Wilberforce--Intended Publication of "The
Wanderer"--General d'Arblay's wounded Comrades
Page viii

--Death of Dr. Burney--Favourable News of M. d'Arblay--"The
Wanderer"--Madame d'Arblay's Presentation to Louis XVIII.--At
Grillon's Hotel--Grattan the Orator--A Demonstrative Irish Lady-
-Inquiries after the Duchess d'Angouleme--Preparations for the
Presentations--Arrival of Louis XVIII.--The Presentations to the
King--A Flattering Royal Reception--An important Letter Delayed--
M. d'Arblay arrives in England--A Brilliant Assemblage--M.
d'Arblay enters Louis XVIII.'s Bodyguard.

24. (1815) MADAME D'ARBLAY AGAIN IN FRANCE: BONAPARTE'S ESCAPE
FROM ELBA--292-333

An Interview with the Duchess of Angouleme--Arrival at the
Tuileries--A Mis-apprehension--A Discovery and a Rectification--
Conversation on Madame d'Arblay's Escape and M. d'Arblay's
Loyalty--The Prince Regent the Duchess's Favourite--Narrative of
Madame d'Arblay's Flight from Paris to Brussels--Prevailing
Inertia on Bonaparte's return from Elba--Bonaparte's Advance:
Contemplated Migration from Paris--General d'Arblay's Military
Preparations--Preparations for Flight:
Leave-takings--Aristocratic Irritability--The Countess d'Auch's
Composure--Rumours of Bonaparte's near approach--Departure from
Paris at Night Time--A Halt at Le Bourget--The journey Resumed--A
Supper at Amiens with the Prefect--Reception at the Prefecture at
Arras--A Cheerful D6jeuner somewhat ruffled--A Loyal Prefect--
Emblems of Loyalty at Douay--State of Uncertainty at Orchies--A
Mishap on the Road--A kindly offer of Shelter--Alarmed by Polish
Lancers--Arrival at Tournay--Futile Efforts to Communicate with
M. d'Arblay--Interviews with M. de Chateaubriand.

25. (1815) AT BRUSSELS: WATERLOO: REJOINS M. D'ARBLAY--334--383

Sojourn at Brussels--Letters from General d'Arblay--Arrival of
General d'Arblay--A Mission entrusted to General d'Arblay--"Rule
Britannia!" in the All`ee Verte--General d'Arblay leaves for
Luxembourg--An Exchange of visits--The Fete Dieu--The Eccentric
Lady Caroline Lamb--A Proposed Royal Corps--Painful Suspense--
Inquietude at Brussels--The Black
Page ix

Brunswickers--The Opening of the Campaign--News from the Field of
Battle--Project for quitting Brussels--Calmly awaiting the
Result--Flight to Antwerp determined on--A Check met with--A
Captured French General--The Dearth of News--Rumours of the
French coming--French Prisoners brought in--News of Waterloo--The
Victory declared to be complete--The Wounded and the Prisoners--
Hostilities at an end: Te Deum for the Victory--Maternal Advice--
About the Great Battle--An Accident befalls General d'Arblay--
Madame d'Arblay's Difficulties in rejoining her Husband--A
Friendly Reception at Cologne--From Cologne to Coblenz and
Treves--Meeting with General d'Arblay--Waiting for Leave to
return to France--Departure for Paris--A Chance View of the
Emperor of Russia--English Troops in Occupation--Leavetaking: M.
de Talleyrand.

26. (1815-8) AT BATH AND ILFRACOMBE: GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILLNESS
AND DEATH--384--431

Arrival in England--Alexander d'Arblay: Some old Bath Friends--
French Affairs: General d'Arblay's Health--The Escape of
Lavalette: The Streatham Portraits--Regarding Husband and Son--
Maternal Anxieties--Advantages of Bath: Young d'Arblay's Degree--
Playful Reproaches and Sober Counsel--Preparations for leaving
Bath--Installed at Ilfracombe--A Captured Spanish Ship--The
Spanish Captain's Cook--Ships in Distress--Young d'Arblay's
Tutor--General d'Arblay's Ill-health--Particulars of Ilfracombe--
Young d'Arblay's Aversion to Study--A Visit from the first Chess
Player in England--A Coast Ramble in search of Curiosities--
Caught, by the Rising Tide--Efforts to reach a place of safety--A
Signal of Distress--Little Diane--Increasing Danger--The Last
Wave of the Rising Tide--Arrival of Succour--Meeting between
Mother and Son--General d'Arblay's return to England--The
Princess Charlotte's Death--The Queen and Princesses at Bath--
News arrives of the Princess Charlotte's Death--An old
Acquaintance: Serious Illness of General d'Arblay--The General's
First Attack: Delusive Hopes--General d'Arblay presented to the
Queen--Gloomy Forebodings--Presents from the Queen and Princess
Elizabeth--The General receives the Visit of a Priest--The Last
Sacrament Administered--Farewell Words of Counsel--The End
Arrives.
Page x

27. (1818-40) YEARS OF WIDOWHOOD: DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON:
HER OWN DEATH--435--458

Mournful Reflections--Visits received and Letters penned--Removal
from Bath to London--Death of the Queen: Sketch of her Character-
-Madame d'Arblay's Son is Ordained--With some Royal Highnesses--
Queen Caroline--Gossip from an Old Friend, and the Reply--More
Gossip--Ill-health of the Rev. A. d'Arblay: Dr. Burney's MSS.--A
last Gossiping Letter--Death of Mrs. Piozzi--Mrs. Piozzi compared
with Madame de Stael--Sister Hetty--Official Duties Temporarily
Resumed--The Rev. A. d'Arblay named Lent Preacher--Madame
d'Arblay's Health and Occupation--Destroyed Correspondence--The
Princess and the Rev. A. d'Arblay--A Visit from Sir Walter
Scott--Memoirs of Dr. Burney--Deaths of Hester Burney and Mrs.
Locke--Death of the Rev. A. d'Arblay--Death of Madame d'Arblay's
sister Charlotte--Illness and Death of Madame d'Arblay.


INDEX--459-480Page 11
                               SECTION 19.
                                 (1792-3)

                     THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS:
                     MISS BURNEY MARRIES M. D'ARBLAY.

[The following section must be pronounced, from the historical
point of view, one of the most valuable in the " Diary." It gives
us authentic glimpses of some of the actors in that great
Revolution, "the Death-Birth of a new order," which was getting
itself transacted, with such terrible accompaniments, across the
channel.  The refugees with whom Fanny grew acquainted, and who
formed the little colony at juniper Hall, near Dorking, were not
the men of the first emigration--princes and nobles who fled
their country, like cowards, as soon as they found themselves in
danger, and reentered it like traitors, in the van of a foreign
invasion.  Not such were the inmates of Juniper Hall.  These were
constitutional monarchists, men who had taken part with the
people in the early stage of the Revolution, who had been
instrumental in making the Constitution, and who had sought
safety in flight only when the Constitution was crushed and the
monarchy abolished by the triumph of the extreme party.  To the
grands seigneurs of the first emigration, these constitutional
royalists, were scarcely less detestable than the jacobins
themselves.

A few leading facts and dates will perhaps assist the reader to a
clearer understanding of the situation.   September 1791, the
French Assembly, having finished its work of Constitution-making,
and the said [Constitution being accepted by the king, retires
gracefully, and the new Assembly, constitutionally elected,
meets, October 1. But the Constitution, ushered in with such
rejoicings, proves a failure. The king has the right to veto the
acts of the Assembly, and he exerts that right with a vengeance
:--vetoes their most urgent decrees: decree against the emigrant
noblesse, plotting, there at Coblenz, the downfall of their
country; decree against nonjuring priests, intriguing endlessly
against the Constitution.  Patriot-Minister Roland remonstrates
with his majesty, and the patriotic ministry is forthwith
dismissed.  Meanwhile distress and

Page 12

disorder are everywhere, and emigration is on the increase
Abroad, Austria and Prussia are threatening invasion, and the
emigrants at Coblenz are clamorous for war.  War with Austria is
declared, April 20, 1792; war with Prussia follows three months
later; England remaining still neutral.  One of our friends of
juniper Hall, Madame de Staél's friend, Count Louis de Narbonne,
has been constitutional minister of war, but had to retire in
March, when the popular ministry--Roland's--came into office.  It
is evident that the king and the Assembly cannot act together;
nay, the king himself feels the impossibility of it, and is
already setting his hopes on foreign interference, secretly
corresponding with Austria and Prussia.  The people of Paris,
too, feel the impossibility, and are setting their hopes on
something very different.  The monarchy must go; jacobins'
club(1) and men of the Gironde, afterwards at death- grapple with
one another, are now united on this point; they, and not a
constitutional government, are the true representatives of Paris
and of France.

A year ago, July 1791, the people of Paris, demanding the
deposition of the king, were dispersed by General Lafayette with
volleys of musketry.  But Lafayette's popularity and power are
now gone.  "The hero of two worlds," as he was called, was little
more than a boy when he fought under Washington, in the cause of
American independence.  Animated by the same love of liberty
which had carried him to America, Lafayette took part in the
early movements of the French Revolution.  In 1789, after the
fall of the Bastille, he was commander of the national guard, and
one of the most popular men in France.  A high-minded man, full
of sincerity, of enthusiasm: "Cromwell Grandison," Mirabeau
nicknamed him.  Devoted to the Constitution, Lafayette was no
friend to the extreme party, to the jacobins, with their Danton,
their Robespierre.  He had striven for liberty, but for liberty
and monarchy combined; and the two things were fast becoming
irreconcilable.  And now, in July 1792, distrusted alike by the
Court and the people, Lafayette sits sad at Sedan, in the midst
of his army.  War has already commenced, with a desultory and
unsuccessful attack by the French upon the Austrian Netherlands.
But the real struggle is now approaching. Heralded by an insolent
proclamation, the Duke of Brunswick is marching from Coblenz with
more than a hundred thousand Prussians, Austrians, and emigrants
; and General Lafayette, alas ! appears more bent upon denouncing
jacobinism than upon  defending the frontier.


The country is indeed in danger. With open hostility advancing
from without, doubt and suspicion fermenting within, Paris at
last rises in good earnest, August 10, 1792. This is the answer
to Brunswick's insolent proclamation. Paris attacks the
Tuileries, King Louis and his family taking refuge in the
Assembly; captures the Tuileries, not without terrible loss, the
brave Swiss guard

Page 13

standing steadfast to their posts, and getting, the greater part
of them, massacred.  Yielding to the demands of the people, the
Assembly passes decrees suspending the king, dismissing the
ministers, and convoking a National Convention.  This was the
work of the famous 10th of August, the birthday of the French
Republic.  on the 13th August the royal family is sent to the
prison of the Temple from whence the king and the queen, unhappy
Marie Antoinette, will come forth only to trial and execution.  A
new patriotic ministry is formed--Rolan again minister of the
interior, Danton, the soul of the insurrection, minister of
justice; a tribunal is appointed) and the prisons of Paris are
filled with persons suspect.  Executions follow; but the tribunal
makes not quick enough work.  Austrians and Prussians are
advancing towards Paris; in Paris itself thousands of
aristocrats, enemies to their country, are lying hid, ready to
join the foreign foes.

In these desperate straits, Paris, at least sansculotte Paris,
frenzied and wild for vengeance, falls upon the mad expedient of
massacring the prisoners: more than a thousand suspected
royalists are slaughtered, after brief improvised Trial or
pretence of trial; or even without trial at all.  This butchery
is known as the "September massacres" (Sept. 2-6, 1792), infamous
in history, heartily approved by few, perhaps, even of the more
violent Republicans; indignantly denounced by Rowland and the
less violent, powerless, nevertheless, to interfere, Paris being
"in death-panic, the enemy and gibbets at its door."(2)  Sept.
22, the Legislative Assembly having
Dissolved, the National Convention holds its first meeting and
proclaims the Republic: royalty for ever abolished in France.


 Among the feelings, with which the news of these events are
received in England, horror predominates.  Still the Government
takes no decisive step.  The English ambassador in Paris, Lord
Gower, is indeed recalled, in consequence of the events of August
10, but the French ambassador, Chauvelin, yet remains in London,
although unrecognised in an official capacity after the
deposition of Louis.  War is in the wind, and, although Fox and
many members of the opposition earnestly deprecate any hostile
interference in the affairs of the Republic, a strong contingent
of the Whig party, headed by Burke, is not less earnest in their
efforts to make peace with France impossible. Pitt, indeed, is in
favour of neutrality, but Pitt is forced to give way at last.
Meanwhile, the popular feeling in favour of the royalists is
being heightened and extended by the constant influx of French
refugees. Thousands of the recalcitrant clergy, especially, with
no king's veto now to protect them, are seeking safety, in
England. Many adherents of the Constitution, too, ex-members of
the Assembly and others, are fleeing hither from a country
intolerant of monarchists, even constitutional; establishing
themselves at juniper Hall and elsewhere. Among them we note the
Duke de Liancourt, whose escape the
reader will find related in the following pages; Count de Lally-

Page 14

Tollendal and M. de jaucourt, saved, both, by - good fortune,
from the September massacres ; Vicomte de Montmorency, or call
him citoyen, who voted for the abolition of titles; ex-minister
of war Narbonne, concealed after August 10 by Madame de Stael,
and escaping disguised as a servant; and presently, too, Madame
de Stael herself; and last, but not least interesting to readers
of the Diary, General Alexandre dArblay, whom Fanny will before
long fall in love with and marry.
One person, too, there is, more noteworthy, or at least more
prominent in history, than any of these, whom Fanny meets at
Mickleham, whom she dislikes instinctively at first sight, but
whose plausible speech and ingratiating manners soon make a
convert of her.

This is citizen Talleyrand--Charles Maurice de
Talleyrand-P‚rigord, Bishop of Autun. He, too, is now an
emigrant, although he came to England in a far different
character, as secret ambassador from the Constitutional
Government of France ; citizen Chauvelin being the nominal
ambassador.  On the whole, Talleyrand's diplomacy has not been
productive of much good, to himself or others. Back in Paris
before the 10th of August, he returned to London in September
with a passport from Danton. A questionable man; some think him a
jacobin, others a royalist in disguise. And now, while he is in
London, there is talk of him in the Convention : citizen
Talleyrand, it seems, has professed himself " disposed to serve
the king ;" whereupon (December 5, 1792) citizen Talleyrand is
decreed accused, and his name is inscribed on the list of
emigrants.

We must turn once again to France. At Sedan, in a white heat of
indignation on the news of that 10th of August, constitutional
(sic) Lafayette emits a proclamation : the Constitution is
destroyed, the king a prisoner: let us march for Paris and
restore them! There is hope at first, that the army will follow
Lafayette, but hope tells a flattering tale : the soldiers, it
seems, care more for their country than for the Constitution.
Lafayette sees that all is lost ; rides (August 18) for Holland
with a few friends, of whom General d'Arblay is one; intends to
take passage thence for America, but falls, instead, into the
hands of the Austrians, and spends the next few years imprisoned
in an Austrian fortress. General d'Arblay, after a few days, is
allowed to proceed to England.

Lafayette gone, the command of the army falls to General
Dumouriez.  Brunswick with his Prussians and emigrants, Clairfait
with his Austrians, are now in France; advancing upon Paris. They
take Longwy and Verdun; try to take Thonville and Lille, but
cannot; and find Dumouriez and his sansculottes, there in the
passes of Argonne, the "Thermopylae of France," an unexpectedly
hard nut to crack. In fact, the nut is not to be cracked at all:
Dumouriez, " more successful than Leonidas," flings back the
invasion; compels the invaders to evacuate France; and in
November, assuming the offensive, conquers the whole Austrian
Netherlands. Meantime, in the south-east, the war in

Page 15

which the Republic is engaged with the King of Sardinia
progresses also favourably, and Savoy and Nice are added to the
French territory. Europe may arm, but a people fighting for an
ideal is not to be crushed. France has faith in her ideal of
liberty and fraternity, questionable or worse though some of the
methods are by which she endeavours to realise it. But Danton is
right: "il nous faut de l'audace, et encore de l'audace, et
toujours de l'audace;" and with superb audacity the Republic
defies the armed powers of Europe, decrees (November 19)
assistance to every nation that will strike a blow for freedom,
and cast off its tyrants. A yet more daring act of defiance
follows--tragic to all men, unspeakably horrible to Fanny Burney
and all friends of monarchy, constitutional or other. In December
1792, poor King Louis is tried before the National Convention,
found guilty of "conspiring against liberty;" condemned to death
by a majority of votes; in January, executed January 21.  It is
even as Danton said in one of his all-too gigantic figures 'the
coalesced kings threaten us; we hurl at their feet, as gage of
battle, the Head of a King."' (3)
Louis's kinsman, profligate Philippe Egalit‚, ci-devant Duc
d'Orl‚ans, votes for death; before another year has passed he
himself will have perished by the guillotine. In England, war is
resolved upon; even Pitt sees not how it can be avoided. January
24, ambassador Chauvelin is ordered to quit England within eight
days; Talleyrand remaining yet another year. Spain, too, is
arming, and Holland is England's ally.  War being inevitable, the
Republic determines to be first in the field; declares war on
England and Holland, February 1, 1793, and on Spain, March
7.-ED.]

               ARRIVAL OF FRENCH EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL.

August 1792.  Our ambassador is recalled from France
Russia has declared war against that wretched kingdom. But it may
defy all outward enemies to prove in any degree destructive in
comparison with its lawless and barbarous inmates. We shall soon
have no authentic accounts from Paris, as no English are expected
to remain after the ambassador, and no French will dare to write,
in such times of pillage, what may carry them à la lanterne.(4)

Page 16

(Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney.)
Mickleham, September 1792.
We shall shortly, I believe, have a little colony of unfortunate
(or rather)  fortunate, since here they are safe) French noblesse
in our neighbourhood.  Sunday evening Ravely informed Mr. Locke
that two or three families had joined to take Jenkinson's house,
juniper Hall, and that another family had taken a small house at
Westhamble, which the people very reluctantly let, upon the
Christian-like supposition that, being nothing but French
papishes, they would never pay. Our dear Mr. Locke, while this
was agitating, sent word to the landlord that he would be
answerable for the rent ; however, before this message arrived,
the family were admitted. The man said they had pleaded very hard
indeed, and said, if he did but know the distress they had been
in, he would not hesitate.

This house is taken by Madame de Broglie, daughter of the
mareschal, who is in the army with the French princes;(5) or,
rather, wife to his son, Victor Broglie, till very lately general
of one of the French armies, and at present disgraced, and fled
nobody knows where. This poor lady came over in an open boat,
with a son younger than my Norbury, and was fourteen hours at
sea. She has other ladies with her, and gentlemen, and two little
girls, who had been sent to England some weeks ago; they are all
to lodge in a sort of cottage, containing only a kitchen and
parlour on the ground floor.

I long to offer them my house, 'and have been much gratified by
finding Mr.  Locke immediately determined to visit them; his
taking this step will secure them the civilities, at least, of
the other neighbours.

At Jenkinson's are-la Marquise de la Chƒtre, whose husband is
with the emigrants; her son; M. de Narbonne, lately ministre de
la guerre;(6)  M. de Montmorency; Charles or Theodore Lameth;
Jaucourt; and one or two more, whose names I have forgotten, are
either arrived to-day, or expected. I feel infinitely interested
for all these persecuted persons. Pray tell me whatever you hear
of M. de Liancourt, etc. Heaven bless you!

Page 17

                       THE DOCTOR'S FIVE DAUGHTERS.

(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Halstead, October 2, '92.
My dearest padre,-I have just got your direction, in a letter
from my mother, and an account that you seem to be in health and
spirits; so now I think it high time to let you know a little
about some of your daughters, lest you should forget you have any
such incumbrances.

In the first place, two of them, Esther and F. B., had a safe and
commodious journey hither, in the midst of pattering showers and
cloudy skies, making up as well as they could for the
deficiencies of the elements by the dulcet recreation of the
concord of sweet sounds ; not from tabrets and harps, but from
the harmony of hearts with tongues.

In the second place, a third of them, Charlotte F., writes word
her caro sposo has continued very tolerably well this last
fortnight, and that she still desires to receive my visit
according to the first appointment.

In the third place, a fourth of them, Sarah, is living upon
French politics and with French fugitives, at Bradfield,(7) where
she seems perfectly satisfied with foreign forage.

In the fourth place, Susanna, another of them, sends cheering
histories of herself and her tribe, though she concludes them
with a sighing ejaculation of "I wish I did not know there was
such a country as France !"



                        A VISIT To ARTHUR YOUNG.(8)

Oct. 5.-I left Halstead, and set off, alone, for Bradfield Hall,
which was but one stage of nineteen miles distant. Sarah,(9) who
was staying with her aunt, Mrs. Young, expected

Page 18

me, and came running out before the chaise stopped at the door,
and Mr. Young following, with both hands full of French
newspapers. He welcomed me with all his old spirit and
impetuosity, exclaiming his house never had been so honoured
since its foundation, nor ever could be again, unless I
re-visited it in my way back, even though all England came in the
meantime!

Do you not know him well, my Susan, by this opening rodomontade?

"But where," cried he, "is Hetty? O that Hetty! Why did you not
bring her with you? That wonderful creature! I have half a mind
to mount horse, and gallop to Halstead to claim her! What is
there there to merit her? What kind of animals have you left her
with? Anything capable of understanding her?"

During this we mounted up-stairs, into the dining-room. Here all
looked cold and comfortless, and no Mrs. Young appeared. I
inquired for her, and heard that her youngest daughter, Miss
Patty, had just had a fall from her horse, which had bruised her
face, and occasioned much alarm.

The rest of the day we spoke only of French politics. Mr. Young
is a severe penitent of his democratic principles, and has lost
even all pity for the constituants r‚volutionnaires, who had
"taken him in" by their doctrines, but cured him by their
practice, and who "ought better to have known what they were
about before they presumed to enter into action."

Even the Duc de Liancourt,(11) who was then in a small house at
Bury, merited, he said, all the personal misfortunes that had
befallen him.  "I have real obligations to him," he added, "and
therefore I am anxious to show him respect, and do him any
service, in his present reverse of fortune; but he has brought it
all on himself, and, what is worse; on his country."

He wrote him, however, a note to invite him to dinner the next
day.  The duke wrote an answer, that lamented excessively being
engaged to meet Lord Euston, And dine with the Bury aldermen.

Page 19

            THE DUKE DE LIANCOURT'S ABORTIVE EFFORTS AT ROUEN.

I must now tell you the history of this poor duke's arriving in
England, for it involves a revival of loyalty-an effort to make
some amends to his unhappy sovereign for the misery into which he
had largely contributed to plunge him; which, with me, has made
his peace for ever.

 But first I should tell, he was the man who almost compelled the
every-way- deluded Louis to sanction the National Assembly by his
presence when first it resisted his orders. The queen and all her
party were strongly against the measure, and prophesied it would
be the ruin of his authority; but the duke, highly ambitious of
fame, as Mr. Young describes him,
and willing to sacrifice everything to the new systems then
pervading all France, suddenly rushed into his closet, upon the
privilege of being one of the five or seven pairs de France(12)
who have that licence, and, with a strong and forcible eloquence,
declared nothing but his concession would save the nation from a
civil war; while his entering, unarmed, into the National
Assembly, would make him regarded for ever as the father and
saviour of his people, and secure him the powerful sovereignty of
the grateful hearts of all his subjects.

He succeeded, and the rest is public.

This incident has set all the Coblenz(13) party utterly and for
ever against the duke. He had been some time in extreme anguish
for the unhappy king, whose ill-treatment on the 20th of June
1792,(14) reached him while commandant at Rouen. He then first
began to see, that the monarch or the jacobins must inevitably
fall, and he could scarce support the prospect of ultimate danger
threatening the former.  When the news reached him of the bloody
10th of August, a plan which for some time he had been forming,
of gaining over his regiment to the service of the king, was
rendered abortive. Yet all his officers except One had promised
to join in any enterprise for their insulted master.  He had
hoped to get the king to

Page 20

Rouen under this protection, as I gather, though this matter has
never wholly transpired, But the king could not be persuaded to
trust any one. How should he?--especially a revolutionnaire?


No time now was to be lost, and, in his first impetuosity of rage
and despair, he instantly summoned his officers and his troops ;
and, in the midst of them all, upon the parade or place of
assembling, he took off his hat, and called out aloud, "Vive le
roi!"


His officers echoed the sound, all but one!--yet not a soldier
joined.  Again be waved his hat, and louder and louder called
out, "Vive le roi!" And then every soldier repeated it after him.


Enchanted with hope, he felt one exulting moment, when this
single dissentient officer called out aloud, as soon as the loyal
cry was over, "As an officer of the nation I forbid this!--Vive
la nation!"

The duke instantly had the man arrested, and retired to his
apartment to compose his excess agitation, and consider how to
turn this promise of loyalty to the service of his now imprisoned
king; but, in a short time, an officer strongly attached to him
entered the room hastily, and cried, "Sauvez
vous, M. de Liancourt!(15)--be speedy! the jacobin party of Rouen
have heard of your indiscretion and a price is this moment set
upon your head!"

The duke knew too well with whom he had to act for a moment's
hesitation. To serve the king was now impossible, as he had but
to appear in order to be massacred.  He could only save his own
life by flight.



               THE DUKE'S ESCAPE To ENGLAND: "POT PORTERE."

In what manner he effected his escape out of Rouen he has never
mentioned. I believe he was assisted by those who, remaining
behind, could only be named to be torn in pieces for their
humanity. M. Jamard, a French priest, tells me no human being
knows when or how he got away, and none suspected him to be gone
for two days. He went first to Abbeville there, for two days, he
appeared everywhere, walking about in his regimentals, and
assuming an air of having nothing to apprehend. This succeeded,
as his indiscretion had not yet spread at Abbeville; but,
meanwhile, a

Page 21

youth whom he had brought up from a child, and on whose fond
regard and respect he could rely, was employed in seeking him the
means of passing over to England.  This was infinitely difficult,
as he was to leave France without any passport.

How he quitted Abbeville I know not; but he was in another town,
near the coast, three days, still waiting for a safe conveyance;
and here, finding his danger increased greatly by delay, he went
to some common house, without dress or equipage or servants that
could betray him, and spent his whole time in bed, under pretence
of indisposition, to avoid being seen.

At length his faithful young groom succeeded; and he got, at
midnight, into a small boat, with only two men. He had been taken
for the King of France by one, who had refused to convey him ;
and some friend, who assisted his escape, was forced to get him
off, at last, by holding a pistol to the head of his conductor,
and protesting he would shoot him through and through, if he made
further demur, or spoke aloud. It was dark, and midnight.

Both he and his groom planted themselves in the bottom of the
boat, and were covered with fagots, lest any pursuit should ensue
: and thus wretchedly they were suffocated till they thought
themselves at a safe distance from France.  The poor youth then,
first looking up, exclaimed, "Ah! nous sommes perdus!(16) they
are carrying us back to our own country!" The duke started up; he
had the same opinion, but thought opposition vain; he charged him
to keep silent and quiet; and after about another league, they
found this, at least, a false alarm, owing merely to a thick fog
or mist.

At length they landed--at Hastings, I think. The boatman had his
money, and they walked on to the nearest public-house. The duke,
to seem English, called for "pot portere." It was brought him,
and he drank it off in two draughts, his drought being extreme ;
and he called for another instantly. That also, without any
suspicion or recollection of consequences, was as hastily
swallowed; and what ensued he knows not. He was intoxicated, and
fell into a profound sleep. His groom helped the people of the
house to carry him upstairs and put him to bed.  How long he
slept he knows not, but he woke in the middle of the night
without the smallest consciousness of where he was, or what had
happened.
'

Page 22

France alone was in his head-France and its horrors, which
nothing-not even English porter and intoxication and sleep -
could drive away.

He looked round the room with amaze at first, and soon after with
consternation. It was so unfurnished, so
miserable, so lighted with only one small bit of a candle, that
it occurred to him he was in a maison de force(17) '- thither
conveyed in his sleep.  The stillness of
everything confirmed this dreadful idea. He arose, slipped on his
clothes, and listened at the door. He heard no sound.  He was
scarce, yet, I suppose, quite awake, for he took the candle, and
determined to make an attempt to escape.

Down-stairs he crept, neither hearing nor making any noise and he
found himself in a kitchen ' he looked round, and the brightness
of a shelf of pewter plates struck his eye under them were pots
and kettles shining and polished.  "Ah! "? cried he to himself,
"je suis en Angleterre."(18)  The recollection came all at once
at sight of a cleanliness which, in these articles, he says, is
never met with in France.

He did not escape too soon, for his first cousin, the good Duc de
la Rochefoucault, another of the first
r‚volutionnaires, was massacred the next month.(19) The
character he has given of this murdered relation is the most
affecting, in praise and virtues, that can possibly be
heard.  k Sarah has heard him till she could not keep the tears
from her eyes.  They had been ‚lŠves(20) together, and loved each
other as the tenderest brothers.



                     MADAME DE GENLIS'S HASTY RETREAT.

You will all be as sorry as I was myself to hear that every ill
story of la Comtesse de Genlis was confirmed by the
duke.

Page 23

She was resident at Bury, when he arrived, with Mlle.
Egalit‚, Pamela, Henrietta Circe, and several others, who
appeared in various ways, as artists, gentlemen, domestics, and
equals, on various occasions.  The history of their way of life
is extraordinary, and not very comprehensible, probably owing to
the many necessary difficulties which the new 'system of equality
produces.(21)

A lady of Bury, a sister of Sir Thomas Gage, had been very much
caught by Madame Brulard,(22) who had almost
lived at the house of Sir Thomas. Upon the arrival of the duke he
was invited to Sir Thomas Gage's immediately; and Miss G, calling
upon Madame Brulard, mentioned him, and
asked if she knew him?--No, she answered; but she had seen him.
This was innocently repeated to the duke, who then, in a
transport of rage, broke out with "Elle M'a vu!(23) and is that
all?--Does she forget that she has spoke to me? that she has
heard me too? " And then he related, that when all was wearing
the menacing aspect of anarchy, before it broke out, and before
he was ordered to his regiment at Rouen, he had desired an
audience of Madame Brulard, for the first
time, having been always a friend of Madame d'Orl‚ans, and
consequently her enemy. She was unwilling to see him, but he
would not be refused. He then told her that France was upon the
point of ruin, and that the Duc d'Orl‚ans, who had been its
destruction, and "the disgrace of the Revolution," could alone
now prevent the impending havoc. He charged her
therefore, forcibly and peremptorily, to take in charge a change
of measures, and left her with an exhortation which he then
flattered himself would have some chance of averting the coming
dangers. But quickly -after she quitted France voluntarily, and
settled in England. "And can she have
forgot all this ?" cried he.

I know not if this was repeated to Madame de Brulard but
certain it is she quitted Bury with the utmost expedition, She
did not even wait to pay her debts, and left the poor Henrietta
Circe behind, as a sort of hostage, to prevent
alarm.  The creditors, however, finding her actually gone,
entered the house, and poor Henrietta was terrified into
hysterics.  Probably she knew not but they were jacobins, or
would act upon jacobin principles. Madame Brulard then

Page 24

sent for her, and remitted money, and proclaimed her
intention of returning to Suffolk no more.

                     A NOBLEMAN OF THE ANCIEN R‚GIEM.

The duke accepted the invitation for to-day, and came early, on
horseback. He had just been able to get over some two or three of
his horses from France. He has since, I hear, been forced to sell
them.

Mrs. Young was not able to appear; Mr. Young came to my room door
to beg I would waste no time; Sarah and I, therefore, proceeded
to the drawing-room. The duke was playing with a favourite
dog-the thing probably the most dear to him in
England; for it was just brought him over by his faithful groom,
whom he had sent back upon business to his son.

He is very tall, and, were his figure less, would be too
fat, but all is in proportion. His face, which is very
handsome, though not critically so, has rather a haughty
expression when left to itself, but becomes soft and
spirited in turn, according to whom he speaks, and has great play
and variety.  His deportment is quite
noble, and in a style to announce conscious rank even to the most
sedulous equaliser.  His carriage is peculiarly upright, and his
person uncommonly well made. His manners are such as only admit
of comparison with what We have read, not what we have seen; for
he has all the air of a man who would wish to lord over men, but
to cast himself at the feet of women.

He was in mourning for his barbarously murdered cousin the Duc de
la Rochefoucault. His first address was of the
highest style.  I shall not attempt to recollect his words, but
they were most elegantly expressive of his satisfaction in a
meeting he had long, he said, desired.

With Sarah he then shook hands. She had been his
interpretess here on his arrival, and he seems to have
conceived a real kindness for her; an honour of which she is
extremely sensible, and with reason.

A little general talk ensued, and he made a point of curing Sarah
of being afraid of his dog. He made no secret of
thinking it affectation, and never rested till he had
conquered it completely.  I saw here, in the midst of all that at
first so powerfully struck me of dignity,
importance, and high-breeding, a true French Polisson; for he
called the dog round her, made it jump on her shoulder, and
amused himself as,

Page 25

in England, only a schoolboy or a professed fox-hunter would have
dreamt of doing.

This, however, recovered me to a little ease, which his
compliment had rather overset. Mr. Young hung back, nearly quite
silent. Sarah was quiet when reconciled to the dog, or, rather,
subdued by the duke; and then, when I thought it completely out
of his head, he tranquilly drew a chair next mine, and began a
sort of separate conversation, which he suffered nothing to
interrupt till we were summoned to
dinner.

His subject was 'Cecilia;' and he seemed not to have the
smallest idea I could object to discussing it, any more than if
it had been the work of another person. I answered all his
demands and interrogatories with a degree of openness I have
never answered any other upon this topic; but the least hope of
beguiling the misery of an ‚migr‚ tames me.

Mr. Young listened with amaze, and all his ears, to the many
particulars and elucidations which the duke drew from me; he
repeatedly called out he had heard nothing of them before, and
rejoiced he was at least present when they were
communicated.

This proved, at length, an explanation to the duke himself, that,
the moment he understood, made him draw back, saying, "Peut-ˆtre
que je suis indiscret?"(24)  However, he soon
returned to the charge - and when Mr. Young made any more
exclamations, he heeded them not: he smiled, indeed, when Sarah
also affirmed he had procured accounts she had never heard
before; but he has all the air of a man not new to any mark of
more than common favour.
At length we were called to dinner, during which he spoke of
general things.



DUCAL VIVACITY AND SADNESS.

The French of Mr. Young, at table, was very comic ; he never
hesitates for a word, but puts English wherever he is at a loss,
with a mock French pronunciation. "Monsieur Duc," as he calls
him, laughed once or twice, but clapped him on the back, called
him "un brave homme," and gave him instruction as well as
encouragement in all his blunders.

When the servants were gone, the duke asked me if anybody might
write a letter to the king? I fancy he had some per-

Page 26

sonal idea of this kind.  I told him yes, but through the hands
of a lord of the bedchamber, or some state officer, or a
minister. He seemed pensive, but said no more.

He inquired, however, if I had not read to the queen and seemed
to wish to understand my office; but here he was far more
circumspect than about 'Cecilia.' He has lived so much in a
Court, that he knew exactly how far he might
inquire with the most scrupulous punctilio.

I found, however, he had imbibed the jacobin notion that our
beloved king was still disordered; for, after some talk upon his
illness, and very grave and proper expressions
concerning the affliction and terror it produced in the
kingdom, he looked at me very fixedly,, and, with an arching
brow, said, "Mais, mademoiselle--aprŠs tout--le roi--est il bien
gu‚ri?"(25)

I gave him such assurances as he could not doubt, from their
simplicity, which resulted from their truth.

Mr. Young would hardly let Sarah and me retreat; however, we
promised to meet soon to coffee.  I went away full of concern for
his injuries, and fuller of amazement at the
vivacity with which he bore them.

When at last we met in the drawing-room, I found the duc all
altered. Mr. Young had been forced away by business, and was but
just returned, and he had therefore been left a few
minutes by himself; the effect was visible, and extremely
touching.  Recollections and sorrow had retaken possession of his
mind; and his spirit, his vivacity, his power of
rallying were all at an end.  He was strolling about the
room with an air the most gloomy, and a face that
looked enveloped in clouds of sadness and
moroseness. There was a fiert‚ almost even fierce in his air and
look, as, wrapped in himself, he continued his walk. I felt now
an increasing compassion:--what must he not suffer when he ceases
to fight with his calamities! Not to disturb him we talked with
one another; but he soon shook himself and joined us; though he
could not bear to sit down, or
stand a moment in a place.



"CETTE COQUINE DE BRULARD."

Sarah spoke of Madame Brulard, and, in a little malice, to draw
him out, said her sister knew her very well. The duc "

Page 27

with eyes of fire at the sound, came up to me: "Comment,
mademoiselle! vous avez connu cette coquine de Brulard?"(26)  And
then he asked me what I had thought of her.

I frankly answered that I had thought her charming; gay,
intelligent, well-bred, well-informed, and amiable.

He instantly drew back, as if sorry he had named her so
roughly, and looked at Sally for thus surprising him; but I
immediately continued that I could now no longer think the same
of her, as I could no longer esteem her; but I
confessed my surprise had been inexpressible at her
duplicity.

'He allowed that, some years ago, she might have a better chance
than now of captivation - for the deeper she had
immersed in politics, the more she had forfeited of feminine
attraction.  "Ah!" he cried, " with her talents-her
knowledge-her parts-had she been modest, reserved, gentle, what a
blessing might she have proved to her country! but she is devoted
to intrigue and cabal, and proves its curse."
He then spoke with great asperity against all the femmes de
lettres now known; he said they were commonly the most
disgusting of their sex, in France, by their arrogance,
boldness, and mauvais moeurs.



                      GRACEFUL OFFERS OF HOSPITALITY.

I inquired if Mr. Young had shown him a letter from the Duke of
Grafton, which he had let me read in the morning. It was to
desire Mr. Young would acquaint him if the Duc de
Liancourt was still in Bury, and, if so, to wait upon him, in the
Duke of Grafton's name, to solicit him to make Euston his abode
while in England, and to tell him that he should have his
apartments wholly unmolested, and his time wholly unbroken; that
he was sensible, in such a situation of mind, he must covet much
quiet and freedom from interruption and impertinence; and he
therefore promised that, if he would honour his house with his
residence, it should be upon the same terms as if he were in an
hotel-that he would never
know if he were at home or abroad, or even in town or in the
country - and he hoped the Duc de Liancourt would make no more
scruple of accepting such an asylum and retreat at his house than
he would himself have done of accepting a similar

Page 28

one from the duke in France, if the misfortunes of his own
country had driven him to exile.

I was quite in love with the Duke of Grafton for this
kindness. The Duc de Liancourt bowed to my question, and
seemed much gratified with the invitation; but I see he
cannot brook obligation; he would rather live in a garret, and
call it his own. He told me, however, with an air of
some little pleasure, that he had received just such another
letter from Lord Sheffield. I believe both these noblemen had
been entertained at Liancourt some years ago.

I inquired after Madame la duchesse, and I had the
satisfaction to hear she was safe in Switzerland. The duke told
me she had purchased an estate there.

He inquired very particularly after your juniper colony, and M.
de Narbonne, but said he most wished to meet with M.
d'Arblay, who was a friend and favourite of his eldest son.



                 THE EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL DESCRIBED.

[It is hoped that some pages from Mrs. Phillips's
journalizing letters to her sister, written at this period, may
not be unacceptable , since they give particulars
concerning several distinguished actors and sufferers in the
French Revolution, and also contain the earliest description of
M. d'Arblay.(27))

(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.)
Mickleham, November, 1792.
It gratifies me very much that I have been able to interest you
for our amiable and charming neighbours.

Mrs. Locke had been so kind as to pave the way for my
introduction to Madame de la Chƒtre, and carried me on
Friday to juniper Hall, where we found M. de Montmorency, a
ci-devant duc,(28) and one who gave some of the first great
examples of sacrificing personal interest to what was then
considered the public good. I know not whether you will like him
the better when I tell you that from him proceeded the motion for
the abolition of titles in France; but if you do

Page 29

not, let me, in his excuse, tell you he was scarcely one-and-
twenty when an enthusiastic spirit impelled him to this, I
believe, ill-judged and mischievous act.  My
curiosity was greatest to see M. de Jaucourt, because I
remembered many lively and spirited speeches made by him
during the time of the Assembl‚e L‚gislalive, and that he
was a warm defender of my favourite hero, M. Lafayette.

Of M. de Narbonne's abilities we could have no doubt from his
speeches and letters whilst ministre de la guerre, which post he
did not quit till last May.(29) By his own desire, he then joined
Lafayette's army, and acted under him; but on the 10th of August,
he was involved, with perhaps nearly all the most honourable and
worthy of the French nobility,
accused as a traitor by the jacobins, and obliged to fly
from his country M. d'Argenson was already returned to
France, and Madame de Broglie had set out the same day,
November 2nd, hoping to escape the decree against the
emigrants.(30)

Madame de la Chƒtre received us with great politeness. She is
about thirty-three; an elegant figure, not pretty, but with an
animated and expressive countenance; very well
read, pleine d'esprit, and, I think, very lively and
charming.

A gentleman was with her whom Mrs. Locke had not yet seen, M.
d'Arblay. She introduced him, and when he had quitted the room,
told us he was adjutant-general to M. Lafayette,
mar‚chal de camp, and in short the first in military rank of
those who had accompanied that general when he so
unfortunately fell into the hands of the Prussians; but, not
having been one of the Assembl‚e Constituante, he was
allowed, with four others, to proceed into Holland, and
there M. de Narbonne wrote to him. "Et comme il l'aime
infiniment," said Madame de la Chàtre, "il l'a pri‚ de venir
vivre avec lui."(31

He had arrived only two days before. He is tall, and a good
figure, with an open and manly
countenance; about forty, I imagine.

It was past twelve. However, Madame de la Chàtre owned


             Page 30

she had not breakfasted--ces messieurs were not yet ready. A
little man, who looked very triste indeed, in an old-
fashioned suit of clothes, with long flaps to a waistcoat
embroidered in silks no longer very brilliant, sat in a
corner of the room.  I could not imagine who he was, but when he
spoke was immediately convinced he was no
Frenchman.  I afterwards heard he had been engaged by M. de
Narbonne for a year, to teach him and all the party English. He
had had a place in some college in France at the beginning of the
Revolution, but was now driven out and
destitute.  His name is Clarke. He speaks English with an accent
tant soit Peu Scotch.

Madame de la Chàtre, with great franchise entered into
details of her situation and embarrassment, whether she
might venture, like Madame de Broglie, to go over to France, in
which case she was dans le cas oû elle pouvoit toucher sa
fortune(32) immediately. She said she could then settle in
England, and settle comfortably.  M. de la Chàtre, it
seems, previous to his joining the king's brothers, had
settled upon her her whole fortune.  She and all her family were
great favourers of the original Revolution and even at this
moment she declares herself unable to wish the
restoration of the old r‚gime, with its tyranny and
corruptions--persecuted and ruined as she and thousands more have
been by the unhappy consequences of the Revolution,

M. de Narbonne now came in.  He seems forty, rather fat, but
would be handsome were it not for a slight cast of one eye. He
was this morning in great spirits. Poor man! It was the only time
I have ever seen him so. He came up very courteously to me, and
begged leave de me faire Sa Cour(33)  at Mickleham, to which I
graciously assented.

Then came M. de jaucourt, whom I instantly knew by Mr.
Locke's description. He is far from handsome, but has a very
intelligent countenance, fine teeth, and expressive eyes. I
scarce heard a word from him, but liked his appearance
exceedingly, and not the less for perceiving his respectful and
affectionate manner of attending to Mr. Locke but when Mr. Locke
reminded us that Madame de la Chàtre had not
breakfasted, we took leave, after spending an hour in a
manners so pleasant and so interesting that it scarcely
appeared ten minutes.

Page 31
                            MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY.

NOV. 7.- --Phillips was at work in the parlour, and I had just
stepped into the next room for some papers I wanted, when I heard
a man's voice, and presently distinguished
these words: "Je ne parle pas trop bien l'Anglois,
monsieur."(34) I came forth immediately to relieve Phillips, and
then found it was M. d'Arblay.

I received him de bien bon coeur, as courteously as I could.  The
adjutant of M. Lafayette, and one of those who proved faithful to
that excellent general, could not but be
interesting to me. I was extremely pleased at ]its coming, and
more and more pleased with himself every moment that passed. He
seems to me a true militaire, franc et loyal--open as the day;
warmly affectionate to his
friends; intelligent, ready, and amusing in conversation, with a
great share of gai‚t‚ de coeur, and, at the same
time, of naŒvet‚ and bonne foi. He was no less flattering to
little Fanny than M. de Narbonne had been.

We went up into the drawing-room with him, and met Willy on the
stairs, and Norbury capered before us. "Ah, madame," cried M.
d'Arblay, "la jolie petite maison que vous avez, et les jolis
petits hôtes!"(35) looking at the
children, the drawings, etc. He took Norbury on his lap and
played with -him. I asked him if he was not proud of being so
kindly noticed by the adjutant-general of M. Lafayette? "Est-ce
qu'il sait le nom de M. Lafayette?"(36) said he,
smiling. I said he was our hero, and that I was thankful to see
at least one of his faithful friends here. I asked if M.
Lafayette was allowed to write and receive letters. He said yes,
but they were always given to him open.

- Norbury now (still seated on his lap) took courage to
whisper him, "Were you, sir, put in prison with M.
Lafayette?" "Oui, mon ami," "And--was it quite dark?" I was
obliged, laughing, to translate this curious question.
M. d'Arblay laughed too: "Non, mon ami," said he, "on nous amis
abord dans une assez jolie chambre."(37)

i lamented the hard fate of M. Lafayette, and the rapid and
wonderful reverse he had met with, after having been, as he

Page 32

well merited to be, the most popular man in France. This led M.
d'Arblay to speak of M. de Narbonne, to whom I found him
passionately attached. Upon my mentioning the sacrifices made by
the French nobility, and by a great number of them voluntarily,
he said no one had made more than M. de Narbonne; that, previous
to the Revolution, he had more wealth and more power than almost
any except the princes of the blood.

For himself, he mentioned his fortune and his income from his
appointments as something immense, but 1 never remember the
number of hundred thousand livres, nor can tell what their amount
is without some consideration. . . .

The next day Madame de la Chƒtre was so kind as to send me the
French papers, by her son, who made a silent visit of about five
minutes.


M. DE JAUCOURT. MADAME DE STAEL.

Friday morning.-I sent Norbury with the French papers, desiring
him to give them to M. d'Arblay. He stayed a prodigious while,
and at last came back attended by M. de Narbonne, M. de Jaucourt,
and M. d'Arblay. M. de Jaucourt is a delightful man--as comic,
entertaining, unaffected, unpretending, and good-humoured as dear
Mr Twining, only younger, and not quite so black.  He is a man
likewise of first-rate abilities--M. de Narbonne says, perhaps
superior to Vaublanc(38) and of very uncommon firmness and
integrity of character.

The account Mr. Batt gave of the National Assembly last summer
agrees perfectly with that of M. de Jaucourt, who had the
misfortune to be one of the deputies, and who, upon some great
occasion in support of the king and constitution, found only
twenty-four members who had courage to support him, though a far
more considerable number gave him secretly their good wishes and
prayers. It was on this that he regarded all hope of justice and
order as lost, and that he gave in sa d‚mission(39) from the
Assembly. In a few days he was seized, and sans forme de
proces(40) having lost his inviolability as a

Page 33

member, thrown into the prison of the Abbaye, where, had it not
been for the very extraordinary and admirable exertions of Madame
de Stael (M. Necker's daughter, and the Swedish ambassador's
wife), he would infallibly have been massacred.

I must here tell you that this lady, who was at that time seven
months gone with child, was indefatigable in her efforts to save
every one she knew from this dreadful massacre. She walked daily
(for carriages were not allowed to pass in the streets) to the
H6tel de Ville, and was frequently shut up for five hours
together with the horrible wretches that composed the Comit‚ de
Surveillance, by whom these murders were directed; and by her
eloquence, and the consideration demanded by her rank and her
talents, she obtained the deliverance of above twenty unfortunate
prisoners, some of whom she knew but slightly. . . .

Madame de la Chƒtre and M. de Jaucourt have since told me that M.
de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay had been treated with singular
ingratitude by the king, whom they nevertheless still loved as
well as forgave. They likewise say he wished to get rid of M. de
Narbonne from the ministry, because he could not trust him with
his projects of contre revolution.

M. d'Arblay was the officer on guard at the Tuileries the night
on which the king, etc., escaped to Varennes,(41) and ran great
risk of being denounced, and perhaps massacred, though he had
been kept in the most perfect ignorance of the king's intention.


                   SEVERE DECREES AGAINST THE EMIGRANTS.

The next Sunday, November 18th, Augusta and Amelia came to me
after church, very much grieved at the inhuman decrees just
passed in the Convention, including as emigrants, with those who
have taken arms against their country, all who have quitted it
since last July; and adjudging their estates to confiscation, and
their persons to death should they return to France.

" Ma'am," said Mr. Clarke, " it reduces this family to nothing :
all they can hope is, by the help of their parents and friends,
to get together wherewithal to purchase a cottage in America, and
live as they can."

Page 34

I was more shocked and affected by this account than I could very
easily tell you. To complete the tragedy, M. de Narbonne had
determined to write an offer--a request rather--to be allowed to
appear as a witness in behalf of the king, upon his trial ; and
M. d'Arblay had declared he would do the same, and share the fate
of his friend, whatever it might be.


                            MONSIEUR GIRARDIN.

On Tuesday, the 20th, I called to condole with our friends on
these new misfortunes.  Madame de la Chƒtre received me with
politeness, and even cordiality: she told me she was a little
recovered from the first shock--that she should hope to gather
together a small d‚bris of her fortune, but never enough to
settle in England--that, in short, her parti ‚tait pris(42)--that
she must go to America. It went to my heart to hear her say so.
Presently came in M. Girardin. He is son to the Marquis de
Girardin d'Ermenonville, the friend of Rousseau, whose last days
were passed, and whose remains are deposited, in his domain. This
M. Girardin was a pupil of Rousseau; he was a member of the
Legislative Assembly, and an able opponent of the jacobins.

It was to him that M. Merlin, aprŠs bien de gestes mena‡ans,(43)
had held a pistol, in the midst of the Assembly. His father was a
mad republican, and never satisfied with the rational spirit of
patriotism that animated M. Girardin; who, witnessing the
distress of all the friends he most esteemed and honoured, and
being himself in personal danger from the enmity of the jacobins,
had, as soon as the Assembl‚e L‚gislative broke up, quitted
Paris, I believe, firmly determined never to re-enter it under
the present r‚gime.

I was prepossessed very much in favour of this gentleman, from
his conduct in the late Assembly and all we had heard of him.  I
confess I had not represented him to myself as a great, fat,
heavy-looking man, with the manners of a somewhat hard and morose
Englishman: he is between thirty and forty, I imagine; he had
been riding as far as to the cottage Mr. Malthouse had mentioned
to him--l'asile de jean Jacques(44)--and said it was very near
this place (it is at the foot of Leith Hill, Mr. Locke has since
told me).

They then talked over the newspapers which were come

Page 35

that morning.  M. de St. just,(45) who made a most fierce speech
for the trial and condemnation of the king, they said had before
only been known by little madrigals, romances, and heures
tendres, published in the 'Almanac des Muses.'  "A cette heure,"
said M. de jaucourt, laughing, "c'est un fier republicain."(46)



                      THE PHILLIPSES AT JUNIPER HALL.

Nov. 27.-Phillips and I determined at about half-past one to walk
to "junipre" together. M. d'Arblay received us at the door, and
showed the most flattering degree of pleasure at our arrival. We
found with Madame de la Chƒtre another French gentleman, M.
Sicard, who was also an officer of M. de Lafayette's.

M. de Narbonne said he hoped we would be sociable, and dine with
them now and then. Madame de la Chƒtre made a speech to the same
effect, "Et quel jour, par exemple," said M. de Narbonne, "feroit
wieux qu'aujourd'hui?"(47)  Madame de la Chƒtre took my hand
instantly, to press in the most pleasing and gratifying manner
imaginable this proposal; and before I had time to answer, M.
d'Arblay, snatching up his hat, declared he would run and fetch
the children.


I was obliged to entreat Phillips to bring him back, and
entreated him to entendre raison.(48) . . . I pleaded their late
hour of dinner, our having no carriage, and my disuse to the
night air at this time of the year; but M. de Narbonne said their
cabriolet (they have no other carriage) should take us home, and
that there was a top to it, and Madame de la Chƒtre declared she
would cover me well with shawls, etc. . . . M. d'Arblay scampered
off for the little ones, whom all insisted upon having, and
Phillips accompanied him, as it wanted I believe almost four
hours to their dinner time. . . .
Page 36

Then my dress: Oh, it was parfaite, and would give them all the
courage to remain as they were, sans toilette: in short, nothing
was omitted to render us comfortable and at our ease, and I have
seldom passed a more pleasant day--never, I may fairly say, with
such new acquaintance.  I was only sorry M. de jaucourt did not
make one of the party.


MYSTERY ATTENDING M. DE NARBONNE'S BIRTH.

Whilst M. d'Arblay and Phillips were gone, Madame de la Chƒtre
told me they had that morning received M. Necker's "D‚fense du
Roi," and if I liked it that M. de Narbonne would read it out to
us.(49) You may conceive my answer. It is a most eloquent
production, and was read by M. de Narbonne with beaucoup d'ƒme.
Towards the end it is excessively touching, and his emotion was
very evident, and would have struck and interested me had I felt
no respect for his character before.

I must now tell you the secret of his birth, which, however, is,
I conceive, no great secret even in London, as Phillips heard it
at Sir Joseph Banks's. Madame Victoire, daughter of Louis XV.,
was in her youth known to be attached to the Comte de Narbonne,
father of our M. de Narbonne. The consequence of this attachment
was such as to oblige her to a temporary retirement, under the
pretence of indisposition during which time la Comtesse de
Narbonne, who was one of her attendants, not only concealed her
own chagrin, but was the means of preserving her husband from a
dangerous situation, and the princess from disgrace.  She
declared herself with child, and, in short, arranged all so well
as to seem the mother of her husband's son ; though the truth was
immediately suspected, and rumoured about the Court, and Madame
de la Chƒtre told me, was known and familiarly spoken of by all
her friends, except in the presence of

Page 37

Narbonne, to whom no one would certainly venture to hint it. His
father is dead, but la Comtesse de Narbonne, his reputed mother,
lives, and is still an attendant on Madame Victoire, at Rome. M.
de Narbonne's wife is likewise with her, and he himself was the
person fixed on by Mesdames to accompany them when they quitted
France for Italy.  An infant daughter was left by him at Paris,
who is still there with some of his family, and whom he expressed
an earnest wish to. bring over, though the late decree may
perhaps render his doing so impossible. He has another daughter,
of six years old, who is with her mother at Rome, and whom he
told me the pope had condescended to embrace. He mentioned his
mother once (meaning la Comtesse de Narbonne) with great respect
and affection.



         REVOLUTIONARY SOCIETIES IN NORFOLK. DEATH OF MR.
FRANCIS.

(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Philips.)
Aylsham, Norfolk, November 27, '92.
My dearest Susanna's details of the French colony at juniper are
truly interesting.  I hope I may gather from them that M. de
Narbonne, at least, has been able to realise some property here.
I wish much to hear that poor Madame de Broglie has been
permitted to join her husband.

Who is this M. Malouet(50) who has the singular courage and
feeling to offer to plead the cause of a fallen monarch in the
midst of his ferocious accusers? And how ventures M. de Chauvelin
to transmit such a proposal? I wish your French neighbours could
give some account of this.  I hear that the son for whom the Duc
de Liancourt has been trembling, has been reduced to subscribe to
all jacobin lengths, to save his life, and retain a little
property.  What seasons are these for dissolving all delicacy of
internal honour!

I am truly amazed, and half alarmed, to find this county with
little revolution societies, which transmit their notions of
Page 38

things to the larger committee at Norwich, which communicates the
whole to the reformists of London.  I am told there is scarce a
village in Norfolk free from these meetings. . . .

My good and brilliant champion in days of old, Mr. Windham, has
never been in Norfolk since I have entered it. He had a call to
Bulstrode, to the installation of the Duke of Portland, just as I
arrived, and he has been engaged there and at Oxford ever since.
I regret missing him at Holkham: I bad no chance of him anywhere
else, as I have been so situated, from the melancholy
circumstances of poor Mr. Francis's illness, that I have been
unable to make acquaintance where he visits.

(Miss Burney's second visit at Aylsham proved a very mournful
one.  Soon after her arrival, Mr. Francis, her brother-in-law,
was seized with an apoplectic fit, which terminated in his death;
and Miss Burney remained with her widowed sister, soothing and
assisting her, till the close of the year, when she accompanied
the bereaved family to London.]



                    DEPARTURE OF MADAME DE LA CHATRE.

(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.)
December 16, '92.
. . .. Everything that is most shocking may, I fear, be expected
for the unfortunate King of France, his queen, and perhaps all
that belong to him. M. d'Arblay said it would indeed scarce have
been possible to hope that M. de Narbonne could have escaped with
life, had the sauf-conduit requested been granted him, for
attending as a witness at the king's trial. . . .

M. de Narbonne had heard nothing new from France, but mentioned,
with great concern, the indiscretion of the king, in having kept
all his letters since the Revolution; that the papers lately
discovered in the Tuileries would bring ruin and death on
hundreds of his friends ; and that almost every one in that
number "s'y trouvoient compliqu‚s"(51) some way or other. A
decree of accusation had been lanc‚ against M. Talleyrand, not
for anything found from himself, but because M. de Laporte, long
since executed, and from whom, of course, no renseignemens or
explanations of any kind could
Page 39

be gained, had written to the king that l'Eveque d'Autun(52) was
well disposed to serve him.  Can there be injustice more
flagrant?

M. Talleyrand, it seems, had proposed returning, and hoped to
settle his affairs in France in person, but now he must be
content with life ; and as for his property (save what he may
chance to have in other countries), he must certainly lose all.

Monday, December 17, In the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Locke called,
and with them came Madame de la Chƒtre, to take leave.

She now told us, perfectly in confidence, that Madame de Broglie
had found a friend in the Mayor of Boulogne, that she was lodged
at his house, and that she could answer for her (Madame de la
Chƒtre) being received by him as well as she could desire (all
this must be secret, as this good mayor, if accused of harbouring
or befriending des ‚migr‚s, would no doubt pay for it with his
life).  Madame de la Chƒtre said, all her friends who had
ventured upon writing to her entreated her not to lose the
present moment to return, as, the three months allowed for the
return of those excepted in the decree once past, all hope would
be lost for ever. Madame de Broglie, who is her cousin, was most
excessively urgent to her to lose not an instant in returning,
and had declared there would be no danger. Madame de la Chƒtre
was put in spirits by this account, and the hope of becoming not
destitute of everything; and I tried to hope without fearing for
her, and, indeed, most sincerely offer up my petitions for her
safety.

Heaven prosper her! Her courage and spirits are wonderful. M. de
Narbonne seemed, however, full of apprehensions for her.  M. de
Jaucourt seemed to have better hopes ; he, even he, has now
thoughts of returning, or rather his generosity compels him to
think of it.  His father has represented to him that his sister's
fortune must suffer unless he appears in France again - and
although he had resisted every other consideration, on this he
has given way.


                        ARRIVAL OF M. DE LA CHATRE.

Friday, December 21st, we dined at Norbury Park, and met our
French friends: M. d'Arblay came in to coffee before the other
gentlemen.  We had been talking of Madame de la
Page 40

Chattre, and conjecturing conjectures about her sposo: we were
all curious, and all inclined to imagine him old, ugly, proud,
aristocratic, -a kind of ancient and formal courtier ; so we
questioned M. d'Arblay, acknowledging our curiosity, and that we
wished to know, enfin, if M. de la Chƒtre was "digne d'etre ‚poux
d'une personne si aimable et si charmante que Madame de la
Chƒtre."(53) He looked very drolly, scarce able to meet our eyes;
but at last, as he is la franchise mˆme, he answered, "M. de la
Chƒtre est un bon homme--parfaitement bon homme: au reste, il est
brusque comme un cheval de carrosse."(54)

We were in the midst of our coffee when St. jean came forward to
M. de Narbonne, and said somebody wanted to speak to him. He went
out of the room; in two minutes he returned, followed by a
gentleman in a great-coat, whom we had never seen, and whom he
introduced immediately to Mrs. Locke by the name of M. de la
Chƒtre. The appearance of M. de la Chƒtre was something like a
coup de th‚atre; for, despite our curiosity, I had no idea we
should ever see him, thinking that nothing could detach him from
the service of the French princes.

His abord and behaviour answered extremely well the idea M.
d'Arblay had given us of him, who in the word brusque rather
meant unpolished in manners than harsh in character. He is quite
old enough to be father to Madame de la Chƒtre, and, had he been
presented to us as such, all our wonder would have been to see so
little elegance in the parent of such a woman.

After the first introduction was over, he turned his back to the
fire, and began sans fa‡on, a most confidential discourse with M.
de Narbonne. They had not met since the beginning of the
Revolution, and, having been of very different parties, it was
curious and pleasant to see them now, in their mutual
misfortunes, meet en bons amis. They rallied each other sur leurs
disgraces very good-humouredly and comically; and though poor M.
de la Chƒtre had missed his wife by only one day, and his son by
a few hours, nothing seemed to give him de phumeur.(55) He gave
the account of his disastrous journey since he had quitted. the
princes, who are themselves reduced
Page 41

to great distress, and were unable to pay him his arrears: he
said he could not get a sou from France, nor had done for two
years. All the money he had, with his papers and clothes, were
contained in a little box, with which he had embarked in a small
boat--I could not hear whence : but the weather was tempestuous,
and he, with nearly all the passengers, landed, and walked to the
nearest town, leaving his box and two faithful servants (who had
never, he said, quitted him since he had left France) in the
boat: he had scarce been an hour at the auberge (56) when news
was brought that the boat had sunk,

At this, M. de Narbonne threw himself back on his seat,
exclaiming against the hard fate which pursued all ses malheureux
amis!(57) "Mais attendez donc," cried the good humoured M. de la
Chƒtre, "Je n'ai pas encore fini: on nous a assur‚ que personne
n'a p‚ri et que mˆme tout ce qu'il y avait sur le bƒteau a ‚t‚
sauv‚!'(58) He said, however, that being now in danger of falling
into the hands of the French, he dared not stop for his box or
servants; but, leaving a note of directions behind him, he
proceeded incognito, and at length got on board a packet-boat for
England, in which though he found several of his countrymen and
old acquaintance, he dared not discover himself till they were en
pleine mer.(59)  He went on gaily enough, laughing at ses amis
les constitutionnaires,(60) and M. de Narbonne, with much more
wit, and not less good humour, retorting back his raillery on the
parti de Brunswick.. . .

M. de la Chƒtre mentioned the quinzaine(61) in which the princes'
army had been paid up, as the most wretched he had ever known. Of
22,000 men who formed the army of the emigrants, 16,000 were
gentlemen,-men of family and fortune: all of whom were now, with
their families, destitute.  He mentioned two of these who had
engaged themselves lately in some orchestra, where they played
first and second flute. The princes, he said, had been twice
arrested for debt in different places--that they were now so
reduced that they dined, themselves, the Comte d'Artois,
children, tutors, etc.--eight or nine persons in all--upon one
single dish.

Page 42

              ENGLISH FEELING AT THE REVOLUTIONARY EXCESSES.

(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.)
Chelsea, December 20, '92.
..... God keep us all safe and quiet! All now wears a fair
aspect; but I am told Mr. Windham says we are not yet out of the
wood though we see the path through it. There must be no
relaxation. The Pretended friends of the people, pretended or
misguided, wait but the stilling of the present ferment of
loyalty to come forth. Mr. Grey has said so in the House. Mr. Fox
attended the St. George's meeting, after keeping back to the
last, and was nobody there!

The accounts from France are thrilling. Poor M. d'Arblay's speech
should be translated, and read to all English imitators of French
reformers. What a picture of the now reformed! Mr. Burke's
description of the martyred Duc de la Rochefoucault should be
read also by all the few really pure promoters of new systems.
New systems, I fear, in states, are always dangerous, if not
wicked. Grievance by grievance, wrong by wrong, must only be
assailed, and breathing time allowed to old prejudices, and old
habits, between all that is done. . . .

I had fancied the letters brought for the King of France's trial
were forgeries. One of them, certainly, to M. Bouill‚, had its
answer dated before it was written. If any have been found,
others will be added, to serve any evil purposes. Still, however,
I hope the king and his family will be saved.  I cannot but
believe it, from all I can put together. If the worst of the
jacobins hear that Fox has called him an "unfortunate monarch,"-
-that Sheridan has said "his execution would be an act of
injustice,"--and Grey, "that we ought to have spared that one
blast to their glories by earlier negotiation and an
ambassador,"--surely the worst of these wretches will not risk
losing their only abettors and palliators in this kingdom? I mean
publicly; they have privately and individually their abettors and
palliators in abundance still, wonderful as that is.

I am glad M. d'Arblay has joined the set at "Junipre." What
miserable work is this duelling, which I hear of among the
emigrants, after such hair-breadth 'scapes for life and
existence!--to attack one another on the very spot they seek for
refuge from attacks! It seems a sort of profanation of safety.
Page 43

                          LOUIS XVI.'S EXECUTION.

(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Norbury Park, January 28, '93.
My dearest padre,-I have been wholly without spirit for writing,
reading, working, or even walking or conversing, ever since the
first day of my arrival. The dreadful tragedy(62) acted in France
has entirely absorbed me. Except the period of the illness of our
own inestimable king, 1 have never been so overcome with grief
and dismay, for any but personal and family calamities. O what a
tragedy! how implacable its villainy, and how severe its sorrows!
You know, my dearest father, how little I had believed such a
catastrophe possible: with all the guilt and all the daring
already shown, I had still thought this a height of enormity
impracticable. And, indeed, without military law throughout the
wretched city, it had still not been perpetrated. Good heaven!-
-what must have been the sufferings of the few unhardened in
crimes who inhabit that city of horrors!--if I, an English
person, have been so deeply afflicted, that even this sweet house
and society--even my Susan and her lovely children--have been
incapable to give me any species of pleasure, or keep me from a
desponding low-spiritedness, what must be the feelings of all but
the culprits in France?

M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay have been almost annihilated :
they are for ever repining that they are French, and, though two
of the most accomplished and elegant men I ever saw, they break
our hearts with the humiliation they feel for their guiltless
birth in that guilty country!

We are all here expecting war every day. This dear family has
deferred its town journey till next Wednesday.  I have not been
at all at Mickleham, nor yet settled whether to return to town
with the Lockes, or to pay my promised visit there first, All has
been so dismal, so wretched, that I have scarce ceased to regret
our living at such times, and not either Sooner or later.
These immediate French sufferers here interest us, and these
alone have been able to interest me at all.  We hear of a very
bad tumult in Ireland, and near Captain Phillips's property: Mr.
Brabazon writes word it is very serious.

Page 44

Heaven guard us from insurrections! What must be the feelings at
the queen's house? how acute, and how indignant!


                          A GLOOMY CLUB MEETING.

(-Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney and Mrs. Phillips.)
Chelsea College, January 31, 1793.
. . . At the Club,(63) on Tuesday, the fullest I ever knew,
consisting of fifteen members, fourteen seemed all of one mind,
and full of reflections on the late transaction in France ; but,
when about half the company was assembled, who should come in but
Charles Fox! There were already three or four bishops arrived,
hardly one of whom could look at him, I believe, without horror,
After the first bow and cold salutation, the conversation stood
still for several minutes.  During dinner Mr Windham, and Burke,
jun., came in, who were obliged to sit at a side table. All were
boutonn‚s,(64) and not a word of the martyred king or politics of
any kind was mentioned; and though the company was chiefly
composed of the most eloquent and loquacious men in the kingdom,
the conversation was the dullest and most uninteresting I ever
remember at this or any such large meeting. Mr Windham and Fox,
civil-young Burke and he never spoke.  The Bishop of Peterborough
as sulky as the d--l; the Bishop of Salisbury, more a man of the
world, very cheerful; the Bishop of Dromore(65) frightened as
much as a barn-door fowl at the sight of a fox; Bishop Marlow
preserved his usual pleasant countenance. Steevens in the chair;
the Duke of Leeds on his right, and Fox on his left, said not a
word. Lords Ossory and Lucan, formerly much attached, seemed
silent and sulky.


                     MADAME DE STAEL AT JUNIPER HALL.

(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Norbury Park, Monday, February 4, '93.
. . . Madame de Stael, daughter of M. Necker, is now at the head
of the colony of French noblesse, established near

Page 45

Mickleham. She is one of the first women I have ever met with for
abilities and extraordinary intellect.  She has just received, by
a private letter, many particulars not yet made public, and which
the Commune and Commissaries of the Temple had ordered should be
suppressed.  It has been exacted by those cautious men of blood
that nothing should be printed that could attendrir le
peuple.(66)

Among other circumstances, this letter relates that the poor
little dauphin supplicated the monsters who came with the decree
of death to his unhappy father, that they would carry him to the
Convention, and the forty-eight Sections of Paris, and suffer him
to beg his father's life.  This touching request was probably
suggested to him by his miserable mother or aunt....

M. de Narbonne has been quite ill with the grief of this last
enormity: and M. d'Arblay is now indisposed.  This latter is one
of the most delightful characters I have ever met, for openness,
probity, intellectual knowledge, and unhackneyed manners.


(Madame de Stael to Fanny BUrney.(67))
Written from juniper Hall, Dorking, Surrey, 1793.
When I learned to read English I begun by milton, to know all or
renounce at all in once.  I follow the same system in writing my
first English letter to Miss burney; after such an enterprize
nothing can affright me.  I feel for her so tender a friendship
that it melts my admiration, inspires my heart with hope of her
indulgence, and impresses me with the idea that in a tongue even
unknown I could express sentiments so deeply felt.

my servant will return for a french answer.  I intreat miss
burney to correct the words but to preserve the sense of that
card.

best compliments to my dear protectress, Madame Phillipe.


(Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.)
Your card in french, my dear, has already something of Your grace
in writing English : it is cecilia translated.  my !. '

Page 46

only correction is to fill the interruptions of some sentences,
and I put in them kindnesses for me. I do not consult my master
to write to you; a fault more or less is nothing in such an
occasion. What may be the perfect grammar of Mr. Clarke, it
cannot establish any sort of equality between you and I. then I
will trust with my heart alone to supply the deficiency. let us
speak upon a grave subject: do I see you that morning? What news
from Captain phillip? when do you come spend a large week in that
house? every question requires an exact answer; a good, also. my
happiness depends on it, and I have for pledge your honour.

good morrow and farewell.

pray madame phillips, recollecting all her knowledge in french,
to explain that card to you.

(Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.)
January, 1793.
tell me, my dear, if this day is a charming one, if it must be a
sweet epoch in my life?--do you come to dine here with your
lovely sister, and do you stay night and day till our sad
separation? I rejoice me with that hope during this week do not
deceive my heart. I hope that card very clear, mais, pour plus de
certitude, je vous dis en françois que votre chambre, la maison,
les habitants de juniper, tout est prêt á recevoir la première
femme d'angleterre.(68) Janvier.



               MISS BURNEY'S ADMIRATION OF MADAME DE STAEL.

(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Mickleham, February 29, 1793
Have you not begun, dearest sir, to give me up as a lost sheep?
Susanna's temporary widowhood, however, has tempted me on, and
spelled me with a spell I know not how to break. It is long, long
since we have passed any time so completely together; her three
lovely children only knit us the closer. The widowhood, however,
we expect now quickly to expire, and I had projected my return to
my dearest father

Page 47

for Wednesday next, which would complete my fortnight here but
some circumstances are intervening that incline me to postpone it
another week. Madame de Stal, daughter of M. Necker, and wife of
the Swedish ambassador to France, is now head of the little
French colony in this neighbourhood. M. de Stael, her husband, is
at present suspended in his embassy, but not recalled and it is
yet uncertain whether the regent Duke of Sudermania will send him
to Paris, during the present horrible Convention, or order him
home.  He is now in Holland, waiting for commands.  Madame de
Stal, however, was unsafe in Paris, though an ambassadress, from
the resentment owed her by the commune, for having received and
protected in her house various destined victims of the 10th
August and of the 2nd September. She was even once stopped in her
carriage, which they called aristocratic, because of its arms and
ornaments, and threatened to be murdered, and only saved by one
of the worst wretches of the Convention, Tallien, who feared
provoking a war with Sweden, from such an offence to the wife of
its ambassador.  She was obliged to have this same Tallien to
accompany her, to save her from massacre, for some miles from
Paris, when compelled to quit it.

She is a woman of the first abilities, I think, I have ever seen;
she is more in the style of Mrs. Thrale than of any other
celebrated character, but she has infinitely more depth, and
seems an even profound politician and metaphysician. She has
suffered us to hear some of her works in MS., which are truly
wonderful, for powers both of thinking and expression. She adores
her father, but is much alarmed at having had no news from him
since he has heard of the massacre of the martyred Louis; and who
can wonder it should have overpowered him?

Ever since her arrival she has been pressing me to spend some
time with her before I return to town. She wanted Susan and me to
pass a month with her, but, finding that impossible, she bestowed
all her entreaties upon me alone, and they are grown so urgent,
upon my preparation for departing, and acquainting her my
furlough of absence was over, that she not only insisted upon my
writing to you, and telling why I deferred my return, but
declares she will also write herself, to ask your permission for
the visit. She exactly resembles Mrs. Thrale in the ardour and
warmth of her temper and partialities. I find her impossible to
resist, and therefore, if your answer to
Page 48

her is such as I conclude it must be, I shall wait upon her for a
week.  She is only a short walk from hence, at juniper Hall.


                            FAILING RESOURCES.

There can be nothing imagined more charming, more fascinating,
than this colony ; between their sufferings and their argr‚mens
they occupy us almost wholly. M. de Narbonne,
alas, has no thousand pounds a year! he got over only four
thousand pounds at the beginning, from a most splendid fortune;
and, little foreseeing how all has turned out, he has lived, we
fear, upon the principal ; for he says, if all remittance is
withdrawn, on account of the war, he shall soon be as ruined as
those companions of his misfortunes with whom as yet he has
shared his little all. He bears the highest character for
goodness, parts, sweetness of manners, and ready wit. You could
not keep your heart from him if you saw him only for . half an
hour. He has not yet recovered from the black blow of the king's
death, but he is better, and less jaundiced ; and he has had a
letter which, I hear, has comforted him, though at first it was
almost heart-breaking, informing him of the unabated regard for
him of the truly saint-like Louis. This is communicated in a
letter from M. de Malesherbes.(69)

                         THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

M. d'Arblay is one of the most singularly interesting characters
that can ever have been formed.  He has a sincerity, a frankness,
an ingenuous openness of nature, that I had been unjust enough to
think could not belong to a Frenchman. With all this, which is
his military portion, he is passionately fond of literature, a
most delicate critic in his own language, welt versed in both
Italian and German, and a very elegant

Page 49

poet. He has just undertaken to become my French master for
pronunciation, and he gives me long daily lessons in reading.
Pray expect wonderful improvements!  In return, I hear him in
English; and for his theme, this evening he has been writing an
English address "… Mr. Burney," (ie. M. le Docteur), joining in
Madame de Stael's request.

I hope your last club was more congenial?  M. de Talleyrand
insists on conveying this letter for you.  He has been on a visit
here, and returns again on Wednesday. He is a man of admirable
conversation, quick, terse, fin, and yet deep, to the extreme of
those four words.  They are a marvellous set for excess of
agreeability.




                   "THIS ENCHANTING MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY."

(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.)
Mickleham.
Your kind letter, my beloved Fredy, was most thankfully received,
and we rejoice the house and situation promise so much local
comfort; but I quite fear with you that even the bas bleu will
not recompense the loss of the "Junipre" society. It is, indeed,
of incontestable superiority.  But you must burn this confession,
or my poor effigy will blaze for it. I must tell you a little of
our proceedings, as they all relate to these people of a
thousand.

M. d'Arblay came from the melancholy sight of departing Norbury
to Mickleham, and with an air the most triste, and a sound of
voice quite dejected, as I learn from Susanna for I was in my
heroics, and could not appear till the last half hour. A headache
prevented my waiting upon Madame de Stal that day, and obliged me
to retreat soon after nine o'clock in the evening, and my douce
compagne would not let me retreat alone. We had only robed
ourselves in looser drapery, when a violent ringing at the door
startled us; we listened, and heard the voice of M. d'Arblay, and
Jerry answering, "They're gone to bed." "Comment? What?" cried
he: "C'est impossible! what you say?"  Jerry then, to show his
new education in this new colony, said "All‚e couch‚e!" It rained
furiously, and we were quite grieved, but there was no help. He
left a book for "Mlle. Burnet," and word that Madame de Stael
could not come on account of the bad weather. M. Ferdinand was
with him and has bewailed the disaster
Page 50

and M. Sicard says he accompanied them till he was quite wet
through his redingote; but this enchanting M. d'Arblay will
murmur at nothing.

The next day they all came, just as we had dined, for a morning
visit,--Madame de Stael, M. Talleyrand, M. Sicard, and M.
d'Arblay; the latter then made "insistance" upon commencing my
"master of the language," and I think he will be almost as good a
one as the little don.(70)

M. de Talleyrand opened, at last, with infinite wit and capacity.
 Madame de Stael whispered me, "How do you like him?" "Not very
much," I answered, "but I do not know him." "Oh, I assure you,"
cried she, "he is the best of the men."

I was happy not to agree ; but I have no time for such minute
detail till we meet. She read the noble tragedy of
"TancrŠde,"(71) till she blinded us all round.  She is the most
charming person, to use her own phrase, "that never I saw." . .

We called yesterday upon Madame de Stael, and sat with her until
three o'clock, only the little don being present. She was
delightful; yet I see much uneasiness hanging over the whole
party, from the terror that the war may stop all remittances.
Heaven forbid!


                       TALLEYRAND IS FOUND CHARMING.

(Fanny Burney to Mrs locke.)
Thursday, Mickleham.
I have no heart not to write, and no time to write. I have been
scholaring all day, and mastering too : for our lessons are
mutual, and more entertaining than can easily be conceived. My
master of the language says he dreams of how much more solemnly
he shall write to charming Mrs. Locke after a little more
practice. Madame de Stael has written me two English notes, quite
beautiful in ideas, and not very reprehensible in idiom.  But
English has nothing to do with elegance such as theirs--at least,
little and rarely.  I am always exposing myself to the wrath of
John Bull, when this c“terie come in competition; It is
inconceivable what a convert M. de Talleyrand has made of me; I
think him now one of the first members, and one of the most
charming, of this exquisite set: Susanna    is as completely a
proselyte,
Page 51

His powers of entertainment are astonishing, both in information
and in raillery. We know nothing of how the rest of the world
goes on. They are all coming to-night. I have yet avoided, but
with extreme difficulty, the change of abode. Madame de Stael,
however, will not easily be parried, and how I may finally
arrange I know not. Certainly I will not offend or hurt her, but
otherwise I had rather be a visitor than a guest

Pray tell Mr. Locke that " the best of the men " grows upon us at
every meeting. We dined and stayed till midnight at "junipre" on
Tuesday, and I would I could recollect but the twentieth part of
the excellent things that were said. Madame de Stael read us the
opening of her work "Sur le Bonheur:" it seems to me admirable.
M. de Talleyrand avowed he had met with nothing better thought or
more ably expressed; it contains the most touching allusions to
their country's calamities.


            A PROPOSED VISIT TO MADAME DE STAEL DISAPPROVED OF.


(Doctor Burney to Fanny Burney.)
Chelsea College, February 19, 1793.
Why, Fanny, what are you about, and where are you? I shall write
at you, not knowing how to write to you, as Swift did to the
flying and romantic Lord Peterborough. I had written the above,
after a yesterday's glimmering and a feverish night as usual,
when behold! a letter of requisition for a further furlough! I
had long histories ready for narration de vive voix, but my time
is too short and my eyes and head too -weak for much writing this
morning. I am not at all surprised at your account of the
captivating powers of Madame de Stael. It corresponds with all I
had heard about her, and with the opinion I formed of her
intellectual and literary powers, in reading her charming little
"Apologie de Rousseau." But as nothing human is allowed to be
perfect, she has not escaped censure.  Her house was the centre
of revolutionists Previous to the 10th of August, after her
father's departure, and she has been accused of partiality to M.
de N.(72) But Perhaps all may be jacobinical malignity.  However,
unfavourable stories of her have been brought hither, and the
Page 52

Burkes and Mrs. Ord have repeated them to me. But you know that
M. Necker's administration, and the conduct of the nobles who
first joined in the violent measures that subverted the ancient
establishments by the abolition of nobility and the ruin of the
church, during the first National Assembly, are held in greater
horror by aristocrats than even the members of the present
Convention. I know this will make you feel uncomfortable, but it
seemed to me right to hint it to You. If you are not absolutely
in the house of Madame do Stael when this arrives, it would
perhaps be possible for you to waive the visit to her, by a
compromise, of having something to do for Susy, and so make the
addendum to your stay under her roof. . .

(Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.)
Mickleham, February 22, '03,
What a kind letter is my dearest father's, and how kindly speedy
! yet it is too true it has given me very uncomfortable feelings.
 I am both hurt and astonished at the acrimony of malice; indeed,
I believe all this Party to merit nothing but honour, compassion,
and praise. Madame de Stael, the daughter of M. Necker--the
idolising daughter--of course, and even from the best principles,
those of filial reverence, entered into the opening of the
Revolution just as her father entered into it; but as to her
house having become the centre of revolutionists before the 10th
of August, it was so only for the constitutionalists, who, at
that period, were not only members of the then established
government, but the decided friends of the king. The aristocrats
were then already banished, or wanderers from fear, or concealed
and silent from cowardice; and the jacobins --I need not, after
what I have already related, mention how utterly abhorrent to her
must be that fiend-like set. The aristocrats, however, as you
well observe, and as she has herself told me, hold the
constitutionalists in greater horror than the Convention itself.
This, however, is a violence against justice which cannot, I
hope, be lasting ; and the malignant assertions which persecute
her, all of which she has lamented to us, she imputes equally to
the bad and virulent of both these parties. The intimation
concerning M. de N. was, however, wholly
Page 53

new to us, and I do firmly believe it a gross calumny. M. de N.
was of her society, which contained ten or twelve of the first
people in Paris, and, occasionally, almost all Paris ! she loves
him even tenderly, but so openly, so simply, so unaffectedly, and
with such utter freedom from all coquetry, that, if they were two
men, or two women, the affection could not, I think, be more
obviously undesi,gning. She is very plain, he is very handsome ;
her intellectual endowments must be with him her sole attraction.
M. de Talleyrand was another of her society, and she seems
equally attached to him. M. le Viscomte de Montmorenci she loves,
she says, as her brother: he is another of this bright
constellation, and esteemed of excellent capacity.  She says, if
she continues in England he will certainly come, for he loves her
too well to stay away.  In short, her whole coterie live together
as brethren. Madame la Marquise de la Chƒtre, who has lately
returned to France, to endeavour to obtain de quoi vivre en
Angleterre,(73) and who had been of this colony for two or three
months since the 10th of August, Is a bosom friend of Madame de
Stael and of all this circle : she is reckoned a very estimable
as well as fashionable woman ; and a daughter of the unhappy
Montmorin, who was killed on the 1st of September(74) is another
of this set.  Indeed, I think you could not spend a day with them
and not see that their commerce is that of pure, but exalted and
most elegant, friendship.

I would, nevertheless, give the world to avoid being a guest
under their roof, now I have heard even the shadow of such a
rumour; and I will, if it be possible without hurting or
of-fending them. I have waived and waived acceptance almost from
the moment of Madame de Stael's arrival.  I prevailed with her to
let my letter go alone to you, and I have told her, with regard
to your answer, that you were sensible of the honour her kindness
did me, and could not refuse to her request the week's furlough ;
and then followed reasons for the Compromise you pointed out, too
diffuse for writing.  As Yet they have succeeded, though she is
surprised and disappointed.  She wants us to study French and
English together, and nothing could to me be more desirable, but
for this invidious report.

M. d'Arblay as well as M. de Narbonne, sent over a declaration in
favour of the poor king.  M. d'A. had been the
Page 54

commandant at Longwy, and had been named to that post by the king
himself In the accusation of the infernals, as Mr. Young justly
calls them, the king is accused of leaving Longwy undefended, and
a prey to the Prussians. M. d'Arblay, who before that period had
been promoted into the regiment of M. de Narbonne, and thence
summoned to be adjutant-general of Lafayette, wrote therefore, on
this charge, to M. de Malesherbes, and told him that the charge
was utterly false . that the king had taken every precaution for
the proper preservation of Longwy, and that M. d'Arblay, the
king's commandant, had himself received a letter of thanks and
approbation from Duniouriez, who said, nothing would have been
lost had every commandant taken equal pains, and exerted equal
bravery. This original letter M. d'Arblay sent to M. Malesherbes,
not as a vindication of himself, for he had been summoned from
Longwy before the Prussians assailed it, but as a vindication of
the officer appointed by the king, while he had yet the command.
M. de Malesherbes wrote an answer of thanks, and said he should
certainly make use of this information in the defence, However,
the fear of Dumouriez, I suppose, prevented his being named. M.
d'Arblay, in quitting France with Lafayette, upon the deposition
of the king, had only a little ready money in his pocket, and he
has been d‚cr‚(75) I since, and all he was worth in the world is
sold and seized by the Convention. M. de Narbonne loves him as
the tenderest of brothers, and, while one has a guinea in the
world, the other will have half.  "Ah!" cried M. d'Arblay, upon
the murder of the king, which almost annihilated him, "I know not
how those can exist who have any feelings of remorse, when I
scarce can endure my life, from the simple feeling of regret that
ever I pronounced the word liberty in France!"


                   M. DE LALLY TOLENDAL AND HIS TRAGEDY.

(Mrs. Phillips to Mrs. Locke.)
Mickleham, April 2, 1793.
....I must, however, say something of juniper, whence I had an
irresistible invitation to dine, etc., yesterday, and

Page 55

M. de Lally Tolendal(76) read his "Mort de Strafford," which he
had already recited once, and which Madame do Stael requested him
to repeat for my sake.

I had a great curiosity to see M. de Lally.  I cannot say that
feeling was gratified by the sight of him, though it was
satisfied, insomuch that it has left me without any great anxiety
to see him again.  He is the very reverse of all that my
imagination had led me to expect in him: large, fat, with a great
head, small nose, immense cheeks, nothing distingu‚ in his manner
and en fait d'esprit, and of talents in conversation, so far, so
very far, distant from our juniperians, and from M. de
Talleyrand, who was there, as I could not have conceived, his
abilities as a writer and his general reputation considered. He
seems un bon gar‡on, un trŠs honnˆte gar‡on, as M. Talleyrand
says of him, et non de plus.(77)

He is extremely absorbed by his tragedy, which he recites by
heart, acting as well as declaiming with great energy, though
seated, as Le Texier is. He seemed, previous to the performance,
occupied completely by It, except while the dinner lasted, which
he did not neglect; but he was continually reciting to himself
till we sat down to table, and afterwards between the courses.

M. Talleyrand seemed much struck with his piece, which appears to
me to have very fine lines and passages in it, but which,
altogether, interested me but little.  I confess, indeed, the
violence of ses gestes, and the alternate howling and thundering
of his voice in declaiming, fatigued me excessively. If our Fanny
had been present, I am afraid I should many times have been
affected as one does not expect to be at a tragedy. We sat down
at seven to dinner, and had half finished before M. d'Arblay
appeared, though repeatedly sent for; he was profoundly grave and
silent, and disappeared after the dinner, which was very gay. He
was sent for, after coffee and Norbury were gone, several times,
that the tragedy might be begun; and . at last Madame de S.
impatiently proposed beginning without him. "Mais cela lui fera
de la peine,"(78) said M. d'Autun (Talleyrand), good-naturedly;
and, as she

Page 56

persisted, he rose up and limped out of the room to fetch him he
succeeded in bringing him.

M Malouet has left them. La Princesse d'Henin is a very pleasing,
well-bred woman: she left juniper the next morning with M. de
Lally.


               CONTEMPLATED DisPERSION OF THE FRENCH COLONY.

(Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney)
Mickleham, April 3.
After I had sent off my letter to you on Monday I walked on to
juniper, and entered at the same moment with Mr. jenkinson(79)
and his attorney--a man whose figure strongly resembles some of
Hogarth's most ill-looking, personages, and who appeared to me to
be brought as a kind of spy, or witness of all that was passing.
I would have retreated, fearing to interrupt business, but I was
surrounded, and pressed to stay, by Madame de Stael with great
empressement, and with much kindness by M. d'Arblay and all the
rest. Mr. Clarke was the spokesman, and acquitted himself with
great dignity and moderation; Madame de S. now and then came
forth with a little coquetterie pour adoucir ce sauvage
jenkinson.(80)  "What will you, Mr. jenkinson? tell to me, what
will you?"  M. de Narbonne, somewhat indign‚ de la mauvaise foi,
and exc‚d‚ des longueurs de son adversaire, (81) was not quite so
gentle with him, and I was glad to perceive that he meant to
resist, in some degree at least, the exorbitant demands of his
landlord.

Madame de Stael was very gay, and M. de Talleyrand very comique,
this evening ; he criticised, amongst other things, her reading
of prose, with great sang froid. . . . They talked over a number
of their friends and acquaintances with the utmost unreserve, and
sometimes with the most comic humour imaginable,--M. de Lally, M.
de Lafayette, la Princesse d'Henin, la Princesse de Poix, a M.
Guibert, an author. and one who was, Madame de Stael told me,
passionately in love with her before she married; and innumerable
others.

M. d'Arblay had been employed almost night and day since

Page 57

he came from London in Writing a m‚moire, which Mr Villiers had
wished to have, upon the 'Artillerie … Cheval,' and he had not
concluded it till this morning.

(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.)
Tuesday, May 14.
Trusting to the kindness of chance, I begin in at the top of my
paper.  Our Juniperians went to see Paine's hill yesterday, and
had the good-nature to take my little happy Norbury. In the
evening came Miss F- to show me a circular letter, sent by the
Archbishop of Canterbury to all the parishes in England,
authorising the ministers of those parishes to raise a
subscription for the unfortunate French clergy.  She talked of
our neighbours, and very shortly and abruptly said, "So, Mrs.
Phillips, we hear you are to have Mr.  Norbone and the other
French company to live with you--Pray is it so?"

I was, I confess, a little startled at this plain inquiry, but
answered as composedly as I could, setting out with informing
this bˆte personnage that Madame de Stael was going to
Switzerland to join her husband and family in a few days, and
that of all the French company none would remain but M. de
Narbonne and M. d'Arblay, for whom the captain and myself
entertained a real friendship and esteem, and whom he had begged
to make our house their own for a short time, as the impositions
they had had to support from their servants, etc., and the
failure of their remittances from abroad, had obliged them to
resolve on breaking up housekeeping.

I had scarcely said thus much when our party arrived from Paine's
hill; the young lady, though she had drunk tea, was so obliging
as to give us her company for near two hours, and made a curious
attack on M. de N., upon the first pause, in wretched French,
though we had before, all of us, talked no other language than
English:--"Je vous prie, M. Gnawbone, comment se porte la
reine?"(82)

Her pronunciation was such that I thought his understanding her
miraculous : however, he did guess her meaning, and answered,
with all his accustomed douceur and politeness, that he hoped
well, but had no means but general ones of information.

"I believe," said she afterwards, "nobody was so hurt at

Page 58

the king's death as my papa! he couldn't ride on horseback next
day!"

She then told M. de Narbonne some anecdotes (very new to him, no
doubt), which she had read in the newspapers, of the Convention;
and then spoke of M. Egalit‚.  "I hope," said she, flinging her
arms out with great violence, "he'll come to be gullytined. He
showed the king how he liked to be gullytined, so now I hope
he'll be gullytined himself!--So shocking! to give his vote
against his own nephew!"

If the subject of her vehemence and blunders had been less just
or less melancholy, I know not how I should have kept my face in
order.

Our evening was very pleasant when she was gone, Madame de Stael
is, with all her wildness and blemishes, a delightful companion,
and M. de N. rises upon me in esteem and affection every time I
see him: their minds in some points ought to be exchanged, for he
is as delicate as a really feminine woman, and evidently suffers
when he sees her setting les biens‚ances(83) aside, as it often
enough befalls her to do.

Poor Madame de Stael has been greatly disappointed and hurt by
the failure of the friendship and intercourse she had wished to
maintain with you,--of that I am sure; I fear, too, she is on the
point of being offended. I am not likely to be her confidant if
she is so, and only judge from the nature of things, and from her
character, and a kind of d‚pit(84) in her manner once or twice in
speaking of you. She asked me If you would accompany Mrs. Locke
back into the country? I answered that my father would not wish
to lose you for so long a time at once, as you had been absent
from him as a nurse so many days.

After a little pause, "Mais est-ce qu'une femme est en tutelle
pour la vie dans ce pays?" she said. "Il me paroit que votre
soeur est comme une demoiselle de quatorze ans."(85)  I did not
oppose this idea, but enlarged rather on the constraints laid
upon females, some very unnecessarily, in England,--hoping to
lessen her d‚pit; it continued, however, visible in her
countenance, though she did not express it in words.

Page 59

[The frequency and intimacy with which Miss Burney and
M. d'Arblay now met, ripened into attachment the high esteem
which each felt for the other; and, after many struggles and
scruples, occasioned by his reduced circumstances and clouded
prospects, M. d'Arblay wrote her an offer of his hand ; candidly
acknowledging, however, the slight hope he entertained of ever
recovering the fortune he had lost by the Revolution.

At this time Miss Burney went to Chesington for a short period;
probably hoping that the extreme quiet of that place would assist
her deliberations, and tranquillise her mind during her present
perplexities.]


             MADAME DE STAEL'S WORDS OF FAREWELL. M. D'ARBLAY.

(Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney at Chesington.)

Sunday, after church, I walked up to Norbury; there unexpectedly
I met all our juniperians, and listened to one of the best
conversations I ever heard : it was on literary topics, and the
chief speakers Madame de Stael, M. de Talleyrand, Mr. Locke, and
M. Dumont, a gentleman on a visit of two days at juniper, a
Genevois, homme d'esprit et de lettres. I had not a word beyond
the first " how d'yes " with any one, being obliged to run home
to my abominable dinner in the midst of the discourse.

On Monday I went, by invitation, to juniper to dine, and before I
came away at night a letter arrived express to Madame de Stael.
On reading it, the change in her countenance made me guess the
contents, It was from the Swedish gentleman who had been
appointed by her husband to meet her at Ostend; he wrote from
that place that he was awaiting her arrival.  She had designed
walking home with us by moonlight, but her spirits were too much
oppressed to enable her to keep this intention. M. d'Arblay
walked home with Phillips and me. Every moment of his time has
been given of late to transcribing a MS. work of Madame de Stael,
on 'L'Influence des Passions.' It is a work of considerable
length, and written in a hand the most difficult possible to
decipher.

On Tuesday we all met again at Norbury, where we spent the day.
Madame de Stael could not rally her spirits at all,
Page 60

and seemed like one torn from all that was dear to her. I was
truly concerned.  After giving me a variety of charges, or rather
entreaties, to watch and attend to the health, spirits, and
affairs of the friends she was leaving, she said to me, "Et dŒtes
… Mlle. Burney que je ne lui en veux pas du tout--que je quitte
le pays l'aimant bien sincŠrement et sans rancune."(86)

I assured her earnestly, and with more words than I have room to
insert, not only of your admiration, but affection, and
sensibility of her worth and chagrin at seeing no more of her. I
hope I exceeded not your wishes; mais il n'y avoit pas moyen de
resister.(87)

She seemed pleased, and said, "Vous ˆtes bien bonne de me dire
cela,"(88) but in a low and faint voice, and dropped the subject.

Before we took leave, M. d'Arblay was already gone, meaning to
finish transcribing her MS. I came home with Madame de Stael and
M. de Narbonne. The former actually sobbed in saying farewell to
Mrs. Locke, and half way down the hill; her parting from me was
likewise very tender and flattering.

I determined, however, to see her again, and met her near the
school, on Wednesday morning with a short note and a little
offering which I was irresistibly tempted to make her. She could
not speak to me, but kissed her hand with a very speaking and
touching expression of countenance.

it was this morning, and just as I was setting out to meet her,
that Skilton arrived from Chesington.  I wrote a little, walked
out, and returned to finish as I could.

At dinner came our Tio--(89) very bad indeed. After it we walked
together with the children to Norbury; but little Fanny was so
well pleased with his society that it was impossible to get a
word on any particular subject.  I, however, upon his venturing
to question me whereabouts was the

Page 61

campagne o– se trouvoit Mlle. Burney,(90) ventured de mon
c“t‚(91) to speak the name of Chesington, and give a little
account of its inhabitants, the early love we had for the spot,
our excellent Mr. Crisp, and your good and kind hostesses. He
listened with much interest and pleasure, and said,
"Mais, ne pourroit-on pas faire ce petit voyage-l…?"(92)

I ventured to say nothing encouraging, at least, decisively, in a
great measure upon the children's account, lest they should
repeat; and, moreover, your little namesake seemed to me
surprisingly attentive and ‚veill‚e, as if elle se doutoit de
quelque chose.(93)

When we came home I gave our Tio so paper to write to you; it was
not possible for me to add more than the address, much as I
wished it.


                    REGRETS RESPECTING MADAME DE STAEL.

(Fanny Burney to Mrs. -Locke.)
Chesington, 1793.
I have been quite enchanted to-day by my dear Susan's
intelligence that my three convalescents walked to the wood.
Would I had been there to meet and receive them. I have regretted
excessively the finishing so miserably an acquaintance begun with
so much spirit and pleasure, and the d‚pit I fear Madame de Stael
must have experienced. I wish the world would take more care of
itself, and less of its neighbours.  I should have heen very
safe, I trust, without such flights, and distances, and breaches.
But there seemed an absolute resolution formed to crush this
acquaintance, and compel me to appear its wilful renouncer. All I
did also to clear the matter, and soften to Madame de Stael any
pique or displeasure, unfortunately served only to increase them.
Had I understood her disposition better, I should certainly have
attempted no palliation, for I rather offended her pride than
mollified her wrath. Yet I followed the golden rule, for how much
should I prefer any acknowledgment of regret at such an apparent
change, from any one I esteemed, to a seeming

Page 62

unconscious complacency in an unexplained caprice! I am vexed,
however, very much vexed, at the whole business.  I hope she left
Norbury Park with full satisfaction in its steady and more
comfortable connection. I fear mine will pass for only a
fashionable one.

Miss Kitty Cooke still amuses me very much by her incomparable
dialect; and by her kindness and friendliness. I am taken the
best care of imaginable. My poor brother, who will carry this to
Mickleham, is grievously altered by the loss of his little girl.
It has affected his spirits and his health, and he is grown so
thin and meagre, that he looks ten years older than when I saw
him last. I hope he will now revive, since the blow is over; but
it has been a very, very hard one, after such earnest pains to
escape it.                                   ..

Did the wood look very beautiful? I have figured it to myself
with the three dear convalescents wandering in its winding paths,
and inhaling its freshness and salubrity, ever since I heard of
this walk. I wanted prodigiously to have issued forth from some
little green recess, to have hailed your return. I hope Mr. Locke
had the pleasure of this sight. Is jenny capable of such a
mounting journey?

Do you know anything of a certain young lady, who eludes all my
inquiries, famous for having eight sisters, all of uncommon
talents? I had formerly some intercourse with her, and she used
to promise she would renew it whenever I pleased but whether she
is offended that I have slighted her offers so long, or whether
she is fickle, or only whimsical, I know not all that is quite
undoubted is that she has concealed herself so effectually from
my researches, that I might as well look for justice and clemency
in the French Convention, as for this former friend in the plains
and lanes of Chesington where, erst, she met me whether I would
or no.


                    M. D'ARBLAY'S VISIT TO CHESINGTON.

(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.)
Chesington, 1793.
How sweet to me was my dearest Fredy's assurance that my
gratification and prudence went at last hand in hand! I had
longed for the sight of her writing, and not dared wish it.
Page 63

I shall now long Impatiently till I can have the pleasure of
saying "Ma'am, I desire no more of your letters."

I have heard to-day all I can most covet of all my dear late
malades. I take it for granted this little visit was made known
to my dearest sister confidant.  I had prepared for it from the
time of my own expectation, and I have had much amusement in what
the preparation produced. Mrs Hamilton ordered half a ham to be
boiled ready; and Miss Kitty trimmed up her best cap, and tried
it on, on Saturday, to get it in shape to her face. She made
chocolate also, which we drank up on Monday and Tuesday, because
it was spoiling. "I have never seen none of the French quality,"
she says, "and I have a purdigious curosity; though as to dukes
and dukes' sons, and these high top captains, I know they'll
think me a mere country bumpkin. Howsever, they can't call me
worse than 'Fat Kit Square,' and that's the worst name I ever got
from any of our English petite bears, which I suppose these
petite French quality never heard the like of."

Unfortunately, however, when all was prepared above, the French
top captain entered while poor Miss Kitty was in dishabill, and
Mrs. Hamilton finishing washing up her china from breakfast. A
maid who was out at the pump, and first saw the arrival, ran in
to give Miss Kitty time to escape, for she was in her round dress
night-cap, and without her roll and curls. However, he followed
too quick, and Mrs. Hamilton was seen in her linen gown and mob,
though she had put on a silk one in expectation for every noon
these four or five days past; and Miss Kitty was in such
confusion, she hurried out of the room. She soon, however,
returned with the roll and curls, and the forehead and throat
fashionably lost, in a silk gown. And though she had not intended
to speak a word, the gentle quietness of her guest so surprised
and pleased her, that she never quitted his side while he stayed,
and has sung his praises ever since.

Mrs. Hamilton, good soul ! in talking and inquiring since of his
history and conduct, shed tears at the recital.  She says now
she, has really seen one of the French gentry that has been drove
out of their country by the villains she has heard Of, she shall
begin to believe there really has been a Revolution! and Miss
Kitty says, "I purtest I did not know before but it was all a
sham."
Page 64

                  THE MATRIMONIAL PROJECT IS DISCUSSED.

(Fanny Burney to Mrs. Phillips.)
Friday, May 31,   Chesington.
My heart so smites me this morning with making no answer to all I
have been requested to weigh and decide, that I feel I cannot
with any ease return to town without at least complying with one
demand, which first, at parting yesterday, brought me to write
fully to you, my Susan, if I could not elsewhere to my
satisfaction.

in the course of last night and this morning Much indeed has
occurred to me, that now renders my longer silence as to
prospects and proceedings unjustifiable to myself.  I will
therefore now address myself to both my beloved confidants, and
open to them all my thoughts, and entreat their own with equal
plainness in return.

M.  d'Arblay's last three letters convince me he is desperately
dejected when alone, and when perfectly natural. It is not that
he wants patience, but he wants rational expectation of better
times, expectation founded on something more than mere aerial
hope, that builds one day upon what the next blasts; and then has
to build again, and again to be blasted.

What affects me the most in this situation is, that his time may
as completely be lost as another's peace, by waiting for the
effects of distant events, vague, bewildering, and remote, and
quite as likely to lead to ill as to good. The very waiting,
indeed, with the mind in such a state, is in itself an evil
scarce to be recompensed. . . .

My dearest Fredy, in the beginning of her knowledge of this
transaction, told me that Mr. Locke was of opinion that one
hundred pounds per annum(94) might do, as it does for many a
curate. M. d'A. also most solemnly and affectingly declares that
le simple n‚cessaire is all he requires and here, In your
vicinity, would unhesitatingly be preferred by him to the most
brilliant fortune in another s‚jour.  If he can say that, what
must I be not to echo it? I, who in the bosom of my own most
chosen, most darling friends---

I need not enter more upon this; you all must know
to me a crust of bread, with a little roof for shelter, and a
fire
Page 65

for warmth, near you, would bring me to peace, to happiness, to
all that My heart holds dear, or even in any situation could
prize.  I cannot picture such a fate with dry eyes ; all else but
kindness and society has to me so always been nothing.

With regard to my dear father, he has always left me to myself; I
will not therefore speak to him while thus uncertain what to
decide.

it is certain, however, that, with peace of mind and retirement,
I have resources that I could bring forward to amend the little
situation ; as well as that, once thus undoubtedly established
and naturalised, M. d'A. would have claims for employment.

These reflections, with a mutual freedom from ambition might lead
to a quiet road, unbroken by the tortures of applications,
expectations, attendance, disappointment, and time-wasting hopes
and fears; if there were not apprehensions the one hundred pounds
might be withdrawn. I do not think it likely, but it is a risk
too serious in its consequences to be run. M. d'A. protests he
could not answer to himself the hazard.

How to ascertain this, to clear the doubt, or to know the fatal
certainty before it should be too late, exceeds my powers of
suggestion.  His own idea, to write to the queen, much as it has
startled me, and wild as it seemed to me, is certainly less wild
than to take the chance of such a blow in the dark.  Yet such a
letter could not even reach her.                 His very name is
probably only known to her through myself. In short, my dearest
friends, you will think for me, and let me know what occurs to
you, and I will defer any answer till I hear your opinions.
Heaven ever bless you! And pray for me at this moment.


                  DR. BURNEY'S OBJECTIONS TO THE MATCH.

(Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney.)
May, 1793,
Dear Fanny,-I have for some time seen very plainly that you are
‚prise, and have been extremely uneasy at the discovery. YOU must
have observed my silent gravity, surpassing that of mere illness
and its consequent low spirits.  I had some thoughts of writing
to Susan about it, and intended begging her to do what I must now
do for myself--that is, beg and admonish you not to entangle
yourself in a wild and
Page 66

romantic attachment, which offers nothing in prospect but poverty
and distress, with future inconvenience and unhappiness.  M.
d'Arblay is certainly a very amiable and accomplished man, and of
great military abilities I take for granted ; but what employment
has he for them of which the success is not extremely hazardous?
His property, whatever it was, has been confiscated--d‚cr‚--by
the Convention - and if a counter-revolution takes place, unless
it be exactly such a one as suits the particular political sect
in which he enlisted, it does not seem likely to secure to him an
establishment in France. And as to an establishment in England, I
know the difficulty which very deserving natives find in
procuring one, with every appearance of interest, friends, and
probability; and, to a foreigner, I fear the difficulty will be
more than doubled.

As M. d'Arblay is at present circumstanced, an alliance with
anything but a fortune sufficient for the support of himself and
partner would be very imprudent. He is a mere soldier of fortune,
under great disadvantages. Your income, if it was as certain as a
freehold estate, is insufficient for the purpose ; and if the
queen should be displeased and withdraw her allowance, what could
you do?

I own that, if M. d'Arblay had an establishment in France
sufficient for him to marry a wife with little or no fortune,
much as I am inclined to honour and esteem him, I should wish to
prevent you from fixing your residence there; not merely from
selfishness, but for your own sake, I know your love for your
family, and know that it is reciprocal; I therefore cannot help
thinking that you would mutually be lost to each other. The
friends, too, which you have here, are of the highest and most
desirable class.  To quit them, in order to make new friendships
in a strange land, in which the generality of its inhabitants at
present seem incapable of such virtues as friendship is built
upon, seems wild and visionary.

If M. d'Arblay had a sufficient establishment here for the
purposes of credit and comfort, and determined to settle here for
life, I should certainly think ourselves honoured by his alliance
; but his situation is at present so very remote from all that
can satisfy prudence, or reconcile to an affectionate father the
idea of a serious attachment, that I tremble for your heart and
future happiness.  M. d'Arblay must have lived too long in the
great world to accommodate himself
Page 67

contentedly to the little. his fate seems so intimately connected
with that of his miserable country, and that country seems at a
greater distance from peace, order, and tranquillity now than it
has done at any time since the Revolution.

These considerations, and the uncertainty Of what party will
finally prevail, make me tremble for you both. You see, by what I
have said, that my objections are not personal, but wholly
prudential. For heaven's sake, my dear Fanny, do not part with
your heart too rapidly, or involve yourself in deep engagements
which it will be difficult to dissolve; and to the last degree
imprudent, as things are at present circumstanced, to fulfil.

As far as character, merit, and misfortune demand esteem and
regard, you may be sure that M. d'Arblay will be always received
by me with the utmost attention and respect - but, in the present
situation of things, I can by no means think I ought to encourage
(blind and ignorant as I am of all but his misfortunes) a serious
and solemn union with one whose unhappiness would be a reproach
to the facility and inconsiderateness of a most affectionate
father.


                         THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE.

                      Memorandum, this 7th May, 1825.

In answer to these apparently most just, and, undoubtedly, most
parental and tender apprehensions, Susanna, the darling child of
Dr. Burney, as well as first chosen friend of M, d'Arblay, wrote
a statement of the plans, and means, and purposes of M. d'A. and
F. B.--so clearly demonstrating their power of happiness, with
willing economy, congenial tastes, and mutual love of the
country, that Dr. B. gave way, and sent, though reluctantly, a
consent - by which the union took place the 31st Of July, 1793,
in Mickleham church, In presence of Mr. and Mrs. Locke, Captain
and Mrs. Phillips, M. de Narbonne, and Captain Burney, who was
father to his sister, as Mr. Locke was to M. d'A. ; and on the
1st of August the ceremony was re-performed in the Sardinian
chapel, according to the rites of the Romish Church; and never,
never was union more blessed and felicitous; though after the
first eight years of unmingled happiness, it was assailed by many
calamities, chiefly of separation or illness, yet still mentally
unbroken.  F. D'ARBLAY.
Page 68

                ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE MARRIAGE TO A FRIEND.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.)
August 2, 1793.
How in the world shall I begin this letter to my dearest M--! how
save her from a surprise almost too strong for her weak nerves
and tender heart!

After such an opening, perhaps any communication may be a relief
but it is surprise only I would guard against; my present
communication has nothing else to fear; it has nothing in it sad,
melancholy, unhappy, but it has everything that is marvellous and
unexpected.

Do you recollect at all, when you were last in town, my warm
interest for the loyal part of the French exiles?-=do you
remember my ‚loge of a French officer, in particular, a certain
M. d'Arblay?

Ah, my dear M--, you are quick as lightning; your sensitive
apprehension will tell my tale for me now, without more aid than
some details of circumstance.

The ‚loge I then made, was with design to prepare you for an
event I had reason to expect: such, however, was the uncertainty
of my situation, from prudential obstacles, that I dared venture
at no confidence, though my heart prompted it strongly, to a
friend so sweetly sympathising in all my feelings and all my
affairs--so constantly affectionate- so tenderly alive to all
that interests and concerns me.

My dearest M-, you will give me, I am sure, your heart-felt
wishes--your most fervent prayers. The choice I have made appears
to me all you could yourself wish to fall to my lot--all you
could yourself have formed to have accorded best with your kind
partiality.

I had some hope you would have seen him that evening when we went
together from Mrs. M. Montagu to Mrs. Locke's, for he was then a
guest in Portland Place; but some miserable circumstances, of
which I knew nothing till after had just fallen out, and he had
shut himself up in his room. He did not know we were there.

Many, indeed, have been the miserable circumstances that have,
from time to time, alarmed and afflicted in turn, and seemed to
render a renunciation indispensable.  The difficulties, however,
have been conquered; and last Sunday
Page 69

Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister and Captain Phillips, and my
brother Captain Burney, accompanied us to the altar, in Mickleham
church ; since which the ceremony has been repeated in the chapel
of the Sardinian ambassador, that if, by a counter-revolution in
France, M. d'Arblay recovers any f his rights, his wife may not
be excluded from their participation.

You may be amazed not to see the name of my dear father upon this
solemn occasion - but his apprehensions from the smallness of our
income have made him cold and averse and though he granted his
consent, I could not even solicit his presence.  I feel
satisfied, however, that time will convince him I have not been
so imprudent as he now thinks me. Happiness is the great end of
all our worldly views and proceedings, and no one can judge for
another in what will produce it, To me, wealth and ambition would
always be unavailing ; I have lived in their most centrical
possessions, and I have always seen that the happiness of the
richest and the greatest has been the moment of retiring from
riches and from power.  Domestic comfort and social affection
have invariably been the sole as well as ultimate objects of my
choice, and I have always been a stranger to any other species of
felicity.

M. d'Arblay has a taste for literature, and a passion for reading
and writing, as marked as my own ; this is a sympathy to rob
retirement of all superfluous leisure, and insure to us both
occupation constantly edifying or entertaining.  He has seen so
much of life, and has suffered so severely from its
disappointments, that retreat, with a chosen companion, is become
his final desire.

Mr. Locke has given M. d'Arblay a piece of ground in his
beautiful park-, upon which we shall build a little neat and
plain habitation.  We shall continue, meanwhile, in his
neighbourhood, to superintend the little edifice, and enjoy the
Society of his exquisite house, and that of my beloved sister
Phillips. We are now within two miles of both, at a farm-house,
where we have what apartments we require, and no more, in a most
beautiful and healthy situation, a mile and a half from any town.
The nearest is Bookham; but I beg that MY letters may be directed
to me at Captain Phillips's, Mickleham, as the post does not come
this way, and I may else miss them for a week. AS I do not
correspond with Mrs Montagu, and it would
Page 70

be awkward to begin upon such a theme, I beg that when you write
you will say something for me.

One of my first pleasures, in our little intended home, will be,
finding a place of honour for the legacy of Mrs. Delany. Whatever
may be the general wonder, and perhaps blame, of general people,
at this connexion, equally indiscreet in pecuniary points for us
both, I feel sure that the truly liberal and truly intellectual
judgment of that most venerated character would have accorded its
sanction, when acquainted with the worthiness of the object who
would wish it.

Adieu, my sweet friend. Give my best compliments to Mr. ---, and
give me your kind wishes, your kind prayers, my ever dear M--.

(1)  So called from the convent where their meetings were held.

(2) Carlyle.


(3) Carlyle.

(4 "To the lamp;" the street lamp-irons being found, by the -
French sansculottes, a handy substitute for the gallows.-ED.

(5) The old Marshal Duke de Broglie was one of the early
emigrants. He quitted France in July 1789, after the fall of the
Bastille.-ED.


(6) "Minister of War."

(7) Bradfield Hall, near Bury St. Edmund's, Suffolk, the house of
Arthur Young, See infra.-ED.

(8) " Arthur Young, the well-known writer of works on
agriculture, still in high repute.  He was a very old friend of
the Burneys ; connected with them also, by marriage, Mrs.  Young
being a sister of Dr. Burney's second wife. His " Travels in
France " (from 1769 to 1790), published in 1794, gives a most
valuable and interesting account of the state of that country
just before the Revolution. Arthur Young was appointed Secretary
to the Board of Agriculture, established by Act of Parliament in
1793. He died in 1820, in his seventy-ninth year, having been
blind for some years previous to his death.-ED.

(9)  Fanny's half-sister, Sarah Harriet Burney, -ED.

(10) " Minister of war."

(11) One memorable saying is recorded of the Duke de Liancourt.
He brought the news to the king of the capture of the Bastille by
the people of Paris, July 14, 1789.  "Late at night, the Duke de
Liancourt, having official right of entrance, gains access to the
royal apartments unfolds, with earnest clearness, in his
constitutional way, the Job's- news.  'Mais,' said poor Louis,
'c'est une r‚volte, Why, that is a revolt!'—'Sire,' answered
Liancourt, 'it is not a revolt,--it is a
revolution.'"-(Carlyle.)-ED.

(12) "Peers of France."

(13) Coblenz was the rallying-place of the emigrant noblesse.-ED.

(14) On the 20th of June 1792, sansculotte Paris, assembling in
its thousands, broke into the Tuileries, and called upon the king
to remove his veto upon the decree against the priests, and to
recall the ministry--Roland's--which he had just dismissed. For
three hours the king stood face to face with the angry crowd,
refusing to comply.   In the evening, the Mayor of Paris, P‚tion,
arrived, with other popular leaders from the Assembly, and
persuaded the people to disperse.-ED.

(15) "Save Yourself, M. de Liancourt!"

(16) "Ah! we are lost!"

(17) "prison."

(18) " I am in England.

(19)  The Duke de la Rochefoucault, "journeying, by quick stages,
with his mother and wife, towards the Waters of
Forges, or some quieter country, was arrested at Gisors;
conducted along the streets, amid effervescing multitudes, and
killed dead ' by the stroke of a paving-stone hurled
through the coach-window.'  Killed as a once Liberal, now
Aristocrat; Protector of Priests, Suspender of virtuous P‚tions,
and most unfortunate Hot-grown-cold, detestable to Patriotism.
He dies lamented of Europe; his blood
spattering the cheeks of his old mother, ninety-three years old."
-(Carlyle, Erench Aevolulion, Part III., Book I., ch. vi.)- ED.

(20) School-boys.

(21) See note 361 ante, vol. ii.
p. 449.-ED.

(22) The name under which Madame de Genlis was now passing.

(23) " She has seen me!"

(24) "Perhaps I am indiscreet?"

(25) "But, mademoiselle--after all--the king--is he quite cured?
"
(26) "What, mademoiselle! you knew that infamous woman?"

(27) These "journalizing letters " of Mrs. Phillips
continue without interruption from the present page to page
37.-ED.

(28) Not yet duke, but viscount.  He was created duke by Louis
XVIII., in 1822.-ED.

(29) It should be March. "The portfolio of war was
withdrawn from him, by a very laconic letter from the king, March
10, 1792; he had held it three months and three
days." (Nouvelle Biographie G‚n‚rale: art. Narbonne.)-ED.

(30) Severe decrees against the emigrants were passed in the
Convention shortly afterwards. See infra, P.  33.-ED.

(31) "And as he is extremely attached to him, he has begged him
to come and live with him."

(32) In a position to realise her fortune."

(33) "To pay his respects to me."

(34) "I do not speak English very well."

(35) "*What a pretty little house you have, and what pretty
little hosts. "

(36) "Does he know the name of M. Lafayette ?"

(37) "They put us at first into a pretty enough room."

(38) A constitutionalist and member of the Legislative Assembly,
who narrowly escaped with his life on the 10th of August. He
lived thenceforward in retirement until after the fall of
Robespierre and the jacobins, and came again to the fore under
Napoleon.-ED.

(39) "His resignation."

(40) "Without form of law."

(41) The night of June 20-21, 1791, King Louis fled disguised
from Paris, with his family; got safely as far as Varennes, but
was there discovered, and obliged to return.-ED.

(42) "Resolution was taken."

(43) "After many threatening gestures."

(44) The asylum of Jean jacques (Rousseau).

(45) St. just was one of the most notable members of the National
Convention.  "Young Saint-just is coming, deputed by Aisne in the
North; more like a Student than a Senator; not four-and-twenty
yet (Sept. 1792); who has written Books; a youth of slight
stature, with mild mellow voice, enthusiast olive-complexion and
long black hair." (Carlyle.)
He held with Robespierre, and was guillotined with him, July 28,
1794.-ED.

(46) ' "And now he is a proud republican."

(47) "What day better than the present?"

(48) "Listen to reason."

(49) M. de Necker was father of Madame de Stael, and at one time
the most popular minister of France.  Controller-general of
finances from 1776 to 1781, and again in 1788.  In July 1789, he
was dismissed, to the anger of indignant Paris; had to he
recalled before many days, and returned in triumph, to be, it was
hoped, "Saviour of France."  But his popularity gradually
declined, and at last "'Adored Minister' Necker sees good on the
3rd of September, 1790, to withdraw softly, almost privily--with
an eye to the 'recovery of his health.' Home to native
Switzerland; not as he last came; lucky to reach it alive!"
(Carlyle)-ED.
(50) Malouet was a member of the Assembly, and one of the
constitutional royalists who took refuge in England in September,
1792. Hearing of the intended trial of the king, 'Malouet wrote
to the Convention, requesting a passport, that he might go to
Paris to defend him.  He got no passport, however ; only his name
put on the list of emigrants for an answer. ED.

(51) "Were mixed up in it."

(52) The Bishop of Autun:--Talleyrand.-ED.

(53) "Worthy to be the husband of so amiable and charming a
person as Madame de la Chƒtre."

(54) "M. de la Chƒtre is a capital fellow; but as rough as a
cart-horse."

(55) The spleen.

(56) Inn.

(57) "His unfortunate friends."

(58) "But wait a bit ; I have not yet finished : we were assured
that no one was lost, and even that everything on the vessel was
saved."

(59) "Out at sea."

(60) "His friends the constitutionalists."

(61) Fortnight.

(62) The execution of Louis XVI.

