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Cre ss we ‘ *% ~ ’ - apairape er aORy (ot) 7) a ae at 7 A i La a PP : \ “ ae ‘" ‘ ft ~ y 4 \ ‘ ao MADAME D'ARBLAY. P a { ’ i , i = . - > s ‘ ‘ * : ; r Shi * ‘ , a . 2 ; ‘ } ia : M + . . . : at 5 r ‘ ' rr i 5 « ? } *. - : Z i ; ¢ 7 an - ty a ¥ ‘ \ Ay : =f ri ‘ i : ig ; © * “an U a ~ : : / x ; . fue ’ s ’ > 3 \ é % «5 4 f . © ANBRARY. <= Pe eree COP IHER yeu UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS - > - : 3 * \ ) ’ Me : _ : iS ~ ; ¢ ; ’ : + . ; z : bh * * « ‘ js “ ri i. S . :.? et aay bi : Bee ore a silts a + eh ee ; ¢@ _¢@ .* ‘ 7 i a VOM YY, . ai “LY ‘ DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME DARBLAY AS EDITED BY HER NIECE CHA WT Od DES BARR ETT VOL, IV.—1797 TO 1840. LONDON SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. NEW YORK: MACMILLAN & CO. 1893 SS) Kx is, th es way REMOTE STORAGE SYDIARY AND LETTERS * ym, ~— 2. ¥ A ehnt SVOAAMA EE Lae y et . 4 eas OR: MADAME D’ARBLAY. ? CHAPTER LIII. Lene Perils of Travelling—Invasion of Ireland—Dr. Burney’s. Lines to Madame d’ Arblay— Her drama of Cerulia—IlIness of Lord Orford—Dr. Burney’s poem ‘‘ Astronomy”— Vaccination School founded by Mr. Burke for the sons of French Emigrants—His funeral—Character of Edmund Burke— News of M. d’Arblay’s relatives— Etruria—Visit to Lichfield —Dr. James, inventor of the Fever powder—Visit to Dr. Herschel—Conversations on Astronomy—Letter of Lafayette— Removal of M. and Madame d’Arblay to their new hous isi i To- lendal— Madame d’Arblay visits the Royal Family—The mutiny and the honest sailor—Admiral Duncan’s victory—Interview with the Queen— Conversation with her Majesty—The Princess and the King—The Prince of Orange—Prince Ernest (King of Hanover)—Miss Farren—Mrs. Sid- Bye and. Sadler’s Wells—Prince William—Condescension of the Royal amily. Madame @Arblay to Dr. Burney. Bookham, January 8, ’97. ~ I 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 Ds Seed under his roof. Our adventures in coming back were better adapted to our de- Pparture than our 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 \S soldier does not like to see himself disgraced in his other half. nd so I was fain to keep up my courage, till, at length, after we VOL. IV. 1 2 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 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 but the pleasure we had had at Chelsea with my dearest father and dear Salkin. And just now I received a letter from our Susanna, which tells me the invasion has been made in a part of Ireland 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 formeaning. 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 uneasi- ness for his wife, whose situation is critical, and he hesitates whether or not to convey her to Dublin, as a place of more secu- rity than her own habitation. What a period this for the usual journey of our invaluable Susan | F, pA. 1797.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 8 Madame d’Arblay to Dr. Burney. Bookham, January 26, ’97. How is it, my dearest, kindest father, you have made me so in love with my own tears that no laughter ever gave my heart - such pleasure as those I have shed—even plentifully—over these sweet lines? How do they endear to me my little books —which, with the utmost truth I can aver, never, in all their circle of success, have procured me any satisfaction I can put on a par with your approbation of them! My little boy will be proud hereafter, however poor a gentleman now, to read such lines, addressed by such a grandfather to his mother. M. d’Arblay himself could not keep the tears within his eyes—hard as is his - heart—when he perused what so much touched me. He con- fesses your English grows upon him; and he does not much wonder if I, ike Mr. Courtenay, class it with the very first class —though I cannot boast quite as disinterested a generosity as that democratical friend. By the way, I hope soon to receive some copies of some of the early effusions of my partner. After he had left you yesterday, he saw a lady formerly very high in his good graces, who told him she had brought over with her, in her flight from her un- happy country, several of his juvenile pieces; and he begged them for his hermit. She thought him, probably, horribly John Bulli- fied, yet promised to look them out. ‘Indeed, she asked him if he did not find her bien changée ? and he replied, “ Ma foi, je ne peux pas vous le cacher.” I delight in the reference my dearest father has made to the Queen’s trust for her daughters in his most sweet lines. I am quite enchanted to hear of the two hundred additionals to my very favourite poem on Astronomy, or rather its history, Yet I ‘am provoked you have found no scattered verses to help on; for so many could never have been completed and refined without ‘many more sketched and imagined—at least, not if you compose like anybody else. Pope had always myriads half-finished, and dispersed, for future parts, while he corrected and polished the preceding. Dr. Johnson told me that. 1—2 A DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. I am very glad indeed you proceed with this design, which is likely, according to the best of my judgment, such as it is, to add very considerably to the stock of literature,and in a wall per- haps the most unhackneyed. To conduct to any science by a path strewed over with flowers is giving beauty to labour, and ; making study a luxury. When left alone the other day with the “poor gentleman,” in — the interval of our sports I took it into my mind to look at a ’ certain melancholy ditty of four acts, which I had once an idea of bringing forth upon the stage, and which you may remember Kemble had accepted,* but which I withdrew before he had time to show it to Sheridan, from preferring to make trial of ‘“Edwy and Elgiva,’ because it was more dramatic—but which ‘Edwy and Elgiva,’ I must always aver, never was acted. This other piece you have seen, and it lost you, you told me, a night’s rest— which, in the spirit of the black men in the funeral, made me all the gayer. However, upon this re-perusal, after near three years’ interment, I feel fixed never to assay it for representation. I shall therefore restore it to its first form, that of a tale in dia- logue, and only revise and endeavour to make it readable for a fire-side. And this will be my immediate occupation in my episodical moments taken from my two companions and my maz- sonnette: for since ‘Camilla’ I have devoted myself, as yet, wholly to them, as the solace of the fatigue that my engagement with time occasioned me—an engagement which I earnestly hope never more to make; for the fright and anxiety attending it can scarce be repaid. I rejoice Mrs. Crewe is in town. I hope you will see her often. No one can be more genial to you. I rejoice, too, Mr. Coxe has got hold of you. I know his friendly zeal will be at work to do all that is in his power to cheer you, and my dearest father has all the kind consideration for others that leads to accepting good offices. Nothing is so cruel as rejecting them. My Monsieur was very sorry to see so little of you, but he would not disappoint my expectations of his return. He did not imagine what a gem he brought me into the bargain. My own * Cerulia, 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 5 “Tittle gem,” as Etty (ill-naturedly) calls the poor gentleman, is blithe and well, F. pA, Dr. Burney to Madame @ Arblay. “Monday, February 6, 97, My DEAR Fanny,—TI shall prepare a scrap for parcellina, which will contain a communication of Mrs. Crewe’s further ideas about a periodical paper. You have her first sketch, and here she dis- plays great fertility of resources. All I ever said to her about your notions was that you thought her plan a good one, and pregnant with much matter for putting it in execution. She is very eager about it, and talks to Windham, the Duchess of Portland, &c., about it; and thinks, without being political, it may improve taste, morals, and manners. Her notion is that Sir Hugh would be an admirable successor to Sir Roger de Coverley. He is quite popular; and traits of his character, and benevolence and simplicity, sayings and “ bothers,” now and then would be delightful. I told her that I thought you would never have courage or activity sufficient to be the principal editor of such a paper ; but that, if well arranged and under an able con- ductor, you would have no objection to contribute your mite now and then: did I go too far ? The answer to inquiries of poor Lord Orford on Saturday were bad, and to-day the papers say there is little hope of his recovery. His papers are left (say the newswriters) to the care of Lord Cholmondely, Mr. Owen Cambridge, and Mr. Jerningham. I am glad you like my varses. If they should be good for anything, people would say, “ you have met with your desert.” I shall like to see some of our Chevalier’s effusions before he was John Bullified—I believe I have a few in an old “ Almanac des Muses.” | J think I can report (a little) progress in my astronoraic poem, but am more and more frightened every day in seeing more of the plan of the building I have to construct, of which little more than a corner had caught my eye at first. Above six hun- 6. DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. dred lines are now added to. what I read to you, and yet I am now only arrived at Ptolemy. To describe his system in verse will be very difficult, as technical Greek words are unwieldy in our monosyllabic measures. I think, if I could a little get up my spirits and perseverance, this business would fasten on me. But, alas, ’tis too late in the day for amendment of any sort! I am glad you have taken up your tale in dialogue. It pleased me, I remember, but seemed too simple for our stage; but, as a tale, I have no doubt but you will make it most pleasantly in- teresting. On! On! How does the poor dear little gentleman? You eannot be so dull with him as we are without him. However backward in speech, he is certainly eloquent in countenance and tones of voice. Give him, with my benediction, as many kisses as you think his due, and as I should give him if on my knee. C. B. Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. Bookham, February, ’97. T HARDLY know whether I am most struck with the fertility of the ideas Mrs. Crewe has started, or most gratified by their di- rection: certainly I am flattered where most susceptible of plea- sure, when a mind such as hers would call me forth from my retirement to second views so important in their ends, and de- manding such powers in their progress. But though her opinion would give me courage, it cannot give me means. I am too far removed from the scene of public life to compose anything of public utility in the style she indicates. The “manners as they rise,’ the morals or their deficiencies, as they preponderate, should be viewed, for such a scheme, in all their variations, with a diurnal eye. For though it may not be necessary this gentle- man-author should be a frequenter himself of public places, he must be sufficiently in the midst of public people, to judge the justice of what is communicated to him by his correspondents, The plan is so excellent it ought to be well adopted, and really fulfilled. Many circumstances would render its accomplishment 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 7 nearly impossible for me: wholly to omit politics would mar all the original design; yet what would be listened to unabused from a writer who is honoured by a testimony such as mine, of having resigned royal service without resigning royal favour ? Personal abuse would make a dreadful breach into the peace of my happiness; though censure of my works I can endure with tolerable firmness: the latter I submit to as the public right, by prescription ; the former I think authorised by no right, and re- coil from with mingled fear and indignation. I could mention other embarrassments as to politics—but they will probably occur to you, though they may escape Mrs. Crewe who is not so well versed in the history and strong character of M. d’Arblay, to whom the misfortunes of his general and friend are but additional motives to invincible adherence. And how would Mr. Windham, after his late speech, endure a paper in which M. de Lafayette could never be named but with respect and pity? You will feel, I am sure, for his constancy and his honour ; his profession de forin politics is exactly, he says, what you have so delightfully drawn in what you call your Lilliputian verses, and his attachment, his reverence, his gratitude for our King, are like my own. His arm, his life is at his service—as I have told the Princess Augusta, and he has told Lord Leslie. To a paper of such a sort, upon a plan less extensive, I feel no re- pugnance, though much apprehension. I have many things by me that, should I turn my thoughts upon such a scheme, might facilitate its execution ; and there my admirable mother’s—and, let me proudly say, her admirable godmother’s—work might and should, as I know she wishes, appear with great propriety; but even this is a speculation from which my agitated and occupied heart at present turns aside, from incapability of attention ; for I am just now preparing our little darling for his first sufferings and first known danger: he is to be inoculated about a week hence. Do, I entreat, dearest sir, tell Mrs. Crewe I am made even the happier by her kind partiality. Had matters been otherwise situated, how I should have delighted in any scheme in which she would have taken a part! 8 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. I long to see the six hundred lines: pray, work up Ptolemy, but don’t ask me how! I can hardly imagine anything more difficult for poetry. F. D’A, Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. Bookham, March 16, ’97. : MY DEAREST PADRE,—Relieved at length from a terror that, almost from the birth of my little darling has hung upon my mind, with what confidence in your utmost kindness do I call for your participation in my joy that all alarm is over, and Mr. Ansel has taken his leave! I take this large sheet, to indulge 1 in a Babiana which “dea gandpa” will, I am sure, receive with partial pleasure, upon this most important event to his poor little gentleman. When Mr. Ansel came to perform the dreaded operation, he desired me to leave the child to him and the maid; but my agi- tation was not of that sort. I wished for the experiment upon the most mature deliberation; but while I trembled with the suspense of its effect, I could not endure to lose a moment from the beloved little object for and with whom I was running such a risk. He sat upon my lap, and Mr. Ansel gave him a bit of barley- sugar, to obtain his permission for pulling off one sleeve of his frock and shirt. He was much surprised at this opening to an acquaintance—for Mr. Ansel made no previous visit, having sent his directions by M. d’Arblay. However, the barley-sugar occupied his mouth, and inclined him to a fa- vourable interpretation, though he stared with upraised eye- brows. Mr. Ansel bid Betty hold him a plaything at the other side, to draw off his eyes from what was to follow; and I began a little history to him of the misfortunes of the toy we chose, which was a drummer, maimed in his own service, and whom he loves to lament, under the name of “the poor man that has lost his face.” But all my pathos, and all his own ever-ready pity, were ineffectual to detain his attention when he felt his arm grasped by Mr. Ansel; he repulsed 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY, 9 Betty, the soldier, and his mamma, and turned about with a quickness that disengaged him from Mr. Ansel, who now desired me to hold his arm. This he resisted; yet held it out himself, with unconscious intrepidity, in full sight of the lancet, which he saw hovering over it, without the most remote suspicion of its slaughtering design, and with a rather amused look of curiosity to see what was intended. When the incision was made he gave a little scream, but it was momentary, and ended in a look of astonishment at such an unprovoked infliction, that, exceeds all description, all painting—and in turning an ap- pealing eye to me, as if demanding at once explanation and pro- tection. My fondest praises now made him understand that non-resist- ance was an act of virtue, and again he held out his little arm, at our joint entreaty, but resolutely refused to have it held by any one. Mr. Ansel pressed out the blood with his lancet again and again, and wiped the instrument upon the wound for two or three minutes, fearing, from the excessive strictness of his whole life’s regimen, he might still escape the venom. The dear child coloured at sight of the blood, and seemed almost petrified with amazement, fixing his wondering eyes upon Mr. Ansel with an expression that sought to dive into his purpose, and then upon me, as if inquiring how I could approve of it. When this was over, Mr. Ansel owned himself still apprehen- sive it might not take, and asked if I should object to his inocu- lating the other arm. I told him I committed the whole to his judgment, as M. d’Arblay was not at home. And now, indeed, his absence from this scene, which he would have enjoyed with the proudest forebodings of future courage, became doubly regret- ted; for my little hero, though probably aware of what would follow, suffered me to bare his other arm, and held it out imme- diately, while looking at the lancet ; nor would he again have it supported or tightened ; and he saw and felt the incision without shrinking, and without any marks of displeasure. But though he appeared convinced by my caresses that the thing was right, and that his submission was good, he evidently thought the deed was unaccountable as it was singular; and all 10 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. his faculties seemed absorbed in profound surprise. I shall never © cease being sorry his father did not witness this, to clear my character from having adulterated the chivalric spirit and courage of his race. Mr. Ansel confessed he had never seen a similar instance in one so very young, and, kissing his forehead when he had done, said, “ Indeed, little sir, I am in love with you.” Since this, however, my stars have indulged me in the satis- faction of exhibiting his native bravery where it gives most pride as well as pleasure ; for his father was in the room when, the other day, Mr. Ansel begged leave to take some matter from his arm for some future experiments. And the same scene was repeated. He presented the little creature with a bonbon, and then showed his lancet: he let his arm be bared unresistingly, and suffered him to make four successive cuts, to take matter for four lancets, never crying, nor being either angry or frightened ; but only looking inquisitively at us all in turn, with eyes you would never have forgotten had you beheld, that seemed dis- turbed by a curiosity they could not satisfy, to find some motive for our extraordinary proceedings. Immediately before the inoculation, the faculty of speech seemed most opportunely accorded him, and that with a sudden facility that reminds me of your account of his mother’s first, though so late, reading. At noon he repeated after me, when I least expected it, “How do do ?’ and the next morning, as soon ~ as he awoke, he called out, “How do, mamma? How do, papa ?” I give you leave to guess if the question was inharmonious. From that time he has repeated readily whatever we have > desired ; and yesterday, while he was eating his dry toast, per- ceiving the cat, he threw her a bit, calling out, “ Eat it, Buff!” Just now, taking the string that fastens his gown round the neck, he said, “ Ett’s [Let’s] tie it on, mamma.’ And when, to try him, I bid him say, Naughty, papa, he repeated, “ Naughty papa,’ as if mechanically; but the instant after, springing from mine to his arms, he kissed him, and said, “Dood papa,” ina voice so tender it seemed meant as an apology. F, p’A. 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 11 Madame d@’Arblay to Mrs. Burney. | April 3, ’97. LAUNCELOT GOBBO—or Gobbo Launcelot—was never more cruelly tormented by the struggles between his conscience and the fiend than I between mine and the pen. Says my conscience, “ Tell dear Etty you have conquered one of your worst fears for your little pet.” Says my pen, “She will have heard it at Chelsea.” Says my conscience, “She knows what you must have suffered, call, therefore, for her congratulations.” Says my pen, “I am certain of her sympathy ; and the call will be only a trouble to her.” Says my conscience, “ Are you sure this is not a delicate device to spare yourself?” Says my pen, “ Mr. Conscience, you are a terrible bore, I have thought so all my life, for one odd quirk or another that you are always giving people when once you get possession of them, never letting them have their own way, unless it happens to be just to your liking, but pinching and grating and snarling, and causing bad dreams, for every little private indulgence they presume to take without consult- ing you. There is not a more troublesome inmate to be found. Always meddling and making, and poking your nose into every- body’s concerns. Here’s me, for example; I can’t be four or five months without answering a letter, but what you give me as many twitches as if I had committed murder; and often and often you have consumed me more time in apologies, and cost me more plague in repentance, than would have sufficed for the most exact punctuality. So that either one must lead the life of a slave in studying all your humours, or be used worse than a dog for following one’s own. I tell you, Mr. Conscience, you are an inconceivable bore.” Thus they go on, wrangling and jangling, at so indecent a rate I can get no rest for them—one urging you would like to hear from myself something of an event so deeply interesting to my happiness ; the other asswring me of the pardon of perfect coin- cidence in my aversion to epistolary exertion. And hitherto, I have listened, whether I would or not, to one, and yielded, whether I would or not, to the other. And how long the contest 12 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. might yet have endured I know not, if Mrs. Locke had not told me, yesterday, she should have an opportunity of forwarding some letters to town to-morrow. So now— “TI wish you were further!” I hear you cry; so now you get out of your difficulties just to make me get into them. “ But consider, my dear Esther, the small- pox ~—” “I have considered it at least six times, in all its stages, Heaven help me!” “ But then so sweet a bantling ! —— “T have half a dozen, every one of which would make three of him.” I was interrupted in this my pathetic appeal, and now I must finish off-hand, or lose my conveyance. I entreat, whenever you see Mrs. Chapone, you will present my affectionate respects to her, and ask if she received a long letter I directed to her in Francis Street, 99 F. p’A, Madame @ Arblay to Mrs, ~ June, 1797. It was a very sweet thought to make my little namesake write to me, and I beg her dear mamma to thank her for me, and to tell her how pleased I should have been at the sight of her early progress, had it not proved the vehicle of anxious in- telligence. It is but lately I have thought my little boy entirely recovered, for his appetite had never returned since the eruptive fever till this last fortnight. Thank Heaven! he is now completely restored to all his strength and good looks, and to all my wishes, for ’tis the gayest and most companionable little soul I ever saw. And now, what shall I tell you? You ask me “ what infor- mation any of my late letters have given you, except of my health and affection?’ None, I confess !—Yet they are such as all my other friends have borne with, since my writing-weariness has seized me, and such as I still, and upon equally shabby morsels of paper, continue to give them. Nor have I yet thought, that to accept was to abuse their indulgence. When they understood 1797] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 13 that writing was utterly irksome to me, except as a mere vehicle to prevent uneasiness on their part, and to obtain intelligence on mine, they concurred not to make my silence still more oppres- sive to me than my writing, by a kind reception of a few words, and returning me letters for notes. And why are you so much more severe and tenacious ? Why, rather, you will perhaps ask, should you, because you see me thus spoilt, join in spoiling me ? My faithful attachment I am sure you cannot doubt; and why should that affection in your estimation be so little, which in mine, where I dare believe I possess it, predominates over all things, save my opinion of the worth of the character from which I may receive it ?—by little, I only mean little satisfactory, un- less unremittingly and regularly proved by length of letters. I do not imagine you to slight it in itself; but I see you utterly dissatisfied without its constant manifestation. It appears to me, perhaps wrongly, you have wrought yourself into a fit of fancied resentment against a succession of short letters, which could only have been merited by letters that were unfriendly. You forget, meanwhile, the numerous letters I have, at various epochs, received from yourself, not merely of half- pages, but of literally three lines; and you forget them because they were never received with reproach, nor answered with cold- ness. By me they were equally valued with the longest, though they gave me not equal entertainment, for I prized them as _ marks of affection, and I required them as bulletins of health. Entertainment, or information, I never considered as a basis of correspondence, though no one, you may believe, can more delight to meet with them. The basis of letters, as of friendship, must be kindness, which does not count lines or words, but expressions and meaning; which is indulgent to brevity, puts a favourable construction upon silence, grants full liberty to inclina- tion, and makes every allowance for convenience. Punctuality, with respect to writing, is a quality in which I know myself deficient ; but which, also, I have to no one ever promised. To two persons only I have practised it—my father, and my sister 14 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. Phillips ; there is a third whose claims are still higher; but un- interrupted intercourse has spared all trial to my exactness. My other friends, however near, and however tender, have all accep- ted my letters, like myself, for better and for worse, and, finding my heart unalterable, have left my pen to its own propensities. Nor am I quite aware what species of “ information” you re- pine at not receiving. An elaborate composition, written for — admiration, and calculated to be exhibited to strangers, I should not be more the last to write than you—quick and penetrating to whatever is ridiculous—would be the first to deride and de- spise. A gay and amusing rattle, you must be sensible, can flow only from the humour of the moment, which an idea of raised expectation represses rather than promotes. A communica- tion of private affairs * * * no,—the very letter which produced this complaint contained a statement of personal concerns the most important I have had to write since my marriage. From all this, which reluctantly, though openly, I have written, you will deduce that, while you think me unkind (as I appre- hend), I think you unjust. But I have written, now, as well as read—and have emptied my mind of all ungenial thoughts: hasten, then, dear -, to fill up the space once more with those fairer materials which the estranged style of your late letters has wofully compressed. You will think of me, you say, always as you ought: if you do, I may venture to send you again:the shabby paper, or wide margin, you have received so indignantly, by reminding you, in the first place, that the zealous advocate for public hberty must not be an imposer of private exactions; and in the second, that though the most miserable of correspondents, I am the most un- changeable of friends. And now, if I could draw, I would send you the olive-branch, with our arms mutually entwining it. Enclose me the design, and 1 will return you its inscriptions. F, DA. I find my father has heard just the same high character of the 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 15 supereminent powers and eloquence of the Abbé Legard that you sent me in a former letter. The Locke family have not yet returned from town. They did not go thither till late in April. Have you seen Mr. Wil- liams’s beautiful sketch of Lady Templetown’s two eldest daughters ? We have begun, at last, the little Hermitage we have so long proposed rearing for our residence ; and M. d’Arblay, who is his own architect and surveyor, is constantly with his workmen, whom Bab and I do not spare visiting and admiring. God bless you! Dr. Burney to Madame d@’Arblay. Saturday Night, July 20, 1797. My pear Fanny,—The close of the season is always hurry- scurry. I shall begin aletter to-night, and leave it on the stocks, that is, the table, to stare me in the face, lest in the hurry I am and shall be in, -youshould lose yourturn. I was invited to poor Mr. Burke’s funeral, by Mrs. Crewe and two notes from Beacons- field. 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 P. there; and the Duke of Devonshire and Windham came to dinner. The Chancellor and Speaker of the House of Commens 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, Fred 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 extremeiv 16 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. civil and hospitable—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 pru- dence 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 un- grateful in you and me, to whom he was certainly partial, not to feel and lament his loss. C. B. Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. Bookham, July 27, 97. My DEAREST PADRE,—A letter of so many dates is quite delicious to me; it brings me so close to you from day to day, that it seems nearest to verbal intercourse. How “agreeable” I should be to your keeping one upon the stocks for me thus in your journey! Ard howTI should like to receive a letter from Shrews- bury! Nevertheless, I am sensible Shrewsbury will be but a melancholy view now, but interest does not dwell alone with merriment, merry as we all like to be. Your most kind solicitude for Alex. makes me never like to take a letter in hand to you when his health gives me inquietude; his health alone can do it, for his disposition opens into all our fondest hopes could form, either for our present gratification or future prospects. “Tis the most enjoyable little creature, Norbury Phillips excepted, I ever saw at so early an age. 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 1797.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 17 he was upright in heart, even where he acted wrong, I do truly believe; and it is a great pleasure to me that Mr. Locke believes it too, and that he asserted nothing he had not persuaded him- self to be true, from Mr. Hastings’s being the most rapacious of villains, to the King’s being incurably insane. He was as gene- rous 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. I entreat you to let me know how poor Mrs. Burke supports herself in this most desolate state, and who remains to console her when Mrs. Crewe will be far off. Our cottage is now in the act of being rough cast. Its ever imprudent and téméravre builder made himself very ill t’other day, by going from the violent heat of extreme hard work in his garden to drink out of a fresh-drawn pail of well-water, and dash the same over his face. A dreadful headache ensued; and two days’ confinement, with James’s powders, have but just re- instated him. In vain I represent he has no right now to make so free with himself—he has such a habit of disdaining all care and precaution, that, though he gives me the fairest promises, I find them of no avail. Mr. Angerstein went to see his field lately, and looked everywhere for him, having heard he was there; but he was not immediately to be known, while digging with all his might and main, without coat or waistcoat, and in his green leather cap. Imagine my surprise the other day, my dearest Padre, at receiving a visit from Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld! We had never visited, and only met one evening at Mr. Burrows’s, by appoint- ment, whither I was carried to meet her by Mrs. Chapone. They are at Dorking, on a visit to Dr. Aikin, her brother, who is there at a lodging for his health. I received.them with great pleasure, for I think highly both of her talents and her character, and he seems a very gentle, good sort of man. VOL, IV. 2 18 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797 I am told, by a French priest who occasionally visits M. d’Arblay, that the commanding officer at Dorking says he knows you very well, but I cannot make out his name. F. DA. Madame @Arblay to Dr. Burney. Bookham, August 10, ’97. My dearest Father will, I know, be grieved at any grief of M. d’Arblay’s, though he will be glad his own truly interesting letter should haved arrived by the same post. You know, T believe, with what cruel impatience and uncertainty my dear companion has waited for some news of his family, and how terribly his expectations were disappointed upon a summons to town some few months since, when the hope of intelligence carried him thither under all the torment of his recently wounded foot, which he could not then put to the ground ; no tidings, how- ever, could he procure, nor has he ever heard from any part of it till last Saturday morning, when two letters arrived by the same post, with information ys 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, there- fore, 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 commissavre-de-guerre by M. 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 19 d’Arblay during the period of his belonging to the War Com- mittee, 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. He hears, too, that M. de Narbonne is well and safe, and still in Switzerland, where he lives, says the letter, “trés modeste- ment, ohscurément, et tranquillement,” with a chosen’ small society forced into similar retreat. This is consolatory, for the long and unaccountable silence of this his beloved friend had frequently filled him with the utmost uneasiness. The little property of which the late Chevalier d’Arblay died possessed, this same letter says, has been “ vendu pour la nation,” because his next heir wasan émigré; 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 letter is written from Switzerland by a person who passed through Joigny, from Paris, at the request of M. d’Arblay, to inquire the fate of his family, and to make known his own. The commission though so lately executed was given before the birth of our little Alex. The letter adds that no words can express the tender joy of this excellent uncle and his wife in hearing M. d’Arblay was alive and well. 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, 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 2—2 20 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 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 under- take in the desperate manner in which he risked it himself, friendless and fortuneless, to live in exile as he could. The euillotine no one could elect; and the continuing in the service, though in a cause he detested, was, probably, his hard compul- sion. Noone was allowed to lay down his arms and retire.” A gentleman born in the same town as M.d’A., Joigny, has. this morning found a conductor to bring him to our Hermitage He confirms the account that all in that little town has been suffered to remain quiet, his own relations there still existing undisturbed. M.d’Arblay is gone to accompany him back as far as Ewell. He has been evidently much relieved by the visit, and the power of talking over, with an old townsman as well as countryman, early scenes and connexions. It is a fortunately timed rencounter, and I doubt not but he will return less sad. F. p’A. 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. 7 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 1797,] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 21 sometimes yearns towards those he yet can love in his native soil, while his firmness still remains unshaken, nay, not even one moment wavering or hesitating—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, Dr. Burney to Madame d@’ Arblay. Friday Night, September 13, 1797. My DEAR FAnny,—Where did I leave off ?—hang meif I know! —I believe I told you, or all when with you, of the Chester and Liverpool journey and voyage. On Saturday, 26th August, the day month from leaving London, M. le Président de Frondeville and I left Crewe Hall on our way back. The dear Mrs. Crewe kindly set us in our way as far as Hetruria. We visited Trent- ham 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, &c. After a luncheon here, we went to Hetruria, 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 dis- ~ persed 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 warehouse 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 ya DIARY AND LETTERS [1797 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 re- paired, 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 dis- puted and set aside not long since, it havingappeared 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 in- habitants of Lichfield were so pleased with the decision of the Court on the trial, that they uluminated 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 Susie, and others without number. But the ungrateful inhabitants knew nothing about him. I could find but one old man who remembered that he was a native of that city !—that man “who has lengthened life, whose skill in physic will be long remembered,” to be forgotten at Lichfield! I felt indignant, but went round the cathedral which has been lately thoroughly repaired internally, and is the most complete and beautiful Gothic building I ever saw. The outside was trés mal traité 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 ex- quisitely 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. Gar. 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY,. 98 rick, who has been daily abused for not erecting one to her hus- band in Westminster Abbey ; but sure that was a debt due to him from the public, and that due from his widow best paid here. 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, &c. 