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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39145fa --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51922 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51922) diff --git a/old/51922-0.txt b/old/51922-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4c742ea..0000000 --- a/old/51922-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9634 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fanny's First Novel - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51922] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL - -By Frank Frankfort Moore. - -Author of “The Jessamy Bride,” “A Nest of Linnets,” “I Forbid the -'Banns,” Etc. - -London: Hutchinson & Co. Paternoster Row, E. C. - -1913 - - -[Illustration: 0001] - - -[Illustration: 0009] - - - - - -FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL - - - - -CHAPTER I - -|INDEED, I am not quite assured in my mind that the influence of Mr. -Garrick upon such a family as ours is healthy,” said Mrs. Burney, when -the breakfast cups had been removed and the maid had left the room -in the little house in St. Martin's Street, off Leicester Fields. Dr. -Burney, the music-master, had not to hurry away this day: his first -lesson did not begin until noon; it was to be given at the mansion of -Mr. Thrale, the brewer, at Streatham, and the carriage was not to -call for him for another hour. He was glancing at the _Advertiser_ in -unaccustomed indolence, but when his wife had spoken he glanced up from -the paper and an expression of amused surprise was upon his face. His -daughter Fanny glanced up from the work-basket which her mother had -placed ready for her the moment that the breakfast-table had been -cleared, and the expression upon little Miss Burney's face was one that -had something of fright in it. She was too short-sighted to see the wink -which her brother James, lieutenant in His Majesty's navy, gave her, for -their stepmother had her back turned to him. But Mrs. Burney, without -seeing him, knew that, as he himself would phrase it, he had tipped -Fanny a wink. She turned quickly round upon him, and if she had -previously any doubt on this point, it was at once dispelled by the -solemnity of his face. - -Dr. Burney gave a laugh. - -“The influence of Mr. Garrick is like that of the air we breathe,” said -he. “It is not to be resisted by the age we live in, leaving family -matters out of the question altogether: the Burney family must inhale -as much of the spirit of Mr. Garrick as the rest of the town-they cannot -help themselves, _ces pauvres Burneys!_ they cannot live without Mr. -Garrick.” - -Mrs. Burney shook her head solemnly; so did Lieutenant James Burney, for -he had all his life been under the influence of Mr. Garrick, when the -atmosphere brought by Mr. Garrick was one of comedy. - -“My meaning is that Mr. Garrick is not content to allow simple people -such as ourselves to live as simple people,” said Mrs. Burney. “I -protest that I have felt it: the moment he enters our house we seem to -be in a new world-whatsoever world it is his whim to carry us to.” - -“That is the truth, my dear-he can do what he pleases with us and with -all the thousands who have flocked to his playhouse since his Goodman's -Fields days--he has made a fortune as a courier; transporting people -to another world for an hour or two every night--a world that is less -humdrum than this in which four beats go to every bar and every crotchet -goes to a beat! Dear soul! he has made our hearts beat at times beyond -all computation of time and space.” - -“You will herring-bone the edges neatly, Fanny: I noticed some lack of -neatness in the last of the napery that left your hand, my dear,” said -Mrs. Burney, bending over her stepdaughter at her work-basket; and, -indeed, it seemed that the caution was not unnecessary, for Fanny's eyes -were gleaming and she was handling her work with as great indifference -(for the moment) as though she esteemed plain sewing something of -drudgery rather than a delight. And now, having administered her timely -caution, the good lady turned to her husband, saying: - -“To my mind what you have claimed for Mr. Garrick but adds emphasis to -my contention that his visits have a disturbing influence upon a homely -family, taking them out of themselves, so to speak, and transporting -them far beyond the useful work of their daily life. I have noticed with -pain for some time past that Fanny's heart has not been in her work: -her cross-stitch has been wellnigh slovenly, and her herring-boning has -really been indifferent--I say it with sorrow; but dear Fanny is too -good a girl to take offence at my strictures, which she knows are honest -and meant for her good.” - -“Madam,” said Lieutenant Burney, “I pray you to give me leave to bear -you out; but at the same time to make excuses for Fan. I must do so in -justice to her, for the blame rests with me so far as the herring-boning -is concerned. I confess, with tears in my eyes, that 'twas I who -provided her with the last models for her herring-boning; and 'twas -surely some demon in my breast that prompted me to substitute the -skeleton of one of the South Sea fishes which I hooked when becalmed -with Captain Cook within sight of Otaheite, for the true herring whose -backbone is a model of regularity to be followed by all workers with the -needle, when deprived of the flesh, which is the staple fare of hundreds -of honest families and, while nourishing them amply, prevents their -thoughts from carrying them beyond the region pervaded by the smell of -their cooking.” - -“That were a wide enough area upon occasions for the most ambitious of -thinkers,” said Dr. Burney, controlling his features, seeing that his -wife took the ward-room humour of his son with dreadful seriousness. -He made a sign to James to go no further--but James had gone round the -world once, and he was not to be checked in a humbler excursion. - -“Yes, madam, 'tis my duty to confess that Fanny's model was the -flying-fish, and not the simple Channel herring, hence the failure to -achieve the beautiful regularity of design which exists in the backbone -of the latter from the figurehead to the stern, larboard sloping in one -direction and starboard in the other. If anyone be culpable 'tis myself, -not Fanny; but I throw myself on your mercy, and only implore that the -herring-boning of my sister will not result in a whaling for me.” - -Mrs. Burney looked seriously from her brother to Fanny, and getting no -cue from either, began: - -“'Tis indeed honourable for you to endeavour by your confession to -excuse the fault of your sister, James-----” - -“The traditions of the service, madam----” began the lieutenant, laying -his hand on his heart; but he got no further, for Fanny could restrain -herself no longer; she burst into a laugh and dropped her work, and her -father rose, holding up his hand. - -“The jest has gone far enough, James,” he said. “We sleep in beds in -this house and do not swing in hammocks. Keep your deep-sea jests until -you are out of soundings, if it please you.” - -“I ask your pardon, sir,” said James; “but i' faith there's many a -true word said in jest; and it seems to me that there's a moral in the -parable of the young woman who took the flying-fish of the South Seas -for her model rather than the herring of the three-fathom coast-line of -the Channel; and that moral touches close upon the complaint made by our -good mother against Mr. Garrick.” - -“Let it be so,” said Mrs. Burney, who was a clever enough woman to -perceive that it would be unwise to make a grievance of the impudence -of a young naval gentleman. “Let it be so; let it be that we are -simple, homely, wholesome herrings, we are none the better for such a -flying-fish as Mr. Garrick coming among us, giving us, it may be, the -notion that our poor fins are wings, and so urging us to make fools of -ourselves by emulating the eagle. The moral of your fable is that we -should keep to our own element--is not that so, sir?” - -“I' faith, madam, I am not sure but that 'tis so, and I haul down my -colours to you, and feel no dishonour in the act,” cried James. “Lord, -where should we all be to-day if it were not for the good women who -hold fast to the old traditions of the distaff and needle? They are the -women who do more for the happiness of men than all who pass their time -dipping quills in ink-horns or daubing paint upon good canvas that might -with luck be hung from a stunsail boom and add another knot to the log -of a frigate of seventy-two! Is there anyone who dines at the table of -Sir Joshua Reynolds round the corner that does not wish with all his -heart that his sister would sell her palette and buy a wine-glass or two -with the proceeds? Why, when we went to dinner at Sir Joshua's yesterday -there were not enough glasses to go round the table.” - -“There never are--that is well known,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“Nay, nay; let us take to ourselves the reproof of Dr. Johnson to Mr. -Boswell when he complained, loud enough almost for Sir Joshua himself to -hear him, about the scarcity of service. 'Sir,' said Dr. Johnson, 'some -who have the privilege of sitting at this table, and you are one of -them, sir, will be wiser if they keep their ears open and their mouths -shut than they would if they had the means of drinking all that you are -longing to drink.'” - -“Mr. Boswell, in spite of the reproof, contrived to lurch from the table -with more wine than wisdom 'tween decks,” remarked James. - -“He must have found a wine-glass,” said Miss Susy Burney, who had been -quite silent but quite attentive to every word that had been spoken -since breakfast-time. - -“And so the honour of Mrs. Reynolds's housekeeping is saved,” said Dr. -Burney. - -“Nay, sir, is not Mr. Boswell a Scotsman?” cried the irrepressible -James. - -“That is his lifelong sorrow, since he fancies it to be an insuperable -barrier between his idol, Dr. Johnson, and himself,” replied his father. -“But how does his Scotsmanship bear upon the wine-glass question?” - -“Ah, sir, without being versed in the subtleties of theology I make bold -to think that Father Adam did not suffer hunger until knives and forks -were invented,” said James. “Your drouthy Scot will drink straight from -the bottle if no beaker be at hand. Oh, why was not Mr. Garrick at Sir -Joshua's to rouse our spirits by his imitation of Mr. Boswell seeking -for a wine-glass--and after?” - -“Mr. Boswell is too trivial a subject for Davy: I have seen him take off -Dr. Johnson mixing a bowl of punch until I was like to die of laughter. -I protest that when he came to the squeezing of the imaginary lemon, -while he cried out in the Doctor's broadest Lichfield, 'Who's for -poonch?' I could smell the acid juice,” said Dr. Burney, and he laughed -at the recollection of Garrick's fooling. - -The naval man gave a resounding nautical smack to his thigh. - -“That is what 'tis to be a sailor,” he cried. “I have had no chance of -seeing Mr. Garrick at his best. I should dearly like to hear him take -off Mr. Boswell when three sheets in the wind. Why was he not with us -yesterday?” - -“Mr. Garrick himself has had a drinking bout on. He has been at the -Wells for the past fortnight,” said his father. - -“_Ecce signum!_” came a doleful voice from the door, and a little man -slowly put round the jamb a face bearing such an expression of -piteous nausea as caused everyone in the room--not even excepting Mrs. -Burney--to roar with laughter--uncontrollable laughter. - -Then the expression on the little man's face changed to one of surprised -indignation. He crept into the room and looked at every person therein -with a different expression on his face for each--a variation of his -original expression of disgust and disappointment mingled with doleful -reproof. It seemed as if it was not a single person who had entered the -room, but half a dozen persons--a whole doleful and disappointed family -coming upon an unsympathetic crew convulsed with hilarity. - -And then he shook his head sadly. - -“And these are the people who have just heard that I have been taking -the nauseous waters of Tunbridge Wells for a whole fortnight,” and there -was a break in his voice. “Oh, Friendship, art thou but a name? Oh, -Sympathy, art thou but a mask? Is the world of sentiment nothing more -than a world of shadows? Have all the sweet springs of compassion dried -up, leaving us nothing but the cataracts of chalybeate to nauseate the -palate?” - -He looked round once more, and putting the tips of his fingers together, -glanced sadly up to the ceiling, then sighed and turned as if to leave -the room. - -“Nay, sir,” cried Dr. Burney, “I do not believe that the chalybeate -cataracts still flow: 'tis my firm belief, from the expression of your -face, that you have swallowed the whole spring--the Wells of Tunbridge -must have been dried up by you before you left--your face betrays you. -I vow that so chalybeate an expression could not be attained by lesser -means.” - -“Sir, you do me honour, and you have a larger faith in me than my own -physician,” said the little man, brightening up somewhat. “Would you -believe that he had the effrontery to accuse me of shirking the hourly -pailful that he prescribed for me?” - -“He had not seen you as we have, Mr. Garrick,” said Dr. Burney. - -“He accused me of spending my days making matches and making mischief -in the Assembly Rooms and only taking the waters by sips--me, sir, that -have so vivid a memory of Mr. Pope's immortal lines: - - A little sipping is a dangerous tiling, - - Drink deep or taste not the chalybeate spring!” - -“You were traduced, my friend--but tell us of the matches and the -mischief and we shall be the more firmly convinced of your integrity.” - -“Nay, sir; I give you my word that 'twas but the simplest of -matches--not by any means of the sort that yonder desperado fresh -from the South Seas applies to the touch-hole of one of his horrible -ten-pounders when the enemy's frigate has to be sunk--nay, a simple -little match with no more powder for it to burn than may be found on -the wig of a gentleman of fifty-two and on the face of a lady of -forty-five--the one a gay bachelor, t'other a ripe widow--' made for one -another,' said I; and where was the mischief in that? And if I ventured -to broach the subject of the appropriateness of the union of the twain, -and to boast under the inspiring influence of the chalybeate spring that -I could bring it about, is there anyone that will hint that I was not -acting out of pure good nature and a desire to make two worthy folk -happy--as happy as marriage can make any two-----” - -“Give us their names, sir, and let us judge on that basis,” said Dr. -Bumey. - -“I have no desire to withhold them, my dear Doctor; for I want you to -back me up, and I am sure that--oh, Lord! here comes the man himself. -For the love of heaven, back me up, Doctor, and all will be well.” - -“Nay, I will not be dragged by the hair of the head into any of your -plots, my friend,” cried Burney. “Nay, not I. I have some reputation to -maintain, good friend Garrick; you must play alone the part of Puck that -you have chosen for yourself this many a year. Think not that you will -induce me to study the character under you, and so thus-----” - -The manservant threw open the door of the room, announcing: - -“Mr. Kendal to wait upon you, sir.” - -But by the time a small and rather rotund gentleman had been ushered -into the room, Mr. Garrick was apparently engaged in an animated -conversation with Miss Burney on the subject of the table-cover at which -she was working. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -|THE visitor walked with the short strut of the man who at least does -not underrate his own importance in the world. But he suggested just -at the moment the man who is extremely nervous lest he may not appear -perfectly selfpossessed. There was an air of bustle about him as he -strutted into the room, saying: - -“Dr. Burney, I am your servant, sir. I have done myself the honour to -visit you on a rather important piece of business.” - -“Sir, you have conferred honour upon me,” said Dr. Burney. - -Then the gentleman seemed to become aware for the first time that there -were other people in the room; but it was with an air of reluctance that -he felt called on to greet the others. - -“Mrs. Burney, I think,” he said, bowing to that lady, “and her estimable -family, I doubt not. Have I not had the privilege of meeting Mrs. Burney -at the house of--of my friend--my esteemed friend, Mrs. Barlowe? And -this gentleman of the Fleet--ha, to be sure I have heard that there was -a Lieutenant Burney of the Navy! And--gracious heavens! Mr. Garrick!” - -Mr. Garrick had revealed himself from the recesses of Miss Burney's -work-basket. He, at any rate, was sufficiently self-possessed to pretend -to be vastly surprised. He raised both his hands, crying: - -“Is it possible that this is Mr. Kendal? But surely I left you at the -Wells no later than--now was it not the night before last? You were the -cynosure of the Assembly Rooms, sir, if I may make bold to say so. But -I could not look for you to pay attention to a poor actor when you were -receiving the attentions of the young, and, may I add without offence, -the fair? But no, sir; you will not find that I am the one to tell tales -out of school, though I doubt not you have received the congratulations -of----” - -“There you go, sir, just the same as the rest of them!” cried the -visitor. “Congratulations! felicitations! smiles of deep meaning -from the ladies, digs in the ribs with suggestive winks from the -gentlemen--people whose names I could not recall--whom I'll swear I had -never spoken to in my life--that is why I left the Wells as hastily as -if a tipstaff had been after me--that is why I am here this morning, -after posting every inch of the way, to consult Dr. Burney as to my -position.” - -“I protest, sir, that I do not quite take you,” said Mr. Garrick, with -the most puzzled expression on his face that ever man wore. “Surely, -sir, your position as a man of honour is the most enviable one possible -to imagine! Mrs. Nash----” - -“There you blurt out the name, Mr. Garrick, and that is what I had no -intention of doing, even when laying my case before Dr. Burney, who is -a man of the world, and whom I trust to advise me what course I should -pursue.” - -“I ask your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Garrick humbly; “but if the course -you mean to pursue has aught to do with the pursuit of so charming a -lady, and a widow to boot----” - -“How in the name of all that's reasonable did that gossip get about?” - cried the visitor. “I give you my word that I have not been pursuing the -lady--I met her at the Wells for the first time a fortnight ago--pursuit -indeed!” - -“Nay, sir, I did not suggest that the pursuit was on your part,” said -Garrick in a tone of irresistible flattery. “But 'tis well known that as -an object of pursuit of the fair ones, the name of Mr. Kendal has been -for ten years past acknowledged without a peer.” - -The gentleman held up a deprecating hand, but the smile that was on his -face more than neutralized his suggestion. - -“Nay, Mr. Garrick, I am but a simple country gentleman,” he cried. “To -be sure, I have been singled out more than once for favours that might -have turned the head of an ordinary mortal--one of them had a fortune -and was the toast of the district; another----” - -“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, the Miss Burneys and myself will take -our leave of you: we have household matters in our hands,” said Mrs. -Burney, making a sign to Fanny and her sister, and going toward the -door. - -“Have I said too much, madam? If so, I pray of you to keep my secret,” - cried the visitor. “The truth is that I have confidence in the advice of -Dr. Burney as a man of the world.” - -“I fear that to be a man of the world is to be of the flesh and the -devil as well,” said Dr. Burney. - -“Augmented qualifications for giving advice on an affair of the Wells,” - said Garrick slyly to the naval lieutenant. - -“You will not forget, Doctor, that Mr. Thrale's carriage is appointed to -call for you within the hour,” said Mrs. Burney over her shoulder as she -left the room. - -Fanny and her sister were able to restrain themselves for the few -minutes necessary to fly up the narrow stairs, but the droll glance that -Mr. Garrick had given them as they followed their mother, wellnigh made -them disgrace themselves by bursting out within the hearing of their -father's visitor. But when they reached the parlour at the head of the -stairs and had thrown themselves in a paroxysm of laughter on the sofa, -Mrs. Burney reproved them with some gravity. - -“This is an instance, if one were needed, of the unsettling influence of -Mr. Garrick,” she said. “He has plainly been making a fool of that -conceited gentleman, and it seems quite likely that he will persuade your -father to back him up.” - -“I do not think that Mr. Garrick could improve greatly upon Nature's -handiwork in regard to that poor Mr. Kendal,” said Fanny. “But what -would life be without Mr. Garrick?” - -“It would be more real, I trust,” said her stepmother. “He would have -us believe that life is a comedy, and that human beings are like the -puppets which Mr. Foote put on his stage for the diversion of the town a -few years ago.” - -Fanny Burney became grave; the longer she was living in the world, -the more impressed was she becoming with the idea that life was a -puppet-show; only when the puppets began to dance on their wires in a -draught of wind from another world the real comedy began. She felt that -as an interpreter of life Mr. Garrick had no equal on the stage or off. -On the stage he could do no more than interpret other people's notions -of life, and these, except in the case of Shakespeare, were, she -thought, mostly feeble; but when he was off the stage--well, Sir Joshua -Reynolds had told her what that queer person, Dr. Goldsmith, had written -about Garrick--the truest criticism Garrick had ever received: “'Twas -only that when he was off he was acting.” She knew what she herself owed -to Garrick from the time she was nine years old, when he had accustomed -her and her sister to look for him at their house almost daily; she knew -that whatever sense of comedy she possessed--and she looked on it as -a precious possession--was to be attributed to the visits of Garrick. -Every time she looked at her carefully locked desk in that room at the -top of the house in St. Martin's Street, which had once been Sir Isaac -Newton's observatory, she felt that without the tuition in comedy that -she had received at the hands of Mr. Garrick, the contents of that -desk would have been very different. Her stepmother, however, had no -information on this point; she had lived all her life among the good -tradespeople of Lynn, and had known nothing of Mr. Garrick until Dr. -Burney had married her and brought her to look after his children, which -Fanny knew she had done faithfully, according to her lights, in London. - -Fanny kept silent on the subject of Mr. Garrick's fooling, while Mrs. -Burney bent with great gravity over the cutting out of a pinafore for -Fanny's little niece--also a Burney; and every now and again there came -from the closed room downstairs the sound of the insisting voice of the -visitor. She hoped that Mr. Garrick would re-enact the scene for her; -she had confidence that it would lose nothing by its being re-enacted by -Mr. Garrick. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -|I SUPPOSE that I must e'en follow in the wake of the womenkind,” said -Lieutenant Burney, making an extremely slow move in the direction of the -door, when the door had been closed upon his stepmother and his sisters. - -“Is there any need?” asked Garrick. “It seems to me that in such a -case as this which Mr. Kendal promises to propound to your father, His -Majesty's Navy should be represented. In all matters bearing upon a -delicate _affaire de cour_ surely a naval man should be present to act -as assessor.” - -'Mr. Kendal looked puzzled. - -“I fail to take your meaning, sir,” said he, after a pause; he was still -rubbing his chin with a fore-finger, when Garrick cried: - -“Oh, sir, surely the advantage of the counsel of an officer trained to -navigate femininity in the shape of a ship, is apparent: a ship, even -though a three-decker ready to fire a broadside of a hundred guns, is -invariably alluded to as 'she,'” said he, airily. - -“Such an one must surely be the most formidable piece of femininity in -the world,” said Mr. Kendal. - -“By no means,” said Garrick. “During my career as the manager of a -playhouse I have had to face worse. Still, the training of a naval -officer in dealing with feminine craft--at times off a lee shore, and -often during a storm at sea--nothing to be compared to the tempests in -our green-room--is certain to be of value. You will stay, Lieutenant -Burney, if it please you.” - -“I should be most unwilling to obtrude upon your council, sir,” said -young Burney, “unless you are convinced that my humble services----” - -“You have been among the savages of the South Seas, and you are -acquainted with all the rules of chasing and capturing prizes, all -of the feminine gender--I allude to your sloops and frigates and -catamarans--I take it for granted that a catamaran is as feminine in its -ways as any wherry that floats,” cried Garrick. Then he turned to their -visitor, who was looking more puzzled than ever. - -“You may reckon yourself fortunate in the presence of our young friend, -sir,” he said. “So far as I can gather this is a case of chase, with -a possible capture of a prize. I venture to think that in these days a -gentleman of family and fortune, like yourself, is something of a prize, -Mr. Kendal.” This was language that contained nothing to puzzle anyone, -the visitor perceived. His face brightened, and he waved young Burney to -a seat. - -“I take it that Mr. Garrick knows what he is talking about,” he said. -“And though it was truly your father to whom I came for counsel, I -doubt not that you will take my part, should the worst come to the -worst.” - -“Which means, should the lady come to the gentleman, Mr. Burney,” said -Garrick. - -“Pay out your yarn, sir: I gather that you are still to the windward of -your enemy, and that is the position which the books tell us we should -manoeuvre for,” cried the nautical assessor. - -Dr. Burney sat silently by, he had no mind to join in the fooling of -the others. Dr. Burney had never in his life lost a sense of his own -dignity. He had been a church organist for thirty years, and no man -who has had such an experience of the control of an instrument of such -superlative dignity could be otherwise than dignified. He had never -once run off on a keyboard a single phrase of “The Beggar's Opera.” Even -Handel's “Ruddier than the Cherry,” with Mr. Gay's ticklish rhymed -line about “Kidlings blithe and merry,” he only played apologetically, -allowing it to be clearly understood that Mr. Handel and Mr. Gay divided -between them the responsibility for so frivolous a measure. - -He remained dignified and silent while Garrick and James carried on -their fooling. Only a short time before he had occasion to reprove the -lack of dignity on the part of his important patroness, Mrs. Thrale, the -wife of the wealthy brewer, in having put herself behind Signor Piozzi -while he was singing a sentimental canzone and mimicked his southern -fervour of expression. Mrs. Thrale had taken his reproof in good part -at the time; but no one--least of all Mrs. Thrale herself--could have -foreseen that her contrition should extend so far as to cause her to -marry the singer on the death of Mr. Thrale. - -“To be brief, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, addressing, not Dr. Burney, whom he -had come to consult, but Mr. Garrick, who had shown himself to be much -more sympathetic. “To be brief, I had gone to the Wells as my custom has -been for the past twenty years. I went honestly to drink the waters, not -making it an excuse, as so many do, for indulging in the gaieties, or, I -may add, the intrigues, of the Assembly Rooms. I was civil, as I hoped, -to everyone, but, I give you my word, no more so to Mrs. Nash than any -other lady.” - -“I do not doubt that you believe this, sir,” said Garrick, with an -indulgent wave of the hand; “but when a lady has eyes only for one -gentleman, she is apt to place a construction upon the simplest of -his civilities beyond that assigned to it by ordinary people; but pray -proceed, sir. I will only add that it was quite well known at the Wells -that the lady regarded you with the tenderest of emotions. Had she not -boldly said to Lady-------- no; I dare not mention her name; but her -ladyship is invariably what the Italians term _simpatica_ in regard to -the tender affairs of her sisters--and it was to her that Mrs. Nash -confided her secret--referring to you as bearing a striking resemblance -to the Apollo Belvedere, hoping that her doing so would not cause anyone -to accuse her of Pagan leanings.” - -“Is it possible! The poor lady! poor lady! But I was not to blame. I -can justly acquit myself of all blame in this unhappy affair,” said Mr. -Kendal. - -“You are quite right, sir; is it a man's fault that he should bear a -striking likeness to the Apollo--I doubt not that the resemblance has -caused you some annoyance at various times of your life, Mr. Kendal,” - said Garrick. - -“Never, sir, never--at least----” he took a step to one side that -allowed of his having a full-length view of his reflection in the narrow -mirror that filled up the space between the windows; and the result of -his scrutiny of the picture was certainly not displeasing to him. He -boldly put forward a leg, and then quite unconscious, as anyone could -see, struck an attitude, though not quite that of the Apollo Belvedere. -Then he smirked. - -“A leg like yours, Mr. Kendal, to say nothing of the poise of your -head, is a great responsibility,” said Garrick seriously. “The poor -lady!--poor ladies!--I confess that I have heard of others. And she -acknowledged to you that--that--oh, that most delicate of secrets!” - -“Never to me, sir--never in my hearing, I give you my word,” cried -the man emphatically. “Nay, I did not so much as suspect it. The -first intimation that I had of the matter was when, on Monday morning -last--only three days ago--Captain Kelly--the boisterous Irishman--clapt -me on the shoulder and almost shouted out his congratulations in my -ear. When I forced him to mention the name of the lady, he ridiculed my -denial--his forefinger in my ribs--painful as well as undignified. Who -is Captain Kelly, that he should subject me to his familiarities? But -if he was undignified, I flatter myself that I was not so. 'Sir, you -presume,' I said, and walked on, leaving this vulgar fellow roaring with -laughter.” - -“Psha! Kelly is a nobody,” said Garrick. “You should not have allowed -yourself to be discomposed by such as he.” - -“Nor did I,” cried the other. “But what was I to think when I had -advanced no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly -by Sir John Dingle?--you know him, Mr. Garrick--I have seen him in -your company--more congratulations--the same attitude, sir. And then -up marches Mr. Sheridan--leaving his handsome wife--ah, I fear that I -joined with all Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley--and -Mr. Sheridan was wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. -Up comes Mrs. Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set -her down when she saw me--up went the roof and up went her head, with -a shrill cry of 'Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save -only myself that Benedick is to be a married man!' And before she had -finished her ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman -behind her with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted -only for a special night in the Rooms, and her 'Happy man!' came with a -flick of her fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the -last--I saw them hurrying up to me from all sides--ladies with smiles, -and gentlemen with smirks--fingers twitching for my ribs--down they -flowed upon me! I ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and -I am glad to have the opportunity of hearing your opinion--I ask you, if -I was not justified in turning about and hastening away--what you -nautical gentlemen term 'cutting my cable '?” - -“Indeed, sir; if I could believe that you gave the lady no -encouragement, I would say that--that--but no one will convince me that -upon some occasion--it may be forgotten by you--such men of fashion as -yourself soon forget these things, I have heard, though the unhappy lady -treasures them as golden memories--I say upon some occasion you may have -given the Widow Nash encouragement. You have your reputation as a sly -rogue to maintain, Mr. Kendal,” said young Burney gravely, as though he -were a lawyer being seriously consulted. - -“Fore Gad, sir, I gave her no encouragement,” cried Mr. Kendal. “I have -ever been most cautious, I swear.” - -“Then the greater shame for you, sir,” said Garrick. - -The man whom he addressed looked in amazement first at Garrick, then at -Lieutenant Burney--Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, was smiling -quite unnoticed in a corner. His part, apparently, was no more than that -of the looker-on at a comedy. His presence was ignored by the others. - -“The more shame--the more----” began the visitor. “I protest that I -scarcely take your meaning, Mr. Garrick.” - -“My meaning is plain, sir,” said Garrick firmly, almost sternly. “I -affirm that it lay with you, when you perceived that the lady was so -deeply enamoured of you----” - -“But I did not perceive it--you have my word for it.” - -“Ah, sir,” said Garrick, with the shrug of a Frenchman, which he had -studied for some months in Paris--Mr. Garrick and Lord Chesterfield -had alone mastered the art. “Ah, sir, we are all men of the world here. -'Twere idle for you to pretend that a gentleman with the figure of the -Belvedere Apollo and the leg of--of----” he turned to young Burney-- “You -have seen the proud-stepping figure-heads of many ships of the line, Mr. -Burney,” he said; “prithee help me out in my search for--for--the name I -am in search of.” - -“H'm, let me see--something wooden with a leg to be proud of?” said the -naval gentleman, considering the matter very earnestly. - -“Zounds, sir, I did not make it a condition that it should be a wooden -leg,” cried Garrick. - -“I have seen more than one Admiral of the Fleet mighty proud of a wooden -leg, sir,” said Burney. “But this is beside the question, which I -take to be the responsibility of our good friend here--I hope I don't -presume, Mr. Kendal--for kindling, albeit unconsciously, so far as he -was concerned--that sacred flame in the breast of--to name only one out -of a score--the lady whose name he mentioned.” - -“You are with me heart and soul, as I felt sure you would be, Mr. -Burney; as a naval officer of judgment and experience,” cried Garrick, -“and so, sir--” he turned to their visitor-- “I cannot doubt that you -will comport yourself as a gentleman of honour in this affair. Do not -allow your yielding to the natural impulse to run away to weigh too -heavily upon you. If your act should cause you to be referred to with -reprobation, not to say scorn, by the ladies or gentlemen of fashion who -are certain to espouse the cause of the lady, your subsequent conduct -will show them that they mistook your character. And I promise you that -should you receive a challenge from any of the lady's admirers--those -whose prayers she rejected because her heart was set on a gentleman who -was worthy of her choice--I think you can afford to ignore them, having -won the prize. Ah, sir, is there not a poet who says that every man that -lives has a good angel and a bad one contending for dominion over him? -That is the truth, Mr. Kendal, and I see that your good angel is none -other than the lady whose name I reckon too sacred to pass our lips at -such a time as this. Ah, sir, think of her, and let your mind go back to -the days of your happy boyhood, and say if the mother at whose knees you -knelt did not resemble her. The affection of a son for his mother--let -that plead for the lady who esteems you with more than a mother's love.” - -He had laid his hand on the poor gentleman's shoulder, and was looking -into his face, while the tears stood in his eyes, and his voice broke -more than once. - -And there sat Dr. Burney wiping his eyes, and Lieutenant Burney -blubbering away like any child--the two accessories to the actor's -farce could not avoid yielding to the-influence of his unparalleled art. -Though they were in his secret, he made fools of them as easily as he -made a fool of the poor gentleman who was presumably his victim. And -they had no feeling of being ashamed of yielding to his powers. He could -do anything that he pleased with them. He could do anything he pleased -with the multitudes before whom he acted. He was the master of their -emotions for the time being. He played upon their passions as though -every passion was a puppet and the strings in his own hands. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -|THE scene ended by Mr. Garrick's victim groping through his tears -for Mr. Garrick's hand. He grasped it emotionally, and though for some -moments he was too greatly overcome to be able to utter a word, yet at -last he managed to blurt out with affecting incoherence a few phrases. - -“Say no more--say no more, sir,” he muttered. “I have a heart--a -heart! I give you my word, whether you believe me or not, that I had no -notion--but you have shown me what 'tis to be a woman. Oh, sir, there -is no sweeter sex in the world! Deception! how a man's own heart may -deceive him--ay, up to a certain point--but then--ah, you have taught -me--but are you sure that the lady--what--have we not been going ahead -too fast? What--what; are you convinced?” - -“You may take my word for it, sir,” replied Garrick. “There are signs -that all who run may read. What, do you suppose that all those persons -of quality whose names you mentioned just now as having offered you -their felicitations--do you suppose that they could all be in error?” - -“Of course not--they must have seen--well, more than I saw,” said the -man. “Matrimony! Lud! if an angel had come down to tell me that I should -be contemplating such a change of life--and at my time of life too!--I -should have----” - -“What an angel may fail to convince a man of, a woman may succeed in -doing, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick sententiously. “But do not talk of your -time of life as if you were an old or even a middle-aged man, sir. To do -so were to make Dr. Burney and myself feel patriarchs.” - -The mention of Dr. Burney seemed to cause the man to recollect how it -was he came to be in Dr. Burney's house. He turned to Burney, saying: - -“Dear sir, I pray that you will look on my visit with lenient eyes. -I admit that I came hitherto be advised by you--my friend, Mr. Fulke -Greville, holds your opinion in the highest esteem, as do I, sir; and it -was actually on my mind to ask you if you thought it would be wiser for -me to go abroad for a year or two, or simply to seek some place of -retirement at home--say, Cornwall or the Hebrides--I gather from the -account of Dr. Johnson's tour thither that there are many places -difficult of access in the Hebrides--that was on my mind, Doctor, I -blush to acknowledge, so greatly overcome was I by what had happened at -the Wells.” - -“Ah, with what great ease a man may slam the door that shuts out -happiness from his life for evermore!” remarked Garrick. - -“Even now--even now I feel timid,” said Mr. Kendal thoughtfully, and, -when he had found which pocket his handkerchief was in, wiping some dew -from his brow. “The truth is, Doctor, that I have allowed some people to -assume that I am but forty-seven years old, while as a matter of fact I -have been forty-eight for some time.” - -“For some years?” asked young Burney, who did not know when he should -keep silence. - -“For some months, sir--only for some months, I give you my word.” - -“Your deception in this matter could only have added to your reputation -for accuracy,” said Garrick coolly. “For I vow that were you to confess -that you were forty-eight, you would find none to believe you.” - -The gentleman's eyes twinkled, he pursed out his lips, and once again -manoeuvred to get a full-length view of himself in the long mirror. -He put out his right leg and assumed the attitude of a dancing master -giving the _pas_ for the _minuet de cour_. - -“Well, well,” he cried, “if that be your opinion--and I happen to -know that 'tis shared by others--it might not be unwise to allow the -assumption, erroneous though it be, to continue. We will not undeceive -the good folk. And you do not think that a bachelor of forty-eight--What -is the name of that play of Mr. Sheridan's that took the town a year -ago?--ah, _The School for Scandal_--you are sure that our friends will -not call me--What was the gentleman's name?” - -“No one who knows how excellent are your principles will think of you -either as Charles or Joseph, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick. - -“No, no; but the one who was in my mind was neither of the brothers. I -was thinking of--was it not Sir Peter Teazle?” - -Garrick as well as Burney laughed heartily, for the man at that moment -suggested by his attitude and expression the Sir Peter Teazle of Kina, -the actor. - -“Make your mind easy on that score, sir,” said Dr. Burney. “It is not -your purpose to wed so skittish a young person as Lady Teazle. That was -where Sir Peter showed his folly.” - -“No, no; Mrs. Nash is more mature, certainly, than Mrs. Abington looked -in the part,” said Mr. Kendal confidently, and Lieutenant Burney was -about to agree with him boisterously, but Garrick did not give him a -chance. - -“There is none that will not commend your choice, Mr. Kendal--ay, sir, -and look on you with envy as well,” he cried. - -“There can be no doubt about it,” said Mr. Kendal doubtfully. “The widow -Nash is a monstrous fine woman.” - -“Monstrous, I doubt not,” put in young Burney, now that he had the -chance. - -“All that I am uneasy about is the interpretation that she may put upon -your sudden flight,” said Garrick. “You have, you will readily allow, -sir, placed her in a somewhat difficult position at the Wells. While -everyone who is anyone has been offering you congratulations upon the -match, and a double portion to the lady, strange inquiries may be made -as to your disappearance from the Wells; and she may not be able to give -a satisfactory explanation at a moment's notice.” - -“Egad! I never thought of that, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, after a pause. “I -fear that I have placed her in a very awkward position.” - -“Ay, sir; and the consequences may be that she will be snapped up by -some adventurous person before you can put your fate to the test,” - said the naval man, raising a warning finger. “I have heard of ladies -throwing themselves into the arms of the next comer out of sheer chagrin -at being disappointed by the man on whom they had set their affections.” - -“That is a possibility that should not be neglected,” said Garrick. -“But it was only on Monday that you fled. By rapid posting you may yet -prevent such a calamity.” - -He was beginning to tire of his game now that he had succeeded so -well in it and so easily. The fooling of the man who had so completely -succumbed to his art had no further interest for him. He only wanted to -get rid of him. He was as capricious and as fickle as a child over the -toys of its nursery. - -“I shall lose no moment, be assured,” said Mr. Kendal. “I may still be -in time. My hope in this direction is increased when I remember that -the lady has been a widow for some years--to be exact, without being -uncomplimentary, nine years. I remember when Mr. Nash died. 'Twas of -pleurisy.” - -“Do not reckon too confidently on that, sir,” said young Burney. “Nine -years have not passed since she faced the company at the Wells, every -one of which was surely pointing at her and asking in mute eloquence, -'What has become of Mr. Kendal?' But by posting without delay you may -yet retrieve your error. Still, I confess to you that I have known of a -lady who, out of sheer impatience at the delay of a lover whom she -had hoped to espouse, married his rival after the lapse of twenty-four -hours--ay, and when the belated gentleman arrived just after the -ceremony, he furnished the wedding party with a succulent feast. She -was the Queen of one of the islands that we visited in the company of -Captain Cook, and the cockswain of our galley kept the pickled hand of -the belated lover for many a day--the very hand which he had designed to -offer the lady.” - -“This simple and affecting narrative proves more eloquently than any -phrases of mine could possibly do how a man may miss the happiness of -his life by a hair's breadth,” said Garrick. “And the lesson will not be -lost upon you, I am certain, sir.” - -“Lud, Mr. Garrick, you do not mean to suggest that----” - -“That the lady may make a meal off you on your late return, sir? Nay, -Mr. Kendal. The Wells are still the Wells, not the South Seas; but on -the whole I am disposed to believe that the scheme of revenge of -the woman scorned is fiercer, though perhaps not, at first sight, so -primeval, in the region of Chalybeate Waters than in a cannibal island -of the South Seas. Therefore--there is no time to be lost. Fly to your -charmer, sir, and throw yourself at her feet. She may be thinking over -some punishment for your having placed her in a false position for some -days; but do not mind that. You can always console yourself with the -reflection that a rod in pickle is much more satisfactory than a hand in -pickle. Fly, my dear friend, fly; every moment is precious. Take my word -for it, joy awaits you at the end of your journey.” - -“'Journeys end in lovers meeting,'” remarked Dr. Burney, with a slight -suggestion of the setting of the words of the lyric by his old master, -Dr. Arne. - -At this moment a servant entered the room. - -“The Streatham carriage is at the door, sir,” he announced. - -Dr. Burney rose from his chair. - -“I am forced to leave you, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendal. “But really -there is naught further to consult on at present, and I know that you -are impatient--it is but natural--to fly to the side of your charmer.” - -“I am all impatience, sir; but with what words can I express my -obligation to you, Doctor, for the benefit of your counsel?” cried Mr. -Kendal. - -Dr. Burney smiled. - -“Nay, dear sir, I am but the lessee of the theatre where the comedy has -been played,” said he; and he had good reason for feeling that he had -defined with accuracy the position that he occupied. But Mr. Kendal -was thinking too much about himself and the position he occupied to -appreciate such _nuances_. - -“I knew that I was safe in coming to a friend of Mr. Greville,” he said. -“I care not if, as you suggest, you have become Mr. Garrick's successor -at Drury Lane, though I thought that Mr. Sheridan----” - -“Zounds, sir, you are never going to wait to discuss theatre matters,” - cried Garrick. “Dr. Burney has been exercising his powers of oratory in -vain upon you for this half hour if you tarry even to thank him. Post, -sir, post at once to Tunbridge Wells, and send Dr. Burney your thanks -when you have put the momentous question to the lady. Go, sir, without -the pause of a moment, and good luck attend you.” - -“Good luck attend you! Keep up your heart, sir: the lady may refuse -you after all,” said young Burney; but the poor gentleman who was being -hurried away was too much flurried to be able to grasp the young man's -innuendo, though one could see by the look that came to his face that -he had an uneasy impression that Lieutenant Burney's good wishes had not -been happily expressed. The great thing, however, was that he was at -the other side of the door, calling out his obligations to everyone, -and striving to shake hands with them all at once and yet preserve the -security of his hat, which he had tucked under his arm. So excited was -he that he was only restrained at the last moment from mounting the -Thrales' carriage which was awaiting Dr. Burney, and even when his -mistake was explained to him, he took off his hat to the splendid -footman who had guarded the door of the vehicle. - -In the room where the comedy had been played, Garrick and Lieutenant -Burney had thrown themselves into chairs with roars of laughter, when -Dr. Burney returned from the hall, carrying his hat and cane. He was -scarcely smiling. - -“You have played a pretty prank upon an inoffensive gentleman, the pair -of you!” said he. “I am ashamed that my house has been used by you for -so base a purpose! The poor gentleman!” - -“Psha! my dear Doctor, make your mind easy; the lady will teach that -coxcomb a lesson that will be of advantage to him for the rest of his -life,” said Garrick. “He has been the laughingstock of the Wells for the -past fortnight, and no one laughed louder than the Widow Nash. She will -bundle him out of her presence before he has had time to rise from his -marrow-bones--he does not find the process a rapid one, I assure you. -Oh, he was her _bete noire_ even when he was most civil to her.” - -“And it was you who concocted that plot of getting all your -friends--Mrs. Cholmondeley, Mrs. Thrale and the rest--to make a fool of -him, driving him away from the Wells to encounter a more irresistible -pair of mocking demons in this room!” said Burney. “You cannot deny it, -my friend, I know your tricks but too well.” - -“I swear to you that I had no hope of encountering him in this house, my -dear Doctor,” said Garrick. “I give you my word that I had laid my -plans quite differently. My plot was a far more elaborate one, and Polly -Cholmondeley had agreed to take part in it, as well as Dick Sheridan. -They will be disappointed to learn that it has miscarried. Who could -guess that he should come to you of all men in the world, Doctor? He has -never been one of your intimates.” - -“Only when I was living with Mr. Greville had we more than a superficial -acquaintance,” replied Burney. “But that does not make me the less -ashamed of having lent myself to your nefarious project. And you, James, -you threw yourself with gusto into the fooling of the unhappy man--and -woman too--and woman too, I repeat.” - -“Pray do not distress yourself on her account, Doctor. She will send him -off with a flea in his ear by to-morrow night, and she will take care -to pose as the insulted widow of Mr. Nash, whose memory is dear to her,” - said Garrick. - -“Will she, indeed?” said Burney. “David Garrick, you are the greatest -actor that has ever lived in England--probably in the world--but you are -a poor comedian compared with such as are at work upon our daily life: -we call them Circumstance, and Accident, and Coincidence. You know the -couplet, I doubt not: - - ' Men are the sport of circumstances when - - The circumstances seem the sport of men.' - -You have sounded the depths of human impulses, so far as your plummet -allows you, and womankind seems to you an open book----” - -“An illuminated missal, with the prayers done in gold and the Lessons -for the day in the most roseate tint, Doctor.” - -“And the Responses all of a kind--the same in one book as another? But I -make bold to believe, my friend, that every woman is a separate volume, -of which only one copy has been printed; and, moreover, that every -separate volume of woman is sealed, so that anyone who fancies he knows -all that is bound up between the covers, when he has only glanced at the -binding, makes a mistake.” - -“Admirably put, sir, and, I vow, with fine philosophy,” said Garrick. -“But what imports this nomination of a woman at the present moment, -Doctor?” - -“Its import is that you are over sanguine in your assurance that Mrs. -Nash, widow, will reject Mr. Kendal, bachelor, when he offers her his -hand after a dusty journey; and so good day to you, David Garrick, and -I pray you to spend the rest of the day in the study of the history -of those women who have opened the leaves of their lives a little way -before the eyes of mankind.” - -He had left the room and was within the waiting carriage and driving -away before his son remarked: - -“Mr. Garrick, it seems to me that my good father has spoken the wisest -words that you or I have heard to-day or for many a day.” - -“And i' faith, James, it seems to me that that remark of yours is the -second wisest that has been uttered in this room,” said Garrick. - -He went away without a further word--without even taking his leave of -the two young women and their stepmother, who herself had been a widow -before she had married Dr. Burney. He had once believed that nothing -a woman--young or old--could do would surprise him; for some reason or -other he was not now quite so confident as he had been. But he certainly -did not think that one of the greatest surprises of the century should -be due to the demure young woman who seemed the commonplace daughter of -a very ordinary household, and who at the moment of his departure was -darning a small hole in a kitchen table-cloth, under the superintendence -of her admirable stepmother. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -|IN the course of the morning Esther, the married daughter of the Bumey -family, called at the house in St. Martin's Street. Esther, or as she -was usually alluded to by her sisters, Hetty or Hettina, was handsome -and accomplished. She had been married for some years to her cousin, -Charles Rousseau Burney, who was a musician, and they lived and enjoyed -living in an atmosphere of music. Her father took care that she was -never likely to be asphyxiated; their atmosphere would never become -attenuated so long as they lived, as they did, close to St. Martin's -Street. He was well aware of the fact that his Hetty's duets with her -husband--“matrimonial duets” they were called by Fanny in some of her -letters--and also with her sister Charlotte, served to attract many -distinguished visitors and profitable patrons to his house; he never -forgot that profitable patrons and patronesses are always attracted -by distinguished visitors. When one finds oneself in the company of -distinguished people, one naturally feels a distinguished person also. - -Moreover, Dr. Burney knew perfectly well that when ambitious patrons -and patronesses were made aware of the success which he had achieved in -respect of his daughters, they were all ready to implore of him to -spare some of his valuable time to give lessons to themselves, seeing no -reason why, with his assistance, they should not reach the level of his -two musical daughters. He conducted his teaching on the principle which -brings fortunes to the Parisian modiste, who takes good care that her -mannequins are good-looking and of a fine figure, knowing that the -visitors to the showrooms have no doubt, no matter how little Nature -has done for their own features or figures, that in the robes of the -mannequins they will appear equally fascinating. - -The adoption of this system in the Burney household operated extremely -well, and Dr. Burney had for several years enjoyed the proceeds of his -cultivation of the musical tastes of the most influential clientèle in -London. In addition, the greatest singers in Europe, knowing that there -was always an influential _assistance_ to be found at Dr. Burney's -little concerts in St. Martin's Street, were greatly pleased to -contribute to the entertainment, for love, what they were in the habit -of receiving large sums for from an impresario. Those Italian operatic -artists most notorious for the extravagance of their demands when -appearing in public, were pushing each other aside, so to speak, to be -allowed to sing at Dr. Burney's, and really upon more than one occasion -the contest between the generosity of a pair of the most distinguished -of these singers must have been somewhat embarrassing to Dr. Burney. -They were clearly singing against each other; and one of them, who -invariably received fifty guineas for every contribution she made to a -programme in public, insisted on singing no fewer than five songs, “all -for love” (and to prove her superiority to her rival), upon a certain -occasion at the Burneys'; so that really the little company ran a chance -of being suffocated beneath the burden of flowers, as it were--the -never-ending _fioriture_ of these generous artists--and Dr. Burney found -himself in the position of the lion-tamer who runs a chance of being -overwhelmed by the caresses of the carnivora who rush to lick his hands. - -The result of all this was extremely gratifying, and eminently -profitable. Had Dr. Burney not been a great musician and shown by the -publication of the first volume of the greatest History of Music the -world had yet received, that he was worthy of being placed in the -foremost ranks of scientific musicians, he would have run a chance of -being placed only a little higher than the musical Cornelys of Soho -Square, who gave their concerts, and entertained their friends, and made -quite a reputation for some years before bankruptcy overtook them and -the precincts of the Fleet became their headquarters. - -And now the beautiful Esther Burney was toying with the contents of her -sister Fanny's work-basket, talking about her husband and his prospects, -and inquiring what Mr. Garrick and James had to talk about in the room -downstairs. - -“Pray speak in French to Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney. “I cannot get Lottie -and Susan to do so as frequently as I could wish. You must remember that -poor Fanny has had none of your advantages, and I do not want her to -be talked of as the dunce of the family. She really is not a dunce, you -know; in spite of her bad sight she really has done some very pretty -sewing.” - -“I have seen it,” said Esther. “She works very neatly--more neatly than -any of us.” - -Fanny blushed and smiled her thanks to her sister for the compliment. - -“What else is there left for me to do but to give all my attention to -my needle?” she said. “I constantly feel that I am the dunce of the -family--you are all so clever.” - -“It is well for many families that they include one useful member,” said -her stepmother in a way that suggested her complete agreement with -the girl's confession that she was the dunce of the family. A mother's -acknowledgment that a girl is either useful or good-natured is -practically an announcement that she is neither pretty nor accomplished. - -“And Fanny has many friends,” continued Mrs. Burney indulgently. - -“Which shows how kind people are, even to a dunce,” said Fanny, not -bitterly, but quite good-humouredly. - -“But I am not sure that she should spend so much of her time writing to -Mr. Crisp,” said the elder Mrs. Burney to the younger. - -“Oh, poor Daddy Crisp!” cried Fanny. “Pray, mother, do not cut him off -from his weekly budget of news. If I fail to send him a letter he is -really disconsolate. 'Tis my letters that keep him still in touch with -the life of the town.” - -“Well, well, my dear Fanny, I shall not deprive you of your Daddy -Crisp,” said her stepmother. “Poor Mr. Crisp must not be left to the -tender mercies of Susan or Lottie. He is most hospitable, and his house -at Chessington makes a pleasant change for us now and again, and he took -a great fancy to you from the first.” - -“Daddy Crisp was always Fanny's special friend,” said Esther. “And I am -sure that it is good practice for Fanny to write to him.” - -“Oh, she has long ago given up that childish nonsense,” cried the -mother. “Poor Fanny made a pretty bonfire of her scribblings, and she -has shown no weakness in that way since she took my advice in regard to -them.” - -Fanny was blushing furiously and giving all her attention to her work. - -“She has still a sense of the guilt that attaches to the writing of -stories, though I am sure that no one in this house remembers it against -her,” said Esther with a laugh, as Fanny's blushes increased. “But -indeed I had not in my mind Mr. Crisp's advantage to her in this way, -but only in regard to her correspondence. She has become quite an expert -letter-writer since he induced her to send him her budget, and indeed I -think that good letter-writing is as much of an accomplishment in these -careless days as good singing--that is ordinary good singing--the good -singing that we hear from some of father's pupils--Queenie Thrale, _par -exemple!_” - -“Your father is a good teacher, but the best teacher in the world cannot -endow with a good singing-voice anyone who has not been so gifted by -Nature,” said the elder lady. “'Tis somewhat different, to be sure, in -regard to correspondence, and I do not doubt that Fanny's practice in -writing to good Mr. Crisp will one day cause her to be regarded as one -of the best letter-writers in the family, and that is something. It is -a ladylike accomplishment, and one that is worth excelling in; it gives -innocent pleasure to so many of her friends who live at a distance; and -your father can always obtain plenty of franks, Mr. Charmier and Mr. -Thrale are very obliging.” - -Fanny was a little fidgety while her eldest sister and her stepmother -were discussing her in a tone of indulgence which was more humiliating -than open reprobation would have been. But she knew that the truth -was, that from her earliest years she was looked on as the dunce of the -family, and she was so morbidly self-conscious that she was quite ready -to accept their estimate of her. The silent member of a musical -family soon finds out how she is looked on by the others; not with -unkindness--quite the contrary--but only as if she were to be slightly -pitied for her deficiency. But she had a secret or two, the treasuring -of which in her heart prevented her from having any feeling of -humiliation in the presence of her splendid sister, whom all the world -sought to attract to their houses, especially when there were guests -anxious to be entertained by the sweet singing of a handsome young -woman with a very presentable young husband. Fanny had her secrets -and cherished them with a fearful joy, for she knew that any day might -remove either or both of them, and then there would be nothing left for -her in the household but to put her heart into her needlework. But one -cannot do needlework without needles, and if she were to put her heart -into her work, and if every needle had a point, the result would, she -knew, be a good many prickings. - -She trusted that she might never be condemned to put her heart into her -needlework. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -|THEN Lieutenant Burney sauntered into the room and greeted Esther; but -when Fanny inquired with some eagerness what had been the result of Mr. -Garrick's fooling of poor Mr. Kendal, James was by no means so glib or -amusing as Fanny expected him to be. - -“Psha!” he cried; “that Mr. Kendal is not worth powder and shot--at -least not the weight of metal that Mr. Garrick can discharge--not in a -broadside--Mr. Garrick is not given to broadsides--they are too clumsy -for him--he is like Luke Boscawen, our chief gunner; he had a contempt -for what he was used to term a blustering broadside, having a liking -only for the working of his little brass swivel. He could do anything -that he pleased with his little swivel. 'Ping!' it would go, when he -had squinted along the sights, and the object he aimed at half a -mile away--sometimes so small that we could scarce see it from our -foretop--down it went. Boscawen could do what he pleased with it--the -blunt nose of a whale rising to spout a mile away--the stem of a -cocoa-nut palm on one of the islands when we were not sure of -the natives and there was no time to climb the tree--that is the -marksmanship of Mr. Garrick, and your Mr. Kendal was not worthy of an -exercise of so much skill.” - -“Nobody seems too insignificant to be made a fool of by Mr. Garrick,” - said Mrs. Burney. “He is as happy when he has made a gruesome face and -frightened a maid with a mop at the doorstep, as when he has stricken us -with awe when the ghost enters in _Hamlet_, or when Macbeth declaims of -the horror of the curse of sleeplessness that has been cast on him. That -is why I said before he arrived that I was not sure that his influence -upon you all is for good. He makes one lose one's sense of the right -proportions and realities of life. Now is not that so, Hetty? I make -no appeal to Fanny, for I know that she has ever been devoted to Mr. -Garrick. Is it not true that she was used to frighten poor Lottie before -she was ten by showing how Mr. Garrick frowned as the Duke of Gloster?” - -“I know that Fanny murdered us all in turn in our beds, assuring us that -we were the Princes in the Tower, or some less real characters invented -by herself,” said Esther. “But indeed if James tells us that Mr. -Garrick's gun practice smashed the cocoa-nut that serves Mr. Kendal as a -head, I should not grieve. Tell us what happened, James.” - -“Oh, 'twas naught worth words to describe,” said James. “The man came to -take counsel of Daddy in regard to a jest that Mr. Garrick had, unknown -to his victim, played off upon him, and Mr. Garrick so worked upon him -that Daddy had no chance to speak. But Mr. Garrick made fools of us as -well, for I give you my word, though we were in with him in his jest, -he had us blubbering like boobies when he laid his hand on the fellow's -shoulder and spoke nonsense in a voice quivering and quavering as though -he were at the point of breaking down.” - -Mrs. Burney the elder shook her head. - -“That is what I do not like--that trifling with sacred things,” she -said. “'Tis not decent in a private house--I would not tolerate it even -in a playhouse, and I see that you are of my opinion, James, though you -may have been dragged into the abetting of Mr. Garrick in whatever mad -scheme he had set himself upon perfecting.” - -“Oh, for that matter we are all sorry when we have been merry at the -expense of another, even though he be an elderly coxcomb such as that -Mr. Kendal,” said James. “But enough--more than enough--of coxcomb -Kendal! Tell us of the Duchess's concert, Hetty. Were the matrimonial -duets as successful as usual?” - -Esther, who had been disappointed that her stepmother had not yet said -a word about the concert of the previous night given by the Dowager -Duchess of Portland, at which she and her husband had performed, -brightened up at her brother's question. - -“The concert was well enough,” she replied with an affectation of -carelessness. “'Twas no better than many that have taken place under -this roof. Her Grace and her grandees were very kind to us--we had -enough plaudits to turn the head of Gabrielli herself.” - -“Oh, the Gabrielli's head has been turned so frequently that one can -never tell when it sits straight on her shoulders,” said James. - -“She was _very_ civil to us last evening,” said Esther. “Indeed, she -was civil to everyone until the enchanter Rauzzini sang the solo -from _Piramo e Tisbe_ and swept the company off their feet. The poor -Gabrielli had no chance against Rauzzini.” - -“Especially in a company that numbered many ladies,” said James, with a -laugh. “You remember what Sir Joshua told us that Dr. Goldsmith had once -said of Johnson?--that in his argument he was like the highwayman: when -his pistol missed fire he knocked one down with the butt.” - -“I heard that upon one occasion Dr. Johnson knocked a man down with a -heavy book, but I cannot imagine his ever firing a pistol,” remarked -Mrs. Burney, who had been used, when the wife of a straightforward -merchant of Lynn, to take every statement literally, and had not yet -become accustomed to the involved mode of speaking of the brilliant -young Burneys. - -“You mean that Rauzzini--I don't quite perceive what you do mean by your -reference to Dr. Goldsmith's apt humour,” said Esther. - -“I only mean that among such a company as assembled at the Duchess's, if -he missed fire with his singing, he glanced around with those dark eyes -of his and the ladies went down before him by the score,” replied James. -“Do not I speak the truth, Fanny?” he added, turning quickly to where -Fanny was searching with her short-sighted eyes close to her work-basket -for some material that seemed to be missing. - -But she had clearly heard her brother's question, for she did not need -to raise her head or to ask him to repeat it. - -“Oh, we are all the slaves of the nobil' signor,” she said, and -continued her search in the basket. - -“From the way he talked to us last night it might be fancied that it was -he who was the captive,” said Esther. - -“And I do not doubt that he is living in a state of constant captivity,” - laughed James. “Ay, or I should rather term it inconstant captivity, -for I dare swear that those black eyes of his do a deal of roving in the -course of a year--nay, in the course of a day. These singer fellows feel -that 'tis due to their art, this moving the hearts of their hearers, -by moving their own affections from heart to heart. The Rauzzini is, I -fancy, like one of the splendid butterflies we came upon in the Straits, -fluttering from flower to flower.” - -“I have heard no stories of his inconstancy, even from the Gabrielli -when she was most envious of his plaudits,” said Esther, and she glanced -at her sister, who was earnestly threading a needle. - -“You goose!” cried James to Esther. “Do you suppose that Gabrielli would -tell you anything so greatly complimentary to him? In these days you -cannot pay a man a greater compliment than to compare him to the fickle -butterfly. You see that suggests a welcome from every flower.” - -“I protest that it is to sailors I have heard most compliments of that -sort paid,” laughed Esther, and then, putting herself in a singing -attitude before him, she lilted most delightfully: - - “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more! - - Men were deceivers ever, - - One foot on sea- - - -“ha, ha, brother James! - - - and one on shore, - - To one thing constant never. - -“Now be advised by me, dear James, and do not attribute even in a -cynical way, the vice of inconstancy to a singer, until you have left -the Navy.” - -“I did not allude to it as a vice--rather as a virtue,” said James. -“Just think of the hard fate of any girl to have such a person as a -singer ever by her side!” - -He easily evaded the rush down upon him made by Hetty, and used his -nautical skill to sail to the windward of her, as it were, until he had -reached the door, whence he sent a parting shot at her. - -“You surely don't think that I hinted that your spouse was a singer,” he -cried. “A singer! Oh, lud! I should be swaying away on all top ropes if -I were to call the matrimonial duets singing.” - -He gave a shout of laughter as he caught the ball of wool which Esther -threw at him, having picked it up from her stepmother's work-table. He -returned it with a better aim, and before his sister could get a hand on -it, he had shut the door, only opening it a little space a few seconds -later to put in his head with a mocking word, withdrawing it at once, -and then his foot was heard upon the stair, while he gave a sailor's -version of Mr. Garrick's patriotic naval song: - - Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer. - -“He has gone before I had a chance of asking him to take a message -to the cheesemonger,” said Mrs. Burney, calling out to him while she -hurried after him out of the room. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -|THE moment the two sisters were alone, the elder said quickly in a low -voice, leaning across the table: - -“We had a long talk with Signor Rauzzini, my dearest Fanny. I could not, -of course, tell you before mother.” - -“You mentioned his name; but were you discreet?” said Fanny. “I think -mother felt that you were going too far when you referred to his eyes. -Mother most surely believes that the dark eyes of an Italian form a -topic that should not be discussed except by our elders, and then only -with bated breath and a fearful glance around lest a word should be -overheard.” - -“His eyes--you know his eyes, Fanny?” - -“Oh!” said Fanny, with an inflection that was between a sigh and a moan. - -“You should have seen them while he spoke of you,” said Esther. “Talk -of flashes of lightning!--Dear child, it seemed so singular to us that a -mite like you should inspire a grand passion in such a man. You are not -angry with us, I know, but it was so indeed.” - -“Why should I feel angry with you for feeling just what I do myself, -only more intensely,” said Fanny. “Tis one of the greatest mysteries of -life--the only mystery of life that I have yet faced--why a man who is -as handsome as an archangel, and who possesses a voice that an archangel -might envy, should so much as glance at an insignificant young woman -like myself! Oh! 'tis no wonder that the notion amused you, dear Hetty.” - -“It only diverted us for a time, I assure you, my Fanny; it did not -take us very long to perceive how it was no laughing matter, but, on -the contrary, a very serious matter. Signor Rauzzini is, as I said, an -enchanter, but do you not think that 'tis somewhat dangerous to--to----” - -“To play with fire? That is what is on your mind, dear--to allow -the fire of his Roman eyes to play about me? Dangerous? I admit that -wherever there is fire there is danger, especially when it flashes from -such eyes.” - -“I am glad that you need no warning, child. As your elder sister I am -pleased that--that--but no one in the house seems to think for a moment -that the favour he has so distinctly shown to you can mean anything. -Indeed, until last night, neither Charles nor I could believe----” - -Fanny laughed, half closing her short-sighted eyes with a curious -expression as she looked at her sister. - -“It is only natural, my dear Hettina,” she said. - -“Have I ever ventured to suggest that I am other than the dunce of the -family?” - -“You have always been absurdly humble, Fanny, and I have never hesitated -to say so,” cried Esther. “I am sure that none of us could have made up -such clever little pieces to act as you did when we were children. And -as for writing, could any of us have so neatly copied out the padre's -History as you did last year? Mr. Crisp, too--he never takes pleasure in -any letters of the family except what you write for him.” - -“All perfectly true, my Hettina,” replied Fanny. “But where am I when -the house is filled with visitors? You know that I am nobody--that all -I pray for with all my heart is that no one will take any notice of me, -and I think I can say that my prayer is nearly always granted.” - -“That is because you are so dreadfully--so absurdly shy,” said Esther. -“You are the little mouse that is evermore on the look out for a hole -into which you can creep and be safe from the observation of all eyes. -You are ever trying to escape, unless when Mr. Garrick is here.” - -“Dear Hettina, I know my place--that is all. I have weak eyes, but quick -ears, and I have heard strangers ask, when they have heard you sing and -Susan play, who the little short-sighted girl in the corner is and what -she means to do for the entertainment of the company. When they are -assured that I am one of the clever Burney family they whisper an -incredulous 'No?' They cannot believe that so insignificant a person as -myself can be one of you.” - -“Tis your morbid self-consciousness, Fanny, that suggests so much to -you.” - -“Oh, no; I was the dunce from the first. You know that while you could -read any book with ease when you were six, I did not even know my -letters when I was eight. Don't you remember how James made a jest of -my thirst for knowledge by pretending to teach me the alphabet with the -page turned upside down? And when you had gone to school at Paris and -it was my turn as the next eldest, the wise padre perceived in a moment -that the money would be much better spent upon Susan and Lottie, and -they went to be educated while I remained at home in ignorance? The dear -padre was right: he knew that I should have been miserable among bright -girls away from home.” - -There was a pause before the elder sister said quite pathetically: - -“My poor Fanny! I wonder if you have not been treated shabbily among -us.” - -“Not. I, my Hettina. I have always been treated fairly. I have had as -many treats as any of you; when you were learning so much in Paris I -have been learning quite a number of things at home. And one of the -most important things I learned was that so brilliant a person as Signor -Rauzzini could never be happy if married to so insignificant a person as -Fanny Burney.” - -Esther gave a little sigh of relief. - -“Indeed I think that your conclusion is a right one, dear,” she said. -“We both came to the conclusion--Charles and I--that it would be a huge -misfortune if you should allow yourself to be attracted by the glamour -that attaches to the appearance of such a man as the Rauzzini, though, -mind you, I believe that he honestly fancies himself in love with -you--oh, he made no disguise of it in talking with us last night. But I -hoped that you would be sensible.” - -“Oh, in the matter of sense I am the equal of anyone in the family,” - said Fanny, laughing. “That I mean to make my one accomplishment--good -sense. That is the precious endowment of the dunce of the clever -family--good sense; the one who stands next to the dunce in the lack of -accomplishments should be endowed with good nature. Good sense and good -nature go hand in hand in plain grey taffeta, not down the primrose -paths of life, but along the King's highway of every day, where they run -no chance of jostling the simple foot-passengers or exciting the envy -of any by the flaunting of feathers in their face. Good sense and good -nature are best satisfied when they attract no attention, but pass on to -obscurity, smiling at the struggle of others to be accounted persons of -importance.” - -“Then you have indeed made up your mind to marry Mr. Barlowe?” cried -Esther. - -Fanny laughed enigmatically. - -“Does it not mean rather that I have made up my mind not to marry Mr. -Barlowe?” she cried. - -Esther looked puzzled: she was puzzled, and that was just what Fanny -meant her to be. - -But then she looked piqued, as elder sisters do when puzzled by the -words or the acts of the younger. What business have younger sisters -puzzling their elders? Their doing so suggests pertness when the elders -are unmarried, but sheer insubordination when they are married; and -Esther was by no means willing at any time to abrogate the privileges of -her position as a married woman. - -“I protest that I do not understand your meaning, Fanny,” she said, -raising her chin in a way that gave her head a dignified poise. There -was also a chill dignity in the tone of her voice. - -“Dear Hettina, I ask your pardon,” cried Fanny quickly. “I fear that -I replied to you with a shameful unreasonableness. But indeed I am not -sure that you had reason on your side when you assumed that because I -was ready to acknowledge that it would not mean happiness to our dear -Signor Rauzzini to marry an insignificant person like myself, I was -therefore prepared to throw myself into the arms of Mr. Barlowe.” - -“I fancied that--that--but you may have another suitor in your mind -whose name you have not mentioned to anyone.” - -“Why should it be necessary for me to have a suitor of any kind? Is it -not possible to conceive of the existence of a young woman without a row -of suitors in the background? I admit that the 'Odyssey' of Homer--you -remember how I used to listen to your reading of Mr. Broome's -translation to mother--would be shorn of much of its interest but for -that background of suitors in one of the last books, but--well, my dear -sister, I hold that the alternative song of life to the matrimonial duet -is the spinster's solo, and it does not seem to me to be quite devoid of -interest.” - -“Oh, I took it for granted----” began Esther, when Fanny broke in upon -her. - -“Yes, I know what all the happily wedded ones take for granted,” she -cried. “You assume that the wedded life is the only one worth living; -but as we are told in the Bible that there is one glory of the sun and -another of the moon, so I hold that I am justified in believing that if -matrimony be celestial, spinsterhood is terrestrial, but a glory all the -same, and not unattractive to me. I may be wise enough to content myself -with the subdued charm of moonlight if it so be that I am shut off from -the midday splendour of matrimony.” - -Esther did not laugh in the least as did her sister when she had -spoken with an air of finality. She only made a little motion with her -shoulders suggesting a shrug, while she said: - -“I hope you will succeed in convincing mother that your views are the -best for the household; but I think you will have some difficulty in -doing so, considering what a family of girls we are.” - -“I do not doubt that mother will be on the side of immediate matrimony -and poor Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny. - -“Why poor Mr. Barlowe?” cried Esther. “He is a young man of excellent -principles, and he has never given his parents a day's trouble. It -is understood that if he marries sensibly he will be admitted to a -partnership in the business, so that----” - -“Principles and a partnership make for matrimonial happiness, I doubt -not,” said Fanny. “And I doubt not that Dr. Fell had both excellent -principles and an excellent practice; still someone has recorded in -deathless verse that she--I assume the sex--did not like that excellent -man.” - -“And you do not like Mr. Barlowe on the same mysterious grounds?” said -Hetty. - -“Nay, I am not so unreasonable, I hope,” replied Fanny. “But--but--dear -sister, I remember how I thought that the song of the linnet which was -in our little garden at Lynn was the loveliest strain of the grove, and -such was my belief until I awoke one night at Chessington and heard the -nightingale.” - -“You are puzzling--singularly puzzling today,” said Esther frowning. -“You have started two or three mystifying parables already. You told -me some time ago as a great secret that you had been renewing your -story-writing, in spite of your having burnt all that you had written -for our edification--all that story--what was its name? The heroine was -one Caroline Evelyn. You were ever an obedient child, or you would not -have sacrificed your offspring at the bidding of our new mother, though -the advice that she gave you was good, if you have not quite adhered to -it. Novel writing is not for young ladies any more than novel reading, -and certainly talking in parables is worse still. Well, I have no more -time to spend over your puzzles.” - -“You would not find their solution to repay you, my dear,” said Fanny. - -“Still, I am pleased to learn that you take a sensible view of Signor -Rauzzini and his heroics--but, indeed, I cannot see that Mr. Barlowe -should not be considered, with his prospects--his father is a mercer in -gold and silver lace, as you know----” - -“I have heard so--it is a profitable trade, I believe.” - -“None more so. It is impossible to believe that a time will ever come -when gold and silver lace will cease to be worn by gentlemen.” - -“That would be an evil day for England as well as for Messieurs Barlowe, -_père et fils_. But thank heaven it is not yet in sight. Good morning, -dear sister; and be assured you have my thanks for your advice. But -mind you keep my little secret about the writing. Good-bye. You can face -mother boldly, knowing that you have carried out her commission to the -letter, and very neatly and discreetly into the bargain.” - -“I would not have done so if her views had not been mine also; as for -your writing--you may depend on my keeping your secret. But you will -have to get the padre's permission to have it printed--that's something -still in the far future, I suppose;”--and the elder sister stooped to -kiss the younger--Fanny was not up to the shoulder of the beautiful and -stately Esther. - -And so they parted. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -|FANNY BURNEY had been forced, for the first time, to make her sister -aware of the fact that she knew she was looked on as the dunce of the -brilliant Burney family. She could see that her doing so had startled -her sister, for neither Esther nor any of the other girls had ever -suggested to her that they thought of her as being on a different level -from themselves, though it was tacitly allowed that it was a great -pity that Fanny did not emulate them in taking pains to shine as it was -expected the children of that estimable master of music, Dr. Burney, -should shine, so as to make the house in that narrow little street off -Leicester Fields attractive to its many distinguished visitors. - -Fanny had truly defined her place in the household. She had recognized -her place for several years; but there was not the least suggestion of -rancour in her tone when talking to her brilliant elder sister, for -the simple reason that there was no bitterness in her heart against any -member of the family for being cleverer than herself. Fanny took pride -in the accomplishments of her sisters, and was quite content with her -position in relation to them. She got on well with all of them, because -she was fond of them all, and they were all fond of her. She had not -rebelled when her father had sent her younger sisters to be educated -in Paris, and had allowed her to pick up her own education as best she -might in his own library; and it had been a great happiness to her to be -allowed the privilege of copying out for the press the first volume of -her father's “History of Music.” It was her stepmother who, finding -out that Fanny had what Mrs. Burney called “a taste for writing,” had -suggested that that was the legitimate channel in which such a taste -should flow; and it was her stepmother who had induced her to make a -bonfire of all her own writings--the scribblings of her girlhood that -represented the foolish errant flow of her “taste for writing “: and -now and again she had a consciousness of her own duplicity in failing -to resist the impulse that had come upon her to do some more of what her -mother termed her “girlish scribbling.” - -One of the guilty secrets that Fanny cherished was that when it was -believed she was writing her long letters to her old friend Mr. Crisp, -she had been composing a novel which was now about to be given to the -world; the second was that Signor Rauzzini, the handsome young Roman -singer with whom half the fashionable ladies of the town were in love, -was in love with her. - -These were two secrets worth the cherishing, she knew; and the thought -of them more than compensated her for the reflection that she was the -dunce of the family, and that the unconscious tone of patronage adopted -toward her by her elder sister and the dreadful compliments paid to her -plain sewing, as though plain sewing represented the highest hopes that -could reasonably be entertained in regard to her, were only to be looked -for in the circumstances. - -The two secrets were closely bound up together, she knew. She had the -deepest affection for Signor Rauzzini. How could she fail to return the -feeling which the whisper of his musical voice had told her he had -conceived for her? He loved her in spite of the fact that she was the -least attractive member of the family--in spite of the fact that half -the town was at his feet, and that he might have made his choice from -among the best. He had chosen her whom no one else had ever noticed, -with the exception of her father's old friend, Mr. Crisp, and--oh, yes -(she laughed now, perceiving that she had done an injustice to the other -person who had been attracted to her--mainly, she thought, on account of -her reputation for plain sewing)--a young man named Thomas Barlowe, the -excellent son of the well-known mercer of gold and silver lace, in the -Poultry! - -Thinking of young Mr. Barlowe by the side of Signor Rauzzini, -Fanny laughed again. She had so restricted an opinion of her own -attractiveness that the tears actually came into her eyes for having -given that derisive laugh as she compared the two young men; and she -felt that she had been grossly ungrateful to young Mr. Barlowe; for even -young Mr. Barlowe had a right to look above her level for a wife. As the -daughter of a simple music master with a large family she could have no -endowment so far as worldly goods were concerned; and she knew that the -practical parents of young business men, as a rule, looked for their -sons to marry, if not great fortunes, at least young women with a few -thousands to their names. - -She felt that she had treated the condescending young Mr. Barlowe very -badly in laughing at the poor figure he cut by the side of the angelic -Roman singer--she had failed to resist the temptation to call Signor -Rauzzini angelic in one of her letters to Mr. Crisp--and now, -in thinking of Mr. Barlowe as a very worthy young man, she was -unconsciously relegating him to a hopeless position as a lover. It -is not the very worthy young men who are beloved by young women of a -romantic temperament: if it were there would be very few romances -left. But little Miss Burney desired only to ease the twinges of her -conscience for having laughed at the thought of young Tommy Barlowe; and -she thought that she had done the right thing in assuring herself that -he was a very worthy person. - -And then she thought no more about him. She had a feeling that to give -another thought to him when she had such a man as Signor Rauzzini -to think about, would be a constructive act of treason in regard to -Rauzzini. She had received many hints from her stepmother to the effect -that all the family considered her to be a very fortunate young woman -(all things taken into account) in having a chance of marrying the -Thomas who seemed ready to pay his addresses to her; but though quite -submissive to her stepmother in household matters, she was ready to face -her with the “Never!” of the avowed rebel in the matter of consenting -to wed the highly approved Thomas, and so she dismissed him from her -thoughts, in favour of the man whom she loved. - -But thinking of the man whom she loved was by no means equivalent to -passing into a region of unalloyed happiness. She had mystified her -sister by the way in which she had spoken about Signor Rauzzini, and the -seal had been put upon the mystery by her frank acknowledgment that she -did not think a union between so distinguished a man as Rauzzini and so -insignificant a person as herself was likely to be satisfactory. - -She had certainly allowed Hetty to go away believing that this was -in her mind; and that was just what was in her mind when her thoughts -turned from Thomas, whom she considered so estimable, to Rauzzini, -whom she loved. She loved the Roman singer so truly that she had made a -resolution never to consent to his marrying anyone so insignificant as -she believed herself to be. - -She had no illusions regarding herself. She knew just how good-looking -she was; she knew that by the side of any of her sisters she was almost -plain; but that she had a pleasing, simple face of a very ordinary type. -She knew that she could love with the truest devotion and she could -trust herself not to change with time. But she felt that these were not -beyond the traits of the ordinary young woman, and that they did -not lift her from the level of insignificance to the level of Signor -Rauzzini. - -She knew that she was at that moment an insignificant person; and she -made no attempt to think of herself as otherwise. - -Yes; but she had heard of people--even young women--being insignificant -one day, and the next springing to a pinnacle of fame to which all eyes -looked up. How would it be if she were destined to reach in a moment -a position that would place her on a level with the man of her -thoughts--the man whose fame as a singer had caused him to be the centre -round which every conversation in the most notable circles turned? -Everyone was talking in praise of Rauzzini; and she herself thought of -him as occupying a place on a height as far above her as King Cophetua's -throne was above the marble steps at the foot of which the beggar maid -had crouched; but in her mind there was the possibility that her name -might one day be spoken by the world in connection with an achievement -that would raise her from the insignificance of Fanny Burney to the -importance of Signor Rauzzini, and prevent people from asking what on -earth had induced so glorious a person as he to make her his wife! - -That was the secret dream which filled the imagination of this -imaginative young woman--the same dream as comes to so many young women -who have written the last chapter of a book and sent it forth for the -world to receive with acclaim--the dream of fame--of immortality! She -had written a novel and it was about to be given to the world, if the -world would have it, and upon its success her happiness depended. If -it brought her fame, it would place her by the side of the man whom -she loved; but if it failed, then she would remain a person of no -significance, and quite unworthy of sharing the honours which were -showered upon her lover. She had imagination, and this faculty it was -that made her more than doubtful of the success of King Cophetua's rash -experiment. She felt sure that King Cophetua had now and again, turning -suddenly round, caught one of his courtiers with his tongue in his -cheek when his Majesty was entering the throne-room with his shy and -insignificant Queen by his side, and that the Queen had occasionally -overheard the whispers of her maids of honour, when they did not know -she was at hand, asking one another what on earth the King had seen in -her that induced him to make her his consort. Little Miss Burney had -long ago made up her mind that the union of King Cophetua and his beggar -maid was far from being a happy one--that the King looked around him and -saw several princesses of great beauty and quite devoid of shyness who -were fully acquainted with the convenances of his court and would not, -if he had married any one of them, have made the mistakes which she was -sure the young person whom he had elevated had fallen into, causing him -constant irritation. - -Little Miss Burney had resolved that she would never play the part of -a crowned beggar maid. The man whom she loved had won fame for himself, -and she would not go to him unless she, too, had at least made such -a name for herself as should prevent her from feeling herself in the -position of the beggar maid whom King Cophetua had raised to his side. -Little Miss Burney resolved that although she could scarcely expect to -go to her lover wearing purple robes embroidered with gold, she could, -at any rate, refrain from wearing beggars' rags. She had her ambitions, -and she felt that they were not ignoble, but that they made for the -happiness of the man she loved, and who had been gracious enough to love -her--the least attractive member of the family. - -But after she had sat for some time with her hands lying idle on the -sempstress' work at which she had been engaged on the departure of her -sister--after her imagination had carried her much farther away than she -intended it should, she was sensible of a return to the cold world from -which she had soared. Her heart, which had begun to beat quickly when -Hetty had told her how the divine Rauzzini had spoken of her, sank -within her as she seemed to hear a voice asking who was she that she -should hope to reach by the publication of that story which she had been -writing by stealth and at odd times during the past three years, even -the smallest measure of fame that would compare with that of Signor -Rauzzini? What fame attached to the writing of a novel in comparison -with that achieved by the enchantment of a singer who had power to move -the hearts of men and women as it pleased him? Orpheus--ah, what -fame could compare with the fame of Orpheus, the singer? His was a -heaven-sent gift. What was her little talent compared with such a gift? -If she had the ability even to make music such as one of her sisters -could bring forth from the keys of the piano, she would have a better -chance of being accounted worthy of a place beside Signor Rauzzini than -if her novel found its way to the shelves of many readers. The writing -of a novel was a poor achievement--nay, in the opinion of a good many -people, including her own stepmother--a most practical woman--it was -something to be ashamed of; and Fanny herself, thinking over all -the novels written by women which she herself had read--most of them -surreptitiously--was disposed to agree with her. That was why she had -kept as a secret for more than three years the fact that she was trying -to write a novel. Her father knew nothing of it, and her stepmother was -equally uninformed. Even her old friend Mr. Crisp, to whom she wrote -voluminous letters week after week, and to whom she gave her confidence -on many matters, had no suspicion that she had written her novel. - -She had thought it prudent to keep this matter hidden from them, for she -did not doubt that if she had told any one of them of her project, she -would never have a chance of realizing it. They would certainly have -pronounced against such a proceeding even before a page of her novel -came to be written. - -And yet it was the thought that this novel was shortly to be published -that had caused her to feel that she was drawing nearer to her lover. - -As she reflected upon this, sitting idly over her work when her sister -had left the house, her tears began to fall, not in a torrent, but -slowly dropping at intervals upon the fabric which she had been sewing. -She felt very sad, very hopeless, very lonely. - -Nor could it be said that the sudden return of Mrs. Burney meant a -return of happiness to the girl. - -Mrs. Burney did not consider that Fanny had made satisfactory progress -with her work, and did not hesitate to express her opinion to this -effect. But she was not imprudently unkind; for young Mr. Barlowe had -just written to her, begging permission to pay his respects to Mrs. -Burney and her daughter that evening, and she meant that Fanny should be -in a good humour to entertain him. - -Mrs. Burney had great hopes that the question of Fanny's future--a -constant topic of conversation and consultation between her and her -husband--might be settled by a series of visits of young Mr. Barlowe. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -|YOUNG Mr. Barlowe took himself very seriously, and he had every right -to do so; for a more serious young man was not to be found in business -in London. He had been brought up to look upon everything in the world -as having an intimate connection with business, and it had always been -impressed upon him that business meant the increase of money, and that -there was hardly anything in the world worth giving a thought to apart -from the increase of money. It never occurred to any of his preceptors -to suggest that the advantage of increasing one's money lay in the -splendid possibilities of spending it. The art of making money forms -the whole curriculum of a business man's education; he is supposed to -require no instruction in the art of spending it. Thus it is that, by -attending only to one side of the question, so many business men lead -much less interesting lives than they might, if they had it in their -power to place themselves under the guidance of a trustworthy professor -of the Art of Spending. But no Chair of Spending has yet been provided -at any University, nor is there any instructor on this important branch -of business education at any of the City schools, hence it is that the -sons of so many money-making men turn out spendthrifts. They have been -taught only one side of the great money question, and that the less -important side into the bargain. In making an honest endeavour to master -the other side, usually on the death of a father or a bachelor uncle, -both looked on as close-fisted curmudgeons, a good many young men find -themselves in difficulties. - -Young Mr. Barlowe, on being introduced to the Burney family, through the -circumstance of Mrs. Burney's first husband having done business with -Mr. Barlowe the elder, found himself in a strange atmosphere. He had -never before imagined the existence of a household where music and plays -and books were talked about as if these were the profitable topics of -life. Previously he had lived in a house where the only profitable topic -was thought to be the Profits. At his father's table in the Poultry the -conversation never travelled beyond the Profits. The likelihood of a -rise in the price of gold or silver sometimes induced the father to -increase his stock of bullion without delay, and then if the price rose, -he could conscientiously charge his customers for the lace at such a -rate per ounce as gave him a clear five per cent, extra profit; and it -was upon such possibilities that the conversation in the Poultry parlour -invariably turned. - -And here were these Burneys talking with extraordinary eagerness and -vivacity upon such matters as the treatment by a singer named Gabrielli -of one of the phrases in a song of Mr. Handel's, beginning: “Angels ever -bright and fair”! For himself, young Mr. Barlowe thought that there -was no need for so much repetition in any song. “Angels ever bright and -fair, Take, oh take me to your care”--that was the whole thing, as it -seemed to him; and when that request had been made once he thought it -was quite enough; to repeat it half a dozen times was irritating and -really tended to defeat its purpose. Only children in the nursery -kept reiterating their requests. But he had heard Dr. Burney and -his son-in-law, Esther's husband, discuss the Gabrielli's apparently -unauthorized pause before the second violins suggested (as it appeared -to the younger musician) a whisper of assent floating from the heaven; -and all the members of the family except Fanny had taken sides in the -controversy, as though a thing like that had any bearing upon the daily -life of the City! - -Thomas Barlowe was amazed at the childishness of the discussion, and he -was particularly struck by the silence of Fanny on this occasion. She -was silent, he was sure, because she agreed with him in thinking it -ridiculous to waste words over a point that should be relegated to the -nursery for settlement. - -“They seem pleasant enough people in their way,” he told his mother -after his first visit. “But they know nothing of what is going on in the -world--the real world, of which the Poultry is the centre. It might -be expected that the young man who is a naval officer and has seen the -world would know something of the import of the question when I asked -him what direction he thought gold would move in; but he only winked and -replied, 'Not across my hawse, I dare swear,' and the others laughed as -if he had said something humorous.” - -“Mayhap it was humorous,” suggested his mother gravely. - -“It would be sheer ribaldry for anyone to jest upon such a subject -as the fluctuations in the price of silver,” said Thomas slowly. -“Lieutenant Burney must surely know how serious a matter would be a fall -of a fraction of a crown when we have bought heavily in prospect of -a rise. But Miss Burney looks to be different from the others of the -family. I have told you that while her father, and indeed all the rest, -were talking excitedly on that ridiculous point in Mr. Handel's music, -she sat in silence. She is short-sighted, but I noticed more than once -that she had her eyes fixed on me, as if she had found something to -study in me. She is, I think, a steady, observant young lady. When Mrs. -Burney said she hoped that I would visit them again, I think I perceived -a sort of interest on Miss Burney's face as she awaited my answer.” - -Thomas had resolved not to frustrate the hopes that Mrs. Burney had -expressed as to his paying another visit--as a matter of fact he had -come three times, and on every occasion he had devoted himself to -Fanny--to be more exact than Mrs. Burney, who had described his -attentions in this phrase, he had passed his time subjecting her to a -sort of catechism with a view to discover if she would make him the -sort of wife that would suit him. It appeared that the result of his -inquisition was satisfactory, and that his attentions were gradually -becoming intentions; but Mrs. Burney had never gone farther than to -comment favourably to Fanny upon the young man's steadiness, and to -suggest that the young woman whom he might choose to be his wife would -be fortunate, steady young men with good prospects in the City being far -from abundant. She had never gone so far as to ask Fanny if she would -accept good fortune coming to her in such a form; though Fanny knew very -well that she had asked Esther to sound her on this point. - -How far Esther's mission was accounted successful by their stepmother, -Fanny, of course, could not guess; but at any rate Thomas was to pay a -visit after dinner, and Fanny felt that it was necessary for her to be -discreet. It had been very interesting for her to study Thomas, with the -possibility before her of writing a second novel, in which some of -his traits of character might be introduced with advantage; but she -perceived how there was a likelihood of her course of study being paid -for at too high a rate; so she resolved--to be discreet beyond her -ordinary exercise of a virtue which she displayed at all times of her -life. - -So Thomas came to the house in St. Martin's Street while tea was -being served in the drawingroom, to the accompaniment of a duet on -the piano--Dr. Burney had quickly perceived the merits of this new -instrument over that of the harpsichord--between Susan and her father. -Very close to the instrument, pressing the receiver of his ear-trumpet -to the woodwork of the case, sat Sir Joshua Reynolds, while his -sister--a lady of middle age who was gradually relinquishing the idea -that she, too, could paint portraits--was suffering Mrs. Burney -to explain to her the advantages of Lynn over London as a place of -residence for people anxious to economize. - -Fanny was at the table where the teapot and urn were being drawn on, and -close to her sat her brother James, with a volume like an account-book -lying face down on the table while he drank his tea. - -The progress of the duet was not arrested by the entrance of young Mr. -Barlowe, but he looked in the direction of the instrument when he had -shaken hands with Mrs. Burney and bowed to Miss Reynolds. It was obvious -that he was mystified by seeing Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet pressed against -the sound-conducting case of the piano. He was still looking at it with -curious eyes while he greeted Fanny with the concentrated politeness of -the Poultry. - -Lieutenant Burney roused himself from his lolling attitude when he saw -the puzzled look on the young man's face, and he obligingly endeavoured -to explain away the mystery. - -“'Tis no wonder that you are amazed, Mr. Barlowe,” he said in a -whisper. “I own that when it was first brought to my notice I thought it -extraordinary. A marvellous instrument, is it not, that is played by the -ear instead of by the mouth? And yet you must own that some of the notes -it produces are very fine--much more delicate than could be produced by -any other means.” - -“I do not profess to be a judge of music, sir,” said Thomas; “but I -know what pleases me.” Fanny wondered how often she had heard that -same boast--the attempt of complete ignorance to be accredited with the -virtue of frankness. “Yes, I own that I consider the music monstrous -pretty; but with the ear--that is what puzzles me: it seems a simple -trumpet, such as is blown by the mouth.” - -“Pray do not let my father hear you say that, Mr. Barlowe,” whispered -James. “That instrument is his fondest. You know that he has written a -'History of Music'?” - -“All the world knows that, sir,” replied Thomas gallantly. “I have not -yet found time to read it myself, but----” - -“Neither have I, sir; but I understand that that instrument which seems -new to such simpletons as you and I is really as ancient as the pyramids -of Egypt--nay, more so, for my father discovered in his researches that -this was the identical form of the first instrument made by Tubal Cain -himself.” - -“Is't possible? In our Family Bible there is a picture of Tubal Cain, -but he is depicted blowing through a conch shell.” - -“A shell! Ah! such was the ignorance of the world on these matters -before my father wrote his History. But he has managed to clear up -many points upon which complete ignorance or very erroneous opinions -prevailed. It is not generally known, for instance, that Tubal had his -second name given to him by reason of his habitually murdering every -musical piece that he attempted to play.” - -“But he was the inventor, was he not?” - -“Quite true, Mr. Barlowe. But that fact, you must admit, only made his -offence the more flagrant. So the inscriptions on the rocks assert; and -there are some sensible people nowadays who believe that Tubal's second -and very suggestive name should be coupled with the names of many more -recent performers on musical instruments.” - -“You do not allude to the gentleman who is playing that new -instrument--I mean that very ancient instrument--by the side of Dr. -Burney?” - -“Oh, surely not. That gentleman is one of the most notable performers of -our age, Mr. Barlowe. I ask you plainly, sir, have you ever seen, even -at a raree show, a musician who could play an instrument with his ear -and produce such a good effect? You can easily believe that a vast -amount of ingenuity is needed to produce even the simplest sound in that -way.” - -“If I had not it demonstrated before my eyes I should not believe it -possible. I protest, sir, that the effect is very pretty. Is't not so, -Miss Burney?” - -The young man turned to Fanny, who was doing her best to refrain from an -outburst of laughter; she could not trust herself to put her cup of tea -to her lips while her brother was continuing his fooling. She thought -that it was scarcely good manners of him to play such a jest upon a -visitor, though she knew the ward-room code of manners which her naval -brother had acquired was very liberal on such points. She was about to -give Mr. Barlowe a hint of the truth of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet, but -James, perceiving her intention, defeated it by saying in a tone above a -whisper: - -“Cain--we mentioned Cain, did we not, Mr. Barlowe? Oh, yes; and it must -have occurred to you how strangely customs have altered during the past -ten years--how strongly opposed people are to-day to principles that -were accepted without demur so recently as in our own boyhood. You take -my meaning, sir?” - -Mr. Barlowe did not look as if he quite grasped Lieutenant Burney's -drift, and Fanny felt it incumbent on her to prevent further fooling (as -he thought she would) by remarking: - -“My brother means, Mr. Barlowe, that 'tis remarkable how many changes -are being made in many ways--but what he had in his mind was, of course, -in respect to the forte-piano--on which my father and sister are -playing a duet: only a few years ago no one thought to improve upon -the harpsichord; and yet my father asserts that in a short time the -harpsichord will be no more than a curiosity--that the forte-piano--or -as we simply call it now, the piano, will take its place in every -household. That is what you meant, was it not, James?” - -“I was thinking of Cain and his profession--Cain, the good old murderer, -rather than of Tubal Cain, who was perhaps equally criminal in inventing -the liveliest source of human torture,” replied James gravely. “Yes, -I was thinking--suggested by the mention of Cain--how strange people -nowadays would regard my father's intentions regarding my future when -he assumed that I should have the best chance for cultivating my bent, -which he had early recognized in me, by sending me, before it became too -late, to be educated for the profession to an accomplished murderer.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -|YOUNG Mr. Barlowe started so violently that he spilt his tea over his -knees; for just before James had uttered his last sentence the music -stopped, but as it had been somewhat loud in the final bars, and James -had raised his voice in the same proportion, the inertia of his tone -defied any attempt to modulate it, so that it was almost with a shout -that he had declared that he had been sent to be educated in his -profession to a murderer. - -Fanny was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the contretemps -to be able to laugh. Her brother, who had had no intention of startling -anyone in the room except young Mr. Barlowe, hung his head and was -blushing under the South Sea tan of his skin; Sir Joshua Reynolds had -heard nothing after the crashing chords that concluded the duet; but -poor Miss Reynolds almost sprang from her chair in horror. - -Mrs. Burney was very angry. - -“You have been making a fool of yourself as usual, James,” she cried. -“Pray give Mr. Barlowe another cup of tea, Fanny. I vow that 'tis a -shame for you, James Burney, to treat such a company as though you were -on the deck of the _Adventure_ facing your South Sea savages.” - -But Dr. Burney, with his customary tact, raised a hand half reprovingly -toward his wife. - -“Give Mr. Barlowe his cup, and then pass one to me, Fanny,” he said, -rising from the piano. “You know that James has spoken no more than -the truth, my dear,” he added, smiling at his wife. “I can see that the -rascal has been fooling while our backs were turned to him; but we know -that he spoke no more than the truth--at least in that one sentence -which he bawled out for us. He was, indeed, sent to a school where he -was placed under an accomplished usher who was some time after hanged -as a murderer. You see, madam----” he had turned, still smiling, to Miss -Reynolds, thereby doing much to restore her confidence in the sanity of -the family--“You see that James was from the first so desperate a young -rascal that, just as a boy who is an adept at figures is educated for -the counting-house, and one who spends all the day before he is six -picking out tunes on the harpsichord should be apprenticed, as I was, to -a musician, so we thought our James should be sent whither he could -be properly grounded in the only profession at which he was likely to -excel. But, alas! the poor usher was carried off by the police, tried at -the next assizes and duly hanged before James had made much progress in -his studies; but I believe that a few years in the navy does as much -for a youth who has made up his mind to succeed, as a protracted course -under a fully qualified criminal.” - -Miss Reynolds looked as if she were not quite certain that, in spite of -his smiles, Dr. Burney was jesting; but when Mrs. Burney, seeing how her -husband's mock seriousness was likely to produce a wrong impression upon -plain people, said: - -“You must recall hearing about Mr. Eugene Aram some years back, Mrs. -Reynolds,” that lady showed that her mind was greatly relieved. - -“I recall the matter without difficulty,” she said. “The man was usher -at the grammar school at Lynn.” - -“And no school had a more learned teacher than that unfortunate man,” - said Sir Joshua. Young Mr. Barlowe had been divided in his amazement -at what Dr. Burney had said, and at the sight of Sir Joshua holding the -trumpet to his ear, though the instrument remained mute. He had never -found himself within the circle of so startling a society. He wished -himself safe at home in the Poultry, where people talked sense and made -no attempt to blow a trumpet with their ears. - -“James had acquired quite a liking for poor Aram,” said Dr. Burney, -“and, indeed, I own to having had a high opinion of the man's ability -myself. It was to enable him to purchase books necessary for his studies -in philology that he killed his victim--a contemptible curmudgeon named -Johnstone. I fear that all our sympathy was on the side of the usher.” - -“I was greatly interested in Mr. Aram, and read a full account of his -trial,” said Sir Joshua. - -“I wonder that a man of so sensitive a mind as his did not so brood over -his crime as to cause suspicion to fall on him earlier than it did.” - -“Only upon one occasion it seemed that he was affected by an incident -which might possibly have awakened some suspicion in the mind of a -person given to suspicion,” said Dr. Burney. - -“James had been presented with a copy of the translation of Gessner's -'Death of Abel'--everyone was going mad about the book that year--more -copies were sold of it than of any translation since Pope's 'Homer,' but -I fancy James found it dull enough reading. He had it on his knee trying -to get through a page or two in case the kind donor might question him -upon it, when the usher came up. He took the volume in his hand and -glanced at the title. Down the book fell from his grasp and he hurried -away without a word--'as if he had been stung,' James said, in telling -us about it, to excuse the broken cover. Of course, I never gave a -thought to the matter at the time; but when I heard of the arrest of -Eugene Aram the following year, I recalled the incident.” - -“I should like to make a picture of the scene, and name it 'Remorse,'” - said Reynolds. - -(_He never did make such a picture; many years had passed, and Lieutenant -Burney had become an Admiral before his narration of the incident -touched the imagination of a poet who dealt with it in verse that has -thrilled a good many readers._) - -Thomas Barlowe was not greatly thrilled by the story as told by Dr. -Burney. He seemed rather shocked to find himself at the table with -someone who had been taught by a murderer. He glanced furtively at James -Burney, who had remained silent since the contretemps that had prevented -him from perfecting his fooling of Thomas; and the result of Thomas's -scrutiny at that moment was to cause Thomas a tremor; for who could say -what fearful knowledge Lieutenant Burney might have acquired during -his intercourse with the murderer--knowledge which might jeopardize the -safety of a simple visitor like himself? Thomas felt that no ordinary -person could be accounted absolutely safe in a company that included a -tall, able-bodied young naval man who had begun his education under a -murderer and had gone to complete it among the cannibals of the South -Seas; and, in addition, an elderly gentleman who fancied that he could -bring any sound out of a trumpet by pressing it to his ear instead of -his lips, and had shown himself ready to extol the scholarship of any -man who had been hanged. - -But then Thomas looked at Fanny, and she pleased him more than ever. She -was so demure, so modest, so shy. She had a very pretty blush, and she -did not play on the piano. It was a thousand pities, he felt, that such -a girl should be compelled to remain in such uncongenial companionship. -All the time that Dr. Burney and his other daughter were playing a -second duet, and the silly gentleman holding the bell of his trumpet -to the case of the piano, still fondly believing that he was also a -performer with the mouth-piece in his ear, Thomas Barlowe was feeling -wave after wave of pity passing over him for the unhappy position of -the shy girl in the midst of so doubtful a household. Before long his -compassion for her so stimulated his imagination that he began to think -of the possibility of his rescuing her--he began to think of himself in -the character of a hero--he did not remember the name of any particular -hero who had carried off a young woman who was placed in a similar -situation to that occupied by Miss Burney; but he had no doubt that more -than one romance was founded upon the doings of such a man as he felt -himself fully qualified to be, if he made up his mind to assume such a -rôle. - -As the music continued--it was an arrangement of Bach's _Orfèo_--Thomas -Barlowe became more and more resolute. He would be the heroic person who -should appear at the right moment and achieve the emancipation of that -sweet and shy girl, who by no fault of hers was forced to live in that -house and remain, if she could, on friendly terms with her father and -sisters, who kept strumming on the piano, and with her brother, who was -ready to boast of having received the rudiments of his education from -a murderer. All that he needed was the opportunity to show his heroism, -and he did not doubt that when he set his mind to work on the matter, he -would have such an opportunity. - -If anyone had whispered in his ear that his inward consciousness of -being equal to the doing of great deeds was solely due to the music -which was being played, and to which he was unwillingly listening, he -would have been indignant. He would have thought it preposterous had it -been suggested to him that the effect of that strumming was to make him -feel more like a god than a man--to be ready to face hell for the love -of a woman, as Jean Sebastian Bach imagined Orpheus doing for Eurydice. -But Jean Sebastian Bach knew what he was about when he had composed his -_Orfèo_, and Dr. Burney was quite equal to the business of interpreting -his aims, and of urging his daughter Susan to join with him in -impressing them upon even so unimpressionable a nature as that of Thomas -Barlowe; so that while Thomas Barlowe believed that this music was one -of the most petty of all human interests, it was making him think -such thoughts as had never before entered his mind--it was giving him -aspirations from which in ordinary circumstances he would have shrunk. - -The master musician and his interpreters were making sport of him, -leading him if not quite into the region of the heroic, at least to the -boundary of that region, and supplying him with a perspective glass, as -the Interpreter did to the Pilgrims, by the aid of which he might see -the wonderful things that had been beyond his natural scope. - -And that was how it came about that he gazed into Miss Burney's eyes and -pressed her hand at parting with a tenderness he had never previously -associated with his leave-taking. He felt sure that Miss Burney would -understand what he meant, though he knew that he would have difficulty -in expressing it all to her in words; for the effect of the music was -to make him feel that he could put so much feeling into a look, into -a squeeze of the hand, as would touch the heart of any young woman and -cause her to be certain that she might trust him though all other help -might fail her. - -That was the effect which the heroic music had upon him, though he did -not know it; it made him feel willing to face hell for her sake at that -moment, and even until he had walked through more than a mile of the -network of streets that lay between Leicester Fields and the Poultry. - -But the effect of such an intoxicant as music upon such a nature as his -is not lasting. Before he had reached Cheapside his own individuality -was beginning to assert itself; and he wondered if he had not gone too -far for discretion--discretion being, according to his reckoning, the -power to withdraw from a position that might compromise him. And before -he reached his home he had got the length of wondering how he had so far -forgotten himself as to yield to that compromising impulse represented -by the gaze and the squeeze. He could not for the life of him understand -what had come over him at that moment; for he had by no means satisfied -himself that Miss Burney was the young woman who would make him -comfortable as his wife. He still thought highly of her on account of -her modesty and her dainty shyness, but marriage was a serious matter, -and he was not sure that he should take her for his wife. - -On the whole, he felt that he had had a very trying evening--between the -Lieutenant who had so nearly qualified to practise as a murderer, and -the father and daughter who seemed ready to strum their duets until -midnight, to say nothing of the foolish gentleman who tried to play -the trumpet with his ear; and Thomas made up his mind that he would not -trust himself into the midst of so unusual a circle until he was certain -that he wanted to marry the young woman whose hand he had, for some -reason or other, pressed at parting. - -But Mrs. Burney had noticed much more clearly than Fanny had done the -expression that the face of Thomas Barlowe had worn when he had looked -into the girl's eyes; she had measured to the fraction of a second the -duration of his holding of her hand beyond the time essential for -the discharge of the ordinary courtesy of a hand-shake; and she was -satisfied that Thomas was progressing in his wooing of the least -attractive and certainly the least accomplished member of the family. -The good woman thought, however, that it was rather a pity that her -husband and Susan had persisted in the practice of their duets; for by -doing so they had not given a chance to Thomas and Fanny of being alone -together. - -But, looking back upon the incidents of the evening, she came to the -conclusion that, on the whole, she had no reason to complain of the -progress that was being made in the young man's wooing. She was no -believer in undue haste in this respect; and had not Thomas looked into -Fanny's eyes at the close of the evening? Yes, at the close; and that -proved to her satisfaction that he had not suffered discouragement by -the maladroit conversation about Mr. Eugene Aram. The unhappy episode -upon which her husband had dwelt with far too great attention to its -details, was one to which she herself had never alluded; for at Lynn, -where she had lived all her life previous to being married to Dr. -Burney, the Eugene Aram episode was regarded as a scandal to be ignored -by those of the inhabitants whose children had attended the school where -he had been usher. It was a distinctly favourable sign of the impression -made upon young Mr. Barlowe by Fanny, that he had gazed into her eyes in -spite of his having been made aware of the connection of the family with -the tragedy of that wretched schoolmaster. Mrs. Burney took no account -of the effect of Bach's marvellous music upon a young man who was a -lover in the rough. In this respect, as has been indicated, she did not -differ from the young man himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -|IT was at the Pantheon in the Oxford Road a fortnight later, that Mrs. -Thrale, the brewer's lively wife, had an opportunity of shining, by a -display of that _esprit_ which caused Mr. Garrick to affirm solemnly -that if she had gone upon the stage she would have been a dangerous -rival to Mistress Clive; and Fanny Burney, with her father and Mr. -Linley, the father of the beautiful Mrs. Sheridan, was a witness of the -ease with which the lady sparkled as she described for the benefit of -the circle how Mr. Garrick's jest at the expense of poor Mr. Kendal and -the Widow Nash had set all the Wells laughing. She imitated Mr. Garrick -to his face, in offering his congratulations to Mr. Kendal and so -setting the ball a-rolling until within an hour the poor, silly -gentleman had been offered the felicitations of half the Wells upon his -engagement to Widow Nash. Mrs. Thrale re-enacted with great gravity -the part she had played in Mr. Garrick's plot, and then she hastened -to imitate Mrs. Cholmondeley's part, and even Mr. Sheridan's, upon that -lively morning at Tunbridge Wells. - -But there was much more to tell, and Mrs. Thrale took very good care to -abate nothing of her narrative; it gave her so good a chance of acting, -and it gave Mr. Garrick so good a chance of complimenting her before all -the company. - -“Oh, I vow that we played our parts to perfection,” she cried, “and -without any rehearsal either. But then what happened? You will scarce -believe it, Mr. Garrick has always borne such a character for scrupulous -honour in his dealings with his companies, but indeed 'tis a fact that -our manager decamped as soon as he found that the poor man had been -teased to the verge of madness by the fooling he had started--off he -went, we knew not whither; leaving no message for any of us. He was not -to be found by noon; and what happened by dinner-time? Why, the poor -gentleman whom we had been fooling had also fled!” - -“That was indeed too bad of Mr. Kendal,” said Dr. Burney. - -“'Twas too inconsiderate of him truly,” cried Mrs. Thrale. “'Tis no -great matter if the manager of the playhouse runs away when his play -is produced--you remember that Mr. Colman hurried off to Bath to escape -lampooners when the success of Dr. Goldsmith's comedy _She Stoops to -Conquer_ had proved to all the town that he was no judge of a play; -but for the one who has been made the object of such a jest as ours to -escape without giving us a chance of bringing our teasing to a fitting -climax is surely little short of infamous.” - -“And when did you design the fitting climax to arrive, madam?” asked one -of the circle. - -“Why, when the gentleman and lady should come face to face in the -Assembly Rooms, to be sure,” replied Mrs. Thrale. “We were all there to -await the scene of their meeting; and you can judge of our chagrin when -only the lady appeared.” - -“We can do so, indeed,” said Mrs. Darner, who was also in the circle. “I -can well believe that you were furious. When one has arranged a burletta -for two characters 'tis infamous when only one of the actors appears on -the stage.” - -Mrs. Thrale smiled the smile of the lady who knows that she is -harbouring a surprise for her friends and only awaits the right moment -to spring it upon them--a cat to be let out of the bag at the pulling of -a string. - -“I knew that we should have your sympathy, Mrs. Darner,” she said -demurely. “You have, I doubt not, more than once experienced all the -chagrin that follows the miscarrying of a well-planned scheme. But as -it so happened, we were more than compensated for our ill-usage at that -time by the unlooked-for appearance of the missing actor two nights -later.” - -“Oh, lud!” cried Mrs. Darner, holding up both her hands in a very dainty -way. - -Mr. Garrick also lifted up his hands in amazement, but he did not need -to exclaim anything to emphasize the effect of his gesture. - -Dr. Burney smiled, trying to catch the eye of Mr. Garrick, but Mr. -Garrick took very good care that he should not succeed in doing so. - -“You may well cry, 'oh, lud!'” said Mrs. Thrale. “But if you had been -in the Rooms when the man entered you would not have been able to say a -word for surprise, I promise you. The poor gentleman had posted all the -way from town to Tunbridge, apparently for our diversion only, and what -a sight he was! It seems that he had got over his fright at the coupling -of his name with the lady's, while flying to London, but from this point -a reaction set in, and he spent all the time that he was posting back to -the Wells adding fuel to the fire of his resolution to throw himself -at the feet of the lady at the earliest possible moment. Was there ever -such a comedy played, Mr. Garrick?” - -“'Twould be too extravagant for the theatre, madam, but not for Nature's -playhouse,” replied Garrick. “I have more than once been told the story -of soldiers having fled in a panic from the field of battle, but on -finding themselves in a place of safety they returned to the fight and -fought like demons. Was there aught that could be termed demoniacal -in the gentleman's conduct on finding himself face to face with the -enemy--I mean the lady?” - -“Aught demoniacal, do you ask me?” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Oh, sir, have -you not heard the parable of the demon that was cast out of a man, but -finding its homeless condition unsupportable, sought out seven of its -friends and returned with them to its former habitation, so that the -last state of the man was more demoniacal than the first?” - -“I fancy I have heard the parable, madam, but its application----” began -Garrick, when Mrs. - -Darner broke in upon him, crying: - -“Do not ever attempt to point out the aptness of the application of -a parable, Mrs. Thrale. Do not, if you are wise. Would you lead us to -believe that the unhappy wretch found it necessary to post up to town -to obtain his relay of demons for his own discomfiture when so much rank -and fashion was at the Wells, though at the fag end of the season?” - -“Leaving parables aside, demons and all, I can bear witness to -the condition of the man when he entered the Rooms and strode with -determination on his face up to where the Widow Nash was fanning -herself--not without need,” said Mrs. Thrale. “It so happened that she -was seated under the gallery at the furthest end of the Rooms, but our -gentleman did not pause on entering to look round for her--I tell you -that it seemed as if he went by instinct straight up to her, and bowing -before her, said: 'Madam, may I beg the honour of a word or two with you -in private?'--I was close by and so were several other equally credible -witnesses, and we heard every word. The widow looked at him coolly----” - -“Yes, you said she had been fanning herself,” remarked Mrs. Darner, but -without interrupting the flow of the narrative. - -“There was no need of a fan for her voice, I can assure you, when she -had completed her survey of the dusty gentleman and thought fit to -reply to him,” continued Mrs. Thrale. “'I vow, sir,' said she, 'that I -consider this room sufficiently private for anything you have to say -to me.' She had plainly got wind of Mr. Garrick's plot and so was fully -prepared for the worst--though some people might call it the best--that -could happen. 'Madam,' said Mr. Kendal, 'what I have to say is meant for -your ear alone,' and I am bound to admit that he spoke with suavity -and dignity. 'Pray let my friends here be the judges of that,' said the -widow. That was a pretty rebuff for any gentleman with a sense of his -own dignity, you will say; but he did not seem to accept it in such a -spirit. He hesitated, but only for a few moments, then he looked around -him to see who were within hearing, and with hardly a pause, he said in -the clearest of tones, 'I perceive that we are surrounded just now with -some ladies who, two days ago, offered me congratulations upon my good -fortune in winning your promise, madam; and I venture now to come -before you to implore of you to give me permission to assume that their -congratulations were well founded'--those were his words; we did not -think that he had it in him to express himself so well.” - -“And what was the lady's reply?” asked Dr. Burney, recalling the -prophecy in which he had indulged when parting from Garrick at his own -door. - -“The lady's reply was disappointing, though dignified,” replied Mrs. -Thrale. “'Sir,' she said, 'I have oft heard that the credulity of a man -has no limits, but I have never before had so conspicuous an instance of -the truth of this. Surely the merest schoolboy would have been able to -inform you that you were being made the victim of one of Mr. Garrick's -silly jests--that these ladies here lent themselves to the transaction, -hoping to make a fool of me as well as of you; but I trust that they -are now aware of the fact that I, at least, perceived the truth from the -first, so that whoever has been fooled I am not that person; and so -I have the honour to wish you and them a very good evening.' Then she -treated us to a very elaborate curtsey and stalked away to the door, -leaving us all amazed at her display of dignity--real dignity, not the -stage imitation, Mr. Garrick.” - -“You should have been there, if only to receive a lesson, Mr. Garrick,” - said Mrs. Damer. - -“I hope those who had the good fortune to be present were taught a -lesson,” said another lady in the circle. - -“If you mean me, madam,” said Mrs. Thrale, with tactful good humour, -“I frankly allow that I profited greatly by observing the scene. 'Tis -a dangerous game to play--that of trying to show others in a ridiculous -light, and in future I vow that all my attention shall be given to the -duty of avoiding making a fool of myself. Your jest miscarried, Mr. -Garrick; though how that gentleman who fled from the Wells in that -headlong fashion was induced to return, is beyond my knowledge.” - -“Psha! madam, the fellow is a coxcomb and not worth discussing,” cried -Garrick. “He got no more than his deserts when the lady left him to be -the laughing-stock of the Assembly. I knew that that would be his fate -if he ever succeeded in summing up sufficient courage to face her.” - -“But strange to say, we did not laugh at him then,” said Mrs. Thrale. -“He seemed to be quite a different man from the one whom we had tried -to fool two days earlier. There was a certain dignity about him that -disarmed us. You must allow, Mr. Garrick, that only the bravest of men -would have had the courage to march up the Assembly Rooms and make his -proposal to the lady in public.” - -“That is the courage of the coxcomb who believes himself to be -irresistible to the other sex, madam,” said Garrick; “and I affirm that -'twas most reprehensible to refrain from laughing at him.” Then, putting -his arm through that of Burney as if to stroll on with him, and so -give the others to understand that he had had enough of Mr. Kendal as a -topic, he whispered: - -“Ha, my friend, did not I prophesy aright what would be the fellow's -fate? I know men, and women, too--ay, in some measure, though they are -sealed books, eh, friend Burney? And you tried to persuade me that she -would not snub him? I knew better--I knew that she--eh, what--what are -they staring at?” - -“They are staring at the appearance of Mr. Kendal with the Widow Nash on -his arm--there they are, David, and you are staring at them too,” said -Burney with a smile. - -“Angels and Ministers of Grace! 'Tis a man and his wife we are staring -at! The woman has married him after all!” cried David, his hand dropping -limply from Burney's shoulder. “A man and his wife: I know the look in -their faces!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -|IT was, indeed, the same man who had come to consult Dr. Burney, but -had not been allowed the chance of doing so by Garrick, a fortnight -before--the same man, but with a marked difference, who was now walking -across the pillared room in the Pantheon, with a smiling, well-favoured -lady by his side; and toward the pair the eyes of all the circle whom -Mrs. Thrale had been addressing were directed. - -Mrs. Thrale and her friends were too much amazed to be able to speak, -but the lips of every one of them were holding back some exclamation of -surprise: an acute observer would have been able easily to set down the -various unuttered exclamations of the party, from the simple “Oh, -Lud!” of Mrs. Thrale to the more emphatic “Merciful Powers!” of Mrs. -Cholmondeley, though not a word was spoken between them, while Mr. -Kendal and the lady walked, straight through the room to where they were -standing. - -“Slip behind the pillar: I will cover you, my friend,” whispered Dr. -Burney to Garrick. - -But Garrick had no intention of doing anything so ignominious--more -especially as he perceived that Mr. Kendal had caught sight of him; and -it was really Garrick who advanced to meet the couple, with the air of -a host about to welcome two long-expected guests--it was really Garrick -who received them with one of his finest bows, and who--to add to the -amazement of the group behind him--was greeted by Mr. Kendal and the -lady with the friendliest of smiles (the lady was blushing, not Mr. -Garrick). - -And then it was to Dr. Burney the gentleman turned. - -“Dear sir,” he cried, “with what words should I approach you? It is to -your counsel and Mr. Garrick's that I owe my happiness.” Then he made -his bow to the others of the group. - -“Mrs. Thrale,” he said, when he had recovered himself, “we hoped to find -you here with your friends, so that we might lose no moment in offering -you our thanks for the tactful way in which you brought us together. -Only such genius as yours, madam, could have perceived--well, all -that you did perceive. I protest that neither Mrs. Kendal nor myself -apprehended the too flattering truth. But the heart of a woman who has -herself loved--ah, that is the source of such genius as you displayed -with such subtlety. She is mine, madam; we have been married a whole -week, and I, at least, know what a treasure--but I cannot trust myself -to talk of my happiness just now. Perhaps at some future time I shall -be able to tell you coherently how I felt within me that my Diana--Mrs. -Nash, as she was then--did not mean her rebuff as a final dismissal, and -thus I was led to her side--to implore an audience of her, in the course -of which she confessed to me that----” - -But his bride prevented the flow of his eloquence by tapping him under -the chin in exquisite playfulness with her fan, smiling roguishly at him -first, and then looking round the group with an air of chastened triumph -while she said: - -“Foolish man! Prithee remember, Ferdinand, that you are in a public -place, and that the secrets of the confessional are sacred. I protest -that you are exceeding a husband's privilege in revealing aught that I -confessed when taken aback at your sudden appearance before me!” - -“I ask your pardon, my angel,” he cried. “I had no right to say even the -little that I have said. I suppose I shall learn discretion in time and -with practice. But when I think of the kindly interest that some of our -friends here showed in bringing us together, I feel that they should be -rewarded by a repetition of the whole story.” - -“Nay, nay, sir, you may take my word for it that we look not for such a -reward,” cried Garrick. “Such philanthropists as Mrs. Thrale and myself -feel more than rewarded when we succeed in bringing together a lady and -gentleman who were so plainly intended by Providence for each other's -happiness.” - -“It was Mr. Garrick who looked with the eyes of Providence into your -case as associated with Mr. Kendal, madam. That is, if Puck may ever be -thought of as assuming the rôle of Providence,” said Mrs. Thrale. “For -myself, I believe that Puck has more to do with the making of matches -than heaven; and assuredly in this particular case the mischievous fairy -had more than a finger. But however that may be, we can still wish you -every happiness in life, and offer you an apology for----” - -“H'sh!” whispered Garrick, raising a hand. “Rauzzini is beginning to -sing. I am sure, Mrs. Kendal, that you will willingly accept Signor -Rauzzini's song in lieu of Mrs. Thrale's apology, however admirably -worded the latter were sure to be.” - -The bride smiled benignly at Mrs. Thrale, and there was more than a -trace of triumph in her smile. - -Dr. Burney smiled also at the adroitness of the actor, who, he could -perceive, had no intention of allowing himself to be incriminated by any -confession, assuming the form of an apology, that Mrs. Thrale might make -in a moment of contrition for having been a partner with him in a piece -of fooling that had had a very different result from the one he (and -she) had looked for. - -Garrick, still holding up a warning finger as if he had at heart the -best interests of the composer as well as the singer of “Waft her, -Angels,” prevented another word from being spoken, though more than a -full minute had passed before Rauzzini had breathed the first notes of -the recitativo. - -But incautiously lowering his finger when the handsome Roman had begun, -Mrs. Thrale took advantage of her release from the thraldom imposed upon -her, to say in a low tone, looking toward the gallery in front of which -the singer stood: - -“It is one angel talking to the others! Was there ever so angelic a -man?” - -And little Miss Burney, who had also her eyes fixed upon the singer, -felt that little Mrs. Thrale was not merely an angel, but a goddess. She -expressed her opinion to this effect in her next letter to Mr. Crisp. - -She listened in a dream to the singing that no one could hear and remain -unmoved, even though one had not the advantage of looking at the singer -at the same time. Fanny Burney was too shortsighted to be able to -distinguish one face from another at such a distance; but this made -no difference to her; she had the face of the sweet singer ever before -her--most clearly when she closed her eyes, as she did now, and listened -to him. - -“Waft her, angels, to the skies--Waft her, angels, waft her, angels, -waft her to the skies,” rang out his fervent imploration, and she felt -that there were no powers that could withstand the force of such an -appeal. For herself she felt carried away on the wings of song into the -highest heaven. She felt that harps of heaven alone could provide an -adequate accompaniment to such a voice as his; and she gave herself up -to it as unreservedly as a bride gives herself to the arms of her lover. -She had that sensation of a sweet yielding to the divine influence of -the music until she could feel it enfolding her and bearing her into the -infinite azure of a realm more beautiful than any that her dreams had -borne her to in the past. She wanted nothing better than this in any -world. All that she wanted was an assurance that it would continue for -ever and ever.... - -With the cessation of the singing she seemed to awaken from a dream of -divine delight, and in her awaking to retain the last thought that had -been hers--the longing for an assurance that the delight which she was -feeling would endure. She was awake now, and she knew that love had been -all her dream, and that what she longed for was the assurance that -that love would continue. And now she remembered that it was this same -longing that had brought about her resolution that she would never go to -her King as the beggar maid had gone to King Cophetua. There would be -no assurance of the continuing of love between them if she had the -humiliating feeling that he had stooped to raise her to his level. - -That was the thought which took possession of her mind when she had -returned from the sublimities to which she had been borne by her lover's -singing, and in another minute the reaction had come. She had been -soaring high, but now she was conscious of a sinking at heart; for the -whole building was resounding with acclamations of the singer. There did -not seem to be anyone silent, save only herself, throughout the hall. -Everyone seemed calling the name of Rauzzini--all seemed ready to -throw themselves at his feet; and when he stood up to acknowledge their -tribute of enthusiasm to his marvellous powers, there was something of -frenzy in the way his name was flung from hundreds of voices--it was -not enough for the people whom he had stirred to shout his name, they -surrounded him with the banners of a great conqueror--the air was -quivering with the lace and the silk that were being waved on all sides -to do him honour--handkerchiefs, scarves, fans--the air was full of -them. - -And there he stood high above them, smiling calmly and bending his head -gravely to right and left in acknowledgment of all.... - -That was his position before the world. Her heart sank within her as she -asked herself what was hers. How could she ever hope to attain to such a -place as should win from the world such applause as this? How could -she ever be so vain as to think that the giving of a little book to -the world should have an effect worthy of being compared with this -demonstration which was shaking the Pantheon? - -Her heart sank to a deeper depth still when the thunders had passed -away--reluctantly as the reverberations of a great storm--and there was -a buzz of voices all about her--exclamations of delight--whispers of -admiration--ladies with clasped hands, fervent in their words about the -marvellous face of the young Roman--and her father and his friend, Mr. -Fulke Greville, exchanging recollections of the singing of the same air -by other vocalists, and coming gradually to the conclusion that none had -put such feeling into it as had Rauzzini. - -The buzz of voices did not cease when the singer had come down from his -gallery and was greeting some of his friends on the floor of the great -hall. He had trouble in making his way as far as the group which he -meant to reach. The most distinguished ladies of high quality had -pressed round him with uncritical expressions of appreciation of his -singing, and there was no lack of gentlemen of fashion to follow their -example, though wondering greatly that the ladies of quality should -allow themselves to show such transports respecting a man with no trait -of a true-born Englishman about him. Signor Rauzzini might have indulged -in a score of pinches of snuff out of the gold and enamelled boxes that -were thrust forward for his acceptance with the finest artificial grace -of a period when it was not thought effeminate to be graceful over small -things. - -He bowed low to the ladies of quality, and smiled his polite rejection -of the snuff of the gentlemen of fashion. But such convenances made it -impossible for him to keep his eyes upon the group toward which he -was making a necessarily slow way, and he only reached the side of Dr. -Burney to find that Dr. Burney's daughter had disappeared. He had no -chance of seeing how Miss Burney at his approach had slipped behind -a pillar and suffered herself to be conducted thence to a seat by her -cousin Edward: the fact that Edward was learning to be a painter was a -sufficient excuse for his paying an occasional visit to such scenes -of colour as were unfolded before the eyes of a frequenter of the -fashionable Pantheon every night. - -Fanny felt that if Signor Rauzzini had come to her side after passing -through the ranks of lace and velvet and brocade, she would have sunk -through the floor of the hall. But she knew that it was to her side he -was coming, and she took the opportunity of flying when he was compelled -to make a pause in front of the flattery of the Duchess of Ancaster. - -She was painfully shy at all times, but overwhelmingly so at that -moment, though she knew that she was the only woman in the place who -would make the attempt to evade the distinction which threatened her. -How could she remain where she had been with all eyes in the room upon -her? She felt that it would be impossible. - -Her heart was beating quickly as she thought: - -“Not yet--not yet.” - -After all there is no more womanly trait than that of fleeing from a -lover; but Fanny Burney was yielding to its impulse without an attempt -to analyse it, and without being consoled by the reflection of the -woman of the younger world, that if it is woman's instinct to fly from a -lover, it is a lover's instinct to pursue. - -She had scarcely finished the cup of ice which her cousin had brought -her, before the man had found her. - -But now the Gabrielli was beginning to sing, and all eyes were directed -upon the Gabrielli, so that no one but Rauzzini saw how Dr. Burney's -over-shy daughter was flushing. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -|THEY spoke in French, with an occasional phrase in Italian when they -found the other tongue lacking in melody or in the exact shade of -meaning that they sought to express. Edward Burney thought that the -moment was one that favoured his ambition to study the pose of Madame -Gabrielli, with a view to starting on a portrait that should make him -famous. He asked Fanny's permission to allow him to take up a place -a few yards beyond the pillar. He promised not to be long absent, and -Fanny had not the heart to detain him. - -“You fled from me--was that kind?” asked Rauzzini when the cousin had -moved away, but was still in view. - -“Ah,” said she, “one who has my odious selfconsciousness does not ask -what is kind or unkind, she simply flies.” - -“But you knew that I was coming to your side?” said he. - -“I know that you are wise enough to value the criticism of a musician -like my father above the vapid phrases of the people of fashion,” - replied Fanny. - -“That is true indeed,” said he. “I value a word of praise or blame from -Dr. Burney as precious. But Dr. Burney has a daughter whose words are to -me as precious.” - -“She is not here to-night,” said Fanny. “My sister Esther, to whom you -refer, is indeed a discriminating critic. She told me how exquisitely -you sang at the concert where you met her--it is scarcely a fortnight -ago.” - -“Dr. Burney has more daughters than that one,” said he. - -Fanny laughed. - -“He has indeed more daughters than one,” she said. “We were a household -of daughters before Esther married and when my brother was in the South -Seas. But only Esther is critical as a musician.” - -“In the name of heaven, do you think that it is only possible for me to -value words that refer to my singing?” he asked. “Do you not know that I -would rather listen to your voice than----” - -“Than Madame Gabrielli's?” said Fanny; he had spoken his last sentence -in too loud a tone, even though the Gabrielli's brilliant vocalism -usually admitted of a conversation being carried on with some vehemence -in the great room of the Pantheon without causing remark. - -He smiled at her warning, and it was in a subdued voice that he said: - -“I am tired of hearing the Gabrielli; but what of your voice? How often -have you given me the chance of hearing it? Even now you fled from me as -though I carried the plague about with me! Was that kind or unkind?” - -“You do not entertain the thought that perhaps I have not yet tired -of Madame Gabrielli's vocalism: I knew that she was at the point of -beginning her aria.” - -“You would sacrifice me on the altar of your favourite? Well, perhaps -you would be justified in doing so. Hold up your finger now and I shall -be mute as a fish until Gabrielli has had her last shriek. I can still -look at you--it will not spoil your appreciation of the aria if I merely -look at you.” - -“I think I would rather that you talked to me than merely looked at me. -I do not invite people to look at me, and happily few people do. I am -not conspicuous. I am the insignificant one. There is Mrs. Thrale, for -instance; she has been several times at our house, and every time she -comes she inquires who is the little one.” - -He smiled and held up his finger in imitation of the way she had rebuked -him for talking too loud. - -“H'sh; I am anxious to hear the Signora Gabrielli,” he said, and the -express on that he made his face assume at that moment would -have convinced anyone that he was giving all his attention to the -singing--drinking in every note with the earnestness of an enthusiast. -There was a certain boyish exaggeration in his expression that was very -amusing to Fanny, though less observing persons would have been ready -to accept it as evidence of the generous appreciation on the part of one -great singer of the success of another. - -So he remained until the _cavatina_ had come to an end; and then he was -loudest in his cry of “Brava!” - -“It is a treat--a great--a sacred treat,” said he, turning to Fanny. “I -do not think I ever heard that song before. Has it a name, I wonder?” - -“If I mistake not it is from an opera in which a certain Roman tenore -made a name for himself last year, in happy conjunction with Madame -Gabrielli,” said Fanny. - -“Is it possible? I had not heard of that circumstance,” said he, with a -look of the most charming innocence in his large eyes. It was his hands -that were most expressive, however, as he added: - -“But it was last year, you say, mademoiselle? Ah, who is it that -remembers an opera from one year to another? No one, except the -_impresario_ who has lost his good money, or somebody's else's money, -over its production. Enough, the _cantatrice_ has given us of her best, -and is there now any reason why we should remain dumb? The great charm -of the singing of these brilliant artistes of last year's operas is that -when they have sung, they have sung--they leave one nothing to think -about afterward. Is not that so, mademoiselle?” - -“They leave one nothing to think about--except their singing,” said -Fanny. “For myself, I am still thinking of 'Waft her, angels,' although -nearly half an hour must have passed since I heard the last notes. And -it seems to me that when half a century will have passed I shall still -be thinking of it.” - -He did not offer her the conventional acknowledgement of a bow. He -only looked at her with those large eyes of his; they were capable of -expressing in a single glance all the tenderness of feeling of a poem. - -“I have not sung in vain,” he said in a low tone. “My old _maestro_ gave -me the advice one day when I was proving to him my success in reaching -the high note which I had been striving for years to bring into my -compass: 'That is all very well,' he said. 'You have aimed at touching -that rare note, now your aim must be to touch the heart of everyone who -hears you sing.' I sometimes think that he set for me too difficult a -task.” - -“Not too difficult--for you,” said she. - -“There are dangers,” he said thoughtfully. “I have known singers who -tried to reach the hearts of their hearers by tricks--yes, and they -succeeded through these illegitimate means in making themselves popular, -while far better singers who had a scorn of such tricks and gave their -best to all who listened to them, failed to please anyone who had not a -knowledge of the true boundary of music.” - -“I have seen these tricksters, too,” said Fanny. “I have witnessed their -sentimental grimaces--their head shakings--their appeal to the feelings -with pathetic eyes turned heavenward. They made me ashamed of -them--ashamed of myself for listening to them, though people about me -had been moved to tears. But I think that the people who are easily -moved to tears are those who retain an impression the shortest space of -time.” - -“You give me confidence--encouragement,” he cried. “I have made up my -mind that if I cannot reach a heart by the straight King's highway, I -will not try to do so by any bypath. Bypaths are, we know, the resorts -of brigands: they may captivate a heart or two, but only to leave them -empty afterwards.” - -So they talked together for many minutes. Faney Burney had a sufficient -acquaintance among musicians, vocal as well as instrumental, to have -learned, long ago, that they can easily be prevented from talking on any -other subject than music, and the same reflection that had caused her -to say that “Not yet--not yet,” had impelled her to lead Rauzzini in -another direction than that in which he had shown so strong a tendency -to go. He had been trying to make her understand that he had travelled -through the obstructions of the hall not in order that he might obtain -the criticism of so accomplished a _maestro_ as Dr. Burney upon his -singing, but in order that he should have a chance of talking to Dr. -Burney's unaccomplished daughter; he had shown her that his wish was to -converse on the topic of this unaccomplished daughter; but she had no -mind to acquiesce in his aims for the present. She still felt herself to -be the beggar maid, and she would not allow her king to get any nearer -to her. - -It was not until her cousin had returned to where she was seated, that -the young Italian found that he had not made much progress with his -suit. He had intended that this _tête-à-tête_ with her should make -her aware of how he felt in regard to her, but he had allowed his -opportunity to pass, and in place of talking about her he had been led -to talk of himself. - -That was how he expressed himself to her when he found that their -_tête-à-tête_ was at an end. - -“How has this come about?” he cried in surprise. “How is it that I have -shown myself to be so vain as to make speeches about my singing when I -meant to talk to you of yourself?” - -“'Twas I who found a more profitable topic for you, _signore mio_,” she -replied, feeling her way through the words of his native tongue, for he -had spoken out his surprise in Italian. - -He shook his head and made a gesture with his hands. - -“But it is a mystery!” he said in French. “I had no desire to talk about -myself or my singing. I meant to tell you what was in my mind when I saw -you entering this place with your father. Shall we retrace our steps in -our conversation until I find how it was that I took a wrong turning? -Alas! I fear that it would not be possible!” - -“It would not be possible, indeed,” she replied. “Did you not say -something about the bypaths being dangerous with banditti? We kept -our feet upon the King's highway, which is safe. I was swept off my -feet--carried away--away--by your singing of the aria; I had scarce -touched the earth once more when you came to my side, and now we are -parting happily, you to realize your aspirations, I to--to--well, -to retain for ever the memory of your singing--the memory of those -celestial harmonies into the midst of which I was wafted by the angels -of your imploration. That is enough for one evening of my life. Nay, you -must not speak another word lest the charm of all should fade away. I -shall go home to dream of angels.” - -“And I shall go to dream of you,” he said in a low tone. - -He did not hold her hand so long as Thomas Barlowe had done when parting -from her, but she felt that somehow he had accomplished more by his -reserve than Thomas had achieved by his impetuosity. She hoped that she -might never see Thomas again; but for Signor Rauzzini---- - -They parted. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -|THESE foreigners!” exclaimed young Edward Burney when Rauzzini had left -them, and Fanny was asking her cousin if her father was not looking for -her. “These foreigners! Your father is talking with another of them--an -Italian too, as I live--I have seen him in St. Martin's Street--Signor -Piozzi. But I suppose Uncle Burney likes to keep in touch with them. The -town is swarming with them: they are even to be found about Leicester -Fields. Why do some people fancy that we must have Italians to sing -for us? There are plenty of good singers in England, without a drop of -foreign blood in their veins. A good sea song with a chorus that is easy -to get into the swing of--that's English and honest.” - -“Honest down to the hoarsest note,” said Fanny. “You and James are at -one in the matter of songs.” - -“Cousin Jim hates foreigners, as is quite proper that an officer in a -King's ship should,” said Edward stoutly. - -“Not all foreigners,” said Fanny smiling. “You forget how kindly he took -to Prince Omai.” - -“Oh, a South Sea Islander is different,” cried her cousin. “I expect -that the South Seas will soon become as English as ourselves if Captain -Cook goes on discovering islands.” - -“Edward,” said Fanny, after a pause sufficient to allow of the -introduction of a new topic; “Edward, could you make it convenient to -call at the Orange Coffee House some day soon to inquire if there is -another letter for Mr. Grafton?” - -“I'll not omit it on any account,” he replied. “Oh, yes, Mr. Grafton, -I'll collect your correspondence for you, never fear. You have not let -anyone else into the secret, I hope?” - -“No one knows it except Susy and Lottie and Charles and Hetty; but Hetty -only knows that I wrote the book, not that it is to be printed--Charles -is still away from us, or I would not trouble you, Edward.” - -“Poor Charlie grew tired of the Orange Coffee House, did he not? He told -me how you made him your messenger at first, disguising him in a cloak -and a gentleman's hat, so that he might not seem quite the boy that he -was. But how the secret has been kept so well is a wonder to me--kept -from the powers that be, I mean--uncle and aunt. I wonder if your mother -never had a suspicion of what was going on, especially as she knew all -about your writing long ago.” - -“I think that it was the copying out of the padre's History that saved -me,” said Fanny. “Many a page of my novel I wrote when she believed that -I was copying the notes for the History--yes, that, and the letters -which Mr. Crisp insists on my sending him every week. But even with -these excuses I could sometimes not get through more than three or four -pages of my own book during a whole week.” - -“How will you look when the secret is let out--it must be let out some -day, you know? If the writing a novel is thought shocking, how will -Uncle Burney receive the news, think you? He has not yet given you leave -to publish it.” - -There was a troubled look on poor Fanny's face as she replied, after a -pause: - -“I have often meant to ask father's permission, but I was not able to -summon up courage enough to face him with the whole truth. But it cannot -be delayed much longer. Perhaps I might write him a letter about it some -time when I am at Chessington.” - -“I don't envy you the duty, my dear Fanny,” said lie. “But I think that -the sooner you get it over the easier you will feel. I suppose that -writing a novel is worse than writing a 'History of Music.' I wonder why -you took so much trouble over the business.” - -“I could not help it,” she cried. “I have often wondered myself why I -was sitting up in that cold room at the top of the house, writing until -my fingers were benumbed, when I might have been at my comfortable -sewing in front of a fire downstairs; but I could not help it--I could -not help doing it, Eddy.” - -Eddy never reached that point in his career as a painter when he found -the artist's impulse to create too great to be resisted. He could not -appreciate her explanation. - -“'I couldn't help it,' that's what we were used to say long ago, when -we got into mischief; I hope that Uncle Burney and Aunt Burney--don't -forget her in this matter--I hope that they will accept your excuse. -Anyhow, you may trust me to act as your 'Mr. Grafton' at the Orange -Coffee House some day this week.” - -He caught a glimpse of his uncle, Dr. Burney, sitting with Mr. Greville, -so that he had no trouble in placing Fanny once more in charge of her -father. He could see that the girl was a little downcast, and tried to -cheer her up a bit by whispering in a sly way into her ear: - -“Good-night, Mr. Grafton; my best respects to Mrs. Grafton and the -children--especially Evelina.” - -The smile that Fanny gave in acknowledgment of his pleasantry did not -quite carry conviction that his well-meant effort had been successful. -He went away feeling as much sympathy for her as was possible for him -to have in common with the reflection that if she was in a difficult -position, it was wholly one of her own seeking. What could have induced -a girl who had been carefully brought up, and provided with an excellent -stepmother, to write a novel, placing herself thereby on a level -with those dreadful ladies whose productions were prohibited in every -self-respecting household and only read by stealth when obtained at -a cost of twopence--more than the best of them were worth--at the -circulating library? - -Yes, poor Fanny was undoubtedly to be pitied; but she had really only -herself to blame for the trouble that was looming in front of her when -the secret of her authorship should be revealed to her father and her -excellent stepmother--one of the best judges to be found anywhere of all -sorts of needlework--not merely plain sewing and buttonholing, but satin -stitch, herring-boning and running and felling. - -The very next day Cousin Edward called at St. Martin's Street, carrying -with him a small parcel neatly done up in white paper. He was lucky -enough to find Fanny and Susan alone in the work-room; and after asking -mysteriously if there was any chance of his uncle or aunt coming -upon them, and being assured that they were both away for the day, he -carefully locked the door of the room, saying in the whisper of a man of -plots and mysteries: - -“'Tis better to be sure than sorry. In matters of this nature 'tis -impossible to be too cautious.” - -He then handed the parcel to Fanny, who gave an exclamation when she saw -that it was addressed: - -“_To Mr. Grafton, at the Orange Coffee House, Orange Street_.” - -She opened the parcel, and found it to contain a printer's unbound copy -of a book, the title page of which stared up at her: “_Evelina; or, A -Young Lady's Entrance into the World_,” and with it was a letter from -Mr. Lowndes, the bookseller, presenting his compliments to Mr. Grafton, -with the request that Mr. Grafton would read the book and prove it as -soon as possible, returning the list of errata to Mr. Lowndes, so that -the edition might go to press for early publication. - -There it lay on the table in front of her. She read the letter standing, -and remained on her feet, looking down at the unbound book. It had a -queer, half-dressed appearance, lacking covers; and when, after some -minutes of silence, Susy took a step or two closer to it, and, with her -hand on Fanny's arm, looked down on it also, the picture that they made -suggested two sisters looking into the cradle where the first baby of -one of them lay. The expression on Susy's face--a mingling of wonder and -curiosity, with delight not far off--was exactly that which the younger -sister of the picture might be expected to wear, catching a glimpse of -the undressed morsel of humanity in its first cot. - -Susy put her hand down to it, and moved the printed sheets about. She -read the title page down to the last name on the imprint, and then she -flung up her hands, crying: - -“How lovely! how lovely! But it seems wonderful! How did it come into -being? It looks like a real thing now that we see it printed. The copy -that you wrote out in that disguised hand seemed somehow quite different -from this. There is life in this. It feels warm, actually warm, Fanny. -Oh, don't you love it, dear?” - -Fanny, the young mother, shook her head, but with no significance, so -far as Susy could see. - -“'Tis too late now,” said Edward gloomily, taking on himself the burden -of interpreting that head-shake. “You are bound down to go on with it -now. You should have thought of all this before.” - -“What nonsense is this you are talking?” cried Susy, turning upon -him almost indignantly; for his tone suggested an aspersion upon the -offspring. “What do you say is too late now? Do you mean to say that -there's anything to be ashamed of in this? Cannot you see that she did -not put her name to it? Who is there to know that it came from this -house? The name of Burney nowhere appears on it.” - -“That's so much, at any rate,” said he. - -“Do you mean to say that you don't think it quite wonderful, Eddy?” - cried Susy. “And getting twenty pounds for it--twenty pounds! And you -say something about it being too late!” - -“I only judged from the way Fanny shook her head,” said he. - -“Oh, that was not what Fanny was thinking at all--now was it, Fanny?” - said Susy encouragingly to her sister. - -“I don't know quite what I meant or what I mean even now,” replied -Fanny. “It made me feel for the moment somehow as if I had appeared in a -street full of people before I had quite finished dressing!” - -“Ah!” exclaimed Edward. - -“But that is nonsense, dear,” said Susy, still consolatory. “The book is -not yourself.” - -“Not all myself, but part of myself--that is what I feel,” said Fanny. - -“I cannot see that that is so. You are you--you yourself quite apart -from the book. Whatever the book may be, you will still remain Fanny -Burney, the best daughter and the best sister in the world. What does it -matter if people--foolish people who know nothing about it--laugh at it -or say nasty things about it? Do you think that that will make any of us -like you the less?” - -She put her arm about Fanny and kissed her on the cheek, and Fanny's -tears began to fall. The young man standing by felt more uneasy than -he had ever felt in his life. He crossed the room and looked out of the -window, turning his back upon the scene of the sisters. He did not know -what to say to a girl when once she allowed herself to weep. He wished -with all his heart that he had not been dragged into this business. But -Fanny's tears convinced him that his first impression of her reception -of her book was the correct one: she was, like other young mothers he -had heard of, bitterly repentant when it was too late. - -The next sound of which he became aware was of the crinkling of the -stiff paper of the wrapper. One of the girls was folding up the parcel. -He glanced round and saw that it was Fanny herself who was so engaged. -She had dried her tears; the expression on her face was one of -resignation--one of determination to make the best of a bad matter. - -“Ah, that's better,” said he, going to her and picking up the string -from the floor. “There's no use crying over spilt milk, is there, Fanny? -We have all kept your secret loyally, and no one need ever know that -you so far forgot yourself. Certainly the revelation will never come -from my lips.” - -Fanny burst out laughing. - -“Oh, dear Eddy, you are the best cousin that any poor girl could have,” - she said. “Your words have helped me greatly. They have helped to make -me feel what is the aspect of the world in regard to my poor little -story. It has been my constant companion night and day for three years -and more. I worked at it in the cold and I tried how I could improve -pages of it, copying it and recopying it; I practised a duplicity which -was foreign to my nature in writing it--I have deceived my father and my -mother about it--I wasted my eyesight over it--I robbed myself of sleep -so that I might complete it, and when it was completed I lay awake in -anxiety lest no bookseller would look at it, all this trouble I had with -it, so that the world might have of my best, and what is the verdict of -the world after all this? You have pronounced it, dear Eddy--you said -thoughtfully and consolingly--'There's no use crying over spilt milk.' -You are quite right. Not another tear will I shed over this poor little -bantling of mine. 