(63) The Literary Club.

(64) Guarded: circumspect.

(65) Dr. Percy, editor of the "Reliques of Ancient English
Poetry."-ED.
(66) "Move the people to compassion."

(67) As literary curiosities, the subjoined notes from Madame de
Stael , have been printed verbatim et literatim: they are
probably her earliest attempts at English writing.

(68) "But, to make more sure, I tell you in French that your
room, the house, the inmates of Juniper, everything is ready to
receive the first woman in England."

 (69) Malesherbes was one of the counsel who defended Louis at
his trial. The Convention, after debate, has granted him Legal
Counsel, of his own choosing. Advocate Target feels himself 'too
old,' being turned of fifty-four - and declines. . . . Advocate
Tronchet, some ten years older, does not decline.  Nay behold,
good old Malesherbes steps forward voluntarily; to the last of
his fields , the good old hero! He is gray with seventy years; he
says, 'I was twice called to the Council of him who was my
Master, When all the world coveted that honour; and I owe him the
same service now, when it has become one which many reckon
dangerous!"--(Carlyle). Malesherbes was guillotined in 1794,
during "the Reign of Terror."-ED.

(70) Mr. Clarke.

(71) Voltaire's.--ED.

(72) Narbonne.-ED.

(73) "Something to live on in England."

(74) September 2, it should be.-ED.

(75) i.e., D‚cr‚t‚ d'accusation, accused.-ED.

(76) Lally Tolendal was the son of the brave Lally, Governor of
Pondicherry, whose great services in India were rewarded by the
French government with four years' imprisonment, repeated
torture, and finally ignominious death, in 1760. The infliction
of torture on criminals was not put a stop to in France until the
Revolution.-ED.

(77) "A very good fellow, and nothing more."

(78) "But he will be hurt at that."
(79) The owner of Juniper Hall.-ED.

(80) "Coquetry to soften that barbarous jenkinson."

(81) "Indignant at the bad faith, and tired with the tediousness
of his opponent."

(82) "Pray, Mr. Gnawbone, how is the queen?"
(83) Punctiliousness: propriety.

(84) Pet: Vexation.

(85) "Is a woman in leading strings all her life in this country?
It seems to me that your sister is like a child of fourteen."
(86) "And tell Miss Burney that I don't desire it of her-that I
leave the Country loving her sincerely, and bearing her no
grudge."

(87) "There was no way out of it."

(88) "You are very good to say SO."

(89) M. d'Arblay. "When Lieutenant [James] Burney accompanied
captain Cook to otaheite, each of the English sailors was adopted
as a brother by some one of the natives.  The ceremony consisted
in rubbing noses together, and exchanging the appellation Tyo or
Toio, which signified 'chosen friend.' This title was sometimes
playfully given to Miss Burney by Mrs. Thrale."  note to the
original edition of the "Diary", vol. ii. page 38.-ED.

(90) "Country place where Miss Burney was."

(91) "On my part."

(92) "Could not one make that little journey?"

(93) "Wide awake, as if she suspected something."

(94) The amount of Fanny's pension from the queen.-ED.




                               SECTION 20.
                                 (1793-6)


              LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR.


[Never, probably, did Fanny enjoy greater happiness than during
the first few years of her married life, "Love in a cottage" on
an income Of One hundred pounds a year, was exactly suited to her
retiring and affectionate nature. The cottage, too, was within
easy walking distance of Mickleham, where resided her favourite
sister, Susanna, and of Norbury Park, the home of her dearest
friends, the Lockes. Here, then, in this beautiful part of
Surrey, with a devoted husband by her side, and, in due time, a
little son (her only child) to share with him her tenderness and
care          ' did Fanny lead, for some.time, a tranquil and, in
the main, a happy life. Her chief excursions were occasional
visits to the queen and princesses-delightful visits now that she
was out of harness. Towards the end, however, of the period of
which the following 'Section contains the history, two melancholy
events, happening in quick succession, brought sorrow to the
little household at Book'ham. The departure for Ireland of Susan
Phillips left a grievous gap in the circle of Fanny's best-loved
friends. We gather from the "Diary" that Captain (now Major)
Phillips had gone to Ireland, with his little son, Norbury, to
superintend the management of his estate at Belcotton, some
months before his wife left Mickleham. In the autumn of 1796 he
returned to fetch his wife and the rest of his family. An absence
of three years was intended, The parting was rendered doubly
distressing by the evidently declining state of Susan's health.
Shortly afterwards, in October 1796, died Fanny's step-mother,
who had been, for many years, more Or less an invalid. Fanny
hastened to Chelsea on receiving the news, and spent some time
there with her           father and his Youngest daughter. The
following extract from a memorandum of Dr. Burney's will be read,
we think, not without Interest.

"On the 26th of October, she [his second wife) was interred in
the burying-ground of Chelsea College. On the 27th, I returned to
my melancholy home, disconsolate and stupified, Though long
Page 72

expected, this calamity was very severely felt; I missed her
counsel, converse, and family regulations; and a companion of
thirty years, whose mind was cultivated, whose intellects were
above the general level of her sex, and whose curiosity after
knowledge was insatiable to the last. These were losses that
caused a vacuum in my habitation and in my mind, that has never
been filled up.

"My four eldest daughters, all dutiful, intelligent, and
affectionate, were married, and had families of their own to
superintend, or they might have administered comfort. My youngest
daughter       ' Sarah Harriet, by my second marriage, had quick
intellects, and distinguished talents ; but she had no experience
in household affairs. However, though she had native spirits of
the highest gaiety, she became a steady and prudent character,
and a kind and good girl. There is, I think, considerable merit
in her novel, 'Geraldine,' particularly in the conversations; and
I think the scene at the emigrant cottage really touching. At
least it drew tears from me, when I was not so prone to shed them
as I am at present."(95)

During these years Fanny did not suffer her pen to lie idle. Her
tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," was produced, though without success,
at Drury Lane. On the other hand, the success of her third novel,
"Camilla, or a Picture of Youth, " published by subscription in
1796, was, at least from a financial point of view, conspicuous
and immediate. Out of an edition of four thousand, three thousand
five hundred copies were sold within three months.

Were we to attempt to rank Madame d'Arblay's novels in order of
merit, we should perhaps feel compelled to place "Camilla" at the
bottom of the list, yet without intending to imply any
considerable inferiority. But it is full of charm and animation
the characters--the female characters especially-are drawn with a
sure hand, the humour is as diverting, the satire as spirited as
ever. Fanny"s fops and men of the ton are always excellent in
their kind, and "Camilla" contains, perhaps, her greatest triumph
in this direction, in the character of Sir Sedley Clarendal.
Lovel. in "Evelina," and Meadows, in "Cecilia," are mere
blockheads, whose distinction is wholly due to the ludicrousness
of their affectations; but in Sir Sedley she has attempted, and
succeeded in the much more difficult task of portraying a man of
naturally good parts and feelings, who, through idleness and
vanity, has allowed himself to sink into the position of a mere
leader of the ton, whose better nature rises at times, in spite
of himself, above the flood of affectation and folly beneath
which he endeavours to drown it. Camilla herself, the
light-hearted, unsuspicious Camilla, however she may differ, in
some points of character, from Fanny's other heroines, possesses
one quality which is common to them all, the power of fascinating
the reader. Perhaps the least satisfactory character in the book
is that of the hero, Edgar Mandlebert, whose extreme caution in
the choice of a wife betrays him into ungenerous suspicions, as
irritating to the impatient reader as they are dis-
Page 73

tressing to pool- Camilla.      In fine, whatever faults, as
occasionally of style, the book may have the interest never for
One moment flags from the first page to the last of the entire
five volumes.


The subscriPtion-price of " Camilla " was fixed at one guinea.
Fanny's friends, Mrs. Crewe, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Locke,
exerted themselves with the utmost zeal and success in procuring
subscribers, and the printed lists prefixed to the first volume
contains nearly eleven hundred names. Among  wthem we notice the
name of Edmund Burke, whose great career  was closing in a cloud
of domestic trouble'. Early in 1794 he lost his brother, Richard,
and in August of the same year a far heavier blow fell upon him
in the death, at the age of thirty-six, of his only and promising
son, "the pride and ornament of my existence," as he called him
in a touching letter to Mrs. Crewe.  The desolate father, already
worn with the thankless toils of statesmanship, in which his very
errors had been the outcome of a noble and enthusiastic
temperament, never recovered from this blow. But when Mrs. Crewe
sent him, in 1795, the proposals for publishing "Camilla," Burke
roused himself to do a new kindness to an old friend. He
forwarded to Mrs. Crewe a note for twenty pounds, desiring in
return one copy of the book, and justified his generous donation
in a letter of the most delicate Courtesy. "As to Miss Burney,"
he wrote, "the subscription ought to be, for certain persons,
five guineas; and to    take but a single copy each. The rest as
it is. I am sure that it is a disgrace to the age and nation, if
this be not a great thing for her.     if every person in England
who has received pleasure'and instruction from 'Cecilia,' were to
rate its value at the hundredth part of their satisfaction,
Madame d'Arblay would be one of the richest women in the kingdom.

"Her scheme was known before she lost two of her most respectful
admirers from this house; and this, with Mrs. BUrke's'
subscription and mine, make the paper I send you. One book is as
good as a thousand: one of hers is certainly as good as a
thousand others."

The book, on its Publication     'was sent to Bath, where Burke
was lying ill-too ill to read it.  To Mrs. Crewe, who visited him
at the time, he said : "How ill I am you will easily believe,
when a new work of Madame d'Arblay's lies on my        table,
unread!"(96)

Meanwhile the retirement of the "hermits" at Bookham was now and
again disturbed by echoes of the tumult without. The war was
progressing, and the Republic was holding its own against the
combined powers of Europe. Dr. Burney refers to the "sad news"
from Dunkirk. In August, 1793, an English army, commanded by the
Duke of York, had invested that important stronghold: on the
night of September 8, thanks to the exertions of the garrison and
the advance of General Houchard to its relief, the siege was
urriedly abandoned and his royal highness had to beat a retreat,
leaving behind him' his siege-artillery and a large quantity of
aggage and ammunition. Another siege--that of
Page 74

Toulon-seemed likely to prove a matter of nearer concern to
Fanny. The inhabitants of Toulon, having royalist, or at least
anti-jacobin, sympathies, and stirred by the fate of Marseilles,
had determined, in an unhappy hour, to defy the Convention and to
proclaim the dauphin by the title of Louis XVII. They invoked the
protection of the English fleet under Admiral Hood, who
accordingly took possession of the harbour and of the French
ships of war stationed therein, while a force of English and
Spanish soldiers was sent on shore to garrison the forts. In the
course of these proceedings the admiral issued to the townspeople
two proclamations, by the second of which, dated August 28, 1793,
after noticing the declaration of the inhabitants in favour of
monarchy, and Their desire to re-establish the constitution as it
was accepted by the late king, he explicitly declared that he
took possession of Toulon and should keep it solely as a deposit
for Louis XXIII., and that only until the restoration of peace.
This hopeful intelligence did not escape General d'Arblay, busied
among his cabbages at Bookham. A blow to be struck for Louis
XVII. and the constitution! The general straightway flung aside
the "Gardener's Dictionary," and wrote an offer to Mr. Pitt of
his services as volunteer at Toulon, in the sacred cause of the
Bourbons. Happily for Fanny, his offer was not accepted, for some
reason unexplained.(97) In the meantime, General Dugommier and
the republicans, a young artillery-officer named Napoleon
Buonaparte among them, were using their best endeavours to reduce
Toulon, with what result we shall presently see.-ED.]


              THE FRENCH CLERGY FUND. THE TOULON ExPEDITION.

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
September     12, 1793.
Dear Fanny--In this season of leisure I am as fully occupied as
ever          your friend Mr. DelVile(98) was. So many people to
attend, so many complaints to hear, and so many grievances to
redress,        that it has been impossible for me to write to
you sooner.    I have been out of town but one Single day, I
believe, since you were here: that was spent at Richmond with my
sisters. But every day
Page 75

produces business for other people, which occupies me as much as
ever I found myself in days of hurry about my own affairs.

I have had a negotiation and correspondence         to carry on
for and with Charlotte Smith,(99) of which I believe I told you
the beginning, and I do not see the end myself.        Her second
son had his foot shot off before Dunkirk, and has undergone a
very dangerous amputation, which, it is much feared, will be
fatal.

Mrs. Crewe, having seen at Eastbourne a great number of venerable
and amiable French clergy suffering all the evils of banishment
and beggary with silent resignation, has for some time had in
meditation a plan for procuring some addition to the small
allowance the committee at Freemasons' hall is able to allow,
from the residue of the subscriptions and briefs in their favour.
Susan will show you the plan. . . .

You say that M. d'Arblay is not only his own architect, but
intends being his own gardener. I suppose the ground allotted to
the garden of your maisonnette is marked out, and probably will
be enclosed and broken up before the foundation of your mansion
is laid ; therefore, to encourage M. d'Arblay in the study of
horticulture, I have the honour to send him Miller's 'Gardeners'
Dictionary,'--an excellent book, at least for the rudiments of
the art.   I send you, my dear Fanny, an edition of Milton, which
I can well spare, and which you ought not to live without ; and I
send you both our dear friend Dr. Johnson's 'Rasselas.'

This is sad news from Dunkirk, at which our own jacobins will
insolently triumph. Everything in France seems to move in a
regular progression from bad to worse. After near five years'
struggle and anarchy, no man alive, with a grain of modesty,
would venture to predict how or when the evils of that country
will be terminated. In the meantime the peace and comfort of
every civilised part of the globe is threatened with similar
calamities.

(Madame dArblay to Dr. Burney)
Bookham, September 29, 1793.
When I received the last letter of my dearest father, and for
some hours after, I was the happiest of all human beings. I make
no exception, for I think none possible : not a wish remained to
me; not a thought of forming one.
Page 76

This was just the period--is it not always so?--for a blow of
sorrow to reverse the whole scene : accordingly, that evening M.
d'Arblay communicated to me his desire of going to Toulon. He had
intended retiring from public life; his services and his
sufferings in his severe and long career, repaid by exile and
confiscation, and for ever embittered to his memory by the murder
of his sovereign, had justly satisfied the claims of his
conscience and honour; and led him, without a single
self-reproach, to seek a quiet retreat in domestic society : but
the second declaration of Lord Hood no sooner reached this little
obscure dwelling,-no sooner had he read the words Louis XVII. and
the constitution to which he had sworn united, than his military
ardour rekindled, his loyalty was all up in arms, and every sense
of duty carried him back to wars and dangers.

I dare not speak of myself, except to say that I have forborne to
oppose him with a single solicitation; all the felicity of this
our chosen and loved retirement would effectually be annulled by
the smallest suspicion that it was enjoyed at the expense of any
duty - and therefore, since he is persuaded it is right to go, I
acquiesce. He is now writing an offer of his services, which I am
to convey to Windsor, and which he means to convey himself to Mr.
Pitt. As I am sure it will interest my dear father, I will copy
it for him. . . .

My dearest father, before this tremendous project broke into our
domestic economy, M, d'Arblay had been employed in a little
composition, which, being all in his power, he destined to lay at
your feet, as a mark of his pleasure in your attention to his
horticultural pursuit. He has just finished copying it for you,
and to-morrow it goes by the stage.

Your hint of a book from time to time enchanted him: it seems to
me the only present he accepts entirely without pain. He has just
requested me to return to Mrs. Locke herself a cadeau she had
brought us. If it had been an old Courtcalendar, or an almanac,
or anything in the shape of a brochure, he would have received it
with his best bow and smile.

This Toulon business finally determines our deferring the
maisonnette till the spring. Heaven grant it may be deferred no
longer!(100)  Mr Locke says it will be nearly as soon ready as if
begun in the autumn, for it will be better to have it
Page 77

aired and inhabited before the winter seizes it,
If the memoire which M. d'Arblay is now writing is finished in
time, it shall accompany the little packet; if not, we will send
it by the first opportunity.

Meanwhile, M. d'Arblay makes a point of our indulging ourselves
with the gratification of subscribing one guinea to your
fund,(101) and Mrs. Locke begs you will trust her and insert her
subscription in your list, and Miss Locke and Miss Amelia Locke.
Mr. Locke is charmed with your plan. M. d'Arblay means to obtain
you Lady Burrel and Mrs. Berm. If you think I can write to any
purpose, tell me a little hint how and of what, dearest sir; for
I am in the dark as to what may remain yet unsaid. Otherwise,
heavy as is my heart just now, I could work for them and Your
plan.(102)

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
October 4, 1793.
Dear Fanny,--This is a terrible coup, so soon after your union;
but I honour M, d'Arblay for offering his service on so great an
occasion, and you for giving way to what seems an indispensable
duty. Common-place reflections on the vicissitudes of human
affairs would afford you little consolation. The stroke is new to
your situation, and so will be the fortitude necessary on the
occasion. However, to military men, who, like M. d'Arblay, have
been but just united to the object of their choice, and begun to
domesticate, it is no uncommon tbing for their tranquillity to be
disturbed by " the trumpet's loud clangor." Whether the offer is
accepted or not, the having made it will endear him to those
embarked in the same cause among his countrymen, and elevate him
in the general opinion of the English public. This consideration
I am sure will afford you a satisfaction the most likely to
enable you to support the anxiety and pain of absence.

I have no doubt of the offer being taken well at Windsor, and of
its conciliating effects. If his majesty and the ministry
Page 78

have any settled plan for accepting or rejecting similar offers I
know not; but it seems very likely that Toulon will be regarded
as the rallying point for French royalists of all sects and
denominations. . . .

I shall be very anxious to know how the proposition of M.
d'Arblay has been received; and, if accepted, on what conditions,
and when and how the voyage is to be performed , I should hope in
a stout man of war ; and that M. de Narbonne will be of the
party, being so united in friendship and political principles.

Has M. d'Arblay ever been at Toulon ? It is supposed to be so
well fortified, both by art and nature, on the land side, that;
if not impregnable, the taking it by the regicides will require
so much time that it is hoped an army of counterrevolutionists
will be assembled from the side of Savoy, sufficient to raise the
siege, if unity of measures and action prevail between the
Toulonnais and their external friends. But even if the assailants
should make such approaches as to render it necessary to retreat,
with such a powerful fleet as that of England and Spain united,
it will not only be easy to carry off the garrison and
inhabitants in time, but to destroy such ships as cannot be
brought away, and ruin the harbour and arsenal for many years to
come.'



I have written to Mrs. Crewe all you have said on the subject of
writing something to stimulate benevolence and commiseration in
favour of the poor French ecclesiastics, amounting to six
thousand now in England, besides four hundred laity here and
eight hundred at Jersey, in utter want. The fund for the laity
was totally exhausted the 27th of last month, and the beginning
of the next that raised by former subscriptions and briefs will
be wholly expended!

The expense, in only allowing the clergy 8 shillings  a-week,
amounts
Page 79

to about 7500 pounds a-month, which cannot be supported long by
private subscriptions, and must at last be taken up by
Parliament; but to save the national disgrace of suffering these
excellent people to die of hunger, before the Parliament meets
and agrees to do something for them, the ladies must work hard.
You and M. d'Arblay are very good in wishing to contribute your
mite ; but I did not intend leading you into this scrape. If you
subscribe your pen, and he his sword, it will best answer Mr.
Burke's idea, who says, "There are two ways by which people may
be charitable-the one by their money, the other by their
exertions."

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Sunday noon, October 21, 1793.
My dearest father will think I have been very long in doing
the little I have done; but my mind is so anxiously discom-fited
by the continued suspense with regard to M. d'Arblay's
proposition and wish, that it has not been easy to me to weigh
completely all I could say, and the fear of repeating what had
already been offered upon the subject has much restrained me, for
I have seen none of the tracts that may have appeared. However,
it is a matter truly near my heart ; and though I have not done
it rapidly, I have done it with my whole mind, and, to own the
truth, with a species of emotion that has greatly affected me,
for I could not deeply consider the situation of these venerable
men without feeling for them to the quick. If what I have written
should have power to procure them one more guinea, I shall be
paid.

If you think what I have drawn up worth printing, I should
suppose it might make a little sixpenny paper, and be sold for
the same purpose it is written.  Or will it only do to be printed
at the expense of the acting ladies, and given gratis? You must
judge of this.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, October 27, 1793.
My most dear father,--The terrible confirmation of this last act
of savage hardness of heart(104) has wholly overset us again. M.
d'Arblay had entirely discredited its probability,
Page 80

and, to the last moment, disbelieved the report  not from milder
thoughts of the barbarous rulers of his unhappy country, but from
seeing that the death of the queen could answer no purpose,
helpless as she was to injure them, while her life might answer
some as a hostage with the emperor. Cruelty, however, such as
theirs, seems to require no incitement whatever; its own horrible
exercise appears sufficient both to prompt and to repay it. Good
heaven! that that wretched princess should so finish sufferings
so unexampled!

With difficulties almost incredible, Madame de Stael has
contrived, a second time, to save the lives of M. de Jaucourt and
M, de Montmorenci, who are just arrived in Switzerland. We know
as yet none of the particulars; simply that they are saved is
all: but they write in a style the most melancholy to M. de
Narbonne, of the dreadful fanaticism of licence, which they dare
call liberty, that still reigns unsubdued in France, And they
have preserved nothing but their persons ! of their vast
properties they could secure no more than pocket-money, for
travelling in the most penurious manner. They are therefore in a
state the most deplorable. Switzerland is filled with gentlemen
and ladies of the very first families and rank, who are all
starving, but those who have had the good fortune to procure, by
disguising their quality, some menial office!

No answer comes from Mr. Pitt ; and we now expect none till Sir
Gilbert Elliot makes his report of the state of Toulon and of the
Toulonnese  till which, probably, no decision will be formed
whether the constitutionals in England will be employed or not.

[M. d'Arblay's offer of serving in the expedition to Toulon was
not accepted, and the reasons for which it was declined do not
appear.]



                     MADAME D'ARBLAY ON HER MARRIAGE.

(Madame d'Arblay to mrs.----.)

The account of your surprise, my sweet friend, was the last thing
to create mine: I was well aware of the general astonishment, and
of yours in particular. My own, however, at my very extraordinary
fate, is singly greater than that of all my friends united. I had
never made any vow against marriage, but I had long, long been
firmly persuaded it was for me a state of too much hazard and too
little promise to draw me from my

Page 81

individual plans and purposes.        I remember, in playing -at
questions and commands, when I was thirteen, being asked when I
intended to marry? and surprising my playmates by solemnly
replying) "When I think I shall be happier than I am in being
single." It is true, I imagined that time would never arrive -
and I have pertinaciously adhered to trying no experiment upon
any other hope - for, many and mixed as are the ingredients which
form what is generally considered as happiness, I was always
fully convinced [hat social sympathy of character and taste could
alone have any chance with me; all else I always thought, and now
know, to be immaterial.    I have only this peculiar,--that what
many contentedly assert or adopt in theory, I have had the
courage to be guided by in practice.

We are now removed to a very small house in the suburbs of a very
small village called Bookham. We found it rather inconvenient to
reside in another person's dwelling, though our own apartments
were to ourselves.         Our views are not so beautiful as from
Phenice farm, but our situation is totally free from neighbours
and intrusion. We are about a mile and a half from Norbury Park,
and two miles from Mickleham. I am become already so stout a
walker, by use, and with the help of a very able supporter, that
I go to those places and return home on foot without fatigue,
when the weather is kind.   At other times I condescend to accept
a carriage from Mr. Locke ; but it is always reluctantly, I so
much prefer walking where, as here, the country and prospects are
inviting.

I thank you for your caution about building: we shall certainly
undertake nothing but by contract - however, it would be truly
mortifying to give up a house in Norbury Park   we defer the
structure till the spring, as it is to be so very slight, that
Mr. Locke says it will be best to have it hardened in its first
stage by the summer's sun.           It will be very small,
merely an habitation for three people, but in a situation truly
beautiful, and within five minutes of either Mr. Locke or my
sister Phillips: it is to be placed just between those two loved
houses.

My dearest father, whose fears and drawbacks have been my Sole
subject of regret, begins now to see I have not judged rashly, or
with romance, in seeing my own road to my own felicity.  And his
restored cheerful concurrence in my constant principles, though
new station, leaves me, for myself,

Page 82

without a wish. L'ennui, which could alone infest our retreat, I
have ever been a stranger to, except in tiresome company, and my
companion has every possible resource against either feeling or
inspiring it.

As my partner is a Frenchman, I conclude the wonder raised by the
connexion may spread beyond my own private circle; but no wonder
upon earth can ever arrive near my own in having found such a
character from that nation. This is a prejudice certainly,
impertinent and very John Bullish, and very arrogant but I only
share it with all my countrymen, and therefore must needs forgive
both them and myself. I am convinced, however, from your tender
solicitude for me in all ways, that you will be glad to hear that
the queen and all the royal family have deigned to send me wishes
for my happiness through Mrs. Schwellenberg, who has written me
what you call a very kind congratulation.

[In the year 1794, the happiness of the "Hermitage" was increased
by the birth of a son,(105) who was christened Alexander Charles
Louis Piochard d'Arblay; receiving the names of his father, with
those of his two godfathers, the Comte de Narbonne and Dr.
Charles Burney.]


                               MR. CANNING.

(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney)
Bookham, February 8, 1794.
The times are indeed, as my dearest father says, tremendous, and
reconcile this retirement daily more and more to my chevalier-
-chevalier every way, by birth, by his order, and by his
character; for to-day he has been making his first use of a
restoration to his garden in gathering snowdrops for his fair
Dulcinea--you know I must say fair to finish the phrase with any
effect.

I am very sorry for the sorrow I am sure Mr. Burke will feel for
the loss of his brother, announced in Mr. Coolie's paper
yesterday. Besides, he was a comic, good-humoured, entertaining
man, though not bashful.(106)

Page 83

What an excellent opening Mr. Canning has made at last!
Entre nous soit dit, I remember, when at Windsor, that I Was told
Mr. Fox came to Eton purposely to engage to himself that young
man, from the already great promise of his rising abilities - and
he made dinners for him and his nephew, Lord Holland, to teach
them political lessons. It must have had an odd effect upon him,
I think, to hear such a speech from his disciple.(107)

Mr. Locke now sends us the papers for the debates every two or
three days ; he cannot quicker, as his own household readers are
so numerous.  I see almost nothing of Mr. Windham in them ; which
vexes me: but I see Mr. Windham in Mr. Canning.


                    TALLEYRAND's LETTERS OF ADIEU.(108)

(M. de Talleyrand to Mrs. Philips.)
Londres, 1794.
Madame,--Il faut qu'il y ait eu de l'impossibilit‚ pour que ce
matin je n'aie pas eu l'honneur de vous voir; mais l'im-

Page 84

possibilit‚ la plus forte m'a priv‚ du dernier plaisir que je
pouvois avoir en Europe. Permettez moi, madame, de vous remercier
encore une fois do toutes vos bont‚s, de vous demander un peu de
part dans votre souvenir, et laissez moi vous dire que mes voeux
se porteront dans tous les terns de ma vie vers vous, vers le
capitaine, vers vos enfans.  Vous allez avoir en Am‚rique un
serviteur bien zˆl‚; je ne reviendrai pas en Europe sans arriver
dans le Surrey: tout ce qui, pour mon esprit et pour mon coeur, a
quelque valeur, est l….

Voulez-vous bien pr‚senter tous mes complimens au capitaine?(109)

(M. de Talleyrand to M. and Madame d'Arblay.)
Londres, 2 Mars, 1794.
Adieu, mon cher D'Arblay: je quitte votre pays jusqu'au moment o–
il n'appartiendra plus aux petites passions des hommes. Alors j'y
reviendrai; non, en v‚rit‚, pour m'occuper d'affaires, car il y a
long tems que je les ai abandonn‚es pour jamais; mais pour voir
les excellens habitans du Surrey, J'espŠre savoir assez d'Anglais
pour entendre Madame d'Arblay; d'ici … quatre mois je ne vais
faire autre chose que l'‚tudier: et pour apprendre le beau et bon
langage, c'est "Evelina" et "Cecilia" qui sont mes livres d'‚tude
et de plaisir. Je vous souhaite, mon cher ami, toute espŠce de
bonheur, et vous ˆtes on position de remplir tous mes souhaits.

je ne sais combien de tems je resterai en Am‚rique: s'il se
r‚f‚roit quelque chose de raisonnable et de stable pour notre
malheureux pays, je reviendrois; si l'Europe s'abŒme dans la
campagne prochaine, je pr‚parerai en Am‚rique des asyles … tous
nos amis.

Page 85

Adieu: mes hommages … Madame d'Arblay et … Madame
phillips, je vous en prie: je vous demande et vous promets amiti‚
pour la vie.(110)


                   M. D'ARBLAY's HORTICULTURAL PURSUITS.


(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Bookham, March 22, 1794.
My dear father.--I am this Moment returned from reading your most
welcome and kind letter at our Susanna's.  The account of your
better health gives me a pleasure beyond all words; and it is the
more essential to my perfect contentment on account of your
opinion of our retreat.  I doubt not, my dearest father, but you
judge completely right, and I may nearly say we are both equally
disposed to pay the most implicit respect to your counsel.  We
give up, therefore, all thoughts of our London excursion for the
present, and I shall write to that effect to our good intended
hostess very speedily. I can easily conceive far more than you
enlarge upon in this counsel: and, indeed, I have not myself been
wholly free from apprehension of possible embarras, should we, at
this period, visit London; for though M. d'Arblay not only could
stand, but would court, all personal scrutiny, whether
retrospective or actual, I see daily the extreme susceptibility
which attends his very nice notions of honour, and how quickly
and deeply his spirit is wounded by whatever he regards as
injustice.  Incapable, too, of the least trimming or

Page 86

disguise, he could not, at a time such as this, be in London
without suffering or risking perhaps hourly, something
unpleasant.  Here we are tranquil, undisturbed and undisturbing.
Can life, he often says, he more innocent than ours, or happiness
more inoffensive? He works in his garden, or studies English and
mathematics, while I write.  When I work at my needle, he reads
to me; and we enjoy the beautiful country around us in long and
romantic strolls, during which he carries under his arm a
portable garden chair, lent us by Mrs. Locke, that I may rest as
I proceed. He is extremely fond, too, of writing, and makes, from
time to time, memorandums of such memoirs, poems, and anecdotes
as he recollects, and I wish to have preserved.  These resources
for sedentary life are certainly the first blessings that can be
given to man, for they enable him to be happy in the extremest
obscurity, even after tasting the dangerous draughts of glory and
ambition.

The business of M. de Lafayette(111) has been indeed extremely
bitter to him.  It required the utmost force he could put upon
himself not to take some public part in it. He drew up a short
but most energetic defence of that unfortunate general, in a
letter, which he meant to print and send to the editors of a
newspaper which had traduced him, with his name at full length.
But after two nights' sleepless deliberation, the hopelessness of
serving his friend, with a horror and disdain of being mistaken
as one who would lend any arms to weaken government at this
crisis, made him consent to repress it.  I was dreadfully uneasy
during the conflict, knowing, far better than I can make him
conceive, the mischiefs that might follow any interference at
this moment, in matters brought before the nation, from a
foreigner.  But, conscious of his own integrity, I plainly see he
must either wholly retire, or come forward to encounter whatever
he thinks wrong.  Ah--better let him accept your motto, and
cultiver son jardin! He is now in it, notwithstanding our long
walk to Mickleham, and working hard and fast to finish some
selfset task that to-morrow, Sunday, must else impede.
 page 87

M. d'Arblay, to my infinite satisfaction, gives up all thoughts
of building, in the present awful state of public affairs.  To
show you, however, how much he is " of your advice " as to son
jardin, he has been drawing a plan for it, which I intend to beg,
borrow, or steal (all one), to give you some idea how seriously
he studies to make his manual labours of some real utility.

This sort of work, however, is so totally new to him, that he
receives every now and then some of poor Merlin's "disagreeable
compliments;" for, when Mr. Locke's or the captain's gardeners
favour our grounds with a visit, they commonly make known that
all has been done wrong. Seeds are sowing in some parts when
plants ought to be reaping, and plants are running to seed while
they are thought not yet at maturity.  Our garden, therefore, is
not yet quite the most profitable thing in the world; but M. d'A.
assures me it is to be the staff of our table and existence.

A little, too, he has been unfortunate ; for, after immense toil
in planting and transplanting strawberries round our hedge, here
at Bookham, he has just been informed they will bear no fruit the
first year, and the second we may be "over the hills and far
away!"  Another time, too, with great labour, he cleared a
considerable compartment of weeds, and, when it looked clean and
well, and he showed his work to the gardener, the man said he had
demolished an asparagus-bed! M. d'A. protested, however, nothing
could look more like des mauvaises herbes.

His greatest passion is for transplanting. Everything we possess
he moves from one end of the garden to another, to produce better
effects.  Roses take place of jessamines, jessamines of
honeysuckles, and honeysuckles of lilacs, till they have all
danced round as far as the space allows; but whether the effect
may not be a general mortality, summer only can determine.

Such is our horticultural history.  But I must not omit that we
have had for one week cabbages from our own cultivation every
day!  O, you have no idea how sweet they tasted! We agreed they
had a freshness and a go–t we had never met with before. We had
them for too short a time to grow tired of them, because, as I
have already hinted, they were beginning to run to seed before we
knew they were eatable. . .

April. Think of our horticultural shock last week, when Mrs.
Bailey, our landlady, "entreated M. d'Arblay not to Spoil
Page 88

her fruit-trees!"--trees he had been pruning with his utmost
skill and strength.  However, he has consulted your "Millar"
thereupon, and finds out she is very ignorant, which he has
gently intimated to her.


                               MRS. PIOZZI.


(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, April, 1794.
What a charming letter was your last, my dearest father How full
of interesting anecdote and enlivening detail! The meeting with
Mrs. Thrale, so surrounded by her family, made me breathless; and
while you were conversing with the Signor, and left me in doubt
whether you advanced to her or not, I almost gasped with
impatience and revived old feelings, which, presently, you
reanimated to almost all their original energy How like my
dearest father to find all his kindness rekindled when her ready
hand once more invited it! I heard her voice in, "Why here's Dr.
Burney, as young as ever!" and my dear father in his parrying
answers.(112) No scene could have been related to me more
interesting or more welcome. My heart and hand, I am sure, would
have met her in the same manner. The friendship was too pleasant
in its first stage, and too strong in its texture, to be ever
obliterated, though it has been tarnished and clouded. I wish few
things more earnestly than again to meet her.



                        M. D'ARDLAY AS A GARDENER.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)(113)
Bookham, August, '94.
It is just a week since I had the greatest gratification of its
kind I ever, I think, experienced :---so kind a thought, so

Page 89

sweet a surprise as was my dearest father's visit!  How softly
and soothingly it has rested upon my mind ever since!

"Abdolomine"(114) has no regret but that his garden was not in
better order; he was a little piqu‚, he confesses, that you said
it was not very      neat--and, to be shor!-0-but his passion is
to do great works: he undertakes with pleasure, pursues with
energy, and finishes with spirit; but, then, all is over!  He
thinks the business once done always done; and to repair, and
amend, and weed, and cleanse--O, these are drudgeries
insupportable to him!

However, you should have seen the place before he began his
operations, to do him justice ; there was then nothing else but
mauvaises herbes; now, you must at least allow there is a mixture
of flowers and grain! I wish you had seen him yesterday, mowing
down our hedge--with his sabre, and with an air and attitudes so
military, that, if he had been hewing down other legions than
those he encountered--ie., of spiders--he could scarcely have had
a mien more tremendous, or have demanded an arm more mighty.
Heaven knows, I am "the most contente personne in the world" to
see his sabre so employed!


                          A NOVEL AND A TRAGEDY.

You spirited me on in all ways; for this week past I have taken
tightly to the grand ouvrage.(115) If I go on so a little longer,
I doubt not but M. d'Arblay will begin settling where to have a
new shelf for arranging it! which is already in his rumination
for Metastasio;(116) I imagine you now .,Seriously resuming that
work; I hope to see further sample ere long.

We think with very great pleasure of accepting my mother's and
your kind invitation for a few days.  I hope and mean, if
possible, to bring with me also a little sample of something less
in the dolorous style than what always causes your poor shoulders
a little Shrug.(117)  . . .

How truly grieved was I to hear from Mr. Locke of the death of
young Mr. Burke!(118) What a dreadful blow upon his
Page 90

father and mother ! to come at the instant of the son's highest
and most honourable advancement, and of the father's retreat to
the bosom of his family from public life !  His brother, too,
gone so lately! I am most sincerely sorry, indeed, and quite
shocked, as there seemed so little suspicion of such an event's
approach, by your account of the joy caused by Lord Fitzwilliam's
kindness. Pray tell me if you hear how poor Mr. Burke and his
most amiable wife endure this calamity, and how they are. . . .

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.)
Bookham, April 15, 1795.
So dry a reproof from so dear a friend! And do you, then, measure
my regard of heart by my remissness of hand? Let me give you the
short history of my tragedy,(119) fairly and frankly. I wrote it
not, as your acquaintance imagined, for the stage, nor yet for
the press.  I began it at Kew palace, and, at odd moments, I
finished it at Windsor; without the least idea of any species of
publication.

Since I left the royal household, I ventured to let it be read by
my father, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister Phillips, and, of
course, M. d'Arblay, and not another human being. Their opinions
led to what followed, and my brother, Dr. Charles, showed it to
Mr. Kemble while I was on my visit to my father last October. He
instantly and warmly pronounced for its acceptance, but I knew
not when Mr. Sheridan would see it, and had not the smallest
expectation of its appearing this year. However, just three days
before my beloved little infant came into the world, an express
arrived from my brother, that Mr. Kemble wanted the tragedy
immediately, in order to show it to Mr. Sheridan, who had just
heard of it, and had spoken in the most flattering terms of his
good will for its reception.

Still, however, I was in doubt of its actual acceptance till
three weeks after my confinement, when I had a visit from my
brother, who told me he was, the next morning, to read the piece
in the green-room.  This was a precipitance for which I was every
way unprepared, as I had never made but one copy of the play, and
had intended divers corrections and alterations. Absorbed,
however, by my new charge and then

Page 91

growing ill, I had a sort of indifference about the matter,
which, in fact, has lasted ever since.

The moment I was then able to hold a pen I wrote two short
letters, to acknowledge the state of the affair to my sisters -
and to one of these epistles I had an immediate laughing answer,
informing me my confidence was somewhat of the latest, as the
subject of it was already in all the newspapers!  I was extremely
chagrined at this intelligence; but, from that time, thought it
all too late to be the herald of my own designs. And this, added
to my natural and incurable dislike to enter upon these
egotistical details unasked, has caused my silence to my dear M-
-, and to every friend I possess.  Indeed, speedily after, I had
an illness so severe and so dangerous, that for full seven weeks
the tragedy was neither named nor thought of by M. d'Arblay or
myself.

The piece was represented to the utmost disadvantage, save only
Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Kemble - for it was not written with any
idea of the stage, and my illness and weakness, and constant
absorbment, at the time of its preparation, occasioned it to
appear with so many undramatic effects, from my inexperience of
theatrical requisites and demands, that, when I saw it, I myself
perceived a thousand things I wished to change. The performers,
too, were cruelly imperfect, and made blunders I blush to have
pass for mine,-added to what belong to me. The most important
character after the hero and heroine had but two lines of his
part by heart !  He made all the rest at random, and such
nonsense as put all the other actors out as much as himself; so
that a more wretched Performance, except Mrs. Siddons, Mr.
Kemble, and Mr. Bensley, could not be exhibited in a barn. All
this concurred to make it very desirable to withdraw the piece
for alterations, which I have done.

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
May 7, 1795.
One of my dinners, since my going out, was at Charlotte's, with
the good Hooles. After dinner Mr. Cumberland came in, and was
extremely courteous, and seemingly friendly, about you and your
piece.  He took me aside from Mrs. Paradise, who had fastened on
me and held me tight by an account of her own and Mr. paradise's
complaints, so

Page 92

circumstantially narrated, that not a stop so short as a comma
occurred in more than an hour, while I was civilly waiting for a
full period. Mr. Cumberland expressed his sorrow at what had
happened at Drury-lane, and said that, if he had had the honour
of knowing you sufficiently, he would have told you d'avance what
would happen, by what he had heard behind the scenes. The players
seem to have given the play an ill name.  But, he says, if you
would go to work again, by reforming this, or work with your best
powers at a new plan, and would submit it to his inspection, he
would, from the experience he has had, risk his life on its
success. This conversation I thought too curious not to be
mentioned. . . .


              HASTINGs' ACQUITTAL. DR. BURNEY'S METASTASIO.

Well, but how does your Petit and pretty monsieur do? 'Tis pity
you and M. d'Arblay don't like him, poor thing! And how does
horticulture thrive ? This is a delightful time of the year for
your Floras and your Linnaei: I envy the life of a gardener in
spring, particularly in fine weather.

And so dear Mr. Hastings is honourably acquitted!(120) and I
visited him the next morning, and we cordially shook hands. I had
luckily left my name at his door as soon as I was able to go out,
and before it was generally expected that he would be acquitted.
. . .

The young Lady Spencer and I are become very thick , I have dined
with her at Lady Lucan's, and met her at the blue parties there.
She has invited me to her box at the opera, to her house in St
James's Place, and at the Admiralty, whither the family removed
last Saturday, and she says I must come to her the 15th, 22nd,
and 29th of this month, when I shall see a huge assembly. Mrs.
Crewe says all London will be there.  She is a pleasant, lively,
and comical creature, with more talents and discernment than are
expected from a character si folƒtre. My lord is not only the
handsomest and the best intentioned man in the kingdom, but at
present the most useful and truly patriotic.  And then, he has
written to Vienna for Metastasio's three inedited volumes, which
I so much want ere I advance too far in the press for them to be
of any use.

I am halooed on prodigiously in my Metastasio mania. All the
critics--Warton, Twining, Nares, and Dr. Charles--say that his
"Estratto dell' Arte Poetica d'Aristotile," which I am

Page 93

now translating, is the best piece of dramatic criticism that has
ever been written. "Bless my heart!" says Warton, "I, that have
been all my life defending the three unities, am overset." "Ay,"
quoth I, "has not he made you all ashamed of 'em? You learned
folks are only theorists in theatrical matters, but Metastasio
had sixty years' successful practice. There!--Go to." My dear
Fanny, before you write another play, you must read Aristotle and
Horace, as expounded by my dear Metastasio. But, basta. You know
when I take up a favourite author, as a Johnson, a Haydn, or a
Metastasio, I do not soon lay him down or let him be run down. .
. .

Here it strikes three o'clock: the post knell, not bell, tolls
here, and I must send off my scrib: but I will tell you, though I
need not, that, now I have taken up Metastasio again, I work at
him in every uninterrupted moment. I have this morning attempted
his charming pastoral, in "il Re Pastore."  I'll give you the
translation, because the last stanza is a portrait:--

To meadows, woods, and fountains
Our tender flocks I'll lead;
In meads beneath the mountains
My love shall see them feed.

Our simple narrow mansion
Will suit our station well;
There's room for heart expansion
And peace and joy to dwell.


                   BABY D'ARBLAY. THE WITHDRAWN TRAGEDY.

(From Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney)
Hermitage, Bookham, May 13, 1795.
As you say, 'tis pity M. d'A. and his rib should have conceived
such an antipathy to the petit monsieur!  O if you could see him
now! My mother would be satisfied, for his little cheeks are
beginning to favour of the trumpeter's, and Esther would be
satisfied, for he eats like an embryo alderman. He enters into
all we think, say, mean, and wish ! His eyes are sure to
sympathise in all our affairs and all our feelings. We find some
kind reason for every smile he bestows upon us, and some generous
and disinterested Motive for every grave look.
Page 94

If he wants to be danced, we see he has discovered that his
gaiety is exhilarating to us ; if he refuses to be moved, we take
notice that he fears to fatigue us.  If he will not be quieted
without singing, we delight in his early go–t for les beaux arts.
If he is immovable to all we can devise to divert him, we are
edified by the grand sirieux of his dignity and philosophy: if he
makes the house ring with loud acclaim because his food, at first
call, does not come ready warm into his mouth, we hold up our
hands with admiration at his vivacity.

Your conversation with Mr. Cumberland astonished me. I certainly
think his experience of stage effect, and his interest with
players, so important, as almost instantly to wish putting his
sincerity to the proof.  How has he got these two characters-
-one, of Sir Fretful Plagiary, detesting all works but those he
owns, and all authors but himself--the other, of a man too
perfect even to know or conceive the vices of the world, such as
he is painted by Goldsmith in "Retaliation?" And which of these
characters is true?(121)

I am not at all without thoughts of a future revise of "Edwy and
Elgiva," for which I formed a plan on the first night, from what
occurred by the representation. And let me own to you, when you
commend my "bearing so well a theatrical drubbing," I am by no
means enabled to boast I bear it with conviction of my utter
failure. The piece was certainly not

Page 95

heard, and therefore not really judged.  The audience finished
with an unmixed applause on hearing it was withdrawn for
alterations, and I have considered myself in the publicly
accepted situation of having at my own option to let the piece
die, or attempt its resuscitation,-its reform, as Mr. Cumberland
calls it.  However, I have not given one moment to the matter
since my return to the Hermitage. F. D'A.

PS-I should he very glad to hear good news of the revival of Mr.
Burke. Have you ever seen him since this fatality in his family?
I am glad, nevertheless with all my heart, of Mr. Hastings's
honourable acquittal.


                                "CAMILLA."

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.--.)
Bookham, June 15, '95,
Let me hasten to tell you something of myself that I shall be
very sorry you should hear from any other, as your too
susceptible mind would be hurt again, and that would grieve me
quite to the heart.

I have a long work, which a long time has been in hand, that I
mean to publish soon--in about a year. Should it succeed, like
'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' it may be a little portion to our
Bambino.  We wish, therefore, to print it for ourselves in this
hope; but the expenses of the press are so enormous, so raised by
these late Acts, that it is out of all question for us to afford
it. We have, therefore, been led by degrees to listen to counsel
of some friends, and to print it by subscription. This is in
many--many ways unpleasant and unpalatable to us both; but the
real chance of real use and benefit to Our little darling
overcomes all scruples, and therefore, to work we go!

You will feel, I dare believe, all I could write on this Subject;
I once rejected such a plan, formed for me by Mr. Burke, where
books were to be kept by ladies, not booksellers,--the Duchess of
Devonshire, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Crewe; but I was an
individual then, and had no cares of times to come: now, thank
heaven! this is not the case;--and when I look at my little boy's
dear, innocent, yet intelligent face, I defy any pursuit to be
painful that may lead to his good.
Page 96

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, June 18, '95.
All our deliberations made, even after your discouraging
calculations, we still mean to hazard the publishing by
subscription.  And, indeed, I had previously determined, when I.
changed my state, to set aside all my innate and original
abhorrences, and to regard and use as resources, myself, what had
always been considered as such by others. Without this idea, and
this resolution, our hermitage must have been madness. . . .

I like well the idea of giving no name at all,-why should not I
have my mystery as well as "Udolpho?"(122)--but, " now, don't
fly, Dr. Burney! I own I do not like calling it a novel; it gives
so simply the notion of a mere love-story, that I recoil a little
from it.  I mean this work to be sketches of characters and
morals put in action,-not a romance. I remember the word " novel
" was long in the way of 'Cecilia,' as I was told at the queen's
house; and it was not permitted to be read by the princesses till
sanctioned by a bishop's recommendation,--the late Dr. Ross of
Exeter.

Will you then suffer mon amour Propre to be saved by the
proposals running thus?--Proposals for printing by subscription,
in six volumes duodecimo, a new work by the author of "Evelina"
and "Cecilia."

How grieved I am you do not like my heroine's name!(123) the
prettiest in nature! I remember how many people did not like that
of "Evelina," and called it "affected" and "missish," till they
read the book, and then they got accustomed in a few pages, and
afterwards it was much approved.  I must leave this for the
present untouched ; for the force of the name attached by the
idea of the character, in the author's mind, is such, that I
should not know how to sustain it by any other for a long while.
In "Cecilia" and "Evelina" 'twas the same: the names of all the
personages annexed, with me, all the ideas I put in motion with
them. The work is so far advanced, that the personages are all,
to me, as so many actual acquaintances, whose memoirs and

Page 97

opinions I am committing to paper.  I will make it the best I
can, my dearest father. I will neither be indolent, nor
negligent, nor avaricious. I can never half answer the
expectations that seem excited.  I must try to forget them, or I
shall be in a continual quivering.

Mrs. Cooke, my excellent neighbour, came in Just now to read me a
paragraph of a letter from Mrs. Leigh, of Oxfordshire, her
sister. . . . After much of civility about the new work and its
author, it finishes thus:--"Mr. Hastings I saw just now: I told
him what was going forward; he gave a great jump, and exclaimed,
'Well, then, now I can serve her, thank Heaven, and I will! I
will write to Anderson to engage Scotland, and I will attack the
East Indies myself!'" F. D'A.

P.S.-The Bambino is half a year old this day.
 N.B.-I have not heard the Park or Tower guns.  I imagine the
wind did not set right.


                      AN INVITATION TO THE HERMITAGE.

(Madame d"Arblay to the Comte de Narbonne.(124)]
Bookham, 26th December, 1795.
What a letter, to terminate so long and painful a silence! It has
penetrated us with sorrowing and indignant feelings. Unknown to
M. d'Arblay whose grief and horror are upon point of making him
quite ill, I venture this address to his most beloved friend; and
before I seal it I will give him the option to burn or underwrite
it.  I shall be brief in what I have to propose: sincerity need
not be loquacious, and M. de Narbonne is too kind to demand
phrases for ceremony.

Should your present laudable but melancholy plan fail, and should
nothing better offer, or till something can be arranged, will you
dear Sir, condescend to share the poverty of our hermitage? Will
you take a little cell under our rustic roof, and fare as we
fare? What to us two hermits is cheerful and happy, will to you,
indeed, be miserable but it will be some solace to the goodness
of your heart to witness our contentment;--to dig with M. d'A. in
the garden will be of service to

Page 98
your health; to muse sometimes with me in the parlour will be a
relaxation to your mind. You will not blush to own your little
godson. Come, then, and give him your blessing; relieve the
wounded feelings of his father--oblige his mother--and turn
hermit at Bookham, till brighter suns invite you elsewhere. F.
D'ARPLAY.

You will have terrible dinners, alas !--but your godson comes in
for the dessert.(125)


                   PRESENTATION OF "CAMILLA" AT WINDSOR.

[During the years 1794 and 1795, Madame d'Arblay finished and
prepared for the press her third novel, "Camilla," which was
published partly by subscription in 1796 the dowager Duchess of
Leinster, the Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Crewe, and Mrs. Locke,
kindly keeping lists, and receiving the names of subscribers.

This work having been dedicated by permission to the queen, the
authoress was desirous of presenting the first copy to her
majesty, and made a journey to Windsor for that honour.)

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, July 10, 1796.
 If I had as much of time as of matter, my dear father, what an
immense letter should I write you !  But I have still so many
book oddments of accounts, examinations, directions, and little
household affairs to arrange, that, with baby-kissing, included,
I expect I can give you to-day only part the first of an
excursion which I mean to comprise in four parts: so here begins.

The books were ready at eleven or twelve, but not so the tailor!
The three Miss Thrales came to a short but cordial hand-shaking
at the last minute, by appointment; and at about half-past three
we set forward.  I had written the day before to my worthy old
friend Mrs. Agnew, the housekeeper, erst, of my revered Mrs.
Delany, to secure us rooms for one

page 99, day and night, and to Miss Planta to make known I could

not set out till late.

When we came into Windsor at seven o'clock, the way to Mrs.
Agnew's was so intricate that we could not find it, till one of
the king's footmen recollecting me, I imagined, came forward, a
volunteer, and walked by the side of the chaise to show the
postilion the house.--N.B. No bad omen to worldly augurers.

Arrived, Mrs. Agnew came forth with faithful attachment, to
conduct us to our destined lodgings.  I wrote hastily to Miss
Planta, to announce to the queen that I was waiting the honour of
her majesty's commands ; and then began preparing for my
appearance the next morning, when I expected a summons - but Miss
Planta came instantly herself from the queen, with orders of
immediate attendance, as her majesty would see me directly! The
king was just gone upon the Terrace, but her majesty did not walk
that evening.

Mrs. Agnew was my maid, Miss Planta my arranger; my
landlord, who was a hairdresser, came to my head, and M. d'Arblay
was general superintendent.  The haste and the joy went hand in
hand, and I was soon equipped, though shocked at my own
precipitance in sending before I was already visible.  Who,
however, could have expected such prompt admission? and in an
evening?

M. d'Arblay helped to carry the books as far as to the gates. My
lodgings were as near to them as possible. At our first entry
towards the Queen's lodge we encountered Dr. Fisher and his lady:
the sight of me there, in a dress announcing indisputably whither
I was hieing, was such an Astonishment, that they looked at me
rather as a recollected spectre than a renewed acquaintance. When
we came to the iron rails poor Miss Planta, in much fidget,
begged to take the books from M. d'Arblay, terrified, I imagine,
lest French feet should contaminate the gravel within!--while he,
innocent of her fears, was insisting upon carrying them as far as
to the house, till he saw I took part with Miss Planta, and he
was then compelled to let us lug in ten volumes as we could.

The king was already returned from the Terrace, the page told
us." O, then," said Miss Planta, "you are too late!" However, I
went into my old dining-parlour; while she said she would see if
any one could obtain the queen's
commands for another time.  I did not stay five minutes
Page 100

ruminating upon the dinners, "gone where the chickens," etc.,
when Miss Planta return and told me the queen would see me
instantly.

The queen was In her dressing-room, and with only the Princess
Elizabeth.  Her reception was the Most gracious.  yet, when she
saw my emotion in thus meeting her again; she herself was by no
means quite unmoved. I presented my little--yet not small--
offering, upon one knee placing them, as she directed, upon a
table by her side, and expressing, as well as I could, my devoted
gratitude for her invariable goodness to me. She then began a
conversation, in her old style, upon various things and people,
with all her former graciousness of manner, which soon, as she
perceived my strong sense of her indulgence, grew into even all
its former kindness.  Particulars I have now no room for ; but
when in about half an hour, she said, "How long do you intend to
stay here, Madame d'Arblay?" and I answered, "We have no
intentions, ma'am," she repeated, laughing, "You have no
intentions!--Well, then, if you can come again to-morrow Morning,
you shall see the princesses."

She then said she would not detain me at present; encouraged by
all that had passed, I asked if I might presume to put at the
door of the king's apartment a copy of MY little work. She
hesitated, but with smiles the most propitious;. then told me to
fetch the books - and whispered something to the Princess
Elizabeth, who left the room by another door at the same moment
that I retired for the other set. Almost immediately upon my
return to the queen and the Princess Elizabeth, the king entered
the apartment, and entered it to receive himself my little
offering.

"Madame d'Arblay," said her majesty, "tells me that Mrs. Boscawen
is to have the third set; but the first--Your majesty will excuse
me--is mine."

This was not, you will believe, thrown away upon me.  The king,
smiling, said, "Mrs Boscawen, I hear, has been very zealous."

I confirmed this. and the Princess Elizabeth eagerly called out,
"Yes, sir! and while Mrs. Boscawen kept a copy for Madame
d'Arblay, the Duchess of Beaufort kept one for Mrs. Boscawen."

This led to a little discourse upon the business, in which the
king's countenance seemed to speak a benign interest; and the
queen then said,
Page 101

"This book was begun here, sir." Which already I had mentioned.

"And what did you write Of it here?" cried he. "How far did You
go?--Did You finish any part? or only form the skeleton?"

"Just that, sir," I answered; "the skeleton
was formed here, but nothing was completed.  I worked it up in my
little cottage."

"And about what time did You give to it?"

"All my time, sir; from the Period I planned publishing it, I
devoted myself to it wholly. I had no episode but a little baby.
My subject grew Upon me, and increased my materials to a bulk
that I am afraid will be more laborious to wade through for the
reader than for the writer."

"Are you much frightened cried he, smiling,
"as much frightened as you were before?"

"I have hardly had time to know yet, sir.  I received the fair
sheets Of the last volume only last night. I have, therefore, had
no leisure for fear. And sure I am, happen what May to the book
from the critics, it can never cause me pain in any proportion
with the pleasure and happiness I owe to it." I /am sure I spoke
most sincerely and he looked kindly to believe me.

He asked if Mr. Locke had seen it; and when I said no, he seemed
comically pleased, as if desirous to have it in its first state.
He asked next if Dr. Burney had overlooked it; and, upon the same
answer, looked with the same satisfaction. He did not imagine how
it would have passed Current with my dearest father: he appeared
Only to be glad it would be a genuine work: but, laughingly,
said, "So you kept it quite snug?"

"Not intentionally, sir, but from my situation and my haste; I
should else have been very happy to have consulted my father and
Mr. Locke; but I had so much, to the last moment, to write, that
I literally had not a moment to hear what could be said. The work
is longer by the whole fifth Volume than I had first planned; and
I am almost ashamed to look at its size, and afraid my readers
would have been more obliged to me if I had left so much out than
for putting So much in."

He laughed and inquired who corrected my proofs? 'Only myself," I
answered.

"Why, some authors have told me," cried he, "that they

Page 102

are the last to do that work for themselves.  They know so well
by heart what ought to be, that they run on without seeing what
is.  They have told me, besides, that a mere plodding head is
best and surest for that work ; and that the livelier the
imagination, the less it should be trusted to."

I must not go on thus minutely, or my four parts will be forty.
But a full half-hour of graciousness, I could almost call
kindness, was accorded me, though the king came from the concert
to grant it ; and it broke up by the queen saying, "I have told
Madame d'Arblay that, if she can come again to-morrow, she shall
see the princesses."

The king bowed gently to my grateful obeisance for this offer,
and told me I should not know the Princess Amelia, she was so
much grown, adding, "She is taller than you!"

I expressed warmly my delight in the permission of Seeing their
royal highnesses, and their majesties returned to the
concert-room.  The Princess Elizabeth stayed, -and flew up to me,
crying, "How glad I am to see you here again, my dear Miss
Burney!--I beg your pardon,--Madame d'Arblay I mean -but I always
call all my friends by their maiden names when I first see them
after they are married."

I warmly now opened upon my happiness in this return to all their
sights, and the condescension and sweetness with which it was
granted me - and confessed I could hardly behave prettily and
properly at my first entrance after so long an absence. "O, I
assure you I felt for you!" cried she; "I thought you must be
agitated ; it was so natural to you to come here-to mamma!"

You will believe, my dearest father, how light-hearted and full
of glee I went back to my expecting companion: Miss Planta
accompanied me, and stayed the greatest part of the little
remaining evening, promising to let me know at what hour I should
wait upon their royal highnesses.



                      A CONVERSATION WITH THE QUEEN.

The next morning, at eight or nine o'clock, my old footman, Moss,
came with Mlle, Jacobi's compliments to M. and Madame d'Arblay,
and an invitation to dine at the Queen's lodge.

Miss Planta arrived at ten, with her majesty's commands that I
should be at the Queen's lodge at twelve.  I stayed meanwhile,
with good Mrs. Agnew, and M. d'Arblay made

Page 103

acquaintance with her worthy husband, who is a skilful and famous
botanist, and lately made gardener to the queen for Frogmore - so
M. d'Arblay consulted him about our cabbages! and so, if they
have not now a high flavour, we are hopeless.

At eleven M. d'Arblay again ventured to esquire me to the rails
round the lodge, whence I showed him my ci-devant apartment,
which he languished to view nearer.  I made a visit to Mlle.
Jacobi, who is a very good creature, and with whom I remained
very comfortably till her majesty and the princesses returned
from Frogmore, where they had passed two or three hours. Almost
immediately I was summoned to the queen by one of the pages.

She was just seated to her hair-dresser. She conversed upon
various public and general topics till the friseur was dismissed,
and then I was honoured with an audience, quite alone, for a full
hour and a half.  During this, nothing could be more gracious
than her whole manner, and The particulars, as there was no
pause, would fill a duodecimo volume at least. Among them was Mr.
Windham, whom she named with great favour; and gave me the
opportunity of expressing my delight upon his belonging to the
government.  We had so often conversed about him during the
accounts I had related of Mr. Hastings's trial, that there was
much to say upon the acquisition to the administration, and my
former round assertions of his goodness of heart and honour. She
inquired how you did, my dearest father, with an air of great
kindness and, when I said well, looked pleased, as she answered,
"I was afraid he was ill, for I saw him but twice last year at
our music."

She then gave me an account of the removal of the concert to the
Haymarket since the time I was admitted to it. She then talked of
some books and authors, but found me wholly in the Clouds as to
all that is new. She then said, "What a very pretty book Dr.
Burney has brought out upon Metastasio! I am very much pleased
with it. Pray (smiling) what will he bring out next?"

"As yet, madam, I don't know of any new plan."

"But he will bring out something else?"

"Most probably, but he will rest a little first, I fancy."

"Has he nothing in hand?"

"Not that I now know of, madam."

"O but he soon will!" cried she, again smiling.
Page 104

"He has so active a mind, ma'am, that I believe it quite
impossible to him to be utterly idle , but, indeed, I know of no
present design being positively formed."

We had then some discourse upon the new connexion at Norbury
park--the Fitzgeralds, etc.; and from this she led to various
topics of our former conferences, both in persons and things, and
gave me a full description of her new house at Frogmore, its
fitting up, and the share of each princess in its decoration.
She spoke with delight of its quiet and ease, and her enjoyment
of its complete retirement.  "I spend," she cried, "there almost
constantly all my mornings.  I rarely come home but just before
dinner, merely to dress, but to-day I came sooner."

This was said in a manner so flattering, I could scarce forbear
the air of thanking her , however, I checked the expression,
though I could not the inference which urged it.


               WITH THE PRINCESs ROYAL AND PRINCESS AUGUSTA.

At two o'clock the Princess Elizabeth appeared.  "Is the princess
royal ready?" said the queen. She answered, "Yes:" and her
majesty then told me I might go to her, adding, "You
know the way, Madame d'Arblay." And, thus licensed, I went to the
apartment of her royal highness up stairs.  She was just quitting
it, She received me most graciously, and told me she was going to
sit for her picture, if I would come and stay with her while she
sat.  Miss Bab Planta was in attendance, to read during this
period.  The princess royal ordered me a chair facing her; and
another for Miss Bab and her book, which, however, was never
opened. The painter was Mr. Dupont.(1266) She was very gay and
very charming, full of lively discourse and amiable
condescension.

In about an hour the Princess Augusta came in : she addressed me
with her usual sweetness, and, when she had looked at her
sister's portrait, said, "Madame d'Arblay, when the princess
royal can spare you, I hope you will come to me," as she left the
room. I did not flout her; and when I had been an hour with the
princess royal, she told me she would

Page 105

keep me no longer from Augusta, and Miss Planta came to conduct
me to the latter. This lovely princess received me quite alone ;
Miss Planta only shut me in - and she then made me sit by her,
and kept me in most bewitching discourse more than an hour.  She
has a gaiety, a charm about her, that is quite resistless: and
much of true, genuine, and very original humour. She related to
me the history of all the feats, and exploits, and dangers, and
escapes of her brothers during last year; rejoicing in their
safety, yet softly adding, "Though these trials and difficulties
did them a great deal of good."

We talked a little of France, and she inquired of me what I knew
of the late unhappy queen, through M. d'Arblay ; and spoke of her
with the most virtuous discrimination between her foibles and her
really great qualities, with her most barbarous end. .She then
dwelt upon Madame Royale, saying, in her unaffected manner, "
It's very odd one never hears what sort of girl she is." I told
her all I had gathered from M. d'Arblay. She next spoke of my
Bambino, indulging me in recounting his faits et gestes; and
never moved till the princess royal came to summon her. They were
all to return to Frogmore to dinner. "We have detained Madame
d'Arblay between us the whole morning," said the princess royal,
with a gracious smile. "Yes," cried Princess Augusta, "and I am
afraid I have bored her to death; but when once I begin upon my
poor brothers, I can never stop without telling all my little
bits of glory." She then outstayed the princess royal to tell me
that, when she was at Plymouth, at church, she saw so many
officers' wives, and sisters, and mothers, helping their maimed
husbands, or brothers, or sons, that she could not forbear
whispering to the queen, "Mamma, how lucky it is Ernest is just
come so seasonably with that wound in his face! I should have
been quite shocked, else, not to have had one little bit of glory
among ourselves!"

When forced away from this sweet creature, I went to Mlle.
Jacobi, who said, "But where is M. d'Arblay?" Finding it too late
for me to go to my lodging to dress before dinner I wrote him a
word, which immediately brought him to the Queen's lodge : and
there I shall leave my dear father the pleasure of seeing us,
mentally, at dinner, at my ancient table,-both invited by the
queen's commands. Miss Gomme was asked to meet me, and the repast
was extremely pleasant.

 page 106

                    A PRESENT FROM THE KING AND QUEEN.

just before we assembled to dinner Mlle. Jacobi desired to speak
with me alone, and, taking me to another room, presented me with
a folded little packet, saying, "The queen ordered me to put this
into your hands, and said, 'Tell Madame d'Arblay it is from us
both."' It was a hundred guineas. I was confounded, and nearly
sorry, so little was such a mark of their goodness in my
thoughts. She added that the king, as soon as he came from the
chapel in the morning, went to the queen's dressing-room just
before he set out for the levee, and put into her hands fifty
guineas, saying, "This is for my set!" The queen answered, "I
shall do exactly the same for mine," and made up the packet
herself. "'Tis only,' she said, 'for the paper, tell Madame
d'Arblay, nothing for the trouble!'" meaning she accepted that.

The manner of this was so more than gracious, so kind, in the
words us both, that indeed the money at the time was quite
nothing in the scale of my gratification ; it was even less, for
it almost pained me.  However, a delightful thought that in a few
minutes occurred made all light and blithesome. "We will come,
then," I cried, "once a year to Windsor, to walk the Terrace, and
see the king, queen, and sweet princesses. This will enable us,
and I shall never again look forward to so long a deprivation of
their sight."  This, with my gratitude for their great goodness,
was what I could not refrain commissioning her to report.


                     CURIOSITY REGARDING M. D'ARBLAY.

Our dinner was extremely cheerful; all my old friends were highly
curious to see M. d'Arblay, who was in spirits, and, as he could
address them in French, and at his ease, did not seem much
disapproved of by them. I went to my lodging afterwards to dress,
where I told my monsieur this last and unexpected stroke, which
gave him exactly my sensations, and we returned to tea. We had
hopes of the Terrace, as my monsieur was quite eager to see all
this beloved royal House. The weather, however, was very
unpromising. The king came from the lodge during our absence; but
soon after we were in the levee three royal coaches arrived from
Frogmore: in the first was the queen, the Princesses Royal and
Augusta, and some lady in waiting. M. d'Arblay stood beside me
Page 107

at a window to see them; her majesty looked up and bowed to me,
and, upon her alighting, she looked up again. This, I am sure,
was to see M. d'Arblay, who could not be doubted, as he wore his
croix the whole time he was at Windsor. The princesses bowed
also, and the four younger, who followed, all severally kissed
their hands to me, and fixed their eyes on my companion with an
equal expression of kindness and curiosity ; he therefore saw
them perfectly.


              THE KING APPROVES THE DEDICATION OF "CAMILLA."

In a few minutes a page came to say, "The princesses desire to
see Madame d'Arblay," and he conducted me to the apartment of the
Princess Elizabeth, which is the most elegantly and fancifully
ornamented of any in the lodge, as she has most delight and most
taste in producing good effects.

Here the fair owner of the chamber received me, encircled with
the Princesses Mary and Amelia, and no attendant. They were
exactly as I had left them--kind, condescending, open,
and delightful; and the goodness of the queen, in sparing them
all to me thus, without any allay of ceremony, or gˆne of
listening Mutes, I felt most deeply.

They were all very gay, and I not very sad, so we enjoyed A
perfectly easy and even merry half-hour in divers discourses, in
which they recounted to me who had been most anxious about "the
book," and doubted not its great success, as everybody was so
eager about it. "And I must tell you one thing," Cried the
Princess Elizabeth; "the king is very much pleased with the
dedication."

This was, you will be sure, a very touching hearing to me; And
Princess Mary exclaimed, "And he is very difficult!"

"O, yes, he's hardly ever pleased with a dedication," cried one
of the princesses.  "He almost always thinks them so fulsome."

"I was resolved I would tell it you," cried Princess Elizabeth.

Can you imagine anything more amiable than this pleasure in
giving pleasure?


                   A DELICIOUS CHAT WITH THE PRINCESSES.

Soon after the Princess Augusta came in, smiling and lovely.
Princess royal next appeared Princess Augusta sat down, and
charged me to take a chair next her.  Princess
Page 108

royal did not stay long, and soon returned to summon her sister
Augusta downstairs, as the concert was begun : but she replied
she could not come yet : and the princess royal went alone.  We
had really a most delicious chat then.

They made a thousand inquiries about my book, and when and where
it was written, etc., and how I stood as to fright and fidget. I
answered all with openness, and frankly related my motives for
the publication.  Everything of housekeeping, I told them, was
nearly doubled in price at the end of the first year and half of
our marriage, and we found it impossible to continue so near our
friends and the capital with our limited income, though M. d'A.
had accommodated himself completely, and even happily, to every
species of economy, and though my dearest father had capitally
assisted us ; I then, therefore, determined upon adopting a plan
I had formerly rejected, of publishing by subscription.  I told
them the former history of that plan, as Mr. Burke's, and many
particulars that seemed extremely to interest them. My garden,
our way of life, our house, our Bambino,-all were inquired after
and related.  I repeatedly told them the strong desire M.
d'Arblay had to be regaled with a sight of all their House -a
House to which I stood so every way indebted,-,and they looked
kindly concerned that the weather admitted no prospect of the
Terrace.

I mentioned to the Princess Augusta my recent new obligation to
their majesties, and my amaze and even shame at their goodness.

"O, I am sure," cried she, "they were very happy to have it in
their power."

"Yes, and we were so glad!"

"So glad!" echoed each of the others.

"How enchanted should I have been," cried I, "to have presented
my little book to each of your royal highnesses if I had dared!
or if, after her majesty has looked it over, I might hope for
such a permission, how proud and how happy it would make me!"

"O, I daresay you may," cried the Princess Augusta, eagerly. I
then intimated how deeply I should feel such an honour, if it
might be asked, after her majesty had read it - and the Princess
Elizabeth gracefully undertook the office. She related to me, in
a most pleasant manner, the whole of her own recent transaction,
its rise and cause and progress, in "The
Page 109

Birth of Love:"(127) but I must here abridge, or never have done.
I told them all my scheme for coming again next July, which they
sweetly seconded. Princess Amelia assured me she had not
forgotten me ; and when another summons came for the concert,
Princess Augusta, comically sitting still and holding me by her
side, called out, "Do you little ones go!"

But they loitered also, and we went on, on, on, with our chat,-
-they as unwilling as myself to break it up,-till staying longer
was impossible ; and then, in parting, they all expressed the
kindest pleasure in our newly-adopted plan of a yearly visit.

"And pray," cried Princess Elizabeth, "write again immediately!"

"O, no," cried Princess Augusta, "wait half a year--to rest; and
then--increase your family--all ways!"

"The queen," said Princess Elizabeth, "consulted me which way she
should read 'Camilla-' whether quick, at once, or comfortably at
Weymouth: so I answered, 'Why, mamma, I think, as you will be so
much interested in the book, Madame d'Arblay would be most
pleased you should read it now at once, quick, that nobody may be
mentioning the events before You come to them - and then again at
Weymouth, slow and comfortably.'"

In going, the sweet Princess Augusta loitered last but her
youngest sister, Amelia, who came to take my hand when the rest
were departed, and assure me she should never forget Me.

We spent the remnant of Wednesday evening with my old friends,
determining to quit Windsor the next day, if the weather did not
promise a view of the royal family upon the Terrace for M.
d'Arblay.


                       THE KING NOTICES M. D'ARBLAY.

Thursday morning was lowering, and we determined upon departing,
after only visiting some of my former acquaintances. 'We met Miss
Planta in our way to the lodge, and took leave; but when we
arrived at Mlle. Jacobi's we found that the queen expected we
should stay for the chance of the Terrace, and had told Mlle.
Jacobi to again invite us to dinner. . . .

We left the friendly Miss Goldsworthy for other visits;--first to
good old Mrs. Planta; next to the very respectable
Page 110

Dr. Fisher and his wife.  The former insisted upon doing the
honours himself of St. George's cathedral to M. d'Arblay which
occasioned his seeing that beautiful antique building to the
utmost advantage.  Dr. Fisher then accompanied us to a spot to
show M. d'Arblay Eton in the best view.

Dinner passed as before, but the evening lowered, and hopes of
the Terrace were weak, when the Duke and Duchess of York arrived.
This seemed to determine against us, as they told us the duchess
never went upon the Terrace but in the finest weather, and the
royal family did not choose to leave her.  We were hesitating
therefore whether to set off for Rose Dale, when Mlle. Jacobi
gave an intimation to me that the king, herself, and the Princess
Amelia, would walk on the Terrace. Thither instantly we hastened,
and were joined by Dr. and Mrs. Fisher. The evening was so raw
and cold that there was very little company, and scarce any
expectation of the royal family - and when we had been there
about half an hour the musicians retreated, and everybody was
preparing to follow, when a messenger suddenly came forward,
helter skelter, running after the horns and clarionets, and
hallooing to them to return.  This brought back the straggling
parties, and the king, Duke of York, and six princesses soon
appeared.

I have never yet seen M. d'Arblay agitated as at this moment ; he
could scarce keep his steadiness, or even his ground.  The
recollections, he has since told me, that rushed upon his mind of
his own king and royal House were so violent and so painful as
almost to disorder him. His majesty was accompanied by the duke,
and Lord Beaulieu, Lord Walsingham, and General Manners; the
princesses were attended by Lady Charlotte Bruce, some other
lady, and Miss Goldsworthy: The king stopped to speak to the
Bishop of Norwich and some others at the entrance, and then
walked on towards us, who were at the further end.  As he
approached, the princess royal said, loud enough to be heard by
Mrs. Fisher, "Madame d'Arblay, sir;" and instantly he came on a
step, and then stopped and addressed me, and, after a word or two
of the weather, he said, "Is that M. d'Arblay?" and most
graciously bowed to him and entered into a little conversation;
demanding how long he had been in England, how long in the
country, etc., and with a sweetness, an air of wishing us well,
that will never, never be erased from our hearts.
Page 111

M. d'Arblay recovered himself immediately Upon this address, and
answered with as much firmness as respect.

Upon the king's bowing and leaving US, the commander-in-
chief(128) most courteously bowed also to M. d'Arblay, and the
princesses all came up to speak to me, and to curtsy to him ; and
the Princess Elizabeth cried, "I've got leave! and mamma says she
won't wait to read it first!"

After this the king and duke never passed without taking off
their hats, and the princesses gave me a smile and a curtsy at
every turn: Lord Walsingbam came to speak to me, and Mr. Fairly,
and General Manners, who regretted that more of our old tea-party
were not there to meet me once more.


                     THE KING AND QUEEN ON "CAMILLA."

As soon as they all re-entered the lodge we followed to take
leave of Mlle. Jacobi; but, Upon moving towards the passage, the
princess royal appeared, saying, "Madame d'Arblay, I come to
waylay you!" and made me follow her to the dressing-room, whence
the voice of the queen, as the door opened, called out, in mild
accents, "Come in, Madame d'Arblay!"

Her majesty was seated at the upper end of the room, with the
Duchess of York (129) on her right, and the Princesses Sophia and
Amelia on her left. She made me advance, and said, "I have just
been telling the Duchess of York that I find her royal highness's
name the first Upon this list,"--producing "Camilla."

"Indeed," said the duchess, bowing to me, "I was so very
impatient to read it, I could not but try to get it as early as
possible. I am very eager for it, indeed!"

"I have read," said the queen, "but fifty pages yet; but I am in
great uneasiness for that Poor little girl that I am afraid will
get the small-pox! and I am sadly afraid that sweet little other
girl will not keep her fortune! but I won't Peep! I read quite
fair. But I must tell Madame d'Arblay I know a country gentleman,
in Mecklenburg, exactly the very character of that good old man
the Uncle!" She seemed to speak as if delighted to meet him upon
paper.

The king now came in, and I could not forbear making up

Page 112

to him, to pour forth some part of my full heart for his
goodness!  He tried to turn away, but it was smilingly; and I had
courage to pursue him, for I could not help it. He then slightly
bowed it off, and asked the queen to repeat what she had said
upon the book.

"O, your majesty," she cried, "I must not anticipate!" yet told
him of her pleasure in finding an old acquaintance.

"Well!" cried the king archly, " and what other characters have
you seized?"

"None," I protested, "from life."

"O!" cried he, shaking his head, "you must have some!"

"Indeed your majesty will find none!" I cried.

"But they may be a little better, or a little worse," he
answered, "but still, if they are not like somebody, how can they
play their parts?"

"O, yes, sir," I cried, "as far as general nature goes, or as
characters belong to classes, I have certainly tried to take
them. But no individuals!"

My account must be endless if I do not now curtail. The Duke of
York, the other princesses, General Manners, and all the rest of
the group, made way to the room soon after, upon hearing the
cheerfulness of the voice of the king, whose .graciousness raised
me into spirits that set me quite at my ease. He talked much upon
the book, and then of Mrs. Delany, and then of various others
that my sight brought to his recollection, and all with a freedom
and goodness that enabled me to answer without difficulty or
embarrassment, and that produced two or three hearty laughs from
the Duke of York.


                     ANECDOTE OF THE DUCHESS OF YORK.

After various other topics, the queen said, "Duchess, Madame
d'Arblay is aunt of the pretty little boy (130) you were so good
to."

The duchess understood her so immediately that I fancy this was
not new to her.  She bowed to me again, very smilingly, upon the
acknowledgments this encouraged me to offer; and the king asked
an explanation.

"Sir," said the duchess, "I was upon the road near Dorking, and I
saw a little gig overturned, and a little boy was taken out, and
sat down upon the road.  I told them to
Page 113

stop and ask if the little boy was hurt, and they said yes .- and
I asked where he was to go, and they said to a village just a few
miles off; so I took him into my coach, Sir, and carried him
home."

"And the benedictions, madam," cried I, "of all his family have
followed you ever since!"

"And he said your royal highness called him a very pretty boy,"
cried the queen, laughing, to whom I had related it.

"Indeed, what he said is very true," answered she, nodding.

"Yes; he said," quoth I, again to the queen, "that he saw the
duchess liked him."

This again the queen repeated and the duchess again nodded, and
pointedly repeated, "It is very true."

"He was a very fine boy-a very fine boy indeed!" cried the king;
"what is become of him?"

I was a little distressed in answering, "He is in Ireland, sir."

"In Ireland ! What does he do in Ireland? what does he go there
for?"

"His father took him, Sir," I was forced to answer.

"And what does his father take him to Ireland for?"

"Because-he is an Irishman, Sir!" I answered, half laughing.

When at length, every one deigning me a bow of leavetaking, their
majesties, and sons and daughters, retired to the adjoining room,
the Princess Amelia loitered to shake hands, and the Princess
Augusta returned for the same condescension, reminding me of my
purpose for next year. While this was passing, the princess royal
had repaired to the apartment of Mlle. Jacobi, where she had held
a little Conversation with M. d'Arblay.


                         A VISIT TO MRS. BOSCAWEN.

We finished the evening very cheerfully with Mlle. Jacobi and
Mlle. Montmoulin, whom she invited to meet us, and the next
morning left Windsor and visited Rose Dale.(131) Mrs. Boscawen
received us very sweetly, and the little offering as if not at
all her due, Mrs. Levison Gower was with her, and showed us
Thomson's temple. Mrs. Boscawen spoke of my


Page 114

dearest father with her Usual true sense Of how to Speak of him.
She invited us to dinner, but we were anxious to return to our
Bambino, and M. d'Arblay had, all this time, only fought off
being ill with his remnant of cold. Nevertheless, when we came to
Twickenham, my good old friend Mr. Cambridge was so cordial and
so earnest that we could not resist him, and were pressed in to
staying dinner. . . .

At a little before eleven we arrived at our dear cottage, and to
our sleeping Bambino.



            THE RELATIVE SUCCESS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S NOVELS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, Friday, October, 1796.
I meant to have begun with our thanks for my dear kind father's
indulgence of our extreme curiosity and interest in the sight of
the reviews.  I am quite happy in what I have escaped of greater
severity, though my mate cannot bear that the palm should be
contested by "Evelina" and "Cecilia;" his partiality rates the
last as so much the highest; so does the newspaper I have
mentioned, of which I long to send you a copy. But those immense
men, whose single praise was fame and security--who established,
by a word, the two elder sisters-are now silent, Johnson and Sir
Joshua are no more, and Mr. Burke is ill, or otherwise engrossed;
yet, even without their powerful influence, to which I owe such
unspeakable obligation, the essential success of "Camilla"
exceeds that of the elders.  The sale is truly astonishing.
Charles has just sent to me that five hundred only remain of four
thousand, and it has appeared scarcely three months.

The first edition of "Evelina" was of eight hundred, the second
of five hundred, and the third of a thousand. What the following
have been I have never heard, The sale from that period became
more flourishing than the publisher cared to announce. Of
"Cecilia" the first edition was reckoned enormous at two thousand
and as a part of payment Was reserved for it, I remember our dear
Daddy Crisp thought it very unfair. It was printed, like this, in
July, and sold in October, to every one's wonder.  Here, however,
the sale's increased in rapidity more than a third.  Charles
says,--

"Now heed no more what critics thought 'em,
Since this you know, all people bought 'em."

Page 115

                          A CONTEMPLATED COTTAGE.

We have resumed our original plan, and are going immediately to
build a little cottage for ourselves.  We shall make it as small
and as cheap as will accord with its being warm and comfortable.
We have relinquished, however, the very kind offer of Mr. Locke,
which he has renewed, for his park. We mean to make this a
property saleable or letable for our Alex, and in Mr. Locke's
park we could not encroach any tenant, if the Youth's
circumstances, profession, or inclination .should make him not
choose the spot for his own residence. M. dArblay, therefore, has
fixed upon a field of Mr. Locke's, which he will rent, and of
which Mr. Locke will grant him a lease of ninety years.  By this
means, we shall leave the little Alex a little property, besides
what will be in the funds, and a property likely to rise in
value, as the situation of the field is remarkably beautiful.  It
is in the valley, between Mr. Locke's park and Dorking, and where
land is so scarce, that there is not another possessor within
many miles who would part, upon any terms, with half-an-acre.  My
kindest father will come and give it, I trust, his benediction. I
am now almost jealous of Bookham for having received it.

Imagine but the ecstasy of M. d'Arblay in training, all his own
way, an entire new garden. He dreams now of cabbage-walks,
potato-beds, bean-perfumes, and peas-blossoms.  My mother should
send him a little sketch to help his flower-garden, which will be
his second favourite object.


           THE PRINCESS ROYAL'S FIRST INTERVIEW WITH HER FIANCE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
1796.
A private letter from Windsor tells me the Prince of Wurtemberg
has much pleased in the royal House, by his manner and address
upon his interview, but that the poor Princess royal was almost
dead with terror, and agitation, and affright, at the first
meeting.(132)  She could not utter a word, The queen was obliged
to speak her answers. The prince said he hoped this first would
be the last disturbance his
page 116

presence would ever occasion her.  She then tried to recover, and
so far conquered her tumult as to attempt joining In a general
discourse from time to time.  He paid his court successfully, I
am told, to the sisters, who all determine to like him; and the
princess royal is quite revived in her spirits again, now this
tremendous opening sight is over.

You will be pleased, and my dearest Mr. Locke, at the style of my
summons: 'tis so openly from the queen herself, Indeed, she has
behaved like an angel to me, from the trying time to her of my
marriage with a Frenchman. "So odd, you know," as Lady Inchiquin
said.


                   OPINIONS OF THE REVIEWS ON "CAMILLA."

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
November, 1796.
. . .The "Monthly Review" has come in to-day, and it does not
satisfy me, or raise my spirits, or anything but my indignation.
James has read the remarks in it on "Camilla," and we are all
dissatisfied. Perhaps a few of the verbal criticisms may be worth
your attention in the second edition; but these have been picked
out and displayed with no friendly view, and without necessity,
in a work of such length and intrinsic sterling worth. J'enrage!
Morbleu!

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, November, 1796.
I had intended writing to my dearest father by a return of goods,
but I find it impossible to defer the overflowings of my heart at
his most kind and generous indignation with the reviewer. What
censure can ever so much hurt as such compensation can heal? And,
in fact, the praise is so strong that, were it neatly put
together, the writer might challenge my best enthusiasts to find
it insufficient. The truth, however, is, that the criticisms come
forward, and the panegyric is entangled, and so blended with
blame as to lose almost all effect, The reviews, however, as they
have not made, will not, I trust, mar me. "Evelina" made its way
all by itself; it was well spoken of, indeed, in all the reviews,
compared with general novels, but it was undistinguished by any
quotation, and only put in the Monthly Catalogue, and only
allowed

Page 117

short single paragraph.  It was
circulated only by the general public till it reached, through
that unbiassed medium, Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke, and thence it
wanted no patron.

Nov. 14.-Upon a second reading of the Monthly Review upon
"Camilla," I am in far better humour with it, and willing to
confess to the criticisms, if I may claim by that concession any
right to the eulogies.  They are stronger and more important,
upon re-perusal, than I had imagined, in the panic of a first
survey and an unprepared-for disappointment in anything like
severity from so friendly an editor.  The recommendation, at the
conclusion, of the book as a warning guide to youth, would
recompense me, upon the least reflection, for whatever strictures
Might precede it.  I hope my kind father has not suffered his
generous--and to me most cordial--indignation against the
reviewer to interfere with his intended answer to the
affectionate letter of Dr. Griffiths.(133


                  DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S STEPMOTHER.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Bookham, November 7, 1796.
Yes, -my beloved Susan safe landed at Dublin was indeed
all-sufficient for some time; nor, indeed, could I even read any
more for many minutes.  That, and the single sentence at the end,
"My Norbury is with me"--completely overset ne, though only with
joy. After your actual safety, nothing could so much touch me as
the picture I Instantly viewed of Norbury in Your arms.  Yet I
shall hope for more detail hereafter.

The last letter I had from you addressed to myself shows me your
own sentiment of the fatal event(134) which so speedily followed
your departure, and which my dear father has himself announced to
you, though probably the newspapers will anticipate his letter. I
am very sorry, now, I did not write sooner; but while you were
still in England, and travelling so slowly, I had always lurking
ideas that disqualified me from writing to Ireland.

The minute I received, from Sally, by our dearest father's desire
the last tidings I set out for Chelsea.  I was much Shocked by
the news, long as it has been but natural to look

Page 118

forward to it. My better part spoke even before myself upon the
propriety of my instant journey, and promised me a faithful
nursing attendance during my absence.

I went in a chaise, to lose no time - but the uncertainty how I
might find my poor father made me arrive with a nervous seizure
upon my voice that rendered it as husky as Mr. Rishton's.

While I settled with the postilion, Sally, James, Charlotte, and
Marianne, came to me. Esther and Charles had been there the
preceding day ; they were sent to as soon as the event had
happened. My dearest father received me with extreme kindness,
but though far, far more calm and quiet than I could expect, he
was much shaken, and often very faint. However, in the course of
the evening, he suffered me to read to him various passages from
various books, such as conversation introduced; and as his nature
is as pure from affectation as from falsehood, encouraged in
himself, as well as permitted in us, whatever could lead to
cheerfulness.

Let me not forget to record one thing that was truly generous in
my poor mother's last voluntary exertions.  She charged Sally and
her maid both not to call my father when she appeared to be
dying; and not disturb him if her death should happen in the
night, nor to let him hear it till he arose at his usual time. I
feel sensibly the kindness of this sparing consideration.

Yet not so would I be used! O never should I forgive the
misjudged prudence that should rob me of one little instant of
remaining life in one who was truly dear to me'; Nevertheless, I
shall not be surprised to have his first shock succeeded by a
sorrow it did not excite, and I fear he will require much
watching and vigilance to be kept as well as I have quitted him.


                      THE FRENCH EMIGRES AT NORBURY.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Bookham, December 25, 1796.
You will have heard that the Princesse d'Henin and M. de Lally
have spent a few days at Norbury Park.  We went every evening
regularly to meet them, and they yet contrive to grow higher and
higher in our best opinions and affections; they force that last
word; none other is adequate to such regard as they excite.
Page 119

M. de Lally read us a pleading for ‚migr‚s of all descriptions,
to the people and government of France, for their re-instalment
in their native land, that exceeds in eloquence, argument, taste,
feeling, and every power of oratory and truth united, anything I
ever remember to have read.  It is so affecting in many places,
that I was almost ill from restraining My nearly convulsive
emotions. My dear and honoured partner gives me, perhaps, an
interest in such a subject beyond what is mere natural due and
effect, therefore I cannot be sure such will be its universal
success; yet I shall be nothing less than Surprised to live to
see his statue erected in his own country, at the expense of his
own restored exiles. 'Tis, indeed, a wonderful performance. And
he was so easy, So gay, so unassuming, yet free from
condescension, that I almost worshipped him. M. d'Arblay cut me
off a bit of the coat in which he read his pleading, and I shall
preserve it, labelled!

The princess was all that was amiable and attractive, and she
loves my Susanna so tenderly, that her voice was always caressing
when she named her. She would go to Ireland, she repeatedly said,
on purpose to see you, were her fortune less miserably cramped.
The journey, voyage, time, difficulties, and ,sea-sickness, would
be nothing for obstacles. You have made, there, that rare and
exquisite acquisition-an ardent friend for life.


                       DR. BURNEY'S DEPRESSED STATE.

I have not heard very lately of my dearest father; all accounts
speak of his being very much lower in spirits than When I left
him. I sometimes am ready to return to him, for my whole heart
yearns to devote itself to him - but the babe, and the babe's
father--and there is no going en famille uninvited--and my dear
father does not feel equal to making the invitation.

One of the Tichfield dear girls seems to be constantly with
Sally, to aid the passing hours, but Our poor father wants
something more than cheerfulness and affection, though nothing
without them could do; he wants some one to find out pursuits--to
entice him into reading, by bringing books, or starting subjects;
some one to lead him to talk of what he thinks, or to forget what
he thinks of, by adroitly talking of what may catch other
attention.  Even where deep sorrow is impossible, a gloomy void
must rest in the total breaking up such a long and such a fast
connexion.
Page 120

I must always grieve at your absence at such a period. our Esther
has SO much to do in her own family, and fears so much the cold
of Chelsea, that she can be only of day and occasional use, and
it is nights and mornings that call for the confidential
companion that might best revive him, He is more amiable, more
himself, if possible, than ever. God long preserve him to bless
us all!


                     COVETOUS OF PERSONAL DISTINCTION.

Your old acquaintance, Miss --, has been passing ten days in this
neighbourhood. She is become very pleasingly formed in manners,
wherever she wishes to oblige, and all her roughnesses and
ruggednesses are worn off. I believe the mischief done by her
education, and its wants, not cured, if curable au fond; but much
amended to all, and apparently done away completely to many. What
really rests is a habit of exclusively consulting just what she
likes best, not what would be or prove best for others.  She
thinks, indeed, but little of anything except with reference to
herself, and what gives her an air, and will give her a
character, for inconstancy, that is in fact the mere result of
seeking her own gratification alike in meeting or avoiding her
connexions.  If she saw this, she has understanding sufficient to
work it out of her; but she weighs nothing sufficiently to dive
into her own self.  She knows she is a very clever girl, and she
is neither well contented with others, nor happy in herself, but
where this is evidently acknowledged.

We spent an evening together at Norbury Park ; she was shown all
Mr. William's pictures and drawings. I knew her expectations of
an attention she had no chance of exciting and therefore devoted
myself to looking them over with her yet, though Mr. Locke
himself led the way to see them, and explained several, and
though Amelia addressed her with the utmost sweetness, and Mrs.
Locke with perfect good breeding, I could not draw from her one
word relative to the evening, or the family, except that she did
not think she had heard Mr. William's voice once. A person so
young, and with such good parts, that can take no pleasure but in
personal distinction, which is all her visit can have wanted,
will soon cut all real improvement short, by confining herself to
such society alone as elevates herself. There she will always
make a capital figure, for her conversation is sprightly and
enter-
Page 121

taining, and her heart and principles are both good : she has
many excellent qualities, and various resources in herself; but
she is good enough to make me lament that she is not modest
enough to be yet better.


                 BABY D'ARBLAY AGAIN ; AND OTHER MATTERS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, NOV. 29, 1796.
My little man waits for your lessons to get on in elocution: he
has made no further advance but that of calling out, as he saw
our two watches hung on two opposite hooks over the chamber
chimney-piece, "Watch, papa,--watch, mamma;" so, though his first
speech is English, the idiom is French. We agree this is to avoid
any heartburning in his parents. He is at this moment so
exquisitely enchanted with a little penny trumpet, and finding he
can produce such harmony his own self, that he is blowing and
laughing till he can hardly stand.  If you could see his little
swelling cheeks you would not accuse yourself of a misnomer in
calling him cherub. I try to impress him with an idea of pleasure
in going to see grandpapa, but the short visit to Bookham is
forgotten, and the permanent engraving remains, and all his
concurrence consists in pointing up to the print over the
chimney-piece, and giving it one of his concise little bows.

Are not people a little revived in the political world by this
unexampled honour paid to Mr. Pitt?(135)  Mr. Locke has
subscribed 3000 pounds.

How you rejoiced me by what you say of poor Mr. Burke for I had
seen the paragraph of his death with most exceeding great
concern.

The Irish reports, are, I trust, exaggerated; few things come
quite plainly from Hibernia: yet what a time, in all respects, to
transport thither, as you too well term it, our beloved Susan!
She writes serenely, and Norbury seems to

Page 122

repay a world of sufferings : it is delightful to see her SO
satisfied there, at least; but they have all, she says, got the
brogue.

Our building is to be resumed the 1st of March; it will then soon
be done, as it is only of lath and plaster, and the roof and
wood-work are already prepared.' My indefatigable superintendent
goes every morning for two, three, or four hours to his field, to
work at a sunk fence that 'IS to protect his garden from our cow.
I have sent Mrs. Boscawen, through Miss Cambridge, a history of
our plan. The dwelling is destined by M. d'Arblay to be called
the Camilla cottage.

(95) "Memoires of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. pp. 224-5.

(96) "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii., pp. 210-11.

(97) In the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney" Madame d'Arblay writes that
"Before the answer of Mr. Pitt to the memorial could be returned,
the attempt upon Toulon proved abortive." Mr, Pitt must certainly
have been in no hurry to reply; for the memorial was sent to him
about the commencement of October, and Toulon was not evacuated
by the English until the 18th of December.-ED.

(98) A character in "Cecilia."-ED.

(99) The well-known novelist.-ED.
(100) The cottage which Fanny and her husband contemplated
building, was not actually commenced until after the publication
of "Camilla," in 1796.-ED.

(101) The fund which Mrs. Crewe was exerting herself to raise for
the benefit of the French emigrant clergy.-ED.

(102) Mrs. Crewe had been urging Dr. Burney to engage his
daughter to contribute, by her pen, to the relief of the emigrant
clergy. Fanny accordingly wrote an "Address to the Ladies of
Great Britain," in the form of a short pamphlet, which was
published by Cadell, and which appears to have had the desired
effect.-ED.

(103) Alas for Dr. Burney's hopes! Toulon was successfully
defended until the middle of December, when the vigorous measures
of the besiegers, inspired by the genius Of Young Buonaparte,
resulted in the complete triumph of the Republicans. On the 17th
of December they carried by storm Fort Eguillette and the heights
of Faron. From these positions their artillery commanded the
harbour, and, further defence of the town being thereby rendered
impracticable, its instant evacuation was resolved upon by the
allies. An attempt to burn the French war-ships in the harbour,
before abandoning the place, was only partially successful.  On
the 18th and 19th the troops embarked. Vast numbers of fugitives
were taken on board the retreating fleet, but a large proportion
of the unfortunate Toulonnais remained, to experience the cruel
vengeance of the Republicans-ED.

(104) The execution of Marie Antoinette, October 16, 1793.-ED.

(105) He was born on the 18th of December 1794.-ED.

(106) Goldsmith has drawn the character of Richard Burke in
"Retaliation," as follows:--

"Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must Sigh at;
Alaq, that such frolic should now be so quiet!
What spirits were his! what wit and what whim!
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb;
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball;
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all.
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old Nick,
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Dick back again."-ED.

(107) George Canning, who was not yet twenty-four years of age,
had just entered Parliament as member for Newport. He had
formerly been a Whig and an associate of Fox and Sheridan, but
the excesses of the French ,Revolution appear to have driven him,
as they had driven Burke and Windham, over to the opposite camp.
He took his seat as a Tory and a supporter of Mr. Pitt, and a
Tory he remained to the end of his days. Canning's maiden speech,
to which Fanny refers, was delivered January 31, in a debate on
the treaty between Great Britain and the King of Sardinia. By
this treaty, which was signed April 25, 1793, it was agreed that
the two contracting parties should make common cause in the war
against the French Republic; that England should pay to the King
of Sardinia an annual subsidy of 200,000 pounds, to enable him to
maintain the war; and that England should not conclude peace
without providing for the restoration to Sardinia of the
territories which had been torn from it by the Republic. In the
debate of January 31, 1794, Fox vigorously attacked the treaty,
while Canning, who spoke later, defended it in an able and
well-received maiden speech.-ED.

(108) Talleyrand's intrigues had made him an object of suspicion
to both parties.  He was detested by the royalists of the first
emigration, had been d‚cr‚t‚ d'accusation by the Convention, and
was regarded by the English government as a dangerous person.  In
January 1794, he received an order from the government to quit
England within five days, and he embarked in consequence, for the
United States, February 3.-ED.

(109) "London, 1794.-Madame,--Had it been possible I would have
had the honour of seeing you this morning , but the utter
impossibility of doing so has deprived me of the last pleasure
that I might have had in Europe. Permit me, madame, to thank you
again for all your kindness, and to ask a little place in your
memory, and let me tell you, I shall never cease, while I live,
to offer my vows for your welfare, and for that of the captain
and your children. You will have a very zealous servant in
America; I shall not return to Europe without coming to Surrey:
everything of value to my intellect or my heart is there.

"Kindly present my compliments to the captain."
(110) "London, March 2, 1794. Farewell, my dear d'Arblay: I leave
your country till the time when it will no longer be governed by
the petty passions of men. Then I will return; not, indeed, to
busy myself with public affairs, for I have long since abandoned
them for ever; but to see the excellent inhabitants of Surrey. I
hope to know enough English to understand Madame d'Arblay; for
the next four months, I shall do nothing but study it: and, to
acquaint myself with the beauties of the language, I take
'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' both for study and pleasure.  I wish
You, my dear friend, all kinds of happiness, and you are in the
way to fulfil all my wishes.

"I do not know how long I shall remain in America. If there were
a prospect of the re-establishment of reason and stability in our
unhappy country, I should return; if Europe goes to pieces in the
coming campaign, I will prepare a refuge in America for all our
friends.

"Farewell.  My respects to Madame d'Arblay and Mrs. Phillips.
      I ask of you and I promise you a lifelong friendship."

(The date at the head Of this letter Is evidently incorrect--
probably a slip of the writer's.  Talleyrand embarked February
3.-ED.

(111) Lafayette's brilliant services in the cause of liberty had
not secured him from the usual fate of moderate revolutionists at
this period. In the early days of the Revolution, he was the hero
of the French people; in 1792, denounced by RobespiŠrre and the
jacobins, he was compelled to seek safety in flying from France.
He escaped the guillotine, indeed, but fell into the hands of the
Austrians, was cast into prison, and did not gain his liberty
till September, 1797.-ED.

(112) This was Dr. Burney's first meeting with Mrs. Piozzi since
her marriage. It occurred at one of Salomon's celebrated
concerts, where the doctor, with surprise, perceived Piozzi among
the audience, not knowing that he had returned from Italy.  He
entered into a cordial conversation with the Signor, and inquired
after his wife. "Piozzi, turning round, pointed to a sofa, on
which, to his infinite joy, Dr. Burney beheld Mrs. Thrale Piozzi,
seated in the midst of her daughters, the four Miss Thrales,"
those young ladies (at least, the three elder, for Cecilia had
been abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Piozzi) having made up their minds
by this time to accept the inevitable, and to be reconciled to
their mother." See "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. p. 198.-ED.

(113) Written after the Doctor's first visit to Bookham.

(114) Name of a gardener in a drama of Fontenelle's.

(115) The novel of "Camilla," then lately begun.

(116) "Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Metastasio," a work
which Dr. Burney was then engaged upon, and which was published
in three Volumes, 8vo in 1796.-ED.

(117) "Edwy and Elgiva," a tragedy by Madame d'Arblay.

(118) Edmund Burke's only son, Richard, died August 2, 1794.-ED

(119) "Edwy and Elgiva," produced by Sheridan at Drury-lane,
March 21, 1795; it was acted but once, and never printed.-ED.

(120) Warren Hastings was acquitted of all the charges, April 23,
1795.

(121) Both characters, to some extent, were true.  Goldsmith's
portrait of Cumberland, though flattering, is not, we fancy,
without a slight undercurrent of irony.  Here are the lines from
"Retaliation."

"Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And Comedy wonders at being so fine:
Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that Folly grows proud
And coxcombs, alike in their failings atone:
Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own,
Say, where has our poet this malady caught?
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?
Say, was it that, mainly directing his view
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?"-ED.

(122) The novels of Mrs. Radcliffe were now at the height of
their popularity. "The Mysteries of Udolpho," perhaps the most
powerful of her works, had recently been published, to the
intense delight of all lovers of the thrilling and romantic.-ED.

(123) The name was then "Ariella," changed afterwards to
"Camilla."

(124) Written during his embarrassments from the French
Revolution, and answer to a letter expressing bitter
disappointment from repeated losses.

(125) M. de Narbonne, in reply, expressed, in lively terms, his
gratitude for Madame d'Arblay's invitation, and his pleasure in
receiving it. But he declined the proposal. He was not, he said,
wholly without resources, or without hopes for the future, and
circumstances made it desirable that he should reside at present
near the French frontier.-ED.

(126) Gainsborough Dupont, a nephew of the great Gainsborough.
He was a portrait-painter of some merit, and an excellent mezzo-
tint engraver.  some of his best plates were engraved after
paintings by Gainsborough.  Mr Dupont died in 1797.-ED.

(127) " The Birth of Love;" a poem: with engravings, from designs
by her royal highness the Princess Elizabeth.

(128) i.e., the Duke of York, second son of the king. He had been
appointed field-marshal and commander-in-chief early in 1795.-ED.

(129) The Duchess of York was daughter to the King of Prussia.-
ED.

 (130) Susan's little son, Norbury Phillips.-ED.

(131) Rose Dale, Richmond, Surrey. This place was formerly the
residence of the poet Thomson, and afterwards became the property
of the Honourable Mrs. Boscawen.

(132) The princess royal was married, May 18, 1797, to Frederick
William, hereditary prince of Wurtemberg.-ED.

(133) Editor and proprietor of the "Monthly Review."

(134) The death of Dr. Burney's second wife.

(135) Fanny alludes to the so-called "loyalty loan," proposed and
carried by Mr Pitt, to meet the expenses of the war. "Pitt
evinced his own Public spirit, when he relied on and appealed to
the public spirit of the People. He announced a loan of
18,000,000 pounds, at five per cent., to be taken at 112 pounds ,
10 shillings, for every 100 pounds stock, and with an option to
the proprietors to he paid off at par within two years after a
treaty of peace."-(Stanhope's "Life of Pitt," vol. ii., P. 389.)
The loan was taken up by the Public with extraordinary eagerness,
5,000,000 pounds being subscribed on the first day of issue
(December 1, 1796).-ED.                                        .'

(136) They had commenced building the cottage in October. Fanny
writes, November 29: "Our cottage building stops now, from the
shortness of the days, till the beginning of March.  The
foundation is laid, and it will then be run up with great speed.
The well, at length, is finished, and it is a hundred and odd
feet deep.  The water is said to be excellent, but M. d'Arblay
has had it now stopped to prevent accidents from hazardous boys,
who, when the field is empty of owners, will be amusing
themselves there.  He has just completed his grand plantations;
part of which are in evergreens, part in firewood for future
time, and part in an orchard."-ED.



Page 123
                               SECTION 21.
                                 (1797-8)

"CAMILLA" COTTAGE. SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL FAMILY.

[Fanny's pen portraits of the princesses are as fascinating as
Gainsborough's paintings of them. Their truly amiable characters
and sweet dispositions are nowhere more pleasantly illustrated
than in the following section of the "Diary." A list of their
names, with the dates of their births and deaths, may be useful
to the reader.

1. Charlotte, princess royal.   born 1767: Queen of Wirtemburg:
died 1828.

2. Augusta, Fanny's favourite, as she well deserved to be. Born
1768 : never married : died 1840.

3. Elizabeth, the artist of the family. Born 1770 : married the
hereditary prince (afterwards, in 1820, Landgrave) of Hesse-
Homburg in 18 18, and settled in Germany: died 1840.

4. Mary. Born 1776 : married her cousin, William Frederick, Duke
of Gloucester, in 1816: died 1857.

5. Sophia, born 1777: died 1848.


6. Amelia, born 1783. Her health first gave way in 1798 (see p.
180): she died, unmarried, at Windsor, in 1810. A few days before
her death she gave her poor blind, old father, a ring containing
a scrap of her hair ; saying only, as she pressed it into his
hand, "Remember me!"  The poor king's anguish brought on a fresh
attack of insanity, from which he never recovered.-ED.]


A DISAGREEABLE JOURNEY HoME.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, January 3, '97.
WAS extremely vexed at missing our uncertain post yesterday, and
losing, unavoidably, another to-day, before I return my dearest
father our united thanks for the kind and sweet fortnight passed
under his roof. Our adventures in coming back were better adapted
to our departure than our

Page 124

arrival, for they were rather rueful.  One of the horses did not
like his business, and wanted to be off, and we were stopped by
his gambols continually , and, if I had not been a soldier's
wife, I should have been terribly alarmed; but my soldier does
not like to see himself disgraced in his other half, and so I was
fain to keep up my courage, till, at length, after we had passed
Fetcham, the frisky animal plunged till he fastened the shaft
against a hedge, and then, little Betty beginning to scream, I
inquired of the postilion if we had not better alight.  If it
were not, he said, for the dirt, yes.  The dirt then was defied,
and I prevailed, though with difficulty, upon my chieftain to
consent to a general dismounting. And he then found it was not
too soon, for the horse became inexorable to all menace, caress,
chastisement, or harangue, and was obliged to be loosened.

Meanwhile, Betty, Bab, and I trudged on, vainly looking back for
our vehicle, till we reached our little home--a mile and a half.
Here we found good fires, though not a morsel
of food; this however, was soon procured, and our walking apparel
changed for drier raiment; and I sent forth our nearest cottager,
and a young butcher, and a boy, towards Fetcham, to aid the
vehicle, or its contents, for my chevalier had stayed on account
of our chattels: and about two hours after the chaise arrived,
with one horse, and pushed by its hirer, while it was half
dragged by its driver.  But all came safe; and we drank a dish of
tea, and ate a mutton chop, and kissed our little darling, and
forgot all else of our journey hut the pleasure we had had at
Chelsea with my dearest father and dear Sally.

And just now I received a letter from our Susanna, which tells me
the invasion(137) has been made in a part of Ireland

Page 125                                           .

where all is so loyal there can be no apprehension from any such
attempt ; but she adds, that if it had happened in the north
everything might have been feared.  Heaven send the invaders far
from all the points of the Irish compass! and that's an Irish
wish for expression, though not for meaning. All the intelligence
she gathers is encouraging, with regard to the spirit and loyalty
of all that surround her.  But Mr. Brabazon is in much uneasiness
for his wife, whose situation is critical, and he hesitates
whether or not to convey her to Dublin, as a place of more
security than her own habitation. What a period this for the
usual journey of our invaluable Susan!


                     BURKE's FUNERAL AT BEACONSFIELD.

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Saturday Night, July 22, 1797.
I was invited to poor Mr. Burke's funeral,(138) by Mrs. Crewe and
two notes from Beaconsfield. Malone and I went to Bulstrode
together in my car, this day sevennight, with two horses added to
mine.  Mrs. Crewe had invited me thither when she went down
first. We found the Duke of Portland there; and the Duke of
Devonshire and Windham came to dinner. The chancellor and speaker
of the House of Commons could not leave London till four o'clock,
but arrived a little after seven.  We all set off together for
Beaconsfield, where we found the rest of the pall-bearers--Lord
Fitzwilliam, Lord Inchiquin, and Sir Gilbert Eliot, with Drs.
King and Lawrence, Lord North, Dudley North, and many of the
deceased's private friends, though by his repeated injunction the
funeral was to be very private.  We had all hatbands, scarfs, and
gloves; and he left a list to whom rings of remembrance are to be
sent, among whom my name occurred, and a jeweller has been here
for my measure.  I went back to Bulstrode, by invitation, with
the two dukes, the chancellor, and speaker, Windham, Malone, and
Secretary King. I ,stayed there till Sunday evening, and got home
just before the dreadful storm. The duke was extremely civil and
hospitable,--

Page 126

pressed me much to stay longer and go with them, the chancellor,
speaker, Windham, and Mrs. Crewe, to Pinn, to see the school,
founded by Mr. Burke, for the male children of French emigrant
nobles; but I could not with prudence stay, having a couple of
ladies waiting for me in London, and two extra horses with me.

So much for poor Mr. Burke, certainly one of the greatest men of
the present century; and I think I might say the best orator and
statesman of modern times. He had his passions and prejudices to
which I did not subscribe - but I always admired his great
abilities, friendship, and urbanity - and it would be ungrateful
in you and me, to whom he was certainly partial, not to feel and
lament his loss.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, July 27, '97.
I was surprised, and almost frightened, though at the same time
gratified, to find you assisted in paying the last honours to Mr.
Burke. How sincerely I sympathise in all you say of that truly
great man! That his enemies say he was not perfect is nothing
compared with his immense superiority over almost all those who
are merely exempted from his peculiar defects.  That he was
upright in heart, even where he acted wrong, I do truly believe;
and that he asserted nothing he had not persuaded himself to be
true, from Mr. Hastings's being the most rapacious of villains,
to the king's being incurably insane. He was as generous as kind,
and as liberal in his sentiments as he was luminous in intellect
and extraordinary in abilities and eloquence.  Though free from
all little vanity, high above envy, and glowing with zeal to
exalt talents and merit in others, he had, I believe a
consciousness of his own greatness, that shut out those
occasional and useful self-doubts which keep our judgment in
order, by calling our motives and our passions to account.


                      DEATH OF M. D'ARBLAY'S BROTHER.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Bookham, August 10, '97.
You know, I believe, with what cruel impatience and uncertainty
my dear companion has waited for some news Of his family ; no
tidings, however, could be procure, nor has
Page 127

ever heard from any part of it till last Saturday morning, when
two letters arrived by the same post, with information of the
death of his only brother.

impossible as it has long been to look back to France without
fears amounting even to expectation of horrors, he had never
ceased cherishing hopes some favourable turn would, in the end,
unite him with this last branch of his house; the shock,
therefore, has been terribly severe, and has cast a gloom upon
his mind and spirits which nothing but his kind anxiety to avoid
involving mine can at present suppress. He is now the last of a
family of seventeen, and not one relation of his own name now
remains but his own little English son. His father was the only
son of an only son, which drives all affinity on the paternal
side into fourth and fifth kinsmen.

On the maternal side, however, he has the happiness to hear that
an uncle, who is inexpressibly dear to him, who was his guardian
and best friend through life, still lives, and has been permitted
to remain unmolested in his own house, at Joigny, where he is now
in perfect health, save from rheumatic .attacks, which though
painful are not dangerous.  A son, too, of this gentleman, who
was placed as a commissaire-de-guerre by M. d'Arblay during the
period of his belonging to the war committee, still holds the
same situation, which is very lucrative, and which M. d'A. had
concluded would have been withdrawn as soon as his own flight
from France was known.

The little property of which the late Chevalier d'Arblay died
possessed, this same letter says, has been "vendu pour la
nation,"(139) because his next heir was an ‚migr‚; though there
is a little niece, Mlle. Girardin, daughter of an only sister,
who is in France, and upon whom the succession was settled, if
her uncles died without immediate heirs.

Some little matter, however, what we know not, has been reserved
by being bought in by this respectable uncle, who sends M.
d'Arblay word he has saved him what he may yet live upon, if he
can find means to return without personal risk, and who solicits
to again see him with urgent fondness, in which he is joined by
his aunt with as much warmth as if she, also, was his relation by
blood, not alliance.

The late chevalier, my M. d'A. says, was a man of the softest
manners and most exalted honour ; and he was so tall and so thin,
he was often nicknamed Don Quixote, but he was so completely
aristocratic with regard to the Revolution,
Page 128

at its very commencement, that M. d'A. has heard nothing yet with
such unspeakable astonishment as the news that he died, near
Spain, of his wounds from a battle in which he had fought for the
Republic. "How strange," says M. d'A., "is our destiny! that that
Republic which I quitted, determined to be rather an hewer of
wood and drawer of water all my life than serve, he should die
for." The secret history of this may some day come out, but it is
now inexplicable, for the mere fact, without the smallest
comment, is all that has reached us, In the period, indeed, in
which M. d'A. left France, there were but three steps possible
for those who had been bred to arms-flight, the guillotine, or
fighting for the Republic, "The former this brother," M. d'A.
says, "had not energy of character to undertake in the desperate
manner in which he risked it himself, friendless and fortuneless,
to live in exile as he could. The guillotine no one could elect;
and the continuing in the service, though in a cause he detested,
was, probably, his hard compulsion." . . .

Our new habitation will very considerably indeed exceed our first
intentions and expectations.  I suppose it has ever been so, and
so ever must be ; for we sought as well as determined to keep
within bounds, and M. d'A. still thinks he has done it - however,
I am more aware of our tricks upon travellers than to enter into
the same delusion.

The pleasure, however, he has taken in this edifice is my first
joy, for it has constantly shown me his heart has invariably held
to those first feelings which, before our union, determined him
upon settling in England. O! if you knew how he has been
assailed, by temptations of every sort that either ambition, or
interest, or friendship could dictate, to change his plan,-and
how his heart sometimes yearns towards those he yet can love in
his native soil, while his firmness still remains unshaken,-- you
would not wonder I make light of even extravagance in a point
that shows him thus fixed to make this object a part of the whole
system of his future life.


                        FROM CREWE HALL TO CHELSEA.

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Friday Night, September 13, 1797.
My dear Fanny,-Where did I leave off?--hang me if I know!--I
believe I told you, or all when with YOU, Of the Chester and
Liverpool journey and voyage.  On Saturday
Page 129

26th August, the day month from leaving London, M. le pr‚sident
de Frondeville and I left Crewe Hall on our way back. The dear
Mrs. Crewe kindly set us in our way as far as Etruria. We visited
Trentham Hall, in Staffordshire, the famous seat of the Marquis
of Stafford,--a very fine place--fine piece of water--fine
hanging woods,--the valley of Tempe--and the river Trent running
through the garden. Mrs C. introduced us to the marchioness, who
did us the honour of showing us the house herself; it has lately
been improved and enlarged by Wyatt:--fine pictures, library,
etc.

After a luncheon here, we went to Etruria, which I had never
seen. Old Mr. Wedgwood is dead, and his son and successor not at
home ; but we went to the pottery manufacture, and saw the whole
process of forming the beautiful things which are dispersed all
over the universe from this place. Mrs. C. offered to send you a
little hand churn for your breakfast butter ; but I should have
broke it to pieces, and durst not accept of it.  But if it would
be of any use, when you have a cow, I will get you one at the
Wedgwood ware-house in London. Here we parted.

The president and I got to Lichfield by about ten o'clock that
night. In the morning, before my companion was up, I strolled
about the city with one of the waiters, in search of Frank
Barber,' who I had been told lived there; but on ,inquiry I was
told his residence was in a village three or four miles off.  I
however soon found the house where dear Dr. Johnson was born, and
his father's shop. The house is stuccoed, has five sash-windows
in front, and pillars before it. It is the best house
thereabouts, near St. Mary's Church, in a broad street, and is
now a grocer's shop.

I went next to the Garrick house, which has been lately repaired,
stuccoed, enlarged, and sashed.  Peter Garrick, David's eldest
brother, died about two years ago, leaving all his Possessions to
the apothecary that had attended him. But the will was disputed
and set aside not long since, it having appeared at a trial that
the testator was insane at the time the will was made; so that
Mrs. Doxie, Garrick's sister, a widow with a numerous family,
recovered the house and -_30,000, She now lives in it with her
family, and has been able to set up a carriage. The inhabitants
of Lichfield were so pleased

Page 130

with the decision of the court on the trial, that they
illuminated the streets, and had public rejoicings on the
occasion.

After examining this house well, I tried to find the residence of
Dr. James, inventor of the admirable fever powders, which have so
often saved the life of our dear Susey, and others without
number. But the ungrateful inhabitants knew nothing about him. .
. .

The cathedral, which has been lately thoroughly repaired
internally, is the most complete and beautiful Gothic building I
ever saw. The outside was trŠs mal trait‚ by the fanatics of the
last century; but there are three beautiful spires still
standing, and more than fifty whole-length figures of saints in
their original niches. The choir is exquisitely beautiful. A fine
new organ is erected, and was well played, and I never heard the
cathedral service so well performed to that instrument only
before. The services and anthems were middle-aged music, neither
too old and dry, nor too modern and light ; the voices subdued,
and exquisitely softened and sweetened by the building,

While the lessons were reading, which I could not hear, I looked
for monuments, and found a beautiful one to Garrick, and another
just by it to Johnson; the former erected by Mrs. Garrick, who
has been daily abused for not erecting one to her husband in
Westminster Abbey ; but sure that was a debt due to him from the
public, and that due from his widow best paid here.(141)
Johnson's has been erected by his friends:--both are beautiful,
and alike in every particular.

There is a monument here to Johnson's first patron, Mr. Walmsley,
whose amplitude of learning and copiousness of communication were
such, that our revered friend said, "it might be doubted whether
a day passed in which he had not some advantage from his
friendship."  There is a monument likewise to Lady M. W. Montagu,
and to the father of Mr. Addison, etc.

We left Lichfield about two o'clock, and reached Daventry that
night, stopping a little at Coventry to look at the great church
and Peeping Tom. Next day got to St. Albans time enough to look
'It the church and neighbouring ruins. Next morning breakfasted
at Barnet, where my car met me, and got to Chelsea by three
o'clock, leaving my agreeable compagnon de voyage, M. le
pr‚sident, at his apartments in town. . . .

 Page 131

                            AT DR. HERSCHEL'S.

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Chelsea College, Thursday, September 28.
My dear Fanny,--I read your letter pen in hand, and shall try to
answer it by to-day's post.  But first let me tell you that it
was very unlikely to find me at home, for on Tuesday I went to
Lord Chesterfield's at Bailie's, and arrived there in very good
time for a four o'clock dinner - when, behold ! I was informed by
the porter that " both my lord and lady were in town, and did not
return till Saturday ! " Lord Chesterfield had unexpectedly been
obliged to go to town by indisposition.  Though I was asked to
alight and take refreshment, I departed immediately, intending to
dine and lie at Windsor, to be near Dr. Herschel, with whom a
visit had been arranged by letter.  But as I was now at liberty
to make that visit at any time of the day I pleased, I drove
through Slough in my way to Windsor, in order to ask at Dr.
Herschel's door when my visit would be least inconvenient to
him--that night or next morning. The good soul was at dinner, but
came to the door himself, to press me to alight immediately and
partake of his family repast - and this he did so heartily that I
could not resist.  I was introduced to the family at table, four
ladies, and a little boy about the age and size of Martin.(142) I
was quite shocked at seeing so many females: I expected (not
knowing Herschel was married) only to have found Miss Herschel. .
. . I expressed my concern and shame at disturbing them at this
time of the day ; told my story, at which they were so cruel as
to rejoice, and went so far as to say they rejoiced at the
accident which had brought me there, and hoped I would send my
carriage away, and take a bed with them. They were sorry they had
no stables for my horses. I thought it necessary, You may, be
sure, to faire la petite bouche, ,but in spite of my blushes I
was obliged to submit to my trunk being taken in and the car sent
to the inn just by. . . .