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. Alban’s time enough to look at 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 Président, at his apartments in town. I only stayed at home a week, after which I went to Rich- mond for four or five days ;—slept at Charlotte’s, but dined with her but once; Tuesday, Wednesday, with dear good Mrs. Bos- cawen ; visiting, first, Mrs. Gell, at Twickenham, and Dr. Morton ; Mrs. Garrick, at Hampton; and Lady Polly, at Hampton Court, with whom Hetty and I dined and spent a very laughing and agreeable day on Thursday, hearing the band of the 11th regi- ment play in the gardens to the Prince and Princess of Orange during their /onchon—then saw the palace, in which Lady M. performed the part of cicerone. Thursday dine with Mrs. Ord in Sir Joshua Reynolds's house ; on Friday morning go with her and Mrs. Otley, a sister of Sir W. Young, to see Mrs. Garrick, but she was gone to London ; however, Mrs. Ord being a privileged person, we saw the house, pictures, and gardens, I visited the Cambridges, and they me. Mr. C. is as active and lively as ever. Dined again with Mrs. Bos on Saturday. On Sunday went with Hetty and Mrs. B. to Richmond Gardens to see the kangaroos, then carried them to town, and 24 _ DIARY AND LETTER (1797. carried to Chelsea, myself, a miserable cold, which I have been nursing ever since. But I am now thinking of my visit to Lord Chesterfield and Herschel. Ihave just received a very polite and friendly letter from the latter, just returned from Ramsgate, who “will be happy to talk over with me any subject of astro- nomy that I may be pleased to lead him to.” But when is your Windsor visit to take place? The Royal Family return, ’tis said, the 16th. A levee is announced for Wednesday next week, and a drawing-room on Thursday. If this very dreadful weather does not continue, I think of going to Bailie next week. If we should meet at Windsor, how nice it would be! Pensez-y. ow Madame @Arblay to Dr. Burney. Bookham, September 25, ’97. I must not vex my dearest Padre with my vexation, especially as the season is so much farther advanced than when we had regaled our fancies with seeing him, that many fears for what is still more precious to me than his sight,—his health—would mix with the joy of his presence. The return of Lord M. has been a terrible stroke to every fond hope of M. d’Arblay of embracing his venerable uncle. Not even a line, now, must again pass between them! ' This last dreadful revolution shook him almost as violently as the loss of his brother; but constant exercise and unremitting employment are again, thank Heaven! playing the part of philosophy. Indeed, he has the happiest philosophy to join to them—that of always endeavouring to balance blessings against misfortunes. Many for whom he had a personal regard are involved in this inhuman ban- ishment, though none with whom he was particularly connected. Had the Parisians not all been disarmed in a former epoch, it is universally believed they would have risen in a mass to defend the legislators from this unheard-of proscription. Such is the report of a poor returned émigré. But such measures had been taken, that there is little doubt but that military government will be now finally established. M. d’Arblay had been earnestly pressed to go over, and pass les vendanges at Joigny, and try 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY, 25 what he could recover from the shipwreck of his family’s fortune: but not, thank God! by his uncle: that generous, parental friend crushes every personal wish while danger hangs upon its indul- gence. Dear, kind, deserving Kitty Cooke! I was struck quite at heart with concern at her sudden and unexpected death. I pity Mrs. R. with all my soul. She could have been so happy under your protection! And now two are unhappy, for those tyrants who rob others wilfully of all comfort take what they never enjoy. I question if even a vicious character is as inter- nally wretched as an ill-natured one. F. pA, Dr. Burney to Madame d@ Arblay. Chelsea College, Thursday, 2 o’clock, September 28. My pEAR 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 inconveni- ent to him—that night or next morning. The good soul wag 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. I was quite shocked at seeing so many females : I expected (not knowing that Herschel was married) only te \ 26 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. have found Miss Herschel; but there was a very old lady, the — mother, I believe, of Mrs. Herschel, who was at the head of the table herself, and a Scots lady (a Miss Wilson, daughter of Dr. Wilson, of Glasgow, an eminent astronomer), Miss Herschel, and the little boy. I expressed my concern and shame at dis- turbing 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 favre 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. We soon grew acquainted—I mean the ladies and I; and before dinner was over we seemed old friends just met after a long absence. Mrs. Herschel is sensible, good-humoured, un- pretending, and well-bred ; Miss Herschel all shyness and virgin modesty ; the Scots lady sensible and harmless; and the little boy entertaining, promising, and comical. Herschel, you know, and everybody knows, is one of the most pleasing and well-bred natural characters of the present age, as well as the greatest as- tronomer. . Your health was drunk after dinner (put that into 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 Her- schel and me together. We walked and talked round his great telescopes till it grew damp and dusk, then retreated into his study to philosophize. I had a string of questions ready to ask, and astronomical diffi- culties to solve, which, with looking at curious books and instru- ments, filled up the time charmingly till tea, which being drunk 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. Heaven help his head; my eight books, of from 400 to 820 lines, would require two or three days to read. He made me unpack my trunk for my MS,, trom which I read him the titles of the chapters, and begged he 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY oy 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, &c., &e., 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 Des Cartes, &c., 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. , C. B. General de Lafayette to the Chevalier dArblay. Trilmuld prés Ploén, 16me Oct., 1797. JE savais bien d’avance que votre intérét nous suivrait partout, mon cher d’Arblay, et je n’ai pas été surpris d’apprendre que vous avez été sans cesse occupé de vos amis prisonniers; ils ne vous oubliaient pas dans leur captivité, et soit dans les premiers temps ot nousfimes quelquefois retinis, soit pendant les derniers quarante mois ou nous avons été totalement et constammentseparés—Mau- bourg et moi pensions avec la plus tendre amitié au sentiment que vous nous conserviez, et au bonheur dont vous jouissiez. C’est dans la prison de Magdebourg que nous apprimes votre mariage ; j'avais joint au tribut de l’admiration universelle pour Miss Burney, un hommage de reconnaissance particuli¢re pour 28 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. celle qui presque seule avait pu me faire oublier momentanément mon sort; c’est au milieu des jouissances de cette illusion en- chanteresse que je scus tout a coup les nouveaux droits qu'elle avoit:4 mon sentiment pour elle, et qui me donnaient a moi- méme quelques droits 4 ses bontés. Toute ma famille serait bien heureuse de lui étre présentée et la prie de vouloir bien agréer le voeu qu elles forment toutes trois de mériter son amitié. Recevez aussi, mon cher d’Arblay, les tendres compliments de ma femme et de mes filles. Nous sommes pour quelques jours chez Madame de Tessé; Maubourg et Puzy sont restés 4 Altona, mais Maubourg arrivera ici aujourd’hui ou demain, et nous allons passer ’hiver dans une campagne solitaire, 4 vingt-deux lieues d’Hambourg, sur le terri- toire Danois du Holstein, ot nous soignerons tranquillement nos sautés délabrées. Celle de ma femme est surtout dans le plus déplorable état. Maubourg a beaucoup souffert, mais se rétablit depuis la délivrance ; et quoique j’aie été ala mort, j’ai résisté mieux que personne aux épreuves de la captivité, et je crois que bientét, 4 la maigreur prés, il n’y paraitra plus. Mon fils était en Amérique, mais va, je pense, arriver avec la Colombe, parce que sur la nouvelle des premicres promesses données il y a plusieurs mois par la Cour de Vienne a la Republique, ils se sont déterminés & venir nous trouver. ! Adieu, mon cher d’Arblay; présentez mes hommages 4 Madame d’Arblay ; donnez-moi de vos nouvelles, et aimez toujours votre ancien compagnon d’armes et ami, qui vous est & jamais bien tendrement attaché, LAFAYETTE, Madame d’ Arblay to Mrs. Francis. West Hamble, November 16th, 1797. Your letter was most welcome to me, my dearest Charlotte, and IT am delighted Mr. Broome and my dear father will so speedily meet. If they steer clear of politics, there can be 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, 1797.] OF MADAME. D’ARBLAY. 29 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 one; and his kitchen grate, for ours waits for Count Rumford’s next pamphlet; not to mention his table-linen ;—and not to speak 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 re- maining 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. Manage all this, my dear girl, but let us know the day, as we have resumed our Norbury Park excursions, where we were yesterday. God bless you, my love, and grant that your happi- ness may meet my wishes! Ever and ever yours most affectionately, F. pA 30 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. Madame d Arblay to Mrs. Phillips. West Hamble, December, ’97. THIS moment I receive, through our dearest friend, my own Susanna’s letter. I grieve to find she ever waits anxiously for news; but always imagine all things essential perpetually tra- velling to her, from so many of our house, all in nearly constant correspondence with her. This leads me to rest quiet as to her, when I do not. write more frequently ; but as to myself, when I do not hear 1am saddened even here, even in my own new paradise,—for such I confess it is to me; and were my beloved Susan on this side the Channel, and could I see her dear face, and fold her to my breast, I think I should set about wishing nothing but to continue just so. For circumstances—pecuniary ones I mean—never have power to distress me, unless I fear exceeding their security; and that fear these times will some- times inflict. 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 £80 a year! We have, this very morning, decided upon parting with four of our new windows,—a great abatement of agrémens to ourselves, and of ornament to our appearance; and a still greater sacrifice to ’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. Your idea that my builder was not able to conduct us hither, I thank God, is unfounded. His indiscretion was abominable, but so characteristic that I will tell it you. Some little time before, he brought me home a dog, a young thing, he said, which had hit his fancy at Ewell, where he had been visiting M. Bourdois, and that we should educate it for our new house-guard. It is a barbette, and, as it was not perfectly precise in cleanliness, it was destined to a kitchen residence till it should be trained for the parlour: this, however, far from being resented by the young stranger as an indignity, appeared to be still rather too superb ; for “ Muff” betook to the coal-hole, and there seemed to repose 1727.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 31 with native ease. The purchaser, shocked at the rueful appear- ance of the curled coat, and perhaps piqued by a few flippancies upon the delicacy of my present, resolved one night to prepare me a divine surprise the following morning ; and, when I retired to my downy pillow at eleven o’clock, upon a time severely cold, he walked forth with the unfortunate delinquent to a certain lake, you may remember, nearly in front of our Bookham habitation, not very remarkable for its lucid purity, and there immersed poor Muff, and stood rubbing him, curl by curl, till each particular one was completely bathed. This business was not over till near midnight, and the impure water which he agitated, joined to the late hour and unwholesome air, sent him in shivering with a dreadful pain in the head, and a violent feverish and rheumatic cold. This happened just as we were beginning to prepare for our removal. You will imagine, untold, all its alarm and all its inconveniences; I thank God it is long past, but it had its full share, at the moment, of disquieting and tormenting powers. We quitted Bookham with one single regret—that of leaving our excellent neighbours the Cookes. The father is so worthy, and the mother so good, so deserving, so liberal, and so infinitely kind, that the world certainly does not abound with people to compare with them. They both improved upon us considerably since we lost our dearest Susan—not, you will believe, as sub- stitutes, but still for their intrinsic worth and most friendly partiality and regard. We languished for the moment of removal with almost in- fantine fretfulness at every delay that distanced it ; and when at last the grand day came, our final packings, with all their toil and difficulties and labour and expense, were mere acts of plea- santry: so bewitched were we with the impending change, tliat, 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 in- sensible 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 32 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797, 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 car- penters: 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, unincumbered by chairs and tables and such-like lumber, that he was as merry as 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 neigh- bouring 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 ratherin 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 to eat, nowhere to sit—all were trifles, rather, I think, amusing than incommodious. The house looked so clean, the distribution 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 33 of the rooms and closets is so convenient, the prospect every- _where 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 hap- piness to me, and the fixture was for the Queen’s house in town. 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 Princesse d’Hénin 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 Princesse was forced to change shoes and stockings. M. de Lally is more accustomed to such expedi- tions. 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 few was opened by the Princesse, 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 Princesse 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 barbarous revo- lution has disheartened all his hopes—alas ! whose can withstand VOL. IV. 3 34 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. 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’Hénin 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. 3 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 X VI. 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. I set off for town early the next day, Saturday. My time was not yet fixed for my Royal interview, but I had various prepara- tions 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. I went upstairs to Miss Planta’s room, where, while I weir for her to be called, the charming Princess Mary passed by, at- tended 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 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 35 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 me some account of the cere- mony; and when [I told her I had heard that her Royal High- ness the bride had never looked so lovely, she confirmed the praise warmly, but laughingly added, “’T'was the Queen dressed her! You know what a figure she used to make of herself, with _her odd manner of 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 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 3—2 86 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 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 convcisation, but will give you what morsels occur to me as they arise in my memory. The terrible mutiny occupied us some time. She told me 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 for- bidding 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 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. . 37 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. Fiorenzo, 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.” We had then a good deal of talk about Weymouth, but it was all local; and as my Susan has not been there, it would be too long to scribble. * One thing,” cried she, her eyes brightening as she spoke, “I must tell you, though I am sure you know it a great deal better than me, that is about Mr. Locke’s family, and so I think it will give you pleasure. General and Mrs. Harcourt went lately to see Norbury Park, and they were in the neighbourhood some- where near Guildford some time, the General’s regiment being quartered thereabouts; and the family they were with knew the Lockes very well, and told them they were the best people in the world. They said Mr. Locke was always employed in some benevolent action, and all the family were good; and that there was one daughter quite beautiful, and the most amiable creature in the world, and very like Mrs. Locke.” “The very representative,” cried I, “of both parents;’ and thus encouraged I indulged myself, without restraint or concise- ness, in speaking of the sweet girl and her most beloved and incomparable parents, and Mr. William, and all the house in general. The Princess Elizabeth now entered, but she did not stay. She came to ask something of her sister relative to a little féte she was preparing, by way of a collation, in honour of the Prin- cess Sophia, who was twenty this day. She made kind inquiries after my health, &c., and, being mistress of the birthday-féte, 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 became the theme, but it was 38. DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. interrupted by the appearance of the lovely Princess Amelia, now become a model of grace, beauty, and sweetness, in their bud. She gave me her hand with the softest expression of kind- ness, 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 mere per- sonal 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, “ Oh, 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. She had w.¥egun a very lah iiae 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 per- mission 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 re- 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 39 spectful reverence, I raised my eyes, and saw in hers a look of sensibility so expressive of regard, and so examining, so penetra- ting 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 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 par- don 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 dispo- sition, 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 [ 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 sere- nity, 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. Bremyére; and I could not but express my concern that her Majesty had again been so unfortu- nate, for Mlle. Jacobi had just retired to Germany, ill and dissa- 40 DIARY AND LETTERS ° (1797. » tisfied 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. “How is your little boy ?” was one of the earliest questions. “Ts he here ?” she added. “O yes,” Tanswered, misunderstanding her, “he is my shadow; I go nowhere without him.” “ But here, I mean ?” “Ono! 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 sug- gestion. 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 con- sultations with Herschel. She permitted me to speak a good deal of the Princess of Wur- temberg, 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, suc- cessively: Lord Howe against the French, Lord St. Vincent against the Spaniards, and Lord Duncan against the Dutch.” She spoke very feelingly of the difficult situation of the Orange 2] 1797.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. Al family, now in England, upon this battle: and she repeated me the contents of a letter from the Princess of Orange, whose cha- racter she much extolled upon the occasion 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, inex- pressibly, 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 gentlemen, when they have the arranging them them- selves,” 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 cir- cumstances 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, 42 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. 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: pur- chase instead of renting it. I thought I saw a look of peculiar satisfaction at this, that seemed to convey pleasure in the impli- cation 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 [ can never forget. 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 Phil- lips 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 con- cludes 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 expa- tiated upon her admirable distribution of her time and plan of life, and charming qualities and character. She asked me about Mr. Locke and his family, and honoured me with an ear of uninterrupted attention while I made an harangue of no small length upon the chief in particular, and the rest in general. She seems always to take pleasure in the quick gratification this subject affords me. | Of her own Royal daughters she permitted me also to talk, especially of my two peculiaridols. And she gave me a copious description of the new improvements still going on at Frog- more, with a detail of some surprises the King had given her, by orders and buildings erected in the gardens during her absence, 1797.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 43 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 dis- cretion 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 con- versation was serious, and her air thoughtful almost to sadness, when a-page touched the door, and said something in Ger- man. The Queen, who was then standing by the window, turned round to answer him, and then, with a sort of con- gratulatory 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 related very pleasantly a little anecdote of Lady ——. “She brought the little Princess Charlotte,’ 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, 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 hands, and endeavours to say ‘Gan-pa ! immediately.” I was much pleased that she is brought up to such simple and affectionate acknowledgment of relation- ship. | The King then inquired about my father, and with a look of 44. ‘DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 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 protégé, Dr. Herschel, had been consulted. I was then a little surprised by finding he had heard of ‘ Cla- rentine. He asked me, smilingly, some questions about it, and if it were true, what he suspected, that my youngest 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 1s very pretty.” There was time but for little more, as he was to change his dress for the levee; and I left their presence more attached to them, I really think, than ever. I then, by her kind appointment, returned to my lovely and loved Princess Augusta. Her hair-dresser 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 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 [her] 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 1797.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 45 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 improve- ment.” She then told me that she had hindered him, with great diffi- culty, 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 occa- sion 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 naive manner of combating them. But though she conquered at last, she did not convince. The Princess of Orange, she told me, had a most superior un- derstanding, 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, 46 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797, 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 birth- day, and a tall thin young man appeared at it, peeping and staring, but not entering. “ 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 re- ceiving and welcoming him, only said, “ Good-bye, my dear Er- nest; 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 witha 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 Admiral Duncan’s health to-night ? ‘Hush! cried I. ‘That’s very hard indeed? said he, quite aloud. I saw the Princess of 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 dis- 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 47 course. 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.” 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 indulgent 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 satis- faction, 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 cha- racter, 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 combina- tion—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 sir- ‘loin of beef into a poor, paltry batter-pudding !” 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 48 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. 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 appre- hension, 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, ad- mirably, 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 must do a great deal, or nothing. However, I really think, if he takes pains, he may make some- thing 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 quite enchanted with her gallant nephew. ‘I used to look, says she, ‘for honour and glory from my other side, the T "3; but I receive it only from the Duncans! As to the T——s, what good do they do their 1797.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 49 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 dis- turbed, 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 fond- ness 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! ” Our next and last interruption, I think, was from a very gentle tap at the door, and a “ May I come in 2” froma 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 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 ele- gant. VOL. IV. 4 50 DIARY AND LETTERS (1797. “OQ !—T hate myself when so fine” cried Princess Augusta ; “T 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 by-and-by; and to William ” (meaning the Duke's son). And this, which was not a positive request that she would not prolong her visit, was understvod; 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 mo- ment 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 !” “T’m sure and so do I!” were the last kind words she conde- scendingly 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, at least when I happened to 1797.) OF MADAME D ARBLAY. 51 be in town or at Chelsea, I begged her to take some opportunity to hint my wish of admission, if possible, more frequently. In the evening I went to the play with James and Ma- rianne. It was a new comedy called “Cheap Living,” by Reynolds or Morton, and full of absurdities, but at times irre- sistibly comic. | Very soon afterwards I had a letter from Miss Planta, say- ing she had mentioned to her Majesty my regret of the 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,” 32 DIARY AND LETTERS (1798, CHAPTER LIV. 1798. Diary Reswmed. Talleyrand—Madame d’Arblay’s interview with the Queen in behalf of her father—The Princesses—The Duke of Norfolk and the majesty of the people—Queen Charlotte’s benevolence—Royal contributions in support of the war—Madame Schwellenberg’s successor—The royal party at the theatre—Secrets worth knowing—Mrs. Chapone—Lady Strange—Mys- terious donation—Sheridan seconding Dundas—Last moments of Louis XVI.—Professor Young — Rogers, the poet—-French emigrants—Sir Lucas Pepys and Lady Rothes—Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld—Mr. Strahan, the printer—Carnot’s pamphlet— Madame d’Arblay visits the Princess Amelia—Her Royal Highness’s condescension—Herschel—Lord Ma- cartney. Addressed to Mrs. Phillips. West Hamble. JANUARY 18TH.—I am very impatient to know if the in- vasion 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 Opposi- tion 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 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 53 sanguinary wretches will risk all for the smallest hopé 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 Eng- land 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 finish. ing 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 not given him some private intimation to escape, and where to be safe, he must be a monster. | We have no further news from France of any sort. This very day, I thank God! we paid the last of our workmen. Our house now is our own fairly; that itis our own madly too you will all think, when I tell you the small remnant of our in- come that has outlived this payment. However, if the Carmag- nols 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 @ manner you would laugh to see, though al- most 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.” 54 DIARY AND LETTERS: [1798 We know nothing yet of our taxes—nothing of our assess- ments; 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. Oh 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 re- trospection is expressed by his penetrating eyes at 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. And now I have to prepare another Court relation for my dearest Susanna. I received on Wednesday morn a letter from our dearest 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, there- fore, we sent for from Dorking, and I set off at noon. M. dA. 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, 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 5d My dear father was at home, and, I could see, by no means surprised by my appearance, though he had not hinted at de- siring 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 Prin- cess Elizabeth, who received. me alone, and kept me téte-d-téte 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 !” “Tt 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 cther’s cor. rection.” “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 56 DIARY AND LETTERS | (1798. 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 em- barrassment 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 litile opening between them; and when the Queen was conversing with some lady who was teaching the Princess Sophia some work, they began a whis- pering conversation with me about my little boy. How tallig ~ he ?—how old is he ?—is he fat or thin ?—is he like you or M. d’Arblay? &c., &c.—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 Prin- cess Royal, and as much formed; she looks seventeen, though 1798. ] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. | 57 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 briers and potatoes, &c. The Queen, catching the domestic theme, presently made in- quiries 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 ani- mated 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, &c., —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 Au- gusta. She then spoke more openly upon less public matters,— in particular upon the affair, then just recent, of the 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 98 DIARY AND LETTERS (1798; 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 iy mouth.” This led me to speak of his great brick house, which is our immediate vis-d-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 © , 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. Returning then, according to my permission, to Princess Eliza- beth, she again took up her netting, and made me sit by her. We talked a good deal of the new-married daughter of Lady Temple- town, 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 Wales. “She is just two years old,” said she, 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 59 “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 Sees ah dear Madame d’Ar- blay, I hope you'll come to me.” This happened almost immediately, ea 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 hair-dresser and wardrobe-woman, and made me sit by her. Almost immediately we began upon the voluntary contribu- tions 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 know- ledge, 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 da 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 ga- thered,” 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: - go, not guessing at any secret commission, I took it up, and read —Given by Her Majesty’s commands—so much, and so much, andsomuch. And Iwas quite surprised. However, Lady Cour- town made me promise never to mention it to the Queen: sol never have. But I\ ong 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 60 DIARY AND LETTERS (1798. Majesty, upon my ill state of health’s urging my resigning the’ honour of belonging to the Royal household, so graciously settled upon me my 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, £100 per annum, she blushed, but 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 diffi- culty 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 £100 a-piece; and when we asked the Queen’s leave, she was so good as to approve it. Sothen 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 bro- thers. The Prince of Wales could not give in his name without the leave of his creditors. “ But Ernest,” cried she, “gives £300 a-year, and that’s a tenth of his income, for the King allows him £3000.” All this leading to discourse upon loyalty, and then its con- trast, democracy, she narrated to me at full length, a lecture of 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 61 Thelwall’s, which had been repeated to her by M. de Guiffardiére. It was very curious from her mouth. But she is candour in its whitest purity, wherever it is possible to display it, in discri- minating between good and bad, and abstracting rays of light even from the darkest shades. So she did even from Thelwall. 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 amv,” and tutoyéd him, drinking his health at dinner, as his father does to me—“d ta santé.” When at length the Princess Augusta gave me the bow of congé, she spoke of seeing me again soon: I said I should there- fore 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 depart- ing; “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 West Hamble, to provide myself with baggage for sojourning with him. My two Alexanders, you will believe, were now warmly invited to Chelsea, and we all re- turned thither together, accompanied by Betty Nurse. 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 to morrow night ”—with her own desire I would drink coffee in her apartment before we went to the theatre. 62 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 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 into Germany to accompany her hither. I found she was the lady I had seen with the Queen and Princesses, teaching 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 con- cluded 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 che 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 pos- sessed 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 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 63 the sight before me, and so enraptured at the continued enthusi- asm 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 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, 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 Bachmeister, 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 jaade 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 Thurs- day morning at ten o'clock, with your lovely boy. You are de: cired 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. 64. DIARY AND LETTERS (1798. A little before ten, you will easily believe, we were at the Queen’s house, and were immediately ushered into the apart- ment 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, &c., 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 insensi- bility 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 and a sweetness that made one almost sigh she should have no call for her maternal pro- pensities. There came in presently Miss D , a young lady about thir- teen, 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 in- famous Lady W- , who, more hardhearted than even bailiffs, had forced certain of those gentry, in an execution she had ordered in Sir H. D ’3 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 per- mitted 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 daugh- ter, 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 toher. He went fearfully and cautiously, yet with a 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY 65 look of curiosity at the state of her head, and the operations of her frisewr, 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 allow- ance 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 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, ex- claimed, “ He’s beautiful !—what eyes !—do look at his eyes !” “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 make 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 discord- ant sounds: “take it to mon ami, to frighten the cats out of his garden,” VOL. IV. 5 66 DIARY AND LETTERS (1798. 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 as- tonished, I would have kissed her hand, but, withdrawing it, say-. ing. “ No, no,—you know I hate that!” she again presented me her ruby lips, and with an expression of such ingenuous sweet- ness 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 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 if 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 Wiirtemberg: 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 erand collection of new playthings, all of which he had dragged into the painting-room, and wanted now to pull them downstairs to the Queen’s apartment. I persuaded him, however, to relin- quish the design without a quarrel, by promising we would return for them. Iwas not a little anxious, you will believe, in this present- 1798} OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 67 ation of my unconsciously honoured rocue, 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 per- fectly 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. No won- der 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 regularly aimed? How my heart has ached for them in that horrible business ! . “And how does your papa do 2” said the Queen. “ He’s at Telsea,” answered the child. “ And how does grandpapa 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. Iwasa 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 svon 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 ca- pered 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, “QO; it’s bow wow!” 5—2 68 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. “ And do you know this, little man ?” said the Queen, showing him a cat. “ Yes,” cried he, again jumping as he leant upon her, “it’s 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 J 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 know they are extremely kind to my dear father, and, though they will not openly command anything not im- mediately under their control, I have no doubt they have made known they wished such an accommodation might be brought about. | I imagine she had just heard of the marriage of Charlotte, for she inquired after my sister Francis, whom she never had men- tioned 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 un- common wit and humour. My little rebel, meanwhile, finding his animals were not given into his own hands, but removed from their mischief, was strug- gling all this time to get at the Tunbridge-ware of 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’ bed-room, 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,” 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 69 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!” “QO!” 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 Prin- cesses 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, how- ever, 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 un- derstanding her motive, and spoke to me with the utmost 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 gracious- Ness. You will not be much surprised to hear that papa came to help 70 DIARY AND LETTERS 1798. us out of the coach, at our return to Cheisea, 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. | I returned to the Queen’s house in the afternoon to drink coffee with Mile. Bachmeister, whom I found alone, and spent a half- hour with very pleasantly, though very seriously, for her charac- ter is grave and feeling, and I fear she is nothappy. 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 bedchamber- 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. Iso much respect her warm exertions for the emi- erant 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 interest- ing 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. Soall is for the best! I have escaped offending lastingly the Royal Mistress I love and honour, and—I live at West Hamble with my two precious Alexanders, T 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 g Had, pleasure. [ndeed, she had always behaved towards me with affection as well as 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY, 71 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 avery 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 West Hamble. 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 con- ducted herself with great sweetness, Mrs. Chapone spoke warmly of “Camilla,” especially of Sir Hugh, but told me she had detected me in some Gallicisms, 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 ; \ 72 _ DIARY AND LETTERS [1798 “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 !” _ 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 fora summons. Mrs. Boscawen was all herself,—that 1s, 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 Thrales, where I also carried my little Alex. To Lady Strange, 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 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 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 downstairs in the carriage, she de- sired to see it, for little Bell was wild in the request. “ But— 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. yG 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 downstairs 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 consent- ing 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 prat- tvness 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 who I had heard, through the Lockes, was indefatigable in inquiries and 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 re- tained a true esteem for him, though his singularities and affecta- tion of affectation always struck me. But both those and his spirit of satire are mere quizziness; his mind is all solid benevo- lence and worth, 44 DIARY AND LETTERS (1798, Good Mr. punning Townshend called upon us twice, and showed me the telegraph that is fixed up at Chelsea, and was as simple, and sensible, and gentle, and odd as ever. 