'A Young Lady's Entrance into the World'? Nay, call it -rather a rickety brat that should never have made its entrance into the -world at all.” - -“I should be ashamed of myself if I ever spoke of it in such terms,” - cried Susy, looking indignantly at her cousin as though he had abused -it in that phrase. “'Rickety brat,' indeed! Oh, I should be ashamed. It -looked so much alive--more alive, I think, than if it was in its covers. -Let us sit down and read it together, Fanny.” - -Cousin Edward felt that he was being badly treated between these -sisters. That last remark of Susy was rather more than a suggestion -that he might go as soon as it pleased him. He had not any previous -experience of young women and their offspring. He could not know -that their attitude in such circumstances is one of hostility to the -male--that they resent his appearance as an intrusion. - -“I am glad that you are so pleased,” said he, with only a trace of -irritability in his voice. “And I am glad that I have been of any use to -you, Cousin Fanny. After all, the thing is yours, not Susy's.” - -“That is true, indeed,” cried Fanny. “And it is I who offer you -my gratitude for your help. Believe me, Eddy, I am sensible of the -adroitness you have shown in this matter ever since we let you into our -secret; and if any trouble comes from what we have done you may be quite -sure that I will accept the entire responsibility for it.” - -“Oh, so far as that goes, I do not shrink from taking my share,” said -he magnanimously. “I do not feel quite without blame--I am a man and -I should have warned you at the outset. But you had nearly finished it -before I heard anything of it--you must not forget that.” - -“That is true indeed,” said Fanny. “I was self-willed. I wonder was it -vanity that impelled me. Never mind! It cannot be helped now. It may -never be heard of again.” - -“There's always that to remember,” said he, with the eagerness of a -drowning man grasping at a straw. - -“And I believe that the chances are greatly in favour of that hope being -realized. Thank you again for your encouragement, dear Eddy,” said she. - -“Oh, that's nothing--nothing worth talking about,” said he, picking up -his gloves. “You can command me always, Cousin Fanny. And you have seen -that I can keep a secret. Now mind you don't leave that lying about”--he -pointed to the parcel, the string of which Susy was knotting--“and, be -advised by me, turn the key in the lock when you are working at it.” - -“Yes,” said Susy, “we'll be sure to do our best to prevent anyone from -suspecting that we have a secret, by locking ourselves in.” - -“Caution--nothing like caution,” said he in a whisper, unfastening the -door and putting his head out to glance to right and left of the short -corridor. He held up his finger. “All safe so far,” he whispered; “no -one is in sight.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -|THE moment he disappeared, Susy slipped the knot which she had just -made on the parcel and flung the paper away. - -“Now we can settle down to it properly, Fanny,” she cried, catching -up the bundle of unstitched sheets and throwing herself back upon the -little sofa. “Come beside me, dear, and we shall go through every word -together. Never mind what Eddy said; I think it looks quite lovely, and -how easily it reads--just like poetry--'Evelina'!--how did you think of -that sweet name?--'_or, A Young Lady's Entrance into the World_.' Not -a mistake so far. The printers must surely be careful men! And now that -you come to think of it, this is really the entrance of the Young Lady -into the world. Here she is, smiling, but a little shy--just like her -mamma--your Evelina takes after you, dear--now, confess that there is -something agreeably shy in the italics printing of that line beginning -with '_A Young Lady's Entrance_,' Fanny; it may be wrong to write a -novel, but don't you think that this is worth it? Edward is a goose -to talk as he did about crying over spilt milk. I wonder that you had -patience to listen to him.” - -“Eddy is a dear boy, and he only said what he knew nearly everybody else -would be disposed to say about this business. I started the story, as -you know, half in fun--by way of exercising my hand--but then it got -hold of me, and it became deadly earnest, and now--oh, Susy, what I feel -now about it is just what I said to Edward: it seems as if it were the -best part of myself that I am giving to the world. I wonder if it is -right for anyone who has written a book, if it be only a novel, to look -upon it in that light.” - -“Why should it not be right? Didn't you put all your thoughts into it, -and are not one's thoughts part of oneself?” said Susy. “And although so -many people look down upon novels--all the novels that have been written -since Mr. Richardson died--still--oh, did not Dr. Johnson once write -a novel? Yes, 'Rasselas' was what he called it. I tried to read it -but----” - -“H'sh, Susy. Dr. Johnson might write anything that he pleased. Though -Dr. Johnson wrote a novel, that should be no excuse for such as I having -the audacity to do the like.” - -“I suppose that's what some people will say. But I can't see that if a -good man does an evil thing, it becomes a good thing simply because he -does it.” - -“Stop, Susy: I remember that he confessed to someone, who told it to Mr. -Crisp, that he had written 'Rasselas' in order to get money enough to -pay for his mother's funeral.” - -“Oh, in that case--might he not have written something a good deal -better, Fanny? Oh, I see that you are stricken with horror at my -thinking anything that came from Dr. Johnson to be dull. I daresay I -began reading it too soon: I should have waited until I had learned that -if a great man writes a book it is a great book, but that if a simple -girl writes a novel--well, there's no use crying over spilt milk. Now -that's the last word that I have to say, for I mean to read every word -that's printed here--here--here!” She brought down her open hand on the -topmost sheets of “Evelina” in three crescendo slaps, and then tucked -her feet under her and buried herself in the book. - -Fanny sat laughing beside her; and when Susy paid no attention to her -laughter, she continued sitting there in silence, while Susy read page -after page. - -Several minutes had passed before the authoress asked: - -“How does the thing read, dear?” - -Susy gave a start at the sound of her voice and looked around her as if -she had just been awakened. This should have been enough for Fanny. She -should not have repeated her question: it was already answered. - -“How does the thing read, Susy?” - -“How does it read?” cried Susy. “Oh, Fanny, it reads exactly like a -book--exactly. There is no difference between this and a real book. Oh, -'tis a thousand times nicer to read in print than it was as you wrote -it. It is so good, too!--the best story I ever read! I can't understand -how you ever came to write it. You who have seen nothing of life--how -did such a story ever come to you?” - -“I wish I knew,” replied Fanny. “And do you think that anyone else will -read it now that it is printed?” she asked (she was rapidly acquiring -the most prominent traits of the complete novel writer). - -“Anyone else? Nay, everyone--everyone will read it, and everyone will -love it. How could anyone help--even daddy and mamma? Now please don't -interrupt me again.” - -Down went Susy's face once more among the printed sheets, and Fanny -watched her with delight. She had been quite ready a short time before -to accept the verdict of Cousin Edward as equivalent to that of the -public upon her book; and now she was prepared to accept Susy as the -representative of all readers of taste and discrimination. - -“Edward--psha! What could he know about it?” she was ready to exclaim: -every moment was bringing her nearer to the complete novelist. - -“Surely,” she thought, “there can be no dearer pleasure in life than to -watch the effect of one's own book upon an appreciative reader!” - -(The appreciative reader is always the one who is favourably impressed; -the other sort knows nothing about what constitutes an interesting -book.) - -It was the first draught of which she had ever partaken of this -particular cup of happiness, and it was a bombard. She was draining it -to the very dregs: it was making her intoxicated, even though it was -only offered to her by her younger sister, who had never read half a -dozen novels in all her life, and these surreptitiously. She could know -by the varying changes in expression on Susy's face what place she had -come to in the book: the turning over of the pages was no guide to her, -for she had no idea of the quantity of her writing the printers had -put into a page, but she had no trouble in finding Susy's place, so -exquisitely reflective was the girl's face of the incidents among which -she was wandering. Surely little Susy had always been her favourite -sister (she was smiling at one of the drolleries of characterization -upon which she had come); oh, there could be no doubt that she had -never loved any of her sisters as she loved Susy (Susy's eyes were -now becoming watery, and Fanny knew that she had-reached the first of -Evelina's troubles). - -It was the happiest hour of Fanny's life, and she gave herself up to -it. She did not feel any irresistible desire to judge for herself if the -opinion expressed by Susy respecting the story was correct or otherwise. -She had no impulse to see how her ideas “looked in print.” She was -content to observe the impression they were making upon her first lay -reader. She had a vague suspicion that her own pleasure in reading -the book would be infinitely less than the pleasure she derived from -following the course of the story in her sister's face. - -Half an hour had actually passed before Susy seemed to awaken to the -realities of life. She jumped up from the sofa with an exclamation of -surprise, and then glanced down at Fanny with an inquiring look on her -face--a puzzled look that gave the seal to Fanny's happiness. - -“You are wondering how I come to be here, Susy,” said she smiling. “You -are wondering how I come to be mixed up with the Branghtons and -the Mervains and the rest of them. You would make me out to be an -enchantress carrying you into the midst of a strange society; and I -don't want any more delightful compliments, dear.” - -“Oh, Fanny, 'tis so wonderful--so----” - -“I don't want to hear anything about it beyond what you have already -told me, my dear Susy. I watched your face and it told me all. Give me -a kiss, Susy. You have given me a sensation of pleasure such as I never -knew before, and such as, I fear, I shall never know again.” - -In an instant the two girls were in each other's arms, mingling their -tears and then their laughter, but exchanging no word until they had -exhausted every other means of expressing what they felt. - -It was Susy who spoke first. - -“Take it away, Fanny,” she said. “Take the book away, for I know that if -I read any more of it I shall betray your secret to all the house. They -will read it on my face every time I look at you.” - -“I think that the hour has come for me to relieve you of the precious -book,” said Fanny. “There is the letter from Mr. Lowndes asking me to -make out the list of errata as quickly as possible, and I do believe -that I shall have to read the book before I can oblige him.” - -“'Twas thoughtless for me to jump into the middle as I did, when you had -to read it,” cried Susy. “But there is really no mistake on any page, so -far as I could see.” - -“Unless the whole is a mistake,” said Fanny. “But I will not suggest that -now, having seen your face while you were devouring it. Dear Susy, if I -find many such readers I shall be happy.” - -She gathered together the loose sheets and carried them off to the -little room at the top of the house where it was understood she wrote -her long weekly letter to Mr. Crisp, who had made himself a hermit -at Chessington, but who, like some other hermits, looked forward -with impatience to the delightful glimpses of the world which he had -forsaken, afforded to him on every page written by her. - -Susy did not see her again until dinner-time, and by that time the -younger girl felt that she had herself under such complete control -that she could preserve inviolate the secret of the authorship until it -should cease to be a secret. The result of her rigid control of herself -was that her brother James said to her when they were having tea in the -drawing-room: - -“What was the matter with you at dinner, Sue? You looked as if you were -aware that something had happened and you were fearful lest it might be -found out. Have you broken a china ornament, or has the cat been turning -over the leaves of the 'History of Music' with her claws, and left her -signature on the morocco of the cover?” - -“What nonsense!” cried Susan. “Nothing has happened. What was there to -happen, prithee tell me?” - -“Ah, that is beyond my power,” he replied. “I suppose you girls will -have your secrets--ay, ay; until some day you reveal them to another -girl with the strictest of cautions never to let the matter go beyond -her--and so forth--and so forth. Never mind, I'll not be the one to -tempt you to blab. I never yet had a secret told to me that was worth -wasting words over.” - -“If I had a secret of importance I think that you would be a safe person -to tell it to,” said Susy. - -“You are right there,” he assented with a nautical wink. “You could find -in me the safest depository you could wish for; you might safely depend -upon my forgetting all about it within the hour.” - -He did not trouble her any further, but she felt somewhat humiliated -to think that she had had so little control of herself as to cause her -brother's suspicions to be aroused. She thought that it would only be a -matter of minutes when her father or her stepmother would approach her -with further questions. Happily, however, it seemed that James was the -keenest observer in the household, for no one put a question to her -respecting her tell-tale face. - -Still she was glad when she found herself safely and snugly in bed and -so in a position to whisper across the room to her sister Charlotte -the news that Fanny's novel had been printed and that a copy was safely -locked up in Fanny's desk, and that it looked lovely in its new form. - -Charlotte was greatly excited, but thought that Fanny might have told -her the news before dinner. - -“Poor Fanny! she will have to tell the Padre to-morrow and ask his leave -to--to do what she has already done without it. Poor Fanny!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -|A FEW days later Dr. Burney was at the point of setting out for -Chessington to share Mr. Crisp's hermitage until the end of the week. He -had already said good-bye to the household; but Fanny accompanied him to -the door. It was her last chance, she knew. She had long ago made up her -mind that one of her secrets must be told to him, and she had more than -once, since the printed sheets had been brought to her, tried to -screw up her courage to the point of telling him, but she had not yet -succeeded. And now he was going to Chessington for four days, and in -the meantime the book should be returned to the printer. It was the last -chance she would have of discharging the duty which was incumbent on -her. She had been hovering around him in the hall, shaking out his -gloves for him, polishing the gold knob of his cane, picking a scrap of -dust from the collar of his travelling-cloak. In another minute he would -be gone--her opportunity would be gone. - -And then came the relieving thought of further procrastination: - -“I shall write to him at Chessington and confess all.” - -It seemed as though she had uttered her thought aloud, for he turned to -her with his hand on the latch of the hall door, saying: - -“You will write to Chessington to-morrow or the day after, my dear. It -is no trouble to you to write. You enjoy it, do you not?” - -“Oh, it is my chief enjoyment. That is why I have been practising it -so much, just as the others have been practising their music. I have no -music in my soul, so I--I have been writing. Of course, it is not to be -expected that I could do more than write some nonsense--my equivalent to -the strumming of the scales.” - -“It pleases me greatly to hear that,” said he. “But you do yourself an -injustice; Mr. Crisp never ceases to praise your letters.” - -“He is praising his own pupil then,” said she, “for 'twas he who first -taught me how to write, and now I have been putting together some -imaginary letters, and I thought that if he could see them printed in -front of him he would be amused.” - -“Imaginary letters? Why not continue your real ones, my dear? It would -cost a great deal to have your imaginary ones printed.” - -“My dear father,” she cried, “you surely do not think that I would ask -you for money to pay for my whim? But if I could prevail on someone--a -bookseller--to print what I write, I hope you will consent to my doing -so--not putting my name to the thing, of course?” - -“And does my Fanny believe that 'tis all so easy to persuade a -bookseller to pay her printer's bill?” he said, pinching her ear. -“Booksellers are shrewd men of business.” - -“But even men of business have their weak moments,” said she. “And -so if--if--you would not think it too bold of me to let James take my -parcel to a bookseller? You would not forbid me to try to realize my -ambition?” - -“You may be sure that the one to frustrate your aims will not be your -father,” said he, smiling shrewdly. “I will consent if--ah, there is -the fatal if--if your bookseller consents. Now goodbye, my dear child. -I will take your love to your Daddy Crisp, and tell him to await a real -letter from you--not an imaginary one.” - -She stood on tiptoe to kiss him--but even then he had to stoop before -his lips were on her forehead. - -He was gone in another moment. She stood at the inner side of the closed -door and listened to the rattling of the wheels of the chaise over the -cobble-stones. - -So the ordeal that she dreaded had been faced, and how simple a thing it -had turned out after all! Her father had treated the idea which she -had submitted to him as if it were nothing beyond the thought of a -simpleton--a foolish, simple girl who knew nothing of the world of -business and booksellers, and who fancied that a bookseller would print -everything that was sent to him. - -He had delivered that contingent “if” with the shake of the head and the -shrewd smile of one who is acquainted with the seamy side of -business, in the presence of a child who fancies that printing follows -automatically upon the writing of a book and that there are thousands -of buyers eagerly awaiting the chance of securing everything that passes -through a printing-press. She had perceived just what was in his mind; -and his consent, followed by that contingent “if,” to her publishing -what she had written, was given to her with the same freedom that would -have accompanied his permission to appropriate all the gold used in -paving the streets of the City. She could see from the way he smiled -that he felt that she knew as little about the conditions under which -books are printed as a child does about the paving of the streets of the -City. - -She knew that he would never again refer to the subject of those -imaginary letters of hers--he would be too considerate of her feelings -to do so; he would have no desire to humiliate her. He would not even -rally her in a playful way about her literary work, asking her how the -printing was progressing, and if she had made up her mind to start a -coach as grand as that magnificent piece of carved and gilded furniture -which Sir Joshua had just had built for himself--oh, no: her father -had always respected her sensibility. Years ago, when her brothers and -sisters were making their light jests upon her backwardness, he had -stopped them and said that he had no fears for the future of Fanny; and -she was certain that in referring to her, as he so frequently did, as -“poor Fanny,” he meant nothing but kindness to her. To be sure, at -first it grated upon her sensitiveness to be referred to in that kindly -pitying way, but she did not resent it--indeed, she usually thought of -herself as “poor Fanny.” In a household where proficiency in music was -the standard from which every member was judged, it was inevitable that -her incompetence should be impressed upon her; but no one was hard upon -her--the kindly “poor Fanny” of her father represented the attitude -of the household toward her, even when she had confided to some of the -members the fact that she was writing a novel. They had been startled; -but, then, a novel was not a musical composition, and such an -achievement could not be received with the warmth that Esther's playing -received. It was really not until the printed sheets of the book lay -before Susy that she felt that Fanny had, in one leap, brought herself -well-nigh to the level of Esther; and by the time Susy had read the -story to the end she had made up her mind that if it might be possible -to compare the interest of a literary work with that of the playing of -a piece of music, Fanny's work could claim precedence over the best that -Esther had done--she had confessed as much to Fanny in secret, and Fanny -had called her a foolish child. - -Fanny had seated herself in the parlour opening off the little hall, on -the departure of her father, and her memory took her back to the days -she had passed in the house at Poland Street, when she had written her -story of Caroline Evelyn, and had been induced by her stepmother to burn -it, with sundry dramas and literary moralizings after the manner of the -_Tatler_--all the work of her early youth. She recalled her resolution -never again to engage in any such unprofitable practices as were -represented by the smoke which was ascending from the funeral pyre of -her “Caroline Evelyn” and the rest. - -How long had she kept to her resolution? She could not remember. She -could not recall having any sense of guilt when she had begun her -“Evelina”--it seemed to have sprung from the ashes of “Caroline -Evelyn”--nor could she recollect what had been on her mind when she was -spending those long chilly hours of her restricted leisure toiling over -the book. All that she could remember now was her feeling that it had -to be written--that it seemed as if someone in authority had laid on her -the injunction to write it, and she had no choice but to obey. - -Well, she had obeyed--the book had been written and printed and she -meant to send the corrected sheets back to Mr. Lowndes in the course of -the day. Her father's consent to its publication had been obtained and -it would be advertised for sale within some months, and then---- - -Her imagination was not equal to the pursuit of the question of its -future. Sometimes she felt that she never wished to hear of the book -again. She could almost hope that sending the sheets back to Mr. Lowndes -would be the same as dropping them, with a heavy stone in the parcel, -into the deep sea. - -But that was when the trouble of getting her father's permission -to publish it was looming before her. Now that this cloud had been -dispelled she felt less gloomy. She had a roseate dream of hearing -people talk about the book and even wishing to know the name of the -author. She had a dream of Fame herself carrying her away to sublime -heights--to such heights as she had been borne by the singing of “Waft -her, Angels.” Her dream was of sitting on these heights of Fame by the -side of the singer--on the same level--not inferior in the eyes of the -world--not as the beggar maid uplifted in her rags to the side of the -King. - -That had been her dream when listening to the singing, and it returned -to her now, as she sat alone in the little parlour, having just taken -the last step that was necessary before giving to the world the book -which was to do so much for her. Her visions of success showed her no -more entrancing a prospect than that of being by his side with her fame -as a dowry worthy of his acceptance at her hands; so that people might -not say that he had chosen unworthily--he, who had all the world to -choose from. - -And quite naturally there came to her in due sequence the marvellous -thought that he had already chosen her out of all the world--he -had chosen her, believing her to be the dowerless daughter of a -music-teacher--the one uninteresting member of a popular family! - -This was the most delightful thought of the whole train that came -to her. It was worth cherishing above all the rest--close to her -heart--close to her heart. She hugged that thought so close to her that -it became warm with the warmth of her heart. Even though her book should -never be heard of again, even though the world might treat it with -contempt, she would still be consoled by the reflection that he had -chosen her. - -***** - -“Why on earth should you be sitting here in the cold, Fanny?” came the -voice from the opened door--the voice of firm domestic virtue. - -“Cold? cold? Surely 'Tis not cold, mamma,” she said. - -“Not so very cold; but when there is a fire in the work-room it should -not be wasted,” said Mrs. Burney. “But to say the truth you do not look -as if you were cold; your face is quite flushed, child. I hope you do -not feel that you are on the brink of a sickness, my dear.” - -“Dear mamma, I never felt stronger in my life,” cried Fanny with a -laugh. - -“I am glad to hear that. I was saying to Lottie just now that for some -days past you have had alternately a worried look and the look of one -whose brain is over-excited. Is anything the matter, my child?” - -“Nothing--nothing--indeed nothing! I never felt more at ease in all my -life.” - -“Well, well, a little exercise will do you no harm, I am sure; so put on -your hat and accompany me to the fishmonger's. He has not been treating -us at all fairly of late. It is not that I mind the remark made quite -respectfully by James at dinner yesterday--it would be ridiculous to -expect to find fish as fresh in the centre of London as he and his -shipmates were accustomed to in the middle of the Pacific Ocean; but it -would not be unreasonable for us to look for turbot with less of a taint -than that we had yesterday. You will hear the man excuse himself -by asserting that I chose the fish at his stall; but my answer to -that--well, come with me and you shall hear what is my answer.” - -Fanny went with her and heard. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -|THE faithful Cousin Edward had carried the sheets of “Evelina” to Mr. -Lowndes's shop, with her list of errata, sisters Lottie and Susy -giving him ample instructions as to the disguise he should assume in -discharging that duty; it would be terrible, they thought, if the secret -which they had so carefully guarded for so long should be revealed just -when it was most important that it should be kept. Their imagination -was keen enough to suggest to them the possibility of good Mr. -Lowdnes setting a watch upon the people entering his shop, and giving -instructions that the bearer of the parcel of “Evelina” should be -detained and brought into his presence to be questioned. - -They advised that Edward should muffle up his face well before going -into the shop, and then lay down his parcel and fly like the wind--that -would be the best way of defeating the curiosity of the bookseller. - -But Edward was of the opinion that such a course of action might -possibly only stimulate the man's curiosity as well as that of the -people in the street, and the cry of “Stop thief!” might bring his -frantic flight to a standstill. He thought that the most artful course -to adopt would be to hang around the shop until he found that several -customers were within; then he would enter quite casually and wait until -Mr. Lowndes had served one customer and was about to attend to another. -If the parcel were thrust into his hands during this interval, he, -Edward, would have a good chance of getting safely away before Mr. -Lowndes should have time to examine its contents. - -They were rather struck with his idea, and he got permission to put it -into practice; but in any case he must take the greatest care of the -parcel; valuable parcels were snatched out of people's hands every day. - -He smiled. - -In another hour he was back at the house in St. Martin's Street to -report to them the safe delivery of the precious parcel. After all, he -had had nothing more exciting to do than to place it on a counter--the -elderly gentleman with a pen behind his ear had not even taken the -trouble to rise from his stool to receive it. - -“Parcel for Mr. Lowndes? All right. Leave it there”--those were the -exact words with which the parcel was received, Edward reported--the -clerk was buried in his ledger before he had left the shop. - -The girls were not a little disappointed at this very tame conclusion of -what they expected would have been an exciting episode; and to say the -truth, their chagrin was shared by Cousin Edward. - -He had looked for his resources of artfulness to be drawn on in the -transaction--perhaps even his physical qualifications for the defence of -the sacred secret as well. He felt as a strong man might feel on going -forth to meet a giant, to find himself confronted by a dwarf. The -mission was unworthy of his powers. Fanny's thanks heartily given to -him, with the repeated assurance that, but for him, the affair could -never have been carried out, scarcely compensated him for the tameness -of the affair. - -For the next month or two it was a busy household in St. Martin's -Street. Lieutenant Burney was joining his ship for another long voyage, -and he had to be provided with a fresh outfit. The stitching that went -on in the work-room surpassed even that maintained during the months -preceding Esther's marriage; but the labour was lightened upon more -than one occasion by the appearance of Mr. Garrick. Mr. Garrick had the -freedom of the house in St. Martin's Street, as he had had that of the -Poland Street domicile, where he had so often spent hours amusing the -children with his inimitable drolleries. - -But Mrs. Burney thought he went a little too far in taking off their -friends, and even their own father, though his malicious touches were as -light as the pinches of Puck. He had been paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs. -Kendal, and he convulsed even Mrs. Burney by his acting of the scene of -his reception by them, the lady much more coy than she had ever been at -the Wells, and the gentleman overflowing in his attentions to her; but -both of them esteeming him as their benefactor. - -And they were so well satisfied with the honourable estate to which he -had called them, that they appeared to be spending all their time -trying to bring about matches among their acquaintance. No matter how -unsuitable some of the projected unions seemed, no matter how unlikely -some of the people were to do credit to their discrimination, they -seemed determined that none should escape “the blissful bondage”--that -was Mr. Kendal's neat phrase. Mr. Garrick repeated it with a smile that -made his audience fancy that Mr. Kendal was before them. - -“'The blissful bondage--that's what I term it, sir,'” said Mr. Kendal, -through Mr. Garrick. “'But the worst of the matter is, Mr. Garrick, -that we have nearly exhausted our own circle of friends'--'I can easily -believe that, sir,' interposed Mr. Garrick--' and so we feel it our duty -to fall back upon you.' 'Lud, sir,' cried Mr. Garrick, jumping a step or -two back as if to avoid a heavy impact--'Lud, sir! a little man like me! -I should be crushed as flat as a black beetle.' 'Nay, sir, I mean that -we are compelled to ask you for a list of a few of your friends who, -you think, should be brought together--half a dozen of each sex would be -sufficient to begin with.'” - -“Of course I demurred,” said Garrick, telling his story, “but before -'the blissful bondage' had been repeated more than a score of times I -began to think of all against whom I bore a grudge--here was clearly the -means of getting level with them; the only trouble with me was that -I found myself confounding the people who bore me a grudge with those -against whom I bore a grudge--the former are plentiful, the latter very -meagre in number. With the exception of a few very dear animosities -which I was hoarding up to make old age endurable, I have killed off all -my enemies, and was forced, like Mr. Kendal, to fall back on my friends; -but even among these I could find few that I could honestly say -were deserving of such a fate as I was asked to nominate them for. I -ventured, however, to mention the name of Lieutenant Burney, of His -Majesty's Fleet, coupling it with--I could not at first think of an -appropriate partner for James, but at last I hit upon exactly the right -lady.” - -“What! a splice before I set sail next week?” cried Jim. “That's good -news, sir. And the lady's name, if you please, and her address. Give me -my hat, Susy; there is no time to be lost. A splice in a trice. Come, -Mr. Garrick, her name? Cannot you see that I am hanging in stays until -you tell me who she is?” - -“She is a very pleasant lady, sir. I can assure you of that,” said -Garrick. “Not too tall even with her hair built _à la mode_; a pleasant -smile, and a happy way of conversing. In short, Lieutenant Burney, I can -strongly recommend the lady, for I have known her for the past twenty -years and more, and from the first she was a staid, sensible person--the -very partner for a sailor, sir, being so contrary to him in every -point.” - -“Hark'ee, Mr. Garrick; though I don't quite see myself in tow of such a -state barge, I'll trouble you to relieve my suspense by telling me her -name.” - -“I have more than once thought when I was young that she would make me -an excellent wife,” said Garrick; “but I soon perceived that I was not -good enough for her. She has always been an exemplary sister, and I saw -that, try as I might, I could never become her equal in that respect; -and for married happiness, my boy, there is nothing like----” - -“Her name--her name?” shrieked the girls. - -The actor looked at them with pained surprise on every feature. - -“Her name?” he said. “Surely I have described her very badly if you have -not recognized the portrait. But, for that matter, I have often felt how -inadequate are words to describe character combined with grace--a -nature inclined to seriousness in conjunction with a desire to -attract--loftiness of purpose linked with a certain daintiness----” - -He made a few gestures with his hands, keeping his elbows close to his -side, and then imitated the spreading of a capacious skirt preparatory -to sinking in a curtsey, and in a moment there was a cry from every part -of the room of “Miss Reynolds--Miss Reynolds!” - -“And who has a word to say against Miss Reynolds?” cried the actor. - -“No one--no one,” said Fanny. “Character combined with grace--Miss -Reynolds linked with Lieutenant Burney.” - -“She would make a fine sheet anchor for an Admiral of the Blue,” laughed -Jim. “And with your permission, sir, I will postpone my offer until I -have attained that rank.” - -“I have advised Mr. Kendal to hurry things on,” said Garrick gravely. -“For if you have time to spare before making up your mind, the lady -cannot reasonably be thought equally fortunate. 'Lieutenant Burney, your -attitude is not complimentary to the blissful bondage'”--once more it -was Mr. Kendal who was in the room. - -“Call the roll,” said Jim. “Who comes next on your list, Mr. Garrick?” - -“Well, I was thinking of Dr. Johnson with Mrs. Abington,” said Garrick; -“but perhaps you may quibble even at that.” - -The room rang with laughter, for everyone had seen the beautiful actress -whose lead in dress was followed by all the ladies in the fashionable -world who could afford to do so, and a greater number who could not; and -the worsted hose and scorched wig, two sizes too small, of Dr. Johnson -had been gazed at with awe by the Burney family when he visited the -house in St. Martin's Street. - -“Let the banns be published without delay,” cried Jim. “Next pair, -please.” - -“Well, I was thinking of Signor Rauzzini and Mrs. Montagu,” said -Garrick, “but perhaps that would not be approved of by you any more than -the others.” - -“Nay, Mr. Garrick, I will not have our friends made any longer the -subject of your fooling,” said Mrs. Burney. - -Garrick and Jim had the laugh between them, but it seemed that they -alone saw the jest of coupling the lively Roman with the mature leader -of the bluestockings: the girls bent silently over their work. - -“Madam,” said Garrick apologetically, “I ask your pardon for my -imprudence. May I ask which name I am to withdraw? Was my offence the -introduction of the lady's name or the gentleman's? Oh, I can guess. -Those rosy-tinted faces before me--I vow that you will find yourself -going to sea with a chestful of pink shirts, Lieutenant--those sweet -blushing faces reveal the secret more eloquently than any words could -do.” - -Undoubtedly the three girls were blushing very prettily; but at the -mention of the word “secret” two of them gave a little start, but -without looking up. - -“The secret--oh, I have been feeling for some time that I was well to -the leeward of a secret,” cried Jim, “and I'll not start tack or sheet -until I learn what it is.” - -“What, sir; you a sailor and not able to penetrate the secret of a -pretty girl's blushes!” cried Garrick. - -The brother looked at each of his sisters in turn. They continued -stitching away demurely at his shirts. - -“Helm's a-lee,” he said. “Ready about, and off we go on another tack, -for hang me if I see anything of guilt on their faces, bless 'em! Come, -Mr. Garrick, you shall interpret them for me. Let me into the secret -which you say you have read as if it was a book.” - -Susy gave a sharp cry. - -“The needle!” she said. “That is the third time it has pricked me since -morning.” - -“Pay no attention to her, sir,” cried Garrick. “It was a feint on her -part to put us off the scent of the secret.” - -“In heaven's name, then, let us have it,” cried Jim. - -“If you will have it, here it is,” said Garrick. “Your three sisters, -Mr. Burney, are contemplating applying to Mrs. Montagu to be admitted to -the freedom and the livery of the Society of Bluestockings. That is why -they thought it akin to sacrilege for me to introduce the lady's name -into a jest. Their blush was but a reflex of their guilty intention.” - -“Indeed, Mr. Garrick, you go too far sometimes,” said Mrs. Burney. “Mrs. -Montagu is a worthy lady, and our girls respect her too highly to fancy -that they have any qualification to be received into her literary set.” - -“Faith, Madam, I know my duty too well, I hope, to accuse any of the -Miss Burneys of possessing literary qualities,” said Garrick. “But what -I do say is that if such qualities as they possess were to be introduced -into Mrs. Montagu's set, it would quickly become the most popular -drawing-room in town. The idea of thinking that any young woman would go -to the trouble of writing a book when she can reach the heart of mankind -so much more easily by blushing over the breast of a shirt! Continue -stitching and doing your own blushing, dear children, and you will never -give anyone cause to blush for you.” - -He bowed elaborately to each of them in turn and afterward to Mrs. -Burney, and made a most effective exit. He always knew when he should -go, and never failed to leave a few fragrant phrases behind him, as -though he had dropped a bunch of roses for the girls to cherish. - -“Where should we be without Mr. Garrick?” said James, when he had seen -the actor to the door and returned to the work-room. - -“If only he would not go too far in his jesting,” remarked Mrs. Burney, -shaking her head. “Mr. Garrick sometimes forgets himself.” - -“That is how it comes that he is the greatest actor in the world,” said -James. “It is only when a man has learned to forget himself completely -that he causes everyone else to remember him. Now there's the text for a -homily that you can write to your Daddy Crisp, Fanny.” - -“I'll note it, Jim, and if Mr. Crisp breaks off correspondence with me -you shall bear the blame,” said Fanny. - -“Mercy on us!” whispered Susy when she was alone with her sister a -little later. “I never got such a fright as when Mr. Garrick pretended -to read your secret. Thank goodness! he failed to get the least inkling -of it.” - -“Thank goodness, indeed!” whispered Fanny. But she was thinking of quite -a different secret when she spoke. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -|HE was beside her before she was aware of it, in the great music-room -at Lady Hales's house. She had not seen him approach her--she could -not have done so without turning round, for he had approached her from -behind, and slipped into the chair that Esther had vacated in order to -play to the company. Esther's husband, who had been in the seat beyond -her, had been led away some time earlier by Mr. Linley's clever son in -order that he might give an opinion respecting one of the songs in a -piece named _The Duenna_, which was about to be produced at Drury Lane. - -He was beside her and whispering in her ear, though she had not even -known that he was to be present. - -Of course he went through the pantomimic form of inquiring how it was -that she was alone--this was, she knew, for the benefit of anyone who -might be watching them and suspect an assignation. The idea of anyone -seriously fancying that Dr. Burney's daughter would have an assignation -with Signor Rauzzini in such a place and in the midst of such a company! -But Signor Rauzzini came from a land of intrigue, and his experience of -England led him to believe that he had come to another; and so he made -those gestures of inquiry, and she gave him a few words of explanation, -so that no one might suspect! But, for that matter, their chairs were -in the least conspicuous place in the room, and the shadow of the heavy -hangings of a window fell half across them both. - -“And we have not met for months,” said he in French. - -“Nay, have you forgotten our evening at the Pantheon?” she asked. - -“Forgotten it? But that is months ago--ages. And it was all -unfinished--broken off when at its best--mutilated. That hour we had! -Oh, was it a melody suddenly interrupted when it was approaching its -best? Was it a poem snatched away by some ruthless hand just when we had -begun a deathless line?” - -“What I remember best is your singing of 'Waft her.' I am not quite sure -that I have yet returned to the earth from those regions whither I felt -myself wafted. Are you conscious of having any part in _Dido_ into which -you can throw yourself with the same spirit?” - -“_Dido!_ pah! _Dido_ is a paltry playhouse--Maestro Handel's work is a -Sistine Chapel--ah, more--more--a noble cathedral. When other composers -built their garden houses in imitation of Greek temples, he -spent all his time raising cathedrals. His genius is his -own--mighty--overpowering! Every time I approach the great _maestro_ I -feel that I should put off my shoes from my feet. It is holy ground--it -is--ah, mademoiselle, it was you who led me to chatter of myself and my -music when we were last together, and I had no wish to do so; I meant to -talk of yourself alone, but we had parted before I had the chance again. -I have been wondering ever since if such a chance would return--if I -had not thrown it away; and now you have lured me once more toward the -golden net of music; but I have seen it spread: I will not step into it. -I want to talk to you of love--love and you--and--me.” - -He had restrained his voice so that it was no more than a whisper, and -he had chastened his gestures until he seemed rigid. Fanny knew that -even if their chairs had not been far away from the next that were -occupied, his words could reach no ears but her own; but the effort that -he was making to restrain his gestures--oh, was it not more significant -to any observant eye than his most florid action would have been? With -bent head she was conscious of the quivering of the muscles of his -clenched hands--of the tremulous earnestness of his expressive face. -Surely everyone who so much as glanced at him would know what was the -subject of his discourse--and hers--hers--but what should hers be? What -answer was she to make to such a man whispering such a word as love? - -“I am afraid,” she said. “You make me afraid. Is this the place? Is this -the time? Am I the one?” - -“Every place is the place--every time is the time--and you--you are the -only one,” said he, becoming more fervent every moment. “If you and I -were alone--but we are alone--our love isolates us--we are alone in the -splendid isolation of our love. What are these people who are about -us? They are nothing to us--less than nothing, What are the people in -a church to the devout one who enters and keeps his eyes fixed upon -the lovely face of the saint to whom he prays. The saint and he are in -communion together, and their communion isolates them though the church -is crowded? I keep my eyes of devotion upon your face, my beautiful -saint, and I am rapt with the glory of this hour--we are carried away -on the wings of our love until the world is too far beneath us to be -seen--only the heaven is revealed to us--to me--I look into your face -and I have a glimpse of heaven itself! Ah, gentle saint, you will not -deny me a response--one word--only lift up your eyes--let our eyes meet -and it will be as if our lips had met. I am but a mortal, but I feel, -gazing into the face of my saint, as if I were immortal--immortal and -crossing the threshold of the heaven that is hers--I feel that we are -equal----” - -She drew in her breath--the sound was something like a gasp--the gasp -of one who has been swept away into the midst of a swirling sea and made -breathless. She had been swept away on the amazing flood of his words; -it was not until he had said that word “equal” that she felt herself -swirled into the air once more, so to speak, and gave that gasp for -breath: he, too, was breathless after his long and fervid outburst, -repressed as to tone, but sounding therefore all the more passionate. -Her gasp sounded like a sigh; his like a sob. - -“Not yet--not yet,” she said in a whisper--disjointed and staccato. “I -cannot listen to you yet. I dare not--I have my pride.” - -“Pride? What is pride? How have I wounded your pride?” he said. “Ah, -my God! you cannot think that I would propose anything that is not -honourable? You do not look on me as such a wretch? Ah, you cannot.” - -“Oh, no, no,” she said quickly. “I would trust you. I have looked into -your face. I have heard you sing.” - -“You place your faith in me? But you cannot do that unless you love me. -And if you love me--have I been too headlong? Have I startled you? But -surely you must have seen that on the very first day we met, before I -had been an hour in your presence, my life was yours. I tell you that -I knew it--not an hour--one glance was enough to tell me that I was -all yours, and that for me no other one lived or would ever live in the -world. What have you to say? Do not you believe me? What did you mean -by that word 'pride'? It does not seem to me that it had any connection -with you or me.” - -“Do not ask me to explain anything just now,” she said. “You would not -like to be asked to explain how you came to--to--think of me--to feel in -regard to me as you have said you do----” - -“Why should I shrink from it?” he asked. “But no one who has seen you -would put such a question to me. I loved you because you were--_you_. Is -not that enough? It would be sufficient for anyone who knew you. I saw -you sitting there--so sweetly timid--a little flower that is so startled -to find itself awakened into life in the spring, that it would fain -ask the earth to hide it again. I thought of you as that modest little -flower--a violet trying to obscure its own charm by the leaves that -surround it; but all in vain--in vain, for its presence has given a -subtle perfume to the air, and all who breathe of its delicate sweetness -take the spirit of the spring into their souls and know that a violet -is there, though hidden from their view. That is how I saw you. I have -always loved the violet, and felt that shyness and sweetness were ever -one; and am I to be reproached if I have a longing to pluck my violet -and have her ever with me?” - -“This is madness--the poetry of madness,” she cried, and there was -really a piteous note in her voice. “But if I did not believe that you -feel every word that you have spoken, I would let you continue, and -drink in the sweetness of every word that falls from your lips. It is -because I know that you are speaking from your heart and because I also -know my own unworthiness that I pray of you to say no more--yet.” - -“Why should I not tell you the truth, if you confess that you believe I -am speaking sincerely?” - -“Sincerely, but in a dream.” - -“Is all love a dream, then?--is that what is in your thought?” - -“I do not want it to be a dream. I wish the love to continue with your -eyes open, and therefore I say--not yet.” - -“You wish my love to continue? Oh, never doubt that your wish shall be -granted. But why that 'not yet '? I am weary of this mystery.” - -She was perplexed. Why should she hold out any longer against this -impetuous Prince of the land of King Cophetua? Why should she not be as -other girls who allow themselves to be lifted out of insignificance by -the man who loves them. Why should that gift of being able to see more -closely into the truth of things that most others accept without a -question, be laid upon her as a burden? - -She had a strong impulse to let her resolution go down the wind, and to -put her hand in his, no matter who might be looking on, and say the word -to him that would give him happiness. Who was she to suggest that his -happiness would not endure--that her happiness would not endure? - -She was perplexed. She had more than once been called prim; but that -only meant that it was her nature to weigh everything in a mental -balance, as it were, and her imagination was equal (she thought) to the -task of assigning their relative value to the many constituents of human -happiness. If she had been told that this meant that she had not yet -been in love, and that she was not now in love, she would not have felt -uneasy in her mind. She did not mistrust the feeling she had for the man -who was beside her. Surely this was the very spirit of truth in loving, -to be ready to sacrifice everything, so that unhappiness should not -overtake him; and she had long ago felt that unhappiness only could -result from his linking his life with one who was rather less than a -mere nobody. The thought never once left her mind of what would be -said when it was known that she had married him. A dunce's triumph, the -incident would be styled by the wits, and (assuming that the wits were -masculine) how would it be styled by the opposite sex? She could see -uplifted hands--incredulous eyebrows raised, while they discussed it, -and she knew that the conclusion that everyone would come to was that to -be the most divine singer in the world did not save a man from being the -greatest fool in the world. - -Was her love the less true because her intelligence insisted on her -perceiving that such a man as Signor Rauzzini would not be happy if -married to a nonentity like herself? “Surely not,” she would have -cried. “Surely it is only the truest of all loves that would be ready -to relinquish its object rather than bring unhappiness upon him! Is -intelligence never to be found in association with true love? Must true -love and folly ever be regarded as allies?” - -Her intellect was quick in apprehending the strength of the position -taken up by two combatants in an argument; but the juxtaposition of the -Prim and the Passionate was too much for her. She was all intellect; he -was all passion. Her mental outlook on the situation was acute; but his -was non-existent. His passion blinded him; her intellect had a thousand -eyes. - -And there he was by her side; she could almost hear the strong beating -of his heart in the pause that followed his question. - -“What is this mystery?” - -It was her feeling of this tumultuous beating of his heart that all but -made her lose her intellectual foothold. His heart beating close to hers -swayed her as the moon sways the tides, until for some moments she -could not have told whether it was her heart or his that was beating -so wildly--only for some moments, however; only long enough for that -madness to suggest itself to her--to let her resolution fly to the -winds--what did anything matter so long as she could lay her hand in -his, and feel his fingers warm over hers? It was her first acquaintance -with the tyranny of a heart aflame, and for a moment she bent her -head before it. He thought that he had got the better of her scruples, -whatever they were, by the way her voice broke as she said: - -“Madness--it would be madness!” - -He was not acute enough to perceive that she was talking to -herself--trying to bring her reason to help her to hold out against the -throbbing of her heart--_his_ heart. - -“It would indeed be madness for us to turn our backs upon happiness when -it is within our reach,” said he. “That is what you would say, sweet -saint?” - -But she had now recovered herself. - -“Indeed it is because I have no thought except for your happiness that I -entreat of you to listen to me,” said Fanny. - -“I will listen to you if you tell me in one word that you love me,” said -he. - -There was no pause before she turned her eyes upon him saying: - -“You know it. You have never doubted it. It is because I love you so -truly I wish to save you from unhappiness. I want to hold your love for -ever and ever.” - -“My sweet saint! You have heard my prayers. You are to make me happy.” - -“All that I can promise as yet is to save you from supreme unhappiness. -I am strong enough to do so, I think.” - -“You can save me from every unhappiness if you will come to me--and you -are coming, I know.” - -“I hope that if you ask me three months hence I shall be able to say -'yes'; but now--at this moment--I dare not. It is not so long to ask you -to wait, seeing that I have let you have a glimpse of my heart, and told -you that as you feel for me, so I feel for you.” - -“Three months is an eternity! Why should it be in three months? Why not -now?” - -She shook her head. - -“I cannot tell you. It is my little secret,” she said. “Ah, is it not -enough that I have told you I love you? I shall never cease to love -you.” - -“Oh, this accursed place! These accursed people!” he murmured. “Why are -we fated to meet only surrounded by these wretches? Why cannot we meet -where I can have you in _my_ arms, and kiss your lips that were made for -kissing?” - -There was something terrifying to her in that low whisper of his. He had -put his head down to her until his lips were close to her ear. She felt -the warmth of his face; it made her own burn. But she could not move her -face away to the extent of an inch. Her feminine instinct of flight was -succeeded by the equally feminine instinct of surrender. If it had been -his intention--and it certainly seemed that it was--to kiss her in the -presence of all the company, she would still have been incapable of -avoiding such a caress. - -He swore again in her ear, and Fanny, for all her primness, felt a -regret deep down in her heart that her training would not allow of her -expressing herself through the same medium. - -But he did not come any nearer to her than that. He changed his phrases -of abuse of their entourage to words of delight at her presence so close -to him--alternately passionate and tender. His voice became a song in -her ears, containing all such variations. His vocalism was equal to the -demand put upon it. It was his _métier_ to interpret such emotions, and -now he did justice to his training, even if he fell short--and he was -conscious of doing so--of dealing adequately with his own feelings. -He called her once again his sweet saint who had heard his prayer; his -cherished flower, whose fragrance was more grateful to him than all the -incense burned in all the temples of the world was to the Powers above. - -It was, he repeated, her violet modesty that had first made him adore -her. Her humility brought before his eyes the picture painted by Guido -Reni--the Madonna saying: _Ecce ancilla Domini_. - -Ah, her humility was divine. And she was so like his mother--his dear -mother who had died when he was a boy and who had taught him to sing. -Ah, she was herself now singing in Paradise, and she would look down -and approve his choice. She, too, had been as meek as a flower, and had -never been so happy as when they had been together at a little farm in -Tuscany with him by her side among the olives. Oh, she would approve -his choice. And quite simply he addressed his dead mother, as though -she were beside him, asking her if she could desire to have a daughter -sweeter or more gentle. He had lapsed into his native Italian in this; -but Fanny could follow his slow, devout words, and her eyes were full of -tears, her heart of love. - -She now perceived how simple and gentle a nature was that of the young -Roman. He remained unspoilt by the adulation which he had received -both in his own country and in England. Seeing him thus revealing a -simplicity which she had not associated with him before, she was led to -ask herself if there was, after all, so great a difference between them -as she had believed to exist. She had forgotten all about his singing, -and he was now in her eyes nothing more than a man--the man who loved -her. Ah, that was enough. He loved her, and therefore she was bound to -save him from the mortification of hearing the whispers of the people -around them asking how he could ever have been stupid enough to marry a -girl like herself, who was a nobody and without a fortune, when he might -have chosen any girl in the world. - -Her resolution came back to her with greater force than ever. Since -he had made his nature plain to her, it would, she felt, be taking -advantage of his simplicity to engage herself to him just as she was. -She knew more of the world than he did. She knew how the world talked, -and how it would talk regarding herself as well as regarding him in such -a matter. He was simple and generous; it was necessary for her to take -thought for both of them. - -“Have you heard me?” he asked of her in a whisper. - -“The tears are still in my eyes,” she replied. “Oh, my dear friend, -cannot you see how bitter it is for me to be compelled to ask you to -wait for these months that I spoke of? Cannot you see that it is a -matter of conscience and honour? Ah, I should never forgive myself if I -were to do other than I have done! If you----” - -“Dear one,” said he, “I ask for nothing more than to hear you tell me -that you love me. Who am I, that I should demand your secret? So long as -you do not conceal your love from me, I do not mind if you have a score -of secrets locked away in your white bosom. Tell me again that you love -me and all must be well.” - -She looked at him, but he knew that she could not see a feature of his -face by reason of the tears that were still in her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -|IT was on one of the last mornings in January that Mrs. Burney was -reading out of the newly-arrived _London Chronicle_ such paragraphs as -she thought would appeal to the varied interests of the breakfast-table. -There were a few announcements of marriages about to take place between -people whose names they knew, the amount of the bride's dowry being -stated in each in plain figures, though Mrs. Burney took it upon her to -affirm in one or two cases that the sum was exaggerated, or to suggest -that if the father of the bride were just enough to pay his debts first, -the portion of his daughter would be considerably reduced. In the case -of one of the gentlemen, who was marrying thirty thousand pounds, she -ventured to express the hope that he would now pay at least some of his -creditors. - -These were, of course, the most interesting items of news, though their -attractiveness was not greatly superior to that of the gossip respecting -Mr. F------, who had been noticed in high dudgeon because of Lady -P------'s dancing three times with Sir Julian Y------; or that which -suggested that a reconcilement must have taken place between the -beautiful Mrs. G------ and her husband, for they had been seen taking -the air together in the Park. - -It was also pleasant to learn that His Majesty had given great -encouragement to Mrs. Delany in the production of her ingenious mosaic -flowers, in which she was so skilled as to excite the wonder of several -criticks in the Royal circle; and also that His Royal Highness the -Prince of Wales had been graciously pleased to say in publick that he -had always admired the Perdita of the beautiful Mrs. Robinson, though he -considered Mrs. Abington, on the whole, the most tasteful dresser in the -Drury Lane company. - -It was only when Mrs. Burney had folded the newspaper and was about to -put it away, that a few lines of an advertisement caught her eye--she -commented before she read, as though she had been a fully qualified -critic: - -“More novels! More stuff for the circulating libraries! Enough to make -poor Mr. Richardson feel uncomfortable in his grave! Could he but have -known that he was turning all England into novel readers he would never -have put pen to paper. Here is another imitator in the field. 'Evelina; -or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World,' published to-day by Mr. -Lowndes--three volumes, seven and sixpence sewed, nine shillings in -covers. 'Evelina,' a distant cousin to 'Clarissa' and 'Pamela' I doubt -not. I hope your father will not bring anyone here to dinner to-day. -Hashed mutton is a wholesome dish, to be sure, but some visitors are -fastidious. He may bring as many as he pleases to-morrow, for Mr. -Greville's gift of pheasants will be on the table. Why are you staring -so at your sister, Lottie?” - -Lottie was becoming a hardened dissembler: she scarcely started when -asked to interpret certain furtive glances she cast at Fanny. - -“I was wondering if Fanny would make a face: she never was fond of -hashed mutton,” said Lottie glibly. “If she had gone to school in France -she would soon have got a liking for it, cooked as it is there.” - -“I am not partial to French kickshaws,” said Mrs. Burney. “There's -nothing like good English fare. To my thinking, the principle of making -food tasty when in ordinary circumstances it should not be so, is a bad -one. Hash of mutton is wholesome food, and it should be eaten as such -without further question. If Providence had meant it to be tasty as -well, He would have made His intentions as plain as in the case of roast -pheasant.” - -“Lottie will tell you that I made no face at the mention of hash of -mutton,” said Fanny. “What does it signify whether one sits down to a -simple platter of mutton hash or a great dinner such as father gets at -Mr. Thrale's? A pair of geese, a leg of mutton, a tongue, a rib of roast -beef and a brace of pheasants, with two or three dishes of fish, and for -Dr. Johnson a veal pie or a piece of pork--those were on the table at -one time. What is the benefit of such abundance, when all that one can -eat is a single slice of beef?” - -She spoke rapidly, for she, too, had been a great dissembler. She meant -to take away her stepmother's attention from those questionable glances -which she had exchanged with Lottie; and she succeeded very well. - -“It would make no difference to us whether we had one dish or ten; but -it makes all the difference in the world to Mr. Thrale. They say he has -a prodigious appetite, and eats of at least six heavy dishes of meat at -dinner.” - -“Mr. Baretti affirms that some day he will not awake from the stupor -into which he falls after one of his heavy meals,” said Susy. - -“And all the time Mrs. Thrale is entreating him to be more moderate,” - cried Lottie. - -“A humiliating duty for such as Mrs. Thrale,” said her mother. “That -shows how true is all that Fanny has remarked: a simple dish should be -enough for any reasonable person. I have often wondered how the converse -at the Streatham table could be so wise and witty if the master of -the house eats like a hog, and Dr. Johnson, suffering from ill-health, -expends so much energy over his pork that the veins stand out on his -forehead and his face is bathed in perspiration.” - -“I am sure that Mrs. Thrale has wit and liveliness enough to serve for -the whole company,” said Fanny. - -“She is chatty enough, I doubt not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “There are -those who think she talks over-much for a woman.” - -“Not for a woman of fashion,” suggested Lottie with some pertness, when -their stepmother had left the room. “It is long since Mrs. Thrale has -invited mother to one of the Streatham dinners,” she added under her -breath. - -And then the three fell upon the _Chronicle_ for the announcement of the -book. - -They read it in whispers, each following the other, as though it were -the _piano_ part of a catch or a glee, and glancing fearfully toward the -door now and again, lest it should open and Mrs. Burney reappear. - -“How amazing it is!” said Susy. “This is the announcement of the birth -of a baby--and such a baby!” - -“The birth and the christening and all,” said Lottie. “Oh, Fanny, I -had no idea that it would be in the papers--I forgot that it would be -advertised; and when mamma read this out I thought I should sink through -the floor. So did you, I know.” - -“I only wish that it had been possible,” said Fanny. “I could feel -myself getting hot all over my body. And then you gave me that look, -Lottie!” - -“Could I help it?” asked Lottie. “You cannot blame me. I really thought -that it was you who gave me a look, as much as to say: 'If you let the -cat out of the bag I will never forgive you--no, never! '” - -“Never mind! Among us we managed to get out of the difficulty very well, -I think. Were we not clever, guiding the conversation away from Mr. -Lowndes's shop on to the high road to Streatham?” cried Susy. - -“'Twas the hash that saved us,” said Lottie. “Have you not heard dear -Jim applying the sailors' expression, to make a hash of something? But -we didn't make a hash of our matter, did we, Fanny?” said Susan. - -“We have become adroit dissemblers, and I am growing more ashamed of it -every day,” cried Fanny. “I have reached the condition of a man of whom -I read in a volume of history: he had committed a crime, and the effort -that it cost him to keep it hidden so preyed upon his mind that he could -stand the strain no longer, so he confessed it and was relieved.” - -“But he could not have been really happy until they hanged him,” said -Susy. “And do you intend to confess and be hanged, Fanny? Please do not. -I think it is the most exciting thing in the world to share a secret -like this. I would not have missed the enjoyment for anything. Think, -Fan, if you were to confess, you would draw us into it too--you would -make us out to be as guilty as yourself.” - -“I will not confess,” said Fanny. “No; it would not be honourable of me. -But I do feel that the secret is having a bad effect upon us all. It has -made us all such--such--dissemblers.” - -“Psha!” said Lottie with a sniff. “That's only another way of saying -that we are ladies of quality at an early age.” - -Fanny shook her head. She thought that if any proof were needed of the -ill effects of their treasuring their secret from their parents, this -cynical pertness of Lottie supplied it. She shook her head. - -“I should like 'Evelina' to come into mamma's hands,” continued Lottie. -“She will go through the three volumes at a hand gallop, even though she -did take it upon her to condemn it as being on a level with the odious -stuff that comes to us nowadays.” - -“And if she condemns it so heartily before she has read it, what will -she say about it when she has finished the last chapter?” asked Fanny. - -“She will say that it is the prettiest story that has been written since -her dear Mr. Richardson died,” said Susy. - -“I doubt it, my dear,” said Fanny. - -“Well, let the worst come, she will never guess that you wrote it,” - laughed Lottie. - -“It is the padre whom I fear,” said Fanny. “Surely he will not need to -go beyond the Ode on the first leaf to know that it is he himself whom I -address.” - -“And if he should--smoke it?” asked Susy, lapsing into slang which she -had acquired from her sailor brother, who was in no sense a purist. - -“If he should--well, either of two things will happen,” replied the -authoress. “He will either think me the most double-dealing wretch in -the world or the most dutiful of daughters.” - -“And which will be right?” asked Lottie. - -“Both views will be right,” said Fanny. “Although I meant every word -of the Ode, I really think now that the idea of writing it before the -dedication came to me only when I felt that I had behaved badly in -sending the book to the printer without his consent.” - -“You wished the Ode to be a sort of peace-offering?” said Susy. “You -hoped that when he read it he would forget to be angry? Well, that was -cunning of you, Fanny!” - -“I tell you that the whole affair has had a bad effect upon us all,” - said Fanny gently. - -Once again she was conscious of someone telling her that there was no -use crying over spilt milk, and this impression was followed by one that -took the form of a resolution to be more careful in future. If she -had spilt some milk once, that was no reason why she should not, by -exercising proper forethought, refrain from doing so again. - -But the book was now given to the world, if the world would have it, but -as yet a copy had not come into her hand. She wondered if she would -have to spend seven and sixpence in buying a copy. Seven shillings and -sixpence, sewed. It was a great deal of money. Was it possible that -there were five hundred people in the world ready to pay seven and -sixpence for a novel with the name of no author on the title page? -(She thought it best to leave out of her consideration altogether the -possible purchasers of the nine shilling set of bound volumes.) - -Who were the people that ever laid out so much money upon books which -could be read through between the rising and the setting of the sun? -She had never met such liberal enthusiasts. Of course, it was only -reasonable that so splendid a work as the “History of Music” should be -in the library of every house wherein people of taste resided, but that -was not a book to be galloped through; some people might not be able to -read it within a month. Besides, it bore the honoured name of Dr. Burney -on the title page, and the fame of Dr. Burney was great. But as for that -poor little seven-and-sixpenny sewed “Evelina,” how should anyone take -an interest in her without reading her story? How would anyone read her -story without feeling afterwards that seven-and-sixpence (leaving the -nine shilling expenditure out of the question) was a ridiculous price to -pay for such an entertainment? - -She felt that people would come to look on her as the instigator of a -fraud if they paid their money and read the book and then found out -that she had written it. The wisdom of concealing her name even from the -bookseller was now more apparent to her than it had ever been. She had -visions of indignant purchasers railing against Mr. Lowndes, and Mr. -Lowndes searching for her, so that he might rail against her; and so her -speculations ended in laughter; but even her laughter grated upon her -sensitive ears: she felt that it was the malicious jeering of a clever -cheat at the thought of having got the better of a worthy man. - -Her precious “Evelina” was leading her a pretty dance. If it had not -been able to do so it would have been a paltry sort of book and she -would have been a paltry sort of author. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -|TWO or three weeks passed without her hearing anything of the book, and -it seemed as if it had fallen, as she had at some moments hoped it would -fall, like a dull stone into the depths of the sea. She heard nothing of -it, and soon she perceived that her sisters felt grievously disappointed -at its failure to produce any impression upon the town. Even a dull -stone, if dropped into the deep, creates a little fuss on the surface -before it sinks out of sight; but Fanny's book did not, so far as they -could see, produce even so superficial an impression. What they expected -of it they might have had some trouble explaining; but as it was, they -could not conceal their disappointment from Fanny; and they showed it -after a short time in a very delicate way: they never alluded to the -book in her presence. She perceived that what was in their minds was -that it would show very bad taste on their part to refer to it in any -way. She was grateful for their consideration; and she resolved to -accept their decision on this point as final; she would never allude to -the horrid thing in their hearing. - -It so happened, however, that she was left alone with Susy in the house -one evening. Dr. Burney and his wife had gone to a concert at Esther's, -and Lottie was staying for a day or two in the country. Susy was -practising her part of a new duet on the piano, and Fanny was at her -sewing. So far as conversation between the two sisters was concerned, -the evening had been a very silent one. Indeed, during the whole week a -constrained silence had marked the intercourse of the three girls. - -Susy hammered away at the music for half an hour; then her playing -became more fitful, and at last it ceased altogether. - -There was a long silence before Fanny heard a little sound that caused -her to raise her head. It was the sound of a sob, and when she looked up -she saw that Susy was leaning her forehead upon the bottom of the music -rest, weeping bitterly. - -Fanny was by her side in a moment. - -“Dearest Susy, what is the matter?” she said soothingly. “Tell me, dear; -has anything happened? Has anyone been unkind to you? Have I unwittingly -done or said anything that seemed to you unkind? Tell me all, Susy.” - -But Susy continued crying with her face hidden, though she yielded one -of her hands to Fanny. - -“Come, my dear, I have helped you before now, and I may be able to help -you now. Prithee, what is your trouble?” said Fanny, putting her arm -round the girl's shoulders. - -Still Susy remained silent, except for her sobs. - -“Tell me,” said Fanny, in a whisper. “Is it that you think that I am -chagrined about--about--the book?” - -In an instant Susy had whirled round on her seat and flung her arms -round her sister's neck, laying her head on her shoulder. - -“Oh, Fanny, Fanny, 'tis too cruel!” she sobbed. “We were sure that so -much would come of it--it seemed so splendid to read, even before it -was printed--so much better than any other story that ever came into our -hands--and you worked so hard at it--every spare moment when you might -have been enjoying yourself--in the cold of last winter up in that -room--and at Lynn too--and Chessington--and now, when we think that your -cleverness, your patience, your genius, is to be rewarded, nothing comes -of it--all your trouble has gone for nothing--all our secrecy! Oh, it is -too cruel!” - -“You dear child,” said Fanny. “It is only cruel if it sets you crying in -this way. What does it matter to anyone if the book has gone and nothing -has come of it? I have been thinking that writing a book and publishing -it is like throwing a stone into the sea. It may fall so that it sinks -down plumb, or it may fall so that it makes a splash for a while, but -it sinks to the bottom all the same. Success or failure is only the -difference between a splash and a ripple. We were fools to fancy that -our little stone would float.” - -“But it was not a stone, it was full of life and it should have--it -should have--swum! Oh, the people who buy books are so stupid!” - -“They are--that was the hope that I builded on. They are stupid, but not -stupid enough to buy my book.” - -“Oh, Fanny!” - -“That is really the frame of mind that I find myself in to-day. I tell -you truly, Susy, that after the first week, I schooled myself to think -of the business in this way; and I am certain that in another month I -shall even feel delighted that my little pebble made no splash. Look at -the matter philosophically, Susy.” - -“Oh, philosophically!” - -“Well, reasonably. Are we in a different position to-day from that we -were in before the book was published? We are not. We are just the same -as we were before. It has not injured us in any way. Nay, if you think -of it, we are--I, at least, am--all the better for having failed, for I -have learned my lesson. I was beginning to feel cleverer than I had any -right to think myself, and this has come as a chastening--to make me -know my right place. These rebukes do not come by chance, Susy. I know -now that I was inclined to hold my head too high. I don't think that I -will do so again.” - -“You never held your head too high--just the opposite. And I think it -very cruel that you should be rebuked for nothing. But I do not blame -_anyone_ except the wretched people who refused to buy your nice book, -but spent their seven and sixpence at Vauxhall or Ranelagh--perhaps -watching Mr. Foote and his puppets at the Haymarket. Oh, I have no -patience with them! Why, it only needed a thousand people to buy the -book and it would have been accounted a success!” - -“Then we shall put the blame on the shoulders of that thousand, -wheresoever they may be found, and for my part I shall not hold a second -thousand altogether blameless--my indignation may even extend to a -third. Now, that's the last word I mean to speak about the book. It -has by this time reached the bottom of the sea on which I threw it; and -there let it lie!” - -“You are an angel--I see that plainly now.” - -“Ah, there you see, what I said was true: I am much better for the -rebuke I talked about; you never perceived before that I was an angel. -Now let that be the last word between us on the subject of my poor -little 'Evelina.' Her entrance into the world has proved fatal. Oh, -Susy, she was stillborn, but her parent is making a rapid recovery.” - -“That may be; but cannot you join with me in----” - -“I will join with you in maintaining silence on the subject of the little -one. I cannot bear to hear her name mentioned. I refuse to say another -word about her or her fate. She must have been greatly beloved of -the gods to die so young. Let that be 'Evelina's' epitaph. I will say -nothing more about her.” - -It so happened, however, that she was compelled to say a good deal more -on the subject, for within half an hour Cousin Edward had called, and he -began to talk of “Evelina” at once. - -“I went to Hill's library in the Strand yesterday, to get a book for -mother, and there, sure enough, I saw your 'Evelina,'” said he. “I asked -the man in charge what it was about, and he replied that he didn't know; -it was bad enough, he thought, to be compelled to hand out books all day -to readers without being forced to read them for himself; but he -supposed that 'Evelina' was a novel of the usual sort.” - -“That was not extravagant praise,” remarked Susy. - -“He didn't mean to praise it,” said Edward. “But when I asked him if -anyone who had read it had recommended it, he admitted that every one -of the five ladies who had read it was ready to speak well of it--one of -them had taken it away a second time; and--would you believe it?