Your health was drunk after dinner (put that int.) your pocket);
and after much social conversation and a few hearty laughs, the
ladies proposed to take a walk, in order, I believe, to leave
Herschel and me together. We walked and talked

Page 132

round his great telescopes till it grew damp and dusk, then
retreated into his study to philosophise.  I had a string of
questions ready to ask, and astronomical difficulties to solve,
which, with looking at curious books and instruments, filled up
the time charmingly till tea, which being drank with
the ladies, we two retired again to the starry. Now having paved
the way, we began to talk of my poetical plan, and he pressed me
to read what I had done.(143)  Heaven help his head! my eight
books, of from four hundred to eight hundred and twenty lines,
would require two or three days to read.

He made me unpack my trunk for my MS., from which I read him the
titles of the chapters, and begged he would choose any book or
character of a great astronomer he pleased.  "Oh, let us have the
beginning." I read him the first eighteen or twenty lines of the
exordium, and then said I rather wished to come to modern times -
I was more certain of my ground in high antiquity than after the
time of Copernicus, and began my eighth chapter, entirely on
Newton and his system.  He gave me the greatest encouragement
said repeatedly that I perfectly understood what I was writing'
about - and only stopped me at two places: one was at a word too
strong for what I had to describe, and the other at one too weak.
The doctrine he allowed to be quite orthodox, concerning
gravitation, refraction, reflection, optics, comets, magnitudes,
distances, revolutions, etc., but made a discovery to me which,
had I known sooner, would have overset me, and prevented my
reading any part of my work: he said he had almost always had an
aversion to poetry, which he regarded as the arrangement of fine
words, without any useful meaning or adherence to truth; but
that, when truth and science were united to these fine words, he
liked poetry very well; and next morning, after breakfast, he
made me read as much of another chapter on Descartes, etc., as
the time would allow, as I had ordered my carriage at twelve.  I
read, talked, asked questions, and looked at books and
instruments, till near one, when I set off for Chelsea.
Page 133

                      HOSPITALITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Francis.)
Westhamble, November 16, 1797.
Your letter was most welcome to me, my dearest Charlotte, and I
am delighted Mr. Broome(144) and my dear father will so speedily
meet.  If they steer clear of politics, there can be no doubt of
their immediate exchange of regard and esteem. At all events, I
depend upon Mr. B.'s forbearance of such subjects, if their
opinions clash.  Pray let me hear how the interview went off.

I need not say how I shall rejoice to see you again, nor how
charmed we shall both be to make a nearer acquaintance with Mr.
Broome; but, for heaven's sake, my dear girl, how are we to give
him a dinner?--unless he will bring with him his poultry, for
ours are not yet arrived from Bookham; and his fish, for ours are
still at the bottom of some pond we know not where, and his spit,
for our jack is yet without clue; and his kitchen grate, for ours
waits for Count Rumford's(145) next pamphlet;--not to mention his
table-linen;--and not to speak

Page 134

of his knives and forks, some ten of our poor original twelve
having been massacred in M. d'Arblay's first essays in the art of
carpentering ;-and to say nothing of his large spoons, the silver
of our plated ones having feloniously made off under cover of the
whitening-brush--and not to talk of his cook, ours being not yet
hired ;-and not to start the subject of wine, ours, by some odd
accident, still remaining at the wine-merchant's! With all these
impediments, however, to convivial hilarity, if he will eat a
quarter of a joint of meat (his share, I mean), tied up by a
packthread, and roasted by a log of wood on the bricks,--and
declare no potatoes so good as those dug by M. d'Arblay out of
our garden,--and protest our small beer gives the spirits of
champagne,--and make no inquiries where we have deposited the
hops he will conclude we have emptied out of our table-cloth,--
and pronounce that bare walls are superior to tapestry,--and
promise us the first sight of his epistle upon visiting a
new-built cottage,--we shall be sincerely happy to receive him in
our hermitage; where I hope to learn, for my dearest Charlotte's
sake, to love him as much as, for his own I have very long
admired him.


                       WAR TAXES. "CAMILLA" COTTAGE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, December, '97.
The new threefold assessment of taxes has terrified us rather
seriously ; though the necessity, and therefore justice, of them,
we mutually feel.  My father thinks his own share will amount to
eighty pounds a year ! We have, this very morning, decided upon
parting with four of our new windows, --a great abatement of
agr‚mens to ourselves, and of ornament to our appearance; and a
still greater sacrifice to the amour Propre of my architect, who,
indeed,--his fondness for his edifice considered,--does not ill
deserve praise that the scheme had not his mere consent, but his
own free proposition. . . .

We quitted Bookham with one single regret--that of leaving our
excellent neighbours the Cookes. . . .  we languished for the
moment of removal with almost infantine fretfulness at every
delay that distanced it; and when at last the grand day came, our
final packings, with all their toil
Page 135

and difficulties and labour and expense, were mere acts of
pleasantry; so bewitched were we with the impending change, that,
though from six o'clock to three we were hard at work, without a
kettle to boil the breakfast, or a knife to cut bread for a
luncheon, we missed nothing, wanted nothing, and were as
insensible to fatigue as to hunger.

M. d'Arblay set out on foot, loaded with remaining relics of
things, to us precious, and Betty afterwards with a remnant of
glass or two; the other maid had been sent two days before. I was
forced to have a chaise for my Alex and me, and a few
looking-glasses, a few folios, and not a few other oddments and
then, with dearest Mr. Locke, our founder's portrait, and my
little boy, off I set, and I would my dearest Susan could relate
to me as delicious a journey.

My mate, striding over hedge and ditch, arrived first, though he
set out after' to welcome me to our new dwelling; and we entered
our new best room, in which I found a glorious fire of wood, and
a little bench, borrowed of one of the departing carpenters :
nothing else.  We contrived to make room for each other, and Alex
disdained all rest.  His spirits were so high upon finding two or
three rooms totally free for his horse (alias any stick he can
pick up) and himself, unencumbered by chairs and tables and
such-like lumber, that he was as merry as a little Andrew and as
wild as twenty colts. Here we unpacked a small basket containing
three or four loaves, and, with a garden-knife, fell to work;
some eggs had been procured from a neighbouring farm, and one
saucepan had been brought.  We dined, therefore, exquisitely, and
drank to our new possession from a glass of clear water out of
our new well.

At about eight o'clock our goods arrived. We had our bed put up
in the middle of our room, to avoid risk of damp walls, and our
Alex had his dear Willy's crib at our feet.

We none of us caught cold. We had fire night and day in the
maids' room, as well as Our own -or rather in my Susan's room;
for we lent them that, their own having a little inconvenience
against a fire, because it is built without a chimney. We
Continued making fires all around us the first fortnight, and
then found wood would be as bad as an apothecary's bill, so
desisted; but we did not stop short so soon as to want the latter
to succeed the former, or put our calculation to the proof.

Our first week was devoted to unpacking, and exulting in Our
completed plan.  To have no one thing at hand, nothing
Page 136

to eat, nowhere to sit--all were trifles, rather, I think,
amusing than incommodious. The house looked so clean, the
distribution of the rooms and closets is so convenient, the
prospect everywhere around is so gay and so lovely, and the park
of dear Norbury is so close at hand, that we hardly knew how to
require anything else for existence than the enjoyment of our own
situation.

At this period I received my summons. I believe I have already
explained that I had applied to Miss Planta for advice whether my
best chance of admission would be at Windsor, Kew, or London. I
had a most kind letter of answer, importing my letter had been
seen, and that her majesty would herself fix the time when she
could admit me. This was a great happiness to me, and the fixture
was for the Queen's house in town.


                      VISITORS ARRIVE INOPPORTUNELY.

The only drawback to the extreme satisfaction of such
graciousness as allowing an appointment to secure me from a
fruitless journey, as well as from impropriety and all fear of
intrusion, was, that exactly at this period the Princess d'Henin
and M. de Lally were expected at Norbury. I hardly could have
regretted anything else, I was so delighted by my summons; but
this I indeed lamented. They arrived to dinner on Thursday: I was
involved in preparations, and unable to meet them, and my mate
would not be persuaded to relinquish aiding me.

The next morning, through mud, through mire, they came to our
cottage.  The poor princess was forced to change shoes and
stockings.  M. de Lally is more accustomed to such expeditions.
Nothing could be more sweet than they both were, nor indeed, more
grateful than I felt for my share in their kind exertion. The
house was re-viewed all over, even the little pot au feu was
opened by the princess, excessively curious to see our manner of
living in its minute detail.

I have not heard if your letter has been received by M. de Lally;
but I knew not then you had written, and therefore did not
inquire.  The princess talked of nothing so much as you, and with
a softness of regard that quite melted me.  I always tell her
warmly how you feel about her. M. de Lally was most melancholy
about France; the last new and most alas! barbarous
revolution(146) has disheartened all his hopes--alas!
Page 137

whose can withstand it?  They made a long and kind visit, and in
the afternoon we went to Norbury Park, where we remained till
near eleven o'clock, and thought the time very short.

Madame d'Henin related some of her adventures in this second
flight from her terrible country, and told them with a spirit and
a power of observation that would have made them interesting if a
tale of old times ; but now, all that gives account of those
events awakens the whole mind to attention.

M. de Lally after tea read us a beginning of a new tragedy,
composed upon an Irish story, but bearing allusion so palpable to
the virtues and misfortunes of Louis XVI. that it had almost as
strong an effect upon our passions and faculties as if it had
borne the name of that good and unhappy prince. It is written
with great pathos, noble sentiment, and most eloquent language.
I parted from them with extreme reluctance-nay, vexation.


                    ANOTHER VISIT TO THE ROYAL FAMILY.

I set off for town early the next day, Saturday.
My time was not yet fixed for my royal interview, but I had
various preparations impossible to make in this dear, quiet,
obscure cottage.  Mon ami could not accompany me, as we had still
two men constantly at work, the house without being quite
unfinished but I could not bear to leave his little
representative, who, with Betty, was my companion to Chelsea.
There I was expected, and Our dearest father came forth with open
arms to welcome us.  He was in delightful spirits, the sweetest
humour, and perfectly good looks and good health.  My little
rogue soon engaged him in a romp, which conquered his rustic
shyness, and they became the best friends in the world.

Thursday morning I had a letter from Miss Planta, written with
extreme warmth of kindness, and fixing the next day at eleven
o'clock for my royal admission.

Page 138

I went up-stairs to Miss Planta's room, where, while I waited for
her to be called, the charming Princess Mary passed by, attended
by Mrs. Cheveley. She recollected me and turned back, and came up
to me with a fair hand graciously held out to me.  "How do you
do, Madame d'Arblay?" she cried: "I am vastly glad to see you
again and how does your little boy do?"

I gave her a little account of the rogue, and she proceeded to
inquire about my new cottage, and its actual state.  I entered
into a long detail of its bare walls, and unfurnished sides, and
the gambols of the little man unencumbered by cares of fractures
from useless ornaments, that amused her good-humoured interest in
my affairs very much , and she did not leave me till Miss Planta
came to usher me to Princess Augusta.

That kind princess received me with a smile so gay, and a look so
pleased at my pleasure in again seeing her, that I quite
regretted the etiquette which prevented a chaste embrace.  She
was sitting at her toilette having her hair dressed.   The royal
family were all going at night to the play.  She turned instantly
from the glass to face me, and insisted upon my being seated
immediately. She then wholly forgot her attire and ornaments and
appearance, and consigned herself wholly to conversation, with
that intelligent animation which marks her character.  She
inquired immediately how my little boy did, and then with great
sweetness after his father, and after my father.

My first subject was the princess royal, and I accounted for not
having left my hermitage in the hope of once more seeing her
royal highness before her departure.  It would have been, I told
her, so melancholy a pleasure to have come merely for a last
view, that I could not bear to take my annual indulgence at a
period which would make it leave a mournful impression upon my
mind for a twelvemonth to come. The princess said she could enter
into that, but said it as if she had been surprised I had not
appeared.  She then gave ne some account of the ceremony ;(147)
and when I told her I had heard that her royal highness the bride
had never looked so lovely, she confirmed the praise warmly, but
laughingly added, "'Twas the queen dressed her! You know what a
figure she used to make of herself, with her odd manner Of

Page 139

dressing herself; but mamma said, 'Now really, princess royal,
this one time is the last, and I cannot suffer you to make such a
quiz of yourself; so I will really have you dressed such a quiz
of yourself, properly.' And indeed the queen was quite in the
right, for everybody said she had never looked so well in her
life."

The word "quiz," you may depend, was never the queen's. I had
great comfort, however, in gathering, from all that passed on
that subject, that the royal family is persuaded this estimable
princess is happy.  From what I know of her disposition I am led
to believe the situation may make her so. She is born to preside,
and that with equal softness and dignity; but she was here in
utter subjection, for which she had neither spirits nor
inclination.  She adored the king, honoured the queen, and loved
her sisters, and had much kindness for her brothers ; but her
style of life was not adapted to the royalty of her nature, any
more than of her birth; and though she only wished for power to
do good and to confer favours, she thought herself out of her
place in not possessing it.

I was particularly happy to learn from the Princess Augusta that
she has already a favourite friend in her new Court, in one of
the princesses of Wurtemberg, wife of a younger brother of the
hereditary prince, and who is almost as a widow, from the prince,
her husband, being constantly with the army.  This is a
delightful circumstance, as her turn of mind, and taste, and
,employments, accord singularly with those of our princess.

I have no recollection of the order of our conversation, but will
give you what morsels occur to me as they arise in my memory.

The terrible mutiny occupied us some time.(148) She told me
Page 140

many anecdotes that she had learnt in favour Of various sailors,
declaring, with great animation, her security In their good
hearts, however drawn aside by harder and more cunning heads, The
sweetness with which she delights to get out of all that is
forbidding in her rank is truly adorable. In speaking of a sailor
on board the St. Fiorenzo, when the royal family made their
excursion by sea from Weymouth, she said, "You must know this man
was a great favourite of mine, for he had the most honest
countenance you can conceive, and I have often talked with him,
every time we have been at Weymouth, so that we were good
friends; but I wanted now in particular to ask him concerning the
mutiny, but I knew I should not get him to speak out while the
king and queen and my sisters were by ; so I told Lady Charlotte
Bellasyse to watch an opportunity when he was upon deck, and the
rest were in the cabin, and then we went up to him and questioned
him; and he quite answered my expectations, for, instead of
taking any merit to himself from belonging to the St. Fiorenso,
which was never in the mutiny, the good creature said he was sure
there was not a sailor in the navy that was not sorry to have
belonged to it, and would not have got out of it as readily as
himself, if he had known but how."

The Princess Elizabeth now entered, but she did not stay. She
came to ask something of her sister relative to a little fˆte she
was preparing, by way of a collation, in honour of the Princess
Sophia, who was twenty this day. She made kind inquiries after my
health, etc., and, being mistress of the birthday fˆte, hurried
off, and I had not the pleasure to see her any more.

I must be less minute, or I shall never have done.
My charming Princess Augusta renewed the conversation.
Admiral Duncan's noble victory(149) became the theme, but it was
interrupted by the appearance of the lovely Princess Amelia, now
become a model of grace, beauty and sweetness,

Page 141

in their bud.  She gave me her hand with the softest expression
of kindness, and almost immediately began questioning me
concerning my little boy and with an air of interest the most
captivating. But again Princess Augusta declined any
interruptors: "You shall have Madame d'Arblay all to yourself, my
dear, soon," she cried, laughingly; and, with a smile a little
serious, the sweet Princess Amelia retreated.

It would have been truly edifying to young ladies living in the
great and public world to have assisted in my place at the
toilette of this exquisite Princess Augusta. Her ease, amounting
even to indifference, as to her ornaments and decoration, showed
a mind so disengaged from vanity, so superior to personal
appearance, that I could with difficulty forbear manifesting my
admiration. She let the hair-dresser proceed upon her head
without comment and without examination, just as if it was solely
his affair ; and when the man, Robinson, humbly begged to know
what ornaments he was to prepare the hair for, she said, "O,
there are my feathers, and my gown is blue, so take what you
think right." And when he begged she would say whether she would
have any ribbons or other things mixed with the feathers and
jewels, she said, "You understand all that best, Mr. Robinson,
I'm sure; there are the things, so take just what you please."
And after this she left him wholly to himself, never a moment
interrupting her discourse or her attention with a single
direction.


                         INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN.

Princess Augusta had just begun a very interesting account of an
officer that had conducted himself singularly well in the mutiny,
when Miss Planta came to summon me to the queen. I begged
permission to return afterwards for my unfinished narrative, and
then proceeded to the white closet.

The queen was alone, seated at a table, and working. Miss Planta
opened the door and retired without entering.  I felt a good deal
affected by the sight of her Majesty again, so graciously
accorded to my request ; but my first and instinctive feeling was
nothing to what I experienced when, after my profoundly
respectful reverence, I raised my eyes, and saw in hers a look of
sensibility so expressive of regard, and so examining, so
penetrating into mine, as to seem to convey, involuntarily, a
regret I had quitted her.  This, at least, was the idea that
struck me, from the species of look which met

Page 142

me; and it touched me to the heart, and brought instantly, in
defiance of all struggle, a flood of tears into my eyes.  I was
some minutes recovering; and when I then entreated her
forgiveness, and cleared up, the voice with which she Spoke, in
hoping I was well, told me she had caught a little of my
sensation, for it was by no means steady.  Indeed, at that
moment, I longed to kneel and beseech her pardon for the
displeasure I had felt in her long resistance of my resignation,
for I think, now, it was from a real and truly honourable wish to
attach me to her for ever.  But I then suffered too much from a
situation so ill adapted to my choice and disposition, to do
justice to her opposition, or to enjoy its honour to myself. Now
that I am so singularly, alas! nearly singularly happy, though
wholly from my perseverance in that resignation, I feel all I owe
her, and I feel more and more grateful for every mark of her
condescension, either recollected or renewed.

She looked ill, pale, and harassed. The king was but just
returned from his abortive visit to the Nore, and the inquietude
she had sustained during that short separation, circumstanced
many ways alarmingly, had evidently shaken her: I saw with much,
with deep concern, her sunk eyes and spirits. I believe the sight
of me raised not the latter.  Mrs. Schwellenberg had not long
been dead, and I have some reason to think she would not have
been sorry to have had me supply the vacancy; for I had immediate
notice sent me of her death by Miss Planta, so written as to
persuade me it was a letter by command. But not all my duty, all
my gratitude, could urge me, even one short fleeting moment, to
weigh any interest against the soothing serenity, the unfading
felicity, of a hermitage such as mine.

We spoke of poor Mrs. Schwelly,--and of her successor, Mlle.
Backmeister,--and of mine, Mrs. Bremyere; and I could not but
express my concern that her majesty had again been so
unfortunate, for Mlle. Jacobi had just retired to Germany, ill
and dissatisfied with everything in England. The Princess Augusta
had recounted to me the whole narrative of her retirement, and
its circumstances. The queen told me that the king had very
handsomely taken care of her. But such frequent retirements are
heavy weights upon the royal bounty.

I felt almost guilty when the subject was started; but not from
any reproach, any allusion,-not a word was dropped that had not
kindness and goodness for its basis and its superstructure at
once.
Page 143

"How is your little boy?" was one of the earliest questions. "is
he here?" she added.

"O yes," I answered, misunderstanding her, "he is my shadow; I go
nowhere without him."

"But here, I mean?"

"O no! ma'am, I did not dare presume--"

I stopped, for her look said it would be no presumption. And Miss
Planta had already desired me to bring him to her next time;
which I suspect was by higher order than her own suggestion.

She then inquired after my dear father, and so graciously, that I
told her not only of his good health, but his occupations, his
new work, a "Poetical History of Astronomy," and his
consultations with Herschel.

She permitted me to speak a good deal of the Princess of
Wurtemberg, whom they still all call princess royal. She told me
she had worked her wedding garment, and entirely, and the real
labour it had proved, from her steadiness to have no help, well
knowing that three stitches done by any other would make it
immediately said it was none of it by herself. "As the bride of a
widower," she continued, "I know she ought to be in white and
gold ; but as the king's eldest daughter she had a right to white
and silver, which she preferred."

A little then we talked of the late great naval victory, and she
said it was singularly encouraging to us that the three great
victories at sea had been "against our three great enemies,
successively : Lord Howe against the French, Lord St. Vincent
against the Spaniards, and Lord Duncan against the Dutch."(150)

She spoke very feelingly of the difficult situation of the Orange
family, now in England, upon this battle; and she repeated me the
contents of' a letter from the Princess of Orange, whose
character she much extolled, upon the occasion,

page 144

to the Princess Elizabeth, saying she could not bear to be the
only person in England to withhold her congratulations to the
king upon such an occasion, when no one owed him such
obligations; but all she had to regret was that the Dutch had not
fought with, not against, the English, and that the defeat had
not fallen upon those who ought to be their joint enemies. She
admired and pitied, inexpressibly, this poor fugitive princess.

I told her of a note my father had received from Lady Mary
Duncan, in answer to his wishing her joy of her relation's
prowess and success, in which he says, "Lady Mary has been, for
some days past, like the rest of the nation drunk for joy." This
led to more talk of this singular lady: and reciprocal stories of
her oddities.

She then deigned to inquire very particularly about our new
cottage,-its size, its number of rooms, and its grounds. I told
her, honestly, it was excessively comfortable, though unfinished
and unfitted up, for that it had innumerable little contrivances
and conveniences, just adapted to our particular use and taste,
as M. d'Arblay had been its sole architect and surveyor. "Then I
dare say," she answered, "it is very commodious, for there are no
people understand enjoyable accommodations more than French
gentleman, when they have the arranging them themselves."

This was very kind, and encouraged me to talk a good deal of my
partner, in his various works and employments ; and her manner of
attention was even touchingly condescending, all circumstances
considered.  And she then related to me the works of two French
priests, to whom she has herself been so good as to commit the
fitting up of one of her apartments at Frogmore.  And afterwards
she gave me a description of what another French gentleman--
elegantly and feelingly avoiding to say emigrant--had done in a
room belonging to Mrs. Harcourt, at Sophia farm, where he had the
sole superintendence of it, and has made it beautiful.
When she asked about our field, I told her we hoped in time to
buy it, as Mr. Locke had the extreme kindness to consent to part
with it to us, when it should suit our convenience to purchase
instead of renting it.  I thought I saw a look of peculiar
satisfaction at this, that seemed to convey pleasure in the
implication thence to be drawn, that England was our decided, not
forced or eventual residence. And she led me on to many minute
particulars of our situation and way of living, with a sweetness
of interest I can never forget.
Page 145

Nor even here stopped the sensations of gratitude and pleasure
she thus awoke.  She spoke then of my beloved Susan ; asked if
she were still in Ireland, and how the " pretty Norbury " did.
   She then a little embarrassed me by an inquiry "why Major
Phillips went to Ireland?" for my answer, that he was persuaded
he should improve his estate by superintending the agriculture of
it himself, seemed dissatisfactory; however, she pressed it no
further.  But I cannot judge by what passed whether she concludes
he is employed in a military way there, or whether she has heard
that he has retired.  She seemed kindly pleased at all I had to
relate of my dear Norbury, and I delighted to call him back to
her remembrance.

She talked a good deal of the Duchess of York, who continues the
first favourite of the whole royal family.  She told me of her
beautiful works, lamented her indifferent health, and expatiated
upon her admirable distribution of her time and plan of life, and
charming qualities and character.

But what chiefly dwells upon me with pleasure is, that she spoke
to me upon some subjects and persons that I know she would not
for the world should be repeated, with just the same confidence,
the same reliance upon my grateful discretion for her openness,
that she honoured me with while she thought me established in her
service for life.  I need not tell my Susan how this binds me
more than ever to her.

Very short to me seemed the time, though the whole conversation
was serious, and her air thoughtful almost to sadness, when a
page touched the door, and said something in German. The queen,
who was then standing by the window, turned round to answer him,
and then, with a sort of Congratulatory smile to me, said, "Now
you will see what you don't expect--the king!"

I could indeed not expect it, for he was at Blackheath at a
review, and he was returned only to dress for the levee. . .


                  THE KING AND HIS INFANT GRAND-DAUGHTER.

The king related very pleasantly- a little anecdote of Lady --.
"She brought the little Princess Charlotte,"(151) he said "to me
just before the review.  'She hoped,' she said, 'I should not
take it ill, for, having mentioned it to the child,

Page 146

she built so upon it that she had thought of nothing else.' Now
this," cried he, laughing heartily, "was pretty strong! How can
she know what a child is thinking of before it can speak?"

I was very happy at the fondness they both expressed for the
little princess, "A sweet little creature," the king called her;
"A most lovely child," the queen turned to me to add and the king
said he had taken her upon his horse, and given her a little
ride, before the regiment rode up to him.  "'TIS very odd," he
added, "but she always knows me on horseback, and never else."
"Yes," said the queen, "when his majesty comes to her on
horseback, she claps her little bands, and endeavours to say
'Gampa!' immediately."  I was much pleased that she is brought up
to such simple and affectionate acknowledgment of relationship.

The king then inquired about my father, and with a look of
interest and kindness that regularly accompanies his mention of
that most dear person. He asked after his health, his spirits,
and his occupations, waiting for long answers to each inquiry,
The queen anticipated my relation of his astronomic work, and he
seemed much pleased with the design, as well as at hearing that
his prot‚g‚ Dr. Herschel, had been consulted.

I was then a little surprised by finding he had heard of
"Clarentine."(152) He asked me, smilingly, some questions about
it, and if it were true, what he suspected, that my young sister
had a mind to do as I had done, and bring out a work in secret? I
was very much pleased then when the queen said, "I have seen it,
sir, and it is very pretty." . . .


       ADMIRAL DUNCAN'S VICTORY. THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF
ORANGE.

I then, by her majesty's kind appointment, returned to my lovely
and loved Princess Augusta.  Her hairdresser was just gone, and
she was proceeding in equipping herself "If you can bear to see
all this work," cried she, "pray come and sit with me, my dear
Madame d'Arblay."

Nothing could be more expeditious than her attiring herself,
nothing more careless than her examination how it succeeded.  But
judge my confusion and embarrassment, when, upon my saying I came
to petition for the rest of the Story,

Page 147

she had just begun, and her answering by inquiring what it was
about, I could not tell! It had entirely escaped my memory; and
though I sought every way I could suggest to recall it, I so
entirely failed, that after her repeated demands, I was compelled
honestly to own that the commotion I had been put in by my
interview with their majesties had really driven it from my mind.

She bore this with the true good humour of good sense but I was
most excessively ashamed.

She then resumed the reigning subject of the day, Admiral
Duncan's victory and this led to speak again of the Orange
family; but she checked what seemed occurring to her about them,
till her wardrobe-woman had done and was -dismissed ; then,
hurrying her away, while she sat down by me, putting on her long
and superb diamond earrings herself, and without even turning
towards a glass, she said, "I don't like much to talk of that
family before the servants, for I am told they already think the
king too good to them."

The Princess of Orange is, I find, a great favourite with them
all ; the Prince Frederick also, I believe, they like very much;
but the prince himself, she said, " has never, in fact, had his
education finished. He was married quite a ',-,'boy - but, being
married, concluded himself a man, and not only turned off all his
instructors, but thought it unnecessary to ask, or hear, counsel
or advice of any one. He is like a fallow field,-that is, not of
a soil that can't be improved ;:but one that has been left quite
to itself, and therefore has no materials put in it for
improvement."

She then told me that she had hindered him, with great faculty,
from going to a great dinner, given at the Mansion House. upon
the victory of Admiral Duncan. It was not, she said, that he did
not feel for his country in that defeat, but that he never
weighed the impropriety of his public appearance upon an occasion
of rejoicing at it, nor the Ill effect the history of his so
doing would produce in Holland. She had the kindness of heart to
take upon herself preventing him "for no one," says she, "that is
about him dares ever speak to him, to give him any hint of
advice; which is a great "Misfortune: to him, poor man, for it
makes him never know what is said or thought of him." She related
with a great deal of humour her arguments to dissuade him, and
his naŒve manner of combating them. But though she conquered at
last, she did not convince,
Page 148

The Princess of Orange, she told me, had a most superior
understanding and might guide him sensibly and honourably, but he
was so jealous of being thought led by her counsel' that he never
listened to it at all.  She gave me to understand that this
unhappy princess had had a life of uninterrupted indulgence and
prosperity till the late revolution - and that the suddenness of
such adversity had rather soured her mind, which, had it met
sorrow and evil by any gradations, would have been equal to
bearing them even nobly - but so quick a transition from
affluence, and power, and wealth, and grandeur, to a fugitive and
dependent state, had almost overpowered her.

A door was now opened from an inner apartment, where, I believe,
was the grand collation for the Princess Sophia's birthday, and a
tall thin young man appeared at it, peeping and staring, but not
entering.

"O! How do you do, Ernest?" cried the princess; "I hope you are
well; only pray do shut the door."

He did not obey, nor move, either forwards or backwards, but kept
peering and peeping.  She called to him again, beseeching him to
shut the door- but he was determined to first gratify his
curiosity, and, when he had looked as long as he thought
pleasant, he entered the apartment; but Princess Augusta, instead
of receiving and welcoming him, only said, "Good-bye, my dear
Ernest; I shall see you again at the play."

He then marched on, finding himself so little desired, and only
saying, "No, you won't; I hate the play."

I had risen when I found it one of the princes, and with a motion
of readiness to depart - but my dear princess would not let me.
When we were alone again, "Ernest," she said, "has a very good
heart; only he speaks without taking time to think." She then
gave me an instance. The Orange family by some chance were all
assembled with our royal family when the news of the great
victory at sea arrived; or at least upon the same day.  "We were
all," said she, " distressed for them upon SO trying an occasion
and at supper we talked, of' course, Of every other subject; but
Ernest, quite uneasy at the forbearance, said to me, 'You don't
think I won't drink Duncan's health to-night?' 'Hush!' cried I.
'That's very hard indeed!' said he, quite loud.  I saw the
princess of

Page 149

orange looking at him, and was sure she had heard him; I trod
upon his foot, and made him turn to her.  She looked so
disturbed, that he saw she had understood him, and he coloured
very high. The Princess of Orange then said, 'I hope my being
here will be no restraint upon anybody: I know what must be the
subject of everybody's thoughts, and I beg I may not prevent its
being so of their discourse.' Poor Ernest now was so sorry, he
was ready to die, and the tears started into his eyes; and he
would not have given his toast after this for all the world."


                          SOME NOTABLE ACTRESSES.

The play they were going to was "The Merchant of Venice," to see
a new actress, just now much talked of--Miss Betterton; and the
king, hearing she was extremely frightened at the thoughts of
appearing before him, desired she might choose her own part for
the first exhibition in his presence. She fixed upon Portia.

In speaking of Miss Farren's marriage with the Earl of Derby, she
displayed that sweet mind which her state and station has so
wholly escaped sullying; for, far from expressing either horror,
or resentment, or derision at an actress being elevated to the
rank of second countess of England, she told me, with an air of
satisfaction, that she was informed she had behaved extremely
well since her marriage, and done many generous and charitable
actions.

She spoke with pleasure, too, of the high marriage made by
another actress, Miss Wallis, who has preserved a spotless
character, and is now the wife of a man of fortune and family Mr
Campbell.

In mentioning Mrs. Siddons, and her great and affecting powers,
she much surprised me by intelligence that she had bought the
proprietorship of Sadler's-wells.  I could not hear it without
some amusement it seemed, I said, so extraordinary a
combination--so degrading a one, indeed,-that of the first tragic
actress, the living Melpomene, and something so burlesque as
Sadler's-wells. She laughed, and said it offered her a very
ludicrous image, for Mrs. Siddons and Sadler's-wells," said she,
" seems to me as ill-fitted as the dish they call a toad in a
hole which I never saw, but always think of with anger, -
-putting a noble sirloin of beef into .1 ,'poor, Paltry
batter-pudding!
Page 150

                           THE DUKE OF CLARENCE.

The door now again opened, and another royal personage put in his
head - and upon the princess saying, "How d'ye do, William?" I
recollected the Duke of Clarence.

I rose, of course, and he made a civil bow to my curtsey The
princess asked him about the House of Lords the preceding
evening, where I found he had spoken very handsomely and
generously in eulogium of Admiral Duncan. Finding he was inclined
to stay, the princess said to me,

"Madame d'Arblay, I beg you will sit down."

"Pray, madam," said the duke, with a formal motion of his hand,
"let me beg you to be seated."

"You know--you recollect Madame d'Arblay, don't you, William ?"
said the princess. He bowed civilly an affirmative, and then
began talking to me of Chesington. How I grieved poor dear Kitty
was gone! How great would have been her gratification to have
heard that he mentioned her, and with an air of kindness, as if
he had really entered into the solid goodness of her character.
I was much Surprised and much pleased, yet not without some
perplexity and some embarrassment, as his knowledge of the
excellent Kitty was from her being the dupe of the mistress of
his aide-de-camp.

The princess, however, saved me any confusion beyond
apprehension, for she asked not one question.  He moved on
towards the next apartment, and we were again alone.

She then talked to me a great deal of him, and gave me,
admirably, his character.  She is very partial to him, but by no
means blindly. He had very good parts, she said, but seldom did
them justice.  "If he has something of high importance to do,"
she continued, "he will exert himself to the utmost, and do it
really well; but otherwise, he is so fond of his ease, he lets
everything take its course.  He can just do a great deal or
nothing.  However, I really think, if he takes pains, he may make
something of a speaker by and by in the House."

She related a visit he had made at Lady Mary Duncan's, at Hampton
Court, upon hearing Admiral Duncan was there and told me the
whole and most minute particulars of the battle, as they were
repeated by his royal highness from the admiral's own account.
But You will dispense with the martial detail from me.  "Lady
Mary," cried she, "is much
Page 151

enchanted with her gallant nephew. 'I used to look,' says she,
'for honour and glory from my other side, the T--s ; but I
receive it only from the Duncans ! As to the T-s, what good do
they do their country?--why, they play all day at tennis, and
learn with vast skill to notch and scotch and go one! And that's
what their country gets from them!"'

I thought now I should certainly be dismissed, for a page came to
the door to announce that the Duke of York was arrived : but she
only said, "Very well; pray shut the door," which seemed her
gentle manner of having it understood she would not be disturbed,
as she used the same words when messages were brought her from
the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary.

She spoke again of the Duchess of York with the same fondness as
at Windsor.  "I told you before," she said, "I loved her like one
of my own sisters, and I can tell you no more: and she knows it;
for one day she was taken ill, and fainted, and we put her upon
one of our beds, and got her everything we could think of
ourselves, and let nobody else wait upon her ; and when she
revived she said to my brother, 'These are my sisters--I am sure
they are! they must be my own!"


                      PRINCESS SOPHIA OF GLOUCESTER.

Our next and last interruption, I think, was from a very gentle
tap at the door, and a "May I come in?" from a soft voice, while
the lock was turned, and a youthful and very lovely female put in
her head.

The princess immediately rose, and said, " "O yes," and held out
her two hands to her; turning at the same time to me, and saying,
"Princess Sophia."

I found it was the Duke of Gloucester's(154) daughter.  She is
very fat, with very fine eyes, a bright, even dazzling bloom,
fine teeth, a beautiful skin, and a look of extreme modesty and
sweetness. She curtseyed to me so distinguishingly, that I was
almost confused by her condescension, fearing she 'Might imagine,
from finding me seated with the Princess 'Augusta, and in such
close conference, I was somebody.

"You look so fine and so grand," cried she, examining the
princess's attire, which was very superb in silver and diamonds,
"that I am almost afraid to come near you!" Her own dress was
perfectly simple, though remarkably elegant.

Page 152


O!--I hate myself when so fine cried Princess Augusta; "I cannot
bear it but there is no help--the people at the play always
expect it."

They then conversed a little while, both standing ; and then
Princess Augusta said, "Give my love to the duke (meaning of
Gloucester), "and I hope I shall see him bye and bye; and to
William."(155) (meaning the duke's son). And this, which was not
a positive request that she would prolong her visit, was
understood; and the lovely cousin made her curtsey and retired.

To me, again, she made another, so gravely low and civil, that I
really blushed to receive it, from added fear of being mistaken.
I accompanied her to the door, and shut it for her; and the
moment she was out of the room, and out of sight of the Princess
Augusta, she turned round to me, and with a smile of extreme
Civility, and a voice very soft, said, "I am so happy to see
you!--I have longed for it a great, great while--for I have read
you with such delight and instruction, so often."

I was very much surprised indeed; I expressed my sense of her
goodness as well as I could; and she curtseyed again, and glided
away.  "How infinitely gracious is all your royal highness's
House to me!" cried I, as I returned to my charming princess; who
again made me take my seat next her own, and again renewed her
discourse.

I stayed on with this delightful princess till near four o'clock,
when she descended to dinner. I then accompanied her to the head
of the stairs, saying, "I feel quite low that this is over! How I
wish it might be repeated in half a year instead of a year!"

"I'm sure, and so do I!"  were the last kind words she
condescendingly uttered.

I then made a little visit to Miss Planta, who was extremely
friendly, and asked me why I should wait another year before I
came.  I told her I had leave for an annual visit, and could not
presume to encroach beyond such a permission. However, as she
proposed my calling upon her when I happened to be in town, I
begged her to take some opportunity to hint my wish of admission,
if possible, more frequently.

Very soon afterwards I had a letter from Miss Planta, saying she
had mentioned to her majesty my regret of the

Page 153

long intervals of annual admissions; and that her majesty had
most graciously answered, "She should be very glad to see me
whenever I came to town."


               DIARY RESUMED: (Addressed to Mrs. Phillips.)

                      INDIGNATION AGAINST TALLEYRAND.

Westhamble, Jan. 18, 1798-I am very impatient to know
if the invasion threat affects your part of Ireland. Our 'Oracle'
is of opinion the French soldiers will not go to Ireland, though
there flattered with much help, because they can expect but
little advantage, after all the accounts spread by the Opposition
of its starving condition ; but that they will come to England,
though sure of contest, at least, because there they expect the
very road to be paved with gold.

Nevertheless, how I wish my heart's beloved here! to share with
us at least the same fears, instead of the division of
apprehension we must now mutually be tormented with. I own I am
sometimes affrighted enough. These sanguine and sanguinary
wretches will risk all for the smallest hope of plunder ; and
Barras assures them they have only to enter England to be lords
of wealth unbounded.

But Talleyrand!--how like myself must you have felt at his
conduct! indignant--amazed--ashamed! Our first prepossession
against him was instinct--he conquered it by pains indefatigable
to win us, and he succeeded astonishingly, for we became partial
to him almost to fondness. The part he now acts against England
may be justified, perhaps, by the spirit of revenge ; but the
part he submits to perform of coadjutor with the worst of
villains--with Barras--Rewbel--Merlin--marks some internal
atrocity of character that disgusts as much as disappoints me.
And now, a last stroke, which appears in yesterday's paper, gives
the finishing hand to his portrait in my eyes. He has sent (and
written) the letter which exhorts the King of Prussia to order
the Duke of Brunswick to banish and drive from his dominions all
the emigrants there in asylum --and among these are the
Archbishop of Rennes (his uncle) and--his own mother!

Poor M. de Narbonne! how will he be shocked and let down! where
he now is we cannot conjecture: all emigrants are exiled from the
Canton of Berne, where he resided; I feel extremely disturbed
about him. If that wretch Talleyrand has
Page 154

not given him some private Intimation to escape, and where to be
safe, he must be a monster.


                         THE D'ARBLAY MAISONNETTE.

This very day, I thank God ! we paid the last of our work men.
Our house now is our own fairly --that it is our own madly too
you will all think, when I tell you the small remnant of our
income that has outlived this payment.  However, if the
Carmagnols do not seize our walls, we despair not of enjoying, in
defiance of all straitness and strictness, our dear dwelling to
our hearts' content.  But we are reducing our expenses and way of
life, in order to go on, in a manner you would laugh to see,
though almost cry to hear.  But I never forget Dr. Johnson's
words.  When somebody said that a certain person "had no turn for
economy," he answered, "Sir, you might as well say that he has no
turn for honesty."

We know nothing yet of our taxes-nothing- of our assessments; but
we are of good courage, and so pleased with our maisonnette, we
think nothing too dear for it, provided we can but exist in it. I
should like much to know how you stand affected about the
assessment, and about the invasion. O that all these public
troubles would accelerate Your return! private blessings they
would then, at least, prove. Ah, my Susan, how do I yearn for
some little ray upon this subject!

Charles and his family are at Bath, and Charlotte is gone to them
for a fortnight. All accounts that reach me of all the house and
race are well.  Mr. Locke gives us very-frequent peeps indeed,
and looks with such benevolent pleasure at our dear cottage and
its environs! and seems to say, "I brought all this to bear," and
to feel happy in the noble trust he placed in our self-belief
that he might venture to show that kind courage without which we
could never have been united.  All this retrospection is
expressed by his penetrating eyes it every visit.  He rarely
alights ; but I frequently enter the phaeton, and take a
conversation in an airing.  And when he comes without his
precious Amelia, he indulges my Alex in being our third.


               INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN AND THE PRINCESSES.

And now I have to prepare another Court relation for MY dearest
Susanna. I received on Wednesday morn a letter from our dearest
Page 155

father, telling me he feared he should be forced to quit his
Chelsea apartments, from a new arrangement among the officers,
and wishing me to represent his difficulties, his books, health,
time of life, and other circumstances, through Miss Planta, to
the queen. M. d'Arblay and I both thought that, if I had any
chance of being of the smallest use, it would be by endeavouring
to obtain an audience-not by letter; and as the most remote hope
of success was sufficient to urge -every exertion, we settled
that I should set out instantly for Chelsea ; and a chaise,
therefore, we sent for from Dorking, and I set off at noon. M.
d'A. would not go, as we knew not what accommodation I might find
; and I could not, uninvited and unexpected, take my little
darling boy; so I went not merrily, though never more willingly.

My dear father was at home, and, I could see, by no means
surprised by my appearance, though he had not hinted at desiring
it. Of course he was not very angry nor sorry, and we communed
together upon his apprehensions, and settled our plan.  I was to
endeavour to represent his case to the queen, in hopes it might
reach his majesty, and procure some order in his favour.

I wrote to Miss Planta, merely to say I was come to pass three
days at Chelsea, and, presuming upon the gracious permission of
her majesty, I ventured to make known my arrival, ,in the hope it
might possibly procure me the honour of admittance. The next
morning, Thursday, I had a note from Miss Planta, to say that she
had the pleasure to acquaint ',.",me her majesty desired I would
be at the Queen's house next day at ten o'clock.

Miss Planta conducted me immediately, by order, to the Princess
Elizabeth, who received me alone, and kept me tˆte-…-tˆte till I
was summoned to the queen, which was near ,.an hour. She was all
condescension and openness, and inquired into my way of life and
plans, with a sort of kindness that I am sure belonged to a real
wish to find them happy and prosperous. When I mentioned how much
of our time was mutually given to books and writing, M. d'Arblay
being as great a scribbler as myself, she good-naturedly
exclaimed, "How fortunate he should have so much the same taste!"

"It was that, in fact," I answered, "which united us for our
acquaintance began, in intimacy, by reading French together, and
writing themes, both French and English, for each other's
correction."
Page 156

"Pray," cried she, " if it is not impertinent, may I ask to what
religion you shall bring up your son?"

"The Protestant," I replied; telling her it was M. d'Arblay's own
wish, since he was an Englishman born, he should be an Englishman
bred,--with much more upon the subject that my Susan knows
untold.

She then inquired why M. d'Arblay was not naturalised. This was
truly kind, for it looked like wishing our permanently fixing in
this his adopted country.  I answered that he found he could not
be naturalised as a catholic, which had made him relinquish the
plan; for though he was firmly persuaded the real difference
between the two religions was trifling, and such as even appeared
to him, in the little he had had opportunity to examine, to be in
favour of Protestantism, he could not bring himself to study the
matter with a view of changing that seemed actuated by interest ;
nor could I wish it, earnest as I was for his naturalisation.
But he hoped, ere long, to be able to be naturalised as an
Irishman, that clause of religion not being there insisted upon ,
or else to become a denizen, which was next best, and which did
not meddle with religion at all. She made me talk to her a great
deal of my little boy, and my father, and M. d'Arblay; and when
Miss Planta came to fetch me to her majesty, she desired to see
me again before my departure.

The queen was in her White closet, working at a round table, with
the four remaining princesses, Augusta, Mary, Sophia, and Amelia.
She received me most sweetly, and with a look of far better
spirits than upon my last admission. She permitted me, in the
most gracious manner, to inquire about the princess royal, now
Duchess of WUrtemberg, and gave me an account of her that I hope
is not flattered ; for it seemed happy, and such as reconciled
them all to the separation.  When she deigned to inquire,-
herself, after my dear father, you may be sure of the eagerness
With which I seized the moment for relating his embarrassment and
difficulties. She heard me with a benevolence that assured me,
though she made no speech, my history would not be forgotten, nor
remembered vainly. I was highly satisfied with her look and
manner. The Princesses Mary and Amelia had a little opening
between them , and when the queen was conversing with some lady
who was teaching the Princess Sophia some work, they began a
whispering conversation with me about my little
Page 157

boy.  How tall is he?--how old is he?--Is he fat or thin?--is he
like you or M. d'Arblay? etc.--with sweet vivacity of interest,-
-the lovely Princess Amelia finishing her listening to my every
answer with a "dear little thing!" that made me long to embrace
her as I have done in her childhood. She is now full as tall as
princess royal, and as much formed ; she looks seventeen, though
only fourteen, but has an innocence, an Hebe blush, an air of
modest candour, and a gentleness so caressingly inviting, of
voice and eye, that I have seldom seen a more captivating young
creature.

Then they talked of my new house, and inquired about every room
it contained; and then of our grounds, and they were mightily
diverted with the mixtures of roses and cabbages, sweet briars,
and potatoes, etc.

The queen, catching the domestic theme, presently made inquiries
herself, both as to the building and the child, asking, with
respect to the latter, "Is he here?" as if she meant in the
palace.  I told her I had come so unexpectedly myself upon my
father's difficulties, that I had not this time brought my little
shadow. I believed, however, I should fetch him, as, if I
lengthened my stay, M. d'Arblay would come also. "To be sure!"
she said, as if feeling the trio's full objections to separating.

She asked if I had seen a play just come out, called "He's much
to Blame;" and, on my negative, began to relate to me its plot
and characters, and the representation and its effect ; and,
warming herself by her own account and my attention, she
presently entered into a very minute history of each act, and a
criticism upon some incidents, with a spirit and judiciousness
that were charming.  She is delightful in discourse when animated
by her subject, and speaking to auditors with whom, neither from
circumstance nor suspicion, she has restraint. But when, as
occasionally she deigned to ask my opinion of the several actors
she brought in review, I answered I had never seen them,--neither
Mrs. Pope, Miss Betterton, Mr. Murray, etc.,--she really looked
almost concerned.  She knows my fondness for the theatre, and I
did not fear to say my inability to indulge it was almost my only
regret in my hermit life.  "I, too," she graciously said, "prefer
plays to all other amusements."

By degrees all the princesses retired, except the Princess
Augusta.  She then spoke more openly upon less public matters,-in
particular upon the affair, then just recent, of the
Page 158

Duke of Norfolk, who, you may have heard, had drunk, at the Whig
Club, "To the majesty of the people," in consequence of which the
king had erased his name from the privy council. His grace had
been caricatured drinking from a silver tankard with the burnt
bread still in flames touching his mouth, and exclaiming, "Pshaw!
my toast has burnt my mouth."

This led me to speak of his great brick house, which is our
immediate vis-…-vis. And much then ensued upon Lady ----
concerning whom she opened to me very completely, allowing all I
said of her uncommon excellence as a mother, but adding, "Though
she is certainly very clever, she thinks herself so a little too
much, and instructs others at every word.  I was so tired with
her beginning everything with 'I think,' that, at last, just as
she said so, I stopped her, and cried., 'O, I know what you
think, Lady ----!'  Really, one is obliged to be quite sharp with
her to keep her In her place." . . .

Lady C--, she had been informed, had a considerable sum in the
French funds, which she endeavoured from time to time to recover,
but upon her last effort, she had the following query put to her
agent by order of the Directory: how much she would have deducted
from the principal, as a contribution towards the loan raising
for the army of England? If Lady C-- were not mother-in-law to a
minister who sees the king almost daily, I should think this a
made story.

When, after about an hour and a half's audience, *she dismissed
me, she most graciously asked my stay at Chelsea, and desired I
would inform Miss Planta before I returned home. This gave me the
most gratifying feeling, and much hope for my dearest father.


                   ROYAL CONTRIBUTIONS TOWARDS THE WAR.

Returning then, according to my permission, to Princess
Elizabeth, she again took up her netting, and made me sit by her.
We talked a good deal of the new-married daughter of Lady
Templetown, and she was happy, she said, to hear from me that the
ceremony was performed by her own favourite Bishop of Durham, for
she was sure a blessing would attend his joining their hands. She
asked me much of my little man, and told me several things of the
Princess Charlotte, her niece, and our future queen; she seems
very fond of her, and says 'tis a lovely child, and extremely
like the Prince Of
Page 159

Wales.  "She is just two years old," said she, "and speaks very
prettily, though not plainly.  I flatter myself Aunt Liby, as she
calls me, is a great favourite with her."

My dearest Princess Augusta soon after came in, and, after
staying a few minutes, and giving some message to her sister,
said, "And when you leave Elizabeth, my dear Madame d'Arblay, I
hope you'll come to me."

This happened almost immediately, and I found her hurrying over
the duty of her toilette, which she presently despatched, though
she was going to a public concert of Ancient Music, and without
scarcely once looking in the glass, from haste to have done, and
from a freedom from vanity I never saw quite equalled in any
young woman of any class. She then dismissed her hairdresser and
wardrobe-woman, and made me sit by her.

Almost immediately we began upon the voluntary contributions to
the support of the war; and when I mentioned the queen's
munificent donation of five thousand pounds a-year for its
support, and my admiration of it, from my peculiar knowledge,
through my long residence under the royal roof, of the many
claims which her majesty's benevolence, as well as state, had
raised upon her powers, she seemed much gratified by the justice
I did her royal mother, and exclaimed eagerly "I do assure you,
my dear Madame d'Arblay, people ought to know more how good the
queen is, for they don't know it half."  And then she told me
that she only by accident had learnt almost all that she knew of
the queen's bounties.  "And the most I gathered," she continued,
laughing, "was, to tell you the real truth, by my own
impertinence - for when we were at Cheltenham, Lady Courtown (the
queen's lady-in-waiting for the country) put her pocket-book down
on the table, when I was alone with her, by some chance open at a
page where mamma's name was written : so, not guessing at any
secret commission, I took it up, and read-Given by her majesty's
commands--so much, and so much, and so much. And I was quite
surprised. However, Lady Courtown made me promise never to
mention it to the queen ; so I never have.  But I long it should
be known, for all that; though I would not take such a liberty as
to spread it of my own judgment."

I then mentioned my own difficulties formerly, when her Majesty,
upon my ill state of health's urging my resigning the honour of
belonging to the royal household, so graciously
Page 160

settled upon me a pension, that I had been forbidden to name it.
I had been quite distressed in not avowing what I so gratefully
felt, and hearing questions and surmises and remarks I had no
power to answer. She seemed instantly to comprehend that my
silence might do wrong, on such an occasion, to the queen, for
she smiled, and with great quickness cried, "O, I dare say you
felt quite guilty in holding your tongue." And she was quite
pleased with the permission afterwards granted me to be explicit.

When I spoke of her own and her royal sisters' contributions, one
hundred pounds per annum, she blushed, bat seemed ready to enter
upon the subject, even confidentially, and related its whole
history.  No one ever advised or named it to them, as they have
none of them any separate establishment, but all hang upon the
queen, from whose pin-money they are provided for till they
marry, or have an household of their own granted by Parliament.
"Yet we all longed to subscribe," cried she, "and thought it
quite right, if other young ladies did, not to be left out.  But
the difficulty was, how to do what would not be improper for us,
and yet not to be generous at mamma's expense, for that would
only have been unjust.  So we consulted some of our friends, and
then fixed upon one hundred pounds a-piece; and when we asked the
queen's leave, she was so good as to approve it.  So then we
spoke to the king, and he said it was but little, but he wished
particularly nobody should subscribe what would really distress
them ; and that, if that was all we could conveniently do, and
regularly continue, he approved it more than to have us make a
greater exertion, and either bring ourselves into difficulties or
not go on. But he was not at all angry."

She then gave me the history of the contribution of her brothers.
The Prince of Wales could not give in his name without the leave
of his creditors.  "But Ernest," cried she, "gives three hundred
pounds a-year, and that's a tenth of his income, for the king
allows him three thousand pounds."

All this leading to discourse upon loyalty, and then its
contrast, democracy, she narrated to me at full length a lecture
of Therwall's, which had been repeated to her by M. de
GuiffardiŠre.  It was very curious from her mouth.  But she is
candour in its whitest purity, wherever it is possible to display
it, in discriminating between good and bad, and abstracting rays
of light even from the darkest shades.  So she did even from
Therwall.
Page 161

She made me, as usual, talk of my little boy, and was much amused
by hearing that, imitating what he heard from me, he called his
father "mon ami," and tutoyed him, drinking his health at dinner,
as his father does to me--"Š la sant‚."

When at length the Princess Augusta gave me the bow of cong‚ she
spoke of seeing me again soon: I said I should therefore lengthen
my stay in town, and induce M. d'Arblay to come and bring my boy.

"We shall see you then certainly," said she, smiling, "and do
pray, my dear Madame d'Arblay, bring your little boy with you.
And don't say anything to him," cried she, as I was departing;
"let us see him quite natural."

I understood her gracious, and let me say rational, desire, that
the child should not be impressed with any awe of the royal
presence.  I assured her I must obey, for he was so young, so
wild, and so unused to present himself, except as a plaything,
that it would not be even in my power to make him orderly. . . .

My dear father was extremely pleased with what I had to tell him,
and hurried me back to Westhamble, to provide myself with baggage
for sojourning with him. My two Alexanders, you will believe,
were now warmly invited to Chelsea, and we all returned thither
together, accompanied by Betty Nurse.


          INVITATION TO THE PLAY. MRS SCHWELLENBERG'S SUCCESSOR.

I shall Complete my next Court visit before I enter upon aught
else.  I received, very soon, a note from Madame Bremyere, who is
my successor. [I have told you poor Mlle. Jacobi is returned to
Germany, I think; and that her niece, La Bettina, is to marry a
rich English merchant and settle in London.] This note says Mrs
Bremyere has received the queen's commands to invite Madame
d'Arblay to the play tomorrow night "-with her own desire I would
drink coffee in her apartment before we went to the theatre.
Could anything More sweetly mark the real kindness of the queen
than this remembrance of my fondness for plays ?

My dear father lent me his carriage, and I was now introduced to
the successor of Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mlle. Bachmeister, a German,
brought over by M. de Luc, who travelled to Germany to accompany
her hither. I found she was the lady I had seen with the queen
and princesses,

Page 162

ing some work. Not having been to the so-long-known apartments
since the death of Mrs. Schwellenberg, I knew not how they were
arranged, and had concluded Madame Bremyere possessed those of
Mrs. Schwellenberg. Thither, therefore, I went, and was received,
to my great surprise, by this lady, who was equally surprised by
my entrance, though without any doubt who I might be, from having
seen me with the queen, and from knowing I was to join the
play-party to my ci-devant box. I inquired if I had made any
mistake, but though she could not say no, she would not suffer Me
to rectify it, but sent to ask Madame Bremyere to meet me in her
room.

Mlle. Bachmeister is extremely genteel in her figure, though
extremely plain in her face; her voice is gentle and penetrating;
her manners are soft, yet dignified, and she appears to be both a
feeling and a cultivated character.  I could not but lament such
had not been the former possessor of an apartment I had so often
entered with the most cruel antipathy. I liked her exceedingly;
she is a marked gentlewoman in her whole deportment, though
whether so from birth, education, or only mind, I am ignorant.

Since she gave me so pleasant a prejudice in her favour, you will
be sure our acquaintance began with some spirit. We talked much
of the situation she filled; and I thought it my duty to cast the
whole of my resignation of one so similar upon ill health. Mrs.
Bremyere soon joined us, and we took up Miss Barbara Planta in
our way to the theatre.

When the king entered, followed by the queen and his lovely
daughters, and the orchestra struck up " God save the king," and
the people all called for the singers, who filled the stage to
sing it, the emotion I was suddenly filled with so powerfully
possessed me, that I wished I could, for a minute or two, have
flown from the box, to have sobbed; I was so gratefully delighted
at the sight before me, and so enraptured at the continued
enthusiasm of the no longer volatile people for their worthy,
revered sovereign, that I really suffered from the restraint I
felt of being forced to behave decorously.

The play was the "Heir at Law," by Colman the younger. I liked it
extremely. It has a good deal of character, a happy plot, much
interest in the under parts, and is combined, I think, by real
genius, though open to innumerable partial criticisms.  I heard a
gentleman's voice from the next box call softly to Miss Barbara
Planta, "Who is that lady?" and
Page 163

heard her answer my name, and him rejoin, "I thought so." I found
it was Lord Aylesbury, who also has resigned, and was at the play
only for the pleasure of sitting opposite his late royal
mistress. . . .


                  MADAME D'ARBLAY's LITTLE BOY AT COURT.

About a week after this theatrical regale, I went to the Queen's
house, to make known I had only a few more days to remain at
Chelsea. I arrived just as the royal family had set out for
Windsor; but Miss Bacbmeister, fortunately, had only ascended her
coach to follow. I alighted, and went to tell my errand. Mrs.
Bremyere, Mrs. Cheveley, and Miss Planta were her party. The
latter promised to speak for me to the queen; but, gathering I
had my little boy, in my father's carriage, she made me send for
him.  They took him in, and loaded him with bonbons and
admiration, and would have loaded him with caresses to boot, but
the little wretch resisted that part of the entertainment. Upon
their return from Windsor, you will not suppose me made very
unhappy to receive the following billet:--

March 8th, 1798.
My dear friend,-The queen has commanded me to acquaint you that
she desires you will be at the Queen's house on Thursday morning
at ten o'clock, with your lovely boy. You are desired to come
upstairs in Princess Elizabeth's apartments, and her majesty will
send for you as soon as she can see you. Adieu! Yours most
affectionately, M. Planta.

A little before ten, you will easily believe, we were at the
,Queen's house, and were immediately ushered into the apartment
of the Princess Elizabeth, who, to show she expected my little
man, had some playthings upon one of her many tables; for her
royal highness has at least twenty in her principal room. The
child, in a new muslin frock, sash, etc.' did not look to much
disadvantage, and she examined him with the most good-humoured
pleasure, and, finding him too shy to be seized, had the
graciousness, as well as sense, to play round and court him by
sportive wiles, instead of being offended at his insensibility to
her royal notice.  She ran about the room, peeped at him through
chairs, clapped her hands, half caught without touching him, and
showed a skill
Page 164

and a sweetness that made one almost sigh she should have no call
for her maternal propensities.

There came in presently Miss D-, a young lady about thirteen, who
seems in some measure under the protection of her royal highness,
who had rescued her poor injured and amiable mother, Lady D-,
from extreme distress, into which she had been involved by her
unworthy husband's connexion with the infamous Lady W-, who, more
hardhearted than even bailiffs, had forced certain of those
gentry, in an execution she had ordered in Sir H. D-'s house, to
seize even all the children's playthings ! as well as their
clothes, and that when Lady D-- had but just lain in, and was
nearly dying! This charming princess, who had been particularly
acquainted with Lady D- during her own illness at Kew Palace,
where the queen permitted the intercourse, came forward upon this
distress, and gave her a small independent house in the
neighbourhood of Kew, with every advantage she could annex to it.
But she is now lately no more, and, by the sort of reception
given to her daughter, I fancy the princess transfers to her that
kind benevolence the mother no longer wants.

just then, Miss Planta came to summon us to the Princess Augusta.
 She received me with her customary sweetness, and called the
little boy to her. He went fearfully and cautiously, yet with a
look of curiosity at the state of her head, and the operations of
her friseur, that seemed to draw him on more powerfully than her
commands. He would not, however, be touched, always flying to my
side at the least attempt to take his hand. This would much have
vexed me, if I had not seen the ready allowance she made for his
retired life, and total want of use to the sight of anybody out
of our family, except the Lockes, amongst whom I told her his
peculiar preference for Amelia.  "Come then," cried she, "come
hither, my dear, and tell me all about her,--is she very good to
you?--do you like her very much?"

He was now examining her fine carpet, and no answer was to be
procured.  I would have apologised, but she would not let me.
"'Tis so natural," she cried, '"that he should be more amused
with those shapes and colours than with my stupid questions."

Princess Mary now came in, and, earnestly looking at him,
exclaimed, "He's beautiful!--what eyes!--do look at his eyes!"
Page 165

"Come hither, my dear," again cried Princess Augusta,
"come hither;" and, catching him to her for a Moment, and,
holding up his hair. to lift up his face and made him look at
her, she smiled very archly, and cried, "O ! horrid eyes!
shocking eyes!--take them away!"

Princess Elizabeth then entered, attended by a page, who was
loaded With playthings which she had been sending for. You may
suppose him caught now! He seized upon dogs, horses, chaise, a
cobbler, a watchman, and all he could grasp but would not give
his little person or cheeks, to my great confusion, for any of
them.

I was fain to call him a little savage, a wild deer, a creature
just caught from the woods, and whatever could indicate his
rustic life, and apprehension of new faces,--to prevent their
being hurt ; and their excessive good nature helped all my
excuses, nay, made them needless, except to myself. .

Princess Elizabeth now began playing upon an organ she had
brought him, which he flew to seize.  "Ay, do! that's right, my
dear," cried Princess Augusta, stopping her ears at some
discordant sounds; "take it to mon ami, to frighten the cats out
of his garden."

And now, last of all, came in Princess Amelia, and, strange to
relate ! the child was instantly delighted with her!  She came
first up to me, and, to my inexpressible surprise and
enchantment, she gave me her sweet beautiful face to kiss!--an
honour I had thought now for ever over, though she had so
frequently gratified me with it formerly.  Still more touched,
however, than astonished, I would have kissed her hand, but,
withdrawing it, saying, "No, no,--you know I hate that!"  she
again presented me her ruby lips, and with an expression of -such
ingenuous sweetness and innocence as was truly captivating. She
is and will be another Princess Augusta.

She then turned to the child, and his eyes met hers with a look
of the same pleasure that they were sought. She stooped down to
take his unresisting hands, and, exclaiming "Dear little thing!"
took him in her arms, to his own as obvious content as hers.

"He likes her!" cried Princess Augusta, "a little rogue! see how
he likes her!"

"Dear little thing!"  with double the emphasis, repeated the
young princess, now sitting down and taking him upon her knee;
"and how does M. d'Arblay do?"

The child now left all his new playthings, his admired
Page 166

carpet, and his privilege of jumping from room to room, for the
gentle pleasure of sitting in her lap and receiving her caresses.
I could not be very angry, you will believe, yet I would have
given the world I could have made him equally grateful to the
Princess Augusta. This last charming personage, I now found, was
going to Sit for her picture--I fancy to send to the Duchess of
Wurtemberg.  She gave me leave to attend her with my bantling.
The other princesses retired to dress for Court.

It was with great difficulty I could part my little love from his
grand collection of new playthings, all of which he had dragged
into the painting-room, and wanted now to pull them down-stairs
to the queen's apartment.  I persuaded him, however, to
relinquish the design without a quarrel, by promising we would
return for them.


                      HIS PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN.

I was not a little anxious, you will believe, in this
presentation of my unconsciously honoured rogue, who entered the
White closet totally unimpressed with any awe, and only with a
sensation of disappointment in not meeting again the gay young
party, and variety of playthings, he had left above.  The queen,
nevertheless, was all condescending indulgence, and had a Noah's
ark ready displayed upon the table for him.

But her look was serious and full of care, and, though perfectly
gracious, none of her winning smiles brightened her countenance,
and her voice was never cheerful.  I have since known that the
Irish conspiracy with France was just then discovered, and
O'Connor that very morning taken.(156) No wonder she should have
felt a shock that pervaded her whole mind and manners! If we all
are struck with horror at such developments of treason, danger,
and guilt, what must they prove to the royal family, at whom they
are
Page 167

regularly aimed ? How my heart has ached for them in that
horrible business!

"And how does your papa do?" said the queen.

"He's at Telsea," answered the child.

"And how does grandDapa do?"

"He's in the toach," he replied.

"And what a pretty frock you've got on! who made it you, mamma,
or little aunty?"

The little boy now grew restless, and pulled me about, with a
desire to change his situation. I was a good deal embarrassed, as
I saw the queen meant to enter into conversation as usual; which
I knew to be impossible, unless he had some entertainment to
occupy him. She perceived this soon, and had the goodness
immediately to open Noah's ark herself, which she had meant he
should take away with him to examine and possess at once. But he
was now soon in raptures : and, as the various animals were
produced, looked with a delight that danced in all his features;
and when any appeared of which he knew the name, he capered with
joy; such as, "O! a tow [cow]!" But at the dog, he clapped his
little hands, and running close to her Majesty; leant upon her
lap, exclaiming, "O, it's bow wow!"

"And do you know this, little man?" said the queen, showing him a
cat.

"Yes," cried he, again jumping as he leant upon her, "its name is
talled pussey!"

And at the appearance of Noah, in a green mantle, and leaning on
a stick, he said, "At's (that's] the shepherd's boy!"

The queen now inquired about my dear father, and heard all I had
to say relative to his apartments, with an air of interest, yet
not as if it was new to her.  I have great reason to believe the
accommodation then arranging, and since settled, as to his
continuance in the College, has been deeply influenced by some
royal hint. . . .

I imagined she had just heard of the marriage of Charlotte, for
she inquired after my sister Frances, whom she never had
mentioned before since I quitted my post. I was obliged briefly
to relate the transaction, seeking to adorn it by stating Mr.
Broome's being the author of "Simkin's Letters." She agreed in
their uncommon wit and humour.

My little rebel, meanwhile, finding his animals were not given
into his own hands, but removed from their mischief, was
struggling all this time to get at the Tunbridge-ware of
Page 168

the queen's work-box, and, in defiance of all my efforts to
prevent him, he seized one piece, which he called a hammer, and
began violently knocking the table with it. I would fain have
taken it away silently - but he resisted such grave authority,
and so continually took it back, that the queen, to my great
confusion, now gave it him. Soon, however, tired also of this, he
ran away from me into the next room, which was their majesties'
bedroom, and in which were all the jewels ready to take to St.
James's, for the Court attire. I was excessively ashamed, and
obliged to fetch him back in my arms, and there to keep him. "

"Get down, little man," said the queen; "you are too heavy for
your mamma."

He took not the smallest notice of this admonition. The queen,
accustomed to more implicit obedience, repeated it but he only
nestled his little head in my neck, and worked' about his whole
person, so that I with difficulty held him.

The queen now imagined he did not know whom she meant, and said,
" What does he call you? Has he any particular name for you?"

He now lifted up his head, and, before I could answer, called
out, in a fondling manner, "Mamma, mamma!"

"O!" said she, smiling, "he knows who I mean!"

His restlessness still interrupting all attention, in defiance of
my earnest whispers for quietness, she now said, "Perhaps he is
hungry?" and rang her bell, and ordered a page to bring some
cakes.

He took one with great pleasure, and was content to stand down to
eat it. I asked him if he had nothing to say for it; he nodded
his little head, and composedly answered, "Sanky, queen!" This
could not help amusing her, nor me, neither, for I had no
expectation of quite so succinct an answer.

The carriages were now come for St. James's, and the Princesses
Augusta and Elizabeth came into the apartment. The little monkey,
in a fit of renewed lassitude after his cake, had flung himself
on the floor, to repose at his ease.  He rose, however, upon
their appearance, and the sweet Princess Augusta said to the
queen, "He has been so good, up-stairs, mamma, that nothing could
be better behaved."  I could have kissed her for this instinctive
kindness, excited by a momentary view of my embarrassment at his
little airs and liberties.

The queen heard her with an air of approving, as well as
understanding, her motive, and spoke to me with the utmost
Page 169

condescension of him, though I cannot recollect how, for I was a
good deal fidgeted lest he should come to some disgrace, by any
actual mischief or positive rebellion.  I escaped pretty well,
however, and they all left us with smiles and graciousness. . . .

You will not be much surprised to hear that papa came to help us
out of the coach, at* our return to Chelsea, eager to know how
our little rebel had conducted himself, and how he had been
received.  The sight of his playthings, you will believe, was not
very disagreeable. The ark, watchman, and cobbler, I shall keep
for him till he may himself judge their worth beyond their price.


            MLLE. BACHMEISTER PRODUCES A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION.

I returned to the Queen's house in the afternoon to drink coffee
with Mlle. Bachmeister, whom I found alone, and spent a half-hour
with very pleasantly, though very seriously, for her character is
grave and feeling, and I fear she is not happy. Afterwards we
were joined by Madame Bremyere, who is far more cheerful.

The play was called "Secrets Worth Knowing;" a new piece.  In the
next box to ours sat Mrs. Ariana Egerton, the bed-chamber-woman
to her majesty, who used so frequently to visit me at Windsor.
She soon recollected me, though she protested I looked so
considerably in better health, she took me for my own Younger
sister - and we had a great deal of chat together, very amicable
and cordial.  I so much respect her warm exertions for the
emigrant ladies, that I addressed her with real pleasure, in
pouring forth my praises for her kindness and benevolence.

When we returned to the Queen's house my father's carriage was
not arrived, and I was obliged to detain Mlle. Bachmeister in
conversation for full half an hour, while I waited ; but it
served to increase my good disposition to her.  She is really an
interesting woman. Had she been in that place while I belonged to
the queen, heaven knows if I had so struggled for deliverance ,
for poor Mrs. Schwellenberg so wore, wasted, and tortured all my
little leisure, that my time for repose was, in fact, my time of
greatest labour.  So all is for the best!  I have escaped
offending lastingly the royal mistress I love and honour, and-I
live at Westhamble with my two precious Alexanders.

(137) The most interesting account of the unfortunate expedition
to Bantry Bay is to be found in Wolfe Tone's " Memoirs." Wolfe
Tone, one of the leading members of the Irish Revolutionary
party, had been for some time resident in Paris, engaged in
negotiations with the Directory, with the view of obtaining
French support for the Irish in their intended attempt to throw
off the yoke of England.  About the middle of December, 1796, a
large French fleet, under the Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse, sailed
from Brest, having on board an army of f twenty-five thousand
men, commanded by General Hoche, one of the ablest officers of
the Republic.  Wolfe Tone accompanied the troops in the capacity
of adjutant to the general, But the fleet was dispersed by
storms.  The vessel which had General Hoche on board was obliged
to put into the harbour of Rochelle, and comparatively few of the
ships, with about six thousand troops on board, actually cast
anchor in Bantry Bay. Even there, the wind was so 'Violent as to
render landing impossible, and after a few days' delay the
expedition returned to France.-ED.

(138) Edmund Burke died, at his house at Beaconsfield, half an
hour after midnight on the morning Of Sunday, July 9, 1797. He
was buried, July 15, in the parish church of Beaconsfield.-ED.

(139) Sold for the benefit of the nation.

(140) Dr. Johnson's negro servant. Johnson left him a comfortable
annuity, on which he retired to Lichfield. He died in the
infirmary at Stafford, February 13, 1801.-ED.

(141) The Garrick family resided in Lichfield. David Garrick was
born in Hereford, but educated at Lichfield.-ED.

 (142) Dr. Burney's little grandson, and the son of Captain James
BAR Burney. after years, as readers of "Elia" will remember,
Martin Burney was the friend of Charles Lamb.-ED.

(143) Since the death of his second wife, Dr. Burney had been
engaged upon a "historical and didactic poem on astronomy."  He
had been urged to the undertaking by Fanny, who hoped that the
interest of this new occupation might prove a relief to his
sorrow.  Astronomy Was a favourite subject with Dr. Burney, and
he made great progress with the poem, which was for years his
favourite recreation.  At a later period, however, for some
reason which his daughter never discovered, he relinquished the
task and destroyed the manuscript.-ED.

(144) Ralph Broome, who married Charlotte Francis in 1798, wasthe
author of "The Letters of Simpkin the Second, poetic recorder of
all the proceedings upon the trial of Warren Hastings, Esq., in
Westminster Hall," published by Stockdale, 1789.  These letters,
which had already appeared separately in "The World," form, as
the title implies, a burlesque report of the trial, in rhymed
verse.  The author is very severe upon the managers, and
proportionately favourable to Mr.  Hastings. The letters are
amusing and not without Wit, although in these respects "Simpkin
the Second" falls decidedly short of "Simpkin the First," who is,
of course, the Simple Simkin of Anstey's "New Bath Guide." upon
which clever satire Broome had modelled his performance.-ED.

(145) Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, was a very singular
character--- a compound of experimental philosopher, practical
philanthropist, soldier and statesman.  He was born at Woburn,
Massachusetts, in 1753.  A Tory during the struggle for American
independence, he embarked for England before the close of the
war.  There he was well received by the government, but shortly
afterwards he went to Bavaria, where he entered into the service
of the Elector.  He soon attained a high reputation by the
reforms which he introduced in various departments, and was
created a Count of the Holy Roman Empire, by the title of Count
Rumford. Among his principal achievements in Bavaria were the
reforms which he brought about in the army, and the measures
which he instituted for the relief of the poor and the
suppression of beggary.  To Fanny, at present, Count Rumford was
more interesting as the inventor of an improved Cooking range, by
which the consumption of fuel was greatly reduced. See his "Life"
by James Renwick, in Sparks'.s "Library of American Biography,"
Boston, 1845.-ED.

 (146) The insurrection of the 18th of Fructidor (September 4,
1797).  In 1795, on the dissolution of the Convention, the
government of France was entrusted to a Directory of five
persons, assisted by two councils--the Council of Ancients, and
the Council of Five hundred. In course of time, the reactionary,
or anti-revolutionary, party obtained a large majority in the
councils, which were thus involved in continual disputes with the
Directory. The army supported the Directory, and on the 4th Of
September a large body of troops surrounded the Tuileries, and
arrested a number of the most obnoxious members of the councils;
many of these Were afterwards--not guillotined, but transported
to South America.-ED.
(147) The marriage of the princess royal and the hereditary
prince of Wurtemberg, May 18, 1797.-ED.
(148) In April, 797, a serious mutiny broke out in the fleet at
Spithead. The sailors demanded increased pay and better food.
Their demands were finally conceded, and they returned to their
duty, May 14.  A few days later, a still more alarming mutiny
broke out in the fleet at the Nore.  The mutineers hoisted the
red flag, May 23, and, being joined by vessels from other
squadrons, found themselves presently masters of eleven ships of
the line, and thirteen frigates.  With this powerful fleet they
blocked the Thames, and put a stop to the river trade of London.
Their demands were more extensive than those of the Spithead
Mutineers, but government firmly refused further concessions, and
in June the want of union and resolution among the men brought
about the collapse of the mutiny.  Ship after ship deserted the
red flag, until the last vessel was steered into Sheerness
harbour, and given up to the authorities.  Several of the leaders
were tried by court-martial and hanged ; the rest of the
mutineers were pardoned.-ED.

(149) The decisive victory gained by Admiral Duncan over the
Dutch fleet, off Camperdown, October 11, 1797. in January, 1795,
the French army under General Pichegru had conquered Holland with
little difficulty, meeting, indeed, with much sympathy from the
inhabitants. The Prince of Orange and his family were forced to
take refuge in England and the representatives of the Dutch
people immediately assembling, proclaimed Holland a republic,
under the protection of France.  From that time Holland had been
in alliance with France, and at war with England.  Duncan was
rewarded for his victory with a pension and a peerage--Viscount
Duncan of Camperdown henceforward.-ED.

(150) Duncan's victory we have already noted. Lord Howe's was the
great victory of June 1, 1794, over the French fleet commanded by
Admiral Villaret-joyeuse.  It was in this battle that the Vengeur
went down, out Of which incident Barrere manufactured, for the
benefit of the French people, that rousing story of the disabled
ship refusing to strike its colours, and sinking while every man
of the crew, With his last breath, shouted "Vive la Republique!"
Magnificent, had it not been pure fiction! Lord St. Vincent (then
Admiral Jervis) gained a complete victory over the Spanish fleet
off Cape St. Vincent, February 14, 1797. Spain, as well as
Holland, was now in alliance with France: had made peace with
France in 1795, and declared war against England in the following
year. ,K Admiral Jervis received the title of Earl St. Vincent
and a pension in consequence of his victory.-ED.

(151) Only child of the Prince and Princess of Wales, born
January 7, 1796.-ED.

(152) A novel by Sarah Harriet Burney.-ED.

(153) The Duke of Cumberland, afterward, King of Hanover; fifth
son of George III.; born 1771, died 1851.-ED.

(154) William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and brother of George
III.-ED.

(155) William Frederick, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, and
husband of the Princess Mary. He was born in 1776, and died in
1836.-ED.

(156) Arthur O'Connor, nephew and heir of Lord Longueville, was
one of the Irish leaders, who took part in the negotiations
between the Revolutionary party in Ireland and the French
Directory.  He and two or three of his associates were arrested
at Margate (February 28, 1798), where they were attempting to
hire a boat to take them to France.  They were tried at Maidstone
(May 21), and one of the party, on whom were found some
compromising papers, including an address to the Directory, was
convicted and hanged. O'Connor was acquitted, but immediately
rearrested and detained in custody during the rising in Ireland.-
ED.




Page 170                                                                                          SECTION 22.
                               (1798-1802.)


VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WESTHAMBLE: DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS:
SOJOURN IN FRANCE.

[From the " Memoirs of Dr. Burney " we extract the following
details respecting the death of Fanny's favourite sister, Susan
Phillips.

"Winter now was nearly at hand, and travelling seemed deeply
dangerous, in her sickly state, for the enfeebled Susanna. Yet
she herself, panting to receive again the blessing of her beloved
father, concentrated every idea of recovery in her return. She
declined, therefore, though with exquisite sensibility, the
supplicating desire of this Editor [Madame d'Arblay] to join and
to nurse her at Belcotton, her own cottage ; and persevered
through every impediment in her efforts to reach the parental
home. . . . Every obstacle, at length, being finally vanquished,
the journey was resolved upon, and its preparations were made;--
when a fearful new illness suddenly confined the helpless invalid
to her bed. There she remained some weeks - after which, with the
utmost difficulty, and by two long days' travelling, though for a
distance of only twenty-six miles, she reached Dublin where,
exhausted, emaciated, she was again forced to her bed ; there
again to remain for nearly as long a new delay! " Every hour of
separation became now to the Doctor Dr. Burney] an hour of grief,
from the certainty that, the expedition once begun, it could be
caused only by suffering malady, or expiring strength.

"It was not till the very close of the year 1799, amidst deep
snow, fierce frost, blighting winds, and darksome days, that,
scarcely alive, his sinking Susanna was landed at Park Gate.
There she was joined by her affectionate brother, Dr. Charles,
who hastened to hail her arrival, that he might convey her in his
own warm carriage to her heart-yearning father, her fondly
impatient brethren, and the tenderest of friends. But he found
her in no state to travel: further feeble,
Page 171

drooping, wasted away, scarcely to be known, shrunk, nearly
withered!--yet still with her fair mind in full possession of its
clearest powers; still with all the native sweetness of her
looks, manners, voice, and smiles; still with all her desire to
please; her affecting patience of endurance; her touching
sensibility for every species of attention; and all her
unalterable loveliness of disposition, that sought to console for
her own afflictions, to give comfort for her own sufferings!


"During the space of a doubtful week, her kind brother Dr.
Charles, awaited the happy moment when she might be able to move
on. But on--save as a corpse,---she moved no more! *

Gentle was her end! gentle as the whole tenor of her life but as
sudden in its conclusion as it had been lingering in its
approach."

* She died at Park Gate, January 6, 1800, and was buried in
Neston Churchyard, near Park Gate.-ED.

The latter portion of the following section introduces the reader
to new scenes and new acquaintances.  During the summer of 1801
negotiations for peace between France and England were carried on
in London, between lord Hawkesbury, on the part of the English
government, and M. Otto, the French plenipotentiary. The
preliminary treaty was signed in London, October 1, 1801, and
ratified a few days later on the part of Napoleon Bonaparte, then
First Consul, and de facto ruler of France, by a special envoy
from Paris--General Lauriston. The definitive treaty, by which
the details of mutual concessions, etc., were finally arranged,
was signed at Amiens, March 25, 1802. In England the peace was
received with rapture: General Lauriston was drawn in triumph in
his carriage through the streets of London by the people. The
"mutual concessions," however, showed a large balance in favour
of France. As Sheridan observed, it was a peace of which every
one was glad, but no one proud.

The establishment of peace determined M. d'Arblay to revisit
France, and to endeavour to obtain from the First Consul the
half-pay pension to which his former services in the army had
entitled him. In this project he was warmly encouraged by his old
friend and comrade, General Lauriston, whom he had called upon in
London, and who had received him with open arms. The result of
his journey may be read in the following pages. His wife and son
joined him in France, in April, 1802, with the intention of
returning to England after a year's absence. But their return was
prevented by the renewal of the war between the two countries in
the following year, and ten years elapsed before Fanny saw again
her father and her native country. Her first impressions of
France are recorded in the " Diary" with very pleasant
minuteness, but of her life during the greater part of these
years of exile a few letters, Written at long intervals, give us
all the information which we possess. -ED.)

Page 172

                         A VISIT TO MRS. CHAFONE.

March 1798.I have not told you of my renewed intercourse with
Mrs. Chapone, who had repeatedly sent me kind wishes and
messages, of her desire to see me again. She was unfortunately
ill, and I was sent from her door without being named; but she
sent me a kind note to Chelsea, which gave me very great
pleasure.  Indeed, she had always behaved towards me with
affection as well as kindness, and I owe to her the blessing of
my first acquaintance with my dear Mrs., Delany.  It was Mrs.
Chapone who took me to her first, whose kind account had made her
desire to know me, and who always expressed the most generous
pleasure in the intimacy she had brought about, though it soon
took place of all that had preceded it with herself.  I wrote a
very long answer, with a little history of our way of life, and
traits of-M. d'Arblay, by which her quick discernment might judge
both of that and my state of mind.

When we came again to Chelsea at this period, our Esther desired,
or was desired by Mrs. Chapone, to arrange a meeting.  I was
really sorry I could not call upon her with my urchin; but I
could only get conveyed to her one evening, when I went with our
Esther, but was disappointed of M. d'Arblay, who had been obliged
to go to Westhamble. This really mortified me, and vexed Mrs.
Chapone.

We found her alone, and she received me with the most open
affection. Mrs. Chapone knew the day I could be with her too late
to make any party, and would have been profuse in apologies if I
had not truly declared I rejoiced in seeing her alone, Indeed, it
would have been better If we had been so completely, for our
dearest Esther knew but few of the old connexions concerning whom
I wished to inquire and to talk, and she knew too much of all
about myself and my situation of which Mrs. Chapone wished to ask
and to hear.  I fear, therefore, she was tired, though she would
not: say so, and though she looked and conducted herself with
great sweetness..

Mrs. Chapone spoke warmly of "Camilla," especially of Sir Hugh,
but told me she had detected me in some Gallicisms,

Page 173

and pointed some out.  She pressed me in a very flattering manner
to write again ; and dear Hetty, forgetting our relationship's
decency, seconded her so heartily you must have laughed to hear
her hoping we could never furnish our house till I went again to
the press. When Mrs. Chapone heard of my father's difficulties
about Chelsea, and fears of removal, on account of his twenty
thousand volumes,--"Twenty thousand volumes!" she repeated;
"bless me! why, how can he so encumber himself? Why does he not
burn half? for how much must be to spare that never can be worth
his looking at from such a store! And can he want to keep them
all? I should not have suspected Dr. Burney, of all men, of being
such a Dr. Orkborne!"(157)......


               MRS. BOSCAWEN, LADY STRANGE, AND MR. SEWARD.

The few other visits which opportunity and inclination united for
my making during our short and full fortnight were--

To Mrs. Boscawen, whither we went all three, for I knew she
wished to see our little one, whom I had in the coach with Betty,
ready for a summons. Mrs. Boscawen was all herself,---that is,
all elegance and good-breeding. Do you remember the verses on the
blues which we attributed to Mr. Pepys?--

Each art of conversation knowing,
High-bred, elegant boscawen.

To Miss Thrale's, where I also carried my little Alex.

To Lady Strange(158) whom I had not seen for more years than I
know how to count. She was at home, and alone, except for her
young grandchild, another Bell Strange, daughter of James, who is
lately returned from India, with a large fortune, is become
member of Parliament, and has married, for his second wife, a
niece of Secretary Dundas's. Lady Strange received me with great
kindness, and, to my great surprise, knew me instantly.  I found
her more serious and grave than formerly; I had not seen her
since Sir

Page 174

Robert's death, and many events of no enlivening nature; but I
found, with great pleasure, that all her native fire and wit and
intelligence were still within, though less voluntary and quick
in flashing out, for every instant I stayed she grew brighter and
nearer her true self.

Her little grandchild is a delightful little creature, the very
reverse of the other Bell(159) in appearance and disposition, for
she is handsome and open and gay; but I hope, at the same time,
her resemblance in character, as Bell is strictly principled and
upright.

Lady Strange inquired if I had any family, and, when she gathered
I had a little one down-stairs in the carriage, desired to see
it, for little Bell was wild in the request.  "But have nae
mair!" cried she; "the times are bad and hard;--ha' nae mair! if
you take my advice, you'll ha' nae mair! you've been vary
discreet, and, faith, I commend you!"

Little Bell had run down-stairs to hasten Betty and the child,
and now, having seized him in her arms, she sprang into the room
with him.  His surprise, her courage, her fondling, her little
form, and her prettiness, had astonished him into consenting to
her seizure ; but he sprang from her to me the moment they
entered the drawing-room. I begged Lady Strange to give him her
blessing. She looked at him with a strong and earnest expression
of examining interest and pleasure, and then, with an arch smile,
turning suddenly about to me, exclaimed, "Ah! faith and troth,
you mun ha' some mair! if you can make 'em so pratty as this, you
mun ha' some mair! sweet bairn! I gi' you my benediction! be a
comfort to your papa and mamma! Ah, madam!" (with one of her deep
sighs) "I must gi' my consent to your having some mair ! if you
can make 'em so pratty as this, faith and troth, I mun let you
have a girl!"

I write all this without scruple to my dearest Susan, for
prattiness like this little urchin's is not likely to spoil
either him or ourselves by lasting. 'Tis a juvenile flower, yet
one my Susan will again, I hope, view while still in its first
bloom. . . .

I was extremely pleased in having an interview again with my old,
and I believe very faithful, friend Mr. Seward, whom I had not
seen since my marriage, but Whom I had heard, through the Lockes,
was indefatigable in inquiries and
Page 175

expressions of good-will upon every occasion.  He had sent me his
compilation of anecdotes of distinguished characters, and two
little letters have passed between us upon them. I was unluckily
engaged the morning he was at Chelsea, and obliged to quit him
before we had quite overcome a little awkwardness which our long
absence and my changed name had involuntarily produced at our
first meeting; and I was really sorry, as I have always retained
a true esteem for him, though his singularities and affectation
of affectation always struck me.  But both those and his spirit
of satire are mere quizziness 3 his mind is all solid benevolence
and worth.


                          A MYSTERIOUS BANK-NOTE.

And now I must finish this Chelsea narrative, with its most
singular, though brief, adventure.  One morning at breakfast, my
father received a letter, which he opened, and found to be only a
blank cover with a letter enclosed, directed "A Madame, Madame
d'Arblay." This, upon opening, produced a little bank-note of
five pounds, and these words:--

"Madame d'Arblay need not have any scruple in accepting the
enclosed trifle, as it is considered only as a small tribute of
gratitude and kindness, so small, indeed, that every precaution
has been taken to prevent the least chance of discovery ; and the
person who sends it even will never know whether it was received
or not. Dr. Burney is quite ignorant of it."

This is written evidently in a feigned hand, and I have not the
most remote idea whence it can come. But for the word gratitude I
might have suggested many ; but, upon the whole, I am utterly
unable to suggest any one creature upon earth likely to do such a
thing. I might have thought of my adorable princess, but that it
is so little a sum. Be it as it may, it is certainly done in
great kindness, by some one who knows five pounds is not so small
a matter to us as to most others ; and after vainly striving to
find out or conjecture whence it came, we determined to devote it
to our country. There's patriotism! we gave it in voluntary
subscription for the war and it was very seasonable to us for
this purpose.

This magnificent patriotic donation was presented to the Bank of
England by Mr. Angerstein, through Mr. Locke, and we have had
thanks from the committee which made us blush. Many reasons have
prevented my naming this anecdote, the principal of which were
fears that, if it should
Page 176

be known such a thing was made use of, and, as it chanced when we
should otherwise have really been distressed how to
come forward or hold back, any other friend might adopt the same
method, which, gratefully as I feel the kindness that alone could
have instigated it, has yet a depressing effect, and I would not
have it become current.  Could I, or should I ever trace it, I
must, in some mode or other, attempt retaliation.


               THE NEW BROTHER-IN-LAW: A CORDIAL PROFESSOR.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
After sundry abortive proposals of our new brother-in-law, Mr.
Broome, for our meeting, he and Charlotte finally came, with
little Charlotte, to breakfast and spend a day with us. He has by
no means the wit and humour and hilarity his "Simkin's Letters"
prepare for; but the pen and the tongue are often unequally
gifted.  He is said to be very learned, deeply skilled in
languages, and general erudition and he is full of information
upon most subjects that can be mentioned.  We talked of India,
and he permitted me to ask what questions I pleased upon points
and things of which I was glad to gather accounts from so able a
traveller.

Another family visit which took place this Summer gave us
pleasure of a far more easy nature, because unmixed with watchful
anxiety; this was from Charles and his son, who, by an
appointment for which he begged our consent, brought with him
also Mr. Professor Young, of Glasgow, a man whose learning sits
upon him far lighter than Mr. Broome's ! Mr. Young has the
bonhonlie of M. de Lally, with as much native humour as he has
acquired erudition: he has a face that looks all honesty and
kindness, and manners gentle and humble ; an enthusiasm for
whatever he thinks excellent, whether in talents or character, in
art or in nature; and is altogether a man it seems impossible to
know, even for a day, and not to love and wish well.  This latter
is probably the effect of his own cordial disposition to amity.
He took to us, all three, so evidently and so warmly, and was so
smitten with our little dwelling, its situation and simplicity,
and so much struck with what he learned and saw of M. d'Arblay's
cultivating literally his own grounds, and literally being his
own gardener, after finding by conversation, what a use he had
made of his earlier days In literary
Page 177

attainments, that he seemed as if he thought himself brought to a
vision of the golden age,---such was the appearance of his own
sincere and upright mind in rejoicing to see happiness where
there was palpably no luxury, no wealth. It was a most agreeable
surprise to me to find such a man in Mr. Professor Young, as I
had expected a sharp though amusing satirist, from his very comic
but sarcastic imitation of Dr. Johnson's "Lives," in a criticism
upon Gray's "Elegy."

Charles was all kind affection, and delighted at our approbation
of his friend, for the professor has been such many years, and
very essentially formerly,-a circumstance Charles is now
gratefully and warmly returning. It is an excellent part of
Charles's character that he never forgets any kind office he has
received.

I learned from them that Mr. Rogers, author of the "Pleasures of
Memory," that most sweet poem, had ridden round the lanes about
our domain to view it, and stood--or made his horse stand,--at
our gate a considerable time, to examine our Camilla cottage,--a
name I am sorry to find Charles, or some one, had spread to him;
and he honoured all with his good word. I should like to meet
with him.


                          PRECOCIOUS MASTER ALEX.

Lady Rothes(160) constant in every manifestation of regard, came
hither the first week of our establishment, and came three times
to denials, when my gratitude forced open my doors. Her daughter,
Lady Harriet, was with her: she is a pretty and pleasing young
woman. Sir Lucas came another morning, bringing my old friend Mr.
Pepys. Alex was in high spirits and amused them singularly. He
had just taken to spelling; and every word he heard, of which he
either knew or could guess the orthography, he instantly, in a
little concise and steady manner, pronounced all the letters of,
with a look of great but very grave satisfaction at his own
performances, and a familiar nod at every word so conquered, as
thus :--

Mr. Pepys. You are a fine boy, indeed!

Alex. B, o, y; boy. (Every letter articulated with strong, almost
heroic emphasis.)

Mr. P. And do you run about here in this pleasant place all day
long?

Page 178

Alex. D, a, y; day.


Mr. P. And can you read your book, You Sweet little fellow?

Alex. R, e, a, d; read. Etc.

He was in such good looks that all this nonsense won
nothing but admiration, and Mr. Pepys could attend to nothing
else, but only charged me to let him alone.  "For mercy's sake,
don't make him study," cried Sir Lucas also; "he is so well
disposed that you must rather repress than advance him, or his
health may pay the forfeit of his application."

"O, leave him alone! cried Mr. Pepys: "take care only of his
health and strength; never fear such a boy as that wanting
learning."


                              THE BARBAULDS.

I was extremely surprised to be told by the maid a gentleman and
lady had called at the door, who sent in a card and begged to
know if I could admit them; and to see the names on the card were
Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld.(161)  I had never seen them more than
twice; the first time, by their own desire, Mrs. Chapone carried
me to meet them at Mr. Burrows's: the other time, I think, was at
Mrs. Chapone's. You must be sure I could not hesitate to receive,
and receive with thankfulness, this civility from the authoress
of the most useful books, next to Mrs. Trimmer's, that have been
yet written for dear little children; though this with the world
is probably her very secondary merit, her many pretty Poems, and
particularly songs, being generally esteemed. But many more have
written those as well, and not a few better; for children's books
she began the new walk, which has since been so well cultivated,
to the great information as well as utility of parents.

Mr. Barbauld is a dissenting minister--an author also, but I am
unacquainted with his works. They were in our little
dining-parlour-the only one that has any chairs in it--and began
apologies for their visit; but I interrupted and finished them
with my thanks. She is much altered, but not for the worse to me,
though she is for herself, since the flight of her youth, which
is evident, has taken also with it a great portion of an almost
set smile, which had an air of determined complacence and
prepared acquiescence that seemed to result

Page 179

from a sweetness which never risked being off guard. I remember
Mrs. Chapone's saying to me, after our interview, "She is a very
good young woman, as well as replete with talents; but why must
one always smile so? It makes my poor jaws ache to look at her."

We talked, of course, of that excellent lady ; and you will
believe I did not quote her notions of smiling. The Burrows
family, she told me,. was quite broken up; old Mrs. Amy alone
remaining alive.  Her brother, Dr. Aiken,(162) with his family,
were passing the summer at Dorking, on account of his ill-health,
the air of that town having been recommended for his complaints.
The Barbaulds were come to spend some time with him, and would
not be so near without renewing their acquaintance. They had been
walking in Norbury Park, which they admired very much; and Mrs.
Barbauld very elegantly said, "If there was such a public officer
as a legislator of taste, Mr. Locke ought to be chosen for it."

They inquired much about M. d'Arblay, who was working in his
garden, and would not be at the trouble of dressing to appear.
They desired to see Alex, and I produced him ; and his
orthographical feats were very well-timed here, for as soon as
Mrs. Barbauld said, "What is your name, you pretty creature?" he
sturdily answered "B, o, y; boy."

Almost all our discourse was upon the Irish rebellion. Mr.
Barbauld is a very little, diminutive figure, but well-bred and
sensible.

I borrowed her poems, afterwards, of Mr. Daniel, who chanced to
have them, and have read them with much esteem of the piety and
worth they exhibit, and real admiration of the last amongst them,
which is an epistle to Mr. Wilberforce in favour of the
demolition of the slave-trade, 1 'n which her energy seems to
spring from the real spirit of virtue, suffering at the luxurious
depravity which can tolerate, in a free land, so unjust, cruel,
and abominable a traffic.

We returned their visit together in a few days, at Dr. Aiken's
lodgings, at Dorking, where, as she permitted M. d'Arblay to
speak French, they had a very animated discourse upon buildings,
French and English, each supporting those of their own country
with great spirit, but my monsieur,
Page 180

to own the truth, having greatly the advantage both in manner and
argument. He was in spirits, and came forth with his best
exertions. Dr. Aiken looks very sickly, but is said to be better:
he has a good countenance.


                     PRINCESS AMELIA AT JUNIPER HALL.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, 1798.
And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last Court history of
this year.

The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill since My last
royal admittance, of some complaint in her knee which caused
spasms the most dreadfully painful, was now returning from her
sea-bathing at Worthing, and I heard from all around the
neighbourhood that her royal highness was to rest and stop one
night at juniper Hall, whither she was to be attended by Mr.
Keate the surgeon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician
at Worthing.

I could not hear of her approaching so near our habitation, and
sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort
to see her; yet I would not distress Lady Rothes by an
application she would not know how either to refuse or grant,
from the established etiquette of bringing no one into the
presence of their royal highnesses but by the queen's permission.
So infinitely sweet, however, that young love of a princess
always is to me, that I gathered courage to address a petition to
her majesty herself, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave
to pay my homage.-I will copy my answer, sent by return of post.
..

"My dear friend,-I have infinite pleasure in acquainting you that
the queen has ordered me to say that you have her leave to see
dear Princess Amelia, provided Sir Lucas Pepys and Dr. Keate
permit it, etc."

With so complete and honourable a credential, I now scrupled not
to address a few lines to Lady Rothes, telling her My authority,
to prevent any embarrassment, for entreating her leave to pay my
devoirs to the young princess on Saturday morning,--the Friday I
imagined she would arrive too fatigued to be seen.  I intimated
also my wish to bring my boy, not to be presented unless
demanded, but to be Put into some closet where he might be at
hand in case of that
Page 181

honour.  The sweet princess's excessive graciousness to him gave
me courage for this request. Lady Rothes sent me a kind note
which made me perfectly comfortable.

It was the 1st of December, but a beautifully clear and fine day.
I borrowed Mr. Locke's carriage. Sir Lucas came to us
immediately, and ushered us to the breakfast-parlour, giving me
the most cheering accounts of the recovery of the princess. Here
I was received by Lady Rothes, who presented me to Lady Albinia
Cumberland, widow of Cumberland the author's only son, and one of
the ladies of the princesses. I found her a peculiarly pleasing
woman, in voice, manner, look, and behaviour.

This introduction over, I had the pleasure to shake hands with
Miss Goldsworthy, whom I was very glad to see, and who was very
cordial and kind; but who is become, alas! so dreadfully deaf,
there is no conversing with her, but by talking for a whole house
to hear every word ! With this infirmity, however, she is still
in her first youth and brightness, compared with her brother,
who, though I knew him of the party, is so dreadfully altered,
that I with difficulty could venture to speak to him by the name
of General Goldsworthy. He has had three or four more strokes of
apoplexy since I saw him.  I fancy he had a strong consciousness
of his alteration, for he seemed embarrassed and shy, and only
bowed to me, at first, without speaking.  but I wore that off
afterwards, by chatting over old stories with him.
The princess breakfasted alone, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. When
this general breakfast was over, Lady Albinia retired. But in a
very few minutes she returned, and said, "Her royal highness
desires to see Madame d'Arblay and her little boy."

The princess was seated on a sofa, in a French gray riding-dress,
with pink lapels, her beautiful and richly flowing and shining
fair locks unornamented.  Her breakfast was still before her, and
Mrs. Cheveley in waiting. Lady Albinia announced me, and she
received me with the brightest smile, calling me up to her, and
stopping my profound reverence, by pouting out her sweet ruby
lips for me to kiss.

She desired me to come and sit by her; but, ashamed of so much
indulgence, I seemed not to hear her, and drew a chair at a
little distance. "No, no," she cried, nodding, "come here; come
and sit by me here, my dear Madame d'Arblay." I had then only to
say 'twas my duty to obey her, and I seated myself on her sofa.
Lady Albinia, whom she motioned

Page 182

to sit, took an opposite chair, and Mrs. Cheveley, after we had
spoken a few words together, retired.

Her attention now was bestowed upon my Alex, who required not
quite so much solicitation to take his part of the sofa.  He came
jumping and skipping up to her royal highness, with such gay and
merry antics, that it was impossible not to be diverted with so
sudden a change from his composed and quiet behaviour in the
other room. He seemed enchanted to see her again, and I was only
alarmed lest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing
agility.

I bid him, in vain, however, repeat Ariel's "Come unto these
yellow sands," which he can say very prettily; he began, and the
princess, who knew it, prompted him to go on --but a fit of shame
came suddenly across him-or of capriciousness-and he would not
continue.


Lady Albinia soon after left the room - and the princess, then,
turning hastily and eagerly to me, said, "Now we are alone, do
let me ask you one question, Madame d'Arblay. Are you--are
you--[looking with strong expression to discover her answer]
writing anything?"

I could not help laughing, but replied in the negative.

"Upon your honour?" she cried earnestly, and looking
disappointed.  This was too hard an interrogatory for evasion;
and I was forced to say--the truth--that I was about nothing I
had yet fixed if or not I should ever finish, but that I was
rarely without some project.  This seemed to satisfy and please
her.

I told her of my having seen the Duke of Clarence at Leatherhead
fair.  "What, William?" she cried, surprised. This unaffected,
natural way of naming her brothers and sisters is infinitely
pleasing.  She took a miniature from her pocket, and said, "I
must show you Meney's picture," meaning Princess Mary, whom she
still calls Meney, because it was the name she gave her when
unable to pronounce Mary--a time she knew I well remembered.  It
was a very sweet miniature, and extremely like.  "Ah! what
happiness," I cried, "your royal highness will feel, and give,
upon returning to their majesties and their royal highnesses,
after such an absence, and such sufferings!"  "O! yes!--I shall
be SO glad!" she cried, and then Lady Albinia came in and
whispered her it was time to admit Lady Rothes, who then entered
with Lady Harriet and the Miss Leslies. When she was removing,
painfully lifted from her seat
Page 183

between Sir Lucas and Mr. Keate, she stopped to pay her
compliments and thanks to Lady Rothes with a dignity and self-
command extremely striking. .


                           DEATH OF MR. SEWARD.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
Westhamble, May 2, 1799.
Poor Mr. Seward! I am indeed exceedingly concerned--nay,
grieved--for his loss to us: to us I trust I may say; for I
believe he was so substantially good a creature, that he has left
no fear or regret merely for himself.  He fully expected his end
was quickly approaching. I saw him at my father's at Chelsea, and
he spent almost a whole morning with me in chatting of other
times, as he called it ; for we travelled back to Streatham, Dr.
Johnson, and the Thrales. But he told me he knew his disease
incurable. Indeed he had passed a quarter of an hour in
recovering breath, in a room with the servants, before he let me
know he had mounted the college stairs. My father was not at
home. He had thought himself immediately dying, he said, four
days before, by certain sensations that he believed to be fatal,
but he mentioned it with cheerfulness ; and though active in
trying all means to lengthen life, declared himself perfectly
calm in suspecting they would fail. TO give me a proof, he said
he had been anxious to serve Mr. Wesley, the methodist musician,
and he had recommended him to the patronage of the Hammersleys,
and begged my father to meet him there to dinner; but as this was
arranged, he was seized himself with a dangerous attack, which he
believed to be mortal. And during this belief, "willing to have
the business go on," said he, laughing, "and not miss me, I wrote
a letter to a young lady, to tell her all I wished to be done
upon the occasion, to serve Wesley, and to show him to advantage.
I gave every direction I should have given in person, in a
complete persuasion at the moment I should never hold a pen in my
hand again."

This letter, I found, was to Miss Hammersley.

I had afterwards the pleasure of introducing M. d'Arblay to him,
and it seemed a gratification to him to make the acquaintance. I
knew he had been curious to see him, and he wrote my father word
afterwards he had been much pleased.

My father says he sat with him an hour the Saturday before he
died - and though he thought him very ill, he was so little
Page 184

aware his end was so rapidly approaching, that, like my dearest
friend, he laments his loss as if by sudden death.

I was sorry, too, to see in the newspapers, the expulsion of Mr.
Barry from the Royal Academy. I suppose it is from some furious
harangue.(163)  His passions have no restraint though I think
extremely well of his heart, as well as of his understanding.


                   DR. BURNEY AGAIN VISITS DR. HERSCHEL.

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
Slough, Monday morning, July 22, 1799, in bed at Dr. Herschel's,
half-past five, where I can neither sleep nor lie idle.

My dear Fanny,-I believe I told you on Friday that I was going to
finish the perusal of my astronomical verses to the great
astronomer on Saturday.  Here I arrived at three o'clock,-
-neither Dr. nor Mrs. H. at home. This was rather discouraging,
but all was set to rights by the appearance of Miss Baldwin, a
sweet, timid, amiable girl, Mrs. Herschel's niece. ....When we
had conversed about ten minutes, in came two other sweet girls,
the daughters of Dr. Parry of Bath, on a visit here.  More
natural, obliging, charming girls I have seldom seen; and,
moreover, very pretty.  We soon got acquainted. I found they were
musical, and in other respects very well educated.  It being a
quarter past four, and the lord and lady of the mansion not
returned, Miss Baldwin would have dinner served, according to
order, and an excellent dinner it was, and our chattation no
disagreeable sauce.

After an admirable dessert, I made the Misses Parry sing and
play, and sang and played with them so delightfully, "you can't
think!"

Mr. and Mrs. H. did not return till between seven and eight ; but
when they came, apologies for being out on pressing business,
cordiality and kindness, could not be more liberally bestowed.

After tea Dr. H. proposed that we two should retire into a quiet
room, in order to resume the perusal of my work, in

Page 185

which no progress had been made since last December. The evening
was finished very cheerfully; and we went to our bowers not much
out of humour with each other, or with the world.


                         DR. BURNEY AND THE KING.

We had settled a plan to go to the chapel at Windsor in' the
morning, the king and royal family being there, and the town very
full. Dr. H. and Mrs. H. stayed at home, and I was accompanied by
the three Graces. Dr. Goodenough, the successor of Dr. Shepherd,
as canon, preached. I had dined with him at Dr. Duval's. He is a
very agreeable man, and passionately fond of music, with whom, as
a professor, a critic, and an historian of the art; I seem to
stand very high; but I could not hear a single sentence of his
sermon, on account of the distance. After the service I got a
glimpse of the good king, in his light-grey farmer-like morning
Windsor uniform, in a great crowd, but could not even obtain that
glance of the queen and princesses. The day was charming. The
chapel is admirably repaired, beautified, and a new west window
painted on glass. All was cheerfulness, gaiety, and good humour,
such as the subjects of no other monarch, I believe, i on earth
enjoy at present; and except return of creepings now and then,
and a cough, I was as happy as the best.

At dinner we all agreed to go to the Terrace,--Mr., Mrs., and
Miss H., with their nice little boy, and the three young ladies.
This plan we put in execution, and arrived on the Terrace a
little after seven.  I never saw it more crowded or gay.  The
park was almost full of happy people--farmers, servants, and
tradespeople,--alt In Elysium.  Deer in the distance, and dears
unnumbered near.  Here I met with everybody I wished and expected
to see previous to the king's arrival in the part of the Terrace
where I and my party were planted. .....

Chelsea, Tuesday, three o'clock.
Not a moment could I    get to write till now; and I am afraid of
forgetting some part of my history, but I ought not, for the
events of this visit are very memorable.

When the king and queen, arm in arm, were approaching the place
where the Herschel family and I had planted ourselves, one of the
Misses Parry heard the queen say to his majesty, "There's Dr.
Burney," when they instantly came to me, so smiling and gracious
that I longed to throw myself at
Page 186

their feet. "How do you, Dr. Burney?" said the king, "Why, you
are grown fat and young."

"Yes, indeed," said the queen; "I was very glad to hear from
Madame d'Arblay how well you looked."

"Why, you used to be as thin as Dr. Lind," says the king. Lind
was then in sight--a mere lath; but these few words were
accompanied with such Very gracious smiles, and seemingly
affectionate good-humour--the whole royal family, except the
Prince of Wales, standing by in the midst of a crowd of the first
people in the kingdom for rank and office--that I was afterwards
looked at as a sight. After this the king and queen hardly ever
passed by me without a smile and a nod. The weather was charming;
the park as full as the Terrace, the king having given permission
to the farmers, tradesmen, and even livery servants, to be there
during the time of his walking.

Now I must tell you that Herschel proposed to me to go with him
to the king's concert at night, he having permission to go when
he chooses, his five nephews (Griesbachs) making a principal part
of the band. "And," says he, "I know you will be welcome."  But I
should not have presumed to believe this if his majesty had not
formerly taken me into his concert-room himself from your
apartments.  This circumstance, and the gracious notice with
which I had been just honoured, emboldened me. A fine music-room
in the Castle, next the Terrace, is now fitted up for his
majesty's evening concerts, and an organ erected.  Part of the
first act had been performed previous to our arrival.  There were
none but the performers in the room, except the Duchesses of Kent
and cumberland, with two or three general officers backwards. The
king seldom goes into the music-room after the first act; and the
second and part of the third were over before we saw anything of
him, though we heard his majesty, the queen, and princesses
talking in the next room. At length he came directly up to me and
Herschel, and the first question his majesty asked me was,--"How
does Astronomy go on?" I, pretending to suppose he knew nothing
of my poem, said, "Dr. Herschel will better inform your majesty
than I can." "Ay, ay," says the king, "but you are going to tell
us something with your pen;" and moved his hand in a writing
manner. "What--what--progress have you made?" "Sir, it is all
finished, and all but the last of twelve books have been read to
my friend Dr. Herschel." The king, then, looking at Herschel, as
who would say, "How is it?"  "It
Page 187

is a very capital work, sir," says H.  "I wonder how you find
time?" said the king. "I make time, Sir."  "How, how?"  "I take
it out of my sleep, sir."  When the considerate good king, "But
you'll hurt your health. How long," he adds, "have you been at
it?"  "Two or three years, at odd and stolen moments, Sir."
"Well," said the king (as he had said to you before), "whatever
you write, I am sure will be entertaining." I bowed most humbly,
as ashamed of not deserving so flattering a speech. "I don't say
it to flatter you," says the king; "if I did not think it, I
would not say it."


                 OVERWHELMED WITH THE ROYAL GRACIOUSNESS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
"Fore George, a more excellent song than t'other!"
Westhamble, July 25, '99.
Why,  my dearest padre, your    subjects rise and rise,-till
subjects, in fact, are no longer in question. I do not wonder you
felt melted by the king's goodness. I am sure I did in its
perusal. And the queen!-her naming me so immediately went to my
heart.  Her speeches about me to Mrs. Locke in the drawing-room,
her interest in my welfare, her deigning to say she had "never
been amongst those who had blamed my marriage," though she lost
by it my occasional attendances, and her remarking "I looked the
picture of happiness," had warmed me to the most fervent
gratitude, and the more because her saying she had never been
amongst those who had blamed me shows there were people who had
not failed to do me ill offices in her hearing; though probably,
and I firmly believe, without any personal enmity, as I am
unconscious of my having any owed me; but merely from a cruel
malice with which many seize every opportunity, almost
involuntarily, to do mischief and most especially to undermine at
Court any one presumed to be in any favour.  And, still further,
I thought her words conveyed a confirmation of what her conduct
towards me in my new capacity always led me to conjecture,
namely, that my guardian star had ordained it so that the real
character and principles of my honoured and honourable mate had,
by some happy chance, reached the royal ear "before the news of
our union. The dear king's graciousness :to M. d'Arblay upon the
Terrace, when the commander-in-chief, just then returned from the
Continent, was by his side, made it impossible not to suggest
this : and now, the queen's
Page 188

again naming me so in, public puts it, in my conception, beyond
doubt. My kindest father will be glad, I am sure, to have added
to the great delight of his recital a strength to a notion I so
much love to cherish.


                               WAR RUMOURS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Aug. 14, '99.
People here are very sanguine that Ireland is quiet, and will
remain so; and that the combined fleets can never reach it. How
are your own politics upon that point? Mine will take their
colour, be it what it may. Our dear father is Visiting about,
from Mr. Cox's to Mrs. Crewe, with whom be is now at Dover, where
Mr. Crewe has some command. We are all in extreme disturbance
here about the secret expedition. Nothing authentic is arrived
from the first armament; and the second is all prepared for
sailing. . . . Both officers and men are gathered from all
quarters. - Heaven grant them speedy safety, and ultimate peace !
God bless my own dearest Susan, and strengthen and restore her.
Amen! Amen.


                    ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, October 1, '99.
Whether gaily or sadly to usher what I have to say I know not,
but your sensations, like mine, will I am sure be mixed. The
major has now written to Mrs. Locke that he is anxious to have
Susan return to England. She is "in an ill state of health," he
says, and he wishes her to try her native air; but the revival of
coming to you and among us all, and the tender care that will be
taken of her, is likely to do much for her; therefore, if we get
her but to this side the channel, the blessing is comparatively
so great, that I shall feel truly thankful to heaven.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.)
Westhamble, December 10, '99.
O my Susan, my heart's dear sister! with what bitter
sorrow have I read this last account!  With us, with yourself,
your children,-all,-you have trifled in respect to health, though
in all things else you are honour and veracity personified;

Page 189

but nothing had prepared me to think you in such a grave state as
I now find you. Would to God I could get to you! If Mr. Keirnan
thinks you had best pass the winter in Dublin, stay, and let me
come to you. Venture nothing against his opinion, for mercy's
sake! Fears for your health take place of all impatience to
expedite your return; only go not back to Belcotton, where you
cannot be under his direction, and are away from the physician he
thinks of so highly.

I shall write immediately to Charles about the carriage. I am
sure of his answer beforehand,--so must you be. Act, therefore,
with regard to the carriage, as if already it were arranged.  But
I am well aware it must not set out till you Are well enough to
nearly fix your day of sailing.  I say nearly, for we must always
allow for accidents. I shall write to our dear father, and Etty,
and James, and send to Norbury Park - but I shall wait till
to-morrow, not to infect them with what I am infected.. . .

O my Susan! that I could come to you! But all must depend on Mr.
Keirnan's decision. If you can come to us with perfect safety,
however slowly, I shall not dare add to your embarrassment of
persons and package. Else Charles's carriage--O, what a
temptation to air it for you all the way! Take no more large
paper, that you may write with less fatigue, and, if possible,
oftener;--to any one will suffice for all.

(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
9th January, 1800.
My most dear padre,-My mate will say all,-so I can only offer up
my earnest prayers I may soon be allowed the blessing--the only
one I sigh for--of embracing my dearest Susan in your arms and
under your roof. Amen. F. D'A.

These were the last written lines of the last period--unsuspected
as such--of my perfect happiness on earth; for they were stopped
on the road by news that my heart's beloved sister, Susanna
Elizabeth Phillips, had ceased to breathe.  The tenderest of
husbands--the most feeling of human beings--had only reached
Norbury Park, on his way to a believed meeting with that angel,
when the fatal blow was struck; and he came back to West Hamble--
to the dreadful task of revealing the irreparable loss which his
own goodness, sweetness, patience, and sympathy could alone have
made supported.
Page 190

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
9th January, 1800.
"As a guardian angel!"--Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in every
interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to see her,
but my eyes cannot pierce through the thick atmosphere, and I can
only represent her to me seated on a chair of sickness, her soft
hand held partly out to me as I approach her; her softer eyes so
greeting me as never welcome was expressed before; and a smile of
heavenly expression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful
soul that God at length should grant our re-union. From our
earliest moments, my Fredy, when no misfortune happened to our
dear family, we wanted nothing but each other. Joyfully as others
were received by us--loved by us--all that was necessary to our
happiness was fulfilled by our simple junction. This I remember
with my first remembrance; nor do I recollect a single instance
of being affected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment,
if its result was leaving us together.

She was the soul of my soul !-and 'tis wonderful to me, my
dearest Fredy, that the first shock did not join them immediately
by the flight of mine-but that over-that dreadful, harrowing,
never-to be-forgotten moment of horror that made me wish to be
mad--the ties that after that first endearing period have shared
with her my heart, come to my aid. Yet I was long incredulous;
and still sometimes I think it is not--and that she will come--
and I paint her by my side--by my father's--in every room of
these apartments, destined to have chequered the woes of her life
with rays of comfort, joy, and affection.

O, my Fredy ! not selfish is the affliction that repines her
earthly course of sorrow was allowed no shade!--that at the
instant soft peace and consolation awaited her she should breathe
her last! You would understand all the hardship of resignation
for me were you to read the joyful opening of her letter, on her
landing, to my poor father, and her prayer at the end to be
restored to him. O, my Fredy! could you indeed think of me--be
alarmed for me on that dreadful day?---I can hardly make that
enter my comprehension; but I thank you from my soul; for that is
beyond any love I had thought possible, even from Your tender
heart.

Tell me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction.  I
write so fast I fear you can hardly read; but you will See
Page 191

I am conversing with you, and that will show you how I turn to
you for the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, you have all a loss,
indeed!


                        A PRINCESS'S CONDESCENSION.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke).
Greenwich, Friday, February, 1800.
Here we are, my beloved friend. We came yesterday. All places to
me are now less awful than my own so dear habitation. My royal
interview took place on Wednesday. I was five hours with the
royal family, three of them alone with the queen, whose
graciousness and kind goodness I cannot express. And each of the
princesses saw me with a sort of concern and interest I can never
forget.  I did tolerably well, though not quite as steadily as I
expected but with my own Princess Augusta I lost all command.
She is still wrapt up, and just recovering from a fever herself-
and she spoke to me in a tone--a voice so commiserating--I could
not stand it--I was forced to stop short in my approach, and hide
my face with my muff. She came up to me immediately, put her arm
upon my shoulder, and kissed me--I shall never forget it.--How
much more than thousands of words did a condescension so tender
tell me her kind feelings!--She is one of the few beings in this
world that can be, in the words of M. de Narbonne, "all that is
douce and all that is sbirituelle,"--his words upon my lost
darling!

It is impossible more of comfort or gratification could be given
than I received from them all.



                        HORTICULTURAL MISFORTUNES.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney).
Westhamble, March 22, 1800.
Day after day I have meant to write to my dearest father 'but I
have been unwell ever since our return, and that has not added to
my being sprightly.  I have not once crossed 'the threshold since
I re-entered the house till to-day, when Mr. and Mrs. Locke
almost insisted upon taking me an airing. I am glad of it, for it
has done me good, and broken a kind of spell that made me
unwilling to stir.

Page 192

M. d'Arblay has worked most laboriously in his garden but his
misfortunes there, during our absence, might melt a heart of
stone.  The horses of our next neighbouring farmer broke through
our hedges, and have made a kind of bog of our mead ow, by
scampering in it during the wet; the sheep followed, who have
eaten up all our greens, every sprout and cabbage and lettuce,
destined for the winter ; while the horses dug up our turnips and
carrots; and the swine, pursuing such examples, have trod down
all the young plants besides devouring whatever the others left
of vegetables. Our potatoes, left, from our abrupt departure, in
the ground, are all rotten or frostbitten, and utterly spoilt;
and not a single thing has our whole ground produced us since we
came home. A few dried carrots, which remain from the in-doors
collection, are all we have to temper our viands..

What think you of this for people who make it a rule to owe a
third of their sustenance to the garden? Poor M, d'A.'s renewal
of toil, to supply future times, is exemplary to behold, after
such discouragement. But he works as if nothing had failed; such
is his patience as well as industry.

My Alex, I am sure you will be kindly glad to hear, is entirely
well; and looks so blooming--no rose can be fresher.  I am
encouraging back his spouting propensity, to fit him for his
royal interview with the sweet and gay young princess who has
demanded him, who will, I know, be diverted with his speeches and
gestures.  We must present ourselves before Easter, as the Court
then adjourns to Windsor for ten days. My gardener will not again
leave his grounds to the fourfooted marauders; and our stay,
therefore, will be the very shortest we can possibly make it ;
for though we love retirement, we do not like solitude.

I long for some further account of you, dearest: sir, and how you
bear the mixture of business and company, of "fag and frolic," as
Charlotte used to phrase it.

Westhamble, April 27, 1800.
My Alex improves in all that I can teach, and my gardener
is laboriously recovering from his winter misfortunes. He is now
raising a hillock by the gate, for a view of NorbUry Park from
our grounds, and he has planted potatoes upon almost every spot
where they can grow.  The dreadful price of provisions makes this
our first attention.  The poor people about us complain they are
nearly starved, and the children of the
Page 193

journeymen of the tradesmen at Dorking come to our door to beg
halfpence for a little bread.  What the occasion of such
universal dearth can be we can form no notion, and have no
information. The price of bread we can conceive from the bad
harvest; but meat, butter, and shoes!---nay, all sorts of
nourriture or clothing seem to rise in the same proportion, and
without any adequate cause. The imputed one of the war does not
appear to me sufficient, though the drawback from all by the
income-tax is severely an underminer of comfort. What is become
of the campaign? are both parties incapacitated from beginning?
or is each waiting a happy moment to strike some definitive
stroke? We are strangely in the dark about all that is going on,
and unless you will have the compassion to write us some news, we
may be kept so till Mr. Locke returns.