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 1t 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 re- ceived 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 grati- tude 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 littlea sum. Be it as it may, it is certainly done in great kindness, by some one who knows £5 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 sub- scription 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 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 1798.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. ie) 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. Behold us now back again at our dear West Hamble. Dr. Burney to Madame d Arblay. April 24, ’98. I HAVE terminated the twelfth book of my poem, and transcribed it fair for your hearing or perusal, Mrs. and Miss Crewe, and Miss Hayman (now Privy-purse to the Princess of Wales), have been attending Walker’s astronomical lectures, and wanted much to hear some at least of my “Shtof’” read to Windham and Canning. An evening was fixed, when after dinner Windham was to read us his Balloon-journal, Canning a MS. poem, and I a book of my Astronomy. | The lot fell on me to begin. When I had finished the first book, “ Zocca lei,” quo’ Ito Mr. Windham. “No, no, not yet; another of your books first.” Well, when that was read, “Tocca lei,” said I to Mr. Canning, “No, no,” they all cried out, “let us go on,—another book.” Well, though hoarse, I read on; Mrs, _ Crewe relieved me, and then Miss Hayman, and then supper was announced; and so I was taken in: the rest, and the ‘ Balloon’ and MS. poem, are to be read comfortably at Mrs. Crewe’s villa at Hampstead, as soon as finished, C. B. Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, Dorking, April 25, ’98. “Bouder,” my dearest Father ?--But I ain sure you do not think it, therefore I will not disgrace myself with a defence. But I have intended writing every day, and the constant glimmering hope that to-morrow I should hear, with the idea that you were always packing up and removing, have made another to-morrow and to-morrow always keep off to-day. Indeed, that is the cruel trick of to-morrow, which does more mischief to one’s fair resolves than any philosophy of to-day ever rectities, 76 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798, _ I delight in the account of your conviviality ; nobody was ever so formed for society, in its best state, as my dearest father. How interesting is your account of M. Clery! I should like extremely to meet with him. If your list is not closed of scrip, my chevalier begs you will have the goodness to trust him with the 6s.,and enter his name, Your description of him is just what his conduct had made my mind describe him. I am very glad to hear of your sweethearts, old and new, but of Mrs, Garrick chiefly. I rejoice Mrs. Carter is so well again. Does Lady Rothes tell you how nearly we are neighbours? We see her house whenever we see our own; it is a constant object. But we have not yet been very sociable, for the weather would not do for my carriage, though hers, before she went to town, kindly found its way to us three times. Pray, when next you can indulge me, tell me how the dinne1 went off at Lady Inchiquin’s, and if she seems happy. All you find time to name of those my old connexions is peculiarly in- teresting to me. I have some hope the public affairs may now wear a better aspect, from the tremendous danger so narrowly escaped of utter destruction, and so notorious as to defy the plausibility and so- phistry of contest. We have had papers, through dear Charles, up to Monday, and the King’s message made me thrill through every vein; but the sign of Mr. Sheridan seconding Dundas struck me as a good to undo many an evil. M. d’A. thinks it will show the Carmagnols the species of friends who were to abet them, beyond all the speeches of all the ministers; for if even the opposition, even the supporters of the war being our aggression, and the Republic so glorious, &c., point out the real aim of our enemies,—that our money and credit is all they want, that their pretences of giving us liberty, &c., are incapable of duping even their admirers,— surely they must see that their chance of reception here, through our own means, is shallow and unfounded. No very late news from our Susan. I am so little generous or noble that I feel almost vexed, in- stead of glad, that the twelfth book is finished; for I had made 1798.) OF MADAME D ARBLAY, "7 a sort of regale to myself that something should have been written of it in our chaumuéere. Don’t forget what we build upon this summer: we shall dare you with our fare and tackle, our Alex., and our prospects—with our true joy in your sight; and your own view of my virtuous companion at the daily cultivation of his garden will supply to your kind paternal heart all deficiencies, and make you partake of our pleasure. Adieu, most dear Sir! My mate embraces you with cordial respect. F. p’A. Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, June 7, ’98. JNDEED, my dearest father, M. Clery’s book has half killed us; we have read it together, and the deepest tragedy we have yet met with is slight to it. The extreme plainness and simplicity of the style, the clearness of the detail, the unparading yet evident worth and feeling of the writer, make it a thousand times more affecting than if it had been drawn out with the most striking eloquence. What an angel—what a saint, yet breathing, was Louis X VI. !—the last meeting with the venerable M. de Males- herbes, and the information which, prostrate at his feet, he gives of the King’s condemnation, makes the most soul-piercing scene, and stopped us from all reading a considerable time; frequently, indeed, we have been obliged to take many minutes’ respite before we could command ourselves to go on. But the last scene with the Royal Family, the final parting, is the most heartbreak- ing picture that ever was exhibited. How much we are obliged to you for it, dearest sir, infinitely as it has pained and agitated us! It arrived by the very same messenger that took my last letter to you, with an account of our sweet Susanna. How interested it leaves one for the good writer, the faithful, excellent, modest M. Clery! I want a second part; I want to know if he was able to deliver the ring and seal —if he saw any more the unhappy Queen, the pious Princess Elizabeth, the poor Madame Royale whom he left painting, and that fair lovely blossom the sweet Dauphin. I feel extremely dissatisfied to be left in the dark about all this, 78 DIARY AND LETTERS {1798 I am shocked not to see your name in the subscription, after an interest such as you have both felt and shown for this worthy man; it is infinitely provoking you knew not in time of the publication. M. d’Arblay is vexed, too, not to have his own name there, in testimony of respect to this faithful creature, who will be revered to his last hour by whoever has any heart for fidelity, gratitude, and duty. Have you Mr. Twining still? Oh that he would come and mortify upon our bread and cheese, while he would gladify upon our pleasure in his sight! The weather now is such as to make bare walls rather agreeable, and without he would see what he loves in fair views, and what he so strikingly denominates “ God’s gallery of pictures ;” and our one little live piece would not, I think, excite in him much black bile, If he is still with you, do speak for us, F. p’A. Madame @’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 un- equally 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 bo 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 watch- ful anxiety; this was from Charles and his son, who, by an ap- pointment 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 bonhomie of M. de Lally, with as much native humour as he: 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 79 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 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 re- joicing 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. John- son’s “ Lives,” in a criticism upon Gray’s “ Elegy.” Charles was all kind affection, and delighted at our approba- tion of his friend, for the Professor has been such many years, and very essentially formerly—a circumstance Charles is now eratefully 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 cf 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. Our beloved father came to us in August for five days, to our inexpressible delight. He brought his present work, a poetical history of Astronomy, with him, and read it throughout to us. It seems to me a work to do him great honour, as well as to be highly useful to the young in astronomical knowledge. 80 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. He brought Alex. six little golden-covered books, to begin his library, but he is grown now so extremely studious, that, when not engaged with company, or in discourse upon literary matters, it is evident he is impatient of lost time. Alex., therefore, had not the chance of occupying or amusing him he would have had some time since; this is easily accounted for by his way of life. M. la Jard spent nearly a week with M. d’Arblay. He was Minister-of-War at the unhappy 10th of August; and his account of his endeavours to save the unhappy oppressed King on that fatal day, by dissuading him from going to the cruel Assembly, and to defend himself in his palace, is truly afflictive. His own escape after his failures was wonderful: he was concealed a fort- night in Paris. He is now tolerably easy, with regular economy, in his circumstances, receiving help privately through Hamburg from his mother and brother. He is a steady, upright, respect- able character, and wins and wears esteem. He had a principal command, before he was raised to the ministry, in the N ational Guard under Lafayette, and with M. d’Arblay. M. Bourdois, also, spent a week here twice. He was born and bred at Joigny, and therefore is dear to M. d’Arblay by earliest juvenile intimacy, though the gradations of opinions in the Revo- lution had separated them: for he remained in France when M. d’A. would serve there no longer. He became aide-de-camp to Dumouriez, and is celebrated for his bravery at the battle of Jemappe. He is a very pleasant and obliging character, and dotingly fond of little Alex. from knowing and loving and honouring all his family from his birth; and this you will a little guess is something of an avenue to a certain urchin’s madre. Besides, I like to see anybody who has seen Joigny. I was really quite sorry when he came again to take leave, upon voyaging to the Continent; but before that time he brought hither M. le Comte de Ricce, the officer whom M. d’Arblay im- mediately succeeded at Metz, and a gentleman in manners, de- portment, and speech, such as rarely is to be met with; elegantly polite and well bred; serious even to sadness, and silent and reserved ; yet seizing all attention by the peculiar interest of his manner, 1798.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 8] As soon as he entered our book-room, he exclaimed, “ Ah, de Narbonne !” looking at our drawing ; and this led me to speak of that valued person, with whom I found he had always been much connected. He corresponds with him still, and made me happy in talking of his hard fate and difficulties, when he told me he had some money of his still in his hands, which he could call for at pleasure, but never demanded, though frequently reminded of the little deposit. But when I men- tioned this to M. d’Arblay, he said he fancied it was only money that M. de Ricce insisted upon appropriating as a loan for him; for that De Ricce, who, by a very rich mar- riage, and entering into a commercial business with his wife’s relations (Dutch people), is himself as rich as if not an emi- srant, is the most benevolent of human beings, and lives parsimoniously in every respect, to devote all beyond common comforts to suffering emigrants! Huis rich wife is dead, and he has married a cousin of hers, who was poor. M. d’Arblay says he knows of great and incredible actions he has done in assisting his particular friends. JI never saw a man who looked more like a chevalier of old times. He accompaniel M. Bourdois here again when he came to take leave, and indeed they left us quite sad. He was going to Hambro’, Lady Rothes, 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 in- stantly, in a little concise and steady manner, pronounced all the letters of, with a look of great but very grave satis- faction at his own performances, and a familiar nod at every word so conquered, as thus :— Mr. Pepys. You are a fine boy, indeed ! _ VOL. IV. 6 82 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. Alex. B,O, Y, boy. (Every letter articulated with strong, almost heroic, emphasis.) Mr. Pepys. And do you run about in this pleasant place all day long ? Alex. D, A, Y, day. Mr. Pepys. And can you read your book, you sweet litile fellow ? Alex. R,E,A,D, read. &c. &e. He was in such good looks that all this nonsense won nothing but admiration, and Mr. Pepys could attend to nothing else, and 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.” “QO, leave him alone!” cried Mr. Pepys: “take care only of his health and strength ; never fear such a boy as that wanting learning.” I forget if I have mentioned that Lady Rothes and Sir Lucas (the wife will come first here) have bought Juniper Hall—not Hole; as, from its being lower, the residence M. de Narbonne had was called ;—nor am I sure if they had not made the pur- chase before you left us. When we returned our many visits, we were let in by Lady Rothes, who was with only her daughter, Lady Harriet, and who told us the Princess Amelia had just passed by with her suite,in her way to Worthing. I was so such vexed not to have been a little earlier that I might have had a glance of her lovely countenance, that it quite spoiled my visit, by occupying me with regret. Fatigue, joined to a kind reception, led us to make a long visit at Lady Templetown’s; and while we were there, Lady Henry Fitzgerald arrived. You know, I dare say, she was my old ac- quaintance Miss Boyle, daughter to my friend Mrs. Walsingham. I had never seen her since she was a mere girl; but she recol- lected me the moment she looked at me. She had purposed repeatedly caming to our cottage, but Mrs. Locke, fearing it might be inconvenient to us, had deterred her. I was very glad to see the happiness and hilarity that beamed in her eyes and spoke in her voice and manner, 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. . 83 The younger Lady Templetown seemed enchanted with the view of our simple dwelling, and all the more in the romance of early youth, unhackneyed and unspoiled; for seeing it unfinished and unfurnished, and conceiving that we could be happy and gay in such a state, she ran up-stairs, uninvited, and seemed longing to visit the kitchen, the bed-chambers, and the tool-house. The name of a cottage had interested her, and to know people who inhabited one appeared to give her a romantic pleasure that, in her rank and situation, seemed very amiable. Amongst the Norbury visitors of this summer were the V S, now emigrated from Holland; and reduced from their splendid — establishment to so small a little dwelling, at Islington, that they call ours a great estate in its comparison! What lamentable changes has that eventful and dreadful revolution brought to bear! Inever hear but of one good change it has caused, which is that of name in a certain sister of yours. 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. 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. Trim- mer’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 es- teemed. 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: 6—2 84 DIARY AND LETTERS (1793; 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 com- placence and prepared acquiescence that seemed to result from a sweetness which never risked being off guard. I re- — member 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. Aikin, 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 ac- quaintance. ‘They had been walking in Norbury Park, which they admired very much ; and Mrs. Barbauld very elegantly said, “Tf 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 ortho- graphical 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, in 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 abomi- nable a, traffic. 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 85 We returned their visit together in a few days, at Dr. Aikin’s lodgings, at Dorking, where, as she permitted M. d’Arblay to speak French, they had a very animated discourse upon build- ings, French and English, each supporting those of their own country with great spirit, but my monsieur, 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. Aikin looks very sickly, but is said to be better: he has a good countenance. The poor Mr. Daniel, whom you may remember as a very good - and melancholy French priest, visiting us at Bookham, ventured over to France before the barbarous 4th of September, believing he might be restored to his friends; but he was seized, imprisoned many months, and then turned adrift into fresh exile, penniless and hopeless. He returned so mournful, so depressed, that we have, perforce, made much more intimacy with him from com- passion for his undeserved sufferings. He lives at Mr. Swaine’s, the apothecary, at Dorking, upon the little pittance he obtains from Government, and a few scholars to whom he teaches French. He is now much revived and cheered with the hope of a new turn in affairs. One new acquaintance we have found it impossible to avoid. The only house in West Hamble village which is not occupied by farmers or poor people is now inhabited by a large family from the City, of the name of Dickenson. They called here im- mediately upon our establishing ourselves in our cottage. It was indispensable to return a first visit. You have been at the house, my dearest Susan, to see Madame de Broglie: it is now, they say, greatly improved. Mr. Dickenson, or Captain Dickenson, as his name-card says, is a very shy but seems a sensible man, and his lady is open, chatty, fond of her children, and anxious to ac- complish them. She seems between thirty and forty, and very lively. She is of French origin, though born here, and of parents immediately English; but her grandfather was a M. de Brissac. 1 A gentleman, who seemed to belong to them, but whom we knew not, meanwhile, was yet more assiduous than themselves 86 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. to make acquaintance here. He visited M. d’Arblay while work- ing in his garden, brought him newspapers, gazettes extraordinary, political letters with recent intelligence, and exerted himself to be acceptable by intelligence as well as obligingness. M. d’Ar- blay, at length, one very bitterly cold morning, thought it incum- bent upon him to invite his anonymous acquaintance into the house. He knew not how to name him, but, opening the door where I was waiting breakfast for him with Alex., he only pro- nounced my name. The gentleman, smilingly entering, said, “I must announce mine myself, I believe—Mr. Strahan :’ and we then found it was the printer to the King, who is a Member of Parliament, son of the Andrew Strahan who was the friend of Johnson, and the principal printer of ‘ Camilla.’ Much recollection of the many messages of business which had passed between us, while unknown, during the printing of that long work, made me smile also at his name, and we easily made acquaintance. He has all the appearance of a very worthy, sen- sible, unpretending man, well-bred and good-natured. Long connected with the Dickensons, he seems to have an apartment at pleasure in their house, and to love their children as if they were his own. He told us he had known Mrs. Dickenson from . the time she was seven years old. I have been eagerly, though with great disgust, wading through Carnot’s pamphlet. I think Mr. Pitt might pay in letters of — gold for such authentic intelligence of the frequent pecuniary distresses of the Directory, as well as for the many dissensions and evil propensities which must be excited between the civil and military powers, by the anecdotes he has related, and dis- closures he has made. He seems but few degrees less wicked than Barras, Rewbel, &c.; and those few, perhaps, only because a few degrees less powerful. Certainly there is nothing to:im- press his readers with any respect for his superiority of virtue upon more solid grounds. F, D’A. Madame @Arblay to Mrs. Phillips. West Hamble, August 28, ’98. _ IF I could find words,—but the language does not afford any, 1798.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 87 —my dearest, dearest Susan, to tell what this final blow has been to me, I am sure I should be a brute to make use of them; but after so much of hope, of fear, of doubt, of terror, to be lifted up at length to real expectation, and only to be hurled down to disappointment! And you—sweetest soul!-—that can think of anybody else in such a situation !—for though your neighbours are so good, Ireland is so unsettled, in our estimation, that I believe there is hardly one amongst us would not at least have parted with a little finger by the hatchet, to have possessed you for a few months in England. I write because I must write, but I am not yet fit for it; I can offer uo fortitude to my Susan, and it is wrong to offer any- thing else: but I must write, because I must let her see my hand, to tempt a quicker sight again of her own to eyes which yearn after it incessantly. Why did the Major desire me to look after our old cottage at Bookham ? and so obligingly, so pleasantly, so truly say he was certain of the pleasure he gave me by the com- mission ?—Can you tell ? M. d’Arblay is at this time spending two days chez M. la Jard, the last Minister of War to poor Louis XVI. If he should re- turn before Mrs. Locke sends off the packet, I am sure he will add a line. I have many things to say and talk of, but they all get behind the present overbearing, engrossing disappointment, which will take no consolation or occupation, except my dear boy, who for- tunately was out of the way when I first received it; for else he would have used the letter very il; when I got that which an- nounced that you were coming, the one before the last, in which the Major himself wrote to James, and which James most kindly forwarded to me instantly, saying, “ We may now expect to see dear Susan in a few days;” those words from him, less easily elated than most of us, so transported me that I appeared to my poor Alex. in deep grief from a powerful emotion of surprise and joy, which forced its way down my cheeks. The little creature, who was playing on the sofa, set up a loud cry, and instantly, with a desperate impulse, ran to me, darted up his little hands, before I could imagine his design, and seized 88 DIARY AND LETTERS (1798. the letter with such violence that I must have torn it to have prevented him: and then he flew with it to the sofa, and rump- ling it up in his little hands, poked it under the cushions, and then resolutely sat down upon it. I was too happy at that moment to oppose his little enterprise, and he sat still till my caresses and evident re-establishment brought him to my lap. However, when I put him down and made up to the sofa for my letter, he began crying again, and flying to his booty, put himself into such an agony that I was fain to quiet him by waiting till I could take it unobserved; yet he could not express himself better in words than by eae saying, “I don’t ike ou to ead a letter, mamma !’—He had never happened to see me in tears before: happy boy !—and oh, happy mother! The little soul has a thousand traits of character that remind me of Norbury, both in what is desirable and what is fearful; for he is not only as sweet, but as impetuous, and already he has the same desire to hear me recount to him his own good and bad conduct at the end of the day that dear Norbury had when I visited Mickleham. Just now, when we took leave for the night, he said, “ And what was I to-day, mamma?’ “Good, my dear.” “But what was I to dinner?” “A little rude.” He then looks down very conscious, but raises his brightened eyes, to say, “And what are I now, mamma?” “Quite good, my love.” And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last Court his- tory 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 habitumeet and sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort to see her; yet I would not distress Lady Rothes by an applica- 1798.} OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 89 tion 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 Mr. Keate permit it. &c., &c., &e. With so complete and honourable a credential, I now scrupled not to address a few lines to Lady Rothes, telling her my autho- rity, 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 honour. The sweet Princess’s exces- Sive graciousness to him gave me courage for this request. Lady Rothes sent me a kind note which made me perfectly com- fortable. 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 Cum- berland the author’s only son, and one of the ladies of the Prin- cesses. 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 dread- fully deaf, there is no conversing with her, but by talking for a whole house to hear every word! With this infirmity, however, 90 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 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 grey 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 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 Jest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing agility. 1798.] | OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 9] 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—f[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 dis- appointed. 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 Leather- head fair. “What, William ?” she cried, surprised. This un- affected, natural way of naming her brothers and sisters is infi- nitely 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!” “Oh! 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 be- tween Sir Lucas and Mr. Keate, she stopped to pay her compli- ments and thanks to Lady Rothes with a dignity and self-. command extremely striking, — Wo pA: 92 DIARY AND LETTERS [179s. Dr. Burney to Madame d Arblay. December 10th, 1798. HERSCHEL has been in town for short spurts, and back again, two or three times, leaving Mrs. Herschel behind (in town) to trans- act law business. I have had him here during two whole days. I read to him the first’ five books without any one objection, except a little hesitation at my saying, upon Bailly’s authority, that, if the sun was to move round the earth, according to Pto- lemy, instead of the earth round the sun, as in the Copernican system, the nearest fixed star in every second must constantly run at the rate of “neara hundred thousand miles,’—“Stop a little,” said he; “I fancy you have greatly underrated the velo- eity required—but I will calculate it at home.” And at his second visit he brought me a slip of paper, written by his sister, as I suppose he had dictated—*“ Hence we see that Sirius, if it revolved round the earth, would move at the rate of 1426 millions of miles per second. Hence the required velocity of Sirius in its orbit would be above 7305 times greater than that of light.” This was all that I had to correct of doctrine in the first five books: and he was so humble as to confess that I knew more of the history of astronomy than he did, and had surprised him with the mass of information I had got together, He thanked me for the entertainment and instruction I had given him—“ Can anything be grander ?—and all this before he knows a word of what I have said of himself—all his discoveries, as you may remember, being kept back for the twelfth and last book. Adad! I begin to be a little conceited. Mrs. M. Montagu has been singing our ditty at home and abroad. I have been at one bit of blue there. Mrs. M. so broke down as not to go out—almost wholly blind, and very feeble. Did you know of Princess Amelia being at Sir Lucas Pepys’s, in your neighbourhood, time enough to pay your respects to her Royal Highness? I hear .a good account of her going on, which gratifies me much. You will probably see in last week’s papers that Lord Macartney is dead at the Cape of Good Hope. But I called 1798] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 93 myself at his house in town on Saturday, to inquire if any news had lately been received from his Lordship; and Lady M., who happened to be at home, sent her compliments and thanks for inquiring; and, supposing it occasioned by the report, said that what had appeared in the newspaper was not true; there had been no such account come to the India House as had been said—nor to any one else. God bless you, and the dear gardener, and the Alexandretto ! C. B. 94 DIARY AND LETTERS (1799. CHAPTER LY. 1799. Mrs. Chapone on a recent domestic affliction—Madame d’ Arblay’s consola- tion— Death of Mr. Seward—- Wesley—Visit to Dr. Herschel—The Royal Family on Windsor terrace—The King’s recognition of Dr. Burney—-His Majesty’s music room— Conversation of the King—the Queen’s kindness to Madame d’Arblay—The Princess of W—-—s—News from France— State of Ireland—Letter from the Comte de Narbonne to the Chevalier d’Arblay—The Emperor's Hymn and Suwarrow’s march — Dancing Legislators. Mrs. Chapone to Madame d’ Arblay. My prar Mapam,—If you have heard of the most recent of all my afflictions,—the death of my darling niece in childbirth (which happened not quite a month after the loss of my dearest brother)—you will not wonder that I have not been able to thank you for your last kind favour. It grieves me to think of the anxiety you have suffered for your lovely boy, nor shall I ever forget the tenderness you showed for me before you knew how completely all hopes of comfort respecting this world for my latter days were taken from me: but the hopes of another, I thank God, draw every day into a nearer view, and I trust will supply me with “ patience, sovereign o’er transmuted ill.” I had, with the folly and ignorance of human schemes, thought of seeking an asylum from the aching void I must every hour feel in London, by changing my abode to Winchester, where I ex- pected my two kind nieces would soothe my heart and close my eyes; but this unexpected and most afflicting stroke, by taking 1799.] “ OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 95 away the next dearest object of my affection, has shown me where only I can look for support, and where I have hitherto found it in as great a degree as I could have expected. Though I have still a niece, for whom I have great love and esteem, I know not yet what her own plans may be, nor whether Winchester will not now be the most melancholy scene for us both that we could fix on: so that I am inclined to no other ex- ertion but waiting where I am, with humble submission and acquiescence, for “ Kind Nature’s signal of retreat.” In the mean time, I should be ungrateful for your kind so- licitude if I did not mention the comfort I receive from that excellent man Mr. Pepys, whom you esteem, but whose worthy heart you do not half know, and whom compassion has improved, from a delightful companion and intimate old acquaintance, to the most tender, attentive, and affectionate son to me. All my other friends, too, have exceeded all my expectations in their attentions to me. I hope soon to hear that your heart is quite at rest about M. ad Arblay and your son. Writing is at present so difficult and painful to me that I must bid you adieu, with the most grateful sense of your compassion for me and every kind wish for your- self and M. d’Arblay. Ever, dear Madam, Your sincerely affectionate and obliged, H. CHAPONE. Have you yet read Mrs. H. More’s new work? Don’t you be idee. Madame d’Arblay to Mrs. Chapone. West Hamble, April 4th, ’99. Ir was from your own affecting account, my dear Madam, that I learned your irreparable loss, though,a letter by the same post from my sister Burney confirmed the melancholy intelligence. I will not attempt to say with what extreme concern I have felt 96 DIARY AND LETTERS | {1799 it. Your “darling niece,” though I must now be glad TI had never seen, I had always fancied I had known, from the lively idea you had enabled me, in common with all others, to form ef what she ought to be. If this second terrible trial, and the man- ner in which you have supported it, had not shown me my mis- take, I should have feared, from the agonized expression of your countenance—which I cannot forget—in our last mournful inter- view, that the cup was already full! But it is not for nothing that you have been gifted,—or that so early you were led to pray “the ill you might not shun, to bear.’ Misfortunes of this accumulated—I had nearly said desolating—nature, always of late years sharpen to me the horrors of that part of the French Revolution which, to lessen the dread of guilt, gives death to eternal sleep. What alleviation can there be for sufferers who have imbibed such doctrine? I want to disperse among them an animated translation of the false principles, beautiful convic- tion, and final consolations of Fidelia. or since, in this nether sphere, with all our best hopes alive of times to come, “Even Virtue sighs, while poor Affection mourns The blasted comforts of the desert heart,” what must sorrow be where calamity sees no opening to future light ? and where friends, when separated, can mark no haven for a future reunion, but where all terminates for ever in the poor visible grave ?—against which all our conceptions and perceptions so entirely revolt, that I, for one, can never divest the idea of annihilation from despair, I read with much more pleasure than surprise what you say of Mr. Pepys: I should have been disappointed indeed had he proved a “summer friend.” Yet I have found many more such, I confess, than I had dreamed of in my poor philosophy, since my retirement from the broad circle of life has drawn aside a veil, which, till then, had made profession wear the same sem- blance as friendship. But few, I believe, escape some of these lessons, which are not, however, more mortifying in the expecta- tions they destroy than gratifying in those they confirm. You Se A 1799.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 97 will be sure, dear Madam, but I hope not angrily, of one honour I am here venturing to give myself. Yours, &e. F. D’A. M. d’A. entreats you to accept his sincerest respects. Madame d Arblay to Mrs. Locke. West Hamble, May 2nd, 1799. Poor Mr. Seward! I am indeed exceedingly concerned—nay, srieved—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 re- covering 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 Hammers- leys, 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, “ will- ing 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. VOL. IV. 7 98 DIARY AND LETTERS [1799. I had afterwards the pleasure of introducing M. d’Arblay to him, and it seemed a gratification to him to make the acquaint- ance. 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 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. His passions have no restraint, though I think extremely well of his heart, as well as of his understand- ing. Your affectionate F. DA. Dr. Burney to Madame d Arblay. Slough, Monday morning, July 22nd, 1799, in bed at Dr. Herschel’s, half- past five, where I can neither sleep nor lie idle. My DEAR Fanny,—TI believe I told you on Friday that I was going to finish the perusal of my astronomical varses to the great astronomer on Saturday. Here I arrived at three o’clock,— neither Dr. nor Mrs. H. at home; went to London on Thursday on particular business. This was rather discouraging, as poor Mrs. Arne used to say when she was hissed; but all was set to rights ky the appearance of Miss Baldwin, a sweet, timid, amiable girl, Mrs. Herschel’s niece, who told me that if I was Dr. B. she was to entreat me to come in, as her uncle and aunt expected me, and would be back at dinner, half-past three. When we had conversed about ten minutes, in came two other sweet girls, about the same age (from fifteen to seventeen), 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 1799.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 99 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 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. We had settled a plan to go to the chapel at Windsor in the morning, the King and Royal Femily being there, and the town very full. Dr. H. and Mrs. H. stayed at home, and I was ac- companied 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; butI 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, on earth, enjoy at present; and except return of creep- ings 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 trades- people,—all in Elysium. Deer in the distance, and dears un- numbered near. Here I met with almost everybody I wished 7—2 100 DIARY AND LETTERS (1799. and expected to see previous to the King’s arrival in the part of the Terrace where I and my party were planted. Lord Harring- ton; Sir Joseph, Lady, and Miss Banks ; the Bishop of Salisbury; Dr. Goodenough, who invited me to his house (the Bishop of S. pressed me to take a bed at his palace in Salisbury, where I visited my friend Mr. Cox); Miss Egerton, sweet Lady Augusta Lowther, and Sir William, my great favourite, with a long list of et coeteras—all seemed glad to see the old Doctor, even before he was noticed by Royalty. But now here comes Will, and I must get up, and make my- self up to go down to the perusal of my last book, entitled HER- SCILEL., So good morrow. Chelsea, Tuesday, three o’clock. Not a moment could I get to write till now; and Iam 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 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 after- wards 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 liver) 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 1799.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 101 when he chooses, his five nephews (Griesbachs) making a princi- pal 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 gra- cious 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; andthe second and part of the third were over before we saw anything of him, though we heard His Ma- jesty, 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, itis 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 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. “Idon’t say it to flatter you,’ says the King; “if I did not think it, I would not say it.” After this he talked of his concert, and the arrangement of the pieces performed that evening from the oratorio of “ Joseph.” His Majesty always makes the list himself, and had made a very 102 DIARY AND LETTERS : [1799 judicious change in the order of pieces, which I told His Majesty, as there were no words in question which, asa drama, might re- quire the original arrangement. He gave me his opinion very openly upon every musical subject started, and talked with me full half an hour. He began a conversation with General Har- court and two other general officers, which lasted a full hour, and we durst not stir till it was over, past eleven. All this Windsor and Slough visit has turned out delightfully. I have not room to say anything more, only God bless you all! OnE Madame d’Arblay to Doctor Burney. “Fore George, a more excellent song than t’other !” West Hamble, July 25th, ’99. Wuy, 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 “J looked the picture of happiness,” had warmed me to the most fervent gratitude, and the more be- cause 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 uncon- scious of having any owed me; but merely from a cruel malice with which many seize every opportunity, almost in- voluntarily, 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 pi ee. ee an 2 1799.