--while -I was standing at the counter a footman entered the shop with a demand -for 'Eveliena,' as he called it; and he carried off the copy that was -already on the desk.” - -“For the delectation of the servants' hall?” suggested Fanny. - -“Not at all--it had been recommended to her ladyship, he said, and he -had been commanded on no account to return without it; her ladyship -was liberal; she would not mind paying sixpence for it, instead of the -ordinary fourpence.” - -“That was more than liberal, it was generous to a degree,” said Fanny. - -“Don't interrupt him,” cried Susy. “Continue your narrative, Eddy. I am -dying to hear the rest.” - -“I asked the library man if he knew who wrote the book, and he -replied that he had heard the name, but had forgotten it; so far as he -remembered the author was a peer of high rank but eccentric habits,” - said Edward. - -“The book represented his eccentric habits, I suppose,” remarked Fanny. - -“I ran out of the place roaring,” said Edward. “'A peer of high rank but -eccentric habits'--describes you to a T, doesn't it, Cousin Fanny? Pray -what is your lordship's next work to be, and when will it be given to an -eager world?” - -“Is that all you have to tell?” asked Susy. - -“By no means. When I heard that the book was thought well of in -the Strand, I thought I would try to get at the opinion of Stanhope -Street--you know Masterman's circulating library there? Well, I boldly -entered, and there, sure enough, was a well-thumbed 'Evelina' in front -of the librarian. I asked for some book that no one had ever heard of, -and when the librarian had told me that he had never been asked for that -book before, I pointed to 'Evelina,' inquiring if it was any good. 'I'm -dead tired on account of its goodness, for I was fool enough to take -it to bed with me last night, and I never closed my eyes in sleep,' -he replied. 'I had it praised to me by a lady of quality, and so too -hastily concluded that it would either send me asleep with its dullness, -or shock me with its ribaldry; but it did neither, unhappily.' Just then -a chariot stopped at the door and another footman entered with the name -'Evelina' written on a sheet of paper, and off he popped with the full -three volumes under his arm. I waited no longer; but hurried hither -to give you my news. I did not get so far, however, for I was unlucky -enough to be overtaken by that vile downpour of rain, and it did not -blow over until your dinner hour was at hand.” - -“You are my good angel,” cried Fanny, her cheeks glowing. “We have heard -nothing of all this respecting the book, and, hearing nothing, we took -it for granted that it was dead--dead before it was ever alive. Oh, this -is good news you have brought us, Eddy!” - -“The best news that has come to us for months!” said Susy. She had -turned her head away and was furtively wiping her eyes. The good news -affected the sympathetic Susy almost as deeply as her disappointment had -done. - -“But I have only told you of my adventures of yesterday,” said -Edward. “To-day I tried the booksellers, beginning with Mr. Davies and -working-round to the Dillys in the Poultry--it cost me three shillings, -for I had to buy something that I did not particularly want in every -shop to excuse my inquiries--and I found 'Evelina' on every counter. I -cannot say that any customer came in to buy it while I was in any shop, -but you may be sure that the book would not be on the counter unless it -was highly thought of. Of course I had need to be very discreet among -the booksellers; I dared not ask who was the author, but I longed to do -so, if only to hear what new story had been made up about it.” - -“You heard quite enough to make us glad,” cried Susy. “Oh, how foolish -we were to take it for granted that because we had no news of the book, -it was dead! It is alive--greatly alive, it would appear! How could any -news of it have come to us here? We should have gone forth in search of -it.” - -“I knew that we could depend on your discretion,” said Fanny, laying a -hand on each of his shoulders. “I do not think that I ever thanked you -as I should for the wise way in which you managed the business with Mr. -Lowndes, and now I must not neglect to do so for having acted the part -of a benevolent agent in bringing us such good news about the book.” - -“Psha! there should be no talk of gratitude and the like between us,” - said he. “There are family ties--I think of the honour of our family. -People already talk of the clever Burneys, but they left you out of the -question, Cousin Fanny, since they only thought of music. But now -that you have shown what you can do in another direction, you must be -reckoned with alongside the others.” - -“And what about the other branch of the clever Burneys?” said Fanny. -“Don't you think that people will some of these days begin to ask if -Edward Burney, the great painter, is really a brother of the musical -Burneys? I hope they will, dear Edward; I hope that the fame of Edward -Burney, the painter, will go far beyond that of the musical Burneys, as -well as poor Fanny Burney who once wrote a novel.” - -The young man blushed as Fanny herself would certainly have done if -confronted with the least little compliment. But there was no false -shame about his acceptance of her suggestion. - -“I mean to become as good a painter as I can, in order to be worthy of -the name of Burney,” said he. “I feel proud of being a Burney--more so -to-day than ever before, and I hope that the rest of the Burney's will -some day look on me as doing credit to our name.” - -“I am sure that they will have every reason to do so,” said Fanny. - -When he had gone, Susy gave way to her delight at the news which he had -brought. She was a good deal taller than Fanny, and catching her round -the waist after the manner of the Elizabethan dancer with his partner, -she danced round the table with her, lilting a somewhat breathless pæan. -Fanny herself needed no coaxing to be her partner in this revel. In -her jubilant moments she got rid of the primness which most people -associated with her. She had a wild jig known as “Nancy Dawson,” and -she had more than once found it necessary to get rid of her superfluous -spirits through this medium. She joined in her sister's little whoop -at the completion of the third “lap” of the table, and they both threw -themselves breathless on the sofa. - -“I knew it,” said Susy between her gasps. “I knew that I could not be -mistaken in believing 'Evelina' to be good--I knew that she would make -her way in the affections of her readers, and I was right--you see I was -right.” - -“You were right, dear Susy--quite right,” said Fanny. “I do not like -to be too sanguine, but I do believe, from the reports Eddy brought us, -that the book will find plenty of readers. Now that we can think over -the matter in a reasonable way, we must see how foolish we were to -expect that the very day after the book was published people would crowd -to buy it; but now, after six weeks, when Eddy goes in search of news -about it, he brings back a report which is--we had best say for the -present no more than 'quite satisfactory'--that was the bookseller's -report about the sales of the first volume of the padre's -'History'--'quite satisfactory'--that should be quite satisfactory for -the author of 'Evelina' and her sisters. There is nothing in the book to -stir people as it would if written by Mr. Wilkes, but in its humble way -it will, I am now persuaded, be pronounced 'quite satisfactory.' At any -rate, there goes my sewing for the evening.” - -She rolled up the strip of linen into a ball and used her hand, after -two false starts, as a battledore, to send it flying across the room -within reach of Susy, who, being more adroit, was able at the first -attempt to return it with both force and precision. Once more Fanny -struck it, and her sister sent it back, but by this time the unequal -ball had opened out, so that it was only by her foot that Fanny could -deal with it effectively. Then, daintily holding up their petticoats, -the author of “Evelina” and Susy Burney played with the thing until once -more they were panting and laughing joyously. - -Perhaps Fanny had a faint inkling of the symbolism implied by this -treatment of the discarded needlework. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -|BUT little Miss Burney had recovered all her primness on the evening -when, a week later, she accompanied her stepmother to partake of tea at -the home of the Barlowes in the Poultry. - -Young Mr. Barlowe had, for some time after his visit to St. Martin's -Street, brooded over his indiscretion in allowing his impulse at the -moment of saying good night to carry him away so that he pressed Miss -Burney's hand, looking into her eyes with an expression in his own of -the deepest sympathy--rather more than sympathy. He felt that he had -been unduly and indiscreetly hasty in his action. It had been purely -impulsive. He had by no means made up his mind that Miss Burney would -make him a satisfactory wife. His father and mother had, for a long -time, thought very highly of Mrs. Burney, looking on her as a most -thrifty and excellent manager of a household. She had shown herself -to be all this and more when her first husband was alive and they had -visited her at Lynn; and she had proved her capabilities in the same -direction since she had married Dr. Burney. Unfortunately, however, -the virtues of a stepmother could not be depended on to descend to the -children of her husband's family, and it was by no means certain that -Miss Burney had made full use of her opportunities of modelling herself -upon her father's second wife. - -No, he had not quite made up his mind on this subject--the gravest that -had ever occupied his attention, and he remained sleepless for hours, -fearful that he had gone too far in that look and that squeeze. He had -heard of fathers and even brothers waiting upon young men who had acted -toward a daughter or a sister pretty much as he had in regard to Miss -Burney. He had rather a dread of being visited by Miss Burney's brother, -that young naval officer who had boasted of having been educated by a -murderer. Mr. Barlowe thought that a visit from such a young man would -be most undesirable, and for several days he went about his business -with great uneasiness. - -But when a week had gone by and neither father nor brother had waited -upon him, he began to review his position more indulgently than when he -had previously given it his consideration. He thought more hopefully of -Miss Burney as a wife. Perhaps she might have profited more largely than -he had thought by her daily intercourse with so capable a woman as Mrs. -Burney. At any rate, she was not musical, and that was something in her -favour. Then her stepmother had praised her needlework, and everyone -knows that to be a good sempstress is next to being a good housekeeper. - -He thought that on the whole she would do. Her brother, Lieutenant -Burney, would naturally spend most of his time at sea. That was a good -thing. Thomas felt that he should hesitate to make any change in his -life that involved a liability of frequent visits from a young man who -had been taught by a murderer. Who could tell what might happen in the -case of such a young man? As for Miss Burney herself, she was, -quite apart from her housewifely qualities, a most estimable young -lady--modest and retiring, as a young woman should be, and very -beautiful. To be sure, he had often heard that beauty was only skin -deep, but even assuming that it did not go any deeper, it had always -been highly esteemed by men--none of them seemed to wish it to be of any -greater depth; and it was certain that a man with a handsome wife was -greatly envied--more so even than a man who was married to a plain woman -but a good housewife. Oh, undoubtedly her beauty commended her to his -most indulgent consideration. He had no objection in the world to be -widely envied, if only on account of his wife's good looks. It never -occurred to him that it might be that some people would think very -ordinary a face that seemed to one who was in love with it extremely -lovely. He preserved the precious privilege of a man to raise up his own -standard of beauty and expect all the rest of the world to acknowledge -its supremacy. - -Yes, he thought that Miss Burney, beauty and all, would suit him, but -still he hesitated in making another call. - -This was when Mr. Kendal had the honour of waiting upon Mrs. Burney, and -his visit only preceded by a day or two Mrs. Burney's call upon her old -friend, Mrs. Barlowe, in the Poultry; this interchange of courtesies -being speedily followed by an invitation for Mrs. Burney and a -stepdaughter to drink tea with the Barlowe family. - -“I am taking you with me, Fanny, because you are the eldest and, as -should be, the most sensible of the household,” said Mrs. Burney, -explaining--so far as she thought wise--the invitation on the morning it -was received. “There will be no music at Mrs. Barlowe's, I think, and -so you will have no distracting influence to prevent your forming a just -opinion of my old friends.” - -“I do not mind in the least the absence of music for one night,” said -Fanny. - -“I am sure of that,” said Mrs. Burney. “Goodness knows we have music -enough here during any day to last us over a whole week. The -others could not live without it, even if it were not your father's -profession.” - -“Without which none of us could live,” remarked Fanny, who had no -wish to be forced into the position of the opponent of music in the -household. - -“Quite right, my dear,” acquiesced the elder lady. “It is a precarious -way of making a living. To my mind there is nothing so satisfactory as a -good commercial business--a merchant with a shop at his back can afford -to laugh at all the world.” - -“But he usually refrains,” said Fanny. - -“True; he looks at life with proper seriousness, and without levity. -Great fortunes are the result of serious attention to business. Levity -leads to poverty.” - -“Except in the case of Mr. Garrick and a few others.” - -“Mr. Garrick is certainly an exception. But, then, you must remember -that he was a merchant before he became an actor, and his business -habits never left him. I have heard it said that he got more out of his -company for the salaries he paid than any theatre manager in Europe. -But I did not come to you to talk about Mr. Garrick. I only meant to say -that I know you are an observant girl. You do not merely glance at the -surface of things, so I am sure that you will perceive much to respect -in all the members of Mrs. Barlowe's family.” - -“I am sure they are eminently--respectable, mamma; and I am glad that -you have chosen me to be your companion this evening. I like going among -such people--it is useful.” - -She stopped short in a way that should have aroused the suspicions of -Mrs. Burney, but that lady was unsuspecting, she was only puzzled. - -“Useful?” she said interrogatively. - -Fanny had no mind to explain that she thought herself rather good at -describing people of the Barlowe type, and was ready to submit herself -to more experience of them in case she might be encouraged to write -another novel. But she knew that she would have some difficulty in -explaining this to her stepmother, who herself was an excellent type. - -“Useful--perhaps I should rather have said 'instructive,'” she replied, -after a little pause. - -“Instructive, yes; I am glad that you look at our visit so sensibly--I -knew you would do so. Yes, you should learn much of the excellence of -these people even in the short time that we shall be with them. And it -is well that you should remember, my dear Fanny, that you are now quite -old enough to have a house of your own to look after.” - -It was now Fanny's turn to seem puzzled. - -“I do not quite see how--I mean why--why--that is, the connection--is -there any connection between----?” - -“What I mean to say is that if at some time a suitor for your hand -should appear, belonging to a respectable mercantile family, you will -know, without the need of any telling, that your chances of happiness -with such a man are far greater than they would be were you to wed -someone whose means of getting a living were solely the practice of some -of the arts, as they are called--music or painting or the rest.” - -“I do not doubt that, mamma,” said Fanny demurely. She was beginning to -think that her stepmother was a far better type than she had fancied. - -And her stepmother was beginning to think that she had never given Fanny -credit for all the good sense she possessed. - -The six o'clock tea-party in the Poultry was a function that Fanny -Burney's quick pen only could describe as it deserved to be described. -All the time that it was proceeding her fingers were itching to start -on it. She could see Mr. Crisp smiling in that appreciative way that he -had, as he read her smart sentences, every one of them with its little -acid flavour, that remained on the palate of his memory. She was an -artist in character drawing, and she was one of the first to perceive -how excellent was the material for artistic treatment that might be -found in the house of the English tradesman--the superior tradesman -who aspired to be called a merchant. She neglected no opportunity of -observing such houses; it was only when she was daily consorting with -people of the highest rank that she became alarmed lest her descriptions -should be accepted as proof that she was in the habit of meeting on -terms of intimacy the types of English bourgeois which she had drawn. - -The ground-floor of Mr. Barlowe's house in the Poultry was given over to -his business, which, as has already been mentioned, was that of a -vendor of gold and silver lace. The walls carried shelves from floor to -ceiling, and every shelf had its line of boxes enclosing samples of an -abundant and valuable stock. The large room at the back was a sort of -counting-house parlour, where Mr. Barlowe sat during the day with his -son and an elderly clerk, ready for the customers, whose arrival was -announced by the ringing of a spring.-bell. The scales for the weighing -of the bullion and the worked gold and silver wire were suspended above, -the broad counter in the shop, and from a hook between the shelves there -hung a number of ruled forms with spaces for oz., dwt. and grs. On these -were entered the particulars of the material supplied to the workmen who -made up the lace as required. The upper part of the house was the home -of the family, the spacious dining-room being in the front, its convex -windows overhanging the busy thoroughfare. Opening off this apartment -was an equally large drawingroom, and the furniture of both was of -walnut made in the reign of Queen Anne, with an occasional piece of -Dutch marqueterie of the heavier character favoured by the craftsmen of -the previous sovereigns. The rooms themselves were panelled with oak and -lighted by candles in brass sconces. - -It seemed to Fanny, on entering the diningroom, that every seat was -occupied. But she soon saw that there were several vacant chairs. It -was the imposing row of figures confronting her that made the room seem -full, although only six persons were present besides young Mr. Barlowe -and his parents, who met Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughter at the door. -Fanny greeted Thomas at once, and she could see that his eyes were -beaming, but with a rather more subdued light than shone in them on that -night when he had pressed her hand. - -She was conscious, at the same time, of the approach of a big elderly -gentleman, wearing a well-ordered wig, evidently newly curled, with a -small lady clad in expensive and expansive black silk by his side. He -was holding the tips of her fingers and they advanced in step as though -they were starting to dance a minuet. - -They stood in front of her and her mother, while Thomas, moving to one -side, said, making a low bow: - -“Miss Burney, I have the honour to present to you my father, Mr. -Barlowe, and my mother, Mrs. Barlowe. Mrs. Burney, madam, you are, I -know, already acquainted with my parents.” - -The little lady curtsied and her husband made a fine shopkeeper's bow, -first to Fanny, then to Mrs. Burney. - -The formality of the presentation was overwhelming to poor Fanny. She -could feel herself blushing, and she certainly was more overcome than -she had been when Count Orloff, the Russian, visited the house in St. -Martin's Street and she gazed with awe upon the thumb that had, it was -rumoured, pressed too rigidly the wind-pipe of the unfortunate Peter. -All that she could do was to try to hide her confusion by the deepest of -curtsies. - -“We are sensible of the honour you have done us, madam,” said Mr. -Barlowe when he had recovered himself--he was addressing Fanny, ignoring -for the moment the presence of Mrs. Burney. - -“Our son has spoken to us of you with great admiration, Miss Burney,” - said the little lady. “But I protest that when I look at you I feel as -King Solomon did when he saw the Queen of Sheba, the half has not been -told.” - -“Oh, madam, you flatter me,” said Fanny, trying to put some force into a -voice that her shyness had rendered scarcely audible. - -Her stepmother, perceiving how she was suffering, hastened to greet in -a much less formal way their host and hostess; but she had considerable -difficulty in bringing them down to her level. It seemed that they had -prepared some high phrases of welcome for their younger visitor only, -and they had no mind that they should be wasted. - -“My stepdaughter is of a retiring nature,” said Mrs. Burney. “She is -quite unused to such ceremony as you honour her with. Well, Martha, how -is the rheumatism?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -|MRS. BARLOWE did not seem half pleased to be brought down so from the -high parallels of etiquette among which she had been soaring. But she -had lost her place, and before she could recover herself, Fanny had -slipped behind her stepmother. - -“Ask me all about her rheumatism, madam, for 'tis me that knows more -about it than her,” said Mr. Barlowe, with a jerk of his thumb and a -wink in the direction of his wife. The homely enquiry of Mrs. Burney had -clearly forced him to throw off all ceremony and treat the visit of Miss -Burney as an ordinary domestic incident. - -His wife would have none of this, however; she said in tones of stiff -reproof: - -“Mr. Barlowe, you forget that the young lady has not been presented to -Brother Jonathan or the Alderman. Thomas, it is for you to usher the -lady into the presence of your uncles and aunts. Pray be not remiss, -Thomas. There is no excuse for such an omission.” - -“I was only waiting until you had finished, ma'am,” said Thomas. - -“I have finished,” she replied, with a stiff nod. “To be sure, 'twas my -intention to express, in what I trust would be appropriate terms, our -happiness in welcoming Miss Burney to our humble home; a few phrases of -this sort were not thought out of place when I was young; but it appears -that your father knows better what is _comme il faut_ and _haut ton_ -than me. Bring the young lady forward, Thomas.” - -The younger Thomas looked dubiously from his mother to his father. -He was uncommonly like an actor who had forgotten his part, Fanny -thought--he had no initiative. Fanny herself was more at home than any -of the household. While the young man hesitated, she walked up the room -as if she meant to present herself to the six figures that sat in a row -at the farther end. - -Thomas was beside her in a moment. - -“I ask your pardon, Miss Burney,” he said. “But I knew that mamma had at -least two more welcomes for your ear, and I feared that she had forgot -them. Do not you think that mamma speaks well? Perhaps it would be -unjust to judge her by what she said--she only made a beginning. You -will be delighted when you are going away.” - -Fanny felt that this prediction was certain to be realized. - -“Yes, mamma's good-byes are as well worded as her greetings,” he -continued; “a clergyman could scarcely better them; and I hope----” - -But now they were face to face with the six figures sitting in a row, -and as his conversation was only designed as an accompaniment to the -march of Fanny to this position, there was no reason to continue it. - -The figures were of two men and four ladies. The former were middle-aged -and bore an expression of gravity that a judge might have envied. Their -dress was sombre, but of the finest material possible to buy, and each -of them was painfully conscious of being in unusual garments. Of course, -Fanny saw in a moment that they were merchants wearing the garments in -which they attended church. - -Of the four ladies, three were elderly and the fourth much younger. They -wore their hair built up in a way that suggested that they desired to -follow the fashion but had not the courage to complete the scheme with -which they had started. The long and thin and highly-coloured feathers -which crowned the stunted structures on their heads gave them the -appearance of a picture of unfamiliar birds. Their dresses were -extremely glossy and of an expensive material, but there was an -eccentric note about all that made them seem not impressive as they -should have been, but almost ludicrous. The youngest lady in the row -showed unmistakable signs of being given to simpering. She had gone much -further than the others of the party in the architecture of her hair, -but that was possibly because the material at her command was more -abundant. The dressing of her hair, however, was by no means in sympathy -with the style of her garments, the latter being simple and indeed -rather too girlish for the wearer, who looked between twenty-five and -thirty. - -It was an extraordinary ordeal that confronted Miss Burney, for young -Mr. Barlowe began presenting her to the group, starting from his left -and working slowly to the last of the row on the right. There was -she with the young man standing close to her, but sideways, doing the -formalities of presenting her, while his father and mother stood behind -to see that he omitted nothing. Mrs. Burney, a little way apart, was -alternately smiling and frowning at the ceremonial. She could see, from -observing the effect that the whole business was producing upon Fanny, -that the Barlowes were defeating their own ends, assuming that -they desired Fanny to become a member of their family. These absurd -formalities were, Mrs. Burney knew, quite out of place in a private -house. But what could she do to cut them short? She had made an attempt -before, and it was received in anything but a friendly spirit by their -hostess, so that she did not feel inclined to interfere again: the thing -must run its course, she felt, reflecting upon it as though it were a -malady. There was no means of curtailing it. - -And its course was a slow one for the unhappy victim. - -“Miss Burney, I have the honour to present my aunt on my mother's -side--Mrs. Alderman Kensit,” droned Thomas, and the lady on the extreme -left rose at the mention of her name and made a carefully prepared -curtsey, while the sky-blue feather in her hair jerked awkwardly forward -until the end almost touched her nose. - -“Proud to meet Miss Burney, I vow,” said she as she rose; and anyone -could see from the expression on her face that she was satisfied that -she had gone far in proving her claim to be looked on as a lady of -fashion. She had never said “I vow” before, and she knew that it had -startled her relations. She felt that she could not help that. Miss -Burney would understand that she was face to face with someone who had -mingled with the best. - -“And this is Aunt Maria, father's sister, Mrs. Hutchings,” came the -voice of Thomas, and the second lady bobbed up with quivering feathers -and made a well-practised curtsey. She did not trust herself to speak. -Having heard her neighbour's “I vow,” she knew that she could not go -farther. She would not compete with such an exponent of the mysteries of -_haut ton_. - -“And this is Alderman Kensit of the Common Council; he is my uncle on my -mother's side--mother is a Kensit, you know,” resumed Thomas. “And -this is Aunt Jelicoe. My mother's sister married Mr. Jelicoe, of Tooley -Street. And this is my cousin, Miss Jelicoe. I am sure that you will -like Miss Jelicoe, Miss Burney, she is so young.” - -The youngest lady of the group simpered with great shyness, concealing -half her face with her fan and holding her head to one side, and then -pretending to be terribly fluttered. Her curtsey was made in a flurry, -and with a little exclamation of “Oh, la!” - -Another uncle only remained to be presented; he turned out to be Mr. -Jonathan Barlowe, and he was, Thomas whispered half audibly to Fanny, in -trade in the Indies. - -It was all over, curtsies and bows and exclamations--echoes of the world -of fashion and elsewhere--she had been presented to every member of the -row and they had resumed their seats, while she hastened to the side of -her stepmother, hot and breathless. She had never before been subjected -to such an ordeal. She had gladly agreed to accompany her stepmother to -this house, for she hoped thereby to increase her observation of a class -of people who repaid her study of them; but she had no notion that she -should have to vacate her place as an Observer and take up that of a -Participator. She was to pay dearly for her experience. - -She was burning, her stepmother could see; and she believed that this -was due to her mortification on noticing that the dress of the ladies -was infinitely more expensive than hers. That would be enough to make -any young woman with ordinary susceptibilities indignant, she felt; and -she herself, having had an opportunity of giving some attention to -the expensive silks--she could appraise their value to a penny--was -conscious of some chagrin on this account. She was almost out of -patience with her old friend, Martha Barlowe, for making all this -parade. The foolish woman had done so, she knew, in order to impress -Miss Burney and to give her to understand that she was becoming -associated with no ordinary family. But Mrs. Burney had seen enough -since she had left Lynn for London to know that Fanny would not be the -least impressed except in the direction of boredom by such an excess of -ceremony in the house of a tradesman. She had heard Fanny's comment upon -the gorgeous chariot which Sir Joshua Reynolds had set up, and she could -not doubt what Fanny's opinion would be regarding this simple tea to -which she had consented to go at the Barlowes' house. - -Fanny had hurried to her side as soon as she had passed the row of -uncles and aunts. She thought that the girl seemed overcome by the -tedium of the formalities; but in a few minutes she saw that Fanny was -on the verge of laughter. - -Mrs. Burney could not say whether she would rather that her charge -became moody or hilarious. - -“Eight separate curtsies,” murmured Fanny. “If there are to be the same -number going away we should begin at once.” - -Mrs. Burney thought it better not to reprove her for her flippancy just -at that moment. She condoned it with a smile. - -Only a minute were the Burneys left to themselves. Mr. Barlowe, the -elder, walked solemnly up to them. - -“Going on nicely, eh?” he said in a confidential way to Mrs. Burney. -“Everything being done decently and in order, madam. There has been no -cause of offence up to the present, though there are three persons in -that row who are as ready to see an offence where none is meant as a -bunch of flax to break into flame when a spark falls on it. The young -lady is discreet; if she had spoken to any one of them and not to the -others, there would have been a flare-up. The touchy ones belong to my -wife's family. She was a Kensit, you know.” - -He made this explanation behind his hand and in a whisper; he saw that -his wife and son had been in earnest consultation together over some -vexed question, and now they were hovering about, waiting to catch his -eye. - -“I spoke too soon,” he said. “Something has gone astray, and the blame -will fall on me.” - -They hovered still nearer, and when he caught his eye, Thomas, the -younger, stepped up to his father, saying something in his ear. Mrs. -Barlowe went on hovering a yard or two away. - -“That would never do,” said her husband, evidently in reply to some -remonstrance offered by young Thomas. “Never. The whole of the Kensits -would take offence.” Then he turned again to Mrs. Burney, saying: - -“Mrs. Burney, madam, my son has just reminded me that I have been remiss -in doing my duty. It was left to me to present you to our relations at -the head of the room, but I failed to do so, my mind being too full of -the pretty curtsies of Miss. But I am ready to make amends now.” - -But Mrs. Burney had observed a little twinkle in Fanny's eye; she had -no notion of going through the ordeal to which Fanny had been subjected, -though the spectacle would doubtless have diverted Fanny hugely. - -“Nay, sir,” she said quickly to the waiting gentleman, “Nay, sir; you -have forgotten that the presentation of a lady's daughter is equivalent -to the presentation of the lady herself.” - -“What, is that so?” said he. - -“Rest assured that it is,” said she, “and an excellent rule it is. It -saves a repetition of a formality that is now frequently omitted in the -private houses of simple folk like ourselves. Lend me your arm, sir. I -shall soon make myself at home with Martha's relations.” - -She did not give him a chance of discussing the point with her; she saw -that he was about to state his objections to the rule she had invented -for her own saving, and she was already in advance of him in approaching -the row of figures on the chairs against the wall. Fanny heard her -greeting them in turn without any formality, and once again Thomas, the -younger, was by her side. - -His mother was still hovering, glancing suspiciously, first at the young -couple, and then at the hasty proceedings of her friend, Mrs. Burney. - -“It was unlike father to make so grave an omission, Miss Burney,” he -said, apologetically. - -“I hope that no harm will come of it,” said Fanny. “I am afraid that you -found us very homely folk at our little house when you did us the honour -of visiting us,” she added. - -He waved his hand indulgently, smiling over her head. - -“I am always ready to take my place in such a circle,” said he, -“though all the time I have a pretty full knowledge of the exchange of -courtesies which should mark the introduction of a stranger. Oh, yes, I -do not mind meeting some people as an equal, if they do not presume upon -me afterwards. Your brother has gone back to sea, I hear?” he added. - -“Yes, we shall not see him again for two years,” she replied. “Did he -presume upon you, sir? If so, I will take it upon me to offer you a -humble apology.” - -“I was considering if it might be possible that he was himself mistaken -in regard to the ear-trumpet,” said Thomas. - -“Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet? What of that?” - -“Lieutenant Burney told me that it was a newly invented musical -instrument, blown by the ear instead of the mouth. It was not until I -had spoken of it to my father that I learned that the instrument was an -ear-trumpet used by the deaf. I had never seen one before. I wonder if -your brother intentionally deceived me.” - -“My brother is an officer in His Majesty's Fleet, sir.” - -“What does that mean, miss?” - -“It means that he would resent an accusation of falsehood, sir.” - -“Pray do not misunderstand me; I would shrink from accusing him of any -conduct unworthy of an officer and a gentleman. But I was certainly -deceived in fancying that the ear-trumpet was a musical instrument.” - -Fanny made no reply. Her attention was directed to the entrance of two -servants, one bearing a large urn, the other a dish on which lay an -immense ham. - -“I hope you have an appetite, Miss Burney,” said young Thomas. “If so, -you will be able to stay it at that table, I'll warrant. Tea and cake -may be well enough for such as dine at four, but for us, who are three -hours earlier, something more substantial is needed. You will find that -there is no stint in this house.” - -Fanny had an idea that the young man meant to suggest that she would -find the tea-table at the Poultry to make a striking contrast to that of -St. Martin's Street; and she was not mistaken. - -Neither was he. A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined. When -Fanny was formally conducted to a seat at the table by the side of young -Mr. Barlowe, she found herself confronting such a variety of eatables as -was absolutely bewildering. The first glance that she had at the dishes -had a stunning effect upon her. Her impression was one of repletion; she -felt that that glance was by itself equivalent to a hearty meal--a heavy -meal. She felt inclined to turn her head away. - -But a moment afterwards she became alert. Here was food--ample food for -an amusing letter to Mr. Crisp, and, later, for a chapter in a possible -novel. She would let nothing escape her notice. - -She settled down to observe everything; and her stepmother, sitting -opposite to her, knew from the twinkle in her eyes, that Thomas's suit -was hopeless. She had heard that music is the food of love. She was not -sure of this; but she was convinced that butcher's meat was not. That -was where she saw that Thomas had made his mistake. He had placed too -much dependence upon that great ham. He carved that ham with all the -solemnity that should accompany such a rite, not knowing that he was -slicing away all his chances of commending himself to Fanny. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -|IT was an interesting experience for Miss Burney, the writer of novels -and the writer of letters. She had never sat down with such a company. -They all had their table peculiarities. One uncle took ale for his -tea, and drained a tankard before eating anything. The other claimed a -particular cup on account of its capacity, and he held it to his mouth -with one hand, while he passed a second down the table to Miss Burney, -only spilling a spoonful or two in effecting the transit. One of the -aunts refused to eat anything except cake, explaining, in order to -relieve the anxiety of the company, the details of an acute attack of -spleen from which she had recently suffered. The spleen and its humours -formed the subject of a fitful conversation at her end of the table. - -But it was plain that everyone understood that the company had not come -to the table for conversation, but for food. They did not converse, -but that was not the same as saying the room was silent. There was a -constant clanging of cups, a constant clatter of platters, a loud and -insistent demand on the part of Thomas, the elder, and Thomas, the -younger, for their guests to say what they would like to eat. This was -followed by the handing of plates up and down the table, the sound of -steel knives being sharpened, and the jingle of spoons in saucers. The -Alderman, who was, of course, an authority on the etiquette of banquets, -was formulating an elaborate explanation of the mistake that had been -made in the service of the cold sirloin in advance of the venison pasty; -and all the time his neighbour was striking the haft of his knife upon -the table with a request for someone to pass him the pickles. - -All the ceremonial veneer had plainly left the company the moment they -seated themselves, and they addressed themselves to the business of -feeding. They had healthy appetites--even the lady who had had a recent -attack of the spleen. She would eat nothing but cake, but she did eat -cake with confidence. There was no sort of cake that she did not try, -and her cup was kept in constant circulation from the tea-maker to -herself--four times she had it refilled, Fanny could not help noticing, -and she wondered what effect such a diet would have upon her capricious -spleen. Fanny had an inward hint or two that she had observed quite -enough of the party to serve her purpose, and she began to count the -moments until she might be able to steal away without offending the -susceptibilities of her over-hospitable host and hostess. She hoped that -her stepmother would listen to her plea of weariness and take her back -to St. Martin's Street--to the music of St. Martin's Street--to the -quiet of St. Martin's Street. - -The most solid hour of her life had, however, to elapse before her -fellow-guests pushed their plates (empty) away from them, and Mrs. -Barlowe said: - -“I am afraid you have made a poor tea, Miss Burney; but if you cannot be -persuaded to have a slice of ham--my son's ham, I call it, for 'tis he -who picks it out of the curer's stock whenever we have a party--if you -still refuse it, we might go to the drawing-room.” - -Fanny was on her feet in an instant. But not sooner than Alderman -Kensit. That gentleman, rapping with the haft of his knife on the table, -stood with a sheaf of notes in his hand and clearing his throat with -great deliberation, started upon a speech in eulogy of Mr. Barlowe's -merits as a host and as a merchant, and droned away for a good -half-hour in praise of the virtue of hospitality, his text being on -the possibility of entertaining angels unawares. Of course, it was only -natural that, having got upon this track and with the word “angels” - in his mind, he should go on to say that it was quite possible for a -hospitably-inclined person to entertain an angel and be fully cognizant -of the fact, and so forth: in a speech of well-worn platitudes such a -suggestion seemed inevitable; and all eyes were directed to poor -Fanny when it seemed impending. It was a great disappointment to -everybody--except Fanny and her stepmother--when the orator skipped the -expected phrases, and went on to describe a business visit which he had -once made to Spain, apropos of nothing in particular. His account of -this feat was familiar to all his relations, but they listened to him -without a murmur, only wondering when he would come to the angel and -Miss Burney. - -He never came to the angel and Miss Burney, for it so happened that he -had turned over two pages of his notes when he should have only turned -over one. The omitted platitude was on the first, and he failed to -notice the absence of a platitudinal sequence in the heads of his -discourse which he had jotted down during the day. - -When he had seated himself, Mr. Barlowe, the elder, got upon his feet, -but he had no notes, and not being a member of the Common Council, he -was not a past-master of commonplaces. He was only dull for about five -minutes instead of half an hour. He had risen with a view to repair his -relative's omission of that obvious point about entertaining an angel by -appointment in the shape of Miss Burney, but he lost himself before he -managed to deliver it; it swam out of his ken with several other points -the moment he got upon his legs. - -Fully recognizing how narrow was the escape she had had, Fanny was -resolved not to run any further chances. She was looking imploringly -toward Mrs. Burney, trying to catch that lady's eye, but without -success, and she was about to walk round the table to her side and to -beg her to come away, when Mrs. Barlowe moved up to her. - -“Miss Burney,” she said, “I am afraid you did not get anything you liked -at the table: I saw that you scarce ate more than a morsel of cake.” - -“I assure you, madam, I had enough,” said Fanny. “Your cake was so tasty -I had no mind to go away from it in search of other delicacies.” - -“I am glad you liked it. I made it with my own hands,” said the hostess. -“That cake was ever a favourite with Mr. Barlowe and my son. It pleases -me to know that you and my son have tastes in common. He is a good son, -is Thomas, though I say it that shouldn't; and he is making his way to -the front by treading in his father's footsteps. Mr. Barlowe is not a -Common Councilman, but his father, Thomas's grandfather, was for a year -Deputy-Master of the Wyre Drawers' Company--his certificate still hangs -on the wall of the drawing-room. You must see it. Thomas, you will show -Miss Burney your grandfather's certificate as Deputy-Master.” - -“I should like very much to see it,” said Fanny quickly, “but I fear -that mamma will wish me to accompany her home at once. My sisters are -alone to-night and they will feel lonely: we promised to return early.” - -“I will get Mrs. Burney's permission for you--so good an opportunity -should not be thrown away,” said Mrs. Barlowe, giving the latter part of -her sentence an unmistakable inflection as she looked toward her son and -smiled. - -She had gone round the table before Fanny could think of another excuse -for evading the visit to the drawing-room in the company of Mr. Barlowe, -the younger. - -And Mr. Barlowe, the younger, was still by her side. - -“Doesn't Uncle Kensit make a fine speech?” he inquired. “He is always -ready. I have heard it said that he speaks longer than any Alderman in -the Council.” - -“I can quite believe it,” replied Fanny. - -“Tis a wonderful gift,” said he--“to be always ready to say what one is -expected to say. Though I did think that when he referred to the angels -he meant to--to--go farther--I mean nearer-nearer home.” - -Thomas might himself have gone farther had his mother not returned at -that moment from her diplomatic errand. - -“I have prevailed upon Mrs. Burney to let you stay to see the -certificate,” said she. “Thomas, you will conduct Miss Burney to the -drawing-room.” - -“I am sure that mamma would wish to see the certificate also,” said -Fanny. “I will ask her.” - -“There is no need, Miss Burney: we shall all join you later,” said Mrs. -Barlowe. - -Poor Fanny saw that there was no use trying to evade the attentions of -Thomas, and as she walked toward the folding doors by his side she was -conscious of a silence in the room and of all eyes being turned upon -her--smiles--such knowing smiles--and a smirk from the young lady. Fanny -was aware of all, and what she was too short-sighted to see she was able -to imagine. She was burning at the thought of all those people gazing at -her in silence. It was the most trying moment of her life. - -She passed through the door which Thomas opened for her and closed -behind her. - -“I am glad to have this opportunity, Miss Burney,” said he, when they -were alone in the big half-lighted room. - -“You must hold your grandfather's certificate in high esteem, sir,” said -she. “I suppose so high a place as he reached is but rarely attained -by mortals. You will have to guide me to the document: I have very poor -eyesight, as you must have noticed.” - -“It is a great drawback,” said he. “But we will not talk about -grandfather's certificate just yet, if you please: I have something to -say to you that will, I hope, interest you even more than that.” - -“You surprise me, sir,” said Fanny icily. - -“Nay, I hope that you know me well enough not to be surprised by all -that I have to reveal to you now that the opportunity has been given to -me. Have you no inkling of what I am about to say, Miss Burney?” - -“Not the least, sir. I expected only to see that relic of your -grandfather's honourable career.” - -“What, after meeting Uncle Kensit and Aunt Jelicoe, you do not feel -interested in their families?” said he, in a tone of genuine surprise. - -Fanny looked at him before she spoke, and there certainly was more than -a note of casual interest in her voice as she said: - -“Their families? Oh, I should like above all things to hear about their -families.” - -“I knew that you would,” said he, apparently much relieved. (She -wondered if the relief that she felt was as apparent as his.) “Yes, -I felt certain that you would welcome this opportunity of learning -something about the Kensits and the Jelicoes. They are remarkable -people, as you cannot have failed to perceive.” - -He made a pause---a pause that somehow had an interrogative tendency. -She felt that he meant it to be filled up by her. - -“They are remarkable people--very remarkable,” said she. - -“We are very fortunate in all our relations, Miss Burney,” said he with -great solemnity. “But, of course, Uncle Kensit stands high above them -all in force of character. A great man indeed is Alderman Kensit--a -member of the Haberdashers' and Grocers' Companies as well as the City -Council, and yet quite ready to meet ordinary persons as fellow-men. He -had heard the name of your friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds, though not the -name of Dr. Burney, and he was kind enough to say that he would have no -objection in the world to meet either of these gentlemen. That shows you -what sort of man he is--his fine, simple nature. 'If Dr. Burney or Sir -Joshua Reynolds were duly presented to me, I should feel it my duty to -be civil to him '--those were his exact words.” - -Once more there was an interrogative pause. - -“Perhaps they may be fortunate enough to meet him some day,” was all -Fanny could trust herself to say. - -“I would not say so much to them--he is very busy just now,” said Thomas -hastily. “It would have to be arranged with care and thought--I would -not like them to be disappointed. But if it would please you, I daresay -a meeting could be brought about; meantime, I would not raise up any -false hopes on the matter, if I were you.” - -“You may depend on my preserving the strictest secrecy, Mr. Barlowe,” - said Fanny. “I should think that I might even discipline myself to -forget that such a person as Alderman Kensit existed.” - -“That would perhaps be the safest course to pursue,” said he -thoughtfully, and with an air of prudence that made him for the moment -the subject of a description after Fanny's own heart. She felt that -she could fool this young man as easily as her brother had fooled him. -Surely he was made to be fooled, with his solemn airs and his incapacity -to distinguish what is worthy from what is pompous. - -“Yes,” she continued, “Dr. Burney has had it intimated to him since the -publication of his 'History' that the King was desirous of talking to -him at Windsor, and I know that Sir Joshua is being visited daily by -the Duchess of Devonshire and the Duchess of Ancaster, and it would be -a great pity if my father were forced to write excusing himself to His -Majesty on account of having to meet Alderman--Alderman--I protest that -I have already forgotten the gentleman's name--nay, do not tell it to -me; I might be tempted to boast of having met him, and if I did so in -Sir Joshua's presence, his beautiful Duchesses would be forlorn when -they found that he had hurried away on the chance of meeting the -Alderman. And now, sir, I think that I shall return to Mrs. Burney.” - -“But I have not told you half of what I can tell about our family,” he -cried. “I have said nothing about my aunts--I have four aunts and eleven -cousins. You would surely like to hear of my cousins. They do not -all live in London. I have three as far away as Lewes; their name is -Johnson. My mother's youngest sister married a Johnson, as you may have -heard. I believe that some objection was raised to the match at first, -but it turned out quite satisfactory.” - -“It is pleasant to know that; and so, sir, as we have come to this -point, don't you think that we had better adjourn our conference?” said -Fanny. “It would be doing the Johnson family a grave injustice were you -to attempt to describe their virtues within the time that is left to -us, and that would be the greatest catastrophe of all. Besides, I came -hither all unprepared for these revelations. If you had hinted at -what was in store for me I would, of course, have disciplined -myself--forewarned is forearmed, you know.” - -Miss Burney had received many a lesson from Mr. Garrick, from the days -when he had come to entertain her in the nursery, in the art of fooling, -and she was now quite capable of holding her own when she found herself -in the presence of so foolable a person as this egregious young man. But -the game was apt to become wearisome at the close of an evening when -she had suffered much, and when the subject of her raillery had shown -himself to be incapable even of suspecting her of practising on him. - -“But there is Aunt Jelicoe; I should like to tell you something of Aunt -Jelicoe,” pleaded Thomas. “Without any of the advantages of her parents, -Aunt Jelicoe--and--oh, I have something more to say to you--not about -them--about ourselves--you and me--I was nearly forgetting--you will -stay----” - -“One cannot remember everything, Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny, with her -hand on the knob of the door. “You have done very well, I think, in -remembering so much as you have told me. As for ourselves--you have -quite convinced me of my own insignificance--and yours also, sir. You -would be doing us a grave injustice were you to speak of us so soon -after your estimable relations.” - -“Perhaps you are right,” said he, after a few moments of frowning -thought. “Yes. I see now that it might have been wiser if I had begun -with ourselves and then----” - -Fanny had turned the handle. She re-entered the dining-room, and the -moment that she appeared silence fell upon the company, and once again -she was conscious of many eyes gazing at her and of horrid smiles and a -smirk. That was another ordeal for the shy little Miss Burney--it was an -evening of ordeals. - -She walked straight across the room to her stepmother. - -“I am ready to go away now,” she said. “We have never stayed at any -house so long when we only came for tea. I am tired to death.” - -She took care, of course, that Mrs. Burney only should hear her; and -Mrs. Burney, being well aware that Fanny was not one to complain unless -with ample cause, charitably interposed between her and Mrs. Barlowe, -whom she saw bearing down upon her from the other side of the room. - -“Fanny and I will say our good-night to you now, my dear Martha,” she -said. “You have treated us far too kindly. That must be our excuse for -staying so long. When people drop in to tea they do not, as a rule, stop -longer than an hour, as you know. But you overwhelmed us.” - -“I was hoping--” began Mrs. Barlowe, trying to get on to Fanny, but by -the adroitness of Mrs. Burney, not succeeding. “I was hoping--you know -what I was hoping--we were all hoping--expecting--they were in the -drawing-room long enough.” - -Mrs. Burney gave her a confidential look, which she seemed to interpret -easily enough. She replied by a confidential nod--the nod of one who -understands a signal. - -“Mum it shall be, then,” she whispered. “Not a word will come from me, -simply good-night; but we could all have wished--never mind, Thomas will -tell us all.” - -Mrs. Burney allowed her to pass on to Fanny, having obtained her promise -not to bother the girl--that was how Mrs. Burney framed the promise in -her own mind--and Mrs. Barlowe kept faith with her, and even persuaded -Alderman Kensit, who was approaching them slowly with a sheaf of notes -in his hand, to defer their delivery in the form of a speech until the -young woman had gone. - -And thus the visitors from St. Martin's Street were able to escape going -through the formality of taking leave of all the party. They shook hands -only with their host and hostess and their son, curtseying very politely -to the company of relations. - -“They are warm-hearted people, but their weakness for ceremony and the -like is foolish enough,” said Mrs. Burney to Fanny, when they were safe -within the hackney carriage. - -Fanny laughed. - -“Oh, indeed, there is no harm in any of them,” she said. “They may be -a little foolish in thinking that the Poultry is St. James's Palace or -Buckingham House. The only one among them who is an arrant fool is the -son. You saw how his mother made it up that he should lead me into the -other room?” - -“It was maladroitly done indeed. What had he to say to you when he got -you there, I wonder?” - -“He had nothing to say to me except that his uncles were second in all -the virtues and all the talents to no man in town, and that his aunts -and cousins--but he did not get so far in his praise of his aunts and -cousins; I fled. Oh, did you see him cut slices off the ham?” - -Fanny laughed quite pleasantly, with a consciousness of having at -her command the material on which to found a scene that would set her -sisters shrieking. - -“Oh, if Mr. Garrick had but seen him carve that ham!” she cried. - -“I wish that Mr. Garrick would give all his attention to his own affairs -and leave us to manage ours in our own way,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“What? Why, what had Mr. Garrick to do with our visit to----” - -“'Twas Mr. Garrick who continued his fooling of Mr. Kendal, sending him -all over the town trying to make matches. He believes that he is under -a debt of gratitude to Mr. Garrick and your father for the happiness he -enjoys with his bride.” - -“And he suggested that a match might be made between someone in St. -Martins Street and someone in the Poultry? But how does Mr. Kendal come -to be acquainted with the Barlowes?” - -“His wife was a Johnson before she married her first husband, and the -Johnsons are closely connected with the Barlowes.” - -“Young Mr. Barlowe was just coming to the family history of the Johnsons -when I interrupted him.” - -“Was he coming to any other matter that concerned you more closely, -think you?” - -Fanny laughed again, only much longer this time than before. She had to -wipe her eyes before she could answer. - -“Dear mamma,” she said, “you would laugh as heartily if you had seen him -when he suddenly recollected that in his eagerness to make me acquainted -with the glories of the Kensits and the abilities of the Johnsons, he -had neglected the object of his excursion to that room with my poor -self, until it was too late.” - -“I doubt it,” said Mrs. Burney. “I do not laugh at incidents of that -sort. I lose patience when I hear of a young man neglecting his chances -when they are offered to him. But had he ever a chance with you, Fanny?” - -“Not the remotest, dear mamma. If he had remembered to speak in time, -and if he had spoken with all the eloquence of his admirable uncle, the -Alderman, he would not have succeeded. If Thomas Barlowe were the last -man in the world I should e'en die an old maid.” - -“That is a foolish thing for you to say. You may die an old maid for -that. But indeed when I saw young Mr. Barlowe in his home, I perceived -that he was not for you. I could not see you a member of that family, -worthy though they may be.” - -“I think if a girl loves a young man with all her heart she will agree -to marry him, however worthy may be his family,” said Fanny. “But I am -not that girl, and young Mr. Barlowe is not that man.” - -“I daresay that is how you feel,” said the elder lady. “But you must not -forget, Fanny, that you are no longer a girl; it is quite time that you -had a house of your own.” - -“That is true, dear mamma, but for the present I am happy in living in -your house, and I ask for nothing better than to be allowed to stay in -your service.” - -“That is all very well, but----” - -“Ah, do not introduce that 'but'--life would be thoroughly happy if it -were not for its 'buts.' Here we are in Leicester Fields. I feel as if -I should like a roast apple for supper, to put a pleasant taste in my -mouth at the close of the longest day I can remember.” - -They entered the parlour on the ground floor, and found Lottie and -Susy roasting apples on the hearth, while Dr. Burney sat in his chair -reading. - -“I did not expect you back so soon,” said Mrs. Burney to her husband. - -“I did not mean to return for another hour,” said he, “but Sir Joshua -left early and brought me with him in his coach. He cut his evening -short in order to get back to a book which he affirms is the best he has -read since Fielding.” - -“It would have to be a good book to take the attention of Sir Joshua,” - said Mrs. Burney. “Did you hear what was its name?” - -“It is called 'Evelina,' I believe,” replied Dr. Burney. - -“A novel, of course. I remember hearing the name some time ago,” said -his wife. “'Evelina'; yes, it has a familiar sound. I cannot recollect -at this moment who it was that mentioned it to me. I believe I told you -of it at the time, Fanny.” - -“I do not remember your telling me that anyone had mentioned it to you; -but I am nearly sure that that was the name of the novel advertised in -the _Chronicle_--you read out all about it after breakfast one morning,” - said Fanny. - -“You are quite right--that was how I got the name in my mind. Now you -can have your roasted apple, child. But if you are hungry you have only -yourself to thank for it. Don't bend so over the fire, Susy; your face -is frightfully fed--so, for that matter, is Lottie's. No, thanks, you -need not roast one for me.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -|SOME weeks had passed since Cousin Edward had brought his exhilarating -news that the book was being asked for at the libraries, and during this -interval, Fanny had heard nothing of its progress. She had applied in -the name of Mr. Grafton for a copy to be addressed to the Orange Coffee -House, but Mr. Lowndes had paid no attention to her request, Edward -found out on going to the Coffee House, so it seemed plain to Fanny that -the book was not making the stir in the world that her cousin's report -from the libraries had attributed to it. But here was a distinct proof -that it had at last reached their own circle, and somehow Fanny and her -sisters felt that this meant fame. Somehow they had come to think of -the readers of the book as being very remote from them--people whom they -were never likely to meet; they had never thought of the possibility of -its being named under their own roof by anyone not in the secret of its -authorship. But now the strange thing had come to pass: it was not -only named by their father, but named with the most extraordinary -recommendation that it could receive! - -What! Sir Joshua was not only reading it, but he had curtailed his stay -at the club in order to get home to continue it! Sir Joshua had actually -been content to forsake the society of his brilliant friends, every one -of them more or less notable in the world, in order that he might read -the story which Fanny Burney had written all out of her own head! - -The idea was simply astounding to the girls and to Fanny herself as -well. It meant fame, they were assured, and they were right. It took -such a hold upon Susy and Lottie as prevented them from giving any -attention to Fanny's amusing account of the evening at the Barlowes'; -and the fun she made--modelled on Mr. Garrick's best nursery style--of -the Alderman and Mrs. Alderman, with the speeches of the one and the -St. Giles's curtsies of the other, went for quite as little as did her -imitation of the bobbing of the crown feathers of the aunts and the -rustling of their dresses, the material of which was too expensive to -be manageable: the thick silk was, Fanny said, like a valuable horse, -impatient of control. She showed how it stood round them in massive -folds when they curtsied, refusing to respond to the many kicks they -dealt it to keep it in its place. - -From the recalcitrant silks--with illustrations--Fanny had gone to the -slicing of the ham, the hacking at the great sirloin, the clatter of the -teacups, and the never-ending passing of plates and pickles, of mustard -and pepper and salt--the things were moving round the table as the -planets were shown circling round the sun in the clever invention called -the Orrery, after one of the titles of the Earl of Cork--only the noise -made by the perpetual handing on of the things did not suggest the music -of the spheres, Fanny said. - -Her descriptions, bright though they were and full of apt metaphors, -went for nothing. Her sisters were too full of that wonderful thing -which had happened--the great Sir Joshua Reynolds, President of the -Royal Academy, the painter of all the most beautiful duchesses that -were in the world, to say nothing of beautiful ladies of less exalted -rank--this great man, who was so busy conferring immortality upon -duchesses that he was compelled to keep in his painting-room on Sundays -as well as every other day, and who had never been known to suspend -his work except upon the occasion of the death of his dear friend Dr. -Goldsmith--this man was actually at that very moment sitting in his -arm-chair eagerly reading the words which their sister Fanny had -written! - -The thought was too wonderful for them. The effect that it had on them -was to make them feel that they had two sisters in Fanny, the one a -pleasant, homely, hem-stitching girl, who could dance the Nancy Dawson -jig for them and take off all the people whom she met and thought worth -taking off; the other a grave authoress, capable of writing books that -great men forsook the society of other great men to read! - -They looked on her now with something of awe in their eyes, and it was -this lens of awe which, while magnifying her work as a writer where it -came into their focus, made them fail to appreciate her fun, for they -saw it, as it were, through the edges of the lens and not through the -centre. - -She quickly perceived the lack of sympathy of her audience. - -“What is the matter with you both to-night?” she cried--they were now -upstairs in her room, and she knew that at the same moment Mrs. Burney -was giving her husband an account of the party. “What is the matter -with you both? Has anything happened when I was away to put you out? Why -don't you laugh as usual? I am sure I never told you anything half so -funny as this, and I was thinking all the way coming home that it would -make you roar, and now you sit gravely looking at me and not taking in -half I say. Pray, what is the matter?” - -“Nothing is the matter, dear,” said Lottie. “Nothing--only I can't help -thinking that Sir Joshua is at this moment sitting eagerly reading the -book that you wrote--you, sister Fanny, that no one who comes to us -notices particularly. I can hardly bring myself to believe that there is -only one Fanny.” - -Fanny looked at her strangely for some moments, and then said: - -“I do not blame you, dear; for I am myself of the same way of thinking: -I cannot realize what the padre told us. I cannot think of myself as the -Fanny Burney whose book is keeping Sir Joshua out of his bed. That is -why I kept on harping like a fool on the single string of that odious -party. I feel that I must keep on talking, lest my poor brain should -give way when I sit down to think if I am really Fanny Burney, who was -ever happiest sitting unnoticed in a corner when people came to this -house, or laughing with you all up here. I cannot think how it would -be possible for me to write a book that could be read by such as Sir -Joshua.” - -“Better think nothing more about it,” said Susy, who fancied she saw -a strange look in Fanny's eyes. “What's the good of brooding over the -matter? There's nothing strange about Sir Joshua's reading the book: -I read it and I told you that it was so lovely everybody would want to -read it. Besides, Sir Joshua may only have mentioned it for want of a -better excuse to leave the club early; so you may not be so famous after -all, Fanny.” - -Susy's well-meant attempt to restore her threatened equilibrium was -too much for Fanny. But there was a considerable interval before her -laughter came. She put an arm about Susy, saying: - -“You have spoken the truth, my dear sister. I have no right to give -myself airs until we find out exactly how we stand. But if Fanny Burney, -the dunce, should find out to-morrow that Sir Joshua has not really -been kept out of his bed in order to read 'Evelina' by Fanny Burney, the -writer, the first Fanny will feel dreadfully mortified.” - -“One thing I can promise you,” said Susy, “and this is that Susannah -Burney will not be kept out of her bed any longer talking to Fanny -Burney about Fanny Burney's novel, whether Fanny Burney be mortified -or not. We shall know all about the matter when we go to the Reynolds's -to-morrow. In the meantime, I hope to have some hours of sleep, though -I daresay that Fanny Burney will lie awake as a proper authoress should -do, thinking over the exciting party in the Poultry and wondering how -she will work in a description of it in her next novel. Good-night, and -pleasant dreams! Come along, Lottie.” - -And Fanny Burney did just what her sister had predicted she would do. -She recalled some of the incidents of the tea-party in the Poultry, -having before her, not as she had in the hackney coach, the possibility -of describing them in a letter to Mr. Crisp, but of introducing them -into a new book. - -Before she slept she had made up her mind to begin a new book; for she -now found it comparatively easy to believe that Sir Joshua was reading -“Evelina” with great interest. At any rate, she would hear the next day -when she should go to the Reynolds's, whether Sir Joshua had read it, -or whether he had only made it an excuse for getting home early in the -night, so that he might arise early and refreshed to resume his painting -of the duchesses. - -But the next evening, when, with her sisters and their stepmother she -tripped along the hundred yards or so of Leicester Fields that lay -between their house and that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, all thoughts of -the book which she had written and of the book which she meant to write, -vanished the moment that she was close enough to Sir Joshua's to hear, -with any measure of clearness, the nature of the singing, the sound of -which fell gently upon her ears. - -“H'sh!” said Mrs. Burney, stopping a few feet from the door. “H'sh! some -one is singing. I did not know that it was to be a musical party.” - -“It is Signor Rauzzini,” said Lottie. “I would know his voice anywhere. -We are lucky. There is no one who can sing like Signor Rauzzini.” - -“We should have come earlier,” said Mrs. Burney. “But when Miss Reynolds -asked us she did not say a word about Rauzzini. And now we cannot ring -the bell, lest we should interrupt his song.” - -She stood there with the three girls, under the lighted windows of the -house, listening to the silvery notes of the young Roman that floated -over their heads, as if an angel were hovering there, filling their -ears with celestial music. (The simile was Susy's.) The music sounded -celestial to the ears of at least another of the group besides Susy; and -that one thought: - -“How can anyone trouble oneself with such insignificant matters as the -writing of books or the reading of books, when such a voice as that is -within hearing?” - -And then, all at once, she was conscious of the merging of the two -Fanny Burneys into one, and of the existence of a new Fanny Burney -altogether--the Fanny Burney who was beloved by the celestial singer, -and this was certainly the most wonderful of the three. - -The thought thrilled her, and she knew that with it the truth of life -had come to her: there was nothing worth anything in the world save only -loving and being loved. - -And this truth remained with her when the song had come to an end, -soaring to a high note and dwelling on it for an enraptured space and -then dying away, so gradually that a listener scarcely knew when it had -ceased. - -Fanny's imagination enabled her to hear, at the close, the drawing-in of -the breath of the people in the room where the song had been sung: she -knew that up to this point they had been listening breathlessly to -every note. She could hear the same soft inspiration--it sounded like -a sigh--by her sisters and their stepmother. A dozen wayfarers through -Leicester Fields had been attracted to-the house by the sound of the -singing, and now stood timidly about the doorway. They also had been -breathless. One woman murmured “Beautiful!” Fanny could understand -how the word had sprung to her lips, but what could the man mean, who, -almost at the same moment, said: - -“Oh, my God! how could I have been so great a fool?” - -She was startled, and glanced at him. He was a young man, shabbily -dressed, and on his face there were signs of dissipation. He was -unconscious of her glance for some moments, then with a slight start he -seemed to recover himself. He took off his hat with a respectful bow, -and then hurried away. But Fanny saw him turn when he had gone about a -dozen yards into the roadway, and take off his hat once more, with his -eyes looking up to the lighted windows of the house. He was saluting the -singer whom he had not seen, and to Fanny the act, following the words -which he had unwittingly uttered, was infinitely pathetic. - -It appeared that Mrs. Burney herself received the same impression. Fanny -was surprised to hear her say: - -“Poor fellow! he was once a gentleman!” - -Then they entered Sir Joshua's house and were shown upstairs to the -great painting-room, where Sir Joshua and his sister Frances were -receiving their guests. - -It was quite a small party--not more than a score of people altogether, -and all seemed to be acquainted with one another. Fanny knew several of -them; one girl, however, she had never seen before, but she knew who -she was in a moment. She was standing at one end of the room chatting to -Mrs. Sheridan, and on the wall just above her there hung the picture of -a girl in oriental costume and wearing a turban. Fanny Burney had often -looked at it in admiration, and Sir Joshua had encouraged her, affirming -that it was the best picture he had ever painted and that it would -remain in his painting-room until the day of his death. She looked at -it now with renewed interest, for the original was the girl standing -beneath it--the beautiful Miss Homeck whom Oliver Goldsmith had called -the Jessamy Bride. Several years had passed since Sir Joshua had painted -that portrait, from which Miss Burney had recognized the original; and -fifty years later another lady recognized the same face, still beautiful -in old age, from having seen merely a print of the same picture. - -When Fanny turned her eyes from the portrait it was to admire the -features of Mrs. Sheridan. Mrs. Sheridan was gazing somewhat pensively -at the picture of St. Cecilia which was hanging a little way from that -of Miss Horneck, and Fanny was near enough to her to perceive how her -expression grew into that of the face in the picture. At first sight, it -did not appear to Fanny that the two faces were the same, and it seemed -as if Mrs. Sheridan perceived this, and determined to vindicate Sir -Joshua's skill by assuming the pose of the picture. But Miss Burney knew -that the beautiful lady had done it unconsciously--that it was simply -because she was recalling the days when she had sat for the painter, and -had obeyed his injunction to lose herself among the simple chords of the -aria that was sacred to her since her sister died with the strain upon -her lips--“I know that my Redeemer liveth.” - -Fanny gazed at the exquisite face, illuminated with what seemed to her -to be a divine light, and for the first time she knew something of what -it was to be a great painter. After “St. Cecilia” the other portraits on -the walls seemed paltry. There was no divine light in the faces of the -duchesses. There was life in them; they breathed and smiled and posed -and looked gracious, but looking at them one remained on earth and among -mortals. But St. Cecilia carried one into the glorious company of the -immortals. “She drew an angel down,” was the line that flashed through -Miss Burney's mind at that moment. An angel? A whole celestial company. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -|YOU are looking at her--I, too, have been looking at her; she is -divine,” came a voice beside her. She did not need to turn to see the -speaker. She had been longing for the sound of his voice for many days. -She had not even a chance of hearing him sing before this evening. - -“She is St. Cecilia herself,” said she. “You have seen Sir Joshua's -picture?” - -“My countryman, Piozzi, pointed it out to me,” he replied. “I was -enraptured with the picture. But when the living St. Cecilia entered the -room and I heard her story, I felt ready to throw myself at her feet and -implore her as the guardian of poor singers to take me to her care. Her -face has on it the bloom of a flower dropped fresh from the garden of -God--angelic beyond the voice of man to describe.” - -He spoke, as usual, in French to Fanny, but he had greeted Mrs. Burney -in English, and he tried to translate his last phrase to her into the -same language. He failed after the first word or two, and begged Miss -Burney to complete his task for him. She did so, and her stepmother -smiled and nodded in appreciation of his comment. - -“She is indeed a beautiful creature,” said Mrs. Burney. “I heard her -sing more than once at Bath. People went mad about her beauty and her -singing, and truly I never heard any singing that so affected me. It was -said that she hated to let her voice be heard in public. Her father, -Mr. Linley, made her sing: she was a gold mine to Mr. Linley and he knew -it.” - -Signor Rauzzini had listened attentively and picked up all that she had -said without the aid of a word from Fanny. - -“But now she will never be heard again no more,” said he in English. -“And she is right in making such a resolution, and her husband is a -noble man to agree with her in this,” he continued, but in French to -Fanny. “Picture that lovely creature placing herself on the level of -such a one as the Agujari! sordid--vulgar--worldly! quarrelling daily -with the _impresario_ on some miserable question of precedence---holding -out for the largest salary--turning a gift which should be divine into -gold! Oh; she was right.” - -“Signor Rauzzini no doubt thinks it a pity that such a voice should -cease to give pleasure to the thousands it enchanted,” said Mrs. Burney, -not being able to follow him in French. - -“Oh, no, no; just the opposite,” cried Fanny. “He says he admires her -the more for her resolution.” - -“I am so glad. Pray tell him that I agree with him,” said Mrs. Burney. -“A good woman will avoid publicity. Her home should be sufficient for -her.” - -Fanny did not need to translate the words, he grasped their meaning at -once. - -“I agree with all of my heart, madame,” he cried. “I would not wish my -mother or my sister to have their names spoken with freedom by -everyone who paid a coin to hear them sing. I should think it--_come -si chiamo?_--Ah! forgive my poor English.” He went off into French once -more--“Pray tell madame that I think it would be odious to hear the name -of my mother or my sister tossed from man to man as they toss the name -of a woman who comes before the public. I think the woman who would hide -herself from all eyes as a violet hides itself under a leaf is the true -woman. The shy, timid, retiring one--I know her--I esteem her. I could -love no other. I have a deep respect for the woman of the Orient who -would die sooner than let her face be seen by a man.” - -“What does he say--I like his eagerness?” asked Mrs. Burney. - -Fanny translated some of his phrases, and Mrs. Burney nodded and smiled -her approval. - -“The bloom on the wing of a butterfly is a very tender thing,” resumed -the Roman; “the breath of a man is sufficient to remove it--a single -breath--and when the bloom has gone the charm of the beautiful creature -has gone also.” - -“I am not sure that I like the comparison to the butterfly,” said Fanny, -smiling. “The butterfly is the emblem of all that is fickle--all that -is idle except for its yielding to its fickleness. It is beautiful, but -nothing else.” - -He laughed. - -“I am rebuked,” he said. “But with us the butterfly is the symbol of the -life--of the soul. Assume that and you will, I think, see that I meant -not to hint at the beauty of the frivolity, but at the beauty of the -soul. I feel that a woman's life has on it the bloom of a butterfly's -wing, and if that is once breathed on, its beauty is gone for ever--the -woman's life is never again what it was--what it was meant to be. But -if you wish, I will not go beyond the violet as my emblem of the best -woman--my woman.” - -“I thank heaven that I have no voice,” said Fanny gently, after a -pause. Young Mr. North-cote, Sir Joshua's pupil, had approached Mrs. -Burney--his eye was on Susy--in order to tell her that tea was being -served in the drawing-room. - -Mrs. Burney thanked him and took the arm that he offered. - -“We shall all go in together,” said Mrs. Burney, with a sign to Fanny. - -But Rauzzini contrived to evade her eye by renewing his admiration of -the “St. Cecilia.” - -“If I could but reproduce in song the effect that flows from her face I -should be the greatest singer in the world,” said he. - -“You need not envy her,” said Fanny. “Do you remember Mr. Handel's -setting of 'Alexander's Feast '?” - -“Only an aria or two.” - -“One of the lines came into my mind just now when I looked at that -picture. 'She drew an angel down.'” - -“And it was very apt. She would draw an angel down.” - -“Yes; but the poet has another line before that one--it refers to a -singer--'He raised a mortal to the skies.' That was the line which came -to my mind when I heard you sing. You raise mortals to the skies. Your -power is equal to that of St. Cecilia.” - -“Nay, nay; that is what you have done. I have been uplifted to the -highest heaven by you. When you are near me I cannot see anything of the -world. Why have we not met more frequently? Ah, I forget--I am always -forgetting that the months you spoke of have not yet run out. But I am -not impatient, knowing that the prize will come to me in good time. -I have been away at the Bath and Salisbury and Bristol and I know not -where, singing, singing, singing, and now I go to Paris and Lyon for a -few months, but you may be certain that I shall return to England--then -the separating months shall have passed and you will welcome me--is not -that so?” - -“I think I can promise you--every day seems to make it more certain that -I shall welcome you.” - -“My angel--my dream!