                            A WITHDRAWN COMEDY.

[Towards the close of the preceding year Dr. Charles Burney had
placed in the hands of Mr. Harris, the manager of Covent
Garden-theatre, a comedy by Madame d'Arblay, called "Love and
Fashion."  Mr. Harris highly approved the piece, and early in the
spring put it into rehearsal ; but Dr. Burney was seized with a
panic concerning its success, and, to oblige him, his daughter
and her husband withdrew it. The following letter announced their
generous compliance with his wishes.]

(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Monday.
I hasten to tell you, dearest sir, Mr. H. has at length listened
to our petitions, and has returned me my poor ill-fated ---,
wholly relinquishing all claim to it for this season. He has
promised also to do his utmost, as far as his influence extends,
to keep the newspapers totally silent in future. We demand,
therefore, no contradictory paragraph, as the report must needs
die when the reality no more exists. Nobody has believed it from
the beginning, on account of the premature moment when it was
advertised.

This release gives me present repose, which, indeed, I much
wanted; for to combat your, to me, unaccountable but most
afflicting displeasure, in the midst of my own panics and
disturbance, would have been ample punishment to me had I been
guilty of a crime, in doing what I have all my life been
Page 194

urged to, and all my life intended, --writing a comedy. Your
goodness, your kindness, your regard for my fame, I know have
caused both your trepidation, which doomed me to certain failure,
and your displeasure that I ran, what you thought, a wanton risk.
But it is not wanton, my dearest father. My imagination is not at
my own control, or I would always have continued in the walk YOU
approved.  The combinations for another long work did not occur
to me; incidents and effects for a drama did. I 'thought the
field more than open--inviting to me. The chance held out golden
dreams.--The risk could be only our own; for, permit me to say,
appear when it will, you will find nothing in the principles, the
moral, or the language that will make you blush for me. A failure
upon those points only, can bring disgrace; Upon mere cabal or
want of dramatic powers, it can only cause disappointment.

I hope, therefore, my dearest father, in thinking this over you
will cease to nourish such terrors and disgust at an essay so
natural, and rather say to yourself, with an internal smile,
"After all, 'tis but like father like child; for to what walk do
I confine myself? She took my example in writing--she takes it in
ranging. Why then, after all, should I lock her up in one
paddock, well as she has fed there, if she says she finds nothing
more to nibble; while I find all the earth unequal to my
ambition, and mount the skies to content it? Come on, then, poor
Fan! the world has acknowledged you my offspring, and I will
disencourage you no more. Leap the pales of your paddock--let us
pursue our career; and, while you frisk from novel to comedy, I,
quitting music and prose, will try a race with poetry and the
stars."

I am sure my dear father will not infer, from this appeal, I mean
to parallel our works. No one more truly measures her own
inferiority, which, with respect to yours, has always been my
pride. I only mean to show, that if my muse loves a little
variety, she has an hereditary claim to try it.


                      M. D'ARBLAY's FRENCH PROPERTY.

(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
Westhamble, November 7, 1800.
I think it very long not to hear at least of YOU, my dearest
padre.  My tranquil and happy security, alas! has been
Page 195

broken in upon by severe conflicts since I wrote to My dearest
father last, which I would not communicate while yet pending, but
must now briefly narrate. My partner, the truest of partners, has
been erased from the list of emigrants nearly a year; and in that
period has been much pressed and much blamed by his remaining
friends in France, by every opportunity through which they could
send to him, for not immediately returning, and seeing if
anything could be yet saved from the wreck of his own and
family's fortune ; but he held steady to his original purpose
never to revisit his own country till it was at peace with this ;
till a letter came from his beloved uncle himself, conveyed to
him through Hambro', which shook all the firmness of his
resolution, and has kept him, since its receipt, in a state of
fermentation, from doubts and difficulties, and crossing wishes
and interests, that has much affected his health as well as
tranquillity.

All, however, now, is at least decided; for a few days since he
received a letter from M. Lajard, who is returned to Paris, with
information from his uncle's eldest son, that some of his small
property is yet unsold, to about the amount of 1000 pounds, and
can still be saved from sequestration if he will immediately go
over and claim it; or, if that is impossible, if he will send his
procuration to his uncle, from some country not at war with
France.

This ended all his internal contest; and he is gone this very
morning to town to procure a passport and a passage in some
vessel bound to Holland.

So unused are we to part, never yet for a week having been
separated during the eight years of our union, that our first
idea was going together, and taking our Alex; and certain I am
nothing would do me such material and mental good as so complete
a change of scene; but the great expense of the voyage and
journey, and the inclement season for our little boy, at length
finally settled us to pray only for a speedy meeting.  But I did
not give it up till late last night, and am far from quite
reconciled to relinquishing it even now.

He has no intention to go to France, or he would make an effort
to pass by Calais, which would delightfully shorten the passage;
but he merely means to remain at the Hague while he sends over
his procuration, and learns how soon he may hope to reap its
fruits.
page 196

Westhamble, 16th December, 1800.
He is returned, my dearest father, already! MY joy and surprise
are so great I seem in a dream.  I have just this moment a letter
from him, written at Gravesend. What he has been able to arrange
as to his affairs, I know not ; and just now cannot care, so
great is my thankfulness for his safety and return.  He waits in
the river for his passport, and will, when he obtains it, hasten,
I need not say, to Westhamble.


                              HOME MATTERS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, September i, 1801.
A carpet we       have-though not yet spread, as the chimney is
unfinished, and room incomplete. Charles brought us the tapis-so
that, in fact, we have yet bought nothing for our best room--and
meant,--for our own share--to buy a table . . . and if my dearest
father will be so good--and so naughty at once, as to crown our
salle d'audience with a gift we shall prize beyond all others, we
can think only of a table.  Not a dining one, but a sort of table
for a little work and a few books,--en ala--without which, a room
looks always forlorn. I need not say how we shall love it ; and I
must not say how we shall blush at it; and I cannot say how we
feel obliged at it--for the room will then be complete in
love-offerings.  Mr. Locke finished glazing or polishing his
impression border for the chimney on Saturday.  It will be, I
fear, his last work of that sort, his eyes, which are very
longsighted, now beginning to fail and weaken at near objects.

My Alex intends very soon, he says, to marry-and, not long since,
with the gravest simplicity, he went up to Mr William Locke, who
was here with his fair bride, and said, "How did you get that
wife, William? because I want to get such a one--and I don't know
which is the way." And he is now actually employed in fixing
sticks and stones at convenient distances, upon a spot very near
our own, where he means to raise a suitable structure for his
residence, after his nuptials. You will not think he has suffered
much time to be wasted before he has begun deliberating upon his
conjugal establishment.

We spent the greatest part of last week in visits at Norbury
Park, to meet M. de Lally, whom I am very sorry you missed.
Page 197

He is delightful in the country full of resources, of gaiety, of
intelligence, of good humour and mingling powers of instruction.
with entertainment.  He has read us several fragments of works of
his own, admirable in eloquence, sense, and feeling - chiefly
parts of tragedies, and all referring to subjects next his heart,
and clearest in his head ; namely, the French Revolution and its
calamities, and filial reverence and enthusiasm for injured
parents.


                      CONTEMPLATED JOURNEY To FRANCE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, October 3, 1801.
God avert mischief from this peace, my dearest father! For in our
hermitage you may imagine, more readily than I can express, the
hopes and happiness it excites.  M. d'Arblay now feels paid for
his long forbearance, his kind patience, and compliance with my
earnest wishes not to revisit his native land while we were at
war with it. He can now go with honour as well as propriety - for
every body, even the highest personages, will rather expect he
should make the journey as a thing of course, than hear of it as
a proposition for deliberation. He will now have his heart's
desire granted, in again seeing his loved and respectable
uncle,-and many relations, and more friends, and his own native
town, as well as soil ; and he will have the delight of
presenting to that uncle, and those friends, his little pet Alex.
With all this gratification to one whose endurance of such a
length of suspense, and repetition of disappointment, I have
observed with gratitude, and felt with sympathy-must not I, too,
find pleasure ? Though, on my side, many are the drawbacks - but
I ought not, and must not, listen to them. We shall arrange our
affairs with all the speed in our power, after the ratification
is arrived, for saving the cold and windy weather; but the
approach of winter is unlucky, as it will lengthen our stay, to
avoid travelling and voyaging during its severity - unless,
indeed, any internal movement, or the menace of any, should make
frost and snow secondary fears, and induce us to scamper off.
  But the present is a season less liable in all appearance to
storms, than the seasons that may follow. Fates, joy, and
pleasure, will probably for some months occupy the public in
France - and it will not be till
Page 198

those rejoicings are past, that they will set about weighing
causes of new commotion, the rights of their governors, or the
means, or desirability of changing them.  I would far rather go
immediately, than six months hence.

[The projected journey of Madame d'Arblay with her husband did
not take place this year; the season being already advanced, and
their little boy not strong enough to bear the fatigue of such an
expedition. Monsieur d'Arblay went alone to France.]


                     M. D'ARBLAY's ROUGH SEA PASSAGE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Westhamble, November 11, 1801.
I did not purpose writing to my dearest father till my suspense
and inquietude were happily removed by a letter from France; but
as I find he is already anxious himself, I will now relate all I
yet know of my dearest traveller's history. On Wednesday the 28th
of October, he set off for Gravesend. A vessel, he was told, was
ready for sailing,- and would set off the following day. He
secured his passage, and took up his abode at an inn, whence he
wrote me a very long letter, in full hope his next would be from
his own country.  But Thursday came, and no sailing--though the
wind was fair, and the weather then calm: he amused his
disappointment as well as he could by visiting divers gardeners,
and taking sundry lessons for rearing and managing asparagus.
Friday, also, came-and still no sailing ! He was more and more
vexed ; but had recourse then to a chemist, with whom he revised
much of his early knowledge. Saturday followed--no sailing! and
he found the people waited on and on, in hopes of more
passengers, though never avowing their purpose, His patience was
now nearly exhausted, and he went and made such vifs
remonstrances that he almost startled the managers. They
pretended the ballast was all they stayed for : he offered to aid
that himself; and actually went to work, and never rested till
the vessel was absolutely ready: orders, enfin, were given for
sailing next morning, though he fears, with all his skill, and
all his eloquence, and all his aiding, they were more owing to
the arrival of four passengers than to his exertions. That night,
October the 31st, he went on board; and November the 1st he set
sail at five o'clock in the morning.
Page 199

You know how high a wind arose on Sunday the 1st, and
how dreadful a storm succeeded, lasting all night, all Monday,
and all night again. How thankful, how grateful am I to have
heard of his safety since so terrifying a period.  They got on,
with infinite difficulty and danger, as far as Margate; they
there took anchor, and my kind voyager got a letter for me sent
on shore, "moyennant un schelling ."(164) To tell you my
gratitude in knowing him safe after that tempest--no I cannot!
Your warm affections, my dearest father, will easily paint to you
my thankfulness.

Next, they got on to Deal, and here anchored again, for the
winds, though they abated on shore, kept violent and dangerous
near the coast. Some of the passengers went on shore, and put two
letters for me in the post, assuring me all was safe. These two
passengers, who merely meant to dine on shore, and see the town,
were left behind. The sea rose so high, no boat could put off to
bring them back; and, though the captain hoisted a flag to
announce he was sailing, there was no redress. They had not
proceeded a league before the sea grew yet more rough and
perilous, and the captain was forced to hoist a flag of distress.
 Everything in the vessel was overset; my poor M. d'Arblay's
provision-basket flung down, and its contents demolished; his
bottle of wine broken by another toss, and violent fall, and he
was nearly famished. The water now began to get into the ship,
all hands were at work that could work, and he, my poor voyager,
gave his whole noble strength to the pump, till he was so
exhausted, so fatigued, so weakened, that with difficulty he
could hold a pen to repeat that still--I might be tranquille, for
all danger was again over. A pilot came out to them from Dover,
for seven guineas, which the higher of the passengers subscribed
for (and here poor M. d'A. was reckoned of that class], and the
vessel was got into the port at Dover, and the pilot, moyennant
un autre schelling, put me again a letter, with all these
particulars, into the post.

This was Thursday the 5th. The sea still so boisterous, the
vessel was unable to cross the water.  The magistrates at Dover
permitted the poor passengers all to land ; and M. d'Arblay wrote
to me again, from the inn, after being regaled with an excellent
dinner, of which he had been much in want.  Here they met again
the two passengers lost at Deal, who, in hopes of this
circumstance, had travelled post

Page 200

from thence to Dover. Here, too, M. d'A. met the Duke de Duras,
an hereditary officer of the crown, but who told him, since peace
was made, and all hope seemed chased of a proper return to his
country, he was going, incognito, to visit a beloved old mother,
whom he had not seen for eleven years. "I have no passport," he
said, "for France , but I mean to avow myself to the commissary
at Calais, and tell him I know I am not erased, nor do I demand
to be so. I only solicit an interview with a venerable parent.
Send to Paris, to beg leave for it.  You may put me in Prison
till the answer arrives; but, for mercy, for humanity's sake,
suffer me to wait in France till then! guarded as you please!"
This is his Purposed address--which my M. d'A. says he heard,
avec les larmes aux yeux.(165)  I shall long to hear the event.

On Friday, November 6th, M. d'A. wrote me two lines:"Nov. 6,
1801.--,Je pars! the wind is excellent--au revoir."  This is
dated ten o'clock in the morning. I have not had a word since.

[in the original edition here follow three letters, in French,
from M. d'Arblay to his wife. From these letters we translate the
following extracts.-ED.

"Paris.
"I do not yet know positively when it will be possible for me to
go to see my uncle. The settlement of my claim of half-pay is
anything but advanced. . . . To-morrow morning I have an
appointment with Du Taillis, aide-de-camp to Berthler (the French
minister of war).  When I leave him, I hope to see Talleyrand;
but what I most particularly desire is, not to depart without
having at least a glimpse of the first Consul (Napoleon), that
man so justly celebrated. . . . In reference to the obligation
which we, formerly on the list of emigrants, have to him,
Narbonne said to me to-day, 'He has set all our heads on our
shoulders.'  I like this expression."

" Paris, November 16, 1801.
"La Tour Maubourg, one of the companions of General Lafayette,
wished to marry his daughter to an emigrant whose name was not
yet struck off the list. He obtained an interview with the first
Consul, at which he entered into details on the matter, without
attempting to conceal the objections which might be taken to the
requested erasement of the young man's

Page 201

name from the list of emigrants.  Bonaparte interrupted him and
said, 'Is the young man agreeable to your daughter?'  'Yes,
General.'-' 'Is he agreeable to you, M. de Maubourg?'  'Very much
so, General.'--'Well then, the man whom you judge worthy to enter
into such a family as yours, is surely worthy also to be a French
citizen.'"

"15th Frimaire (December 6), 1801.
"According to all appearance, my dearest, I shall not obtain the
settlement I ask for. Everybody says that nothing could be more
just than my demand, but so many persons who have served all
through the war are at present on half-pay, that I am desperately
afraid it will be the same with my past services as with my
property, and for the same reason-the impossibility of satisfying
all demands, however well founded. Meanwhile, my dearest, it is
impossible to conceal from ourselves that we have been living,
for some years, with all our economy, on resources which are now
either exhausted, or very nearly so. The greater part of our
income [Fanny's pension] is anything but certain, yet what should
we do if that were to fail us ? The moral of this discourse is,
that while I am fit for something, it is my duty, as a husband
and a father, to try what can be done to secure for us, if
possible, an old age of absolute independence ; and for our
little one a position which may prevent his being a burden to us.
. . .

". . . The consuls in England have not yet been nominated. The
consulship in London will be well worth having, and perhaps,
although there will be plenty of candidates, it might not be
impossible for me to obtain it.  It is at least probable that I
could get appointed to one of the sea-ports. . . .

". . . Answer me at once, I beg of you. Think if this plan is
opposed to any of your tastes; for you know there is only one
possible happiness for me. Need I say more?")


                SUGGESTED ABANDONMENT' OF CAMILLA COTTAGE.

(Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.)
Westhamble, December 15, 1801.
The relief, the consolation of your frequent letters I can never
express, nor my grateful sense of your finding time for them,
situated as you now are-, and yet that I have this moment read,
of the 15 Frimaire, has made my heart ache

Page 202

heavily.  Our hermitage is so dear to me-our book-room, 'so
precious, and in its retirement, its beauty of prospect, form,
convenience, and comforts, so impossible to replace, that I sigh,
and deeply, in thinking of relinquishing it. Your happiness,
however, is now all mine ; if deliberately therefore, you wish to
try a new system, I will surely try it, with you, be it what it
may. I will try any thing but what I try now--absence ! Think,
however, well, mon tr…s cher ami, before you decide upon any
occupation that robs you of being master of your own time,
leisure, hours, gardening, scribbling, and reading.

In the happiness you are now enjoying, while it Is SO new to you,
you are perhaps unable to appreciate your own value of those six
articles, which, except in moments of your bitter regret at the
privation of your first friends and beloved country, have made
your life so desirable. Weigh, weigh it well in the detail. I
cannot write.

Should you find the sum total preponderate in favour of your new
scheme, I will say no more. All schemes will to me be preferable
to seeing you again here, without the same fondness for the
place, and way of life, that has made it to me what it has been.
With regard to the necessity or urgency of the measure, I could
say much that I cannot write. You know now I can live with you,
and you know I am not without views, as well as hopes, of
ameliorating our condition.

I will fully discuss the subject with our oracle.(166) His
kindness, his affection for you!  Yesterday, when I produced your
letter, and the extracts from M. Necker, and was going to read
some, he said, in that voice that is so penetratingly sweet, when
he speaks from his heart--"I had rather hear one line of
d'Arblay's than a volume of M. Necker's,"--yet at the same time
begging to peruse the MS. when I could spare it. I wish you could
have heard the tone in which he pronounced those words: it
vibrated on my ears all day.

I have spent near two hours upon this theme with our dearest
oracle and his other half He is much affected by the idea of any
change that may remove us from his daily sight; but, with his
unvarying disinterestedness, says he thinks such a place would be
fully acquitted by you.  If it is of consul here, in London, he
is sure you would fill up all its functions even

Page 203

admirably. I put the whole consideration into your own hands ,
what, upon mature deliberation, you judge to be best, I will
abide by.  Heaven guide and speed your determination!


         M. D'ARBLAY'S PROPOSED RETIREMENT FROM MILITARY SERVICE.

                                   1802.

[The beginning of this year was attended with much anxiety to
Madame d'Arblay.  Her husband, disappointed in the hopes
suggested by his friends, of his receiving employment as French
commercial consul in London, directed his efforts to obtaining
his half-pay on the retired list of French officers. This was
promised, on condition that he should previously serve at St.
Domingo, where General Leclerc was then endeavouring to put down
Toussaint's insurrection.  He accepted the appointment
conditionally on his being allowed to retire as soon as that
expedition should be ended.  This, he was told, was impossible,
and he therefore hastened back to his family towards the end of
January.

In February, a despatch followed him from General Berthier, then
minister at war, announcing that his appointment was made out,
and on his own terms. 'To this M. d'Arblay wrote his acceptance,
but repeated a stipulation he had before made, that while he was
ready to fight against the enemies of the Republic, yet, should
future events disturb the peace lately established between France
and England, it was his unalterable determination never to take
up arms against the British government. As this determination had
already been signified by M. d'Arblay, he waited not to hear the
result of its repetition, but set off again for Paris to receive
orders, and proceed thence to St. Domingo.

After a short time he was informed that his stipulation of never
taking up arms against England could not be accepted, and that
his military appointment was in consequence annulled. Having been
required at the Alien office, on quitting England, to engage that
he would not return for the space of one year, he now proposed
that Madame d'Arblay, with her little boy, should join him in
France:-and among the following letters will be found several in
which she describes her first impressions on reaching that
country, and the society to which she was introduced.]
Page 204

(Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta.)
Camilla Cottage, Westhamble, February 11, 1802.
A most unexpected, and, to me, severe event, draws from me now an
account I had hoped to have reserved for a far happier
communication, but which I must beg you to endeavour to seek some
leisure moment for making known, with the utmost humility, to my
royal mistress. . . .

Upon the total failure of every effort M. d'Arblay could make to
recover any part of his natural inheritance, he was advised by
his friends to apply to the French government for half pay, upon
the claims of his former military services.  He drew up a memoir,
openly stating his attachment and loyalty to his late king, and
appealing for this justice after undeserved proscription.  His
right was admitted, but he was informed it could only be made
good by his re-entering the army; and a proposal to that effect
was sent him by Berthier, the minister of war.

The disturbance of his mind at an offer which so many existing
circumstances forbade his foreseeing, was indescribable.  He had
purposed faithfully retiring to his hermitage, with his
fellow-hermit, for the remainder of his life: and nothing upon
earth could ever induce him to bear arms against the country
which had given him asylum, as well as birth to his wife and
child;--and yet a military spirit of honour, born and bred in
him, made it repugnant to all his feelings to demand even
retribution from the government of his own country, yet refuse to
serve it.  Finally, therefore, he resolved to accept the offer
conditionally--to accompany the expedition to St. Domingo, for
the restoration of order in the French colonies, and then,
restored thus to his rank in the army, to claim his retraite.
This he declared to the minister of war, annexing a further
clause of receiving his instructions immediately from the
government.

The minister's answer to this was, that these conditions were
impossible. Relieved rather than resigned-though dejected to find
himself thus thrown out of every promise of prosperity, M.
d'Arblay hastened back to his cottage, to the inexpressible
satisfaction of the- recluse he had left there.

short, however, has been its duration !  A packet has just
followed him, containing a letter from Berthier, to tell him that
his appointment was made out according to his own demands ! and
Page 205

enclosing another letter to the commander-in-chief, Leclerc, with
the orders of government for employing him, delivered in terms,
the most distinguished, of his professional character.

All hesitation, therefore, now necessarily ends, and nothing
remains for M. d'Arblay but acquiescence and despatch,-- while
his best consolation is in the assurance he has universally
received, that this expedition has the good wishes and sanction
of England. And, to avert any misconception or misrepresentation,
he has this day delivered to M. Otto(167) a letter, addressed
immediately to the first Consul, acknowledging the flattering
manner in which he has been called forth, but decidedly and
clearly repeating what he had already declared to the war
minister, that though he would faithfully fulfil the engagement
into which he was entering, it was his unalterable resolution
never to take up arms against the British government.

I presume to hope this little detail may, at some convenient
moment, meet her majesty's eyes-with every expression of my
profoundest devotion.


               M. D'ARBLAY's DISAPPOINTMENT.

(Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.)
Westhamble, March 14, 1802.
O my dearest friend,- Can the intelligence I have most
desired come to me in a form that forbids my joy at it? What
tumultuous sensations your letter of the 8th has raised!(168)
Alas! that to relinquish this purpose should to you be as great
unhappiness as to me was its suggestion!  I know not how to enter
upon the subject--how to express a single feeling.  I fear to
seem ungrateful to providence, or to you ungenerous.  I will
only, therefore, say, that as all your motives have been the most
strictly honourable, it is not possible they should not,
ultimately, have justice done them by all.

That I feel for your disappointment I need not tell you, when you
find it has power to shake to its foundation what would else be
the purest satisfaction of my soul.  Let us--let us hope fairer
days will ensue and do not let the courage

Page 206

which was so prompt to support you to St. Domingo fail you in
remaining at Paris.

What you say of the year's probation I knew not before.  Would
you have me make any inquiry if it be irreversible?' I should
think not ; and am most ready and eager to try by every means in
my power, if you will authorize me.  If not, to follow you,
whithersoever you will, is much less my duty than my delight !
You have only to dictate whither, and how, and every doubt, every
fear, every difficulty, will give way to my eager desire to bring
your little boy to you. Would I not have left even Kin to have
followed you and your fate even to St. Domingo? 'Tis well,
however, you did not listen to me, for that poor little
susceptible soul could not, as yet lose us both at once, and be
preserved himself He has lived' so singularly alone with us, and
for us, that he does not dream of any possible existence in which
we should be both separated from him.

But of him--our
retreat--our books--our scribbling--our garden--our unique mode
of life--I must not talk to you now, now that your mind,
thoughts, views, and wishes are all distorted from themes of
peace, domestic life, and literary pursuits; yet time, I hope,
reflection, your natural philosophy of accommodating yourself to
your fate, and your kindness for those who are wholly devoted to
you, will bring you back to the love of those scenes, modes, and
sentiments, which for upwards of eight years have sufficed for
our mutual happiness.

I had been negotiating for apartments at Twickenham, opposite
Richmond, ever since you went, and on Friday I wrote to close
with the engagement. This very morning I have two letters, full
of delight at our approaching neighbourhood. Miss C.(169) herself
writes in tears, she says, of joy, that I should be so near her,
and that you should have wished it, and blesses you for your
confidence in her warm friendship.         It is quite impossible
to read of such affection and zeal and goodness with dry eyes. I
am confounded how to disenchant her--- yet so generous and
disinterested she is, that, however disappointed, she will be
sure to rejoice for me in our re-union; for you, my dearest
friend! ah! who can rejoice? Your mind was all made up to the
return of its professional pursuits, and I am frightened out of
all my own satisfaction by MY dread of the weight of this chagrin
upon your spirits.  What

Page 207

you can do to avert depression,, that cruel underminer of every
faculty that makes life worth sustaining, I beseech you to call
forth. Think how I have worked for fortitude since Feb. 11th.
Alas! vainly I have tried what most I wished--my
poor pen!--but now "occupe-toi pour r‚aliser l'esp‚rance."  Those
words will operate like magic, I trust; and I will not close my
eyes this night till I have committed to paper some opening to a
new essay. Be good, then, and don't let me be as unhappy this way
as I have been the other.  Direct always to me, Norbury Park,
Dorking. Heaven bless--bless you

[Here follows, in the original edition, another letter in French,
from M. d'Arblay to his wife.  We translate the following
passage.-ED.


"At Ventose, year 10, (March 12, 1802).
"You have doubtless communicated to our friends at Norbury Park,
the letters which I have sent you.  Did I tell you that I sent a
copy of those letters to M. de Lafayette?(170)  M. de Lafayette
came at once to Paris, and requested an interview with Bonaparte,
who granted it immediately. Addressing him, M. de Lafayette said,
' I have come to speak to you of one of my friends and
companions--d'Arblay.'  'I know that business,' said the first
Consul, in a tone which expressed more good-will than I ventured
to hope for, at least, more than I had been given reason to
expect.  'I assure you,' said M. de Lafayette to me, the next
day, 'you have some good friends with the first Consul, who had
already spoken to him on your business.  He seemed to me, from
the first instant, rather disposed in your favour than angry with
you. . . . When I told him of your fear lest this business should
have excited his displeasure, he replied positively, that it
should do you no injury whatever, and that he would regard, in
the step you had taken, only the husband of Cecilia.'

"I hope you will not be very displeased at the way this business,
which has caused me much vexation, has terminated. I think I may
even add, in confidence, that I am, perhaps, not without a near
prospect of getting my retiring pension. Come to me, then, my
dearest.
Page 208

            ON THE EVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S JOURNEY To FRANCE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.)
March 30, 1802.
Now, indeed, my dearest father, I am in an excess of hurry not to
be exceeded by even any of yours.  I have a letter from M.
d'Arblay, to tell me he has already taken us an apartment, and he
dates from the 5th of April, in Paris, where he has reasons for
remaining some time, before we go to his good uncle, at Joigny.
I am to take the little sweet child with me you saw here one day,
Mlle. de Chavagnac, whose father, le Comte de Chavagnac, has
desired her restoration. My kind Mrs: Locke is almost in
affliction at parting with her though glad of an opportunity of
sending her with friends the poor thing knows and loves. I fear,
I have so very much to do here, that I shall have a very, very
short enjoyment of my beloved father at Chelsea but I shall get
there as soon as possible, and stay there to my last moment.
I have a thousand things, and very curious ones, to tell you; but
I must defer them for vive voix.  I am really bewildered and
almost trembling with hurry, and with what I am going to
undertake! Yet through all, i bless God every moment of my life
that M. d'Arblay went not to that pestilential climate I do all--
all I can to keep up my courage--or rather to make up; and when I
feel faltering, I think of St Domingo! Every body that knows St
Domingo now owns that he had hardly a chance for safety,
independent of tempests in the voyage, and massacres in the
mountains. May I but be able to console him for all he has
sacrificed to my peace and happiness ! and no privation will be
severe, so that at our stated period, Michaelmas twelvemonth, we
return to my country, and to my dearest father, whom heaven bless
and preserve, prays his dutiful, affectionate and grateful, and
devoted daughter, F. d'A.



                     DIARY: (Addressed to Dr. Burney).

               IN FRANCE DURING THE PEACE AND SUBSEQUENTLY.

April, 1802-I seize, at length, upon the largest paper I can
procure, to begin to my beloved father some account of our
journey, and if I am able, I mean to keep him a brief
Page 209

journal of my proceedings during this destined year or eighteen
months' separation,-secure of his kindest interest in all that I
may have to relate, and certain he will be anxious to know how I
go on in a strange land : 'tis my only way now of communicating
with him, and I must draw from it one of my dearest worldly
comforts, the hopes of seeing his loved hand with some return.

April 15.-William and John conducted my little boy and me in
excellent time to the inn in Piccadilly, where we met my kind
Mrs. Locke and dear little Adrienne de Chavagnac.  The parting
there was brief and hurried; and I set off on my grand
expedition, with my two dear young charges, exactly at five
o'clock. . . .

Paris, April 15, 1802.-The book-keeper came to me eagerly, crying
"vite, vite, madame, prenez votre place dans la diligence, car
voici un Monsieur Anglais, qui surement va prendre la meileure!"
En effet, ce Monsieur Anglais did not disappoint his
expectations, or much raise mine - for he not only took the best
place, but contrived to ameliorate it by the little scruple with
which he made every other worse, from the unbridled expansion in
which he indulged his dear person, by putting out his elbows
against his next, and his knees and feet against his opposite
neighbour. He seemed prepared to look upon all around-him with a
sort of sulky haughtiness, pompously announcing himself as a
commander of distinction who had long served at Gibraltar and
various places, who had travelled thence through France, and from
France to Italy, who was a native of Scotland, and -of proud,
though unnamed genealogy '; and was now going to Paris purposely
to behold the first Consul, to whom he meant to claim an
introduction through Mr. Jackson. His burnt complexion, Scotch
accent, large bony face and figure, and high and distant
demeanour, made me easily conceive and believe him a highland
chief. I never heard his name, but I think him a gentleman born,
though not gently bred.
  Page 210

The next to mention is a Madame Raymond or Grammont, for I heard
not distinctly which, who seemed very much a gentlewoman, and who
was returning to France, too uncertain of the state of her
affairs to know whether she might rest there or not. She had only
one defect to prevent my taking much interest in her ; this was,
not merely an avoidance, but a horror of being touched by either
of my children ; who, poor little souls, restless and fatigued by
the confinement they endured, both tried to fling themselves upon
every passenger in turn ; and though by every one they were sent
back to their sole prop, they were by no one repulsed with such
hasty displeasure as by this old lady, who seemed as fearful of
having the petticoat of her gown, which was stiff, round, and
bulging, as if lined with parchment, deranged, as if she had been
attired in a hoop for Court.

The third person was a Madame Blaizeau, who seemed an exceeding
good sort of a woman, gay, voluble, good humoured, and merry. All
we had of amusement sprung from her sallies, which were uttered
less from a desire of pleasing others, her very natural character
having none of the high polish bestowed by the Graces, than from
a jovial spirit of enjoyment which made them produce pleasure to
herself. She soon and frankly acquainted us she had left France
to be a governess to some young ladies before the Revolution, and
under the patronage, as I think, of the Duke of Dorset - she had
been courted, she told us, by an English gentleman farmer, but he
would not change his religion for her, nor she for him, and so,
when every thing was bought for her wedding, they broke off the
connexion ; and she afterwards married a Frenchman. She had seen
a portrait, set richly in diamonds, of the king, prepared for a
present to the first Consul ; and described its superb ornaments
and magnificence, in a way to leave no doubt of the fact.  She
meant to stop at St. Denis, to inquire if her mother yet lived,
having received no intelligence from or of her, these last ten
eventful years !

At Canterbury, while the horses were changed, my little ones and
I went to the cathedral; but dared merely seize sufficient time
to view the outside and enter the principal aisle.  I was glad
even of that much, as its antique grandeur gave me a pleasure
which I always love to cherish in the view of fine old
cathedrals, those most permanent monuments Of what our ancestors
thought reverence to God, as manifested in munificence to the
place dedicated to his worship.
Page 211

At Dover we had a kind of dinner-supper in one, and my
little boy and girl and I retired immediately after it, took some
tea in our chamber, and went to rest.

April 16.-As we were not to sail till twelve, I had hoped to have
seen the castle and Shakspeare's cliff, but most unfortunately it
rained all the morning, and we were confined to the inn, except
for the interlude of the custom-house, where, however, the
examination was so slight, and made with such civility, that we
had no other trouble with it than a wet walk and a few shillings.
Our passports were examined; and we then ' went to the port, and,
the sea being perfectly smooth, were lifted from the quay to the
deck of our vessel with as little difficulty as we could have
descended from a common chair to the ground.


                            ARRIVAL AT CALAIS.

The calm which caused our slow passage and our sickness, was now
favourable, for it took us into the port of Calais so close and
even with the quay, that we scarcely accepted even a hand to aid
us from the vessel to the shore.

The quay was lined with crowds of people, men, women, and
children, and certain amphibious females, who might have passed
for either sex, or anything else in the world, except what they
really were, European women! Their men's hats, men's jackets, and
men's shoes - their burnt skins, and most
savage-looking petticoats, hardly reaching, nay, not reaching
their knees, would have made me instantly believe any account I
could have heard of their being just imported from the wilds of
America.

The vessel was presently filled with men, who, though dirty and
mean, were so civil and gentle, that they could not displease,
and who entered it so softly and quietly, that, neither hearing
nor seeing their approach, it seemed as if they had availed
themselves of some secret trap-doors through which they had
mounted to fill the ship, without sound or bustle, in a single
moment. When we were quitting it, however, this tranquillity as
abruptly finished, for in an instant a part of them rushed round
me, one demanding to carry
Alex, another Adrienne, another seizing my ‚critoire, another my
arm, and some one, I fear, my parasol, as I have never been able
to find it since.

We were informed we must not leave the ship till Monsieur
Page 212

le commissaire arrived to carry us, I think, to the Municipality
of Calais to show our passports. Monsieur le commisSaire in white
with some red trappings, soon arrived, civilly hastening himself
quite out of breath to save us from waiting' We then mounted the
quay, and I followed the rest of the passengers, who all followed
the commissary, accompanied by two men carrying the two children,
and two more carrying one my ‚critoire, and the other insisting
on conducting its owner. The quantity of people that surrounded
and walked with us, surprised me ; and their decency, their
silence their quietness astonished me.  To fear them was
impossible: even in entering France with all the formed fears
hanging upon its recent though past horrors. But on coming to the
municipality, I was, I own, extremely ill at ease, when upon our
gouvernante's desiring me to give the commissary my passport, as
the rest of the passengers had done, and my answering it was in
my ‚critoire, she exclaimed, "Vite! Vite! cherchez-le, ou vous
serez arrˆt‚e!"(172)  You may be sure I was quick enough, or at
least tried to be so, for my fingers presently trembled, and I
could hardly put in the key.

In the hall to which we now repaired, our passports were taken
and deposited, and we had new ones drawn up and given us in their
stead.  On quitting this place we were accosted by a new crowd,
all however as gentle, though not as silent, as our first
friends, who recommended various hotels to us, one begging we
would go to Grandsire, another to Duroc, another to Meurice--and
this last prevailed with the gouvernante, whom I regularly
followed, not from preference, but from the singular horror my
otherwise worthy and wellbred old lady manifested, when, by being
approached by the children, her full round coats risked the
danger of being modernised into the flimsy, falling drapery of
the present day.

At Meurice's our goods were entered, and we heard that they would
be examined at the custom-house in the afternoon. We breakfasted,
and the crowd of fees which were claimed by the captain, steward,
sailors, carriers, and heaven knows who, besides, are
inconceivable. I gave whatever they asked, from ignorance of what
was due, and from fear of offending those of whose extent, still
less of whose use, of power I could form no judgment.  I was the
only one in this predicament; the rest refusing or disputing
every demand.  They all, but us
Page 213

Went out to walk - but I stayed to write to my dearest father, to
Mrs. Locke, and my expecting mate.


                   "GOD SAVE THE KING!" ON FRENCH SOIL.

We were all three too much awake by the new scene to try for any
repose, and the hotel windows sufficed for our amusement till
dinner; and imagine, my dearest sir, how my repast was seasoned,
when I tell you that, as soon as it began, a band "of music came
to the window and struck up "God save the king."  I can never
tell you what a pleased emotion was excited in my breast by this
sound on a shore so lately hostile, and on which I have so many,
so heartfelt motives for wishing peace and amity perpetual!


                        A RAMBLE THROUGH THE TOWN.

This over, we ventured out of the hotel to look at the street.
The day was fine, the street was clean, two or three people who
passed us, made way for the children as they skipped out of' my
hands, and I saw such an unexpected appearance of quiet, order
and civility, that, almost without knowing it, we strolled from
the gate, and presently found ourselves in the market-place,
which was completely full of sellers, and buyers, ,and booths,
looking like a large English fair.

The queer, gaudy jackets, always of a different colour from the
petticoats of the women, and their immense wing-caps, which
seemed made to double over their noses, but which all flew back
so as to discover their ears, in which 1 regularly saw -large and
generally drop gold ear-rings, were quite as diverting ...to
myself as to Alex and Adrienne. Many of them, also, had gold
necklaces chains, and crosses; but ear-rings all: even maids who
were scrubbing or sweeping, ragged wretches bearing burdens on
their heads or shoulders, old women selling fruit or other
eatables, gipsy-looking creatures with children tied to their
backs--all wore these long, broad, large, shining ear-rings.

Beggars we saw not--no, not one, all the time we stayed or
sauntered; and for civility and gentleness, the poorest and most
ordinary persons we met or passed might be compared with the best
dressed and best looking walkers in the streets of our
metropolis, and still to the disadvantage of the latter. I cannot
say how much this surprised me, as I had conceived a horrific
idea of the populace of this country, imagining em all
transformed into bloody monsters.
Page 214

Another astonishment I experienced equally pleasing, though not
equally important to my ease; I saw innumerable pretty women and
lovely children, almost all of them extremely fair.  I had been
taught to expect nothing but mahogany complexions and hideous
features instantly on crossing the strait of Dover.  When this,
however, was mentioned in our party afterwards, the Highlander
exclaimed, "But Calais was in the hands of the English so many
years, that the English -race there is not yet extinct."

The perfect security in which I now saw we might wander about,
induced us to walk over the whole town, and even extend our
excursions to the ramparts surrounding it. It is now a very clean
and pretty town, and so orderly that there was no more tumult or
even noise in the market-place, where the people were so close
together as to form a continual crowd, than in the by-streets
leading to the country, where scarcely a passenger was to be
seen.  This is certainly a remark which, I believe, could never
be made in England.

When we returned to the hotel, I found all my fellow travellers
had been to the custom house!  I had quite forgotten, or rather
neglected to inquire the hour for this formality, and was
beginning to alarm myself lest I was out of rule, when a young
man, a commissary, I heard, of the hotel, came to me and asked if
I had anything contraband to the laws of the Republic. I answered
as I had done before, and he readily undertook to go through the
ceremony for me without my appearing.  I was so much frightened,
and so happy not to be called upon personally, that I thought
myself very cheaply off in his after-demand of a guinea and a
half. I had two and a half to pay afterwards for additional
luggage..

We found reigning through Calais a general joy and satisfaction
at the restoration of Dimanche and abolition of d‚cade.(173)  I
had a good deal of conversation with the maid of the inn, a tall,
fair, extremely pretty woman, and she talked much upon this
subject, and the delight it occasioned, and the obligation all
France was under to the premier Consul for restoring religion and
worship.
Page 215

              SUNDAY ON THE ROAD TO PARIS.

Sunday, April 18. --We set off for Paris at five o'clock in the
morning.  The country broad, flat, or' barrenly steep --Without
trees, without buildings, and scarcely inhabited-- exhibited a
change from the fertile fields, and beautiful woods ,band
gardens, and civilisation of Kent, so sudden and unpleasant that
I only lamented the fatigue of my position, which regularly
impeded my making use of this chasm of 'pleasure and observation
for repose. This part of France must certainly be the least
frequented, for we rarely met a single carriage, and the
villages, few and distant, seemed to have no intercourse with
each other.  Dimanche, indeed, might occasion this stiffness, for
we saw, at almost all the villages, neat and clean peasants going
to or coming from mass, and seeming indescribably elated and
happy by the public permission of divine worship on its
originally appointed day.

I was struck with the change in Madame Raymond, who joined us in
the morning from another hotel. Her hoop was no more visible; her
petticoats were as lank, or more so, than her neighbours'; and
her distancing the children was not only at an end, but she
prevented me from renewing any of my cautions to them, of not
incommoding her - and when we were together a few moments, before
we were joined by the rest, she told me, with a significant
smile, not to tutor the children about her any more, as she only
avoided them from having something of consequence to take care
of, which was removed. I then saw she meant some English lace or
muslin, which she had carried in a petticoat, and, since the
customhouse examination was over, had now packed in her trunk.

Poor lady! I fear this little merchandise was all her hope of
succour on her arrival! She is amongst the emigrants who have
twice or thrice returned, but not yet been able to rest in their
own country.

What most in the course of this journey struck me, was the
satisfaction of all the country people, with whom I could
converse at the restoration of the Dimanche; and the boasts they
now ventured to make of having never kept the d‚cade, except
during the dreadful reign of Robespierre, when not to oppose any
of his severest decrees was insufficient for safety, ,"it was
essential even to existence to observe them with every parade of
the warmest approval.
Page 216

The horrible stories from every one of that period of wanton as
well as political cruelty, I must have judged exaggerated, either
through the mist of fear or the heats of resentment but that,
though the details had innumerable modifications' there was but
one voice for the excess of barbarity.

At a little hamlet near Clermont, where we rested some time, two
good old women told us that this was the happiest day (twas
Sunday) of their lives; that they had lost le bon Dieu for these
last ten years, but that Bonaparte had now found him! In another
cottage we were told the villagers had kept their own cur‚ all
this time concealed, and though privately and with fright, they
had thereby saved their souls through the whole of the bad times!
And in another, some poor creatures said they were now content
with their destiny, be it what it might, since they should be
happy, at least, in the world to come - but that while denied
going to mass, they had all their sufferings aggravated by
knowing that they must lose their souls hereafter, besides all
that they had to endure here!

O my dearest father! that there can have existed wretches of such
diabolical wickedness as to have snatched, torn, from the toiling
indigent every ray even of future hope!  Various of these little
conversations extremely touched me nor was I unmoved, though not
with such painful emotion, on the sight of the Sunday night
dance, in a little village through which we passed, where there
seemed two or three hundred peasants engaged in that pastime all
clean and very gaily dressed, yet all so decent and well behaved,
that, but for the poor old fiddlers, we might have driven on, and
not have perceived the rustic ball.

Here ends the account of my journey, and if it has amused my
dearest father, it will be a true delight to me to have scribbled
it.  My next letter brings me to the capital, and to the only
person who can console me for my always lamented absence from
himself.


                   ENGAGEMENTS, OCCUPATIONS, AND FATIGUE

(Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta.)
Paris, April 27, 1802.
A week have I been here, my dear Miss Planta, so astonishingly
engaged, so indispensably occupied, or so suffering from fatigue,
that I have not been able till now to take up
Page 217

pen, except to satisfy my dear father of our safe arrival.

To give you some idea of these engagements, occupations, and
fatigues, I must begin with the last. We were a whole long,
languid day, a whole restless, painful night, upon the sea; my
little Alex sick as death, suffering if possible yet more than
myself, though I had not a moment of ease and comfort. My little
Adrienne de Chavagnac was perfectly well all the time, singing
and skipping about the cabin, and amusing every one by her
innocent enjoyment of the novelty of the scene. . . .

As to my occupations;-my little apartment to arrange, my trunks
and baggage to unpack and place, my poor Adrienne to consign to
her friends, my Alex to nurse from a threatening malady; letters
to deliver, necessaries to buy; a femme de chambre to engage;
and, most important of all! my own sumptuous wardrobe to refit,
and my own poor exterior to reorganise! I see you smile,
methinks, at this hint; but what smiles would brighten the
countenance of a certain young lady called Miss Rose, who amused
herself by anticipation, when I had last the honour of seeing
her, with the changes I might have to undergo, could she have
heard the exclamations which followed the examination of my
attire: "This won't do! That YOU can never wear! This you can
never be seen in! That would make you stared at as a curiosity!--
Three petticoats! no one wears more than one!-- Stays? everybody
has left off even corsets!--Shift sleeves? not a soul now wears
even a chemise!" etc.  In short, I found all I possessed seemed
so hideously old fashioned, or so comically rustic, that as soon
as it was decreed I must make appearance in the grand monde,
hopeless of success in exhibiting myself in the' costume
Fran‡ais, I gave over the attempt, and ventured to come forth as
a gothic Anglaise, who never heard of, or never heeded the
reigning metamorphosis.

As to my engagements;--when should I finish, should I tell all
that have been made or proposed, even in the short space of a
single week?  The civilities I have met with, contrary to all my
expectations, have not more amazed me for myself, than gratified
me for M. d'Arblay, who is keenly alive to the kind, I might say
distinguished, reception I have been favoured with by those to
whom my arrival is known.

Your favourite hero is excessively popular at this moment from
three successive grand events, all occurring within the
Page 218

short time of my arrival,--the ratification of the treaty of
peace--the restoration of Sunday, and Catholic worship--and the
amnesty of the emigrants.  At the Opera buffa, the loge in which
I sat was exactly opposite to that of the first Consul but he and
his family are all at Malmaison.


        DIARY RESUMED: (Addressed to Dr. Burney.)

                          ARISTOCRATIC VISITORS.

Paris, April 1, 1802.(174)-Almost immediately after my arrival in
Paris, I was much surprised by a visit from the ci-devant Prince
de Beauvau, madame his wife, and Mademoiselle de Mortemar her
sister, all brought by Madame d'Henin. if gratified in the first
instance by a politeness of attention so little my due and so
completely beyond my expectations, how was my pleasure enhanced
when I found they all three spoke English with the utmost ease
and fluency, and how pleased also at the pleasure I was able to
give them in reward of their civility, by a letter I had brought
from Mrs. Harcourt, which was received with the warmest delight
by Mademoiselle de Mortemar and a message from a young lady named
Elizabeth, with the profoundest gratitude.

April 24-This morning Madame d'Henin was so kind as to accompany
us, in making our visit to Madame de Beauvau her niece, and
Mademoiselle de Mortemar. We found them at home with M. de
Beauvau, and they indulged me with the sight of their children,
who are the most flourishing and healthy possible, and dressed
and brought up with English plainness and simplicity. The visit
was very pleasant, and Madame d'Henin made a party for us all to
meet again the next day, and go to the Opera buffa.


                     ANXIETY TO SEE THE FIRST CONSUL.

I have heard much of the visit of Mrs. Damer and the Miss Berrys
to Paris, and their difficulty to get introduced to the first
Consul.(175) A lady here told us she had been called upon

Page 219

by Miss Berry, who had complained with much energy upon this
subject, saying, "We have been everywhere--seen everything--heard
every body--beheld such sights! listened to such discourse!
joined such society! and all to obtain his notice! Don't you
think it very extraordinary that he should not himself desire to
see Mrs. Damer?

"Madame," replied the lady, "perhaps if you had done but half
this, the first Consul might have desired to see you both."


"But you don't imagine," answered she, laughing, "we came over
from England to see you ci-devants ? We can see such as you at
home!"

She was gone before our arrival ; and, as I understand, succeeded
at last in obtaining an introduction.  They were both, Mrs. Damer
and Miss Berry, as I am told, very gay and agreeable, as well as
enterprising, and extremely well r‚pandues.


                           AT THE OPERA-BOUFFE.

April 25.-I was not much better in the evening, but the party for
the Opera buffa being formed by Madame d'Henin on my account, my
going was indispensable. She had borrowed the loge of M. de
Choiseul, which, being entailed upon the family … perp‚tuit‚, has
in a most extraordinary manner continued unalienated through the
whole course of massacres and proscriptions to the present day,
when the right owner possesses it.  It is the largest and best
box, except that which is opposite to it, in the theatre. . . .

The opera was "Le Nozze di Dorina," by Sarti, and extremely
pretty; though I wished it had been as new to M. C-- de P-- as to
myself, for then he would not have divided my attention by
obligingly singing every note with every performer.  In truth, I
was still so far from recovered from the fatigue of my journey,
that I was lulled to a drowsiness the most distressing before the
end of the second act,                                '

page 220

which being but too obvious, Madame d'Henin and M. d'Arblay took
me away before I risked a downright nap by waiting for the third.


                 DIFFICULTIES RESPECTING MADAME DE STAEL.

April 26-The assembly at Madame d'Henin's was one of the most
select and agreeable at which I was ever present. Assembly,
however, I ought not to call a meeting within the number of
twenty. But I was uneasy for my poor Alex, and therefore stole
away as soon as possible; not, however, till Madame de Tess‚ made
a party for us for the following Thursday at her house, nor till
I had held a private discourse with Mademoiselle de -- upon my
embarrassment as to Madame de Stael, from the character she held
in England; which embarrassment was not much lightened by her
telling me it was not held more fair in France ! Yet, that
everywhere the real evil is highly exaggerated by report, envy,
and party-spirit, all allow.  She gives, however, great
assemblies at which all Paris assist, and though not solicited or
esteemed by her early friends and acquaintance, she is admired,
and pitied, and received by them.  I would she were gone to
Copet!(176)


What most perplexed me at this period was the following note from
Madame de Stael.

"je voudrois vous t‚moigner mon empressement, madame, et je
crains d'ˆtre indiscrette.  j'espŠre que vous aurez la bont‚ de
me faire dire quand vous serez assez remise des fatigues de votre
voyage pour que je puisse avoir l'honneur de vous voir sans vous
importuner.
"Ce 4 florial. (177)
"Necker Stael de H."(178)

How is it possible, when even the common civility of a card for
her card is yet unreturned, that she can have brought herself
thus to descend from her proud heights to solicit the

Page 221

renewal of an acquaintance broken so abruptly in England, and so
palpably shunned in France ? Is it that the regard she appeared
to conceive for me in England was not only sincere but constant?
If so, I must very much indeed regret a waste of kindness her
character and conduct make it impossible for me to repay, even
though, on this spot, I am assured all her misfortunes are
aggravated, nay caricatured, by report, and that she exerts her
utmost influence, and calls forth her best talents, upon every
occasion which presents itself for serving those who have been
her friends ; and that, notwithstanding circumstances and
disunion, either in politics or morals, may have made them become
her enemies. Her generosity is cited as truly singular upon this
head, and I have heard histories of her returning, personally,
good for evil that would do honour to any character living.

After much deliberation and discussion, my French master composed
the following answer:--

\"Madame d'Arblay ne peut qu'ˆtre infiniment flatt‚e de l'extrŠme
bont‚ de Madame la Comtesse de Stael.  Elle aura trŠs
certainement l'honneur de se pr‚senter chez Madame de Stael
aussit“t que possible."(179)

Cooler than this it was not easy to write, and the ne peut
qu'ˆtre is a tournure that is far enough from flattering.  I
hope, however, it will prepare her for the frozen kind of
intercourse which alone can have place between us.


                           MADAME DE LAFAYETTE.

As I wished much to see the parade, or review, which was to take
place on the 5th, and is only once a month, we were forced to
devote the preceding day to visits, as it was decreed in our
council of etiquette that I could not appear in a place where I
might be seen by those who had shown me the civility of beginning
an acquaintance, till I had acknowledged my debt to them. . . . I
was so thoroughly tired when I returned from all these visits,
that I was forced to rest upon a bed for the remainder of the
day, to my no small discomposure before the evening was closed;
for, in a close cap, my feet in their native, undraperied state,
hidden by a large, long, wrapping morning
Page 222
gown, your daughter, my dearest sir, lay reclined on a bed when,
rather late in the evening, I was told Madame d'Henin was in the
salon. I was going to send in my excuses, while I rose to get
ready for waiting upon her - but Alex flung open the door, and
seeing where I was, and how fatigued, she insisted on my keeping
still, and came to my bedside, and sat in friendly converse,
listening to the history of my morning excursion, till a ring at
the bell of our ante-room made me desire to have nobody admitted.
Alex again, however, frisking about, prevented Pauline, my little
femme de chambre, from hearing me, and she announced Madame de
Lafayette!

You may easily believe this name, and my present situation, put
me into no small commotion. I was beseeching Madame d'Henin to go
to the saloon with my apologies, when Alex, whose illness, though
it has diminished his strength and his flesh, has left his
spirits as wild as ever, called out to proclaim where I was, and
while Madame Lafayette was gently moving on, flung the bedroom
door wide open, saying, "Mamma is here! " Madame Lafayette,
concluding, I suppose, that I received du monde in the French
manner, immediately presented herself at the door, where I had no
resource but to entreat Madame d'Henin, who is her intimate
friend, to receive her, for I was wholly powerless, with my
unsandaled feet, from rising. Madame d'Henin now brought her to
my bedside, where nothing could have been more awkward than my
situation : but that the real reverence I had conceived for her
character and her virtues made the sight of so singular a person,
her condescension in the visit, and her goodness, though lame, in
mounting three pair of stairs, give me a sensation of pleasure,
that by animating my spirits, endowed me with a courage that
overcame all difficulties both of language and position, and
enabled me to express my gratitude for her kindness and my
respect for her person, with something far nearer to fluency and
clearness than anything in speech I have yet attempted. My mind
instantly presented her to me, torn from her beloved family, and
thrown into the death-impending prison of Robespierre ; and then
saved by his timely destruction from the scaffold, and then using
her hardly-recovered liberty only by voluntarily sacrificing it
to be immured with her husband in the dungeon of Olm�tz.(180)
Various as may be the opinions of
Page 223

the politics of M. de Lafayette, all Europe, I believe,'concur in
admiration of the character and conduct of his virtuous and
heroic wife. Indeed, nothing since my arrival has so sensibly
gratified me, from without, as this visit.

Madame Lafayette is the daughter of the ci-devant Duc d'Ayen, and
consequently niece of Madame de Tess‚, the duke's sister. She was
married to M. de Lafayette when she was only seventeen years of
age. By some cold or mismanagement, and total want of exercise in
the prison of Olm�tz, some humour has fallen into one of her
ankles, that, though it does not make her absolutely lame, causes
walking to be so painful and difficult to her that she moves as
little as possible, and is always obliged to have a stool for her
foot. She now resides with M. de Lafayette and their three
children entirely in the country, at a chateau which has
descended to her since the revolutionary horrors and therefore
has not been confiscated, called "La Grange." They never come to
Paris but upon business of positive necessity. She had arrived
only this morning on a visit to her aunt, Madame de Tess‚, to
make some preparations for the approaching marriage of her only
son.

Her youngest daughter, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, accompanied
her. She is a blooming young creature of English fairness-as we
English choose to say-with a bright native colour, and beautiful
light hair ; otherwise with but indifferent features, and not
handsome : yet her air, though modest even to the extreme that
borders upon bashfulness, is distinguished, and speaks her to be
both sensible and well brought up.

Madame de Lafayette, also, is by no means handsome; but has eyes
so expressive, so large, and so speaking, that it is not easy to
criticise her other features, for it is almost impossible to look
at them.  Her manner is calm and mild, yet noble. She is
respected even by surrounding infidels for her genuine piety,
which, in the true character of true religion, is severe only for
herself, lenient and cheerful for all others.  I do not say this
from what I could see in the hour she was so good as to pass with
me, but from all I have heard.

She warmly invited me to La Grange, and requested me to name an
early day for passing some time there. I proposed

Page 224

that it might be after the marriage had taken place,"as till then
all foreign people or subjects might be obtrusive. She paused a
moment, and then said, "AprŠs?--c'est vrai we could then more
completely enjoy Madame d'Arblay' society; for we must now have
continual interruptions, surrounded as we are by workmen, goods,
chattels, and preparations; so that there would be a nail to
hammer between almost every word; and yet, as we are going to
Auvergne, after the ceremony, it will be so long before a meeting
may be arranged, that I believe the less time lost the better."

I know M. d'Arblay desired this acquaintance for me too earnestly
to offer any opposition; and I was too much charmed with its
opening to make any myself: it was therefore determined we should
go the following week to La Grange.


                      SIGHT-SEEING AT THE TuILERIES.

May 5-Again a full day. M. d'Arblay had procured us three tickets
for entering the apartments at the Tuileries to see the parade of
General Hulin, now high in actual rank and service, but who had
been a sous-officier under M. d'Arblay's command; our third
ticket was for Madame d'Henin, who had never been to this sight--
nor, indeed, more than twice to any spectacle since her return to
France--till my arrival; but she is so obliging and good as to
accept, nay to seek, every thing that can amuse, of which I can
profit. We breakfasted with her early, and were appointed to join
the party of M. le Prince de Beauvau, who had a general in his
carriage, through whose aid and instructions we hoped to escape
all difficulties.

Accordingly the coach in which they went was desired to stop at
Madame d'Henin's door, so as to let us get into our fiacre, and
follow it straight. This was done, and our precursor stopped at
the gate leading to the garden of the Tuileries. The De Beauvaus,
Mademoiselle de Mortemar, and their attending general, alighted,
and we followed their example and joined them, which was no
sooner done than their general, at the sight of M. d'Arblay,
suddenly drew back from conducting Madame de Beauvau, and flew up
to him. They had been ancient camarades, but had not met since M.
d'A.'s emigration.

The crowd was great, but civil and well -dressed ; and we met
with no impediment till we came to the great entrance. Alas, I
had sad recollections of sad readings in mounting the

Page 225

steps!  We had great difficulty, notwithstanding our tickets, in
making our way--I mean Madame d'Henin and ourselves, for Madame
de Beauvau and Mademoiselle de Mortemar having an officer in the
existing military to aid them, were admitted and helped by all
the attendants; and so forwarded that we wholly lost sight of
them, till we arrived, long after, in the apartment destined for
the exhibition. This, however, was so crowded that every place at
the windows for seeing the parade was taken, and the row formed
opposite to see the first Consul as he passes through the room to
take horse, was so thick and threefold filled, that not a
possibility existed of even a passing peep. Madame d'Henin would
have retired, but as the whole scene was new and curious to me, I
prevailed with her to stay, that I might view a little of the
costume of the company; though I was sorry I detained her, when I
saw her perturbed spirits from the recollections which, I am
sure, pressed upon her on re-entering this palace : and that her
sorrows were only subdued by her personal indignation, which was
unconscious, but yet very prominent, to find herself included in
the mass of the crowd in being refused all place and distinction,
where, heretofore, she was amongst the first for every sort of
courtesy.  Nothing of this, however, was said and you may believe
my pity for her was equally unuttered.

We seated ourselves now, hopeless of any other amusement than
seeing the uniforms of the passing officers, and the light
drapery of the stationary ladies, which, by the way, is not by
any means so notorious nor so common as has been represented ; on
the contrary, there are far more who are decent enough to attract
no attention, than who are fashionable enough to call for it.

During this interval M. d'Arblay found means, by a ticket lent
him by M. de Narbonne, to enter the next apartment, and there to
state our distress, not in vain, to General Hulin; and presently
he returned, accompanied by this officer, who is, I fancy, at
least seven feet high, and was dressed in one of the most showy
uniforms I ever saw. M. d'Arblay introduced me to him. He
expressed his pleasure in seeing the wife of his old comrade, and
taking my hand, caused all the crowd to make way, and conducted
me into the apartment adjoining to that where the first Consul
receives the ambassadors, with a flourish of manners so fully
displaying power as well as courtesy, that I felt as if in the
hands of one of the seven champions who meant to mow down all
before him, should
Page 226

any impious elf dare dispute his right to give me liberty, or to
show me honour.


                         A GOOD PLACE IS SECURED,

He put me into the first place in the apartment which was sacred
to general officers, and as many ladies as could be accommodated
in two rows only at the windows.  M. d'Arblay, under the sanction
of his big friend, followed with Madame d'Henin , and we had the
pleasure of rejoining Madame de Beauvau and Mademoiselle de
Mortemar, who were at the same windows, through the exertions of
General Songis.

The scene now, with regard to all that was present, was
splendidly gay and highly animating.  The room was full, but not
crowded, with officers of rank in sumptuous rather than rich
uniforms, and exhibiting a martial air that became their attire,
which, however, generally speaking, was too gorgeous to be noble.
Our window was that next to the consular apartment, in which
Bonaparte was holding a levee, and it was close to the steps
ascending to it; by which means we saw all the forms of the
various exits and entrances, and had opportunity to examine every
dress and every countenance that passed and repassed.  This was
highly amusing, I might say historic, where the past history and
the present office were known.

Sundry footmen of the first Consul, in very fine liveries, were
attending to bring or arrange chairs for whoever required them ;
various peace-officers, superbly begilt, paraded occasionally up
and down the chamber, to keep the ladies to their windows and the
gentlemen to their ranks, so as to preserve the passage or lane
through which the first Consul was to walk upon his entrance,
clear and open; and several gentlemanlike looking persons, whom
in former times I should have supposed pages of the back stairs,
dressed in black, with gold chains hanging round their necks, and
medallions pending from them, seemed to have the charge of the
door itself, leading immediately to the audience chamber of the
first Consul.


                     M. D'ARPLAY'S MILITARY COMRADES.

But what was most prominent in commanding notice, was the array
of the aides-de-camp of Bonaparte, which was so
Page 227

almost furiously striking, that all other vestments, even the
most gaudy, appeared suddenly under a gloomy cloud when
contrasted with its brightness. We were long viewing them before
we could discover what they were to represent, my three lady
companions being as new to this scene as myself; but afterwards
M. d'Arblay starting forward to speak to one of them, brought him
across the lane to me, and said "General Lauriston,"

His kind and faithful friendship to M. d'Arblay, so amiably
manifested upon his late splendid embassy to England, made me see
him with great pleasure. It was of course but for a moment, as he
was amongst those who had most business upon their hands. General
d'Hennezel also came to me for a few minutes, and three or four
others, whom M. d'Arblay named, but whom I have forgotten.
Indeed, I was amazed at the number of old friends by whom he was
recognised, and touched far more than I can express, to see him
in his old coat and complete undress, accosted by his fine
(former) brethren, in all their new and beautiful costume, with
an eagerness of regard that, resulting from first impulse, proved
their judgment, or rather knowledge of his merits, more forcibly
than any professions, however warm, could have done. He was
indeed, after the aides-de-camp, the most striking figure in the
apartment, from contrasting as much with the general herd by
being the plainest and worst dressed, as they did by being the
gayest and most showy.

General Lauriston is a very handsome man, and of a very pleasing
and amiable countenance; and his manly air carried off the
frippery of his trappings, so as to make them appear almost to
advantage.


                          ARRIVAL OF THE TROOPS.

While this variety of attire, of carriage, and of physiognomy
amused us in facing the passage prepared for the first Consul, we
were occupied, whenever we turned round, by seeing from the
window the garden of the Tuileries filling 'with troops.

In the first row of females at the window where we stood, were
three ladies who, by my speaking English with Mademoiselle de
Mortemar and Madame de Beauvau, discovered .my country, and, as I
have since heard, gathered my name; and here I blush to own how
unlike was the result to what "One of this nation might have
experienced from a similar
Page 228

discovery in England; for the moment it was buzzed "C'est Une
‚trangŠre, c'est une Anglaise," (181) every one tried to Place,
to oblige, and to assist me, and yet no one looked curious, or
stared at me. Ah, my dear padre, do you not a little fear, in a
contrasted situation, no one would have tried to place oblige, or
assist, yet every one would have looked curious, and stared?
Well, there are virtues as well as defects of all classes, and
John Bull can fight so good a battle for his share of the former,
that he need not be utterly cast down in acknowledging now and
then a few of the latter.


                      AN IMPORTANT NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

The best view from the window to see the marching forwards of the
troops was now bestowed upon me, and I vainly offered it to the
ladies of my own party, to whom the whole of the sight was as new
as to myself. The three unknown ladies began conversing with me,
and, after a little general-talk, one of them with sudden
importance of manner, in a tone slow but energetic, said,

"Avez-vous vu, madame, le premier Consul?"

"Pas encore, madame."

"C'est sans doute ce que vous souhaitez le plus, madame?"

"Oui, madame."

"Voulez-vous le voir parfaitement bien, et tout … fait … votre
aise?"

"je le d‚sire beaucoup, madame."(182)

She then told me to keep my eyes constantly upon her, and not an
instant lose sight of her movements; and to suffer no head, in
the press that would ensue when the first Consul appeared, to
intervene between us.  "Faites comme cela, madame," continued
she; "et vous le verrez bien, bien; car," added she, solemnly,
and putting her hand on her breast,--"moi--je vais lui
parler!"(183)

I thanked her very much, but it was difficult to express as
Page 229

much satisfaction as she displayed herself. You may suppose,
however, how curious I felt for such a conversation, and how
scrupulously I followed her injunctions of watching her motions.
A little squat good-humoured lady, with yellow flowers over a mob
cap upon her hair - who had little sunken eyes, concise nose, and
a mouth so extended by perpetual smiling, that, hardly leaving an
inch for the cheek, it ran nearly into the ear, on my other side
now demanded my attention also, and told me she came regularly
every month to the great review, that she might always bring some
friend who wanted to see it. I found by this she was a person of
some power, some influence, at least, and not entirely averse to
having it known. She was extremely civil to me - but as my other
friend had promised me so singular a regale, I had not much
voluntary time to spare for her , this, however, appeared to be
no impediment to that she was so obliging as to determine to
bestow upon me, and she talked satisfied with my acquiescence to
her civility, till a sort of bustle just before us making me look
a little sharp, she cried--

"Vous le voyez, madame!"

"Qui?" exclaimed I, "le premier Consul?"

"Mais non!--pas encore--mais--ce--ce monsieur l…!"(184)


                          MADAME, C'EST MON MArI.

I looked at her to see whom I was to remark, and her eyes led me
to a tall, large figure, with a broad gold-laced hat, who was
clearing the lane which some of the company had infringed, with a
stentorian voice, and an air and manner of such authority as a
chief constable might exert in an English riot.

"Oui, madame," I answered, not conceiving why I was to look at
him; "je le vois, ce monsieur; il est bien grand."(185)

"Oui, madame," replied she, with a yet widened smile, and a look
of lively satisfaction; "il est bien grand!  Vous le voyez bien?"

"O, fort bien!" cried I, quite at a loss what she meant me to
understand, till at last, fixing first him, and then me, she
expressively said--

page 230

"Madame, c'est mon mari!"(186)

The grin now was distended to the very utmost limits of the
stretched lips, and the complacency of her countenance forcibly
said,. "What do you think of me now?" My countenance, however,
was far more clever than my head, if it made her any answer.
But, in the plenitude of her own admiration of a gentleman who
seemed privileged to speak roughly, and push violently whoever,
by a single inch, passed a given barrier, she imagined, I
believe, that to belong to him entitled her to be considered as
sharing his prowess ; she seemed even to be participating in the
merits of his height and breadth, though be could easily have put
her into his pocket.

Not perceiving, as I imagine, all the delight of felicitation in
my countenance that she had expected, her own fell, in a
disappointed pause, into as much of length as its circular form
would admit of; it recovered, however, in another minute its full
merry rotundity, by conjecturing, as I have reason to think, that
the niggardliness of my admiration was occasioned by my doubt of
her assertions; for, looking at me with an expression that
demanded my attention, she poked her head under the arm of a tall
grenadier, stationed to guard our window, and trying to catch the
eye of the object of her devotion, called out in an accent of
tenderness, "M'ami! M'ami!"

The surprise she required was now gratified in full, though what
she concluded to be excited by her happiness, was simply the
effect of so caressing a public address from so diminutive a
little creature to so gigantic a big one. Three or four times the
soft sound was repeated ere it reached the destined ear, through
the hubbub created by his own loud and rough manner of calling to
order; but, when at last he caught the gentle appellation, and
looked down upon her, it was with an eyebrow so scowling, a mouth
so pouting, and an air that so rudely said, "What the d-- do you
want?" that I was almost afraid he would have taken her between
his thumb and finger, and given her a shake.  However, be only
grumbled out, "Qu'est-ce que c'est, donc?"(187)  A little at a
loss what to say, she gently stammered, "M'ami,--le--le premier
Consul, ne vient-il pas?"(188)  "Oui! oui!" was blustered in
reply, with a look that completed the phrase by "you fool you!"
though the voice left it unfinished.
Page 231

Not disconcerted even yet, though rather abashed,, she
turned to me with a pleased grin that showed her proud of his
noble ferociousness, and said, "C'est mon mari, madame!" as if
still fearful I was not fully convinced of the grandeur of her
connexion.  "M'ami" having now cleared the passage by ranging all
the company in two direct lines, the officers of highest rank
were assembled, and went in a sort of procession into the inner
apartment to the audience of the first Consul. During the time
this lasted, some relaxation of discipline ensued, and the
gentlemen from the opposite row ventured to approach and peep at
the windows with the ladies; but as soon as the generals
descended from the steps they had mounted, their short conference
being over, "M'ami" again appeared,. to the inexpressible
gratification of his loving little mate, again furiously hustled
every one to his post; and the flags, next, as I think, were
carried in procession to the inner apartment, but soon after
brought back.


                        ADVENT OF THE FIRST CONSUL.

The Prince of Orange then passed us to enter the audience
chamber, with a look so serious, an air so depressed, that I have
not been at all surprised to hear he was that very night taken
very ill.

The last object for whom the way was cleared was the second
Consul, CambacŠr‚s, who advanced with a stately and solemn pace,
slow, regular, and consequential; dressed richly in scarlet and
gold, and never looking to the right or left, but wearing a mien
of fixed gravity and importance. He had several persons in his
suite, who, I think, but am not sure, were ministers of state.

At length the two human hedges were finally formed, the door of
the audience chamber was thrown wide open with a commanding
crash, and a vivacious officer-sentinel-or I know not what,
nimbly descended the three steps into our apartment, and placing
himself at the side of the door, with one hand spread as high as
possible above his head, and the other extended horizontally,
called out in a loud and authoritative voice, "Le premier
Consul!"

You will easily believe nothing more was necessary to obtain
attention; not a soul either spoke or stirred as he and his suite
passed along, which was so quickly that, had I not been placed so
near the door, and had not all about

Page 232

me facilitated my standing foremost, and being least crowd
obstructed, I could hardly have seen him. As it was, I had a view
so near, though so brief, of his face, as to be very much struck
by it.  It is of a deeply impressive cast, pale even to
sallowness, while not only in the eye but in every feature--care,
thought, melancholy, and meditation are strongly marked, with so
much of character, nay, genius, and so penetrating a seriousness,
or rather sadness, as powerfully to sink into an observer's mind.

Yet, though the busts and medallions I have seen are, in general,
such good resemblances that I think I should have known him
untold, he has by no means the look to be expected from
Bonaparte, but rather that of a profoundly studious and
contemplative man, who "o'er books consumes" not only the
"midnight oil" but his own daily strength, "and wastes the puny
body to decay" by abstruse speculation and theoretic plans or
rather visions, ingenious but not practicable. But the look of
the commander who heads his own army, who fights his own battles,
who conquers every difficulty by personal exertion, who executes
all he plans, who performs even all he suggests; whose ambition
is of the most enterprising, and whose bravery is of the most
daring cast:--this, which is the look to be expected from his
situation, and the exploits which have led to it, the spectator
watches for in vain.  The plainness, also, of his dress, so
conspicuously contrasted by the finery of all around him,
conspires forcibly with his countenance, so "sicklied o'er with
the pale hue of thought," to give him far more the air of a
student than a warrior.

The intense attention with which I fixed him in this short but
complete view made me entirely forget the lady who had promised
me to hold him in conference.  When he had passed, however, she
told me it was upon his return she should address him, as he was
too much hurried to be talked with at the moment of going to the
parade. I was glad to find my chance not over, and infinitely
curious to know what was to follow.


                           THE PARADE OF TROOPS.

The review I shall attempt no description of. I have no knowledge
of the subject, and no fondness for its object.  It was far more
superb than anything I had ever beheld: but while all the pomp
and circumstance of war animated others,
Page 233

it only saddened me ; and all of past reflection, all of future
dread, made the whole grandeur of the martial scene, and all the
delusive seduction of martial music, fill my eyes frequently with
tears, but not regale my poor muscles with one single smile.

Bonaparte, mounting a beautiful and spirited white horse, closely
encircled by his glittering aides-de-camp, and accompanied by his
generals, rode round the ranks, holding his bridle indifferently
in- either hand, and seeming utterly careless of the prancing,
rearing, or other freaks of his horse, insomuch as to strike some
who were near me with a notion of his being a bad horseman. I am
the last to be a judge upon this subject, but as a remarker, he
only appeared to me a man who knew so well he could manage the
animal when he pleased, that he did not deem it worth his while
to keep constantly in order what he knew, if urged or provoked,
he could subdue in a moment.

Precisely opposite to the window at which I was placed, the chief
Consul stationed himself after making his round and thence he
presented some swords of honour, spreading out one arm with an
air and mien which changed his look from that of scholastic
severity to one that was highly military and commanding. . . .



                                 A SCENE.

The review over, the chief Consul returned to the palace. The
lines were again formed, and he re-entered our apartment with his
suite. As soon as he approached our window, I observed my first
acquaintance start a little forward.  I was now all attention to
her performance of her promise; and just as he reached us she
stretched out her hand to present him a petition!

The enigma of the conference was now solved, and I laughed at my
own wasted expectation. Lui parler, however, the lady certainly
did; so far she kept her word; for when he had taken the scroll,
and was passing on, she rushed out of the line, and planting
herself immediately before him so as to prevent his walking on,
screamed, rather than spoke, for her voice was shrill with
impetuosity to be heard and terror of failure, "C'est pour mon
fils! vous me l'avez promis!"(189)  The first Consul stopped and
spoke; but not loud enough for me to hear his voice: while his
aides-de-camp and the attending generals surrounding him more
closely, all in a
Page 234

breath rapidly said to the lady, "Votre nom, madame, votre
nom!"(190) trying to disengage the Consul from her importunity,
in which they succeeded, but not with much ease, as she seemed
purposing to cling to him till she got his personal answer.  He
faintly smiled as he passed on, but looked harassed and worn;
while she, turning to me, with an exulting face and voice,
exclaimed, "Je l'aurai! je l'aurai!" meaning what she had
petitioned for--"car . . . tous ces g‚n‚raux m'ont demand‚s mon
nom!" (191)  Could any inference be clearer?

The moment the chief Consul had ascended the steps leading to the
inner apartment, the gentlemen in black with ,gold chains gave a
general hint that all the company must depart, as the ambassadors
and the ministers were now summoned to their monthly public
audience with the chief Consul.  The crowd, however, was so
great, and Madame d'Henin was so much incommoded, and half ill, I
fear, by internal suffering, that M. d'Arblay procured a pass for
us by a private door down to a terrace leading to a quiet exit
from the palace into the Tuileries garden.


                 WITH M. D'ARBLAY'S RELATIVES AT JOIGNY.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.)(192)
Paris, 1802.
.....With the nearest relatives now existing of M. d'Arblay I am
myself more pleased than I can tell you. We have spent a
fortnight at joigny,(193) and found them all awaiting us with the
most enthusiastic determination to receive with open arms and
open heart the choice and the offspring of their returned exile.
Their kindness has truly penetrated me; and the heads of the
family, the uncle and the aunt, are so charming as well as so
worthy, that I could have remained with them for months had not
the way of life which their residence in a country town has
forced them to adopt, been utterly at war with all that, to me,
makes peace, and happiness, and cheerfulness, namely, the real
domestic life of living with my own small but all-sufficient
family. I have never loved a dissipated
Page 235

                   life, which it is no virtue in me, therefore,
to relinquish; but I now far less than ever can relish it, and
know not how to enjoy anything away from home, except by distant
intervals; and then with that real moderation, I am so far from
being a misanthrope or sick of the world, that I have real
pleasure in mixed society.  It is difficult, however, in the
extreme, to be able to keep to such terms.  M. d'Arblay has so
many friends, and an acquaintance so extensive, that the mere
common decencies of established etiquettes demand, as yet, nearly
all my time; and this has been a true fatigue both to my body and
my spirits.

M. d'Arblay is related, though very distantly, to a quarter of
the town, and the other three-quarters are his friends or
acquaintance; and all of them came, first, to see me; next, to
know how I did after the journey; next, were all to be waited
upon in return ; next, came to thank me for my visit; next, to
know how the air of Joigny agreed with me - next, to make a
little further acquaintance ; and, finally, to make a visit of
cong‚. And yet all were so civil, so pleasant, and so pleased
with my monsieur's return, that could I have lived three lives,
so as to have had some respite, I could not have found fault for
it was scarcely ever with the individual intruder, but with the
continuance or repetition of interruption.


                        SOME JOIGNY ACQUAINTANCES.

(Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta, for the queen and princesses.)
Passy, December 19, 1802.
.....Rarely, indeed, my dear Miss Planta, I have received more
pleasure than from your last most truly welcome letter, with
assurances so unspeakably seasonable.  I had it here at Passy the
5th day after its date.  I thank you again and again, but oh! how
I thank God!

Permit me now to go back to Joigny, for the purpose of giving
some account of two very interesting acquaintances we made there.
The first was Colonel Louis Bonaparte,(194) youngest brother but
one, (Jerome) of the first Consul.  His

Page 236

regiment was quartered at joigny, where he happened to be upon
our last arrival at that town, and where the first visit he made
was to M. MBazille, the worthy maternal uncle of M. d'Arblay.  He
is a young man of the most serious demeanour, a grave yet
pleasing countenance, and the most reserved yet gentlest manners.
 His conduct in the small town (for France) of joigny was not
merely respectable, but exemplary; he would accept no distinction
in consequence of his powerful connexions, but presented himself
everywhere with the unassuming modesty of a young man who had no
claims beyond what he might make by his own efforts and merits.
He discouraged all gaming, to which the inhabitants are extremely
prone, by always playing low himself; and he discountenanced
parade, by never suffering his own servant to wait behind his
chair where he dined.  He broke up early both from table and from
play - was rigid in his attentions to his military duties, strict
in the discipline of is officers as well as men, -and the first
to lead the way in every decency and regularity.  When to this I
add that his conversation is sensible, and well bred, yet
uncommonly diffident, and that but twenty-three summers have yet
rolled over his head, so much good sense, forbearance, and
propriety, in a situation so open to flattery, ambition, or
vanity, obtained, as they merited, high consideration and perfect
good will.

I had a good deal of conversation with him, for he came to sit by
me both before and after his card-party wherever I had the
pleasure to meet him ; and his quiet and amiable manners, and
rational style of discourse, made him a great loss to our
society, when he was summoned to Paris, upon the near approach of
the event which gave him a son and heir. He was very kind to my
little Alex, whom he never saw without embracing, and he treated
M. d'Arblay with a marked distinction extremely gratifying to me.

The second acquaintance to which I have alluded is a lady, Madame
de Souza.(195)  She soon found the road to my good will and
regard, for she told me that she, with another lady, had been
fixed upon by M. del Campo, my old sea-visitor, for the high
honour of aiding him in his reception of the first lady of our
land and her lovely daughters, upon the grand fˆte which he gave
upon the dearest and most memorable of occasions(196) and she
spoke with such pleasure and gratitude of
Page 237

the sweet condescension she then experienced, that she charmed
and delighted me, and we struck up an intimacy without further
delay. Our theme was always ready, and I only regretted that I
could see her but seldom, as she lived two or three miles out of
Joigny, at Cesy, in the small chƒteau of la ci-devant Princesse
de Beaufremont, a lady with whom I had had the honour of making
acquaintance in Paris, and who is one of those who suffered most
during the horrors of the Revolution. At the dreadful period when
all the rage was to burn the property and title-deeds of the rich
and high-born, her noble chƒteau, one of the most considerable in
France, was. utterly consumed, and all her papers; that no record
of her genealogy might remain, were committed, with barbarous
triumph, to the flames : yet was this, such is her unhappy fate,
the least of her misfortunes ; her eldest daughter, a beautiful
young creature, upon whom she doted, was in the chƒteau at this
horrible period, and forced to make her escape with such alarm
and precipitance, that she never recovered from the excess of her
terror, which robbed her of her life before she was quite
seventeen years of age !

Around the small and modest chƒteau de Cesy, in which Madame de
Beaufremont and her youngest and now only daughter, Madame de
Listenois, at present reside, the grounds have been cultivated in
the English style; and the walks, now shady, now open, now
rising, now descending, with water, bridges, cascades, and
groves, and occasional fine picturesque views from the banks of
the Yonne, are all laid out with taste and pretty effects. We
strolled over them with a large party, till we came to a little
recess. Madame de Beaufremont then took me by the arm, and we
separated from the company to enter it together, and she showed
me an urn surrounded with cypress trees and weeping willows,
watered by a clear, small, running rivulet, and dedicated to the
memory of her first-born and early-lost lamented daughter. Poor
lady! she seems entirely resigned to all the rest of her
deprivations, but here the wound is incurable ! yet, this subject
apart, she is cheerful, loves society, or rather social
discourse, with a chosen few, and not only accepts with Pleasure
whatever may enliven her, but exerts herself to contribute all
that is in her power to the entertainment of others. She has
still preserved enough from the wreck of her Possessions to live
elegantly, though not splendidly; and her table is remarkably
well served. She has a son-in-law, M.
Page 238

de Listenois, whom I did not see; but her remaining daughter
Madame de Listenois, is a very fine young woman. Madame de Souza
has spent the whole summer with these ladies. She told me she
liked England so very much, and was so happy during the six weeks
she passed there, that she wept bitterly on quitting it.  She was
received, she says, at Court in the most bewitching manner, and
she delights in retracing her honours, and her sense of them.
     She is still so very handsome, though sickly and suffering,
that I imagine she must then have been exquisitely beautiful.  I
am told, by a French officer who has served in Spain, M. de
Meulan, that when she left that country she was reckoned the most
celebrated beauty of Madrid.

I had another new acquaintance at Joigny, also, in a lady who
came from Auxerre, as she was pleased to say, to see me, Madame
La Villheurnois, widow of M. La Villheurnois, who was amongst the
unhappy objects d‚port‚s, by the order of the Directory, … la
Guiane.(197)  As soon as the first civilities were over, she
said, "Permettez, madame! connaisseZ-vous Sidney?"(198)  I could
not doubt who she meant, though there is no avoiding a smile at
this drolly concise way of naming a man by his nom de
baptˆme.(199)  She was extremely surprised when I answered no;
telling me she had concluded "que tout le monde en
Angleterre"(200) must know Sidney!  Yes, I said, by character
certainly ; but personally I had never the gratification of
meeting with him. She told me she was intimately acquainted with
him herself, from seeing him continually when he was confined in
the Temple, as she attended there her "malheureux ‚poux,"(201)
and she saw also, she said, "son valet et son jockey,"(202) whom
she never suspected to be disguised emigrants, watching to aid
his escape. "Surtout," she added, "comme le jockey avait des
trous aux bas terribles,")203) which

Page 239

induced her daughter to buy him a new pair of stockings for
charity.  A gentleman who accompanied her to Joigny, her
secretary, told me he had played at ball with Sidney every day
for six months, while he also attended upon poor M. La
Vilheurnois......


                          THE INFLUENZA IN PARIS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Passy, March 23, 1803.
I have been anxious to write since I received your last kind
inquiries, my dearest padre; but so tedious has been my seizure,
that I have not yet got from its wraps or confinements.  I feel,
however, as if this were their last day, and that to-morrow would
have the honour to see me abroad. I have had no fever, and no
physician, and no important malady; but cold has fastened upon
cold, so as utterly to imprison me. La gripe,(204) however, I
escaped, so has Alex, and our maid and helpers--and M. d'Arblay,
who caught it latterly in his excursions to Paris, had it so
slightly that but for the fright attached to the seizure (which I
thought would almost have demolished me at first, from the terror
hanging on its very name at that fatal period) I should have
deemed it a mere common cold.  It is now universally over, but
the mischief it has done is grievously irreparable. . . . It was
a disastrous and frightful time.  The streets of Paris were said
to be as full of funerals as of cabriolets.  For my own part, I
have not once been able to enter that capital since I left it at
the end of October. But I cannot help attributing much of the
mortality which prevailed in consequence of this slight disease,
to the unwholesome air occasioned by the dreadful want of
cleanliness in that city, which, but for the healthiness of the
beautiful and delicious walks around it, i.e., the Boulevards,
must surely have proved pestilential.  The air of our house at
Passy is perfectly pure and sweet.

M. d'Arblay is now making a last effort with respect to his
retraite,(205) which has languished in adjournment above a year.
He has put it into the hands of a faithful and most amiable
friend, now in high esteem with the premier Consul, General
Lauriston, who so kindly renewed an ancient friendship with his
former camarade when he was on his splendid short embassy in
England. If through him it should fail, I shall never think of it
more.
Page 240

                              RUMOURS OF WAR.

(Madame dArblay to Mrs. Locke)
NO- 54, Rue Basse, Passy, near Paris, April 30, 1803.
How to write I know not, at a period so tremendous-nor yet how to
be silent.  My dearest, dearest friends ! if the war indeed prove
inevitable, what a heart-breaking position is ours!-to explain it
fully would demand folios, and yet be never so well done as you,
with a little consideration, can do it for us. Who better than
Mr. Locke and his Fredy-who so well can comprehend, that, where
one must be sacrificed, the other will be yet more to be pitied
?-I will not go on-I will talk only of you, till our fate must be
determined. And M. d'Arblay, who only in the wide world loves his
paternal uncle as well (we always except ourselves at
Westminster! how tenderly does he join in my every feeling! and
how faithfully keep unimpaired all our best and happiest
sympathies!

May 2.--Better appearances in the political horizon now somewhat
recruit my spirits, which have been quite indescribably tortured,
rather than sunk, by the impossibility of any private arrangement
for our mutual happiness in the dread event of war. God Almighty
yet avert it! And should it fall to the lot of Lauriston to
confirm the peace, what a guardian angel upon earth I shall deem
him! How I wish he could meet with you! he is so elegant in his
manners he would immediately give you pleasure; and his
countenance is so true in announcing him amiable, that you might
look at him with trust as well as satisfaction. . . .

May 13--Ah, my dearest friends--what a melancholy end to my hopes
and my letter.  I have just heard that Lord Whitworth(206) set
off for Chantilly last night; war therefore seems inevitable; and
my grief, I, who feel myself now of two countries, is far greater
than I can wish to express. While posts are yet open, write to
me, my beloved friend, and by Hamburg. I trust we may still and
regularly correspond, long as the letters may be in travelling.
As our letters never

 Page 241

treat but of our private concerns, health and welfare neither
country can object to our intercourse.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney).
Passy, May 6, 1803.
if my dearest father has the smallest idea of the suspense and
terror in which I have spent this last fortnight, from the daily
menace of war, he will be glad, I am sure, of the respite allowed
me-if no more--from a visit I have just received from Mrs. Huber,
who assures me the Ambassador has postponed his setting off, and
consented to send another courier.(207)  To say how I pray for
his success would indeed be needless. I have hardly closed my
eyes many nights past. My dearest father will easily conceive the
varying conflicts of our minds, and how mutual are our
sufferings. . . .

We were buoyed up here for some days with the hope that General
Lauriston was gone to England as plenipo, to end the dread
contest without new effusion of blood: but Paris, like London,
teems with hourly false reports, and this intelligence,
unhappily, was of the number. The continued kindness and
friendship of that gentleman for M. d'Arblay make me take a warm
interest in whatever belongs to him. About ten days ago, when M.
d'Arblay called upon him, relative to the affair so long
impending of his retraite, he took his hand, and said "Fais-moi
ton compliment!"(208)  You are sure how heartily M. d'Arblay
would be ready to comply-"but "what," he demanded, "can be new to
you of honours?"  "I have succeeded," he answered, "for you!--the
first Consul has signed your m‚moire."  When such delicacy is
joined to warm attachment, my dearest father will not wonder I
should be touched by it. . . .

M. d'Arblay has now something in his native country, where all
other claims are vain, and all other expectations completely
destroyed.  He had been flattered with recovering some portion,
at least, of his landed property near Joigny; but those who have
purchased it during his exile add such enormous and unaccountable
charges to what they paid for it at that period, that it is
become, to us, wholly unattainable.

Page 242

                       " OUR LITTLE CELL AT PASSY."

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Passy, April 11, 1804.
We live in the most quiet, and, I think, enviable retired merit.
Our house is larger than we require, but not a quarter furnished.
Our view is extremely pretty from it, and always cheerful; we
rarely go out, yet always are pleased to return. We have our
books, our prate, and our boy--how, with all this, can we, or
ought we to suffer ourselves to complain of our narrowed and
narrowing income?  If we are still able to continue at Passy,
endeared to me now beyond any other residence away from you all,
by a friendship I have formed here with one of the sweetest women
I have ever known, Madame de Maisonneuve, and to M. d'Arblay by
similar sentiments for all her family, our philosophy will not be
put to severer trials than it can sustain. And this engages us to
bear a thousand small privations which we might, perhaps, escape,
by shutting ourselves up in some spot more remote from the
capital.  But as my deprivation of the society of my friends is
what I most lament, so something that approaches nearest to what
I have lost affords me the best reparation.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Passy, May 29, 1808.
Before I expected it, my promised opportunity for again writing
to my most dear father is arrived.  I entirely forget whether,
before the breaking out of the war stopt our correspondence, M.
d'Arblay had already obtained his retraite: and, consequently,
whether that is an event I have mentioned or not. Be that as it
may, he now has it--it is 1500 livres, or 62 pounds, 10
shillings. per annum. But all our resources from England ceasing
with the peace, we had so little left from what we had brought
over, and M. d'Arblay has found so nearly nothing remaining of
his natural and hereditary claims in his own province, that he
determined upon applying for some employment that might enable
him to live with independence, how ever parsimoniously. This he
has, with infinite difficulty, etc., at length obtained, and he
is now a r‚dacteur in the civil department of les Bƒtimens,
etc.(209) This is no sinecure. He

Page 243

attends at his bureau from half-past nine to half-past four
o'clock every day; and as we live so far off as Passy he is
obliged to set off for his office between eight and nine, and
does not return to his hermitage till past five.  However, what
necessity has urged us to desire, and made him solicit, we must
not, now acquired, name or think of with murmuring or regret. He
has the happiness to be placed amongst extremely worthy people;
and those who are his chefs in office treat him with every
possible mark of consideration and feeling. We continue steady to
our little cell at Passy, which is retired, quiet, and quite to
ourselves, with a magnificent view of Paris from one side, and a
beautiful one of the country on the other. It is
unfurnished-indeed, unpapered, and every way unfinished; for our
workmen, in the indispensable repairs which preceded our entering
it, ran us up bills that compelled us to turn them adrift, and
leave every thing at a stand, when three rooms only were made
just habitable.


                      THE PRINCE OF WALES EULOGIZED.

(Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.)
July 12, 1805.
. . . Your brother, Dr. Charles, and I have had the honour last
Tuesday of dining with the Prince of Wales at Lord Melbourne's at
the particular desire of H.R.H. He is so good-humoured and
gracious to those against whom he has no party prejudice, that it
is impossible not to be flattered by this politeness and
condescension.  I was astonished to find him, amidst such
constant dissipation, possessed of so much learning, wit,
knowledge of books in general, discrimination of Character, as
well as original humour. He quoted Homer to my son as readily as
if the beauties of Dryden or Pope were under consideration. And
as to music, he is an excellent critic; has an enlarged taste--
admiring whatever is excellent in its kind, of whatever age or
country the composers or performers may be; without, however,
being insensible to the superior genius and learning necessary to
some kinds of music more than others.

The conversation was general and lively, in which several of the
company, consisting of eighteen or twenty, took a share, till
towards the heel of the evening, or rather the toe of the
morning; for we did not rise from table till one
Page 244

o'clock, when Lady Melbourne being returned from the opera with
her daughters, coffee was ordered; during which H.R.H. took me
outside and talked exclusively about music near half an hour, and
as long with your brother concerning Greek literature. He is a
most excellent mimic of well-known characters: had we been in the
dark any one would have sworn that Dr. Parr and Kemble were in
the room. Besides being possessed of a great fund of original
humour, and good humour, he may with truth be said to have as
much wit as Charles II., with much more learning--for his merry
majesty could spell no better than the bourgeois gentilhomme.


                            DR. BURNEY AT BATH.

(Dr. Burney to Madame dArblay.)
June 12, 1808.
. . . Last autumn I had an alarming seizure In my left hand and,
mine being pronounced a Bath case, on Christmas Eve I set out for
that city, extremely weak and dispirited-put myself under the
care of Dr. Parry, and after remaining there three months, I
found my hand much more alive, and my general health considerably
amended.

During my invalidity at Bath I had an unexpected visit from your
Streatham friend,(210) of whom I had lost sight for more than ten
years. I saw very few people, but none of an evening nor of a
morning, on the days my hand was pumped on. When her name was
sent in I was much surprised, but desired she might be admitted;
and I received her as an old friend with whom I had spent much
time very happily, and never wished to quarrel.  She still looks
well, but is grave, and candour itself; though still she says
good things, and writes admirable notes and letters, I am told,
to my granddaughters C. and M., of whom she is very fond. We
shook hands very cordially, and avoided any allusion to our long
separation and its cause; the Caro Sposo still lives, but is such
an object from the gout that the account of his sufferings made
me pity him sincerely; he wished, she told me, "to see his old
and worthy friend," and, un beau matin, I could not refuse
compliance with his wish.  She nurses him with great affection
and tenderness, never goes out or has company when he is in pain.
Page 245

                   AFFECTIONATE GREETINGS To DR. BURNEY.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
September, 1808.
After being so long robbed of all means of writing to my beloved
father, I seize, with nearly as much surprise as gratitude, a
second opportunity of addressing him almost before the first can
have brought my hand to his sight.  When will some occasion offer
to bring me back-not my revenge, but my first and most coveted
satisfaction ? With how much more spirit, also, should I write,
if I knew what were received of what already I have scrawled !
Volumes, however, must have been told you, of what in other times
I should have written, by Maria. For myself, when once a reunion
takes place, I can scarcely conceive which will be hardest
worked, my talking faculties or my listening ones. O what
millions of things I want to inquire and to know! The rising
generation, me thinks, at least, might keep me some letters and
packets ready for occasional conveyances.  I should be grateful
beyond measure. M. d'Arblay writes--"how desired is, how happy
shall be, the day, in which we shall receive your dearest
blessing and embrace! Pray be so kind not to forget the mate
always remembering your kindness for him and his. A thousand
thousand loves to all."

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, Paris, May 2, 1810.
A happy May-day to my dearest father! Sweet-scented be the
cowslips which approach his nostrils! lovely and rosy the
milkmaids that greet his eyes, and animating as they are noisy
the marrow-bones and cleavers that salute his ears! Dear, and
even touching, are these anniversary recollections where distance
and absence give them existence only in the memory! and, at this
moment, to hear and see them I Would exchange all the Raphaels in
our Museum, and the new and beautiful composition of Paesiello in
the chapel.

Could you but send me a little food for the hope now in private
circulation that the new alliance of the Emperor(211) may perhaps
extend to a general alliance of all Europe, Oh,
Page 246

heaven! how would that brighten my faculties of enjoyment! I
should run about to see all I have hitherto omitted to seek, with
the ardent curiosity of a traveller newly arrived ; and I should
hasten to review and consider all I have already beheld, with an
alertness of vivacity that would draw information from every
object I have as yet looked at with undiscerning tameness.  Oh,
such a gleam of light would new-model or re-model me, and I
should make you present to all my sights, and partake of all the
wonders that surround me !

Were not this cruel obscurity so darkening to my views, and so
depressing to my spirits, I could tell my dearest father many
things that might amuse him, and detail to him, in particular, my
great and rare happiness in a point the most essential, after
domestic comforts, to peace of mind and cheerfulness, namely, my
good fortune in my adopted friends in this my adopted country.
The society in which I mix, when I can prevail with myself to
quit my yet dearer fireside, is all that can be wished, whether
for wit, wisdom, intelligence, gaiety, or politeness.  The
individuals with whom I chiefly mix, from being admired at first
for their talents or amiability, are now sincerely loved for
their kindness and goodness.  Could I write more frequently, or
with more security that I write not to the winds and the waves, I
would characterize the whole set to you, and try to make us yet
shake hands in the same Party. . . .

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, Paris, ce 16 Sept. 1810.
Can I tell you, my dearest father!-oh, no! I can never tell
you-the pleasure, the rapture with which I received your letter
by Madame Solvyns. It had been so cruelly long since I had heard
from you, so anxious and suffering a space since I had seen your
handwriting, that, when at last it came, I might have seemed, to
one who did not know me, rather penetrated by sudden affliction
than by joy. But how different was all within to what appeared
without! My partner-in-all received it at his bureau, and felt an
impatience so unconquerable to communicate so extreme a pleasure
that he quitted everything to hasten home; for he was incapable
of going on with his business.  How satisfactory, also, is all
the intelligence ! how gaily, with what spirit written ! . . .

I do nothing of late but dream of seeing you, my most dear

Page 247

father. I think I dream it wide awake, too; the desire is so
strong that it pursues me night and day, and almost persuades me
it has something in it of reality : and I do not choose to
discourage even ideal happiness.



                           DR. BURNEY's DIPLOMA.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, 14th April, 1811.
.....Have you received the letter in which I related that your
diploma has been brought to me by the perpetual secretary of the
class of the Fine Arts of the Institute of France?(212)  I shall
not have it conveyed but by some very certain hand, and that,
now, is most difficult to find. M. Le Breton has given me, also,
a book of the list of your camarades, in which he has written
your name.  He says it will be printed in next year's register.
He has delivered to me, moreover, a medal, which is a mark of
distinction reserved for peculiar honour to peculiar select
personages. Do you suppose I do not often--often--often think who
would like, and be fittest to be the bearer to you of these
honours? . . .

How kind was the collection of letters you made more precious by
endorsing!  I beseech you to thank all my dear correspondents,
and to bespeak their patience for answers, which shall arrive by
every wind that I can make blow their way; but yet more, beseech
their generous attention to my impatience for more, should the
wind blow fair for me before it will let me hail them in return.
Difficultly can they figure to themselves my joy--my emotion at
receiving letters from such dates as they can give me!

[During this year Madame d'Arblay's correspondence with her
English connexions was interrupted not only by the difficulty of
conveying letters, but also by a dangerous illness and the menace
of a cancer, from which she could only be relieved by submitting
to a painful and hazardous operation. The fortitude with which
she bore this suffering, and her generous solicitude for Monsieur
d'Arblay and those around her, excited the warmest sympathy in
all who heard of her trial, and her French friends universally
gave her the name of l'ange,(213) so touched were they by her
tenderness and Magnanimity.]

(157) " Dr. Orkborne" is the name of one of the characters in
"Camilla," a pedantic scholar, who lives only in his books.-ED.

(158) Widow of Sir Robert Strange, the celebrated engraver, and a
very old friend of the Burney family. She was a Scotchwoman (her
maiden name, Isabel Lumisden), and in her younger days an
enthusiastic Jacobite.  She obliged her lover, Strange, to join
the young Pretender in 1745, and afterwards married him against
her father's wish.-ED.

(159) "The other Bell" was the daughter of Sir Robert and Lady
Strange.-ED.

(160) Wife of Sir Lucas Pepys, the physician.-ED.

(161) Anna Letitia Barbauld, the well-known author, and editor of
Richardson's Correspondence, etc.-ED.

 (162) John Aiken, M.D., brother to Mrs. Barbauld, and, like his
sister, an author and editor. His "Evenings at Home" is still a
well-known book: many of our readers will probably have pleasant
reminiscences of it, connected with their childhood.-ED.

(163) Barry had published a furious attack upon his
fellow-Academicians in a "Letter to the Dilettanti Society."  He
was already, owing chiefly to his own violent temper, on ill
terms with nearly all of them, and the "Letter" prove(I to be the
last straw. Various charges were drawn up against the Professor
of Painting, and he was expelled forthwith from the Academy,
without being permitted to speak in his own defence.

(164) "By the help of a shilling."

(165) "With tears in his eyes."

(166) i.e., Mr. Locke.-ED.

(167) The French minister in England.-ED.

(168) A letter in which M. d'Arblay had acquainted his wife with
the withdrawal of his commission in the French army, in
consequence of his refusal, under any circumstances, to bear arms
against England.-ED.
(169) Miss Cambridge.-ED.

(170) Lafayette was then living in retirement, with his wife and
family, at is chateau of La Grange. -ED.

(171) "Quick, quick, madam, take your seat in the diligence, for
here is an English gentleman who is sure to take the best
place!"--There is evidently some mistake here, in making the
book-keeper in Piccadilly speak French and talk about the
diligence. That the paragraph relates to Fanny's departure from
London is evident from several passages in the text: the mention,
later, of changing horses at Canterbury, the references to her
fellow-travellers at Calais. The date to the above paragraph is
also clearly wrong, as it will be seen that on the 18th of April
they were still on the road to Paris.-ED.

(172) "Quick! quick! look for it, or you will be arrested!"

(173) in the new calendar adopted by the Republic in 1793, a
division of the month into decades, or periods of ten days, was
substituted for the old division into weeks.  Every tenth day
(d‚cadi) was a day of rest, instead of every seventh day,
(Sunday, Dimanche).  The months were of thirty days each, with
five odd festival days (Sansculottades) in the year, and a sixth
(Festival of the Revolution) in Leap Year.  Napoleon restored the
Sunday in place of d‚cadi. The new calendar was discontinued
altogether, January 1, 1806.-ED.

          (174) The date is again wrong--probably a misprint for
April 21.-ED.

(175) Mrs. Damer, the sculptor, as an ardent Whig and supporter
of Charles Fox, professed herself at this time an enthusiastic
admirer of the first Consul. She had known jos‚phine de
Beauharnais before her marriage with Napoleon, and, after the
peace of Amiens, visited Paris on Jos‚phine's invitation.  She
was there introduced to Napoleon, to whom she afterwards
presented a bust of Charles Fox, executed by herself.  Mrs.
Damer's companions on this excursion were Mary Berry, the author
(born 1763-died 1852), and her younger sister, Agnes Berry. These
two ladies were prodigious favourites with Horace Walpole, who
called them his "twin wives," and was, it is said, even desirous,
in his old age, Of marrying the elder Miss Berry.  One of his
valued possessions was a marble bust of Mary Berry, the work of
his kinswoman, Mrs. Damer.  At his death in 1797 he bequeathed to
the Miss Berrys a house for their joint lives, besides a legacy
Of 4000 pounds to each sister.  Mary Berry published an edition
of her old admirer's works the year after his death.-ED.

(176) The Swiss home of her father, 'M. Necker, on the shore of
the lake, and some ten miles north of the town of Geneva.  Necker
retired thither after his fall in 1790, and spent there, in
retirement, the remaining years of his life. He died at Geneva,
in April, 1804.-ED.


(177) Madame de Stael's orthography is here preserved.

"  I should like to prove to you my zeal, madam, and I am afraid
of being indiscreet. I hope you will have the goodness to let me
know when you are sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of your
journey, that I might have the honour of seeing you without being
tiresome to you."

(178) The 4th Floria (April 23).

(179) "Madame d'Arblay can only be infinitely flattered by the
extreme goodness of Madame the Countess de Stael.  She will very
certainly have the honour of calling upon Madame de Stael as soon
as possible."
(180) Madame de Lafayette was thrown into prison after the flight
of her husband; released in February, 1795, more than six months
after the death of Robespierre. She then journeyed to Austria,
and obtained leave to share, with her two daughters, her
husband's captivity at Olm�tz.  Lafayette was released in
September, 1797; returned to France in 1800, Napoleon not
forbidding, though not quite approving.  Madame de Lafayette's
constitution was permanently impaired by the confinement which
she suffered at Olm�tz. She died December 24, 1807.-ED.

(181) "It's a foreigner, it's an Englishwoman."

(182) "Have you seen the first Consul, madam?"

"Not yet, madam."

"It is doubtless what you most wish for, madam?"

"Yes, madam."

"Do you wish to have an excellent view of him, and to see him
quite at your ease?"

"I am particularly desirous of it, madam."

(183) "Do thus, madam, and you will see him well, well; for I-am
going to speak to him ! "

(184) "You see him, madam!"

"Whom?" exclaimed I, "the first Consul?"

"Oh no!--not yet;--but--that--that gentleman!"

(185) "yes, madam, I see that gentleman; he is very tall!"

(186) "Madam, it is my husband!"

(187)  "What is the matter?"

(188) "M'ami, the--the first Consul, is he not coming?"

(189) "'Tis for my son ! you promised it me!"

 (190) "Your name, madam, your name!"

(191) "I shall have it! I shall have it! for all those generals
asked my name!"

(192) Fanny's eldest sister, Esther, who married (1770) her
cousin, Charles Rousseau Burney.-ED.

(193) joigny was the birth-place of M. d'Arblay.-ED.

(194) Louis Bonaparte was born in 1778, and, young as he was, had
already served with distinction in the campaign in Italy.  He was
subsequently king of Holland from 1806 to 1810, when that country
was annexed by Napoleon to the French Empire.  He married
Hortense de Beauharnais, daughter, by her first marriage, of
Napoleon's wife, Josephine, and was the father of the Emperor
Napoleon III.-ED.

(195) Authoress of "AdŠle de Senange," etc.

(196) On the king's recovery, in the spring of 1789.-ED.

(197) Many of the leading members of the Councils of "Ancients"
and of "Five Hundred " had been transported to Guiana after the
coup d'‚tat of September 4, 1797.  See note (146) ante, p.
136.-ED.

(198) "Excuse me, madam ! do you know Sidney?  Sidney " is Sir
Sidney Smith, whose gallant and successful defence of Acre
against the French,, in the spring of 1799, obliged Napoleon to
relinquish the invasion of Syria.-ED.

(199) Christian name.

(200) "Every one in England."

(201) "Unfortunate husband."

(202) "His valet and his jockey, (groom)."

(203) "Especially as the jockey had terrible holes in his
stockings."

(204) The influenza.

(205) Retiring pension.

(206) The English ambassador in Paris. All hopes of a
satisfactory termination to the dispute between the English and
French governments being now at an end, Lord Whitworth was
ordered to return to England, and left Paris May 12, 1803.  His
return was followed by the recall of the French minister in
London, and the declaration of war between the two countries.-ED.

(207) The reader will have noticed that the date of this letter
is earlier than that of the paragraph in the preceding letter, in
which Fanny alludes to the departure of the Ambassador from
Paris.-ED.

(208) "Make me your compliments."

(209) "Or, as we might say, a clerk in the department of works."-
ED.

(210) Mrs. Piozzi.-ED.

(211) Napoleon was crowned Emperor of the French, November 19,
1804.  His "new alliance" was his marriage, in the spring Of
1810, with the archduchess Maria Louisa, daughter of the Emperor
of Austria.  With this alliance in view he had been divorced from
Jos‚phine at the close of the preceding year.-ED

(212) Dr. Burney had been elected a corresponding member of this
section of the Institute.-ED.

(213) The angel.




Page 248
                                SECTION 23.
                                (1812-14.)

                  MADAME D'ARBLAY AND HER SON IN ENGLAND,

[At the commencement of the year 1814 was published "The
Wanderer, or Female Difficulties," the fourth and last novel by
the author of "Evelina," "Cecilia," and "Camilla."  The five
volumes were sold for two guineas-double the price of
"Camilla,"--and we gather from Madame d'Arblay's own statement
that she received at least fifteen hundred pounds for the work.
She informs us also that three thousand six hundred copies were
sold during the first six months. This pecuniary profit, however,
was the only advantage which she derived from the book.  It was
severely treated by the critics ; its popularity,-- if it ever
had any, for its large sale was probably due to the author's high
reputation,--speedily declined; and the almost total oblivion
into which it passed has remained unbroken to the present day.
Yet "The Wanderer" was deserving of a better fate.  In many
respects it is not inferior to any of Madame d'Arblay's earlier
works. Its principal defect is one of literary style, and its
style, though faulty and unequal, is by no means devoid of charm
and impressiveness. The artless simplicity and freshness of
"Evelina" render that work, her first novel, the most successful
of all in point of style. In "Cecilia" the style shows more of
conscious art, and is more laboured. In "Camilla" and "The
Wanderer" it is at once more careless and more affected than in
the earlier novels ; her English is at times slipshod, at times
disfigured by attempts at fine writing. But, admitting all this,
we must admit also that Fanny, even in "The Wanderer," proves
herself mistress of what we may surely regard as the most
essential part of style-its power of affecting the reader
agreeably with the intentions of the author. She plays upon her
reader's emotions with a sure touch; she excites or soothes him
at her will; she arouses by turns his compassion, his mirth, his
resentment, according as she strikes the keys of pathos, of
humour, or of irony. A style which is capable of producing such
effects is not rashly to be condemned on the score of occasional
affectations and irregularities.
Page 249

The question of style apart, we do not feel that "The Wanderer"
shows the slightest decline in its author's powers. The plot is
as ingeniously complicated as ever, the suspense as skilfully
maintained; the characters seem to us as real as those in
"Evelina," or "Cecilia," or in the "Diary" itself; the alternate
pathos and satire of the book keep our attention ever on the
alert. That it failed to win the suffrages of the public was
certainly due to no demerit in the work. Many causes may have
conspired against it. The public taste had long been debauched by
novels of that nightmare school in which Mrs Radcliffe and "Monk"
Lewis were the leaders. Moreover, in the very year in which "The
Wanderer" was published, appeared the first of a series of works
of fiction which, by their power and novelty, were to monopolise,
for a time, the public attention and applause, and which were
thereafter to secure for their author a high rank among the
immortals of English literature. At the end of the fifth volume
of "The Wanderer" were inserted a few leaves, containing a list
of books recently published or "in the press;" and last on the
list of the latter stands "Waverley, or 'Tis Sixty Years since."

Like " Evelina," "The Wanderer" is inscribed in a touching
dedication (this time, however, in prose, and with his name
prefixed) to Fanny's beloved father. The dedication is dated
March 14, 1814 : on the 12th of the following month Dr. Burney
died at Chelsea College, in his eighty-seventh year.-ED.]

             NARRATIVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S JOURNEY TO LONDON.

                    ANXIETY TO SEE FATHER AND FRIENDS.

Dunkirk, 1812. There are few events of my life that I more regret
not having committed to paper while they were fresher in my
memory, than my police adventure at Dunkirk, the most fearful
that I have ever experienced, though not, alas, the most
afflicting, for terror, and even horror, are short of deep
affliction; while they last they are, nevertheless, absorbers;
but once past, whether ill or well, they are over, and from them,
as from bodily pain, the animal spirits can rise uninjured: not
so from that grief which has its source in irreInediable
calamity; from that there is no rising, no relief, save in hopes
of eternity: for here on earth all buoyancy of mind that Might
produce the return of peace, is sunk for ever. I will
Page 250

now, however, put down all that recurs to me of my first return
home.

In the year 1810, when I had been separated from my dear father,
and country, and native friends, for eight years, my desire to
again see them became so anxiously impatient that my tender
companion proposed my passing over to England alone, to spend a
month or two at Chelsea. Many females at that period, and amongst
them the young Duchesse de Duras, had contrived to procure
passports for a short similar excursion ; though no male was
permitted, under any pretence, to quit France, save with the
army.

Reluctantly--with all my wishes in favour of the scheme,--yet
most reluctantly, I accepted the generous offer; for never did I
know happiness away from that companion, no, not even out of his
sight! but still, I was consuming with solicitude to see my
revered father--to be again in his kind arms, and receive his
kind benediction.


                        A MILD MINISTER OF POLICE.

For this all was settled, and I had obtained my passport, which
was brought to me without my even going to the police office, by
the especial favour of M. Le Breton, the Secretaire Perp‚tuel …
l'Institut.  The ever active services of M. de Narbonne aided
this peculiar grant ; though, had not Bonaparte been abroad with
his army at the time, neither the one nor the other would have
ventured at so hardy a measure of assistance.  But whenever
Bonaparte left Paris, there was always an immediate abatement of
severity in the police; and Fouch‚, though he had borne a
character dreadful beyond description in the earlier and most
horrible times of the Revolution, was,'at this period, when
minister of police, a man of the mildest manners, the most
conciliatory conduct, and of the easiest access in Paris.  He had
least the glare of the new imperial court of any one of its
administration; he affected, indeed, all the simplicity of a
plain Republican. I have often seen him strolling in the most
shady and unfrequented parts of the "Elysian Fields," muffled up
in a plain brown rocolo, and giving le bras to his wife, without
suite or servant, merely taking the air, with the evident design
of enjoying also an unmolested tˆte-…-tˆte.  On these occasions,
though he was universally known, nobody approached him; and he
seemed, himself, not to observe that any other person
Page 251

was in the walks. He was said to be remarkably agreeable in
conversation, and his person was the best fashioned and most
gentlemanly of any man I have happened to see, belonging to the
government. Yet, such was the impression made upon me by the
dreadful reports that were spread of his cruelty and ferocity at
Lyons,(214) that I never saw him but I thrilled with horror. How
great, therefore, was my obligation to M. de Narbonne and to M.
Le Breton, for procuring me a passport, without my personal
application to a man from whom I shrunk as from a monster.


                         EMBARKATION INTERDICTED.

I forget now for what spot the passport was nominated, perhaps
for Canada, but certainly not for England and M. Le Breton, who
brought it to me himself, assured me that no difficulty would be
made for me either to go or to return, as I was known to have
lived a life the most inoffensive to government, and perfectly
free from all species of political intrigue, and as I should
leave behind me such sacred hostages as my husband and my son.
Thus armed, and thus authorized, I prepared, quietly and
secretly, for my expedition, while my generous mate employed all
his little leisure in discovering where and how I might embark -
when, one morning, when I was bending over my trunk to press in
its contents, I was abruptly broken in upon by M. de Boinville,
who was in my secret, and who called upon me to stop! He had
received certain, he said, though as yet unpublished information,
that a universal embargo was laid upon every vessel, and that not
a fishing-boat was permitted to quit the coast.  Confounded,
affrighted, disappointed, and yet relieved, I submitted to the
blow, and obeyed the injunction. M. de Boinville then revealed to
me the new political changes that occasioned this measure, which
he had learned from some confiding friends in office; but which I
do not touch upon, as they are now in every history of those
times.

Page 252

I pass on to my second attempt, in the year 1812.

Disastrous was that interval !  All correspondence with England
was prohibited under pain of death ! One letter only reached me,
most unhappily, written with unreflecting abruptness, announcing,
without preface, the death of the Princess Amelia, the new and
total derangement of the king, and the death of Mr. Locke. Three
such calamities overwhelmed me, overwhelmed us both, for Mr.
Locke, my revered Mr. Locke, was as dear to my beloved partner as
to myself. Poor Mrs. C concluded these tidings must have already
arrived, but her fatal letter gave the first intelligence, and no
other letter, at that period, found its way to me. She sent hers,
I think, by some trusty returned prisoner. She little knew my
then terrible situation ; hovering over my head was the stiletto
of a surgeon for a menace of cancer yet, till that moment, hope
of escape had always been held out to me by the Baron de Larrey--
hope which, from the reading of that fatal letter, became
extinct.


                             A CHANGE OF PLAN.

When I was sufficiently recovered for travelling, after a
dreadful operation, my plan was resumed, but with an alteration
which added infinitely to its interest, as well as to its
importance. Bonaparte was now engaging in a new war, of which the
aim and intention was no less than-the conquest of the world.
This menaced a severity of conscription to which Alexander, who
had now spent ten years in France, and was seventeen years of
age, would soon become liable. His noble father had relinquished
all his own hopes and emoluments in the military career, from the
epoch that his king was separated from his country; though that
career had been his peculiar choice, and was suited peculiarly to
the energy of his character, the vigour of his constitution, his
activity, his address, his bravery, his spirit of resource, never
overset by difficulty nor wearied by fatigue---all which
combination of military requisites--

"The eye could in a moment reach,
And read depicted in his martial air,"

But his high honour, superior to his interest, superior to his
inclination, and ruling his whole conduct with unremitting,
unalienable constancy, impelled him to prefer the hard labour and
obscure drudgery of working at a bureau of the minister
Page 253

of the interior, to any and every advantage or promotion that
could be offered him in his own immediate and favourite line of
life, when no longer compatible with his allegiance and loyalty.
To see, therefore, his son bear arms in the very cause that had
been his ruin--bear arms against the country which had given
himself as well as his mother, birth, would indeed have been
heart-breaking. We agreed, therefore, that Alexander should
accompany me to England, where, I flattered myself, I might
safely deposit him, while I returned to await, by the side of my
husband, the issue of the war, in the fervent hope that it would
prove our restoration to liberty and reunion.


                         A NEW PASSPORT OBTAINED.

My second passport was procured with much less facility than the
first.  Fouch‚ was no longer minister of police, and, strange to
tell, Fouch‚, who, till he became that minister, had been held in
horror by all France-all Europe, conducted himself with such
conciliatory mildness to all ranks of people .while in that
office, evinced such an appearance of humanity, and exhibited
such an undaunted spirit of justice in its execution, that at his
dismission all Paris was in affliction and dismay ! Was this from
the real merit he had shown in his police capacity? Or was it
from a yet greater fear of malignant cruelty awakened by the very
name of his successor, Savary, Duke of Rovigo?(215)

Now, as before, the critical moment was seized by my friends to
act for me when Bonaparte had left Paris to proceed towards the
scene of his next destined enterprise;(216) and he was, I
believe, already at Dresden when my application was ,made. My
kind friend Madame de T-- here took the agency which M. de
Narbonne could no longer sustain, as he was now attending the
emperor, to whom he had been made aide-de-camp, and through her
means, after many difficulties and delays, I obtained a licence
of departure for myself and
Page 254

for Alexander. For what place, nominally, my passport was
assigned, I do not recollect; I think, for Newfoundland, but
certainly for some part of the coast of America. Yet everybody at
the police office saw and knew that England was my object. They
connived, nevertheless, at the accomplishment of my wishes, with
significant though taciturn consciousness.


                          COMMISSIONS FOR LONDON.

>From all the friends whom I dared trust with my secret
expedition, I had commissions for London; though merely verbal,
as I was cautioned to take no letters.  No one at that time could
send any to England by the post. I was charged by sundry persons
to write for them, and in their names, upon my arrival. Madame de
Tracy begged me to discover the address of her sister-in-law,
Madame de Civrac, who had emigrated into the wilds of Scotland,
and of whom she anxiously wished for some intelligence. This
occasioned my having a little correspondence with her, which I
now remark because she is named as one of the principal dames de
la soci‚t‚ by Madame de Genlis. Madame d'Astorre desired me to
find out her father, M. le Comte de Cely, and to give him news of
her and her children. This I did, and received from the old
gentleman some visits, and many letters. Madame la Princesse de
Chimay entrusted me with a petition--a verbal one, to the Prince
of Wales, in favour of the Duc de Fitzjames, who, in losing his
wife, had lost an English pension.  This I was to transmit to his
royal highness by means of the Duchess dowager of Buccleugh - who
was also entreated to make known the duke's situation to M.
d'Escars, who was in the immediate service of Louis XVIII.; for
M. d'Escars I had a sort of cipher from Madame de Chimay, to
authenticate my account.


                             DELAY AT DUNKIRK.

Our journey--Alexander's and mine--from Paris to Dunkirk was sad,
from the cruel separation which it exacted, and the fearful
uncertainty of impending events ; though I was animated at times
into the liveliest sensations, in the prospect of again beholding
my father, my friends, and my country. General d'Arblay, through
his assiduous researches, aided by those of M. de Boinville and
some others, found that a vessel was preparing to sail from
Dunkirk to Dover, under
Page 255

American colours, and with American passports and licence and,
after privately landing such of its passengers as meant but to
cross the channel, to proceed to the western continents. M.
d'Arblay found, at the same time, six or seven persons of his
acquaintance who were to embark in this vessel.