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 103 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 again, naming me so 7m 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. The account of the Terrace is quite enlivening, I am very glad the weather was so good. It was particularly kind of it, for I am sure it has been very un-Julyish since. How sweet what the King said of my dearest father’s writing ! You see how consistent and constant is his opinion: but still more I love his benevolent solicitude lest your method of making time should injure your health. Think of that, dear Master Brooke! your creepings are surely the effect of over- labour of the brain and intense application. I want excessively to hear how the Herschel book went off; whether there was much to change, as I think it impossible there should not be certain modes peculiar to every man’s own con- ceptions of his own studies that no other can hit without con- sulting him; and whether the sum total seemed to give the last and living hero of the poem the satisfaction it ought to do. Pray, let me hear about this as soon as you can, dearest sir but, pray, only make notes of any alterations; and let the altera- tions themselves wait to be accomplished in our quiet retreat, at the given period of our indulgence, which I presume to continue fixed for the end of August, as you do not again touch the subject. I am very anxious, meanwhile, for your trying the hot well— and that before you go to Dover; for I think it impossible— unnatural—you should resist Mrs. Crewe, who, next to your im- mediate family, seems most truly and affectionately to know how to value possessing you. The visit to the P ss of W. is charming. I am charmed she now lives so cheerfully and pleasantly. She seemed con- fined, not merely as a recluse, but a culprit, till quite lately; 104. _ DIARY AND LETTERS [1799- and now... . your visit has just been succeeded by Mr. Pitt’s! How can the Premier be so much his own enemy in politics as well as happiness! for all the world, nearly, take her part; and all the world wholly agree she has been the injured person, though some few think she has wanted retenue and discretion in her resentment, the public nature of her connexion considered, which does not warrant the expectance of the same pure fidelity a chosen wife might look for. F. p’A. Madame d’Arblay to Mrs. Phillips. August 14th, ’99. I KNow that my beloved Susan did not mean I should see her true account of her precious health; but it arrived at West Hamble while Esther was there, and it has been engraven on my heart in saddest characters ever since. The degree in which it makes me—I had almost said—wretched, would be cruel to dwell upon; but had the letter finished as it began, I must have surely applied for a passport, without which there is now no visiting Ireland. In case, my sweet soul, you are relapsed, or do not continue improving, tell me if there is any way I can manage to make a surprise give no shock of horror where I have no expectation of giving pleasure? I would not offend, nor add to my beloved’s hard tasks, God knows! Should I write there, in that case, for leave? or what do? At all events, and if the recovery continues, give me a hint or two, I entreat. I consult no one here; I must do such a deed by storm; I am sure of consent to everything that my happiness and peace demand, from the only one who can lawfully control me,—and that is enough. Where poor M. de Narbonne has been driven we know not. One of the French Princesses is dead, but not Princess Adelaide. We have just heard that M. de N. is now in actual correspond- ence with Louis XVIII.: I am very glad, though excessively astonished how it has been brought about. When we hear par- ticulars, you shall have them. prtim = 1799.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 105 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 he is now at Dover, where Mr. Crewe has some command. We are all in ex- treme disturbance here about the secret expeditions, Nothing authentic is arrived from the first armament; and the second is all prepared for sailing. Two of Lady Templetown’s sons are gone, Greville and Arthur: Lady Rothes’ younger son is going, John Leslie: Mr. Boncheritte has a brother-in-law gone, Captain Barnes. 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, F. pA. From the Comte de Narbonne to the Chevalier d Arblay. Tubingen, ce ler Septembre, 1799. VOUS voyez, mon ami, par la date de ma lettre, que j’ai le besoin de m’assurer au moins un instant de bonheur pour cette année, en m’associant aujourd’hui a vous, et 4 tous les anges qui vous entourent. Depuis celle que j’ai recue de vous, et qui m’a fait autant de bien que vous pouvez m’en désirer, il n’est pas un jour ou je n’aie voulu vous écrire, et ot je n’aie été arrétéd par Vidée qu'il fallait au moins savoir ol vous demander de me ré- pondre. Plus de trois semaines avant la déclaration de guerre de Naples, a tous les moments nous nous attendions 4 une rupture entre la France et l’Empereur, qui ne permettait pas de rester ici, et qui m’envoyait je ne sais pas ol. Les événements ont beau se succéder ; il régne toujours la méme incertitude; et je me lasse d’un silence dont j’espére que vous me boudez tous un peu. Ils sont donc finis bien heureusement ces troubles d’Irlande, si cruels et si effrayants; et comme il est en vérité presque permis & un Francais de s’occuper, avant tout, du salut de ses amis, par toutes les espéces de dangers auxquels ils sont exposés 106 DIARY AND LETTERS [1799. depuis si longtemps, jé vois d’abord dans cet heureux éyé- nement que je nai plus a trembler, ni vous non plus, sur votre adorable belle-sceur, et que je n’ai plus 4 craindre pour elle que the boisterous weather. Mon ami, donnez-moi en détail des nouvelles de sa position. Mon Dieu! que je voudrais la savoir réunie & vous! dfit elle prendre ma chambre dans un petit palais enchanté que je vois avec peine, cependant qui n’a pas été fait d’un coup de baguette. A quoi vous sert donc la douce magicienne qui vous a donné. sa vie? Comment elle ne sentend pas seulement en maconnerie? Quelle dducation va- t-elle donner 4 mon petit Louis? Heureusement que je repaierai tout cela! Savez-vous bien qu'il n’est pas impossible que ce soit bientdt. Vos gazettes, (qui, par parenthése, n’arrivent pas depuis un mois) parlent positivement d’un traité de commerce entre V Angleterre et St. Domingue, qui me rendrait du moins le terrain de mon habitation. Mandez-moi, je vous prie, tout ce qui est stir, et ce que l’on espére, de cela: si les négociants tournent leurs spéculations de ce cété, et y sont encouragés par le gouvernement; —si les colons ont déja trouvé les moyens de faire quelque ar- rangement. Je voudrais bien en faire un qui fit vivre mes filles pendant que vous me donneriez 4 manger. Mais m’est-il permi: seulement de réver au bonheur? Depuis un mois je suis bour. rellé par lidée de ce qui peut arriver 4 Naples 4 Mesdames, & ma mére, 4 ma fille. Je tremble que les premiers succés de Mack ne leur aient inspiré une sécurité malheureusement absurde, puisquil parait décidé que lEmpereur, s'il s’en méle, ne s’en mélera que trop tard. Je ne connais plus sur la terre de bonheur que dans le point que vous habitez; mais qui dans le monde a ses droits au bonheur comme les habitants de Norbury? D’aprés le tableau que vous m’en faites, il n’y a donc rien de changé dans ce délicieux Nor- bury. Transportez-vous donc, mon ami, & gauche de la cheminée; embrassez pour moi bien tendrement le premier des hommes et le plus sensible des sages; vous trouverez & sa droite son fils, que vous embrasserez presque comme son pére, et que vous prie- rez de ma part de vouloir bien épouser une de ses sceurs, parceque je voudrais bien qu'il efit bien vite une femme digne de lui. Sil 1799.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. — 107 aime mieux, cependant, épouser Madame Locke, je ne m’y oppose pas du tout. Vous voyez que me voila de lautre cété de la cheminée; vous y baiserez la poussiére des pieds de l’ange que vous y trouverez, et vous lui direz que jusqu’au tombeau je prendrai la liberté de l’adorer. Je ne congois pas, mon ami, comment tout cela a pu me dé- tourner du principal objet de ma lettre, de Vart de faire de la choucroute ; et m’y voila. Augustin, qui me l’a fait depuis quatre ans, dit que vos choux sont excellents pour cela. Les plus tendres sont les meilleurs. On les coupe en tranches les plus minces possibles,au moyen d’un couteau ressemblant en grand a celui pour les concombres, et dont le dit Augustin est sir d’avoir vu dans la cité. On les entasse, et on les foule dans un petit tonneau ; par dessus on met une planche qui couvre 4 peu prés toute la superficie, et sur laquelle doit peser une grosse pierre. De l’eau sur tout cela, de maniére que la planche, et par conséquent les choux, soient toujours dans l’eau. Cette eau doit étre renouvelée tous les quinze jours, et l’on ne doit pas se laisser effrayer de horrible puanteur. Au bout de deux mois la chou- croute est mangeable, et voila tout l'art de la faire—Pour la manger, la faire d’abord cuire et recuire dans de l’eau simple; cela fait, bien exprimer l’eau, et y substituter soit du beurre, du sain-doux, de la graisse d’oie, &c., et laisser bien mitonner. Adieu, adieu! Je t’embrasse du fond de mon cceur, et ta femme, et ton fils. Pour éviter que mon nom ne traverse peut- 'étre des armées, mettez celui de Frédéric sous le couvert de M. Cotta, libraire, 4 Tiibingen. Madame d’Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, October Ist, ’99. WHAT a sumptuous feast have you given me, my kindest father! It was our whole morning’s regale, so slowly we could bear to read, for fear of too soon ending it. I wish some kind friend or other would always be giving you a letter to enclose for me, and that you would always forget so to do, that always you.might be stimulated to make amends by preparing a parcel for the coach. I must, however, mention that my mate and I can ill brook this shabby hint of shirking; that he still rears 108 DIARY AND LETTERS [1799. young peas, and houses beautiful carnations, for you; and that I had determined to wait only for the first fair day to put in my rightful claim. This very one upon which I write is the first in which we have escaped rain for a fortnight; and now, there- fore, we may surely hope for a fine autumn. What, then, says my dearest father? ‘Will he not think of us? Who can he think of to. quite so much delight with his sight? In England no one. In Ireland I own there is one to whom it must be yet more precious, because so cruelly long withheld. Ireland, my dearest padre, leads to the immediate subject of this letter. 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. How you have made me fall in love with your ladies, Susan Ryder, and Jane Dundas, and the whole family of Greys! I was enchanted with your reception and intimacy amongst such sweet-mannered and minded people as you describe. But Mr. Pitt! Iam really in alt when I see you presenting him your letter from Dr. Herschel. Solemn, yet heart-warming, is your account of the embarkation. God send us more good news of its result! Like you, we are sadly alarmed by the second affair, after being so elated by the first. Yet the taking the Dutch fleet must always remain a | national amends for almost any loss. Mrs. Milner, of Mickleham, who has a son by a former hus- band, now Colonel Fitzgerald, and aide-de-camp to the Duke of York (and probably of the staff you met at Walmer Castle), has sent me lately a message to desire we should make acquaintance. It came through Lady Rothes, and consequently I expressed proper acknowledgments. Two days ago she came to make her 1799.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 109 first visit. Her present husband, who is also a colonel, called at the same time on M. d’Arblay, with whom he had made a speak- ing acquaintance while we were building our cottage. We found them very agreeable people, well bred, well cultivated, and pleas- ing. The Colonel is serious, she is lively ; but they seem happy in each other. I am the more disposed to think well of them, because not only the Duke but the Duchess of York twice break- fasted with them, in journeying from Brighthelmstone. This has put them in high fashion in this neighbourhood. She tells me she is the worst of visitors, and I assured her that having heard that character of her was one of my first inducements to venture at her acquaintance, not only from the flattery of her selection, but from the sympathy I felt in that defect. They walked all round our grounds—the wood, copse, meadow ; ate one of our apples just gathered from our virgin orchard ; and found all M. d’Arblay’s flowers of the first fragrance. Could they fail being pleasant people? Pray, wish well to Colonel Fitzgerald for their sake. I was happy not to see his name amongst the killed and wounded ; nor that of the Hon. John Leslie, Lady Rothes’ son ; nor those of Greville nor Arthur Upton, Lady Templetown’s sons; nor Mr. Nixon, late of Bookham; nor General Burrard, now of Dorking. What an anxious period, through relations or con- nexions, independent of general humanity, does this expedition make! Heaven prosper it! What is Mr. J. Crewe called ?— Captain ? I hope it is not he who is named amongst the wounded. You make me wild to hear the Emperor’s hymn and Suwar- rows march. Their popularity at Dover and Walmer Castle was most seasonable and delightful; they quite set my heart a-beating with pleasure and exultation for my dearest father, only in hearing of them. But you, forsooth, to preside over the bottle! Ha!ha! Mr. Pitt, however, could not risk his in- tellects, so he chose well for preserving them. Madame d’Arblay to Mrs. Phillips. West Hamble, December 10th, ’99. O my Susan, my heart’s dear sister! with what bitter sorrow 110 DIARY AND LETTERS [1799. 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 ; but nothing had prepared me to think you in such a 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 ex- pedite 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, there- fore, 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. How I love that charming Augusta !—tell her so; I am almost tempted to write to her, and to Mrs. Disney, and to Mr. Keirnan. [ expect everybody to love and be kind to my Susan: yet I love : and cherish them for it as if it were my wonder. O my Susan! that I could cometo 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 embarrass- ment 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. Yours affectionately, F. D’A, 1800.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY, Lil CHAPTER LVI. 1800. Death of Mrs. Philips—Letter of Madame d’Arblay to Mrs. Locke on the recent loss of her Sister—Interview with the Royal Family—Extreme amiability of the Princess Augusta—Marauders in the Garden—Madame d’Arblay’s Comedy of “ Love and Fashion,” in rehearsal at Covent Garden —Withdrawn by the Author—Her remarks on the subject—M d’Arblay leaves England to look after his property in France—The Lord Chancel- lor’s reprimand to Mr. Sheridan—News of M. d’Arblay—Love-offerings —Visit to Norbury Park—Madame d’Arblay’s projected Journey to France—Perils of M. d’Arblay’s Voyage—His Letters to Madame 2S ag thoughts on Religious Iustruction—Her letter to her usband, Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. 9th January, 1800. MY MOST DEAR PADRE—WMy mate will say all say,—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. | P.'D a: These were the last written lines of the last period—unsus- pected 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 . 112 DIARY AND LETTERS [1800, loss which his own goodness, sweetness, patience, and sympathy could alone have made supported. Madame @Arblay to Mrs. Locke. 9th January, 1800. “Asa guardian angel !”—Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in every interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to sec 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 junc- tion. 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, har- rowing, 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 myaid. Yet Iwas 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 checkered 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 1800.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 113% 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 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! | F. v’A. 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 of myself. She is still wrapt up, and just recovering from a fever herself; and she spoke to me ina 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 spirituelle,’—his words upon my lost darling! It is impossible more of comfort or gratification could be given, than I received from them all. | Bry A: VOL. IV. 8 114 DIARY AND LETTERS [1800 Madame d’Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, 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 un- willing to stir. 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 meadow, 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 frost-bitten, 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 re- newal 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 en- couraging back his spouting propensity, to fit him for his royal interview with the sweet and gay young princess who has de- manded 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 four-footed marauders; and our 1800.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. “AAS 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, - FP, p.A. Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, April 27, 1800. My ALeEx. 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 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 under- miner of comfort. What is become of the campaign? are both parties incapaci- tated 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. F. p’A, [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 8—2 1t6 DIARY AND LETTERS: [1800. 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 an- nounced their generous complhance with his wishes.] Madame d Arblay to Dr. 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 pro- mised also to do his utmost, as far as his influence extends, to keep the newspapers totally silent in future. We demand, there- fore, 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 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 certazn 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 dis- grace ; upon mere cabal or want of dramatic powers, it can only cause disappovntment. I hope, therefore, my dearest father, in thinking this over, you 1800.] _ OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 117 will cease to nourish such terrors and disgust at an essay so na« tural, 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? he took my example in writing—she takes it in rang- ing. 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 J 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 disen- courage 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, F.p’A. Madame d’ Arblay to Dr, Burney. West Hamble, 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 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 hig own country till it was at peace with this; tilla letter came from his beloved uncle himself, conveyed to him through Hambro, 418 DIARY AND LETTERS F1800, which shook all the firmness of his resolution, and has kept him, since its receipt, in a state of fermentation, from doubts and diffi- culties, 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, 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 procu- ration 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 com- plete 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 recon- ciled 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. I can write upon nothing else just now, my dearest father; the misfortune of this call at such a boisterous, dangerous season, will oppress and alarm me, in defiance of all I can oppose of hope; yet the measure is so reasonable, so natural, I could no longer try to. combat it. Adieu, dearest Sir. If any news of him reaches me before his return, I will not enjoy it five minutes previous to communicating it to my dear father. He hopes at all events to be able to embrace you, and beg your benediction before he departs, which nothing but the very unlikely chance 1800.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 119 of meeting a vessel just sailing for Holland immediately can pre- vent. He is well—and oh, what a support to me! F.p’A. Madame d’ Arblay to Dr. Burney. 13th December, 1800. Your commission is arrived just as I am going to write to my dear Chevalier, I hope for the last letter upon this separa- tion. But he is not certain yet of his return. What a dreadful fright the “True Briton” gave me one day last week of a new mouvement in Paris! God keep all quiet there!—but him— and may he be restless till he quits it ! I was going to begin a letter to you the other day, in the fulness of my heart, to exult, with you, on a testimony of respect and veneration which are so highly honourable, paid to the wis- dom and authority of our dear Dr. Johnson, by the Lord Chan- cellor, in his reprimand to Mr. Sheridan. I hope you had the same words I read. I was really lifted up by them. The Chan- cellor gave in the Doctor’s language the rebuke he could not, perhaps, give to an M.P., and so powerful an antagonist as Mr. Sheridan, in his own. But I have been much grieved for the loss of my faithful as well as honoured friend, Mrs. Chapone, and very sorry for good Mr. Langton. How is our Blue Club cut up! But Sir William Pepys told me it was dead while living; all such society as that we formerly - belonged to, and enjoyed, being positively over. F. p'A. Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, 16th December, 1800. HE is returned, my dearest father, already! My joy and sur- prise are so great I seem inadream. 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, 120 DIARY AND LETTERS [1800. and will, when he obtains it, hasten, I need not say, to West Hamble. - This blessed news my dearest father will, I am sure, be glad to receive; I am sure, too, of the joy of my dear, affectionate Fanny. He will be here, I hope, to keep his son’s sixth birth- day, on Thursday. He is well, he says, but horribly fatigued. Heaven bless and preserve you, dearest sir, Your ever dutiful and affectionate, F.pA 1801. Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, September 1, 1801. My dearest—kindest—cruellest father !—That so long and se interesting, and so dear a letter should give me so great a dis- appointment! and that fish so admirable should want its best sauce! Indeed, I cannot help a little repining, though when I think of damps and rheumatisms, I am frightened out of mur- muring: for in this lone cottage I would not have you indis- posed for the universe. But ’tis very provocas—yet I have so much to be thankful for, and so thankful I feel for that much, that I am ashamed of seeming discontented . . . so 1 don’t know what fortodo!... And the carpet! how kind a thought! Goodness me! as Lady Hales used to say, I don’t know what for to do more and more! But* a carpet we have—though not yet spread, as the chimney is un- finished, 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 gala—with- out 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 1801.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 121 J 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 long-sighted, now beginning to fail and weaken at near objects. But dédommagement for early blindness is in later years—when all the short-sighted become objects of envy to those for whom, in juvenile years, they are objects of pity or sport. 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 suit- able 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. He is delightful in the country; full of resources, of gaiety, of intelligence, of good humour; and mingling powers of instruc- tion 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, F, pA, Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, October 3, 1801. Gop avert mischief from this peace, my dearest father! For in our hermitage you may imagine, more readily than I can ex- press, the hopes and happiness it excites. M. d’Arblay now 122 : DIARY AND LETTERS [1801. feels paid for his long forbearance, his kind patience, and com- ‘pliance with my earnest wishes not revisit to his native land while we were at war with it. He can now go with honour as well as propriety; for everybody, 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 draw- backs; 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. J étes, joy, and plea- sure, will probably for some months occupy the public in France; and it will not be till 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. I hope, too, this so long wished view of friends and country gratified, my life’s partner will feel a tranquillity, without which even our little Hermitage and Great Book Room cannot make him completely happy. F, p’A. [The projected journey of Madame d’Arblay with her husband did not take place this year; the season being already advanced, 1801.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 123 and their little boy not strong enough to bear the fatigue of such an expedition. Monsieur d’Arblay went alone to France. ] Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. West Hamble, November 11, 1801. I pip 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 les- sons 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 ex- hausted, and he went and made such wifs 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 abso- lutely 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 Ist he set sail at five o’clock in the morning. ; 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 124. DIARY AND LETTERS | . [1S01, ° 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, “moy- ennant un schelling.” 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 peril- ous, aud the captain was forced to hoist a flag of distress. Every- thing 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 ex~- cellent 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 from thence to Dover. Here, too, M. d’A. met the Duke de Duras, an hereditary officer of the .1801.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 125 crown, but who told him, since peace was made, and all hope seemed chased of a proper return to his country, he was going, wcognito, to visit a beloved old mother, whom he had not seen for eleven years. “I have no passport,” he said, “for France ; but Imean to avow myself to the Commissary at Calais, and tell him I know I am not erased, nor do [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. 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 revovr.” This is dated ten o’clock in the morning. I have not had a word since. F. DA, Monsieur d’ Arblay to Madame d’ Arblay. Paris. It m’est impossible, ma chére Fanny, d’entrer dans beaucoup de détails, vu que je n’ai quun instant dont je puisse profi- ter pour t’envoyer ceci par une occasion stire. La féte du 18 Brumaire a dti surpasser tout ce qu’on pouvait s’étre flatté d’y voir; et quoique je sois bien malheureusement arrivé trop tard pour en jouir, c’est avec Jlintérét le plus vif que jai examiné depuis tout ce qui en reste. Il est impossible de se faire une idée du gofit qui a présidé 4 l’ensemble, et de l’agré- ment de tous les détails. Je ne sais point encore positive- ment quand il me sera possible d’aller voir mon oncle. Laffaire de mon traitement de réforme n’est rien moins qu’avancée, et il est faux que Isnard et La Colombe l’aient obtenu. Demain matin jai rendez-vous avec Du Taillis, aide-de-camp de Berthier. En sortant de chez lui j’espére voir Talleyrand ; mais ce que je désire infiniment, c’est de ne pas partir avant d’avoir au moins entrevu le Premier Consul, cet homme si justement célébre. La féte a donné lieu 4 beaucoup d'inscrip- 126 _ DIARY AND LETTERS [1801. tions en vers, faites & sa louange; mais, en général, ils m’ont paru fort au-dessous du sujet. Relativement a Vobligation que nous ci-devants portés sur la liste des émigrés lui avons, Narbonne me disait aujourd’hui, “Il a mis toutes nos tétes sur ses épaules.” J’aime cette expression. M. de N. et les Lameth sont les seuls qui aient obtenu un traitement. Les derniers, imprudents et imprévoyants, 4 leur ordinaire, ont excité la jalousie de l’armée, ce qui nuit beau- coup au succés de ma demande. I] semble que je sois des- tiné 4 les trouver dans mon chemin d’une maniére facheuse, car tu sais combien, dans le cours de la révolution, nos opi- nions ont peu été en mesure. Aprés avoir obtenu leur traitement de réforme, ils ont voulu étre présentés 4 Bonaparte, et ont cru se fairevaloiren luivantant la part qu’ils avaient prise 4 larévolution. Le Consul, aprés les avoir écoutés patiemment leur a dit, du ton le plus glacial, “ Je vous crois honnétes; et d’aprés tout ce que je viens d’entendre, vous devez étre profondément malheureux :” et il les a quittés. Tu peux compter sur cette anecdote telle que je te la rapporte; et tu vois que Bonaparte est le méme en tout. N.,de qui je la tiens, dit que sa capacité en tout genre est au-dela de tout ce qu’on peut se figurer dans les limites du possible. From Le Chevalier @ Arblay to Madame d’Arblay. Paris, November 16, 1801. DERNIEREMENT, il était question de savoir au Sénat si les mem- bres qui le composent seraient ou non armés ou parés d’un sabre Tous les militaires pensaient que rien n’était moins en mesure avec les fonctions des sénateurs. Cette réflexion était vivement combattue par Volney. Le Général Lefevre, dans la chaleur de la discussion, lui dit, “Se vous avez un sabre, il faut donc que gen porte deux, mor.” Bonaparte a nommé Pusy préfet; et lorsqu’il lui est venu faire ses remerciments, il lui a dit, “C’est bien peu, mais il faut bien commencer par quelque chose qui vous mette 4 méme de déployer de nouveau cet excellent esprit que vous avez montré dans ]’Assemblée Constituante,” 1801.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 127 Voici un autre trait de lui plus aimable encore. La Tour Maubourg, l’un des compagnons du Général Lafayette, voulait marier sa fille 4 un Emigré non rayé. Tl avait obtenu du Premier Consul un rendez-vous, dans lequel il était entré dans beaucoup de détails sans lui cacher les raisons qu’on pouvait ob- jecter contre la radiation demandée. Bonaparte l’interrompt et lui dit, “ Le jeune homme convient-il 4 Mademoiselle votre fille ?” “ Oui, Général.”—* Vous convient-il 4 vous, M. de Maubourg ?” “ Beaucoup, Général.” —“ Eh bien ! l'homme que vous jugez digne d’entrer dans une famille comme la votre, est sfirement digne aussi d’étre citoyen Frangais.” La Garde Consulaire est en honneur tout ce que l’on peut se figurer de plus remarquablement beau ; 4 1]’exception des officiers généraux, qui sont tout chamarrés d’or, rien n’est plus simple et plus véritablement noble. Les simples gardes ont d’ailleurs des preuves bien autrement difficiles & faire que celles exigées des ci-devant Gardes du Corps, dont ils font le service. Maubourg m’a assuré que pour étre admis dans ce corps, il fallait avoir regu trois blessures, ou prouver quelque action d’éclat. Aussi quiconque parmi ces gardes est coupable d’un duel, est sur-le- champ chassé ; ordonnance par laquelle Bonaparte donnera pro- bablement le démenti 4 ceux qui ont prétendu qu il était impos- sible d’abolir parmi les Francais cette coutume barbare. De mon temps la crainte du déshonneur était bien plus forte que la crainte de la mort, dont les loix punissaient le duel. Mais ici quel déshonneur prétendu peut atteindre de tels braves? Depuis ma conversation a ce sujet, je n’en vols pas passer un sans étre tenté d’aller shake hands avec lui. Monsieur d Arblay to Madame d’Arblay. 15 Frimaire (December 6), 1801. SUIVANT toute apparence, ma chére amie, je n’obtiendrai point le traitement que je demande. Tout le monde dit que rien n’est plus juste, mais tant de personnes qui ont fait toute la guerre se trouvent a présent réformés, que je meurs de peur qu il n’en soit de mes services passés comme des propriétés de toute ma famille, L2ot | DIARY AND LETTERS (1801. et cela par la méme raison, par limpossibilité de faire droit aux demandes, toutes fondées qu’elles sont. Cependant, ma bonne amie, il est impossible de nous dissimuler que depuis plusieurs années nous n’avons vécu, maleré toute notre économie, que par le moyen de ressources qui sont ou épuisées ou bien prétes a tre. La plus grande partie de notre revenu n’est rien moins qu’assurée, et cependant que ferions-nous si elle venait 4 nous manquer? La morale de ce sermon est, que tandis que je suis propre 4 quelque chose, il est de mon devoir, comme époux et comme pere, de tacher de tirer parti des circonstances pour nous ménager, s'il est possible, une vieillesse totalement indépendante ; et a notre petit un bien-étre qui ne nous fasse pas renoncer au notre. Ne vas pas t’effrayer de ce préambule ; car tu dois savoir que rien au monde ne me fera dévier de la ligne que j’ai constamment suivie depuis que j’existe. Je n’ai pas plus d’ambition que lorsque je suis entré avec toi dans Phoenix Farm, et certes je ne porte envie au sort de qui que ce soit. Le mien, ma bonne amie, n’est-il pas mille et mille fois au-dessus? Mais nous serions coupables de ne pas profiter des lumiéres de l’expérience. L’espoir de nous partager entre ton pays et le mien, tant que nous ne serons pas plus aiseés, est une chimére 4 laquelle il ne m’est plus permis de songer; et comme certainement je suis loin de vouloir renoncer a un pays quim’a donné une Fanny, et qui renferme d’autres étres qui me sont bien chers, voici Vidée qui m’est venue pour me procurer cette aisance si nécessaire. On n’a point encore nommé les commissaires des relations commerciales en Angleterre. Cette place & Londres sera trés bonne, et peut-étre, quoiqu’elle soit tres demandée, ne me serajt- il pas impossible de l’obtenir. I] est au moins probable que j’en pourrais avoir une dans un des ports. Mais je ne m’en soucie- rais pas infiniment, parceque le traitement serait beaucoup moin- dre et tout au plus suffisant. D’ailleurs, quoique la place de Londres fut en chef, je crois, sans trop me flatter, que je serais fort en état de la remplir, aprés m’étre consulté avec le chef dans cette partie, homme aimable qui a été longtemps consul général en Espagne. I] y a vingt ans que nous sommes lids ésemble, et le ministre d’ailleurs appuyerait volontiers ma demande, 1801.) OF MADAME D’ABBLAY. 129 Réponds-moi sur-le-champ, je t’en conjure. Vois si cela ne contrarie aucun de tes gofits; car tu sais quil n’est pour moi qu'un seul bonheur possible. Ai-je besoin d’en dire davantage ? Il y a quelques jours que me trouvant. dans une société, la conversation tomba sur mon ancien métier, et sur les droits que je pouvais faire valoir pour obtenir le traitement que je deman- dais. Le surlendemain le maitre de la maison me dit: “Savez- vous devant qui vous parliez avant-hier?” “Non !”’—“ C’était le Général N——.”—“ En verité !’—* Quand vous fates parti, il demanda votre nom, et dés qu’on vous eut nommé, ‘ Quoi! dit-il, celui, du comité central? ‘Oui. ‘Eh bien! je dois étre com- mandant-général de Sil veut s’embarquer avec moi, je me fais fort de le faire employer dans son grade d’officier général, et de le prendre pour mon second,” &c. &c. &e. Il est trés possible qu'il se soit un peu avancé; quoique, son état-major laissé 4 sa nomination, il est probable qu'il réussirait. Dans tous les cas je lui devais une réponse polie, et ce devoir je m’en suis acquitté en refusant. Je te quitte pour aller a la fameuse revue que le Premier Consul ne fait plus que les 15 de chaque mois. J’ai la plus vive impa- tience de voir tout & mon aise cet étre qui remplit l’univers en- tier de son nom. Au revoir, mon amie; mes tendres respects 4 Norbury. Consulte lange des anges, et embrasse-le pour moi, ainsi que sa trés digne better half. J’embrasse de toute mon Ame et de toutes mes forces Alex. et sa mere. J'ai pleuré de joie en lisant la lettre de ce cher petit. Madame d Arblay to Mrs. Burney. West Hamble, December, 1801. Wir respect to the grand subject of your letter, religious in- ‘struction for dear little E——, I would I could help you better than I can! Had my Alex. been a girl, I could have had a far ereater chance of hitting upon something that might serve for a hint; for then I should have turned my thoughts that way, and have been prepared with their result; but I have only weighed what might be most serviceable to a boy. And this is by no VOL. 1V. 9 13 DIARY AND LETTERS [1801, means tlie same thing, though religion for a man and a woman must be so precisely. Many would be my doubts as to the Old Testament for a girl, on account of the fault of the translators in not guarding it from terms and expressions impossible—at least utterly improper, to explain. With respect to Alex., as I know he must read it at school, I think it best to parry off the danger of his own conjectures, questions, or suggestions, by letting him read it completely with me, and giving such a turn to all I am sorry to let him read as may satisfy his innocent and unsuspicious mind for the present, and, perhaps—'tis my hope—deter him from future dangerous inquiries, by giving him an internal idea. He is already well informed upon the subject. So much, however, I think with you that religion should spring from the heart, that my first aim is to instil into him that general veneration for the Creator of all things, that cannot but operate, though perhaps slowly and silently, in opening his mind to pious feelings and ideas. His nightly prayers I frequently vary; whatever is constantly re- peated becomes repeated mechanically: the Lord’s Prayer, there- fore, is by no means our daily prayer ; for as it is the first and most perfect composition in the universe, I would not have it lose its effect by familiarity. When we repeat it, it is always with a commentary. In general the prayer is a recapitulation of the errors and naughtiness, or forbearance and happiness, of the day; and this I find has more success in impressing him with delight in goodness, and shame in its reverse, than all the little or great books upon the subject. Mrs. Trimmer J should suppose admirable for a girl; I have told you my motive for taking the Scripture at large for a boy: I would rather all risks and dangers should be run with than without me. We are not yet far enough advanced for such books as you talk of for E——-; but I will inquire what those are, if possible, and let you know. I think, however, conversation and prayer are the great means for instruction on this subject ; there isno knowing when they read on what is so serious, what they understand, or how they understand ; and they should be allured, uot frightened, into a religious tender cy, 1801.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 131 Madame @ Arblay to Monsieur d’ Arblay. West Hamble, December 15, 1801. TuE 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 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 willsurely try it with you, be it what it may. I will try any thing but what I try now—absence! Think, however, well, mon trés 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. 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 9—2 132 DIARY AND LETTERS ~ — [1801.. 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. Heis 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 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 ! ee 1902] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY, 135 CHAPTER LVII. 1802. Disappointment to M. d’Arblay—His negotiations with the French Go- vernment— His claims disallowed—.Letter from Madame d’Arblay to Miss Planta, acquainting her with the particulars—Letter of M. d’Arblay, informing his wife of the determination of the French Government— Reply of Madame d’Arblay—Letter of M. d’Arblay, desiring that his wife and child should follow him to Paris—Madame d’Arblay sets out on her Journey—Her companions in the Diligence—Monsieur Anglais— Madame Raymond—Madame Blaizeau—First impressions of France— The Commissaire—God Save the King in Calais—The Market-Place— Costume of the Market-Women—Demands at the Custom House— Country between Calais and Paris—Restoration of the Dimanche— Sunday Night Dance. [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 pro- mised, on condition that he should previously serve at St. Do- mingo, 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 expe- dition 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 meade out, and on his own terms. To this M. d’Arblay wrote his 134 DIARY AND LETTERS [1862 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 determina- tion 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 intro- duced.] Madame @ Arblay to Miss Planta. Camilla Cottage, West Hamble, 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, 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY, 135 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 retri- bution from the Government of his own country, yet refuse to serve it. Finally, therefore, he resolved to accept the offer con- ditionally ;—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 him- self 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 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 misrepresenta- tion, he has this day delivered to M. Otto 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. 