----” - -He said the words--both long-drawn monosyllables in French--in a whisper -that gave them the full force of passionate expression. He had need to -whisper, for several people were in the room, and Mr. Boswell was among -the number, and everyone knew that Mr. Boswell, as a gossip-monger, had -no equal in town. He was always pimping and prying--nosing out germs -of scandal--ever ready to make mischief by telling people all the -nasty things other people had said of them. Mr. Boswell had his eye on -them--and his ear. In addition, Mrs. Thrale, who had arrived late, had -no idea of allowing the handsome Roman singer to waste himself with a -nonentity like Miss Burney, and she was now perilously close to him whom -she came to rescue. - -But the whisper and the expression imparted to it were enough for Fanny -Burney. He might have talked for hours in his impassioned way without -achieving the effect of his whispered exclamations. - -Then Mrs. Thrale hastened up to his side full of her resolution to -rescue him from the conversation with the insignificant person whom his -good nature suffered to engage his attention. - -“Why, what is this?” cried the little lady who regarded herself with -complacency as the soul of tact. “Have you explained to Signor Rauzzini -that you are the unmusical member of the family, Miss Burney?” - -“I believe that he is aware of that fact already, madam,” replied Fanny. - -“And yet he is in close converse with you? He is the most good-natured -man in town,” said Mrs. Thrale. “Does he hope to interest you when your -father failed?” - -“He has never ceased, to interest me, madam,” said Fanny. - -“Then he did not talk about music?” - -“Oh, yes; I think he said something about music.” - -“Yes, touching a note here and there, as one might in passing a -harpsichord. Of course you could not have lived in Dr. Burney's house -without being able to understand something of music. But we must not -trespass upon Signor Rauzzin's courtesy, Miss Burney. Everyone is -talking of him in the drawing-room--he must gratify the company by -mingling with them.” - -Then she addressed Rauzzini in French. - -“I promised to go in search of you, signor,” she said. “Madame Reynolds -is distracted. I came on my mission famished--I had vowed, as the -crusaders did, not to taste food or drink until I had succeeded in -my emprise. May I ask you to have pity on me now and lead me to the -tea-table?” - -He turned to ask Fanny to accompany them, but he found that she had -slipped quietly away. She was already at the door. - -“My duty was to Miss Burney, madame, but she has been frightened away,” - said he. - -“Oh, she is the shy one of the family, I believe,” said Mrs. Thrale. “I -am sure that all the time you were so good-natured as to talk to her -she was wishing that the floor would open and allow her to sink out of -sight. She would have thought it much more good-natured on your part -if you had taken no notice of her. I have scarcely spoken to her half a -dozen times myself, though I have frequently been to her father's house. -I cannot rack my brain to discover a congenial topic with such young -people. Were you successful, do you think?” - -He made a gesture with his hands that might mean anything. Mrs. Thrale -assumed that it meant nothing--that he felt he was not greatly concerned -whether he had been successful in finding a congenial topic of converse -with Miss Burney or not. - -She laughed. - -“Poor girl!” she said. “She may have her dreams like other girls.” - -“I believe she has--poor girl!” said he. “But I know that in her -knowledge of music she goes deeper--soars higher than most young ladies -who have submitted to lessons from a _maestro_--nay, higher than the -_maestro_ himself.” - -Mrs. Thrale looked doubtfully at him. - -“Is it possible that we are talking of two different people?” said she. - -“Ah, that is quite possible,” said he. - -“I was referring to Miss Burney, the one of the family who does nothing -except sew--her mother commends her sewing very highly. I fear that you -actually believed that you were in converse with one of her sisters.” - -“Madame,” said he, “it is my belief that the one who sews in a family is -far more interesting than the one who sings. But Miss Burney need not, -in my eyes, be any more than Miss Burney to be interesting, though she -has taught me more of music than I ever learned before.” - -“Is't possible? Oh, yes: I should remember that her father told me that -she was his amanuensis--she made a neat copy of all his notes for the -'History of Music.' It is no wonder that she knows something about -it. Such a good daughter! And the father took no trouble about her -education. She did not know her letters till she was eight or nine, I -believe--perhaps twelve. I don't believe that I ever exchanged half a -dozen words with her before this evening; and as for men--you are the -first man I ever saw taking any notice of her.” - -His face lit up strangely, Mrs. Thrale thought, at this revelation. He -gave a laugh. - -“So much the better for her--so much the worse for the men,” said he. -“And now, madame, if the tea has not become too strong, and if your -hunger has not made you too weak to walk to the table, I should esteem -it an honour to conduct you thither.” - -Mrs. Thrale smiled her acquiescence, and she entered the drawing-room on -the arm of the singer. Nothing could have convinced her that he did not -feel grateful to her for rescuing him from the position in which his -good nature had placed him--by the side of the most insignificant young -woman among all Sir Joshua's guests. - -She believed that she was increasing his debt of gratitude to her by -keeping him with her for the next half-hour. Her sense of protecting him -gave her naturally a sense of patronage, which was quite pleasant for -her to experience, especially when she glanced round the room and saw -several ladies of higher rank than she could pretend to, frowning in her -direction. She knew how Signor Rauzzini was pestered by the attentions -of such as these, and she could almost hear the well-bred sneers of -her friends as they glanced at her and wondered if she never meant to -release the unfortunate young man--she knew just what they would say, -and she accepted their imaginary words as a real compliment to -her protective powers. Her smile down the table was one of great -complacency. - -She also noticed that the insignificant Miss Burney was glowing as she -had never seen her glow before. Her face was rosy and her eyes were -actually sparkling. Mrs. Thrale had never imagined that such eyes as -Miss Burney's could sparkle, no matter what their provocation might be. - -“Poor girl! Poor child! Her head is turned, as I feared it would be -when I saw the Rauzzini with her. She is the unhappy victim of his good -nature.” - -This was the conclusion come to by the little lady whose ability to -pronounce an opinion on such a matter was widely acknowledged; and -coming to such a conclusion, she naturally commended all the more -heartily the step which she had taken for separating the foolish girl -and the fascinating young man. - -She would have waved aside any suggestion that might be made to her to -the effect that the increase in Miss Burney's colouring and the light in -her eyes was due to Miss Burney's overhearing the conversation between -her mother and Sir Joshua respecting a book which he had stayed up all -night to read and which he had just finished in time to receive his -guests. - -The name of the book was “Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the -World,” he said, and he was urging Mrs. Burney to follow his example and -read it without further delay. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -|FANNY was at her stepmother's elbow while Sir Joshua gave her a full -account of how he had been induced to send to Lowndes for this wonderful -book on the recommendation of Mrs. Darner, whose portrait he was -painting. Mrs. Darner had excused her unpunctuality at one of her -sittings on the ground that she had become so interested in the fortunes -of “Evelina” that she could not put the book down. - -“Get it for yourself, sir,” she had said, “and you will quickly -acknowledge that my excuse is valid.” - -“Of course I did not get it then,” said Sir Joshua. “I find it -impossible to keep pace with the useful books that are printed in these -days, and I have long ago given up novels. But when, the next day, Mrs. -Darner came to sit to me with a woebegone countenance and the traces of -tears on her cheeks, so that I could only paint her draping, and that, -too, had a woeful droop in its folds--for let me tell you, madam, that a -woman's dress is usually in sympathy with the mood of the wearer--when, -I say, the lady entered my painting-room in this guise, I ventured to -inquire if she was serious in her wish that I should depict her in the -character of Niobe. 'Oh, sir,' she cried, ''tis all due to that horrid -Branghton--he it is that has brought me to this.' 'The wretch!' said I. -'Have you no friend who will run him through the vitals? Where is he -to be found, that I may arrange for his destruction?' 'He is the -persecutor of my beloved Evelina,' she replied, 'and heaven only knows -what is to become of the poor girl.' - -“Now, madam, when I had thus brought before me the effect that the book -had produced upon so natural a lady as Mrs. Darner, what was left for -me but to buy it? And now you see the effect that it has had upon me,” - continued Sir Joshua, “so you must e'en buy it also.” - -“Nay, Sir Joshua,” said Mrs. Burney, “your case has furnished me with -the strongest of reasons for not buying it. I would not allow a book -into my house that would so turn me aside from my ordinary life and my -daily business. What, sir, would you have me stay out of my comfortable -bed for hours, in order that I might make myself more uncomfortable -still by reading of the imaginary woes of a young woman who is nothing -to me but a shadow?” - -“Oh, I promise you that you will find Evelina far from being a shadow,” - said Sir Joshua. “She is a creature of flesh and blood, with a heart -that beats so that you find your own heart keeping time with it, whether -it pulsates slowly or fast. In short, Evelina lives. I have no patience -with those attenuated figures that dance on the stage of so many of our -new novel writers; I can see the stuffing of straw when their constant -gyrating has worked a rip in their seamy side; creatures of rag and -wire--they never deceive one for a moment--why, their very gyrations are -not true to life. But Evelina lives. Some of the characters in the book -are distasteful--some of them are vulgar, but the world is made up of -distasteful and vulgar people, and a novel should be true to the world -in which the characters are placed. Oh, that was where the greatness -of poor Dr. Goldsmith was to be found. He would abate nothing of the -vulgarity of the vulgar characters in his plays, because he meant them -to live. The people hissed his vulgar bailiffs in his _Good-Natured -Man_, and when Colman cut them out he himself restored them when Shuter -played the piece for his benefit the following year, and everyone saw -that they were true to life. The vulgarity of Tony Lumpkin and the Three -Pigeons made Walpole shudder, but there they remain in the best comedy -of our time, and there they will remain for ever. Oh, yes; the author of -'Evelina' knows what life is, and so his book will live.” - -“And who is the author of this surprising book?” asked Mrs. Burney. - -“That is a mystery,” replied Reynolds. “I sent to Lowndes, the -bookseller, to inquire, and he pretended that he did not know. He could -only say that he was a gentleman of note living in Westminster.” - -“Ah, that is one of the booksellers' tricks to make their wares seem -more attractive,” said she. “They know that a man in a mask awakens -curiosity.” - -“That is so; but 'Evelina' stands in need of no advertisement of such a -nature. It would attract attention even though the name of Mr. Kenrick -were attached to it. But everyone is dying to find out the name of the -author; Mrs. Darner believes it to have been written by Horace Walpole, -but only because 'The Castle of Otranto' was published without his name -being on the title page.” - -“Not a very cogent line of argument, it seems to me,” said Mrs. Burney. -“Well, Sir Joshua, I hope you will enjoy a comfortable sleep to-night, -now that you have the fortunes of that young lady off your mind.” - -“Oh, my dear madam, I do assure you that my mind is not yet free from -the effects of reading that book,” cried Reynolds. “I am more faithful -to my friends in some books than to forget all about them when I lay -them on the shelf. If they live, be assured that I live with them, and -the thought of them is to me at times as pleasant as the thought of the -best friends I have met in my daily life. I have laid 'Evelina' on a -shelf in my memory--not one of the back shelves, but one that is near -to me, so that I can console myself with her companionship when I am -lonely.” - -“I have never heard you praise a book so heartily, sir,” said Mrs. -Burney. “But I will beg of you not to mention it to any of my family, -for if it has so unhinged you, what would it not do to those poor -girls?” - -He did not catch all she had said, for she spoke in a voice which she -did not mean to travel to Fanny or Susy, who were chatting to Miss -Theophila Palmer, Sir Joshua's niece. - -“You may depend on my telling them all I find out in regard to the -author,” said he in a tone of assent. - -“No, no,” she cried, getting nearer to the bell of his trumpet. “No, no; -I want you to refrain from mentioning the book to them. I discourage all -novel reading, excepting, of course, the works of Mr. Richardson, and -perhaps one or two of Fielding, with some of the pages gummed together -to prevent them from being read.” - -“Nay, to tempt people to read them,” said Reynolds. “What were we saying -about the attractions of a mask? Well, my word for it, the attractions -of a book without a name are as nothing compared with the attraction -of gummed pages. But you will let them read 'Evelina,' and you will, -moreover, read it yourself--yes, and you will all be the better and not -the worse for doing so.” - -Mrs. Burney shook her head. - -It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale thought that Miss Burney looked -flushed at this time, or that there was an unwonted sparkle in her eyes; -for she had heard nearly every word that Sir Joshua had said, and she -could scarcely contain herself for delight. For all her primness, she -was at heart a merry schoolgirl, ready to break into a dance at good -news, and to shout for joy when things had advanced as she had hoped -they would. She felt that it was very hard on her that she could not -throw her hat up to the ceiling of the room, as she had heard of Dr. -Goldsmith's doing with his wig in the exuberance of his spirits in this -same room--when Miss Reynolds was in her bed upstairs. It was very hard -on her to be compelled to restrain her feelings; she was unconscious of -the sparkle in her eyes, or of the pæony flush of her cheeks that Mrs. -Thrale had noticed and was still noticing. - -She had never felt so happy in all her life. A short time before she had -felt that everything in the world was insignificant in comparison -with love; but now she realized that there was another joy worthy of -recognition. She was not wise enough to perceive that the two emotions -sprang from the same source--that the foundation of love is the impulse -to create, and that the foundation of an artist's joy in fame is the -knowledge that what he has created is recognized by the world. She was -(fortunately) not wise enough to be able to analyse her feelings--to be -wise enough to analyse one's feelings is to be incapable of feeling. All -that she was conscious of at that moment was that all worth having in -the world was hers--the instinct to create, which men call Love, the joy -of obtaining recognition for the thing created, which men call Fame. - -It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale saw that light in her face and in her -eyes; nor was it strange that the same observant lady should attribute -that illumination to the touch of the fire of the sacred torch. She -looked at the handsome face of the Roman youth, with its expression of -frankness, and at his eyes, full of the generous warmth of the South, -and once more she glanced at Miss Burney, and saw in her face the -reflection of the southern sunny glow. - -“Poor girl--poor girl!” were the words that sprung to her lips. “Only a -moment's attention from him--only a word--nay, a glance from those -eyes would have been enough--and she is at his feet. Poor girl! -Knowing nothing of the world--incapable of understanding anything of -life--having no gift to attract attention---” - -“Dear Mrs. Thrale, I have come to you for help. You are sure to have -read this book that everyone is talking about--this 'Evelina'--and you -can, I am certain, tell us who is the author. Pray let us know if your -friend Dr. Johnson had a finger in it--I have heard that some of the -writing is in the style of Dr. Johnson--or was it Mr. Anstey--they say -that some chapters could only have come from the author of 'The Bath -Guide.'” - -It was Lady Hales who had hurried up with her inquiries. She seemed -to be the representative of a group with whom she had been standing, -several ladies and two or three men. - -It so happened, however, that Mrs. Thrale had not yet read the book -around which discussion had been buzzing; but she had no intention of -acknowledging that, with her literary tastes and with her friendship for -Dr. Johnson, she was behind the times. Two or three people had within -the week made remarks about “Evelina” in her presence, but she had no -idea that it was to become a topic of society. - -She smiled enigmatically, to give herself time to make up her mind what -her reply should be--whatever it might be, it certainly would not be a -confession of ignorance. She came to the conclusion that on the whole -she could not do better than mould her answer so as to heighten the -mystery of the authorship. - -“Is it possible that none of our friends have discovered the author?” - she asked, still smiling shrewdly, so as to suggest that she herself had -long ago been let into the secret. - -“We have had many conjectures,” said Lady Hales. “And let me whisper in -your ear--there is one among us who is ready to affirm that the address -of the author is Thrale Hall, Streatham.” - -“I vow that I am overwhelmed,” cried the little lady. “The compliment is -one that any writer might envy. Pray how could it enter the mind of any -of our friends to connect me with the authorship of such a book?” - -“There are some touches of your style in many of the letters of -Evelina,” replied Lady Hales. “And some have said that only you could -have had the varied experiences described so vividly.” - -“A marvellous book, truly, this 'Evelina,'” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Some -people, you say, recognize the hand of Dr. Johnson in its pages, others -the pen that wrote 'The Bath Guide,' and now it is suggested that the -whole was the work of a humble scribbler named Mrs. Thrale--a person who -has surely little in common with the two writers you have named.” - -She took care that her affectation of surprise had an artificial note -about it. There was no knowing how things might turn out. Mrs. Thrale -had no objection in the world to have her name associated with the -authorship of a book about which it was clear a good many people would -be talking for some months to come. - -“May I not be entrusted with something more definite?” asked Lady Hales -in a low voice. “If it is a secret for the present--well, you know that -I am one to be trusted.” - -“I can assure you definitely that the book was not written by Dr. -Johnson,” replied Mrs. Thrale, with a smile. “He has not for a single -week during the past year failed to visit us at Streatham for at least -four days at a time. He reads to me all that he writes--it is not -much--and I can give you an assurance that the name of Evelina has not -once appeared in his manuscript. I may also say that if you take my -advice you will not be in too great haste to attribute the book to Mr. -Anstey.” - -This was not mystification, it sounded much more like revelation, Lady -Hales thought. - -“I dare not press you further, madam,” she said. - -“Believe me, I can appreciate your reticence, if----” - -“Nay, now you suggest that I have told you a secret that I have -concealed from everyone else, and that is going too far,” cried Mrs. -Thrale. “Now, dear madam, cannot you see that even if I were in the -secret of the authorship, I should be guilty of a great breach of -courtesy were I to reveal it to anyone? If an author choose to remain -anonymous, is it not discourteous to try to snatch away his--or -her--veil of anonymity?” - -“I can but assent,” said Lady Hales. “I do not doubt that this view of -the matter is the correct one. At any rate, you may depend on my acting -in accordance with it. I shall make no further attempt to pry into -the secret, and I shall think it right to dissuade my friends from the -quest.” - -“In that I am sure you will be acting in accordance with the author's -wishes,” said Mrs. Thrale, smiling knowingly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -|SO they parted; and Lady Hales hastened back to her friends to whisper -in their ears that the mystery was as good as solved: Mrs. Thrale had as -much as acknowledged that she was the author of “Evelina,” but she hoped -that, as she had written the book without the knowledge of her husband, -her friends would respect her desire to remain anonymous. - -“Mr. Thrale, being a Member of Parliament, would not like to have the -name of his wife bandied about among ordinary people as that of the -writer of a novel,” Lady Hales explained, though really no explanation -was needed of a fact that could be appreciated by every sensible person -aware of the contemptible character of the novels of the day. “Only Dr. -Johnson is in the secret,” she continued. “Dr. Johnson, as we all know, -lives at Thrale Hall for five days out of every week, finding the table -provided by Mrs. Thrale to suit his palate very much better than that -controlled by poor blind Mrs. Williams at Bolt Court.” - -“That may account for some of the touches in the book in the style of -Dr. Johnson,” said one of the ladies. “You may be sure that no book -could be written under the same roof as Dr. Johnson without his having -something to say to it.” - -“I never could understand how so fastidious a lady as Mrs. Thrale could -tolerate the company of Dr. Johnson at her table, but now the secret is -out--this secret and t'other,” said one of the gentlemen. “Dr. Johnson -is not seen at his best at the dinner-table.” - -“So far as that goes, neither is Mr. Thrale himself,” said another. “He -has a huge appetite.” - -“I had an inkling all along that Mrs. Thrale wrote the book,” said a -lady with a huge hat. “I actually remarked to my sister, while I was -reading it, 'if this story is not written by Mrs. Thrale, Mrs. Thrale is -the one who would like to have written it.'” - -“But mind, not a word must be breathed that would hint that she -acknowledged it to me by direct word of mouth,” cried Lady Hales, -beginning to have some qualms. “No; you must understand clearly that she -did not say in so many words that she wrote it. Indeed, her last words -to me were, that anyone who should name in public the author of a book -published anonymously would be guilty of a great discourtesy.” - -“She is perfectly right: to do so would be to exhibit very bad taste -truly,” came more than one acquiescent voice. - -And the result of their complete agreement on this point was the -immediate dissemination of the report that Mrs. Thrale was indeed the -writer of “Evelina.” - -But that clever little lady, on getting rid of the questioner, found -that Signor Rauzzini had slipped away from her side and was now making -his adieux to Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughters. She noticed that the -light had gone out of Fanny Burney's eyes as the young singer bent -over her hand, and once again she shook her head. She had given more -attention to Miss Burney during the previous hour than during all the -years she had visited at St. Martin's Street. She thought that it might -be her duty to say a word of warning to the young woman, who could not -possibly know anything about the world or the deceitfulness of Italian -vocalists. - -Meantime, however, she ordered one of her three footmen to tell the -coachman to drive to the shop of Lowndes, the bookseller, and there she -purchased a bound copy of “Evelina,” at nine shillings. - -Mrs. Thrale was, of course, well known to Mr. Lowndes, and seeing her, -through the window of his office, enter his shop, he put his quill -behind his ear and emerged, bowing and smiling. - -“How was it that you failed to apprise me that you had printed 'Evelina -'?” she inquired. - -“Is't possible that you did not receive my advertisement, madam?” he -cried. “Why, I posted it to you with my own hands even before the book -had left the press, the truth being that I was anxious to get your -opinion respecting it.” - -“I never had any advertisement from you about it,” she replied. - -“Oh, I was to blame for not underlining the announcement, madam,” said -he. “I ask your pardon. How were you to know that it was not one of the -usual novels of the season?--I do not venture to recommend such to the -attention of ladies of superior tastes like yourself, madam. I shall not -forgive myself, rest assured. But I am punished, in that I have been -unable to sell a second edition by telling my customers how highly it -was esteemed by Mrs. Thrale.” - -“You assume that it would be highly esteemed by me, Mr. Lowndes; but I -am not quite sure that you do not flatter yourself in believing that my -judgment would be the same as that of the public. The poor public! How -can they possibly know whether a book is good or bad?” - -“They cannot, madam; that is why we poor booksellers must only trust to -sell our books on the recommendation of ladies of taste and judgment. -May I beg, madam, that you will favour me with your opinion respecting -the merits of 'Evelina'?” - -“It has been so great a success that I fear I shall not think highly of -it. Pray, who is your modest author?” - -“Positively, madam, I am unable to tell you. The MS. was brought to me -with a letter purporting to come from a Mr. Grafton at the Orange Coffee -House, near the Haymarket, and he desired the secret of its authorship -to be kept close.” - -“Ah, yes; to be sure--kept close from the vulgar public; but he could -never think that you were violating his confidence by telling me his -name.” - -“He could not be so unreasonable, madam--nay, rather would he kneel -to you--for he could scarce fail to understand the value that we set -on----” - -“I am not convinced either that he would benefit from the exchange of -confidence or that I should; but prithee, sir, what is his name?” - -“'Fore heaven, madam, I have told you so much as is known by me -respecting the gentleman. Never before have I been placed in so -remarkable a position. My fault, Mrs. Thrale, no doubt: I should have -taken precautions against being thus surprised into publishing a book -without knowing the name of the author. But although my judgment enabled -me to perceive that the work was out of the common, yet I never counted -on its merits being recognized so speedily. May I beg of you to favour -me with your opinion as to who the writer may be, madam--that is, when -you have read it, unless, indeed--” he glanced at her shrewdly with -a little knowing smile-- “unless, indeed, you could so favour me -_instanter_.” - -“Nay, Mr. Lowndes, how would it be possible for me to give you an -opinion as to the authorship of a book which I have not yet read? I am -not one of those astute critics who, they say, can tell you all there -is to be known about a book without cutting the leaves, or even--if you -slip a guinea into their hand--without opening the covers.” - -“I thought that perhaps you might be one of those who have been let into -the secret, madam. I trust that Dr. Johnson's health has not been so bad -as to prevent him from doing any literary work. Ah, what does not that -great man--nay, what does not the world owe to you, Mrs. Thrale?” - -“If you would suggest, Mr. Lowndes, that the book about which we have -been conversing was written, even in part, by Dr. Johnson, I can give -you an assurance that such is not the case. He is in no way inclined -to engage in any form of literary labour. He grudges his friends even a -note.” - -“There are some gentlemen who come hither and honour me by conversing -on the subject of letters, and more than one of them has pointed out -passages in 'Evelina' that show signs of the great Doctor's pen; but for -that matter----” - -“I agree with you, sir; every scribbler in Grub Street apes the style of -Dr. Johnson, but only to reveal the ape in himself. Now, Mr. Lowndes, -if you really are in earnest in saying that you are unaware who is the -author of your book, I have done you some service in curtailing by one -the list of authors to whom it might possibly be attributed. You may -strike out the name of Johnson, sir, on my authority.” - -“I shall certainly do so, madam--not that I, for my own part, was ever -foolish enough to fancy that he had written more of it than a page or -two. I am indebted to you, Mrs. Thrale.” - -“Then if you would wish to pay off the debt, you can do so by informing -me of your success in discovering the writer. 'Tis quite impossible to -conceive of the man's remaining unrevealed for any length of time, and I -confess that I am anxious to know if he is among my acquaintance.” - -“You assume the sex, madam.” - -“What, have you a doubt of it?” - -“There are so many literary ladies nowadays, Mrs. Thrale.” - -“But you surely saw the handwriting of the script?” - -“That is just the point. My printers have examined it and say that it -is a lady's caligraphy only disguised to look like a man's. In my own -judgment they are right. It is an upright hand, neat and clear--not in -the least like that of an author. Still, that counts but little, seeing -that the writer of the book would be pretty certain to have a clear copy -made of his script by someone else. I have had a suspicion, from the -mystery insisted on by this Mr. Grafton, that he is none other than the -author of the 'Castle of Otranto.'” - -“What, Mr. Walpole?” - -“Even so. You recollect how delighted he was to conceal the hand he had -in that book--going much farther than I thought any gentleman would in -honour go, to make people believe it was what it pretended to be?” - -“Mr. Lowndes, I know not what your experience has been; but mine is -that when a gentleman becomes an author he lays aside whatever sense of -honour he possesses as a gentleman.” - -“I have had little to do with gentlemen authors, madam. Most of my -writers are simply authors.” - -“And Mr. Walpole very properly put himself in line with them, and so had -no hesitation in carrying out his fraud in 'Otranto.' Well, if it be so, -you may count on his revealing himself now that the book has become a -success. In any case, you will not forget to keep me informed, and I -shall esteem it a favour, Mr. Lowndes.” - -Mr. Lowndes renewed his promise and bowed the lady to the door. The -three volumes of “Evelina” had been brought out to the chariot by one -of the footmen, a second following in his footsteps to see that he -deposited them fairly upon one of the cushions, and a third standing by -the open door in case of the breakdown of either of the others. - -Mrs. Thrale got into the splendid machine, the three lackeys swung -themselves up on their platform behind, and clung on to the heavy -straps, looking, in their brilliant livery, as the chariot lurched away -over the uneven cobble-stones, like mighty butterflies of a tropical -forest swaying together on the rim of a gigantic flower. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -|NO chance had Rauzzini of saying more than the most conventional words -of farewell to Fanny. Mrs. Burney was beside her and her two sisters -also. He yielded to his impulse to pronounce a malediction on Mrs. -Thrale, who had so interrupted his conversation with Fanny--the last he -could possibly have until his return from France after fulfilling his -engagements. But this was when he had seen the Burney family out of -the door of the house in Leicester Fields and to the entrance to St. -Martin's Street. He was then alone, and could give in some measure -expression to his feelings in his own tongue. - -His imagination was quite vivid enough to suggest to him all that the -officiousness of Mrs. Thrale had interrupted--the exchange of vows--the -whispered assurances of fidelity--perhaps a passionate kiss--a -heaven-sent chance during a marvellous minute when the painting-room -should be emptied of all but herself and him! It was distracting to -think of all that had been cut out of his life by that busybody. While -he had been talking alone with Fanny his eyes had taken in the splendid -possibilities of the painting-room. There were three immense easels on -different parts of the floor, and each carried a glorious canvas for -a life-size portrait. Two of them were already finished, and the third -contained a portion of the Greek altar at which a fair lady was to be -depicted making her oblation to Aphrodite, or perhaps Artemis. The young -man, however, did not give a thought to the glowing work of the great -painter on the canvases, he thought only of the possibilities of a -moment or two spent in the protecting shadow of one of them with that -gentle, loving girl yielding herself to his clasp--only for a moment--he -could not reasonably hope that it should be for longer than a single -moment, but what raptures might not be embraced even within that brief -space! A moment--one immortal moment worth years of life! That was -what he saw awaiting him in the friendly shade of one of Sir Joshua's -portraits--that was all that the sublime picture meant to the ardent -lover--it was not the immortal picture, but the immortal moment that was -before his eyes--but just when, by a little manoeuvring on his part, the -joy that should change all his life and console him for being deprived -of the society of his beloved for three months, was within his reach, -that foolish woman had come bustling up with her chatter and had -separated them! - -For which he now implored heaven and a heathen deity or two that still -linger in the language of malediction in their native Italy, to send -her soul to the region where Orpheus had sought his Eurydice. Down--down -with her to the lowest depths of the Inferno he implored his patrons to -bear her and to keep her there for ever. - -His imploration was quite as lyrical as his “Waft her, Angels, to the -Skies,” only its bearing was upon the fate of the lady in just the -opposite direction, and he was even more fervent in its delivery. But -having delivered it, he felt some of that relief which is experienced -by a true artist who has a consciousness of having done some measure of -justice to his theme. He felt that if beatitude had been denied to him, -the one who had separated him from it would not escape scathless, if the -intensity of an appeal to the high gods of his native land counted for -anything in their estimation. - -And then he went more or less contentedly to his lodgings to prepare for -his appearance in the opera of the night. - -He sang divinely as an angel, and again if any of his audience remained -unmoved by the enchantment of his voice, they certainly could not but -have yielded to the charm of his presence. Some women might be incapable -of appreciating the exquisite character of his vocalism, but none could -remain impervious to the appeal of his smile. - -As for the girl who alone had appealed to his heart, she went home with -her mother and sisters without a word, for she had not perceived the -glorious possibilities lurking behind the grand canvases in Sir Joshua's -painting-room. She could even bring herself to believe that the coming -of Mrs. Thrale had been rather opportune than otherwise; for if she had -not joined her stepmother at that time she would not have heard all that -Sir Joshua had said about “Evelina.” - -All that she had heard had made her supremely happy, not, she thought, -because she was greedy for fame, but because it meant to her that she -was a step nearer to the arms of the man she loved. The fame which Sir -Joshua's words implied was dear to her because she knew that she need -not now hesitate to seat herself by the side of this king of men, as his -equal--no, not quite as his equal, but certainly not as a beggar maid. -She knew that when it was announced that she was the writer of a great -book, or, what was better still, a book that everybody was talking -about, people would not shrug their shoulders when they heard that -Rauzzini> the Roman singer, whose name was in everybody's mouth, was -about to marry her. The event that she scarcely dared hope for had -actually happened: she was no longer the nobody which she had been, she -was a woman the product of whose brain had been acclaimed by the best -judges, and so the barrier that she had seen separating her lover from -herself had been thrown down. The same voices that had acclaimed her -Rauzzini as a singer had acclaimed her as a writer; for though she had -hesitated to receive her cousin Edward's reports from the libraries as -conclusive of the mark that the book was making, she could not now -have any doubt on the subject: a book that was spoken of by Sir Joshua -Reynolds as he had spoken of “Evelina” must be granted a place high -above the usual volumes to be found on the shelves of a circulating -library. She was convinced that in a short time everyone would be -talking about it in the same strain, and though people might be -incredible on the subject of its authorship, the fact would remain the -same--she had written the book, and the fame that attached to the writer -would assuredly be hers. There would now be no sneering references to -King Cophetua. Everyone within their circle would admit that there -was no disparity between her position as the writer of the book that -everyone was talking about and that of the singer whom people crowded to -hear. - -She felt supremely happy. Though Mrs. Burney had not shown any -particular wish to repeat what Reynolds had said to her about the -book, she knew perfectly well that this was only because of her general -distrust of anything in the form of a novel, and her fear lest something -unreadable should get into the hands of the girls. But Fanny also knew -that the fact of Mrs. Burney's shunning the novels of the circulating -libraries would not interfere with the reputation that must accrue to -the author of “Evelina”; so she was not affected by the indifference -shown by her stepmother to all that Reynolds had said. She awaited -without impatience the day when her father should take up the book and -read the Ode at the beginning. She felt that, although his name was not -at the head, he would know that the verses were addressed to him, and -that it was his daughter Fanny who had written them. She knew that -however firmly he might assert himself on the side of his wife in -preventing the entrance to the house of all novels excepting those of -Richardson--Fanny herself had never had a chance of reading even -“The Vicar of Wakefield”--he would be proud of her as the writer of -“Evelina.” She was not quite sure if he would be as proud of her as if -she had developed a wonderful musical capacity; but she never doubted -that his affection for her--assisted by his knowledge of the impression -the book had made upon the most important of his own associates--would -cause him to take her into his arms with delight and to forgive her -for running the chance of being classed among the Miss Minifies of the -period--the female writers whose ridiculous productions were hidden -beneath the sofa cushions in so many households. Fanny Burney was a -dutiful daughter and she had nothing of the cynic about her, but she was -well aware of the fact that success would be regarded by her father as -justifying an experiment that failure would have made discreditable. - -Once more, then, the three sisters met that night in Fanny's bedroom. -The two younger could now look on her without their feeling of awe. They -were on the verge of being indignant with Mrs. Burney for having made no -reference whatever since returning from the Reynoldses to the subject of -Sir Joshua's eulogy. - -“Not once did she mention the name of 'Evelina' to the padre; Sir -Joshua might just as well have talked of Miss Herschel's comet to her,” - said Susy. - -“And after our schooling ourselves so rigidly to give no sign that we -were in any measure connected with the book too--it was cruel!” said -Lottie. - -“It was not as if the padre did not give her a good chance more than -once,” continued Susy. “Did he not ask if anyone had given her any news? -And what did she answer?--Why, only that someone had said that Mr. Fox -had lost a fortune a few nights ago at faro! As if anybody cares about -Mr. Fox! I was prepared for her opening out at once to him about the -book--maybe begging him to send Williams to buy it at Mr. Lowndes'.” - -“What, at seven-and-sixpence!” cried Fanny. “My dear child, do you know -mamma no better than to fancy that?” - -“What I don't know is how she resisted it,” said Lottie. “Oh, you heard -how Sir Joshua talked about it; and Miss Reynolds too--she praised it up -to the skies.” - -“Other people in the painting-room as well as in the drawing-room were -talking of it,” said Susy. “I heard the beautiful Miss Horneck speak -of it to the lady with the big muff and the rose taffeta with the -forget-me-not embroidery.” - -“I am sure that everybody was speaking of it--I could hear the name -'Evelina' buzzing round the rooms,” cried Lottie. - -“Yes; everyone was talking about it, and only mamma was silent--_is_ -silent. I don't think that at all fair,” continued Susy. - -Fanny laughed. - -“You are silly little geese,” she cried. “Could you not see that she -would not mention it lest it should reach our ears and we should be -filled with an _irresistible_ desire to possess it--_it_--a modern -novel! Think of it! Oh, my dears, you are too unreasonable, Mamma knows -her duty too well to allow even the name of a novel to pass her lips -and maybe reach the ears of such a group of fly-away young things as -ourselves! She understands the extent of her responsibilities. Go to -your beds and be thankful that you have so excellent a guardian.” - -“But when we were prepared----” began one of them, when Fanny -interrupted her. - -“You may conserve your preparations--you will hear her say the name soon -enough--you may depend upon that,” she said. “You may prepare to hear -yourselves summoned into her presence to give a full and true account -of your complicity in the thing which was perpetrated under this sacred -roof--nay, in the very room where the great philosopher Newton wrote his -thesis! A novel written in the room in which the divine 'Principia' -was produced! Why, 'twere as bad in mamma's eyes as acting one of Mr. -Foote's farces in St. Paul's Cathedral. Oh, yes, you'll have to face her -soon enough, and after that you'll never wish to hear the name Evelina -again. Now, good-night, and thank heaven for your respite.” - -They left her, glum and dissatisfied. It was plain to her that they were -disappointed at not being given the opportunity of showing how admirably -they had themselves under control in regard to the secret--of showing -Fanny how they could hear Mrs. Burney talk at length about “Evelina,” - while neither of them gave the least sign of ever having heard the name -before. It was indeed disappointing that all their studied immobility -should go for nothing. - -But Fanny knew that their secret could not possibly remain hidden for -many more days. If the book was going into everybody's hands, her father -would be certain to have it, and then--would he not know? Would not she -be summoned into his presence and that of his wife--the lady of many -responsibilities--and required to defend herself?... - -She fell asleep before she had come to any conclusion as to the line of -defence that she should adopt. - -And in spite of the readiness of her sisters for any inquisition to -which they might be summoned, they were startled--as was also Fanny -herself--when, immediately after a rather silent and portentous -breakfast, Mrs. Burney said: - -“Susy and Lottie, you may go to your duties. You, Fanny, will remain, as -your father wishes to speak to you on a matter of some gravity.” - -So the long-expected hour had come, the three girls thought. By some -accident unknown to them their secret was exposed, and Fanny was about -to be called upon to explain, if she could, to the satisfaction of -her father and her stepmother, how it came that she so far forgot the -precepts of her upbringing as to write a novel quite in the modern -spirit, though adopting a form which the master-touch of Mr. Samuel -Richardson had hallowed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -|THE two girls left the room slowly, after sending in the direction of -Fanny a glance which they meant should encourage her--a glance which -should let her know that they were quite ready to share her punishment, -should the worst come to the worst. - -Fanny replied to them with her eyes; and then prepared for the worst. - -It quickly came. - -“My dear daughter,” said Dr. Burney, when they were alone, Mrs. Burney -in her chair at the head of the table. “My dear Fanny, I am no believer -in leading by degrees up to such a communication as I have to make to -you. I think that the sooner it is got over the better it will be -for all whom it may concern. Well, this is it: Mr. Thomas Barlowe has -written to me asking my permission for him to address you with a view to -marriage.” - -He made a pause, looking at her to observe the effect of this -revelation. - -And what he saw at first was a girl with a pale face and downcast eyes, -awaiting, almost breathlessly, an accusation from which she shrank; but -when he had spoken he saw a great change come over her. Not immediately, -but gradually. It seemed to him that she had not fully realized the -meaning of his words--that she was puzzled--trying to recall what he had -said. Then the light seemed to dawn upon her. She flushed, and, after -a few moments, threw back her head and went into a peal of laughter--a -real schoolgirl's fit of laughter at something amazingly comic--the -tumbling of a clown into a pool of water with a splash, or, perhaps, the -slipping of a dignified beadle upon a butter slide. Her laughter went -on for a long time, but without in the least suggesting hysteria--it -was simply a girl's natural laughter on realizing the comic side of a -situation which grown-up people would regard as extremely serious. - -Neither her father nor his wife could understand why she should receive -in such a spirit an essentially serious communication--the most serious -that any young woman could receive. They had not before them the -ludicrous picture that presented itself to her imagination--a picture of -the Roman Rauzzini on the one side and the Poultry Barlowe on the other, -asking her to choose between them. It was this presentment, coming in a -flash the moment she realized that the publishing of the book was not -the question which she had to face, that forced her to yield to that -long fit of laughter. - -Her father and stepmother sat stolidly by, but she knew that had she and -her father been alone, he would at least have smiled with her. - -In a few minutes she had recovered herself sufficiently to be able to -apologize for her levity. - -“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I am behaving like a goose, but I could -not help it--something forced me--something that occurred to me--a funny -thing. I am very sorry.” - -“There is nothing funny that I can see in the honourable request made by -an honest young man, my dear Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“No, no; nothing whatever; only--well, funny ideas will occur to foolish -people like myself at the most serious moments,” said Fanny. - -“That is quite true, indeed,” said her father. “I have myself -experienced what you say. Perhaps, after all, I should not have blurted -out what I had to tell you--it came to you as a surprise, I doubt not.” - -“A great surprise, indeed,” she replied. “I cannot understand how Mr. -Barlowe could ever fancy that I--that he--that--oh, I should have known -what that terrible entertainment was meant to lead to--but when, in that -clumsily marked way I was sent into the drawing-room with him alone, he -began to talk of his uncle, the Aider-man--he said that the Alderman was -quite approachable even in regard to ordinary people like ourselves--and -then came his cousins--all of them remarkable! But you should have seen -him slice away at the ham--the biggest ham I ever saw--it needed to -be--such eating!” - -“The recollection of that no doubt made you laugh,” said Dr. Burney. -“But, at the same time, you must remember that though the customs of -the Poultry are not ours, still, they may be very reasonable -customs--perhaps more reasonable than our own. It may suit us to dine as -late as halfpast four and only to have a slice of cake with our tea; but -business people find it more convenient to dine at one o'clock--it makes -an equal division of their long working-day--so that a slice of ham----” - -“I know that is quite true, and I was not so foolish as to give myself -airs because I had dined at half-past four and had no appetite for ham,” - said Fanny; “but--oh, mother, you saw how foolishly formal was the whole -thing.” - -“I said that I thought it quite unnecessarily formal,” replied Mrs. -Burney, “and if I had had any notion that it was going to be like that -I would certainly have given Mrs. Barlowe a hint. Still, Thomas is, I -know, an excellent young man who has never given his parents an -hour's uneasiness, and his intentions are honourable, and so should be -honoured. If you have no tender regard for him at present that is no -reason why, when you get accustomed to the thought of him as a suitor -for your hand----” - -“Oh, mother, that is quite impossible!” cried Fanny. “How could I ever -get accustomed to such a thought?” - -“I do not know why you should not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “He is a most -worthy young man, and Mr. Barlowe's business is one of the best in -the City. You must remember, my dear Fanny, that in these days a girl, -unless she has a portion, runs a very great chance of becoming an old -maid, so that no opportunity of settling down in a comfortable home -should be neglected.” - -“That is perfectly true,” said Dr. Burney. “You will understand that we -have no desire to force this or any match upon you, my dear child: so -long as I have a house over my head you shall share it. But I am sure -that you must know that I am a poor man to-day, although I have worked -as hard at my profession as any living man, and I cannot provide you or -your sisters with any portion. Heaven knows that if I had a fortune I -would gladly divide it among you; but as it is, I think it right to tell -you that you need expect nothing.” - -“Dearest father,” said Fanny, dissolving into tears, as she took his -hand and kissed it, “I have never expected a fortune from you--not a -penny piece. I know that I shall be portionless, and I daresay that Mr. -Barlowe thinks himself generous in his proposal; but I could never bring -myself to accept him--to look on him as a suitor. It would be quite -impossible. If I thought it possible that I should ever have any -affection for him, I might feel myself justified in encouraging him; but -I know that it would be out of the question. I would prefer to go forth -and beg my bread--nay, to starve.” - -“Then we shall pursue the matter no farther for the present,” said her -father, kissing her on the forehead as she nestled close to him. - -“Yes, that is best--for the present,” acquiesced his wife. “Still, if -you will be advised by me, my dear Fanny, you will remember that Mr. -Barlowe is ready to address you knowing that you will be portionless, -and if you bear that in mind, perhaps you will be surprised to find -some' day, not so far distant, that the thought of him is not so -repugnant to you. You are no longer a girl, and when one is midway -between twenty and thirty every extra year counts in reducing one's -chances of being settled in life. I could cite dozens of instances that -I have known of young women being glad to accept at twenty-eight the -suitors they scorned at twenty or even twenty-five. Oh, yes, the years -come upon one and bring with them a clearer vision of life and love; -frequently they bring regret for opportunities neglected. But we will -not press the matter any farther--just now. I dare say the young man -will submit to be put off--for a time.” - -“Nay, for ever,” said Fanny resolutely. - -“Oh, well,” said her stepmother. - -After a pause, during which Fanny seemed to be debating some matter -in her mind, a little line showing itself along her forehead, she said -slowly: “I do not think that I shall be a burden on you, dear father; I -believe that one day I may be able to do something.” - -“Do not fancy that I would ever think of you as a burden, my dear -child,” said her father. “But what do you mean by saying that you may -one day do something?--some work, do you suggest?” - -“Something--I am fond of writing,” she murmured. - -He laughed gently, saying: - -“You are a very good girl, my love, and I know how much I am indebted to -you for your admirable copying of my notes for the History; but do not -let the idea take hold of you that such work is well paid. If you ever -get in touch with a bookseller, he will tell you that the work of a -copyist is very poorly paid.” - -“I was not thinking of copying,” murmured Fanny. - -“Of what then, pray?” he asked. - -“If I could but write a book,” she replied, with her eyes on the floor. - -“A book!” cried Mrs. Burney, who thought that she had been silent long -enough. “A book!” - -“To be sure--to be sure,” said her father, in the indulgent tone of a -parent humouring a child. “You might write a book--so might anyone who -could pay for a ream of paper, a bottle of ink and a box of quills. -You should speak to Mr. Newbery about it: he has printed many nursery -stories since 'Goody Two Shoes.' You might indeed do something that the -children would take a fancy to. Well, Francis Newbery is as honest a man -as his uncle, and we may talk to him about it. By the by, did not you -once tell me that you had written something, or that you were going to -write something? You thought it proper to get my leave. I had forgotten -that. Well, if it be a moral nursery story, we might interest Mr. -Newbery in it.” - -“I do not think that it is quite wise to encourage a girl to neglect -her useful household duties in order to compile some rubbish that no one -would read,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“Of course you will understand that you are not to neglect your -household duties, Fanny,” said her father. - -“If she performs her household duties and sticks to her needlework, -she will have no time left for scribbling rubbish,” cried Mrs. Burney, -hastily. - -“She made a bonfire of all that childish nonsense long ago, and I hope -that she will never be so foolish as to waste good paper and pens and, -most precious of all, good time, over such exercises. That is all we -have to say just now, I think--is it not, Doctor? I shall reply to Mr. -Barlowe's letter--a most creditable letter--straightforward--honourable! -I am only sorry that I cannot make the reply to it that it deserves.” - -She had opened the door and called for William, their manservant, to -remove the breakfast things. Fanny lingered for a few minutes after she -had risen from her chair. She had assumed from the moment she had begun -to speak of writing, that her opportunity had come; if her stepmother -had not interposed so hastily and so emphatically, she would have made -her confession as to “Evelina,”, let the consequences be what they -might; but now that the servant had come with his tray and her -stepmother jingled her key-basket, she perceived that her chance was -gone. She had a sense of sneaking out of the room. - -As she went slowly up the stairs she could hear the voice of her -stepmother remonstrating with her father for having said something that -she, Fanny, might regard as encouragement to waste her precious time in -the pursuit of such folly as writing a book. - -She heard her father's little laugh as he explained (she was sure) that -of course he had not been speaking seriously; but that he had not the -heart to be severe upon her and her harmless scribbling. - -The author of “Evelina” went very slowly upstairs, and when she reached -the work-room landing she found Susy and Lottie waiting for her, glowing -with excitement. Susy was waving over her head what seemed to be a bulky -pamphlet. Coming closer, Fanny saw that it was the chief of the literary -reviews, which had apparently just arrived at the house. - -“A splendid column about 'Evelina,'” she whispered. “Not so good as -it should be, but still splendid. Here it is. But why are you so glum? -Surely they did not scold you now that the book is so great a success.” - -“They did not ask me to tarry in the room to charge me with -double-dealing in regard to the book,” said Fanny. “They would not allow -me to make my confession when I had the opportunity--the best that I -shall ever have. 'Twas not my confession that was on the _tapis_, but -quite another. That is why I look glum.” - -“Another--another confession? But what had either of them to confess?” - cried Lottie. - -“Nothing. They didn't confess.” - -“But whose confession was it, then, if not theirs?” asked Lottie. - -“It was young Mr. Barlowe's,” said Fanny, with a lugubriousness that was -quite comic. “Young Mr. Barlowe wrote to the padre to confess that -he was passionately--madly--in love with me, and threatening to drown -himself unless permission were given to him to address me--we all know -how fervently young Mr. Barlowe would put his case--that was what I was -summoned to listen to--the fiery letter--only it was too ardent for my -ears: I was only told its purport.” - -“But who would ever have thought that he had it in him?” cried Susy. -“Such impudence! I never dreamt that he could rise to such a height of -impudence or I should have thought better of him.” - -“'Tis not too late yet, my child,” said Fanny. “You are at liberty to -think as highly of Thomas as you please--or as it would please him. -Please take over his blighted affections and it will be a weight off -my mind. Now give me a chance of reading my splendid review--not that -I care in the least what these foolish critics may say of me--I care -nothing, I tell you, only if you do not let me see it at once I shall -die at your feet.” - -“There it is,” said Susy, “a full column! The idea of anyone written -of in such terms being proposed to by Thomas Barlowe! Such impudence -indeed!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -|THE levity shown by Fanny Burney and the flippancy of her phrases did -not wholly conceal from her sisters all that she was feeling on the -subject of the proposal to which she had referred with such lightness. -She knew that while her father and her stepmother would not treat her -with any marked disfavour on account of her rejection of the worthy -young man who was ready to offer her a home, still Mrs. Burney at least -regarded with great disfavour the nature of the answer which she had -to send to the Poultry, and Fanny was very well aware of the ease with -which so conscientious a guardian as Mrs. Burney could make her feel -every day of her life what was Mrs. Burney's opinion of her rejection of -an eligible young man. - -Fanny recognized the great merits of her stepmother, and she could look -from her standpoint at most of the incidents of their daily life. In -that household one mouth less to feed was worth consideration--the -number of mouths to feed was a constant source of thought with Mrs. -Burney, as was also the question of a provision for the future of all of -them. - -Mrs. Burney would be fully justified in feeling cross with her, not -being aware of the fact that another young man, compared with whom -Thomas Barlowe was as the dust of the ground, was burning, with an -ardour of which Thomas was incapable, to take her to himself and provide -for her in a style undreamt of in the Poultry. - -But the worst of the matter was that she could not let her stepmother -into this secret. She could not say that she was engaged to marry Signor -Rauzzini, and she might leave herself open to the gravest rebuke for -having listened to his protestations of devotion without obtaining the -consent of either of her parents. - -And through all this tangle of reflections there ran the silken thread -of consciousness that she was no longer the Fanny Burney who was -regarded by her stepmother as the dunce, but Fanny Burney the writer of -“Evelina,” to whom the most critical review had devoted a full column of -adulation! - -That was what made her position so anomalous; and it was because she -took the happenings of the previous days to heart that she went to bed -with a shocking headache, and after a sleepless night was found on the -verge of a fever. She was suffering from suppressed secrets; but the -doctor did not know this. He prescribed James's Powders; and when these -should have done all that they were meant to do--a small part of all -that Dr. James and Mr. Newbery affirmed they would do--a change into the -country. - -But several weeks had passed before she was strong enough to start on -the latter and most essential portion of the prescription, and found -herself in her own room in Mr. Crisp's isolated house at Chessington. - -Meantime, of course, she had no further news of the book, and she -remained unconfessed, so far as the secret of its publication was -concerned. Her sisters did not so much as mention its name or the name -of Thomas Barlowe, so cleverly had they diagnosed the nature of her -malady and so tactfully did they try to hasten her recovery. - -Her old friend Mr. Crisp had been her guide since her childhood. She -always alluded to him as her second Daddy--so far as paternal influence -was concerned she might have given him the foremost place. He it was who -had led her on to embody in letters to him the daily incidents of -her life, thus unconsciously setting the loom, as it were, in which -“Evelina” was to be woven. He it was who became her teacher and her -critic, and it was possibly because she feared his criticism of her work -that she refrained from making a confidant of him from the first. She -felt that she could face the public and the reviewers--it did not matter -how they might receive the book, but she was too timid to submit it to -the mature judgment of the man who had first put a pen in her hand. It -was not on her own account that she refrained from giving him a chance -of reading her book, but on his: she knew how hurt he would be if he -found her book to be an indifferent one, and whether indifferent or not, -how angry he would be if people did not buy it by the thousand. - -Now, however, that she found herself alone with him, she made up her -mind to tell him all about it. She would choose her own time for doing -this; but it would certainly be done before she returned to St. Martin's -Street. - -But on the second day after her arrival at Ches-sington a parcel came -for her, addressed by Susy. On opening it, she found it to contain two -volumes of “Evelina.” The letter that was enclosed told her that Cousin -Edward had called at the Orange Coffee House and found that a set -had been left there at the instance of Mr. Lowndes, addressed to Mr. -Grafton. Of these, Lottie had read the first two, which were now sent on -to the author, but the third she had not finished, and hoped that Fanny -would not mind her detaining it for a few days longer. - -This was really the first glimpse that the author had of her book in its -binding. She had, in the name of Mr. Grafton, requested Mr. Lowndes -to send a set of the volumes to the Orange Coffee House. But that was -nearly three months ago, and until now Mr. Lowndes appeared not to have -thought it worth his while to comply with the request. Now, however, it -seemed to have occurred to him that the author of a book that everyone -was talking about might be worth conciliating, and so he had directed a -set of volumes to the Coffee House. - -At once Fanny made up her mind that she would pave the way, so to speak, -for a full confession to Mr. Crisp. - -“Susy has sent me on two volumes of a new novel, lest I should feel -dull,” she said. “As if I am not much more likely to feel dull in the -company of a new novel than of my old Daddy!” - -“I thought that your stepmother prohibited the reading of novels, new or -old, in your house,” said he. - -“Perhaps mamma did not know anything about this particular one,” replied -Fanny; “besides, it is to be read in your house, not ours.” - -“So that the responsibility will be mine?” said he. “Mrs. Burney is -only answerable to heaven for keeping your mind free from the baleful -influence of novels, but I am in a worse case, for I am answerable to -Mrs. Burney. And what is the name of the precious production?” - -“Let me see,” said Fanny, artfully referring to the title page. “Oh, -yes: 'Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.' Do you call -that an alluring title?” - -“Too sentimental by half,” he replied. “But I have heard of the thing, -and one of the reviews dealt with it some weeks ago.” - -“Praise or blame?” - -“Oh, foolish adulation for the great part; but not without a reasonable -word here and there.” - -“The reasonable part you are sure must be the censorious? That is not -fair to the poor author.” - -“Poor author? Yes, they are all poor authors nowadays. What's the name -of this particular item of poverty?” - -“There is no name on the title page; but I hear that the writer was Mr. -Anstey himself.” - -“What! another 'Bath Guide'!” - -“Sir Joshua Reynolds told mamma that he had remained up all night -reading it.” - -“Poor Sir Joshua! His eyes are none too good at the best! And does Susy -believe that the book which kept Sir Joshua awake is the best one to -send you asleep? You came to Chessington, you know, to get as much as -possible; 'Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!' the truest words -that Shakespeare ever writ.” - -“What I propose to do is to try it upon you, my dear sir. I mean to give -you a dose of it this evening, instead of gruel, and if it makes you -sleep I will know that I may continue it for myself--it will be more -wholesome than poppy or mandragora.” - -“Good! But I dare swear that it will be bad enough to keep me awake. You -know that extremes meet in the case of books, as well as other matters; -one keeps awake reading a good book, in expectancy of its undeveloped -goodness; and reading a bad one, wondering how far the author can -actually go in point of dullness.” - -“I have often thought that; but Susy has sent only two of the three -volumes.” - -“So that we shall not be able to fathom the full depth of the author's -dullness? We should be grateful to Susy--so should the author. Well, you -shall begin after tea, while there is yet daylight: _Le livre ne vaut -pas la chandelle._” - -“_Nous verrons_,” cried Fanny. - -And she started reading the book that same day, an hour before sunset. -The room in which they sat was a small one with a window facing the west -and overlooking a long stretch of billowy common. The spicy scent of -the wallflowers in the little garden patch at the side of the house was -wafted through the half-open lattice, and occasionally there came the -sound of the ducks gabbling at the pool beyond the gate that shut off -the house from the lane. It was a cloudless evening, and the sunset -promised to be peach-like in its tender tints of pink and saffron with -the curves of delicate green in the higher sky. Fanny sat at the window -and the old man reclined at his ease upon the sofa. - -“I am giving myself every chance,” he said. “All that I ask of you, my -Fannikin, is that you do not glance at me every now and again to see -if I am still awake. If you do so, I shall never yield to so much as a -doze.” - -“I promise faithfully to await your signal that you are alert,” said -she. - -And so began one of the most delightful hours of her life. - -She was not a particularly good reader aloud when a book was casually -put into her hands, but here she had before her a volume that she could -almost have repeated verbatim, so that she soon found that she was just -too fluent: she felt that if she went on at this rate his critical ear -would tell him that she had every page by heart, and he would ask her -for an explanation of so singular a thing as her being able to repeat -so much of a book which she professed to have in her hands for the first -time. She put a check upon her fluency, and though she did not go so -far as to simulate stumbling over certain words, she neglected the -punctuation now and again, and then went back upon some of the passages, -causing him to give a little grumble and say: - -“Be careful, my dear; there's no need for haste: the evening is still -young.” - -After that she was more careful--which is the same as saying she was -more careless of adhering to the scheme she had adopted. She felt that -as he had now been put off the scent, she might run along as she pleased -without there being a chance of his suspecting anything through her -showing herself familiar with passage after passage. - -Before she had got through more than a dozen pages she heard a creaking -of the sofa--she trusted herself to glance in that direction and -found that he was no longer reclining: he was sitting up and listening -attentively. She continued reading without making a remark for a full -hour. The sun had set, but the twilight was clear enough to allow of her -seeing the print on the page before her for some time still; then the -darkness seemed to fall all at once, and she laid the book down when she -had come to the close of one of the letters. - -“Candles,” he said. “Candles! Upon my word, the world is right for once: -the stuff is good. We must have candles. Candles, I say!” - -“Supper, say I,” cried Fanny. “I feel that I have need of bodily -refreshment after such a task. Does it sound real to you, Daddy -Crisp--all about the Young Lady who is about to enter the world?” - -“Not merely does it sound real, it is real--it is reality,” he replied -quickly. “The man who wrote what you have read has something of the -genius of--of--now whom does he resemble, think you?--Richardson here -and there, and in places, Fielding, it seems to me.” - -“You suppose that 'tis written by a man?” she said. - -“Why, of course, 'tis the work of a man,” he replied. “Where is the -woman living that is capable of writing a single page of that book? -What, have I gone to so much trouble in training you to understand -what is bad and what is good in writing, to so little purpose, that you -should have a doubt as to the sex of what you have just read?” - -“The sex of a book--a novel?” - -“Why not? There are masculine books and there is feminine--trash. There -you have the difference.” - -“And you do not consider this to be--trash?” - -“Will you get the candles, Miss Burney? It seems that you are sorely in -need of illumination if you put that question to me seriously. Trash? -Madam, you perceive that I am all eagerness to hear the rest of the -story, and yet you put that silly question to me! Look you here, you -rogue, cannot you see that the very fact of your putting such a question -to me shows that the book is the work of a man? When a carefully trained -woman such as you cannot yet discriminate between the good and the trash -that is written, how would it be possible for a woman to write what you -have read?” - -“You think there is nothing womanly in the book?” - -“There is nothing effeminate in the writing, so much is sure. There is -plenty that is womanly in the book, because the man who wrote it knows -how to convey to a reader a sense of womanliness to be in keeping with -the character of the letters--that is what is meant by genius. A woman -trying to produce the same effect would show the frill of her petticoat -on every page. She would make the men's parts in the book as feminine as -the women's. Now, no more chatter an you please, but get the candles.” - -“And Mrs. Hamilton will get our supper by their light.” - -Fanny tripped away, and was behind the door of the larder before she -allowed the laughter which was pent up very close to her eyes to have -its freedom. It was a very hearty laugh that she had, for there was a -constant buzzing in her ears of the question: - -“What will he say when he learns the truth?” - -She was ready to dance her Nancy Dawson in delight at seeing the effect -of the book upon the old man whom she loved--the man who was directly -responsible for its existence. If Mr. Crisp had not taken trouble with -her, encouraging her to write her letters to him in a natural style, the -correspondence in “Evelina” would, she knew, be very different from what -it was. So, after all, she reflected, he was right in pronouncing the -book the work of a man; but he had no idea that he was the man who was -responsible for it. That reflection of hers was as fully imbued with the -true spirit of comedy as her anticipation of the effect that would be -produced upon him by the revelation of the authorship. - -And that was why this young student of the human comedy was able to -restrain herself from making the revelation to him at once: she had, as -it were, a delicate palate for comedy, and it was a delight to her--the -gratification of her natural vanity had nothing to do with it--to lead -him on to commit himself more deeply every moment on the question of the -sex of the writer. Oh, no; she had no idea of making any confession to -him for the present. She would have many another chat with him before -the moment for that _dénouement_ in the comedy should arrive. - -So she got the candles and the housekeeper laid the cold chicken and the -plates on the supper-table, and Mr. Crisp set about mixing the salad in -the manner he had acquired in Italy. And all the time they were engaged -over the simple meal he was criticising what she had read, and he had -scarcely a word to say about it that was not favourable. But he took -care to protect himself in case he should be forced to retire from the -position he had taken up. - -“A man is a fool to pronounce an opinion on a book before he has had -the last page read to him,” he said. “I have only been touching upon the -part that I have heard, and I say that it seems to me to be as good -as anything I have read for years; but that is not saying that the -remainder, or some portions of the remainder, may not be so greatly -inferior as to compel me to pronounce unfavourably of the book as a -whole. I have had instances of such inequality shown by many writers, -and it may be that the writer of 'Evelina' will be added to the list, -although he shows no sign of falling off up to your last page. Do not be -hurried by me, my dear, but if you have indeed made up your mind to eat -no cheese, Mrs. Hamilton can remove the _débris_, and unless you are -tired, you will read me a few pages more.” - -She read until midnight. The only pauses that she made were when he -trimmed the wicks of the candles. He commended her fluency. She -had never read better in his hearing, he said. She showed that she -understood what she was reading; and that, after all, was the greatest -praise that could be given to anyone. He did not suggest the likelihood -that she was tired. - -There was the sound of the bleating of lambs occasionally borne from the -meadows beyond the little stream--the sound of an owl that came nightly -about the house from the barn of the farm a few hundred yards away--the -sound of a large moth bumping against the glass of the casement through -which the candle-light shone. There was nothing to interrupt her in her -delightful task until the church clock struck the hour of midnight. - -“Not another line,” she cried, jumping from her chair. “Poor Evelina! -she will be the better for a sleep. When she awakens she may be able to -see more clearly who are her true friends and who are not to be trusted. -Good-night, dear Daddy; and receive my thanks for your attention.” - -“Give me the volume,” he said. “I usually awake before six, and so shall -have a couple of hours of it before rising.” - -“You will not get it from me, sir,” she cried. “Captain Mervain knows -the naval rule about drinking glass for glass, and let me tell you that -the same rule holds in the matter of reading a book--chapter for chapter -between us, sir; we shall finish as we have begun.” - -She blew him a kiss and ran upstairs to escape his protests: he shouted -them after her from the foot of the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -|THE next morning was a lovely one, and Fanny was feeding the ducks -in the brook before eight o'clock. When she came into the house to -breakfast she found Mr. Crisp in the porch. - -“You have given me a sleepless night,” he said. “I lay awake -endeavouring to determine for my own satisfaction what would be the -outcome of the girl's meeting that dreadful Branghton family. I worked -out the story to its proper conclusion--so I thought--on my left side; -but when I turned on my right I found that I had been grossly astray in -all my fancies; and forthwith I set to work to put myself right. After -an hour or two I thought I had succeeded, but, lo! a turn on my back and -I saw that, as I planned it, the story would never come to an end. So -I kept on until the dawn. Then I fell asleep, but only to find myself -surrounded by demons, in the form of Branghtons, and a master devil -wearing the epaulets of a naval officer, and he made for me with a -horrid leer and a cry of Mervain! I awoke in a worse state than did the -Duke of Clarence in the play, and I have not slept since. Oh, that -little mischief, Susy! Wherefore did she send hither that magic book to -be my undoing?” - -“Ah, sir, never before did I perceive the evil of novel reading,” she -said. “I could not understand my mother's banning all such books, but -now I see the wisdom of it. I now see how they tend to unsettle one. -But it may not yet be too late to save you from the evil influence of -'Evelina.' If I read no more of her story, you will soon forget her and -all may be well.” - -“You will read no more? Good! Carry out your threat and I will e'en take -the coach to London and buy a full set at Mr. Newbery's.” - -“At Mr. Newbery's? Ah, sir, that is a threat you could not carry out, -however vindictive you might be.” - -“And why not, prithee? Think you I would begrudge the seven or eight -shillings it would cost?” - -“Nay, sir; but if you went to Mr. Newbery you would probably find -yourself treated badly by him if you accused him of publishing the book. -'Tis Mr. Lowndes who is the guilty person.” - -“You will not put one to the humiliation of a journey to London all for -a trumpery novel?” - -“Nay, not for a trumpery novel; but we were talking of 'Evelina.'” - -“I submit to the correction, my dear; and so now we are in perfect -agreement, you will continue the story, if only to allay my sleepless -speculations.” - -“I wonder how it will sound when read in the morning? I fear that it -will be as dull as a play would seem in the garish light of day.” - -“Tell not that to me. There are novels of the morn as well as of -the even, and I believe that the freshness of this one will be best -appreciated in the brightness of such a morning as this. At any rate, we -can but make a trial of it. If we find that it does not read well, you -can lay it aside till the evening.” - -Fanny was delighted to find that he was as interested in her book as -Susy had been; and the noon came and found her beginning the second -volume to him, sitting by his side in the sunlight that bathed the -little garden, and his attention never flagged. Once or twice, however, -he grumbled, but her ear assured her that his grumble was not a critical -one; it was only meant to censure the behaviour of the rude Captain -Mervain. - -They were still in the garden when, shortly after noon, a chaise was -heard in the lane: it appeared to be on its way to the house. - -“What! as I live 'tis mamma and my sisters come to pay us a visit,” - cried Fanny, seeing a handkerchief waved to her from the window. - -“They shall be made welcome, for I cannot doubt that they have brought -the third volume with them,” said Mr. Crisp, rising to receive his -visitors. - -In this way the reading was interrupted, and indeed Fanny was rather -glad of a respite. She had not risen from her chair since nine o'clock. -A chance of stretching her limbs was very acceptable. - -Mrs. Burney and the girls had scarcely settled down to their cakes -and sweet wine, after explaining that Dr. Burney had insisted on their -taking this drive into the country, the day promised to be so fine, when -Mr. Crisp turned to Susy, saying: - -“You wicked girl! What did you mean by sending us the two volumes of -that vile novel to upset us poor country folk? And I hope you have not -neglected to bring with you the third.” Poor Susy reddened and glanced -at Fanny without trying to make any reply. - -“Eh, what is this?” cried the old man. “Do you mean to disclaim all -responsibility for the act? Ah, 'tis too late for you to make such an -attempt. The evil has been done. The poison has begun to work in our -blood; and its effects can only be neutralized by the contents of the -third volume. Say at once, I pray, if you have brought it.” - -“Do not trouble poor Susy with your tropes, sir,” said Fanny. “She -cannot grasp your meaning, and only trusts that we have not gone mad. I -suppose the road was as usual--half of it muddy and the rest dusty?” - -“I insist on hearing if the third volume is in the chaise,” said Mr. -Crisp, firmly. “If it be not, then you may drive straight back to St. -Martin's Street and return hither with it in time for Fannikin to read -it to-night.” - -“Pray what book is it that you refer to, Mr. Crisp?” inquired Mrs. -Burney. - -“What book, madam! As if there were more books than one printed this -year! Why, Mrs. Burney, where have you been living all this time, that -you have never heard of 'Evelina '?” cried he. - -“I have heard of little else save this 'Evelina' for some time past; -but I have no time for reading novels, nor has any member of my family,” - replied the lady. - -“I insisted on one member of your family finding the time yesterday -and to-day, and the consequence is that she has gone through the first -volume and part of the second since Susy was so obliging as to send -them hither. I was in hopes that you had brought the third volume; but I -perceive that we shall have to wait for it now.” - -Susy was examining very closely the pattern on her plate when Mrs. -Burney turned to her, saying: - -“Does Mr. Crisp mean that you got that novel and sent it hither to -Fanny?” - -“Only part of it--no more than two volumes,” said Susy quickly, as -though anxious to submit extenuating circumstances to the notice of her -stepmother. - -“Did you get it at Hill's library, or where?” inquired Mrs. Burney. - -“I did not get it at a library,” replied Susy slowly, as a reluctant -witness might answer an incriminating question. - -“What, did you buy it? Did you spend your money on it?” cried Mrs. -Burney, with a note of amazement not free from anxiety. - -“Oh, no; I did not buy it,” said Susy. - -“How did it come into your hands, then--tell me that?” - -“Cousin Edward brought it for Fanny.” - -“And you read the first two volumes and are now reading the third?” - -“Nay, mamma, 'tis I that was led by my curiosity,” said Lottie hastily. - -“Though you have often heard me protest against the vice of novel -reading? I wonder at you, Lottie. I am shocked that you should so yield -to a vulgar temptation,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“Nay, my dear madam, you must not talk of our dear 'Evelina' as if she -were an everyday person,” said Mr. Crisp. “On the contrary, she is a -most interesting young lady, and if I do not soon learn what happens -to her now that she has formed some very dubious intimacies, I shall be -inconsolable. Have you read the book, Mrs. Burney?” - -“Not I indeed,” replied Mrs. Burney, with more than a suggestion of -indignation that such a charge should be brought against her. “I have -heard enough about that book during the past month to prevent me from -having any wish to read it, even if I were a novel reader, which I -certainly deny. I am ashamed that any member of my household should so -far forget her duty as to read such stuff.” - -“Come, come, my dear lady, you must remember that there are novels and -novels,” said Mr. Crisp. “I have heard you praise Mr. Richardson, have I -not?” - -“Mr. Richardson was a genius and a great moral writer, sir, as well.” - -“The two are not invariably associated. But what if I tell you that -this new book is worthy of being placed between 'Clarissa Harlowe' and -'Pamela'?” - -“You will not do so gross an injustice to the memory of a great man, I -am sure. But, if you please, we will discuss this no longer. No matter -what this 'Evelina' may be, the fact remains that I gave a command that -our home should be free from the taint of novel reading, and my wishes -have been secretly ignored. I should not wonder if Fanny had encouraged -Edward to procure the book for her.” - -“I cannot deny it,” said Fanny in a low voice. “'Twas my doing -altogether. All the blame should rest on my shoulders--yes, from the -first--the very first--from the title page on to 'Finis.'” - -“And your delinquency has given me greater pleasure than I have derived -from other people's rectitude,” said Mr. Crisp. Then he turned to Mrs. -Burney. - -“Dear madam, you must forgive our Fannikin for her misdemeanour. If -you had but read the book for yourself you would feel as I do on the -subject. 