We all met, and severally visited at Dunkirk, where I was
compelled, through the mismanagement and misconduct of the
captain of the vessel, to spend the most painfully wearisome six
weeks of my life, for they kept me alike from all that was
dearest to me, either in France or in England, save my Alexander.
I was twenty times on the point of returning to Paris; but
whenever I made known that design, the captain promised to sail
the next morning.  The truth is, he postponed the voyage from day
to day and from week to week, in the hope of obtaining more
passengers ; and, as the clandestine visit he meant to make. to
Dover, in his way to America, was whispered about, reinforcements
very frequently encouraged his cupidity.

The ennui of having no positive occupation was now, for the first
time, known to me; for though the first object of my active cares
was with me, it was not as if that object had been a daughter,
and always at my side ; it was a youth of seventeen, who, with my
free consent, sought whatever entertainment the place could
afford, to while away fatigue. He ran, therefore, wildly about at
his pleasure, to the quay, the dockyard, the sea, the suburbs,
the surrounding country - but chiefly, his time was spent in
skipping to the " Mary Ann," our destined vessel, and seeing its
preparations for departure. To stroll about the town, to call
upon my fellow-sufferers, to visit the principal shops, and to
talk with the good Dutch people while I made slight purchases,
was all I could devise to do that required action.


THE MS. OF "THE WANDERER."

When I found our stay indefinitely protracted, it occurred to me
that if I had the papers of a work which I had then in hand, they
might afford me an occupation to while away my truly vapid and
uninteresting leisure.  I wrote this idea to my partner in all--
as M. de Talleyrand had called M. d'Arblay; and, with a spirit
that was always in its first youth where any service was to be
performed, he waited on M. de Saulnier at the police office, and
made a request that my manuscripts
Page 256

might be sent after me, with a permission that I might also be
allowed to carry them with me on board the ship. He durst not say
to England, whither no vessel was supposed to sail; but he would
not, to M. de Saulnier, who palpably connived at my plan and
purpose, say America. M. de Saulnier made many inquiries relative
to these papers; but on being assured, upon honour, that the work
had nothing in it political, nor even national, nor possibly
offensive to the government, he took the single word of M.
d'Arblay, whose noble countenance and dauntless openness of
manner were guarantees of sincerity that wanted neither seals nor
bonds, and invested him with the power to send me what papers be
pleased, without demanding to examine, or even to see them -a
trust so confiding and so generous, that I have regretted a
thousand times the want of means to acknowledge it according to
its merit.

This work was "The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties," of which
nearly three volumes were finished.  They arrived, nevertheless,
vainly for any purpose at Dunkirk; the disturbance of my
suspensive -state incapacitating me for any composition, save of
letters to my best friend, to whom I wrote, or dictated by
Alexander, every day; and every day was only supported by the
same kind diurnal return. But when, at length, we were summoned
to the vessel, and our goods and chattels were conveyed to the
custom-house, and when the little portmanteau was produced, and
found to be filled with manuscripts, the police officer who
opened it began a rant of indignation and amazement at a sight so
unexpected and prohibited, that made him incapable to inquire or
to hear the meaning of such a freight.  He sputtered at the
mouth, and stamped with his feet, so forcibly and vociferously,
that no endeavours of mine could induce him to stop his
accusations of traitorous designs, till, tired of the attempt, I
ceased both explanation and entreaty, and stood before him with
calm taciturnity.  Wanting, then, the fresh fuel of interruption
or opposition, his fire and fury evaporated into curiosity to
know what I could offer.  Yet even then, though my account
staggered his violence into some degree of civility, he evidently
deemed it, from its very nature, incredible ; and this fourth
child of my brain had undoubtedly been destroyed ere it was born,
had I not had recourse to an English merchant, Mr. Gregory, long
settled at Dunkirk, to whom,
Page 257

happily, I had been recommended, as to a person capable, in any
emergence, to afford me assistance; he undertook the
responsibility ; and the letter of M. d'Arblay, containing the
licence of M. de Saulnier, was then all-sufficient for my
manuscripts and their embarkation.


                       SPANISH PRISONERS AT DUNKIRK.

The second event I have to relate I never even yet recollect
without an inward shuddering. In our walks out of the town, on
the borders of the ocean, after passing beyond the dockyard or
wharf, we frequently met a large party of Spanish prisoners, well
escorted by gendarmes, and either going to their hard destined
labour, or returning from it for repast or repose.  I felt deeply
interested by them, knowing they were men with and for whom our
own English and the immortal Wellington were then fighting : and
this interest induced me to walk on the bank by which they were
paraded to and fro, as often as I could engage Alexander, from
his other pursuits, to accompany me. Their appearance was highly
in their favour, as well as their situation ; they had a look
calmly intrepid, of concentrated resentment, yet unalterable
patience, They were mostly strong-built and vigorous; of solemn,
almost stately deportment, and with fine dark eyes, full of
meaning, rolling around them as if in watchful expectation of
insult; and in a short time they certainly caught from my
countenance an air of sympathy, for they gave me, in return, as
we passed one another, a glance that spoke grateful
consciousness.  I followed them to the place of their labour ;
though my short-sightedness would not let me distinguish what
they were about, whether mending fortifications, dykes, banks,
parapets, or what not: and I durst not use my glass, lest I
should be suspected as a spy.  We only strolled about in their
vicinity, as if merely visiting and viewing the sea.

The weather -it was now August-was so intensely hot, the place
was so completely without shade, and their work was so violent,
that they changed hands every two hours, and those who were sent
off to recruit were allowed to cast themselves upon the burnt and
straw-like grass, to await their alternate summons.  This they
did in small groups, but without venturing to solace their rest
by any species of social intercourse. They were as taciturn with
one another as with their keepers and taskmasters.
Page 258

One among them there was who wore an air of superiority, ,grave
and composed, yet decided, to which they all appeared to bow down
with willing subserviency, though the distinction was only
demonstrated by an air of profound respect whenever they
approached or passed him, for discourse held they none. One
morning, when I observed him seated at a greater distance than
usual from his overseers, during his hour of release, I turned
suddenly from my walk as if with a view to bend my way homewards,
but contrived, while talking with Alexander and looking another
way, to slant my steps close to where he sat surrounded by his
mute adherents, and to drop a handful of small coin nearly under
the elbow upon which, wearily, lie was reclining.  We proceeded
with alertness, and talking together aloud; but Alexander
perceived this apparent chief evidently moved by what I had done,
though forbearing to touch the little offering, which, however,
his companions immediately secured.

After this I never met him that he did not make me a slight but
expressive bow.  This encouraged me to repeat the poor little
tribute of compassion, which I soon found he distributed, as far
as it would go, to the whole set, by the kindly looks with which
every one thenceforward greeted me upon every meeting. Yet he
whom we supposed to be some chief, and who palpably discovered it
was himself I meant to distinguish, never touched the money, nor
examined what was taken up by the others, who, on their part,
nevertheless seemed but to take charge of it in trust. We were
now such good friends, that this became more than ever my
favourite walk and these poor unhappy captives never saw me
without brightening up into a vivacity of pleasure that was to me
a real exhilaration.

We had been at Dunkirk above five weeks, when one evening, having
a letter of consequence to send to Paris, I begged Alexander to
carry it to the post himself, and to deposit me upon the quay,
and there to join me.  As the weather was very fine I stood near
the sea, wistfully regarding the element on which depended all my
present hopes and views. But presently my meditations were
interrupted, and my thoughts diverted from mere self by the
sudden entrance, in a large body, of my friends the Spanish
prisoners, who all bore down to the very place where I was
stationed, evidently recognising me, and eagerly showing that it
was not without extreme satisfaction.  I saw their approach, in
return, with lively
Page 259

pleasure, for, the quay being, I suppose, a place of certain
security, they were unencumbered by their usual turnkeys, the
gendarmes, and this freedom, joined to their surprise at my
sight, put them also off their guard, and they flocked round
though not near me, and hailed me with smiles, bows, and hands
put upon their breasts.  I now took courage to speak to them,
partly in French, partly in English, for I found they understood
a little of both those languages.  I inquired whence they came,
and whether they knew General Wellington. They smiled and nodded
at his name, and expressed infinite delight in finding I was
English ; but though they all, by their head movements, entered
into discourse, my friend the chief was the only one who
attempted to answer me.

When I first went to France, being continually embarrassed for
terms, I used constantly to apply to M. d'Arblay for aid, till
Madame de Tess‚ charged him to be quiet, saying that my looks
filled up what my words left short, "de sorte que," she added,
"nous la devinons;"(217)  this was the case between my Spaniards
and myself, and we -devin-d one another so much to our mutual
satisfaction, that while this was the converse the most to my
taste of any I had had at Dunkirk, it was also, probably, most to
theirs of any that had fallen to their lot since they had been
torn from their native country.


                    SURPRISED BY AN OFFICER OF POLICE.

While this was going on I was privately drawing from my purse all
that it contained of small money to distribute to my new friends
- but at this same moment a sudden change in the countenance of
the chief from looks of grateful feeling, to an expression of
austerity, checked my purpose, and, sorry and alarmed lest he had
taken offence, I hastily drew my empty hand from my reticule. I
then saw that the change of expression was not simply to
austerity from pleasure, but to consternation from serenity - and
I perceived that it was not to me the altered visage was
directed; the eye pointed beyond me, and over my head
startled, I turned round, and what, then, was my own
consternation when I beheld an officer of the police, in full
gold trappings, furiously darting forward from a small house at
the entrance upon the quay, which I afterwards learnt was his
official dwelling.  When he came within two yards of us he stood
still, mute and erect ; but with an air of menace, his eyes
scowling first upon the chief,

Page 260

then upon me, then upon the whole group, and then upon me again,
with looks that seemed diving into some conspiracy.

My alarm was extreme - my imprudence in conversing with these
unhappy captives struck me at once with foreboding terror of ill
consequences. I had, however, sufficient presence of mind to meet
the eyes of my antagonist with a look that showed surprise,
rather than apprehension at his wrath.

This was not without some effect. Accustomed, probably, to
scrutinize and to penetrate into secret plots, he might be an
adept in distinguishing the fear of ill-treatment from the fear
of detection. The latter I could certainly not manifest, as my
compassion had shown no outward mark beyond a little charity -
but the former I tried, vainly, perhaps, to subdue : for I well
knew that pity towards a Spaniard would be deemed suspicious, at
least, if not culpable.

We were all silent, and all motionless ; but when the man, having
fixed upon me his eyes with intention to petrify me, saw that I
fixed him in return with an open though probably not very
composed face, he-spoke, and with a voice of thunder,
vociferating reproach, accusation, and condemnation all in one.
His words I could not distinguish; they were so confused and
rapid from rage.

This violence, though it secretly affrighted me, I tried to meet
with simple astonishment, making no sort of answer or
interruption to his invectives.  When he observed my steadiness,
and that he excited none of the humiliation of discovered guilt,
he stopped short and, after a pause, gruffly said,--

"Qui ˆtes-vous?"

"Je me nomme d'Arblay."

"Etes-vous mari‚e?"

"Oui."

"O– est votre mari?"

"A Paris."

"Qui est-il?"

"Il travaille aux Bureaux de l'Int‚rieur."

"Pourquoi le quittez-vous?"(218)

Page 261

I was here sensibly embarrassed. I durst not avow I was
going to England ; I could not assert I was really going to
America.  I hesitated, and the sight of his eyes brightening up
with the hope of mischief, abated my firmness ; and, while he
seemed to be staring me through, I gave an account, very
imperfect, indeed, and far from clear, though true, that I came
to Dunkirk to embark on board the "Mary Ann" vessel.

"Ah ha!" exclaimed he, "vous ˆtes Anglaise?"(219)

Then, tossing back his head with an air of triumphant victory,
"suivez-moi!"(220) he added, and walked away, fast and fierce,
but looking back every minute to see that I followed.


                    INTERROGATED AT THE POLICE OFFICE.

Never can I forget the terror with which I was seized at this
command; it could only be equalled by the evident consternation
and sorrow that struck me, as I turned my head around to see
where I was, in my poor chief and his group. Follow I did, though
not less per force than if I had been dragged by chains. When I
saw him arrive at the gate of the little dwelling I have
mentioned, which I now perceived to belong to him officially, I
impulsively, involuntarily stopped. To enter a police office, to
be probably charged with planning some conspiracy with the
enemies of the state, my poor Alexander away, and not knowing
what must have become of me; my breath was gone; my power of
movement ceased; my head, or understanding, seemed a chaos,
bereft of every distinct or discriminating idea; and my feet, as
if those of a statue, felt riveted to the ground, from a vague
but overwhelming belief I was destined to incarceration in some
dungeon, where I might sink ere I could make known my situation
to my friends, while Alex, thus unaccountably abandoned, might be
driven to despair, or become the prey to nameless mischiefs.

Again the tiger vociferated a "suivez-moi!" but finding it no
longer obeyed, he turned full round as he stood upon ]its
threshold, and perceiving my motionless and speechless dismay,
looked at me for two or three seconds in scornful, but
investigating taciturnity. Then, putting his arms a-kimbo, he
said, in lower, but more, taunting accents, "Vous ne le jugez
donc pas … propos de me suivre?" (221)

Page 262

This was followed by a sneering, sardonic grin that seemed
anticipating the enjoyment of using compulsion. On, therefore, I
again forced myself, and with tolerable composure I said, "Je
n'ai rien, monsieur, je crois,… faire ici?"(222)

"Nous verrons!"(223) he answered, bluffly, and led the way into a
small hovel rather than parlour - and then haughtily seated
himself at a table, on which were pen, ink, and paper, and, while
I stood before him, began an interrogation, with the decided
asperity of examining a detected criminal, of whom he was to draw
up the proces verbal.

When I perceived this, my every fear, feeling, nay, thought,
concentrated in Alexander, to whom I had determined not to
allude, while I had any hope of self-escape, to avoid for us both
the greatest of all perils, that of an accusation of intending to
evade the ensuing conscription, for which, though Alex was yet
too young, he was fast advancing to be amenable.

But now that I was enclosed from his sight, and there was danger
every moment of his suddenly missing me, I felt that our only
chance of safety must lie in my naming him before he should
return.  With all the composure, therefore, that I could assume,
I said that I was come to Dunkirk with my son to embark in the
"Mary Ann," an American vessel, with a passport from M. de
Saulnier, secretary to the Duke de Rovigo, minister of police.

And what had I done with this son?

I had sent him to the post-office with a letter for his father.

At that instant I perceived Alexander wildly running past the
window.

This moment was critical.  I instantly cried, "Sir, there is my
son!"

The man rose, and went to the door, calling Out, "Jeune
homme!"(224)

Alex approached, and was questioned, and though much amazed, gave
answers perfectly agreeing with mine.

I now recovered my poor affrighted faculties, and calmly said
that if he had any doubt of our veracity, I begged he would send
for Mr. Gregory, who knew us well. This, a second time, was a
most happy reference.  Mr. Gregory was of the highest
respectability, and he was near at hand.  There could be no doubt
of the authenticity f such an appeal.

Page 263

The brow of my ferocious assailant was presently unbent. I seized
the favourable omen to assure him, with apparent indifference,
that I had no objection to being accompanied or preceded to the
Hotel Sauvage, where I resided, nor to giving him the key of my
portmanteau and portfolio, if it were possible I had excited any
suspicion by merely speaking, from curiosity, to the Spanish
prisoners.

No, he answered, he would not disturb me; and then, having
entered the name of Alexander by the side of mine, he let us
depart.  Speechless was my joy, and speechless was the surprise
of Alexander, and we walked home in utter silence.  Happily, this
incident occurred but just before we set sail, for with it
terminated my greatest solace at Dunkirk, the seeing and
consoling those unhappy prisoners, and the regale of wandering by
the sea-coast.


                     THE "MARY ANN" CAPTURED OFF DEAL.

Six weeks completely we consumed in wasteful weariness at
Dunkirk; and our passage, when at last we set sail, was equally,
in its proportion, toilsome and tedious.  Involved in a sickening
calm, we could make no way, but lingered two days and two nights
in this long-short passage.  The second night, indeed, might have
been spared me, as it was spared to all my fellow voyagers. But
when we cast anchor, I was so exhausted by the unremitting
sufferings I had endured, that I was literally unable to rise
from my hammock.

Yet was there a circumstance capable to have aroused me from any
torpidity, save the demolishing ravage of sea-sickness for
scarcely were we at anchor, when Alex, capering up to the deck,
descended with yet more velocity than he had mounted to exclaim,
"Oh, maman! there are two British officers now upon deck."  But,
finding that even this could not make me recover speech or
motion, he ran back again to this new and delighting sight, and
again returning 'cried out in a tone of rapture, "Maman, we are
taken by the British! We are all captured by British officers!"

Even in my immovable, and nearly insensible state, this juvenile
ardour, excited by so new and strange an adventure, afforded me
some amusement.  It did not, however, afford me strength, for I
could not rise, though I heard that every other passenger was
removed.  With difficulty, even next morning, I crawled upon the
deck, and there I had been but a short time,
Page 264

when Lieutenant Harford came on board to take possession of the
vessel, not as French, but American booty, war having been
declared against America the preceding week. Mr. Harford, hearing
my name, most courteously  addressed me, with congratulations
upon my safe arrival in England. These were words to rewaken all
the happiest purposes of my expedition, and they recovered me
from the nerveless, sinking state into which my exhaustion had
cast me, as if by a miracle.  My father, my brothers, my sisters,
and all my heart-dear friends, seemed rising to my view and
springing to my embraces, with all the joy of renovating reunion.
I thankfully accepted his obliging offer to carry me on shore in
his own boat; but when I turned round, and called upon Alexander
to follow us, Mr. Harford, assuming a commanding air, said, "No,
madam, I cannot take that young man. No French person can come
into my boat without a passport and permission from government."
My air now a little corresponded with his own, as I answered, "He
was born, Sir, in England!"

"Oh!" cried he, " "that's quite another matter; come along, Sir!
we'll all go together."

I now found we were rowing to Deal, not Dover, to which town we
had been destined by our engagement: but we had been captured, it
seems, chemin fuisant, though so gently, and with such utter
helplessness of opposition, that I had become a prisoner without
any suspicion of my captivity.


                        JOY ON ARRIVING IN ENGLAND.

We had anchored about half a mile, I imagine, from the shore ;
which I no sooner touched than, drawing away my arm from Mr.
Harford, I took up on one knee, with irrepressible transport, the
nearest bright pebble, to press to my lips in grateful joy at
touching again the land of my nativity, after an absence, nearly
hopeless, of more than twelve years.

Of the happiness that ensued--my being again in the arms of my
dearly loved father-in those of my dear surviving sisters--my
brothers--my friends, some faint details yet remain in a few
letters to my heart's confidant that he preserved: but they are
truly faint, for my satisfaction was always damped in recording
it to him who SO fondly wished to partake of it, and whose
absence from that participation always rendered it incomplete.

And, on one great source of renovated felicity, I did not
Page 265

dare touch even by inference, even by allusion--that of finding
my gracious royal mistress and her august daughters as cordial in
their welcome, as trustingly confidential, and as amiably
condescending, I had almost said affectionate, as if I had never
departed from the royal roof under which, for five years, I had
enjoyed their favour.  To have spoken of the royal family in
letters sent to France under the reign of Bonaparte, might have
brought destruction on him for whom I would a thousand times
sooner have suffered it myself.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.)(225)
Aug. 15, 1812.
In a flutter of joy such as my tender Charlotte will feel in
reading this, I write to her from England!  I can hardly believe
it; I look around me in constant inquiry and doubt I speak French
to every soul, and I whisper still if I utter a word that
breathes private opinion. . . .

We set off for Canterbury, where we slept, and on the 20th(226)
proceeded towards Chelsea. While, upon some common, we stopped to
water the horses, a gentleman on horseback passed us twice, and
then, looking in, pronounced my name - and I saw it was Charles,
dear Charles! who had been watching for us several hours and
three nights following, through a mistake. Thence we proceeded to
Chelsea, where we arrived at nine o'clock at night.  I was in a
state almost breathless.  I could only demand to see my dear
father alone: fortunately, he had had the same feeling, and had
charged all the family to stay away, and all the world to be
denied. I found him, therefore, in his library, by himself-but
oh! my dearest, very much altered indeed--weak, weak and changed-
-his head almost always hanging down, and his hearing most
cruelly impaired. I was terribly affected, but most grateful to
God for my arrival.  Our meeting, you may be sure, was very
tender, though I roused myself as quickly as possible to be gay
and cheering. He was extremely kind to Alex, and said, in a tone
the most impressive, "I should have been very glad to have seen
M. d'Arblay!"  In discourse, however, he reanimated, and was, at
times, all himself. But he now admits scarcely a creature but of
his family, and will only see for a short time even his children.
He likes quietly reading, and lies

Page 266

almost constantly upon the sofa, and will never eat but alone.
What a change!


                   YOUNG D'ARBLAY SECURES A SCHOLARSHIP.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
March 16, 1813.
How will my kindest father rejoice for me! for my dear partner--
for my boy!  The election is gained, and Alexander has obtained
the Tancred scholarship.  He had all the votes: the opponent
retired.  Sir D-- behaved handsomely, came forward, and
speechified for us. Sir Francis Milman, who was chairman, led the
way in the harangue.  Dr. Davy, our supporter, leader, inspirer,
director, heart and head, patron and guide, spoke also.  Mr H--
spoke, too; but nothing, they tell me, to our purpose, nor yet
against it.  He gave a very long and elaborate history of a cause
which he is to plead in the House of Lords, and which has not the
smallest reference whatsoever to the case in point.  Dr. Davy
told me, in recounting it, that he is convinced the good and wary
lawyer thought this an opportunity not to be lost for rehearsing
his cause, which would prevent loss of time to himself, or
hindrance of business, except to his hearers : however, he gave
us his vote. 'Tis a most glorious affair.


                     THE QUEEN ALARMED BY A MAD WOMAN.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
May 11, 1813.
My own inclination and intention kept in mind your charge, , my
dearest sir, that as soon as I was able I would wait upon Lady
Crewe;(227) fortunately, I found her at home, and in her best
style, cordial as well as good-humoured, and abounding in acute
and odd remarks.  I had also the good fortune to see my lord, who
seems always pleasing, unaffected, and sensible, and to possess a
share of innate modesty that no intercourse with the world, nor
addition of years, can rob him of. I was much satisfied with my
visit - but what I shall do for time, now once I have been
launched from my couch, or sick chamber, I wot not.

Page 267

What a terrible alarm is this which the poor tormented
queen has again received!(228) I wrote my concern as soon as I
heard of it, though I have not yet seen the printed account, my
packet of papers reaching only to the very day before that event.
My answer has been a most gracious summons to the Queen's house
for to-morrow. Her majesty and two of the princesses come to town
for four days. This robs me of my Chelsea visit for this week, as
I keep always within call during the town residences, when I have
royal notice of them, and, indeed, there is nothing I desire more
than to see her majesty at this moment, and to be allowed to
express what I have felt for her. My letter from Madame
Beckersdorff says that such an alarm would have been frightful
for anybody, but how much more peculiarly so for the queen, who
has experienced such poignant horror from the effects of
disordered intellects! who is always suffering from them, and so
nearly a victim to the unremitting exercise of her duties upon
that subject and these calls.

I have had a visit this morning from Mrs. Piozzi, who is in town
only for a few days upon business. She came while I was out - but
I must undoubtedly make a second tour, after my royal four days
are passed, in order to wait upon and thank her.

I have been received more graciously than ever, if that be
possible, by my dear and honoured queen and sweet Princesses
Eliza and Mary. The queen has borne this alarm astonishingly,
considering how great was the shock at the moment; but she has so
high a character, that she will not suffer anything personal to
sink her spirits, which she saves wholly for the calls upon them
of others, and great and terrible have been those calls.  The
beloved king is in the best state possible for his present
melancholy situation; that is, wholly free from real bodily
suffering, or imaginary mental misery, for he is persuaded that
he is always conversing with angels.


        WEATHER COMPLAINTS.  PROPOSED MEETING WITH LORD
LANSDOWNE.
(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Chenies-street, Alfred-place, May 23, 1813.
Oh, how teased I am, my dearest padre, by this eternal unwalkable
weather! Every morning rises so fairly, that at every noon I am
preparing to quit my conjuring, and repair,

Page 268

by your kind invitation, to prelude my promised chat by a repast
with Sarah - when mizzling falls the rain, or hard raps the hail,
and the day, for me, is involved in damps and dangers that fix me
again to my dry, but solitary conjurations. I am so tired now of
disappointments, that I must talk a little with my padre in their
defiance, and in a manner now, thank God! out of their reach. Ah,
how long will letters be any safer than meetings! The little
world I see all give me hope and comfort from the posture of
affairs but I am too deeply interested to dare be sanguine while
in such suspense.

Lady Crewe invited me to her party that she calls Noah's ark; but
I cannot yet risk an evening, and a dressed one too. She then
said she would make me a small party with the Miss Berrys, and
for a morning; and now she has written to Charles to make
interest with me to admit Lord Lansdowne, at his own earnest
request!  I am quite non compos to know how I shall make my way
through these honours, to my strength and re-establishment, for
they clash with my private plan and adopted system of quiet.
However, she says the meeting shall be in the country, at
Brompton, and without fuss or ceremony.  Her kindness is
inexpressible, therefore I have not courage to refuse her.  She
has offered me her little residence at Brompton for my dwelling
for a week or so, to restore me from all my influenzas : she may
truly be called a faithful family friend. I hope dear Sarah and
Fanny Raper will be of the party.  If they are, charge them, dear
sir, to let me hear their voices, for I shall never find out
their faces.

What weather! what weather! when shall I get to Chelsea, and
embrace again my beloved father?

This free-born weather of our sea-girt isle of liberty is very
incommodious to those who have neither carriages for wet feet,
nor health for damp shoulders.  If the farmers, however, are
contented, I must be patient. We may quarrel with all our wishes
better than with our corn.

Adieu, my most dear father, till the sun shines drier.



         A YOUNG GIRL'S ENTRY TO LONDON SOCIETY. MADAME DE STAEL.

(Madame d'Arblay to a friend.)
London, August 20, 1813-
. . .Your charming girl, by what I can gather, has seen, upon the
whole, a great deal of this vast town and its

Page 269

splendours,--a little more might, perhaps, have been better, in
making her, with a mind such as hers, regret it a little less.
Merit of her sort can here be known with difficulty.  Dissipation
is so hurried, so always in a bustle, that even amusement must be
prominent, to be enjoyed. There is no time for development;
nothing, therefore, is seen but what is conspicuous; and not much
is heard but what is obstreperous. They who, in a short time, can
make themselves known and admired now in London, must have their
cupids, in Earl Dorset's phrase--

Like blackguard boys,
Who thrust their links full in your face.

I had very much matter that I meant and wished to say to you upon
this subject; but in brief--I do not myself think it a misfortune
that your dear girl cannot move in a London round, away from your
own wing: you have brought her up so well, and she seems so good,
gentle, and contented, as well as accomplished, that I cannot
wish her drawn into a vortex where she may be imbued with other
ideas, views, and wishes than those that now constitute her
happiness--and happiness! what ought to be held more sacred where
it is innocent--what ought so little to risk any unnecessary or
premature concussion? With all the deficiencies and imperfections
of her present situation, which you bewail but which she does not
find out, it is, alas! a million to one whether, even in
attaining the advantages and society you wish for her, she will
ever again, after any change, be as happy as she is at this
moment. A mother whom she looks up to and doats upon--a sister
whom she so fondly loves--how shall they be replaced?  The
chances are all against her (though the world has, I know, such
replacers), from their rarity.

I am truly glad you had a gratification you so earnestly coveted,
that of seeing Madame de Stael: your account of her was extremely
interesting to me. As to myself, I have not seen her at all.
Various causes have kept me in utter retirement; and, in truth,
with respect to Madame de Stael, my situation is really
embarrassing.  It is too long and difficult to write upon, nor do
I recollect whether I ever communicated to you our original
acquaintance, which, at first, was intimate.  I shall always,
internally, be grateful for the partiality with which she sought
me out upon her arrival in this country before my- marriage: and
still, and far more, if she can forgive my dropping her, which I
could not help
Page 270

for none of my friends, at that time, would suffer me to keep up
the intercourse!  I had messages, remonstrances, entreaties,
representations, letters, and conferences, till I could resist no
longer; though I had found her so charming, that I fought the
hardest battle I dared fight against almost all my best
connections. She is now received by all mankind;--but that,
indeed, she always was--all womankind, I should say--with
distinction and pleasure.  I wish much to see her "Essay on
Suicide;" but it has not yet fallen in my way. When will the work
come out for which she was, she says, chass‚e de la France?(229)
Where did --- hear her a whole evening?  She is, indeed, most
uncommonly entertaining, and animating as well as animated,
almost beyond anybody, "Les M‚moires de Madame de Stael" I have
read long ago, and with singular interest and eagerness.  They
are so attaching, so evidently original and natural, that they
stand very high, indeed, in reading that has given me most
pleasure.  My boy has just left me for Greenwich.(230)  He goes
in October to Cambridge; I wish to install him there myself.  My
last letter from Paris gives me to the end of October to stay in
England.


                             ROGERS THE POET.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
August 24, 1813.
.....I was delighted by meeting Lady Wellington, not long since,
at Lady Templetown's.  Her very name electrified me with emotion.
I dined at Mr. Rogers's, at his beautiful mansion in the Green
Park, to meet Lady Crewe; and Mrs. Barbauld was also there, whom
I had not seen many, many years, and alas, should not have known!
Mr. Rogers was so considerate to my sauvagerie as to have no
party, though Mr. Sheridan, he said, had expressed his great
desire to meet again his old friend Madame d'Arblay!  Lady Crewe
told me she certainly would not leave town without seeking

Page 271

another chattery with her old friend, Dr. Burney, whom she always
saw with fresh pleasure.


                      INTERVIEW WITH MR. WILBERFORCE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Sandgate, Sept., 1813.
Let me steal a moment to relate a singular gratification, and, in
truth, a real and great honour I have had to rejoice in. You
know, my padre, probably, that Marianne Francis was commissioned
by Mr. Wilberforce(231) to bring about an acquaintance with your
F. d'A., and that, though highly susceptible to such a desire, my
usual shyness, or rather consciousness of inability to meet the
expectations that must have made him seek me, induced my
declining an interview. Eh bien--at church at Sandgate, the day
after my arrival, I saw this justly celebrated man, and was
introduced to him in the churchyard, after the service, by
Charles.  The ramparts and martellos around us became naturally
our theme, and Mr. Wilberforce proposed showing them to me. I
readily accepted the offer, and Charles and Sarah, and Mrs.
Wilberforce and Mrs. Barrett, went away in their several
carriages, while Mr. Barrett alone remained, and Mr. Wilberforce
gave me his arm, and, in short, we walked the round from one to
five o'clock!  Four hours' of the best conversation I have,
nearly, ever enjoyed.  He was anxious for a full and true account
of Paris, and particularly of religion and infidelity, and of
Bonaparte and the wars, and of all and everything that had
occurred during my ten years' seclusion in France; and I had so
much to communicate, and his drawing out and comments and
episodes were all so judicious, so spirited, so full of
information yet so unassuming, that my shyness all flew away and
I felt to be his confidential friend, opening to him upon every
occurrence and every sentiment, with the frankness that is
usually won by years of intercourse.  I was really and truly
delighted and enlightened by him; I desire nothing more

Page 272

than to renew the acquaintance, and cultivate it to intimacy.
But, alas! he was going away next morning.


                  INTENDED PUBLICATION OF "THE WANDERER."

(Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)
Richmond Hill, Oct. 12, 1813.
My most dear padre will, I am sure, congratulate me that I have
just had the heartfelt delight of a few lines from M. d'Arblay,
dated September 5th.  I had not had any news since the 17th of
August, and I had the melancholy apprehension upon my spirits
that no more letters would be allowed to pass till the campaign
was over.  It has been therefore one of the most welcome
surprises I ever experienced. He tells me, also, that he is
perfectly well, and quite acabl‚ with business.  This, for the
instant, gives me nothing but joy; for, were he not essentially
necessary in some department of civil labour and use, he would
surely be included in some lev‚e en masse.  Every way, therefore,
this letter gives me relief and pleasure.

I have had, also, this morning, the great comfort to hear that my
Alexander is " stout and well at Cambridge, where his kind uncle
Charles still remains.

I am indescribably occupied, and have been so ever since my
return from Ramsgate, in giving more and more last touches to my
work, about which I begin to grow very, anxious.  I am to receive
merely 500 pounds upon delivery of the MS.  the two following 500
by instalments from nine months to nine months, that is, in a
year and a half from the day of publication. If all goes well,
the whole will be 3000, but only at the end of the sale of eight
thousand copies. Oh, my padre, if you approve the work, I shall
have good hope.


                   GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S WOUNDED COMRADES.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
Dec. 16, 1813.
Ah, my dearest friend, how is my poor cottage-how are my proofs--
how is everything forced from my mind, except what necessity
drives there, by this cruel stroke to my suffering partner! The
world had power only in two instances to have given him quite so
deadly a blow, dear to his heart of love as
Page 273

are some, nay, many others; but here--for M. de Narbonne, it was
a passion of admiration, joined to a fondness of friendship, that
were a part of himself.(232)  How he will bear it, and in our
absence, perpetually occupies my thoughts.  And I have no means
to hear from, or to write to him!--none, absolutely none!

just before this wound was inflicted, I was already overwhelmed
with grief for my poor Madame de Maisonneuve, A for M. d'Arblay
himself, and for my own personal loss, in the death--premature
and dreadful, nay, inhuman--of the noble, perfect brother of that
Madame de Maisonneuve; General Latour Maubourg, a man who, like
my own best friend was--is signalized among his comrades by the
term of a vrai Chevalier Fran‡ais.  He was without a blot; and
his life has been thrown away merely to prevent his being made a
prisoner! He had received a horrible wound on the first of the
tremendous battles of Leipzic, and on the second he suffered
amputation; and immediately after was carried away to follow the
retreating army! In such a condition, who can wonder to hear
that, a very few miles from Leipzic, he expired?(233)


                           DEATH OF DR. BURNEY.

[In the beginning of the year 1814, Madame d'Arblay published her
fourth work, "The Wanderer," and nearly at the same time peace
was declared between France and England. Her satisfaction at an
event so long wished for, was deeply saddened by the death of her
father, Dr. Burney; whom she nursed and attended to the last
moment with dutiful tenderness.

Soon after the Restoration of the French royal family, Monsieur
d'Arblay was placed by the Duke de Luxembourg in the French "
gardes du corps."  He obtained leave of absence towards the close
of the year, and came to England

Page 274

for a few weeks ; after which Madame d'Arblay returned with him
to Paris, leaving their son to pursue his studies at Cambridge.]

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. ----)
March(234) 19, 1814.
Be not uneasy for me, nay tender friend: my affliction is heavy,
but not acute - my beloved father had been spared to us something
beyond the verge of the prayer for his preservation, which you
must have read, for already his sufferings had far surpassed his
enjoyments.  I could not have wished him so to linger, though I
indulged almost to the last hour a hope he might yet recover, and
be restored to comfort.  I last of all gave him up, but never
wished his duration such as I saw him on the last few days. Dear
blessed parent! how blest am I that I came over to him while he
was yet susceptible of pleasure--of happiness!  My best comfort
in my grief, in his loss, is that I watched by his side the last
night, and hovered over him two hours after he breathed no more;
for though much suffering had preceded the last hours, they were
so quiet, and the final exit was so soft, that I had not
perceived it though I was sitting by his bedside, and would not
believe when all around announced it.  I forced them to let me
stay by him, and his revered form became stiff before I could
persuade myself that he was gone hence for ever.

Yet neither then nor now has there been any violence, anything to
fear from my grief; his loss was too indubitably to be expected,
he had been granted too long to our indulgence to allow any
species of repining to mingle with my sorrow; and it is repining
that makes sorrow too hard to bear with resignation.  Oh, I have
known it!



                      FAVOURABLE NEWS OF M. D'ARBLAY.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
April 3, 1814.
I hasten to impart to my kind and sympathising friend that I
received-last night good tidings of my best friend of friends;
they have been communicated to me, oddly enough, through the
Alien office!  Mr. Reeves wrote them to my

Page 275

reverend brother,(235) by the desire of an English lady now
resident in Paris-Madame Solvyns (wife of a Frenchman), at the
request of M. d'Arblay; they assure me of his perfect health...

Nothing could be so well timed as this intelligence, for my
inquietude was beginning to be doubly restless from the accession
of time that has fallen to me by having got rid of all my proofs,
etc.  it is only real and indispensable business that can force
away attention from suspensive uneasiness. Another comfort of the
very first magnitude, my sweet friend will truly, I know,
participate in--my Alexander begins to listen to reason. He
assures me he is now going on with very tolerable regularity; and
I have given him, for this term, to soberize and methodize him a
little, a private tutor ; and this tutor has won his heart by
indulging him in his problem passion. They work together, he
says, with a rapidity and eagerness that makes the hour of his
lesson by far the most delightful portion of his day. And this
tutor, he tells me, most generously gives him problems to work at
in his absence: a favour for which every pupil, perchance, would
not be equally grateful, but which Alexander, who loves problems
algebraic as another boy loves a play or an opera, regards as the
height of indulgence.


                              "THE WANDERER."

[Soon after the publication of " The Wanderer," Madame d'Arblay
wrote as follows to a friend:--]

I beseech you not to let your too ardent friendship disturb you
about the reviews and critiques, and I quite supplicate you to
leave their authors to their own severities or indulgence.  I
have ever steadily refused all interference with public opinion
or private criticism. I am told I have been very harshly treated
; but I attribute it not to what alone would affect me, but which
I trust I have not excited, personal enmity.  I attribute it to
the false expectation, universally spread, that the book would be
a picture of France, as well as to the astonishing ‚clat of a
work in five volumes being all bespoken before it was published.
The booksellers, erroneously and injudiciously concluding the
sale would so go on, fixed the rapacious price of two guineas,
which again damped the sale. But why say damped, when it is only
their unreasonable expectations that are disappointed ? for they
acknowledge that 3600 copies are positively sold and paid for in
the first half year.  What must I be, if not far more than
Page 276

contented?  I have not read or heard one of the criticisms; my
mind has been wholly occupied by grief for the loss of my dearest
father, or the inspection of his MSS., and my harassing situation
relative to my own proceedings.  Why, then, make myself black
bile to disturb me further? No; I will not look at a word till my
spirits and time are calmed and quiet, and I can set about
preparing a corrected edition.  I will then carefully read all -
and then, the blow to immediate feelings being over, I can
examine as well as read, impartially and with profit, both to my
future surveyors and myself.

MADAME D'ARBLAY'S PRESENTATION TO LOUIS XVIII AT GRILLON's HOTEL.

1814.-While I was still under the almost first impression of
grief for the loss of my dear and honoured father I received a
letter from Windsor Castle, written by Madame Beckersdorff, at
the command of her majesty, to desire I would take the necessary
measures for being presented to son altesse royale Madame
Duchesse d'Angoulˆme,l who was to have a Drawing-room in London,
both for French and English, on the day preceding her departure
for France.  The letter added, that I must waive all objections
relative to my recent loss, as it would be improper, in the
present state of things, that the wife of a general officer
should not be presented; and, moreover, that I should be
personally expected and well received, as I had been named to son
altesse royale by the queen herself. In conclusion, I was charged
not to mention this circumstance, from the applications or
jealousies it might excite.

To hesitate was out of the question - and to do honour to my
noble absent partner, and in his name to receive honour, were
precisely the two distinctions my kind father would most have
enjoyed for me.
Page 277

I had but two or three days for preparation. Lady Crewe
most amiably came to me herself, and missing me in person, wrote
me word she would lend me her carriage, to convey me from Chelsea
to her house in Lower Grosvenor-street, and thence accompany me
herself to the audience. When the morning arrived I set off with
tolerable courage.

Arrived, however, at Lady Crewe's, when I entered the room in
which this dear and attached friend of my father received me, the
heaviness of his loss proved quite overpowering to my spirits ;
and in meeting the two hands of my hostess, I burst into tears
and could not, for some time, listen to the remonstrances against
unavailing grief with which she rather chid than soothed me.  But
I could not contest the justice of what she uttered, though my
grief was too fresh for its observance.  Sorrow, as my dearest
father was wont to say, requires time, as well as wisdom and
religion, to digest itself , and till that time is both accorded
and well employed, the sense of its uselessness serves but to
augment, not mitigate, its severity.

Lady Crewe purposed taking this opportunity of paying her own
respects, with her congratulations, to Madame la Duchesse
d'Angoulˆme.  She had sent me a note from Madame de Gouvello,
relative to the time, for presentation, which was to take place
it Grillon's hotel in Albemarle-street.

We went very early, to avoid a crowd. But Albemarle-street was
already quite full, though quiet.  We entered the hotel without
difficulty, Lady Crewe having previously demanded a private room
of Grillon, who had once been cook to her lord.  This private
room was at the back of the house, with a mere yard or common
garden for its prospect. , Lady Crewe declared this was quite too
stupid, and rang the bell for waiter after waiter, till she made
M. Grillon come himself.  She then, in her singularly open and
easy manner, told him to be so good as to order us a front room,
where we might watch for the arrival of the royals, and be amused
ourselves at the same time by seeing the entrances of the mayor,
aldermen, and common councilmen, and other odd characters, who
would be coming to pay their court to these French princes and
princesses.

M. Grillon gave a nod of acquiescence, and we were instantly
shown to a front apartment just over the street door, which was
fortunately supplied with a balcony.

I should have been much entertained by all this, and
Page 278

particularly with the originality, good humour, and intrepid yet
intelligent odd fearlessness of all remark, or even consequence,
which led Lady Crewe to both say and do exactly what she pleased,
had my heart been lighter - but it was too heavy for pleasure;
and the depth of my mourning, and the little, but sad time that
was yet passed since it had become my gloomy garb, made me hold
it a matter even of decency, as well as of feeling, to keep out
of sight. I left Lady Crewe, therefore, to the full enjoyment of
her odd figures, while I seated myself, solitarily, at the
further end of the room.


                            GRATTAN THE ORATOR.

In an instant, however, she saw from the window some
acquaintance, and beckoned them up. A gentleman, middle-aged, of
a most pleasing appearance and address, immediately obeyed her
summons, accompanied by a young man with a sensible look; and a
young lady, pretty, gentle, and engaging, with languishing, soft
eyes; though with a smile and an expression of countenance that
showed an innate disposition to archness and sport.

This uncommon trio I soon found to consist of the celebrated
Irish orator, Mr. Grattan,(237) and his son and daughter. Lady
Crewe welcomed them with all the alertness belonging to her
thirst for amusement, and her delight in sharing it with those
she thought capable of its participation.  This she had sought,
but wholly missed in me; and could neither be angry nor
disappointed, though she was a little vexed. She suffered me not,
however, to remain long in my seclusion, but called me to the
balcony, to witness the jolting out of their carriages of the
aldermen and common councilmen, exhibiting, as she said, "Their
fair round bodies with fat capon lined;" and wearing an air of
proudly hospitable satisfaction, in visiting a king of France who
had found an asylum in a street of the city of Westminster.

The crowd, however, for they deserve a better name than
Page 279

mob, interested my observation still more.  John Bull has seldom
appeared to me to greater advantage.  I never saw him en masse
behave with such impulsive propriety.  Enchanted to behold a king
of France in his capital; conscious that le grand monarque was
fully in his power; yet honestly enraptured to see that "The king
would enjoy his own again," and enjoy it through the generous
efforts of his rival, brave, noble old England; he yet seemed
aware that it was fitting to subdue all exuberance of pleasure,
which, else, might annoy, if not alarm, his regal guest.  He took
care, therefore, that his delight should not amount to
exultation; it was quiet and placid, though pleased and curious :
I had almost said it was gentlemanlike.

And nearly of the same colour, though from so inferior an
incitement, were the looks and attention of the Grattans,
particularly of the father, to the black mourner whom Lady Crewe
called amongst them. My garb, or the newspapers, or both,
explained the dejection I attempted not to repress, though I
carefully forbade it any vent - and the finely speaking face of
Mr. Grattan seemed investigating the physiognomy, while it
commiserated the situation of the person brought thus before him.
 His air had something foreign in it, from the vivacity that
accompanied his politeness ; I should have taken him for a
well-bred man of fashion of France. Good breeding, in England,
amongst the men, is ordinarily stiff, reserved, or cold.  Among
the exceptions to this stricture, how high stood Mr. Windham! and
how high in gaiety with vivacity stood my own honoured father!
Mr. Locke, who was elegance personified in his manners, was
lively only in his own domestic or chosen circle.


                        A DEMONSTRATIVE IRISH LADY,

A new scene now both astonished and discomposed me. A lady,
accompanied humbly by a gentleman, burst into the room with a
noise, a self-sufficiency, and an assuming confidence of
superiority, that would have proved highly offensive, had it not
been egregiously ridiculous.  Her attire was as flaunting as her
air and her manner; she was rouged and beribboned.  But English
she was not - she was Irish, in its most flaunting and untamed
nature, and possessed of so boisterous a spirit, that she
appeared to be just caught from the woods---the bogs, I might
rather say.

Page 280

When she had poured forth a volley of words, with a fluency and
loudness that stunned me, Lady Crewe, with a. smile that seemed
to denote she intended to give her pleasure, presented me by name
to Madame la Baronne de M--

She made me a very haughty curtsey, and then, turning rudely
away, looked reproachfully at Lady Crewe, and screamed out, " Oh,
fie! fie, fie, fie!"  Lady Crewe, astonished and shocked, seemed
struck speechless, and I stood still with my eyes wide open, and
my mouth probably so also, from a sort of stupor, for I could
annex no meaning nor even any idea to such behaviour. She made
not, however, any scruple to develop her motives, for she
vehemently inveighed against being introduced to such an
acquaintance, squalling out, "She has writ against the ‚migr‚s!-
-she has writ against the Great Cause! O fie! fie! fie!"

When she had made these exclamations, and uttered these
accusations, till the indulged vent to her rage began to cool it,
she stopped of her own accord, and, finding no one spoke, looked
as if she felt rather silly; while M. le Baron de M--, her very
humble sposo, shrugged his shoulders. The pause was succeeded by
an opening harangue from Lady Crewe, begun in a low and gentle
voice, that seemed desirous to spare me what might appear an
undue condescension, in taking any pains to clear me from so
gross an attack. She gave, therefore, nearly in a whisper, a
short character of me and of my conduct, of which I heard just
enough to know that such was her theme; and then, more audibly,
she proceeded to state, that far from writing against the
emigrants, I had addressed an exhortation to all the ladies of
Great Britain in their favour.

"Oh, then," cried Madame de M--, "it was somebody else--it was
somebody else!"

And then she screamed out delightedly, "I'm so glad I spoke out,
because of this explanation!--I'm so glad! never was so glad!"
She now jumped about the room, quite crazily, protesting she
never rejoiced so much at anything she had ever done in her life.
But when she found her joy, like her assault, was all her own,
she stopped short, astonished, I suppose, at my insensibility;
and said to me, "How lucky I spoke out! the luckiest thing in the
world! I'm so glad!  A'n't you? Because of this ‚claircissement."

"If I had required any ‚claircissement," I drily began.

"O, if it was not you, then," cried she, "'twas Charlotte Smith."
Page 281

Lady Crewe seemed quite ashamed that such a scene should
pass where she presided, and Mr. Grattan quietly stole away.

Not quietly, nor yet by stealth, but with evident disappointment
that her energies were not more admired, Madame la Baronne now
called upon her attendant sposo, and strode off herself.  I found
she was a great heiress of Irish extraction and education, and
that she had bestowed all her wealth upon this emigrant baron,
who might easily merit it, when, besides his title, he gave her
his patience and obsequiousness.


                 INQUIRIES AFTER THE DUCHESS D'ANGOULEME.

Some other friends of Lady Crewe now found her out, and she made
eager inquiries amongst them relative to Madame la Duchesse
d'Angoulˆme, but could gather no tidings. She heard, however,
that there were great expectations of some arrivals down stairs,
where two or three rooms were filled with company. She desired
Mr. Grattan, junior, to descend into this crowd, and to find out
where the duchess was to be seen, and when, and how.

He obeyed. But, when he returned, what was the provocation of
Lady Crewe, what my own disappointment, to hear that the duchess
was not arrived, and was not expected ! She was at the house of
Monsieur le Comte d'Artois, her father-in-law.

"Then what are we come hither for?" exclaimed her ladyship:
"expressly to be tired to death for no purpose!  Do pray, at
least, Mr. Grattan, be so good as to see for my carriage, that we
may go to the right house."

Mr. Grattan was all compliance, and with a readiness so obliging
and so well bred that I am sure he is his father's true son in
manners, though there was no opportunity to discover whether the
resemblance extended also to genius.  He was not, however,
cheered when he brought word that neither carriage nor footman
were to be found.

Lady Crewe then said he must positively go down, and make the Duc
de Duras tell us what to do. In a few minutes he was with us
again, shrugging his shoulders at his ill success. The king,
Louis XVIII.,(238) he said,
Page 282

was expected, and M. le Duc was preparing to receive him, and not
able to speak or listen to any one.

Lady Crewe declared herself delighted by this information,
because there would be an opportunity for having me presented to
his majesty.  "Go to M. de Duras," she cried, "and tell him
Madame d'Arblay wishes it."

"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed I, "do no such thing! I have not
the most distant thought of the kind!  It is Madame la Duchesse
d'Angoulˆme alone that I--"

"O, pho, pho!--it is still more essential to be done to the
king--it is really important: so go, and tell the duke, Mr.
Grattan, that Madame d'Arblay is here, and desires to be
presented.  Tell him 'tis a thing quite indispensable."

I stopped him again, and quite entreated that no such step might
be taken, as I had no authority for presentation but to the
duchess. However, Lady Crewe was only provoked at my
backwardness, and charged Mr. Grattan not to heed me.  "Tell the
duke," she cried, "that Madame d'Arblay is our Madame de Stael!
tell him we are as proud of our Madame d'Arblay as he can be of
his Madame de Stael."

Off she sent him, and off I flew again to follow him and whether
he was most amused or most teased by our opposing petitions, I
know not - but he took the discreet side of not venturing again
to return among us.



                    PREPARATIONS FOR THE PRESENTATIONS.

Poor Lady Crewe seemed to think I lost a place at Court, or
perhaps a peerage, by my untamable shyness, and was quite vexed.
Others came to her now, who said several rooms below were filled
with expectant courtiers. Miss Grattan then earnestly requested
me to descend with her, as a chaperon, that she might see
something of what was going forwards.

I could not refuse so natural a request, and down we went,
seeking one of the common] crowded rooms, that we might not
intrude where there was preparation or expectation relative to
the king.

And here, sauntering or grouping, meditating in silence or
congratulating each other in coteries, or waiting with curiosity,
or self-preparing for presentation with timidity, we found a
multitude of folks in an almost unfurnished and quite unadorned
apartment. The personages seemed fairly divided between the
nation at home and the nation from abroad ;
Page 283

the English and the French; each equally, though variously,
occupied in expecting the extraordinary sight of a monarch thus
wonderfully restored to his rank and his throne, after
misfortunes that had seemed irremediable, and an exile that had
appeared hopeless.

Miss Grattan was saluted, en passant, by several acquaintances,
and amongst them by the son-in-law of her dear country's viceroy
Lord Whitworth, the young Duke of Dorset; and Lady Crewe herself,
too tired to abide any longer in her appropriated apartment, now
descended.

We patrolled about, zig-zag, as we could; the crowd, though of
very good company, having no chief or regulator, and therefore
making no sort of avenue or arrangement for avoiding
inconvenience.  There was neither going up nor coming down; we
were all hustled together, without direction and without object,
for nothing whatsoever was present to look at or to create any
interest, and our expectations were merely kept awake by a belief
that we should know in time when and where something or somebody
was to be seen.

For myself, however, I was much tormented during this interval
from being named incessantly by Lady Crewe. My deep mourning, my
recent heavy loss, and the absence and distance of my dear
husband made me peculiarly wish to be unobserved. Peculiarly, I
say; for never yet had the moment arrived in which to be marked
had not been embarrassing and disconcerting to me, even when most
flattering.

A little hubbub soon after announced something new, and presently
a whisper was buzzed around the room of the "Prince de Cond‚."
His serene highness looked very much pleased--as no wonder--at
the arrival of such a day; but he was so surrounded by all his
countrymen who were of rank to claim his attention, that I could
merely see that he was little and old, but very unassuming and
polite. Amongst his courtiers were sundry of the French noblesse
that were known to Lady Crewe and I heard her uniformly say to
them, one after another, Here is Madame d'Arblay, who must be
presented to the king.

Quite frightened by an assertion so wide from my intentions, so
unauthorised by any preparatory ceremonies, unknown to my
husband, and not, like a presentation to the Duchesse
d'Angoulˆme, encouraged by my queen, I felt as if guilty of
taking liberty the most presumptuous, and with a forwardness and
assurance the most foreign to my character. Yet to
Page 284

control the zeal of Lady Crewe was painful from her earnestness,
and appeared to be ungrateful to her kindness ; I therefore
shrunk back, and presently suffered the crowd to press between us
so as to find myself wholly separated from my party. This would
have been ridiculous had I been more happy - but in my then state
of affliction, it was necessary to my peace.


                          ARRIVAL OF Louis XVIII.

Quite to myself, how I smiled inwardly at my adroit cowardice,
and was contemplating the surrounding masses of people, when a
new and more mighty hubbub startled me, and presently I heard a
buzzing whisper spread throughout the apartment of "The king!--le
roi!"

Alarmed at my strange situation, I now sought to decamp, meaning
to wait for Lady Crewe up stairs : but to even approach the door
was impossible. I turned back, therefore, to take a place by the
window, that I might see his majesty alight from his carriage,
but how great was my surprise when, just as I reached the top of
the room, the king himself entered it at the bottom!

I had not the smallest idea that this was the chamber of audience
; it was so utterly unornamented.  But I now saw that a large
fauteuil was being conveyed to the upper part, exactly where I
stood, ready for his reception and repose.

Placed thus singularly, by mere accident, and freed from my fears
of being brought forward by Lady Crewe, I felt rejoiced in so
fair an opportunity of beholding the king of my honoured husband,
and planted myself immediately behind, though not near to his
prepared seat ; and, as I was utterly unknown and must be utterly
unsuspected, I indulged myself with a full examination. An avenue
had instantly been cleared from the door to the chair, and the
king moved along It slowly, slowly, slowly, rather dragging his
large and weak limbs than walking; but his face was truly
engaging; benignity was in every feature, and a smile beamed over
them that showed thankfulness to providence in the happiness to
which he was so suddenly arrived; with a courtesy, at the same
time, to the spectators, who came to see and congratulate it, the
most pleasing and cheering.

The scene was replete with motives to grand reflections and to
me, the devoted subject of another monarch, whose melancholy
alienation of mind was a constant source to me of
Page 285

sorrow, it was a scene for conflicting feelings and profound
meditation.


                      THE PRESENTATIONS TO THE KING.

His majesty took his seat, with an air of mingled sweetness and
dignity. I then, being immediately behind him, lost sight of his
countenance, but saw that of every individual who approached to
be presented. The Duc de Duras stood at his left hand, and was le
grand maitre des c‚r‚monies; Madame de Gouvello stood at his
right side; though whether in any capacity, or simply as a French
lady known to him, I cannot tell. In a whisper, from that lady, I
learned more fully the mistake of the hotel, the Duchesse
d'Angoulˆme never having meant to quit that of her beaupŠre,
Monsieur le Comte d'Artois, in South Audley-street.

The presentations were short, and without much mark or
likelihood. The men bowed low, and passed on; the ladies
curtsied, and did the same. Those who were not known gave a card,
I think, to the Duc de Duras, who named them; those of former
acquaintance with his majesty simply made their obeisance.

M. de Duras, who knew how much fatigue the king had to go
through, hurried every one on, not only with speed but almost
with ill-breeding, to my extreme astonishment. Yet the English,
by express command of his majesty, had always the preference and
always took place of the French ; which was an attention of the
king in return for the asylum he had here found, that he seemed
delighted to display,

Early in this ceremony came forward Lady Crewe, who being known
to the king from sundry previous meetings, was not named ; and
only, after curtseying, reciprocated smiles with his majesty, and
passed on.  But instead of then moving off, though the duke, who
did not know her, waved his hand to hasten her away, she
whispered, but loud enough for me to hear, "Voici Madame
d'Arblay; il faut qu'elle soit pr‚sent‚e."(239)  She then went
gaily off, without heeding me.

The duke only bowed, but by a quick glance recognised me, and by
another showed a pleased acquiescence in the demand.

Retreat' now, was out of the question; but I so feared my
position was wrong, that I was terribly disturbed, and felt hot
and cold, and cold and hot, alternately, with excess of
Page 286

embarrassment. I was roused, however, after hearing for so long a
time nothing but French, by the sudden sound of English. An
address, in that language, was read to his majesty, which was
presented by the noblemen and gentlemen of the county of
Buckingham, congratulatory upon his happy restoration, and filled
with cordial thanks for the graciousness of his manners, and the
benignity of his conduct, during his long residence amongst them;
warmly proclaiming their participation in his joy, and their
admiration of his virtues. The reader was colonel Nugent, a near
relation of the present Duke of Buckingham. But, if the
unexpected sound of these felicitations delivered in English,
roused and struck me, how much greater arose my astonishment and
delight when the French monarch, in an accent of the most
condescending familiarity and pleasure, uttered his
acknowledgments in English also-expressing his gratitude for all
their attentions, his sense of their kind interest in his favour,
and his eternal remembrance of the obligations he owed to the
whole county of Buckinghamshire, for the asylum and consolations
he had found in it during his trials and calamities! I wonder not
that Colonel Nugent was so touched by this reply, as to be led to
bend the knee, as to his own sovereign, when the king held out
his hand - for I myself, though a mere outside auditress, was so
moved, and so transported with surprise by the dear English
language from his mouth, that I forgot at once all my fears, and
dubitations, and, indeed, all myself, my poor little self, in my
pride and exultation at such a moment for my noble country.(240)


                       A FLATTERING ROYAL RECEPTION.

Fortunately for me, the Duc de Duras made this the moment for my
presentation, and, seizing my hand and drawing me suddenly from
behind the chair to the royal presence, he said, " Sire, Madame
d'Arblay." How singular a change, that what, but the instant
before, would have overwhelmed me with diffidence and
embarrassment,

Page 287

now found me all courage and animation ! and when his majesty
took my hand--or, rather, took hold of my fist--and said, in very
pretty English, "I am very happy to see you," I felt such a glow
of satisfaction, that involuntarily, I burst forth with its
expression, incoherently, but delightedly and irresistibly,
though I cannot remember how. He certainly was not displeased,
for his smile was brightened and his manner was most flattering,
as he repeated that he was very glad to see me, and added that he
had known me, "though without sight, very long: for I have read
you--and been charmed with your books--charmed and entertained.
I have read them often, I know them very well indeed; and I have
long wanted to know you!"


I was extremely surprised,-and not only at these unexpected
compliments, but equally that my presentation, far from seeming,
as I had apprehended, strange, was met by a reception of the
utmost encouragement.  When he stopped, and let go my hand, I
curtsied respectfully, and was moving on ; but he again caught my
fist, and, fixing me, with looks of strong though smiling
investigation, he appeared archly desirous to read the lines of
my face, as if to deduce from them the qualities of my mind. His
manner, however, was so polite and so gentle that he did not at
all discountenance me : and though he resumed the praise of my
little works, he uttered the panegyric with a benignity so gay as
well as flattering, that I felt enlivened, nay, elevated, with a
joy that overcame mauvaise honte.

The Duc de Duras, who had hurried on all others, seeing he had no
chance to dismiss me with the same sans c‚r‚monie speed, now
joined his voice to exalt my satisfaction, by saying, at the next
pause, "et M. d'Arblay, sire, bon et brave, est un des plus
devou‚s et fidŠles serviteurs de votre majest‚."(241)

The king with a gracious little motion of his head, and with eyes
of the most pleased benevolence, expressively said, "Je le
Crois."(242)  And a third time he stopped my retiring curtsey, to
take my hand.

This last stroke gave me such delight, for my absent best ami,
that I could not again attempt to speak. The king pressed my
hand--wrist I should say, for it was that he grasped, and then
saying, "Bon jour, madame la comtesse," let me go.
Page 288

My eyes were suffused with tears, from mingled emotions I glided
nimbly through the crowd to a corner at the other end of the
room, where Lady Crewe joined me almost instantly, and with
felicitations the most amiably cordial and lively.

We then repaired to a side-board on which we contrived to seat
ourselves, and Lady Crewe named to me the numerous personages of
rank who passed on before us for presentation. But every time any
one espied her and approached,, she named me also; an honour to
which I was very averse. This I intimated, but to no purpose; she
went on her own way. The curious stares this produced, in my
embarrassed state of spirits, from recent grief, were really
painful to sustain ; but when the seriousness of my
representation forced her to see that I was truly in earnest in
my desire to remain unnoticed, she was so much vexed, and even
provoked, that she very gravely begged that, if such were the
case, I would move a little farther from her; saying, "If one
must be so ill-natured to people as not to name you, I had rather
not seem to know who you are myself."


                       AN IMPORTANT LETTER DELAYED.

When, at length, her ladyship's chariot was announced, we drove
to Great Cumberland-place, Lady Crewe being so kind as to convey
me to Mrs. Angerstein. As Lady Crewe was too much in haste to
alight, the sweet Amelia Angerstein came to the carriage to speak
to her, and to make known that a letter had arrived from M. de la
Chƒtre relative to my presentation, which, by a mistake of
address, had not come in time for my reception.(244)

This note dispelled all of astonishment that had enveloped with
something like incredulity my own feelings and perceptions in my
unexpected presentation and reception. The king himself had
personally desired to bestow upon me this mark of royal favour.
What difficulty, what embarrassment, what confusion should I have
escaped, had not that provoking mistake which kept back my letter
occurred

Page 289

                      M. D'ARBLAY ARRIVES IN ENGLAND.

Madame d"Arblay to Mrs. locke.)
April 30, 1814.
My own dearest friend must be the first, as she will be among the
warmest, to participate in my happiness--M. d'Arblay is arrived.
He came yesterday, quite unexpectedly as to the day, but not very
much quicker than my secret hopes. He is extremely fatigued with
all that has passed, yet well ; and all himself, i.e., all that
is calculated to fill my heart with gratitude for my lot in life.
How would my beloved father have rejoiced in his sight, and in
these glorious new events!(245)


                          A BRILLIANT ASSEMBLAGE.

(Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay)
June 18, 1814.
Ah, mon ami! you are really, then, well?--really in Paris?--
really without hurt or injury?  What I have suffered from a
suspense that has no name from its misery shall now be buried in
restored peace, and hope, and happiness.  With the most fervent
thanks to providence that my terrors are removed, and that I have
been tortured by only false apprehensions, I will try to banish
from my mind all but the joy, and gratitude to heaven, that your
safety and health inspire. Yet still, it is difficult to me to
feel assured that all is well ! I have so long been the victim to
fear and anguish, that my spirits cannot at once get back their
equilibrium. . . .

Hier j'ai quitt‚ ma retraite, trŠs volontiers, pour(246) indulge
myself with the sight of the Emperor of Russia. How was I charmed
with his pleasing, gentle, and so perfectly unassuming air,
manner, and demeanour! I was extremely gratified, also, by seeing
the King of Prussia, who interests us all here, by a look that
still indicates his tender regret for the partner of his hopes,
toils, and sufferings, but not of his victories and enjoyments.
It was at the queen's palace I saw them by especial and most
gracious permission. The Prussian princes, six in number, and the
young prince of Mecklenburg, and the Duchess of Oldenbourg, were
of the party. All our royal
Page 290

dukes assisted, and the Princesses Augusta and Mary.  The
Princess Charlotte looked quite beautiful.  She is wonderfully
improved.  It was impossible not to be struck with her personal
attractions, her youth, and splendour.  The Duchess of York
looked amongst the happiest; the King of Prussia is her brother.


               M. D'ARBLAY ENTERS Louis XVIII.'S BODY-GUARD.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. locke.)
London, July, 1814.
After a most painful suspense I have been at length relieved by a
letter from Paris.  It is dated the 18th of June, and has been a
fortnight on the road.  It is, he says, his fourth letter, and he
had not then received one of the uneasy tribe of my own.

The consul-generalship is, alas, entirely relinquished, and that
by M. d'Arblay himself, who has been invited into the garde du
corps by the Duc de Luxembourg, for his own company an invitation
he deemed it wrong to resist at such a moment ; and he has since
been named one of the officers of the garde du corps by the king,
Louis XVIII., to whom he had taken the customary oath that very
day--the 18th.

The season, however, of danger over, and the throne and order
steadily re-established, he will still, I trust and believe,
retire to civil domestic life.  May it be speedily!  After twenty
years' lying by, I cannot wish to see him re-enter a military
career at sixty years of age, though still young in all his
faculties and feelings, and in his capacity of being as useful to
others as to himself. There is a time, however, when the poor
machine, though still perfect in a calm, is unequal to a storm.
Private life, then, should be sought while it yet may be enjoyed;
and M. d'Arblay has resources for retirement the most delightful,
both for himself and his friends. He is dreadfully worn and
fatigued by the last year; and he began his active services at
thirteen years of age.  He is now past sixty. Every propriety,
therefore, will abet my wishes, when the king no longer requires
around him his tried and faithful adherents.  And, indeed, I am
by no means myself insensible to what is so highly gratifying to
his feelings as this mark of distinction bien plus honorable,
cependant,(247) as he adds, than lucrative. . . . . .

Page 291

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
August 9, 1814.
The friends of M. d'A. in Paris are now preparing to claim for
him his rank in the army, as he held it under Louis XVI., of
mar‚chal de Camp; and as the Duc de Luxembourg will present, in
person, the demand au roi, there is much reason to expect it will
be granted.

M. de Thuisy, who brought your letter from Adrienne, has given a
flourishing account of M. d'A. in his new uniform, though the
uniform itself, he says, is very ugly. But so sought is the
company of the garde du corps du roi that the very privates, M.
de T. says, are gentlemen. M. d'A. himself has only the place of
sous-lieutenant; but it is of consequence sufficient, in that
company, to be signed by the king, who had rejected two officers
that had been named to him just before he gave his signature for
M. d'A.

August 24, 1814.
M. d'Arblay has obtained his rank, and the kind king has dated it
from the aera when the original brevet was signed by poor Louis
XVI. in 1792.

[Here follows, in the original edition, a long letter in French
from M. d'Arblay to his wife, dated " Paris, August 3 0, 1814. "
He records the enthusiasm manifested by the people of Paris on
the arrival of the king and the Duchess of Angoulˆme, and the
flattering reception given by the king to the Duke of Wellington.
"After having testified his satisfaction at the sentiments which
the duke had just expressed to him on the part of the prince
regent, and told him that he infinitely desired to see the peace
which had been so happily concluded, established on solid
foundations, his majesty added, 'For that I shall have need of
the powerful co-operation of his royal highness. The choice which
he has made of you, sir, gives me hope of it. He honours me. . .
. I am proud to see that the first ambassador sent to me by
England is the justly celebrated Duke of Wellington."' M.
d'Arblay counts with certainty upon his wife's joining him in
November, and ventures upon the unlucky assertion that " the
least doubt of the stability of the paternal government, which
has been so miraculously restored to us, is no longer
admissible."-ED.]

(214) Lyons rebelled against the Republic in the summer of 1793:
against Jacobinism, in the first instance, and guillotined its
jacobin leader, Chalier; later it declared for the king. After a
long siege and a heroic defence, Lyons surrendered to the
Republicans, October 9, 1793, and Fouch‚ was one of the
commissioners sent down by the Convention to execute vengeance on
the unfortunate town. A terrible vengeance was taken.  "The
Republic must march to liberty over corpses," said Fouch‚; and
thousands of the inhabitants were shot or guillotined. -ED.

(215) The reputed assassin of the Duc d'Enghien. ["Assassin" is
surely an unnecessarily strong term. The seizure of the Duke
d'Enghien on neutral soil was illegal and indefensible: but he
was certainly guilty of conspiring against the government of his
country.  He was arrested, by Napoleon's orders, in the
electorate of Baden, in March, 1804; carried across the frontier,
conveyed to Vincennes, tried by court-martial, condemned, and
shot forthwith.-ED.]

(216) The disastrous campaign in Russia. Napoleon left Paris on
the 9th Of May, 1812.-ED.

(217) "So that we divine her meaning."

(218) "Who are you?

"My name is d'Arblay."

"Are you married?"

"Yes."

"Where is your husband?"

"At Paris."

"Who is he?"

"He works in the Home Office."

"Why are you leaving him?"

(219) "You are English?"

(220) "Follow me!"

(221) "You do not think proper to follow me, then?"

(222) "I have nothing to do here, sir, I believe."

(223) "We shall see!"  "

(224) "Young Man!"


(225) Her sister Charlotte, formerly Mrs. Francis.-ED.

(226) The 20th of August.-ED.

(227) Mrs Crewe's husband, John Crewe of Crewe Hall, cheshire,
had been created a peer by the title of Baron Crewe of Crewe, in
1806.-ED.

(228) An attempt to enter her apartment by a crazy woman.

(229) " Hunted out of France." The work in question was Madame de
Stael's book on Germany (De l'Allemagne), which had been printed
at Paris, and of which the entire edition had been seized by the
police before its publication, on the plea that it contained
passages offensive to the government.  The authoress, moreover,
was ordered to quit France, and joined her father at Coppet in
Switzerland-ED.

(230) No doubt, for his uncle's school.  Dr Charles Burney had
left Hammersmith and established his school at Greenwich in
1793.-ED.

(231) William Wilberforce, the celebrated philanthropist, was
born at Htill in 1759.  He devoted his life to the cause of the
negro slaves; and to his exertions in Parliament were chiefly due
the abolition of the slave trade in 1807, and the total abolition
of slavery in the English colonies in 1833.  He died in the
latter year, thanking God that he "had seen the day in which
England was willing to give twenty millions sterling for the
abolition of slavery."-ED.

(232) Narbonne was appointed by Napoleon, during the campaign of
1813, governor of the fortress of Torgau, on the Elbe.  He
defended the place with great resolution, even after the emperor
had been obliged to retreat beyond the Rhine, but unhappily took
the fever, and died there, November 17, 1813.-ED.

(233) This proved to be a false report. General Victor de Latour
Maubourg suffered the amputation of a leg at Leipzic, where he
fought bravely in the service of the Emperor Napoleon.  But he
did not die of his wound, and we find him, in 1815, engaged in
raising volunteers for the service of Louis XVIII.-ED.

(234) Here is evidently a mistake as to the month: the date, no
doubt, should be April 19.  Dr. Burney died on the 12th of April,
1814.-ED.

 (235) Dr. Charles Burney.-ED.

(236) Marie Th‚rŠse Charlotte, Duchess of Angoulˆme, was the
daughter of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.  She was born in
1778, and, after the execution of her father and mother she was
detained in captivity in Paris until December, 1795, when she was
delivered up to the Austrians in exchange for certain French
prisoners of war.  in 1799 she married her cousin, the Duke of
Angoulˆme, son of Louis XVI's brother, the Count d'Artois,
(afterwards Charles X. of France). On the return of Napoleon from
Elba, the Duchess of Angoulˆme so distinguished herself by her
exertions and the spirit which she displayed in the king's cause,
that Napoleon said of her " she was the only man in her
family."-ED.

(237) Henry Grattan, the Irish statesman, orator, and patriot.
Already one of the most distinguished members of the Irish
Parliament, he vigorously opposed the legislative union of Great
Britain and Ireland in 1800. He sat in the Imperial Parliament as
member for Dublin from 1806 until his death in 1820, in his
seventy-fourth year.  As an orator, Mr. Lecky writes of him, "He
was almost unrivalled in crushing invective, in delineations of
character, and in brief, keen arguments; carrying on a train of
sustained reason he was not so happy."-ED.

(238) Louis XVIII., formerly known as the Count of Provence, was
the brother of the unfortunate Louis XVI.  "Louis XVII" was the
title given by the royalists to the young son of Louis XVI., who
died, a prisoner, in June, 1795, some two years after the
execution of his father.-ED.

(239) "There is Madame d'Arblay; she must be presented."

(240) What a moment for her noble country, and what a subject for
pride and exultation!  Were we not very sure of Fanny's
sincerity, it were scarcely possible to read with patience such
passages as this and others similarly extravagant.  Her common
sense seems to take flight in the presence of royalty.-ED.

(242) "And M. d'Arblay, Sire, good and brave, is one of your
majesty's most devoted and faithful servants."

(243) "I believe it."

(244) This letter, addressed to Mrs. Angerstein, was to the
effect that the Duchess of Angoulˆme would be very pleased to
receive Madame d'Arblay, at 72 South Audley-street, between three
and half-past three ; and that the king (Louis XVIII.) also
desired to see her, and would receive between four and five.-ED.

(245) M. d'Arblay returned to France in the following June. -ED.

(246) Yesterday I left my retreat, very willingly, to-"

(247) "Far more honorable, nevertheless---"




Page 292
SECTION 24.
                                  (1815)

      MADAME D'ARBLAY AGAIN IN FRANCE: BONAPARTE'S ESCAPE FROM
ELBA.



(The two following sections contain Fanny's account of her
adventures during the " Hundred Days " which elapsed between the
return of Napoleon from Elba and his final downfall and
abdication. This narrative may be recommended to the reader as an
interesting supplement to the history of that period. The great
events of the time, the triumphal progress of the emperor, the
battles which decided his destiny and the fate of Europe, we hear
of only at a distance, by rumour or chance intelligence ; but our
author brings vividly before us, and with the authenticity of
personal observation, the disturbed state of the country, the
suspense, the alarms, the distress occasioned by the war.  To
refresh our readers' memories, we give an epitome, as brief as
possible, of the events to which Madame d'Arblay's narrative
forms, as it were, a background.

When Napoleon abdicated the imperial throne, in April, 1814, the
allied powers consented by treaty to confer upon him the
sovereignty of the island of Elba, with a revenue of two million
francs. To Elba he was accordingly banished, but the revenue was
never paid.  This disgraceful infringement of the treaty of
Fontainebleau, joined to the accounts which he received of the
state of public feeling in France, determined him to make the
attempt to regain his lost empire. March 1, 1815, he landed at
Cannes, with a few hundred men. He was everywhere received with
the utmost enthusiasm.  The troops sent to oppose him joined his
standard with shouts of "Vive l'empereur!"  March 20, he entered
Paris in triumph, Louis XVIII having taken his departure the
preceding evening, "amidst the tears and lamentations of several
courtiers."(248)

The congress of the allied powers at Vienna proclaimed the
emperor an outlaw, not choosing to remember that the treaty which
they accused him of breaking, had been first violated by
themselves. To his offers of negotiation they replied not. The
Page 293

English army under the Duke of Wellington, the Prussian under
Prince Bl‹cher occupied Belgium; the Austrians and Russians were
advancing in immense force towards the Rhine. Anxious to strike a
blow before the arrival of the latter Napoleon left Paris for
Belgium, June 12. His army amounted to about one hundred and
twenty thousand men. On the 15th the fighting commenced, h and
the advanced guard of the Prussians was driven back. On the 16th,
Bl�cher was attacked at Ligny, and defeated with terrible loss;
but Marshal Ney was unsuccessful in an attack upon the combined
English and Belgian army at Quatre Bras. Sunday, June 18, was the
day of the decisive battle of Waterloo. After the destruction of
his army, Napoleon hastened to Paris, but all hope was at an end.
He abdicated the throne for the second time, proceeded to
Rochefort, and voluntarily surrendered himself to Captain
Maitland, of the English seventy-four, Bellerophon.  He was
conveyed to England, but was not permitted to land, and passed
the few remaining years of his life a prisoner in the island of
St. Helena.-ED.]


                AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME.

I come now to my audience with Madame, Duchesse d'Angoulˆme.(249)
As I had missed, through a vexatious mistake, the honour she had
herself intended me, of presentation in England, my own
condescending royal mistress, Queen Charlotte, recommended my
claiming its performance on my return to Paris.  M. d'Arblay then
consulted with the Vicomte d'Agoult, his intimate early friend,
how to repair in France my English deprivation. M. d'Agoult was
‚cuyer to her royal highness, and high in her confidence and
favour. He advised me simply to faire ma cour as the wife of a
superior officer in the garde du corps du roi, at a public
drawing-room; but the great exertion and publicity, joined to the
expense Of such a presentation, made me averse, in all ways, to
this proposal; and when M. d'Arblay protested I had not anything
in view but to pay my respectful devoirs to her royal highness,
M. d'Agoult undertook to make known my wish.  It soon proved that
this alone was necessary for its success, for madame la duchesse
Page 294

instantly recollected what had passed in England, and said she
would name, with pleasure, the first moment in her power -
expressing an impatience on her own part that an interview should
not be delayed which had been desired by her majesty Queen
Charlotte of England. . . .

I have omitted to mention that on the Sunday preceding, the
Duchess d'Angoulˆme, at Court, had deigned to tell my best friend
that she was reading, and with great pleasure, Madame d'Arblay's
last work. He expressed his gratification, and added that he
hoped it was in English, as her altesse royale so well knew that
language. No, she answered, it was the translation she read; the
original she had not been able to procure. On this M. d'Arblay
advised me to send a copy. I had none bound, but the set which
had come back to me from my dear father. This, however, M. d'A.
carried to the Vicomte d'Agoult, with a note from me in which,
through the medium of M. d'Agoult, I supplicated leave from her
royal highness to lay at her feet this only English set I
possessed. In the most gracious manner possible, as the Vicomte
told M. d'Arblay, her royal highness accepted the work, and
deigned also to keep the billet.  She had already, unfortunately,
finished the translation, but she declared her intention to read
the original.

Previously to my presentation, M. d'Arblay took me to the salon
of the exhibition of pictures, to view a portrait of Madame
d'Angoulˆme, that I might make some acquaintance with her face
before the audience.  This portrait was deeply interesting, but
deeply melancholy.


                         ARRIVAL AT THE TUILERIES.

All these precautions taken, I went, at the appointed hour and
morning, about the end of February, 1815, to the palace of the
Tuileries, escorted by the most indulgent of husbands we repaired
instantly to the apartment of the Duchesse de Serrent, who
received us with the utmost politeness; she gave us our lesson
how to proceed, and then delivered us over to some page of her
royal highness.

We were next shown into a very large apartment. I communicated to
the page a request that he would endeavour to make known to M. de
Montmorency that I was arrived, and how much I wished to see him.
In a minute or two came forth a tall, sturdy dame, who
Page 295

immediately addressed me by my name, and spoke with an air, that
demanded my returning her compliment. I could not, however,
recollect her till she said she had formerly met me at the
Princess d'Henin's. I then recognised the dowager Duchesse de
Duras, whom, in fact, I had seen last at the Princesse de
Chimay's, in the year 1812, just before my first return to
England; and had received from her a commission to acquaint the
royal family of France that her son, the duke, had kept aloof
from all service under Bonaparte, though he had been named in the
gazettes as having accepted the place of chamberlain to the then
emperor. Yet such was the subjection, at that time, of all the
old nobility to the despotic power of that mighty ruler, that M.
de Duras had not dared to contradict the paragraph.

She then said that her altesse royale was expecting me; and made
a motion that I should pursue my way into the next room, M.
d'Arblay no longer accompanying me. But before I disappeared she
assured me that I should meet with a most gracious reception, for
her altesse royale had declared she would see me with marked
favour, if she saw no other English whatsoever; because Madame
d'Arblay, she said, was the only English person who had been
peculiarly recommended to her notice by the Queen of England.

In the next, which was another very large apartment, I was
received by a lady much younger and more agreeable than Madame de
Duras, gaily and becomingly dressed, and wearing a smiling air
with a sensible face.  I afterwards heard it was Madame de
Choisy, who, a few years later, married the Vicomte d'Agoult.

Madame de Choisy instantly began some compliments, but finding
she only disconcerted me, she soon said she must not keep me
back, and curtsied me on to another room, into which she shut me.


                            A MISAPPREHENSION.

I here imagined I was to find M. de Montmorency, but I saw only a
lady, who stood at the upper end of the apartment, and slightly
curtsied, but without moving or speaking. Concluding this to be
another dame de la cour, from my internal persuasion that
ultimately I was to be presented by M. de Montmorency, I
approached her composedly, with a mere common inclination of the
head, and looked wistfully forward to the further door. She
inquired politely after my
Page 296

health, expressing good-natured concern to hear it had been
deranged, and adding that she was bien aise de me voir.](250)  I
thanked her, with some expression of obligation to her civility,
but almost without looking at her, from perturbation lest some
mistake had intervened to prevent my introduction, as I still saw
nothing of M. de Montmorency.

She then asked me if I would not sit down, taking a seat at the
same time herself. I readily complied; but was too much occupied
with the ceremony I was awaiting to discourse, though she
immediately began what was meant for a conversation. I hardly
heard, or answered, so exclusively was my attention engaged in
watching the door through which I was expecting a summons; till,
at length, the following words rather surprised me (I must write
them in English, for my greater ease, though they were spoken in
French)--"I am quite sorry to have read your last charming work
in French."

My eyes now changed their direction from the door to her face, to
which I hastily turned my head, as she added,--"Puis-je le garder
le livre que vous m'avez envoy‚?"(251)


                     A DISCOVERY AND A RECTIFICATION.

Startled, as if awakened from a dream, I fixed her and perceived
the same figure that I had seen at the salon.  I now felt sure I
was already in the royal presence of the Duchesse d'Angoulˆme,
with whom I had seated myself almost cheek by jowl, without the
smallest suspicion of my situation.

I really seemed thunderstruck. I had approached her with so
little formality, I had received all her graciousness with so
little apparent sense of her condescension, I had taken my seat,
nearly unasked, so completely at my ease, and I had pronounced so
unceremoniously the plain "vous," without softening it off with
one single "altesse royale," that I had given her reason to think
me either the most forward person in my nature, or the worst bred
]In my education, existing.

I was in a consternation and a confusion that robbed me of
breath; and my first impulse was to abruptly arise, confess my
error, and offer every respectful apology I could devise; but as
my silence and strangeness produced silence, a pause ensued that
gave me a moment for reflection, which represented
Page 297

to me that son altesse royale might be seriously hurt, that
nothing in her demeanour had announced her, rank; and such a
discovery might lead to increased distance and reserve in her
future conduct upon other extra audiences, that could not but be
prejudicial to her popularity, which already was injured by an
opinion extremely unjust, but very generally spread, of her
haughtiness. It was better, therefore, to be quiet, and to let
her suppose that embarrassment, and English awkwardness and
mauvaise honte, had occasioned my unaccountable manners. I
preserved, therefore, my taciturnity, till, tired of her own, she
gently repeated, "Puis-je le garder, cette copie que vous m'avez
envoy‚?" civilly adding that she should be happy to read it again
when she had a little forgotten it, and had a little more time.

I seized this fortunate moment to express my grateful
acknowledgments for her goodness, with the most unaffected
sincerity, yet scrupulously accompanied with all the due forms of
profound respect.

What she thought of so sudden a change of dialect I have no means
of knowing ; hut I could not, for a long time afterwards, think
of it myself with a grave countenance. From that time, however, I
failed not to address her with appropriate reverence, though, as
it was too late now to assume the distant homage pertaining, of
course, to her very high rank, I insensibly suffered one
irregularity to lead to, nay to excuse another; for I passed over
all the etiquette d'usage, of never speaking but en r‚ponse; and
animated myself to attempt to catch her attention, by conversing
with fullness and spirit upon every subject she began, or led to
; and even by starting subjects myself, when she was silent. This
gave me an opportunity of mentioning many things that had
happened in Paris during my long ten years' uninterrupted
residence, which were evidently very interesting to her. Had she
become grave, or inattentive, I should have drawn back _; but, on
the contrary, she grew more and more ‚veill‚e, and her
countenance was lighted up with the most encouraging approval.


                 CONVERSATION ON MADAME D'ARBLAY's ESCAPE
                        AND M. D'ARBLAY'S LOYALTY.

She was curious, she said, to know how I got over to England in
the year 1812, having been told that I had effected my escape by
an extraordinary disguise.  I assured her that
Page 298

I had not escaped at all; as so to have done must have endangered
the generous husband and father, who permitted mine and his son's
departure.  I had procured a passport for us both, which was
registered in the ordinary manner, chez le ministre de police for
foreign affairs; ches- one, I added, whose name I could not
pronounce in her royal highness's hearing; but to whom I had not
myself applied. She well knew I meant Savary, Duc de Rovigo,
whose history with respect to the murdered Due d'Enghien has,
since that period, been so variously related.  I was then
embarrassed, for I had owed my passport to the request of Madame
d'A., who was distantly connected with Savary, and who had
obtained it to oblige a mutual friend ; I found, however, to my
great relief, that the duchess possessed the same noble delicacy
that renders all private intercourse with my own exemplary
princesses as safe for others as it is honourable to myself; for
she suffered me to pass by the names of my assistants, when I
said they were friends who exerted themselves for me in
consideration of my heavy grief, in an absence of ten years from
a father whom I had left at the advanced age of seventy-five;
joined to my terror lest my son should remain till he attained
the period of the conscription, and be necessarily drawn into the
military service of Bonaparte. And, indeed, these two points
could alone, with all my eagerness to revisit my native land,
have induced me to make the journey by a separation from my best
friend.

This led me to assume courage to recount some of the prominent
parts of the conduct of M. d'Arblay during our ten years'
confinement, rather than residence, in France ; I thought this
necessary, lest our sojourn during the usurpation should be
misunderstood.  I told her, in particular, of three high military
appointments which he had declined.  The first was to be head of
l'‚tat major of a regiment under a general whose name I cannot
spell--in the army of Poland, a post of which the offer was
procured for him by M. de Narbonne, then aide-de-camp to
Bonaparte.  The second was an offer, through General Gassendi, of
being Commander of Palma Nuova, whither M. d'A. might carry his
wife and son, as he was to have the castle for his residence, and
there was no war with Italy at that time. The third offer was a
very high one: it was no less than the command of Cherbourg, as
successor to M. le Comte de la Tour Maubourg, who was sent
elsewhere, by still higher promotion. Steady, however,
Page 299

invariably steady was M. d'Arblay never to serve against his
liege sovereign, General Gassendi, one of the most zealous of his
friends, contrived to cover up this dangerous rejection and M.
d'Arblay continued In his humbler but far more' meritorious
Office Of sous Chef to one of the bureaux de l,int‚rieur.

I had now the pleasure to hear the princess say, "Il a aqi bien
noblement."(252)  "For though he would take no part," I added, …
la guerre, nor yet in the diplomatie, he could have no objection
to making plans, arrangements, buildings, and so forth, of
monuments, hospitals, and palaces; for at that period, palaces,
like princes, were ‚lev‚s tous les jours."(253)

She could not forbear smiling; and her smile, which is rare, is
so peculiarly becoming, that it brightens her countenance into a
look of youth and beauty.

"But why," I cried, recollecting myself, "should I speak French,
when your royal highness knows English so well?"

"O, no!" cried she, shaking her head, "very bad!"

>From that time, however, I spoke in my own tongue, and saw myself
perfectly understood, though those two little words were the only
English ones she uttered herself, replying always in French.

"Le roi," she said, "se rapelle tr…s bien de vous avoir vu …
Londres."(254)

"O, je n'en doute nullement,"(255) I replied, rather naŒvely,
"for there passed a scene that cannot be forgotten, and that
surprised me into courage to come forward, after I had spent the
whole morning in endeavouring to shrink backward. And I could not
be sorry--for I felt that his majesty could not he offended at a
vivacity which his own courtesy to England excited."

The princess smiled, with a graciousness that assured me I had
not mistaken the king's benevolence, of which she evidently
partook.


                THE PRINCE REGENT THE DUCHEss's FAVOURITE.

The conversation then turned upon the royal family of England,
and it was inexpressibly gratifying to me to hear her just
appreciation of the virtues, the intellectual endowments, the '

Page 300

sweetness of manner, and the striking grace of every one,
according to their different character, that was mentioned. The
prince regent, however, was evidently her favourite. The noble
style in which he had treated her and all her family at his
Carlton House fˆte, in the midst of their misfortunes, and while
so much doubt hung against every chance of those misfortunes
being ever reversed, did so much honour to his heart and proved
so solacing to their woes and humiliation, that she could never
revert to that public testimony of his esteem and goodwill
without the most glowing gratitude.

"O!" she cried, "il a ‚t‚ parfait!"(256)

The Princesse Elise,(257) with whom she was in correspondence,
seemed to stand next.  "C'est elle," she said, "qui fait les
honneurs de la famille royale,(258) and with a charm the most
enlivening and delightful."

The conference was only broken up by a summons to the king's
dinner. My audience, however, instead of a few minutes, for which
the Duchesse de Duras had prepared me, was extended to
three-quarters of an hour, by the watch of my kind husband, who
waited, with some of his old friends whom he had joined in the
palace, to take me home.

The princess, as she left me to go down a long corridor to the
dining apartment, took leave of me in a manner the most gracious,
honouring me with a message to her majesty the queen of England,
of her most respectful homage, and with her kind and affectionate
remembrance to all the princesses, with warm assurances of her
eternal attachment.  She then moved on, but again stopped when
going, to utter some sentences most grateful to my ears, of her
high devotion to the queen and deep sense of all her virtues. I
little thought that this, my first, would prove also my last,
meeting with this exemplary princess, whose worth, courage,
fortitude, and piety are universally acknowledged, but whose
powers of pleasing seem little known. After an opening such as
this, how little could I foresee that this interview was to be a
final one! . . . Alas! in a day or two after it had taken place,
son altesse royale set out for Bordeaux. . . . And then followed
the return of Bonaparte from Elba, and then the Hundred Days.

 Page 301

       NARRATIVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S FLIGHT FROM PARIS TO
BRUSSELS

[The following Narrative was written some time after the events
described took place.  It is judged better to print it in a
connected form : a few of the letters written on the spot being
subsequently given.]


           PREVAILING INERTIA ON BONAPARTE'S RETURN FROM ELBA.

I have no remembrance how I first heard of the return of
Bonaparte from Elba.  Wonder at his temerity was the impression
made by the news, but wonder unmixed with apprehension.  This
inactivity of foresight was universal. A torpor indescribable, a
species of stupor utterly indefinable, seemed to have enveloped
the capital with a mist that was impervious. Everybody went about
their affairs, made or received visits, met, and parted, without
speaking, or, I suppose , thinking of this event as of a matter
of any importance. My own participation in this improvident
blindness is to myself incomprehensible. Ten years I had lived
under the dominion of Bonaparte; I had been in habits of intimacy
with many friends of those who most closely surrounded him; I was
generously trusted, as one with whom information, while
interesting and precious, would be inviolably safe-as one, in
fact, whose honour was the honour of her spotless husband, and
therefore invulnerable : well, therefore, by narrations the most
authentic, and by documents the most indisputable, I knew the
character of Bonaparte ; and marvellous beyond the reach of my
comprehension is my participation in this inertia. . . .

Thus familiar to his practices, thus initiated in his resources,
thus aware of his gigantic ideas of his own destiny, how could I
for a moment suppose he would re-visit France without a
consciousness of success, founded upon some secret conviction
that it was infallible, through measures previously arranged ? I
can only conclude that my understanding, such as it is, was
utterly tired out by a long harass of perpetual alarm and
sleepless apprehension. Unmoved, therefore, I remained in the
general apparent repose which, if it were as real in those with
whom I mixed as in myself, I now deem a species of infatuation.
Whether or not M. d'Arblay was involved in the general failure of
foresight I have mentioned, I never now can ascertain. To spare
me any evil tidings, and save me from

Page 302

even the shadow of any unnecessary alarm, was the first and
constant solicitude of his indulgent goodness.

At this period he returned to Paris to settle various matters for
our Senlis residence. We both now knew the event that so soon was
to monopolize all thought and all interest throughout Europe: but
we knew it without any change in our way of life; on the
contrary, we even resumed our delightful airings in the Bois de
Boulogne, whither the general drove me every morning in a light
calŠche, of which he had possessed himself upon his entrance into
the king's body-guard the preceding year.

Brief, however, was this illusion, and fearful was the light by
which its darkness was dispersed.  In a few days we hear that
Bonaparte, whom we had concluded to be, of course, either stopped
at landing and taken prisoner, or forced to save himself by
flight, was, on the contrary, pursuing unimpeded his route to
Lyons.

>From this moment disguise, if any there had been, was over with
the most open and frank of human beings, who never even
transitorily practised it but to keep off evil, or its
apprehension, from others. He communicated to me now his strong
view of danger ; not alone that measures might be taken to secure
my safety, but to spare me any sudden agitation. Alas! none was
spared to himself! More clearly than any one he anticipated the
impending tempest, and foreboded its devastating effects.  He
spoke aloud and strenuously, with prophetic energy, to all with
whom he was then officially associated but the greater part
either despaired of resisting the torrent, or disbelieved its
approach. What deeply interesting scenes crowd upon my
remembrance, of his noble, his daring, but successless exertions!
The king's body-guard immediately de service,(259) at that time,
was the compagnie of the Prince de Poix, a man of the most
heartfelt loyalty, but who had never served, and who was
incapable of so great a command at so critical a juncture, from
utter inexperience.


          BONAPARTE'S ADVANCE: CONTEMPLATED MIGRATION FROM PARIS.

At this opening of the famous Hundred Days it seemed to occur to
no one that Bonaparte would make any attempt upon Paris.  It was
calmly taken for granted he would

Page 303

speedily escape back to Elba, or remain in the south a prisoner -
and it was only amongst deep or restless politicians that any
inquietude was manifested with respect to either of these
results. Madame la Princesse d'Henin, indeed, whom I was in the
habit of frequently meeting, had an air and Manner that announced
perturbation ; but her impetuous spirit in politics kept her mind
always in a state of energy upon public affairs.

But when Bonaparte actually arrived at Lyons the face of affairs
changed. Expectation was then awakened--consternation began to
spread; and report went rapidly to her usual work, of now
exciting nameless terror, and now allaying even reasonable
apprehension.

To me, every moment became more anxious.  I saw General d'Arblay
imposing upon himself a severity of service for which he had no
longer health or strength, and imposing it only the more rigidly
from the fear that his then beginning weakness and infirmities
should seem to plead for indulgence. it was thus that he insisted
upon going through the double duty of artillery officer at the
barracks, and of officier sup‚rieur in the king's body-guards at
the Tuileries, The smallest representation to M. le Duc de
Luxembourg, who had a true value for him, would have procured a
substitute: but he would not hear me upon such a proposition; he
would sooner, far, have died at his post, He now almost lived
either at the Tuileries or at the barracks. I only saw him when
business or military arrangements brought him home; but he kindly
sent me billets to appease my suspense every two or three hours.

The project upon Paris became at length obvious, yet its success
was little feared, though the horrors of a civil war seemed
inevitable. M. d'Arblay began to wish me away; he made various
propositions for ensuring my safety; he even pressed me to depart
for England to rejoin Alexander and my family: but I knew them to
be in security, whilst my first earthly tie was exposed to every
species of danger, and I besought him not to force me away. He
was greatly distressed, but could not oppose my urgency. He
procured me, however, a passport from M. le Comte de Jaucourt,
his long attached friend, who was minister aux affaires
‚trangŠres(260) ad interim, while Talleyrand Perigord was with
the Congress at Vienna.

Page 304

I received it most unwillingly: I could not endure to absent
myself from the seat of government,-for I little divined how soon
that government was to change its master. Nevertheless, the
prudence of this preparatory measure soon became conspicuous, for
the very following day I heard of nothing but purposed
emigrations from Paris-retirement, concealment, embarrassments,
and difficulties.  My sole personal joy was that my younger
Alexander was far away, and safely lodged in the only country of
safety.

But, on the 17th, hope again revived. I received these words from
my best friend, written on a scrap of paper torn from a parcel,
and brought to me by his groom from the palace of the Tuileries,
where their writer had passed the night mounting guard:--

"Nous avons de meilleures nouvelles. Je ne puis entrer dans aucun
d‚tail; mais sois tranquille, et aime bien qui t'aime
uniquement.(261)  God bless you."

This news hung upon the departure of Marshal Ney to meet
Bonaparte and stop his progress, with the memorable words uttered
publicly to the king, that he would bring him to Paris in an iron
cage. The king at this time positively announced and protested
that he would never abandon his throne nor quit his capital,
Paris.

Various of my friends called upon me this day, all believing the
storm was blowing over. Madame Chastel and her two daughters were
calm, but, nevertheless, resolved to visit a small terre(262)
which they possessed, till the metropolis was free from all
contradictory rumours. Madame de Cadignan preserved her
imperturbable gaiety and carelessness, and said she should stay,
happen what might ; for what mischief could befall a poor widow ?
Her sportive smiles and laughing eyes displayed her security in
the power of her charms. Madame de Maisonneuve was filled with
apprehensions for her brothers, who were all in highly
responsible situations, and determined to remain in Paris to be
in the midst of them. The Princesse d'Henin came to me daily to
communicate all the intelligence she gathered from the numerous
friends and connections through whom she was furnished with
supplies. Her own plans were incessantly changing, but her
friendship knew no

Page 305

alteration; and in every various modification of her intentions
she always offered to include me in their execution, should my
affairs reduce me, finally, to flight.

Flight, however, was intolerable to my thoughts. I weighed it not
as saving me from Bonaparte - I could consider it only as
separating me from all to which my heart most dearly clung.
Madame d'Henin was undecided whether to go to the north or to the
south-to Bordeaux or to Brussels ; I could not, therefore, even
give a direction to M. d'Arblay where I could receive any
intelligence, and the body-guard of the king was held in utter
suspense as to its destination. This, also, was unavoidable,
since the king himself could only be guided by events.

The next day, the 18th of March, all hope disappeared. From
north, from south, from east, from west, alarm took the field,
danger flashed its lightnings, and contention growled its
thunders: yet in Paris there was no rising, no disturbance, no
confusion--all was taciturn suspense, dark dismay, or sullen
passiveness. The dread necessity which had reduced the king,
Louis XVIII., to be placed on his throne by foreigners, would
have annihilated all enthusiasm of loyalty, if any had been left
by the long underminings of revolutionary principles.

What a day was *this of gloomy solitude! Not a soul approached
me, save, for a few moments, my active Madame d'Henin, who came
to tell me she was preparing to depart, unless a successful
battle should secure the capital from the conqueror. I now
promised that if I should ultimately be compelled to fly my home,
I would thankfully be of her party; and she grasped at this
engagement with an eagerness that gave proof of her sincere and
animated friendship. This intimation was balm to the heart of my
dearest partner, and he wished the measure to be executed and
expedited; but I besought him, as he valued my existence, not to
force me away till every other resource was hopeless.


                 GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S MILITARY PREPARATIONS.

He passed the day almost wholly at the barracks. When he entered
his dwelling, in the Rue de Miromenil, it was only upon military
business, and from that he could spare me scarcely a second. He
was shut up in his library with continual comers and goers; and
though I durst not follow

Page 306

him, I could not avoid gathering, from various circumstances,
that he was now preparing to take the field, in full expectation
of being sent out with his comrades of the guard, to check the
rapid progress of the invader.  I knew this to be his earnest
wish, as the only chance of saving the king and the throne; but
he well knew it was my greatest dread, though I was always silent
upon the subject, well aware that while his honour was dearer to
him than his life, my own sense of duty was dearer to me also
than mine. While he sought, therefore, to spare me the view of
his arms and warlike equipage and habiliments, I felt his wisdom
as well as his kindness, and tried to appear as if I had no
suspicion of his proceedings, remaining almost wholly in my own
room, to avoid any accidental surprise, and to avoid paining him
with the sight of my anguish. I masked it as well as I could for
the little instant he had from time to time to spare me; but
before dinner he left me entirely, having to pass the night …
cheval at the barracks, as he had done the preceding night at the
Tuileries.

The length of this afternoon, evening, and night was scarcely
supportable : his broken health, his altered looks, his frequent
sufferings, and diminished strength, all haunted me with terror,
in the now advancing prospect of his taking the field. And where?
And how? No one knew! Yet he was uncertain whether he could even
see me once more the next day! . . .

I come now to the detail of one of the most dreadful days of my
existence, the 19th of March, 1815, the last which preceded the
triumphant return of Bonaparte to the capital of France. Little,
on its opening, did I imagine that return so near, or believe it
would be brought about without even any attempted resistance.
General d'Arblay, more in the way of immediate intelligence, and
more able to judge of its result, was deeply affected by the most
gloomy prognostics. He came home at about six in the morning,
harassed, worn, almost wasted with fatigue, and yet more with a
baleful view of all around him, and with a sense of wounded
military honour in the inertia which seemed to paralyze all
effort to save the king and his cause. He had spent two nights
following armed on guard, one at the Tuileries, in his duty of
garde du corps to the king; the other on duty as artillery
captain at the barracks.  He went to bed for a few hours ; and
then, after a wretched breakfast in which he
Page 307

briefly narrated the state of things he had witnessed and his
apprehensions, be conjured me, in the most solemn and earnest
manner, to yield to the necessity of the times, and consent to
quit Paris with Madame d'Henin, should she ultimately decide to
depart. I could not, when I saw his sufferings, endure to augment
them by any further opposition; but never was acquiescence so
painful!  To lose even the knowledge whither he went, or the
means of acquainting him whither I might go myself--to be
deprived of the power to join him, should he be made prisoner--or
to attend him, should he be wounded. . . .  I could not pronounce
my consent; but he accepted it so decidedly in my silence, that
he treated it as arranged, and hastened its confirmation by
assuring me I had relieved his mind from a weight of care and
distress nearly intolerable.  As the wife of an officer in the
king's body-guard, in actual service, I might be seized, he
thought, as a kind of hostage, and might probably fare all the
worse for being also an Englishwoman.

He then wrote a most touching note to the Princesse d'Henin,
supplicating her generous friendship to take the charge not only
of my safety, but of supporting and consoling me.

After this, he hurried back to the Tuileries for orders,
apparently more composed; and that alone enabled me to sustain my
so nearly compulsory and so repugnant agreement. His return was
speedy: he came, as he had departed, tolerably composed, for he
had secured me a refuge, and he had received orders to prepare to
march--to Melun, he concluded, to encounter Bonaparte, and to
battle; for certain news had arrived of the invader's rapid
approach. . . . at half-past two; at noon it was expected that
the body-guard would be put in motion. Having told me this
history, he could not spare me another moment till that which
preceded his leaving home to join the Due de Luxembourg's
company. He then came to me, with an air of assumed serenity, and
again, in the most kindly, soothing terms, called upon me to give
him an example of courage. I obeyed his injunction with my best
ability-yet how dreadful was our parting!  We knelt together in
short but fervent prayer to heaven for each other's preservation,
and then separated.  At the door he turned back, and with a smile
which, though forced, had inexpressible sweetness, he half gaily
exclaimed, "Vive le roi!"  I instantly caught his wise
Page 308

wish that we should part with apparent cheerfulness, and reechoed
his words-and then he darted from my sight.

This had passed in an ante-room ; but I then retired to my
bedchamber, where, all effort over, I remained for some minutes
abandoned to an affliction nearly allied to despair, though
rescued from it by fervent devotion.

But an idea then started into my mind that yet again I might
behold him. I ran to a window which looked upon the inward
court-yard. There, indeed, behold him I did, but oh, with what
anguish ! just mounting his war-horse, a noble animal, of which
he was singularly fond, but which at this moment I viewed with
acutest terror, for it seemed loaded with pistols, and equipped
completely for immediate service on the field of battle; while
Deprez, the groom, prepared to mount another, and our cabriolet
was filled with baggage and implements of war.

I could not be surprised, since I knew the destination of the
general ; but so carefully had he spared me the progress of his
preparations, which he thought would be killing me by inches,
that I had not the most distant idea he was thus armed and
encircled with instruments of death-bayonets, lances, pistols,
guns, sabres, daggers !-what horror assailed me at the sight! I
had only so much sense and self-control left as to crawl softly
and silently away, that I might not inflict upon him the
suffering of beholding my distress - but when he had passed the
windows, I opened them to look after him.  The street was empty -
the gay constant gala of a Parisian Sunday was changed into
fearful solitude : no sound was heard, but that of here and there
some hurried footstep, on one hand hastening for a passport to
secure safety by flight ; on the other, rushing abruptly from or
to some concealment, to devise means of accelerating and hailing
the entrance of the conqueror.  Well in tune with this air of an
impending crisis, was my miserable mind, which from grief little
short of torture sunk, at its view, into a state of morbid quiet,
that seemed the produce of feelings totally exhausted.


                  PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT: LEAVE-TAKINGS.

Thus I continued, inert, helpless, motionless, till the Princesse
d'Henin came into my apartment. Her first news was, that
Bonaparte had already reached CompiŠgne, and that to-morrow, the
20th of March, he might arrive in Paris, if the
Page 309

army of the king stopped not his progress.  It was now necessary
to make a prompt decision; my word was given, and I agreed to
accompany her whithersoever she fixed to go. She was STILL
hesitating; but it was settled I should join her in the evening,
bag and baggage, and partake of her destination. . . .

I was now sufficiently roused for action, and my first return to
conscious understanding was a desire to call in and pay every
bill that might be owing, as well as the rent of our apartments
up to the present moment, that no pretence might be assumed from
our absence for disposing of our goods, books, or property of any
description. As we never had any avoidable debts, this was soon
settled ; but the proprietor of the house was thunderstruck by
the measure, saying, the king had reiterated his proclamation
that he would not desert his capital.  I could only reply that
the general was at his majesty's orders, and that my absence
Would be short.  I then began collecting our small portion of
plate, etc.; but while thus occupied, I received a message from
Madame d'Henin, to tell me I must bring nothing but a small
change of linen, and one band-box, as by the news she had just
heard, she was convinced we should be back again in two or three
days, and she charged me to be with her in an hour from that
time. I did what she directed, and put what I most valued, that
was not too large, into a hand-basket, made by some French
prisoners in England, that had been given me by my beloved friend
Mrs. Locke. I then swallowed, standing, my neglected dinner, and,
with Madame Deprez, and my small allowance of baggage, I got into
a fiacre, and drove to General Victor de la Tour Maubourg, to bid
adieu to my dearest Madame de Maisonneuve, and her family.

It was about nine o'clock at night, and very dark. I sent on
Madame Deprez to the princess, and charged her not to return to
summon me till the last moment. The distance was small.

I found the -house of the Marquis Victor de la Tour Maubourg in a
state of the most gloomy dismay. No portier was in the way, but
the door of the porte CocHŠre was ajar, and I entered on foot, no
fiacre being ever admitted into les cours des h“Tels. Officers
and strangers were passing to and fro, some to receive, others to
resign commissions, but all with quick steps, though in dead
silence. Not a servant was in the way, and hardly any light; all
seemed in disorder.

Page 310

groped along till I came to the drawing-room, in which were
several people, waiting for orders, or for an audience ; but in
no communication with each other, for here, also, a dismal
taciturnity prevailed, From my own disturbance, joined to my
short-sightedness, I was some time ere I distinguished Madame
Victor de la Tour Maubourg, and when at last I saw her, I
ventured not to address or to approach her.  She was at a table,
endeavouring to make some arrangement, or package, or
examination, with papers and boxes before her, but deluged in
tears, which flowed so fast that she appeared to have
relinquished all effort to restrain them, And this was the more
affecting to witness, as she is eminently equal and cheerful in
her disposition.  I kept aloof, and am not certain that she even
perceived me.  The general was in his own apartment, transacting
military business of moment.  But no sooner was I espied by my
dearest Madame de Maisonneuve, than I was in her kind arms. She
took me apart to reveal to me that the advance of the late
emperor was still more rapid than its report. All were quitting
Paris, or resigning themselves to passive submission.  For
herself, she meant to abide by whatever should be the destination
of her darling brother Victor, who was now finishing a commission
that no longer could be continued, of raising volunteers-for
there was no longer any royal army for them to join ! Whether the
king would make a stand at the Tuileries, as he had unhappily
promised, or whether he would fly, was yet unknown ; but General
Victor de Maubourg was now going to equip himself in full
uniform, that he might wait upon his majesty in person, decidedly
fixed to take his orders, be they what they might.

With danger thus before him, in his mutilated state, having
undergone an amputation of the leg and thigh on the field of
battle, who can wonder at the desolation of Madame Victor when he
resolved to sustain the risk of such an offer?  Presently, what
was my emotion at the sudden and abrupt entrance into the room of
an officer of the king's garde du corps! in the self-same uniform
as that from which I had parted with such anguish in the morning!
A transitory hope glanced like lightning upon my brain, with an
idea that the body-guard was all at hand; but as evanescent as
bright was the flash! The concentrated and mournful look of the
officer assured me nothing genial was awaiting me - and when the
next minute we recognized each other, I saw it was the Count
Charles de la Tour Maubourg, the youngest brother of Madame de

Page 311

Maisonneuve; and he then told me he had a note for me from M.
d'Arblay.

Did I breathe then? i think not! I grasped the paper in my hand,
but a mist was before my eyes, and I could not read a word.
Madame de Maisonneuve held a hurried conference with her brother,
and then informed me that the body-guard was all. called out) the
whole four companies, with their servants, equipage, arms and
horses, to accompany and protect the king in his flight from
Paris! But whither he would go, or with what intent, whether of
battle or of escape, had not been announced. The Count Charles
had obtained leave of absence for one hour to see his wife
(Mademoiselle de Lafayette) and his children; but M. d'Arblay,
who belonged to the artillery company, could not be spared even a
moment. He had therefore seized a cover of a letter of M. de
Bethizy, the commandant, to write me a few words.

I now read them, and found--

"Ma chŠre amie--Tout est perdu! je ne puis entrer dans aucun
d‚tail--de grƒce, partez! le plut“t sera le mieux. A la vie et …
la mort, A. D'A."(263)

Scarcely had I read these lines, when I was told that Madame
d'Henin had sent me a summons. I now could but embrace my Madame
de Maisonneuve in silence, and depart. . . .


                        ARISTOCRATIC IRRITABILITY.

Arrived at Madame la Princesse d'Henin's, all was in a
perturbation yet greater than what I had left, though not equally
afflicting. Madame d'Henin was so little herself, that every
moment presented a new view of things, and urged her impatiently,
nay imperiously, to differ from whatever was offered.

Now she saw instantly impending danger, and was for precipitate
flight; now she saw fearless security, and determined not to move
a step ; the next moment all was alarm again, and she wanted
wings for speed - and the next, the smallest apprehension
awakened derision and contempt. I, who had never yet seen her but
all that was elegant, rational, and kind, was thunderstruck by
this effect of threatening

Page 312

evil upon her high and susceptible spirit. From manners of
dignified serenity, she so lost all self-possession as to answer
nearly with fury whatever was not acquiescent concurrence in her
opinion: from sentiments of the most elevated nobleness she was
urged, by every report that opposed her expectations, to the
utterance of wishes and of assertions that owed their impulse to
passion, and their foundation to prejudice ; and from having
sought, with the most flattering partiality, to attach me to her
party, she gave me the severe shock of intimating that my joining
her confused all er measures.

To change my plan now was impossible ; my husband and my best
friends knew me to be with her, and could seek me, or bestow
information upon me, in no other direction; I had given up my own
home, and to return thither, or to stay any where in Paris, was
to constitute myself a prisoner: nevertheless, it was equally a
sorrow and a violence to my feelings to remain with her another
moment after so astonishing a reproach. Displeasure at it,
however, subsided, when I found that it proceeded neither from
weakened regard, nor a wanton abuse of power, but from a mind
absolutely disorganized.

M. le Comte de Lally Tolendal, the Cicero of France, and most
eloquent man of his day, and one of the most honourable, as well
as most highly gifted, was, I now found, to be of our fugitive
party.  He was her admiring and truly devoted friend, and by many
believed to be privately married to her. I am myself of that
opinion, and that the union, on account of prior and unhappy
circumstances, was forborne to be avowed.  Certainly their mutual
conduct warranted this conclusion. Nevertheless, his whole
demeanour towards her announced the most profound respect as well
as attachment ; and hers to him the deepest consideration, with a
delight in his talents amounting to an adoration that met his for
her noble mind and winning qualities.  She wanted, however,
despotically to sway him ; and little as he might like the
submission she required, he commonly yielded, to avoid, as I
conceive, the dangerous conjectures to which dissension might
make them liable.

But at this moment, revolutionary terrors and conflicting
sensations robbed each of them of that self-command which till
now had regulated their public intercourse.  She, off all guard,
let loose alike the anxious sensibility and the arbitrary
impetuosity of her nature: he, occupied with too mighty a trouble
to have time or care for his wonted watchful
Page 313

attentions, heard alike her admonitions or lamentations with an
air of angry, but silent displeasure ; or, when urged too
pointedly for maintaining his taciturnity, retorted her
reproaches or remarks with a vehemence that seemed the echo of
her own. Yet in the midst of this unguarded contention, which had
its secret incitement, I doubt not, from some cruelly opposing
difference of feelings--of ideas upon the present momentous
crisis, nothing could be more clear than that their attachment to
each other, though it could not subdue their violent tempers,
was, nevertheless, the predominant passion of their souls.


                     THE COUNTESS D'AUCH'S COMPOSURE.

The turbulence of these two animated characters upon this trying
occasion was strongly contrasted by the placid suffering and
feminine endurance of Madame la Comtesse d'Auch, the daughter and
sole heiress and descendant of M. de Lally. Her husband, like
mine, was in the body-guard of Louis XVIII., and going, or gone,
no one knew whither, nor with what intent; her estate and
property were all near Bordeaux, and her little children were
with her at Paris.  The difficult task, in the great uncertainty
of events, was now hers to decide, whether to seek the same
refuge that her father and Madame Henin should resolve upon
seeking, or whether to run every personal risk in trying to save
her lands and fortune from confiscation, by traversing, with only
her babies and servants, two or three hundred miles, to reach her
chateau at Auch ere it might be seized by the conquering party.
Quietly, and in total silence, she communed with herself, not
mixing in the discourse, nor seeming to heed the disturbance
around her; but, when at length applied to, her resolution, from
her Own concentrated meditations, was fixedly taken, to preserve,
if possible, by her exertions and courage, the property of her
absent and beloved husband, for his hoped return and for her
children. This steadiness and composure called not forth any
imitation. M. de Lally breathed hard with absolute agony of
internal debate; and Madame d'Henin now declared she was sure all
would blow over in a false alarm, and that she would not hesitate
any longer between Brussels and Bordeaux, but remain quietly in
Paris, and merely sit up all night to be on the watch.
Page 314

                   RUMOURS OF BONAPARTE'S NEAR APPROACH.

M. de Lally determined to go now in person to the Tuileries, to
procure such information as might decide his shattered and
irresolute friend.  When he was gone, a total silence ensued.
Madame d'Auch was absorbed in her fearful enterprise, and Madame
d'Henin, finding no one opposed her (for my thoughts were with no
one present), walked up and down the room, with hasty movement,
as if performing some task. Various persons came and went,
messengers, friends, or people upon business. She seized upon
them all, impatiently demanding their news, and their opinions,
but so volubly, at the same time, uttering her own, as to give
them no time to reply, though as they left her, too much hurried
themselves to wait her leisure for listening, she indignantly
exclaimed against their stupidity and insensibility.

But what a new and terrible commotion was raised in her mind, in
that of Madame d'Auch, and in mine, upon receiving a pencil
billet from M. de Lally, brought by a confidential servant, to
announce that Bonaparte was within a few hours' march of Paris!
He begged her to hasten off, and said he would follow in his
cabriolet when he had made certain arrangements, and could gain
some information as to the motions of the king.

She now instantly ordered horses to her berlin,(264) which had
long been loaded, and calling up all her people and dependants,
was giving her orders with the utmost vivacity, when intelligence
was brought her that no horses could now be had, the government
having put them all in requisition. I was struck with horror. To
be detained in Paris, the seat of impending conquest, and the
destined capital of the conqueror--detained a helpless prisoner,
where all would be darkly unknown to me, where Truth could find
no entrance, Falsehood no detection--where no news could reach
me, except news that was fatal--oh! what dire feelings were mine
at this period!

Madame d'Auch, who had taken her precautions, instantly though
sadly, went away, to secure her own carriage, and preserve her
little babies.


                    DEPARTURE FROM PARIS AT NIGHT TIME.

Madame d'Henin was now almost distracted, but this dreadful
prospect of indefinite detention, with all the horrors

Page 315

of captivity, lasted not long: Le Roy, her faithful domestic from
his childhood, prevailed upon some stable friend to grant the use
of his horses for one stage from Paris, and the berlin and four
was at the porte cochŠre in another moment, The servants and
dependants of Madame d'Henin accompanied her to the carriage in
tears ; and all her fine qualities were now unmixed, as she took
an affectionate leave of them, with a sweetness the most
engaging, suffering the women to kiss her cheek, and smiling
kindly on the men, who kissed her robe. Vivacity like hers
creates alarm, but, in France, breeds no resentment ; and where,
like hers, the character is eminently noble and generous, it is
but considered as a mark of conscious rank, and augments rather
than diminishes personal devotion.

We now rushed into the carriage, averse, yet eager, between ten
and eleven o'clock at night, 19th March, 1815. As Madame d'Henin
had a passport for herself, et sa famille, we resolved to keep
mine in reserve, in case of accidents or separation, and only to
produce hers, while I should be included in its privileges. The
decision for our route was for Brussels ; the femme de chambre of
Madame d'Henin-within, and the valet, Le Roy, outside the
carriage, alone accompanied us, with two postilions for the four
horses. Madame d'Henin, greatly agitated, spoke from time to
time, though rather in ejaculations upon our flight, its
uncertainties and alarms, than with any view to conversation; but
if she had any answer, it was of simple acquiescence from her
good and gentle femme de chambre; as to me . . . I could not
utter a word--my husband on his war-horse--his shattered state of
health--his long disuse to military service, yet high-wrought
sense of military honour--all these were before me.  I saw,
heard, and was conscious of nothing else, till we arrived at Le
Bourget,(265) a long, straggling, small town.  And here, Madame
d'Henin meant to stop, or at least change horses.


                           A HALT AT LE BOURGET.

But all was still, and dark, and shut up. It was the dead of
night, and no sort of alarm seemed to disturb the inhabitants

Page 316

of the place.  We knocked at the first inn: but after waiting a
quarter of an hour, some stable-man came Out to say there was not
a room vacant. The same reply was with the same delay given us at
two other inns; but, finally, we were more successful, though
even then we could obtain only a single apartment, with three
beds.  These we appropriated for Madame d'Henin, myself, and her
maid; and the men-servants were obliged to content themselves
with mattresses in the kitchen. The town, probably, was filled
with fugitives from Paris.

A supper was directly provided, but Madame d'Henin, who now again
repented having hurried off, resolved upon sending her faithful
Le Roy back to the metropolis, to discover whether it were
positively true that the king had quitted it, He hired a horse,
and we then endeavoured to repose . . . but oh, how far from me
was all possibility of obtaining it!

About three in the morning M. de Lally overtook us. His
information was immediately conveyed to the Princesse d'Henin.
It was gloomily affrighting.  The approach of Bonaparte was
wholly unresisted; all bowed before, that did not spring forward
to meet him.

Le Roy returned about six in the morning. The king, and his
guards, and his family, had all suddenly left Paris, but whither
had not transpired.  He was preceded, encircled, and followed by
his four companies of body-guards.

Horror and distress at such a flight and such uncertainty were
not mine only, though circumstances rendered mine the most
poignant; but M. de Lally had a thousand fears for the excellent
and loved husband of his daughter, M. le Comte d'Auch; and Madame
d'Henin trembled, for herself and all her family, at the danger
of the young Hombert La Tour du Pin.


                           THE JOURNEY RESUMED.

No longer easy to be so near Paris, we hastily prepared to get on
for Brussels, our destined harbour. M. de Lally now accompanied
us, followed by his valet in a cabriolet. Our journey commenced
in almost total silence on all parts: the greatness of the change
of government thus marvellously effecting, the impenetrable
uncertainty of coming events, and our dreadful ignorance of the
fate of those most precious to us, who were involved in the deeds
and the consequences
Page 317

of immediate action, filled every mind too awfully for speech and
our sole apparent attention was to the passengers we overtook, or
by whom we were overtaken.