136 - DIARY AND LETTERS (1802, I presume to hope this little detail may, at some convenient moment, meet her Majesty’s eyes—with every expression of my profoundest devotion, T am, &c. My own plans during the absence of M. d’Arblay are yet undetermined. JI am, at present, wholly consigned to aiding his preparations—to me, I own, a most melancholy task—but which I have the consolation to find gives pleasure to our mutual friends, glad to have him, for a while, upon such conditions, quit his spade and his cabbages. Monsieur d’Arblay to Madame d Arblay. Paris, ce 17 Ventose, an 10 (Mars 8, 1802), JEtécris par triplicata ma position actuelle: c’est-a-dire, le parti que le Gouvernement a cru devoir prendre de ne plus m’employer, et l’ordre que j'ai regu de regarder comme non avenues les lettres que m’avait écrites le Ministre de la Guerre. La cause qu'il assigne & cette disgrace, 4 laquelle je n’étais rien moins que préparé est ma déclaration de ne point servir contre la patrie de ma femme, qua peut encore étre armée contre la République. Pardon, ma bonne amie, je t’avoue que jai été depuis huit jours d’une mélancolie & inqui¢ter mes amis. Tu en seras peu surprise quand tu réfléchiras 4 tous les sacrifices auxquels je métais résigné, & toutes les dépenses 4 présent inutiles qu’il m’a fallu faire, aux caquets qu'il m’a fallu supporter—enfin a lespé- rance & jamais détruite d’un meilleur avenir, dans lequel j’aurais été pour quelque chose, mais plus que tout cela 4 l’impossibilité de voler prés de toi, et a la nécessité de ne te faire part de ma position actuelle que lorsque j’aurais une presque certitude quelle ne pouvait changer. A présent,ma bonne amie, je te promets de m’occuper uniquement du bonheur que nous avons encore devant nous. Tu sais que lorsque j’ai une fois pris mon parti, je sais étre ferme. Hé bien, je t’assure que ma plus grande souffrance est venue de l’incertitude ot j’étais foreément plongé. Comme il ne m’en reste plus, je veux m’arréter sur l’idée si douce de te revoir bientot. Déja, moi, qui lorsqwil a été question de -1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 134 mon départ m’étais persuadé que je jouirais 4 St. Domingue de la meilleure santé, vi mon age, ma sobriété, et le soin que je comptais prendre de moi, sans pour cela faire moins qu’aucun autre relativement 4 mon service, je cherche déja 4 me persuader que, vi. mon tempérament bilieux, et mon désir—que dis-je 2— mon besoin de faire plus qu’un autre, j’aurais fort bien pf suc- comber a l’influence presque pestilentielle d’un climat que je commenc¢ais & regarder comme infiniment sain et agréable ! Dans mon accés de mélancolie, qui en honneur se dissipe depuis que j’ai cru pouvoir t’en dire la cause, j’ai été d’une telle Sauvagerie que je m’étais mis dans l’esprit, et encore plus dans la téte qu’ainsi que le bouc d'Israel je portais partout la marque de la réprobation. En conséquence, je fuyais tout le monde, et n’en étais pas plus heureux, ne pouvant causer lbrement avec toi, et ne técrivant que des balivernes, je passais 4 faire du mauvais sang en pure perte, un temps, quil m’eut été si doux d’employer aux épanchements accoutumés de ma tendresse et de ma confiance pour toi. Sans cesse j’avais devant les yeux le Sieur Lullin, de lAlien Office, et la promesse que jai été contraint de faire, pour obtenir mon passeport, d’étre au moins wn an avant de retourner de Angleterre. L’insolence de ce Lullin me fait encore bouillirle sang. Quelques personnes en font cependant Véloge. En ce casl’exception dont il m’a honoré est flatteuse! Comme en tout état de cause il m’est impossible de t’aller trouver, que d’ailleurs tu devais toujours venir au prin- temps, j’espere que tu voudras bien consentir & me venir joindre avec notre cher petit. Prends donc tes arrangements en consé- quence. ‘Taches de louer la maison pour un an; et si tu as un logement & Richmond, cherches & le céder. Adieu, ma chére amie, a revoir bientdt toi et notre cher, bien cher Alex.! Mes tendres respects & nos excellents amis, ainsi _)qu’a nos bons parents. Madame d@ Arblay to Monsieur d’ Arblay. West Hamble, March 14, 1£02. O MY DEAREST FRIEND—Can the intelligence I bave most desired come to me in a form that forbids my joy at it? What 138 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. tumultuous sensations your letter of the 8th has raised! Alas! that to relinquish this purpose should to you be as great unhap- piness 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 J 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 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 de- licht! 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 him to have followed you and your fate even to St. Do- mingo? ’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 gar- den—our wnique mode of ife—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 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 139 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. 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 dis- enchant her—yet so generous and disinterested she is, that, how- ever 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 pur- suits, and I am frightened out of all my own satisfaction by my dread of the weight of this chagrin upon your spirits. What 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 J have worked for fortitude since Feb, 15th. Alas! vainly I have tried what most I wished—my poor pen !—but now “ occwpe-tor pour réaliser Vespérance.” 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! M. @Arblay to Madame d’ Arblay. Ce 21 Ventose, an 10 (12 Mars, 1802), Iu me semble, ma bonne amie, quil y a un siécle que je n’ai eu de tes nouvelles ; et tu peux juger avec quelle impatience j’en attends. L’assassinat prétendu du moins de Toussaint, en me donnant les plus vives inquiétudes sur les alarmes que cette nou- velle n’aura pas manqué de te causer, m’a beaucoup calmé sur le - contr’ordre que j’ai regu; et je te jure qu/actuellement je suis presque réconcilié sur mon désappointement. Comme je t’ai écrit par quatre voies différentes, je ne te répéterai point ici ce que je t’ai mandé a ce sujet. Tu as sans doute fait part 4 Norbury des lettres que je t’ai envoyées, 140 DIARY AND LETTERS (1802. T’ai-je mandé que j’avais envoyé copie de ces mémes lettres a M. de Lafayette? Je les accompagnais de quelques réflexions & peu prés semblables a celles que je t’ai écrites. M. de Lafayette vint sur le champ 4 Paris, et demanda un rendezvous & Bonaparte, que le lui accorda sur le champ. En Yabordant, M. de Lafayette lui dit, “Je viens vous parler d'un de mes amis et compagnons—de D’Arblay.” “Je connais cette affaire,” dit le Premier Consul, d’un ton qui marquait plus de bienveillance que je n’osais l’espérer, ou du moins qu’on ne me Vavait fait craindre. “Je vous assure,” me dit le lendemain M: de Lafayette, “ que vous avez prés du Premier Consul de bons amis qui lui avaient déja parlé de votre affaire. Il m’a paru, des le premier instant, plutot disposé en votre faveur que faché contre vous. Il a écouté avec attention et bonté tout ce que j’ai eu a dire, a rendu justice a votre loyauté; et, sur ce que je lui ai parlé de la crainte qu’on vous avait inspirée relativement 4 limpression facheuse qui pouvait lui rester sur cette affaire, m’a répondu positivement, que cela ne nurrart en aucune maniére & vos droits acquis, et qui ne considérerait dans cette démarche que le mari de * Cecilia.” J’espére que tu ne seras pas trés mécontente de la maniére dont finit cette affaire, qui m’a donné beaucoup de chagrin. Je crois méme pouvoir t’ajouter en confidence que je ne suis pas, peut-étre, fort éloigné d’avoir ma retraite. Viens donc me trouver, ma bonne amie. Comment se porte Maria? fPourras-tu t’arranger pour venir avec elle? ou bien préferes-tu venir 4 Douvre avec Alex., sous la garde d’un de tes fréres, pour t’y embarquer et arriver 4 Calais, ot j’irais t’attendre ? Cet arrangement serait bien plus selon mon cceur; mais outre que je voudrais bien que tu eusses un homme dans le passage, cela serait bien plus cher. Ne manque pas surtout de prendre un passeport de Monsieur Otto, et de te munir non seulement de nos actes de mariage, mais de celui de naissance de notre cher petit, le tout bien légalisé par la signature non seulement du guge de paix, mais dun notarre public, 1802.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 141 Madame @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 voiw. Iam really be- wildered 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 wp ; 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 pri- vation 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. p’A. P.S. Monsieur de Lally has put off his journey; I shall there- fore not wait for him, but set out with my two children. DIARY RESUMED. | (Addressed to Dr. Burney.) I sEizz, at length, upon the largest paper I can procure, to 142 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802, begin to my beloved father some account of our journey, and if I am able, I mean to keep him a brief 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, Thursday, April 15, 1802. William and John conducted my little boy and me in excel- lent 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 expedi- tion, with my two dear young charges, exactly at five o'clock. Paris, April 15, 1802. The bookkeeper came to me eagerly, crying, “vite, vite, Madame, prenez votre place dans la diligence, car voici wr Monsieur Anglais, qua surement va prendre la meilleure ?— en effet, ce Monsieur Anglais did not disappoint his expectations, or much raise mine; for he not only took the best place, but con- trived 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 com- mander 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 pur- posely 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 1802. ] OF MADAME ND’ARBLAY, 145 chief. I never heard his name, but I think him a gentleman born, though not gently bred. The next to mention is a Madame Raymond or Grammont, for I heard not distinctly which, who seemed very much a gen- tlewoman, 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 in- terest 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 ex- ceeding good sort of a woman, gay, voluble, good humoured, and merry. All we had of amusement sprang 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 ac- quainted 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 everything 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 magnifi- cence in a way to leave no doubt of the fact. She meant to stop at St. Denys, to inquire if her mother yet lived, having re- ceived no intelligence from or of her, these last ten eventful years ! 144 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 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 plea- sure which I always love to cherish in the view of fine old cathedrals, those most permanent monuments of what our ances- tors thought reverence to God, as manifested in munificence to the place dedicated to his worship. 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. : Friday, April 16. As we were not to sail till twelve, I had hoped to have seen the Castle and Shakespeare’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 exa- mination 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. 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 six, 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 1802.} OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 145 nor seeing their approach, it seemed as if they had availed them- selves 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 écritoire, 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 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 écri- toire, and the other insisting on conducting its owner. The quantity of people that surrounded and walked with us, sur- prised 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 écritoire, she exclaimed, “ Vite / vite ! cherchez-le, ou vous serez arrétée!” 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 regu- larly followed, not from preference, but from the singular horror VOL, IV. 10 146 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. my otherwise worthy and well-bred 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 judg- ment. I was the only one in this predicament; the rest refusing or disputing every demand. They all, but us, went out to walk ; but I stayed to write to my dearest father, to Mrs. Locke, and my expecting mate. We were all three too much awake by the new scene to try for any repose, and the hotel windows sufficed for our amuse- ment 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 ! 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 I regularly saw large and generally drop gold ear-rings, were quite as diverting to myself 1802.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 147 as to Alex. and Adrienne. Many of them, also, had gold neck- laces, chains, and crosses; but ear-rings all: even the maids who were scrubbing or sweeping, ragged wretches carrying 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 me- tropolis, and still to the disadvantage of the latter. I cannot say how much this surprised me, as I had conceived an horrific idea of the populace of this country, imagining them all transformed into bloody monsters. 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 aftei‘wards, 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. Itis now avery 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 bye- 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-travel- lers had been to the custom-house! I had quite forgotten, or rather neglected to inquire the hour for this formality, anc was beginning to alarm myself lest I was out of rule, when a young mMan—x commissa’y, I hard, of the hotel—csme to me and 10—2 118 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802- asked if I had anything contraband to the laws of the Republic. I answered as I had done before. “ Mais, Madame, avez-vous quelque chose de neuf?’ “Oui, Monsieur.”—“Quelques jupons ?’? “ Beaucoup, Monsieur.”—“ Quelques bas de coton 2” “Plusieurs, Monsieur.’—“ Eh bien! Madame, tout cela sera saisi.”—“ Mais, Monsieur! quand ce n’est pas du tout pour vendre, seulement pour porter?” “CO’est égal, Madame, tout ga sera saisi.’—‘* Eh! mais que faut-il donc faire?” “TI faut, Madame, payer généreusement; et si vous étes bien stire quil n’y a rien a vendre, alors peut-étre——” I entreated him to take charge himself as to what was right and generous, and he readily undertook to go through the cere- mony 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 satisfac: tion at the restoration of Dimanche and abolition of Décade. 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. 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 and gardens and civilization of Kent, so sudden and unpleasant that I only lamented the fatigue of my position, which regularly inypeded 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 carriaye, aud the villages, few and distant, seemed to have ue intercourse with each other. Dimunche, indeed, might occasion this stiffness, for we saw, at almost all the villages, neat and clean peasants going to vr conung from mass, and seeming 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 149 indescribably elated and happy by the public permission of di- vine 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 neigh- bours’ ; 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 mo- ments, 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 Custom-house 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 Décade, 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 warm- est approval. 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 Diew for these last ten years, but that Bonaparte had now found him! In aucther cottage we were told the villagers had kept their own Curé 150 - -DIARY AND LETTERS £1802, 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 know- ing 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 pas- time; 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 him- self, Witness, F. Dp’ ARBLAY. 1802.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY, 151 CHAPTER LVIIL Letter of Madame d’Arblay to Miss Planta, describing her recent Journey —Popularity of Bonaparte— Visits and Visitors—“ La Maison 4 Vendre ” at the Théatre Feydeau— Mrs. Damer and Miss B——A Party to the Opera Buffa—Assembly at Madame d’Henin’s— Character of Madame de Staél—Note from her to Madame d’Arblay—Her Reply—La Folie de Chartres—A Visit from Madame de Lafayette—.Visit to the Tuileries— | Etiquette in the Palace—M. d’Arblay’s old Comrades—Waiting for the First Consul—The Prince of Orange—Second Consul, Cambacérés— Bonaparte at the Tuileries—The Review—The First Consul receiving a Petition—M. d’Arblay’s relatives at Joigny—Louis Bonaparte—Madame _de Souza—Sir Sidney Smith, 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 my 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. At Calais we spent a day, and half a night to refit; and pray try to imagine my pleased emotion and surprise; when, as soon as 152 ' DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. we were seated to dinner at the hotel, a band of musicians came to the window, with French horns and other instruments, and struck up “ God save the King.” So unexpected a sound in a foreign country, and a country so lately hostile, affected me with uncommon pleasure. 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 sump- tuous wardrobe to refit, and my own poor exterior to reorganize ! 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 fol- lowed the examination of my attire! “This won't do! That you can never wear! Zhis 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!” &e. &c. Inshort, I found all that I possessed seemed so hideously old-fashioned, or so comically rustic, that as soon as it was de- creed I must make my appearance in the grand monde, hope- less of success in exhibiting myself in the costume Francais, I gave over the attempt, and ventured to come forth as a Gothic Anglaise, who had never heard of, or never heeded, the reigning metamorphoses. As to my engagements ;—when should I finish, should I tell of 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, 1802.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 153 Your favourite hero is excessively popular at this moment from three successive grand events, all occurring within the short time of my arrival,—the Ratification of the Treaty of Peace—the Re- storation 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. Adieu, My dear Miss P., and believe me ever, Your affectionate friend and servant, F. D’ ARBLAY. JOURNAL RESUMED. (Addressed to Dr. Burney.) Paris, April 1, 1802. ALMOST immediately after my arrival in Paris, I was much sur- prised by a visit from the ci-devant Prince de Beauveau, Madame his wife, and Mademoiselle de Mortemar, her sister, all brought by Madame d’Hénin. If gratified in the first instance by a polite- ness 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 re- ward of their civility, by a letter I had brought from Mrs. Har- court, which was received with the warmest delight by Made- moiselle de Mortemar; and a message from.a young lady named Elizabeth, with the profoundest gratitude. April 24, This morning Madame d’Hénin was so kind as to accompany us in making our visit to Madame de Beauveau, her niece, and Mademoiselle de Mortemar. We found them at home with M. de Beauveau, 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 sim- plicity. | The visit was very pleasant, and Madame d’Hénin made a 154 DIARY AND LETTERS (1802, party for us all to meet again the next day, and go to the Opera Buffa. | Upon our entrance into the Hotel Marengo, we met M. Lajard, who came to introduce one of his brothers to me, and to offer us places in a loge to the Thédtre Feydeaw. We went late, and arrived in the middle of an opera of which I know not the name, but which was quite in the heroics, though the airs were mixed with speeches not recitative. All my pleasure, I confess, was from the after-piece, in which the heroics were omitted. It is called La Maison & Vendre, and two very agreeable singers and charming actors, Martin and Elleviou, delighted the whole au- dience, and would have had me amongst their strongest admirers if I were capable of following them in the words which make so much the chief charm of their performance ; but I have not yet acquired the use of listening with much profit to the sense con- veyed by lengthened tones in the French language. M. Charles de Poix announced to us that Paesiello was just arrived in Paris. | I have heard much of the visit of Mrs. Damer and the Miss B ’s to Paris, and their difficulty to get introduced to the First Consul. A lady here told us she had been called upon by Miss B , 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, suc. ceeded at last in obtaining an introduction. They were both, Mrs. Damer and Miss B , as I am told, very gay and agree- able, as well as enterprising, and extremely well répandues. 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 155 April 25. I was not much better in the evening, but the party for the Opera Buffa being formed by Madame d’Hénin on my account, my going was indispensable. She had borrowed the loge of M, de Choiseul, which, being entailed upon the family & perpétwité, 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. M. and Madame de Beauveau, Mademoiselle de , and M. Malhouét, made the party invited; but M. Malhouét failing, M. de Guignes, formerly ambassador in England, took his place. You remember him, my dear padre, at one of your concerts, and ses gens. Do you think I could help recollecting his haste? The opera was Le Nozze di Dorvna, by Sarti, and extremely pretty ; though I wished it had been as new to M. C—— de Ms as to myself, for then he would not have divided my at- tention 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, which being but too obvious, Madame d’Hénin and M. d’Arblay took me away before I risked a downright nap by waiting for the third. April 26. The assembly at Madame d’Hénin’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 Tessé 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 Staél, from the cha- racter 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 156 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 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! Madame de Grandmaison, a very favourite friend of M. d’Ar- blay, came to visit me. She is a very handsome woman, and thought very clever and agreeable; but I was too much disturbed either to enjoy or judge of her conversation. What most per- plexed me at this period was the following note from Madame de Staél :— From Madame de Staél to Madame d@ Arblay. Je voudrais vous témoigner mon empressement, Madame, et je crains d’étre indiscréte. J’espére que vous aurez la bonté 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. NECKER STA#L DE H. Ce 4 florial. 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 renewal of an acquaintance broken so abruptly in England, and so palpably shunned in France? Is it that the regard she appeared to con- ceive for me in England was not only sincere but constant? If so, { 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, lam assured all her misfortunes are aggravated, nay cari- catured, 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, not- withstanding circumstances and disunion, either in politics or morals, may have made them become her enemies. Her gene- rosity 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. What a strangely complex mix- ture, my dearest father, is that mixture which forms human 1502.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 157 nature! That good, or rather grand qualities may unite with almost every frailty ! After much deliberation and discussion, my French master composed the following answer :-— “Madame d’Arblay ne peut qu’étre infiniment flattée de l’ex- tréme bonté de Madame la Comtesse de Staél. Elle aura trés certainement l’honneur de se présenter chez Madame de Staél aussitot que possible.” Cooler than this it was not easy to write, and the ne peut qu’étre 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 d’Hénin took us to a place called La folie de Char- tres, formerly belonging to the Duc d’Orléans, but now a public garden. It is in a state of ruin, compared with what it for- merly boasted of grandeur; the river cut through it is nearly dried up from neglect of the fountains; the house is turned into cake-rooms, and common benches are placed in the most open parts of the garden, while a multitude of little bridges are half broken. Nevertheless, with all this, M. d’Arblay and I, with our West Hamble rusticity, thought it was probably more beautiful, though less habitable, than in its pristine state; for the grass wildly growing was verdant and refreshing, the uncut lilacs were lavish of sweets, and Nature all around seemed luxuriantly to revel over the works of art. 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 1t 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 begin- ning 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 gown, your daughter, my dearest sir, lay reclined on a bed, when, rather late in the even- 158 DIARY AND LETTERS (1802. ing, I was told Madame d’Hénin 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, how- ever, frisking about, prevented Pauline, my little femme de chambre, from hearing me, and she announced Madame de La- fayette ! . You may easily believe this name, and my present situation, put me into no small commotion. I was beseeching Madame d’Hénin 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 bed-room door wide open, saying, “ Mamma is here!” Ma- dame 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’Hénin, who is her intimate friend, to receive her, for I was wholly powerless, with my unsandaled feet, from rising. Madame d’Hénin 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 asensation of pleasure, that, by animating my spirits, endowed me with a courage that overcame all diffi- culties 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 im- 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 159 mured with her husband in the dungeon of Olmutz. Various as may be the opinions of 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 Tessé, the Duc’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 Olmutz, 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. 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, Ma- dame de Tess¢, to make some preparations for the approaching marriage of her only son. Her youngest daughter, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, accom- panied her. She is a blooming young creature of Hnglish fair- ness—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 ex- treme 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. 160 DIARY AND LETTERS (1802. I regretted extremely that M. d’Arblay was not within, as Madame Lafayette is most deservedly one of the beings he reveres, and as he has the happiness to be enlisted amongst those who are honoured with her regard. She warmly invited me to La Grange, and requested me to name an early day for passing some time there. I proposed that it might be after the marriage had taken place, as till then all foreign people or swhyects might be obtrusive. She paused a moment, and then said, “ Apres ?—c’est vrai!—we could then more completely enjoy Madame d’Arblay’s society ; for we must now have continual interruptions, surrounded as we are by work- men, 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 knew M. d’Arblay desired this acquaintance for me too ear- nestly to offer any opposition; and I was too much charmed with its opening to make any myself: it was therefore deter- mined we should go the following week to La Grange. (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 ser- vice, but who had been a sous-officier under M. d’Arblay’s com- mand ; our third ticket was for Madame d’Hénin, 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, everything 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 Beauvean, who had a General in his carriage, through whose aid and in- structions we hoped to escape all difficulties. Accordingly the coach in which they went was desired to stop at Madame d’Hénin’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 Beauveaus, Mademoiselle de Mortemar, and their attending 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 161 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 Beauveau, and flew up to him. They had been ancient cama- rades, 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 steps! We had great difficulty, notwithstanding our tickets, in making our way—I mean Madame d’Henin and ourselves, for Madame de Beauveau 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 passed 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 tu atiract no attention, than who are fashionable enough to call for it. VOL, IV. Vuh 162 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 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 any impious elf dare dispute his right to give me liberty, or to show me honour. He put me into the first place in the apartment which was sacred to general officers, and as many ladies as could be accom- modated 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 Beauveau and Mademoiselle de Mortemar, who were at the same windows, through the exertions of General Songis. The scene now, with regard toall that was present, was splen- didly 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 arrrange chairs for whoever required them ; various peace-oflicers, superbly begilt, paraded occasionally up 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 163 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. But what was most prominent in commanding notice, was the array of the aides-de-camp of Bonaparte, which was so 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 dis- cover 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 beau- tiful 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 i1—2 164 DIARY AND LETTERS © [1802.. the frippery of his trappings, so as to make them appear almost to advantage. 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 Made- moiselle de Mortemar and Madame de Beauveau, 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 discovery in England; for the moment it was buzzed “c'est une étrangere, cest une Anglaise,’ 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. 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 con- versing 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 2” “Pas encore, Madame.” “C’est sans doute ce que vous souhaitez le plus, Madame ?” “Oui, Madame.” “Voulez-vous le voir parfaitement bien, et tout 4 fait 4 votre aise ?” “Je le désire beaucoup, Madame.” 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 ap- 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 165 peared, 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 !” I was very much surprised, indeed, and could only conclude I was speaking to a wife, sister, or cousin at least, of one of the other consuls, or of some favourite minister. “Et lui, Madame, il me répondra; vous l’entendrez parler, Madame, oui, vous Yentendrez! car il est bon, bon!—bon homme tout & fait et affable !—O affable !—oui, vous l’entendrez parler.” I thanked her very much, but it was difficult to express as 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 on, 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 14!” 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. 166 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. “Oui, Madame,” I answered, not conceiving why I was to look at him; “je le vois ce Monsieur ; il est bien grand!” “Oui, Madame,” replied she, with a yet widened smile, and a look of lively satisfaction; “il est bien grand! Vous le voyez bien 2?” “Mais oui: et il est trés bien mis!” “ Oui sfirement! vous étes sfire que vous le voyez ?” “Bien sire, Madame,—mais, il a un air d’autorité, il me semble.” “Qui, Madame; et bientdt, il ira dans l'autre appartement! il verra le Premier Consul !” “QO, fort bien!” cried I, quite at a loss what she meant me to understand, till at last, fixing first him, and then me, she expres- sively said— “Madame, c’est mon mari!” 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, how- ever, 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 par- ticipating in the merits of his height and breadth, though he 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 dis- appointed 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 ac- cent of tenderness, “M’Ami! M’Ami!” ——— “—_ x 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 167 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. How- ever, he only grumbled out, “ Qu’est-ce que c’est donc?” A little at a loss what to say, she gently stammered, “ M’Ami,—le—le Premier Consul, ne vient-il pas?” “Oui! oui!” was blustered in reply, with a look that completed the phrase by “you fool, you !” though the voice left it unfinished. 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 con- nexion. “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 gentle- men 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. 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 168 DIARY AND LETTERS ° (1802. Consul, Cambacérés, 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 hori- zontally, 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 me facilitated my stand- ing 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 medi- tation 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 Bona- parte, 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 :— 1802. OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 169 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 coun- tenance, 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 pro- mised 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 review I shall attempt no description of. I have no know- ledge 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, it only saddened me; and all of past reflection, all of future dread, made the whole erandeur 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 in- differently 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 zudge 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 hae 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 com- manding. 170 DIARY AND LETTERS 11802. Just as the consular band, with their brazen drums as well as trumpets, marched facing the First Consul, the sun broke sud- denly out from the clouds which had obscured it all the morning ; and the effect was so abrupt and so dazzling that I could not help observing it to my friend, the wife of m’ami, who, eyeing me with great surprise, not unmixed with the compassion of contempt, said,— “ Est-ce que vous ne savez pas cela, Madame? Dés que le Premier Consul vient 4 la parade, le soleil vient aussi! I a beau pleuvoir tout le matin; c’est égal, il n’a qu’a paraitre, et tout de suite il fait beau.” I apologized for my ignorance; but doubt whether it was for- given. 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. Lut 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!” 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 breath rapidly said, to the lady, “ Votre nom, Madame, votre nom!” trying to disengage the Consul from her importunity, in which they suc- ceeded, 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 Vaurai! je ’aurai!”’ meaning what she had petitioned for—“car 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 171 Pew as. tous ces Généraux m’ont demandé mon nom!” 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 in- commoded, 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, - F. pA. Madame d’ Arblay to Mrs. Burney. Paris, 1802. Wirn the nearest relatives now existing of M. d’Arblay I am myself more pleased than I can tell you. We have spent a fort- night at Joigny, 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 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 etiquette demand, as yet, nearly 172 DIARY AND LETTERS (1802, all my time; and this has been a true fatigue both to my body and my spirits. I am now endeavouring to make an arrangement, after a fashion of my own, to put an end to these claims, at least, to their being fulfilled. Iam sure I shall have a far better chance to do well by those I mix with, as well as by myself, if I succeed ; for my voice is as wearied of pronouncing as my brain is wearied in searching words to pronounce. All I experienced, however, from company, interruption, and visiting at Paris was so short of what I found at Joigny, that, in the comparison, I seemed completely mistress of my time; for at Joigny I can truly affirm I never had one hour, or even half a one, to myself. By myself I mean to owr three selves. M. d’Arblay is related, though very distantly, to a quarter of the town, and the other three-quarters are his friends or ac- quaintance; 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 congé, 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 con- tinuance or repetition of interruption. F. pA. Addressed 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, youngest brother 1802.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 173 but one (Jéréme) of the First Consul. His regiment was quar- tered at Joigny, where he happened to be upon our last arrival at that town, and where the first visit he made was to M. Bazille, 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 dis- countenanced 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 his 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. 7 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.* She soon found the road to my good will and regard, for she told me that she, with another lady, had been * Authoress of “ Adéle de Senange,” &c. 174 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802, 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 Grande Féte which he gave upon the dearest and most memorable of occasions; and she spoke with such pleasure and gratitude of the sweet condescen- sion she then experienced, that she charmed and delighted me, and we struck wp 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 chateau of la ct-devant Princesse de Beaufre- mont, 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 chateau, 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 doated, was in the chateau at this horrible period, and forced to make her escape with such alarm and precipitance, that she never re- covered 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 Chateau de Cesy, in which Madame de Beaufremont and her youngest and now only daugh- ter, 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, cas- cades, and groves, and occasional fine picturesque views from the banks of the Yonne, are all laid out with taste and pretty etfects. 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. 1802.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 175 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. 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 re- tracing 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 deportés, by the order of the Directory, a@ la Guyane. As soon as the first civilities were over, she said, “ Permettez, Madame! connaissez-vous Sidney?”* 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 baptéme. She was extremely surprised when I answered no; telling me she had concluded “que tout le monde en Angleterre” must _ know Sidney! Yes, I said, by character certainly ; but person- ally 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 époux;” and she saw also, she * Sir Sidney Smith, ° 176 DIARY AND LETTERS (1802. said, “son valet, et son jockey,” 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;” which 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 Villheur- nois. . When we parted, she begged me, as soon as I returned to England, “d’aller voir Sidney pour lui faire ses reproches de ce qu'il n’avait pas répondu 4 sa lettre,” though she was sure it had been delivered to him, because her son had given it lui-méme to . “Spencer,” when he passed through Paris on his return from Constantinople. | Shall I never have done, you will say, with Joigny? Nay, you don’t yet know what I could add: I could give you lists of the dinners with which M. d’Arblay’s return was celebrated, that might grace a Lord Mayor's feast. But basta, basta. F, DA, 1803.