'Tis the most fascinating story----” - -“That is, I hold, the worst of the matter,” said Mrs. Burney. “The more -fascinating the novel, the more dangerous it is, and the greater reason -there is why it should be excluded from every honest home. A dull story -may do but little harm. One might reasonably tolerate it even among a -household of young girls, but a clever one--a fascinating one, as you -call this 'Evelina,' should never be allowed to cross the threshold. -But, by your leave, sir, we will talk no more upon a question on which I -know we shall never agree.” - -“That is the most satisfactory proposal that could be made,” said Mr. -Crisp, bowing. “I will only add that since you are so fully sensible -of the danger of a delightful book in your house, you will take prompt -measures to prevent the baleful influence of 'Evelina' from pervading -your home, by despatching the third volume to me without delay. The -third volume of such a novel may in truth be likened to the match in -the barrel of gunpowder: 'tis the most dangerous part of the whole. The -first two volumes are like the gunpowder--comparatively innocent, but -the moment the third volume is attached--phew! So you would do well -not to delay in getting rid of such an inflammatory composition, Mrs. -Burney.” - -“I promise you that you shall have it at once, sir,” said Mrs. Burney. -“And I trust that you will not allow the first and second to return to -my house. A barrel of gunpowder may be as innocent as you say, so long -as the match is withheld, but still I have no intention of turning our -home into a powder magazine.” - -That was the last reference made to “Evelina” while Mrs. Burney and the -two girls remained at Chessington. They went away so as to be back -in St. Martin's Street in time for dinner; but the moment they -were together in the chaise Mrs. Burney burst out once more in her -denunciation of the vice of novel reading. From her general treatment -of the theme she proceeded--as the girls feared she would--to the -particular instance of its practice which had just come under her -notice. She administered to poor Susy a sound scolding for having -received the book from her cousin Edward in secret, and another to poor -Lottie for having ventured to read it without asking leave. The girls -were soon reduced to tears, but not a word did they say in reply. They -were loyal to their sister and her secret with which they had been -entrusted. Not a word did either of them utter. - -The drive home on that lovely afternoon was a dreary one, especially -after Mrs. Burney had said: - -“I fear that this duplicity has been going on for a long time in our -house. Yes, I have noticed more than once an exchange of meaning glances -between you and Fanny, and sometimes, too, when your cousin Edward was -in the room. It seemed to me that you had some secret in common which -you were determined to keep from me. I said nothing at that time, for -though my suspicions were awakened, yet I thought it best to take the -most favourable view of the matter, and I assumed that the secret--if -there was a secret--was an innocent one--such as girls in a family may -share among themselves about some trifling thing; but now I have no -doubt that your glances and your winks and your elbowings had to do with -the smuggling of books into the house for your surreptitious reading. I -am ashamed of you. It hurts me deeply to find that, after all the care I -have taken to preserve you in innocence of the world and its wickedness, -you have been behaving with such duplicity. I shall, of course, think -it my duty to let your father know what I have found out, and he may be -able to suggest some means of preventing a repetition of such conduct.” - -The poor girls dared not even look at each other for mutual sympathy, -lest such glances should be interpreted by their mother as a further -attempt to pursue the scheme of duplicity with which she had charged -them. They could only sit tearful and silent until they were once again -in St. Martin's Street. They longed to rush upstairs together to their -room and mingle their tears in a sisterly embrace before determining -how they should meet their stepmother's charges in the presence of their -father. - -But Mrs. Burney was too astute a strategist to permit them to consult -together. - -“Is your master within?” she inquired of William, the man-servant, who -opened the door for them. - -“He is in the library, madam, with Mrs. Esther,” replied the man. - -“So much the better,” said Mrs. Burney to the girls. “We shall go -directly to him, and your sister Esther will be present.” - -She made them precede her to the room that was called the library. Dr. -Burney and Hetty were laughing together across the table--the sound of -their merriment had been heard by the girls before the door was opened. -But at the portentous gravity of the entrance of Mrs. Burney her husband -became grave. - -“You have returned early,” he said, “and--good heavens! you have been -weeping--you do not bring bad news--Fanny has not had a relapse?” - -“Fanny is quite well; but I bring you bad news,” replied Mrs. Burney. -“You will, I am sure, regard it as the worst possible news when I tell -you that she, as well as her sisters here, have been guilty of the -grossest disobedience--a conspiracy of disobedience, I may call it.” - -“I am amazed--and grieved,” said he. “But I can scarcely believe that, -brought up as they have been----” - -“They do not deny it,” said she. “I only discovered by chance that, in -defiance of our rule against novel reading, they been have trafficking -with their cousin Edward to procure novels for their secret reading, and -the latest they smuggled into the house is that one called 'Evelina'--I -actually found Fanny reading the book to Mr. Crisp, and her sisters -admitted----” - -“But what did Fanny admit?” he cried. - -“She admitted that Edward had procured the book at her request,” replied -his wife. “Was not that enough?” - -“Not half enough--not a quarter enough, considering that it was Fanny -who wrote 'Evelina' with her own hand and under our very noses without -our suspecting it,” said Dr. Burney quietly. - -Mrs. Burney looked at him dumbly for more than a whole minute. There was -silence in the room. - -Then she sat slowly down on the nearest chair, still keeping her eyes -fixed upon him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -|DOCTOR BURNEY sat for a long time staring at a point high above his -wife's head. The eldest daughter, Hetty, standing at the other side of -the writing-table, was radiant; her eyes were dancing. The two others -were standing together--huddled together, it might be said, for they -suggested a pair of lambs recently frightened--doubtful of what is going -to happen next and feeling that the closer they are to each other the -safer they will be. - -“Did you ever hear of anything so funny?” said Hetty, glancing around -and still radiant. - -Her father got upon his feet. - -“And she was the only one that never had any attention,” said he, as if -he had not heard Hetty's remark. “Fanny was left to make her own way as -pleased her best--no one troubled about her education. She was left -to pick up knowledge as best she could--the crumbs that fell from the -others' table--that was how she picked up French when the others came -back from school, and now she speaks it with the best of them... And -so shy! Tell me, if you can, how she got her knowledge of things--the -things in that book--the pictures red with life--the real life-blood of -men and women--love--emotion--pathos--all that make up life--and don't -forget the characterization--that's what seems to me all but miraculous. -Hogarth--we all know that Hogarth drew his characters and fitted them -into his pictures because he made it a point to walk among them and look -at them with observant eyes; but tell me, if you can, what chance that -child had of seeing anything; and yet she has filled her canvas, and -every bit is made up of firm, true drawing. That is the chief wonder.” - -He spoke evidently under the impulse of a great excitement at first, not -looking at anyone in particular--just skimming them all with his eyes -as he paced the room. But he seemed gradually to recover himself as -he talked, and he appeared to address his last words to his wife. This -assisted her to recover herself also--a minute or so in advance of him. - -“You seem to be sure that Fanny wrote it,” she said, when he had done. -“Is it fair to condemn her before you make sure?” - -Everyone looked at Mrs. Burney; but only her husband laughed. - -“Condemn her--condemn her for having written the finest novel since -Fielding?” he said, with the laugh still on his face. There was no laugh -on hers; on the contrary, its expression was more serious than ever. - -“A novel is a novel,” she said. “I told Mr. Crisp--but that was -only about the reading of novels--the cleverer they are the more -mischievous--dangerous--even the reading--I never dreamt of her going -so far as to write one, clever or otherwise. But a novel is still a -novel--she must have neglected her duties in the house, though I failed -to observe it... and sending it to a bookseller without saying a word to -us! Who would have believed that a young woman with her training--” - -“It flashed across me when I read the verses addressed to myself at the -beginning that she had asked my permission some months ago, and that -I had given it--I did so laughing at the poor child's credulousness in -believing that any bookseller would print it for her and pay her for the -privilege--the privilege of making a thousand pounds out of her book.” - -“What! are you serious?--a thousand pounds, did you say?” - -“Mr. Lowndes will make more than a thousand pounds by the sale of the -book--Hetty tells me that he only paid Fanny twenty for it.” - -“What is the world coming to--a fortune in a single book! And we talked -about her being portionless, when all the time she was more richly -endowed than all the rest of the family; for if she has written one -book, she can certainly write another equally remunerative. 'Perhaps she -has another ready for the printers.” - -Mrs. Burney was blessed with the capacity to look at matters, -however artistic they might be, from the standpoint of the practical -housekeeper. The mention of so sonorous a sum as a thousand pounds -caused the scales of prejudice to fall from the eyes through which she -had regarded the act of authorship, and at that instant she perceived -that it should not be thought of as a delinquency but as a merit. - -And, after all, it appeared that the girl had obtained the permission of -her father to print it--that put quite a different complexion upon the -transaction, did it not? - -And a thousand pounds--that appealed to the good sense of a practical -person and swept away the last cobweb of prejudice that she had had -respecting novels and their writers. - -“Has she another book written, think you?” she inquired in a tone full -of interest. “Of course we shall see that she gets a better share of Mr. -Lowndes' thousand pounds than she did for her first.” - -“She has not written a line since 'Evelina,'” said Esther. “To be sure, -I have not been her _confidante_ since I got married, but I know that -she was so frightened at the thought of what she had done that she would -not write another page.” - -“Frightened! What had she to be frightened about?” cried Mrs. Burney in -a tone of actual amazement. - -“Goodness knows,” said Esther with a laugh. - -The sound of the dinner-bell coming at that moment had about it also -something of the quality of a long, loud, sonorous outburst of laughter -with a cynical tinkle at the last. - -The group in that room dissolved in all directions with exclamations of -dismay at being overtaken by the dinner-hour so unprepared. - -“It is all over now,” said Susy to Lottie, when they were alone in their -room. “I was afraid when she ushered us so formally into the library -that we would be forced to tell our secret.” - -“I made up my mind that no torture of the rack or wild horses would -unseal my lips,” said Susy, earnestly. “Do you know, Lottie, I feel -quite lonely without our secret.” - -“It is just the same with me, dear,” said Lottie. “I feel as if I were -suddenly cut off from some great interest in life--as if I had gone -downstairs one morning and found that someone had stolen the piano. I -wonder if it was Hetty who told the padre.” - -“Make haste and we shall soon learn all,” said Susy. - -Before they had finished dinner they learned from their father how he -had got to the bottom of the secret that they had so cherished. - -He had gone as usual to give a music lesson to Queenie Thrale, and when -partaking of some refreshment before setting out for London, Mrs. Thrale -had talked to him in terms of the highest praise of “Evelina.” She had -read the book twice over, she told him, and had lent it to Dr. Johnson, -who could talk of nothing else. Then Mrs. Cholmondeley had arrived on a -visit to Thrale Hall, and she, too, was full of praise of the book. She, -too, had lent her copy to someone else--to no less important a person -than Mr. Edmund Burke, and he had declared himself as greatly captivated -by it as his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds had been. Everybody was -talking about it, and the question of the authorship had been as widely -discussed as before; Mrs. Cholmondeley had declared that she would give -twenty guineas to find out for certain who it was that had written the -book. - -Mrs. Thrale had thereupon suggested that Dr. Burney was in a better -position than most people for solving the mystery, going about as he was -from one part of the town to another and being in close touch with all -manner of people. - -“But I had not, as you know, so much as read the book for myself--I -seemed to be the only one in town who had not done so--and on getting -home I sent William post haste to Mr. Lowndes to purchase a set. This -done, I sat down to peruse the first volume. The page opened on the Ode; -it lay beneath my eyes, and I tell you truly that I did not seem to read -it: I seemed to hear Fanny's voice reading the verses in my ear, and -the truth came upon me in a flash--incredible though it appeared, I knew -that it was she who had written the book. Hetty came in before my eyes -were dry--she saw the volume in my hand, and she understood all. 'You -know,' was all that she said. I think that the greatest marvel was the -keeping of the secret of the book! To think of its being known to four -girls and never becoming too great for them to bear!” - -He was appealing to his wife, but she only nodded a cold acquiescence in -his surprise. She remained silent, however, and this was something to be -grateful for, the girls thought: they knew just what she was thinking, -and they also knew that if they had some little trouble in keeping their -secret, she had very much more in restraining herself from uttering some -comment upon their reticence--their culpable reticence, she would -think it. They could see that she was greatly displeased at having been -excluded from their secret, since such an exclusion had forced her into -a false position more than once--notably in the presence of Mr. Crisp, -when she had become the assailant of novels and novel reading generally, -and also when she had scolded them on their return in the chaise. But -they were good girls, and they were ready to allow that they were in the -wrong, even though they did not think so: that is what really good girls -do in their desire for peace in their homes. And Lottie and Susy made -up their minds that should their stepmother tax them with double-dealing -and deceit, they would not try to defend themselves. The reflection that -they had kept their sister's secret would more than compensate them for -any possible humiliation they might suffer at Mrs. Burney's hands. - -All that Mrs. Burney said at the conclusion of her husband's further -rhapsody about the marvel of Fanny's achievement, considering how she -had been generally thought the dunce of the family, was comprised in a -few phrases uttered in a hurt tone: - -“While no one is more pleased than myself to witness her success, I -cannot but feel that she would have shown herself possessed of a higher -sense of her duty as a daughter if she had consulted her father or his -wife in the matter,” she said. - -“That may be true enough,” said Dr. Burney; “but if she had done so, -would she have achieved her purpose any more fully than she has, I ask -you? No, my dear, I do not feel, with any measure of certainty, that I -would have gone far in my encouragement of her efforts, nor do I think -that you would have felt it consistent with your principles to do so.” - -“I was only referring to the question of a simple girl's duty in regard -to her parents,” said Mrs. Burney. - -“And your judgment on that point is, I am certain, unassailable,” said -he. “But here we have a girl who is no simple girl, but a genius; and -I think that a good deal of latitude should be allowed to a genius--a -little departure from the hard and fast line of the duties expected from -a simple girl may be permitted in such a one as Fanny.” - -“Well, she has succeeded in her aims--so much is plain,” said Mrs. -Burney. “But I hope that should any of her sisters set about a similar -enterprise----” - -But the ringing laughter that came from the sisters, their father -joining in with great heartiness, saved the need for her to complete -her sentence. At first she felt hurt, but she quickly yielded to the -exuberant spirit that pervaded the atmosphere of the room, and smiled -indulgently, after the manner of a staid elderly lady who is compelled -to take part in the romp of her girls and boys at Christmas time. - -She continued smiling, and the others continued laughing, and this -spirit of good humour was maintained until bedtime. - -The girls knew that they would not be scolded for their participation -in Fanny's secret; for Fanny by her success had justified any amount of -double-dealing. If Fanny had made a fool of herself they would feel -that they deserved to participate in her scolding; but success is easily -pardoned, and so they rightly counted upon a general amnesty. What was -it that their father had said about a thousand pounds? - -They went to bed quite happy, in spite of being deprived of the fearful -joy of having a secret to keep. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -|DR. BURNEY had given instructions that Fanny was not to be communicated -with at Chessington until he had seen her; but that the third volume -of the book was to be sent to Mr. Crisp without delay. He was to go to -Streatham again in two days' time, and thence to Chessington, where he -would make Mr. Crisp aware of the identity of the writer of “Evelina.” - -He anticipated an interesting hour with Mr. Crisp, but a very much more -interesting half-hour with Mrs. Thrale; for he meant, of course, to lose -no time in letting that lady into the secret: he knew that she would -make the most of the information he could impart to her; to be the first -to learn what all her friends were striving to learn would at once place -her above Mrs. Cholmondeley, who was willing to pay twenty guineas for -the knowledge, and even Mrs. Montagu, who was inclined to patronize -Mrs. Thrale and a good many other ladies, in spite of the fact that Dr. -Johnson dined usually five days out of every week with Mrs. Thrale, -but had only dined once with Mrs. Montagu since she had gone to her new -house. - -Dr. Burney was well aware how valuable the Thrale connection was to him; -a teacher of music is apt to look with sparkling eyes at a houseful of -girls whose father possesses the possibilities of such wealth as was -defined by Dr. Johnson in this particular case as beyond the dreams -of avarice. Dr. Burney had a very nice judgment on the subject of an -influential connection, and so was delighted to have a chance of doing -a signal good turn to so deserving a patroness as Mrs. Thrale. Yes, -he felt sure that his half-hour at Streatham Hall would be the -most interesting of the many half-hours he had spent under the same -hospitable roof. - -And he was not mistaken in his surmise. - -Mrs. Thrale had, as usual, several friends coming to partake of an early -repast with her; and Dr. Burney had pictured to himself the effect of -his announcement to the company that his daughter had written the book -upon which he was pretty sure the conversation would turn--indeed, he -felt that he would be greatly surprised if the conversation did not -immediately rush to the question of “Evelina” and remain there for the -rest of the afternoon; for the enterprising ladies would doubtless -bring with them some fresh suggestions or new cues to its authorship. -He pictured himself allowing them to go on for some time until perhaps a -statement would be made which he should have to contradict point-blank. -They would all look at him in surprise. What did he know about the -matter? Was he interested in the question? Had he found out anything? - -How he would smile while saying quietly: - -“Well, I am more or less interested in the matter, the fact being that -'Evelina' is the work of my daughter, Fanny Burney!” - -That would be, he thought, a fitting moment in which to divulge the -secret; he saw the whole scene clearly before him. - -But before he had reached his destination that intuition of what would -commend itself to a patron which had been so important an auxiliary to -his ability in placing him above his rivals in his profession, overcame -his desire to play the most important part in a dramatic scene; he -perceived that such a rôle should be taken by an influential patroness, -and not by himself. Thus it was that when Mrs. Thrale was giving him a -cup of chocolate after his journey he smiled, saying: - -“I was greatly interested in the conversation between Mrs. Cholmondeley -and the other ladies when I was last here.” - -“About 'Evelina'?” she inquired. “Ah, I wonder if Mrs. Cholmondeley has -yet paid over her twenty guineas to the discoverer of the author. It -seems that he has as arduous a task in regard to 'Evelina' as Raleigh -had in regard to his El Dorado.” - -“So it would appear,” said Dr. Burney. “Let us hope that his efforts -will be more highly valued than those of poor Sir Walter. Have you -yourself no suspicions on the subject, madam?” - -“Oh, suspicions? There have been as many suspicions set going on this -subject within the month as would be entertained only by the most -imaginative Bow Street runner. For my own part, I maintain that the book -could only have been writ by our friend Horace Walpole. He found that -his 'Otranto' excited so much curiosity when published without a name, -he came to the conclusion that he would produce another novel with -the same amount of mystery attached to it. The only point against this -assumption is that----” - -“That the book was assuredly written by another person,” said Burney, -smiling in a way that he designed to be somewhat enigmatical. - -Mrs. Thrale tried to interpret his smile. - -“What!” she exclaimed, “you have formed another theory--you--you have -heard something since you were last here?” - -“Not something, madam--not a mere something, but everything--everything -that is to be known regarding the writer of that book.” - -“Is't possible? Who is your informant?--the value of all that you have -heard is dependent upon the accuracy of your informant.” - -“The book was written by the person whom I fancied I knew best of all -the people in the world, and yet the last person whom I would believe -capable of such a feat. The author of the book--I am the author of her -being--she is none other than my daughter Fanny.” - -Mrs. Thrale sat staring at him, one arm resting upon the table, her lips -parted as if about to utter an exclamation of surprise, but unable to do -so by reason of her surprise. - -More than a minute had passed before she was able to speak, and then she -could do no more than repeat his words. - -“Your daughter Fanny--your daughter--but is not Fanny the little shy -one that goes into a corner when you have company?” she asked, in a -tone that suggested that she had heard something too ridiculous to be -believed. - -“She is that one, madam,” he replied. “It would seem as if the corner -of a room has its advantages in enabling one to observe life from a -true standpoint. Two eyes looking out from a corner with a brain behind -them--there you have the true writer of a novel of life and character. -Poor Fanny! How often have not I talked of her as 'poor Fanny'? She had -no education except what she contrived to pick up haphazard--a sweet -child--a lovable daughter, but the last person in the world to be -suspected of such a book as 'Evelina.'” - -“You are sure, sir--you have seen--heard--you know?” - -“Beyond any doubt. Her sisters were let into the secret, but neither -of her parents. I know now why that was--no want of duty--no lack of -respect--she began the book for her own amusement, and it grew under -her hand; she sent it to a bookseller, more as a jest than in the belief -that anything would come of it, and up to the last it was treated by -her and her sisters as a schoolroom mystery--a nursery secret--and -Mrs. Burney and I were kept out of it solely because we were not of the -nursery or the schoolroom. And when it became a serious matter we were -excluded because they were afraid to reveal it to us--Fanny herself, -dear child!--feared that we would be concerned if it were stillborn. It -was only when it was at the point of being published by Mr. Lowndes that -she came to me saying that she had been writing something and wanted -my leave to send it forth, promising that no name would appear upon the -title page. I gave my leave with a smile, and when I had my laugh at the -innocence of the girl in fancying that any bookseller would pay for the -printing of what she might scribble, I forgot all about the matter. It -was only when I sent for the book and read the Ode addressed to myself -that I seemed to hear Fanny's voice speaking the words in my ear--I told -the others so when they returned from visiting her at Chessington. But -meantime Esther had come to me, and she told me all that was known to -her about the book and its secret.” - -“The most wonderful story ever known--more wonderful than the story of -Evelina herself!” cried Mrs. Thrale. “How people--Mrs. Cholmondeley and -the rest--will lift up their hands! Who among them will believe it all -possible? List, my dear doctor, you must bring her to me in the first -instance--all the others will be clamouring for her to visit them--I -know them! You must bring her to me without delay--why not to-day? I can -easily send a chaise for her--a coach if necessary. Well, if not to-day, -to-morrow. I must have her here. We will understand each other--she and -I; and Dr. Johnson will be with us--quite a little company--for dinner. -You will promise me?” - -“Be assured, dear madam, that there is no house apart from her home -where I feel she would be happier than in this,” said Dr. Burney. “She -has often expressed the warmest admiration for you, and I know that her -dearest wish is to be on terms of intimacy with you.” - -“The sweet girl! she shall have her dearest wish gratified to the -fullest extent, sir. You will bring her as early to-morrow as it suits -you. Good heavens! to think of that dear retiring child taking the town -by storm! Dr. Johnson wrote to me no later than last evening, expressing -once more his delight in reading the book, and Mr. Burke, too--but you -heard about Mr. Burke. I will never forget your courtesy in telling me -first of all your friends that she was the author, dear doctor.” - -“If not you, madam, whom would I have told?” - -“I shall be ever grateful. You will give me leave to make the revelation -to my friends who will be here to-day?” - -“It is open for you to tell them all that I have told you, my dear -madam; and you may truthfully add that if the writing of the book will -bring her into closer intimacy with Mrs. Thrale, the author will feel -that it has not been written in vain.” - -He made his lowest bow on rising from the table to receive his pupil, -who entered the room at that moment. - -He had confidence that he was right in his intuition that his patroness -would act with good effect the rôle which he had relinquished in -her favour, when her friends would arrive in another hour for their -“collation;” and he was ready to allow that none could have played the -part more neatly than she did when the time came to prove how much -better-informed she was than the rest of the world. She might have been -possessed of the knowledge that Miss Burney was the writer of “Evelina” - from the first, from the easy and natural way in which she said: - -“Pray do not trouble yourselves telling me what Mrs. Cholmondeley said -to Mr. Lowndes, or what Mr. Lowndes said to someone else about the -writer of the novel; for it happens that I know, and have known for--for -some time the name of the author.” - -There were a few little exclamations of surprise, and a very pretty -uplifting of several pairs of jewelled hands at this calm announcement. - -“Oh, yes,” she continued, “the writer is a friend of my own, and the -daughter of one of my most valued friends, and if any people talk to you -in future of 'Evelina' being the work of Mr. Walpole or Mr. Anstey or -any man of letters, pay no attention to these astute investigators, but -tell them that I said the book is the work of Miss Fanny Burney, one of -the daughters of the celebrated Dr. Charles Burney, himself the author -of a 'History of Music' that will live so long as the English language -has a literature of its own.” - -Mrs. Thrale did it all with amazing neatness, Dr. Burney thought; and -the attempt that she made to conceal the expression of triumph in the -glance that she gave to her guests let him know that his tact had been -exercised in the right direction. Mrs. Thrale was not the woman to -forget that he had given her such a chance of proving to her friends how -intimate was her association with the literary history of the day. She -had been for several years the patroness of Dr. Johnson, who had written -the best dictionary, and now she was about to take under her protection -Miss Burney, who had written the best novel. He knew that Mrs. Thrale -was almost as glad to be able to reveal the secret of “Evelina” as if -she had written the book herself. - -And everyone else at the table felt that Mrs. Thrale was indeed an -amazingly clever woman; and wondered how Mrs. Cholmondeley would feel -when she had learned that she had been forestalled in her quest after -the information on which she had placed a value of twenty guineas. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -|IT had all come to her now. She had had her dreams from time to time -when working at her novel--dreams of recognition--of being received on -terms of equality by some of the lesser literary people who had visited -the house in St. Martin's Street, and had gone away praising the musical -talents of her sisters, but leaving her unnoticed. Her aspirations had -been humble, but it seemed to her so stupid to be stupid in the midst of -a brilliant household, that she longed to be able to do something that -would, at least, cause their visitors of distinction to glance into her -corner and recognize her name when it was spoken in their hearing. -That was all she longed for at first--to be recognized as “the one who -writes,” as people recognized “the one who plays.” But since Signor -Rauzzini had come upon the scene her ambitions had widened. She dreamt -not merely of recognition, but of distinction, so that he might be proud -of her, and that she might not merely be spoken of as the wife of the -Roman singer. That dream of hers had invariably been followed by a -feeling of depression as she reflected upon the improbability of its -ever being realized, and if it should not be realized, all hope of -happiness would pass from her life. Thus it was that for some months she -had lived with the cold finger of despair constantly pressing upon her -heart. She was so practical--so reasonable--that she could never yield -herself up to the fascination of the Fool's Paradise of dreams; she was -ready to estimate her chances of literary success, and the result of -the operation was depressing. How could any young woman who had seen so -little of life, and who had been so imperfectly educated, have any hope -to be received as a writer of distinction? What claim to distinction -could such a girl as she advance in the face of the competition that was -going on around her in every branch of distinctive work? - -For some months her good sense and her clear head were her greatest -enemies; evermore bringing her back to the logic of a life in which -everything is represented by figures, from a great artistic success to -a butcher's bill--a life in which dreams play a part of no greater -significance than the splendid colours clinging about the West in the -unalterable routine of the setting sun. - -Many times she had awakened in the night to weep as she felt the -bitterness of defeat; for her book had been given to the world and the -world had received it as the sea receives a stone that is flung upon its -surface. That simile of the stone and the sea was constantly recurring -to her, and every time she saw that it was weak--that it fell short of -meeting her case, for her book had made no stir whatsoever in the world, -whereas a stone, however small it might be, could not be given to the -sea without creating some stir on the surface of the waters. - -And then, quite unexpectedly, had come a whisper from the world to tell -her that her book had not been submerged: the whisper had increased in -volume until it had sounded in her ears like a shout of acclamation, -telling her that the reality had far surpassed her most sanguine dreams, -and that common-sense reasoning is sometimes farther astray in its -operation than are the promptings of the most unreasonable ambition. - -These were her rose-tinted reflections while driving with her father -from Chessington to Streatham, a journey which represented to her the -passing from obscurity to distinction, the crossing of the Jordan and -the entering into the Land of Promise. - -Fanny Burney has herself told the story of her father's coming to her -at Chessington, and of her dear old friend's reception of the marvellous -news that Dr. Burney brought to him--of the phrases which she -overheard while the two men were in a room together--the incredulous -exclamations--“Wonderful--it's wonderful!”--“Why, she has had very -little education but what she has given herself--less than any of the -others”--“The variety of characters--the variety of scenes, and the -language”--“Wonderful!” And then Mr. Crisp's meeting her, catching her -by the hands as she was going in to supper, and crying, “Why, you little -hussy, ain't you ashamed to look me in the face you--you 'Evelina,' you! -Why, what a dance you have led me about it!” Miss Burney has brought the -scene vividly before our eyes in her Diary. - -It was one of the happiest days of her life; she saw the pride with -which her father regarded her, for Dr. Burney was a practical man -who valued achievement as it deserved, and was, besides, the best of -fathers, and the most anxious to advance the interests of his children. -He looked with pride upon his daughter, and talked of her having made -Mr. Lowndes a wealthy man. His estimate of her earning powers had -increased: he now declared that even if Lowndes had paid a thousand -pounds for the book, his profits off it would enable him to buy an -estate! - -It was the happiest evening of her life; and now she was in the chaise -with her beloved father, driving to Streatham, where they were to -dine, and Dr. Johnson was to be of the party. This meant more than -recognition, it meant the Land of Promise of her ambitious dreams. - -She had many matters to reflect upon at this time, but all her -reflections led to the one point--her next meeting with Rauzzini. The -truth that had been revealed to her among Sir Joshua Reynolds' superb -canvases, that love was more than all else that the world could give -her, remained before her, as a luminous fixed star, to be a guide to her -life; and the happiness that she now felt was due to the thought that -she could go to the man whom she loved, without a misgiving, without -fearing that he would hear those dreaded voices of the world saying that -he had been a fool to ally himself with a nonentity, or that she would -hear the whispers of those who might suggest that she had done very well -for herself. She had long before made her resolution only to go to him -when she could do so on terms of equality. At that time her resolution -seemed to shut her out from all chances of happiness; she knew this, but -at the same time she believed that it would shut both of them out from -every chance of unhappiness; and so she had allowed it to dominate her -life. - -That was where her common-sense and her reasonableness had their way, -prevailing over that blind impulse which she now and again had, to trust -to chance--and love--to overcome every other consideration, and to give -her lover and herself happiness solely by being together. It was such -impulses as this that caused love to be referred to as blind. But she -was now ready to thank heaven for having given her strength to overcome -it and so to give the victory to reason and good sense. - -She made up her mind to write to him before she slept that very night, -telling him what her resolution had been--he had called it a mystery, -not knowing anything about it--and asking him to rejoice with her that -she had been able to maintain it, so that the barrier which she had seen -between them was now swept away. - -“Come to me--come to me”--that would be the burden of her letter to him; -she would send it to him and he would come. - -The thought made her lean back among the cushions of the chaise and shut -her eyes, the better to enclose the vision of happiness that came from -her heart. He would come to her and her happiness would be complete. - -So she arrived with her father at Thrale Hall and was welcomed by Mrs. -Thrale in the porch. When she had made her toilet for dinner she was -shown into the drawing-room. As she entered, she was conscious of the -presence of several men, and the one nearest to her was, she saw, Signor -Rauzzini. - -All the men in the room were looking toward her except Rauzzini. He was -standing by the side of a small table, presenting his profile to her, -and his eyes were gazing across the room at a picture that hung between -the windows, a frown on his face. - -She was startled, and the blood rushed to her cheeks. It would have done -so on her entering the room, even if she had not been surprised to see -her lover there when she believed him to be still in France. - -She had stopped before reaching the middle of the room, and then she -was hidden from the view of everybody by a huge mass of manhood in the -person of Dr. Johnson. He seemed inclined to embrace her; and as he -swung himself close to her, there was no one in the room that had not a -moment of trepidation lest he should fall over her and crush her flat. - -Mrs. Thrale tripped alongside Fanny, as if ready to die with her. - -“Oh, come, Dr. Johnson,” she cried. “I have no intention of allowing -you to monopolize Miss Burney, for that I perceive is your desire. The -gentlemen must be presented to her in proper form.” - -“Madam,” said he, “I understood clearly that Miss Burney was coming -hither for myself alone, and I have no mind to share so precious a -morsel with others. Miss Burney and I are old friends, give me leave to -say; I have more than once been interested in a book in the room where -she was sitting in her father's house. Come to my arms, Miss Burney, and -we shall laugh together at the jealous glances the others cast at me.” - -“Miss Burney will sit beside you at dinner, sir, and that must suffice -you for the present,” said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny by the hand. - -But Johnson had succeeded, after more than one ineffectual attempt, in -grasping Miss Burney's left hand, and in his ponderous playfulness, he -refused to relinquish it, so that she had to make her curtsies to the -gentlemen with Mrs. Thrale on one side of her and Johnson on the other. -There was Mr. Seward and Sir Joshua Reynolds, and two others besides -Signor Rauzzini. Each of them had a compliment to offer her, and did so -very pleasantly and with great tact. - -“Now that is done, Miss Burney and I can sit together on the sofa, and -she will tell me why she loves the Scotch and I will scold her for it,” - said Johnson complacently. - -“Nay, sir, Miss Burney has not yet greeted Signor Rauzzini,” said Mrs. -Thrale. “You and Miss Burney are already acquainted, I know, Signor -Rauzzini, though you did fancy that she was one of the musical girls of -St. Martin's Street.” - -Rauzzini took a single step away from the table at which he had remained -immovable, and bowed low, without speaking a word. - -Fanny responded. They were separated by at least three yards. - -“Dinner is on the table, sir,” announced a servant from the door. - -“I am not sorry,” said Johnson. “Mrs. Thrale gave me a solemn promise -that Miss Burney should sit next to me. That was why I kept my eye on -Miss Burney.” - -“And hand too, sir,” remarked Mr. Seward. - -“Why, yes, sir, and hand too, if you insist,” said Johnson. “And let me -tell you, sir, that a Lichfield man will keep his hand on anything he -wishes to retain when another Lichfield man is in the same room.” - -His laughter set the ornaments on the mantelpiece a-jingling. - -And they went in to dinner before the echoes had died away. - -Mrs. Thrale kept her promise, and Fanny was placed next to Johnson. But -even then he did not let go her hand. He held it in one of his own and -patted it gently with the other. Fanny glanced down the table and saw -that the eyes of the young Roman were looking in her direction, and that -they were flaming. What could he mean, she wondered. She had been at -first amazed at his bearing toward her in the drawing-room; but after -a moment's thought, she had supposed that he had assumed that distant -manner to prevent anyone from suspecting the intimacy there was between -them. But what could that angry look in his eyes portend? Was it -possible that he could be jealous of Dr. Johnson's awkward attention to -her? - -She was greatly troubled. - -But if he had, indeed, resented Johnson's attention to her, such a plea -was no longer valid after the first dish had been served, for in an -instant Johnson's attention was transferred, with increased force, to -the plate before him, and during the solid part of the meal, at least, -it was never turned in any other direction. Poor Fanny had never seen -him eat, nor had she the same privilege in respect of Mr. Thrale. But -she needed all the encouragement that her hostess could afford her to -enable her to make even the most moderate meal while such distractions -were in her immediate neighbourhood; and she came to the conclusion that -she had been ridiculously fastidious over the prodigious tea and its -service at Mr. Barlowe's in the Poultry. - -But Mrs. Thrale was as tactful and as chatty as ever, and Mr. Seward -made pleasant conversation for her, sitting, as he did, on the other -side from Johnson. When Johnson was eating, his fellow guests understood -that their chance was come to express their views without a dread of -being contradicted by him. - -But from the feebleness of her contribution to the chat of the table, -Mrs. Thrale as well as Mr. Seward perceived that all they had been told -about the timidity of little Miss Burney was even less than the truth. - -But for that matter, Signor Rauzzini, who had been placed between Mrs. -Thrale and Dr. Burney, was found by both of them to be also singularly -averse from joining in the conversation, whether in reply to Burney, who -addressed him in Italian, or to his hostess, who spoke French to him. - -As Mrs. Thrale talked a good deal herself, however, she rose with an -impression that there had been no especial lack of brilliancy at the -table. - -She took Fanny away with her, her determination being that if she should -fail to draw this shy young creature out of her shell, she would at any -rate convince her that her hostess was deserving of the reputation -which she enjoyed for learning, combined with vivacity, so that their -companionship could not be otherwise than profitable after all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -|IT was not yet six o'clock and the sun was not due to set for more than -another hour. The evening was a lovely one. From the shrubberies around -the house came the liquid notes of countless blackbirds and thrushes, -and above the trees of the park the cawing of the rooks as they wheeled -above their nests and settled upon the branches. - -“We shall sit on the terrace for half an hour, if you have a mind -to,” said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny through the drawing-room into a -smaller room that opened upon a long terrace above the beds of the -flower-garden. Here were several seats and a small table bearing writing -materials. - -“Here I do most of my correspondence in the summer,” said Mrs. Thrale. -“Sitting at that table in the open air, I have few distractions, unless -I choose to accept the birds as such; and here I hope you will begin -a new novel, or better still, a comedy that Mr. Sheridan will produce, -with Mrs. Abington in her most charming gowns--you must give your -namesake a chance of wearing a whole trunkful of gowns.” They seated -themselves, and Mrs. Thrale continued: - -“Now I have confided in you how I do my simple work, and I wish to hear -from you by what means you found time to write your novel. That is the -greatest secret of all associated with 'Evelina'--so your father thinks. -Mrs. Burney I always knew as a model housekeeper--a model manager of a -family, and how you could contrive to write a single page without her -knowledge is what baffles me as well as your father.” - -“To tell you all would, I fear, be to confess to a lifetime of -duplicity,” said Fanny. “I am sometimes shocked now when I reflect upon -my double-dealing.” - -“Tell me how you first came to stray from the paths of virtue--such a -story is invariably interesting,” said Mrs. Thrale. - -“My story is like all the others,” replied Fanny. “I only meant to turn -aside a little way, but soon I lost myself and I knew that there was no -retracing my steps.” - -“Alas, alas, the old story!” said Mrs. Thrale, with a long-drawn sigh. -“Well, happily, you were not able to retrace your steps.” - -“I had no idea that the story would grow upon me as it did,” said Fanny. -“I really only meant it to be a diversion for our dear friend, Mr. -Crisp, and an exercise for myself. I wrote a scrap now and again at odd -moments--when I was supposed to be writing to Mr. Crisp, or copying out -my father's notes for his History, at home as well as at Ches-sington, -and when I was staying at Lynn; and so the thing grew and grew until I -was afraid to look at what I had perpetrated.” - -“You are paraphrasing _Macbeth_, my dear: 'I am afeared to think what I -have done: Look on't again I dare not,'” said the elder lady. “But with -all you were able to prepare your father's great work for the press--he -told me as much; so that what your double-dealing comes to is that you -did his writing as well as your own, and at the same time neglected none -of your ordinary household duties--if you had done so Mrs. Burney would -have informed you of it, I have no doubt. An excellent housewife, Mrs. -Burney! And now you shall tell me how you contrived to bring together so -marvellous a group of characters--you who have lived so short a time in -the world, and had so small an amount of experience.” - -“I should like someone to answer that question for me,” said Fanny. “It -was not until I read the book in print that I began to be surprised at -it, and to wonder how it came to be written and how those characters had -found their way into it.” - -But this question was too interesting a one not to be pursued by Mrs. -Thrale; and for half an hour she put inquiry after inquiry to Fanny -respecting the characters, the incidents and the language of “Evelina.” - Mrs. Thrale was certainly determined to place herself in a position to -prove to her friends that Miss Burney had made a _confidante_ of her in -all matters, down to the smallest detail of the book. - -In ordinary circumstances Fanny would have been delighted to give -her her confidence in regard to these particulars--she had always a -childlike pleasure in talking about her books--but at this time she only -did so with a great effort. For while Mrs. Thrale was plying her with -questions about “Evelina,” there was ever before Fanny the unanswered -question as to what Rauzzini meant by his coldness and formality both -before dinner and during that meal. What did he mean by looking at her -with that reproachful frown upon his face? What did he mean by averting -his eyes from her when he had a chance of exchanging confidences with -her, as he had often done before? What did he mean by sitting at the -table without addressing a single word to her? - -These were the questions which she was struggling in vain to answer to -her own satisfaction all the time that Mrs. Thrale was putting -inquiry after inquiry to her upon a matter that Fanny now regarded as -insignificant compared with the one that she was trying to answer for -herself. - -Mrs. Thrale was just beginning a series of questions on the subject of -the comedy which she meant Miss Burney to write, when a servant appeared -with a message for the former. - -“Tiresome!” exclaimed Fanny's hostess, rising. “Here is some -insignificant household matter that can only be dealt with by the -mistress--summer frocks for two girls: the carrier has brought some -boxes--the summer has come upon us before spring has prepared us for -its arrival, and there has been a despairing cry heard in the nursery. -I need not excuse myself to you, Miss Burney. You will spare me for ten -minutes.” - -Miss Burney hoped that the feeling of relief of which she was conscious -did not show itself on her face, when she expressed the hope that Mrs. -Thrale would not think of her; she would be quite happy with the birds. - -“And the comedy--do not forget the comedy.” - -Miss Burney laughed, but before her hostess had reached the door leading -off the terrace, she was once more immersed in that question: - -“What does he mean by his change of attitude in regard to me?” - -It was serious--so much she knew. He had heard something that had caused -him to change. But what could he have heard? What manner of man was he -that would allow himself to be so influenced by anything that he might -hear against her, without first coming to her for an explanation? - -Her mind went back to the evening when they had first met. It was in St. -Martin's Street. He was there on the invitation of Dr. Burney: but it -seemed that he had become conscious of a sympathy existing between her -and himself, for he had remained by her side for a full hour while the -others in the room were singing and playing on the piano, and he had -held her hand at parting, expressing the hope, which his eyes confirmed, -that they would soon meet again. - -And they had met again and again until one evening they found themselves -alone in an anteroom to the apartment where a musical programme -was being performed at a great house. Then he had told her that his -happiness depended on her returning the love which he bore her; and -startled though she had been, yet when he took her hand all her shyness -seemed to vanish and she confessed.... - -A sound behind her only served to make her memory seem more vivid, for -it was his voice that reached her ear and it was singing the same aria -that he had come from singing on that evening--the passionate -“_Lascia ch'io pianga_” of Handel. Once more she was listening to -the strains--they came from one of the rooms that opened upon the -terrace--and now the chords of the accompaniment were struck with a -vehemence that had been absent from her father's playing to Rauzzini's -singing upon that occasion. - -She listened as if in a dream while the noble, despairing strain went on -to its close, and the melody sobbed itself into silence--a silence -that the birds among the roses seemed unwilling to break, for only an -occasional note of a thrush was in the air.... - -She heard the sound of the door opening a little way down the -terrace--of a foot upon the flagged path. She did not raise her head, -but she knew that he was there--only a few yards away from her. - -Through the silence there came the cawing of rooks far away among the -trees of the park. - -Then all at once she heard his sudden exclamation of surprise. He had -not seen her at first; he saw her now. - -“_Dio mio! ella è qui!_” - -Still she did not turn her head toward him. More than a minute had -passed before she heard his slow steps as he approached her. He was -beside her for quite as long before he spoke. - -“I did not know that you were here,” he said in a low voice. “But I am -glad. It is but right that I should say good-bye to you alone.” - -Then she looked up. - -“Why--why--why?” she cried almost piteously. “Why should you say -good-bye? What has made the change in you?” - -“It is not I who have changed: it is you,” said he. “I loved the sweet, -modest, untarnished jewel of a girl--a pearl hidden away from the sight -of men in a dim sea-cave--a violet--ah, I told you how I loved the -violet that hides itself from every eye--that was what you were when -I loved you, and I hoped to return to your side and find you the same. -Well, I return and--ah, where is the exquisite shrinking one that I -looked for? Gone--gone--gone for ever, and in her place I find one whose -name is in every mouth--not a soft, gentle girl, but a woman who has put -her heart into a book--_Dio mio!_ A woman who puts her heart into a -book is like a woman who disrobes in a public place--worse--worse--she -exposes a heart that should be sacred--feelings that it would be a gross -indelicacy to exhibit to the eyes of man!” - -“And that is how you think of me on account of what I have done?” said -she. - -“How can I think anything else?” he cried. “I told you that I loved you -because you were so unlike others--because you were like a child for -timidity and innocence of the world. I told you on that last evening we -were together how greatly I admired the act of Miss Linley in turning -her back upon the platform where she had sung and vowing never to -return to it--that was what I told you I loved--I who have seen how -the nature--the womanly charm of every woman suffers by reason of her -appealing to the public for money--for applause. That beautiful creature -forsook the platform before it was too late--before the evil influence -could work her ruin. But you--what do I hear the day I return to -England?--you have put your heart--your soul, into a book that causes -your name to be tossed about from mouth to mouth--Fanny Burney--Fanny -Burney--Fanny Burney--I hear that name, which I regarded as sacred, -spoken as freely as men speak the name of their Kitty Fisher--their -Polly Kennedy--their Fanny Abington! These are public characters--so -are you--oh, my God! so are you. You should have heard how you were -discussed in that room behind us before you arrived to-day--that -gross man Johnson--he called you by a dozen pet names as if he had a -right--'Fan'--'Fannikin'--I know not what--' a shy rogue '--that was -another! They laughed! They did not see the degradation of it. You were -a toy of the public--the vulgar crowd! Ah, you saw how that gross man, -who fed himself as a wolf, tucked you under his arm and the others only -smiled! Oh, I was shocked--shocked!” - -“And I felt proud--prouder than I have felt in my life,” said she. “But -now I see what I have lost--forfeited. Listen to me and I will tell -you what my dream was. I had written that book, but I had no hope of -printing it until I met you and heard from your lips--all that I heard.” - -“It was the truth--then: I loved you--then.” - -“I knew that it was the truth. But who was I that I should be beloved by -you? I felt that it would be unendurable to me to hear people refer -to us--as I knew they would--the great singer who had stooped to a -nonentity.” - -“Ah! that was the charm!” - -“Who except you would have said so? I knew what they would say, and I -made up my mind that I would not go to you except as an equal. I wanted -you to marry someone of whom you would feel proud, and I thought that -I had a little gift which I would lay at your feet. I did my best to -perfect it for your sake; but even when the book was printed I would not -give you my promise until I had assured myself that the gift would be -pronounced worthy of your acceptance. That was why I put you off for so -many months.” - -“Ah, that was your mystery--you called it a mystery.” - -“That was my secret--my mystery. Never mind; I thought that my hope was -realized when everyone about me was talking of the book and when people -whose opinion was valuable had said it was good--my one thought, God -knows, was that I could go to you--that I could make you happy, since I -should be thought by the world to be in some measure at least, worthy of -you.” - -“My poor child! you have not made me happy, but miserable. No one can -make me happy now. I do not love you now--you are a different person -now, and you can never return to be what you were. That is the worst of -all: you can never return to your former innocence.” - -“I can bear to hear you say even that; for now I perceive the mistake I -made. I should not have thought of the difference between us: I should -only have had one thought--that you had offered me your love and that I -was ready to offer you my love. That should have been enough for me. You -were right, I was wrong. Good-bye.” - -He looked at her for a few moments--tears were in his eyes and on his -cheeks--then he turned away with a passionate gesture, crying in his -native tongue: - -“Mother--mother in heaven! I loved her because she was of a nature the -same as yours--saint-like as a lily--shrinking from the world--in the -world but having nothing in common with the world. I loved her because -I thought that she was as you were. I will not be a traitor to your -ideal--to your memory.” - -He returned to her. - -“I am alone in the world; but I know that the spirit of that saint, -my mother, looks down upon me from her heaven, and will comfort me. My -heart is broken. _Addio! Addio!_ I do not mean to be cruel--tell me that -you do not accuse me of being cruel!” - -“I do not accuse you. I think I understand you--that is all.” - -“_Addio--addio--addio!_” - -The sound of his voice grew less with every word. - -She was alone in the silence of the twilight. - -Not for long, however. She heard the voice of Mrs. Thrale in the room -behind her, followed by the protests of Dr. Johnson. - -“Miss Burney and I want to have an undisturbed talk together about -writing books,” Mrs. Thrale was saying as she came out upon the terrace. - -“Books, madam; any fool can talk of books, and a good many fools avail -themselves of the licence,” cried Johnson. “Miss Burney and I are going -to talk about life. Books are not life, Miss Burney.” - -“No, sir,” said Miss Burney slowly; “books are not life--books are not -life.” - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - -***** This file should be named 51922-0.txt or 51922-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/2/51922/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fanny's First Novel - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51922] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL - -By Frank Frankfort Moore. - -Author of "The Jessamy Bride," "A Nest of Linnets," "I Forbid the -'Banns," Etc. - -London: Hutchinson & Co. Paternoster Row, E. C. - -1913 - - -[Illustration: 0001] - - -[Illustration: 0009] - - - - - -FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL - - - - -CHAPTER I - -|INDEED, I am not quite assured in my mind that the influence of Mr. -Garrick upon such a family as ours is healthy," said Mrs. Burney, when -the breakfast cups had been removed and the maid had left the room -in the little house in St. Martin's Street, off Leicester Fields. Dr. -Burney, the music-master, had not to hurry away this day: his first -lesson did not begin until noon; it was to be given at the mansion of -Mr. Thrale, the brewer, at Streatham, and the carriage was not to -call for him for another hour. He was glancing at the _Advertiser_ in -unaccustomed indolence, but when his wife had spoken he glanced up from -the paper and an expression of amused surprise was upon his face. His -daughter Fanny glanced up from the work-basket which her mother had -placed ready for her the moment that the breakfast-table had been -cleared, and the expression upon little Miss Burney's face was one that -had something of fright in it. She was too short-sighted to see the wink -which her brother James, lieutenant in His Majesty's navy, gave her, for -their stepmother had her back turned to him. But Mrs. Burney, without -seeing him, knew that, as he himself would phrase it, he had tipped -Fanny a wink. She turned quickly round upon him, and if she had -previously any doubt on this point, it was at once dispelled by the -solemnity of his face. - -Dr. Burney gave a laugh. - -"The influence of Mr. Garrick is like that of the air we breathe," said -he. "It is not to be resisted by the age we live in, leaving family -matters out of the question altogether: the Burney family must inhale -as much of the spirit of Mr. Garrick as the rest of the town-they cannot -help themselves, _ces pauvres Burneys!_ they cannot live without Mr. -Garrick." - -Mrs. Burney shook her head solemnly; so did Lieutenant James Burney, for -he had all his life been under the influence of Mr. Garrick, when the -atmosphere brought by Mr. Garrick was one of comedy. - -"My meaning is that Mr. Garrick is not content to allow simple people -such as ourselves to live as simple people," said Mrs. Burney. "I -protest that I have felt it: the moment he enters our house we seem to -be in a new world-whatsoever world it is his whim to carry us to." - -"That is the truth, my dear-he can do what he pleases with us and with -all the thousands who have flocked to his playhouse since his Goodman's -Fields days--he has made a fortune as a courier; transporting people -to another world for an hour or two every night--a world that is less -humdrum than this in which four beats go to every bar and every crotchet -goes to a beat! Dear soul! he has made our hearts beat at times beyond -all computation of time and space." - -"You will herring-bone the edges neatly, Fanny: I noticed some lack of -neatness in the last of the napery that left your hand, my dear," said -Mrs. Burney, bending over her stepdaughter at her work-basket; and, -indeed, it seemed that the caution was not unnecessary, for Fanny's eyes -were gleaming and she was handling her work with as great indifference -(for the moment) as though she esteemed plain sewing something of -drudgery rather than a delight. And now, having administered her timely -caution, the good lady turned to her husband, saying: - -"To my mind what you have claimed for Mr. Garrick but adds emphasis to -my contention that his visits have a disturbing influence upon a homely -family, taking them out of themselves, so to speak, and transporting -them far beyond the useful work of their daily life. I have noticed with -pain for some time past that Fanny's heart has not been in her work: -her cross-stitch has been wellnigh slovenly, and her herring-boning has -really been indifferent--I say it with sorrow; but dear Fanny is too -good a girl to take offence at my strictures, which she knows are honest -and meant for her good." - -"Madam," said Lieutenant Burney, "I pray you to give me leave to bear -you out; but at the same time to make excuses for Fan. I must do so in -justice to her, for the blame rests with me so far as the herring-boning -is concerned. I confess, with tears in my eyes, that 'twas I who -provided her with the last models for her herring-boning; and 'twas -surely some demon in my breast that prompted me to substitute the -skeleton of one of the South Sea fishes which I hooked when becalmed -with Captain Cook within sight of Otaheite, for the true herring whose -backbone is a model of regularity to be followed by all workers with the -needle, when deprived of the flesh, which is the staple fare of hundreds -of honest families and, while nourishing them amply, prevents their -thoughts from carrying them beyond the region pervaded by the smell of -their cooking." - -"That were a wide enough area upon occasions for the most ambitious of -thinkers," said Dr. Burney, controlling his features, seeing that his -wife took the ward-room humour of his son with dreadful seriousness. -He made a sign to James to go no further--but James had gone round the -world once, and he was not to be checked in a humbler excursion. - -"Yes, madam, 'tis my duty to confess that Fanny's model was the -flying-fish, and not the simple Channel herring, hence the failure to -achieve the beautiful regularity of design which exists in the backbone -of the latter from the figurehead to the stern, larboard sloping in one -direction and starboard in the other. If anyone be culpable 'tis myself, -not Fanny; but I throw myself on your mercy, and only implore that the -herring-boning of my sister will not result in a whaling for me." - -Mrs. Burney looked seriously from her brother to Fanny, and getting no -cue from either, began: - -"'Tis indeed honourable for you to endeavour by your confession to -excuse the fault of your sister, James-----" - -"The traditions of the service, madam----" began the lieutenant, laying -his hand on his heart; but he got no further, for Fanny could restrain -herself no longer; she burst into a laugh and dropped her work, and her -father rose, holding up his hand. - -"The jest has gone far enough, James," he said. "We sleep in beds in -this house and do not swing in hammocks. Keep your deep-sea jests until -you are out of soundings, if it please you." - -"I ask your pardon, sir," said James; "but i' faith there's many a -true word said in jest; and it seems to me that there's a moral in the -parable of the young woman who took the flying-fish of the South Seas -for her model rather than the herring of the three-fathom coast-line of -the Channel; and that moral touches close upon the complaint made by our -good mother against Mr. Garrick." - -"Let it be so," said Mrs. Burney, who was a clever enough woman to -perceive that it would be unwise to make a grievance of the impudence -of a young naval gentleman. "Let it be so; let it be that we are -simple, homely, wholesome herrings, we are none the better for such a -flying-fish as Mr. Garrick coming among us, giving us, it may be, the -notion that our poor fins are wings, and so urging us to make fools of -ourselves by emulating the eagle. The moral of your fable is that we -should keep to our own element--is not that so, sir?" - -"I' faith, madam, I am not sure but that 'tis so, and I haul down my -colours to you, and feel no dishonour in the act," cried James. "Lord, -where should we all be to-day if it were not for the good women who -hold fast to the old traditions of the distaff and needle? They are the -women who do more for the happiness of men than all who pass their time -dipping quills in ink-horns or daubing paint upon good canvas that might -with luck be hung from a stunsail boom and add another knot to the log -of a frigate of seventy-two! Is there anyone who dines at the table of -Sir Joshua Reynolds round the corner that does not wish with all his -heart that his sister would sell her palette and buy a wine-glass or two -with the proceeds? Why, when we went to dinner at Sir Joshua's yesterday -there were not enough glasses to go round the table." - -"There never are--that is well known," said Mrs. Burney. - -"Nay, nay; let us take to ourselves the reproof of Dr. Johnson to Mr. -Boswell when he complained, loud enough almost for Sir Joshua himself to -hear him, about the scarcity of service. 'Sir,' said Dr. Johnson, 'some -who have the privilege of sitting at this table, and you are one of -them, sir, will be wiser if they keep their ears open and their mouths -shut than they would if they had the means of drinking all that you are -longing to drink.'" - -"Mr. Boswell, in spite of the reproof, contrived to lurch from the table -with more wine than wisdom 'tween decks," remarked James. - -"He must have found a wine-glass," said Miss Susy Burney, who had been -quite silent but quite attentive to every word that had been spoken -since breakfast-time. - -"And so the honour of Mrs. Reynolds's housekeeping is saved," said Dr. -Burney. - -"Nay, sir, is not Mr. Boswell a Scotsman?" cried the irrepressible -James. - -"That is his lifelong sorrow, since he fancies it to be an insuperable -barrier between his idol, Dr. Johnson, and himself," replied his father. -"But how does his Scotsmanship bear upon the wine-glass question?" - -"Ah, sir, without being versed in the subtleties of theology I make bold -to think that Father Adam did not suffer hunger until knives and forks -were invented," said James. "Your drouthy Scot will drink straight from -the bottle if no beaker be at hand. Oh, why was not Mr. Garrick at Sir -Joshua's to rouse our spirits by his imitation of Mr. Boswell seeking -for a wine-glass--and after?" - -"Mr. Boswell is too trivial a subject for Davy: I have seen him take off -Dr. Johnson mixing a bowl of punch until I was like to die of laughter. -I protest that when he came to the squeezing of the imaginary lemon, -while he cried out in the Doctor's broadest Lichfield, 'Who's for -poonch?' I could smell the acid juice," said Dr. Burney, and he laughed -at the recollection of Garrick's fooling. - -The naval man gave a resounding nautical smack to his thigh. - -"That is what 'tis to be a sailor," he cried. "I have had no chance of -seeing Mr. Garrick at his best. I should dearly like to hear him take -off Mr. Boswell when three sheets in the wind. Why was he not with us -yesterday?" - -"Mr. Garrick himself has had a drinking bout on. He has been at the -Wells for the past fortnight," said his father. - -"_Ecce signum!_" came a doleful voice from the door, and a little man -slowly put round the jamb a face bearing such an expression of -piteous nausea as caused everyone in the room--not even excepting Mrs. -Burney--to roar with laughter--uncontrollable laughter. - -Then the expression on the little man's face changed to one of surprised -indignation. He crept into the room and looked at every person therein -with a different expression on his face for each--a variation of his -original expression of disgust and disappointment mingled with doleful -reproof. It seemed as if it was not a single person who had entered the -room, but half a dozen persons--a whole doleful and disappointed family -coming upon an unsympathetic crew convulsed with hilarity. - -And then he shook his head sadly. - -"And these are the people who have just heard that I have been taking -the nauseous waters of Tunbridge Wells for a whole fortnight," and there -was a break in his voice. "Oh, Friendship, art thou but a name? Oh, -Sympathy, art thou but a mask? Is the world of sentiment nothing more -than a world of shadows? Have all the sweet springs of compassion dried -up, leaving us nothing but the cataracts of chalybeate to nauseate the -palate?" - -He looked round once more, and putting the tips of his fingers together, -glanced sadly up to the ceiling, then sighed and turned as if to leave -the room. - -"Nay, sir," cried Dr. Burney, "I do not believe that the chalybeate -cataracts still flow: 'tis my firm belief, from the expression of your -face, that you have swallowed the whole spring--the Wells of Tunbridge -must have been dried up by you before you left--your face betrays you. -I vow that so chalybeate an expression could not be attained by lesser -means." - -"Sir, you do me honour, and you have a larger faith in me than my own -physician," said the little man, brightening up somewhat. "Would you -believe that he had the effrontery to accuse me of shirking the hourly -pailful that he prescribed for me?" - -"He had not seen you as we have, Mr. Garrick," said Dr. Burney. - -"He accused me of spending my days making matches and making mischief -in the Assembly Rooms and only taking the waters by sips--me, sir, that -have so vivid a memory of Mr. Pope's immortal lines:= - -```A little sipping is a dangerous tiling, - -```Drink deep or taste not the chalybeate spring!"= - -"You were traduced, my friend--but tell us of the matches and the -mischief and we shall be the more firmly convinced of your integrity." - -"Nay, sir; I give you my word that 'twas but the simplest of -matches--not by any means of the sort that yonder desperado fresh -from the South Seas applies to the touch-hole of one of his horrible -ten-pounders when the enemy's frigate has to be sunk--nay, a simple -little match with no more powder for it to burn than may be found on -the wig of a gentleman of fifty-two and on the face of a lady of -forty-five--the one a gay bachelor, t'other a ripe widow--' made for one -another,' said I; and where was the mischief in that? And if I ventured -to broach the subject of the appropriateness of the union of the twain, -and to boast under the inspiring influence of the chalybeate spring that -I could bring it about, is there anyone that will hint that I was not -acting out of pure good nature and a desire to make two worthy folk -happy--as happy as marriage can make any two-----" - -"Give us their names, sir, and let us judge on that basis," said Dr. -Bumey. - -"I have no desire to withhold them, my dear Doctor; for I want you to -back me up, and I am sure that--oh, Lord! here comes the man himself. -For the love of heaven, back me up, Doctor, and all will be well." - -"Nay, I will not be dragged by the hair of the head into any of your -plots, my friend," cried Burney. "Nay, not I. I have some reputation to -maintain, good friend Garrick; you must play alone the part of Puck that -you have chosen for yourself this many a year. Think not that you will -induce me to study the character under you, and so thus-----" - -The manservant threw open the door of the room, announcing: - -"Mr. Kendal to wait upon you, sir." - -But by the time a small and rather rotund gentleman had been ushered -into the room, Mr. Garrick was apparently engaged in an animated -conversation with Miss Burney on the subject of the table-cover at which -she was working. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -|THE visitor walked with the short strut of the man who at least does -not underrate his own importance in the world. But he suggested just -at the moment the man who is extremely nervous lest he may not appear -perfectly selfpossessed. There was an air of bustle about him as he -strutted into the room, saying: - -"Dr. Burney, I am your servant, sir. I have done myself the honour to -visit you on a rather important piece of business." - -"Sir, you have conferred honour upon me," said Dr. Burney. - -Then the gentleman seemed to become aware for the first time that there -were other people in the room; but it was with an air of reluctance that -he felt called on to greet the others. - -"Mrs. Burney, I think," he said, bowing to that lady, "and her estimable -family, I doubt not. Have I not had the privilege of meeting Mrs. Burney -at the house of--of my friend--my esteemed friend, Mrs. Barlowe? And -this gentleman of the Fleet--ha, to be sure I have heard that there was -a Lieutenant Burney of the Navy! And--gracious heavens! Mr. Garrick!" - -Mr. Garrick had revealed himself from the recesses of Miss Burney's -work-basket. He, at any rate, was sufficiently self-possessed to pretend -to be vastly surprised. He raised both his hands, crying: - -"Is it possible that this is Mr. Kendal? But surely I left you at the -Wells no later than--now was it not the night before last? You were the -cynosure of the Assembly Rooms, sir, if I may make bold to say so. But -I could not look for you to pay attention to a poor actor when you were -receiving the attentions of the young, and, may I add without offence, -the fair? But no, sir; you will not find that I am the one to tell tales -out of school, though I doubt not you have received the congratulations -of----" - -"There you go, sir, just the same as the rest of them!" cried the -visitor. "Congratulations! felicitations! smiles of deep meaning -from the ladies, digs in the ribs with suggestive winks from the -gentlemen--people whose names I could not recall--whom I'll swear I had -never spoken to in my life--that is why I left the Wells as hastily as -if a tipstaff had been after me--that is why I am here this morning, -after posting every inch of the way, to consult Dr. Burney as to my -position." - -"I protest, sir, that I do not quite take you," said Mr. Garrick, with -the most puzzled expression on his face that ever man wore. "Surely, -sir, your position as a man of honour is the most enviable one possible -to imagine! Mrs. Nash----" - -"There you blurt out the name, Mr. Garrick, and that is what I had no -intention of doing, even when laying my case before Dr. Burney, who is -a man of the world, and whom I trust to advise me what course I should -pursue." - -"I ask your pardon, sir," said Mr. Garrick humbly; "but if the course -you mean to pursue has aught to do with the pursuit of so charming a -lady, and a widow to boot----" - -"How in the name of all that's reasonable did that gossip get about?" -cried the visitor. "I give you my word that I have not been pursuing the -lady--I met her at the Wells for the first time a fortnight ago--pursuit -indeed!" - -"Nay, sir, I did not suggest that the pursuit was on your part," said -Garrick in a tone of irresistible flattery. "But 'tis well known that as -an object of pursuit of the fair ones, the name of Mr. Kendal has been -for ten years past acknowledged without a peer." - -The gentleman held up a deprecating hand, but the smile that was on his -face more than neutralized his suggestion. - -"Nay, Mr. Garrick, I am but a simple country gentleman," he cried. "To -be sure, I have been singled out more than once for favours that might -have turned the head of an ordinary mortal--one of them had a fortune -and was the toast of the district; another----" - -"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, the Miss Burneys and myself will take -our leave of you: we have household matters in our hands," said Mrs. -Burney, making a sign to Fanny and her sister, and going toward the -door. - -"Have I said too much, madam? If so, I pray of you to keep my secret," -cried the visitor. "The truth is that I have confidence in the advice of -Dr. Burney as a man of the world." - -"I fear that to be a man of the world is to be of the flesh and the -devil as well," said Dr. Burney. - -"Augmented qualifications for giving advice on an affair of the Wells," -said Garrick slyly to the naval lieutenant. - -"You will not forget, Doctor, that Mr. Thrale's carriage is appointed to -call for you within the hour," said Mrs. Burney over her shoulder as she -left the room. - -Fanny and her sister were able to restrain themselves for the few -minutes necessary to fly up the narrow stairs, but the droll glance that -Mr. Garrick had given them as they followed their mother, wellnigh made -them disgrace themselves by bursting out within the hearing of their -father's visitor. But when they reached the parlour at the head of the -stairs and had thrown themselves in a paroxysm of laughter on the sofa, -Mrs. Burney reproved them with some gravity. - -"This is an instance, if one were needed, of the unsettling influence of -Mr. Garrick," she said. "He has plainly been making a fool of that -conceited gentleman, and it seems quite likely that he will persuade your -father to back him up." - -"I do not think that Mr. Garrick could improve greatly upon Nature's -handiwork in regard to that poor Mr. Kendal," said Fanny. "But what -would life be without Mr. Garrick?" - -"It would be more real, I trust," said her stepmother. "He would have -us believe that life is a comedy, and that human beings are like the -puppets which Mr. Foote put on his stage for the diversion of the town a -few years ago." - -Fanny Burney became grave; the longer she was living in the world, -the more impressed was she becoming with the idea that life was a -puppet-show; only when the puppets began to dance on their wires in a -draught of wind from another world the real comedy began. She felt that -as an interpreter of life Mr. Garrick had no equal on the stage or off. -On the stage he could do no more than interpret other people's notions -of life, and these, except in the case of Shakespeare, were, she -thought, mostly feeble; but when he was off the stage--well, Sir Joshua -Reynolds had told her what that queer person, Dr. Goldsmith, had written -about Garrick--the truest criticism Garrick had ever received: "'Twas -only that when he was off he was acting." She knew what she herself owed -to Garrick from the time she was nine years old, when he had accustomed -her and her sister to look for him at their house almost daily; she knew -that whatever sense of comedy she possessed--and she looked on it as -a precious possession--was to be attributed to the visits of Garrick. -Every time she looked at her carefully locked desk in that room at the -top of the house in St. Martin's Street, which had once been Sir Isaac -Newton's observatory, she felt that without the tuition in comedy that -she had received at the hands of Mr. Garrick, the contents of that -desk would have been very different. Her stepmother, however, had no -information on this point; she had lived all her life among the good -tradespeople of Lynn, and had known nothing of Mr. Garrick until Dr. -Burney had married her and brought her to look after his children, which -Fanny knew she had done faithfully, according to her lights, in London. - -Fanny kept silent on the subject of Mr. Garrick's fooling, while Mrs. -Burney bent with great gravity over the cutting out of a pinafore for -Fanny's little niece--also a Burney; and every now and again there came -from the closed room downstairs the sound of the insisting voice of the -visitor. She hoped that Mr. Garrick would re-enact the scene for her; -she had confidence that it would lose nothing by its being re-enacted by -Mr. Garrick. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -|I SUPPOSE that I must e'en follow in the wake of the womenkind," said -Lieutenant Burney, making an extremely slow move in the direction of the -door, when the door had been closed upon his stepmother and his sisters. - -"Is there any need?" asked Garrick. "It seems to me that in such a -case as this which Mr. Kendal promises to propound to your father, His -Majesty's Navy should be represented. In all matters bearing upon a -delicate _affaire de cour_ surely a naval man should be present to act -as assessor." - -'Mr. Kendal looked puzzled. - -"I fail to take your meaning, sir," said he, after a pause; he was still -rubbing his chin with a fore-finger, when Garrick cried: - -"Oh, sir, surely the advantage of the counsel of an officer trained to -navigate femininity in the shape of a ship, is apparent: a ship, even -though a three-decker ready to fire a broadside of a hundred guns, is -invariably alluded to as 'she,'" said he, airily. - -"Such an one must surely be the most formidable piece of femininity in -the world," said Mr. Kendal. - -"By no means," said Garrick. "During my career as the manager of a -playhouse I have had to face worse. Still, the training of a naval -officer in dealing with feminine craft--at times off a lee shore, and -often during a storm at sea--nothing to be compared to the tempests in -our green-room--is certain to be of value. You will stay, Lieutenant -Burney, if it please you." - -"I should be most unwilling to obtrude upon your council, sir," said -young Burney, "unless you are convinced that my humble services----" - -"You have been among the savages of the South Seas, and you are -acquainted with all the rules of chasing and capturing prizes, all -of the feminine gender--I allude to your sloops and frigates and -catamarans--I take it for granted that a catamaran is as feminine in its -ways as any wherry that floats," cried Garrick. Then he turned to their -visitor, who was looking more puzzled than ever. - -"You may reckon yourself fortunate in the presence of our young friend, -sir," he said. "So far as I can gather this is a case of chase, with -a possible capture of a prize. I venture to think that in these days a -gentleman of family and fortune, like yourself, is something of a prize, -Mr. Kendal." This was language that contained nothing to puzzle anyone, -the visitor perceived. His face brightened, and he waved young Burney to -a seat. - -"I take it that Mr. Garrick knows what he is talking about," he said. -"And though it was truly your father to whom I came for counsel, I -doubt not that you will take my part, should the worst come to the -worst." - -"Which means, should the lady come to the gentleman, Mr. Burney," said -Garrick. - -"Pay out your yarn, sir: I gather that you are still to the windward of -your enemy, and that is the position which the books tell us we should -manoeuvre for," cried the nautical assessor. - -Dr. Burney sat silently by, he had no mind to join in the fooling of -the others. Dr. Burney had never in his life lost a sense of his own -dignity. He had been a church organist for thirty years, and no man -who has had such an experience of the control of an instrument of such -superlative dignity could be otherwise than dignified. He had never -once run off on a keyboard a single phrase of "The Beggar's Opera." Even -Handel's "Ruddier than the Cherry," with Mr. Gay's ticklish rhymed -line about "Kidlings blithe and merry," he only played apologetically, -allowing it to be clearly understood that Mr. Handel and Mr. Gay divided -between them the responsibility for so frivolous a measure. - -He remained dignified and silent while Garrick and James carried on -their fooling. Only a short time before he had occasion to reprove the -lack of dignity on the part of his important patroness, Mrs. Thrale, the -wife of the wealthy brewer, in having put herself behind Signor Piozzi -while he was singing a sentimental canzone and mimicked his southern -fervour of expression. Mrs. Thrale had taken his reproof in good part -at the time; but no one--least of all Mrs. Thrale herself--could have -foreseen that her contrition should extend so far as to cause her to -marry the singer on the death of Mr. Thrale. - -"To be brief, sir," said Mr. Kendal, addressing, not Dr. Burney, whom he -had come to consult, but Mr. Garrick, who had shown himself to be much -more sympathetic. "To be brief, I had gone to the Wells as my custom has -been for the past twenty years. I went honestly to drink the waters, not -making it an excuse, as so many do, for indulging in the gaieties, or, I -may add, the intrigues, of the Assembly Rooms. I was civil, as I hoped, -to everyone, but, I give you my word, no more so to Mrs. Nash than any -other lady." - -"I do not doubt that you believe this, sir," said Garrick, with an -indulgent wave of the hand; "but when a lady has eyes only for one -gentleman, she is apt to place a construction upon the simplest of -his civilities beyond that assigned to it by ordinary people; but pray -proceed, sir. I will only add that it was quite well known at the Wells -that the lady regarded you with the tenderest of emotions. Had she not -boldly said to Lady-------- no; I dare not mention her name; but her -ladyship is invariably what the Italians term _simpatica_ in regard to -the tender affairs of her sisters--and it was to her that Mrs. Nash -confided her secret--referring to you as bearing a striking resemblance -to the Apollo Belvedere, hoping that her doing so would not cause anyone -to accuse her of Pagan leanings." - -"Is it possible! The poor lady! poor lady! But I was not to blame. I -can justly acquit myself of all blame in this unhappy affair," said Mr. -Kendal. - -"You are quite right, sir; is it a man's fault that he should bear a -striking likeness to the Apollo--I doubt not that the resemblance has -caused you some annoyance at various times of your life, Mr. Kendal," -said Garrick. - -"Never, sir, never--at least----" he took a step to one side that -allowed of his having a full-length view of his reflection in the narrow -mirror that filled up the space between the windows; and the result of -his scrutiny of the picture was certainly not displeasing to him. He -boldly put forward a leg, and then quite unconscious, as anyone could -see, struck an attitude, though not quite that of the Apollo Belvedere. -Then he smirked. - -"A leg like yours, Mr. Kendal, to say nothing of the poise of your -head, is a great responsibility," said Garrick seriously. "The poor -lady!