These were so few, that I think we could not count half a dozen
on our way to Senlis, and those seemed absorbed in deadly thought
and silence, neither looking at us, nor caring to encounter our
looks.  The road, the fields, the hamlets, all appeared deserted.
Desolate and lone was the universal air. I have since concluded
that the people of these parts had separated into two divisions;
one of which had hastily escaped, to save their lives and
loyalty, while the other had hurried to the capital to greet the
conqueror - for this was Sunday,(266) the 20th of March.

Oh, what were my sensations on passing through Senlis Senlis, so
lately fixed for my three months' abode with my general, during
his being de service. When we stopped at a nearly empty inn,
during the change of horses, I inquired after Madame Le Quint,
and some other ladies who had been prepared to kindly receive
me--but they were all gone! hastily they had quitted the town,
which, like its environs, had an air of being generally
abandoned.

The desire of obtaining intelligence made Madame d'Henin most
unwilling to continue a straightforward journey, that must
separate her more and more from the scene of action. M. de Lally
wished to see his friend the young Duc d'Orl‚ans,(267) who was at
Peronne, with his sister and part of his family; and he was
preparing to gratify this desire, when a discussion relative to
the danger of some political misconstruction, the duke being at
that time upon ill terms with Monsieur, Comte d'Artois,(268) made
him relinquish his purpose. We wandered about, however, I hardly
know where, save that we stopped from time to time at small
hovels in which resided tenants of the Prince or of the Princess
de Poix, who received Madame d'Henin with as much devotion of
attachment as they could have done in the fullest splendour of
her power to reward their kindness ; though with an entire
familiarity of discourse that, had I been new to French Customs,
would have seemed to me marks of total loss of respect. But after
a ten years' unbroken residence in France,

Page 318

I was too well initiated in the ways of the dependants Upon the
great belonging to their own tenantry, to make a mistake so
unjust to their characters.  We touched, as I think, at Noailles,
at St. just, at Mouchy, and at Poix--but I am only sure we
finished the day by arriving at Roy, where still the news of that
day was unknown. What made it travel so slowly I cannot tell; but
from utter dearth of all the intelligence by which we meant to be
guided, we remained, languidly and helplessly, at Roy till the
middle of the following Monday,(269) the 21st March.

About that time some military entered the town and our inn. We
durst not ask a single question, in our uncertainty to which side
they belonged ; but the four horses were hastily ordered, since
to decamp seemed what was most necessary. But Brussels was no
longer the indisputable spot, as the servants Overheard some
words that implied a belief that Louis XVIII. was quitting France
to return to his old asylum, England.  It was determined,
therefore, though not till after a tumultuous debate between the
princess and M. de Lally, to go straight to Amiens, where the
prefect, M. Lameth, was a former friend, if not connection, of
the princess.

We had now to travel by a cross-road, and a very bad one, and it
was not till night that we arrived at the suburbs. It was here
first we met with those difficulties that announced, by vigilance
with disturbance, a kind of suspended government; for the
officers of the police who demanded our passports were evidently
at a loss whether to regard them as valid or not.  Their
interrogatories, meanwhile, were endless; and, finally, they
desired us, as it was so late and dark, to find ourselves a
lodging in the suburbs, and not enter the city of Amiens till the
next morning.

Clouded as were alike our perceptions and our information, we
could not but be aware of the danger of to-morrow, when our
entrance might be of a sort to make our exit prohibited. Again
followed a tumultuous debate, which ended in the hazardous
resolve of appealing to the prefect and casting ourselves upon
his protection. This appeal ended all inquisition : we were
treated with deference, and accommodated in a decent room, while
the passports of Madame d'Henin and of M. de Lally were forwarded
to the prefecture. We remained here some time in the utmost
stillness, no one pronouncing a word. We knew not who might
listen, nor

Page 319

with what ears !  But far from still was all within, because far
from confident how the prefect might judge necessary to arrest,
or to suffer our proceeding further. The answer was, at length,
an order to the police officers to let us enter the city and be
conducted to an hotel named by M. Lameth.


                   A SUPPER AT AmIENS WITH THE PREFECT.

We had an immensely long drive through the city of Amiens ere we
came to the indicated hotel.  But here Madame d'Henin found a
note that was delivered to her by the secretary of the
prefecture, announcing the intention of the prefect to have the
honour of waiting upon her; and when M. Lameth was announced, M.
de Lally and I retired to our several chambers.

Her tˆte-…-tˆte with him was very long, and ended in a summons to
M. de Lally to make it a trio.  This interview was longer still,
and my anxiety for the news with which it might terminate
relative to the king, the body-guard, and our detention or
progression, was acute. At length I also was summoned.

Madame d'Henin came out to me upon the landing-place, hastily and
confusedly, to say that the prefect did not judge proper to
receive her at the prefecture, but that he would stay and sup
with her, and that I was to pass for her premiŠre femme de
chambre, as it would not be prudent to give in my name, though it
had been made known to M. Lameth; but the wife of an officer so
immediately in the service of the king must not be specified as
the host of a prefect, if that prefect meant , to yield to the
tide of a new government. Tide? Nay, torrent it was at this
moment ; and any resistance that had not been previously
organized, and with military force, must have been vain. I made,
however, no inquiry. I was simply acquiescent; and, distantly
following Madame d'Henin, remained at the end of the room while
the servants and the waiters adjusted matters for supper.

In a situation of such embarrassment I never before was placed. I
knew not which way to look, nor what to do. Discovery at such a
crisis might have been fatal, as far as might hang upon
detention; and detention, which would rob me of all means of
hearing of M. d'Arblay, should I gather what was his route, and
be able to write to him, was death to my peace. I regretted I had
not demanded to stay in
Page 320

another room; but, in such heart-piercing moments, to be in the
way of intelligence is the involuntary first movement.

When all was arranged, and Madame d'Henin was seated M. de Lally
set a chair for me, slightly bowing to me to take it. I complied,
and supper began. I was helped, of course the last, and not once
spoken to by any body. The repast' was not very gay, yet by no
means dejected. The conversation was upon general topics, and M.
de Lameth was entirely master of himself, seeming wholly without
emotion.

I was afterwards informed that news had just reached him, but not
officially, that Bonaparte had returned to Paris. Having heard,
therefore, nothing from the new government he was able to act as
if there were none such, and he kindly obliged Madame d'Henin by
giving her new passports, which should the conquest be confirmed,
would be safer than passports from the ministers of Louis XVIII.
at Paris. . . .

M. Lameth could not, however, answer for retaining his powers,
nor for what might be their modification even from hour to hour:
he advised us, therefore, by no means to risk his being either
replaced or restrained, but to get on as fast as possible with
his passports while certain they were efficient. He thought it
safer, also, to make a circuit than to go back again to the
high-road we had quitted. Our design of following the king, whom
we imagined gaining the sea-coast to embark for England, was
rendered abortive from the number of contradictory accounts which
had reached M. Lameth as to the route he had taken.  Brussels,
therefore, became again our point of desire; but M. Lameth
counselled us to proceed for the moment to Arras, where M. --- (I
forget his name) would aid us either to proceed, or to change,
according to circumstances, our destination.  Not an instant,
however, was to be lost, lest M. Lameth should be forced himself
to detain us.  Horses, therefore, he ordered for us, and a guide
across the country for Arras.

I learnt nothing of this till we re-entered our carriage. The
servants and waiters never quitted the room, and the prefect had
as much his own safety to guard
 from ill construction or report as ours. Madame d'Henin, though
rouged the whole time with confusion, never ventured to address a
word to me. It was, indeed, more easy to be silent than to speak
to me either with a tone of condescension or of command, and any
other must have been suspicious. M. de
Page 321

Lally was equally dumb, but active in holding out every plat to
me, though always looking another way. M. Lameth eyed me with
curiosity, but had no resource against surmise save that adopted
by Madame d'Henin. However, he had the skill and the politeness
to name, in the course of the repast, M. d'Arblay, as if
accidentally, yet with an expression of respect and distinction,
carefully, as he spoke, turning his eyes from mine, though it was
the only time that, voluntarily, he would have met them.

The horses being ready, M. Lameth took leave.



                   RECEPTION AT THE PREFECTURE AT ARRAS.

It was now about eleven at night. The road was of the roughest
sort, and we were jerked up and down the ruts so as with
difficulty to keep our seats : it was also very dark, and the
drivers could not help frequently going out of their way, though
the guide, groping on upon such occasions on foot, soon set them
right.  It was every way a frightful night. Misery, both public
and private, oppressed us all, and the fear of pursuit and
captivity had the gloomy effect of causing general taciturnity ;
so that no kind voice, nor social suggestion, diverted the sense
of danger, or excited one of hope.

At what hour we arrived at Arras on Wednesday, the 22nd March, I
cannot tell; but we drove straight to the prefecture, a very
considerable mansion, surrounded with spacious grounds and
gardens, which to me, nevertheless, had a bleak, flat, and
desolate air, though the sun was brightly shining. We stopped at
the furthest of many gates on the high road, while madame sent in
to M. -- (I forget his name) the note with which we had been
favoured by M. Lameth.  The answer was a most courteous
invitation of entrance, and the moment the carriage stopped at
the great door of the portico, the prefect, M. -, hastened out to
give Madame d'Henin le bras. He was an old soldier and in full
uniform, and he came to us from a battalion drawn out in array on
one side the park. Tall, and with still a goodly port, though
with a face worn and weather-beaten, he had the air of a
gentleman as well as of a general officer - and the open and
hospitable smile with which he received the princess, while
bareheaded and baldheaded he led her into his palace, diffused a
welcome around that gave an involuntary cheeriness even to poor
dejected me. How indescribably gifted is the human face Y

Page 322

divine," in those who are invested with power, to transmit Or to
blight comfort even by a glance!

As Madame d'Henin demanded a private audience, I know not what
passed; but I have reason to believe we were the first who
brought news to Arras that approached to the truth of the actual
position of Paris.  M. Lameth, for Political reasons, had as
studiously avoided naming M. de Lally as myself in his note .-
but M. de Lally was treated by the mistress of the house with the
distinction due to a gentleman travelling with the princess ; and
as to me, some of the younger branches of the family took me
under their protection, and very kind they were, showing me the
garden, library, and views of the surrounding country.


                   A CHEERFUL DEJEUNER SOMEWHAT RUFFLED.

Meanwhile, an elegant breakfast was prepared for a large company,
a review having been ordered for that morning, and several
general officers being invited by the prefect.  This repast had a
cheerfulness that to me, an Englishwoman, was unaccountable and
is indefinable. The king had been compelled to fly his capital ,
no one knew where he was seeking shelter; no one knew whether he
meant to resign his crown in hopeless inaction, or whether to
contest it in sanguinary civil war.  Every family, therefore,
with its every connection in the whole empire of the French, was
involved in scenes upon which hung prosperity or adversity,
reputation or disgrace, honour or captivity ; yet at such a
crisis the large assembled family met with cheerfulness, the many
guests were attended to with politeness, and the goodly fare of
that medley of refreshments called a d‚jeuner in France was met
with appetites as goodly as its incitements.

This could not be from insensibility; the French are anything
rather than insensible : it could not be from attachment to
Bonaparte, the prefect loudly declaring his devotion to Louis
XVIII.  I can only, therefore, attribute it to the long
revolutionary state of the French mind, as well as nation, which
had made it so familiar to insurrection, change, and incertitude,
that they met it as a man meets some unpleasant business which he
must unavoidably transact, and which, since he has no choice to
get rid of, he resolves to get through to the best of his
ability.

We were still, however, smelling sweet flowers and regaled
Page 323

with fine fruits, when this serenity was somewhat ruffled by the
arrival of the commander of the forces which had been reviewed,
or destined for review, I know not which. He took the prefect
aside, and they were some time together. He then, only bowing to
the ladies of the house, hastened off. The prefect told us the
news that imperfectly arrived was very bad, but he hoped a stand
would be made against any obstinate revolt ; and he resolved to
assemble every officer and soldier belonging to his government,
and to call upon each separately to take again, and solemnly, his
oath of allegiance. . While preparing for this ceremony the
commander again returned, and told him he had positive
information that the. defection was spreading, and that whole
troops and' companies were either sturdily waiting in inaction,
or boldly marching on to meet the conqueror.


                             A LOYAL PREFECT.

Our table was now broken up, and we were wishing to depart ere
official intimation from the capital might arrest our further
progress - but our horses were still too tired, and no others
were to be procured. We became again very uneasy, and uneasiness
began to steal upon all around us.  The prefect was engaged in
perpetual little groups of consultation, chiefly with general
officers, who came and went with incessant bustle, and
occasionally and anxiously were joined by persons of consequence
of the vicinity.  The greater the danger appeared, the more
intrepidly the brave old prefect declared his loyalty ; yet he
was advised by all parties to give up his scheme till he knew
whether the king himself 'made a stand in his own cause. $

He yielded reluctantly; and when Madame d'Henin found his steady
adhesion to his king, she came up to him and said, that, finding
the firmness of his devotion to Louis XVIII., she was sure it
would give him pleasure to know he had at that moment under his
roof the wife of a general officer in the actual escort of his
majesty.  He instantly came to me with a benevolent smile, and we
had a conversation of deep Interest upon the present state of
things.  I had the heartfelt satisfaction to find that my
honoured husband was known to him, not alone by reputation, but
personally; and to find that, and to hear his praise, has always
been one and the same thing. Alas! those sounds on these sad ears
vibrate no
Page 324

more!.....At length, however, about noon, we set off, accompanied
by the prefect and all his family to our carriage.


                       EMBLEMS OF LOYALTY AT DOUAY.

At Douay, we had the satisfaction to see still stronger outward
marks of attachment to the king and his cause, for in every
street through which we passed, the windows were decked with
emblems of faithfulness to the Bourbon dynasty, white flags, or
ribands, or, handkerchiefs. All, however, without commotion, all
was a simple manifestation of respect, No insurrection was
checked, for none had been excited - no mob was dispersed, for
scarcely any one seemed to venture from his house.

Our intention was to quit the French territory that night, and
sleep in more security at Tournay ; but the roads became so bad,
and our horses grew so tired, that it was already dark before we
reached Orchies. M. de Lally went on from Douay in his cabriolet,
to lighten our weight, as Madame d'Henin had a good deal of
baggage. We were less at our ease, while thus perforce travelling
slower, to find the roads, as we proceeded from Douay, become
more peopled. Hitherto they had seemed nearly a blank. We now
began, also, to be met, or to be overtaken, by small parties of
troops. We naturally looked out with earnestness on each side, to
discover to whom or to what they belonged : but the compliment of
a similar curiosity on their part was all we gained. Sometimes
they called out a "Vive--" but without finishing their wish; and
we repeated--that is, we bowed to--the same hailing exclamation,
without knowing or daring to inquire its purport.


                     STATE OF UNCERTAINTY AT ORCHIES.

At Orchies, where we arrived rather late in the evening, we first
found decided marks of a revolutionary state of things. No orders
were sent by either party. The king and his government were too
imminently in personal danger to assert their rights, or retain
their authority for directing the provinces; Bonaparte and his
followers and supporters were too much engrossed by taking
possession of the capital, and too uncertain of their success, to
try a power which had as yet no basis, or risk a disobedience
which they had no means to resent. The people, as far as we could
see or learn

Page 325

seemed passively waiting the event ; and the constituted
authorities appeared to be self-suspended from their functions
till the droit des plus fort(270) should ascertain who were their
masters.  Nevertheless, while we waited at Orchies for horses,
news arrived by straggling parties which, though only whispered,
created evidently some disturbance - a sort of wondering
expectation soon stared from face to face, asking by the eye what
no one durst pronounce by the voice; what does all this portend?
and for what ought we to prepare?


                           A MISHAP ON THE ROAD.

it was past eleven o'clock, and the night was dark and damp, ere
we could get again into our carriages - but the increasing bustle
warned us off, and a nocturnal journey had nothing to appal us
equally with the danger of remaining. We eagerly, therefore, set
off, but we were still in the suburbs of Orchies, when a call for
help struck our ears, and the berlin stopped.  It was so dark, we
could not at first discern what was the matter, but we soon found
that the carriage of M. de Lally had broken down. Madame d'Henin
darted out of the berlin with the activity of fifteen. Her maid
accompanied her, and I eagerly followed.

Neither M. de Lally nor his man had received any injury, but the
cabriolet could no longer proceed without being repaired.  The
groom was sent to discover the nearest blacksmith, who came soon
to examine the mischief, and declared that it could not be
remedied before daylight.  We were forced to submit the vehicle
to his decree - but our distress what to do with ourselves was
now very serious.  We knew there was no accommodation for us at
the inn we had 'just quitted, but that of passing the night by
the kitchen fire, exposed to all the hazards of suspicious
observation upon our evident flight. To remain upon the high road
stationary in our berlin might, at such a period, encompass us
with dangers yet more serious.


                        A KINDLY OFFER OF SHELTER.

We were yet unresolved, when a light from the windows of a small
house attracted our attention, and a door was opened, at which a
gentlewoman somewhat more than elderly stood, with a candle in
her hand, that lighted up a face full of
Page 326

benevolence, in which was painted strong compassion on the view
of our palpable distress. Her countenance encouraged us to
approach her, and the smile with which she saw us come forward
soon accelerated our advance; and when We reached her threshold,
she waited neither for solicitation nor representation, but let
us into her small dwelling without a single question, silently,
as if fearful herself we might be observed, shutting the street
door before she spoke.  She then lamented, as we must needs, she
said, be cold and comfortless, that she had no fire, but added
that she and her little maid were in bed and asleep, when the
disturbance on the road had awakened her, and made her hasten up,
to inquire if any one were hurt. We told as much of our Story as
belonged to our immediate situation, and she then instantly,
assured us we should be welcome to stay in her house till the
cabriolet was repaired.

Without waiting for our thanks, she then gave to each a chair,
and fetched great plenty of fuel, with which she made an ample
and most reviving fire, in a large stove that was placed in the
middle of the room. She had bedding, she said, for two, and
begged that, when we were warmed and comforted, we would decide
which of us most wanted rest. We durst not, however, risk, at
such a moment, either being separated or surprised; we entreated
her, therefore, to let us remain together, and to retire herself
to the repose her humanity had thus broken. But she would not
leave us. She brought forth bread, butter, and cheese, with wine
and some other beverage, and then made us each a large bowl of
tea. And when we could no longer partake of her hospitable fare,
she fetched us each a pillow, and a double chair, to rest our
heads and our feet.


                        ALARMED BY POLISH LANCERS.

Thus cheered and refreshed, we blessed our kind hostess, and fell
into something like a slumber, when we were suddenly roused by
the sound of trumpets, and warlike instruments, and the trampling
of many horses, coming from afar, but approaching with rapidity.
We all started up alarmed, and presently the group, perceiving, I
imagine, through the ill-closed shutters, some light, stopped
before the house, and battered the door and the window, demanding
admission. We hesitated whether to remain or endeavour to conceal
ourselves

Page 327

but our admirable hostess bid us be still, while, calm herself,
she opened the street door, where she parleyed with the party,
cheerfully and without any appearance of fear, and told them she
had no room for their accommodation, because she had given up
even her own bed to some relations who were travelling, she
gained from them an applauding huzza and their departure. She
then informed us they were Polish lancers, and that she believed
they were advancing to scour the country in favour of Bonaparte.
She expressed herself an open 'and ardent loyalist for the
Bourbons, but said she had no safety except in submitting, like
all around her, to the stronger powers.

Again, by her persuasion, we sought to compose ourselves; but a
second party soon startled us from our purpose, and from that
time we made no similar attempt. I felt horrified at every blast
of the trumpet, and the fear of being made prisoner, or pillaged,
assailed me unremittingly.

At about five o'clock in the morning our carriages were at the
door. We blessed our benevolent hostess, took her name and
address, that we might seek some means of manifesting our
gratitude, and then quitted Orchies.  For the rest of our journey
till we reached the frontiers, we were annoyed with incessant
small military groups or horsemen; but though suspiciously
regarded, we were not stopped. The fact is, the new government
was not yet, in those parts, sufficiently organised to have been
able to keep if they had been strong enough to detain us. But we
had much difficulty to have our passports honoured for passing
the frontiers ; and if they had not been so recently renewed at
Amiens, I think it most probable our progress would have been
impeded till new orders and officers were entitled to make us
halt.


                            ARRIVAL AT TOURNAY.

Great, therefore, was our satisfaction when, through all these
difficulties, we entered Tournay-where, being no longer in the
lately restored kingdom of France, we considered ourselves to be
escaped from the dominion of Bonaparte, and where we determined
therefore to remain till we could guide our further proceedings
by tidings of the plan and the position of Louis XVIII. We went
to the most considerable inn, and all retired to rest which,
after so much fatigue, mental and bodily, we required, and
happily obtained.
Page 328

The next day we had the melancholy satisfaction of hearing that
Louis XVIII. also had safely passed the frontiers of his lost
kingdom.  As we were less fearful, now, of making inquiries, M.
de Lally soon learnt that his majesty had halted at Lille, where
he was then waiting permission and directions for a place of
retreat from the King of Holland, or the Netherlands. But no
intelligence whatsoever could we gain relative to the
body-guards, and my disturbance increased, every moment.

There was far more commotion at Tournay than at any other town
through which we passed; for as the people here were not under
the French government, either old or new, they were not awed into
waiting to know to which they should belong, in fearful
passiveness : yet they had all the perplexity upon their minds of
disquieting ignorance whether they were to be treated as friends
or foes, since if Bonaparte prevailed they could not but expect
to be joined again to his dominions. All the commotion,
therefore, of divided interests and jarring opinions was awake,
and in full operation upon the faculties and feelings of every
Belgian at this critical moment.


              FUTILE EFFORTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH M. D'ARBLAY.

The horror of my suspense relative to the safety and the fate of
Monsieur d'Arblay reduced my mind to a sort of chaos, that makes
it impossible to recollect what was our abode at Tournay.  I can
but relate my distress and my researches.

My first thought was to send a letter to my general at Lille,
which if he was there would inform him of my vicinity, and if
not, might perhaps find its way to his destination. At all
events, I resolved only to write what would be harmless should it
fall even into the hands of the enemy.  I directed those few
lines to M. le Chevalier d'Arblay, officier sup‚rieur du garde du
corps de sa majest‚ Louis XVIII.
But when I would have sent them to the post, I was informed there
was no post then to Lille.

I then sought for a messenger, but was told that Lille was
inaccessible. The few letters that were permitted to enter it
were placed in a basket, the handle of which was tied to a long
cord, that was hooked up to the top of the walls, and thence
descended to appointed magistrates.

Vainly I made every effort in my power to avail myself Of this
method, no one of my party, nor at the inn,,knew or
Page 329

could indicate any means that promised success,
or even a trial.  Worn at length by an anxiety I found
insupportable, I took a resolution to go forth myself, stranger
as I was to the place, and try to get my letter conveyed to the
basket, however difficult or costly might be its carriage.
Quite alone, therefore, I sallied forth, purposing to find, if
possible, some sturdy boy who would be glad of such remuneration
as I could offer, to pass over to Lille.

Again, however, vain was every attempt.
I entered all decent poor houses; sauntered to the suburbs, and
entered sundry cottages; but no inquiry could procure either a
man or a boy that would execute my commission. French was so
generally known that I commonly made myself understood, though I
only received a shake of the head, or a silent walking off, in
return to my propositions.  But in the end, a lad told me he
thought he had heard that Madame la Duchesse de St. Agnes had had
some intercourse with Lille. Delighted, I desired him to show me
the house she inhabited. We walked to it together, and I then
said I would saunter near the spot while he entered, with my
earnest petition to know whether madame could give me any tidings
of the king's body-guard. He returned with an answer that madame
would reply to a written note, but to nothing verbal. I bid the
boy hie with me to the inn; but as I had no writing tackle, I
sent him forward to procure me proper implements at the
stationer's.

How it happened I know not, but I missed the boy, whom I could
never regain and I soon after lost my way myself.

In much perplexity I was seeking information which way to steer,
when a distant sound of a party of horse caught my attention. I
stopped.  The sound approached nearer; the boys and idle people
in the street ran forward to meet it, and presently were joined
or followed by the more decent inhabitants. I had not the
temerity to make one among them, yet my anxiety for news of any
sort was too acute to permit me to retire. I stood therefore
still, waiting for what might arrive, till I perceived some
outriders galloping forward in the royal livery of France.
Immediately after, a chariot and four with the arms of France
followed, encircled by horsemen, and nearly enveloped by a
continually increasing crowd, whence, from time to time, issued a
feeble cry of "Vive le roi!" while two or three other carriages
brought up the rear.  With difficulty now could I forbear
plunging into the midst of them, for my big expectations painted
to me Louis XVIII. arrived
Page 330

at Tournay, and my bigger hopes pictured with him his loyal
guard. They had soon however passed by, but their straggling
followers showed me their route, which I pursued till I lost both
sight and sound belonging to them.

I then loitered for my errand boy, till I found myself, by some
indications that helped my remembrance, near the spot whence I
had started. . Glad, for safety's sake, to be so near my then
home, though mourning my fruitless wandering, I hastened my
footsteps; but what was my emotion on arriving within a few yards
of the inn, to observe the royal carriage which had galloped past
me, the horsemen, the royal livery and all the appearance that
had awakened my dearest hopes' The crowd was dispersed, but the
porter's lodge, or perhaps bookkeeper's, was filled with
gentlemen, or officers in full uniform.  I hurried on, and
hastily inquired who it was that had just arrived. My answer was,
the Prince de Cond‚.

A thousand projects now occurred to me for gaining intelligence
from such high authority, but in the large courtyard I espied
Madame d'Henin sauntering up and down, while holding by the arm
of a gentleman I had never before seen. Anxious to avoid delay,
and almost equally desirous to escape remonstrances on my
enterprise, since I could listen only to my restless anxiety, I
would have glided by unnoticed; but she called after me aloud,
and I was compelled to approach her.  She was all astonishment at
my courage in thus issuing forth alone, I knew not where nor
whither, and declared that I was m‚connoissable; but I only
answered by entreating her to inquire the names of some of the
gentlemen just arrived, that I might judge whether any among them
could give me the information for which I sighed.

No sooner did I hear that M. le Comte de Viomenil was of the
number, than, recollecting his recent appointment at Paris, in
conjunction with Victor de Maubourg, to raise volunteers for the
king, I decided upon seeking him. Madame d'Henin would have given
me some counsel, but I could not hear her; as I hurried off,
however, the gentleman whose arm she held offered me his
assistance in a tone and with a look of so much benevolence, that
I frankly accepted it, and we sallied in search of a person known
to me only by name. My stranger friend now saved me every
exertion, by making every inquiry and led me from corridor to
corridor, above, below, and to almost every apartment, asking
incessantly if M. le Comte de Viomenil was not in the inn.
Page 331

At length we learned that M. de Viomenil was dining quite alone
in an upper chamber.

My kind-hearted conductor led me to the door of the room
assigned, and then tapped at it; and on an answer of "entrez!" he
let go my arm, and with a bow silently left me. I found M. de
Viomenil at table : he said he could give no possible account of
his majesty, save that he was at Gand, but that of the body-guard
he knew positively nothing.


                   INTERVIEWS WITH M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND.

I afterwards learnt that my benevolent strange chevalier was no
other than the celebrated M. de Chƒteaubriand.(271)  I saw
nothing more of him, save for a moment, when, in passing by a
small staircase that led to my chamber, a door was suddenly
opened, whence Madame d'Henin put out her head to invite me to
enter, when she presented me to him and to Madame de
Chƒteaubriand, a very elegant woman, but of a cold, reserved
demeanour.

I expressed eagerly the pleasure I had experienced in seeing the
author of " The Itinerary to Jerusalem," a work I had read in
Paris with extraordinary interest and satisfaction ; but I
believe the "G‚nie du Christianisme," and perhaps the "Atala,"
were works so much more prized by that author as to make my
compliment misplaced. However, I so much more enjoy the natural,
pleasing, instructive, and simple, though ingenious style and
matter of the " Itinerary " than I do the overpowering sort of
heroic eloquence of those more popular performances, that the
zest of dear hallowed truth would have been wanting had I not
expressed my choice. The "Itinerary" is, indeed, one of the most
agreeable books I know.

M. de Ch‚teaubriand hung back, whether pleased or not,

 Page 332

with an air of gentlemanly serenity. I had opportunity for
further effort : we left Tournay to proceed to Brussels, and
heavy was my heart and my will to quit, thus in ignorance, the
vicinity of Lille.

At the town at which we stopped to dine which, I think, was Atot,
we again met M. et Madame de Chƒteaubriand. This was a mutual
satisfaction, and we agreed to have our meal in common. I now had
more leisure, not of time alone, but of faculty, for doing
justice to M. de Chateaubriand, whom I found amiable, unassuming,
and, though somewhat spoilt by the egregious flattery to which he
had been accustomed, wholly free from airs or impertinent
selfconceit. Excessive praise seemed only to cause him excessive
pleasure in himself, without leading to contempt or scorn of
others.  He is by no means tall, and is rather thickset - but his
features are good, his countenance is very fine, and his eyes are
beautiful, alike from colour, shape, and expression ; while there
is a striking benevolence in his look, tone of voice, and manner.

Madame de Chƒteaubriand also gained ground by farther
acquaintance. She was faded, but not pass‚e, and was still
handsome, and of a most graceful carriage, though distant and
uninviting. Her loftiness had in it something so pensive mixed
with its haughtiness, that though it could not inspire
confidence, it did not create displeasure.  She possessed also a
claim to sympathy and respect in being the niece of M. de
Malesherbes, that wise, tender, generous, noble defender of Louis
XVI.

The conversation during and after dinner was highly interesting.
M. de Chƒteaubriand opened upon his situation with a trusting
unreserve that impressed me with an opinion of the nobleness of
his mind. Bonaparte had conceived against him, he said, a
peculiar antipathy, for which various motives might be assigned:
he enumerated them not, however, probably from the presence of
his wife ; as his marriage with a niece of that martyr to the
service of the murdered king, Louis XVI., I conclude to be at
their head. The astonishing and almost boundless success of his
works, since he was dissatisfied with his principles, and more
than suspicious of his disaffection to the imperial government,
must have augmented aversion by mixing with it some species of
apprehension. I know not what were the first publications of M.
de Chƒteaubriand, but they were in such high estimation
Page 333

when first I heard him mentioned, that no author was more
celebrated in France; when his "Martyres" came out, no other book
was mentioned; and the famous critic Geoffroyq who guided the
taste of Paris, kept it alive by criticisms of alternate praise
and censure without end.  "Atala," the pastoral heroic romance,
bewitched all the reading ladies into a sort of idolatry of its
writer, and scarcely a page of it remained unadorned by some
representation in painting. The enthusiasm, indeed, of the
draughtsmen and of the fair sex seemed equally emulous to place
the author and the work at the head of celebrity and the fashion.

Of all this, of course, he spoke not - but he related the story
of his persecution by Napoleon concerning his being elected a
member of the French Institute.  I was in too much disturbance to
be able to clearly listen to the narrative, but I perfectly
recollect that the censor, to soften Napoleon, had sent back the
manuscript to M. de Chƒteaubriand, with an intimation that no
public discourse could be delivered that did not contain an ‚loge
of the Emperor. M. de Chƒteaubriand complied with the ordinance;
but whether the forced praise was too feeble, or whether the
aversion was too insuperable, I know not : all that is certain
is, that Napoleon, after repeated efforts from the Institute of
reelection, positively refused to ratify that of M. de
Chƒteaubriand.(272)

Another time a cousin of this gentleman was reputed to be engaged
In a conspiracy against the emperor. M. de Chƒteaubriand solemnly
declared he disbelieved the charge; and, as his weight in public
opinion was so great, he ventured to address a supplique to
Napoleon in favour of his kinsman; but the answer which reached
him the following day was an account of his execution !

(248) Horne's"History of Napoleon."

(249) This portion of the Diary is not dated, but the meeting
with the Duchess of Angoulˆme must have taken place in January or
February, 1815. Madame d'Arblay had joined her husband in France,
her son remaining at Cambridge.-ED.

(250) "Very glad to see me."

(251) "May I keep the book you sent me?"

(252) "He has acted very nobly."

(253) Raised every day."

(254) "The king recollects very well having seen you in London."

(255) "O, I don't doubt it at all."

(256) "He was perfect!"

(257) Princess Elizabeth.

(258) "'Tis she who does the honours of the royal family."

(259) On duty.

(260) Minister for foreign affairs.

(261) "We have better news.  I can enter into no detail; but be
calm, and love him who loves you alone.

(262) Country estate.

(263) "My dearest--All is lost! I cannot enter into
details--pray, set out the sooner the better. Yours in life and
death, A. d'A."

(264) A large travelling-coach.-ED.

(265) Le Bourget was the scene of some desperate fighting during
the siege of Paris in 1870. It was surprised and captured from
the Prussians before daybreak of October 28, by a French force
commanded by General de Bellemare, but, after a gallant defence
of two days, it was retaken by the Prussians. December 21, an
attempt was made by the French to recapture Le Bourget, but
without success.-ED.

(266) Monday, the 20th, it should be-ED.

(267) The son of Philippe Egalit‚, afterwards King Louis
Philippe.-ED.

(268) Brother of Louis XVIII., whom he succeeded under the title
of Charles X.-ED.

(269) Should be Tuesday-ED.

(270) "Right of the strongest."

(271) Fran‡ois Ren‚ de Chƒteaubriand was born at Saint Malo in
1768 He visited the United States in 1789, and found, in the
pathless forests of the new world, the scenery which he
describes, with poetic fervour, in the pages of "Atala."  The
news of the king's flight to Varennes brought him back to Europe.
He married (1792) 'Mlle. de la Vigne-Buisson, joined the emigrant
army which marched with Brunswick to conquer France, got wounded
at Thionville, and retired to England. After the appointment of
Bonaparte to the office of first Consul, Chƒteaubriand returned
to France, and published his heroic- sentimental romance of
"Atala." Its success with the public was great, and it was
followed by "The Genius of Christianity," and other works.  Under
the restored Bourbons, Chƒteaubriand filled high diplomatic
posts.  This most sentimental of men of genius died in July,
1848.-ED.

(272) This occurred in the year 1811.-ED.



Page 334
                                SECTION 25
                                  (1815)


               AT BRUSSELS: WATERLOO: REJOINS M.   D'ARBLAY.


                           SOJOURN AT BRUSSELS.

Arrived at Brussels, we drove immediately to the house in which
dwelt Madame la Comtesse de Maurville.  That excellent person had
lived many years in England an emigrant, and there earned a
scanty maintenance by keeping a French school. She had now
retired upon a very moderate pension, but was surrounded by
intimate friends, who only suffered her to lodge at her own home.
She received us in great dismay, fearing to lose her little all
by these changes of government. I was quite ill on my arrival:
excessive fatigue, affright, and watchfulness overwhelmed me.

At Brussels all was quiet and tame. The Belgians had lost their
original antipathy to Bonaparte, without having yet had time to
acquire any warmth of interest for the Bourbons. Natively
phlegmatic, they demand great causes or strong incitement to
rouse them from that sort of passiveness that is the offspring of
philosophy and timidity- philosophy, that teaches them to prize
'the blessings of safety ; and timidity, that points out the
dangers of enterprise.  In all I had to do with them I found them
universally worthy, rational, and kind-hearted ; but Slow,
sleepy, and uninteresting,

in the sickroom to which I was immediately consigned, I met with
every sort of kindness from Madame de Maurville, whom I had known
intimately at Paris, and who had known and

Page 335

appreciated my beloved, exemplary sister Phillips in London.
Madame de Maurville was a woman that the Scotch would call
long-headed; she was sagacious, penetrating, and gifted with
strong humour. She saw readily the vices and follies of mankind,
and laughed at them heartily, without troubling herself to grieve
at them.  She was good herself, alike in heart and in conduct,
and zealous to serve and oblige ; but with a turn to satire that
made the defects of her neighbours rather afford her amusement
than concern.
'

I was visited here by the highly accomplished Madame de la: Tour
du Pin, wife to the favourite nephew of Madame d'Henin; a woman
of as much courage as elegance, and who had met danger, toil, and
difficulty in the Revolution with as much spirit, and nearly as
much grace, as she had displayed in meeting universal admiration
and homage at the court of Marie-Antoinette, of which she was one
of the most brilliant latter ornaments. Her husband was at this
time one of the French ministers at the Congress at Vienna;
whence, as she learned a few days after my arrival at Brussels,
he had been sent on an embassy of the deepest importance and
risk, to La Vend‚e or Bordeaux. She bore the term of that
suspense with an heroism that I greatly admired, for I well knew
she adored her husband. M. la Tour du Pin had been a prefect of
Brussels under Bonaparte, though never in favour, his internal
loyalty to the Bourbons being well known.  But Bonaparte loved to
attach great names and great characters to his government,
conscious of their weight both at home and abroad, and he trusted
in the address of that mental diving-machine, his secret police,
for warding off any hazard he might run, from employing the
adherents of his enemies. His greatly capacious, yet only
half-formed mind, could have parried, as well as braved, every
danger and all opposition, had not his inordinate ambition held
him as arbitrarily under control as he himself held under control
every other passion.

Madame de Maurville soon found us a house, of which we took all
but the ground floor: the entresol was mine, the first floor was
Madame d'Henin's, and that above it was for M. de Lally. It was
near the cathedral, and still in a prolongation of Madame de
Maurville's street, la Rue de la Montagne.

Nothing was known at Brussels, nothing at all, of the fate Of the
body-guard, or of the final destination of Louis XVIII. How
circumstances of such moment, nay, notoriety, could be kept from
public knowledge, I can form no idea; but neither
Page 336

in the private houses of persons of the first rank, in which,
through Madame d'Henin, I visited, nor in any of the shops nor by
any other sort of intercourse, either usual or accidental, could
I gather any intelligence.

Madame la Duchesse de Duras, ci-devant Mademoiselle Kersaint, who
had visited me in Paris, and who was now in hasty emigration at
Brussels, with her youngest daughter, Mademoiselle Clara de
Duras, seemed sincerely moved by my distress, and wrote to
various of her friends, who were emigrating within her reach, to
make inquiry for me.  I visited her in a shabby hotel, where I
found her without suite or equipage, but in perfect tranquillity
at their loss, and not alone unmurmuring, but nearly indifferent
to her privations; while Mademoiselle Clara ran up and down
stairs on her mother's messages, and even brought in wood for the
stove, with an alacrity and cheerfulness that seemed almost to
enjoy the change to hardships from grandeur.  Indeed, to very
young people, such reverses, for a certain time, appear as a
frolic. Novelty, mere novelty, during the first youth, can
scarcely be bought too dear.

>From M. de la Feronaye, Madame de Duras procured me intelligence
that the body-guard had been dispersed and disbanded by the Duc
de Berry, on the frontiers of La Belgique they were left at
liberty to remain in France, or to seek other asylums, as his
majesty Louis XVIII. could not enter the kingdom of Holland with
a military guard of his own. This news left me utterly in the
dark which way to look for hope or information.  Madame de Duras,
however, said she expected soon to see the Duc de Richelieu,
whose tidings might be more precise.


                      LETTERS FROM GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

Ten wretched days passed on in this ignorance, from the
19th to the 29th of March, 1815, when Madame de Maurville flew
into my apartment, with all the celerity of fifteen, and all the
ardour of twenty years of age, to put into my hands a letter from
General d'Arblay, addressed to herself, to inquire whether she
had any tidings to give him of my existence, and whether I had
been heard of at Brussels, or was known to have travelled to
Bordeaux, as Madame d'Henin, cousin to Madame de Maurville, had
been uncertain, when M. d'Arblay left me in Paris, to which of
those cities she should go.
Page 337

The joy of that moment, Oh! the joy of that Moment that showed me
again the handwriting that demonstrated the life and safety of
all to which my earthly happiness clung, can never be expressed,
and only by our meeting, when at last it took place, could be
equalled.  It was dated "Ypres, 27 Mars."  I wrote directly
thither, proposing to join him, if ", there were any impediment
to his coming on to Brussels.  I had already written, at hazard,
to almost every town in the Netherlands. The very next day,
another letter from the same kind hand arrived to Madame la
Duchesse d'Hurste.  This was succeeded by news that the king,
Louis XVIII., had been followed to Gand by his body-guard.
Thither, also, I expedited a letter, under cover to the Duc de
Luxembourg, capitaine of the company to which M. d'Arblay
belonged.

I lived now in a hurry of delight that scarcely allowed me
breathing-time, a delight that made me forget all my losses, my
misfortunes-my papers, keepsakes, valuables of various sorts,
with our goods, clothes, money-bonds, and endless et ceteras,
left, as I had reason to fear, to seizure and confiscation upon
the entry of the emperor into Paris-all, all was light, was
nothing in the scale ; and I wrote to my Alexander, and my
dearest friends, to rejoice in my joy, and that they had escaped
my alarm.

Next day, and again the next, came a letter from M. d'Arblay
himself.  The first was from Ypres, the second was from Bruges,
and brought by the post, as my beloved correspondent had been
assured of my arrival at Brussels by the Duc de Luxembourg, at
Ghistelle, near Ostend, which M. d'Arblay was slowly approaching
on horseback, when he met the carriage of Louis XVIII., as it
stopped for a relay of horses, and the duke, espying him,
descended from the second carriage of the king's suite, to fly to
and embrace him, with that lively friendship he has ever
manifested towards him. Thence they agreed that the plan of
embarkation should be renounced, and, instead of Ostend M.
d'Arblay turned his horse's head towards Gand, where he had a
rendezvous with the duke.

There he remained, to renew the offer of his services to his
king, and there he was most peculiarly distinguished by M. le Duc
de Feltre (General Clarke), who was still occupying the Post
assigned him on the restoration of Louis XVIII. of ministre de la
guerre.(273)

Page 338

Relieved now--or rather blest--I was no longer deaf to the
kindness of those who sought to enliven my exile ; I not only
visited Madame la Duchesse de Duras, but also cultivated an
intercourse with the charming Madame de la Tour du Pin whom I was
the more glad to find delightful from her being of English
origin; a Mademoiselle Dillon, Whose family was transplanted into
France under James II., and who was descended from a nobleman
whose eminent accomplishments she inherited with his blood; the
famous Lord Falkland, on whose tomb in Westminster Abbey is
carved

"Here lies the friend of Sir Philip Sidney."

Her sister, Miss Fanny Dillon, had been married by Bonaparte to
General Bertrand; and thus, while one of them' was an emigrant
following the fortunes of the Bourbons, the other was soon after
destined to accompany Bonaparte himself into exile. Le Colonel de
Beaufort, also, a warm, early friend of General d'Arblay,
belonging to the garrison of Metz or of Toul, I forget which, had
married a lady of great wealth in La Belgique; a woman rather
unhappy in her person, but possessed of a generous and feeling
heart : and this she instantly demonstrated by seeking and
cultivating an acquaintance with the wandering wife of her
husband's early camarade. I found her so amiable, and so soothing
in her commiseration during my distress, that I warmly returned
the partiality she showed me.


                       ARRIVAL OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

Four days passed thus serenely, when, on that which completed a
fortnight's absence from my best friend, the Duc de Duras came to
convoy his wife to Gand, where he was himself in waiting upon
Louis XVIII., and shortly afterwards M. de Chƒteaubriand was made
a privy counsellor and settled there also. And within a day or
two after this my door was opened by General d'Arblay!  Oh, how
sweet was this meeting ! this blessed reunion!-- how perfect, how
exquisite!

Here I must be silent.

General d'Arblay was only with me by the permission of the Duc de
Luxembourg, and liable to receive orders daily to return to Gand
; for I found to my speechless dismay, yet resistless
approbation, that General d'Arblay had made a

Page 339
decision as noble as it was dangerous, to refuse no call, to
abstain from no effort, that might bring into movement his
loyalty to his king and his cause, at this moment of calamity to
both.  Yet such was the harassed, or rather broken state of his
health, that his mental strength and unconquerable courage alone
preserved the poor shattered frame from sinking into languor and
inertion.

About this time I saw the entry of the new king, William
Frederick, of the new kingdom of the Netherlands.(274)  Tapestry,
or branches of trees, were hung out at all the windows, or, in
their failure, dirty carpets, old coats and cloaks, and even
mats-a motley display of proud parade or vulgar poverty, that
always, to me, made processions on the continent appear
burlesque.


                 A MISSION ENTRUSTED To GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

On the 22nd of April opened a new source, though not an
unexpected one, of inquietude, that preyed the more deeply upon
my spirits from the necessity of concealing its torments. . . .
The military call for M. d'Arblay arrived from Gand.  The summons
was from M. le Comte de Roch. The immediate hope in which we
indulged at this call was, that the mission to which it alluded
need not necessarily separate us, but that I might accompany my
honoured husband and remain at his quarters.  But, alas! he set
out instantly for Gand . . . . .

April 23rd brought me a letter: the mission was to Luxembourg.
His adjoint was the Colonel Comte de Mazancourt, his aide-de-camp
M. de Premorel, and also that gentleman's son. The plan was to
collect and examine all the soldiers who were willing to return
from the army of Bonaparte to that of Louis XVIII. Eleven other
general officers were named to similar posts, all on frontier
towns, for the better convenience of receiving the volunteers.
On the 24th April M. d'Arblay again joined me revived by his
natively martial spirit, and pleased to be employed!

April 26, we left the Rue de La Montague, after, on my part,
exactly a month's residence.  Our new apartments in

Page 340

the March‚ aux Bois were au premier,(275) and commodious and
pleasant. One drawing-room was appropriated solely by M. d'Arblay
for his military friends or military business ; the other was
mine.

Here we spent together seventeen days; and not to harass my
recollections, I will simply copy what I find in MY old
memorandum-book, as it was written soon after those days were no
more:--"Seventeen days I have passed with my best friend; and,
alas ! passed them chiefly in suspense and gnawing inquietude,
covered over with assumed composure . but they have terminated,
Heaven be praised! with better views, with softer calm, and
fairer hopes. Heaven realize them! I am much pleased with his
companions. M. le Comte de Mazancourt, his adjoint, is a gay,
spirited and spirituel young man, remarkably well bred, and
gallantly fond of his profession. M. de Premorel, the
aide-de-camp, is a man of solid worth and of delicate honour, and
he is a descendant of Godefroy de Bouillon. To this must be
added, that he is as poor as he is noble, and bears his penury
with the gentlemanly sentiment of feeling it distinct from
disgrace. He is married, and has ten or eleven children: he
resides with a most deserving wife, a woman also of family, on a
small farm, which he works at himself, and which repays him by
its produce. For many days in the year, potatoes, he told me,
were the only food they could afford for themselves or their
offspring! But they eat them with the proud pleasure of
independence and of honour and loyalty, such as befits their high
origins, always to serve, or be served, in the line of their
legal princes. As soon as Louis XVIII. was established on his
throne, M. de Premorel made himself known to the Duc de
Luxembourg, who placed him in his own company in the garde du
corps, and put his son upon the supernumerary list. . . .."

This young man is really charming. He has a native noblesse of
air and manner, with a suavity as well as steadiness of serene
politeness, that announce the Godefroy blood flowing With
conscious dignity and inborn courage through his youthful veins.
He is very young, but tall and handsome, and speaks of all his
brothers and sisters as if already he were chef de famille, and
bound to sustain and protect them.. I delighted to lead him to
talk of them, and the conversation on that subject always
brightened him into joy and loquacity. He named every one of them
to me in particular repeatedly,

Page 341

with a desire I should know them individually, and a warm hope I
might one day verify his representations.

This youth, Alphonse, and his father dined with us daily at this
period. All the mornings were devoted to preparations for the
ensuing expected campaign. When, however, all was prepared, and
the word of command alone was waited for from the Mar‚chal Duc de
Feltre, my dearest friend indulged in one morning's recreation,
which proved as 'agreeable as anything at such a period could be
to a mind oppressed like mine. He determined that we should visit
the Palais de Lachen, which had been the dwelling assigned as the
palace for the Empress Josephine by Bonaparte at the time of his
divorce. My dearest husband drove me in his cabriolet, and the
three gentlemen whom he invited to be of the party accompanied us
on horseback. The drive, the day, the road, the views, our new
horses-all were delightful, and procured me a short relaxation
from the foresight of evil.

The Palace of Lachen was at this moment wholly uninhabited, and
shown to us by some common servant. It is situated in a delicious
park d'Anglaise, and with a taste, a polish, and an elegance that
clears it from the charge of frippery or gaudiness, though its
ornaments and embellishments are all of the liveliest gaiety.
There is in some of the apartments some Gobelin tapestry, of
which there are here and there parts and details so exquisitely
worked that I could have " hung over them enamoured."


                   "RULE BRITANNIA!" IN THE ALLEE VERTE.

Previously to this reviving excursion my dearest friend had
driven me occasionally in the famous All‚e Verte, which the
inhabitants of Brussels consider as the first promenade in the
world; but it by no means answered to such praise in my eyes: it
is certainly very pretty, but too regular, too monotonous, and
too flat to be eminently beautiful, though from some parts the
most distant from the city there are views of cottages and
hamlets that afford great pleasure.

Our last entertainment here was a concert in the public and fine
room appropriated for music or dancing. The celebrated Madame
Catalani had a benefit, at which the Queen of the Netherlands was
present, not, however, in state, though not incognita; and the
king of warriors, Marshal Lord Wellington, surrounded by his
staff and all the officers

Page 342

and first persons here, whether Belgians, Prussians, Hanoverians,
or English.  I looked at Lord Wellington watchfully, and was
charmed with every turn of his countenance, with his noble and
singular physiognomy and his eagle eye. He was gay even to
sportiveness all the evening, conversing with the officers around
him. He never was seated, not even a moment, though I saw seats
vacated to offer to him frequently. He seemed enthusiastically
charmed with Catalani, ardently applauding whatsoever she sung,
except the "Rule Britannia;: and there, with sagacious reserve,
he listened in utter Silence. Who ordered it I know not, but he
felt it was injudicious in every country but -our own to give out
a chorus of "Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!"

And when an encore began to be vociferated from his officers, he
instantly crushed it by a commanding air of disapprobation, and
thus offered me an opportunity of seeing how magnificently he
could quit his convivial familiarity for imperious' dominion when
occasion might call for the transformation.


                  GENERAL D'ARBLAY LEAVES FOR LUXEMBOURG.

When the full order arrived from Gand, establishing the mission
of M. d'Arblay at Luxembourg, he decided upon demanding an
audience of the Duke of Wellington, with whom he thought it
necessary to concert his measures.  The duke received him without
difficulty, and they had a conference of some length, the result
of which was that his grace promised to prepare Blucher, the
great Prussian general, then actually at Luxembourg, for aiding
the scheme. M. d'Arblay himself also wrote to Bl�cher; but before
any answer could be returned, a new ordonnance from the Duc de
Feltre directed M. d'Arblay to hasten to his post without delay.

May 13, 1815.-My best friend left me to begin his campaign; left
me, by melancholy chance, upon his birthday. I could not that day
see a human being - I could but consecrate it to thoughts of him
who had just quitted me yet who from me never was, never can be,
mentally absent , and to our poor Alexander, thus inevitably, yet
severely cast upon himself.


                          AN EXCHANGE OF VISITS.

The next day the gentle and feeling Madame de Beaufort spent the
morning with me, using the most engaging efforts to
Page 343

prevail with me to dine constantly at her table, and to accompany
her in a short time to her villa. Without any charms, personal or
even intellectual, to catch or fascinate, she seemed to have so
much goodness of character, that I could not but try to attach
myself to her, and accept her kindness as the "cordial drop" to
make the cup of woe of my sad solitude go down; for Madame
d'Henin, who, to equal sensibility, joined the finest
understanding, was now so absorbed in politics that she had no
time for any expansion of sympathy. She came, nevertheless, to
see me in the evening, and to endeavour to draw me again into
human life ! And her kind effort so far conquered me, that I
called upon her the next day, and met Madame de Vaudreuil, for
whom I had a still unexecuted commission from the Duchess dowager
of Buccleuch, upon whom I had waited at the request of the
princesse de Chimay, to entreat the interest of her grace with
the prince regent, that the English pension accorded to the
Duchess of Fitzjames might be continued to the duke, her husband,
who remained a ruined widower with several children. I failed in
my attempt, the natural answer being, that there was no
possibility of granting a pension to a foreigner who resided in
his own country while that country was at open war with the land
whence he aspired at its obtention, a word I make for my passing
convenience.

I exchanged visits also with Madame de la Tour du Pin, the truly
elegant, accomplished, and high-bred niece, by marriage, of
Madame la Princesse d'Henin. Her husband, M. de la Tour du Pin,
was at that time at Vienna, forming a part of the renowned
Congress, by which he was sent to La Vend‚e; to announce there
the resolution of the assembled sovereigns to declare Bonaparte
an outlaw, in consequence of his having broken the conditions of
his accepted abdication, And I was discovered and visited by M.
le Comte de Boursac, one of the first officers of the
establishment of the Prince de Cond‚, with whom he was then at
Brussels; a man of worth and cultivation.  At Paris he visited us
so often, that he took up the name at the door of "Le Voisin,"
thinking it more safe to be so designated than to pronounce too
frequently the name of a known adherent to the Bourbons. The good
Madame de Maurville I saw often, and the family of the Boyds,
with which my general had engaged me to quit Brussels, should
Brussels become the seat of War,
Page 344

                              THE FETE DIEU.

Brussels in general was then inhabited by catholics, and catholic
ceremonies were not unfrequent. In particular, la Fˆte Dieu was
kept with much pomp, and a procession of priests paraded the
streets, accompanied by images, pictures paintings, tapestry, and
other insignia of outward and visible worship; and the windows
were hung with carpets, and rugs, and mats, and almost with rags,
to prove good will, at least, to what they deem a pious show.
Ludicrous circumstances without end interrupted, or marred the
procession, from frequent hard showers, during which the priests,
decorated with splendid robes and petticoats, and ornaments the
most gaudy, took sudden refuge at the doors of the houses by
which they were passing, and great cloths, towels, or coarse
canvas, were flung over the consecrated finery, and the relics
were swaddled up in flannels, while dirt, splashes, running,
scampering, and ludicrous wrappings up, broke at once and
disfigured the procession.


                     THE ECCENTRIC LADY CAROLINE LAMB.

At Madame de la Tour du Pin's I kept the fˆte of Madame de
Maurville, with a large and pleasant party; and I just missed
meeting the famous Lady Caroline Lamb,(276) who had been there at
dinner, and whom I saw, however, crossing the Place Royale, from
Madame de la Tour du Pin's to the Grand Hotel ; dressed, Or
rather not dressed, so as to excite universal attention, and
authorise every boldness of staring, from the general to the
lowest soldier, among the military groups then constantly
parading the Place,-for she had one shoulder, half her back, and
all her throat and neck, displayed as if at the call of some
statuary for modelling a heathen goddess. A slight scarf hung
over the other shoulder, and the rest Of the attire was of
accordant lightness.  As her ladyship had

Page 345

not then written, and was not, therefore, considered as one
apart, from being known as an eccentric authoress, this conduct
and demeanour excited something beyond surprise,

and in an English lady provoked censure, if not derision, upon
the whole English nation.


                          A PROPOSED ROYAL CORPS.

Monsieur le Duc de Luxembourg came to inform me that he was on
the point of negotiating with the Duke of Wellington and Prince
Bl�cher, upon raising a royal corps to accompany their army into
France, should the expected battle lead to that result ; and he
desired me to prepare M. d'Arblay, should such be the case, for a
recall from TrŠves, that he might resume his post in the
body-guards belonging to the Compagnie de Luxembourg. He spoke of
my beloved in terms of such high consideration, and with
expressions so amiable of regard and esteem, that he won my
heart. He could by no means, he said, be again under active
military orders, and consent to lose so distinguished an officer
from his corps. I had formerly met the duke in Paris, at Madame
de Laval's - and he bad honoured me with a visit chez moi
immediately after my return from England: and in consequence of
those meetings, and of his real friendship for M. d'Arblay, he
now spoke to me with the unreserved trust due to a tried
confidant in case of peril and urgency.  He stayed with me nearly
two hours-for when once the heart ventured to open itself upon
the circumstances, expectations, or apprehensions of. that
eventful period, subjects, opinions, and feelings pressed forward
with such eagerness for discussion, that those who upon such
conditions met, found nothing so difficult as to separate.

I wrote instantly to M. d'Arblay ; but the duke's plan proved
abortive, as the Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher refused
all sanction to the junction of a French army With that of the
allies. The thought, -perhaps-and perhaps Justly, that by
entering France with natives against natives, they might excite a
civil war, more difficult to conduct than that of only foreigners
against foreigners.


                             PAINFUL SUSPENSE.

Suspense, during all this period, was frightfully mistress of
'-,,the mind; nothing was known, everything was imagined.
Page 346

The two great interests that were at war, the Bourbonists and
Bonapartists, were divided and sub-divided into factions, or
rather fractions, without end, and all that was kept invariably
and on both sides alive was expectation. Wanderers, deserters or
captives from France, arrived daily at Brussels, all with varying
news of the state of that empire, and of the designs of Bonaparte
amongst them. The Chevalier d'Argy made me a visit, to deliver me
a letter from M. de Premorel, for M. d'Arblay. This gentleman was
just escaped from Sedan in the disguise of a paysan, and assisted
by a paysanne, belonging to his family. She conducted him through
by-paths and thick forests, that she knew to be least frequented
by the troops, police, or custom-house officers of *Bonaparte. He
was going to offer his services to the king, Louis XVIII. I had
much interesting public news from M. d'Argy : but I pass by all
now except personal detail, as I write but for my nearest
friends; and all that was then known of public occurrence has
long been stale. . . .

During this melancholy period when leisure, till now a delight,
became a burthen to me, I could not call my faculties into any
species of intellectual service; all was sunk, was annihilated in
the overpowering predominance of anxiety for the coming event. I
endured my suspense only by writing to or hearing from him who
was its object. All my next dear connections were well. I heard
from them satisfactorily, and I was also engaged in frequent
correspondence with the Princess Elizabeth, whose letters are
charming, not only from their vivacity, their frankness, and
condescension, but from a peculiarity of manner, the result of
having mixed little with the world, that, joined to great
fertility of fancy, gives a something so singular and so genuine
to her style of writing, as to render her letters desirable and
interesting, independent of the sincere and most merited
attachment which their gracious kindness inspires.


                          INQUIETUDE AT BRUSSELS.

I come now to busier scenes, and to my sojourn at Brussels during
the opening of one of the most famous campaigns upon record ; and
the battle of Waterloo, upon which, in great measure, hung the
fate of Europe.

Yet upon reflection, I will write no account of these great
events, which have been detailed so many hundred times, and
Page 347

so many hundred ways, as I have nothing new to offer upon them ;
I will simply write the narrative of my own history at that awful
period.

I was awakened in the middle of the night by confused noises in
the house, and running up and down stairs. I listened
attentively, but heard no sound of voices, and soon all was
quiet.  I then concluded the persons who resided in the
apartments on the second floor, over my head, had returned home
later and I tried to fall asleep again.

I succeeded; but I was again awakened at about five o'clock in
the morning Friday, 16th June, by the sound of a bugle in the
March‚ aux Bois: I started up and opened the window. But I only
perceived some straggling soldiers, hurrying in different
directions, and saw lights gleaming from some of the chambers in
the neighbourhood : all again was soon still, and my own dwelling
in profound silence, and therefore I concluded there had been
some disturbance in exchanging sentinels at the various posts,
which was already appeased: and I retired once more to my pillow,
and remained till my usual hour.

I was finishing, however, a letter for my best friend, when my
breakfast was brought in, at my then customary time of eight
o'clock; and, as mistakes and delays and miscarriages of letters
had caused me much unnecessary misery, I determined to put what I
was then writing in the post myself, and set off with it the
moment it was sealed.


                          THE BLACK BRUNSWICKERS.

In my way back from the post-office, my ears were alarmed by the
sound of military music, and my eyes equally struck with the
sight of a body of troops marching to its measured time. But I
soon found that what I had supposed to be an occasionally passing
troop, was a complete corps; infantry, cavalry artillery, bag and
baggage, with all its officers in full uniform, and that uniform
was black. This gloomy hue gave an air so mournful to the
procession, that, knowing its destination for battle, I
contemplated with an aching heart. On inquiry, I learned it was
the army of Brunswick. How much deeper yet had been my heartache
had I foreknown that nearly all those brave men, thus marching on
in gallant though dark array, with their valiant royal chief(277)
at their head,
Page 348

the nephew of my own king, George III., were amongst the first
destined victims to this dreadful contest, and that neither the
chief, nor the greater part of his warlike associates, would
within a few short hours, breathe again the vital air !

My interrogations were answered with brevity, yet curiosity was
all awake and all abroad; for the procession lasted some hours.
Not a door but was open; not a threshold but was crowded, and not
a window of the many-windowed gothic modern, frightful, handsome,
quaint, disfigured, fantastic, or lofty mansions that diversify
the large' market-place of Brussels, but was occupied by lookers
on. Placidly, indeed, they saw the warriors pass : no kind
greeting welcomed their arrival; no warm wishes followed them to
combat. Neither, on the other hand, was there the slightest
symptom of dissatisfaction ; yet even while standing thus in the
midst of them, an unheeded, yet observant stranger, it was not
possible for me to discern, with any solidity of conviction,
whether the Belgians were, at heart, Bourbonists or Bonapartists.
The Bonapartists, however, were in general the most open, for the
opinion on both sides, alike with good will and with ill, was
nearly universal that Bonaparte was invincible.


                       THE OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN.

Still, I knew not, dreamt not, that the campaign was already
opened - that Bonaparte had broken into La Belgique on the 15th,
and had taken Charleroi; though it was news undoubtedly spread
all over Brussels except to my lonely self. My own disposition,
at this period, to silence and retirement, was too congenial with
the taciturn habits of my hosts to be by them counteracted, and
they suffered me, therefore, to return to my home as I had
quitted it, with a mere usual and civil salutation ; while
themselves and their house were evidently continuing their common
avocations with their common composure. Surely our colloquial use
of the word phlegm must be derived from the character of the
Flemings.

The important tidings now, however, burst upon me in sundry
directions. The Princesse d'Henin, Colonel de Beaufort, Madame de
Maurville, the Boyd family, all, with intelligence of the event,
joined offers of service, and invitations to reside with them
during this momentous contest, should I prefer such protection to
remaining alone at such a crisis.
Page 349

What a day of confusion and alarm did we all spend on the
17th! In my heart the whole time was TrŠves!  TrŠves! TrŠves!
That day, and June 18th, I passed in hearing the cannon! Good
heaven! what indescribable horror to be so near the field of
slaughter! such I call it, for the preparation to the ear by the
tremendous sound was soon followed by its fullest effect, in the
view of the wounded, the bleeding martyrs to the formidable
contention that was soon to terminate the history of the war. And
hardly more afflicting was this disabled return from the battle,
than the sight of the continually pouring forth ready-armed and
vigorous victims that marched past my windows to meet similar
destruction.


                      NEWS FROM THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

Accounts from the field of battle arrived hourly; sometimes
directly from the Duke of Wellington to Lady Charlotte Greville,
and to some other ladies who had near relations in the combat,
and which, by their means, were circulated in Brussels ; and at
other times from such as conveyed those amongst the wounded
Belgians, whose misfortunes were -inflicted near enough to the
skirts of the spots of action, to allow of their being dragged
away by their hovering countrymen to the city : the spots, I say,
of action, for the far-famed battle of Waterloo was preceded by
three days of partial engagements.

During this period, I spent my whole time in seeking and passing
from house to house of the associates of my distress, or
receiving them in mine. Ten times, at least, I crossed over to
Madame d'Henin, discussing plans and probabilities, and
interchanging hopes and fears. I spent a considerable part of the
morning with Madame de la Tour -du Pin, who was now returned from
Gand, where Louis XVIII. supported his suspense and his danger
with a coolness and equanimity which, when the ‚clat surrounding
the glory of his daring and great opponent shall no longer by its
overpowering resplendence keep all around it in the shade, will
carry him down to posterity as the monarch precisely formed, by
the patient good sense, the enlightened liberality, and the
Immovable composure of his character, to meet the perilous
perplexities of his situation, and, if he could not combat them
with the vigour and genius of a hero, to sustain them at least
with the dignity of a prince.
Page 350

                      PROJECTS FOR QUITTING BRUSSELS,

Madame d'Henin and Madame de la Tour du Pin projected retreating
to Gand, should the approach of the enemy be unchecked ; to avail
themselves of such protection as might be obtained from seeking
it under the wing of Louis XVIII. M. de la Tour du Pin had, I
believe, remained there with his majesty. M. de Lally and the
Boyds inclined to Antwerp, where they might safely await the fate
of Brussels, near enough for returning, should it weather the
storm, yet within reach of vessels to waft them to the British
shores should it be lost.

Should this last be the fatal termination, I, Of course, had
agreed to join the party of the voyage, and resolved to secure my
passport, that, while I waited to the last moment, I might yet be
prepared for a hasty retreat.  I applied for a passport to
Colonel Jones, to whom the Duke of Wellington had deputed the
military command of Brussels in his absence but he was unwilling
to sanction an evacuation of Brussels, which he deemed premature.
It was not, he said, for us, the English, to spread alarm, or
prepare for an overthrow: he had not sent away his own wife or
children, and he had no doubt but victory would repay his
confidence.

I was silenced, but not convinced ; the event was yet uncertain,
and my stake was, with respect to earthly happiness, my
existence. A compromise occurred to me, which suggested my
dispensing with a new passport, and contenting myself with
obtaining his signature to my old one, accorded by M. le
Chevalier de Jaucourt. He could not refuse to sign it; and we
then separated.  I promised him, nevertheless, that I would
remain to the last extremity; and I meant no other. I was now
better satisfied, though by no means at ease.

Yet the motive of Colonel Jones was, that all should yield to the
glory of the British arms and the Duke of Wellington. And I had
the less right to be surprised, from the dreadful soldier's
speech I had heard him utter when I first saw him, to the
Princesse d'Henin: complaining of the length of time that was
wasted in inaction, and of the inactivity and tameness of the
Bourbons, he exclaimed, "We want blood, madam! what we want is
blood!"


CALMLY AWAITING THE RESULT,

I found upon again going my rounds for information, that 'though
news was arriving incessantly from the scene of action,
Page 351

and with details always varying,, Bonaparte was always advancing.
All the people of Brussels lived in the streets.  Doors seemed of
no use, for they were never shut. The individuals, when they
re-entered their houses, only resided at the windows : so that
the whole population of the city seemed constantly in public
view. Not only business as well as society was annihilated, but
even every species of occupation. All of which we seemed capable
was, to inquire or to relate, to speak or to hear. Yet no
clamour, no wrangling, nor even debate was intermixed with either
question or answer ; curiosity, though incessant, was serene ;
the faces were all monotony, though the tidings were all variety.
I could attribute this only to the length of time during which
the inhabitants had been habituated to change both of masters and
measures, and to their finding that, upon an average, they
neither lost nor gained by such successive revolutions.  And to
this must be joined their necessity of submitting, be it what it
might, to the result.  This mental consciousness probably kept
their passions in order, and crushed all the impulses by which
hope or fear is excited. No love of liberty buoyed up resistance;
no views of independence brightened their imagination; and they
bore even suspense with the calm of apparent philosophy, and an
exterior of placid indifference.

The first intelligence Madame d'Henin now gave me was, that the
Austrian minister extraordinary, M. le Comte de Vincent, had been
wounded close by the side of the Duke of Wellington ; and that he
was just brought back in a litter to her hotel.  As she was much
acquainted with him, she desired me to accompany her in making
her personal inquiries. No one now sent servants, cards, or
messages, where there was any serious interest in a research.
There was too much eagerness to bear delay, and ceremony and
etiquette always fly from distress and from business.

Le Comte de Vincent, we had the pleasure to hear, had been hurt
only in the hand ; but this wound afterwards proved more serious
than at first was apprehended, threatening for ,many weeks either
gangrene or amputation. News, however, far more fatal struck our
ears soon after : the gallant Duke of Brunswick was killed! and
by a shot close also to the Duke of Wellington!

The report now throughout Brussels was that the two Mighty
chiefs, Bonaparte and Wellington, were almost constantly in view
of each other.

Page 352

                     FLIGHT To ANTWERP DETERMINED ON.

But what a day was the next--June 18th--the greatest, perhaps, in
its result, in the annals of Great Britain!

My slumbers having been tranquillized by the close Of the
17th, I was calmly reposing, when I was awakened by the sound of
feet abruptly entering my drawing-room.  I started, and had but
just time to see by my watch that it was only six o'clock, when a
rapping at my bedroom door so quick as to announce as much
trepidation as it excited, made me slip on a long kind of domino
always, in those times, at hand, to keep me ready for
encountering surprise, and demanded what was the matter? "Open
your door! there is not a moment to lose! " was the answer, in
the voice of Miss Ann Boyd. I obeyed, in great alarm, and saw
that pretty and pleasing young woman, with her mother, Mrs. Boyd,
who remembered having known and played with me when we were both
children, and whom I had met with at Passy, after a lapse of more
than forty years. They both eagerly told me that all their new
hopes had been overthrown by better authenticated news, and that
I must be with them by eight o'clock, to proceed to the wharf,
and set sail for Antwerp, whence we sail on for England, should
the taking of Brussels by Bonaparte endanger Antwerp also.

To send off a few lines to the post, with my direction at
Antwerp, to pack and to pay, was all that I could attempt, or
even desire ; for I had not less time than appetite for thinking
of breakfast.  My host and my maid carried my small package, and
I arrived before eight in the Rue d'Assault.  We set off for the
wharf on foot, not a fiacre or chaise being procurable. Mr. and
Mrs. Boyd, five or six of their family, a governess, and I
believe some servants, with bearers of our baggage, made our
party. Though the distance was short, the walk was long, because
rugged, dirty, and melancholy. Now and then we heard a growling
noise, like distant thunder, but far more dreadful. When we had
got about a third part of the way, a heavy rumbling sound made us
stop to listen. It was approaching nearer and nearer, and we soon
found that we were followed by innumerable carriages, and a
multitude of persons.

All was evidently military, but of so gloomy, taciturn, and
forbidding a description, that when we were overtaken we had not
courage to offer a question to any passer by.  Had
Page 353

we been as certain that they belonged to the enemy as we felt
convinced that, thus circumstanced, they must belong to our own
interests, we could not have been awed more effectually into
silent passiveness, so decisively repelling to inquiry was every
aspect, In truth, at that period, when every other hour changed
the current of expectation, no one could be inquisitive without
the risk of passing for a spy, nor communicative without the
hazard of being suspected as a traitor.

Arrived at the wharf, Mr. Boyd pointed out to us our barge, which
seemed fully ready for departure ; but the crowd already come and
still coming so incommoded us, that Mr. Boyd desired we would
enter a large inn, and wait till he could speak with the master,
and arrange our luggage and places, We went, therefore, into a
spacious room and ordered breakfast, when the room was entered by
a body of military men of all sorts ; but we were suffered to
keep our ground till Mr, Boyd came to inform us that we must all
decamp!


                             A CHECK MET WITH.

Confounded, but without any interrogatory, we vacated the
apartment, and Mr. Boyd conducted us not to the barge, not to the
wharf, but to the road back to Brussels ; telling us, in an
accent of depression, that he feared all was lost-that Bonaparte
was advancing-that his point was decidedly Brussels-and that the
Duke of Wellington had sent orders that all the magazines, the
artillery, and the warlike stores of every description, and all
the wounded, the maimed, and the sick, should be immediately
removed to Antwerp. For this purpose he had issued directions
that every barge, every boat should be seized for the use of the
army, and that everything of value should be conveyed away, the
hospitals emptied, and Brussels evacuated.

If this intelligence filled us with the most fearful alarm, how
much more affrighting still was the sound of cannon which next
assailed our ears !  The dread reverberation became louder and
louder as we proceeded. Every shot tolled to our imaginations the
death of myriads; and the conviction that the destruction and
devastation were so near us, with the probability that if all
attempt at escape should prove abortive, we might be personally
involved in the carnage, gave us sensations too awful for verbal
expression; we could only gaze and tremble, listen and shudder.
Page 354

Yet, strange to relate! on re-entering the city, all seemed quiet
and tranquil as usual! and though it was in this imminent and
immediate danger of being invested, and perhaps pillaged, I saw
no outward mark of distress or disturbance, or even of hurry or
curiosity.

Having re-lodged us in the Rue d'Assault, Mr. Boyd tried to find
some land carriage for our removal.  But not only every chaise
had been taken, and every diligence secured, the cabriolets, the
calŠches, nay, the waggons and the carts; and every species of
caravan, had been seized for Military service. And, after the
utmost efforts he could make, in every kind of way, he told us we
must wait the chances of the day, for that there was no
possibility of escape from Brussels either by land or water.

Remedy there was none; nor had we any other resource; we were
fain, therefore, quietly to submit. Mr. Boyd, however, assured me
that, though no land carriage was likely to find horses during
this furious contest, he had been promised the return of a barge
for the next morning, if he and his party would be at the wharf
by six o'clock. We all therefore agreed that, if we were spared
any previous calamity, we would set out for the wharf at five
o'clock, and I accepted their invitation to be with them in the
evening, and spend the night at their house.  We then separated;
I was anxious to get home, to watch the post, and to write to
TrŠves.


                        A CAPTURED FRENCH GENERAL.

My reappearance produced no effect upon my hosts : they saw my
return with the same placid civility that they had seen my
departure.  But even apathy, or equanimity,--which shall I call
it?--like theirs was now to be broken; I was seated at my bureau
and writing, when a loud "hurrah!" reached my ears from some
distance, while the daughter of my host, a girl of about
eighteen, gently opening my door, said the fortune of the day had
suddenly turned, and that Bonaparte was taken prisoner.  At the
same      time the "hurrah!" came nearer. I flew to the window;
my host and hostess came also, crying, "Bonaparte est pris! le
voil…! le Voil…!"(278)

I then saw, on a noble war-horse in full equipinent, a general in
the splendid uniform of France but visibly disarmed, and,

Page 355

to all appearance, tied to his horse, or, at least, held on, so
as to disable him from making any effort to gallop it off, and
surrounded, preceded, and followed by a. crew of roaring
wretches, who seemed eager for the moment when he should be
lodged where they had orders to conduct him, that they might
unhorse, strip, pillage him, and divide the spoil.

His high, feathered, glittering helmet he had pressed down as low
as he could on his forehead, and I could not discern his face ;
but I was instantly certain he was not Bonaparte, on finding the
whole commotion produced by the rifling crew above mentioned,
which, though it might be guided, probably, by some subaltern
officer, who might have the captive in charge, had left the field
of battle at a moment when none other could be spared, as all the
attendant throng were evidently amongst the refuse of the army
followers.

I was afterwards informed that this unfortunate general was the
Count Lobau. He met with singular consideration during his
captivity in the Low Countries, having thence taken to himself a
wife. That wife I had met when last in Paris, at a ball given by
Madame la Princesse de Beauvau. She was quite young and extremely
pretty, and the gayest of the gay, laughing, chatting the whole
evening, chiefly with the fat and merry, good-humoured Duchesse
de Feltre (Madame la Mar‚chale Clarke) - and her husband, high in
office, in fame, and in favour, was then absent on some official
duty.


                            THE DEARTH OF NEWS.

The dearth of any positive news from the field of battle, even in
the heart of Brussels, at this crisis, when everything that was
dear and valuable to either party was at stake, was at one
instant nearly distracting in its torturing suspense to the wrung
nerves, and at another insensibly blunted them into a kind of
amalgamation with the Belgic philosophy. At certain houses, as
well as at public offices, news, I doubt not, arrived; but no
means were taken to - promulgate it - no gazettes, as in London,
no bulletins, as in Paris, were cried about the streets ; we were
all left at once to our conjectures and our destinies.

The delusion of victory vanished into a merely passing advantage,
as I gathered from the earnest researches into which it led me;
and evil only met all ensuing investigation; retreat and defeat
were the words in every mouth around me!
Page 356

The Prussians, it was asserted, were completely vanquished on the
15th, and the English on the 16th, while on the day just passed,
the 17th, a day of continual fighting and bloodshed, drawn
battles on both sides left each party Proclaiming what neither
party could prove--success.

It was Sunday ; but church service was out of the question though
never were prayers more frequent, more fervent, Form, indeed,
they could not have, nor union, while constantly expecting the
enemy with fire and sword at the gates, Who could enter a place
of worship, at the risk of making it a scene of slaughter? But
who, also, in circumstances so awful, could require the
exhortation of a priest or the example of a congregation, to
stimulate devotion? No! in those fearful exigencies, where, in
the full vigour of health, strength, and life's freshest
resources, we seem destined to abruptly quit this mortal coil, we
need no spur--all is spontaneous; and the soul is unshackled.


                       RUMOURS OF THE FRENCH COMING.

Not above a quarter of an hour had I been restored to my sole
occupation of solace, before I was again interrupted and startled
; but not as on the preceding occasion by riotous shouts ; the
sound was a howl, violent, loud, affrighting, and issuing from
many voices. I ran to the window, and saw the March‚ aux Bois
suddenly filling with a populace, pouring in from all its
avenues, and hurrying on rapidly, and yet as if unconscious in
what direction; while women with children in their arms, or
clinging to their clothes, ran screaming out of doors - and
cries, though not a word was ejaculated, filled the air, and from
every house, I saw windows closing, and shutters fastening ; all
this, though long in writing, was presented to my eyes in a
single moment, and was followed in another by a burst into my
apartment, to announce that the French were come!

I know not even who made this declaration; my head was out of the
window, and the person who made it scarcely entered the room and
was gone.

 How terrific was this moment ! My perilous situation urged me to
instant flight; and, without waiting to speak to the people of
the house, I crammed my papers and money into a basket, and
throwing on a shawl and bonnet, I flew down stairs and out of
doors.

My intention was to go to the Boyds, to partake, as I had
engaged, their fate , but the crowd were all issuing from the
Page 357

way I must have turned to have gained the Rue d'Assault, and I
thought, therefore, I might be safer with Madame de Maurville,
who, also, not being English, might be less obnoxious to the
Bonapartists. To the Rue de la Montagne I hurried, in
consequence, my steps crossing and crossed by an affrighted
multitude ; but I reached it in safety, and she received me with
an hospitable welcome. I found her calm, and her good humour
undisturbed. Inured to revolutions, under which she had smarted
so as she could smart no more, from the loss of all those who had
been the first objects of her solicitude, a husband and three
sons! she was now hardened in her feelings upon public events,
though her excellent heart was still affectionate and zealous for
the private misfortunes of the individuals whom she loved.

What a dreadful day did I pass! dreadful in the midst of its
glory! for it was not during those operations that sent details
partially to our ears that we could judge of the positive state
of affairs, or build upon any permanency of success. Yet here I
soon recovered from all alarm for personal safety, and lost the
horrible apprehension of being in the midst of a city that was
taken, sword in hand, by an enemy-an apprehension that, while it
lasted, robbed me of breath, chilled my blood, and gave me a
shuddering ague that even now in fancy returns as I seek to
commit it to paper.


                       FRENCH PRISONERS BROUGHT IN.

The alerte(279) which had produced this effect, I afterwards
learnt, though not till the next day, was utterly false ; but
whether it had been produced by mistake or by deceit I never
knew. The French, indeed, were coming; but not triumphantly .,
they were prisoners, surprised and taken suddenly, ,and brought
in, being disarmed, by an escort ; and, as they were numerous,
and their French uniform was discernible from afar, the almost
universal belief at Brussels that Bonaparte was invincible, might
perhaps, without any intended deception, have raised the report
that they were advancing as conquerors.


                             NEWS OF WATERLOO.

I attempt no description of this day, the grandeur of which was
unknown, or unbelieved, in Brussels till it had taken its
Page 358

flight, and could only be named as time past. The Duke of
Wellington and Prince Bl�cher were too mightily engaged in
meriting fame to spare an instant for either claiming or
proclaiming it.

I was fain, therefore, to content myself with the intelligence
that reached Madame de Maurville fortuitously. The crowds in the
streets, the turbulence, the inquietude, the bustle the noise,
the cries, the almost yells, kept up a perpetual expectation of
annoyance. The door was never opened, but I felt myself pale and
chill with fear of some sanguinary attack or military surprise.
It is true that as Brussels was not fortified and could, in
itself, offer no resistance, it could neither b' besieged nor
taken by storm ; but I felt certain that the Duke of Wellington
would combat for it inch by inch, and that in a conflict between
life and death, every means would be resorted to that could be
suggested by desperation.

Madame de Maurville now told me that an English commissary was
just arrived from the army, who had assured her that the tide of
success was completely turned to the side of the Allies.  She
offered to conduct me to his apartment, which was in the same
hotel as her own, and in which he was writing and transacting
business gravely assuring me, and I really believe, herself, that
he could not but be rejoiced to give me, in person, every
particular I could wish to hear. I deemed it, however, but
prudent not to put his politeness to a test so severe.

Urgent, nevertheless, to give me pleasure, and not easily set
aside from following her own conceptions, she declared she would
go down stairs, and inform Mr. Saumarez that she had a
countrywoman of his in her room, whom he would be charmed to
oblige.  I tried vainly to stop her; good humour, vivacity,
curiosity, and zeal were all against my efforts; she went, and to
my great surprise returned escorted by Mr. Saumarez himself.  His
narration was all triumphant and his account of the Duke of
Wellington might almost have seemed an exaggerated panegyric if
it had painted some warrior in a chivalresque romance. . . . I
could not but be proud of this account: independent from its
glory; my revived imagination hung the blessed laurels of peace.

But though Hope was all alive, Ease and Serenity were not her
companions: Mr. Saumarez could not disguise that there was still
much to do, and consequently to apprehend; and he had never, he
said, amongst the many he had viewed, seen a field

Page 359

of battle in such excessive disorder.  Military carriages of all
sorts, and' multitudes of groups unemployed, occupied spaces that
ought to have been left for manoeuvring or observation. I
attribute this to the various nations who bore arms on that great
day in their own manner; though the towering generalissimo of all
cleared the ground, and dispersed what was unnecessary at every
moment that was not absorbed by the fight.

When the night of this memorable day arrived, I took leave of
Madame de Maurville to join the Boyds, according to my
engagement: for though all accounts confirmed the victory of the
Duke of Wellington, we had so little idea of its result, that we
still imagined the four days already spent in the work of carnage
must be followed by as many more, before the dreadful conflict
could terminate.

Madame de Maurville lent me her servant, with whom I now made my
way tolerably well, for though the crowd remained, it was no
longer turbulent. A general knowledge of general success to the
Allies was everywhere spread ; curiosity therefore began to be
satisfied, and inquietude to be removed. The concourse were
composedly--for no composure is like that of the Flemings-
-listening to details of the day in tranquil groups, and I had no
interruption to my walk but from my own anxiety to catch, as I
could, some part of the relations. As all these have since been
published, I omit them, though the interest with which I heard
them was, at the moment, intense.

Three or four shocking sights intervened during my passage, of
officers of high rank, either English or Belge, and either dying
or dead, extended upon biers, carried by soldiers. The view of
their gay and costly attire, with the conviction of their
suffering, or fatal state, joined to the profound silence of
their bearers and attendants, was truly saddening ; and if my
reflections were morally dejecting, what, oh what were my
personal feelings and fears, in the utter uncertainty whether
this victory were more than a passing triumph! In one place we
were entirely stopped by a group that had gathered round a horse,
of which a British soldier was examining one of the knees. The
animal was a tall war-horse, and one of the noblest of his
species.  The soldier was enumerating to his hearers its high
qualities, and exultingly acquainting them it was his own
property, as he had taken it, if I understood right, from the
fields He produced also a very fine ring, which was all he had
taken
Page 360

of spoil, Yet this man gravely added that pillage had been
forbidden by the commander-in-chief!

I found the Boyds still firm for departure. The news of the
victory of the day, gained by the Duke of Wellington and Prince
Bl�cher, had raised the highest delight; but further intelligence
had just reached them that the enemy, since the great battle, was
working to turn the right wing of the Duke of Wellington, who was
in the most imminent danger; and that the capture of Brussels was
expected to take place the next morning, as everything indicated
that Brussels was the point at which Bonaparte aimed, to retrieve
his recent defeat. Mr. Boyd used every possible exertion to
procure chaises or diligence, or any sort of land conveyance, for
Antwerp, but every horse was under military requisition - even
the horses of the farmers, of the nobility and gentry, and of
travellers, The hope of water-carriage was all that remained. We
were to set off so early, that we agreed not to retire to rest.


                   THE VICTORY DECLARED TO BE COMPLETE.

A gentleman, however, of their acquaintance, presently burst into
the room with assurances that the enemy was flying in all
directions, his better news reanimated my courage for Brussels
and my trust in the Duke of Wellington; and when the Boyd family
summoned me the next morning at four or five o'clock to set off
with them for Antwerp, I permitted my repugnance to quitting the
only spot where I could receive letters from TrŠves to conquer
every obstacle, and begged them to excuse my changed purpose.
They wondered at my temerity, and probably blamed it ; but there
was no time for discussion, and we separated.

It was not till Tuesday, the 20th, I had certain and satisfactory
assurances how complete was the victory.  At the house of Madame
de Maurville I heard confirmed and detailed the matchless triumph
of the matchless Wellington, interspersed with descriptions of
scenes of slaughter on the field of battle to freeze the blood,
and tales of woe amongst mourning survivors in Brussels to rend
the heart. While listening with speechless avidity to these
relations, we were joined by M. de la Tour du Pin, who is a
cousin of Madame de Maurville, and who said the Duke of
Wellington had galloped to Brussels from Wavre to see the Prince
of Orange and inquire in person after his wounds. Prince
Page 361

Bl�cher was in close pursuit of Bonaparte, who was totally
defeated, his baggage all taken, even his private equipage and
personals, and who was a fugitive himself, and in disguise! The
duke considered the battle to be so decisive, that while prince
Bl�cher was posting after the remnant of the Bonapartian army, he
determined to follow himself as convoy to Louis XVIII.; and he
told M. de la Tour du Pin and the Duke de Fitzjames, whom he met
at the palace of the King of Holland, to acquaint their king with
this his proposal, and to beg his majesty to set forward without
delay to join him for its execution. The Duke de Fitzjames was
gone already to Gand with his commission.

How daring a plan was this, while the internal state of France
was so little known, while les places fortes(280) were all
occupied, and while the corps of Grouchy was still intact, and
the hidden and possible resources of Bonaparte were unfathomed!

The event, however, demonstrated that the Duke of Wellington had
judged with as much quickness of perception as intrepidity of
valour.

'Twas to Tournay he had desired that the King of France would
repair.


                      THE WOUNDED AND THE PRISONERS.

The duke now ordered that the hospitals, invalids, magazines,
etc., should all be stationed at Brussels, which he regarded as
saved from invasion and completely secure. It is not near the
scene of battle that war, even with victory, wears an aspect of
felicity-no, not even in the midst of its highest resplendence of
glory.  A more terrific or afflicting sojourn than that of
Brussels at this period can hardly be imagined. The universal
voice declared that so sanguinary a battle as that which was
fought almost in its neighbourhood, and quite within its hearing,
never yet had spread the plains with slaughter; and though
exultation cannot ever have been prouder, nor satisfaction more
complete, in the brilliancy of success, all my senses were
shocked in viewing the effects of its attainment. For more than a
week from this time I never approached my window but to witness
sights of wretchedness. Maimed, wounded, bleeding, mutilated,
tortured victims of this exterminating contest passed by every
minute: the fainting, the sick, the dying and the dead, on
brancards,(281) In carts, in waggons, succeeded one another
without intermission. There

Page 362

seemed to be a whole and a large army of disabled or lifeless
soldiers! All that was intermingled with them bore an aspect of
still more poignant horror ; for the Bonapartian Prisoners who
were now poured into the city by hundreds, had a mien of such
ferocious desperation, where they were marched on, uninjured,
from having been taken by surprise or overpowered by numbers - or
faces of such anguish, where they were drawn on in open vehicles,
the helpless victims of gushing wounds or horrible dislocations,
that to see them without commiseration for their sufferings, or
admiration for the heroic, however misled enthusiasm, to which
they Were martyrs, must have demanded an apathy dead to all
feeling but what is personal, or a rancour too ungenerous to
yield even to the view of defeat.

Both the one set and the other of these unhappy warriors endured
their calamities with haughty forbearance of complaint, The
maimed and lacerated, while their ghastly visages spoke torture
and death, bit their own clothes, perhaps their flesh ! to save
the loud utterance of their groans; while those of their comrades
who had escaped these corporeal inflictions seemed to be smitten
with something between remorse and madness that they had not
forced themselves on to destruction ere thus they were exhibited
in dreadful parade through the streets of that city they had been
sent forth to conquer.  Others of these wretched prisoners had,
to me, as I first saw them, the air of the lowest and most
disgusting of jacobins, in dirty tattered vestments of all sorts
and colours, or soiled carters' frocks; but disgust was soon
turned to pity, when I afterwards learnt that these shabby
accoutrements had been cast over them by their conquerors after
despoiling them of their own.

Everybody was wandering from home; all Brussels seemed living in
the streets. The danger to the city, which had imprisoned all its
inhabitants except the rabble or the military, once completely
passed, the pride of feeling and showing their freedom seemed to
stimulate their curiosity in seeking details on what had passed
and was passing.  But neither the pride nor the joy of victory
was anywhere of an exulting nature.  London and Paris render all
other places that I, at least, have dwelt in, tame and insipid.
Bulletins in a few shop-windows alone announced to the general
public that the Allies had vanquished and that Bonaparte was a
fugitive.

I met at the embassy an old English officer who gave me
Page 363

most interesting and curious information, assuring me that in the
carriage of Bonaparte, which had been seized, there were
proclamations ready printed, and even dated from the palace of
Lachen, announcing the downfall of the Allies and the triumph of
Bonaparte ! But no satisfaction could make me hear without deadly
dismay and shuddering his description of the field of battle.
Piles of dead!--Heaps, masses, hills of dead bestrewed the
plains!

I met also Colonel Jones; so exulting in success! so eager to
remind me of his assurances that all was safe!  And I was much
interested in a narration made to me by a wounded soldier, who
was seated in the courtyard of the embassy. He had been taken
prisoner after he was severely wounded, on the morning of the
18th, and forced into a wood with many others, where he had been
very roughly used, and stripped of his coat, waistcoat, and even
his shoes ; but as the fortune of the day began to turn, there
was no one left to watch him, and he crawled on all-fours till he
got out of the wood, and was found by some of his roving
comrades.

Thousands, I believe I may say without exaggeration, were
employed voluntarily at this time in Brussels in dressing wounds
and attending the sick beds of the wounded. Humanity could be
carried no further ; for not alone the Belgians and English were
thus nursed and assisted, nor yet the Allies, but the prisoners
also ; and this, notwithstanding the greatest apprehensions being
prevalent that the sufferers, from their multitude, would bring
pestilence into the heart of the city.

The immense quantity of English, Belgians, and Allies, who were
first, of course, conveyed to the hospitals and prepared houses
of Brussels, required so much time for carriage and placing, that
although the carts, waggons, and every attainable or seizable
vehicle were unremittingly in motion-now coming, now returning to
the field of battle for more,- it was nearly a week, or at least
five or six days, ere the unhappy wounded prisoners, who were
necessarily last served, could be accommodated. And though I was
assured that medical and surgical aid was administered to them
wherever it was possible, the blood that dried upon their skins
and their garments, joined to the dreadful sores occasioned by
this neglect, produced an effect so pestiferous, that, at every
new entry, eau de Cologne, or vinegar, was resorted to by every
inhabitant, even amongst the shopkeepers, even amongst the
commonest persons, for averting the menaced contagion.
Page 364

Even the churches were turned into hospitals, and every house in
Brussels was ordered to receive or find an asylum for some of the
sick.

The Boyds were eminently good in nursing, dressing wounds, making
slops, and administering comfort amongst the maimed, whether
friend or foe. Madame d'Henin sent her servants, and money, and
cordials to all the French that came within her reach ; Madame de
la Tour du Pin was munificent in the same attentions; and Madame
de Maurville never passed by an opportunity of doing good. M. de
Beaufort, being far the richest of my friends at this place, was
not spared; he had officers and others quartered upon him without
mercy.

We were all at work more or less in making lint. For me, I was
about amongst the wounded half the day, the British, s'entend!
The rising in France for the honour of the nation now, and for
its safety in independence hereafter, was brilliant and
delightful, spreading in some directions from La Manche to La
M‚diterran‚e: the focus of loyalty was Bordeaux. The king left
Gand the 22nd. All Alost, etc., surrounded followed, or preceded
him. The noble Bl�cher entered France at Mortes le Chƒteau.


              HOSTILITIES AT AN END: TE DEUM FOR THE VICTORY,

It was not till June 26th that the blessed news reached me of the
cessation of hostilities. Colonel Beaufort was the first who
brought me this intelligence, smiling kindly himself at the
smiles he excited. Next came la Princesse d'Henin, escorted by my
and her highly valued M, de Lally Tolendal. With open arms that
dear princess reciprocated congratulations. Madame de Maurville
next followed, always cordial where she could either give or
behold happiness. The Boyds hurried to me in a body to wish and
be wished joy. And last, but only in time, not in kindness, came
Madame la Vicomtesse de Laval, mother to the justly honoured
philanthropist, or, as others--but not I--call him, bigot, M.
Mathieu de Montmorency, who, at this moment, is M. le Duc de
Montmorency.

Brussels now, which had seemed for so many days, from the
unremitting passage of maimed, dying, or dead, a mere out-door
hospital, revived, or, rather, was invigorated to something above
its native state ; for from uninteresting tameness it became
elevated to spirit, consequence, and vivacity.
Page 365

On the following Sunday I had the gratification of hearing, at
the Protestant chapel, the Te Deum for the grand victory, in
presence of the King and Queen of the Low Countries--or Holland,
and of the Dowager Princess of Orange, and the young warrior her
grandson. This prince looked so ill, so meagre, so weak, from his
half-cured wounds, that to appear on this occasion seemed
another, and perhaps not less dangerous effort of heroism, added
to those which had so recently distinguished him in the field.
What enthusiasm would such an exertion, with his pallid
appearance, have excited in London or Paris ! even here, a little
gentle huzza greeted him from his carriage to the chapel - and
for the same short passage, back again. After which, he drove off
as tranquilly as any common gentleman might have driven away, to
return to his home and his family dinner.

About the middle of July-but I am not clear of the date -the news
was assured and confirmed of the brilliant reenthronement of
Louis XVIII., and that Bonaparte had ,surrendered to the English.
Brussels now became an assemblage of all nations, from the
rapturous enthusiasm that pervaded all to view the field of
battle, the famous Waterloo, and gather upon the spot ,,details
of the immortal victory of Wellington.


                             MATERNAL ADVICE.

(Madame d'Arblay to her son.)
April 26, 1815.
At length, my long expecting eyes meet again your hand-writing,
after a breach of correspondence that I can never 'recollect
without pain. Revive it not in my mind by any repetition, and I
will dismiss it from all future power of tormenting me, by
considering it only as a dream of other times. Cry "Done!" my
Alex, and I will skip over the subject, not perhaps as lightly,
but as swiftly as you skip over the hills of Norbury Park. I
delight to think of the good and pleasure that sojourn may do
you; though easily, too easily, I conceive the melancholy
reflections that were awakened by the sight of our dear, dear
cottage; yet your expressions upon its view lose much of their
effect by being Overstrained, recherch‚s, and designing to be
pathetic.  We never touch others, my dear Alex, where we study to
show we -,are touched ourselves.  I beg you, when you write to
me,
Page 366

to let your pen paint your thoughts as they rise, not as you seek
or labour to embellish them. I remember you once wrote me a
letter so very fine from Cambridge, that, if it had not made me
laugh, it would certainly have made me sick. Be natural, my dear
boy, and you will be sure to please Your mother without wasting
your time.

Let us know what you have received, what you have spent, what you
may have still unpaid, and what you yet want. But for this last
article, we both desire you will not wait our permission to draw
upon your aunt, whom we shall empower to draw upon Mr. Hoare in
our names. We know you to have no wanton extravagances, and no
idle vanity, we give you, therefore, dear Alex, carte blanche to
apply to your aunt, only consulting with her, and begging her
kind, maternal advice to help your inexperience in regulating
your expenses. She knows the difference that must be made between
our fortune and that of Clement - but she knows our affection for
our boy, and our confidence in his honour and probity, and will
treat him with as much kindness, though not with equal luxury.

Your father charges you never to be without your purse, and never
to let it be empty. Your aunt will counsel you about your
clothes.  About your books we trust to yourself. And pray don't
forget, when you make sleeping visits, to recompense the trouble
you must unavoidably give to servants. And if you join any party
to any public place, make a point to pay for yourself.  It will
be far better to go seldom, and with that gentlemanly spirit,
than often, with the air of a hanger-on. How infinitely
hospitable has been your uncle James! But hospitality is his
characteristic. We had only insisted upon your regularity at
chapel and at lectures, and we hear of your attention to them
comparatively, and we are fixed to be contented en attendant.
Don't lose courage, dear, dear Alex , the second place is the
nearest to the first.  I love you with all my heart and soul! . .
.


                          ABOUT THE GREAT BATTLE.

(Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.)
Monday, June 19, 1815-
The sitting up all night, however little merrily, made me, I know
not how, seem to have lived a day longer than real time, for I
thought to-day the 20th when I finished my letter of this
morning.  I have now, therefore, to rectify that Mistake,

Page 367

and tell you that there is, therefore, no chasm in the known
history of the Duke of Wellington. But, to my infinite regret,
with all the great, nay marvellous feats he has performed, he is
less, not more, in public favour, from not being approved, or
rather, I think, comprehended, in the opening of this tremendous
business.  As I am sure the subject must be of deeper interest to
you than any other, at such an instant, I will tell you all I
know-all I have heard and gathered, for I know nothing, and add
my own consequent conjectures, as soon as I have first acquainted
you that I separated from the Boyds at about half past seven in
the morning, too much satisfied with the news of Lord
Wellington's victory to endure to distance myself still further
from all I love most upon earth. They, therefore, still alarmed,
went to Antwerp, and I am again at the little bureau, upon which
my dearest ami has sometimes written in the March‚ aux Bois.

The first news the Duke of Wellington was known to receive of the
invasion of les Pays Bas was at a ball at the Duchess of
Richmond's. He would not break up the party, more than half of
which was formed of his officers, nor suffer any interruption.
Some time after, however, he went out, and when he returned
distributed cards of orders to the several commanding officers.
But he stayed to supper - after which fifty red-coats retired
abruptly. Not so the duke--and he is now much--

Ah, mon ami, two letters arrive at the same instant, that curtail
all subjects but what belong to themselves.  Nous allons
commencer!--Heaven preserve and prosper the beloved partner of my
soul. I dare enter upon nothing; I can only say the first of the
two letters, written before the order of commencer was issued, is
one of the fullest and dearest I have in my possession; and I
shall read and re-read its interesting contents with heart-felt
pleasure.

Tell, tell me, my beloved ami, where, when you would have me
remove? I will not ask how--I will find that out. To be nearer to
you--to hear more frequently--oh, what a solace!

The maimed, wounded, bleeding, fainting, arrive still every
minute. There seems a whole, and a large army of mutilated
Soldiers. Jerome is said to be killed, and Vandamme to have lost
both legs.(282)  Our loss is yet incalculable.
Page 368

Every creature that was movable is gone to Antwerp, or England,
but myself - but my intense desire not to lose ground or time in
my letters made me linger to the last, and now, thank heaven, all
danger here is at an end, and all fugitives are returning.

The imperial guard is almost annihilated. They fought like
demons. Napoleon cried out continually to them, the prisoners
say, "A Bruxelles, mes enfans! … Bruxelles! … Bruxelles!"  They
were reported one day to be actually arrived here.  I never saw,
never, indeed, felt such consternation. Not only money, jewels,
and valuables of pecuniary sorts were shut up, but babies from
the arms of their terrified mothers and nurses.  I flew out
myself, to take refuge in the apartments of Madame de Maurville,
and I never witnessed such horror and desolation.

I have left this for a word at the last minute, This is
Wednesday, June 21st.... Mr Kirkpatrick tells me Murat is dead of
his wounds;(283) Vandamme lost his two thighs, and is dead also;
Jerome died of a cannon-ball at once. Poor M, de Vincent, the
Austrian, has a ball still in his arm, which they cannot extract,
Lord Fitzroy Somerset has an arm shot off; Lord Uxbridge a leg.
Col. Hamilton is killed. Lobau is here a prisoner. I shall
continue to write all the

Page 369

particulars I can gather. It has been the most bloody battle that
ever was fought, and the victory the most entire.


                   AN ACCIDENT BEFALLS GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

on the 19th of July, 1815, during the ever memorable Hundred
Days, I was writing to my best friend, when I received a visit
from la Princesse d'Henin and Colonel de Beaufort, who entered
the room with a sort of precipitancy and confusion that
immediately struck me as the effect of evil tidings which they
came to communicate. My ideas instantly flew to the expectation
of new public disaster, when Madame d'Henin faintly pronounced
the name of M. d'Arblay. Alarmed, I turned from one to the other
in speechless trepidation, dreading to ask, while dying to know
what awaited me. Madame d'Henin then said, that M. de Beaufort
had received a letter from M. d'Arblay: and I listened with
subdued, yet increasing terror, while they acquainted me that M.
d'Arblay had received on the calf of his leg a furious kick from
a wild horse, which had occasioned so bad a wound as to confine
him to his bed - and that he wished M. de Beaufort to procure me
some travelling guide, that I might join 'him as soon as it would
be possible with safety and convenience.

But what was my agony when I saw that the letter was not in his
own band! I conjured them to leave me, and let me read it alone.
They offered, the one to find me a clever femme de chambre, the
other to inquire for a guide to aid me to set out, if able, the
next day; but I rather know this from recollection than from
having understood them at the time: I only entreated their
absence; and having consented to their return in a few hours, I
forced them away.

No sooner were they gone, than, calming my spirits by earnest and
devout prayer, which alone supports my mind, and even preserves
my senses, in deep calamity, I ran over the letter, which was
dated the fourth day after the wound, and acknowledged that three
incisions had been made in the leg unnecessarily by an ignorant
surgeon, which had so aggravated the danger, as well as the
suffering, that he was now in bed, not only from the pain of the
lacerated limb, but also from a nervous fever! and that no hope
was held Out to him of quitting it in less than a fortnight or
three weeks.

Page 370

         MADAME D'ARBLAY'S DIFFICULTIES IN REJOINING HER HUSBAND.

I determined not to wait, though the poor sufferer himself had
charged that I should, either for the femme de chambe of Madame
d'Henin or the guide of M. de Beaufort, which they could not
quite promise even for the next day; and to me the next hour
seemed the delay of an age.  I went, therefore to order a chaise
at six on the road to Luxembourg. The' answer was, that no horses
were to be had!

Almost distracted, I flew myself to the inn; but the answer was
repeated! The route to Luxembourg, they told me, was infested
with straggling parties, first, from the wandering army of
Grouchy, now rendered pillagers from want of food ; and next,
from the pursuing army of the Prussians, who made themselves
pillagers also through the rights of conquest. To travel in a
chaise would be impracticable, they assured me, without a guard.

I now resolved upon travelling in the diligence, and desired to
secure a place in that for TrŠves. There was none to that city !

"And what is the nearest town to TrŠves, whence I might go on in
a chaise?"

"Luxembourg."

I bespoke a place, but was told that the diligence had set off
the very day before, and that none other would go for six days,
as it only quitted Brussels once a week.

My friend the Baroness de Spagen next told me that, if travel I
would, I had but to go by LiŠge, which, though not a direct, was
the only safe road; that then she would put me under the
protection of her brother-in-law, the Comte de Spagen, who was
himself proceeding to that city by the ensuing night- coach.

I accepted this kindness with rapture.  I flew myself to the
book-keeper I had so abruptly quitted, and instantly secured a
place in the LiŠge diligence for night; and I was taking leave of
my hosts, a Brussels fiacre being at the door, laden with my
little luggage, when I was told that Le Roi, the confidential
servant of Madame d'Henin, besought to speak a word to me from
his mistress. He told me that the Princesse 'was quite miserable
at my hazardous plan, which she had gathered from Madame de la
Tour du Pin, and that she
Page 371

supplicated me to postpone my purpose only till the next day,
when I should have some one of trust to accompany me.

I assured him that nothing now could make me risk
procrastination, but begged him to still the fears of the
excellent Princesse by acquainting her I should be under the
protection of the Comte de Spagen.

arrived at the inn after this last unprepared-for impediment,
three or four minutes too late ! What was the fermentation of my
mind at this news! A whole week I must wait for the next
diligence, and even then lose the aid and countenance of le Comte
de Spagen.

Le Roi, who, through some short cut of footpaths and alleys, had
got to the inn before me, earnestly pressed me, in the style of
the confidential old servants of the French nobility, to go and
compose myself chez la princesse. Even my host and hostess had
pursued to wish me again good-bye, and now expressed their warm
hopes I should return to them. But the book-keeper alone spoke a
language to snatch me from despair, by saying my fiacre might
perhaps catch the diligence two miles off, in the All‚e Verte,
where it commonly stopped for fresh passengers or parcels.

Eagerly I promised the coachman a reward if he could
succeed, and off he drove. The diligence was at the appointed
place, and that instant ready to proceed ! I rushed into it with
trepidation of hurry, and when more composed, I was eager to find
out which of my fellow- travellers might be the Comte de Spagen;
but I dared risk no question. I sat wholly silent. We arrived at
LiŠge about nine in the morning I now advanced to the
book-keeper, and made inquiries about the Comte de Spagen.

He had arrived in the earlier coach, and was gone on in some
other to his estates.

As calmly as was in my power, I then declared my purpose to go to
TrŠves, and begged to be put on my way.

I was come wrong, the book-keeper answered; the road was by
Luxembourg.

And how was I to get thither?

By Brussels, he said, and a week hence, the diligence having set
off the day before.

Alas, I well knew that! and entreated some other means to forward
me to TrŠves,

Page 372

He replied that he knew of none from Li…ge; but that if I would
go to Aix, I might there, perhaps, though it was out of the road,
hear of some conveyance; but he asserted it was utterly
impossible I could leave Li…ge without a passport from the
Prussian police-office, where I should only and surely be
detained if I had not one to show from whence I came. This
happily, reminded me of the one I had from M. de jaucourt' in
Paris, and which was fortunately, though accidentally, in my
hand-basket.

Arrived at Aix, I earnestly inquired for a conveyance to TrŠves;
none existed! nor could I hear of any at all, save a diligence to
juliers, which was to set out at four o'clock the next morning.
To lose thus a whole day, and even then to go only more north
instead of south, almost cast me into despair. But redress there
was none, and I was forced to secure myself a place to juliers,
whence, I was told, I might get on.

At any more tranquil period I should have seized this interval
for visiting the famous old cathedral and the tomb of
Charlemagne; but now I thought not of them; I did not even
recollect that Aix-la-Chapelle had been the capital of that
emperor. I merely saw the town through a misty, mizzling rain,
and that the road all around it was sandy and heavy, or that all
was discoloured by my own disturbed view.

I laid down, in a scarcely furnished apartment, without
undressing. I suffered no shutter or curtain to be closed, lest i
should lose my vehicle ; and such was my anxiety, that at three
o'clock, by my own watch, I descended to inquire if we were not
to set off.  I wandered about by the twilight of a season that is
never quite dark, but met no one.  I returned to my chamber, but,
always in terror of being forgotten, descended again in a quarter
of an hour, though still without success. An hour, says Dr.
Johnson, may be tedious, but it cannot be long : four o'clock at
last struck, and I ran into a vehicle then ready in the courtyard
of the auberge.(284)

I found myself alone, which, at first, was a great relief to my
mind, that was overburthened with care and apprehension, and glad
of utter silence. Ere long, however, I found it fed my
melancholy, which it was my business rather to combat and I was
not, therefore, sorry when a poor woman with a child was admitted
from the outside through the charity of the coachman, as the rain
grew heavier.
Page 373

At juliers we stopped at a rather large inn, at the head of an
immensely long market-place. It was nearly empty, except where
occupied by straggling soldiers, poor, lame, or infirm labourers,
women, and children.  The universal war of the Continent left
scarcely a man unmaimed to be seen in civil life. The women who
met my eyes were all fat, with very round and very brown faces.
Most of them were barefooted, nay, barelegged, and had on odd
small caps, very close round their visages.  The better sort, I
fancy, at that critical time, had hidden themselves or fled the
town.

We entered Cologne through an avenue, said to be seven miles in
length, of lime-trees. It was evening, but very light, and
Cologne had a striking appearance, from its magnitude and from
its profusion of steeples.  The better sort of houses were white
and looked neat, though in an old-fashioned style, and
elaborately ornamented.  But, between the ravages of time and of
war, the greater part of them seemed crumbling away, if not
tumbling down.


                     A FRIENDLY RECEPTION AT COLOGNE.

But while I expected to be driven on to some auberge, a police
officer, in a Prussian uniform, came to the coach-door, and
demanded our passports. My companion made herself known as a
native, and was let out directly.  The officer, having cast his
eye over my passport, put his head through the window of the
carriage, and, in a low whisper, asked me whether I were French?

French by marriage, though English by birth, I hardly knew which
to call myself; I said, however, "Oui."  He then, in a voice yet
more subdued, gave me to understand that he could serve me.  I
caught at his offer, and told him I earnestly desired to go
straight to TrŠves, to a wounded friend.  He would do for me what
he could, he answered, for he was French himself, though employed
by the Prussians.  He would carry my passport for me to the
magistrate of the place and get it signed without my having any
further trouble though only, he feared, to Bonn, or, at farthest,
to Coblenz, whence I might probably proceed unmolested. He knew
also, and could recommend me to a most respectable lady and
gentleman, both French, and under the Prussian hard gripe, where
I might spend the evening en famille, and be spared entering any
auberge.
Page 374
He conducted me, in silence, passing through the cloisters to a
house not far distant, and very retired in its appearance'.
Arrived at a door at which he knocked or rang, he still spoke not
a word, but when an old man came to open it, in a shabby dress,
but with a good and lively face, be gave him some directions in
German and in a whisper, and then entrusted with my passport, he
bowed to me and hurried away.

The old man led me to a very large room, scarcely at all
furnished. He pulled out of a niche a sort of ebony armchair,
very tottering and worn, and said he would call madame, for whom
he also placed a fauteuil, at the head of an immense and clumsy
table. I was then joined by an elderly gentlewoman, who was led
in ceremoniously by a gentleman still more elderly.  The latter
made me three profound obeisances, which I returned with due
imitation, while the lady approached me with good breeding, and
begged me to take my seat.

The old man then, who I found was their domestic, served the tea.
 I know not whether this was their general custom, or a
compliment to a stranger. But when we had all taken some, they
opened into a little conversation.  It was I, indeed, who began
by apologising for my intrusion, and expressing at the same time
my great relief in being spared going to an auberge, alone as I
was; but I assured them that the gentleman who had brought me to
their dwelling had acted entirely by his own uninfluenced
authority.

They smiled or rather tried to smile, for melancholy was seated
on their countenances in its most fixed colours and they told me
that person was their best friend, and lost no opportunity to
offer them succour or comfort.  He had let them know my
situation, and had desired they would welcome and cheer me.
Welcome me, the lady added in French, they did gladly, since I
was in distress; but they had little power to cheer me, involved
as they were themselves in the depths of sorrow.

Sympathy of compassion soon led to sympathy of confidence; and
when they heard to whom I belonged, and the nature of my terrible
haste, they related their own sad history. Death, misfortune, and
oppression had all laid on them their iron hands ; they had lost
their sons while forcibly fighting for a usurpation which they
abhorred; they had lost their property by emigration; and they
had been treated with
Page 375

equal harshness by the revolutionists because they were suspected
of loyalty, and by the royalists because their children had
served in the armies of the revolutionists.  They were now living
nearly in penury, and owed their safety and peace solely to the
protection of the officer who had brought me to them.

With communications such as these, time passed so little heavily,
however sadly, that we were ill-disposed to separate; and eleven
o'clock struck, as we sat over their economical but well served
and well cooked little supper, ere the idea of retiring was
mentioned. They then begged me to go to rest, as I must be at the
diligence for Coblenz by four o'clock the next morning.

To another large room, nearly empty except the old, high, and
narrow bed, the domestic now conducted me, promising to call me
at half-past three o'clock in the morning, and to attend me to
the diligence.  I did not dare undress; I tied my watch, which
was a small repeater, round my wrist, and laid down in my
clothes-but to strike my watch, and to pray for my beloved
invalid, and my safe restoration to him, filled up, without, I
believe, three minutes of repose, the interval to my conductor's
return.

At half-past three we set out, after I had safely deposited all I
durst spare, where my disinterested, but most poor host would
inevitably find my little offering, which, if presented to him,
he would probably have refused. I never heard his name, which he
seemed studious to hold back; but I have reason to think he was
of the ancient provincial noblesse.  His manners, and those of
his wife, had an antique etiquette in them that can only accord
with that idea.

The walk was immensely long; it was through the scraggy and hilly
streets I have mentioned, and I really thought it endless. The
good domestic carried my luggage. The height of the houses made
the light merely not darkness ; we met not a creature; and the
painful pavement and barred windows, and fear of being too late,
made the walk still more dreary.

I was but just in time; the diligence was already drawn out of
the inn-yard, and some friends of the passengers were taking
leave. I eagerly secured my place - and never so much regretted
the paucity of my purse as in my inability to recompense as I
wished the excellent domestic whom I now quitted.
Page 376

                    FROM COLOGNE TO COBLENZ AND TREVES.

I found myself now in much better society than I had yet been,
consisting of two gentlemen, evidently of good education, and a
lady. They were all, German, and spoke only that language one to
another, though they addressed me in French as often as my
absorption in my own ruminations gave any opening for their
civility.

And this was soon the case, by my hearing them speak of the Rhine
; my thoughts were so little geographical that it had not
occurred to me that Cologne was upon that river - I had not,
therefore, looked for or perceived it the preceding evening: but
upon my now starting at the sound of its name and expressing my
Strong -curiosity to behold it, they all began to watch for the
first point upon which it became clearly visible, and all five
with one voice called out presently after, "Ah, le voil…!"(285)
But imagination had raised expectations that the Rhine, at this
part of its stream, would by no means answer. It seemed neither
so wide, so deep, so rapid, nor so grand as my mind had depicted
it nor yet were its waters so white or bright as to suit my ideas
of its fame. At last my heart became better tuned. I was now on
my right road; no longer travelling zig-zag, and as I could
procure any means to get on, but in the straight road, by
Coblenz, to the city which contained the object of all my
solicitude.

And then it was that my eyes opened to the beauties of nature;
then it was that the far-famed Rhine found justice in those poor
little eyes, which hitherto, from mental preoccupation, or from
expectations too high raised, had refused a cordial tribute to
its eminent beauty, unless indeed its banks, till after Bonn, are
of inferior loveliness.  Certain it is, that from this time till
my arrival at Coblenz, I thought myself in regions of
enchantment.

>From Coblenz to TrŠves I was two days travelling, though it might
with ease have been accomplished in less than half that time. We
no longer journeyed in any diligence that may be compared with
one of France or of England, but in a queer German carriage,
resembling something mixed of a coach, a chaise, and a cart.

Page 377

                      MEETING WITH GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

At TrŠves, at length, on Monday evening, the 24th of July, 1815,
I arrived in a tremor of joy and terror indescribable. But my
first care was to avoid hazarding any mischief from surprise; and
my first measure was to obtain some intelligence previously to
risking an interview. It was now six days since any tidings had
reached me. My own last act in leaving Brussels had been to write
a few lines to M. de Premorel, my General's aide-de-camp, to
announce my journey, and prepare him for my arrival.

I now wrote a few lines to the valet of Monsieur d'Arblay, and
desired he would come instantly to the inn for the baggage of
Madame d'Arblay, who was then on the road. Hardly five minutes
elapsed ere Fran‡ois, running like a race-horse, though in
himself a staid and composed German, appeared before me. How I
shook at his sight with terrific suspense ! The good-natured
creature relieved me instantly though with a relief that struck
at my heart with a pang of agony--for he said that the danger was
over, and that both the surgeons said so.

He was safe, I thanked God ! but danger, positive danger had
existed!  Faint I felt, though in a tumult of grateful
sensations: I took his arm, for my tottering feet would hardly
support me; and M. de Premorel, hastening to meet me at the
street-door, told me that the general was certain I was already
at TrŠves; I therefore permitted myself to enter his apartment at
once.

Dreadfully suffering, but still mentally occupied by the duties
of his profession, I found him. Three wounds had been inflicted
on his leg by the kick of a wild horse, which he had bought at
TrŠves, with intent to train to military service. He was felled
by them to the ground. Yet, had he been skilfully attended, he
might have been completely cured!  But all the best surgeons,
throughout every district, had been seized upon for the armies :
and the ignorant hands into which he fell aggravated the evil, by
incisions hazardous, unnecessary, and torturing.


                  WAITING FOR LEAVE TO RETURN To FRANCE.

The adjoint of M. d'Arblay, M. le Comte de Mazancourt, had been
sent to Paris by M. d'Arblay, to demand leave and
Page 378

passports for returning to France, the battle and peace of
Waterloo having ended the purpose for which he had been appointed
by Louis XVIII., through the orders of the Mar‚chal Duc de
Feltre, minister at war, to raise recruits from the faithful who
wished to quit the usurper.

My poor sufferer had been quartered upon M. Nell, a gentleman of
TrŠves; but there was no room for me at M. Nell's, and I was
obliged-most reluctantly-to be conducted to an hotel at some
distance. But the next day M. d'Arblay entered into an agreement
with Madame de la Grange, a lady of condition who resided at
TrŠves, to admit me to eat and lodge at her house, upon the
picnic plan, of paying the overplus of that expense I should
cause her, with a proper consideration, not mentioned, but added
by my dear general, for my apartment and incidental matters. This
sort of plan, since their ruin by the Revolution, had become so
common as to be called fashionable amongst the aristocratic
noblesse, who were too much impoverished to receive their friends
under their roofs but by community of fortune during their
junction. Every morning after breakfast one of the family
conducted me back to M. Nell's, where I remained till the hour of
dinner, when M. Godefroy de Premorel commonly gave me le bras for
returning, and Fran‡ois watched for me at the end of the repast.
This was to me a cruel arrangement, forcing my so frequent
absences; but I had no choice.

It was not till after reiterated applications by letter, and by
MM. de Mazancourt and Premorel in person, that my poor general
could obtain his letters of recall; though the re-establishment
of Louis XVIII. on his throne made the mission on the frontiers
null, and though the hapless and helpless state of health of M.
d'Arblay would have rendered him incapable of continuing to
fulfil its duties if any yet were left to perform. The mighty
change of affairs so completely occupied men's minds, as well as
their hands, that they could work only for themselves and the
present : the absent were utterly forgotten. The Duc de
Luxembourg, however, at length interfered, and procured
passports, with the ceremonies of recall.


                           DEPARTURE FOR PARIS.

On the morning of our departure from TrŠves, all the families of
Nell and La Grange filled the courtyard, and surrounded the
little carriage in which we set out, with others,

Page 379

unknown to me, but acquainted with the general, and lamenting to
lose sight of him-as who that ever knew him failed doing? M. de
Mazancourt and the De Premorels had preceded us. The difficulty
of placing the poor wounded leg was great and grievous, and our
journey was anything but gay; the cure, alas, was so much worse
than incomplete! The spirits of the poor worn invalid were sunk,
and, like his bodily strength, exhausted; it was so new to him to
be helpless, and so melancholy ! After being always the most
active, the most enterprising, the most ingenious in difficulty
and mischance, and the most vivacious in conquering evils, and
combating accidents;-to find himself thus suddenly bereft not
only of his powers to serve and oblige all around him, but even
of all means of aiding and sufficing to himself, was profoundly
dejecting ; nor, to his patriot-heart, was this all: far
otherwise. We re-entered France by the permission of foreigners,
and could only re-enter at all by passports of all the Allies!
It seemed as if all Europe had freer egress to that country than
its natives!

Yet no one more rejoiced in the victory of Waterloo--no one was
more elated by the prospect of its glorious results: for the
restoration of the monarchy he was most willing to shed the last
drop of his blood. But not such was the manner in which he had
hoped to see it take place ; he had hoped it would have been more
spontaneous, and the work of the French themselves to overthrow
the usurpation.  He felt, therefore, severely shocked, when, at
the gates of Thionville, upon demanding admittance by giving his
name, his military rank, and his personal passport, he was
disregarded and unheard by a Prussian sub-officer--a Prussian to
repulse a French general, in the immediate service of his king,
from entering France! His choler rose, in defiance of sickness
and infirmity; but neither indignation nor representation were of
any avail, till he condescended to search his portefeuille for a
passport of All the Allies, which the Duc de Luxembourg had
wisely forwarded to TrŠves, joined to that of the minister at
war. Yet the Prussian was not to blame,. save for his uncourteous
manners : the King of France was only such, at that moment,
through Bl�cher and Wellington.