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. Lee CHAPTER LIX. 1803. La Grippe, a prevailing Disease in France—Apprehensions of War—Gene- ral Lauriston—War inevitable between England and France-—M. d’Arblay’s prospects in France—His retratte—Madame d’Arblay at Passy —WM. d’Arblay receives Civil Employment from the French Government — Dr. Burney dines with the Prince of Wales at Lord Melbourne’s— Accomplishments of his Royal Highness—Dr. Burney’s meeting with Mrs. Piozzi at Bath—Difficulties of Correspondence—Anxiety of Madame d’Arblay respecting her Friends in England—Her desire for a re-union— Dr. Burney a corresponding Member of the French Institute— Recollec- tions of May-Day—Hopes of Peace—Joy of Madame d’Arblay on re- ceiving a Letter from her Father—Her description of her Son—A de- licious Banquet—-Madame d’Arblay’s fortitude —An Octogenarian Vocalist. Madame dArblay to Dr. Burney. Passy, March 23, 1803. No, my dearest Padre, bumptious !—no! I deny the charge in toto. I had not such a thought—or rather such a feel in the world; but ‘twas “very disencouraging, Tommy,” to receive none of that coin which urged forth my merchandise !—for I had hoped some return in some of your narratory letters in which I so delight, and which nobody writes in so interesting a manner to my gusto, and which you used to enliven my retirement with occasionally in our tight little island. However, if it must not be expected, I will make up my mind the best I can to the good of the world, in this public monopolizer of a dictionary,* to which I should feel, I doubt not, less grudge, if it were more in my way. * Dr. Burney was then writing for the “ Encyclopedia Britannica.” VOL. IV, 12 178 DIARY AND LETTERS [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 seemeabroad. I have had no fever, and no physician, and no important malady ; but cold has fastened upon cold, soas utterly toimprison me. La grippe, 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 hang- ing on its very name at that fatal period) I should have deemed ita mere common cold. Itis now universally over, but the mis- chief it has done is grievously irreparable. M. de la Harpe I mourn the most, and much regret never having seen. The Abbé Ricard, who had just published about half his translation of Plu- tarch, I was also very sorry for. I had dined in his company once, and he was my next neighbour; and so gentle, so quiet, so modest, so reserved, that he appeared an almost singular charac- ter in these times. Do you know his poem called La Sphere ? I am really sorry he is gone,—and by an illness so insidious, that appeared to have so little authority for the havoc it made. Ma- dame Trimouille, the lady of the house at Mousseau ot which we occupied one pavillon, sank under it also, as did the mother-in- law of B ’s brother the doctor. It was a disastrous and fright- ful 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 occa- sioned by the dreadful want of cleanliness in that city, which, but for the healthiness of the beautiful and delicious walks around it, 7.¢., Les Boulevards, must surely have proved pestilen- tial. The air of our house at Passy is perfectly pure and sweet. By never going to Paris, I have never, of course, seen our avabassador or his duchess. The very only thing that I re- gret not residing in Paris for, is my inability to go to his Excellency’s chapel. 1903.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 179 I send you a newspaper, to let you see titles can be be- stowed here, as well as taken away. M. d@’Arblay is now making a last effort with respect to his retraite, 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 em- bassy in England. If through him it should fail, I shall never think of it more. 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 owrselves at Westminster), how tenderly does he join in my every feeling ! and how faithfully keep unimpaired all our best and happiest sympathies ! May 2nd. 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 Lau- riston to confirm the Peace, what a guardian angel upon earth [ 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 mizht look at him with trust as well as satisfaction. He fills his very high and powerful post in this country with a 12—2% 180 DIARY AND LETTERS [1803. modesty and moderation that keep aloof from him all the jea- lousy, envy, and calumny that usually attend such stations. He receives M. d’Arblay upon exactly the same terms of intimacy, regard, and equality as formerly, and always admits him, be his engagements ever so pressing, be who will present, or be the moment he can accord him ever so short or hurried. M. de Lally has long been gone to Bordeaux, and with whom should he travel thither but Sir John Coghill! I saw that dear M. de Lally but very seldom, yet I regret his immense distance. My greatest regret is, however, for the Princesse d’Henin, who set off for Bordeaux eight months ago, and is not returned. I have had acharming and most feeling account from her of Madame La Tour du Pin, and her admirable, exemplary manner of passing her time, in the regulation of her family, the education of her children, and the exertion of almost every virtue. Madame d’Henin finishes her letter with charging me to call her to the remembranee of those friends whom she so highly venerates, and whom she always flatters herself she yet shall visit again. May 13. Ah, my dearest friends—what a melancholy end to my hopes and my letter. I have just heard that Lord Whitworth set off for Chantilly last night ; war therefore seems inevitable ; and my grief—lI, who feel myself now of two coun- tries, is far greater than I can wish to express. While posts are yet open, write to me, my beloved friend, and by Hamburgh. I trust we may still and regularly correspond, long as the letters may be in travelling. As our letters never treat but of our pri- vate concerns, health, and welfare, neither country can object to our intercourse. Let me not, therefore, lose a solace I shall more than ever require in this lengthened absence—an absence for which I was so little prepared, and to which I am so little able to reconcile myself. I can but pray for peace. My dearest friends will join the prayer, made with the whole troubled soul of their tenderly affectionate F. DA. Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. Passy, May 6, 1803. — IF my dearest father has the smallest idea of the suspense and 1803.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 181 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. To say how J pray for his success would indeed be needless. I have hardly closed my eyes many nights past. My dearest father will easily con- ceive the varying conflicts of our minds, and how mutual are our sufferings. We have everywhere announced our intention to embrace you next October. The state of M. d’Arblay’s affairs makes it impossible for him to indulge me sooner; but if the war takes place, the difficulties of procuring licence, passports, passage, and the ruinous length of travelling through Hamburgh, as well as the deadly sickness of so long a voyage—all these thoughts torment me night and day, and rest will, I fear, be a stranger to my eyes till the conflict is terminated; and then, whether it will bring me back rest, or added rest-robbing mate- rials for destroying it, who can tell? At all events, let me entreat to hear from you, my beloved padre, as speedily as possible. Our last accounts of you were good, with regard to your recovery from the influenza. God grant you may be able to confirm the assurance of your re-establishment ! 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 retrazte, he took his hand, and said, “ Fais-mor ton compliment.” You are sure how heartily M. d’Arblay would be ready to comply—* But what,” he demanded, “can be new to you of honours?” “TI have succeeded,” he answered, “for you! —the First Consul has signed your mémoire.” When such delicacy is joined to warm attachment, my dearest father will not wonder I should be touched by it, The forms of the business, 183 DIARY AND LETTERS [1803, 1804. however, are not yet quite completed, but it has passed all the difficulties which could impede its conclusion. At any other time I should have announced this with far more spirit, but my heart is at present so oppressed with the still remaining fear of hostilities, that I can merely state the fact; and rejoice that— small, very small as it proves—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 unat- tainable. Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. May 14, 1803. My DEAREST FATIER, THE enclosed missed the opportunity for which it was written, and now—the ambassador is gone. I am offered a place for this in a conveyance that follows him; and it is well some- thing was ready, for I am incapable of writing now, further than expressing my ceaseless prayers for a speedy restoration of peace. My dearest father!—how impossible to describe my distress, Had I any other partner upon earth I could hardly support it at all: but he suffers nearly as much as myself. He has just re- ceived the retraite, which is a mark of being under government protection, and that is much. You will easily, however, conceive how completely it makes it impossible for him to quit his country during a war. I need write nothing explanatory ; and I cannot, in the disordered state of my nerves, from this bitter stroke, do more now than pray Heaven to bless and preserve my beloved father, and to restore the nations to peace, and me to his arms, Madame dW Arblay to Dr. Burney. Passy, April 11, 1804. WE live in the most quiet, and, I think, enviable retircment, 1805.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 188 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 philo- sophy 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 repa~ ration. Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. Passy, May 29th, 1805. BerForE I expected it, my promised opportunity for again writ- ing to my most dear father isarrived. JI entirely forget whether, before the breaking out of the war stopped our correspondence, M. d’Arblay had already obtained his retraite; and, conse- quently, whether that is an event I have mentioned or not. Be that as it may, he now has it—it is 1,500 livres, or £62 10s. 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, however parsimoniously. This he has, with infinite difficulty, &c., at length obtained, and he is now a‘ redacteur in the civil department of les Batimens, &c. This is no sinecure. He attends at his bureau from half-past nine to half-pass 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 ‘184 DIARY AND LETTERS [1805. 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 everything at a stand, when three rooms only were made just habitable. 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 his politeness and con- descension. 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 in Greek to my son as readily as if the beauties of Dryden or Pope had been under consideration. And as to music, he is an excellent critic; has an enlarged taste —admiring whatever is good 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 o’clock, when Lady Mel- 1808.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 185 bourne being returned from the opera with her daughters, coffee was ordered; during which H.R.H. took me aside 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 to Madame d’Arblay. June 12, 1808. My DEAR FANNY, The complaint made in one of two short notes I have received, of letters never answered, old Charles returns, as his account of family affairs, he finds, has never reached you. In- deed, for the last two or three years, I have had nothing good to say of own self, and I peremptorily charged all the rest of the family to say nothing bad on the subject of health, for I never understood the kindness of alarming distant friends with accounts of severe illness, as we may be recovered or dead before the in- formation reaches them. 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 con- siderably amended. During my invalidity at Bath I had an unexpected visit from _ your Streatham friend, 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, 186 DIARY AND LETTERS [1S07. 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 suffer- ings made me pity him sincerely; he wished, she told me, “to see his old and worthy friend,” and, wn beaw 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. God bless you and yours, prays— Your very affectionate Padre. Madame d’ Arblay to Dr. Burney, Chelsea, ce 16 Septembre, 1807. My MOST DEAR FATHER, I have just received a kind offer to send a few lines to the spot whence my most ardent wishes are to receive many, but whence the handwriting that most of all I sigh to behold has not blessed my sight since the return of Madame de Cadienan, Nor have I ever heard whether the last six letters I have written have as yet been received. Two of them were antiques that had waited three or four years some opportunity ; a third was con- cerning the Institute, and M. le Breton’s wish to see you installed one of the foreign members and correspondents; the two last were to reach you through a voyage by America, and therefore may not yet be arrived. I do not count the few lines sent by Maria, though to obtain even a smaller mite myself would fill me with joy and thankfulness. 21 Aout, 1808.—The expected opportunity for which I had strung this lamentable list of unacknowledged claims, nearly a twelvemonth since, failed; another at this moment offers—may it prove more propitious! Could it but rebound to me with news of your health, such as it conveys from hence of ours, how should I bless it! But an intercourse such as that must wait for other blessings than mine—the blessings of peace—and those, 1808.} OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 187 the whole wounded universe would surely join to hail. My paper is so stinted, and my time so limited, that I can begin no regular account of our proceedings, which, indeed, have but little varied since we lost Maria. \ O that any one could give me here the history of yours! Iam in such terrible arrears of all such knowledge that I know not who will ever undertake to pay me. My last intelligence was that you were well, my dearest father, and that the family at large, in that at least, imitated you. But details—none, none reach me! I have a bitter anxiety of sus- pense upon some subjects very near my heart. Not even the loved names of any of my family now reach me; Esther, James, Charles, Charlotte, Sally, with all their younger selves, and Richard and his boys, all are sounds strange to my ears, and my beloved friends of Norbury are banished thence with the same rigour! I am sad, sad indeed, at this deprivation ; though in all else I am still and constantly happy, for in my two faithful com- panions I find sympathy in all my feelings, and food, sweet food tor all my hopes. ¥F. D’A. 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 occa- sion 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 my- self, when once a re-union 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, methinks, 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 eed 188 DIARY AND LETTERS [1810, 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. | March 28, 1810. HAVE you received, my dearest father, the honour designed you by the Institute? The worthy M. le Breton, Secretaire Perpétuel, entered your name upon the first vacancy the moment we informed him you would be sensible to such a distinction. I have never but once, as yet, been to the Institution ; and that once was upon the occasion of the reception of M. de Tracy, with whom and with all his amiable family we are very much connected. He made a very good discourse, which he sent mea day or two after; and it was replied to by M. de Segur, now Grand Maitre des Cérémonies, admirably in a discourse which he also has had the goodness to send me in a very elegant letter from his charming wife, a lady who, though now a grandmother, retains the beauty of twenty-five, and the grace and attraction of eighteen years of age. You are always remembered here, and named with pleasure, by M. Suard and M. l’Abbé Morellet, both of whom we meet chez Madame de Tessé, one of the most spirituelle and wmstruite and charming of women, though so little in her bloom that she has been married a second time to her first husband after a trial how she liked the state with him of fifty years, Adieu, dearest, most dear Sir! Oh that our approaching rejoicings may announce us some prospect of peace! I entreat to be remembered most affectionately to all my dear family and my friends, and to be kept always warm in the heart of my beloved father, who preserves an unalterable place in that of his dutiful and devoted F, p’A. P.S.—M. d’Arblay conjures you to retain all your goodness for him. It cannot easily, dear Sir, be better bestowed. 1810.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 189 Madame d’ Arblay to Dr. Burney. No. 13, Rue d’Anjou, Paris, May 1, 1810. A nappy 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. The pleasure of admiration is so relative that no intrinsic merit can awaken it like our proper interests. Yet I need not fear you will think me insensible to the noble works here exhibited. Oh, no! You, my dearest father, will unfold all my meaning, and enter into every feeling that makes even excellence vapid, which we can only witness through separation from those we love. Could you but send me a little food for the hope now in pri- vate circulation that the new alliance of the Emperor may per- haps extend to a general alliance of all Europe, oh 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 190 DIARY AND LETTERS [1810. 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 characterise the whole set to you, and try to make us yet shake hands in the same party. I have heard of this opportunity so suddenly that I have not a moment for extending my use of it to my dear sisters, brothers, and friends, except through your goodness, which must again fabricate messages to all and every one from the materials you well know to be in my heart, and which no one can draw forth and disseminate with equal just- ness. M. d’Arblay is at his office, and knows nothing of this offer ; he is well, but thinner, much, and overworked terribly at this moment. Alex. is writing on the same table, but not quite so familiarly nor so glibly; for he is preparing twenty lines of Euripides for his master. Heaven bless my ever dear father, prays his F. p’A. Madame dArblay 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 afflic- tion than by joy. But how different was all within to what ap- peared 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 satis- factory, also, is all the intelligence! how gaily, with what spirit written! I have not been able to give the joy to Madame Sol- 1810.1 OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 191 vyns, whom I have not the pleasure to know, nor have ever even seen, though I am well disposed to admire, after your agreeable picture of her, and the great obligation I owe to her. I have sent your message to M. Suard by a lady with whom he is par- ticularly acquainted, and who assures me qu'il a été bien touché by your remembrance. With regard to the Institute, my dearest sir, you are nominated correspondent in the class ‘des Beaux Arts.’ The Secrétaire Perpétuel, M. le Breton, has been so good as to bring to me himself the form of your nomination. He has received the letter you wrote of acceptance, and with perfect ap- provance. J am soon to meet M. Suard at the house of the lady I have mentioned, and I shall then make the inquiries you desire, of books and authors. I do nothing of late but dream of seeing you, my most dear 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. But my poor mate dreams no such dreams: his bureau is of a business too substantial to allow of castle-building in the air. My castles are rather upon the sea; pray for me that they be not all drowned. Adieu, most dear Sir, Your own F. p’A. P.S. Alex. will venture to write for himself. My married nieces, with all their charms, and all their merits, and all their bambinos, are most unnatural little chits never to ask my consent first, nor my benediction afterwards. Will they wait till thei little ones give them a better example ? Madame d@ Arblay to Mrs. Locke, No. 13, Rue d’Anjou, Paris, 16 Sept. 1310. SHOULD this reach you, my ever dearest friend, may it urge you to prepare me at least a similar slip, and my Amine another, for the first possible opportunity to be left at my dear father’s. It is so long, so dreadfully long, since I have had the blessing to 192 DIARY AND LETTERS [1810, see your beloved handwritings, that methinks if your names only arrived I should feel a joy past description. When, when, may I embrace you again! I think of late of nothing else. I form projects, and dream dreams. Oh, dearest friends, give me your prayers I may not dream only always! My excellent mate, toujours the same, has not less desire, but is still wider from probability. His health is not all I could wish—it is preserved with watchfulness, but cannot bear neglect. Alex. is thin and pale, but strong, and without complaint. He is terribly singular, and more what they call here sauvage than any creature I ever beheld. He is untameably wild, and averse to all the forms of society. Where he can have got such a rebel humour we conceive not; but it costs him more to make a bow than to resolve six difficult problems of algebra, or to repeat twelve pages from Euripides; and as to making a civil speech, he would sooner renounce the world. How should I delight to see my dearest friends encircled by all their lovely tribes! Two letters I have received, but long, long since, from my indulgent Amine; so sweetly satisfactory, so dwelling on interesting details, so descriptive of all I most wish to see and know, that for many months even, after reading them, I thought and felt myself aw fact with all that passed, and no longer a stranger to all your proceedings, your interests, your affairs, and your bosom-feelings. But why have I not my dear Augusta’s letter? I beseech that it may be sent to Chelsea; occasions there present themselves sometimes: rarely, indeed, but yet sometimes. How kind of her to have written! No matter for the date; all will still, alas! to me be new; for I hear so seldom, and after such chasms, that a letter of six years ago will stand a chance to give me as much intelligence as one written last week. F, p’A. Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. No, 13, Rue d’Anjou, 14th April, 1811. Many, or rather countless, as are the times that the sight of the handwriting of my dearest father has brought joy to my heart, it 1811.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 193 never yet, methinks, proved so truly a balsam as this last time of its blessing me. Seated round our wood fire by one, by two, by three, we gave to it a whole evening, stopping upon every phrase, commenting upon every paragraph, and I, the reader, indulging them and myself by expounding and dilating upon every allusion, quota- tion, and family story or saying. It was therefore a long and delicious banquet; and we have agreed to lock it up, and take it out again once in every three months for another family reading, till another arrives. I yield, dearest Sir, implicitly to your decision, and my dear sisters and ‘brothers,’ with respect to the worthy Letty, upon one condition—that you do not let a too delicate consideration for us deprive the good soul of our little assistance should any change of circumstances, or any unfortunate increase of infirmity or ill health, make the mite of more consequence. I beg, through your ° means, to put the management of this solution, as Mr. Tyers — called every doubt, into the hands of our just and feeling Esther, who sees her the oftenest, and will soon find if the small addi- tion, eventually, may become more important ; and pray tell my dear Esther that we graciously forgive her “ worldly and grovel- linge” spirit for us, if we may depend upon her accepting carte blanche for amending it, should occasion invite any change. 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? 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 dis- tinction reserved for peculiar honour to peculiar select per- sonages. 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 ? I am heartily glad Mrs. Hawkins has recovered her property, though I had never heard it had been lost or disputed. So many VOL. IV. 13 194. DIARY AND LETTERS (1811. letters have failed to reach me, that some seem like the second volume of a book which comes to hand before the first. Lady Keith—is it Miss Thrale, or one of her sisters? Whichever it is, I am glad of her kind remembrance, and most cordially hope she is happy. If she would write, and leave a letter with you, some favourable packet might enclose it. I have not met M. Suard for many months, but I have sent him and his lady your kind words by M. Lally Tolendal, and they have both expressed themselves highly gratified by your re- membrance. The Abbé Morellet, now 85 or 86, walks about Paris like a young man, and preserves his spirits, memory, and pleasure in existence, and has a bookery in such elegant order that people beg to go and see it, as they do to visit that of a certain other member of les beaux arts of our Institute. How kind was the collection of letters you made more precious by endorsing! I beseech you to thank all my dear correspon- dents, 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! 1811. [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 ; so touched were they by her ten- derness and magnanimity. ] ) Madame d’ Arblay to Dr. Burney, Chelsea. Rue d’Anjou, No. 8, Paris, May 29, 1812. _ A FRIEND of Maria’s has just promised me to convey to her a | 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 195 letter which I may direct. I snatch the happy opportunity to enclose it in a few lines to my dearest father, who will forward it to Bath Easton with my best love. Immense as is the distance between a letter and an interview, where the dearer is unattainable, its swecedanewm becomes more precious than those who enjoy both can believe, or even conceive. O my dearest father, let no possible conveyance pass without giving me the sight of your hand, if it be but by your signature. We are well, and Alex., latterly, has taken the good turn of approaching nearer in personal resemblance to his father; for, from being extremely little of his age, he is now suddenly grown to a goodly size. I have seen, at length, Madame Solvyns ; I think her charming, gay, spirited, natural, and agreeable. Various circumstances had prevented our meeting till the other day ; and then, how did we talk of my dearest father! She is truly worthy of the subject, for she says she sees nothing perfect without recollecting him. “ He is so French im his manners ! so attentive, so polite, so pleasing ! —it’s so rarely one sees an Englishman, however good and excel- lent, so charmingly well bred and engaging.” Monsieur Guinguiné, whom you inquired after in one of your letters, is well and flourishing. I have never seen him, which I regret, since you have known him; but he is much acquainted at a house where I visit with very particular pleasure, M. de Tracy’s, and where I hope one day to meet him. I have all my old horror of arranged encounters, or Madame de Tracy would instantly contrive one; but they always seem to me formidable, and I leave all my meetings to chance. M. d’A. saw lately our justly celebrated De Lille, and amongst other subjects he mentioned his knowledge of my dear father, and spoke of him in warm terms of admiration and regard. This leads me to inquire after Mrs. Crewe. It is very long since I have heard of her. Monsieur Suard is still as active in literature, as much sought in society, and as alive in the world as when you knew him. The Abbé Morellet, about five years ago, sung me a ballad of his own composition, at the house of Madame de Tessé, that he made | 13—2 196 DIARY AND LETTERS (1812. upon completing his 80th year; it was gay, touching, amusing, and informing. I will endeavour to get you a copy. He is now member of the Corps Législatvf, and, to the entertainment of his numerous friends, wears, when in grand costwme, a sword. He is quite well, cheerful, spirited, and chattily agreeable ; and still tall and upright. I am charmed to see how literature, as well as astronomy, is long of life. Adieu, my most dear sir. My old visions of again seeing you, and being blest with your blessing, revisit again my slum- bers. O give. them your prayers ! For your devotedly affectionate and dutiful, F. D’'ARBLAY. My tenderest love to all my dears: my two that are my con- stant consolation and support send you theirs. with the most dutiful respect, 1812] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 197 CHAPTER LX. Madame d’Arblay desirous of visiting her Friends in England—Fouché-~+ A Disappointment— She prepares to take her Son with her—Commissions — Detained at Dunkirk—The French Government permit her Manuscripts to be forwarded to her—Spanish Prisoners— Her sympathy towards them —LExamination at the Police Office—Sails from Dunkirk—The Vessel captured by the English—Landing in England—Recognition of her Brother—Arrival at Chelsea—Saddening change in Dr. Burney. JOURNAL FROM Paris TO LonDoN. 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 irremediable 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. will 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 198 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 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 re- ceive his kind benediction. 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 Secrétaire Perpétuel a /Institut. The ever active services of M. de Nar- bonne 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 Fouché, though he had borne a character dreadful beyond description in the earlier and most horrible times of the Revolution, was, at this period, when Ministre de la 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 ad- ministration; 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 Hlysian 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 téte-a-téte. On these occa sions though he was universally known, nobody approached him; and he seemed, himself, not to observe that any other person was in the walks. He was said to be remarkably agreeable in conver- sation, and his person was the best fashioned and most gentle- manly 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 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. Loo at Lyons, 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 ap- plication to a man from whom I shrunk as from a monster. I forget now for what spot the passport was nominated—per- haps for Canada, but certainly not for England; and M. le Breton, who brought it to me himself, assured me that no dif- ficulty 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 em- bark ; when, one morning, when I was bending over my trunk to press in its contents, [ 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 unpub- lished 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 sub- mitted 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. I pass on to my second attempt, in the year 1812. Disastrous was that interval! All correspondence with England was pro- hibited 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. * * * * concluded these 200 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. {idings 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. 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 import- ance. Bonaparte was now engaging in a new war, of which the alm 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 lable. 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, un- alienable constancy, impelled him to prefer the hard labour and obscure drudgery of working at a Buwreaw of the Minister 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 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 201 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 re-union. My second passport was procured with much less facility than the first. Fouché was no longer Minister of Police, and, strange to tell, Fouché, 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 exerted 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? O1 was it from a yet greater fear of malignant cruelty awakened by the very name of his successor, Savary, Duke of Rovigo ?* 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 ; 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 Nar- bonne 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 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. From all the friends whom I dared trust with my secret ex- pedition, 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. “ The reputed assassin of the Duke d’Enghien. 202 DIARY AND LETTERS L1Siz. Madame de Tracy begged me to discover the address of her sis- ter-in-law, Madame de Civrac, who had emigrated into the wilds of Scotland, and of whom she anxiously wished for some intelli- gence. This occasioned my having a little correspondence with her, which I now remark because she is named as one of the prin- cipal Dames de la Société 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 im- mediate service of Louis XVIII. ; for M. d’Escars I had a sort of cipher from Madame de Chimay, to authenticate my account. Our journey—Alexander’s and mine—from Paris to Dunkirk was sad, from the cruel separation which it exacted, and the fear- ful uncertainty of impending events; though I was animated at times into the liveliest sensations, in the prospect of again be- holding 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 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, namely, Madame and Mademoiselle de Cocherelle, Madame de Carboniére, Madame de Roncherolle, Madame de Caillebot and her son and daughter, the two Miss Potts, and Mrs. Gregory. We all met, and severally visited at Dunkirk, where I was com- pelled, 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, 1812.} OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 203 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 fre- quently encouraged his cupidity. The ennus 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 daugh- ter, 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. 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 vm 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 mauuscripts 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 Eng- land, whither no vessel was supposed to sail; but he would not, to M. de Saulnier, who palpably connived at my plan and pur- pose, say America. M. de Saulnier made many inquiries rela- tive to these papers ; but on being assured, upon honour, that the work had nothing in it political, nor even national, nor possibly of- 204 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. fensive 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 he 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, never- theless, 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 con- veyed 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 sucha freight. He sputtered at the mouth, and stamped with his feet, so forcibly and vocife- rously, 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, happily, I had been recom- mended, 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. The second event I have to relate I never even yet recollect 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 205 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 gens darmes, 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 vigo- rous ; of solemn, almost stately deportment, and with fine dark eyes, full of meaning, rolling around them as if in watchful ex- pectation 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 task- masters. 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 206 DIARY AND LETTERS {1812. 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 sud- denly from my walk, as if with a view to bend my way home- wards, 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, he was reclining. We proceeded with alertness, and talking together aloud; but Alex- ander 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 Alex- ander 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 de- pended 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, 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 207 in return, with lively pleasure, for, the quay being, I suppose, a place of certain security, they were unencumbered by their usual turnkeys, the gens d’armes, and this freedom, joined to their sur- prise 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 under- stood 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 Tessé charged him to be quiet, saying that my looks filled up what my words left short, “de sorte que,” she added, “nous la devinons ;” this was the case between my Spaniards and myself, and we deviné-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. 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 ex- pression 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 consterna- tion 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 learned was his official 208 DIARY AND LETTERS (1812. 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, 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 sur- prise 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 certainly could not manifest, as my com- passion 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 naving 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, vocifera- ting 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 interrup- tion 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 étes-vous ?” “Je me nomme d’Arblay.” “ Etes-vous mariée ?” “Oui.” “Ou est votre mari ?” “A Paris.” “ Qui est-il 2?” 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 209 “Tl travaille aux Bureaux de l’Intérieur.” “Pourquoi le quittez-vous ?” 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 imper- fect indeed, and far from clear, though true, that I came to Dun- kirk to embark on board the “ Mary Ann” vessel. « Ah ha!” exclaimedhe. ‘ Vous étes Anglaise 2” Then, tossing back his head with an air of triumphant victory, “ Suivez-moi!” he added, and walked away, fast and fierce, but looking back every minute to see that I followed. Never can I forget the terror with which I was seized at this command ; it could only be equalled by the evident consterna- tion 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 situa- tion 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 his thres- hold, 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 VOL. IV, 14 210 DIARY AND LETTERS (1812. but more taunting accents, “ Vous ne le gugez donc pas & propos de me suwwre ?” 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 ?” “Nous verrons!” he answered blufily, and led the way into a small hovel rather than parlour; and then haughtily seated him- self at a table, on which were pen, ink, and paper; and, while I stood before him, began an interrogation, with the decided as- perity 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-escane, 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 enly 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 em- bark in the “Mary Ann,” an American vessel, with a passport from M. de Saulnier, secretary to the Duke de Rovigo, Minister of the 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 ismy son !” The man rose, and went to the door, calling out, “Jeune homme !” 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 —_——— 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 914 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 of such an appeal. 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 l’Hotel Sauvage, where I resided, nor to giving him the key of my port- manteau 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. 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 secona 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 14—2 212 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812:. er 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 !” 3 Even in my immovable, and nearly insensible state, this juve- nile 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, 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. Har- ford, 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 farsant, though so gently, and with such utter helplessness of opposition, that I had become a pri- soner without any suspicion of my captivity. We had anchored about half a mile, I imagine, from the shore ; which I no soone: touched than, drawing away my arm from 1812.