--poor ladies!--I confess that I have heard of others. And she -acknowledged to you that--that--oh, that most delicate of secrets!" - -"Never to me, sir--never in my hearing, I give you my word," cried -the man emphatically. "Nay, I did not so much as suspect it. The -first intimation that I had of the matter was when, on Monday morning -last--only three days ago--Captain Kelly--the boisterous Irishman--clapt -me on the shoulder and almost shouted out his congratulations in my -ear. When I forced him to mention the name of the lady, he ridiculed my -denial--his forefinger in my ribs--painful as well as undignified. Who -is Captain Kelly, that he should subject me to his familiarities? But -if he was undignified, I flatter myself that I was not so. 'Sir, you -presume,' I said, and walked on, leaving this vulgar fellow roaring with -laughter." - -"Psha! Kelly is a nobody," said Garrick. "You should not have allowed -yourself to be discomposed by such as he." - -"Nor did I," cried the other. "But what was I to think when I had -advanced no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly -by Sir John Dingle?--you know him, Mr. Garrick--I have seen him in -your company--more congratulations--the same attitude, sir. And then -up marches Mr. Sheridan--leaving his handsome wife--ah, I fear that I -joined with all Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley--and -Mr. Sheridan was wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. -Up comes Mrs. Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set -her down when she saw me--up went the roof and up went her head, with -a shrill cry of 'Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save -only myself that Benedick is to be a married man!' And before she had -finished her ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman -behind her with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted -only for a special night in the Rooms, and her 'Happy man!' came with a -flick of her fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the -last--I saw them hurrying up to me from all sides--ladies with smiles, -and gentlemen with smirks--fingers twitching for my ribs--down they -flowed upon me! I ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and -I am glad to have the opportunity of hearing your opinion--I ask you, if -I was not justified in turning about and hastening away--what you -nautical gentlemen term 'cutting my cable '?" - -"Indeed, sir; if I could believe that you gave the lady no -encouragement, I would say that--that--but no one will convince me that -upon some occasion--it may be forgotten by you--such men of fashion as -yourself soon forget these things, I have heard, though the unhappy lady -treasures them as golden memories--I say upon some occasion you may have -given the Widow Nash encouragement. You have your reputation as a sly -rogue to maintain, Mr. Kendal," said young Burney gravely, as though he -were a lawyer being seriously consulted. - -"Fore Gad, sir, I gave her no encouragement," cried Mr. Kendal. "I have -ever been most cautious, I swear." - -"Then the greater shame for you, sir," said Garrick. - -The man whom he addressed looked in amazement first at Garrick, then at -Lieutenant Burney--Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, was smiling -quite unnoticed in a corner. His part, apparently, was no more than that -of the looker-on at a comedy. His presence was ignored by the others. - -"The more shame--the more----" began the visitor. "I protest that I -scarcely take your meaning, Mr. Garrick." - -"My meaning is plain, sir," said Garrick firmly, almost sternly. "I -affirm that it lay with you, when you perceived that the lady was so -deeply enamoured of you----" - -"But I did not perceive it--you have my word for it." - -"Ah, sir," said Garrick, with the shrug of a Frenchman, which he had -studied for some months in Paris--Mr. Garrick and Lord Chesterfield -had alone mastered the art. "Ah, sir, we are all men of the world here. -'Twere idle for you to pretend that a gentleman with the figure of the -Belvedere Apollo and the leg of--of----" he turned to young Burney-- "You -have seen the proud-stepping figure-heads of many ships of the line, Mr. -Burney," he said; "prithee help me out in my search for--for--the name I -am in search of." - -"H'm, let me see--something wooden with a leg to be proud of?" said the -naval gentleman, considering the matter very earnestly. - -"Zounds, sir, I did not make it a condition that it should be a wooden -leg," cried Garrick. - -"I have seen more than one Admiral of the Fleet mighty proud of a wooden -leg, sir," said Burney. "But this is beside the question, which I -take to be the responsibility of our good friend here--I hope I don't -presume, Mr. Kendal--for kindling, albeit unconsciously, so far as he -was concerned--that sacred flame in the breast of--to name only one out -of a score--the lady whose name he mentioned." - -"You are with me heart and soul, as I felt sure you would be, Mr. -Burney; as a naval officer of judgment and experience," cried Garrick, -"and so, sir--" he turned to their visitor-- "I cannot doubt that you -will comport yourself as a gentleman of honour in this affair. Do not -allow your yielding to the natural impulse to run away to weigh too -heavily upon you. If your act should cause you to be referred to with -reprobation, not to say scorn, by the ladies or gentlemen of fashion who -are certain to espouse the cause of the lady, your subsequent conduct -will show them that they mistook your character. And I promise you that -should you receive a challenge from any of the lady's admirers--those -whose prayers she rejected because her heart was set on a gentleman who -was worthy of her choice--I think you can afford to ignore them, having -won the prize. Ah, sir, is there not a poet who says that every man that -lives has a good angel and a bad one contending for dominion over him? -That is the truth, Mr. Kendal, and I see that your good angel is none -other than the lady whose name I reckon too sacred to pass our lips at -such a time as this. Ah, sir, think of her, and let your mind go back to -the days of your happy boyhood, and say if the mother at whose knees you -knelt did not resemble her. The affection of a son for his mother--let -that plead for the lady who esteems you with more than a mother's love." - -He had laid his hand on the poor gentleman's shoulder, and was looking -into his face, while the tears stood in his eyes, and his voice broke -more than once. - -And there sat Dr. Burney wiping his eyes, and Lieutenant Burney -blubbering away like any child--the two accessories to the actor's -farce could not avoid yielding to the-influence of his unparalleled art. -Though they were in his secret, he made fools of them as easily as he -made a fool of the poor gentleman who was presumably his victim. And -they had no feeling of being ashamed of yielding to his powers. He could -do anything that he pleased with them. He could do anything he pleased -with the multitudes before whom he acted. He was the master of their -emotions for the time being. He played upon their passions as though -every passion was a puppet and the strings in his own hands. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -|THE scene ended by Mr. Garrick's victim groping through his tears -for Mr. Garrick's hand. He grasped it emotionally, and though for some -moments he was too greatly overcome to be able to utter a word, yet at -last he managed to blurt out with affecting incoherence a few phrases. - -"Say no more--say no more, sir," he muttered. "I have a heart--a -heart! I give you my word, whether you believe me or not, that I had no -notion--but you have shown me what 'tis to be a woman. Oh, sir, there -is no sweeter sex in the world! Deception! how a man's own heart may -deceive him--ay, up to a certain point--but then--ah, you have taught -me--but are you sure that the lady--what--have we not been going ahead -too fast? What--what; are you convinced?" - -"You may take my word for it, sir," replied Garrick. "There are signs -that all who run may read. What, do you suppose that all those persons -of quality whose names you mentioned just now as having offered you -their felicitations--do you suppose that they could all be in error?" - -"Of course not--they must have seen--well, more than I saw," said the -man. "Matrimony! Lud! if an angel had come down to tell me that I should -be contemplating such a change of life--and at my time of life too!--I -should have----" - -"What an angel may fail to convince a man of, a woman may succeed in -doing, Mr. Kendal," said Garrick sententiously. "But do not talk of your -time of life as if you were an old or even a middle-aged man, sir. To do -so were to make Dr. Burney and myself feel patriarchs." - -The mention of Dr. Burney seemed to cause the man to recollect how it -was he came to be in Dr. Burney's house. He turned to Burney, saying: - -"Dear sir, I pray that you will look on my visit with lenient eyes. -I admit that I came hitherto be advised by you--my friend, Mr. Fulke -Greville, holds your opinion in the highest esteem, as do I, sir; and it -was actually on my mind to ask you if you thought it would be wiser for -me to go abroad for a year or two, or simply to seek some place of -retirement at home--say, Cornwall or the Hebrides--I gather from the -account of Dr. Johnson's tour thither that there are many places -difficult of access in the Hebrides--that was on my mind, Doctor, I -blush to acknowledge, so greatly overcome was I by what had happened at -the Wells." - -"Ah, with what great ease a man may slam the door that shuts out -happiness from his life for evermore!" remarked Garrick. - -"Even now--even now I feel timid," said Mr. Kendal thoughtfully, and, -when he had found which pocket his handkerchief was in, wiping some dew -from his brow. "The truth is, Doctor, that I have allowed some people to -assume that I am but forty-seven years old, while as a matter of fact I -have been forty-eight for some time." - -"For some years?" asked young Burney, who did not know when he should -keep silence. - -"For some months, sir--only for some months, I give you my word." - -"Your deception in this matter could only have added to your reputation -for accuracy," said Garrick coolly. "For I vow that were you to confess -that you were forty-eight, you would find none to believe you." - -The gentleman's eyes twinkled, he pursed out his lips, and once again -manoeuvred to get a full-length view of himself in the long mirror. -He put out his right leg and assumed the attitude of a dancing master -giving the _pas_ for the _minuet de cour_. - -"Well, well," he cried, "if that be your opinion--and I happen to -know that 'tis shared by others--it might not be unwise to allow the -assumption, erroneous though it be, to continue. We will not undeceive -the good folk. And you do not think that a bachelor of forty-eight--What -is the name of that play of Mr. Sheridan's that took the town a year -ago?--ah, _The School for Scandal_--you are sure that our friends will -not call me--What was the gentleman's name?" - -"No one who knows how excellent are your principles will think of you -either as Charles or Joseph, Mr. Kendal," said Garrick. - -"No, no; but the one who was in my mind was neither of the brothers. I -was thinking of--was it not Sir Peter Teazle?" - -Garrick as well as Burney laughed heartily, for the man at that moment -suggested by his attitude and expression the Sir Peter Teazle of Kina, -the actor. - -"Make your mind easy on that score, sir," said Dr. Burney. "It is not -your purpose to wed so skittish a young person as Lady Teazle. That was -where Sir Peter showed his folly." - -"No, no; Mrs. Nash is more mature, certainly, than Mrs. Abington looked -in the part," said Mr. Kendal confidently, and Lieutenant Burney was -about to agree with him boisterously, but Garrick did not give him a -chance. - -"There is none that will not commend your choice, Mr. Kendal--ay, sir, -and look on you with envy as well," he cried. - -"There can be no doubt about it," said Mr. Kendal doubtfully. "The widow -Nash is a monstrous fine woman." - -"Monstrous, I doubt not," put in young Burney, now that he had the -chance. - -"All that I am uneasy about is the interpretation that she may put upon -your sudden flight," said Garrick. "You have, you will readily allow, -sir, placed her in a somewhat difficult position at the Wells. While -everyone who is anyone has been offering you congratulations upon the -match, and a double portion to the lady, strange inquiries may be made -as to your disappearance from the Wells; and she may not be able to give -a satisfactory explanation at a moment's notice." - -"Egad! I never thought of that, sir," said Mr. Kendal, after a pause. "I -fear that I have placed her in a very awkward position." - -"Ay, sir; and the consequences may be that she will be snapped up by -some adventurous person before you can put your fate to the test," -said the naval man, raising a warning finger. "I have heard of ladies -throwing themselves into the arms of the next comer out of sheer chagrin -at being disappointed by the man on whom they had set their affections." - -"That is a possibility that should not be neglected," said Garrick. -"But it was only on Monday that you fled. By rapid posting you may yet -prevent such a calamity." - -He was beginning to tire of his game now that he had succeeded so -well in it and so easily. The fooling of the man who had so completely -succumbed to his art had no further interest for him. He only wanted to -get rid of him. He was as capricious and as fickle as a child over the -toys of its nursery. - -"I shall lose no moment, be assured," said Mr. Kendal. "I may still be -in time. My hope in this direction is increased when I remember that -the lady has been a widow for some years--to be exact, without being -uncomplimentary, nine years. I remember when Mr. Nash died. 'Twas of -pleurisy." - -"Do not reckon too confidently on that, sir," said young Burney. "Nine -years have not passed since she faced the company at the Wells, every -one of which was surely pointing at her and asking in mute eloquence, -'What has become of Mr. Kendal?' But by posting without delay you may -yet retrieve your error. Still, I confess to you that I have known of a -lady who, out of sheer impatience at the delay of a lover whom she -had hoped to espouse, married his rival after the lapse of twenty-four -hours--ay, and when the belated gentleman arrived just after the -ceremony, he furnished the wedding party with a succulent feast. She -was the Queen of one of the islands that we visited in the company of -Captain Cook, and the cockswain of our galley kept the pickled hand of -the belated lover for many a day--the very hand which he had designed to -offer the lady." - -"This simple and affecting narrative proves more eloquently than any -phrases of mine could possibly do how a man may miss the happiness of -his life by a hair's breadth," said Garrick. "And the lesson will not be -lost upon you, I am certain, sir." - -"Lud, Mr. Garrick, you do not mean to suggest that----" - -"That the lady may make a meal off you on your late return, sir? Nay, -Mr. Kendal. The Wells are still the Wells, not the South Seas; but on -the whole I am disposed to believe that the scheme of revenge of -the woman scorned is fiercer, though perhaps not, at first sight, so -primeval, in the region of Chalybeate Waters than in a cannibal island -of the South Seas. Therefore--there is no time to be lost. Fly to your -charmer, sir, and throw yourself at her feet. She may be thinking over -some punishment for your having placed her in a false position for some -days; but do not mind that. You can always console yourself with the -reflection that a rod in pickle is much more satisfactory than a hand in -pickle. Fly, my dear friend, fly; every moment is precious. Take my word -for it, joy awaits you at the end of your journey." - -"'Journeys end in lovers meeting,'" remarked Dr. Burney, with a slight -suggestion of the setting of the words of the lyric by his old master, -Dr. Arne. - -At this moment a servant entered the room. - -"The Streatham carriage is at the door, sir," he announced. - -Dr. Burney rose from his chair. - -"I am forced to leave you, sir," he said to Mr. Kendal. "But really -there is naught further to consult on at present, and I know that you -are impatient--it is but natural--to fly to the side of your charmer." - -"I am all impatience, sir; but with what words can I express my -obligation to you, Doctor, for the benefit of your counsel?" cried Mr. -Kendal. - -Dr. Burney smiled. - -"Nay, dear sir, I am but the lessee of the theatre where the comedy has -been played," said he; and he had good reason for feeling that he had -defined with accuracy the position that he occupied. But Mr. Kendal -was thinking too much about himself and the position he occupied to -appreciate such _nuances_. - -"I knew that I was safe in coming to a friend of Mr. Greville," he said. -"I care not if, as you suggest, you have become Mr. Garrick's successor -at Drury Lane, though I thought that Mr. Sheridan----" - -"Zounds, sir, you are never going to wait to discuss theatre matters," -cried Garrick. "Dr. Burney has been exercising his powers of oratory in -vain upon you for this half hour if you tarry even to thank him. Post, -sir, post at once to Tunbridge Wells, and send Dr. Burney your thanks -when you have put the momentous question to the lady. Go, sir, without -the pause of a moment, and good luck attend you." - -"Good luck attend you! Keep up your heart, sir: the lady may refuse -you after all," said young Burney; but the poor gentleman who was being -hurried away was too much flurried to be able to grasp the young man's -innuendo, though one could see by the look that came to his face that -he had an uneasy impression that Lieutenant Burney's good wishes had not -been happily expressed. The great thing, however, was that he was at -the other side of the door, calling out his obligations to everyone, -and striving to shake hands with them all at once and yet preserve the -security of his hat, which he had tucked under his arm. So excited was -he that he was only restrained at the last moment from mounting the -Thrales' carriage which was awaiting Dr. Burney, and even when his -mistake was explained to him, he took off his hat to the splendid -footman who had guarded the door of the vehicle. - -In the room where the comedy had been played, Garrick and Lieutenant -Burney had thrown themselves into chairs with roars of laughter, when -Dr. Burney returned from the hall, carrying his hat and cane. He was -scarcely smiling. - -"You have played a pretty prank upon an inoffensive gentleman, the pair -of you!" said he. "I am ashamed that my house has been used by you for -so base a purpose! The poor gentleman!" - -"Psha! my dear Doctor, make your mind easy; the lady will teach that -coxcomb a lesson that will be of advantage to him for the rest of his -life," said Garrick. "He has been the laughingstock of the Wells for the -past fortnight, and no one laughed louder than the Widow Nash. She will -bundle him out of her presence before he has had time to rise from his -marrow-bones--he does not find the process a rapid one, I assure you. -Oh, he was her _bete noire_ even when he was most civil to her." - -"And it was you who concocted that plot of getting all your -friends--Mrs. Cholmondeley, Mrs. Thrale and the rest--to make a fool of -him, driving him away from the Wells to encounter a more irresistible -pair of mocking demons in this room!" said Burney. "You cannot deny it, -my friend, I know your tricks but too well." - -"I swear to you that I had no hope of encountering him in this house, my -dear Doctor," said Garrick. "I give you my word that I had laid my -plans quite differently. My plot was a far more elaborate one, and Polly -Cholmondeley had agreed to take part in it, as well as Dick Sheridan. -They will be disappointed to learn that it has miscarried. Who could -guess that he should come to you of all men in the world, Doctor? He has -never been one of your intimates." - -"Only when I was living with Mr. Greville had we more than a superficial -acquaintance," replied Burney. "But that does not make me the less -ashamed of having lent myself to your nefarious project. And you, James, -you threw yourself with gusto into the fooling of the unhappy man--and -woman too--and woman too, I repeat." - -"Pray do not distress yourself on her account, Doctor. She will send him -off with a flea in his ear by to-morrow night, and she will take care -to pose as the insulted widow of Mr. Nash, whose memory is dear to her," -said Garrick. - -"Will she, indeed?" said Burney. "David Garrick, you are the greatest -actor that has ever lived in England--probably in the world--but you are -a poor comedian compared with such as are at work upon our daily life: -we call them Circumstance, and Accident, and Coincidence. You know the -couplet, I doubt not:= - -```' Men are the sport of circumstances when - -```The circumstances seem the sport of men.'= - -You have sounded the depths of human impulses, so far as your plummet -allows you, and womankind seems to you an open book----" - -"An illuminated missal, with the prayers done in gold and the Lessons -for the day in the most roseate tint, Doctor." - -"And the Responses all of a kind--the same in one book as another? But I -make bold to believe, my friend, that every woman is a separate volume, -of which only one copy has been printed; and, moreover, that every -separate volume of woman is sealed, so that anyone who fancies he knows -all that is bound up between the covers, when he has only glanced at the -binding, makes a mistake." - -"Admirably put, sir, and, I vow, with fine philosophy," said Garrick. -"But what imports this nomination of a woman at the present moment, -Doctor?" - -"Its import is that you are over sanguine in your assurance that Mrs. -Nash, widow, will reject Mr. Kendal, bachelor, when he offers her his -hand after a dusty journey; and so good day to you, David Garrick, and -I pray you to spend the rest of the day in the study of the history -of those women who have opened the leaves of their lives a little way -before the eyes of mankind." - -He had left the room and was within the waiting carriage and driving -away before his son remarked: - -"Mr. Garrick, it seems to me that my good father has spoken the wisest -words that you or I have heard to-day or for many a day." - -"And i' faith, James, it seems to me that that remark of yours is the -second wisest that has been uttered in this room," said Garrick. - -He went away without a further word--without even taking his leave of -the two young women and their stepmother, who herself had been a widow -before she had married Dr. Burney. He had once believed that nothing -a woman--young or old--could do would surprise him; for some reason or -other he was not now quite so confident as he had been. But he certainly -did not think that one of the greatest surprises of the century should -be due to the demure young woman who seemed the commonplace daughter of -a very ordinary household, and who at the moment of his departure was -darning a small hole in a kitchen table-cloth, under the superintendence -of her admirable stepmother. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -|IN the course of the morning Esther, the married daughter of the Bumey -family, called at the house in St. Martin's Street. Esther, or as she -was usually alluded to by her sisters, Hetty or Hettina, was handsome -and accomplished. She had been married for some years to her cousin, -Charles Rousseau Burney, who was a musician, and they lived and enjoyed -living in an atmosphere of music. Her father took care that she was -never likely to be asphyxiated; their atmosphere would never become -attenuated so long as they lived, as they did, close to St. Martin's -Street. He was well aware of the fact that his Hetty's duets with her -husband--"matrimonial duets" they were called by Fanny in some of her -letters--and also with her sister Charlotte, served to attract many -distinguished visitors and profitable patrons to his house; he never -forgot that profitable patrons and patronesses are always attracted -by distinguished visitors. When one finds oneself in the company of -distinguished people, one naturally feels a distinguished person also. - -Moreover, Dr. Burney knew perfectly well that when ambitious patrons -and patronesses were made aware of the success which he had achieved in -respect of his daughters, they were all ready to implore of him to -spare some of his valuable time to give lessons to themselves, seeing no -reason why, with his assistance, they should not reach the level of his -two musical daughters. He conducted his teaching on the principle which -brings fortunes to the Parisian modiste, who takes good care that her -mannequins are good-looking and of a fine figure, knowing that the -visitors to the showrooms have no doubt, no matter how little Nature -has done for their own features or figures, that in the robes of the -mannequins they will appear equally fascinating. - -The adoption of this system in the Burney household operated extremely -well, and Dr. Burney had for several years enjoyed the proceeds of his -cultivation of the musical tastes of the most influential clientle in -London. In addition, the greatest singers in Europe, knowing that there -was always an influential _assistance_ to be found at Dr. Burney's -little concerts in St. Martin's Street, were greatly pleased to -contribute to the entertainment, for love, what they were in the habit -of receiving large sums for from an impresario. Those Italian operatic -artists most notorious for the extravagance of their demands when -appearing in public, were pushing each other aside, so to speak, to be -allowed to sing at Dr. Burney's, and really upon more than one occasion -the contest between the generosity of a pair of the most distinguished -of these singers must have been somewhat embarrassing to Dr. Burney. -They were clearly singing against each other; and one of them, who -invariably received fifty guineas for every contribution she made to a -programme in public, insisted on singing no fewer than five songs, "all -for love" (and to prove her superiority to her rival), upon a certain -occasion at the Burneys'; so that really the little company ran a chance -of being suffocated beneath the burden of flowers, as it were--the -never-ending _fioriture_ of these generous artists--and Dr. Burney found -himself in the position of the lion-tamer who runs a chance of being -overwhelmed by the caresses of the carnivora who rush to lick his hands. - -The result of all this was extremely gratifying, and eminently -profitable. Had Dr. Burney not been a great musician and shown by the -publication of the first volume of the greatest History of Music the -world had yet received, that he was worthy of being placed in the -foremost ranks of scientific musicians, he would have run a chance of -being placed only a little higher than the musical Cornelys of Soho -Square, who gave their concerts, and entertained their friends, and made -quite a reputation for some years before bankruptcy overtook them and -the precincts of the Fleet became their headquarters. - -And now the beautiful Esther Burney was toying with the contents of her -sister Fanny's work-basket, talking about her husband and his prospects, -and inquiring what Mr. Garrick and James had to talk about in the room -downstairs. - -"Pray speak in French to Fanny," said Mrs. Burney. "I cannot get Lottie -and Susan to do so as frequently as I could wish. You must remember that -poor Fanny has had none of your advantages, and I do not want her to -be talked of as the dunce of the family. She really is not a dunce, you -know; in spite of her bad sight she really has done some very pretty -sewing." - -"I have seen it," said Esther. "She works very neatly--more neatly than -any of us." - -Fanny blushed and smiled her thanks to her sister for the compliment. - -"What else is there left for me to do but to give all my attention to -my needle?" she said. "I constantly feel that I am the dunce of the -family--you are all so clever." - -"It is well for many families that they include one useful member," said -her stepmother in a way that suggested her complete agreement with -the girl's confession that she was the dunce of the family. A mother's -acknowledgment that a girl is either useful or good-natured is -practically an announcement that she is neither pretty nor accomplished. - -"And Fanny has many friends," continued Mrs. Burney indulgently. - -"Which shows how kind people are, even to a dunce," said Fanny, not -bitterly, but quite good-humouredly. - -"But I am not sure that she should spend so much of her time writing to -Mr. Crisp," said the elder Mrs. Burney to the younger. - -"Oh, poor Daddy Crisp!" cried Fanny. "Pray, mother, do not cut him off -from his weekly budget of news. If I fail to send him a letter he is -really disconsolate. 'Tis my letters that keep him still in touch with -the life of the town." - -"Well, well, my dear Fanny, I shall not deprive you of your Daddy -Crisp," said her stepmother. "Poor Mr. Crisp must not be left to the -tender mercies of Susan or Lottie. He is most hospitable, and his house -at Chessington makes a pleasant change for us now and again, and he took -a great fancy to you from the first." - -"Daddy Crisp was always Fanny's special friend," said Esther. "And I am -sure that it is good practice for Fanny to write to him." - -"Oh, she has long ago given up that childish nonsense," cried the -mother. "Poor Fanny made a pretty bonfire of her scribblings, and she -has shown no weakness in that way since she took my advice in regard to -them." - -Fanny was blushing furiously and giving all her attention to her work. - -"She has still a sense of the guilt that attaches to the writing of -stories, though I am sure that no one in this house remembers it against -her," said Esther with a laugh, as Fanny's blushes increased. "But -indeed I had not in my mind Mr. Crisp's advantage to her in this way, -but only in regard to her correspondence. She has become quite an expert -letter-writer since he induced her to send him her budget, and indeed I -think that good letter-writing is as much of an accomplishment in these -careless days as good singing--that is ordinary good singing--the good -singing that we hear from some of father's pupils--Queenie Thrale, _par -exemple!_" - -"Your father is a good teacher, but the best teacher in the world cannot -endow with a good singing-voice anyone who has not been so gifted by -Nature," said the elder lady. "'Tis somewhat different, to be sure, in -regard to correspondence, and I do not doubt that Fanny's practice in -writing to good Mr. Crisp will one day cause her to be regarded as one -of the best letter-writers in the family, and that is something. It is -a ladylike accomplishment, and one that is worth excelling in; it gives -innocent pleasure to so many of her friends who live at a distance; and -your father can always obtain plenty of franks, Mr. Charmier and Mr. -Thrale are very obliging." - -Fanny was a little fidgety while her eldest sister and her stepmother -were discussing her in a tone of indulgence which was more humiliating -than open reprobation would have been. But she knew that the truth -was, that from her earliest years she was looked on as the dunce of the -family, and she was so morbidly self-conscious that she was quite ready -to accept their estimate of her. The silent member of a musical -family soon finds out how she is looked on by the others; not with -unkindness--quite the contrary--but only as if she were to be slightly -pitied for her deficiency. But she had a secret or two, the treasuring -of which in her heart prevented her from having any feeling of -humiliation in the presence of her splendid sister, whom all the world -sought to attract to their houses, especially when there were guests -anxious to be entertained by the sweet singing of a handsome young -woman with a very presentable young husband. Fanny had her secrets -and cherished them with a fearful joy, for she knew that any day might -remove either or both of them, and then there would be nothing left for -her in the household but to put her heart into her needlework. But one -cannot do needlework without needles, and if she were to put her heart -into her work, and if every needle had a point, the result would, she -knew, be a good many prickings. - -She trusted that she might never be condemned to put her heart into her -needlework. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -|THEN Lieutenant Burney sauntered into the room and greeted Esther; but -when Fanny inquired with some eagerness what had been the result of Mr. -Garrick's fooling of poor Mr. Kendal, James was by no means so glib or -amusing as Fanny expected him to be. - -"Psha!" he cried; "that Mr. Kendal is not worth powder and shot--at -least not the weight of metal that Mr. Garrick can discharge--not in a -broadside--Mr. Garrick is not given to broadsides--they are too clumsy -for him--he is like Luke Boscawen, our chief gunner; he had a contempt -for what he was used to term a blustering broadside, having a liking -only for the working of his little brass swivel. He could do anything -that he pleased with his little swivel. 'Ping!' it would go, when he -had squinted along the sights, and the object he aimed at half a -mile away--sometimes so small that we could scarce see it from our -foretop--down it went. Boscawen could do what he pleased with it--the -blunt nose of a whale rising to spout a mile away--the stem of a -cocoa-nut palm on one of the islands when we were not sure of -the natives and there was no time to climb the tree--that is the -marksmanship of Mr. Garrick, and your Mr. Kendal was not worthy of an -exercise of so much skill." - -"Nobody seems too insignificant to be made a fool of by Mr. Garrick," -said Mrs. Burney. "He is as happy when he has made a gruesome face and -frightened a maid with a mop at the doorstep, as when he has stricken us -with awe when the ghost enters in _Hamlet_, or when Macbeth declaims of -the horror of the curse of sleeplessness that has been cast on him. That -is why I said before he arrived that I was not sure that his influence -upon you all is for good. He makes one lose one's sense of the right -proportions and realities of life. Now is not that so, Hetty? I make -no appeal to Fanny, for I know that she has ever been devoted to Mr. -Garrick. Is it not true that she was used to frighten poor Lottie before -she was ten by showing how Mr. Garrick frowned as the Duke of Gloster?" - -"I know that Fanny murdered us all in turn in our beds, assuring us that -we were the Princes in the Tower, or some less real characters invented -by herself," said Esther. "But indeed if James tells us that Mr. -Garrick's gun practice smashed the cocoa-nut that serves Mr. Kendal as a -head, I should not grieve. Tell us what happened, James." - -"Oh, 'twas naught worth words to describe," said James. "The man came to -take counsel of Daddy in regard to a jest that Mr. Garrick had, unknown -to his victim, played off upon him, and Mr. Garrick so worked upon him -that Daddy had no chance to speak. But Mr. Garrick made fools of us as -well, for I give you my word, though we were in with him in his jest, -he had us blubbering like boobies when he laid his hand on the fellow's -shoulder and spoke nonsense in a voice quivering and quavering as though -he were at the point of breaking down." - -Mrs. Burney the elder shook her head. - -"That is what I do not like--that trifling with sacred things," she -said. "'Tis not decent in a private house--I would not tolerate it even -in a playhouse, and I see that you are of my opinion, James, though you -may have been dragged into the abetting of Mr. Garrick in whatever mad -scheme he had set himself upon perfecting." - -"Oh, for that matter we are all sorry when we have been merry at the -expense of another, even though he be an elderly coxcomb such as that -Mr. Kendal," said James. "But enough--more than enough--of coxcomb -Kendal! Tell us of the Duchess's concert, Hetty. Were the matrimonial -duets as successful as usual?" - -Esther, who had been disappointed that her stepmother had not yet said -a word about the concert of the previous night given by the Dowager -Duchess of Portland, at which she and her husband had performed, -brightened up at her brother's question. - -"The concert was well enough," she replied with an affectation of -carelessness. "'Twas no better than many that have taken place under -this roof. Her Grace and her grandees were very kind to us--we had -enough plaudits to turn the head of Gabrielli herself." - -"Oh, the Gabrielli's head has been turned so frequently that one can -never tell when it sits straight on her shoulders," said James. - -"She was _very_ civil to us last evening," said Esther. "Indeed, she -was civil to everyone until the enchanter Rauzzini sang the solo -from _Piramo e Tisbe_ and swept the company off their feet. The poor -Gabrielli had no chance against Rauzzini." - -"Especially in a company that numbered many ladies," said James, with a -laugh. "You remember what Sir Joshua told us that Dr. Goldsmith had once -said of Johnson?--that in his argument he was like the highwayman: when -his pistol missed fire he knocked one down with the butt." - -"I heard that upon one occasion Dr. Johnson knocked a man down with a -heavy book, but I cannot imagine his ever firing a pistol," remarked -Mrs. Burney, who had been used, when the wife of a straightforward -merchant of Lynn, to take every statement literally, and had not yet -become accustomed to the involved mode of speaking of the brilliant -young Burneys. - -"You mean that Rauzzini--I don't quite perceive what you do mean by your -reference to Dr. Goldsmith's apt humour," said Esther. - -"I only mean that among such a company as assembled at the Duchess's, if -he missed fire with his singing, he glanced around with those dark eyes -of his and the ladies went down before him by the score," replied James. -"Do not I speak the truth, Fanny?" he added, turning quickly to where -Fanny was searching with her short-sighted eyes close to her work-basket -for some material that seemed to be missing. - -But she had clearly heard her brother's question, for she did not need -to raise her head or to ask him to repeat it. - -"Oh, we are all the slaves of the nobil' signor," she said, and -continued her search in the basket. - -"From the way he talked to us last night it might be fancied that it was -he who was the captive," said Esther. - -"And I do not doubt that he is living in a state of constant captivity," -laughed James. "Ay, or I should rather term it inconstant captivity, -for I dare swear that those black eyes of his do a deal of roving in the -course of a year--nay, in the course of a day. These singer fellows feel -that 'tis due to their art, this moving the hearts of their hearers, -by moving their own affections from heart to heart. The Rauzzini is, I -fancy, like one of the splendid butterflies we came upon in the Straits, -fluttering from flower to flower." - -"I have heard no stories of his inconstancy, even from the Gabrielli -when she was most envious of his plaudits," said Esther, and she glanced -at her sister, who was earnestly threading a needle. - -"You goose!" cried James to Esther. "Do you suppose that Gabrielli would -tell you anything so greatly complimentary to him? In these days you -cannot pay a man a greater compliment than to compare him to the fickle -butterfly. You see that suggests a welcome from every flower." - -"I protest that it is to sailors I have heard most compliments of that -sort paid," laughed Esther, and then, putting herself in a singing -attitude before him, she lilted most delightfully:= - -````"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more! - -````Men were deceivers ever, - -````One foot on sea-= - - -"ha, ha, brother James!= - - -````and one on shore, - -````To one thing constant never.= - -"Now be advised by me, dear James, and do not attribute even in a -cynical way, the vice of inconstancy to a singer, until you have left -the Navy." - -"I did not allude to it as a vice--rather as a virtue," said James. -"Just think of the hard fate of any girl to have such a person as a -singer ever by her side!" - -He easily evaded the rush down upon him made by Hetty, and used his -nautical skill to sail to the windward of her, as it were, until he had -reached the door, whence he sent a parting shot at her. - -"You surely don't think that I hinted that your spouse was a singer," he -cried. "A singer! Oh, lud! I should be swaying away on all top ropes if -I were to call the matrimonial duets singing." - -He gave a shout of laughter as he caught the ball of wool which Esther -threw at him, having picked it up from her stepmother's work-table. He -returned it with a better aim, and before his sister could get a hand on -it, he had shut the door, only opening it a little space a few seconds -later to put in his head with a mocking word, withdrawing it at once, -and then his foot was heard upon the stair, while he gave a sailor's -version of Mr. Garrick's patriotic naval song:= - -```Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer.= - -"He has gone before I had a chance of asking him to take a message -to the cheesemonger," said Mrs. Burney, calling out to him while she -hurried after him out of the room. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -|THE moment the two sisters were alone, the elder said quickly in a low -voice, leaning across the table: - -"We had a long talk with Signor Rauzzini, my dearest Fanny. I could not, -of course, tell you before mother." - -"You mentioned his name; but were you discreet?" said Fanny. "I think -mother felt that you were going too far when you referred to his eyes. -Mother most surely believes that the dark eyes of an Italian form a -topic that should not be discussed except by our elders, and then only -with bated breath and a fearful glance around lest a word should be -overheard." - -"His eyes--you know his eyes, Fanny?" - -"Oh!" said Fanny, with an inflection that was between a sigh and a moan. - -"You should have seen them while he spoke of you," said Esther. "Talk -of flashes of lightning!--Dear child, it seemed so singular to us that a -mite like you should inspire a grand passion in such a man. You are not -angry with us, I know, but it was so indeed." - -"Why should I feel angry with you for feeling just what I do myself, -only more intensely," said Fanny. "Tis one of the greatest mysteries of -life--the only mystery of life that I have yet faced--why a man who is -as handsome as an archangel, and who possesses a voice that an archangel -might envy, should so much as glance at an insignificant young woman -like myself! Oh! 'tis no wonder that the notion amused you, dear Hetty." - -"It only diverted us for a time, I assure you, my Fanny; it did not -take us very long to perceive how it was no laughing matter, but, on -the contrary, a very serious matter. Signor Rauzzini is, as I said, an -enchanter, but do you not think that 'tis somewhat dangerous to--to----" - -"To play with fire? That is what is on your mind, dear--to allow -the fire of his Roman eyes to play about me? Dangerous? I admit that -wherever there is fire there is danger, especially when it flashes from -such eyes." - -"I am glad that you need no warning, child. As your elder sister I am -pleased that--that--but no one in the house seems to think for a moment -that the favour he has so distinctly shown to you can mean anything. -Indeed, until last night, neither Charles nor I could believe----" - -Fanny laughed, half closing her short-sighted eyes with a curious -expression as she looked at her sister. - -"It is only natural, my dear Hettina," she said. - -"Have I ever ventured to suggest that I am other than the dunce of the -family?" - -"You have always been absurdly humble, Fanny, and I have never hesitated -to say so," cried Esther. "I am sure that none of us could have made up -such clever little pieces to act as you did when we were children. And -as for writing, could any of us have so neatly copied out the padre's -History as you did last year? Mr. Crisp, too--he never takes pleasure in -any letters of the family except what you write for him." - -"All perfectly true, my Hettina," replied Fanny. "But where am I when -the house is filled with visitors? You know that I am nobody--that all -I pray for with all my heart is that no one will take any notice of me, -and I think I can say that my prayer is nearly always granted." - -"That is because you are so dreadfully--so absurdly shy," said Esther. -"You are the little mouse that is evermore on the look out for a hole -into which you can creep and be safe from the observation of all eyes. -You are ever trying to escape, unless when Mr. Garrick is here." - -"Dear Hettina, I know my place--that is all. I have weak eyes, but quick -ears, and I have heard strangers ask, when they have heard you sing and -Susan play, who the little short-sighted girl in the corner is and what -she means to do for the entertainment of the company. When they are -assured that I am one of the clever Burney family they whisper an -incredulous 'No?' They cannot believe that so insignificant a person as -myself can be one of you." - -"Tis your morbid self-consciousness, Fanny, that suggests so much to -you." - -"Oh, no; I was the dunce from the first. You know that while you could -read any book with ease when you were six, I did not even know my -letters when I was eight. Don't you remember how James made a jest of -my thirst for knowledge by pretending to teach me the alphabet with the -page turned upside down? And when you had gone to school at Paris and -it was my turn as the next eldest, the wise padre perceived in a moment -that the money would be much better spent upon Susan and Lottie, and -they went to be educated while I remained at home in ignorance? The dear -padre was right: he knew that I should have been miserable among bright -girls away from home." - -There was a pause before the elder sister said quite pathetically: - -"My poor Fanny! I wonder if you have not been treated shabbily among -us." - -"Not. I, my Hettina. I have always been treated fairly. I have had as -many treats as any of you; when you were learning so much in Paris I -have been learning quite a number of things at home. And one of the -most important things I learned was that so brilliant a person as Signor -Rauzzini could never be happy if married to so insignificant a person as -Fanny Burney." - -Esther gave a little sigh of relief. - -"Indeed I think that your conclusion is a right one, dear," she said. -"We both came to the conclusion--Charles and I--that it would be a huge -misfortune if you should allow yourself to be attracted by the glamour -that attaches to the appearance of such a man as the Rauzzini, though, -mind you, I believe that he honestly fancies himself in love with -you--oh, he made no disguise of it in talking with us last night. But I -hoped that you would be sensible." - -"Oh, in the matter of sense I am the equal of anyone in the family," -said Fanny, laughing. "That I mean to make my one accomplishment--good -sense. That is the precious endowment of the dunce of the clever -family--good sense; the one who stands next to the dunce in the lack of -accomplishments should be endowed with good nature. Good sense and good -nature go hand in hand in plain grey taffeta, not down the primrose -paths of life, but along the King's highway of every day, where they run -no chance of jostling the simple foot-passengers or exciting the envy -of any by the flaunting of feathers in their face. Good sense and good -nature are best satisfied when they attract no attention, but pass on to -obscurity, smiling at the struggle of others to be accounted persons of -importance." - -"Then you have indeed made up your mind to marry Mr. Barlowe?" cried -Esther. - -Fanny laughed enigmatically. - -"Does it not mean rather that I have made up my mind not to marry Mr. -Barlowe?" she cried. - -Esther looked puzzled: she was puzzled, and that was just what Fanny -meant her to be. - -But then she looked piqued, as elder sisters do when puzzled by the -words or the acts of the younger. What business have younger sisters -puzzling their elders? Their doing so suggests pertness when the elders -are unmarried, but sheer insubordination when they are married; and -Esther was by no means willing at any time to abrogate the privileges of -her position as a married woman. - -"I protest that I do not understand your meaning, Fanny," she said, -raising her chin in a way that gave her head a dignified poise. There -was also a chill dignity in the tone of her voice. - -"Dear Hettina, I ask your pardon," cried Fanny quickly. "I fear that -I replied to you with a shameful unreasonableness. But indeed I am not -sure that you had reason on your side when you assumed that because I -was ready to acknowledge that it would not mean happiness to our dear -Signor Rauzzini to marry an insignificant person like myself, I was -therefore prepared to throw myself into the arms of Mr. Barlowe." - -"I fancied that--that--but you may have another suitor in your mind -whose name you have not mentioned to anyone." - -"Why should it be necessary for me to have a suitor of any kind? Is it -not possible to conceive of the existence of a young woman without a row -of suitors in the background? I admit that the 'Odyssey' of Homer--you -remember how I used to listen to your reading of Mr. Broome's -translation to mother--would be shorn of much of its interest but for -that background of suitors in one of the last books, but--well, my dear -sister, I hold that the alternative song of life to the matrimonial duet -is the spinster's solo, and it does not seem to me to be quite devoid of -interest." - -"Oh, I took it for granted----" began Esther, when Fanny broke in upon -her. - -"Yes, I know what all the happily wedded ones take for granted," she -cried. "You assume that the wedded life is the only one worth living; -but as we are told in the Bible that there is one glory of the sun and -another of the moon, so I hold that I am justified in believing that if -matrimony be celestial, spinsterhood is terrestrial, but a glory all the -same, and not unattractive to me. I may be wise enough to content myself -with the subdued charm of moonlight if it so be that I am shut off from -the midday splendour of matrimony." - -Esther did not laugh in the least as did her sister when she had -spoken with an air of finality. She only made a little motion with her -shoulders suggesting a shrug, while she said: - -"I hope you will succeed in convincing mother that your views are the -best for the household; but I think you will have some difficulty in -doing so, considering what a family of girls we are." - -"I do not doubt that mother will be on the side of immediate matrimony -and poor Mr. Barlowe," said Fanny. - -"Why poor Mr. Barlowe?" cried Esther. "He is a young man of excellent -principles, and he has never given his parents a day's trouble. It -is understood that if he marries sensibly he will be admitted to a -partnership in the business, so that----" - -"Principles and a partnership make for matrimonial happiness, I doubt -not," said Fanny. "And I doubt not that Dr. Fell had both excellent -principles and an excellent practice; still someone has recorded in -deathless verse that she--I assume the sex--did not like that excellent -man." - -"And you do not like Mr. Barlowe on the same mysterious grounds?" said -Hetty. - -"Nay, I am not so unreasonable, I hope," replied Fanny. "But--but--dear -sister, I remember how I thought that the song of the linnet which was -in our little garden at Lynn was the loveliest strain of the grove, and -such was my belief until I awoke one night at Chessington and heard the -nightingale." - -"You are puzzling--singularly puzzling today," said Esther frowning. -"You have started two or three mystifying parables already. You told -me some time ago as a great secret that you had been renewing your -story-writing, in spite of your having burnt all that you had written -for our edification--all that story--what was its name? The heroine was -one Caroline Evelyn. You were ever an obedient child, or you would not -have sacrificed your offspring at the bidding of our new mother, though -the advice that she gave you was good, if you have not quite adhered to -it. Novel writing is not for young ladies any more than novel reading, -and certainly talking in parables is worse still. Well, I have no more -time to spend over your puzzles." - -"You would not find their solution to repay you, my dear," said Fanny. - -"Still, I am pleased to learn that you take a sensible view of Signor -Rauzzini and his heroics--but, indeed, I cannot see that Mr. Barlowe -should not be considered, with his prospects--his father is a mercer in -gold and silver lace, as you know----" - -"I have heard so--it is a profitable trade, I believe." - -"None more so. It is impossible to believe that a time will ever come -when gold and silver lace will cease to be worn by gentlemen." - -"That would be an evil day for England as well as for Messieurs Barlowe, -_pre et fils_. But thank heaven it is not yet in sight. Good morning, -dear sister; and be assured you have my thanks for your advice. But -mind you keep my little secret about the writing. Good-bye. You can face -mother boldly, knowing that you have carried out her commission to the -letter, and very neatly and discreetly into the bargain." - -"I would not have done so if her views had not been mine also; as for -your writing--you may depend on my keeping your secret. But you will -have to get the padre's permission to have it printed--that's something -still in the far future, I suppose;"--and the elder sister stooped to -kiss the younger--Fanny was not up to the shoulder of the beautiful and -stately Esther. - -And so they parted. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -|FANNY BURNEY had been forced, for the first time, to make her sister -aware of the fact that she knew she was looked on as the dunce of the -brilliant Burney family. She could see that her doing so had startled -her sister, for neither Esther nor any of the other girls had ever -suggested to her that they thought of her as being on a different level -from themselves, though it was tacitly allowed that it was a great -pity that Fanny did not emulate them in taking pains to shine as it was -expected the children of that estimable master of music, Dr. Burney, -should shine, so as to make the house in that narrow little street off -Leicester Fields attractive to its many distinguished visitors. - -Fanny had truly defined her place in the household. She had recognized -her place for several years; but there was not the least suggestion of -rancour in her tone when talking to her brilliant elder sister, for -the simple reason that there was no bitterness in her heart against any -member of the family for being cleverer than herself. Fanny took pride -in the accomplishments of her sisters, and was quite content with her -position in relation to them. She got on well with all of them, because -she was fond of them all, and they were all fond of her. She had not -rebelled when her father had sent her younger sisters to be educated -in Paris, and had allowed her to pick up her own education as best she -might in his own library; and it had been a great happiness to her to be -allowed the privilege of copying out for the press the first volume of -her father's "History of Music." It was her stepmother who, finding -out that Fanny had what Mrs. Burney called "a taste for writing," had -suggested that that was the legitimate channel in which such a taste -should flow; and it was her stepmother who had induced her to make a -bonfire of all her own writings--the scribblings of her girlhood that -represented the foolish errant flow of her "taste for writing ": and -now and again she had a consciousness of her own duplicity in failing -to resist the impulse that had come upon her to do some more of what her -mother termed her "girlish scribbling." - -One of the guilty secrets that Fanny cherished was that when it was -believed she was writing her long letters to her old friend Mr. Crisp, -she had been composing a novel which was now about to be given to the -world; the second was that Signor Rauzzini, the handsome young Roman -singer with whom half the fashionable ladies of the town were in love, -was in love with her. - -These were two secrets worth the cherishing, she knew; and the thought -of them more than compensated her for the reflection that she was the -dunce of the family, and that the unconscious tone of patronage adopted -toward her by her elder sister and the dreadful compliments paid to her -plain sewing, as though plain sewing represented the highest hopes that -could reasonably be entertained in regard to her, were only to be looked -for in the circumstances. - -The two secrets were closely bound up together, she knew. She had the -deepest affection for Signor Rauzzini. How could she fail to return the -feeling which the whisper of his musical voice had told her he had -conceived for her? He loved her in spite of the fact that she was the -least attractive member of the family--in spite of the fact that half -the town was at his feet, and that he might have made his choice from -among the best. He had chosen her whom no one else had ever noticed, -with the exception of her father's old friend, Mr. Crisp, and--oh, yes -(she laughed now, perceiving that she had done an injustice to the other -person who had been attracted to her--mainly, she thought, on account of -her reputation for plain sewing)--a young man named Thomas Barlowe, the -excellent son of the well-known mercer of gold and silver lace, in the -Poultry! - -Thinking of young Mr. Barlowe by the side of Signor Rauzzini, -Fanny laughed again. She had so restricted an opinion of her own -attractiveness that the tears actually came into her eyes for having -given that derisive laugh as she compared the two young men; and she -felt that she had been grossly ungrateful to young Mr. Barlowe; for even -young Mr. Barlowe had a right to look above her level for a wife. As the -daughter of a simple music master with a large family she could have no -endowment so far as worldly goods were concerned; and she knew that the -practical parents of young business men, as a rule, looked for their -sons to marry, if not great fortunes, at least young women with a few -thousands to their names. - -She felt that she had treated the condescending young Mr. Barlowe very -badly in laughing at the poor figure he cut by the side of the angelic -Roman singer--she had failed to resist the temptation to call Signor -Rauzzini angelic in one of her letters to Mr. Crisp--and now, -in thinking of Mr. Barlowe as a very worthy young man, she was -unconsciously relegating him to a hopeless position as a lover. It -is not the very worthy young men who are beloved by young women of a -romantic temperament: if it were there would be very few romances -left. But little Miss Burney desired only to ease the twinges of her -conscience for having laughed at the thought of young Tommy Barlowe; and -she thought that she had done the right thing in assuring herself that -he was a very worthy person. - -And then she thought no more about him. She had a feeling that to give -another thought to him when she had such a man as Signor Rauzzini -to think about, would be a constructive act of treason in regard to -Rauzzini. She had received many hints from her stepmother to the effect -that all the family considered her to be a very fortunate young woman -(all things taken into account) in having a chance of marrying the -Thomas who seemed ready to pay his addresses to her; but though quite -submissive to her stepmother in household matters, she was ready to face -her with the "Never!" of the avowed rebel in the matter of consenting -to wed the highly approved Thomas, and so she dismissed him from her -thoughts, in favour of the man whom she loved. - -But thinking of the man whom she loved was by no means equivalent to -passing into a region of unalloyed happiness. She had mystified her -sister by the way in which she had spoken about Signor Rauzzini, and the -seal had been put upon the mystery by her frank acknowledgment that she -did not think a union between so distinguished a man as Rauzzini and so -insignificant a person as herself was likely to be satisfactory. - -She had certainly allowed Hetty to go away believing that this was -in her mind; and that was just what was in her mind when her thoughts -turned from Thomas, whom she considered so estimable, to Rauzzini, -whom she loved. She loved the Roman singer so truly that she had made a -resolution never to consent to his marrying anyone so insignificant as -she believed herself to be. - -She had no illusions regarding herself. She knew just how good-looking -she was; she knew that by the side of any of her sisters she was almost -plain; but that she had a pleasing, simple face of a very ordinary type. -She knew that she could love with the truest devotion and she could -trust herself not to change with time. But she felt that these were not -beyond the traits of the ordinary young woman, and that they did -not lift her from the level of insignificance to the level of Signor -Rauzzini. - -She knew that she was at that moment an insignificant person; and she -made no attempt to think of herself as otherwise. - -Yes; but she had heard of people--even young women--being insignificant -one day, and the next springing to a pinnacle of fame to which all eyes -looked up. How would it be if she were destined to reach in a moment -a position that would place her on a level with the man of her -thoughts--the man whose fame as a singer had caused him to be the centre -round which every conversation in the most notable circles turned? -Everyone was talking in praise of Rauzzini; and she herself thought of -him as occupying a place on a height as far above her as King Cophetua's -throne was above the marble steps at the foot of which the beggar maid -had crouched; but in her mind there was the possibility that her name -might one day be spoken by the world in connection with an achievement -that would raise her from the insignificance of Fanny Burney to the -importance of Signor Rauzzini, and prevent people from asking what on -earth had induced so glorious a person as he to make her his wife! - -That was the secret dream which filled the imagination of this -imaginative young woman--the same dream as comes to so many young women -who have written the last chapter of a book and sent it forth for the -world to receive with acclaim--the dream of fame--of immortality! She -had written a novel and it was about to be given to the world, if the -world would have it, and upon its success her happiness depended. If -it brought her fame, it would place her by the side of the man whom -she loved; but if it failed, then she would remain a person of no -significance, and quite unworthy of sharing the honours which were -showered upon her lover. She had imagination, and this faculty it was -that made her more than doubtful of the success of King Cophetua's rash -experiment. She felt sure that King Cophetua had now and again, turning -suddenly round, caught one of his courtiers with his tongue in his -cheek when his Majesty was entering the throne-room with his shy and -insignificant Queen by his side, and that the Queen had occasionally -overheard the whispers of her maids of honour, when they did not know -she was at hand, asking one another what on earth the King had seen in -her that induced him to make her his consort. Little Miss Burney had -long ago made up her mind that the union of King Cophetua and his beggar -maid was far from being a happy one--that the King looked around him and -saw several princesses of great beauty and quite devoid of shyness who -were fully acquainted with the convenances of his court and would not, -if he had married any one of them, have made the mistakes which she was -sure the young person whom he had elevated had fallen into, causing him -constant irritation. - -Little Miss Burney had resolved that she would never play the part of -a crowned beggar maid. The man whom she loved had won fame for himself, -and she would not go to him unless she, too, had at least made such -a name for herself as should prevent her from feeling herself in the -position of the beggar maid whom King Cophetua had raised to his side. -Little Miss Burney resolved that although she could scarcely expect to -go to her lover wearing purple robes embroidered with gold, she could, -at any rate, refrain from wearing beggars' rags. She had her ambitions, -and she felt that they were not ignoble, but that they made for the -happiness of the man she loved, and who had been gracious enough to love -her--the least attractive member of the family. - -But after she had sat for some time with her hands lying idle on the -sempstress' work at which she had been engaged on the departure of her -sister--after her imagination had carried her much farther away than she -intended it should, she was sensible of a return to the cold world from -which she had soared. Her heart, which had begun to beat quickly when -Hetty had told her how the divine Rauzzini had spoken of her, sank -within her as she seemed to hear a voice asking who was she that she -should hope to reach by the publication of that story which she had been -writing by stealth and at odd times during the past three years, even -the smallest measure of fame that would compare with that of Signor -Rauzzini? What fame attached to the writing of a novel in comparison -with that achieved by the enchantment of a singer who had power to move -the hearts of men and women as it pleased him? Orpheus--ah, what -fame could compare with the fame of Orpheus, the singer? His was a -heaven-sent gift. What was her little talent compared with such a gift? -If she had the ability even to make music such as one of her sisters -could bring forth from the keys of the piano, she would have a better -chance of being accounted worthy of a place beside Signor Rauzzini than -if her novel found its way to the shelves of many readers. The writing -of a novel was a poor achievement--nay, in the opinion of a good many -people, including her own stepmother--a most practical woman--it was -something to be ashamed of; and Fanny herself, thinking over all -the novels written by women which she herself had read--most of them -surreptitiously--was disposed to agree with her. That was why she had -kept as a secret for more than three years the fact that she was trying -to write a novel. Her father knew nothing of it, and her stepmother was -equally uninformed. Even her old friend Mr. Crisp, to whom she wrote -voluminous letters week after week, and to whom she gave her confidence -on many matters, had no suspicion that she had written her novel. - -She had thought it prudent to keep this matter hidden from them, for she -did not doubt that if she had told any one of them of her project, she -would never have a chance of realizing it. They would certainly have -pronounced against such a proceeding even before a page of her novel -came to be written. - -And yet it was the thought that this novel was shortly to be published -that had caused her to feel that she was drawing nearer to her lover. - -As she reflected upon this, sitting idly over her work when her sister -had left the house, her tears began to fall, not in a torrent, but -slowly dropping at intervals upon the fabric which she had been sewing. -She felt very sad, very hopeless, very lonely. - -Nor could it be said that the sudden return of Mrs. Burney meant a -return of happiness to the girl. - -Mrs. Burney did not consider that Fanny had made satisfactory progress -with her work, and did not hesitate to express her opinion to this -effect. But she was not imprudently unkind; for young Mr. Barlowe had -just written to her, begging permission to pay his respects to Mrs. -Burney and her daughter that evening, and she meant that Fanny should be -in a good humour to entertain him. - -Mrs. Burney had great hopes that the question of Fanny's future--a -constant topic of conversation and consultation between her and her -husband--might be settled by a series of visits of young Mr. Barlowe. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -|YOUNG Mr. Barlowe took himself very seriously, and he had every right -to do so; for a more serious young man was not to be found in business -in London. He had been brought up to look upon everything in the world -as having an intimate connection with business, and it had always been -impressed upon him that business meant the increase of money, and that -there was hardly anything in the world worth giving a thought to apart -from the increase of money. It never occurred to any of his preceptors -to suggest that the advantage of increasing one's money lay in the -splendid possibilities of spending it. The art of making money forms -the whole curriculum of a business man's education; he is supposed to -require no instruction in the art of spending it. Thus it is that, by -attending only to one side of the question, so many business men lead -much less interesting lives than they might, if they had it in their -power to place themselves under the guidance of a trustworthy professor -of the Art of Spending. But no Chair of Spending has yet been provided -at any University, nor is there any instructor on this important branch -of business education at any of the City schools, hence it is that the -sons of so many money-making men turn out spendthrifts. They have been -taught only one side of the great money question, and that the less -important side into the bargain. In making an honest endeavour to master -the other side, usually on the death of a father or a bachelor uncle, -both looked on as close-fisted curmudgeons, a good many young men find -themselves in difficulties. - -Young Mr. Barlowe, on being introduced to the Burney family, through the -circumstance of Mrs. Burney's first husband having done business with -Mr. Barlowe the elder, found himself in a strange atmosphere. He had -never before imagined the existence of a household where music and plays -and books were talked about as if these were the profitable topics of -life. Previously he had lived in a house where the only profitable topic -was thought to be the Profits. At his father's table in the Poultry the -conversation never travelled beyond the Profits. The likelihood of a -rise in the price of gold or silver sometimes induced the father to -increase his stock of bullion without delay, and then if the price rose, -he could conscientiously charge his customers for the lace at such a -rate per ounce as gave him a clear five per cent, extra profit; and it -was upon such possibilities that the conversation in the Poultry parlour -invariably turned. - -And here were these Burneys talking with extraordinary eagerness and -vivacity upon such matters as the treatment by a singer named Gabrielli -of one of the phrases in a song of Mr. Handel's, beginning: "Angels ever -bright and fair"! For himself, young Mr. Barlowe thought that there -was no need for so much repetition in any song. "Angels ever bright and -fair, Take, oh take me to your care"--that was the whole thing, as it -seemed to him; and when that request had been made once he thought it -was quite enough; to repeat it half a dozen times was irritating and -really tended to defeat its purpose. Only children in the nursery -kept reiterating their requests. But he had heard Dr. Burney and -his son-in-law, Esther's husband, discuss the Gabrielli's apparently -unauthorized pause before the second violins suggested (as it appeared -to the younger musician) a whisper of assent floating from the heaven; -and all the members of the family except Fanny had taken sides in the -controversy, as though a thing like that had any bearing upon the daily -life of the City! - -Thomas Barlowe was amazed at the childishness of the discussion, and he -was particularly struck by the silence of Fanny on this occasion. She -was silent, he was sure, because she agreed with him in thinking it -ridiculous to waste words over a point that should be relegated to the -nursery for settlement. - -"They seem pleasant enough people in their way," he told his mother -after his first visit. "But they know nothing of what is going on in the -world--the real world, of which the Poultry is the centre. It might -be expected that the young man who is a naval officer and has seen the -world would know something of the import of the question when I asked -him what direction he thought gold would move in; but he only winked and -replied, 'Not across my hawse, I dare swear,' and the others laughed as -if he had said something humorous." - -"Mayhap it was humorous," suggested his mother gravely. - -"It would be sheer ribaldry for anyone to jest upon such a subject -as the fluctuations in the price of silver," said Thomas slowly. -"Lieutenant Burney must surely know how serious a matter would be a fall -of a fraction of a crown when we have bought heavily in prospect of -a rise. But Miss Burney looks to be different from the others of the -family. I have told you that while her father, and indeed all the rest, -were talking excitedly on that ridiculous point in Mr. Handel's music, -she sat in silence. She is short-sighted, but I noticed more than once -that she had her eyes fixed on me, as if she had found something to -study in me. She is, I think, a steady, observant young lady. When Mrs. -Burney said she hoped that I would visit them again, I think I perceived -a sort of interest on Miss Burney's face as she awaited my answer." - -Thomas had resolved not to frustrate the hopes that Mrs. Burney had -expressed as to his paying another visit--as a matter of fact he had -come three times, and on every occasion he had devoted himself to -Fanny--to be more exact than Mrs. Burney, who had described his -attentions in this phrase, he had passed his time subjecting her to a -sort of catechism with a view to discover if she would make him the -sort of wife that would suit him. It appeared that the result of his -inquisition was satisfactory, and that his attentions were gradually -becoming intentions; but Mrs. Burney had never gone farther than to -comment favourably to Fanny upon the young man's steadiness, and to -suggest that the young woman whom he might choose to be his wife would -be fortunate, steady young men with good prospects in the City being far -from abundant. She had never gone so far as to ask Fanny if she would -accept good fortune coming to her in such a form; though Fanny knew very -well that she had asked Esther to sound her on this point. - -How far Esther's mission was accounted successful by their stepmother, -Fanny, of course, could not guess; but at any rate Thomas was to pay a -visit after dinner, and Fanny felt that it was necessary for her to be -discreet. It had been very interesting for her to study Thomas, with the -possibility before her of writing a second novel, in which some of -his traits of character might be introduced with advantage; but she -perceived how there was a likelihood of her course of study being paid -for at too high a rate; so she resolved--to be discreet beyond her -ordinary exercise of a virtue which she displayed at all times of her -life. - -So Thomas came to the house in St. Martin's Street while tea was -being served in the drawingroom, to the accompaniment of a duet on -the piano--Dr. Burney had quickly perceived the merits of this new -instrument over that of the harpsichord--between Susan and her father. -Very close to the instrument, pressing the receiver of his ear-trumpet -to the woodwork of the case, sat Sir Joshua Reynolds, while his -sister--a lady of middle age who was gradually relinquishing the idea -that she, too, could paint portraits--was suffering Mrs. Burney -to explain to her the advantages of Lynn over London as a place of -residence for people anxious to economize. - -Fanny was at the table where the teapot and urn were being drawn on, and -close to her sat her brother James, with a volume like an account-book -lying face down on the table while he drank his tea. - -The progress of the duet was not arrested by the entrance of young Mr. -Barlowe, but he looked in the direction of the instrument when he had -shaken hands with Mrs. Burney and bowed to Miss Reynolds. It was obvious -that he was mystified by seeing Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet pressed against -the sound-conducting case of the piano. He was still looking at it with -curious eyes while he greeted Fanny with the concentrated politeness of -the Poultry. - -Lieutenant Burney roused himself from his lolling attitude when he saw -the puzzled look on the young man's face, and he obligingly endeavoured -to explain away the mystery. - -"'Tis no wonder that you are amazed, Mr. Barlowe," he said in a -whisper. "I own that when it was first brought to my notice I thought it -extraordinary. A marvellous instrument, is it not, that is played by the -ear instead of by the mouth? And yet you must own that some of the notes -it produces are very fine--much more delicate than could be produced by -any other means." - -"I do not profess to be a judge of music, sir," said Thomas; "but I -know what pleases me." Fanny wondered how often she had heard that -same boast--the attempt of complete ignorance to be accredited with the -virtue of frankness. "Yes, I own that I consider the music monstrous -pretty; but with the ear--that is what puzzles me: it seems a simple -trumpet, such as is blown by the mouth." - -"Pray do not let my father hear you say that, Mr. Barlowe," whispered -James. "That instrument is his fondest. You know that he has written a -'History of Music'?" - -"All the world knows that, sir," replied Thomas gallantly. "I have not -yet found time to read it myself, but----" - -"Neither have I, sir; but I understand that that instrument which seems -new to such simpletons as you and I is really as ancient as the pyramids -of Egypt--nay, more so, for my father discovered in his researches that -this was the identical form of the first instrument made by Tubal Cain -himself." - -"Is't possible? In our Family Bible there is a picture of Tubal Cain, -but he is depicted blowing through a conch shell." - -"A shell! Ah! such was the ignorance of the world on these matters -before my father wrote his History. But he has managed to clear up -many points upon which complete ignorance or very erroneous opinions -prevailed. It is not generally known, for instance, that Tubal had his -second name given to him by reason of his habitually murdering every -musical piece that he attempted to play." - -"But he was the inventor, was he not?" - -"Quite true, Mr. Barlowe. But that fact, you must admit, only made his -offence the more flagrant. So the inscriptions on the rocks assert; and -there are some sensible people nowadays who believe that Tubal's second -and very suggestive name should be coupled with the names of many more -recent performers on musical instruments." - -"You do not allude to the gentleman who is playing that new -instrument--I mean that very ancient instrument--by the side of Dr. -Burney?" - -"Oh, surely not. That gentleman is one of the most notable performers of -our age, Mr. Barlowe. I ask you plainly, sir, have you ever seen, even -at a raree show, a musician who could play an instrument with his ear -and produce such a good effect? You can easily believe that a vast -amount of ingenuity is needed to produce even the simplest sound in that -way." - -"If I had not it demonstrated before my eyes I should not believe it -possible. I protest, sir, that the effect is very pretty. Is't not so, -Miss Burney?" - -The young man turned to Fanny, who was doing her best to refrain from an -outburst of laughter; she could not trust herself to put her cup of tea -to her lips while her brother was continuing his fooling. She thought -that it was scarcely good manners of him to play such a jest upon a -visitor, though she knew the ward-room code of manners which her naval -brother had acquired was very liberal on such points. She was about to -give Mr. Barlowe a hint of the truth of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet, but -James, perceiving her intention, defeated it by saying in a tone above a -whisper: - -"Cain--we mentioned Cain, did we not, Mr. Barlowe? Oh, yes; and it must -have occurred to you how strangely customs have altered during the past -ten years--how strongly opposed people are to-day to principles that -were accepted without demur so recently as in our own boyhood. You take -my meaning, sir?" - -Mr. Barlowe did not look as if he quite grasped Lieutenant Burney's -drift, and Fanny felt it incumbent on her to prevent further fooling (as -he thought she would) by remarking: - -"My brother means, Mr. Barlowe, that 'tis remarkable how many changes -are being made in many ways--but what he had in his mind was, of course, -in respect to the forte-piano--on which my father and sister are -playing a duet: only a few years ago no one thought to improve upon -the harpsichord; and yet my father asserts that in a short time the -harpsichord will be no more than a curiosity--that the forte-piano--or -as we simply call it now, the piano, will take its place in every -household. That is what you meant, was it not, James?" - -"I was thinking of Cain and his profession--Cain, the good old murderer, -rather than of Tubal Cain, who was perhaps equally criminal in inventing -the liveliest source of human torture," replied James gravely. "Yes, -I was thinking--suggested by the mention of Cain--how strange people -nowadays would regard my father's intentions regarding my future when -he assumed that I should have the best chance for cultivating my bent, -which he had early recognized in me, by sending me, before it became too -late, to be educated for the profession to an accomplished murderer." - - - - -CHAPTER X - -|YOUNG Mr. Barlowe started so violently that he spilt his tea over his -knees; for just before James had uttered his last sentence the music -stopped, but as it had been somewhat loud in the final bars, and James -had raised his voice in the same proportion, the inertia of his tone -defied any attempt to modulate it, so that it was