Three or four days, I think, we passed at Metz, where the general
put himself Into the hands of a surgeon of eminence, who did what
was now to be done to rectify the gross mismanagement at TrŠves.

   In this time I saw all that was most
Page 380

worth remark in the old and famous city of Metz. But it looked
drear and abandoned- as everywhere during my journey.  Nothing
was yet restored, for confidence was wanting in the state of
things. Wellington and Bl�cher, the lords of the ascendant,
seemed alone gifted with the Power of foreseeing, as they had
been instrumentally of regulating, events.


                  A CHANCE VIEW OF THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA.

Not long after, I forget exactly where, we came under new yet
still foreign masters--the Russians ; who kept Posts, like
sentinels, along the high road, at stated distances. They were
gentle and well-behaved, in a manner and to a degree that was
really almost edifying. On the plains of Chalons there was a
grand Russian encampment. We stopped half a day for rest at some
small place in its neighbourhood and I walked about, guarded by
the good Fran‡ois, to view it. But, on surveying a large old
house, which attracted my notice by a group of Russian officers
that I observed near its entrance, how was I struck on being told
by Fran‡ois, that the Emperor of all the Russias was at that
moment its inhabitant! At the entrance of the little gate that
opened the palisade stood a lady with two or three gentlemen.
There was no crowd, and no party of guards, nor any sign of
caution or parade of grandeur, around this royally honoured
dwelling. And, in a few minutes, the door was quietly opened and
the emperor came out, in an undress uniform, wearing no stars nor
orders, and with an air of gay good humour, and unassuming ease.
There was something in his whole appearance of hilarity, freedom,
youthfulness, and total absence of all thought of state and
power, that would have led me much sooner to suppose him a jocund
young Lubin, or country esquire, than an emperor, warrior, or a
statesman.

The lady curtsied low, and her gentlemen bowed profoundly as he
reached the group.  He instantly recognised them, and seemed
enchanted at their sight.  A sprightly conversation ensued, in
which he addressed himself chiefly to the lady, who seemed
accustomed to his notice, yet to receive it with a species of
rapture.  The gentlemen also had the easy address of conscious
welcome to inspirit them, and I never followed up a conversation
I could not hear, with more certainty of its being agreeable to
all parties. They all spoke French, and I was restrained only by
my own sense of propriety from advancing

Page 381

within hearing 'of every word; for no sentinel, nor guard of any
kind, interfered to keep the few lookers on at a distance;

This discourse over, be gallantly touched his bat and leaped into
his open carriage, attended by a Russian officer, and was out of
sight in a moment. How far more happy, disengaged, and to his
advantage, was this view of his imperial majesty, than that which
I had had the year before in England, where the crowds that
surrounded, and the pressure of unrestrained curiosity and
forwardness, certainly embarrassed, if they did not actually
displease him!


                       ENGLISH TROOPS IN OCCUPATION.

At Meaux I left again my captive companion for a quarter of an
hour to visit the cathedral of the sublimely eloquent Bossuet.
In happier moments I should not have rested Without discovering
and tracing the house, the chamber, the library, the study, the
garden which had been as it were sanctified by his virtues, his
piety, his learning, and his genius and oh, how eagerly, if not a
captive, would my noble-minded companion have been my conductor!

A new change again of military control soon followed, at which I
grieved for my beloved companion. I almost felt ashamed to look
at him, though my heart involuntarily, irresistibly palpitated
with emotions which had little, indeed, in unison with either
grief or shame; for the sentinels, the guards, the camps, became
English.

All converse between us now stopped involuntarily, and as if by
tacit agreement. M. d'Arblay was too sincere a loyalist to be
sorry, yet too high-spirited a freeman to be satisfied. I could
devise nothing; to say that might not cause some painful
discussion or afflicting retrospection, and we travelled many
miles in pensive silence-each nevertheless intensely observant of
the astonishing new scene presented to our view, on re-entering
the capital of France, to see the vision of Henry V. revived, and
Paris in the hands of the English!

I must not omit to mention that notwithstanding this complete
victory over Bonaparte, the whole of the peasantry and common
people, converse with them when or where or how I might during
our route, with one accord avowed themselves utterly incredulous
of his defeat. They all believed he
Page 382

had only given way in order that he might come forward with new
forces to extirpate all opposers, and exalt himself on their
ashes to permanent dominion.


                      LEAVETAKING: M. DE TALLEYRAND.

On the eve of setting out for England, I went round to all I
could reach of my intimate acquaintance, to make--as it has
proved--a last farewell!  M. de Talleyrand came in to Madame de
Laval's drawing-room during my visit of leavetaking. He was named
upon entering; but there is no chance he could recollect me, as I
had not seen him since the first month or two after my marriage,
when he accompanied M. de Narbonne and M. de Beaumetz to our
cottage at Bookham. I could not forbear whispering to Madame de
Laval, how many souvenirs his sight awakened! M. de Narbonne was
gone, who made so much of our social felicity during the period
of our former acquaintance; and Mr. Locke was gone, who made its
highest intellectual delight; and Madame de Stael,(286) who gave
it a zest of wit, deep thinking, and light speaking, of almost
unexampled entertainment; and my beloved sister Phillips, whose
sweetness, intelligence, grace, and sensibility won every heart:
these were gone, who all, during the sprightly period in which I
was known to M. Talleyrand, had almost always made our society.
Ah! what parties were those! how select, how refined though
sportive, how investigatingly sagacious though invariably
well-bred!

Madame de Laval sighed deeply, without answering me, but I left
M. de Talleyrand to Madame la Duchesse de Luynes, and a sister of
A le Duc de Luxembourg, and another lady or two, while I engaged
my truly amiable hostess, till I rose to depart: and then, in
passing the chair of M. de Talleyrand, who gravely and silently,
but politely, rose and bowed, I said, "M. de Talleyrand m'a
oubli: mais on n'oublie pas M. de Talleyrand."(287)  I left the
room with quickness, but saw a movement of surprise by no means
unpleasant break over the habitual placidity, the nearly
imperturbable composure of his made-up countenance.

 Page 383

our journey was eventless, yet sad; sad, not solely, though
chiefly, from the continued sufferings of my wounded companion,
but sad also, that I quitted so many dear friends, who had
wrought themselves, by innumerable kindnesses, into my
affections, and who knew not, for we could not bring ourselves to
utter words that must have reciprocated so much pain, that our
intended future residence was England. The most tender and
generous of fathers had taken this difficult resolution for the
sake of his son, whose earnest wish had been repeatedly expressed
for permission to establish himself in the land of his birth.
That my wishes led to the same point, there could be no doubt,
and powerfully did they weigh with the most disinterested and
most indulgent of husbands. All that could be suggested to
compromise what was jarring in our feelings, so as to save all
parties from murmuring or regret, was the plan of a yearly
journey to France.

(273) Minister of war.

(274) About the close of the year 1813, when Napoleon's star was
setting, and his enemies were pressing hard upon him, the Dutch
threw off the yoke of France, recalled the Prince of Orange, and
proclaimed him at Amsterdam King of the United Netherlands, by
the title of William I.-ED.

(275) On the first floor.

(276) Lady Caroline Lamb (born in 1785) was the wife of the Hon.
William Lamb, afterwards Lord Melbourne and prime minister of
England. A year or two before Fanny saw her, she was violently in
love with Lord Byron: "absolutely besieged him," Rogers said.
Byron was not unwilling to be besieged, though he presently grew
tired of the lady, and broke off their correspondence, to her
great distress, with an insulting and rather heartless letter.
But it was more than a mere flirtation on Lady Caroline's part.
She fainted away on meeting Byron's funeral (1824); "her mind
became more affected; she was separated from her husband and died
26 January, 1828, generously cared for by him to the last."(Dict.
of National Biography.)  She was the author of two or three
novel.-ED.

(277) Son of the Duke of Brunswick who invaded France in 1792,
and who died in 1806 of the wounds which he received in the
battle of Jena.  His son was killed at Quatre Bras, June 16,
1815.-ED.

(278) "Bonaparte is taken! there he is!"

(279) Alarm.

(280) Fortresses.

(281) Litters.

(282) Both reports were false.  Jerome Bonaparte, Napoleon's
youngest brother, formerly King of Westphalia, was wounded in the
groin at Quatre Bras, two days before the battle of Waterloo.
His wound, however, was not so severe as to prevent him from
serving at Waterloo, and, after the flight of the Emperor to
Paris, Jerome remained to conduct the retreat and rally the
fugitives. General Vandamme was not at Waterloo at all, nor was
he wounded. He was attached to the army commanded by Marshal
Grouchy, and was engaged in a useless conflict with the Prussian
rear-guard at Wavres on the day of the decisive battle.-ED.

(283) Another false rumour. Murat was in France during the whole
of the Waterloo campaign. This distinguished soldier had married
Caroline Bonaparte, the youngest sister of Napoleon, by whom he
was made King of Naples. In December, 1813, Murat was ungrateful
enough to join the allied powers against the Emperor, but, after
Napoleon's return from Elba, he threw himself into the war with
characteristic precipitation. Marching from Naples with an army
of 50,000 men, he occupied Rome and Florence, but was soon after
totally defeated by the Austrians, and escaped with difficulty to
France. The Emperor refused to see him. After the final
abdication of Napoleon, Murat made a desperate attempt, with a
handful of men, to regain his kingdom of Naples.  He was taken
prisoner, tried by a military commission, condemned to death, and
immediately shot. At St. Helena Napoleon said of him, "It was his
fate to ruin us every way; once by declaring against us, and
again by unadvisedly taking our part."-ED.

(284) Inn.

(285) "Ah! there it is!"

(286) This was a misapprehension. Madame de Stael died at Paris,
July 14, 1817. The above narrative was written at a period some
years later than that of the events to which it relates, and
hence, in all probability, the mistake arose.-ED.

(287) "M. de Talleyrand has forgotten me; but one does not forget
M. de Talleyrand."




Page 384
                               SECTION 26.
                                 (1815-8)


       AT BATH AND ILFRACOMBE: GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILLNESS AND
DEATH.


                            ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke and Mrs. Angerstein.)
Dover, Oct. 18, 1815.
Last night, my ever dear friends, we arrived once more in old
England.

I write this to send the moment I land in London.  I cannot boast
of our health, our looks, our strength, but I hope we may recover
a part of all when our direful fatigues, mental and corporeal,
cease to utterly weigh upon and wear us.

We shall winter in Bath. The waters of PlombiŠres have been
recommended to my poor boiteux,(288) but he has obtained a cong‚
that allows this change.  Besides his present utter incapacity
for military service, he is now unavoidably on the retraite(289
list, and the King of France permits his coming over, not alone
without difficulty, but with wishing him a good journey, through
the Duc de Luxembourg, his captain in the gardes du corps.

Adieu, dearest both--Almost I embrace you in dating from Dover.
Had you my letter from TrŠves? I suspect not, for my melancholy
new history would have brought your kind condolence: or,
otherwise, that missed me.  Our letters were almost all
intercepted by the Prussians while we were

Page 385

there. Not one answer arrived to us from Paris, save by private
hands. . . .

December 24, 1815. My heart has been almost torn asunder, of
late, by the dreadful losses which the newspapers have
communicated to me, of the two dearest friends(290) of my absent
partner ; both sacrificed in the late sanguinary conflicts.  It
has been with difficulty I have forborne attempting to return to
him ; but a winter voyage might risk giving him another loss. The
death of one of these so untimely departed favourites, how will
Madame de Stael support? Pray tell me if you hear any thing of
her, and what. . . .

[With the year 1816 a new section of Madame d'Arblay's
correspondence may be said to commence in her letters to her son,
the late Rev. A. d'Arblay, who was then pursuing his studies at
Caius college, Cambridge. It has been thought advisable to be
more sparing in publication from this, than from the earlier
portions of Madame d'Arblay's correspondence.  Without, however,
a few of these letters to her son, "the child of many hopes,"
this picture of her mind, with all its tenderness, playfulness,
and sound sense, would scarcely be complete.]


                ALEXANDER D'ARBLAY: SOME OLD BATH FRIENDS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke)
Bath, February 15, 1816.
Incredible is the time I have lost without giving in that claim
which has never been given in vain for news of my own ,dear
friend - but I have been-though not ill, so continually unwell,
and though not, as so recently, in disordered and disorganizing
difficulties, yet so incessantly occupied with small, but
indispensable occupations, that the post hour has always gone by
to-day to be waited for to-morrow. Yet my heart has never been
satisfied-I don't mean with itself, for with that it can never
quarrel on this subject,-but with my pen-my slack, worn,
irregular, fugitive, fatigued, yet ever faithful, though never
punctual pen.  My dearest friend forgives, I know, even that; but
her known and unvarying lenity is the very cause I cannot forgive
it myself.

We have had our Alexander for six weeks; he left us three
\
 Page 386

days ago, and I won't tell my dear friend whether or not we miss
him. He is precisely such as he was--as inartificial in his
character, as irregular in his studies.  He cannot bring himself
to conquer his disgust of the routine of labour at Cambridge; and
while he energetically argues upon the innocence of a preference
to his own early practice,(291) which he vindicates, I believe
unanswerably, with regard to its real superiority, he is
insensible, at least forgetful, of all that can be urged of the
mischiefs to his prospects in life that must result from his not
conquering his inclinations,"- I have nearly lost all hope of his
taking the high degree A judged to him by general expectation at
the University, from the promise of his opening.

Of old friends here, I have found stationary, Mrs. Holroyd, and
Mrs. Frances. and Harriet Bowdler. Mrs. Holroyd still gives
parties, and tempted me to hear a little medley music, as she
called it. Mrs. F. Bowdler lives on Lansdowne-crescent, and
scarcely ever comes down the hill.  Mrs. Harriet I have missed,
though we have repeatedly sought a meeting on both sides ; but
she left Bath for some excursion soon after my arrival.  Another
new resident here will excite, I am sure, a more animated
interest ' Mrs. Piozzi.

The Bishop of Salisbury, my old friend, found me out, and came to
make me a long and most amiable visit, which was preceded by Mrs.
I-, and we all spent an evening with them very sociably and
pleasantly.


                FRENCH AFFAIRS. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S HEALTH.

(Madame d'Arblay to her Son.)
Bath, Friday, April 2, 1816.
......The Oppositionists, and all their friends, have now a dread
of France, and bend their way to Italy.  But the example now
given at Paris, in the affair of Messrs. Wilson and Co.(292) that
Englishmen are as amenable to the laws and customs of the
countries which they inhabit, as foreigners while in England are
to ours, will make them more careful, both in spirit and conduct,
than heretofore they have deemed it necessary to be, all over the
globe.  It is a general opinion

Page 387
that there will be a great emigration this summer, because John
Bull longs to see something beyond the limited circumference of
his birthright - but that foreign nations will be now so watchful
of his proceedings, so jealous of his correspondence, and so
easily offended by his declamation or epigrams, that he will be
glad to return here, where liberty, when not abused, allows a
real and free exercise of true independence of mind, speech, and
conduct, such as no other part of the world affords.

I am truly happy not to be at Paris at such a juncture ; for
opinions must be cruelly divided, and society almost out of the
question.  Our letters all confess that scarcely one family is
d'acord even with itself.  The overstraining royalists make
moderate men appear jacobins. The good king must be torn to
pieces between his own disposition to clemency, and the vehemence
of his partisans against risking any more a general amnesty.
All that consoles me for the length of time required for the cure
of your padre's leg is the consequence, in its keeping off his
purposed visit.  A cold has forced him to relinquish the pump
till to-day, when he is gone to make another essay.  He is so
popular in Bath, that he is visited here by everybody that can
make any pretext for calling.  I have this moment been
interrupted by a letter to invite me with my " bewitching husband
" to a villa near Prior Park. He is not insensible to the
kindness he meets with - au contraire, it adds greatly to his
contentment in the steadiness of a certain young sprig that is
inducing him here to plant his final choux; and the more, as we
find that, as far as that sprig has been seen here, he, also, has
left so favourable an impression, that we are continually desired
to introduce him, on his next arrival, wherever we go.

Your kind father, upon your last opening of "All here is well,"
instantly ran down stairs, with a hop, skip, and a jump, and
agreed to secure our pretty lodgings for a year.


             THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE. THE STREATHAM PORTRAITS.

(Madame d'Arblay to her Son.)
Bath, April 30, 1816.
The three chevaliers have all been condemned as culpable of
aiding a state-criminal to escape, but not accused of any
conspiracy against the French government.  They
Page 388
are therefore, sentenced merely to three months'
imprisonment.(293) Certainly, if their logic were irrefutable,
and if the treaty of Paris included the royal pardon with the
amnesty accorded by the allied generals, then, to save those who
ought not to have been tried would have been meritorious rather
than illegal; but the king had no share in that treaty, which
could only hold good in a military sense, of security from
military prosecution or punishment from the Allies. These Allies,
however, did not call themselves conquerors, nor take Paris, nor
judge the Parisians ; but so far as belonged to a capitulation,
meant, on both sides, to save the capital and its inhabitants
from pillage and the sword.  Once restored to its rightful
monarch, all foreign interference was at an end. Having been
seated on the throne by the nation, and having never abdicated,
though he had been chased by rebellion from his kingdom, he had
never forfeited his privilege to judge which of his subjects were
still included in his original amnesty, and which had incurred
the penalty or chances of being tried by the laws of the land -
and by them, not by royal decree, condemned or acquitted.

A false idea seems encouraged by all the king's enemies, that his
amnesty ought to have secured pardon to the condemned: the
amnesty could only act up to the period when it was granted and
accepted; it could have nothing to do with after-offences.

I am grieved to lose my respect and esteem for a character I had
considered so heroical as that of Sir R. Wilson: but to find,
through his intercepted correspondence, that the persecution

 Page 389

of the Protestants was to be asserted, true or false, to blacken
the reigning dynasty. . . to find this truly diabolic idea
presented to him by a brother of whom he speaks as the partner of
all his thoughts, etc., has consumed every spark of favour in
which he was held throughout the whole nation, except, perhaps,
in those whom party will make deaf and blind for ever to what
opposes their own views and schemes. I do not envy Lord Grey for
being a third in such an intercourse, an intercourse teeming with
inventive plots and wishes for new revolutions !

Your uncle has bought the picture of my dearest father at
Streatham.(294)  I am truly rejoiced it will come into our
family, since the collection for which it was painted is broken
up. Your uncle has also bought the Garrick, which was one of the
most agreeable and delightful of the set.  To what recollections,
at once painful and pleasing, does this sale give birth!  In the
library, in which those pictures were hung, we always
breakfasted; and there I have had as many precious conversations
with the great and good Dr. Johnson as there are days in the
year.  Dr. Johnson sold the highest of all! 'tis an honour to our
age, that!--360 pounds! My dear father would have been mounted
higher, but that his son Charles was there to bid for himself,
and, everybody must have seen, was resolved to have it.  There
was besides, I doubt not, a feeling for his lineal claim and
pious desire.


                        REGARDING HUSBAND AND SON.

(Madame d'Arblay to a Friend.)
Bath, August 17, 1816.
I have been in a state of much uncertainty and disturbance since
I wrote last with respect to one of the dearest possible
interests of life, the maternal: the uncertainty, however, for
this epoch is over, and I will hasten to communicate to you its
result, that I may demand further and frequent accounts of your
own plans, and of their execution or change, success

Page 390

or failure. All that concerns you, must to me always be near and
dear.

General d'Arblay is gone to France, and here at Bath rest sa
femme et son fils.(295)  There was no adjusting the excursion but
by separation. Alexander would have been wilder than ever for his
French mathematics in re-visiting Paris ; and, till his degree is
taken, we must not contribute to lowering it by feasting his
opposing pursuits with fresh nourishment, M. d'Arblay
nevertheless could by no means forego his intention which a
thousand circumstances led him to consider as right' He could
not, indeed, feel himself perfectly … sa place without paying his
devoirs to his king, notwithstanding he has been put by his
majesty himself, not by his own desire, en retraite. The
exigencies of the treasury demand this, for all who are not young
enough for vigorous active service; but his wounded leg prevented
his returning thanks sooner for the promotion with which the king
finished and recompensed his services;(296) and therefore he
deems it indispensable to present himself at the foot of the
throne for that purpose now that he is able to "bear his body
more seemly" (like Audrey) in the royal presence.  He hopes also
to arrange for receiving here his half-pay, when sickness or
affairs or accident may prevent his crossing the Channel. Choice
and happiness will, to his last breath, carry him annually to
France ; for, not to separate us from his son, or in the bud of
life, to force that son's inclination in fixing his place or mode
of residence, alone decides his not fixing there his own last
staff. But Alexander, young as he left that country, has seen
enough of it to be aware that no line is open there to ambition
or importance, but the military, most especially for the son of
an officer so known and marked for his military character: and I
need not tell you that, with my feelings and sentiments, to see
him wield a sword that could only lead him to renown by being
drawn against the country of his birth and of mine, would
demolish my heart, and probably my head; and, to believe in any
war in which England and France will not be rivals, is to
entertain Arcadian hopes, fit only for shepherds and
shepherdesses of the drama.

Page 391

                            MATERNAL ANXIETIES.

(Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.)
Bath, October 28th, 1816.
Certainement, et trŠs certainement, mon bien cher ami, your
beautiful strictures upon la connoissance et l'usage du monde
would have given "un autre cours … mes id‚es"(297) were the
object of our joint solicitude less singular; but our Alexander,
mon ami, dear as he is to us, and big as are my hopes pour
l'avenir,(298) our Alexander is far different from what you were
at his age.  More innocent, I grant, and therefore highly
estimable, and worthy of our utmost care, and worthy of the whole
heart of her to whom he shall permanently attach himself. But O,
how far less aimable! He even piques himself upon the difference,
as if that difference were to his advantage. He is a medley of
good qualities and of faults the most extraordinary and the most
indescribable.  Enfin, except in years, in poetry, and in
mathematics, il n'est encore qu'un enfant.(299)

Were he so only as to la connoissance, et mˆme l'usage du monde,
I should immediately subscribe to the whole of your really
admirable dissertation upon the subject in the letter now before
me, for I should then sympathise in your idea that a lovely young
companion might mould him to her own excellence, and polish him
to our wishes; but O, nous n'en sommes pas l…!(300) When he is
wholly at his ease, as he is at present, with his mother, and as
he would soon inevitably be with his wife, he is so uncouth, so
negligent, and absent, that his frightened partner would either
leave him in despair to himself, or, by reiterated attempts to
reason with him, lose her bridal power, and raise the most
dangerous dissensions.  He exults rather than blushes in
considering himself ignorant of all that belongs to common life,
and of everything that is deemed useful.  Even in mathematics he
disdains whatever is not abstract and simply theoretical.
"Trouble I hate" he calls his motto. You will easily conceive
that there are moments, nay, days, in which he is more
reasonable; I should else be

 Page 392

hopeless : nor will he ever dare hold such language to you. but
it is not less the expression of his general mind.  Sometimes,
too, he wishes for wealth, but it is only that he might be
supine.  Poor youth ! he little sees 'how soon he would then
become poor ! Yet, while thus open to every dupery and
professedly without any sense of order, he is so fearful of
ridicule, that a smile from his wife at any absurdity would fill
him with the most gloomy indignation. It does so now from his
mother.

A wife, I foresee you will reply, young and beautiful, sera bien
autre chose; mais je crois que vous Vous trompez:(301) a
mistress, a bride,--oui! a mistress and a bride would see him her
devoted slave ; but in the year following year, when ardent
novelty is passed away, a mother loved as I am may form much
judgment what will be the lot of the wife, always allowing for
the attractions of reconciliation which belong exclusively to the
marriage state, where it is happy.

Nevertheless, I am completely of your opinion, that a good and
lovely wife will ultimately soften his asperity, and give him a
new taste for existence, by opening to him new sources of
felicity, and exciting, as you justly suggest, new emulation to
improvement, when he is wise enough to know how to appreciate, to
treat, and to preserve such a treasure.  But will four months fit
him for beginning such a trial? Think of her, mon ami, as well as
of him. The "responsibility" in this case would be yours for
both, and exquisite would be your agony should either of them be
unhappy. A darling daughter-an only child, nursed in the lap of
soft prosperity, sole object of tenderness and of happiness to
both her parents. rich, well-born, stranger to all care, and
unused to any control; beautiful as a little angel, and (be very
sure) not unconscious she is born to be adored ; endowed with
talents to create admiration, independently of the ‚clat of her
personal charms, and indulged from her cradle in every wish,
every fantaisie.--Will such a young creature as this be happy
with our Alexander after her bridal supremacy, when the ecstasy
of his first transports are on the wane? That a beauty such as
you describe might bring him, even from a first interview, to her
feet, notwithstanding all his present prejudices against a French
wife, I think probable enough, though he now thinks his taste in
beauty different from yours; for he has never, he says, been
struck but by a commanding air.  All beauty,

"Page 393

however, soon finds its own way to the heart. But could any
permanent amendment ensue, from working upon his errors only
through his passions? Is it not to be feared that as they, the
passions, subside, the errors would all peep up again ? And she,
who so prudently has already rejected a nearly accepted
pr‚tendant for his want of order!!!(302)  (poor Alexander!) how
will she be content to be a monitress, where she will find
everything in useful life to teach, and nothing in return to
learn? And even if he endure the perpetual tutoring, will not she
sicken of her victories ere he wearies of his defeats?

And will Alexander be fit or willing to live under the eye, which
he will regard as living under the subjection, of his wife's
relations? In this country there is no notion of that mode of
married life -, and our proud Alexander, the more he may want
counsel and guidance, will the more haughtily, from fearing to
pass for a baby, resent them.  Let me add, that nothing can be
less surprising than that he should have fixed his own
expectation of welfare in England. Recollect, mon ami, it is now
nearly three years ago since you gave him, in a solemn and
beautiful letter, his choice between Cambridge and la compagnie
de -Luxembourg, into which you had entered him saying that your
position exacted that you should take your son back to serve, or
not at all.  You have certainly kept his definite answer, from
which he has never wavered. And again, only at your last
departure, this August, you told us positively that you could not
take your son to France at twenty-one years of age with any
honour or propriety but to enter him in the army. I would else,
you know, have shut myself up with him in some cottage au lys,
merely for the great pleasure of accompanying you.

Alexander, therefore, now annexes an idea of degradation to a
residence non-military in France. He would deem himself humbled
by the civil place at which you hint, even if you could bring
him, which I doubt above all, to submit to its duties.  He
regards himself, from peculiar circumstances, as an established
Englishman (though born of a French father), with your own full
consent, nay, by your own conditions. I by no means believe he
will ever settle out of England, though he delights to think of
travelling.

And such, mon ami, appeared to be your own sentiments

Page 394

when we parted, though they are changed now, or overpowered by
the new view that is presented to you of domestic felicity, for
Alexander.  I have written thus fully, and after the best
meditation in my power, according to your desire ; an(] every
reflection and observation upon the subject, and upon Alexander,
unites in making me wish, with the whole Of my judgment and
feeling at once, to keep back, not to forward, any matrimonial
connection, for years, not months, unless month,,; first produce
the change to his advantage that I dare only expect from years.


ADVANTAGES OF BATH: YOUNG D'ARBLAY's DECREE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
Bath, November 10, 1816.
I wish to live at Bath, wish it devoutly ; for at Bath we shall
live, or no longer in England. London will only do for those who
have two houses, and of the real country I may say the same; for
a cottage, now Monsieur d'Arblay cannot, as heretofore, brave all
the seasons, to work, and embellish his wintry hours, by
embellishing anticipatingly his garden, would be too lonely, in
so small a family, for the long evenings of cold and severe
weather; and would lose us Alexander half the year, as we could
neither expect nor wish to see him begin life as a recluse from
the world.  Bath, therefore, as it eminently agrees with us all,
is, in England, the only place for us, since here, all the year
round, there is always town at command, and always the country
for prospect, exercise, and delight.

Therefore, my dear friend, not a word but in favour of Bath, if
you love me. Our own finishing finale will soon take root here,
or yonder; for Alex will take his degree in January, and then,
his mind at liberty, and his faculties in their full capacity for
meditating upon his lot in life, he will come to a decision what
mountain he shall climb, upon which to fix his staff; for all
that relates to worldly prosperity will to him be up-hill toil,
and labour. Never did I see in youth a mind so quiet, so
philosophic, in mundane matters, with a temper so eager, so
impetuous, so burningly alive to subjects of science and
literature.  The Tancred scholarship is still in suspense. The
vice-chancellor is our earnest friend, as well as our faithful
Dr. Davy, but the trustees have come to no determination - and
Alex is my companion-or rather, I am Alex's
Page 395

flapper-till the learned doctors can agree.  At all events, he
will not come out in Physic; we shall rather enter him at another
college, with all the concomitant expenses, than let him, from
any economy, begin his public career under false colours. When he
entered this institution, I had not any notion of this
difficulty; I was ignorant there would be any objection against
his turning which way he pleased when the time for taking the
degree should arrive.

I am now in almost daily hope of the return of my voyager. His
last letter tells me to direct no more to Paris.

[After this time General d'Arblay made frequent journeys to
Paris.]


                  PLAYFUL REPROACHES AND SOBER COUNSEL.

(Madame d'Arblay to her Son.)
Bath, Friday, April 25, 1817.
Why, what a rogue you are! four days in town! As there can be no
scholarship--h‚las! it matters not; but who knew that
circumstance when they played truant? Can you tell me that, hey!
Mr Cantab? Why, you dish me as if I were no more worth than Paley
or Newton, or such like worthies!

Your dear padre is very considerably better, surtout in looks,
but by no means re-established ; for cold air--too much exertion-
-too little--and all sorts of nourishment or beverage that are
not precisely adapted to the present state of the poor shattered
frame, produce instant pain, uneasiness, restlessness, and
suffering. Such, however, is the common condition of
convalescence, and therefore I observe it with much more concern
than surprise - and Mr. Hay assures me all is as well as can
possibly be expected after so long and irksome an illness.

"The scholarship is at an end--
So much for that!"

pretty cool, my friend!

Will it make you double your diligence for what is not at an end?
hey, mon petit monsieur?

But I am sorry for your disappointment in the affair you mention,
my dear Alex : though your affections were not so far engaged,
methinks, but that your amour propre(303) is still more
bless‚(304) than your heart! hey? However, 'tis a real loss,

Page 396

though little more than of an ideal friend, at present.  But no
idea is so flattering and so sweet, as that which opens to
expectation a treasure of such a sort.  I am really, therefore,
sorry for you, my dear Alex.

Your determination to give way to no sudden impulse in future is
quite right.  Nothing is so pleasant as giving way to impulse;
nothing so hazardous.

But this history must double your value for Messrs. Jones
Musgrave, Jacobs, Ebden, Theobald, and Whewell. "Cling to those
who cling to you!" said the immortal Johnson to your mother, when
she uttered something that seemed fastidious relative to a person
whose partiality she did not prize.

Your padre was prevailed upon to go to the play.  We were both
very well pleased with H. Payne in certain parts; in some
instances I even thought him excellent, especially in the
natural, gentlemanly, and pensive tones in which he went through
the gravedigger's and other scenes of the last act. But, for the
soliloquies, and the grand conference with the mother! oh, there,
Garrick rose up to my remembrance with an ‚clat of perfection
that mocks all approach of approbation for a successor.

But you, M. Keanite, permit a little hint against those looks
that convey your resentment.  They may lead to results that may
be unpleasant.  It is best to avoid displaying a susceptibility
that shows the regret all on your own side ! Let the matter die
away as though it had never been. Assume your cool air; your "so
much for that!" but do not mark a d‚pit that will rather flatter
than vex. At first, it was well ; you gave way to Nature and to
truth, and made apparent you had been sincere : but there, for
your dignity's sake, let all drop ; and be civil as well as cool,
if you would keep the upper hand.


                      PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING BATH.

(Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.)
1817.
.....June 18.-I made a morning visit to Mrs. Piozzi, whom I found
with +Dr. Minchin, an informed, sensible physician.  She was
strange, as usual, at first; but animated, as usual, afterwards.
The sisters, Mrs. Frances and Mrs Harriet Bowdler, called upon
me, and were admitted, for I heard their names in time; and we
had much good old talk),
Page 397

that is, Frances and I; for Harriet is ever prim and demure and
nearly mute before her elder sister.

June 25.-Fixing the last day of the month for my journey, I set
seriously to work to hasten my preparations. What a business it
was! You have no conception how difficult, nor how laborious, it
is to place so many books, such a quantity of linen, such a
wardrobe, and such a mass of curiosities, in so small a compass.
How fagged and fatigued I retired to rest every night, you may
imagine. Alex vigorously carried heavy loads at a time from the
study to the garret, but only where he might combine and arrange
and order all for himself. However, he was tolerably useful for
great luggages.

June 26.-We spent the afternoon at Larkhall place, to meet there
Maria and Sophy. My dear sister(305) was all spirit and vivacity.
Mr. Burney, all tranquil enjoyment--peace, rest, leisure, books,
music, drawing, and walking fill up his
serene days, and repay the long toils of his meritorious life.
And my sister, who happily foresees neither sickness nor ennui,
is the spirit and spring of the party.

June 28.-I devoted all day to leave-taking visits, for so many
houses were opened, and claimed long confabulations, from their
rarity, that I had not finished my little round till past ten
o'clock at night. Yet of these hosts, Mrs. Frances Bowdler, Mrs.
Piozzi, Mrs. Morgan, and Mrs. Andr‚ were out. Two of the three
latter ladies are now in France, and they have written word, that
the distress in their province exceeds all they have left in this
country! Madame do Sourches has written a similar melancholy
account; and Mrs. Holroyd, who received my longest call this
morning, read me a letter from Lady B. with words yet stronger of
the sufferings in the Low Countries! O baleful effects of "Bella,
horrida bella!" I sat an hour also with Mrs. Harriet Bowdler, in
sober chat and old histories. She has not--il s'en faut--the
exhilaration and entertainment of her clever sister; but there is
all the soft repose of good sense, good humour, urbanity, and
kindness. One cannot do better than to cultivate with both; for
if, after the spirited Frances, the gentle Harriet seems dull,
one may at least say that after the kind Harriet, the satirical
Frances seems alarming.

But my longest visit was to the excellent Mrs. Ogle, who is the
oldest acquaintance with whom I have any present connection in
the world. It was at her house I first saw Mrs,

Page 398

Chapone, who was her relation; I visited her, with my dear
father, my mother-in-law, and my sisters ; though from
circumstances we lost sight of each other, and met no more till I
had that happy encounter with her at Cheltenham, when I brought
her to the good and dear king.  My respect for her age, her
virtues, and this old connection, induced me to stay with her
till it was too late to present myself elsewhere. I merely
therefore called at the door of Madame de Sommery to inquire
whether they Could receive me sans c‚remonie for half an hour in
the evening. This was agreed to , and Alex accompanied or rather
preceded me to Madame de Sommery, who had her two jolies
daughters, Stephanie and Pulch‚rie, at work by her side, the
tea-table spread … l'Anglaise, and four of your th‚ƒtre(306)I
upon the table, with Alex just beginning "Lido" as I entered. I
was never so pleased with them before, though they have always
charmed me; but in this private, comfortable style they were all
ten times more easy, engaging, and lively than I had ever yet
seen them.


                         INSTALLED AT ILFRACOMBE.

(Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.)
Ilfracombe, Devonshire, June 31,(sic) 1817.
. . .This very day of our arrival, before Alex had had time to
search out Mr. Jacob, somebody called out to him in the street,
"Ah, d'Arblay!" who proved to be his man. They strolled about the
town, and then Jacob desired to be brought to me. Unluckily, I
was unpacking, and denied. He has appointed Alex for a lesson
to-morrow. May he put him a little en train!

July 5.--I must now give you some account of this place. We are
lodged on the harbour. The mistress of our apartments is widow to
some master of a vessel that traded at Ilfracombe, with Ireland
chiefly.  She has three or four children: the eldest, but twelve
years old, is the servant of the lodgers, and as adroit as if she
were thirty.  Our situation is a very amusing one; for the quay
is narrow, and there are vessels just on its level, so close that
even children walk into them all day long. When the sea is up,
the scene is gay, busy, and interesting; but on its ebb the sands
here are not

 Page 399

clean and inviting, but dark and muddy, and the contrary of
odoriferous.  But the entrance and departure of vessels, the
lading, unlading, and the management of ships and boats, offer
constantly something new to an eye accustomed only to land views
and occupations.


                         A CAPTURED SPANISH SHIP.

But chiefly I wish for you for the amusement you would find from
a Spanish vessel, which is close to the quay, immediately
opposite to our apartments, and on a level with the parlour of
the house.  It has been brought in under suspicion of piracy, or
smuggling, or aiding the slave trade.  What the circumstances of
the accusation are I know not - but the captain is to be tried at
Exeter on the ensuing western circuit. Meantime, his goods are
all sequestered, and he has himself dismissed all his sailors and
crew to rejoin him when the trial is over. He is upon his parole,
and has liberty to go whithersoever he will; but he makes no use
of the permission, as he chooses not to leave his cargo solely
under the inspection of the excisemen and custom officers here,
who have everything under lock and key and seal. He is a
good-looking man, and, while not condemned, all are willing to
take his word for his innocence. Should that be proved, what
compensation will be sufficient for repairing his confinement? He
has retained with him only his physician, his own servant his
cook, and a boy, with another lad, who is an American. I see him
all day long, walking his quarter-deck, and ruminating upon his
situation, with an air of philosophy that shows strong character.
His physician, who is called here the " doctor," and is very
popular, is his interpreter; he speaks English and French, has a
spirited, handsome face, and manners the most courteous, though
with a look darkly shrewd and Spanish.


                        THE SPANISH CAPTAIN'S COOK.

But the person who would most entertain you is the cook, who
appears the man of most weight in the little coterie ; for he
lets no one interfere with his manoeuvres.  All is performed for
the table in full sight, a paˆle(307) being lighted with a
burning fierce fire upon the deck, where he officiates. He wears
a complete white dress, and has a pail of water by his side, in
Page 400

which he washes everything he dresses, and his Own hand, to boot,
with great attention. He begins his pot au feu soon after seven
every morning, and I watch the operation from my window; it is
entirely French, except that he puts in more meat, and has it
cut, apparently, into pounds; for I see it all carved into square
morsels, seemingly of that weight, which he inserts bit by bit,
with whole bowls, delicately cleaned, washed and prepared, of
cabbages, chicory, turnips, carrots celery, and small herbs. Then
some thick slices of ship ham and another bowl of onions and
garlic; salt by a handful, and pepper by a wooden spoon full.
This is left for many hours; and in the interval he prepares a
porridge of potatoes well mashed, and barley well boiled, with
some other ingredient that, when it is poured into a pan, bubbles
up like a syllabub. But before he begins, he employs the two lads
to wash all the ship.

To see all this is the poor captain's only diversion ; but the
cook never heeds him while at his professional operations; he
even motions to him to get out of the way if he approaches too
near, and is so intent upon his grand business that he shakes his
head without answering, when the captain speaks to him, with an
air that says, "Are you crazy to try to take off my attention?"
And when the doctor, who often advances to make some observation,
and to look on, tries to be heard, he waves his hand in disdain,
to silence him. Yet, when all is done, and he has taken off his
white dress, he becomes all obsequiousness, respectfully standing
out of the way, or diligently flying forward to execute any
command.


                            SHIPS IN DISTRESS.

July 6.-Alex and I went to church this morning, and heard a
tolerable sermon.  In the evening there was a storm, that towards
night grew tremendous. The woman of the house called us to see
two ships in distress.  We went to the top of the house for a
view of the sea, which was indeed frightful. One ship was
endeavouring to gain the harbour; the other, to steer further
into the main ocean ; but both appeared to be nearly swamped by
the violence of the winds and waves. People mounted to the
lighthouse with lights ; for at this season the lantern is not
illuminated ; and a boat was sent out to endeavour to assist, and
take any spare hands or passengers, if such there were, from the
vessel ; but the sea was so boisterous
Page 401

that they could not reach the ship, and were nearly lost in the
attempt. Alex ran up to the lighthouse, to see what was doing ;
but was glad to return, as he could with difficulty keep his
feet, and was on the point of being lifted off them down the
precipice into the sea. I never was so horrified as when, from
the top of the house, I perceived his danger. Thank God, he felt
it in time, and came back in safety. It requires use to sustain
the feet in such a hurricane, upon a rock perpendicularly
standing in the ocean.


                          YOUNG D'ARBLAY's TUTOR.

July 7.-We have heard that one of the vessels got off; but no
tidings whatsoever have been received of the other.  It is
suspected to be a passage vessel from Bristol to Ireland.  I have
had Mr. Jacob to tea; I could not yet arrange a dinner, and he
was impatient for an introduction. I like him extremely: he has
everything in his favour that can be imagined ; sound judgment
without positiveness, brilliant talents without conceit,
authority with gentleness, and consummate knowledge of science
with modesty. What a blessing that such a character should
preside over these inexperienced youths !  Mr. Jacob has aided us
to remove. Time is a plaything to the diligent and obliging,
though a thief to the idle and capricious ; the first find it, in
the midst of every obstacle, for what they wish, while the latter
lose it, though surrounded by every resource, for all that they
want.  I had such success that I now write from my new dwelling,
which I will describe to-morrow.

July 9.-Quelle joie! this morning I receive a welcome to my new
habitation, to make it cheer me from the beginning. 'Tis begun
June 28th, and finished July 2nd. How … propos is what I had just
written of time in the hands of the diligent and obliging! yet
how it is you can bestow so much upon me is my admiration.

I have not mentioned a letter I have received from Mrs. Frances
Bowdler. She tells me of the marriage of Miss---- to a Prussian
gentleman, and expresses some vexation at it, but adds, "Perhaps
I ought not to say this to you," meaning on account of the
objection to a foreigner; and then elegantly adds, "but one
person's having gained the great prize in the lottery does not
warrant another to throw his whole wealth into the wheel." Not
very bad English that?

Page 402

                      GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILL-HEALTH.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.)
Ilfracombe, Post Office, July 23, 1817.
.....I have letters very frequently from Paris, all assuring me
M. d'A. is re-establishing upon the whole; yet all letting me
see, by collateral accounts, anecdotes, or expressions, that he
is constantly in the hands of his physician, and that a
difficulty of breathing attacks him from time to time, as it did
before his journey: with a lassitude, a weakness, and a
restlessness which make him there, as here they made him since
his illness, unfit for company, and incapable, but by starts and
for moments to have any enjoyment of mixed society! I do not
therefore, feel comfortable about him, though, thank heaven, not
alarmed. And at all events I am glad he tries the change of air.
Change of scene also was advised for him by all * but he is too
kind to find that beneficial when we are separated; and he writes
me frequent avowals of seizures of dejection and sadness that
reduce him to a state of great suffering. The parting, while he
was in a situation so discouraging, was very cruel but Alexander
had, and has, no chance of taking a tolerable degree without a
friend constantly at hand to remind him of the passage of time.
He never thinks of it: every day seems a day by itself, which he
may fill up at pleasure, but which opens to him no prospect of
the day that will succeed!  So little reflection on the future,
with so good capacity for judging the present, were never before
united.


                        PARTICULARS OF ILFRACOMBE.

We are very well lodged for pleasantness, and for excellent
people. We have a constant view of the sea from our drawing room,
which is large and handsome - our bedrooms also are good; but our
minor accommodations, our attendance, dinner equipage, cooking,
etc., would very ill have contented my general had he been here.
   The best men, the most moderate and temperate, are difficult,
nay, dainty, compared with women. When he comes, if I am so happy
as to see him return while we are here, I must endeavour to
ameliorate these matters.
Ilfracombe is a long, narrow town, consisting of only one regular
street, though here and there small groups of houses hang upon
its skirts, and it is not destitute of lanes and alleys.
Page 403

The town part or side Is ugly, ill paved and ill looking: but the
backs of the habitations offer, on one side the street, prospects
of fine hills, and on the other, noble openings to the sea. The
town is built upon a declivity, of which the church is at the
summit, and the harbour makes the termination.  It was in the
harbour, that is upon the quay, that we were at first lodged ;
and our apartments were by no means without interest or
amusement; but just as we were comfortably settled in them, we
were told the ebbs and flows, etc., of the tides left
occasionally, or brought, odours not the most salubrious.  To
this representation I thought it right to yield so implicitly,
that I sought a new abode, and changed my quarters instantly.


YOUNG D'ARBLAY's AVERSION TO STUDY.

(Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.)
Friday, September 12, 1817.
I have so much to say to my dearest friend, that I open my new
sheet at the moment of finishing the old one, though I shall not
send it for a week - and let me begin by quieting your poor
nerves relative to La Chapelle, in assuring you I neglect no
possible means to follow, substantially and effectually, your
injunctions, though I dare not tell him that you would never
pardon the smallest infraction of our new treaty. He is not
capable, mon ami, of an exactitude of that undeviating character.
To force further solemn promises from so forgetful, so
unreflecting, yet so undesigning and well-meaning a young
creature, is to plunge him and ourselves into the culpability of
which we accuse him.  To attempt in that manner to couper
court,(308) etc., instead of frightening him into right, would
harden him into desperation. His disgust to his forced study is
still so vehement, that it requires all I can devise of
exhortation, persuasion, menace, and soothing, tour … tour, to
deter him from relinquishing all effort! The times, mon ami, are
"out of joint:" we must not by exigeance precipitate him to his
ruin, but try patiently and prudently, every possible means, to
rescue him from the effects of his own wilful blindness and
unthinking, idle eccentricity. If we succeed, how will he bless
us when his maturer judgment opens his eyes to the evils he will
have escaped! but if we fail why should we lie down and die
because he

Page 404

might have obtained fame and riches, yet obstinately preferred
obscurity with a mere competence? Put not Your recovery and your
happiness upon such a cast! My own struggles to support the
disappointment for which I am forced to prepare myself, in the
midst of all my persevering, unremitting efforts to avert it, are
sufficiently severe ; but the manner in which I see your
agitation threaten your health, makes his failure but secondary
to my apprehensions! Oh, mon ami, ought we not rather to unite in
comforting each other by sustaining ourselves? Should we not have
done so mutually, if the contagious fever at Cambridge had
carried him off? And what is the mortification of a bad degree
and a lessened ambition, with all the mundane humiliation
belonging to it, compared with the total earthly loss of so dear
an object, who may be good and happy in a small circle, if he
misses, by his own fault, mounting into a larger?  Take courage,
my dearest ami, and relieve me from the double crush that else
may wholly destroy mine. Let us both, while we yet venture to
hope for the best, prepare for the worst.  Nothing on my part
shall be wanting to save this blow; but should his perversity
make it inevitable, we must unite our utmost strength, not alone
to console each other, but to snatch from that "sombre
d‚couragement"(309) you so well foresee, the wilful, but ever
fondly-loved dupe of his own insouciance. . . .(310)


              A VISIT FROM THE FIRST CHESS PLAYER IN ENGLAND.

And now to lighter matters. I hope I have gained a smile from you
by my disclosure that I lost my journal time for my usual
post-day by successive dissipation ? What will you have
conjectured ?  That I have consented at last to listen to Mr.
Jacob's recommendation for going to the Ilfracombe ball, and
danced a fandango with him! or waltzed, au moins! or that I have
complied with his desire of going to the cricket-ground, just
arranged by the Cantabs and some officers who are here, in
subscribing three guineas for the use of a field? Vous n'ˆtes
pas;(311) for though I should like, in itself, to see a
cricket-match, in a field which Mr. Jacob says is beautifully
situated, and where the Bishop of Ossory and his lady, Mrs.
Fowler, go frequently, as two of their sons are amongst the
Page 405

players; yet, as Jacob evidently thinks our poor Alexander ought
not to spare time for being of the party, I cannot bear to quit
my watchful place by his side, and go thither without him.

Mais--Vous vous rendez, n'est-ce-pas?(312)  Eh bien--to go back
to Sept. 2nd. Alexander and I were nearly finishing our evening,
tea being over, and nine o'clock having struck, while he was
reading the "Spiritual Quixote"(313) for a little relaxation;
when Miss Elizabeth Ramsay came to tell me that a gentleman was
just arrived at Ilfracombe who begged leave to wait upon me, if I
would admit him; and she gave me a card with the name of Mr.
Bowdler. Of course I complied, and Alexander was wild with joy at
the thought of such an interview, as Mr. Bowdler is acknowledged
the first chess-player in England, and was the only man, when
Philidor was here, who had the honour of a drawn battle with him:
a thing that Philidor has recorded by printing the whole of the
game in his treatise on chess. I was not glad to bring back his
ideas to that fascination, yet could not be sorry he should have
so great a pleasure.

Mr. Bowdler presented himself very quickly, though not till he
had made a toilette of great dress, such as would have suited the
finest evening assembly at Bath. He was always a man of much
cultivation, and a searcher of the bas bleus(314) all his life.
He is brother to our two Mrs. Bowdlers, and was now come to
escort Mrs. Frances from his house in Wales, where she has spent
the summer, to Ilfracombe.  I had formerly met this gentleman
very often, at bleu parties, and once at a breakfast at his own
house, given in honour of Mrs. Frances, where I met Sophy
Streatfield, then a great beauty and a famous Greek scholar, of
whom the " Literary Herald says:--

"Lovely Streatfield's ivory neck,
Nose and notions … la Grecque."

He was extremely civil to Alex, whom he had longed, he said, to
see, and Alex listened to every word that dropped from him, as if
it would teach some high move at chess.

We had much talk of old times. We had not met since we parted in
St. James's-place, in the last illness of my dear Mrs.
Page 406

Delany, whom he then attended as a physician. He stayed till past
ten, having left his sister at the hotel, too tired with a sea
passage to come out, or to receive chez elle.  But he entreated
me to dine with them next day, the only day he should spend at
Ilfracombe, with such excess of earnestness and Alex seconded the
request with so many "Oh, mamma's!" that he overpowered all
refusal, assuring me it could not interfere with my Bath
measures, as it was a dinner, pour ainsi dire,(315) on the road,
for he and his sister were forced to dine at the hotel. He also
declared, in a melancholy tone  that he might probably never see
me more, unless I made a tour of Wales, as -he began to feel
himself too old for the exertion of a sea voyage.

The next morning, immediately after breakfast, I waited upon my
old friend and namesake, Fanny Bowdler, and sat with her two
hours tˆte-…-tˆte, for her brother was unwell, and she is
admirable in close dialogue. I had hardly got home ere she
followed me, and stayed till it was time to dress for dinner;
when again we met, and only parted for our downy pillows. Her
strong sense, keen observation, and travelled intelligence and
anecdotes, made the day, thus devoted to her, from ten in the
morning to ten at night, pass off with great spirit and
liveliness: but Alex, oh! he was in Elysium. Mr. Bowdler took a
great fancy to him, and indulged his ardent wish of a chess talk
to the full; satisfying him in many difficult points, and going
over with him his own famous game with Philidore - and, in short,
delivering himself over to that favourite subject with him
entirely.  It will not, however, be mischievous, for Mr.
Bowdler's own enthusiasm is over, and he has now left the game
quite off, not having played it once these seven years.



                           THE DIARY CONTINUED.

                 A COAST RAMBLE IN SEARCH OF CURIOSITIES.

The term for Alexander's studies with Mr. Jacob was just
finishing, and a few days only remained ere the party was. to be
dispersed, when I determined upon devoting a morning to the
search of such curiosities as the coast produced. . I marched
forth, attended only by M. d'Arblay's favourite little dog,
Diane, with a large silk bag to see what I could

Page 407

find that I might deem indigenous, as a local offering to the
collection of my general, who was daily increasing his
mineralogical stores, under the skilful direction of his friend,
-the celebrated naturalist, M. de Bournon.

I began my perambulation by visiting the promontory called "the
Capstan"--or rather attempting that visit; for after mounting to
nearly its height, by a circuitous path from the town, by which
alone the ascent is possible, the side of the promontory being a
mere precipice overlooking the ocean, a sudden gust of wind
dashed so violently against us, that in the danger of being blown
into the sea, I dropped on the turf at full length, and saw Diane
do the same, with her four paws spread as widely as possible, to
flatten her body more completely to the ground.

This opening to my expedition thus briefly set aside, I repaired
to the coast, where there are pebbles, at least, in great beauty
as well as abundance. The coast of Ilfracombe is broken by rocks,
which bear evident marks of being fragments of some one immense
rock, which, undermined by the billows in successive storms, has
been cast in all directions in its fall. We went down to the edge
of the sea, which was clear, smooth, and immovable as a lake, the
wind having subsided into a calm so quiet, that I could not tell
whether the tide were in or out.  Not a creature was in sight;
but presently a lady descended, with a book in her hand, and
passed on before us to the right, evidently to read alone.
Satisfied by this circumstance that the tide was going out, and
all was safe, I began my search, and soon accumulated a
collection of beautiful pebbles, each of which seemed to merit
being set in a ring.

The pleasure they afforded me insensibly drew me on to the
entrance of the Wildersmouth, which is the name given to a series
of recesses formed by the rocks, and semicircular, open at the
bottom to the sea, and only to be entered from the sands at low
tide.  I coasted two or three of them, augmenting my spoil as I
proceeded; and perceiving the lady I have- already mentioned
composedly engaged with her book, I hurried past to visit the
last recess, whither I had never yet ventured.  I found it a sort
of chamber, though with no roof but a clear blue sky. The top was
a portly mountain, rough, steep and barren - the left side was
equally mountainous, but consisting of layers of a sort of slate,
intermixed with moss ; the right side was the elevated Capstan,
Page 408

which here was perpendicular; and at the bottom were ,the sands,
by which I entered it, terminated by the ocean. The whole was
altogether strikingly picturesque, wild and original. There was
not one trace of art, or even of any previous entrance into it of
man.  I could almost imagine myself its first human inmate.

My eye was presently caught by the appearance, near the top, of a
cavern, at the foot of which I perceived something of so
brilliant a whiteness that, in hopes of a treasure for my bag, I
hastened to the spot. What had attracted me proved to be the
jawbone and teeth of some animal. Various rudely curious things
at the mouth of the cavern invited investigation; Diane, however,
brushed forward, and was soon out of sight, but while I was
busily culling, hoarding, or rejecting whatever struck my fancy,
she returned with an air so piteous, and a whine so unusual,
that, concluding she pined to return to a little puppy of a week
old that she was then rearing, I determined to hasten; but still
went on with my search, till the excess of her distress leading
her to pull me by the gown, moved me to take her home; but when I
descended, for this recess was on a slant, how was I confounded
to find the sands at the bottom, opening to the recess, whence I
had entered this marine chamber, were covered by the waves;
though so gentle had been their motion, and so calm was the sea,
that their approach had not caught my ear.  I hastily remounted,
hoping to find some outlet at the top by which I might escape,
but there was none.  This was not pleasant but still I was not
frightened, not conceiving or believing that I could be
completely enclosed: the less, as I recollected, in my passage to
the cavern, having had a glimpse of the lady who was reading in
the neighbouring recess.  I hastily scrambled to the spot to look
for her, and entreat her assistance ; but how was I then startled
to find that she was gone, and that her recess, which was on less
elevated ground than mine, was fast filling with water!


                        CAUGHT BY THE RISING TIDE.

I now rushed down to the sea, determined to risk a wet jerkin, by
wading through a wave or two, to secure myself from being shut up
in this unfrequented place : but the time was past! The weather
suddenly changed, the lake was gone, and billows mounted one
after the other, as if with enraged
Page 409

pursuit of what they could seize and swallow. I eagerly ran up
and down, from side to side, and examined every nook and corner,
every projection and hollow, to find any sort of opening through
which I could pass-but there was none.

Diane looked scared; she whined, she prowled about - her dismay
was evident, and filled me with compassion-but I could not
interrupt my affrighted search to console her. Soon after,
however, she discovered a hole in the rock at the upper part,
which seemed to lead to the higher sands.  She got through it,
and then turned round to bark, as triumphing in her success, and
calling upon me to share its fruits. But in vain !-the hollow was
too small for my passage save of my head, and I could only have
remained in it as if standing in the pillory.  I still,
therefore, continued my own perambulation, but I made a motion to
my poor Diane to go, deeming it cruel to detain her from her
little one.  Yet I heard her howl as if reduced to despair, that
I would not join her. Anon, however, she was silent--I looked
after her, but she had disappeared.

This was an alarming moment. Alone, without the smallest aid, or
any knowledge how high the sea might mount, or what was the
extent of my danger, I looked up wistfully at Capstan, and
perceived the iron salmon; but this angle of that promontory was
so steep as to be utterly impracticable for climbing by human
feet; and its height was such as nearly to make me giddy in
considering it from so close a point of view.  I went from it,
therefore, to the much less elevated and less perpendicular rock
opposite; but there all that was not slate, which crumbled in my
hands, was moss, from which they glided. There was no hold
whatsoever for the feet.

"I ran therefore to the top, where a large rock, by reaching from
the upper part of this slated one to Capstan, formed the chamber
in which I was thus unexpectedly immured. But this was so rough,
pointed, sharp, and steep that I could scarcely touch it. The
hole through which Diane had crept was at an accidentally thin
part, and too small to afford a passage to anything bigger than
her little self.

The rising storm, however, brought forward the billows with
augmented noise and violence; and my wild asylum lessened every
moment. Now, indeed, I comprehended the fulness of my danger. If
a wave once reached my feet, while coming upon me with the
tumultuous vehemence of this storm, I had
Page 410

nothing I could hold by to sustain me from becoming its prey and
must inevitably be carried away into the ocean.


                    EFFORTS TO REACH A PLACE OF SAFETY.

I darted about in search of some place of safety, rapidly, and
all eye; till at length I espied a small tuft of grass on the
pinnacle of the highest of the small rocks that were scattered
about my prison; for such now appeared my fearful dwelling-place.

This happily pointed out to me a spot that the waves had never
yet attained; for all around bore marks of the visits. To reach
that tuft would be safety, and I made the attempt with eagerness
; but the obstacles I encountered were terrible. The roughness of
the rock tore my clothes - its sharp points cut, now my feet, and
now my fingers - and the distances from each other of the holes
by which I could gain any footing for my ascent, increased the
difficulty.  I gained, however, nearly a quarter of the height,
but I could climb no further and then found myself on a ledge
where it was possible to sit down - and I have rarely found a
little repose more seasonable.  But it was not more sweet than
short : for in a few minutes a sudden gust of wind raised the
waves to a frightful height, whence their foam reached the base
of my place of refuge, and threatened to attain soon the spot to
which I had ascended. I now saw a positive necessity to mount yet
higher, co–te qui co–te, and, little as I had thought it
possible, the pressing danger gave me both means and fortitude to
accomplish it: but with so much hardship that I have ever since
marvelled at my success. My hands were wounded, my knees were
bruised, and my feet were cut for I could only scramble up by
clinging to the rock on all fours.

When I had reached to about two-thirds of the height of my rock,
I could climb no further. All above was so sharp and so
perpendicular that neither hand nor foot could touch it without
being wounded. My head, however, was nearly on a level with the
tuft of grass, and my elevation from the sands was very
considerable.  I hoped, therefore, I was safe from being washed
away by the waves; but I could only hope; I had no means to
ascertain my situation; and hope as I might, it was as painful as
it was hazardous. The tuft to which I had aimed to rise, and
which, had I succeeded, would have been security, was a mere
point, as unattainable as it was unique,
Page 411

not another blade of grass being anywhere discernible.  I was
rejoiced, however, to have reached a spot where there was
sufficient breadth to place one foot at least without cutting it,
though the other was poised on such unfriendly ground that it
could bear no part in sustaining me. Before me was an immense
slab, chiefly of slate, but it was too slanting to serve for a
seat-and seat I had none. My only prop, therefore, was holding by
the slab, where it was of a convenient height for my hands. This
support, besides affording me a little rest, saved me from
becoming giddy, and enabled me from time to time to alternate the
toil of my feet.


                           A SIGNAL OF DISTRESS.

Glad was I, at least, that my perilous clambering had finished by
bringing me to a place where I might remain still ; for with
affright, fatigue, and exertion I was almost exhausted. The wind
was now abated, and the sea so calm, that I could not be sure
whether the tide was still coming in. To ascertain this was
deeply necessary for my tranquillity, that I might form some idea
what would be the length of my torment.  I fixed my eyes,
therefore, upon two rocks that stood near the sea entrance into
my recess, almost close to the promontory, from which they had
probably been severed by successive storms. As they were always
in the sea I could easily make my calculation by observing
whether they seemed to lengthen or shorten. With my near-sighted
glass I watched them ; and great was my consternation when,
little by little, I lost sight of them. I now looked wistfully
onward to the main ocean, in the hope of espying some vessel, or
fishing-boat, with intention of spreading and waving my parasol,
in signal of distress, should any one come in sight. But nothing
appeared. All was vacant and vast ! I was wholly alone-wholly
isolated. I feared to turn my head lest I should become giddy,
and lose my balance.


                               LITTLE DIANE.

In this terrible state, painful, dangerous, and, more than all,
solitary, who could paint my joy, when suddenly, reentering by
the aperture in the rock through which she had quitted me, I
perceived my dear little Diane ! For the instant I felt as if
restored to safety-I no longer seemed

Page 412

abandoned.  She soon leaped across the flat stones and the sands
which separated us, but how great was the difficulty to make her
climb as I had climbed! Twenty times she advanced only to retreat
from the sharp points of the rock, till ultimately she picked
herself out a passage by help of the slate, and got upon the
enormous table, of which the upper part was my support ; but the
slant was such, that as fast as she ascended she slipped down,
and we were both, I believe almost hopeless of the desired
junction, when, catching at a favourable moment that had advanced
her paws within my reach, I contrived to hook her collar by the
curved end of my parasol and help her forward. This I did with
one hand, and as quick as lightning, dragging her over the slab
and dropping her at my feet, whence she soon nestled herself in a
sort of niche of slate, in a situation much softer than mine, but
in a hollow that for me was impracticable. I hastily recovered my
hold, which I marvel now that I had the temerity to let go; but
to have at my side my dear little faithful Diane was a comfort
which no one not planted, and for a term that seemed indefinite,
in so unknown-a solitude, can conceive.  What cries of joy the
poor little thing uttered when thus safely lodged! and with what
tenderness I sought to make her sensible of my gratitude for her
return !

I was now, compared with all that had preceded, in Paradise : so
enchanted did I -feel at no longer considering myself as if alone
in the world. O, well I can conceive the interest excited in the
French prisoner by a spider, even a spider! Total absence of all.
of animation in a place of confinement, of which the term is
unknown, where volition is set aside, and where captivity is the
work of the elements, casts the fancy into a state of solemn awe,
of fearful expectation, which I have not words to describe; while
the higher mind, mastering at times that fancy, seeks resignation
from the very sublimity of that terrific vacuity whence all seems
exiled, but self: seeks, and finds it in the almost Visible
security of the omnipresence of God.

To see after my kind little companion was an occupation that for
awhile kept me from seeing after myself, but when I had done what
I could towards giving her comfort and assistance, I again looked
before me, and saw the waters at the base of my rock of refuge,
still gradually rising on, while both my rocks of mark were
completely swallowed up!
Page 413

                          the INCREASING DANGER,

My next alarm was one that explained that of Diane when she came
back so scared from the cavern ; for the waves, probably from
some subterraneous passage, now forced their way through that
cavern, threatening inundation to even the highest part of my
chamber. This was horrific. I could no longer even speak to
Diane; my eyes were riveted upon this unexpected gulf, and in a
few moments an immense breaker attacked my rock, and, impeded by
its height from going straight forward, was dashed in two
directions, and foamed onward against each side.

I did not breathe--I felt faint--I felt even sea-sick.  On, then,
with added violence came two wide-spreading waves, and, being
parted by my rock, completely encompassed it, meeting each other
on the further and upper ground.  I now gave up my whole soul to
prayer for myself and for my Alexander, and that I might
mercifully be spared this watery grave, or be endowed with
courage and faith for meeting it with firmness.

The next waves reached to the uppermost end of my chamber, which
was now all sea, save the small rock upon which I was mounted!
How I might have been subdued by a situation so awful at once,
and so helpless, if left to unmixed contemplation, I know not --
had I not been still called into active service in sustaining my
poor Diane. No sooner were we thus encompassed than she was
seized with a dismay that filled me with pity. She trembled
violently, and rising and looking down at the dreadful sight of
sea, sea, sea all around, and sea still to the utmost extent of
the view beyond, she turned up her face to me, as if appealing
for protection and when I spoke to her with kindness, she crept
forward to my feet, and was instantly taken with a shivering fit.

I could neither sit nor kneel to offer her any comfort, but I
dropped down as children do when they play at hunt the slipper,
for so only could I loose my hold of the slab without falling,
and I then stroked and caressed her in as fondling a way as if
she had been a child; and I recovered her from her ague-fit by
rubbing her head and back with my shawl.  She then looked up at
me somewhat composed, though still piteous and forlorn, and
licked my hands with gratitude.
Page 414

                     THE LAST WAVE OF THE RISING TIDE.

While this passed the sea had gained considerably in height, and,
a few minutes afterwards all the horrors of a tempest seemed
impending. The wind roared around me, pushing on the waves with a
frothy velocity that, to a bystander, not to an inmate amidst
them, would have been beautiful.  It whistled with shrill and
varying tones from the numberless crevices in the three immense
rocky mountains by whose semicircular adhesion I was thus immured
- and it burst forth at times in squalls, reverberating from
height to height or chasm to chasm, as if "the big-mouthed
thunder"

"Were bellowing through the vast and boundless deep."

A wave, at length, more stupendous than any which had preceded
it, dashed against my rock as if enraged at an interception of
its progress, and rushed on to the extremity of this savage
chamber, with foaming impetuosity. This moment I believed to be
my last of mortality ! but a moment only it was ; for scarcely
had I time, with all the rapidity of concentrated thought, to
recommend myself, my husband, and my poor Alexander, humbly but
fervently to the mercy of the Almighty, when the celestial joy
broke in upon me of perceiving that this wave, which had bounded
forward with such fury, was the last of the rising tide !  In its
rebound, it forced back with it, for an instant, the whole body
of water that was lodged nearest to the upper extremity of my
recess, and the transporting sight was granted me of an opening
to the sands but they were covered again the next instant, and as
no other breaker made a similar opening, I was still, for a
considerable length of time, in the same situation: but I lost
hope no more.  The tide was turned: it could rise therefore no
higher; the danger was over of so unheard-of an end; of vanishing
no one knew how or where--of leaving to my kind, deploring
friends an unremitting uncertainty of my fate--of my
re-appearance or dissolution. I now wanted nothing but time, and
caution, to effect my deliverance.

The threat of the tempest, also, was over ; the air grew as
serene as my mind, the sea far more calm, the sun beautifully
tinged the west, and its setting upon the ocean was resplendent.
By remembrance, however, alone, I speak of its glory, not from
any pleasure I then experienced in its sight: it told
Page 415

me of the waning day; and the anxiety I had now dismissed for
myself redoubled for my poor Alexander. . . .

With my bag of curiosities I made a cushion for Diane, which,
however little luxurious, was softness itself compared with her
then resting-place. She, also, could take no repose, but from
this period I made her tolerably happy, by caresses and continual
attentions.

But no sooner had the beams of the sun vanished from the broad
horizon, than a small, gentle rain began to fall, and the light
as well as brightness of the day became obscured by darkling
clouds.

This greatly alarmed me, in defiance of my joy and my philosophy;
for I dreaded being surprised by the night in this isolated
situation.  I was supported, however, by perceiving that the sea
was clearly retrograding, and beholding, little by little, the
dry ground across the higher extremity of my apartment.  How did
I bless the sight ! the sands and clods of sea-mire were more
beautiful to my eyes than the rarest mosaic pavement of
antiquity.  Nevertheless, the return was so gradual, that I
foresaw I had still many hours to remain a prisoner.


                            ARRIVAL OF SUCCOUR.

The night came on--there was no moon - but the sea, by its
extreme whiteness, afforded some degree of pale light, when
suddenly I thought I perceived something in the air. Affrighted,
I looked around me but nothing was visible; yet in another moment
something like a shadow flitted before my eyes. I tried to fix
it, but could not develop any form : something black was all I
could make out; it seemed in quick motion, for I caught and lost
it alternately, as if it was a shadow reflected by the waters.

I looked up at Capstan: nothing was there, but the now hardly
discernible Iron salmon.  I then looked at the opposite side. . .
. ah, gracious heaven, what were my sensations to perceive two
human figures!  Small they looked, as in a picture, from their
distance, the height of the rock, and the obscurity of the night;
but not less certainly from their outline, human figures.  I
trembled--I could not breathe--in another minute I was espied,
for a voice loud, but unknown to my ears, called out "Holloa!" I
unhesitatingly answered, "I am safe!"

"Thank God!" was the eager reply, in a voice hardly
Page 416

articulate, "Oh, thank God!" but not in a Voice unknown though
convulsed with agitation--it was the voice of my dear son! Oh
what a quick transition from every direful apprehension to' joy
and delight! yet knowing his precipitancy, and fearing a rash
descent to join me, in ignorance of the steepness and dangers of
the precipice which parted us, I called out with all the energy
in my power to conjure him to await patiently, as I would myself,
the entire going down of the tide.

He readily gave me this promise, though still in sounds almost
inarticulate. I was then indeed in heaven while upon earth.

Another form then appeared, while Alex and the first companion
retired. This form, from a gleam of light on her dress, I soon
saw to be female. She called out to me that Mr. Alexander and his
friend were gone to call for a boat to come round for me by sea.
The very thought made me shudder, acquainted as I now was with
the nature of my recess, where, though the remaining sea looked
as smooth as the waters of a lake, I well knew it was but a
surface covering pointed fragments of rock, against which a boat
must have been overset or stranded. Loudly, therefore, as I could
raise my voice, I called upon my informant to fly after them, and
say I was decided to wait till the tide was down. She replied
that she would not leave me alone for the world.

The youths, however, soon returned to the top of the mountain,
accompanied by a mariner, who had dissuaded them from their
dangerous enterprise.  I cheerfully repeated that I was safe, and
begged reciprocated patience. They now wandered about on the
heights, one of them always keeping in view.

Meanwhile, I had now the pleasure to descend to the sort of
halfway-house which I had first hoped would serve for my refuge.
The difficulty was by no means so arduous to come down as to
mount, especially as, the waters being no longer so high as my
rock, there was no apprehension of destruction should my footing
fail me.

Some time after I descried a fourth figure on the summit, bearing
a lantern.  This greatly rejoiced me, for the twilight now was
grown so obscure that I had felt much troubled how I might at
last grope my way in the dark out of this terrible Wildersmouth.
Page 417

They all now, from the distance and the dimness, looked like
spectres : we spoke no more, the effort being extremely
fatiguing.  I observed, however, with great satisfaction, an
increase of figures, so that the border of the precipice seemed
covered with people. This assurance that if any accident
happened, there would be succour at hand, relieved many a fresh
starting anxiety.

Not long after, the sea wholly disappeared, and the man with the
lantern, who was an old sailor, descended the precipice on the
further part, by a way known to him ; and placing the lantern
where it might give him light, yet allow him the help of both his
hands, he was coming to me almost on all fours - when Diane
leaped to the bottom of the rock, and began a barking so loud and
violent that the seaman stopped short, and I had the utmost
difficulty to appease my little dog, and prevail with her,
between threats and cajolements, to suffer his approach. . . .

                      MEETING BETWEEN MOTHER AND SON.

My son no sooner perceived that the seaman had found footing,
though all was still too watery and unstable for me to quit my
rock, than he darted forward by the way thus pointed out, and
clambering, or rather leaping up to me, he was presently in my
arms. Neither of us could think or care about the surrounding
spectators-we seemed restored to each other, almost miraculously,
from destruction and death. Neither of us could utter a word, but
both, I doubt not, were equally occupied in returning the most
ardent thanks to heaven.

Alexander had run wildly about in every direction; visited hill,
dale, cliff, by-paths, and public roads, to make and instigate
inquiry-but of the Wildersmouth he thought not, and never, I
believe, had heard; and as it was then a mere part of the sea,
from the height of the tide, the notion or remembrance of it
occurred to no one. Mr. Jacob, his coolheaded and excellent
hearted friend, was most unfortunately at Barnstaple, but he at
length thought of Mr. John Le Fevre, a young man who was
eminently at the head of the Ilfracombe students, and had
resisted going to the ball at Barnstaple, not to lose an hour of
his time. Recollecting this, Alex went to his dwelling, and
bursting into his apartment, called out, "My mother is missing!"
Page 418

The generous youth, seeing the tumult of soul in which he was
addressed, shut up his bureau without a word, and hurried off
with his distressed comrade, giving up for that benevolent
purpose the precious time he had refused himself to spare for a
moment's recreation.

Fortunately, providentially, Mr. Le Fevre recollected
Wildersmouth, and that one of his friends had narrowly escaped
destruction by a surprise there of the sea.  He no sooner named
this than he and Alexander contrived to climb up the rock
opposite to Capstan, whence they looked down upon my recess.  At
first they could discern nothing, save one small rock uncovered
by the sea : but at length, as my head moved, Le Fevre saw
something like a shadow--he then called out, "Holloa!" etc.  To
Mr. Le Fevre, therefore, I probably owe my life.

Two days after, I visited the spot of my captivity, but it had
entirely changed its appearance.  A storm of equinoctial violence
had broken off its pyramidal height, and the drift of sand and
gravel, and fragments of rocks, had given a new face to the whole
recess.  I sent for the seaman to ascertain the very spot: this
he did; but told me that a similar change took place commonly
twice a year - and added, very calmly, that two days later I
could not have been saved from the waves.


                   GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S RETURN TO ENGLAND.

(Madame d'Arblay to a Friend.)
Bath, November 9, 1817.
Can I still hope, my dear friend, for that patient partiality
which will await my tardy answer ere it judges my irksome
silence?  Your letter Of Sept. 27th I found upon my table when I
returned, the 5th of October, from Ilfracombe.  I returned, with
Alexander, to meet General d'A. from Paris. You will be sorry, I
am very sure, and probably greatly surprised, to hear that he
came in a state to occupy every faculty of my mind and thoughts--
altered--thin--weak--depressed--full of pain--and disappointed in
every expectation of every sort that had urged his excursion!

I thank God the fever that confined him to his bed for three days
is over, and he yesterday went down stairs and his repose now is
the most serene and reviving. The fever, Mr. Hay assured me, was
merely symptomatic ; not of inflammation

Page 419

or any species of danger, but the effect of his
sufferings. Alas! that is heavy and severe enough, but still,
where fever comes, 'tis of the sort the least cruel, because no
ways alarming.


Nov. 15-I never go out, nor admit any one within - nor shall I,
till a more favourable turn will let me listen to his earnest
exhortations that I should do both.  Mr. Hay gives me strong
hopes that that will soon arrive, and then I shall not vex him by
persevering in this seclusion: you know and can judge how little
this part of my course costs me, for to quit the side of those we
prize when they are in pain, would be a thousand times greater
sacrifice than any other privation.


                      THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE'S DEATH.

You are very right as to Lady Murray, not only, of course, I am
honoured by her desire of intercourse, but it can never be as a
new acquaintance I can see the daughter of Lord and Lady
Mulgrave. I have been frequently in the company of the former,
who was a man of the gayest wit in society I almost ever knew. He
spread mirth around him by his sprightly ideas and sallies, and
his own laugh was as hearty and frank as that he excited in
others ; and his accomplished and attaching wife was one of the
sweetest creatures in the world.  Alas ! how often this late
tragedy in the unfortunate royal family has called her to my
remembrance!(316) She, however, left the living consolation of a
lovely babe to her disconsolate survivor ;-the poor Prince
Leopold loses in one blow mother and child.

The royal visit here has been a scene of emotion:--first of joy
and pleasure, next of grief and disappointment. The queen I
thought looked well till this sudden and unexpected blow; after
which, for the mournful day she remained, she admitted no one to
her presence, but most graciously sent me a message to console
me.  She wrote instantly, with her own hand, to Prince
Leopold-that prince who must seem to have had a vision of
celestial happiness, so perfect it was, so exalted, and so
transitory.  The poor Princess Charlotte's passion for him had
absorbed her, yet was so well placed as only to form her to
excellence, and it had so completely won his return, that like
herself he coveted

 Page 420

her alone...... Princess Elizabeth is much altered personally, to
my great concern; but her manners, and amiability, and talents, I
think more pleasing and more attaching than ever, How delighted I
was at their arrival !


                    THE QUEEN AND PRINCESSES AT BATH.

(Madame d'Arblay to her Son.)
Bath, November 9, 1817.
We have here spent nearly a week in a manner the most
extraordinary, beginning with hope and pleasure, proceeding to
fear and pain, and ending in disappointment and grief.

The joy exhibited on Monday, when her majesty and her royal
highness arrived, was really ecstatic ; the illumination was
universal. The public offices were splendid; so were the
tradespeople's who had promises or hopes of employment; the
nobles and gentles were modestly gay, and the poor eagerly put
forth their mite.  But all was flattering, because voluntary.
Nothing was induced by power, or forced by mobs. All was left to
individual choice. Your padre and I patrolled the principal
streets, and were quite touched by the universality of the homage
paid to the virtues and merit of our venerable queen, upon this
her first progress through any part of her domains by herself.
Hitherto she has only accompanied the poor king, as at Weymouth
and Cheltenham, Worcester and Exeter, Plymouth and Portsmouth,
etc. ; or the prince regent, as at Brighthelmstone. But here,
called by her health, she came as principal, and in her own
character of rank and consequence. And, as Mr. Hay told me, the
inhabitants of Bath were all even vehement to let her see the
light in which they held her individual self, after so many years
witnessing her exemplary conduct and distinguished merit. ::She
was very sensible to this tribute; but much affected, nay,
dejected, in receiving it, at the beginning; from coming without
the king where the poor king had always meant himself to bring
her - but just as he had arranged for the excursion, and even had
three houses taken for him in the Royal-crescent, he was
afflicted by blindness.  He would not then come; for what, he
said, was a beautiful city to him who could not look at it? This
was continually in the remembrance of the queen during the
honours of her reception ; but she had recovered from the
melancholy recollection, and was
Page 421

cheering herself by the cheers of all the inhabitants, when the
first news arrived of the illness of the Princess Charlotte.
At that moment she was having her diamonds placed on her head for
the reception of the mayor and corporation of Bath, with an
address upon the honour done to their city, and upon their hopes
from the salutary spring she came to quaff.  Her first thought
was to issue orders for deferring this ceremony but when she
considered that all the members of the municipality must be
assembled, and that the great dinner they had prepared to give to
the Duke of Clarence could only be postponed at an enormous and
useless expense, she composed her spirits, finished her regal
decorations, and admitted the citizens of Bath, who were highly
gratified by her condescension, and struck by her splendour,
which was the same as she appeared in on the greatest occasions
in the capital.  The Princess Elizabeth was also a blaze of
jewels. And our good little Mayor (not four feet high) and
aldermen and common councilmen were all transported.


              NEWS ARRIVES OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE'S DEATH.

The Duke of Clarence accepted their invitation, and was joined by
the Marquis of Bath and all the queen's suite.  But the dinner
was broken up. The duke received an express with the terrible
tidings: he rose from table, and struck his forehead as he read
them, and then hurried out of the assembly with inexpressible
trepidation and dismay. The queen also was at table when the same
express arrived, though only with the princess and her own party:
all were dispersed in a moment, and she shut herself up,
admitting no one but her royal highness. She would have left Bath
the next morning; but her physician, Sir Henry Halford, said it
would be extremely dangerous that she should travel so far, in
her state of health, just in the first perturbation of
affliction.  She would see no one but her suite all day, and set
out the next for Windsor Castle, to spend the time previous to
the last melancholy rites, in the bosom of her family.

All Bath wore a face of mourning. The transition from gaiety and
exultation was really awful. What an extinction of youth and
happiness ! The poor Princess Charlotte had never known a
moment's suffering since her marriage. Her lot seemed perfect.
Prince Leopold is, indeed, to be pitied.
Page 422

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.)
Bath, November 25, 1817.
.....We are all here impressed with the misfortunes of the royal
house, and chiefly with the deadly blow inflicted on the perfect
conjugal happiness of the first young couple in the kingdom. The
first couple not young bad already received a blow yet, perhaps,
more frightful : for to have, yet lose-to keep, yet never to
enjoy the being we most prize, is surely yet more torturing than
to yield at once to the stroke which we know awaits us, and by
which, at last, we must necessarily and indispensably fall.  The
queen supports herself with the calm and serenity belonging to
one inured to misfortune, and submissive to Providence.  The
Princess Elizabeth has native spirits that resist all woe after
the first shock, though she is full of kindness, goodness, and
zeal for right action.


        AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. SERIOUS ILLNESS OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

(Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.)
Bath, Thursday, February 26, 1818.
I had company in the room when Lady K-'s note arrived, desiring I
would send you some papers of hers by the person who should bring
it. I had offered a conveyance to London by some friends of my
own, but she preferred their passing through your hands.  Accept
my truest wishes for the restoration of complete peace to a mind
which has been SO long and so justly admired, loved, and praised
by, Dear madam,--Your ever faithful, H. L. P.
Who attends the general? and why do you think him SO very bad?

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi.)
Bath, February 26, 1818.
There is no situation in which a kind remembrance from you, my
dear madam, would not awaken me to some pleasure; but my poor
sufferer was so very ill when your note came, that it was not
possible for me to answer it.  That I think him so very bad, is
that I see him perpetually in pain
Page 423

nearly insupportable ; yet I am assured it is local and
unattended with danger while followed up with constant care and
caution.  This supports my spirits, which bear me and enable me
to help him through a malady of anguish and difficulty. It is a
year this very month since he has been in the hands of Mr. Hay as
a regular patient. Mr. Hay was recommended to us by Mrs. Locke
and Mrs. Angerstein, whom he attends as physician, from their
high opinion of his skill and discernment. But, alas ! all has
failed here ; and we have called in Mr. Tudor, as the case
terminates in being one that demands a surgeon.  Mr. Tudor gives
me every comfort in prospect, but prepares me for long suffering,
and slow, slow recovery.

Shall I apologise for this wordy explanation? No - you will see
by it with what readiness I am happy, to believe that our
interest in each other must ever be reciprocal.

Lady K- by no means intended to give me the charge of the papers;
she only thought they might procure some passing amusement to my
invalid. I must, on the contrary, hope you will permit me to
return them you, in a few days, for such conveyance as you may
deem safe; I am now out of the way of seeking any.

I hope you were a little glad that my son has been among the high
Wranglers.

          NARRATIVE OF THE ILLNESS AND DEATH OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY.

                THE GENERAL'S FIRST ATTACK: DELUSIVE HOPES.

Bolton Street, Berkeley Square.
It is now the 17th of November, 1819. A year and a half have
passed since I was blessed with the sight of my beloved husband.
I can devise no means to soothe my lonely woe, so likely of
success as devoting my evening solitude to recollections of his
excellences, and of every occurrence of his latter days, till I
bring myself up to the radiant serenity of their end. I think it
will be like passing with him, with him himself, a few poor
fleeting but dearly-cherished moments. I will call back the
history of my beloved husband's last illness. Ever present as it
is to me, it will be a relief to set it down.

In Paris, in the autumn Of 1817, he was first attacked with
Page 424

the deadly evil by which he was finally consumed. I suspected not
his danger. He had left me in June, in the happy but most
delusive persuasion that the journey and his native air would
complete his recovery from the jaundice, which had attacked him
in February, 1817. Far from ameliorating, his health went on
daily declining. His letters, which at first were the delight and
support of my existence, became disappointing, dejecting,
afflicting.  I sighed for his return ! I believed. he was trying
experiments that hindered his recovery; and, indeed, I am
persuaded he precipitated the evil by continual changes of
system. At length his letters became so comfortless, that I
almost expired with desire to join him - but he positively
forbade my quitting our Alexander, who was preparing for his
grand examination at Cambridge.

On the opening of October, 1817, Alex and I returned from
Ilfracombe to Bath to meet our best friend.  He arrived soon
after, attended by his favourite medical man, Mr. Hay, whom he
had met in Paris. We found him extremely altered-not in mind,
temper, faculties--oh, no!--but in looks and strength: thin and
weakened so as to be fatigued by the smallest exertion.  He
tried, however, to revive; we sought to renew our walks, but his
strength was insufficient.  He purchased a garden in the Crescent
fields, and worked in it, but came home always the worse for the
effort.  His spirits were no longer in their state of native
genial cheerfulness : he could still be awakened to gaiety, but
gaiety was no longer innate, instinctive with him.


                 GENERAL D'ARBLAY PRESENTED TO THE QUEEN.

In this month, October, 1817, I had a letter from the Princess
Elizabeth, to inform me that her majesty and herself were coming
to pass four weeks in Bath. The queen's stay was short, abruptly
and sadly broken up by the death of the Princess Charlotte.  In
twenty-four hours after the evil tidings, they hastened to
Windsor to meet the prince regent and almost immediately after
the funeral, the queen and princess returned, accompanied by the
Duke of Clarence. I saw them continually, and never passed a day
without calling at the royal abode by the queen's express
permission ; and during the whole period of their stay, my
invalid appeared to be stationary in his health.  I never quitted
him save for this royal visit, and that only of a morning.
Page 425

He had always purposed being presented to her majesty in
the pump-room, and the queen herself deigned to say "she should
be very glad to see the general." Ill he was! suffering,
emaciated, enfeebled!  But he had always spirit awake to every
call; and just before Christmas, 1817, we went together, between
seven and eight o'clock in the morning, in chairs, to the
pump-room. I thought I had never seen him look to such advantage.
His fine brow so open, his noble countenance so expressive, his
features so formed for a painter's pencil! This, too, was the
last time he ever wore his military honours--his three orders of
"St. Louis," "the Legion of Honour," and "Du Lys," or "De la
FidŠlit‚;" decorations which singularly became him, from his
strikingly martial port and character.

The queen was brought to the circle in her sedan-chair, and led
to the seat prepared for her by her vice-chamberlain, making a
gracious general bow to the assembly as she passed. Dr. Gibbs and
Mr. Tudor waited upon her with the Bath water, and she conversed
with them, and the mayor and aldermen, and her own people, for
some time. After this she rose to make her round with a grace
indescribable, and, to those who never witnessed it,
inconceivable ; for it was such as to carry off age, infirmity,
sickness, diminutive stature and to give her, in defiance of such
disadvantages, a power of charming that rarely has been equalled.
Her face had a variety of expression that made her features soon
seem agreeable; the intonations of her voice so accorded with her
words, her language was so impressive, and her manner so engaging
and encouraging, that it was not possible to be the object of her
attention without being both struck with her uncommon abilities
and fascinated by their exertion.

Such was the effect which she produced upon General d'Arblay, to
whom she soon turned. Highly sensible to the honour of her
distinction, he forgot his pains in his desire to manifest his
gratitude;--and his own smiles--how winning they became! Her
majesty spoke of Bath, of Windsor, of the Continent; and while
addressing him, her eyes turned to meet mine with a look that
said, "Now I know I am making you happy!"  She asked me, archly,
whether I was not fatigued by coming to the pump-room so early?
and said, "Madame d'Arblay thinks I have never seen you before !
but she is mistaken, for I peeped at you through the window as
you passed to the Terrace at Windsor." Alas! the queen no
Page 426

sooner ceased to address him than the pains he had suppressed
became intolerable, and he retreated from the circle and sank
upon a bench near the wall - he could stand no longer, and we
returned home to spend the rest of the day in bodily misery.


                            GLOOMY FOREBODINGS.

Very soon after the opening of this fatal year 1818, expressions
dropped from my beloved of his belief of his approaching end :
they would have broken my heart, had not an incredulity --now my
eternal wonder,--kept me in a constant persuasion that he was
hypochondriac, and tormented with false apprehensions.
Fortunate, merciful as wonderful, was that incredulity, which,
blinding me to my coming woe, enabled me to support my courage by
my hopes, and helped me to sustain his own. In his occasional
mournful prophecies, which I always rallied off and refused to
listen to, he uttered frequently the kind words, "Et jamais je
n'ai tant aim‚ la vie! Jamais, jamais, la vie ne m'a ‚t‚ plus
chŠre!"(317)  How sweet to me were those words, which I thought-
-alas, how delusively--would soothe and invigorate recovery!

The vivacity with which I exerted all the means in my power to
fly from every evil prognostic, he was often struck with, and
never angrily; on the contrary, he would exclaim, "Comme j'admire
ton courage!"(318) while his own, on the observation, always
revived.  "My courage?" I always answered, "What courage? Am I
not doing what I most desire upon earth--remaining by your side?
When you are not well, the whole universe is to me, there!"

Soon after, nevertheless, recurring to the mournful idea ever
uppermost, he said, with a serenity the most beautiful, "Je
voudrois que nous causassions sur tout cela avec
calme,---doucement,--cheerfully mˆme(319) as of a future voyage--
as of a subject of discussion--simply to exchange our ideas and
talk them over."

Alas, alas ! how do I now regret that I seconded not this
project, so fitted for all pious Christian minds, whether their
pilgrimage be of shorter or longer duration.  But I saw him

Page 427

I, oh, how ill!  I felt myself well ; it was, therefore, apparent
who must be the survivor in case of sunderment; and, therefore,
all power of generalizing the subject was over. And much and
ardently as I should have rejoiced in treating such a theme when
he was well, or on his recovery, I had no power to sustain it
thus situated.  I could only attend his sick couch; I could only
'live by fostering hopes of his revival, and seeking to make them
reciprocal.


During this interval a letter from my affectionate sister
Charlotte suggested our taking further advice to aid Mr. Hay,
since the malady was so unyielding. /On January the 24th Mr.
Tudor came, but after an interview and examination, his looks
were even forbidding. Mr. Hay had lost his air of satisfaction
and complacency, Mr. Tudor merely inquired whether he should come
again? "Oh, yes, yes, yes!" I cried, and they retired together.
And rapidly I flew, not alone from hearing, but from forming any
opinion, and took refuge by the side of my beloved, whom I sought
to console and revive.  And this very day, as I have since found,
he began his Diary for the year.  It contains these words:--

"Jamais je n'ai tant aim‚ la vie que je suis en si grand danger
de perdre; malgr‚ que je n'aye point de fiŠvre, ni le moindre mal
… la tˆte; et que j'aye non seulement l'esprit libre, mais le
coeur d'un contentement Parfait.  La volont‚ de Dieu soit faite!
J'attends pour ce soir ou demain le resultat d'une
consultation."(320)



              PRESENTS FROM THE QUEEN AND PRINCEss ELIZABETH.

On this same day Madame de Soyres brought me a packet from her
majesty, and another from the Princess Elizabeth. The kind and
gracious princess sent me a pair of silver camp candlesticks,
with peculiar contrivances which she wrote me word might amuse
the general as a military man, while they might be employed by
myself to light my evening researches among the MSS. of my dear
father, which she wished me to collect and to preface by a
memoir.

Her mother's offering was in the same spirit of benevolence - it
was a collection of all the volumes of "L'Hermite de

Page 428

la Chauss‚e d'Antin," with Chalmers's Astronomical Sermons, and
Drake's two quartos on Shakespeare; joined to a small work of
deeper personal interest to me than them all, which was a book of
prayers suited to various circumstances, and printed at her
majesty's own press at Frogmore. In this she had condescended to
write my name, accompanied by words of peculiar kindness. My poor
ami looked over every title-page with delight, feeling as I did
myself that the gift was still more meant for him than for me--or
rather, doubly, trebly for me in being calculated to be pleasing
to him!--he was to me the soul of all pleasure on earth.

What words of kindness do I find, and now for the first time
read, in his Diary dated 2nd February! After speaking--h‚las,
h‚las!--"de ses douleurs inouies," (321) he adds, "Quelle ‚trange
maladie! et quelle position que la mienne! il en est une,
peutˆtre plus ficheuse encore, c'est celle de ma malheureuse
compagne; avec quelle tendresse elle me soigne! et avec quel
courage elle supporte ce qu'elle a … souffrir! Je ne puis que
r‚p‚ter, La volont‚ de Dieu soit faite!"(322)

Alas! the last words he wrote in February were most melancholy:--
"20 F‚vrier, Je sens que je m'afaiblis horriblement--je ne crois
pas que ceci puisse ˆtre encore bien long.(323) ChŠre Fanny, cher
Alex! God bless you! and unite us for ever, Amen!"

Oh my beloved!
 Delight, pride, and happiness of my heart! May heaven in its
mercy hear this prayer! . . .



                THE GENERAL RECEIVES THE VISIT OF A PRIEST.

In March he revived a little, and Mr. Tudor no longer denied me
hope; on the 18th Alex came to our arms and gratulations on his
fellowship; which gave to his dearest father a delight the most
touching.

I have no Diary in his honoured hand to guide my narrative in
April; a few words only he ever wrote more, and these, after
speaking of his sufferings, end with "Pazienza!

"
Page 429

Pazienza!"--such was his last written expression! 'Tis on the 5th
of April. . . .

On the 3rd of May he reaped, I humbly trust, the fair fruit of
that faith and patience he so pathetically implored and so
beautifully practised.

At this critical period in April I was called down one day to
Madame la Marquise de S-, who urged me to summon a priest of the
Roman catholic persuasion to my precious sufferer.  I was greatly
disturbed every way; I felt in shuddering the danger she
apprehended, and resisted its belief; yet I trembled lest I
should be doing wrong. I was a protestant, and had no faith in
confession to man. I had long had reason to believe that my
beloved partner was a protestant, also, in his heart ; but he had
a horror of apostasy, and therefore, as he told me, would not
investigate the differences of the two religions; he had besides
a tie which to his honour and character was potent and
persuasive; he had taken an oath to keep the catholic faith when
he received his Croix de St. Louis, which was at a period when
the preference of the simplicity of protestantism was not
apparent to him.  All this made me personally easy for him, yet,
as this was not known, and as nothing definite had ever passed
between us upon this delicate subject, I felt that he apparently
belonged still to the Roman catholic church; and after many
painful struggles I thought it my absolute duty to let him judge
for himself, even at the risk of inspiring the alarm I so much
sought to save him! . . . I compelled myself therefore to tell
him the wish of Madame de S-, that he should see a priest.  "Eh
bien," he cried, gently yet readily, "je ne m'y oppose pas.
Qu'en penses tu?" I begged to leave such a decision wholly to
himself.

Never shall I forget the heavenly composure with which my beloved
partner heard me announce that the priest, Dr. Elloi, was come.
Cheerfully as I urged myself to name him, still he could but
regard the visit as an invitation to make his last preparations
for quitting mortal life. With a calm the most gentle and
genuine, he said he had better be left alone with him, and they
remained together, I believe, three hours. I was deeply disturbed
that my poor patient should be so long without sustenance or
medicine - but I durst not intrude, though anxiously I kept at
hand in case of any sudden summons. When, at length, the priest
re-appeared, I found
Page 430

my dearest invalid as placid as before this ceremony, though
fully convinced it was meant as the annunciation of his expected
and approaching departure.


                     THE LAST SACRAMENT ADMINISTERED.

Dr. Elloi now came not only every day, but almost every hour of
the day, to obtain another interview; but my beloved, though
pleased that the meeting had taken place, expressed no desire for
its repetition.  I was cruelly distressed ; the fear of doing
wrong has been always the leading principle of my internal
guidance, and here I felt incompetent to judge what was right.
Overpowered, therefore, by my own inability to settle that point,
and my terror lest I should mistake it, I ceased to resist ; and
Dr. Elloi, while my patient was sleeping from opium, glided into
his chamber, and knelt down by the bedside with his prayer book
in his hand. Two hours this lasted; but when the doctor informed
me he had obtained the general's promise that he should
administer to him the last sacrament, the preparations were made
accordingly, and I only entreated leave to be present.

This solemn communion, at which I have never in our own church
attended with unmoistened eyes, was administered the same
evening. The dear invalid was in bed: his head raised with
difficulty, he went through this ceremony with spirits calm, and
a countenance and voice of holy composure.


                       FAREWELL WORDS OF COUNSEL.

Thenceforth he talked openly, and almost solely, of his
approaching dissolution, and prepared for it by much silent
mental prayer.  He also poured forth his soul in counsel for
Alexander and myself. I now dared no longer oppose to him my
hopes of his recovery - the season was too awful.  I heard him
only with deluges of long-restrained tears, and his generous
spirit seemed better satisfied in thinking me now --awakened to a
sense of his danger, as preparatory for supporting its
consequence.

"Parle de moi." He said, afterwards, "Parle--et souvent. Surtout
Ò Alexandre; qu'il ne m'oublie pas!"(325)

"Je ne parlerai pas d'autre chose!"(326) I answered . . . and
Page 431

I felt his tender purpose. He knew how I forbore ever to speak of
my lost darling sister, and he thought the constraint injurious
both to my health and spirits : he wished to change my mode with
regard to himself by an injunction of his own. "Nous ne parlerons
pas d'autre chose!" I added, "mon ami!--mon ami!--je ne survivrai
que pour cela!"(327) He looked pleased, and with a calm that
taught me to repress my too great emotion.

He then asked for Alexander, embraced him warmly, and half
raising himself with a strength that had seemed extinct but the
day before, he took a hand of Alexander and one of mine, and
putting them together between both his own, he tenderly pressed
them, exclaiming, "How happy I am! I fear I am too happy!"

Kindest of human hearts! His happiness was in seeing us together
ere he left us his fear was lest he should too keenly regret the
quitting us!

At this time he saw for a few minutes my dear sister Esther and
her Maria, who had always been a great favourite with him. When
they retired, he called upon me to bow my knees as he dropped
upon his own, that he might receive, he said, my benediction, and
that we might fervently and solemnly join in prayer to Almighty
God for each other. He then consigned himself to uninterrupted
meditation : he told me not to utter one word to him, even of
reply, beyond the most laconic necessity. He desired that when I
brought him his medicine or nutriment, I would give it without
speech and instantly retire; and take care that no human being
addressed or approached him.  This awful command lasted unbroken
during the rest of the evening, the whole of the night, and
nearly the following day. So concentrated in himself he desired
to be!--yet always as free from irritation as from despondence--
always gentle and kind even when taciturn, and even when in
torture.

When the term of his meditative seclusion seemed to be over, I
found him speaking with Alexander, and pouring into the bosom of
his weeping son the balm of parental counsel and comfort.  I
received at this time a letter from my affectionate sister
Charlotte, pressing for leave to come and aid me to nurse my
dearest invalid. He took the letter and pressed it to his lips,
saying, "Je l'aime bien; dis le lui. Et

Page 432

elle M'aime."(328) But I felt that she could do me no good. We
had a nurse whose skill made her services a real blessing ; and
for myself, woe, such as he believed approaching, surpassed all
aid but from prayer and from heaven--lonely meditation.

When the morning dawned, he ordered Payne to open the shutters
and to undraw the curtains.  The prospect from the windows facing
his bed was picturesque, lively, lovely: he looked at it with a
bright smile of admiration, and cast his arm over his noble brow,
as if hailing one more return of day' and light, and life with
those he loved.  But when, in the course of the day, something
broke from me of my reverence at his heavenly resignation,
"R‚sign‚?" he repeated, with a melancholy half smile; "mais comme
‡ah!" and then in a voice of tenderness the most touching, he
added, "Te quitter!"  I dare not, even yet, hang upon my emotion
at those words!

That night passed in tolerable tranquillity, and without alarm,
his pulse still always equal and good, though smaller. On Sunday,
the fatal 3rd of May, my patient was still cheerful, and slept
often, but not long.  This circumstance was delightful to my
observation, and kept off the least suspicion that my misery
could be so near.


                             THE END ARRIVES.

My pen lingers now!-reluctant to finish the little that remains.

About noon, gently awaking from a slumber, he called to me for
some beverage, but was weaker than usual, and could not hold the
cup. I moistened his lips with a spoon several times. He looked
at me with sweetness inexpressible, and pathetically said, "Qui?"
He stopped, but I saw he meant "Who shall return this for you?" I
instantly answered to his obvious and most touching meaning, by a
cheerful exclamation of "You! my dearest ami! You yourself! You
shall recover, and take your revenge."  He smiled, but shut his
eyes in silence. After this, he bent forward, as he was supported
nearly upright by pillows in his bed, and taking my hand, and
holding it between both his own, he impressively said, "Je ne
sais si

Page 433

ce sera le dernier mot--mais ce sera la derniŠre pens‚e--notre
r‚union!"(329)  Oh, words the most precious that ever the
tenderest of husbands left for balm to the lacerated heart of a
surviving wife! I fastened my lips on his loved hands, but spoke
not. It was not then that those words were my blessing! They
awed--they thrilled--more than they solaced me. How little knew I
then that he should speak to me no more !

Towards evening I sat watching in my arm-chair, and Alex remained
constantly with me. His sleep was so calm, that an hour passed in
which I indulged the hope that a favourable crisis was arriving;
that a turn would take place by which his vital powers would be
restored; but when the hour was succeeded by another hour, when I
saw a universal stillness in the whole frame, such as seemed to
stagnate all around, I began to be strangely moved.  "Alex!" I
whispered, "this sleep is critical! a crisis arrives! Pray God--
Almighty God!--that it be fav--." I could not proceed.
Alex looked aghast, but firm. I sent him to call Payne. I
intimated to her my opinion that this sleep was important, but
kept a composure astonishing, for when no one would give me
encouragement, I compelled myself to appear not to want it, to
deter them from giving me despair. Another hour passed of
concentrated feelings, of breathless dread.

His face had still its unruffled serenity, but methought the
hands were turning cold; I covered them - -I watched over the
head of my beloved; I took new flannel to roll over his feet; the
stillness grew more awful; the skin became colder.

Alex, my dear Alex, proposed calling in Mr. Tudor, and ran off
for him.

I leant over him now with sal volatile to his temple, his
forehead, the palms of his hands, but I had no courage to feel
his pulse, to touch his lips.

Mr. Tudor came - he put his hand upon the heart, the noblest of
hearts, and pronounced that all was over!

How I bore this is still marvellous to me!  I had always believed
such a sentence would at once have killed me. But his sight--the
sight of his stillness, kept me from distraction! Sacred he
appeared, and his stillness I thought should be mine, and be
inviolable.

I suffered certainly a partial derangement, for I cannot to this
moment recollect anything that now succeeded, with truth

Page 434

or consistency; my memory paints things that were necessarily
real, joined to others that could not possibly have happened, yet
so amalgamates the whole together as to render it impossible for
me to separate truth from indefinable, unaccountable fiction.

Even to this instant I always see the room itself charged with a
medley of silent and strange figures grouped against the wall
just opposite to me, Mr. Tudor, methought, was come to drag me by
force away; and in this persuasion, which was false, I remember
supplicating him to grant me but one hour, telling him I had
solemnly engaged myself to pass it in watching. . . .

But why go back to my grief? Even yet, at times, it seems as
fresh as ever, and at all times weighs on me with a feeling that
seems stagnating the springs of life. But for Alexander ,our
Alexander!--I think I could hardly have survived. His tender
sympathy, with his claims to my love, and the solemn injunctions
given me to preserve for him, and devote to him, my remnant of
life--these, through the Divine mercy, sustained me.

May that mercy, with its best blessings, daily increase his
resemblance to his noble father.

March 20, 1820.
(288) M. d'Arblay, who was, it appears, still lame (boiteux) from
the kick which he had received from a horse.-ED,

(289) Half-pay.

(290) The Comte de Narbonne and Comte F. de la Tour Maubourg.

(291) He had studied mathematics in Paris according to the
analytical method, instead of the geometrical, which was at that
time exclusively taught at Cambridge.

(292) See infra, p. 387-8.-ED.

(293) It is not without pain that we find Fanny, in this letter
defending the harsh treatment accorded by the Bourbon king to
Lavalette and others of the partisans of the emperor. Lavalette
had served Napoleon both as soldier and diplomatist.  At the
restoration of the Bourbons in 1814 he retired from public life,
but on the return of Napoleon he again entered the service of his
old master.  He was arrested after the downfall of the emperor,
tried for treason, and condemned to death. His wife implored the
king's mercy in vain, Lavalette was confined in the Conciergerie,
and December 21, 1815, was the day fixed for his execution. The
evening before that day his wife visited him in the prison.  He
exchanged clothes with her, and thus disguised, succeeded in
making his escape. His safety was secured by three English
gentlemen, one of whom, Sir Robert Wilson, conveyed Lavalette, in
the disguise of an English officer, across the Belgian frontier.
For this generous act the three Englishmen were tried in Paris,
and sentenced, each, to three months' imprisonment.-ED.
(294) At the sale of the collection, formed by Mr. Thrale, of
portraits of his distinguished friends, painted by one of the
most distinguished of them-Sir Joshua Reynolds.  The collection
comprised portraits of Johnson, Burke, Dr. Burney, Reynolds, etc.
  Reynolds painted two portraits of Johnson for Mr. Thrale. That
referred to by Fanny is probably the magnificent portrait painted
about 1773, and now in the National Gallery, for which Thrale
paid thirty-five guineas.-ED.

(295) "His wife and son."

(296) M.  d'Arblay had been promoted by Louis XVIII. to the rank
of Lieutenant-General.-ED.

(297) "Certainly, and very certainly, my dearest, your beautiful
strictures upon the knowledge and the customs of the world would
have given another current to my ideas."

(298) "For the future."

(299) "He is still but a child."

(300) "That is not our case."
(301) "Will be quite another thing; but I think you are
mistaken."

(302) This paragon of perfection, then, was an actual person,
whom General d'Arblay was thinking of as a wife for his son!-ED.

(303) Self-love.

(304) Wounded.
(305) Esther Burney.-ED.

(306) Volumes of plays.-ED.

(307) Stove.

(308) "Make short work."

(309) "Gloomy discouragement."

(310) "Apathy."

(311) "You are quite mistaken."

(312) "You give it up, don't you?"

(313) An interesting and humorous novel by the Rev. Richard
Graves, the friend of Shenstone.-ED.

(314)  Blue stockings.

(315) "So to speak."

(316) The Princess Charlotte, only child of the prince and
princess of Wales, was married at the age of twenty (May 2, 1816)
to Prince Leopold of SaxeCoburg. On the 5th of November, 1817,
she was delivered of a still-born child, and died a few hours
later.-ED.
(317) "I have never loved life so much! Never, never has life
been dearer to me!"

(318) "How I admire your courage!"

(319) "I should like us to talk of all that with calmness,--
mildly,--even cheerfully."

(320) "Never have I so much loved life as now that I am in so
great danger of losing it ; notwithstanding that I have no fever,
nor is my head in the least affected ; and not only is my mine]
clear, but my heart perfectly at ease. God's will be done! I
await the result of a consultation this evening or to-morrow."

(321) "Of his unheard-of sufferings."

(322) "What a strange malady! and what a position is mine! there
is one perhaps more grievous yet, that of my unhappy companion--
with what tenderness she cares for me! and with what courage she
bears what she has to suffer! I can only repeat, God's will be
done!"

(323) "February 20. I feel that I am getting horribly weak--I do
not think this can last much longer."
(324) "Well, I have no objection. What do you think of it?"

(325) "Speak of me! Speak--and often. Especially to Alexander;
that he may not forget me!"

(326) "I shall speak of nothing else!"

(327) "We shall speak of nothing else! my dear!--my dear!--I
shall survive only for that!"

(328) "I love her well; tell her so. And she loves me."

(329) "I do not know if this will be my last word--but it will be
my last thought--our reunion."




Page 435
                               SECTION 27.
                                 (1818-40)


           YEARS OF WIDOWHOOD. DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON.
                              HER OWN DEATH.


                    (Extracts from Pocket-book Diary.)


                           MOURNFUL REFLECTIONS.

May 17, 1818.
This melancholy second Sunday since My
irreparable loss I ventured to church.  I hoped it might calm my
mind and subject it to its new state--its lost--lost happiness.
But I suffered inexpressibly; I sunk on my knees, and could
scarcely contain my sorrows--scarcely rise any more! but I
prayed--fervently--and I am glad I made the trial, however
severe. Oh mon ami! mon tendre ami! if you looked down!  if that
be permitted, how benignly will you wish my participation in your
blessed relief!

Sunday, May 31.-This was the fourth Sunday passed since I have
seen and heard and been blessed with the presence of my angel
husband. Oh loved and honoured daily more and more! Yet how can
that be?  No!  even now, in this cruel hour of regret and
mourning it cannot be! for love and honour could rise no higher
than mine have risen long, long since, in my happiest days.

June 3.-This day, this 3rd of June, completes a calendar month
since I lost the beloved object of all my tenderest affections,
and all my views and hopes and even ideas of happiness on earth.
. . .

June 7.-The fifth sad Sunday this of earthly separation! oh
heavy, heavy parting! I went again to church. I think

Page 436

it right, and I find it rather consolatory-rather only, for the
effort against sudden risings of violent grief at peculiar
passages almost destroys me; and no prayers do me the service I
receive from those I continually offer up in our apartment by the
side of the bed on which he breathed forth his last blessing. Oh
words for ever dear! for ever balsamic! "Je ne sais si ce sera le
dernier mot--mais ce sera bien la derniŠre pens‚e--notre
r‚union."


                    VISITS RECEIVED AND LETTERS PENNED.

June 18.-My oldest friend to my knowledge living, Mrs. Frances
Bowdler, made a point of admission this morning, and stayed with
me two hours. She was friendly and good, and is ever sensible and
deeply clever.  Could I enjoy any society, she would enliven and
enlighten it, but I now can only enjoy sympathy!--sympathy and
pity!

Alex and I had both letters from M. de Lafayette.


June 23.-To-day I have written my first letter since my
annihilated happiness-to my tenderly sympathising Charlotte. I
covet a junction with that dear and partial sister for ending
together our latter days.  I hope we shall bring it to bear.

With Alex read part of St. Luke.

June 29.-To-day I sent a letter, long in writing and painfully
finished, to my own dear Madame de Maisonneuve. She will be glad
to see my hand, grieved as she will be at what it has written.

With Alex read part of St. Luke.

June 30-I wrote--with many sad struggles--to Madame Beckersdorff,
my respectful devoirs to her majesty, with the melancholy apology
for my silence during the royal nuptials of the Dukes of
Clarence, Kent, and Cambridge; and upon the departure of dear
Princess Eliza,' and upon her majesty's so frequent and alarming
attacks of ill health.

With Alex read the Acts of the Apostles. . . .

July 8.-I have given to Alex the decision of where we shall
dwell. Unhappy myself everywhere, why not leave unshackled his
dawning life? To quit Bath--unhappy Bath!--he had long desired:
and, finally, he has fixed his choice in the very capital itself.
I cannot hesitate to oblige him.

August 28.-My admirable old friend, Mrs. Frances
Page 437

Bowdler, spent the afternoon with me. Probably we shall meet no
more but judiciously, as suits her enlightened understanding, and
kindly, as accords with her long partiality,- she forbore any
hint on that point.  Yet her eyes swam in tears, not ordinary to
her, when she bade me adieu.

August 30.-The seventeenth week's sun rises on my deplorable
change!  A very kind, cordial, brotherly letter arrives from my
dear James.  An idea of comfort begins to steal its way to my
mind, in renewing my intercourse with this worthy brother, who
feels for me, I see, with sincerity and affection.

Sept. 5.-A letter from dowager Lady Harcourt, on the visibly
approaching dissolution of my dear honoured royal mistress !
written by desire of my beloved Princess Mary, Duchess of
Gloucester, to save me the shock of surprise, added to that of
grief.

Sunday, Sept. 6.-A fresh renewal to me of woe is every returning
week ! The eighteenth this of the dread solitude of my heart ;
and miserably, has it passed, augmenting sorrow weighing it in
the approaching loss of my dear queen!

Again I took the Sacrament at the Octagon, probably for the last
time. Oh, how earnest were my prayers for re-union in a purer
world! Prayers were offered for a person lying dangerously ill. I
thought of the queen, and prayed for her fervently.

Sunday, Sept. 27-This day, the twenty-first Sunday of my
bereavement, Alexander, I trust, is ordained a deacon of the
Church of England. Heaven propitiate his entrance! I wrote to the
good Bishop of Salisbury to beseech his pious wishes on this
opening of clerical life.


                       REMOVAL FROM BATH TO LONDON.

Sept. 28.-Still my preparations to depart from Bath take up all
of time that grief does not seize irresistibly; for, oh! what
anguish overwhelms my soul in quitting the place where last he
saw and blessed me!--the room, the spot on which so softly, so
holily, yet so tenderly, he embraced me and breathed his last!

Sept. 30.-This morning I left Bath with feelings of profound
affliction - yet, reflecting that hope was ever open-- that
future union may repay this laceration--oh, that my torn soul
could more look forward with sacred aspiration! Then better would
it support its weight of woe.
Page 438

My dear James received me with tender pity; so did his good wife,
son, and daughter.

Oct. 6.-My dear Alexander left me this morning for Cambridge. How
shall I do, thus parted from both!  My kind brother, and his
worthy house, have softened off the day much; yet I sigh for
seclusion--my mind labours under the weight of assumed
sociability.

Oct. 8. I came this evening to my new and probably last dwelling,
No. 11, Bolton-street, Piccadilly. My kind James conducted me.
Oh, how heavy is my forlorn heart ! I have made myself very busy
all day ; so only could I have supported this first opening to my
baleful desolation !  No adored husband!  No beloved son !  But
the latter is only at Cambridge. Ah! let me struggle to think
more of the other, the first, the chief, as also only removed
from my sight by a transitory journey!

Oct. 14.-Wrote to my--erst--dearest friend, Mrs. Piozzi. I can
never forget my long love for her, and many obligations to her
friendship, strangely as she had been estranged since her
marriage.

Oct. 30.-A letter from my loved Madame de Maisonneuve, full of
feeling, sense, sweetness, information to beguile me back to
life, and of sympathy to open my sad heart to friendship.

Nov. 7.-A visit from the excellent Harriet Bowdler, who gave me
an hour of precious society, mingling her commiserating sympathy
with hints sage and right of the duty of revival from every
stroke of heaven.

Oh, my God, Saviour! To thee may I turn more and more.



            DEATH OF THE QUEEN: SKETCH OF HER CHARACTER.(331)

Nov. 17-This day, at one o'clock, breathed her last the
inestimable Queen of England.(332) Heaven rest and bless her
soul!

Her understanding was of the best sort ; for while it endued her
with powers to form a judgment of all around her, it pointed out
to her the fallibility of appearances, and thence kept her always
open to conviction where she had been led by circumstances into
mistake.

>From the time of my first entrance into her household her manner
to me was most kind and encouraging, for she had

Page 439

formed her previous opinion from the partial accounts of my
beloved Mrs. Delany.  She saw that, impressed with real respect
for her character, and never-failing remembrance of her rank, she
might honour me with confidence without an apprehension of
imprudence, invite openness without incurring freedom, and
manifest kindness without danger of encroachment. . . .

When I was alone with her she discarded all royal constraint, all
stiffness, all formality, all pedantry of grandeur, to lead me to
speak to her with openness and ease; but any inquiries which she
made in our tˆte-…-tˆtes never awakened an idea of prying into
affairs, diving into secrets, discovering views, intentions, or
latent wishes, or amuses. No,. she was above all such minor
resources for attaining intelligence; what she desired to know
she asked openly, though cautiously if of grave matters, and
playfully if of mere news or chit-chat, but always beginning
with, "If there is any reason I should not be told, or any that
you should not tell, don't answer me." Nor were these words of
course, they were spoken with such visible sincerity, that I have
availed myself of them fearlessly, though never without regret,
as it was a delight to me to be explicit and confidential in
return for her condescension.  But whenever she saw a question
painful, or that it occasioned even hesitation, she promptly and
generously started some other subject.

Dec. 2.-The queen, the excellent exemplary queen, was this day
interred in the vault of her royal husband's ancestors,(133) to
moulder like his subjects, bodily into dust; but mentally, not
so! She will live in the memory of those who knew her best, and
be set up as an example even by those who only after her death
know, or at least acknowledge her virtues.

I heard an admirable sermon on her departure and her character
from Mr. Repton in St. James's church. I wept the whole time, as
much from gratitude and tenderness to hear her thus appreciated
as from grief at her loss--to me a most heavy one! for she was
faithfully, truly, and solidly attached to me, as I to her.

Dec. 12.-A letter from the Duchess of Gloucester,(134) to My
equal gratification and surprise. She has deigned to answer my
poor condolence the very moment, as she says, that she

Page 440

received it.  Touched to the heart, but no longer with pleasure
in any emotion, I wept abundantly.


                    MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON IS ORDAINED.

Sunday, April 11, 1818.-This morning my dearest Alexander was
ordained a priest by the Bishop of Chester in St. James's church.
I went thither with my good Eliz. Ramsay, and from the gallery
witnessed the ceremony. Fifty-two were ordained at the same time.
I fervently pray to God that my son may meet this his decided
calling with a disposition and conduct to sanction its choice !
and with virtues to merit his noble father's name and exemplary
character! Amen Amen!


                       WITH some ROYAL HIGHNESSES.

July 15-A message from H. R. H. Princess Augusta, with whom I
passed a morning as nearly delightful as any, now, can be! She
played and sang to me airs of her own composing-unconscious,
medley reminiscences, but very pretty, and prettily executed. I
met the Duke of York, who greeted me most graciously- saying, as
if with regret, how long it was since he had seen me.

In coming away, I met, in the corridor, my sweet Duchess of
Gloucester, who engaged me for next Sunday to herself.

July 26.-Her royal highness presented me to the duke, whom I
found well-bred, Polite, easy, unassuming, and amiable; kind, not
condescending.


                              QUEEN CAROLINE.

(Madame d"Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
Wednesday, June 7, 1820. . . .
All London now is wild about the newly arrived royal
traveller.(135) As she is in this neighbourhood, our part of the
Page 441

town is surprised and startled every other hour by the arrival of
some new group of the curious rushing on to see her and her
'squire the alderman, at their balcony. Her 'squire, also, now
never comes forth unattended by a vociferous shouting multitude.
I suppose Augusta, who resides still nearer to the dame and the
'squire of dames, is recreated in this lively way yet more
forcibly.

The 15th of this month is to be kept as king's birthday at Court.
Orders have been issued to the princesses to that effect, and to
tell them they must appear entirely out of mourning.  They had
already made up dresses for half mourning, of white and black.  I
should not marvel if the royal traveller should choose to enter
the apartments, and offer her congratulations upon the festival.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.)
Elliot Vale, London, August 15, 1820.
How long it seems--"Seems, madam! nay, it is!
since I have heard from my most loved friend!--I have had,
Page 442

however, I thank heaven, news of her, and cheering news, though I
have lost sight of both her dear daughters. . . .

We are all, and of all classes, all opinions, all ages, and all
parties, absolutely absorbed by the expectation of Thursday. The
queen has passed the bottom of our street twice this afternoon in
an open carriage, with Lady Ann(336) and Alderman Wood!-How very
inconceivable that among so many adherents, she can find that
only esquire!-And why she should have any, in her own carriage
and in London, it is not easy to say.  There is a universal alarm
for Thursday.(337)  the letter to the king breathes battle direct
to both Houses of Parliament as much as to his majesty. Mr.
Wilberforce is called upon, and looked up to, as the only man in
the dominions to whom an arbitration should belong.  Lord John
Russell positively asserts that it is not with Lord Castlereagh
and the ministers that conciliation or non-conciliation hangs,
but with Mr. Wilberforce and his circle. If I dared hope such was
the case, how much less should I be troubled by the expectance
awakened for to-morrow--it is now Wednesday that I finish my poor
shabby billet. Tremendous is the general alarm at this moment for
the accused turns accuser, public and avowed, of King, Lords, and
Commons, declaring she will submit to no award of any of them.
What would she say should evidence be imperfect or wanting, and
they should acquit her?

It is, however, open war, and very dreadful, She really invokes a
revolution in every paragraph of her letter to her sovereign and
lord and husband.  I know not what sort of conjugal rule will be
looked for by the hitherto lords and masters of the world, if
this conduct is abetted by them. . . .

The heroine passed by the bottom of our street yesterday, in full
pomp and surrounded with shouters and vociferous admirers. She
now dresses superbly every day, and has always six horses and an
open carriage. She seems to think now she has no chance but from
insurrection, and therefore all her harangues invite it. Oh Dr.
Parr!--how my poor brother would have blushed for him! he makes
those orations
Page 443

with the aid of Cobbett!--and the council, I suppose. Of course,
like Croaker in "The Good-natured Man" I must finish with "I wish
we may all be well this day three months!"