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 213 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 re- cording it to him who so fondly wished to partake of it, and whose absence from that participation always rendered it in- complete. And on one great source of renovated felicity I did not 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 con- descending, 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. 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 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 914 DIARY AND: LETTERS. [1S12. 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 feeiing, 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—weax, weak and changed—his head almost always hanging down, and his hearing most cruelly impaired. JI 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 pos- sible 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 re-animated, 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 almost constantly upon the sofa, and will never eat but alone! What a change! an 1813.) OF MADAME b’ARBLAY. 215 CHAPTER LXL 1813. Madame d’Arblay at St. James’s —Her son obtains the Tancred scholarship —Attempt of a mad woman to enter the Queen’s apartment—Kindness of Her Majesty and the Princesses to Madame d’Arblay—The King’s health—Lady Crewe—Early introduction of young ladies into society— Madame de Staél—Party at the house of Mr. Rogers— Conversation with Mr. Wilberforce—Madame d’Arblay’s arrangements for a new work— Death of General Latour Maubourg— Publication of “ The Wanderer ”— Peace between France and England—Death of Dr. Burney—Grillon’s hotel —Mr. Grattan and his family—John Bull seen to great advantage— Madame la Baronnede M * * *—The Prince de Condé—Levée of Louis XVIII. at Grillon’s hotel—Presentation of Madame d’Arblay—The King’s speeches to her—Letter from the Count de Lally Tolendal to Madame d’Arblay—Arrival of M. d’Arblay. Madame d’' Arblay to Dr. Burney. Chenies Street, London, February 8, 1813. Your kind invitation, my dearest Padre, I should instantly have answered, and not with my pen, had all been as favourable as my inclination and the weather; but this last week has been wholly dedicated to the Queen and the Princesses ; a letter came to me from Windsor to prepare me for their arrival, and, conse- quently, to keep me always in readiness for the honour of a summons; and, out of their five days’ residence in town, they have had the gracious indulgence to admit me three, and, upon those oceasions, I never quitted the palace till they went to one of the Princes’ to dinner, between seven and eight o’clock. Nor then, neither, in fact, for I still stayed to dine myself with my SiwCuSsOr. 216 DIARY AND LETTERS (1813. But why, my dearest father may say, not hasten to Chelsea now? The fact is, I have been obliged to omit various precau- — tionary measures during the whole of this week, and I now feel an absolute necessity to nurse again and refit. To-day I have entirely kept quiet and silent upstairs in my room, and as, these other days, I have kept wholly the reverse, my lungs, strength, and spirits, all demand the recruit. I fear that for some days I must go on doctormmg myself after these late excesses; but bad weather alone, after Wednesday, shall withhold me from em- bracing my clearest father. Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney. March 16, 1813. How will my kindest father rejoice for me! for my dear part- ner—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 pur- pose, 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. Madame @ 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 ; fortunately, I found her at home, and in her best 1813.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 217 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 mudesty 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 council, or sick chamber, I wot not. What a terrible alarm is this which the poor tormented Queen has again received !* 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 L 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 * An attempt to enter her apartment by a crazy woman, 218 DIARY AND LETTERS [1813, melancholy situation ; that is, wholly free from real bodily suffer- ing, or imaginary mental misery, for he is persuaded that he is always conversing with angels. Madame d’ Arblay to Dr. Burney. Chenies Street, Alfred Place, May 23, 1813. Ou, how teased I am, my dearest Padre, by this eternal un- walkable weather! Every morning rises so fairly, that at every noon I am preparing to quit my conjuring, and repair, 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 san- guine 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 enterest with me to admit Lord Lansdowne, at his own earnest request! Iam 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 Bromp- ton, and without fuss or ceremony. Her kindness is inexpres- sible, therefore J 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 ealled a faithful family friend. JI 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 ? 1813.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 219 This free-born weather of our sea-girt isle of liberty is very in- commodious to those who have neither carriages for wet feet nor health for damp shoulders, If the farmers, however, are Ca 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. Ever and ever most dutifully Aud affectionately yours, F. B, pA, Madame d@ Arblay toa 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 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. Dissipa- tion is so hurried, so always in a bustle, that even amusement must be prominent, to be enjoyed. There is.no time for develop- ment; 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 accom- plished, 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 220 DIARY AND LETTERS [1813. 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 dotes 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 re-placers), from their rarity. Tam truly glad you had a gratification you so earnestly coveted, that of seeing Madame de Staél: 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 Staél, my situation is really embar- rassing. 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; 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 connexions. 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, chassée dela France ? Where did * * * * hear her a whole evening? She is, indeed, most uncominonly entertaining, and animating, as well as animated, almost beyond anybody. ‘Les Mémoires de Madame de Staél’ 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 Green- wich. He goes in October to Cambridge; I wish to install him there myself. My last letter from Paris gives me to the end 1833.] OF MADAME. D’ARBLAY. py Aed | of October to stay in Envland. There is a wish the present campaign should be over before my return, that I may go by Calais or Dunquerque. I dread inexpressibly the long passage by Morlaix. Adieu, my ever dear friend. Madame d Arblay to Dr. Burney. August 24, 1813. Your seal, my dearest Padre, waits but for opportunity to throw itself at your feet. I have brought it twice to you, in my little ereen bag, but I have found always so little time, and so much to hear and say, that I have never recollected my poor fellow- voyager till my return; and he never put me in mind of my neglect. He was sulky, perhaps ; and no wonder, for he certainly is not used to be treated with such apathy. His appearance, he well knows, is accustomed to excite gratitude, and awaken hope and pleasure, as the sure herald of wit, humour, information, or kindness ; who, then, can be surprised that he should resent being denied the light, which only shines upon him for other people’s profit? But, how could I help beginning with an Hurrah! to your patriotism? What glorious intelligence! How big with hope as well as honour! 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 sawvagerie 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 another chattery with her old friend, Dr. Burney, whom she always saw with fresh pleasure. Adieu! my most dear Padre! it Ever most dutifully, Ey Boma; yale DIARY AND LETTERS [1813. 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 commis- sioned by Mr. Wilberforce 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 de- clining an interview. Eh bien—at church at Sandgate, the day after my arrival, I saw this justly celebrated man, and was in- troduced 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 car- riages, 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 Bona- parte 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 than to renew the acquaintance, and cultivate it to intimacy. But, alas! he was going away next morning. That his discourse should be edifying, could not, cer- tainly, surprise me; I expected from him all that was elevated in instruction; but there was a mixture of simplicity and vivacity in his manner that I had not expected, and found really capti- vating. In contemplating the opposite, and alas, hostile shore 1813. | OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 223 which, to our fancy’s eye at least, was visible, I could not forbear wafting over to it a partial blessing, nor refuse myself beseech- ing one from Mr. Wilberforce; and the smiling benevolence with which he complied has won my heart for ever. Addio, Padre mio, A Madame @ Arblay to Dr. Burney. Richmond Hill, Oct. 12, 1813. My most dear Padre will, Iam sure, congratulate me that I have just had the heartfelt delight of a few lines from M. d’Ar- blay, 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 wel- come surprises I ever experienced. He tells me, also, that he is perfectly well, and quite accablé 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 levée 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 upon delivery of the MS.; the two follow- ing £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. At my return from Ramsgate, my purpose was to claim your permission for my so long delayed fortnight; Alvx. wished it also; but the sudden and unexpected arrival of Clement made 224. DIARY AND LETTERS f1813. Alex. so earnest to gather documents and hints for conducting himself at Cambridge, that he thought it absolutely -indis- pensable to his initiation in college etiquettes to stay and consult and confer with his cousin. A lady, Mrs, Aufrére, whom I know not even by name, has just sent me word that she desires to see me de la part de M. d’ Arblay, whom she saw in Paris, the 1st of August. I have entreated her to hasten the interview, for which I am very impatient ; it will probably decide my fate with respect to the time of my return to France. Most affectionately yours, F. B. p’A. Madame ad Arblay to Mrs. Locke. Dee. 16, 1813. Au, 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 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. 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 over- whelmed with grief for my poor Madame de Maisonneuve, 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 Mau- bourg, a man who, like my own best friend was—%is signalized among his comrades by the term of a vrai Chevalier Francais. 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 Leipzie, and on the second he suffered amputation; and immediately after was carried away to follow the retreating army! In sucha 1814.] Of MADAME D’ARBLAY. 225 condition, who can wonder to hear that, a very few miles from Leipzic, he expired ? Oh my poor Madame de Maisonneuve! she loved him with that perfect esteem and tenderness united, that I love one in whom, as in him, J never saw a blemish. Oh my sweet friends ; how must we think of times to come, of blessed futurity, to bear these strokes! | What a war is this! When, when will it terminate? I struggle hardly to bear up, for I am utterly powerless to offer any species of consolation to my dear, unhappy, absent sufferers. F. p’A. 1814. [In the beginning of this year Madame d’Arblay published her fourth novel, The Wanderer, and nearly at the same time Peace was declared between France and England. Her satisfac- tion 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, Mon- sieur d’Arblay was placed by the Duke de Luxembourg in the French “Garde du Corps.” He obtained leave of absence towards the close of the year, and came to England 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 Ardlay to Mrs.* * * * March 19, 1814. BE not uneasy for me, my 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 VOL. IV. | 15 226 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814. 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, any- thing 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! F. ’A. 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 reverend brother, 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. They are dated Paris, 18th of February. It will not seem any recent news to me in a few days, but now it appears yesterday; my last intelligence, and that circuitous, being of the 16th of January; and my last direct information, the end of December. At a time like this, when all public news, good or bad, of a warlike nature, fills me with almost equal alarm, though by no means equal joy or sorrow, an assurance such as this is more precious than words can say. I have had no hope of any informa- tion at all till the dire contest was over. When will that be ? 1814.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 227 say the bells—not “at Stepney” but the whole world over, and the whole world over may answer *T do not know !” as well as the great bell at Bow. Nothing could be so well timed as this intelligence, for my inquietude was beginning to be doubly restless from the acces- sion of time that has fallen to me by having got rid of all my proois, &c.; 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, witha 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, per- chance, 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. He comes to me next week, to stay till the 20th of April. No one is so unsettled'in her prospects, so uncertain in her fate, as I am at this period. Upon public events my very pri- vate destiny is entirely hanging! When, where will the conflict end? and how ? F, pA. [Soon after the publication of ‘The Wanderer, Madame d’Ar- blay wrote as follows to a friend :—] 1 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 pri- vate criticism. Iam told I have been very harshly treated; but . 15—2 228 DIARY AND LETTERS [1$14. I attribute it not to what alone would affect me, but which [ 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 éclat of a work in five volumes being all bespoken before it was pub- lished. 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 disap- pointed ? for they acknowledge that 3,600 copies are positively sold and paid for in the first half year. What must I be, if not far more than 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 care- fully 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. Presentation to Louis XVITI. 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 com- mand of Her Majesty, to desire I would take the necessary mea- sures for being presented to Son Altesse Royale Madame Duchesse d’Angouléme, 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 rela- tive 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, 1814.1 OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 229 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. 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 ar- rived 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 re- ligion, 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’Angouléme. She had sent me a note from Madame de Gou- vello, relative to the time, &c. for presentation, which was to take place at 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 with- out difficulty, Lady Crewe having previously demanded a private room of Grillon, who had once been cook to her lord. This pri- vate 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 230 DIARY AND LETTERS (1814, 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 particu- larly with the originality, good humour, and intrepid yet intelli- gent 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. In an instant, however, she saw from the window some ac- quaintance, 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, 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. 1814.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 231 The crowd, however, for they deserve a better name than mob, interested my observation still more. John Bull has seldom ap- peared 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 ex- citement, were the looks and attention of the Grattans, particu- larly 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 com- miserated 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 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 232 DIARY AND LETTERS 11814, appeared to be just caught from the woods—the bogs, T mighi rather say. ) 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 avery 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 émigres ! —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 !—I never was so glad !” She now jumped abont the room, quite crazily, protesting she never rejoiced so much at anything she had ever done in her life, 1814.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 233 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 éclaircisse- ment.” “Tf I had required any éclaircissement,” I dryly began. “Oh, if it was not you, then,’ cried she, “’twas Charlotte Smith.” 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 disappoint- ment that her energies were not more admired, Madame la Baronne now called upon her attendant sposo, and strode off her- self. I found she was a great heiress of Irish extraction and edu- cation, and that she had bestowed all her wealth upon this emi- grant Baron, who might easily merit it, when, besides his title, he gave her his patience and obsequiousness. Some other friends of Lady Crewe now found her out, and she made eager inquiries amongst them relative to Madame la Duchesse d’Angouléme, 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 tu genius, 234 DIARY AND LETTERS: (1814. He was not, however, cheered when he brought word that aeither carriage nor footman was 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 XVIIL, he said, 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. “Goto 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’Angouléme alone that I y “Q, 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 back- wardness, and charged Mr. Grattan not to heed me. “Tell the Duke,” she cried, “that Madame d’Arblay is our Madame de Staél!—tell him we are as proud of our Madame d’Arblay as he can be of his Madame de Staél.” 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 ven- turing again to return among us. Poor Lady Crewe seemed to think I lost a place at Court, or perhaps a peerage, by my untameable 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, 1814.} OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. Zoo) seeking one of the commonly 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 con- gratulating each other in coteries, or waiting with curiosity, or self-preparing for presentation with timidity, we found a multi- tude 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, 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 ir- remediable, 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 Vice- roy. Lord Whitworth, the young Duke of Dorset; and Lady Crewe herself, too tired to abide any longer in her appropriated apartment, now descended. We patroled 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 incon- venience. 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 in- terval 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 Condé.” 236 DIARY AND LETTERS (1814. 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’Angou- léme, encouraged by my Queen, I felt as if guilty of taking a liberty the most presumptuous, and with a forwardness and assurance the most foreign to my character. Yet to control the zeal of Lady Crewe was painful from her earnestness, and ap- peared 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. 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 upstairs: 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 1814.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 236 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 ex- amination. 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 melan- choly alienation of mind was a constant source to me of sorrow, it was a scene for conflicting feelings and profound meditation. 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 ap- proached to be presented. The Duc de Duras stood at his left hand, and was le Grand Maitre des Cérémonies; 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. Ina whisper, from that lady, I learned more fully the mistake of the hotel, the Duchess d’Angouléme never having meant to quit that of her beau-pere, Monsieur le Comte d’Artois, in South Audley Square. The presentations were short, and without much mark or likelihood. The men bowed low, and passed on; the ladies curtseyed, 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, Voom: DIARY AND LETTERS {1814. 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, “Void Madame d’Arblay; 2 faut quelle soit présentée.” She then went gaily off, without heeding me. The Duke only bowed, but by a quick glance recognized 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 embar- rassment. 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 eratitude 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 Buckingham, for the asylum and consolations he had found in it during his trials and calamities ! \ 1814.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. : 239 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. Fortunately for me, the Duc de Duras made this the moment for my presentation, and, seizing my hand and drawing me sud- denly 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, 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 expres- sion, 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 enter- tained. 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 curtseyed respectfully, and was moving on; but he again caught - my fist, and, fixing me, with looks of strong though smiling in- vestigation, 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 240 DIARY AND LETTERS _ [ysl4. well as flattering, that I felt enlivened, nay, elevated, with a joy that overcame mauvarse honte. The Duc de Duras, who had hurried on all others, seeing he had no chance to dismiss me with the same sans cérémonie 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 dévoués et fidéles serviteurs de votre Majesté.” The King, with a gracious little motion of his head, and with eyes of the most pleased benevolence, expressively said, “Je le crows.” And a third time he stopped my retiring curtsey, to take my hand. This last stroke gave me such delight, for my absent best am, 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. 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 sideboard, on which we contrived to seat ourselves, and Lady Crewe named to me the numerous per- sonages 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 serious- ness 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 further 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.” 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 1814.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 241 Amelia Angerstein came to the carriage to speak to her, and to make known that a letter had arrived from M. de la Chatre relative to my presentation, which, by a mistake of address, had not come in time for my reception. I must here copy the note which was written in answer to Mrs. Angerstein’s inquiries relative to my mode of proceeding. A Madame Angerstein. Ce 22 Avril, 1814. JE n’ai pu prendre que ce matin les ordres de Madame la Duchesse d’Angouléme, qui sera trés aise de recevoir Madame d’Arblay entre trois heures et trois heures et demie. Il faudra demander en arrivant au No. 72, South Audley Street, Madame la Duchesse de Serrent. . Le Roi, qui désira voir Madame d’Arblay, et qui la recevra avec grand plaisir, sous Je double rapport de son nom actuel et de celui du charmant auteur de “Cecilia,” &c., verra du monde depuis quatre heures jusqu’a cing. Il faudra demander le Duc de Duras, senior gentilhomme de la chambre du Roi, bien connu de Madame d’Arblay. M. de la Chatre a Vhonneur de présenter ses hommages & Madame Angerstein, et de la prier de l’excuser de n’avoir pt lui faire plutdt réponse. 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 him- self 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 ! _ From the Comte de Lally Tolendal to Madame d’Arblay. Paris, 25 Avril, 1814. Our, chére Madame, je vous écris de ce Paris d’ou jétais exilé depuis un an, avec défense d’en approcher de plus de soixante VOL. IV. 16 242 DIARY AND LETTERS *([si4. lieues. Pour quel délit? allez vous dire. Pour avoir écrit dans la biographie, et 1i dans un cercle d’amis, l’article de Charles I. ; pour avoir eu, en composant et en lisant cet article, ’antention maligne de ravivre Vintérét public sur la mémoire, les malheurs, les vertus, les héritiers de Louis XVI. Je n’avoue pas la ma- lignité, mais je ne puis nier l’entention ; cette fois du moins les délateurs n’ont pas calomnié! LEnfin je vais le voir sur son trone Vhéritier de Louis XVI., de Henri IV., de Louis XII., de Charles le Sage, de Louis le Saint! je vais voir la fille de Louis XVI. adorée dans le palais de ses péres apres avoir été plongée dans le donjon de son pére. Je vais munir a ses actions de grace dans la méme chapelle ot j’ai vu son cceur se briser la surveille du 10 Aotit; et dans ma soixante et quatriéme année je chanterai le Cantique de Simeon. Vous vous souvenez que mon petit fils est né le 21 Janvier, 1808, qu’en le bénissant dans son berceau je lui ai dit: je te voue & venger Vauguste. victume de ce jour. Vous verrez-dans la lettre que je vous envole comme deja il répond & mon veeu. Vous y verrez aussi comme ma fille est bien de mon sang, comme mon gendre est bien selon mon cceur, et comme M. le Duc d’Angouléme, comme le gendre de Louis XVI, est bien selon tous les cceurs. Je l’attends et je les attends avec une impatience que vous pouvez concevoir. Ne serez-vous donc pas ici pour partager, pour savourer toute cette félicité publique, et toutes ces joies particulieres, pour augmenter encore celles- ci dans le coeur de tous vos amis et de tous vos serviteurs ? Mais oti vous étes, vous avez aussi des jouissances qu’on vou- drait partager avec vous. Cette Angleterre, votre premiere patrie et ma seconde, elle a été la grande dme de cette grande coalition; et l’ame de cette ame, c’est la vertu coura- geuse et persévérante de George IIL, dont Vimpulsion. lui survivra ; c’est la magnanimité chevaleresque du Prince Régent; c'est la générosité, la grandeur, la force, et la sagesse Britanni- ques, portées au plus haut dégré dans les hommes d’état et dans les hommes de guerre, dans les grands et dans le peuple. Les Anglais ont créé toutes ces merveilles, et les contemplant, ils ont le droit de se dire que cela est bon, comme I’Eternel se le disait & lui-méme 4 chaque ceuvre de sa création, | ; 1814.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. . 243 La Providence aussi avait disposé sur le Continent les cceurs des princes coalisés, pour qu’ils fussent dignes par leurs vertus, autant quils étaient capables par leur puissance, d’étre avec vous les libérateurs du monde. Faites-vous raconter en détail, par M. d’Arblay, le moment ot les souverains dont on avait incendié et détruit les capitales, furent baignés dans leurs larmes parcequ’ils erurent qu’on allait les forcer & détruire Paris—le mouvement qui, devant leurs armées pleurant comme eux, les précipita dans les bras lun de l’autre 4 la premiére nouvelle que Paris capitulait —l’accent avec lequel ils s’écriérent—* La cause de Vhuwmanité est gagnée!” Ledoigt de Dieu est la, chére Madame. En faisant renaitre la paix du monde, il a voulu ressusciter empire de la vertu. Cette époque est sans pareille dans les annales du genre humain: je vous écrirais sans fin, mais c’est cette nuit que mon ami d’Arblay est venu me dire qu'il partait ce matin, et la bonne princesse me fait appeller pour son déjetiner. Maintenant, chére Madame, vous si bonne, si pure, si noble, si élevée en tout, priez pour que la sagesse ne nous abandonne pas dans le triomphe, pour qu’a toutes les vertus de cceur qui caractérisent les princes Frangais, aux lumiéres de leur esprit, aux graces de leurs per- sonnes, se joigne une force de raison, une impartialité de justice, une pureté d’entourage, une fidélité aux promesses, bien néces- saires & la gravité des circonstances et a la stabilité de leur res- tauration. Adieu, chere Madame; de quel cédté de l’eau nous reverrons-nous pour la premiére fois? J’aurais bien envie de vous visiter 4 Londres, mais cette terrible loi qui rend responsable, gui tout bonnement et tout cruement fait emprisonner un mari pour les dettes de sa femme! or je suis la-dessus dans une pro- fonde obscurité. Feu Lord Loughborough m’avait préservé une fois, et il le devait bien en conscience. Qui me préserverait au- jourd’hui? J’ai passé deux jours avec les Lords Castlereagh et Cathcart. S’ils pouvaient me charger d’une petite dépéche minis- térielle, cela me rendrait peut-étre inviolable. Je verrai. Ils m’ont dit que mon ami Lord Whitworth était Viceroi d’Irlande. J’espére qu'il ne m’dtera pas ma pension; je vis a la lettre des bienfaits de George III., et vous savez si j’ai été fidéle &4 mon allégeance envers lui, et en face de qui je l’ai deux fois professé 16—2 214 DIARY AND LETTERS (1814, imperturbablement. Tous mes amis se portent bien, m’ont dit les deux ambassadeurs; Lord Sheffield, Lord Glenbervie, Mr. Keene, Mr. et Madame Trevor, la Duchesse de Devonshire, Lady Besborough, etc. Ils n’ont pas pfii me donner des nouvelles de Lady Lucy Stuart, sceur de Lord Traquair, et que jaime frater- nellement depuis trente & quarante ans. Je prie mon ami d’Ar- blay de s'informer de M. Dundas, Chirurgien du Roi, et de toute sa famille. Tous les Francais, et moi en particulier, qui avons demeuré 2 Richmond, nous devons tant 4 Mr. Dundas. Quelles expressions employer, pour vous prier de porter 4 Madame Locke le tribut de tous mes respects et de toutes mes tendresses. Eten- dez-les 4 toute son angélique famille, je vous en conjure; et con- servez-mol, chére Madame, conservez-moi toujours vos précieuses et glorieuses bontés: vous ne les accorderez jamais a un serviteur plus respectueux, & un admirateur plus vrai, ni & un ami plus passionné. 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 ex- tremely fatigued with all that has passed, yet well; and all him- self, 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! 1814.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 245 CHAPTER LXII. 1814—15. The Emperor of Russia—The King of Prussia and the Foreign Princes in England—M. d’Arblay appointed an officer of the Corps de Garde du Roi—Rejoicings for peace—Paris almost peopled with English—The Royal Family of France and the Duke of Wellington— Presentation of Madame d’Arblay to the Duchesse d’Angouléme —-The Duchesse d’Angouléme’s opinion of the Prince Regent and his family— Return of Bonaparte from Elba—Effects of this intelligence in Paris—The Prince de Poix—Apprehensions created by Bonaparte’s approach to the Capital —Conduct of Madame d’Arblay’s French friends at this juncture—Inde- cision of the Princesse d’Hénin—M., d’Arblay prepares to take the field _ with the King’s bedy-guard. Madame dArblay to Monsieur dArblay. 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 fer- vent 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. © Your letter, mon ami, had not its tardiness so terribly dis- tressed me, is all I could wish—-interesting, full of intelligence, 246 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814, satisfactory, instructive, and amusing ; while full of kindness and feeling. You make me aimer not wn peu, as she is so good, in her letter, as to desire, but beaucoup, et. de bon cewr, Madame de Laval; her amiteé for you has an activity of zeal, and a delicacy of tact, with a spirit of constancy that are truly charming. Hier, j’ai quitté ma retraite, trés volontiers, pour indulge myself with the sight of the Emperor of Russia. How was I charmed with his pleasing, gentle, and so perfectly unassuming air, man- ner, 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 per- mission. The Prussian Princes, six In number, and the young Prince of Mecklenburg, and the Duchess of Oldenburg, were of the party. All our Royal Dukes assisted, and the Princesses Augusta and Mary. The Princess Charlotte looked quite beau- tiful. She is wonderfully improved. It was impossible not to be struck with her personal attractions, her youth, and splendour. The assemblage was highly magnificent. The invitation was confined to Sovereigns, Princes, Princesses, and the immediate officers of the Crown and the Court. The Duchess of York looked amongst the happiest; the King of Prussia is her brother. I was admirably placed for the view, where every one passed close to me, yet without my being en évidence. F. p’A. Madame @ 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 Corps de Gardes by the Duc de Luxembourg for his own Compagnie; an 1814] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 247 invitation he deemed it wrong to resist at such a moment; and he has since been named one of the officers of the Corps de Garde 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, cepen- dant, as he adds, than lucrative. I must remain here till my own many affairs are settled, and till he sees the turn likely to accelerate or retard his final pro- jects abroad. But he will obtain a short leave of absence in the autumn, should matters wear a procrastinating aspect. I shall quite grieve if you have never been tempted from your retirement to view the good and THEREFORE really great Emperor. [ delight in the unpretending simplicity of his manner and con- duct. The King of Prussia made friends of all who most nearly approached him. Bliicher is still the general idol; and he seems to enjoy as well as merit so being. Platoff is the only one of the noble set I have not had the pleasure to see. Nothing else has yet taken me forth. But my own kind Princess Augusta graciously asks me to see the fireworks from her Royal High- ness’s apartment, and to that I gladly consent. Rejoicings for PEACE! 248 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814, Madame @Arblay to Mrs. Locke. August 9th, 1814. Tue 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 Maréchal de Camp; andas the Duc de Luxembourg will present, in person, the demand aw oz, 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 Corps de Gardes du Rov 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. I need not say what spirits and what pleasure this has occa- sioned to him. I have heard much of him—all of cheerful import—lately through Miss Planta, whose sister has just accompanied Lady Rolle to Paris; that favoured capital seems to be half peopled by English, The rage for Parisian excursions is almost incredible. August 24, 1814. M. d’Arblay has obtained his rank, and the kind King has dated it from the era when the original Brevet was signed by poor Louis XVI. in 1792. Monsieur d Arblay to Madame @ Arolay. “Paris, ce 30 Aout, 1814. IL n’y a que deux jours, ma bonne Fanny, que j'ai passé plus de huit heures entiéres & m’entretenir avec toi, sans méme me douter que la position dans laquelle j’écrivais me faisait beaucoup de mal. N’importe—aujourd’hui je ne puis résister au plaisir de venir te confier lextréme satisfaction que me fait éprouver la maniére dont la féte donnée hier au Roi par la Ville s’est passée. Tout a été non seulement bien, mais 4 merveille; et cela est d’autant plus important, que je n’ai actuellement aucune doute 1814,] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 249 que notre réunion au mois de Novembre ne souffrira pas la moindre difficulté ; puisque la seule chose qui pouvait s’y opposer, cest & dire le moindre doute sur la stabilité du gouvernement paternel qui nous a été rendu si miraculeusement, n’est plus méme admissible. Ce n'est pas simplement avec plaisir, mais avec transport, avec la plus expansive effusion de cceur, que le Roi, Madame la Duchesse d’Angouléme, et nos Princes, ont été accueillis 4 l Hétel de Ville. Si Venthousiasme du peuple a été comprimé dans la route, ¢’a été uniquement parceqy en ne voyant que des voitures tout 4 fait simples, personne n’a imaginé qu’elles renfermassent notre Pére, qu’on s'attendait a voir dans la voiture surmontée d’une couronne. I] est présumable qu’on ne s’en est pas servi parce que cette couronne est impériale et non Royale. Louis XVIII. n’a pas fait sur tout cela le moindre change- ment; et son palais est encore tel quil était il y a six mois, parsemé d’abeilles, de N, et d’aigles, qu’on aurait pu au moins, ce me semble, faire disparaitre du tréne sur lequel siégeait Sa Majesté le jour ot elle a recu le Lord Wellington, d’une maniére’ si flatteuse pour ce héros. Aprés lui avoir témoigné combien elle était satisfaite des sentiments qu'il venait de lui exprimer de la part du Prince Régent, et lui avoir dit quelle désirait infini- ment de voir établie sur les bases solides la paix qui vient d’étre si heureusement conclue, Sa Majesté a ajouté :—“J’aurai besoin pour cela de la co-opération puissante de Son Altesse Royale. Le choix qu'elle a fait de vous, Monsieur, m’en donne l’espérance. PE M-RONOTE”. 6 tw. Je suis fier de voir que le premier Am- bassadeur que n’envore V Angleterre soit le justement célebre Lord Duc de Wellington.’ Ce qui est entre deux guillemets est mot 4 mot. Tout ce que je viens de souligner a été prononcé d’une voix forte, et tellement accentuée qu'elle portait 4 ]’Ame, et qu’elle a touché, méme les maréchaux, un peu honteux des succés constans de leur maitre 4 tous. Quant au discours du héros, dont }’étais prés comme de ton lit 4 ta cheminée, je n’en ai pas entendu un mot; tant il parlait bas, et d’une voix presque tremblante. Déja je crois t’avoir mandé que nous avons l’ordre du Roi de ne pas 250 DIARY AND LETTERS (1814. avoir égard 4 létiquette, des qu'il s’agit des Anglais, qui sont admis de quelque maniere et & quelqw’ heure qu ils se présentent : mais la maniére dont il traite celui qui représente ici leur nation ne peut se décrire. Dés que le Duc de Wellington parait, on en est instruit par lextréme satisfaction qu’on voit repandue sur tous les traits du visage déja si bon du Roi. Je voudrais que tu eusses été témoin, hier soir, de la physionomie si expressive du héros qui était sur la premiére marche de Vestrade d’un tréne dont il parait étre le principal soutien. Il avait bien un peu la mine de se dire, ye n’at pas peu contribué d son rétablissement ; mais cela d’un air si modeste, qu’&é peine pouvait on saisir au passage, cette idée fugitive ; tandis qu’on trouvait toujours bien prononcée la plus sincére et la plus vive satisfaction du succes qu’ont eu les efforts si constants et si généreux de sa brave nation. Personne dans toute la salle n’a pu mieux le voir ni Vexaminer que moi indigne qui occupais a la gauche du troéne a peu prés la méme place que celle qu'il remplissait si noblement & la droite. Je crois bien qu’il a du un peu m’envier les jolies voisines qui s’étaient fait jour jusqu’é moi, et qu’a la vérité javais un peu aidées dans les soins qu’elles s’étaient donnés pour y parvenir. La plus prés sur tout était bien digne détre re- marquée. Que j’étais 1a, cela, au reste, n’a pas été la faute de Monsieur le Duc de Luxembourg, dont je ne puis me refuser a te transcrire ici le billet arrivé la veille chez moi une demi-heure aprés mon départ pour aller prendre le commandement de la garde montante. “ Paris, ce 24 Aofit, 1814, “Le Duc de L. souhaite le bon jour a M. @’A., et lui fait demander de ses nouvelles en lui recommandant expressement de ne pas sortir que son genowu ne soit guéri. Cette recommanda- tion est l’ordre le plus positif, au nom de l’amitié et de Vintérét qu il lui porte. “Le Duc de L. prie Monsieur le Chevalier d’Arblay de recevoi1 ses tendres compliments.” Dis-moi, ma chére Fanny, si tu peux jamais rien imaginer de plus aimable, toi qui n’est pas tout-a-fait béte, et que j’ai la kind- ness de désirer avoir at my side, quand pareille chose m’est 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 251 adressée; dis-moi si dans la situation de nos affaires, et avec Vespérance bien fondée de passer ensemble paisiblement et hono- rablement, les jours quelquefois nébuleux d’une vieillesse qui entraine avec soi le besoin d’une certaine aisance, ce ne serait pas le comble de Vextravagance de quitter ce qui peut et doit me l’assurer ? | Embrasse pour moi Alex., et embrassez-moi tous deux comme par vous-méme. Le CHEVY. D’A. Presentation of Madame d’Arblay to Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Angouléme. I COME now to my audience with Madame, Duchesse d’Angou- léme. 