                 GOSSIP FROM AN OLD FRIEND, AND THE REPLY.

(From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.)
Bath, October 20.
It was very gratifying, dear madam, to find myself so kindly
remembered, and with all my heart I thank you for your letter. My
family are gone to Sandgate for the purpose of bathing in the
sea, this wonderfully beautiful October ; and were you not
detained in London by such a son as I hear you are happy in, I
should wish you there too, Apropos to October, I have not your
father's admirable verses upon that month ; those upon June, I
saw when last in Wales could you get me the others ? it would be
such a favour and you used to like them best.

How changed is the taste of verse, prose, and painting since le
bon vieux temps, dear madam! Nothing attracts us but what
terrifies, and is within--if within--a hair's breadth of positive
disgust. The picture of Death on his Pale Horse, however, is very
grand certainly-and some of the strange things they write remind
me of Squoire Richard's visit to the Tower Menagerie, when he
says "Odd, they are pure grim devils,"--particularly a wild and
hideous tale called Frankenstein.  Do you ever see any of the
friends we used to live among? Mrs. Lambert is yet alive, and in
prosperous circumstances ; and Fell, the bookseller in
Bond-street, told me a fortnight or three weeks ago, that Miss
Streatfield lives where she did in his neighbourhood,--
Clifford-street, S. S. still.

Old Jacob and his red night-cap are the only live creatures, as
an Irishman would say, that come about me of those you remember,
and death alone will part us,-he and I both lived longer with Mr.
Piozzi than we had done with Mr. Thrale.

Archdeacon Thomas is, I think, the only friend you and I have now
quite in common : he gets well ; and if there was hope of his
getting clear from entanglement, he would be young again,-he is a
valuable mortal.

Adieu! Leisure for men of business, you know, and business for
men of leisure, would cure many complaints.
Page 444
Once more, farewell ! and accept my thanks for your good-natured
recollection of poor H. L. P.

(Madame d'Arblay. to Mrs. Piozzi-)
Bolton-street, December 15, 1820.
Now at last, dear madam, with a real pen I venture to answer your
kind acceptance of my Bath leave-taking address, of a date I
would wish you to forget-but the letter is before me, and has no
other word I should like to relinquish. But more of grief at the
consequence of my silence, namely your own, hangs upon the
circumstance than shame, for i have been so every way
unwell,-unhinged, shattered, and unfitted for any correspondence
that could have a chance of reciprocating pleasure, that perhaps
I ought rather to demand your thanks than your pardon for this
delay. I will demand, however, which you please, so you will but
tell me which you will grant, for then I shall hear from you
again.

I must, nevertheless, mention, that my first intention, upon
reading the letter with which you favoured me, was to forward to
you the verses on October, of my dear father, which you honoured
with so much approbation .- but I have never been able to find
them, unless you mean the ode, written in that month, on the
anniversary of his marriage with my mother-in-law, beginning:--

Hail, eldest offspring of the circling year,
October! bountiful, benign, and clear,
Whose gentle reign, from all excesses free,
Gave birth to Stella--happiness to me."

If it be this, I will copy it out with the greatest alacrity, for
the first opportunity of conveyance.

So here, again, like the dun of a dinner card, I entitle myself
to subjoin "An answer is required." . . .

You inquire if I ever see any of the friends we used to live
amongst :-almost none; but I may resume some of those old ties
this winter, from the ardent desire of my son.  I have, till very
lately, been so utterly incapable to enjoy society, that I have
held it as much kindness to others as to myself, to keep wholly
out of its way. I am now, in. health, much better, and
consequently more able to control the murmuring propensities that
were alienating me from the purposes of life while yet
living,-this letter, indeed, will show that I am
Page 445
*
restored to the wish, at least, of solace, and that the native
cheerfulness of my temperament is opening from the weight of
sadness by which I had long believed it utterly demolished. But
Time, " uncalled, unheeded, unawares, "-works as secretly upon
our spirits as upon our years, and gives us as little foresight
into what we can endure, as into how long we shall exist. . . .


                               MORE Gossip.

(From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.)
Penzance, Thursday, January 18, 1821.
Dear Madame d'Arblay was very considerate in giving me something
to answer, for something original to say would be difficult to
find at Penzance; but your letter has no date, and I am not sure
that Bolton-street is sufficient.  Poor Mrs. Byron, who used to
inhabit it, would have enjoyed her grandson's(338) reputation,
would not she? had it pleased God to lengthen her life like that
of Mrs. Lambart, who died only last week, but a few days short of
her expected centenary-as did Fontenelle. You are truly
fortunate, dear madam, so was your father, in leaving those
behind who knew and could appreciate your merits--every scrap
will properly be valued--but those verses belong not to the
October I meant. . . .

Mrs. Bourdois and her sisters--all true Burneys--will be angry I
don't live wholly at Bath, and their society would prove a strong
temptation; but Bath is too much for me, who am now unwilling to
encounter either crowds or solitude: I feared neither for
three-score years of my life, and earnestly now join my too
disinterested solicitations to those of your son, that you will
no longer bury your charming talents in seclusion.  Sorrow, as
Dr. Johnson said, is the mere rust of the soul.  Activity will
cleanse and brighten it.

You recollect the --'s; Fanny married Sir Something --, and is a
widowed mother. The young man, of whom high expectations were
formed, took to the gaming table, forged for 5000 pounds, and was
saved out of prison by the dexterity of his servant:--a complete
coup de th‚ƒtre.  That I call sorrow scarce possible to be borne.
You saw the story in the newspapers, but possibly were not aware
who was the sufferer.

Will it amuse you to hear that "fine Mr. Daniel," as you

Page 446

used to call my showy butler, died an object of disgust and
horror, whilst old Jacob, with whose red nightcap you comically
threatened the gay dandy--lived till the other day, and dying,
left 800 pounds behind him! Such stuff is this world made of!

The literary world is to me terra incognita, far more deserving
of the name (now Parry and Ross are returned) than any part of
the polar region; but the first voyage amused me most and when I
had seen red snow, and heard of men who wanted our sailors to
fly, because they perceived they could swim, I really thought it
time to lie down and die; but one cannot die when one will, so I
have hung half on, half off, society this last half year; and
begin 1821 by thanking dear Madame d'Arblay for her good-natured
recollection of poor H. L. Piozzi.



          ILL-HEALTH OF THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY.  DR. BURNEY'S MSS.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi.)
Bolton-street, Berkeley-square, Feb. 6, 1821.
You would be repaid, dear madam, if I still, as I believe, know
you, for the great kindness of your prompt answer, had you
witnessed the satisfaction with which it was received ; even at a
time of new and dreadful solicitude; for my son returned from
Cambridge unwell, and in a few days after his arrival at home was
seized with a feverish cold which threatened to fasten upon the
whole system of his existence, not with immediate danger, but
with a perspective to leave but small openings to any future view
of health, strength, or longevity. I will not dwell upon this
period, but briefly say, it seems passed over. He is now, I thank
heaven, daily reviving, and from looking like-not a walking, but
a creeping spectre, he is gaining force, spirit, and flesh
visibly, and almost hour by hour; still, however, he requires the
utmost attention, and the more from the extreme insouciance, from
being always absorbed in some mental combinations, with which he
utterly neglects himself. I am therefore wholly devoted to
watching him.

I am quite vexed not to find the right October. However, I do not
yet despair, for in the multitude of MSS. that have fallen to my
mournfully surviving lot to select, or destroy, etc., chaos seems
come again; and though I have worked at them during the last year
so as to obtain a little light, it is scarcely
Page 447

more than darkness visible. To all the vast mass left to my
direction by my dear father, who burnt nothing, not even an
invitation to dinner, are added not merely those that devolved to
me by fatal necessity in 1818, but also all the papers possessed
from her childhood to her decease of that sister you so well,
dear madam, know to have been my heart's earliest darling. When
on this pile are heaped the countless hoards which my own now
long life has gathered together, of my personal property, such as
it is, and the correspondence of my family and my friends, and
innumerable incidental windfalls, the whole forms a body that
might make a bonfire to illuminate me nearly from hence to
Penzance. And such a bonfire might perhaps be not only the
shortest, but the wisest way to dispose of such materials. This
enormous accumulation has been chiefly owing to a long unsettled
home, joined to a mind too deeply occupied by immediate affairs
and feelings to have the intellect at liberty for retrospective
investigations. . . .


                         A LAST GOSSIPING LETTER.

(From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.)
Sion Row, Clifton, near Bristol, March 15, 1821.
I feel quite happy in being able to reply to dear Madame
d'Arblay's good-natured inquiries, from this, the living world.
Such we cannot term Penzance--not with propriety--much like Omai,
who said to you, "No mutton there, missee, no fine coach, no
clock upon the stairs," etc.; but en revanche here is no Land's
End, no submarine mine of Botallock! What a wonderful thing is
that extensive cavern ! stretching out half a mile forward under
the roaring ocean, from whence 'tis protected only by a slight
covering, a crust of rock, which, if by any accident exploded,

"Would let in light on Pluto's dire abodes,
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n to Gods."

Plutus, however, not Pluto, is professed proprietor - 'tis an
immense vacuity filled with the vapours of tin and copper,
belonging to Lord Falmouth and a company of miners, where sixty
human beings work night and day, and hear the waves over their
heads , sometimes regularly beating the Cornish cliffs, sometimes
tossing the terrified mariner upon the inhospitable shore; where
shipwreck is, even in these civilized days, considered as a
Godsend.
Page 448

I am glad I saw it, and that I shall see it no more. You would
not know poor Streatham Park. I have been forced to dismantle and
forsake it; the expenses of the present time treble those of the
moments you remember; and since giving up my Welsh estate, my
income is greatly diminished. I fancy this will be my last
residence in this world, meaning Clifton, not Sion Row, where I
only live till my house in the Crescent is ready for me. A high
situation is become necessary to my breath, and this air will
agree with me better than Bath did.

You ask how the Pitches family went on. Jane married a rough man,
quarter-master to a marching regiment, and brought him three
sons: the first a prodigy of science, wit, and manners; he died
early: the second I know nothing of: the third, a model of grace
and beauty, married the Duke of Marlborough's sister. Peggy is
Countess Coventry, you know, and has a numerous progeny. Emily is
wife to Mr. Jolliffe, M.P. for some place, I forget what.
Penelope married Sir John Sheffield, but died before he came to
the title. I dined with them all last time I was in London, at
Coventry House. Poor old Davies's departure grieved me, so did
that of good Mr. Embry; au reste, the village of Streatham is
full of rich inhabitants, the common much the worse for being so
spotted about with houses, and the possibility of avoiding
constant intercourse with their inhabitants (as in Mr. Thrale's
time) wholly lost!.....


                           DEATH OF MRS. PIOZZI.

May, 1821.--I have lost now, just lost, my once most dear,
intimate, and admired friend, Mrs. Thrale Piozzi,(339) who
preserved her fine faculties, her imagination, her intelligence,
her powers of allusion and citation, her extraordinary memory,
and her almost unexampled vivacity, to the last of her existence.
She was in her eighty-second year, and yet owed not her death to
age nor to natural decay, but to the effects of a fall in a
journey from Penzance to Clifton. On her eightieth birthday she
gave a great ball, concert, and supper, in the public rooms at
Bath, to upwards of two hundred persons, and the ball she opened
herself.  She was, in truth, a most wonderful character for
talents and eccentricity, for wit, genius, generosity, spirit,
and powers of entertainment.
Page 449

                MRS. PIOZZI COMPARED WITH MADAME DE STAEL.

She had a great deal both of good and not good, in common with
Madame de Stael Holstein. They had the same sort of highly
superior intellect, the same depth of learning, the same general
acquaintance with science, the same ardent love of literature,
the same thirst for universal knowledge, and the same buoyant
animal spirits, such as neither sickness, sorrow, nor even
terror, could subdue. Their conversation was equally luminous,
from the sources of their own fertile minds, and from their
splendid acquisitions from the works and acquirements of others.
Both were zealous to serve, liberal to bestow, and graceful to
oblige; and both were truly highminded in prizing and praising
whatever was admirable that came in their way.

Neither of them was delicate nor polished, though each was
flattering and caressing; but both had a fund inexhaustible of
good humour, and of sportive gaiety, that made their intercourse
with those they wished to please attractive, instructive, and
delightful and though not either of them had the smallest
real malevolence in their compositions, neither of them could
ever withstand the pleasure of uttering a repartee, let it wound
whom it might, even though each would serve the very person they
goaded with all the means in their power. Both were kind,
charitable, and munificent, and therefore beloved; both were
sarcastic, careless, and daring, and therefore feared. The
morality of Madame de Stael was by far the most faulty, but so
was the society to which she belonged so were the general manners
of those by whom she was encircled.


                               SISTER HETTY.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.)
October 21, 1821.
"Your mind," my dearest Esther, was always equal to literary
pursuits, though your time seems only now to let you enjoy them.
I have often thought that had our excellent and extraordinary own
mother been allowed longer life, she would have contrived to make
you sensible of this sooner. I do not mean in a common way, for
that has never failed, but in one striking and distinguished ;
for she very early indeed began to form your taste for reading,
and delighted

Page 450

to find time, amidst all her cares, to guide you to the best
authors, and to read them with you, commenting and pointing out
passages worthy to be learned by heart.

I perfectly recollect, child as I was, and never of the party,
this part of your education.  At that very juvenile period, the
difference even of months makes a marked distinction in bestowing
and receiving instruction. I, also, was so peculiarly backward,
that even our Susan stood before me; she could read when I knew
not my letters. But though so sluggish to learn, I was always
observant: do you remember Mr. Seaton's denominating me, at
fifteen, "the silent, observant Miss Fanny"?  Well I recollect
your reading with our dear mother all Pope's works and Pitt's
"AEneid." I recollect, also, your spouting passages from Pope,
that I learned from hearing you recite them before--many years
before I read them myself. But after you lost, so young, that
incomparable guide, you had none left. Our dear -father was
always abroad, usefully or ornamentally; and, after giving you a
year in Paris with the best masters that could be procured, you
came home at fifteen or sixteen to be exclusively occupied by
musical studies, save for the interludes that were

"Sacred to dress and beauty's pleasing cares:"

for so well you played, and so lovely you looked, that admiration
followed alike your fingers and your smiles : and the pianoforte
and the world divided your first youth, which, had that exemplary
guide been spared us, I am fully persuaded would have left some
further testimony of its passage than barely my old journals,
written to myself, which celebrate your wit and talents as highly
as your beauty. And I judge I was not mistaken, by all in which
you have had opportunity to show your mental faculties, i.e. your
letters, which have always been strikingly good and agreeable,
and evidently unstudied.

When Alex comes home I will try to get "Crabbe," and try to hear
it with pleasure.  The two lines you have quoted are very
touching.

Thus much, my dear Etty, i wrote on the day I received your last;
but . . . .

November.-I write now from Eliot Vale, under the kind and elegant
roof of sweet Mrs. Locke, who charges me with her most
affectionate remembrances. Perhaps I may meet here with your
favourite Crabbe: as I subscribe to no library, I know not how
else I shall get at him. I thank you a
Page 451

thousand times for the good bulletin of your health, my dearest
Esther; and I know how kindly you will reciprocate my
satisfaction when I tell you mine is inconceivably ameliorated,
moyennant great and watchful care: and Alex keeps me to that with
the high hand of peremptory insistence, according to the taste of
the times for the "rising generation" expects just as much
obedience to orders as they withhold. If you were to hear the
young gentleman delivering to me his lectures on health, and
dilating upon air, exercise, social intercourse, and gay spirits,
you would be forced to seek a magnifying glass to believe that
your eyes did not deceive you, but that it was really your nephew
haranguing his mother. However, we must pass by the exhorting
impetuosity, in favour of the zealous anxiety that fires it up in
his animated breast.


                   OFFICIAL DUTIES TEMPORARILY RESUMED.

I was kept in town by a particular circumstance--I might say,
like the play-bills, by particular desire; for it was a fair
royal personage who condescended to ask me to remit my visit to
Eliot Vale, that I might attend her sittings for her picture, her
two ladies being at that time absent on cong‚. You may believe
how much I was gratified, because you know my sincere and truly
warm attachment for all those gracious personages; but you may be
surprised Your poor sister could now be pitched upon, where so
much choice must always be at hand, for whiling away the
tediousness of what she, the princess, calls the odious
occupation of sitting still for this exhibition - but the fact
is, I was able to fulfil her views better than most people could,
in defiance of my altered spirits and depressed faculties, by
having recourse simply to my memory in relating things I saw, or
heard, or did, during the long ten years, and the eventful--added
one year more, that I spent abroad.  Only to name Bonaparte in
any positive trait that I had witnessed or known, was sufficient
to make her open her fine eyes in a manner extremely advantageous
to the painter.


                 THE Rev. A. D'ARBLAY NAMED LENT PREACHER.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.)
February 29, 1823.
.....Thanks for that kind jump of joy for the success of Alex at
Lee, and for my hopes from St. Paul's. You ask who
Page 452

named him preacher for the 5th Sunday in Lent: How could I omit
telling you 'twas the Bishop of London himself? -This has been
brought about by a detail too long for paper, but it is chiefly
to my faithful old friends Bishop Fisher of Salisbury and the
Archdeacon of Middlesex that we owe this mark of attention; for
Alex has never been presented to the Bishop of London.


                 MADAME D'ARBLAY'S HEALTH AND OCCUPATION.

You still ask about my health, etc. I thought the good result
would have sufficed ; but thus stands the detail : I was packing
up a board of papers to carry with me to Richmond, many months
now ago, and employed above an hour, bending my head over the
trunk, and on my knees -when, upon meaning to rise, I was seized
with a giddiness, a glare of sparks before my eyes, and a
torturing pain on one side of my head, that nearly disabled me
from quitting my posture, and that was followed, when at last I
rose, by an inability to stand or walk.

My second threat of seizure was at Eliot Vale, while Alex was at
Tunbridge.  I have been suddenly taken a third time, in the
middle of the night, with a seizure as if a hundred windmills
were turning round in my head: in short,-I had now recourse to
serious medical help, and, to come to the sum total, I am now so
much better that I believe myself to be merely in the common road
of such gentle, gradual decay as, I humbly trust, I have been
prepared to meet with highest hope, though with deepest awe--for
now many years back.

The chief changes, or reforms, from which I reap benefit are,
1st. Totally renouncing for the evenings all revision or
indulgence in poring over those letters and papers whose contents
come nearest to my heart, and work upon its bleeding regrets.
Next, transferring-to the evening, as far as is in my power, all
of sociality, with Alex, or my few remaining friends, or the few
he will present to me of new ones. 3rd. Constantly going out
every day-either in brisk walks in the morning, or in brisk
jumbles in the carriage of one of my three friends who send for
me, to a tˆte-…-tˆte tea converse. 4th. Strict attention to diet.
. . .

I ought to have told you the medical sentence upon which I act.
These were the words--"You have a head over-worked, and a heart
over-loaded."  This produces a disposition to
Page 453

fulness in both that causes stagnation, etc., with a consequent
want of circulation at the extremities, that keeps them cold and
aching. Knowing this, I now act upon it as warily as I am able.

The worst of all is, that I have lost, totally lost, my pleasure
in reading! except when Alex is my lecturer, for whose sake my
faculties are still alive to what--erst! gave them their greatest
delight.  But alone; I have no longer that resource; I have
scarcely looked over a single sentence, but some word of it
brings to my mind some mournful recollection, or acute regret,
and takes from one all attention--my eyes thence glance vainly
over pages that awaken no ideas.--This is melancholy in the
extreme; yet I have tried every species of writing and writer--
but all pass by me mechanically, instead Of instructing or
entertaining me intellectually.  But for this sad deprivation of
my original taste, my evenings might always be pleasing and
reviving--but alas!


                         DESTROYED CORRESPONDENCE.

(Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.)
August, 1823.
What an interesting letter is this last, my truly dear Hetty 'tis
a real sister's letter, and such a one as I am at this time
frequently looking over of old times! For the rest of my life I
shall take charge' and save my own executor the discretionary
labours that with myself are almost endless ; for I now regularly
destroy all letters that either may eventually do mischief,
however clever, or that contain nothing of instruction or
entertainment, however innocent.  This, which I announce to all
my correspondents who write confidentially, occasions my
receiving letters that are real conversations.  Were I younger I
should consent to this condition with great reluctance-or perhaps
resist it : but such innumerable papers, letters, documents, and
memorandums have now passed through my hands, and, for reasons
prudent, or kind, or conscientious, have been committed to the
flames, that I should hold it wrong to make over to any other
judgment than My Own, the danger or the innoxiousness of any and
every manuscript that has been cast into my power.  To you,
therefore, I may now safely copy a charge delivered to me by UP
our dear vehement Mr. Crisp, at the opening of my juvenile
Page 454

correspondence with him,--"Harkee, you little monkey!--dash away
whatever comes uppermost; if you stop to consider either what you
say, or what may be said of you, I would not ,give one fig for
your letters."--How little, in those days, did either he or I
fear, or even dream of the press! What became of letters, jadis,
I know not; but they were certainly both written and received
with as little fear as wit.  Now every body seems -obliged to
take as much care of their writing desks as of their trinkets or
purses,-for thieves be abroad of more descriptions than belong to
the penniless pilferers.


                  THE PRINCESS AND THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY.

(Madame dArblay to Mrs. locke.)
11 Bolton-street, Nov. 1824.
Now then for a more cheerful winding-up. I came from Camden Town
very unwillingly,--but Alex was called to Cambridge to an audit,
and so I took that opportunity to make a break-up. But the day
before I quitted it I received the highest resident honour that
can be bestowed upon me--namely, a visit from one of my dear and
condescending princesses. She came by appointment,-yet her
entrance was so quick that Alex had not time to save
himself.-However, she took the incident not only without
displeasure but with apparent satisfaction, saying she was very
glad to renew her acquaintance with him. She had not seen him
since the time of his spouting, "The spacious firmament on
high"--"Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay," etc.,--all of which
she remembers hearing. Ah--I have never recollected till this
instant that I ought to have gone to her the next day !-how
shocking!--and now that I have the consciousness, I can do
nothing, for I am lame from a little accident.--Well!--she is all
goodness-and far more prone to forgive than I, I trust, am to
offend.


                      A VISIT FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Although Madame d'Arblay's intercourse with society was now
usually confined to that of her relations and of old and
established friends, she yet greeted with admiration and pleasure
Sir Walter Scott, who was brought to her by Mr. Rogers. Sir
Walter, in his Diary for Nov. 18th, 1826, thus
Page 455

describes the visit:--"I have been introduced to Madame d'Arblay,
the celebrated authoress of 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' an elderly
lady with no remains of personal beauty, but with a simple and
gentle manner, and pleasing expression of countenance, and
apparently quick feelings. She told me she had wished to see two
persons-myself, of course, being one, the other, George Canning.
This was really a compliment to be pleased with--a nice little
handsome pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a
dairy-maid, instead of the grease fit only for cartwheels which
one is dosed with by the pound.

"I trust I shall see this lady again."



                          MEMOIRS OF DR. BURNEY.

>From the year 1828 to 1832 Madame d'Arblay was chiefly occupied
in preparing for the press the Memoirs of her father; and on
their publication, she had the pleasure to receive letters from
Dr. Jebb, Bishop of Limerick, and from Mr. Southey, the poet.

Among the less favourable criticisms of her work, the Only one
which gave Madame d'Arblay serious pain was an attack (in a
periodical publication) upon her veracity--a quality which, in
her, Dr. Johnson repeatedly said "he had never found failing,"
and for which she had been through life trusted, honoured, and
emulated.


                  DEATHS OF HESTER BURNEY AND MRS. LOCKE.
                              (1835 to 1838.)

Madame d'Arblay's letters were now very few. - A complaint in one
of her eyes, which was expected to terminate in a cataract, made
both reading and writing difficult to her.  The number of her
correspondents had also been painfully lessened by the death of
her eldest sister, Mrs. Burney, and that of her beloved friend,
Mrs. Locke ; and she had sympathised with other branches of her
family in many similar afflictions, for she retained in a
peculiar degree not only her intellectual powers, but the warn)
and generous affections of her youth.

"Though now her eightieth year was past," she took her wonted and
vivid interest in the concerns, the joys, and sorrows of those
she loved.
Page 456

                      DEATH OF THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY.

At this time her son formed an attachment which promised to
secure his happiness, and to gild his mother's remaining days
with affection and peace : and at the close of the year 1836 he
was nominated minister of Ely chapel, which afforded her
considerable satisfaction.  But her joy was mournfully
short-lived.  That building, having been shut for some years, was
damp and ill-aired. The Rev. Mr. d'Arblay began officiating there
in winter, and during the first days of his ministry he caught
the influenza, which became so serious an illness as to require
the attendance of two physicians. Dr. Holland and Dr. Kingston
exerted their united skill with the kindest interest; but their
patient, never robust, was unable to cope with the malady, and on
the 19th of January, 1837, in three weeks from his first seizure,
the death of this beloved son threw Madame d'Arblay again into
the depths of affliction. Yet she bore this desolating stroke
with religious submission, receiving kindly every effort made to
console her, and confining chiefly to her own private memoranda
the most poignant expressions of her anguish and regret, as also
of the deeply religious trust by which she was supported.

The following paragraph is taken from her private notebook:--

 "1837.-On the opening of this most mournful--most earthly
hopeless, of any and of all the years yet commenced of my long
career! Yet, humbly I bless my God and Saviour, not hopeless; but
full of gently-beaming hopes, countless and fraught with
aspirations of the time that may succeed to the dread infliction
of this last irreparable privation, and bereavement of my darling
loved, and most touchingly loving, dear, soul--dear Alex."


               DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SISTER CHARLOTTE.

Much as Madame d'Arblay had been tried by the severest penalty of
lengthened days, the loss of those who were dearest to her, *one
more such sorrow remained in her cup of life. Her gentle and
tender sister Charlotte, many years younger than herself, was to
precede her in that eternal world for which they were both
preparing; and in the autumn of the year 1838, a short illness
terminated in the removal of that beloved sister.
Page 457

                   ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY.
                                (1839-40.)

Madame d'Arblay's long and exemplary life was now drawing to a
close; her debility increased, her sight and hearing nearly
failed her; but in these afflictions she was enabled to look
upwards with increasing faith and resignation. In a letter on the
5th of March, 1839, she wrote the following paragraph,(340) which
was perhaps the last ever traced by her pen :--

"March 5, 1839.
"Ah, my dearest! how changed, changed I am, since the irreparable
loss of your beloved mother! that last original tie to native
original affections! . . .

"Wednesday.-I broke off, and an incapable unwillingness seized my
pen; but I hear you are not well, and I hasten--if that be a word
I can ever use again--to make personal Inquiry how you are.

"I have been very ill, very little apparently, but with nights of
consuming restlessness and tears.  I have now called in Dr.
Holland, who understands me marvellously, and I am now much as
usual; no, not that--still tormented by nights without repose--
but better.

"My spirits have been dreadfully saddened of late by whole days-
-nay weeks--of helplessness for any employment.  They have but
just revived. How merciful a reprieve! How merciful IS ALL we
know! The ways of Heaven are not dark and intricate, but unknown
and unimagined till the great teacher, Death, develops them."

In November, 1839, Madame d'Arblay was attacked by an illness
which showed itself at first in sleepless nights and nervous
imaginations.  Spectral illusions, such as Dr. Abercrombie has
described, formed part of her disorder; and though after a time
Dr. Holland's skill removed these nervous impressions, yet her
debility and cough increased, accompanied by constant fever.  For
several weeks hopes of her recovery were entertained; her
patience assisted the remedies of her kind physician , and the
amiable young friend, " who was to her as a daughter," watched
over her with unremitting care and attention but she became more
and more feeble,

Page 458

and her mind wandered ; though at times every day she was
composed and collected, and then given up to silent prayer, with
her hands clasped and eyes uplifted.

During the earlier part of her illness she had listened with
comfort to some portions of St. John's Gospel, but she now said
to her niece, "I would ask you to read to me, but I could not
understand one word--not a syllable! but I thank God my mind has
not waited till this time."

At another moment she charged the same person with affectionate
farewells and blessings to several friends, and with thanks for
all their kindness to her. Soon after she said, "I have had some
sleep." "That is well," was the reply; "you wanted rest." "I
shall have it soon, my dear," she answered emphatically: and
thus, aware that death was approaching, in peace with all the
world, and in holy trust and reliance on her Redeemer, she
breathed her last on the 6th of January, 1840 ; the anniversary
of that day she had long consecrated to prayer, and to the memory
of her beloved sister Susanna.

(330) Her departure for Germany with her husband, the Prince of
Hesse-Homburg, to whom she had been recently married.-ED. '


(331) From a Memorandum book of Madame d'Arblays.

(332) Queen Charlotte died at the palace at Kew, in the
seventy-fifth year of her age, after an illness of six
months.-ED.
(133) At Windsor.-ED.

(134)  The Princess Mary, who had married her cousin, the Duke of
Gloucester.-ED.

(135) Queen Caroline. George IV. was now king, George III. having
died January 29, 1820. A brief account of the life of Queen
Caroline may be of assistance to the reader.  Her father was the
Duke of Brunswick: her mother a sister of George II.  She was
born in 1768, and married her cousin, the Prince of Wales, in
April, 1795, A speedy estrangement followed, brought about by the
prince's intrigues, especially with Lady Jersey; and, after the
birth of their daughter, the Princess Charlotte, a total
separation took place.  In 1806 a charge of adultery was brought
against the Princess of Wales.  The charge was declared
disproved, but colour had been given to it by the undoubted
levity and imprudence of her conduct.     In 1813 she went
abroad, and spent several years in travelling on the continent.
Her behaviour during this period gave rise to fresh charges, from
which she has never been entirely cleared. She returned to
England, June 6, 1820, came to London, and took up her residence
in South Audley-street, at the house of her friend, Alderman
Wood, one of the members of Parliament for the city of London.
Shortly before her return, the king's ministers had proposed to
settle upon her an annuity of -/'50,000 for life, subject to the
conditions of her continuing to reside abroad, and refraining
from assuming the title of queen. This proposal she instantly
rejected.  She was received in England by the people with
unbounded enthusiasm, to which the general discontent then
prevailing questionless contributed.  A secret committee of the
House of Lords, appointed to examine the charges against the
queen, having made their report, the government brought in a bill
to deprive her of the title of queen, and to dissolve the
marriage.  She was defended by counsel before the House of Lords,
her leading advocate being Mr. (afterwards Lord) Brougham, The
Motion for the third reading of the bill passed (November 10) by
a small majority, but the bill was immediately afterwards
abandoned by the government.  This proceeding was generally
considered as tantamount to an acquittal, and was celebrated by
illuminations and the voting of congratulatory addresses in all
parts of the country.  Queen Caroline did not long enjoy her
triumph.  She presented herself at Westminster Abbey on the
occasion of the king's coronation, July 19, 1821, but was refused
admission.  Less than three weeks later she was dead.-ED.

(336) Lady Ann Hamilton, who had formerly belonged to Queen
Caroline's household, and had joined her in France, shortly
before her return to England.-ED.

(337) Thursday, August 17, was the day on which the queen's trial
commenced before the House of Lords.-ED.

(338) Lord Byron, the poet.-ED.

(339) Mrs. Piozzi died at Clifton, May 2, 1821, having survived
her second husband about twelve years.-ED.

 (340) To her niece Mrs. Barrett.




                                   INDEX
Addington, Dr., attends the king, ii. 262.
Agujari, Lucrezia, vocalist, i. 162.
Aiken, John, M.D., iii. 179.
Akenside, his "Pleasures of Imagination" discussed, ii. 193.
Alexander I. of Russia, iii. 289, 380.
Allen, Mrs. S., marries Dr. Burney, i, xviii.
Althorpe, Lord, i. 176,
Amelia, Princess, her childish ways and sports, 1. 349, 420, 437;
     her birthday, 364; 439, 442; ii. 34, 72, 75, 303, 309, 4o6;
     her AFFECtion for Fanny, 434; iii. 108, 138, 140, 156, 165;
     at Juniper Hall, 180.
Amiens, Fanny's supper at, iii. 319.
Ancaster, Duchess of, i. 350 355, 361, 365, 379, 385, 387,
     391, 393-4, 396; ii. 10, 39, 85.
Andrews, Miles, ii. 32.
Angouleme, Duchess d', in London, iii. 276, 281, 291-3;
     conversation with Fanny, 295.
 Anstey, Christopher, "Evelina" attributed to, i. xxv, 63.
Anstruther, Mr. M.P., ii. 97, 145, 345, 352.
Antwerp, projected flight to, iii. 352.
Arblay, general Alex. d', acount of, i. xliv;
     at Juniper Hall, iii. 14, 28-9, 31, 33, 35, 40, 42, 43, 45;
     he and Fanny in love, 48, 50, 53, 55, 59, 62;
     named to Fanny, 67; 68, 74;
     his pursuits, 75, 85;
     at Windsor, 99, 102, 105-6;
     noticed by George     III., 109;
     plans Camilla Cottage, 115, 122-3, 154;
     his brother's death, 126; 135, 155-6, 171, 192;
     his French property, 194;
     goes to France, 198;
     his military appointment, 203-7;
     in Paris, 224-5;
     his old comrades, 227;
     his relatives, 234;
     his pension and property, 241-2; 255, 272, 287;
     returns to France, 289;
     enters Louis XVIII's bodyguard, 290;
     reinstated as maréchal de Camp, 291;
     his loyalty, 298;
     on the eve of the Hundred Days, 304-8, 311;
     reaches Belgium, 337;
     his mission to Luxemburg, 339, 342;
     his audience with Wellington, 342;
     his accident, 369;
     joined by Fanny at Treves, 370-7;
     returns to England, 383-5;
     his affairs and plans, 390;
     his failing health, 07, 400, 418, 422-3;
     presented to the queen, 424-6;
     gradually sinking, 426, 428-32;
     his death, 433.
Arblay, Rev. Alexander d', iii. 82, 97, 121, 138, 143, 156-7;
     at Court, 163;
     presented to the queen, 167;
     his precocity,      177, 182, 192, 196;
     goes to France, 209;
     at Dunkirk, 252;
     returns to England, 263;
     secures a scholarship, 266, 270;
     at Cambridge, 272, 275, 293;
     maternal advice to, 365;
     his waywardness and prospects, 386, 390-6;
     his tutor, 401;
     his aversion to study, 403;
     his alarm for his mother,  415-8;
     at his father's death-bed, 430-3;
     at Cambridge, 436;
     ordained, 437, 440;
     in ill-health, 446;
     named Lent preacher, 451;
     with one Of the princesses, 454;
     his death, 456.
Arblay, Madame d' (Frances Burney),
     announces her marriage, iii. 67-70;
     loses her stepmother, 71;
          her tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," 72, 90-4;
     her novel, "Camilla," 72, 89, 95-6, 98-112;
     birth of her  son, 85;
     meets Mrs. Piozzi, 88;
     presents "Camilla" to royalty, 99-112;
     relative success of her novels, 114;
     her Camilla Cottage, 115, 122-3;
     her opinion of Burke, 126;
     visits the queen, 141;
     chats with the princesses, 138-40, 140, 153-4;
     indignant with Talleyrand, 153;
     her little boy at Court, 163;
     visits old friends, 172;
     with Princess Amelia, 180-3;
     her withdrawn comedy, "Love and Fashion," 193;
     her anxiety for her husband, 205-7;
     goes to France, 208;
     to Paris, 215;
     her life there, 216;
     snubs Mdme. deStael, 220;
     at the Tuileries, 224;
     sees Napoleon, 232;
     at Joigny, 234;
     at Passy and Paris, 240-7;
     her dangerous illness, 247, 252;
     her adventure at Dunkirk, 249;
     her return to England, 263;
     regrets Mdme. de Stael, 269;
     meets S. Rogers, 270;
     Wilberforce, 271;
     publishes "The Wanderer," 272-3-5;
     loses her father, 273-4;
     is presented to Louis XVIII., 276;
     joined by her husband, 289;
     returns to France, 292;
     meets Duchess d'Angouleme, 293;
     her flight from Paris, 301, 308-27;
     her efforts to communicate with her husband, 328;
     converses  with Chateaubriand, 330-3;
     arrives at Brussels, 334;
     receives news of d'Arblay, 336-7, 338;
     her projected flight to Antwerp, 352;
     joins her husband at Treves, 370-7;
     returns to France, 378;
     her bon mot to Talleyrand, 382;
     return to England, 383;
     at Bath, 385;
     Ilfracombe, 398, 402;
     is caught by the rising tide, 4o6-18;
     at Bath, 418, 422-37;
     her husband's illness, 423;
     his death, 432;
     her years of widowhood, 434;
     her son ordained, 440;
     her correspondence with Madame PiOzzi, 443-8;
     her health and occupations, 452;
     is visited by Sir Walter Scott,  454;
     issues the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," 455;
     her son's death, 456;
     her illness and death, 458.
Argand, Aimé, i. 405.
Argy, Chevalier d', iii. 346.
Arras, Fanny at, iii. 321.
Arundel, Lord, i. 198.
Auch, Countess d', iii. 313.
Augusta, Princess, i. 339, 342, 360, 362;
     her birthday, 365, 375, 385, 387, 409, 439-40; ii. 9, 10;
     teased by Turbulent, 26; 32, 34-5, 50, 75, 155, 164, 2o6,
     242, 270, 310, 347, 490; iii. 104, 107-8, 138, 146, 156-9,
     164, 440.
Aylesbury, Lord, ii. 332, 400; iii. 163.
Aylsham, Fanny at, iii. 37.

Bachmeister, Mlle., successor to Mrs. Schwellenberg, iii. 142,
     162, 163.
Baker, Sir George, M.D., attends the king, ii. 222-3, 231-2,
     234-5, 250, 263.
Banks, Sir Joseph, ii. 140-1.
Bantry Bay Expedition, iii. 124.
Barbauld, Mr. and Mrs. (the authoress), iii. 178.
Barber, Frank, Johnson's negro, i. 287; iii. 129.
Barclay & Perkins, origin of, i. 203.
Baretti, Joseph, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi;
     admires "Evelina," xxvii, 83;
     teases Charlotte Burney, 302;
     his wager, 302, 305;
attacks Mrs. Piozzi, ii. 167, 176;
tried for murder, 176.
Barrett, Mrs., i. xi; iii. 457.

Barrington, Lord, at Dr. Burney's, i. Xvii.
Barry, Mr., R. A., at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi;
     expelled the Academy, iii. 184.
Bate, Henry, Rev., of the Morning Post and Herald, i. 164.
Bath, Fanny at, i. 165-197 423-9; iii. 385-98, 418, 422-37
     Queen Charlotte at, iii. 420.
Bath, Marquis an(l Marchioness of, ii. 330 ;
     their family, 331.
Bath Easton, i. 174, 189.
Batt, Mr., ii. 83, 433.
Battiscombe (royal apothecary), i. 293, 446 ; ii. 231, 233.
Beauclerk, Topham and Lady Di., i. 154, 231-2.                    Beauffiremont, Princess de, iii. 237.
Beaufort, Duke of, ii. 291.
Beauvau, Prince and Princess de, iii. 218, 224-5.
Berry, Agnes and Mary, iii. 219.
Bertie, Lady Charlotte, lady of the bedchamber, i. 365, 385,
390-3; ii. 39.
Betterton, Miss, actress, iii. 149, 157.
Bewley, Mr., and Johnson's hearthbroom, i. xvi.
Birch, Selina, a prodigy, i. 150-3.
Black Brunswickers, the, iii. 347.
Blakeney, General, his disposition and conversation, i. 158-164.
Blandford, Marquis of, i. 387.
Blenheim, royal visit to, i. 397.
Bligh, Captain (afterwards Admiral), ii, 350, 358.
Blucher, Marshal, iii. 342, 345, 358, 364.
Bolt Court, Johnson's home at, i. 95-7, 258, 283-8.
Bonaparte, Jerome, iii. 367.
Bonaparte, Louis, iii. 235.
Bonaparte,        Napoleon,       and M. d'Arblay, i., x1v;
     bon mot of, iii. 200;
     and d'Arblay, 207;
     at the Tuileries, 231;
     returns from Elba, 301, 314;
     persecutes Chateaubriand, 333;
     his last campaign, 293, 351, 353, 363, 365.
Bookham, Fanny at, iii, 75, et seq.
Boscawen, Hon. Mrs., ii. 83, 291 iii. 98, 100, 133, 173.
Boswell, James, i. 234-5, 319;
     his "Life of Dr. Johnson," ii. 377, 400-2;
     his mimicry of Johnson, 432.
Bouchier, Captain, i. 179-80, 185-9.
Bouffiers-Rouvrel, Countess de, ii. 368.
Bourget, Le, Fanny's halt at, iii. 315.
Bowdler, Harriet, i. 190-1; iii. 386.
Bowdlers, the, i. 194; ii. 424; iii. 386, 396, 401;
     the first chess-player in England, 405, 406.
Boyd, Mr. and Mrs., at Brussels, iii. 343, 352-3, 360.
Boydell, Alderman, ii. 464.
Bremyere, Mrs., iii. 142, 161.
Brighthelmstone (Brighton), Fanny at, i. 112, 133-7, 153-64, 197,
236-9-48.
Brisvane, Captain, i. 185-8.
Broglie, Marshal de, iii. 16;
     Madame de, iii. 16, 29, 39.
Broome, Ralph, author of "Simkins' Letters," iii. 133, 167, 176.
Broome, Mrs., see Burney, Charlotte.
Brown, Fanny, an untidy flirt, i. 85-6, 138-9.
Bruce, James, the traveller, i. xvii; ii. 330.
Brudenell, Miss, ii. 126.
Brunswick, army of, iii. 347;
     Duke of, his death, 347, 351.
Brussels, Fanny at, iii. 334;
     "Rule Britannia" at, 341-2;
     Fete-Dieu at, 344;
     the inquietude at, 346;
     plans for quitting, 350;
     aspect of, before and after Waterloo, 351-65.
Bryant, Jacob, i. 402; his eccentric talk, ii. 22-3, 31, 72, 349,
     405.
Budé, General, i. 353, 355, 358, 365-6, 416-7, 421, 427, 440-1,
444; ii. 36, 47, 51, 213, 218, 224, 226, 228-9, 245, 341.
Bulkley, Lord, ii. 347.
Buller, Dean, ii. 321.
Bunbury, Henry W., ii. 51, 59, 140, 190-1, 195;
     Mrs. (Goldsmith's "Little Comedy"), i. 111.
Burgoyne, General, ii. 120.
Burke, Edmund, praises "Evelina", i. xxvi, 94;
     slighted by Fanny, xxxvii;
     introduced to Fanny, 230;
     on "Cecilia," 232, 252-4;
     on Fanny's Court appointment, 290;
/    at the Hastings trial, ii. 92-3, 110, 112, 117;
     his speech against Hastings, 121, 128, 134;
     at the trial, 125-7, 129-30, 138, 145, 147, 345, 352, 355,
     359-61, 363-4, 392, 438, 440, 445, 452;
     on the Regency Bill, 351;
     on the French Revolution, 371, 377;
     on Fanny's treatment at Court, 429;
     Reynolds's legacy to, 444;
     at Mrs. Crewe's with Fanny, 457-63;
     on Fox, 459;
     on Windham, 460;
     subscribes for "Camilla," iii. 73;
     his death and funeral, 125.
Burke, Mrs. Edmund, i. 252, ii. 457, 461.
Burke, Richard, son of Edmund, i.  254, 259; ii. 101, 121, 456;
     iii. 44, 89.
Burke, Richard, brother of Edmund, i. 229; ii. 101, 121, 457;
     iii. 82.
Burke, William, i. 115-9.
Burney, Charles, Mus. Doc., his early life, marriage, position,
     and friends, i. xiii-xvii;
     his second marriage, xviii;
     authorises the publication of "Evelina," xxiv;
     peruses it, xxv, 65-8;
     appointed organist at Chelsea, xxxvii;
     takes Fanny to Streatham, 75;
     visits Reynolds, 115;
     meets Murpby, 129;
     visits Mrs. Paradise, 224;
     dines with Reynolds, 228;
     Visits Chesington, 233;
     chides Mrs. Thrale, 237;
     distressed at Crisp's death, 271;
     at Johnson's deathbed and funeral, 285-8;
     is commended by the queen, 295;
     misses a Court appointment, 323-6;
     is delighted at Fanny's appointment, xxxiii, 329;
     takes her to Windsor, 333;
     alluded to, 370, 415;
     his verses on the queen's birthday, ii. 9;
     is incensed at Fanny's condition, 65;
     is lampooned in the Probationary Odes, 145;
George III's opinion of him, 291-2;
     mentioned, 356;
     his views respecting Fanny's resignation, 366, 368-70, 374,
     376-7, 380, 386-7 [See also i. xli-ii];
     takes her home, 411;
     chats with Burke, 429;
     with Fanny, 430-32;
     meets the Burkes at Mrs. Crewe's, 456-62;
     Fox at the Literary Club, iii, 44;
     objects to Mdme. de Stael, 51;
     to Fanny's marriage, 65;
     loses his second wife, 71, 117-9;
     meets the Piozzis, 88;
     his "Life of Metastasio," 89, 92, 103;
     attends Burke's funeral, 125;
     visits Etruria and Lichfield, 128;
     visits Herschel, 131, 184;
     his poetical history of astronomy, 143;
     his Chelsea apartments, 155, 165;
     his books, 173;
     converses with George III, 185, 193;
     dines with the Prince of Wales, 243;
     visits Bath, 244;
     elected a member of the French Institute, 247;
     is greatly aged, 265;
     his death, 249, 273;
     his portrait by Reynolds, 389;
     his papers, 447;
     his memoirs, 455.
Burney, Mrs., née Allen, wife of above, I. 60;
     visits Lowndes with Fanny, 79;
     dresses badly, 86;
     visits Reynolds, 113;
     her death, iii. 71, 117.
Burney, Rev. Charles, D.D., his birth and library, i. 60;
     attends Johnson's funeral, 288;
     at the Hastings trial, ii. 95, 100, 103, 391;
     mentioned, 375, 411; ii. 171;
     dines with the Prince of Wales, 243;
     meets Fanny on her return from France, 265;
     his school, 270, 272;
     buys his father's portrait, 389.
Burney, Charles Rousseau ("Mr. Burney"),
     his parentage and mariiage, i. 59;
     toasts the author of "Evelina," 72;
     referred to, iii. 397.
Burney,    Charlotte Anne (Mrs. Francis, afterwards Broome),
     account of, i. 60;
     describes her father's perusal of "Evelina," 65-7, 198, 224;
     fragments of her journal, 254;
     teased by Baretti, 302; 415; ii. 102, 108, 145;
     at the Hastings trial, 345, 375; iii. 17;
     marries Ralph Broome, 133, 167;
     her death, 456.
Burney, Edward, Fanny's cousin, artist, i. 60, 61, 233.
Burney, Esther ("Hetty"), birth and marriage, i. 59;
     and "Evelina," 64; ii. 350, 356; iii. 17, 397, 449, 455.
Burney, Frances (Madame d'Arblay),
     Macaulay's acount of:--
     her birth and education, i. xiv-v;
     surroundings, xvii;
     appearance and opportunities, xviii;
     her Writings, first attempts, xviii;
     her Diary and Letters, xix, xxiii;
     "Evelina," xxiii-vii;
     "The Witlings," xxviii;
     "Cecilia,"    xxix;
     "Camilla," "Edwy and Elgiva," x1v;
     "The Wanderers," and the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," xlvi;
     qualities and blemishes of her writings, xlvii-lvii;
     her detractors and admirers, xxvi-vii;
     her presentation to George III. and Queen Charlotte, xxx;
     her appointment and life at Court, xxxi-v;
     her account of the royal visit to Oxford, xxxv;
     of the trial of Warren Hastings, xxxvi;
     of George III's illness, xxxviii;
     her last years at Court, illness and resignation, xxxix;
     her trip through the south-west of England, visit to juniper
     Hall, and marriage with General d'Ar.blay, xliv;
     her departure for France, x1v;
     return to England and death, xlvi.
     Diary and Letters:--
     Her account of "Evelina," i. 61-74;
     visits the Thrales and meets Dr. Johnson and Seward, 75-8;
     interviews Lowndes, 79;
     is confused by the praise of Johnson and others, 83-91;
     meets Sir Joshua Reynolds, 92-5;
     Mrs. Montagu, 100;
     husbands    suggested for her, 106;
     is kissed by Johnson, 109;
     visited by Dr. Francklin, 112;
     visits Reynolds, 113;
     meets R. B. Sheridan and his Wife, 123;
     meets Arthur Murphy,             129;
     purposes writing a play ("The Witlings"), 129, 133;
     at Brighton, 133;
     at Streatham, 137;
     sends "The Witlings" to Crisp, 145;
     her views of its fate, 146;
     visits Tunbridge Wells, 149;
     Brighton, 153, 236, 239, 248;
     is badly treated by the Cumberlands, 155;
     visits Bath, 165;
     her letters on the Gordon riots, 193;
     leaves Bath, 197;
     at Streatham, 203;
     attends Mrs. Paradise's rout, 224;
     meets Edmund Burke and Gibbon, 228;
     sits for her portrait, 233
     her account of General Paoli, 234-5;
     of Miss Monckton's assembly, 248;
     at Mrs. Walsingham's, 256;
     meets Mrs. Siddons, 257;
     visits Johnson, 258;
     is Praised by Soames Jenyns, 261-2;
     loses her friend Crisp, 270-1;
     visits the Cambridges, 273-5;
her friendship for Mrs. Locke, 277;
     her views on Mrs. Thrale's second marriage, 278-9;
     at Norbury with the Lockes, 280;
     her stormy interview with Lady F., 282;
     her last chat with Johnson, 283;
     her account of his death, 285;
     her visits to Mrs. Delany, 265-70, 292;
     hides from the queen, 297;
     her first interview with the king and queen, 298;
     discusses literary matters with the king and queen, 316-21;
     is presented at Court, 322;
     is appointed a keeper of the robes, 327-32;
     her arrival and reception at Windsor, 333-8;
     looks on at the queen's toilet, 339;
     is visited by Court officials, 340;
     her daily routine, 345;
     prepares the queen's snuff, 348, 361;
     accompanies the Court to Kew, 349;
     is visited by Mrs. Warren Hastings, 352;
     on familiar terms with the princesses, 353;
     her account of an attempt against the king, 355;
     her bitter experience of Mrs. Schwellenberg begins, 359;
     is kissed by Princess Amelia, 365;
     is promised a gown from the queen, 368;
     defends Mrs. Hastings, 371;
     visits Nuneham and Oxford with the Court, 373;
     worries and difficulties of the excursion, 374, 382, 390,
     393-4;
     her duties at Windsor and Kew, 399;
     reads to the queen, 403;
     repines at her Position, 403;
     discusses Mdme. de Genlis, 4o5;
     meets W. Herschel, 408, 444;
     cannot ask: a guest to dinner, 413;
     invites a wrong guest, 417
     receives a lilac tabby from the queen, 421;
     is entrusted with the queen's jewels, 422;
     her tea-table worries, 425;
     obtains a holiday, 433   ;
     her verses on "The Greatcoat," 424, 434;
     romps with Princess Amelia, 437;
     is too late to attend on the queen, 438;
     her present to Princess Augusta, 440;
     is taken ill, 445;
     in a predicament at St. James's, ii. 10-15;
     is worried by Turbulent, 16, 24-31, 47, 54, 57, 82, 214-5;
     is complimented in an epilogue, 32;
     is disappointed With Mrs. Siddons, 52;
     her resignation rumoured, 62;
     is persecuted by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 65;
     receives a gift from the queen, 72;
     discusses Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, 74;
     among her old friends, 82, 85;
     attends the Warren Hastings trial, 95-136, 143-9, 345-6,
     352-5, 357-65, 370-3,
     389-95, 437-47, 452, 455;
     at Egham races, 151;
     at Cheltenham with the Court, 154-9;
     her flirtation with Fairly, 159-61, 165, 168-9, 174, 177-87,
     193-5, 197-9, 200-3, 204-6;
     meets Seward, 167, 170;
     meets Robert Raikes at Gloucester, 171;
     visits Tewkesbury, 191;
     is visited by Richard Burney, 192;
     is attacked with influenza, 195;
     visits Worcester, 199;
     is at Windsor again, 207;
     is twitted about Canon Shepherd, 209, 217;
     her introduction to Lalande, 210;
     is eyed curiously by the Prince of Wales, 211;
     is plagued by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 215-8;
begins to write "Edwy and Elgiva," 222;
     converses with George III. at the outset of his illness,
     225-6;
     her anxiety      for him and the queen, 230-2;
     attends the public prayers for      his recovery, 250;
     is comforted      by Pepys's prognostics, 251;
     leaves for Kew, 265-6;
     reports to the queen on the king's health, 270;
     is chased by the king in Kew Gardens; is kissed by him, 289;
     his strange talk to her, 290-2;
     her meetings with Fairly during the king's illness, 237,
     239, 242, 244, 246, 248, 251, 253-64, 271,
     275,   277,    279,   281,   297-8;
     Fairly's visits remarked on by the queen, 280, 282;
     Mrs. Schwellenberg's treatment of her during the king's
     illness, 246, 272-5, 295;
     sees the king recovered, 298-9, 300;
     her verses on his recovery, 303;
     her parting from Fairly, 303-4;
     meets Miss Fuzilier, 304;
     at Lyndhurst, 310;
     Southampton, 312;
     Weymouth, 313;
     Exeter and Saltram, 321;
     Plymouth, 323;
     Mount Edgecumbe, 327;
     meets Fairly again, 329;
     at Longleat, 330;
     Tottenham Court, 332;
     Windsor, 333;
     hears rumours of Fairly's marriage, 334, 340;
     in the crush at Covent Garden, 335;
     visited by Mrs. Fairly, 344, 373;
     reads Colman's plays to the queen, 347, 350;
     meets Madame PiOzzi, 355;
her servant Columb, 367;
     meets James Boswell, 377;
     is mentioned in his "Johnson," 401;
     helps the queen to write verses, 388;
     her desire to resign, 366, 368-70, 374-6, 379, 389;
     close of her Court duties, 401;
     her successor and pension, 403;
     her leave-takings, 4o5-8;
     travels through the south-west of England, 410;
     meets Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, 426-9;
     and Bishop Percy, 428;
     her literary recreation, 430;
     on Reynolds's blindness, 431;
     attends the queen, 434-7;
     chats with her and the king, 448;
     compliments the king on his birthday, 453;
     with the Burkes at Mrs. Crewe's, 456;
     visits Caen Wood, 464;
     her adventure at the Shakespeare gallery, 465;
     is invited to Arthur Young's, 468;
     stays there, iii. 17;
     at Aylsham, 37;
     Norbury Park, 43;
     meets Madame de Stael and other émigrés of juniper Hall,
     44-61;
     falls in love with d'Arblay, 48, 59, 64;
     marries him, 67 (see Arblay, Madame d').
Burney, James (afterwards Admiral), his birth, voyages, marriage,
     and death, i. 59, 168, 173, 200;
     at Chesington, 436;
     at the Hastings trial, ii. 120, 122, 125, 129-39, 357-8,
     438;
     his interview with the Earl of Chatham, 370;
     wants a ship, 356;
     mentioned, 350, 411; iii. 60.
Burney, Mrs. James, i. 436.
Burney,   Richard, Fanny's uncle, i. 60.
Burney,   Richard, Fanny's cousin, i. 60;
     "Evelina" read to, 62;
     visits Fanny at Cheltenham, ii. 192.
Burney,  Richard Thomas, i. 60.
Burney, Sarah Harriet ("Sally"), i. 60, 65, 333; ii. 357, 391,
     411; iii. 17, 24, 72, 146.
Burney, Susanna Elizabeth (Mrs. Phillips), her birth, marriage,
     and death, i. 60; 62-6, 65, 224, 270, 278, 280, 344, 403,
     411, 415;
     her acquaintance with the emigres of juniper Hall, iii. 17,
     28-38, 54, 56-61, 64;
     leaves for Ireland, 71, 121, 124;
     her death, 170, 188-91.
Bute, Lady, ii. 69-70.
Byron, Augusta, i. 169, 179, 181,
     185-8;
     Captain George, 169, 173;
     Mrs., i. 169; ii. 424; iii. 445.

Caen-Wood, ii. 464-'
Cagliostro, Count, i. 411.
Calais, description of, iii.       211.
Calvert, Dr., i. 92-3.
Cambaceres, iii. 231.
Cambridge, Rev. George Owen, i. 258-9, 261-4, 273, 275.
Cambridge, Miss, i. 327-30, 347; ii. 223, 271, 304, 344, 375,
     411.
Cambridge, Richard Owen, i. 258-9, 261-2, 273-5, 326; ii. 16, 83.
"Camilla," Madame d'Arblay's novel, i. x1v;
     Macaulay on, li-lv;
     iii. 72, 89, 95-6, 98-102, 107-12, 114;
     reviewed, 116.
Camilla Cottage, iii. 115, 122-3, 135, 154, 157.
Campbell, Lady Augusta, ii. 85.
Camperdown, Duncan's victory off, iii. 140-3, 147-50.
Campo, Signor del, ii. 36, 47.
Canning, George, iii. 82-3.
Carmichael, Miss, Johnson's              Poll, i. 96-7.
Caroline of Brunswick (Queen), iii. 440-3;
Carter, Elizabeth, ii. 83, 279.
Cator, Mr., i. 210-13, 221.
Cavendish, Ladies Georgiana and Harriet, ii. 425-6.
"Cecilia," Fanny's novel;
     price paid for, i. Xxiv, 254;
     its production, xxviii-ix, 202, 228;
     Macaulay's estimate of, xxxii, l-lv;
     praised by Burke, 232-3;
     extolled by the "old wits," 251-4;
     eulogised by Soames jenyns, 261-3;
     discussed at Mrs. Delany's, 268-76; ii. 32, 176; iii. 114.
Chamier, Anthony, M.P., i. 148
Chapman, Dr., Vice- Chancellor at Oxford, ii. 386-7.
Chapone, Mrs. (Hester Mulso), account Of, i. 265-70, 288; ii. 83,
     321; iii. 172, 398.
Charlotte,             Princess,
     anecdotes of, iii. 145, 159, 290;
     her death, 419, 421.
Charlotte, Queen, Macaulay's account of, i. xxx-xxxii;
     in favour of Warren Hastings, xxxviii;
     her treatment of Fanny, xl, xli, xliii;
     generosity to Mrs. Delany, 291;
     inquisitive about Fanny, 294-5;
     meets her, 304-13;
     her disposition and manners, 314;
     chats about Mdme. de Genlis, Goethe, Klopstock, Milton,
     Wickliffe, and Roman Catholic superstitions, 319-21;
     on         the Terrace at Windsor, 325;
     aPpoints Fanny a keeper of                her robes, 327-32;
     receives her at Windsor, 335;
     ceremonial in her dressing-room, 339;
     Fanny's routine with, 345-8;
     er snuff, 348-9, 361;
     at a Drawing-room, 350, 369;
     at Kew, 351;
     her pet dog, 353;
     distressed by the attempt against the king, 355, 357-61,
     367;
     promises Fanny a gown, 368;
     visits Nuneham, 374;
     Oxford, 385-95;
     Blenheim, 397;
     Fanny as her reader, 403;
     advises her concerning Mdme. de Genlis, 407; 416, 419, 420,
     422;
     praised by Fanny, 424;
     cautions Fanny, 432;
     tired          of her gewgaws, grants Fanny a holiday, 433;
     receives some verses from her, 424, 434;
     rebukes her, 439; 440, 442, 446
     Dr. Burney's verses for, ii. 10; 22;
     at the play, 31;
     on the king's birthday, 33;
     with the Polignacs, 39;
     with the Duke of York, 49; 52, 85;
     with the Prince of Wales, 61, 63;
     her New Year gift to Fanny, 72;
     remarks on Dr. Johnson, 77-8;
     interested in the Hastings trial, 95, 119, 345, 361, 390-1,
     395, 448;
     chats about Lady Hawke's novel, 150;
     visits Cheltenham, 155-7;
     her rooms there, 163;
     her selfishness, 181;
     remarks on Fairly, 185-7;
visits Worcester, 199;
     on Fairly, 200, 205-6;
     returns to Windsor, 206;
     her Wit, 216;
     during the king's illness, 224-31, 234-6, 238-40, 242, 244,
     246, 248-50, 252, 257-8,
     262-3;
     at Kew with the king, 265, 269, 272, 276;
     remarks on Fairly's visits to Fanny, 280, 282, 285;
     her birthday, 281, 361; 292, 295
     walks out with the king, 297-8; 300, 302;
     orders illuminations for the king's recovery, 303;
     holds a Drawing-room, 304;
     her poultry, 305;
     visits Lyndhurst, 310;
     Weymouth, 313, 315, 320-1, 323;
     Longleat, 330-3;
     on Fairly, 335;
     at the play, 335, 342;
     employs Fanny as reader, 347, 350;
     her treatment of Fanny, 366, 379- 89, 390, 401-2;
     her gift to Lord Harcourt, 388;
     grants Fanny a pension, 403-4, 405;
     takes leave of her, 408-9;
     attended by Fanny, 434-7;
     chats with Fanny, 447, 454-5;
     Fanny presents "Camilla: to, iii. 99, 103;
     gives Fanny fifty guineas, 106;
     has interviews with her, 141, 154;
     her bounties, 159;
     alarmed by a mad woman, 266, 278;
     visits Bath, 420;
     receives General d'Arblay, 425;
     her presents to Fanny, 427;
     her approaching dissolution, 437;
     her death, 438-9.
Chateaubriand, F. R. de, iii. 330-3, 338;
     his wife, 331-2.
Chatham, Pitt, Earl of, i. xx; ii. 321;
     receives James Burney, 370.
Chatre, Marchioness de la, iii. 10, 28, 35, 39, 53;
     Marquis de la, iii. 39.
Chavagnac, Adrienne de, iii. 208.
Cheltenham, royal visit to, ii. 154;
     the wells at, 164;
     the walks at, 173.
Chesington, residence of S. Crisp, i. xxii, 60;
     Fanny at, 64-75, 200, 233, 266, 270-1, 433 ; iii. 61-5.
Chester, Porteus, Bishop of, his sermons, i. 313;
     his preferment, ii. 82.
Chesterfield, Earl of, ii. 317, 346.
Cheveley, Mrs., i. 416, 439; ii. 36, 72.
Chimay, Princess de, iii. 254.
Cholmondeley, Mrs., admires "Evelina," i. xxvii, 68, 94;
     meets Fanny, 114-20;
     her entertainment, 120-6;
Cholmondeley, Mr., i. 114;
     Fanny, i. 114-
Claremont, Lady, ii. 97.
Clarence, Duke of, see William, Prince.
Clarges, Sir Thomas, i. 344.
Clayton, Lady Louisa, i. 325, 342.
Clerk, Mr., apothecary, ii. 195.
Clerke, Sir Philip Jennings, i. 127-8, 137-9, 194, 204-5; ii.
     312.
Clive, Kitty, i- 317.
Collumpton Church, ii. 421.
Colman, George, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi;
     his comedies, ii. 347-50.
Cologne, iii. 373.
Columb, Jacob, ii. 367.
Condé, prince de, iii. 283, 329-30.
Conway, General, ii. 23.
Cooke, Kitty, i. 60, 108, 200, 233,
     435; iii. 63.
Cork, Lord, i. 228-9.
Cotton, Captain, i. 173.
Court (the), life of an attendant at, i. xxxi, xxxiv;
     monotony of, Xxxv;
     Fanny's treatment         at, xl-xliii ; 289-90;
     presentations at, 322-3;
at Windsor, 333-49, 352-66, 400-47;
     at Kew, 349, 366, 422
     at St. james's, 308, 350, 360.
     royal birthdays at, 364
     visits Nuneham, 374-85, 396;
Oxford, 385-95;
     Blenheim, 397;
     equerries at, 429;
     routine at, 443;
     at St james's, ii. 9-15, 33-5, 62, 65, 85;
     at Windsor, 16-31, 35-53, 55-61, 72-81 ;
     at Kew, 50;
     at the play, 32;
     New Year's day at, 72;
     visits Cheltenham, 155;
     Worcester, 199;
     during the king's illness, at Windsor, 222-264;
     at Kew, 265-303;
     at Windsor, 303;
     in the New Forest, 311;
     at Weymouth, 313-21, 329;
     at Exeter    and     Saltram,     322-3;
     Longleat, 330;
     Tottenham Court, 332;
     Windsor, 333, 340, 373, 401;
     Kew, 407;
     St. james's, 304, 335, 345-73, 382, 396, 408.
at Windsor, iii. 99-112, 185-7.
     Courtenay, Lord, ii, 420.
Courtown, Lord, i. 366 ; ii. 155, 159, 162, 164, 165, 191, 199,
     314, 323, 399;
     Lady, ii. 191, 263, 265, 274, 322; iii. 159,
Coussmaker, Miss, i. 67.
Coventry, Lady, and Crisp's "Virginia," i. xx-i.
Crawford, Mr., ii. 51.
Crewe, John, first Lord, iii. 266;
     Mrs., later Lady, i. 121; ii. 129-30, 138-9, 411, 456-68;
     iii. 73, 75, 77, 125-6, 129, 266-8, 277-88.
Crisp, Anne, i. 26.
Crisp, Samuel, his    appearance and acquirements, i.      xix;
     his "Virginia," xx, xxi;
     his misanthropy, xxii;
     his regard for Fanny; he condemns           "The Witlings,"
     xxviii, 145-7;
     "Evelina" read to him, 64;
     he guesses the author, 70-1;
     learns the truth, 74-5;
     alluded to, 200, 233;
     his death, xxix, 238, 270-1;
     his remarks on letter writing, iii. 452.
Critics, Macaulay on the, i. xix.
Croker, J. W., twits Fanny, i. xxvi.
Crutchley, Mr., M.P., chats with Fanny, 1.        106-8, 201-23;
     at the Hastings trial, ii. 101-2, 114, 122;
     at Egham races, 151.
Cumberland, Richard, i. xxvi, 121, 156-8, 315-6; iii. 91-4;
     Mrs., i. 154-6;
     Richard, the younger, i. 155-7.
Cumberland, Ernest, Duke of, ii. 98; iii. 160.
Cumberland, Lady Albinia, iii. 181.
Cure, Mr., i. 154-5.

Damer, Hon. Mrs., ii. 328; iii. 218.
D'Arblay, see Arblay.
Davenant, Mr. and Mrs., i. 208-9.
Delany, Dr., i. xxx, 264.
Delany, Mrs., account of,             i. xxx, 64;

     reads "Cecilia," 252-3;
     Fanny's first Visit to, 265-70;
     royal generosity to, 290;
     visited by George III. and Queen Charlotte, 293;
     her intercourse with Fanny and the royal family, 324,
329-30, 334-44, 351-2, 355, 358-9,
     363-6, 374, 401, 4o6, 416, 420,
     422, 426-7, 439, 441-2; ii. 21,
     32, 53, 61, 69, 72, 94;
     her death, 141-3;
     her marriage at Longleat, 330;
     judged by Burke, 460.
Delap, Rev. John, D.D., i. 139, 141, 150, 157, 160-1.
Delawarr, Earl, ii. 321.
Desmoulins, Mrs., Johnson's "De Mullin," i. 95-6, 258.
Devonshire, Duke of, i. 248; ii. 410, 426-8; iii. 125;
     Georgiana, Duchess of, i. 2 15 ; ii. 410, 426-8.
Dewes, Bernard, i. 295, 298-9, 440.
"Diary and Letters of Madame d'Arblay," original edition, i. xi,
     xii, Xlv;
     origin of the, xiv, xxxiv.
Dickens, Mrs., i. 154.
Digby, Colonel, Hon. Stephen, see Fairly.
Dillon, Mdlle. iii. 338.
Dobson, Mrs., authoress, i. 170.
Dorset, Duke of, i. 121, 309.
Douai, royalists at, iii. 324.
Douglas, Archibald, ii. 222-3.
Douglas, Captain, R.N., ii. 316, 337.
Douglas, Dr., i. 445.
Douglas, Lady Frances, ii, 222.
D'Oyley, Sir John and Lady, ii. 169, 173-4.
Drake, Sir Francis (royal steward), i. 363; ii. 420.
Dudley, Sir H. Bate, see Bate.
Dumouriez, General, iii. 54.
Duncan, Admiral, his victory off Camperdown, iii. 140-3, 147-50.
Duncannon, Lady, ii. 424.
Dundas, Mr. (Sir David), ii. 375.
Dunkirk, Fanny's adventure at, iii, 249;
     Spanish prisoners at, 257.
Duras, Dowager Duchess de, iii. 295.
Duras, Duchess de, iii- 336;
     Duke de, iii. 281-7,

"Early Diary of Frances Burney," i. xv.
"Edwy and Elgiva," Fanny's tragedy, i. xiv; ii, 222, 349; iii.
     72, 90.
Effingham, Lady, lady of the bed-chamber, i. 343, 351-2, 361,
     439; ii. 8, 222, 225, 227.
Egerton, Mrs Ariana, iii. 69.
Egham races, Fanny at, ii. 151.
Elizabeth, Princess ; her illness, i. 296-315;
     her intercourse with Fanny, 339, 355, 362, 365 374, 377-8,
          385, 387, 423; ii. 10, 34-5, 39, 155, 164, 201, 205,
     211,
     296, 347, 404, 409, 436, 447, 454; iii. 100, 108;
     her marriage, 122 ; 140, 155, 158, 165, 266, 300, 346,
     420-2, 427, 436.
Ellenborough, Lord (Mr. Law), at the Hastings trial, ii. 437,
     439-41, 443-
Elliot, Sir Gilbert, ii. 97, 100, 118; iii. 80, 125.
Embry, Mr., i. 109-10.
Emigrés, French, at juniper Hall, i. xliv; iii. 11, 13, 15,
     28-61.
Erskine, Hon. Thomas, and Mrs. Siddons, i. 257;
     his egotism, his wife, ii. 462-4.
"Evelina," Fanny's novel ; its publication, i. xxiv, 59, 61-2;
     its success, xxv, 115;
     its admirers, Nxvi;
     its style, liii, liv;
     Macaulay's estimate of, lvi;
     attributed to Anstey, 63;
     read to Crisp, 64-5;
     by Dr. Burney, 66-7;
     by Reynolds, 78;
     by Burke, 101;
     praised by Dr. Burney, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and Mrs. Thrale,
     68-72;
     by Dr. Johnson, 71, 73, 76, 103;
     by Crisp, 74-5;
     by Seward, 77;
     by Sheridan, 124;
     Fanny's copy of, 69;
     price paid for the NIS., 69;
     Reynolds sits up reading, 78;
     praised to Dr. Lort, 90-1;
     curiosity respecting its author, 92-5, 224-8;
     Cumberland's jealousy of, 158;
     quoted, 165;
     a child's enquiries about, 191-2;
     Paoli's View Of, 234;
     Windham's      remarks      on,    ii. 144;
     Baretti on, 176;
     its sale, iii. 114.
Exeter, royal visit to, ii. 321.

Fairly, Colonel (Hon. Stephen Digby), i. xxxix;
     ii. attacks Mrs. Warren Hastings, 371;
     at Nuneham, with Fanny, 380, 383;
     at Oxford, 385, 390, 395-7;
     embroiled with Mrs. Schwellenberg, 400;
     looks melancholy, 445;
     loses his first wife, ii. 53;
     at Windsor, 75;
     his conversation, 78;
     likely to marry Miss Fuzilier, 126, 153, 177; 139;
     with Fanny, 154;
     at Cheltenham, 155, 158-9;
     his téte-a-téte with Fanny, 159-61 ; 162 ;
     talks, reads, and flirts with her, 165-8, 170, 174, 177-87,
     193, 197, 199;
     ill with the gout, 171, 173;
     criticises the princes,   189;
     takes leave of Fanny, 200-3;
     his note to her, 204;
     discussed by his brother equerries, 213;
     with the Gunnings, 224;
     at   Windsor during George III.'s illness, 228, 233, 236-7,
     239-40;
     soothes the king, 241;
     on familiar terms with Fanny, 242-4-6-8;
     his remarks on the prayers for the king, 249;
     is anxious about the queen, 251;
     his intercourse with Fanny, 253-62, 264;
     arrives at Kew, 267;
     is concerned for the princesses, 271-2;
     disliked by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 275-7;
     with Fanny, 277, 279, 281;
     the queen remarks on his visits, 280-2;
     search for him, 285; 293-4;
     meets Windham, 297-8;
     takes leave of Fanny, 303-4
     at Weymouth, 329;
     his marriage is rumoured, 334, 340;
     his strange wedding to Miss Fuzilier, 342-4;
     meets Fanny again, iii. 111.
Fairly, Mrs., ii. 344, 373; see also Fuzilier.
Farnham, ii. 411.
Farren, Miss, actresw, ii. 32; iii. 149.
Fauconberg Hall, ii. 155, 157;
     Lord, ii. 155.
"Female Quixote, The," by Charlotte Lenox, i. lvi.
Ferrars, Lady De, i. 243-4;
     Lord De, i. 243.
Ferry, Mr., i. 178-9.
Fielding, Henry, Dr. Johnson on, i. 91.
Fielding, Sir John, i. 192-3.
Fielding, Mrs. (woman of the bedchamber), i. 341-2, 351, 366; ii.
     10, 304.
Finch, Lady Charlotte (governess to the princesses), i. 341-2,
     355-6; ii. 184, 252, 259, 265, 270, 274, 286.
Finch, Miss, i- 06.
Fisher, Canon, i. 338, 366, 427,
     436-7; ii. 72, 75-6, 212-3, 342,
     406; iii. 99, 120.
Fisher, Kitty, and Dr. Johnson, i. 89.
Fisher, Mrs., ii. 72, 75; iii. 110.
Fite, Madame de la, at Norbury Park, i. 280-1, 311-2;
     her intercourse with Fanny at Windsor, 337, 342, 355, 405-6,
     409-16, 440 ; ii. 35, 405, 451.
Fitzherbert, Mrs., ii. 320.
Flint, Bet, and Johnson, i. 87,8.
Foster, Lady Elizabeth, ii- 410, 427-8.
Fouche, iii. 250.
Fox, Charles James, at the Hastings trial, ii. 92, 93, 97, 125,
     127-8, 134-5, 361, 392, 441;
     and the regency bill, 221;
     Burke on, 459, 463;
     and the execution of Louis xvi, iii. 44.
France, revolution in, iii. 11, 42-4;
     Fanny goes to, 203;
     leaves, 263;
     returns    to,   292-327,      378,83;
     foreign occupation Of, 379-81.
Francis, Clement, marries Charlotte Burney, i. 332 ; ii. 109,
     123, 145, 345, 375, 380-1; iii. 38.
Francis, Mrs., see Burney, Charlotte.
Francis, Mr. (Sir Philip), ii. 89, 109, 346.
Francklin, Rev. Th., D. D., admires "Evelina," i. xxvii;
     interviews Fanny, 112.
French Clergy Fund, the, iii. 77, 78.
French, Miss, Burke's niece, ii. 457, 461;
Fuller, Captain, and his soldiers, i. 135, 136, 137.
Fuller, Mr. Rose, at Streatham, i. 92, 109, 139;
     his conversation, 148, 153.
Fuzilier, Miss (Charlotte Gunning), ii. 126, 153, 177, 224, 255,
     304, 340, 342-4, see Fairly, Mrs.

 Gabrielli, Signora, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii.
Gage, Sir Thomas, ii. 450; iii. 23.
Galway, Dowager Lady, i. 248, 254.
Gaud (Ghent), Louis xviii. at, iii. 337, 349.
Garrick, David, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi;
     his connection with Crisp's "Virginia," xx, xxi;
     his love of flattery, 122; 317;
     reads "Lethe" to a royal audience, 349;
     his relatives, his monument at Lichfield, iii. 129.
Garrick, Mrs., ii. 82, 432.
Garth, Major, ii- 374.
Gast, Mrs. Sophia, Crisp's sister, i. 60, 71, 169, 233, 266; ii.
     207.
Genlis, Madame de, Fanny's acquaintance with, i. 316;
     her strictures on the English stage, 318 ;
     Queen Charlotte on her writings, 319;
her position discussed, 405-8;
     in England as Mdme. Brulard, 449; iii. 22-4, 26-7.
George III, his generosity to Mrs. Delany, i. 265, 291 ;
     visits her incog, 293;
     is inquisitive about Fanny, 294;
     his first interview with her, XXX, 298;
     his health, constitution,    and    diet,    299 ;
     questions Fanny about her writings, 301-4;
     is anxious she should  continue writing, 310;
     his views on sermons, 313;
     his demeanour and character, 314, 318-9;
     takes tea at Mrs. Delany's, etiquette, 314-5;
     his opinions of Lord George Sackville, Voltaire, and
Rousseau, 316;
     of plays and players, 317;
     on the Terrace at Windsor, 325-6;
     in the queen's dressing-room,     339;
     at Kew, 349-51;
     an attempt on his life, 355-61;
     is cheered at Little Kew, 367;
     visits Nuneham, Oxford, and Blenheim, 373-98;
      protects Herschel, 408, 420;
     his equerries and his barley-water, 431 ;
     with his favourite daughter, Amelia, 437;
     visits Fanny during her illness, 446;
     converses with jacob Bryant, ii. 23;
     at the play, 31;
     his birthday, 33;
     plays backgammon, 37;
     with the Polignacs,  39;
     is joyful at the Duke of York's return, 49;
     criticises Goldsworthy's collar, 84;
     is amused by a caricature, 140;
     goes to Cheltenham, 155;
     his rooms there, 163;
     visits Cirencester, 171;
     Tewkesbury, 174;
     is solicitous about Fairly, 181-2, 186, 187-8;
     lodges the Duke of York in a portable wooden house, 190;
     has Fanny prescribed for, 196;
     visits Worcester, 199;
     returns to Windsor, 206;
     his illness, 220;
     is in an uncertain state, 222-4;
     his want of sleep, 294-6;
     progress of his illness, 226-8;
     first outburst of delirium, 228;
     delirious, 232;
     refuses to see Dr. Warren, 234;
     his night watchers, 238;
     is soothed by Mr. Fairly, 240;
     public prayers for, 248;
     is much worse, 250;
          certainty of his recovery, 251;
     his charter, 254, 256;
     reports upon his Condition,    257;
     requires stricter management, 259;
     is removed to Kew, 261, 265-6;
     state of his health, 268, 272, 273;
     takes his first walk, 274;
     his varying condition, 276-7;
     is treated by Dr. Willis, 274, 278;
     on the queen's birthday, 281;
     chases Fanny in Kew Gardens, 287-92;
     his gradual amendment, 294-8;
     is completely restored, 299;
     inquires after Fanny, 300;
     illuminations on his recovery, 303;
     his reception in the New Forest, 310;
     at LyDdhurst, 311;
     at Salisbury, Dorchester,         Weymouth, 313;
     his sea baths, 314-6;
     his amusements at and excursions from Weymouth, 316-21;
     at Exeter and Saltram, 322-3;
     again at Weymouth, 329;
     at Longleat, 330;
     at Tottenham Court, 332;
     returns to Windsor, 333;
     at Covent Garden Theatre, 335-40;
     is interested in the Hastings trial, 395. 456 ;
     his birthday, 395, 399;
     reads Boswell's "Johnson," 401-2;
     takes leave of Fanny, 409;
     meets her again; 436;
     chats with her, 448-9, 453-6;
     "Camilla" presented to him, iii. 100, 106-7;
     notices M. d'Arblay, 110;
     remarks on "Camilla," 111;
     chats with Fanny, 145;
     with Dr. Burney, 185-7;
     is again mad; 252, 267;
     his death, 440.
Ghent, see Gand.
Gibbon eulogises Fanny, i. xxvi;
     meets her, 228-32;
     reads "Cecilia," 254;
     falls into the Thames, 275;
     admires Lady Elizabeth Foster, ii. 428.
Girardin, Alexandre de, iii. 34.
Glastonbury Abbey, ii. 421.
Gloucester,  Fanny at, ii. 171.
Gloucester,  Dr. Halifax, bishop of, ii. 173.
Gloucester, Princess Sophia of, iii. 151.
Gloucester,    William       Frederick, Duke of,   iii. 151.
Gloucester, William Henry, Duke of, ii. 98, 311 ; iii. 151.
Goethe, his   "Sorrows of Werther," i. xxxi, 320.
Goldsmith, Dr., his "Good-Natured man" and "The Rambler," i.
     83-4;
     his love for Mary Horneck, 111;
     his blundering ways, 232.
Goldsworthy, Colonel          (equerry), his character and
humour, i. 421;
     is offended with Fanny, 427;
     his duties and discomforts, 429-31; 440;
     his remarks on the Court concerts, 444; ii- 17;
     character and humour, 36-7;
     derides Col. Manners, 40-2;
     his huge coat collar, 84;
     at Worcester, 199 213
     his breach of etiquette, 216, 218;
     during George III.s illness, 228-9, 231, 233, 235, 239, 261,
     268;
     at Weymouth, 320, 323, 407.
Goldsworthy, Miss (governess to the princesses), i. 2o2, 342,
     365, 421; ii. 32, 231-5, 238-9, 240, 246, 252, 266; 270,
     396, 406-7, 434.
Gomme, Miss, Court attendant, ii. 34, 95, too, 270, 283, 295,
     342, 405, 434 ; iii. 105.
Gordon, Lord George, i. 192-5-7, 411;
     riots, i. 165, 192-9.
Grafton, Duke of, iii. 27.
Grattan, Henry, iii. 278, 281.
Gregory, Miss, i. 100-3; ii. 424.
Grenville, General, ii. 50, 218, 407.                             Greville, Colonel, equerry, see Wellbred.
Greville, Fulk, patron ofDr. Burney, i. xiii.
Grey, Mr., afterwards Earl, at the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 97;
     and Reform, 463;
     alluded to, iii. 389.
Grub Street, Fanny's proposed visit to, i. 199.
Guibert, M., iii. 56.
Guiche, Countess de, ii. 39.
Guiffardiere, Rev. C. de, see "Turbulent."
Gunning, Charlotte, see Fuzilier.
Gunning, Sir Robt., ii. 126, 224, 342.
Gwatkin, Mr., i. 92, 119; ii. 444.
Gwynn, Colonel (king's equerry), ii- 45, 47, 51, 155, 158-9, 162,
     165, 173, 191, 247, 317, 407 ;
     Mrs., see Horneck, Mary.

Haggerdorn, Mrs., keeper of the queen's      robes,   succeeded
          by Fanny, i. 329-31; ii. 24, 153.
Hagget, Rev. Mr., i. 379, 383, 385, 390, 396-8.
Hales, Lady, on "Evelina," i. 67.
Halifax, Dr.,   ii. 173.
Hamilton , "Single speech," i. 164.
Hamilton, Sir William, ii. 38.
Hamilton,      Lady Ann, iii. 442.
Hamilton,      Mrs., of Chesington, i. 60, 200,     233 ; iii.
     63.
Hampden,       Mrs., i. 250.
Harcourt, Earl of, i. 122-3, 373-4, 379, 385, 387-8, 390, 400;
     ii. 185, 191, 388, 399;
     Countess of, i. 373, 377, 382, 385, 390, 393-4 ii. 185, 191.
Harcourt, General, i. 380, 383, 385, 390; ii. 39, 244, 268;
     Mrs., i. 396; ii. 39, 281.
Harrington, Dr., i. 171-8, 195.
Harrington, Rev. Henry, i. 171-2, 177.
Harris, James, i. 198; ii. 355-8.
Hartington, Marquis of, ii. 426.
Hastings, Warren, Fanny's opinions of, i. xxxvii;
     Queen Charlotte and, xxxviii;
     meets Fanny, 326;
          his marriage, 327;
     the storm gathering round, ii. 44;
     résumé of his career, impeachment, trial, 86-94;
     Fanny's account of his trial, 95-139, 143-9, 345-6, 352-5,
     357-65,
     370-3, 389-95, 437-47, 452,455-6;

     meets Windham, 373;
     is acquitted, iii. 92.
Hastings, Mrs. Warren, account of, i. 327;
     visits Fanny, 352;
     is defended by her, 371, 372;
     mischief making about, 400;
     her money, ii. 92;
     her eccentricities, 451.
Hawke, Lady, i. 225-8; ii. 150.
Hawkesworth, i. xvi.
Hawkins, Mr., surgeon of the royal household, ii. 235, 252, 260,
     276.
Hawkins the, ii. 200.
Hayes, Mrs., i. 443.
Heberden, Dr., king's physician, ii. 38, 226, 232, 234, 250;
     Mrs.      and Miss, i. 360; ii. 39.
Henderson, John, actor, i. 317.
Henin, Princess d', iii, 56, 119, 136, 218-9, 222, 304-5, 307;
     her flight from Paris with Fanny, 311, 313-25, 330;
     at Brussels, 335, 343, 349, 304, 369, 370.
Herschel, Miss, her comet, i. 409; ii. 58; iii. 131.
Herschel, Dr. (afterwards Sir W.), his telescope, i. 408-9, 445;
     discussed, ii. 37, 38, 40, 58;
     visited by Dr. Burney, iii. 131, 184-7.
Hoole, John, i. 259, 285.
Horneck, Catherine (Mrs Bunbury), "Little Comedy," i. 111; ii.
     51.
Horneck, Mary (Mrs. Gwynn), the Jessamy Bride, i. 111, 114; ii.
     45, 140, 317, 319;
Mrs., i. 111, 114.
Howard, Lady Frances, i- 343-4, 352, 439 ; ii. 222.
Howard, Sir George, i. 344, 352 ii. 222.
Howe, Lord, and the I"Vengeur," iii. 143.
Huddisford, Mr., his libel on Fanny, i. 113, 119.
Hulin, General, iii. 224-5.
Humphries, Miss, i. 62-3.
Hundred Days, the, iii. 292-3.
Huntingdon, i. 176, 180.
Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, ii. 143, 199.

Ilfracombe, Fanny at, iii. 398;
     her adventure at, 405-18.
Illness of George III., ii. 221-99.
Imhoff, Madame, marries Warren Hastings, i. 327.
Impey, Sir Elijah, ii. 89, 118.
Inchiquin, Lord, iii. 125.

Jacobi, Mdlle., Fanny's successor, ii. 403-9, 434, 447; iii. 102,
     106, 109, 142.
jaucourt, M. de, iii. 14, 29-32, 80.
jenyns, Soame, praises "Cecilia," i. 261-3.
jerningham, his verses, i. xxvii.
Jervis, Admiral, iii. 143.
Johnson, Commodore, i. 168.
Johnson, Samuel, LL. D., his friend- ship for Dr. Burney, i. xvi;
     his opinion of "Evelina," xxvi;
     his last message to Fanny, xxix;
     assists her with "Cecilia," lii-lv;
     "Evelina" read to him, 71, 73;
meets Fanny, 77;
tails at Langton, 81;
praises "Evelina," 83, 90, 103;
     abuses the Scotch, 84-5;
     criticises Mrs. Burney's dress, 86;
     his stories of Bet Flint and Mrs. Pinkethman, 87-8;
     his household, 95;
     his opinion of Mrs. Montagu, 97-9;
     his compliments and bitter sayings, 104-6;
     kisses Fanny, 109;
     disputes with Sir P. J. Clerke, 128-9;
     advises Fanny respecting her play, 130-2;
     his account of the Gordon riots, 192;
     offers to take Fanny to Grub Street, 199;
     is appointed Thrale's executor,    202;
     intercedes for Mauritius Lowe, 209;
     his "Life of Lord Lyttelton," 211-3;
     his sportive moods, 215;
     at Brighton, 238;
     on Gray and Pope, 240-1;
     his bluster at Lord de Ferrars, 243;
     is held in general dread, 247
     attends Miss Monckton's assembly, 250-5;
     his inmates at Bolt Court, 258;
     is attacked by paralysis, 272;
     his failing health, 283;
     his death, 285-8;
     his letters to Mrs. Thrale, ii. 74;
     his intercourse with Windham, 103, 136-8;
     his life by Boswell, 377, 400;
     his monument at Lichfield, iii. 129;
     his portrait by Reynolds, 389;
     his view of sorrow, 445.
Joigny, Fanny at, iii. 234.
Jones, Colonel, commander at Brussels, iii. 350, 363.
Jordan, Mrs., ii. 79; in "The Country Girl," 185, 190.
juniper Hall, French émigré's at, i. xliv; iii. 11, 13, 15, 28,
     61.


Kaye, Captain, a beau, i. 245-6.
 Kenyon, Lord, ii. 393.
Kew Palace, the Court at, i. 349-51, 367, 422; ii. 50-4;
     during the king's illness, 265-303;
     gardens of, Fanny chased by George III., 287;
     Fanny's farewell to, 407.
Klopstock, his "Messiah," i. x1xi, 320.

L'AEKEN, palace of, iii. 341.
Ladd, Sir John, i. 107;
     Lady, i. 92, 109.
Lafayette. Marquis de, iii, 12, 14, 29, 31, 86, 207, 426;
     Marchioness de, iii. 221;
     Mdlle. de, iii. 223.
Lalande, J. J. de, ii. 208-11.
Lally-Tolendol, Count de, iii. 13;
     his tragedy, 54;
     at Norbury, 118, 136;
     his qualities, 196-7;
     his flight from France, 312-4, 316-25, 328, 364, 369.
Lamb, Lady Caroline, iii, 344.
Lamballe, Princess de, ii. 50.
Lameth, iii. 16, 319-20.
Langton, Bennet, admires "Evelina," i. xxvii;
     his children and affairs, 81-2;
     at Johnson's deathbed, 286-8;
     his wife, ii. 83;
     mimics Johnson, 453.
Lansdowne, Lord, his connection with Waller and Pope, i. xxx;
     iii. 260.
Latour-Maubourg, Victor de, iii. 273, 309.
Lauriston, General, iii. 171, 227, 241.
Lavalette, Marquis de, his escape, iii. 386-8.
Law, Mr., ii. 437, 439-41, 443.
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, his precocity, i. 167.
Lenox, Charlotte, her novel, "The Female Quixote," i. lvi;
     Johnson on, ii. 401.
Lever, Sir Ashton, ii. 319.
Levett, Robert, at Dr. johnson's, i. 96.
Liancourt, Duke de, iii. 13, 18-22, 24-8, 37.
Lindsay, Lady Anne, i. 144.
Linley, Eliza Anne, married to Sheridan, i. 111-12, 344 [see
     Sheridan, Mrs.].
Linley,      Miss,     sister    to    Mrs. Sheridan, i. 121.
Literary Club, The, meeting at, iii. 44.
Lobau, Count, iii- 355.
Locke, Mr. and Mrs.,         of Norbury Park, i. 277, 280-2, 312,
     344, 411; ii. 299, 305; iii. 16, 39,
     59, 76, 81, 115, 120, 144, 154,
     202, 252, 279, 384-5, 394, 441,
     450, 455;
     William, son of, his artistic talent, i. 312-3 ; ii. 60,
     141.
London, Porteus, Bishop of, ii. 82.
Long, Dudley, ii. 97.
Longleat, the Court at, ii. 330;
     paintings at, 331.
Lort, Michael, D.D., and "Evelina," i. 89, 90.
Loughborough, Lord, ii. 462.
Louis xvi, his trial and execution, iii. 42-4, 48, 53-4.
Louis xviii., his levee at Grillon's, 276;
     Fanny presented to, 284-8;
     his reception in Paris, 291, 310, 318;
     reaches Ghent, 337, 349;
     leaves for France, 364-5.
"Love and Fashion," Fanny's comedy, iii. 193.
Lowe, Mauritius, painter, i. 209.
Lowndes, J., publishes "Evelina," i. xxiv, xxv, 59, 61, 69, 75;
     is interviewed by Fanny, 79.
Luc, M. de, i. 443; ii. 9,        40, 48, 65-8, 70, 243-4, 262,
     320, 391,      393, 396, 403, 435-6;
     Mrs de, i- 353, 363 ; ii. 405.
Lucan, Lady, and Mrs. Siddons, i. 257-8.
Lulworth Castle, The Court at, ii. 318;
     Fanny at, 320.
Luxembourg, Duke de,         iii. 345.
Luxemburg, M. d'Arblay's mission to, iii. 339.
Lyndhurst, the king at, ii. 311.
Lyme, Fanny at, ii. 418.

MacBean, Johnson's amanuensis, i. 96.
Macartney, Earl, ii. 456.
Macburneys, The, i., xiii.
Malesherbes, M. de, iii. 48, 54,
Malouet, iii. 37.
Manners,
colonel, afterwards General (equerry), his eccentric sayings, ii.
     36-8;
     his singing, 40-2;
     plagues Mrs. Schwellenberg, 42;
     his election beating, 213;
     alluded to, 152, 257;
     mystifies Mrs. Scbwellenberg, 305;
     as an M.P., 351;
     mentioned, 393, 407; iii. 110-2.
Mansfield, Lord, i. 192-3; ii. 464.
Markham, Archbishop, ii. 105.
Marlborough, Duke of, is colour-blind, i. 307;
     at Oxford, 386-7-9;
     Duchess of, 386-9.
Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess of, anecdote of, i. 169.
Mary, Princess, i. 353-4, 365; ii. 34, 39, 296, 396, 4o6, 434;
     iii. 138, 164, 266, 437-9, 440.
Maurville, Mdme. de, iii. 334, 338, 348, 358, 364.
Mazancourt, Count de, iii. 339-40, 377.
Melbourne, Lord, iii. 243, 344.
Menage, Countess de, ii. 413.
"Memoirs of Dr. Burney,"'i. xxiii, lv, 234; iii. 455.
"Metastasio, Life of," Dr. Burney's, iii. 89, 92, 103.
Metcalf, Philip, M.P., i. 244-5, 250.
Mhaughendorf, Miss, i- 375-7, 381.
Mickleham, Fanny at, iii. 46, 49, 50, 52;
     her marriage at, 67, 71.
Miller, Sir John, i. 174, 180, 190, 221.
 Miller, Lady, "The Lady of the Vase," i. xxvii, 74-5, 180, 189,
     221; ii. 424.
Milton Abbey, ii. 417.
Mithoff, Rev. Mr., i. 418-20.
Molloy, Capt., R.N., ii. 324-7.
Molyneux, Sir F., ii. 98.
Monckton, Hon. Miss (afterwards Countess of Cork), meets Fanny,
     i. 248;
     her assembly, 249-56, 257; ii. 102-3.
Monmoulin, Mdlle., i. 365; ii. 34, 270, 282, 295-6, 342.
Montagu, Duke of, i. 365, 440.
Montagu, Elizabeth, née Robinson,
     her writings, conversation, and disposition, i. 97-8;
     Johnson's opinion of, 99;
     meets Fanny, 100-3;
     her opinion of Johnson's "Life of Lord Lyttelton," 210;
     praises "Cecilia," 251-2;
     Frances Reynolds's letter to, 260;
     mentioned, ii. 82, 424, 432, 450.
Montagu, Frederick, M.P., ii. 97, 291.
Montmorency, Viscount de, iii. 14, 28, 39, 53, 80.
Mordaunt, Lord, i. 134.
More, Hannah, her flattery, i. 122, 185.
Mornington, Lady, ii. 338.
Mortemart, Mdlle. de, iii. 218, 224.
Mount Edgecumbe, Lordand Lady, i. xvii ; ii. 323, 327.
Mount Edgecumbe, Fanny at, ii. 327.
Mountmorres, Lord, ii. 336-9.
Mulgrave, Lord, i. xvii, 168, 172-4-6; ii. 83, 150;
     Lady, ii. 83, 150.
Mulso, Hester, see Chapone.
Murat,   iii. 368.
Murphy, Arthur, offers to assist Fanny Burney in writing a play,
     i. xxviii, 130-1, 133, 134.
Murray, Lady, iii. 419.
Musgrave, Mr., i. 221.
Musters, Mrs., a beauty, i.      154.

Napoleon, see Bonaparte,
Narbonne, Count de, in England, i. xliv; iii. 29-30, 35-7, 40,
     43, 45, 52, 54, 57, 82, 97;
     in France, 253;
     his death,       273.
Necker, M., iii. 36, 47, 52, 220,
Netherlands, King and Queen of the, iii. 339, 365.
Newcastle, Duke of, ii. 96.
New Forest, the king's reception            in the, ii. 310.
Ney, Marshal, and his iron cage for Napoleon, iii. 304.
Nicholson, Margaret, her attempt against the king, i. 355-61,
     367.
Nore, the, mutiny at, iii. 139.
Norfolk, Duke of, iii. 158.
North, Colonel, ii. 97.
North, Lord, ii, 392.
Nugent, Colonel, reads an address to Louis XVIII., iii. 286.
Nuneham, royal visits to, i. 374-85, 396 ; ii- 156.

O'Connor, Arthur, iii. 166.
Ogle, Mrs., ii. 187-8; iii. 397.
Omai, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii.
Orange, Prince (William 1. of Holland) and Princess of, iii. 147,
          231, 339, 365.
Orange, Prince of (William II. of Holland), iii, 365.
Ord, Mrs., a "blue stocking," i. 259, 261-3, 333-4; ii. 82, 150,
     370, 378, 410-29.
Orford, Lord, ii. 434-5.
"Original Love Letters," ii. 170, 182.
O'Riley, Miss, a flirt, i. 205.
Orleans, Mdlle d', ii. 449-50; iii. 23.
Orloff, Count, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii.
Otaheite, rubbing noses at, iii. 60.
Owen, Miss, i. 13-5.
Oxford, royal visits to, i. xxxv-vi, 385-95; ii. 156.

Pacchierotti, Gasparo, vocalist, i. XVii, 121, 224, 263-4; ii.
     356.
Paine, Thomas, in Suffolk, ii. 450.
Palmer, Miss, and "Evelina," i. 92-5;
     at Reynolds's, 113-20, 228-9, 256;
     at Cheltenham, ii. 169, 173-4, 411, 431;
     inherits from Reynolds, marries Lord Inchiquin, 444.
Palmerston, Lord, i. 115-20.
Pamela, Mdme. de Genlis's, ii. 449; iii. 23.
Paoli, General Pasquale, pays homage to Fanny, i. xxvii;
     her account OF, 23-5.
Paradise, Mr. and Mrs., i. 224-8.
Paris, Fanny in, iii. 215;
     a parade in presence of the first Consul, 224 ;
     the influenza in, 239;
     on Napoleon's return from Elba, 305;
     Fanny's flight from, 308 et seq.;
     her return to, 378.                                          Paston Letters," the, ii. 21-2, 150.
Payne and Cadell, publish "Cecilia," i. 254.
Pembroke, Elizabeth, Countess of, i- 135-6, 178.
Pepys, Lucas, Dr., afterwards Sir, i. 239; ii. 83, 126;
     attends the king, 250-3, 262-4, 276, 284, 287; 432 ; iii.
     177, 180.
Pepys, W. W., afterwards Sir, i. 148, 210-3, 239-41        ii.
     82; iii. 177.
Percy,  Bishop, ii. 428; iii. 44.
Perkins, Mr., i. 197.
Philidor, iii. 405.
Phillips, Captain Molesworth, i. 60, 224, 231 ; ii. 357, 437;
     iii. 31, 35, 59, 71, 113;
     Mrs., see Burney, Susanna.
Pinkethman, Mrs. and Dr. Johnson, i. 88.
Piozzi, Signor, marries Mrs. Thrale, i. 236-8, 278-9 ; iii. 88.
Piozzi, Mrs. (Thrale), leaves England, i. 237;
     is gay and happy, 288 ;
     publishes her correspondence with Johnson, ii. 74-8, 101;
     is attacked by Baretti, ii. 167, 176;
     meets Fanny, 355;
     Dr. Burney, iii. 88;
     at Bath, 386, 396-7, 422;
     letters from, 443-5-7;
     her death, 448;
     compared with Mdme. de Stael, 449.
Pitt, William, and the Regency bill, i, XXXi., ii. 220-1;
     and the  Hastings trial, ii. 93, 108, 135;
     at Windsor, 263;
     D'Arblay's application to, iii. 74;
     his "loyalty loan," 121.
Planta, Miss, English teacher and attendant to the princesses;
     her intercourse with Fanny, i. 291, 349-51, 361, 365,
374-87, 390-8, 415, 437, 443, 446 ; ii. 18, 30-3, 46, 65-9,
     85, 139, 155-9, 161-8, 170, 180-5, 189-94, 200-1, 218, 224,
     228, 242, 246, 262, 266-9, 283, 312-4-6, 322-3, 327-9,
     335-8, 405, 434; iii. 99, 142, 155, 163.
Plymouth dockyard, ii. 323.
Polier, Colonel, a gourmand, i. 336, 340, 345.
Polignac, Duke and Duchess de, at Windsor, ii. 39;
     the duchess and the Diamond Necklace scandal, ibid.
Port, Miss, account of, i. 293;
     at Mrs. Delany'S, 293, 298, 300;
     serves tea to George III., 315, 318;
     her intercourse with Fanny, 337-8, 342, 401, 418, 427, 440;
     ii. 36, 39, 40, 46, 49, 141-2, 150, 184-6, 192.
Porteus, Dr., Bishop of Chester, i. 313 ; ii. 82.
Portland, Duchess of, née Harley, inquires after "Cecilia," i.
     251, 253;
     meets Fanny, 267-70;
     her death, 290;
     Duke of, iii. 125.
Powderham Castle, ii. 420.
Prémorel, M. de, iii. 340, 346, 377-8.
Price, Major, equerry to George III, i. 338, 344, 352, 355, 358,
     363-6, 371, 380, 383-7, 390, 396-7, 400, 416, 421; ii, 17,
     45, 176,       203, 206, 341, 346, 436.
Princes, the, see    Cumberland, Gloucester, Dukes of, Wales,
     Prince of, William, Prince (Duke of Clarence), and York,
     Duke of.
Princess Royal, Charlotte (Queen of Wiirtemburg), i. 339, 348,
     354, 358, 365, 375, 377-8, 385, 387, 416, 420, 422-3; ii.
     10, 35, 199, 216, 266, 340, 347, 409, 447; iii. 104, 107;
     is presented to her fiancé, 115; 122;
     her marriage, 138-9.
Princesses, the, i- 353, 357, 365, 377, 389, 394; ii. 33, 224,
     236, 265, 269-70, 271-2, 409, 455;
     their births, marriages, deaths, iii. 123; 451, 454;
     see also Amelia;     Augusta,         Elizabeth, Mary,
     Princess      Royal,       and Sophia.
"Probationary Odes," the, ii. 145.
Prussia, King of, iii. 289.

Quatre Bras, battle of, iii. 347, 351.
Queen, the, see Charlotte, Queen.

Raikes, Robert, founder of Sunday schools, ii. 171-3.
Ramsden, Colonel, equerry, ii. 36-7, 407.
Regency bill, the, i. xxxix; ii. 220-1, 271, 276, 296-9.
Regent, Prince, see Wales.
Revolution, the French, résumé of the principal events of, from
     September 1791 to March 1793, iii. 11-5;
     the capture of the Bastille, 18;
     the invasion of the Tuileries, 19;
     the Duke de Liancourt's efforts at Rouen, 19-22;
     decrees against the emigres, 33;
     trial and execution of Louis XVI., 42-4, 48;
     sieges of Dunk-irk and Toulon, 73-4, 78;
     the insurrection of the 18th Fructidor, 136;
     the "Vengeur" legend, 143;
     the peace of Amiens, 171;
     the revolutionary calendar, 214.
Reynolds, Mrs. Frances, i. 78, 199, 260.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi;
     reads "Evelina," 78;
     his meeting and intercourse with Fanny, 92-5, 106, 113, 123,
     125-6;
     is derided by Blakeney, 160;
     his opinion of Lawrence, 167;
     his picture of Beattie, 184;
     introduces Fanny to Burke and Gibbon, 228-32;
     with Fanny at Miss Monckton's, 29-6, 259-60, 272; ii. 82;
     at the Hastings trial, 100;
     his failing eyesight, 333, 377, 411, 431-2;
     his death, his disposition of his fortune, 444 ;
     his paintings at Streatham, iii. 389.
Rhamus, Mr., ii. 11, 13.
Rhine, scenery of the, iii, 377.
Richmond, Reynolds's dinner         party at, i. 228.
Richmond, Duke of,            ii.  321;
     Duchess of, her ball at Brussels, iii. 367.
Riggs, Mrs., i. 174, 189.
Roberts, Dr., provost of Eton, i. 401, 440.
Roche, Mdme. de la, authoress, i. 409-16.
Rochefoucault, Duke de la, iii. 22.
Rogers, Samuel, iii. 177, 270, 454.
Rothes, Lady, ii. 432; iii. 177, 180.
Rousseau, J. J., George III. on, i. xxx, 316.
Rovigo, Duke de, iii. 253.
Royal, Princess, see Princess.
Rumford, Count, iii. 133.
Russia, Alexander 1. of, iii. 289.
Rutland, Mary Isabella, Duchess of, i. 215.

Sackville, Lord George, R. Cumberland and George III. on, i.
     315-6.
St. Asaph's, Bishop of, 1, 229.
St. James's Palace, Court drawingrooms at, i. 308, 350, 369 ; ii.
     9-15, 33-5, 65-6, 85, 304, 335;
     the Court at, 345-73, 382, 396, 408 ;
     attempt against George III. outside, i. 356.
St. just, de, iii. 35.
St. Vincent, Lord, iii. 143.
Salisbury, i. 197;
     Bishop of, i. 338; iii. 386, 437;
     Marquis of, ii. 292, 399.
Saltram, the Court at, ii. 323.
Sandwich, Earl of, i. xvii.
Savile, Sir George, i. 193.
Saxe-Gotha, Duke of, i. 344.
Saye and Sele, Lady, i. 225-8; ii. 151;
     Lord, i. 227-8.
Schwellenberg, -,Mrs., keeper of the queen's robes,
     Fanny's life with, i. xxxiv, X1, x1ii, 290;
     knows Mrs. Hastings, 327-8;
     Fanny is introduced to her, 331-2, 335-40, 344-53, 355, 358;
     Fanny's bitter experience of her begins, 359 ; 360;
     invites herself to supper, 363
     falls ill, 366;
     offers Fanny a gown from the queen, 367;
     in a Pet, 371; 373-4;
     makes mischief about Mrs. Hastings, 400;
     her tyranny, 404; 4113-5, 418-20
     again ill, 421-2, 425; ii. 35;
     teased by the equerries, 42-6;
     suspicious of Turbulent, 46, 52, 56;
     her tyrannical ways, 62, 65-8;
     her capriciousness, 68-71      72;
     does Fanny a favour, 74-7;
     extremely ill, 84, 139;
     returns to Windsor, 152;
     Fanny's nickname for, 157;
     twits Fanny about marriage, 209, 217;
     rails at her, 215-6;
     angry with Goldsworthy, 217;
     again ill, 218;
     during the king's illness, 246-7, 253, 269, 271;
     her cruelty to Fanny, 272-4;
     her aversion for Fairly' 275; 282-3;
     George III. on her conduct, 290;
     accuses Fanny of visiting gentlemen, 295;
     in a temper, 301-2;
     is mystified, 304;
     rails at Fairly, 341;
     with Fanny, 347, 378-9, 381, 384-7;
     at Prince William's drinking bout, 396-8;
     is kissed by him, 400;
     her severity, 4o6;
     takes leave of Fanny, 407;
     with her again, 434-7;
     is all civility, 447;
     her death, iii. 142.
Scott, Major, ii. 92, 105, 108.
Scott, Sir Walter, iii- 454-5.
"Seduction," a play, ii. 32.
Selwyn, Mr., banker, i. 161-7.
Sercey, Henriette de, ii. 449-50; iii. 23.
Seward, William, i. xxvii;
     his meetings with Fanny, 77-8, 89, 90, 109-10;
     and Sophy Streatfield, 132, 137, 142, 144-5;
     his ennui and suggested play, 142-4, 212-5, 218-22, 272;
     meets Fanny at Cheltenham, ii. 167, 170, 173; 411 ; iii.
     174;
     his death, 183.
Shakespeare, George III.'s opinions of, i. xxx, 318;
     gallery, the, ii. 464.
Shelley, Lady, i. 242.
Shenstone, William, i.     212.
Shepherd, Dr. A., ii. 55,        208-11, 217.
Sherborne Castle, ii. 319, 330.
Sheridan, R. B., eulogises Fanny, i. xxvi;
     marries Miss Linley, 111-2, 344;
     meets Fanny, 123, 145;
     Mrs. Thrale's bon mot on, 223;
     at the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 139, 438.
Sheridan, Mrs., née Linley,
     her beauty, talents, marriage, i. 111-2;
     meets Fanny, 121, 344.
Shipley, Georgiana, i. 229.
Siddons, Mrs., meets Fanny, i. 257 ;
     praised by George III., 321;
     disappointing on near acquaintance, ii. 52; 317-9;
     buys Sadler-,' Wells, iii. 149.
Sidmouth, ii. 419.
Sleepe, Esther, mother of Fanny Burney,
     her marriage and death, i. xiv;
     Mr., i. 199.
Smelt, Mr.,  Court official, i. 166, 324, 327-31, 437-9, 443-5;
     ii. 9, 15, 19, 20-2, 50, 83, 241, 243-4, 273, 276-7, 293,
     297, 300, 303;
     Mrs., i. 437-8, 440; ii. 241.
Smith, Mr. Thrale's Cousin, i. 106-7.
Smith, Charlotte, iii. 75.
Sophia, Princess, and Mr. Webb's nose, 1. 311; 353, 365; ii. 34,
     211, 309, 406, 434, 455; iii. 140,
     156.
Sophia of Gloucester, Princess, see Gloucester.
Southwell, Lord, i. 209.
Souza, Mdme. de, iii. 236-8.
Spanish prisoners at Dunkirk, iii. 259;
     ship captured, 399.
Spencer, Countess, i.       359; ii. 424-9; iii. 92;
     Earl, 424-7;
     the Ladies, i. 386-7-9; ii.   23.
Stael, Madame de, in England, i. xliv, iii. 14, 32;
     her   first letters in English, 45;
     Fanny's admiration for, 46-8, 50;
     Dr. Burney's disapproval of, 51;
     defended by Fanny, 52, 55-61       80;
     snubbed by Fanny, 220;
     regretted by her, 269, 382;
     compared with Mrs. Thrale, 449;
     M. de, iii. 47.
Stainsforth, Mrs., ii. 399.
Stanhope, Mr., ii. 396.
Stonehenge, ii. 417.
Stormont, Lord, ii. 446.
Strange, Sir Robert and Lady, iii. 173;
     Mary Bruce, i. 288.
Streatfield, Mrs., i. 149-50;
     Sophia, the weeping beauty, i. 132-3, 137-42, 144-5, 149-53,
     219-21, 283; ii. 450; Iii. 405.
Streatham, the Thrales' residence at, i. xxvi;
     Fanny at, 75-8, 80, 110, 127-33, 137-49, 203-23;
     the paintings at, iii. 389;
     dismantled and forsaken, 448.
Stuart, Lady, Louisa, ii. 69-70.
Sunday schools established, ii. 171.
Sydney, Lady, ii. 317.

Talleyrand-PérigGord, Charles Maurice de, at juniper Hall, i.
     xliv; iii. 14, 39;
     is found charming, 50; 53, 55;
     his letters of adieu, 83;
     Fanny indignant with, 153;
     her bon mot to, 382.
Tallien, iii. 47.
Taylor, Michael Angelo, ii. 97, 145, 452.
Templetown, Lord and Lady, ii. 151.
Tewkesbury, Fanny at, ii. 191.
Thackeray, Mrs., ii. 69.
Thielky, Mrs., i. 340, 345-6, 353, 374, 381-2.
Thrale, Mr., "Evelina" read to, i. 71;
     his character and acquirements, 75; 82, 86, 89, 90, 92, 96,
     127-8, 132-4, 149, 153, 166, 168, 194-7;
     his death, 200-3.
Thrale, Mrs., hears about "Evelina," i. xxv,
     her character and disposition, xxvi;
     her second marriage, xxix
     admires "Evelina," 68, 71-2;
     advises Fanny to write for the stage, 74, 129-31;
     her kindness to Fanny, 76, 80;
     praises "Evelina" to Dr. Lort, 90-1;
     to Mrs. Montagu, 102-5;
     makes sport with Reynolds, 92-5;
     converses with Johnson, 95-7;
     her opinions of him, 104-6;
     suggests some husbands for Fanny, 106-8;
     mentioned, 109-10;
     at Brighton with Fanny, 133, 136, 149, 339-48;
     with Sophy Streatfield, 132, 137-42;
     meets the Cumberlands, 156-8;
     converses with Blakeney, 159-63;
     at Bath with Fanny, 165-97;
     loses her husband, 200-3;
     banters Crutchley, 216-9;
     her opinion of Mrs. Siddons, 257;
     alluded to, 258, 262, 265;
     her fascination and Wit, 277;
     marries PiOzzi, 236-8. See Piozzi, Mrs.
Thrale, Hester[" Queenie "], i. 75, 76, 92, 93, 101, 102, 133,
     149, 157, 203, 206-8, 224, 240, 243,
     284;
     Susan, i. 133, 240.
Thurlow, Lord Chancellor, ii. 99, 104, 263.
Tottenham Court, royal visit to, ii. 332;
     paintings at, 332-3.
Toulon, siege of, iii. 73-4, 76, 78, 90.
Tour du Pin, M. and Mdme. de la, iii. 335, 343, 349-50, 364.
Tournai, Fanny arrives at, iii. 327.
Travell, Beau, i. 76.
Treves, Fanny's journey to, iii. 370-8.
Tryon, Miss, ii. 304.
Tucker, Dean, ii. 173.
Tuileries, the, invaded, iii. 19;
     Bonaparte at, 224;
     Duchess d'Angouleme at, 294.
Tunbridge, Fanny at, i. 112, 149.
Turbulent, Mr. (Rev. C. de Guiffardi6re), account Of, i. 436;
     on Court routine, 443-4;
     introduces Wellbred to Fanny, ii. 16-21, 22;
     Worries Fanny, 24;
     teases Princess Augusta, 26-8;
     meets with a rebuff, 28-31;
     with the queen, 35;
     Mrs, Schwellenberg suspicious of, 46;
     annoys Fanny, 47-8;
     troublesome again, 54, 56-8;
     condemns himself, 80, 140-1;
     his troublesome pleasantries, 151-2, 208;
     rails at Fanny, 214-5;
     greatly altered, 222;
     during the king's illness, 244, 341, 400, 403.
Turner, Sir G. P., i. 227.
Twining, Rev. T., i. xvi.

Valletort, Lord, ii. 327-9.
Vandamme, General, iii. 368.
"Vengeur," legend of the, iii. 143,
Vernon, the Misses, i. 379, 383-7, 393, 396-8.
Vesey, Mrs., a bluestocking, i. 98, 122, 277. 373 ; ii. 97.
Victoire, Madame, daughter of Louis XV., iii. 36-7.
Villiers, Hon. George,      ii. 305, 307, 321.
Vincent, Count de, iii.     351.
Voltaire, George III. on, i. xxx, 316.

Waldegrave, Lady Caroline, i. 340; ii, 238, 322;
     Lady Elizabeth, i. 340, 365; ii. 39, 230-1, 233, 235, 238,
     240, 246, 252, 259, 265-6, 275, 322.
Wales, Prince of (George IV.), i. 360;
     his good heart but suspicious conduct, 373;
     his mother's anxiety regarding him, 432;
     on bad terms with the king, ii. 10;
     with the Polignacs, 39;
     reconciled with his father, 40;
     With the Duke of York at Windsor, 49-51;
     with the queen, 61, 64;
     at the Hastings trial, 98;
     his animal spirits, 189;
     eyes Fanny curiously, 211;
     and the Regency bill, 221;
     at Windsor during the king's illness, 228, 235, 237, 239-41,
     242-5, 263-4;
     goes to Kew, 266;
     at the play, 436; iii. 160;
     eulogised by Dr. Burney, 243;
     by the Duchess d'Angouleme, 299;
     his matrimonial troubles, 440-1.
Wallace, Mr., attorney-general, i. 205.
Waller, Edmund, ii. 204.
Wallis, Miss, iii. i49.
Walpole, Horace, "Evelina" attributed to, i. 79;
     chats with Fanny, ii. 85, 411; iii. 219. See Orford.
Walsingham,           Mrs.,      entertains Fanny, i. 256-7, 307;
     Lord, ii. 126.
"Wanderer, The," Mme. d'Arblay's novel, i. Xlvi, lv; iii. 248-9,
     255, 272-3-5.
Warren, Dr., ii. 224-5, 245, 280;
     Lady, her tale of a dowry hunter, i. 242.
Warton,    Dr. Joseph, i. 123, 401-2, 422 ; ii. 32 1.
Waterloo, battle of, iii, 357-68.
Webb, Mr., his huge nose, i. 311.
Wedderburn, Alex., see Loughborough.
Wellbred (Greville), Colonel, king's equerry,
     introduced to Fanny, ii. 16-21;
     disposition, 36-8;
     derides Manners, 40-2, 43-4;
     Fanny's opinion of, 78-9;
     his powers of sight, 84, 139, 151-2;
     accompanies George III. to Kew, 268, 285, 291.
Wellesley, Lady Anne, ii. 338.
Wellington, Duke of, iii. 291;
     at Brussels, 341-2, 345, 355
     at Waterloo, 360-7.
Wells Cathedral, ii.      422.
Wells, Mrs., actress, ii. 318, 464-8.
West, Benjamin,        R.A., ii. 35.
Wesley, Charles,       i. 344; iii. 183.
Weston, Miss, i.      179-80.
Weymouth, the          Court at, ii. 313
     Lady, i. 291 ; ii- 39, 155, 157, 162, 164, 185.
     See Bath, Marchioness of.
Whalley, Mr. and Mrs., i. 171-5, 180.
Whitworth, Lord, iii. 240.
Wieland, i. 409-10, 412.
Wilberforce, W., iii. 271, 442.
Wilkes, John, ii. 339.
William, Prince, Duke of Clarence, ii. 98, 189, 308;
     his partiality for champagne, 395-400; 436, 454; iii- 150,
     421, 436.
Williams, Anna, and " Evelina," i. 75;
     Johnson's account of, 95;
     befriended by Mrs. Montagu, 98, 258.
Willis,    Dr., senior, attends the king,  ii. 274, 276-9, 290-1,
     293, 296,   298;
     Dr. John, ii. 274, 278-9, 287, 291;
     Rev. Thos., ii. 277, 278-9, 335, 346.
Wilton, ii. 417;
     Lord Grey de, ii. 291.''
Winchester, ii. 413-7.
Windham, William, M.P., eulogises Fanny        xxvi ;
     at the Hastings trial, ii.      102-119, 120-1, 123, 130-8,
     144-9, 352-5, 357-65, 370-3, 390, 393, 438-43, 444-6, 447,
     452;
     portrayed by Fairly, 297-8;
     urges that Fanny should resign, 376;
     judged by Burke, 460; 463; iii. 38;
     at the            Literary Club, 44;
     at Burke's funeral, 125;
     his good breeding, 279.
Windsor, Fanny at, i.           )2-326, 331, 333;
     the Court at,         19-49, 352-66, 400-447; ii.
     16-31, 35-53, 55-61, 72-81, 139, 207; '

     during the king's illness, 222-64; 333, 340, 347, 373, 401;
     iii. 99-112, 185-7.
"Witlings, The," Fanny's comedy,
     Macaulay's account of, xviii;
     praised by Arthur Murphy, 133;
     its fate, 145-9.
Worcester, royal Visit to, ii. 109.
Wurtembvirg, Prince of, iii.             115, 156.
Wycherley, W, ii. 460.
Wynn, Sir Watkin, ii. 291.
W---, Miss, a young infidel, i. 180-4, 190-1; ii. 191.

York, Archbishop Markham of, ii. 105.
York, Duchess of, ii. 436, 454; Iii. 111-2, 145.
York, Frederick, Duke of, mentioned, i. 401, 417;
     returns to England,   49-51, 59, 63;
     with the queen, 85;
     at the Hastings trial, 98;
     his animal spirits, 189;
     at Cheltenham, 190;
     at Windsor during the king's illness, 226, 237;
     his father's favourite, 241, 242, 246, 251;
     his wife, 436;
     at the siege of Dunkirk, iii. 73;
     commander-in-chief, 11-2.
Young, Arthur, ii. 449;
     invites Fanny to Bradfield, 468;
     with the Duke de Liancourt, iii. 17-28;
     Mrs., ii, 449;
     Mary, ii. 449.
Young, Profesor , iii. 176.

TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH,





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