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, reeommended my claiming its performance on my return to Paris. M. d’Arblay then consulted with Le Vicomte d’Agoult, his intimate early friend, how to repair in France my English deprivation. M. d’Agoult was écuyer to her Royal Highness, and high in her con- fidence 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 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. Of course, this both encouraged and gratified me; but, fearful of committing any mistake in etiquette, from my utter ignorance of the French court, I entreated M. d’Arblay to inquire of M. 252 DIARY AND LETTERS (1815. Matthieu de Montmorency whether there were any peculiarities in such an introduction that I ought to study or learn. M. de Montmorency, now M. le Duc, with whom we were all much acquainted, and who was then in waiting upon La Duchesse, kindly promised to be at hand, when the time should be fixed, for obviating all embarrassment by presenting me himself. But I have omitted to mention that on the Sunday preceding, the Duchess d’Angouléme, 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’Angouléme, that I might make some acquaintance with her face before the audience. This portrait was deeply interesting, but deeply melancholy. 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 re- paired instantly to the apartment of La 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 commu- nicated to the page a request that he would endeavour to make 1815.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 253 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 imme- diately 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 Prin- cesse d’Hénin’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 disap- peared 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 le 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 curtseyed me on to another room, into which she shut me. 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 254 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. slichtly curtseyed, 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 health, expressing good-natured con- cern to hear it had been deranged, and adding that she was bien aise de mevoir. I thanked her, with some expression of obliga- tion to her civility, but almost without looking at her, from per- turbation lest some mistake had intervened to prevent my intro- duction, as I still saw nothing of M. de Montmorency. She then asked meif I would not sit down, taking a seat at the same time herself. I readily complied ; but was too much occu- pied 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 envoyé 2” Startled, as if awakened from a dream, I fixed her, and per- ceived 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’Angou- léme, 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 un- ceremoniously 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. 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 255 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 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 ex- tremely 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 mawvaise honte, had occasioned my unaccountable manners. I preserved, there- fore, my taciturnity, till, tired of her own, she gently repeated, “Puis-je le garder, cette copie que vous m’avez envoyée 2” 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 acknow- ledgments for her goodness, with the most unaftected 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; but 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 suf- fered one irregularity to lead to, nay to excuse, another; for I passed over all the étiquette d’usage, of never speaking but en réponse ; and animated myself to attempt to catch her attention, by conversing with fulness 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 256 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. to her. Had she become grave or inattentive, I should have drawn back; but, on the contrary, she grew more and more éveillée, and her countenance was lighted up with the most encouraging approval. 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 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; chez 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 Duchesse possessed the same noble delicacy that renders all private intercourse with my own exem- plary 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 con- sideration 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 pro- minent 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 mis- understood. I told her, in particular, of three high military 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 257 appointments which he had declined. The first was to be head of l’état major of a regiment under a general whose name I can- not 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 Bona- parte. The second was an offer, through General Gassendi, of being Commander of Palma Nuova, whither M. d’A. mieht 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 Cher- bourg, as successor to M. le Comte de la Tour Maubourg, who was sent elsewhere, by still higher promotion. Steady, however, 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 Ul Intériewr. I had now the pleasure to hear the Princess say, “Jl a ag bien noblement.” “For though he would take no part,” I added, “ad 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 élevés tous les jowrs.” 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 ?” “Oh, 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 rappelle trés bien de vous avoir vu & Londres.” “QO, je n’en doute nullement!” I replied, rather naively, “for there passed a scene that cannot be forgotten, and that sur- prised me into courage to come forward, after I had spent the VOL. IV. 17 258 DIARY AND LETTERS S15, whole morning in endeavouring to shrink backward. And I could not be sorry—for I felt that his Majesty could not be 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 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 sweetness of manner, and the striking grace of every one, accord- ing 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 Féte, 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. “QO! she cried, “il a été parfait !” The Princesse Hlise, with whom she was in correspondence, secmed to stand next. “C'est elle,” she said, “ qui fait les hon- neurs de la Famille Royale, and with a charm the most enliven- ing 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 Eng- land, of her most respectful homage, and with her kind and affectionate remembrance to all the Princesses, with warm assur- ances of her eternal attachment. She then moved on, but again stopped when going, to utter some sentences most grateful to 1815. OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 259 my ears, of her high devotion to the Queen and deep sense of all her virtues. T 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 Bor- deaux. ... And then followed the return of Bonaparte from Elba, and then the Hundred Days. Narrative of Bonaparte’s Return from Elba— Flight from Paris— Residence at Brussels—Battle of Waterloo. [The following Narrative was written some time after the events de- scribed 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. | I HAVE no remembrance how I first heard of the return of Bonaparte from Elba. Wonder at his temerity was the impres- sion 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, withont speaking, or, I suppose, thinking of this event as of a matter of any importance. My own participation in this im- provident blindness is to myself incomprehensible. Ten years I had lived under the dominion of Bonaparte; I had been in habits of inthnavy with many friends of those who most closely surrounded him; I was generously trusted, as one with whom information, while mnteresting and precious, would be inviolably safe—as one, in fact, whose honour was the honour of her spot- less husband, and therefore invulnerable: well, therefore, by narrations the most authentic, and by documents the most in- disputable, I knew the character of Bonaparte; and marvellous beyond the reach of my comprehension is my participation in this inertia. Yet it was less owing to a supine confidence in the 1i/—2 960 DIARY AND LETTERS 1815. so recently established government, or even to my wishes for its permanence, than to the state of exhaustion into which all my political faculties had fallen, in consequence of the effervescence in which they had been kept during ten years in Paris and the two that followed in England. Every forced stretch of intellect, whatever be its direction, must end either by suddenly snapping short the overpressed powers of thought, or by causing that non- elastic relaxation that totally defeats all supervehement exertions. In the ten years I have mentioned my mind was a stranger to rest, though the rare domestic felicity which had fallen to my lot held a counterbalance against my anxieties that saved me from being overwhelmed by their weight. In those ten years, so eventful, so fearful, so astonishing, the idea of Bonaparte was blended with all our thoughts, our projects, our actions. The ereatness of his power, the intrepidity of his ambition, the vast- ness of his conceptions, and the restlessness of his spirit, kept suspense always breathless, and conjecture always at work. Thus familiar, therefore, 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 con- sciousness of success, founded upon some secret conviction that it was infallible, through measures previously arranged? I can only, I repeat, conclude that my understanding, such as it is, was utterly tired out by a long harass of perpetual alarm and sleep- less 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 ot infatuation. Whether or not M. d’Arblay was involved in the genetal tailure of fore- sight I have mentioned, I never now can ascertain. To spare me any evil tidings, and save me from even the shadow of any unnecessary alarm, was the first and constant solicitude of his indulgent goodness. JI cannot, therefure, be sure whether our apathy upon this point were mutual, thougn ecrtainly there is no other point, from the beginning to the end of our connexion, to which the word apathy could to either of us be applied. At this period he returned to Paris to settle various matters for our Senlis residence. We both now knew the event that so 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 261 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 caléche, of which he had possessed himself upon his entrance into the King’s body-guard the preceding year; and I have no retrospection that causes me such amazement as the un- apprehensive state of mind that could urge either of us to the enjoyment of those drives when aware that Bonaparte had effected an invasion into France. Brief, however, was this illusion, and fearful was the light by which its darkness was dispersed. In a few days we heard 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 re- membrance, of his noble, his daring, but successless exertions ! The King’s body-guard immediately de service, 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, Nevertheless, his real affection for the King, Louis X VIIL, and his still greater ardour for the royal cause, would have endued him with personal courage to have sacrificed his life to the service of the Crown, if his life would have sufficed, without military skill, for its preservation. 262 DIARY AND LETTERS (1815. Ar this opening of the famous Hundred Days it seemed tc occur to no one that Bonaparte would make any attempt upon Paris. It was calmly taken for granted he would speedily es- cape 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 fre- quently meeting, had an air and manner that announced pertur- bation ; but her impetuous spirit in politics kept her mind always in a state of energy upon public affairs. M. le Comte de Lally Tolendal I do not remember seeing at this period ; but I conclude, from his deep intellect and warm loyalty, he must have been among the earliest to open his eyes to the coming mischief. I often reflected upon the difference that would have appeared in the two nations of France and England under similar circum- stances: had an invader of any name or renown effected a foot- ing on any part of our coast, what a ferment would instantly have been excited in our metropolis! Not a street but would have rung with cries of news, true or false; not a mail coach would have appeared, but the populace would have stopped it for information ; and not an hour would have passed without some real or pretended courier, let loose upon the multitude, to convey or to invent intelligence. Few, at such momentous periods, are fastidious with respect to truth ; something fresh to feed conjecture suffices to appease the famine of ignorance; for, on such occasions, we loathe taciturnity fur more than falsehood. 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 pleac for indulgence. It was thus that he insisted upon going through the double duty of artillery 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 263 officer at the barracks, and of officier swpérieur 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 @ 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. Le Marquis Général Victor de la Tour Maubourg was now appointed by the King, Louis XVIII., to raise a troop of volun- teers for the cavalry, while the same commission was entrusted to M. le Comte de Vioménil for the infantry. 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 va- rious 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 forceme 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 aus affaires étrangéeres ad vnterim, while Talleyrand Périgord was with the Congress at Vienna. M. de Jaucourt gave this passport “pour Madame d Arblay, née Burney,” avoiding to speak of me as the wife of a general officer of the King, lest that might eventually impede my progress, should I be reduced to escape from Paris; while on the other hand, to facilitate my travelling with any friends or companions, he inserted, et les personnes de sa surte. This is dated 15 Mars, 1815. 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, 264 DIARY AND LETTERS » 1815.] 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 détail; mais sois tranquille, et aime bien qui t’aime uni- quement. God bless you.” This news hung upon the departure of Marshal Ney to meet Bonaparte and stop his progress, with the memorable words ut- tered 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 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 befal 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’Hénin came to me daily to communicate all the intelligence she gathered from the nume- rous friends and connexions through whom she was furnished with supplies. Her own plans were incessantly changing, but her friendship knew no alteration ; and in every various modifi- cation 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 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 265 separating me from all to which my heart most dearly clung. Madame d’Hénin 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 0° March, all hope disappeared. From north, from south, from ea 3, from west, alarm took the field, danger flashed its lightnings, and contention growled its thun- ders: yet in Paris there was no rising, no disturbance, no con- fusion—all was taciturn suspense, dark dismay, or sullen passive- ness. 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 ap- proached me, save, for a few moments, my active Madame d’Hénin, 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, an} 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. ) He passed the day almost wholly at the barracks. When he entered his dwelling, in La Rue de Miroménil, 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 him, I could not avoid gathering, from various circumstances, that he was now pre- paring 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 266) DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. 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 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! These lines—these valued, these invaluable lines—were the only break into my utter solitude, and the wretchedness of my ignorance of what was going forward :— “Les nouvelles ne sont pas rassurantes. M. le Duc d’Orléans a fait partir sa femme et ses enfants. Madame de Blacas est aussi partie. Rien ne tient—ou, plutot, tout nous trahit. Si mon amie pouvait partir aussi, je le regarderai plus froidement ; car il est présumable que nous ne pourrons faire aucune résis- tance! ou que nous n’en ferons qu'une bien peu heureuse, et bien courte, si nous partons de Paris! . Vois, et juge de mon embarras, de mon inqui¢tude! Tout parait perdu, ‘hors lhon- neur, qu il faut conserver. Le mien sera sans tache; et si je meurs victime de mon devoir, je ne perdrai pas pour cela l’espoir de te rejoindre dans un meilleur monde; puisqu’en mourant ce sera la mon dernier voeu, ma demande 4 1’Eternel, que je supplie de me rejoindre 4 mon fils et 4 sa meére, que j’embrasse de toutes les puissances de mon ame. Je parais calme, et ne le suis guére; mais je suis, et serai ferme.” 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 267 CHAPTER LXIII. 18135. Laborious military duties of M. d’Arblay—He urges Madame d’Arblay to quit Paris without delay— Her terror at seeing him leaving home to join his regiment—Her arrangements for quitting France—A hurried visit to the Marquis de La Tour Maubourg—News of M. d’Arblay—Louis XVIII. quits Paris with his body-guard—Conduct of the Princesse d’Hénin and M. le Comte de Lally Tolendal at this crisis—La Comtesse d’Auch—Madame d’Arblay on the road to Brussels with the Princesse d’Hénin—Desolate appearance of the country—Arrival of the fugitives at Amiens—The Prefect, M. Lameth—The journey resumed at night—- Arrival at Arras—Reception of the party by M. , the Prefect—A friend of M. d’Arblay’s—Disturbed state of the country—An accident— Hospitality and kindness of a stranger—Polish lancers scouring the country for Bonaparte—Madame d’Arblay and her party remain at Tournay—News of Louis XVIII. NARRATIVE—continued. T 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 268 DIARY AND LETILERS {1S15. nights following armed on guard, one at the Tuileries, in his duty of Garde du Corps to the King; the other on duty as artil- lery captain at the barracks. He went to bed for a few hours; and then, after a wretched breakfast, in which he briefly nar- rated the state of things he had witnessed and his apprehensions, he 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’Hénin, 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 pain- ful! 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 Unglishwoman. He then wrote a most touching note to the Princesse d’Hénin, 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, appa- rently 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. All attempt to conceal this from me must now be vain ;—he acted more nobly by himself, and by his wife; for in openly, and cheerfully, and with rising hope, acknowledging it was for the field that he now left me, he called upon me to exert my utmost courage lest I should enervate his own. 1815.} OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 269 To such a plea had I been deaf, I had indeed been unworthy his honoured choice, and I should have forfeited for ever the high Opinion it was my first pride to see him cherish of his grateful partner. The event, therefore, seeming inevitable, I suddenly called myself to order, and curbing every feeling that sought vent in tenderness or in sorrow, I resolved that, since I must no longer hang upon him for protection or for happiness, I would, at least, take care not to injure him in his honour or his spirits. At half-past two at noon it was expected that the body-guard would be put in motion. Having told me his history, he could not spare me another moment till that which preceded his leaving home to join the Duc 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 ex- claimed, “ Vive le Roi!” I instantly caught his wise wish that we should part with apparent cheerfulness, and re-echoed his words—and then he darted from my sight. This had passed in an ante-room ; but I then retired to my bed- chamber, 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 re: , } r , ’ . 0 Fe grag 4 270 DIARY AND LETTERS (1815. 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 suffer- ing of beholding my distress; but when he had passed the win- dows, 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. Thus I continued, inert, helpless, motionless, till the Princesse d’Hénin came into my apartment. Her first news was, that Bonaparte had already reached Compiegne, and that to-morrow, the 20th of March, he might arrive in Paris, if the 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. Everything now pressed for action and exertion; but my ideas were bewildered ; my senses seemed benumbed ; my mind was a chaos. This species of vague incapacity was broken in upon by the entrance of M. le Noir; and the sight of a favourite of M. d’Arblay, with whom he was in constant intercourse at the Mi- nistére de )’Intérieur, awakened me to some consciousness of my situation. In recounting to him what had passed, I drew my wandering thoughts to a point, and in satisfying his friendly solicitude, I recovered my scared senses. I then determined to take with me 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. Oi. whatever Madame d’Hénin could admit into her carriage that was valuable and portable, and to lock up what remained, and entrust to M. le Noir my keys. He consented to take them in charge, and promised to come from time to time to the house, and to give such directions as might be called for by events. I gave to him full power of acting, in presence of Deprez, our femme de charge, who was to carry to him my keys when I had made my arrangements ; and I besought him, should he see no more either of the General or of myself, never to part.with his trust but to our son. He solemnly ratified the engagement with his word of honour, and, with feelings for us all nearly as deep as my own, he took leave. 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 capi- tal. I could only reply that the General was at his Majesty’s orders, and that my absence would be short. I then began col- lecting our small portion of plate, &c.; but while thus occupied, I received a message from Madame d’Hénin, 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 272 DIARY AND LETTERS -. 1815. Madame Deprez to the Princesse, 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 cochére was ajar, and I entered on foot, no fiacre being ever admitted into les cowrs des hétels, 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. I 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 dis- turbance, 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, transact- ing 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 her- self, she meant to abide by whatever should be the destination of her darling brother Victor, who was now finishing a commis- sion 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 un- known; 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. 2 ae hk ts ¥ 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 273 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 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 la Fayette) 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 cheére amie—Tout est perdu! Je ne puis entrer dans aucun détail—de grace, partez! le plutédt sera le mieux. “A la vie et a la mort, A DAs. Scarcely had I read these lines, when I was told that Madame d’Hénin had sent me a summons. VOL. IV. 18 274 DIARY AND LETTERS (1815, I now could but embrace my Madame de Maisonneuve in silence, and depart. I vertured not to speak to poor Madame Victor. Madame de Maisonneuve accompanied or rather led me downstairs, with a disinterestedness of regard the most rare. She seemed to forget herself wholly in her tender anxiety for her parting friend. We could say nothing of writing, neither of us knowing where a letter might be addressed, nor under what government received. Not a syllable was spoken by either of us as we descended. She passed the cowr with me, and then went on with me to the fiacre. Tender then was her silent pressure, and my return to it: and I drove off. ARRIVED at Madame la Princesse d’Hénin’s, all was in a per- turbation yet greater than what I had left, though not equally afflicting. Madame d’Hénin was so little herself, that every moment presented a new view of things, and urged her impa- tiently, nay imperiously, to differ from whatever was offered. Now she saw instantly impending danger, and was for precipi- tate 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 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 her 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 Peete ee Ty en) ; as ay Axe *, x ‘ ; ." tRNA roy a var Pte, a 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 278 up my own home, and to return thither or to stay anywhere 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 pro- seeded 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. Cer- tainly their mutual conduct warranted this conclusion. Never- theless, 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 im- petuosity of her nature: he, occupied with too mighty a trouble to have time or care for his wonted watchful 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 vehe- mence 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 13—2 276: DIARY AND LETTERS: [1815. not subdue their violent tempers, was nevertheless, the predomi- nant passion of their souls. 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 chil- dren were with her at Paris. The difficult task, in the great un- certainty of events, was now hers to decide whether to seek the same refuge that her father and Madame d’Hénin 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 con- quering 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’Hénin 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. 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, cj if performing some task. Various persons came and went, 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 277 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, 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 Govern- ment 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 con- queror—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 pre- serve her little babies. Madame d’Hénin was now almost distracted, but this.dreadful prospect of indefinite detention, with all the horrors of captivity, lasted not long: Le Roy, her faithful domestic from his child- hood, 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 Cochéve in another moment. The servants and de- pendants of Madame d’Hénin accompanied her to the earriage 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 278 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. 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’Hénin had a passport for herself e¢ 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’Hénin within, and the valet, Le Roy, out- side the carriage, alone accompanied us, with two postilions for the four horses. Madame d’Hénin, 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 Bourget, a long, straggling, small town. And here, Madame d’Hénin meant to stop, or at least change horses. 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 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’Hénin, myself and her maid; and the men-servants were obliged to content themselves vith mattresses in the kitchen. The town, BODE was filled with fugitives from Paris, Ae a ’ tY » 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 279 A supper was directly provided, but Madame d’Hénin, 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’Hénin. 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; 7.e. those of the Prince de Poix, the Duc de Grammont, the Duc de Luxembourg, and the Due d’Aumale ; the Fifth or New Compagnie, under the Duc de Reggio, Marshal Oudinot, was also, I believe, of the procession. 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’Hénin trembled, for herself and all her family, at the danger of the young Hombert La Tour du Pin. No longer easy to be so near Paris, we hastily prepared to get on for Brussels, our destined harbour. M. de Lally now accom- panied 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 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 280 DIARY AND LETTERS (1815. thought and silence, neither looking at us, nor caring to encounter our looks. The road, the fields, the hamlets, all appeared de- serted. 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, 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’Hénin 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’Orléans, who was at Péronne, 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, 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’Hénin 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, 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 cha- racters. We touched, as I think, at Noailles, at St. Just, at Mouchy, and at Poix—but I am only sure we finished the day 1815.] OF MADAME D‘ARBLAY. 281 by arriving at Roy, where still the news of that day was un- known. What made it travel so slowly I cannot tell; but from utter dearth of all the intelligence by which we meant to be suided, we remained, languidly and helplessly, at Roy till the middle of the following Monday, 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 La Princesse and M. de Lally, to go straight to Amiens, where the _ Prefect, M. Lameth, was a former friend, if not connexion, 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 offi- cers of the police who demanded our passports were evidently at a loss whether to regard them as valid or not. Their interro- gatories, 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’Hénin 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 with what ears! But far from still was all within, because far from 282 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. 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. My passport being held back, I only made one of la famille of la Princesse. We had an immensely long drive through the city of Amiens ere we came to the indicated hotel. But here Madame d’Hénin 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 téte-d-téte with him was very long, and ended in a sum- mons 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’Hénin 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 premiere 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 goverment. 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’Hénin, 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. JI knew not which way to look, nor what to do. Dis- covery at such a crisis might have been fatal, as far as might hang upon detention; and detention, which would rob me of all = TES 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 283 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 [ had not demanded to stay in 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’Hénin 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 anybody. | 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. I was here merely included in her family, and he advised that my name should be concealed. There was peculiarly less danger for Madame d’Hénin, to whom Tal- leyrand, while he held the seals of Bonaparte, had accorded: the preservation of her title, as being hers from a prince of the Low Countries, or la Belgique, and therefore not necessarily included in the revolutionary sacrifice of rank. Her claim, therefore, to the honours of her name having, of course, never been disputed on the King’s side, and having been ratified on that of Bonaparte while in power, made her now one of the persons least liable to involve any magistrate in difficulty for being allowed to pass through his domain, whatever might be the issue of the present public conflict. 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 re- placed 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. 284 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. 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 ill-re- port as ours. Madame d’Hénin, 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 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’Hénin. How- ever, he had the skill.and the politeness to name, in the course of the repast, M. d’Arblay, as if accidentally, yet with an ex- pression .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, 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 wus all, and the fear of pursuit and cap- tivity 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. 1815.) OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 285 AT what hour we arrived at Arras om 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’Hénin 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 Prin- cesse, 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 divine,’ in those who are invested with power, to transmit or to blight comfort even by a glance! As Madame d’Hénin 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 stu- diously 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 La Princesse; 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. Meanwhile, an elegant breakfast was prepared for a large com- pany, 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 Enclishwoman, was unaccountable and is indefinable. The King had been com- pelled to fly his capital; no one knew where he was seeking 236 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. 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 connexion 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 polite- ness, and the goodly fare of that medley of refreshments called a déjedner 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 Bona- parte, 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 un- avoidably 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 with fine fruits, when this serenity was somewhat rufiled 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 re- turned, and told him he had positive information that the defec- tion was spreading, and that whole troops and companies were either sturdily waiting in inaction, or boldly marching on to meet the conqueror. Our table was now broken up, and we were wishing to depart sre official intimation from the capital might arrest our further 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 287 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 offi- cers, who came and went with incessant bustle, and occasionally and anxiously were joined by persons of consequence of the vici- nity. 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 @’ Hénin found his | steady adhesion to his King, she came up to him and said, that, finding the firmness of his devotion to Louis XVIIL, 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 more! During this discourse, thus rendered enlivening to me, I dis- covered that my worthy host had not an idea of possessing M. de Lally under his roof: and I had the very great pleasure of procuring to that valued and honourable friend a welcome such as he merited; for no sooner had I mentioned him, than the Prefect became almost young again from the ecstasy of his joy. “What !” he cried, “De Lally? De Lally Tolendal? That ex- cellent citizen, that exalted character, that first-rate man of parts and virtues united !—Is he here ? is he my guest ?” M. de Lally, who was taking a ruminating stroll, was no sooner thus apostrophized, than the hearing, which is never obtuse where our own names are mentioned, became sufficiently acute to bring him to our side ; though not a word, save that which, iden- tified with ourselves, is caught even from a whisper where the loudest call might pass unheeded, reached his ear. And pleasant 288 DIARY AND LETTERS (1s15. - it was to contemplate the honest delight in his open face, when he saw himself suddenly drawn from a depressing and subaltern place, to be elevated to that distinction which was so: justly his due, and which he enjoyed as highly as he deserved. Ten years, at least, seemed snatched from his complexion, and twenty from the weight upon his spirits. The Prefect, repeatedly embracing him, protested that his house had, that day, received its greatest honour. Our impatience to be gone now lost its eagerness, though nothing had intervened to take away its prudence; but we keep small account of time where we are pleased—ah, why does that oblivious neglect of its calculation occur so seldom ? At length, however, about noon, we set off, accompanied by the Prefect and all his family to our carriage. I have forgotten to mention that, from the commencement of our flight, we made a common travelling purse, each contributing six Napoleons, to be replenished as they were expended, of which Madame d’Hénin was treasurer. The servants, as I had none with me, were kept by a separate account. We were all somewhat roused from our dejection, by observ- ing the general tendency to loyalty at the Prefecture of Arras, and by the personal kindness as well as allegiance of the brave Prefect ; though we grieved to have returned his hospitality by © leaving him so much less happy than we had found him. 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’Hénin had a good 1815.] : OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 289 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 par- ties 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— She same hailing exclamation, without knowing or daring to inquire its purport. 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, seemed passively waiting the event; and the constituted authorities appeared to be self-suspended from their functions till the drow du plus fort 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 expec- tation 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 ? 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, VOL. IV. Ty 290 DIARY AND LETTER [1815, but we soon found that the carriage of M. de Lally had broken down. Madame d’Hénin 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 re- paired. The groom was sent to discover the nearest black- smith, 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: 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 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 fear- ful 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, 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 291 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 eacha 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. | 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; 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 telling 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 houza 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 | 19—2 292 DIARY AND LETTERS ° [1815. 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 grati- tude, 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. 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 deter- mined therefore to remain till we could guide our further pro- ceedings 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. 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 1815.] OF MADAME D’ARBLAY. 293 awed into waiting to know to which they should belong, in fear- ful 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 com- motion, 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. 294 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. CHAPTER LXIV. 1810. Anxiety of Madame d’Arblay respecting her husband—Endeavours to communicate with him by letter—Arrival of the Prince de Condé—Ma- dame d’Arblay’s accidental meeting with M. de Chateaubriand—Her opinion of his works—Her description of M. and Madame Chateaubriand — His popularity in France—Napoleon’s arbitrary conduct towards him —Arrival of the fugitives at Brussels—La Comtesse de Maurville— Character of the Belgians—Madame de la Tour du Pin—The Duchesse de Duras endeavours to obtain intelligence for Madame d’Arblay—Dis- persion of the King’s body-guard on the frontiers—News of M. d’Arblay —Improved prospects of Madame d’Arblay—