almost with a shout -that he had declared that he had been sent to be educated in his -profession to a murderer. - -Fanny was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the contretemps -to be able to laugh. Her brother, who had had no intention of startling -anyone in the room except young Mr. Barlowe, hung his head and was -blushing under the South Sea tan of his skin; Sir Joshua Reynolds had -heard nothing after the crashing chords that concluded the duet; but -poor Miss Reynolds almost sprang from her chair in horror. - -Mrs. Burney was very angry. - -"You have been making a fool of yourself as usual, James," she cried. -"Pray give Mr. Barlowe another cup of tea, Fanny. I vow that 'tis a -shame for you, James Burney, to treat such a company as though you were -on the deck of the _Adventure_ facing your South Sea savages." - -But Dr. Burney, with his customary tact, raised a hand half reprovingly -toward his wife. - -"Give Mr. Barlowe his cup, and then pass one to me, Fanny," he said, -rising from the piano. "You know that James has spoken no more than -the truth, my dear," he added, smiling at his wife. "I can see that the -rascal has been fooling while our backs were turned to him; but we know -that he spoke no more than the truth--at least in that one sentence -which he bawled out for us. He was, indeed, sent to a school where he -was placed under an accomplished usher who was some time after hanged -as a murderer. You see, madam----" he had turned, still smiling, to Miss -Reynolds, thereby doing much to restore her confidence in the sanity of -the family--"You see that James was from the first so desperate a young -rascal that, just as a boy who is an adept at figures is educated for -the counting-house, and one who spends all the day before he is six -picking out tunes on the harpsichord should be apprenticed, as I was, to -a musician, so we thought our James should be sent whither he could -be properly grounded in the only profession at which he was likely to -excel. But, alas! the poor usher was carried off by the police, tried at -the next assizes and duly hanged before James had made much progress in -his studies; but I believe that a few years in the navy does as much -for a youth who has made up his mind to succeed, as a protracted course -under a fully qualified criminal." - -Miss Reynolds looked as if she were not quite certain that, in spite of -his smiles, Dr. Burney was jesting; but when Mrs. Burney, seeing how her -husband's mock seriousness was likely to produce a wrong impression upon -plain people, said: - -"You must recall hearing about Mr. Eugene Aram some years back, Mrs. -Reynolds," that lady showed that her mind was greatly relieved. - -"I recall the matter without difficulty," she said. "The man was usher -at the grammar school at Lynn." - -"And no school had a more learned teacher than that unfortunate man," -said Sir Joshua. Young Mr. Barlowe had been divided in his amazement -at what Dr. Burney had said, and at the sight of Sir Joshua holding the -trumpet to his ear, though the instrument remained mute. He had never -found himself within the circle of so startling a society. He wished -himself safe at home in the Poultry, where people talked sense and made -no attempt to blow a trumpet with their ears. - -"James had acquired quite a liking for poor Aram," said Dr. Burney, -"and, indeed, I own to having had a high opinion of the man's ability -myself. It was to enable him to purchase books necessary for his studies -in philology that he killed his victim--a contemptible curmudgeon named -Johnstone. I fear that all our sympathy was on the side of the usher." - -"I was greatly interested in Mr. Aram, and read a full account of his -trial," said Sir Joshua. - -"I wonder that a man of so sensitive a mind as his did not so brood over -his crime as to cause suspicion to fall on him earlier than it did." - -"Only upon one occasion it seemed that he was affected by an incident -which might possibly have awakened some suspicion in the mind of a -person given to suspicion," said Dr. Burney. - -"James had been presented with a copy of the translation of Gessner's -'Death of Abel'--everyone was going mad about the book that year--more -copies were sold of it than of any translation since Pope's 'Homer,' but -I fancy James found it dull enough reading. He had it on his knee trying -to get through a page or two in case the kind donor might question him -upon it, when the usher came up. He took the volume in his hand and -glanced at the title. Down the book fell from his grasp and he hurried -away without a word--'as if he had been stung,' James said, in telling -us about it, to excuse the broken cover. Of course, I never gave a -thought to the matter at the time; but when I heard of the arrest of -Eugene Aram the following year, I recalled the incident." - -"I should like to make a picture of the scene, and name it 'Remorse,'" -said Reynolds. - -(_He never did make such a picture; many years had passed, and Lieutenant -Burney had become an Admiral before his narration of the incident -touched the imagination of a poet who dealt with it in verse that has -thrilled a good many readers._) - -Thomas Barlowe was not greatly thrilled by the story as told by Dr. -Burney. He seemed rather shocked to find himself at the table with -someone who had been taught by a murderer. He glanced furtively at James -Burney, who had remained silent since the contretemps that had prevented -him from perfecting his fooling of Thomas; and the result of Thomas's -scrutiny at that moment was to cause Thomas a tremor; for who could say -what fearful knowledge Lieutenant Burney might have acquired during -his intercourse with the murderer--knowledge which might jeopardize the -safety of a simple visitor like himself? Thomas felt that no ordinary -person could be accounted absolutely safe in a company that included a -tall, able-bodied young naval man who had begun his education under a -murderer and had gone to complete it among the cannibals of the South -Seas; and, in addition, an elderly gentleman who fancied that he could -bring any sound out of a trumpet by pressing it to his ear instead of -his lips, and had shown himself ready to extol the scholarship of any -man who had been hanged. - -But then Thomas looked at Fanny, and she pleased him more than ever. She -was so demure, so modest, so shy. She had a very pretty blush, and she -did not play on the piano. It was a thousand pities, he felt, that such -a girl should be compelled to remain in such uncongenial companionship. -All the time that Dr. Burney and his other daughter were playing a -second duet, and the silly gentleman holding the bell of his trumpet -to the case of the piano, still fondly believing that he was also a -performer with the mouth-piece in his ear, Thomas Barlowe was feeling -wave after wave of pity passing over him for the unhappy position of -the shy girl in the midst of so doubtful a household. Before long his -compassion for her so stimulated his imagination that he began to think -of the possibility of his rescuing her--he began to think of himself in -the character of a hero--he did not remember the name of any particular -hero who had carried off a young woman who was placed in a similar -situation to that occupied by Miss Burney; but he had no doubt that more -than one romance was founded upon the doings of such a man as he felt -himself fully qualified to be, if he made up his mind to assume such a -rle. - -As the music continued--it was an arrangement of Bach's _Orfo_--Thomas -Barlowe became more and more resolute. He would be the heroic person who -should appear at the right moment and achieve the emancipation of that -sweet and shy girl, who by no fault of hers was forced to live in that -house and remain, if she could, on friendly terms with her father and -sisters, who kept strumming on the piano, and with her brother, who was -ready to boast of having received the rudiments of his education from -a murderer. All that he needed was the opportunity to show his heroism, -and he did not doubt that when he set his mind to work on the matter, he -would have such an opportunity. - -If anyone had whispered in his ear that his inward consciousness of -being equal to the doing of great deeds was solely due to the music -which was being played, and to which he was unwillingly listening, he -would have been indignant. He would have thought it preposterous had it -been suggested to him that the effect of that strumming was to make him -feel more like a god than a man--to be ready to face hell for the love -of a woman, as Jean Sebastian Bach imagined Orpheus doing for Eurydice. -But Jean Sebastian Bach knew what he was about when he had composed his -_Orfo_, and Dr. Burney was quite equal to the business of interpreting -his aims, and of urging his daughter Susan to join with him in -impressing them upon even so unimpressionable a nature as that of Thomas -Barlowe; so that while Thomas Barlowe believed that this music was one -of the most petty of all human interests, it was making him think -such thoughts as had never before entered his mind--it was giving him -aspirations from which in ordinary circumstances he would have shrunk. - -The master musician and his interpreters were making sport of him, -leading him if not quite into the region of the heroic, at least to the -boundary of that region, and supplying him with a perspective glass, as -the Interpreter did to the Pilgrims, by the aid of which he might see -the wonderful things that had been beyond his natural scope. - -And that was how it came about that he gazed into Miss Burney's eyes and -pressed her hand at parting with a tenderness he had never previously -associated with his leave-taking. He felt sure that Miss Burney would -understand what he meant, though he knew that he would have difficulty -in expressing it all to her in words; for the effect of the music was -to make him feel that he could put so much feeling into a look, into -a squeeze of the hand, as would touch the heart of any young woman and -cause her to be certain that she might trust him though all other help -might fail her. - -That was the effect which the heroic music had upon him, though he did -not know it; it made him feel willing to face hell for her sake at that -moment, and even until he had walked through more than a mile of the -network of streets that lay between Leicester Fields and the Poultry. - -But the effect of such an intoxicant as music upon such a nature as his -is not lasting. Before he had reached Cheapside his own individuality -was beginning to assert itself; and he wondered if he had not gone too -far for discretion--discretion being, according to his reckoning, the -power to withdraw from a position that might compromise him. And before -he reached his home he had got the length of wondering how he had so far -forgotten himself as to yield to that compromising impulse represented -by the gaze and the squeeze. He could not for the life of him understand -what had come over him at that moment; for he had by no means satisfied -himself that Miss Burney was the young woman who would make him -comfortable as his wife. He still thought highly of her on account of -her modesty and her dainty shyness, but marriage was a serious matter, -and he was not sure that he should take her for his wife. - -On the whole, he felt that he had had a very trying evening--between the -Lieutenant who had so nearly qualified to practise as a murderer, and -the father and daughter who seemed ready to strum their duets until -midnight, to say nothing of the foolish gentleman who tried to play -the trumpet with his ear; and Thomas made up his mind that he would not -trust himself into the midst of so unusual a circle until he was certain -that he wanted to marry the young woman whose hand he had, for some -reason or other, pressed at parting. - -But Mrs. Burney had noticed much more clearly than Fanny had done the -expression that the face of Thomas Barlowe had worn when he had looked -into the girl's eyes; she had measured to the fraction of a second the -duration of his holding of her hand beyond the time essential for -the discharge of the ordinary courtesy of a hand-shake; and she was -satisfied that Thomas was progressing in his wooing of the least -attractive and certainly the least accomplished member of the family. -The good woman thought, however, that it was rather a pity that her -husband and Susan had persisted in the practice of their duets; for by -doing so they had not given a chance to Thomas and Fanny of being alone -together. - -But, looking back upon the incidents of the evening, she came to the -conclusion that, on the whole, she had no reason to complain of the -progress that was being made in the young man's wooing. She was no -believer in undue haste in this respect; and had not Thomas looked into -Fanny's eyes at the close of the evening? Yes, at the close; and that -proved to her satisfaction that he had not suffered discouragement by -the maladroit conversation about Mr. Eugene Aram. The unhappy episode -upon which her husband had dwelt with far too great attention to its -details, was one to which she herself had never alluded; for at Lynn, -where she had lived all her life previous to being married to Dr. -Burney, the Eugene Aram episode was regarded as a scandal to be ignored -by those of the inhabitants whose children had attended the school where -he had been usher. It was a distinctly favourable sign of the impression -made upon young Mr. Barlowe by Fanny, that he had gazed into her eyes in -spite of his having been made aware of the connection of the family with -the tragedy of that wretched schoolmaster. Mrs. Burney took no account -of the effect of Bach's marvellous music upon a young man who was a -lover in the rough. In this respect, as has been indicated, she did not -differ from the young man himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -|IT was at the Pantheon in the Oxford Road a fortnight later, that Mrs. -Thrale, the brewer's lively wife, had an opportunity of shining, by a -display of that _esprit_ which caused Mr. Garrick to affirm solemnly -that if she had gone upon the stage she would have been a dangerous -rival to Mistress Clive; and Fanny Burney, with her father and Mr. -Linley, the father of the beautiful Mrs. Sheridan, was a witness of the -ease with which the lady sparkled as she described for the benefit of -the circle how Mr. Garrick's jest at the expense of poor Mr. Kendal and -the Widow Nash had set all the Wells laughing. She imitated Mr. Garrick -to his face, in offering his congratulations to Mr. Kendal and so -setting the ball a-rolling until within an hour the poor, silly -gentleman had been offered the felicitations of half the Wells upon his -engagement to Widow Nash. Mrs. Thrale re-enacted with great gravity -the part she had played in Mr. Garrick's plot, and then she hastened -to imitate Mrs. Cholmondeley's part, and even Mr. Sheridan's, upon that -lively morning at Tunbridge Wells. - -But there was much more to tell, and Mrs. Thrale took very good care to -abate nothing of her narrative; it gave her so good a chance of acting, -and it gave Mr. Garrick so good a chance of complimenting her before all -the company. - -"Oh, I vow that we played our parts to perfection," she cried, "and -without any rehearsal either. But then what happened? You will scarce -believe it, Mr. Garrick has always borne such a character for scrupulous -honour in his dealings with his companies, but indeed 'tis a fact that -our manager decamped as soon as he found that the poor man had been -teased to the verge of madness by the fooling he had started--off he -went, we knew not whither; leaving no message for any of us. He was not -to be found by noon; and what happened by dinner-time? Why, the poor -gentleman whom we had been fooling had also fled!" - -"That was indeed too bad of Mr. Kendal," said Dr. Burney. - -"'Twas too inconsiderate of him truly," cried Mrs. Thrale. "'Tis no -great matter if the manager of the playhouse runs away when his play -is produced--you remember that Mr. Colman hurried off to Bath to escape -lampooners when the success of Dr. Goldsmith's comedy _She Stoops to -Conquer_ had proved to all the town that he was no judge of a play; -but for the one who has been made the object of such a jest as ours to -escape without giving us a chance of bringing our teasing to a fitting -climax is surely little short of infamous." - -"And when did you design the fitting climax to arrive, madam?" asked one -of the circle. - -"Why, when the gentleman and lady should come face to face in the -Assembly Rooms, to be sure," replied Mrs. Thrale. "We were all there to -await the scene of their meeting; and you can judge of our chagrin when -only the lady appeared." - -"We can do so, indeed," said Mrs. Darner, who was also in the circle. "I -can well believe that you were furious. When one has arranged a burletta -for two characters 'tis infamous when only one of the actors appears on -the stage." - -Mrs. Thrale smiled the smile of the lady who knows that she is -harbouring a surprise for her friends and only awaits the right moment -to spring it upon them--a cat to be let out of the bag at the pulling of -a string. - -"I knew that we should have your sympathy, Mrs. Darner," she said -demurely. "You have, I doubt not, more than once experienced all the -chagrin that follows the miscarrying of a well-planned scheme. But as -it so happened, we were more than compensated for our ill-usage at that -time by the unlooked-for appearance of the missing actor two nights -later." - -"Oh, lud!" cried Mrs. Darner, holding up both her hands in a very dainty -way. - -Mr. Garrick also lifted up his hands in amazement, but he did not need -to exclaim anything to emphasize the effect of his gesture. - -Dr. Burney smiled, trying to catch the eye of Mr. Garrick, but Mr. -Garrick took very good care that he should not succeed in doing so. - -"You may well cry, 'oh, lud!'" said Mrs. Thrale. "But if you had been -in the Rooms when the man entered you would not have been able to say a -word for surprise, I promise you. The poor gentleman had posted all the -way from town to Tunbridge, apparently for our diversion only, and what -a sight he was! It seems that he had got over his fright at the coupling -of his name with the lady's, while flying to London, but from this point -a reaction set in, and he spent all the time that he was posting back to -the Wells adding fuel to the fire of his resolution to throw himself -at the feet of the lady at the earliest possible moment. Was there ever -such a comedy played, Mr. Garrick?" - -"'Twould be too extravagant for the theatre, madam, but not for Nature's -playhouse," replied Garrick. "I have more than once been told the story -of soldiers having fled in a panic from the field of battle, but on -finding themselves in a place of safety they returned to the fight and -fought like demons. Was there aught that could be termed demoniacal -in the gentleman's conduct on finding himself face to face with the -enemy--I mean the lady?" - -"Aught demoniacal, do you ask me?" cried Mrs. Thrale. "Oh, sir, have -you not heard the parable of the demon that was cast out of a man, but -finding its homeless condition unsupportable, sought out seven of its -friends and returned with them to its former habitation, so that the -last state of the man was more demoniacal than the first?" - -"I fancy I have heard the parable, madam, but its application----" began -Garrick, when Mrs. - -Darner broke in upon him, crying: - -"Do not ever attempt to point out the aptness of the application of -a parable, Mrs. Thrale. Do not, if you are wise. Would you lead us to -believe that the unhappy wretch found it necessary to post up to town -to obtain his relay of demons for his own discomfiture when so much rank -and fashion was at the Wells, though at the fag end of the season?" - -"Leaving parables aside, demons and all, I can bear witness to -the condition of the man when he entered the Rooms and strode with -determination on his face up to where the Widow Nash was fanning -herself--not without need," said Mrs. Thrale. "It so happened that she -was seated under the gallery at the furthest end of the Rooms, but our -gentleman did not pause on entering to look round for her--I tell you -that it seemed as if he went by instinct straight up to her, and bowing -before her, said: 'Madam, may I beg the honour of a word or two with you -in private?'--I was close by and so were several other equally credible -witnesses, and we heard every word. The widow looked at him coolly----" - -"Yes, you said she had been fanning herself," remarked Mrs. Darner, but -without interrupting the flow of the narrative. - -"There was no need of a fan for her voice, I can assure you, when she -had completed her survey of the dusty gentleman and thought fit to -reply to him," continued Mrs. Thrale. "'I vow, sir,' said she, 'that I -consider this room sufficiently private for anything you have to say -to me.' She had plainly got wind of Mr. Garrick's plot and so was fully -prepared for the worst--though some people might call it the best--that -could happen. 'Madam,' said Mr. Kendal, 'what I have to say is meant for -your ear alone,' and I am bound to admit that he spoke with suavity -and dignity. 'Pray let my friends here be the judges of that,' said the -widow. That was a pretty rebuff for any gentleman with a sense of his -own dignity, you will say; but he did not seem to accept it in such a -spirit. He hesitated, but only for a few moments, then he looked around -him to see who were within hearing, and with hardly a pause, he said in -the clearest of tones, 'I perceive that we are surrounded just now with -some ladies who, two days ago, offered me congratulations upon my good -fortune in winning your promise, madam; and I venture now to come -before you to implore of you to give me permission to assume that their -congratulations were well founded'--those were his words; we did not -think that he had it in him to express himself so well." - -"And what was the lady's reply?" asked Dr. Burney, recalling the -prophecy in which he had indulged when parting from Garrick at his own -door. - -"The lady's reply was disappointing, though dignified," replied Mrs. -Thrale. "'Sir,' she said, 'I have oft heard that the credulity of a man -has no limits, but I have never before had so conspicuous an instance of -the truth of this. Surely the merest schoolboy would have been able to -inform you that you were being made the victim of one of Mr. Garrick's -silly jests--that these ladies here lent themselves to the transaction, -hoping to make a fool of me as well as of you; but I trust that they -are now aware of the fact that I, at least, perceived the truth from the -first, so that whoever has been fooled I am not that person; and so -I have the honour to wish you and them a very good evening.' Then she -treated us to a very elaborate curtsey and stalked away to the door, -leaving us all amazed at her display of dignity--real dignity, not the -stage imitation, Mr. Garrick." - -"You should have been there, if only to receive a lesson, Mr. Garrick," -said Mrs. Damer. - -"I hope those who had the good fortune to be present were taught a -lesson," said another lady in the circle. - -"If you mean me, madam," said Mrs. Thrale, with tactful good humour, -"I frankly allow that I profited greatly by observing the scene. 'Tis -a dangerous game to play--that of trying to show others in a ridiculous -light, and in future I vow that all my attention shall be given to the -duty of avoiding making a fool of myself. Your jest miscarried, Mr. -Garrick; though how that gentleman who fled from the Wells in that -headlong fashion was induced to return, is beyond my knowledge." - -"Psha! madam, the fellow is a coxcomb and not worth discussing," cried -Garrick. "He got no more than his deserts when the lady left him to be -the laughing-stock of the Assembly. I knew that that would be his fate -if he ever succeeded in summing up sufficient courage to face her." - -"But strange to say, we did not laugh at him then," said Mrs. Thrale. -"He seemed to be quite a different man from the one whom we had tried -to fool two days earlier. There was a certain dignity about him that -disarmed us. You must allow, Mr. Garrick, that only the bravest of men -would have had the courage to march up the Assembly Rooms and make his -proposal to the lady in public." - -"That is the courage of the coxcomb who believes himself to be -irresistible to the other sex, madam," said Garrick; "and I affirm that -'twas most reprehensible to refrain from laughing at him." Then, putting -his arm through that of Burney as if to stroll on with him, and so -give the others to understand that he had had enough of Mr. Kendal as a -topic, he whispered: - -"Ha, my friend, did not I prophesy aright what would be the fellow's -fate? I know men, and women, too--ay, in some measure, though they are -sealed books, eh, friend Burney? And you tried to persuade me that she -would not snub him? I knew better--I knew that she--eh, what--what are -they staring at?" - -"They are staring at the appearance of Mr. Kendal with the Widow Nash on -his arm--there they are, David, and you are staring at them too," said -Burney with a smile. - -"Angels and Ministers of Grace! 'Tis a man and his wife we are staring -at! The woman has married him after all!" cried David, his hand dropping -limply from Burney's shoulder. "A man and his wife: I know the look in -their faces!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -|IT was, indeed, the same man who had come to consult Dr. Burney, but -had not been allowed the chance of doing so by Garrick, a fortnight -before--the same man, but with a marked difference, who was now walking -across the pillared room in the Pantheon, with a smiling, well-favoured -lady by his side; and toward the pair the eyes of all the circle whom -Mrs. Thrale had been addressing were directed. - -Mrs. Thrale and her friends were too much amazed to be able to speak, -but the lips of every one of them were holding back some exclamation of -surprise: an acute observer would have been able easily to set down the -various unuttered exclamations of the party, from the simple "Oh, -Lud!" of Mrs. Thrale to the more emphatic "Merciful Powers!" of Mrs. -Cholmondeley, though not a word was spoken between them, while Mr. -Kendal and the lady walked, straight through the room to where they were -standing. - -"Slip behind the pillar: I will cover you, my friend," whispered Dr. -Burney to Garrick. - -But Garrick had no intention of doing anything so ignominious--more -especially as he perceived that Mr. Kendal had caught sight of him; and -it was really Garrick who advanced to meet the couple, with the air of -a host about to welcome two long-expected guests--it was really Garrick -who received them with one of his finest bows, and who--to add to the -amazement of the group behind him--was greeted by Mr. Kendal and the -lady with the friendliest of smiles (the lady was blushing, not Mr. -Garrick). - -And then it was to Dr. Burney the gentleman turned. - -"Dear sir," he cried, "with what words should I approach you? It is to -your counsel and Mr. Garrick's that I owe my happiness." Then he made -his bow to the others of the group. - -"Mrs. Thrale," he said, when he had recovered himself, "we hoped to find -you here with your friends, so that we might lose no moment in offering -you our thanks for the tactful way in which you brought us together. -Only such genius as yours, madam, could have perceived--well, all -that you did perceive. I protest that neither Mrs. Kendal nor myself -apprehended the too flattering truth. But the heart of a woman who has -herself loved--ah, that is the source of such genius as you displayed -with such subtlety. She is mine, madam; we have been married a whole -week, and I, at least, know what a treasure--but I cannot trust myself -to talk of my happiness just now. Perhaps at some future time I shall -be able to tell you coherently how I felt within me that my Diana--Mrs. -Nash, as she was then--did not mean her rebuff as a final dismissal, and -thus I was led to her side--to implore an audience of her, in the course -of which she confessed to me that----" - -But his bride prevented the flow of his eloquence by tapping him under -the chin in exquisite playfulness with her fan, smiling roguishly at him -first, and then looking round the group with an air of chastened triumph -while she said: - -"Foolish man! Prithee remember, Ferdinand, that you are in a public -place, and that the secrets of the confessional are sacred. I protest -that you are exceeding a husband's privilege in revealing aught that I -confessed when taken aback at your sudden appearance before me!" - -"I ask your pardon, my angel," he cried. "I had no right to say even the -little that I have said. I suppose I shall learn discretion in time and -with practice. But when I think of the kindly interest that some of our -friends here showed in bringing us together, I feel that they should be -rewarded by a repetition of the whole story." - -"Nay, nay, sir, you may take my word for it that we look not for such a -reward," cried Garrick. "Such philanthropists as Mrs. Thrale and myself -feel more than rewarded when we succeed in bringing together a lady and -gentleman who were so plainly intended by Providence for each other's -happiness." - -"It was Mr. Garrick who looked with the eyes of Providence into your -case as associated with Mr. Kendal, madam. That is, if Puck may ever be -thought of as assuming the rle of Providence," said Mrs. Thrale. "For -myself, I believe that Puck has more to do with the making of matches -than heaven; and assuredly in this particular case the mischievous fairy -had more than a finger. But however that may be, we can still wish you -every happiness in life, and offer you an apology for----" - -"H'sh!" whispered Garrick, raising a hand. "Rauzzini is beginning to -sing. I am sure, Mrs. Kendal, that you will willingly accept Signor -Rauzzini's song in lieu of Mrs. Thrale's apology, however admirably -worded the latter were sure to be." - -The bride smiled benignly at Mrs. Thrale, and there was more than a -trace of triumph in her smile. - -Dr. Burney smiled also at the adroitness of the actor, who, he could -perceive, had no intention of allowing himself to be incriminated by any -confession, assuming the form of an apology, that Mrs. Thrale might make -in a moment of contrition for having been a partner with him in a piece -of fooling that had had a very different result from the one he (and -she) had looked for. - -Garrick, still holding up a warning finger as if he had at heart the -best interests of the composer as well as the singer of "Waft her, -Angels," prevented another word from being spoken, though more than a -full minute had passed before Rauzzini had breathed the first notes of -the recitativo. - -But incautiously lowering his finger when the handsome Roman had begun, -Mrs. Thrale took advantage of her release from the thraldom imposed upon -her, to say in a low tone, looking toward the gallery in front of which -the singer stood: - -"It is one angel talking to the others! Was there ever so angelic a -man?" - -And little Miss Burney, who had also her eyes fixed upon the singer, -felt that little Mrs. Thrale was not merely an angel, but a goddess. She -expressed her opinion to this effect in her next letter to Mr. Crisp. - -She listened in a dream to the singing that no one could hear and remain -unmoved, even though one had not the advantage of looking at the singer -at the same time. Fanny Burney was too shortsighted to be able to -distinguish one face from another at such a distance; but this made -no difference to her; she had the face of the sweet singer ever before -her--most clearly when she closed her eyes, as she did now, and listened -to him. - -"Waft her, angels, to the skies--Waft her, angels, waft her, angels, -waft her to the skies," rang out his fervent imploration, and she felt -that there were no powers that could withstand the force of such an -appeal. For herself she felt carried away on the wings of song into the -highest heaven. She felt that harps of heaven alone could provide an -adequate accompaniment to such a voice as his; and she gave herself up -to it as unreservedly as a bride gives herself to the arms of her lover. -She had that sensation of a sweet yielding to the divine influence of -the music until she could feel it enfolding her and bearing her into the -infinite azure of a realm more beautiful than any that her dreams had -borne her to in the past. She wanted nothing better than this in any -world. All that she wanted was an assurance that it would continue for -ever and ever.... - -With the cessation of the singing she seemed to awaken from a dream of -divine delight, and in her awaking to retain the last thought that had -been hers--the longing for an assurance that the delight which she was -feeling would endure. She was awake now, and she knew that love had been -all her dream, and that what she longed for was the assurance that -that love would continue. And now she remembered that it was this same -longing that had brought about her resolution that she would never go to -her King as the beggar maid had gone to King Cophetua. There would be -no assurance of the continuing of love between them if she had the -humiliating feeling that he had stooped to raise her to his level. - -That was the thought which took possession of her mind when she had -returned from the sublimities to which she had been borne by her lover's -singing, and in another minute the reaction had come. She had been -soaring high, but now she was conscious of a sinking at heart; for the -whole building was resounding with acclamations of the singer. There did -not seem to be anyone silent, save only herself, throughout the hall. -Everyone seemed calling the name of Rauzzini--all seemed ready to -throw themselves at his feet; and when he stood up to acknowledge their -tribute of enthusiasm to his marvellous powers, there was something of -frenzy in the way his name was flung from hundreds of voices--it was -not enough for the people whom he had stirred to shout his name, they -surrounded him with the banners of a great conqueror--the air was -quivering with the lace and the silk that were being waved on all sides -to do him honour--handkerchiefs, scarves, fans--the air was full of -them. - -And there he stood high above them, smiling calmly and bending his head -gravely to right and left in acknowledgment of all.... - -That was his position before the world. Her heart sank within her as she -asked herself what was hers. How could she ever hope to attain to such a -place as should win from the world such applause as this? How could -she ever be so vain as to think that the giving of a little book to -the world should have an effect worthy of being compared with this -demonstration which was shaking the Pantheon? - -Her heart sank to a deeper depth still when the thunders had passed -away--reluctantly as the reverberations of a great storm--and there was -a buzz of voices all about her--exclamations of delight--whispers of -admiration--ladies with clasped hands, fervent in their words about the -marvellous face of the young Roman--and her father and his friend, Mr. -Fulke Greville, exchanging recollections of the singing of the same air -by other vocalists, and coming gradually to the conclusion that none had -put such feeling into it as had Rauzzini. - -The buzz of voices did not cease when the singer had come down from his -gallery and was greeting some of his friends on the floor of the great -hall. He had trouble in making his way as far as the group which he -meant to reach. The most distinguished ladies of high quality had -pressed round him with uncritical expressions of appreciation of his -singing, and there was no lack of gentlemen of fashion to follow their -example, though wondering greatly that the ladies of quality should -allow themselves to show such transports respecting a man with no trait -of a true-born Englishman about him. Signor Rauzzini might have indulged -in a score of pinches of snuff out of the gold and enamelled boxes that -were thrust forward for his acceptance with the finest artificial grace -of a period when it was not thought effeminate to be graceful over small -things. - -He bowed low to the ladies of quality, and smiled his polite rejection -of the snuff of the gentlemen of fashion. But such convenances made it -impossible for him to keep his eyes upon the group toward which he -was making a necessarily slow way, and he only reached the side of Dr. -Burney to find that Dr. Burney's daughter had disappeared. He had no -chance of seeing how Miss Burney at his approach had slipped behind -a pillar and suffered herself to be conducted thence to a seat by her -cousin Edward: the fact that Edward was learning to be a painter was a -sufficient excuse for his paying an occasional visit to such scenes -of colour as were unfolded before the eyes of a frequenter of the -fashionable Pantheon every night. - -Fanny felt that if Signor Rauzzini had come to her side after passing -through the ranks of lace and velvet and brocade, she would have sunk -through the floor of the hall. But she knew that it was to her side he -was coming, and she took the opportunity of flying when he was compelled -to make a pause in front of the flattery of the Duchess of Ancaster. - -She was painfully shy at all times, but overwhelmingly so at that -moment, though she knew that she was the only woman in the place who -would make the attempt to evade the distinction which threatened her. -How could she remain where she had been with all eyes in the room upon -her? She felt that it would be impossible. - -Her heart was beating quickly as she thought: - -"Not yet--not yet." - -After all there is no more womanly trait than that of fleeing from a -lover; but Fanny Burney was yielding to its impulse without an attempt -to analyse it, and without being consoled by the reflection of the -woman of the younger world, that if it is woman's instinct to fly from a -lover, it is a lover's instinct to pursue. - -She had scarcely finished the cup of ice which her cousin had brought -her, before the man had found her. - -But now the Gabrielli was beginning to sing, and all eyes were directed -upon the Gabrielli, so that no one but Rauzzini saw how Dr. Burney's -over-shy daughter was flushing. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -|THEY spoke in French, with an occasional phrase in Italian when they -found the other tongue lacking in melody or in the exact shade of -meaning that they sought to express. Edward Burney thought that the -moment was one that favoured his ambition to study the pose of Madame -Gabrielli, with a view to starting on a portrait that should make him -famous. He asked Fanny's permission to allow him to take up a place -a few yards beyond the pillar. He promised not to be long absent, and -Fanny had not the heart to detain him. - -"You fled from me--was that kind?" asked Rauzzini when the cousin had -moved away, but was still in view. - -"Ah," said she, "one who has my odious selfconsciousness does not ask -what is kind or unkind, she simply flies." - -"But you knew that I was coming to your side?" said he. - -"I know that you are wise enough to value the criticism of a musician -like my father above the vapid phrases of the people of fashion," -replied Fanny. - -"That is true indeed," said he. "I value a word of praise or blame from -Dr. Burney as precious. But Dr. Burney has a daughter whose words are to -me as precious." - -"She is not here to-night," said Fanny. "My sister Esther, to whom you -refer, is indeed a discriminating critic. She told me how exquisitely -you sang at the concert where you met her--it is scarcely a fortnight -ago." - -"Dr. Burney has more daughters than that one," said he. - -Fanny laughed. - -"He has indeed more daughters than one," she said. "We were a household -of daughters before Esther married and when my brother was in the South -Seas. But only Esther is critical as a musician." - -"In the name of heaven, do you think that it is only possible for me to -value words that refer to my singing?" he asked. "Do you not know that I -would rather listen to your voice than----" - -"Than Madame Gabrielli's?" said Fanny; he had spoken his last sentence -in too loud a tone, even though the Gabrielli's brilliant vocalism -usually admitted of a conversation being carried on with some vehemence -in the great room of the Pantheon without causing remark. - -He smiled at her warning, and it was in a subdued voice that he said: - -"I am tired of hearing the Gabrielli; but what of your voice? How often -have you given me the chance of hearing it? Even now you fled from me as -though I carried the plague about with me! Was that kind or unkind?" - -"You do not entertain the thought that perhaps I have not yet tired -of Madame Gabrielli's vocalism: I knew that she was at the point of -beginning her aria." - -"You would sacrifice me on the altar of your favourite? Well, perhaps -you would be justified in doing so. Hold up your finger now and I shall -be mute as a fish until Gabrielli has had her last shriek. I can still -look at you--it will not spoil your appreciation of the aria if I merely -look at you." - -"I think I would rather that you talked to me than merely looked at me. -I do not invite people to look at me, and happily few people do. I am -not conspicuous. I am the insignificant one. There is Mrs. Thrale, for -instance; she has been several times at our house, and every time she -comes she inquires who is the little one." - -He smiled and held up his finger in imitation of the way she had rebuked -him for talking too loud. - -"H'sh; I am anxious to hear the Signora Gabrielli," he said, and the -express on that he made his face assume at that moment would -have convinced anyone that he was giving all his attention to the -singing--drinking in every note with the earnestness of an enthusiast. -There was a certain boyish exaggeration in his expression that was very -amusing to Fanny, though less observing persons would have been ready -to accept it as evidence of the generous appreciation on the part of one -great singer of the success of another. - -So he remained until the _cavatina_ had come to an end; and then he was -loudest in his cry of "Brava!" - -"It is a treat--a great--a sacred treat," said he, turning to Fanny. "I -do not think I ever heard that song before. Has it a name, I wonder?" - -"If I mistake not it is from an opera in which a certain Roman tenore -made a name for himself last year, in happy conjunction with Madame -Gabrielli," said Fanny. - -"Is it possible? I had not heard of that circumstance," said he, with a -look of the most charming innocence in his large eyes. It was his hands -that were most expressive, however, as he added: - -"But it was last year, you say, mademoiselle? Ah, who is it that -remembers an opera from one year to another? No one, except the -_impresario_ who has lost his good money, or somebody's else's money, -over its production. Enough, the _cantatrice_ has given us of her best, -and is there now any reason why we should remain dumb? The great charm -of the singing of these brilliant artistes of last year's operas is that -when they have sung, they have sung--they leave one nothing to think -about afterward. Is not that so, mademoiselle?" - -"They leave one nothing to think about--except their singing," said -Fanny. "For myself, I am still thinking of 'Waft her, angels,' although -nearly half an hour must have passed since I heard the last notes. And -it seems to me that when half a century will have passed I shall still -be thinking of it." - -He did not offer her the conventional acknowledgement of a bow. He -only looked at her with those large eyes of his; they were capable of -expressing in a single glance all the tenderness of feeling of a poem. - -"I have not sung in vain," he said in a low tone. "My old _maestro_ gave -me the advice one day when I was proving to him my success in reaching -the high note which I had been striving for years to bring into my -compass: 'That is all very well,' he said. 'You have aimed at touching -that rare note, now your aim must be to touch the heart of everyone who -hears you sing.' I sometimes think that he set for me too difficult a -task." - -"Not too difficult--for you," said she. - -"There are dangers," he said thoughtfully. "I have known singers who -tried to reach the hearts of their hearers by tricks--yes, and they -succeeded through these illegitimate means in making themselves popular, -while far better singers who had a scorn of such tricks and gave their -best to all who listened to them, failed to please anyone who had not a -knowledge of the true boundary of music." - -"I have seen these tricksters, too," said Fanny. "I have witnessed their -sentimental grimaces--their head shakings--their appeal to the feelings -with pathetic eyes turned heavenward. They made me ashamed of -them--ashamed of myself for listening to them, though people about me -had been moved to tears. But I think that the people who are easily -moved to tears are those who retain an impression the shortest space of -time." - -"You give me confidence--encouragement," he cried. "I have made up my -mind that if I cannot reach a heart by the straight King's highway, I -will not try to do so by any bypath. Bypaths are, we know, the resorts -of brigands: they may captivate a heart or two, but only to leave them -empty afterwards." - -So they talked together for many minutes. Faney Burney had a sufficient -acquaintance among musicians, vocal as well as instrumental, to have -learned, long ago, that they can easily be prevented from talking on any -other subject than music, and the same reflection that had caused her -to say that "Not yet--not yet," had impelled her to lead Rauzzini in -another direction than that in which he had shown so strong a tendency -to go. He had been trying to make her understand that he had travelled -through the obstructions of the hall not in order that he might obtain -the criticism of so accomplished a _maestro_ as Dr. Burney upon his -singing, but in order that he should have a chance of talking to Dr. -Burney's unaccomplished daughter; he had shown her that his wish was to -converse on the topic of this unaccomplished daughter; but she had no -mind to acquiesce in his aims for the present. She still felt herself to -be the beggar maid, and she would not allow her king to get any nearer -to her. - -It was not until her cousin had returned to where she was seated, that -the young Italian found that he had not made much progress with his -suit. He had intended that this _tte--tte_ with her should make -her aware of how he felt in regard to her, but he had allowed his -opportunity to pass, and in place of talking about her he had been led -to talk of himself. - -That was how he expressed himself to her when he found that their -_tte--tte_ was at an end. - -"How has this come about?" he cried in surprise. "How is it that I have -shown myself to be so vain as to make speeches about my singing when I -meant to talk to you of yourself?" - -"'Twas I who found a more profitable topic for you, _signore mio_," she -replied, feeling her way through the words of his native tongue, for he -had spoken out his surprise in Italian. - -He shook his head and made a gesture with his hands. - -"But it is a mystery!" he said in French. "I had no desire to talk about -myself or my singing. I meant to tell you what was in my mind when I saw -you entering this place with your father. Shall we retrace our steps in -our conversation until I find how it was that I took a wrong turning? -Alas! I fear that it would not be possible!" - -"It would not be possible, indeed," she replied. "Did you not say -something about the bypaths being dangerous with banditti? We kept -our feet upon the King's highway, which is safe. I was swept off my -feet--carried away--away--by your singing of the aria; I had scarce -touched the earth once more when you came to my side, and now we are -parting happily, you to realize your aspirations, I to--to--well, -to retain for ever the memory of your singing--the memory of those -celestial harmonies into the midst of which I was wafted by the angels -of your imploration. That is enough for one evening of my life. Nay, you -must not speak another word lest the charm of all should fade away. I -shall go home to dream of angels." - -"And I shall go to dream of you," he said in a low tone. - -He did not hold her hand so long as Thomas Barlowe had done when parting -from her, but she felt that somehow he had accomplished more by his -reserve than Thomas had achieved by his impetuosity. She hoped that she -might never see Thomas again; but for Signor Rauzzini---- - -They parted. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -|THESE foreigners!" exclaimed young Edward Burney when Rauzzini had left -them, and Fanny was asking her cousin if her father was not looking for -her. "These foreigners! Your father is talking with another of them--an -Italian too, as I live--I have seen him in St. Martin's Street--Signor -Piozzi. But I suppose Uncle Burney likes to keep in touch with them. The -town is swarming with them: they are even to be found about Leicester -Fields. Why do some people fancy that we must have Italians to sing -for us? There are plenty of good singers in England, without a drop of -foreign blood in their veins. A good sea song with a chorus that is easy -to get into the swing of--that's English and honest." - -"Honest down to the hoarsest note," said Fanny. "You and James are at -one in the matter of songs." - -"Cousin Jim hates foreigners, as is quite proper that an officer in a -King's ship should," said Edward stoutly. - -"Not all foreigners," said Fanny smiling. "You forget how kindly he took -to Prince Omai." - -"Oh, a South Sea Islander is different," cried her cousin. "I expect -that the South Seas will soon become as English as ourselves if Captain -Cook goes on discovering islands." - -"Edward," said Fanny, after a pause sufficient to allow of the -introduction of a new topic; "Edward, could you make it convenient to -call at the Orange Coffee House some day soon to inquire if there is -another letter for Mr. Grafton?" - -"I'll not omit it on any account," he replied. "Oh, yes, Mr. Grafton, -I'll collect your correspondence for you, never fear. You have not let -anyone else into the secret, I hope?" - -"No one knows it except Susy and Lottie and Charles and Hetty; but Hetty -only knows that I wrote the book, not that it is to be printed--Charles -is still away from us, or I would not trouble you, Edward." - -"Poor Charlie grew tired of the Orange Coffee House, did he not? He told -me how you made him your messenger at first, disguising him in a cloak -and a gentleman's hat, so that he might not seem quite the boy that he -was. But how the secret has been kept so well is a wonder to me--kept -from the powers that be, I mean--uncle and aunt. I wonder if your mother -never had a suspicion of what was going on, especially as she knew all -about your writing long ago." - -"I think that it was the copying out of the padre's History that saved -me," said Fanny. "Many a page of my novel I wrote when she believed that -I was copying the notes for the History--yes, that, and the letters -which Mr. Crisp insists on my sending him every week. But even with -these excuses I could sometimes not get through more than three or four -pages of my own book during a whole week." - -"How will you look when the secret is let out--it must be let out some -day, you know? If the writing a novel is thought shocking, how will -Uncle Burney receive the news, think you? He has not yet given you leave -to publish it." - -There was a troubled look on poor Fanny's face as she replied, after a -pause: - -"I have often meant to ask father's permission, but I was not able to -summon up courage enough to face him with the whole truth. But it cannot -be delayed much longer. Perhaps I might write him a letter about it some -time when I am at Chessington." - -"I don't envy you the duty, my dear Fanny," said lie. "But I think that -the sooner you get it over the easier you will feel. I suppose that -writing a novel is worse than writing a 'History of Music.' I wonder why -you took so much trouble over the business." - -"I could not help it," she cried. "I have often wondered myself why I -was sitting up in that cold room at the top of the house, writing until -my fingers were benumbed, when I might have been at my comfortable -sewing in front of a fire downstairs; but I could not help it--I could -not help doing it, Eddy." - -Eddy never reached that point in his career as a painter when he found -the artist's impulse to create too great to be resisted. He could not -appreciate her explanation. - -"'I couldn't help it,' that's what we were used to say long ago, when -we got into mischief; I hope that Uncle Burney and Aunt Burney--don't -forget her in this matter--I hope that they will accept your excuse. -Anyhow, you may trust me to act as your 'Mr. Grafton' at the Orange -Coffee House some day this week." - -He caught a glimpse of his uncle, Dr. Burney, sitting with Mr. Greville, -so that he had no trouble in placing Fanny once more in charge of her -father. He could see that the girl was a little downcast, and tried to -cheer her up a bit by whispering in a sly way into her ear: - -"Good-night, Mr. Grafton; my best respects to Mrs. Grafton and the -children--especially Evelina." - -The smile that Fanny gave in acknowledgment of his pleasantry did not -quite carry conviction that his well-meant effort had been successful. -He went away feeling as much sympathy for her as was possible for him -to have in common with the reflection that if she was in a difficult -position, it was wholly one of her own seeking. What could have induced -a girl who had been carefully brought up, and provided with an excellent -stepmother, to write a novel, placing herself thereby on a level -with those dreadful ladies whose productions were prohibited in every -self-respecting household and only read by stealth when obtained at -a cost of twopence--more than the best of them were worth--at the -circulating library? - -Yes, poor Fanny was undoubtedly to be pitied; but she had really only -herself to blame for the trouble that was looming in front of her when -the secret of her authorship should be revealed to her father and her -excellent stepmother--one of the best judges to be found anywhere of all -sorts of needlework--not merely plain sewing and buttonholing, but satin -stitch, herring-boning and running and felling. - -The very next day Cousin Edward called at St. Martin's Street, carrying -with him a small parcel neatly done up in white paper. He was lucky -enough to find Fanny and Susan alone in the work-room; and after asking -mysteriously if there was any chance of his uncle or aunt coming -upon them, and being assured that they were both away for the day, he -carefully locked the door of the room, saying in the whisper of a man of -plots and mysteries: - -"'Tis better to be sure than sorry. In matters of this nature 'tis -impossible to be too cautious." - -He then handed the parcel to Fanny, who gave an exclamation when she saw -that it was addressed: - -"_To Mr. Grafton, at the Orange Coffee House, Orange Street_." - -She opened the parcel, and found it to contain a printer's unbound copy -of a book, the title page of which stared up at her: "_Evelina; or, A -Young Lady's Entrance into the World_," and with it was a letter from -Mr. Lowndes, the bookseller, presenting his compliments to Mr. Grafton, -with the request that Mr. Grafton would read the book and prove it as -soon as possible, returning the list of errata to Mr. Lowndes, so that -the edition might go to press for early publication. - -There it lay on the table in front of her. She read the letter standing, -and remained on her feet, looking down at the unbound book. It had a -queer, half-dressed appearance, lacking covers; and when, after some -minutes of silence, Susy took a step or two closer to it, and, with her -hand on Fanny's arm, looked down on it also, the picture that they made -suggested two sisters looking into the cradle where the first baby of -one of them lay. The expression on Susy's face--a mingling of wonder and -curiosity, with delight not far off--was exactly that which the younger -sister of the picture might be expected to wear, catching a glimpse of -the undressed morsel of humanity in its first cot. - -Susy put her hand down to it, and moved the printed sheets about. She -read the title page down to the last name on the imprint, and then she -flung up her hands, crying: - -"How lovely! how lovely! But it seems wonderful! How did it come into -being? It looks like a real thing now that we see it printed. The copy -that you wrote out in that disguised hand seemed somehow quite different -from this. There is life in this. It feels warm, actually warm, Fanny. -Oh, don't you love it, dear?" - -Fanny, the young mother, shook her head, but with no significance, so -far as Susy could see. - -"'Tis too late now," said Edward gloomily, taking on himself the burden -of interpreting that head-shake. "You are bound down to go on with it -now. You should have thought of all this before." - -"What nonsense is this you are talking?" cried Susy, turning upon -him almost indignantly; for his tone suggested an aspersion upon the -offspring. "What do you say is too late now? Do you mean to say that -there's anything to be ashamed of in this? Cannot you see that she did -not put her name to it? Who is there to know that it came from this -house? The name of Burney nowhere appears on it." - -"That's so much, at any rate," said he. - -"Do you mean to say that you don't think it quite wonderful, Eddy?" -cried Susy. "And getting twenty pounds for it--twenty pounds! And you -say something about it being too late!" - -"I only judged from the way Fanny shook her head," said he. - -"Oh, that was not what Fanny was thinking at all--now was it, Fanny?" -said Susy encouragingly to her sister. - -"I don't know quite what I meant or what I mean even now," replied -Fanny. "It made me feel for the moment somehow as if I had appeared in a -street full of people before I had quite finished dressing!" - -"Ah!" exclaimed Edward. - -"But that is nonsense, dear," said Susy, still consolatory. "The book is -not yourself." - -"Not all myself, but part of myself--that is what I feel," said Fanny. - -"I cannot see that that is so. You are you--you yourself quite apart -from the book. Whatever the book may be, you will still remain Fanny -Burney, the best daughter and the best sister in the world. What does it -matter if people--foolish people who know nothing about it--laugh at it -or say nasty things about it? Do you think that that will make any of us -like you the less?" - -She put her arm about Fanny and kissed her on the cheek, and Fanny's -tears began to fall. The young man standing by felt more uneasy than -he had ever felt in his life. He crossed the room and looked out of the -window, turning his back upon the scene of the sisters. He did not know -what to say to a girl when once she allowed herself to weep. He wished -with all his heart that he had not been dragged into this business. But -Fanny's tears convinced him that his first impression of her reception -of her book was the correct one: she was, like other young mothers he -had heard of, bitterly repentant when it was too late. - -The next sound of which he became aware was of the crinkling of the -stiff paper of the wrapper. One of the girls was folding up the parcel. -He glanced round and saw that it was Fanny herself who was so engaged. -She had dried her tears; the expression on her face was one of -resignation--one of determination to make the best of a bad matter. - -"Ah, that's better," said he, going to her and picking up the string -from the floor. "There's no use crying over spilt milk, is there, Fanny? -We have all kept your secret loyally, and no one need ever know that -you so far forgot yourself. Certainly the revelation will never come -from my lips." - -Fanny burst out laughing. - -"Oh, dear Eddy, you are the best cousin that any poor girl could have," -she said. "Your words have helped me greatly. They have helped to make -me feel what is the aspect of the world in regard to my poor little -story. It has been my constant companion night and day for three years -and more. I worked at it in the cold and I tried how I could improve -pages of it, copying it and recopying it; I practised a duplicity which -was foreign to my nature in writing it--I have deceived my father and my -mother about it--I wasted my eyesight over it--I robbed myself of sleep -so that I might complete it, and when it was completed I lay awake in -anxiety lest no bookseller would look at it, all this trouble I had with -it, so that the world might have of my best, and what is the verdict of -the world after all this? You have pronounced it, dear Eddy--you said -thoughtfully and consolingly--'There's no use crying over spilt milk.' -You are quite right. Not another tear will I shed over this poor little -bantling of mine. 'A Young Lady's Entrance into the World'? Nay, call it -rather a rickety brat that should never have made its entrance into the -world at all." - -"I should be ashamed of myself if I ever spoke of it in such terms," -cried Susy, looking indignantly at her cousin as though he had abused -it in that phrase. "'Rickety brat,' indeed! Oh, I should be ashamed. It -looked so much alive--more alive, I think, than if it was in its covers. -Let us sit down and read it together, Fanny." - -Cousin Edward felt that he was being badly treated between these -sisters. That last remark of Susy was rather more than a suggestion -that he might go as soon as it pleased him. He had not any previous -experience of young women and their offspring. He could not know -that their attitude in such circumstances is one of hostility to the -male--that they resent his appearance as an intrusion. - -"I am glad that you are so pleased," said he, with only a trace of -irritability in his voice. "And I am glad that I have been of any use to -you, Cousin Fanny. After all, the thing is yours, not Susy's." - -"That is true, indeed," cried Fanny. "And it is I who offer you -my gratitude for your help. Believe me, Eddy, I am sensible of the -adroitness you have shown in this matter ever since we let you into our -secret; and if any trouble comes from what we have done you may be quite -sure that I will accept the entire responsibility for it." - -"Oh, so far as that goes, I do not shrink from taking my share," said -he magnanimously. "I do not feel quite without blame--I am a man and -I should have warned you at the outset. But you had nearly finished it -before I heard anything of it--you must not forget that." - -"That is true indeed," said Fanny. "I was self-willed. I wonder was it -vanity that impelled me. Never mind! It cannot be helped now. It may -never be heard of again." - -"There's always that to remember," said he, with the eagerness of a -drowning man grasping at a straw. - -"And I believe that the chances are greatly in favour of that hope being -realized. Thank you again for your encouragement, dear Eddy," said she. - -"Oh, that's nothing--nothing worth talking about," said he, picking up -his gloves. "You can command me always, Cousin Fanny. And you have seen -that I can keep a secret. Now mind you don't leave that lying about"--he -pointed to the parcel, the string of which Susy was knotting--"and, be -advised by me, turn the key in the lock when you are working at it." - -"Yes," said Susy, "we'll be sure to do our best to prevent anyone from -suspecting that we have a secret, by locking ourselves in." - -"Caution--nothing like caution," said he in a whisper, unfastening the -door and putting his head out to glance to right and left of the short -corridor. He held up his finger. "All safe so far," he whispered; "no -one is in sight." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -|THE moment he disappeared, Susy slipped the knot which she had just -made on the parcel and flung the paper away. - -"Now we can settle down to it properly, Fanny," she cried, catching -up the bundle of unstitched sheets and throwing herself back upon the -little sofa. "Come beside me, dear, and we shall go through every word -together. Never mind what Eddy said; I think it looks quite lovely, and -how easily it reads--just like poetry--'Evelina'!--how did you think of -that sweet name?--'_or, A Young Lady's Entrance into the World_.' Not -a mistake so far. The printers must surely be careful men! And now that -you come to think of it, this is really the entrance of the Young Lady -into the world. Here she is, smiling, but a little shy--just like her -mamma--your Evelina takes after you, dear--now, confess that there is -something agreeably shy in the italics printing of that line beginning -with '_A Young Lady's Entrance_,' Fanny; it may be wrong to write a -novel, but don't you think that this is worth it? Edward is a goose -to talk as he did about crying over spilt milk. I wonder that you had -patience to listen to him." - -"Eddy is a dear boy, and he only said what he knew nearly everybody else -would be disposed to say about this business. I started the story, as -you know, half in fun--by way of exercising my hand--but then it got -hold of me, and it became deadly earnest, and now--oh, Susy, what I feel -now about it is just what I said to Edward: it seems as if it were the -best part of myself that I am giving to the world. I wonder if it is -right for anyone who has written a book, if it be only a novel, to look -upon it in that light." - -"Why should it not be right? Didn't you put all your thoughts into it, -and are not one's thoughts part of oneself?" said Susy. "And although so -many people look down upon novels--all the novels that have been written -since Mr. Richardson died--still--oh, did not Dr. Johnson once write -a novel? Yes, 'Rasselas' was what he called it. I tried to read it -but----" - -"H'sh, Susy. Dr. Johnson might write anything that he pleased. Though -Dr. Johnson wrote a novel, that should be no excuse for such as I having -the audacity to do the like." - -"I suppose that's what some people will say. But I can't see that if a -good man does an evil thing, it becomes a good thing simply because he -does it." - -"Stop, Susy: I remember that he confessed to someone, who told it to Mr. -Crisp, that he had written 'Rasselas' in order to get money enough to -pay for his mother's funeral." - -"Oh, in that case--might he not have written something a good deal -better, Fanny? Oh, I see that you are stricken with horror at my -thinking anything that came from Dr. Johnson to be dull. I daresay I -began reading it too soon: I should have waited until I had learned that -if a great man writes a book it is a great book, but that if a simple -girl writes a novel--well, there's no use crying over spilt milk. Now -that's the last word that I have to say, for I mean to read every word -that's printed here--here--here!" She brought down her open hand on the -topmost sheets of "Evelina" in three crescendo slaps, and then tucked -her feet under her and buried herself in the book. - -Fanny sat laughing beside her; and when Susy paid no attention to her -laughter, she continued sitting there in silence, while Susy read page -after page. - -Several minutes had passed before the authoress asked: - -"How does the thing read, dear?" - -Susy gave a start at the sound of her voice and looked around her as if -she had just been awakened. This should have been enough for Fanny. She -should not have repeated her question: it was already answered. - -"How does the thing read, Susy?" - -"How does it read?" cried Susy. "Oh, Fanny, it reads exactly like a -book--exactly. There is no difference between this and a real book. Oh, -'tis a thousand times nicer to read in print than it was as you wrote -it. It is so good, too!--the best story I ever read! I can't understand -how you ever came to write it. You who have seen nothing of life--how -did such a story ever come to you?" - -"I wish I knew," replied Fanny. "And do you think that anyone else will -read it now that it is printed?" she asked (she was rapidly acquiring -the most prominent traits of the complete novel writer). - -"Anyone else? Nay, everyone--everyone will read it, and everyone will -love it. How could anyone help--even daddy and mamma? Now please don't -interrupt me again." - -Down went Susy's face once more among the printed sheets, and Fanny -watched her with delight. She had been quite ready a short time before -to accept the verdict of Cousin Edward as equivalent to that of the -public upon her book; and now she was prepared to accept Susy as the -representative of all readers of taste and discrimination. - -"Edward--psha! What could he know about it?" she was ready to exclaim: -every moment was bringing her nearer to the complete novelist. - -"Surely," she thought, "there can be no dearer pleasure in life than to -watch the effect of one's own book upon an appreciative reader!" - -(The appreciative reader is always the one who is favourably impressed; -the other sort knows nothing about what constitutes an interesting -book.) - -It was the first draught of which she had ever partaken of this -particular cup of happiness, and it was a bombard. She was draining it -to the very dregs: it was making her intoxicated, even though it was -only offered to her by her younger sister, who had never read half a -dozen novels in all her life, and these surreptitiously. She could know -by the varying changes in expression on Susy's face what place she had -come to in the book: the turning over of the pages was no guide to her, -for she had no idea of the quantity of her writing the printers had -put into a page, but she had no trouble in finding Susy's place, so -exquisitely reflective was the girl's face of the incidents among which -she was wandering. Surely little Susy had always been her favourite -sister (she was smiling at one of the drolleries of characterization -upon which she had come); oh, there could be no doubt that she had -never loved any of her sisters as she loved Susy (Susy's eyes were -now becoming watery, and Fanny knew that she had-reached the first of -Evelina's troubles). - -It was the happiest hour of Fanny's life, and she gave herself up to -it. She did not feel any irresistible desire to judge for herself if the -opinion expressed by Susy respecting the story was correct or otherwise. -She had no impulse to see how her ideas "looked in print." She was -content to observe the impression they were making upon her first lay -reader. She had a vague suspicion that her own pleasure in reading -the book would be infinitely less than the pleasure she derived from -following the course of the story in her sister's face. - -Half an hour had actually passed before Susy seemed to awaken to the -realities of life. She jumped up from the sofa with an exclamation of -surprise, and then glanced down at Fanny with an inquiring look on her -face--a puzzled look that gave the seal to Fanny's happiness. - -"You are wondering how I come to be here, Susy," said she smiling. "You -are wondering how I come to be mixed up with the Branghtons and -the Mervains and the rest of them. You would make me out to be an -enchantress carrying you into the midst of a strange society; and I -don't want any more delightful compliments, dear." - -"Oh, Fanny, 'tis so wonderful--so----" - -"I don't want to hear anything about it beyond what you have already -told me, my dear Susy. I watched your face and it told me all. Give me -a kiss, Susy. You have given me a sensation of pleasure such as I never -knew before, and such as, I fear, I shall never know again." - -In an instant the two girls were in each other's arms, mingling their -tears and then their laughter, but exchanging no word until they had -exhausted every other means of expressing what they felt. - -It was Susy who spoke first. - -"Take it away, Fanny," she said. "Take the book away, for I know that if -I read any more of it I shall betray your secret to all the house. They -will read it on my face every time I look at you." - -"I think that the hour has come for me to relieve you of the precious -book," said Fanny. "There is the letter from Mr. Lowndes asking me to -make out the list of errata as quickly as possible, and I do believe -that I shall have to read the book before I can oblige him." - -"'Twas thoughtless for me to jump into the middle as I did, when you had -to read it," cried Susy. "But there is really no mistake on any page, so -far as I could see." - -"Unless the whole is a mistake," said Fanny. "But I will not suggest that -now, having seen your face while you were devouring it. Dear Susy, if I -find many such readers I shall be happy." - -She gathered together the loose sheets and carried them off to the -little room at the top of the house where it was understood she wrote -her long weekly letter to Mr. Crisp, who had made himself a hermit -at Chessington, but who, like some other hermits, looked forward -with impatience to the delightful glimpses of the world which he had -forsaken, afforded to him on every page written by her. - -Susy did not see her again until dinner-time, and by that time the -younger girl felt that she had herself under such complete control -that she could preserve inviolate the secret of the authorship until it -should cease to be a secret. The result of her rigid control of herself -was that her brother James said to her when they were having tea in the -drawing-room: - -"What was the matter with you at dinner, Sue? You looked as if you were -aware that something had happened and you were fearful lest it might be -found out. Have you broken a china ornament, or has the cat been turning -over the leaves of the 'History of Music' with her claws, and left her -signature on the morocco of the cover?" - -"What nonsense!" cried Susan. "Nothing has happened. What was there to -happen, prithee tell me?" - -"Ah, that is beyond my power," he replied. "I suppose you girls will -have your secrets--ay, ay; until some day you reveal them to another -girl with the strictest of cautions never to let the matter go beyond -her--and so forth--and so forth. Never mind, I'll not be the one to -tempt you to blab. I never yet had a secret told to me that was worth -wasting words over." - -"If I had a secret of importance I think that you would be a safe person -to tell it to," said Susy. - -"You are right there," he assented with a nautical wink. "You could find -in me the safest depository you could wish for; you might safely depend -upon my forgetting all about it within the hour." - -He did not trouble her any further, but she felt somewhat humiliated -to think that she had had so little control of herself as to cause her -brother's suspicions to be aroused. She thought that it would only be a -matter of minutes when her father or her stepmother would approach her -with further questions. Happily, however, it seemed that James was the -keenest observer in the household, for no one put a question to her -respecting her tell-tale face. - -Still she was glad when she found herself safely and snugly in bed and -so in a position to whisper across the room to her sister Charlotte -the news that Fanny's novel had been printed and that a copy was safely -locked up in Fanny's desk, and that it looked lovely in its new form. - -Charlotte was greatly excited, but thought that Fanny might have told -her the news before dinner. - -"Poor Fanny! she will have to tell the Padre to-morrow and ask his leave -to--to do what she has already done without it. Poor Fanny!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -|A FEW days later Dr. Burney was at the point of setting out for -Chessington to share Mr. Crisp's hermitage until the end of the week. He -had already said good-bye to the household; but Fanny accompanied him to -the door. It was her last chance, she knew. She had long ago made up her -mind that one of her secrets must be told to him, and she had more than -once, since the printed sheets had been brought to her, tried to -screw up her courage to the point of telling him, but she had not yet -succeeded. And now he was going to Chessington for four days, and in -the meantime the book should be returned to the printer. It was the last -chance she would have of discharging the duty which was incumbent on -her. She had been hovering around him in the hall, shaking out his -gloves for him, polishing the gold knob of his cane, picking a scrap of -dust from the collar of his travelling-cloak. In another minute he would -be gone--her opportunity would be gone. - -And then came the relieving thought of further procrastination: - -"I shall write to him at Chessington and confess all." - -It seemed as though she had uttered her thought aloud, for he turned to -her with his hand on the latch of the hall door, saying: - -"You will write to Chessington to-morrow or the day after, my dear. It -is no trouble to you to write. You enjoy it, do you not?" - -"Oh, it is my chief enjoyment. That is why I have been practising it -so much, just as the others have been practising their music. I have no -music in my soul, so I--I have been writing. Of course, it is not to be -expected that I could do more than write some nonsense--my equivalent to -the strumming of the scales." - -"It pleases me greatly to hear that," said he. "But you do yourself an -injustice; Mr. Crisp never ceases to praise your letters." - -"He is praising his own pupil then," said she, "for 'twas he who first -taught me how to write, and now I have been putting together some -imaginary letters, and I thought that if he could see them printed in -front of him he would be amused." - -"Imaginary letters? Why not continue your real ones, my dear? It would -cost a great deal to have your imaginary ones printed." - -"My dear father," she cried, "you surely do not think that I would ask -you for money to pay for my whim? But if I could prevail on someone--a -bookseller--to print what I write, I hope you will consent to my doing -so--not putting my name to the thing, of course?" - -"And does my Fanny believe that 'tis all so easy to persuade a -bookseller to pay her printer's bill?" he said, pinching her ear. -"Booksellers are shrewd men of business." - -"But even men of business have their weak moments," said she. "And -so if--if--you would not think it too bold of me to let James take my -parcel to a bookseller? You would not forbid me to try to realize my -ambition?" - -"You may be sure that the one to frustrate your aims will not be your -father," said he, smiling shrewdly. "I will consent if--ah, there is -the fatal if--if your bookseller consents. Now goodbye, my dear child. -I will take your love to your Daddy Crisp, and tell him to await a real -letter from you--not an imaginary one." - -She stood on tiptoe to kiss him--but even then he had to stoop before -his lips were on her forehead. - -He was gone in another moment. She stood at the inner side of the closed -door and listened to the rattling of the wheels of the chaise over the -cobble-stones. - -So the ordeal that she dreaded had been faced, and how simple a thing it -had turned out after all! Her father had treated the idea which she -had submitted to him as if it were nothing beyond the thought of a -simpleton--a foolish, simple girl who knew nothing of the world of -business and booksellers, and who fancied that a bookseller would print -everything that was sent to him. - -He had delivered that contingent "if" with the shake of the head and the -shrewd smile of one who is acquainted with the seamy side of -business, in the presence of a child who fancies that printing follows -automatically upon the writing of a book and that there are thousands -of buyers eagerly awaiting the chance of securing everything that passes -through a printing-press. She had perceived just what was in his mind; -and his consent, followed by that contingent "if," to her publishing -what she had written, was given to her with the same freedom that would -have accompanied his permission to appropriate all the gold used in -paving the streets of the City. She could see from the way he smiled -that he felt that she knew as little about the conditions under which -books are printed as a child does about the paving of the streets of the -City. - -She knew that he would never again refer to the subject of those -imaginary letters of hers--he would be too considerate of her feelings -to do so; he would have no desire to humiliate her. He would not even -rally her in a playful way about her literary work, asking her how the -printing was progressing, and if she had made up her mind to start a -coach as grand as that magnificent piece of carved and gilded furniture -which Sir Joshua had just had built for himself--oh, no: her father -had always respected her sensibility. Years ago, when her brothers and -sisters were making their light jests upon her backwardness, he had -stopped them and said that he had no fears for the future of Fanny; and -she was certain that in referring to her, as he so frequently did, as -"poor Fanny," he meant nothing but kindness to her. To be sure, at -first it grated upon her sensitiveness to be referred to in that kindly -pitying way, but she did not resent it--indeed, she usually thought of -herself as "poor Fanny." In a household where proficiency in music was -the standard from which every member was judged, it was inevitable that -her incompetence should be impressed upon her; but no one was hard upon -her--the kindly "poor Fanny" of her father represented the attitude -of the household toward her, even when she had confided to some of the -members the fact that she was writing a novel. They had been startled; -but, then, a novel was not a musical composition, and such an -achievement could not be received with the warmth that Esther's playing -received. It was really not until the printed sheets of the book lay -before Susy that she felt that Fanny had, in one leap, brought herself -well-nigh to the level of Esther; and by the time Susy had read the -story to the end she had made up her mind that if it might be possible -to compare the interest of a literary work with that of the playing of -a piece of music, Fanny's work could claim precedence over the best that -Esther had done--she had confessed as much to Fanny in secret, and Fanny -had called her a foolish child. - -Fanny had seated herself in the parlour opening off the little hall, on -the departure of her father, and her memory took her back to the days -she had passed in the house at Poland Street, when she had written her -story of Caroline Evelyn, and had been induced by her stepmother to burn -it, with sundry dramas and literary moralizings after the manner of the -_Tatler_--all the work of her early youth. She recalled her resolution -never again to engage in any such unprofitable practices as were -represented by the smoke which was ascending from the funeral pyre of -her "Caroline Evelyn" and the rest. - -How long had she kept to her resolution? She could not remember. She -could not recall having any sense of guilt when she had begun her -"Evelina"--it seemed to have sprung from the ashes of "Caroline -Evelyn"--nor could she recollect what had been on her mind when she was -spending those long chilly hours of her restricted leisure toiling over -the book. All that she could remember now was her feeling that it had -to be written--that it seemed as if someone in authority had laid on her -the injunction to write it, and she had no choice but to obey. - -Well, she had obeyed--the book had been written and printed and she -meant to send the corrected sheets back to Mr. Lowndes in the course of -the day. Her father's consent to its publication had been obtained and -it would be advertised for sale within some months, and then---- - -Her imagination was not equal to the pursuit of the question of its -future. Sometimes she felt that she never wished to hear of the book -again. She could almost hope that sending the sheets back to Mr. Lowndes -would be the same as dropping them, with a heavy stone in the parcel, -into the deep sea. - -But that was when the trouble of getting her father's permission -to publish it was looming before her. Now that this cloud had been -dispelled she felt less gloomy. She had a roseate dream of hearing -people talk about the book and even wishing to know the name of the -author. She had a dream of Fame herself carrying her away to sublime -heights--to such heights as she had been borne by the singing of "Waft -her, Angels." Her dream was of sitting on these heights of Fame by the -side of the singer--on the same level--not inferior in the eyes of the -world--not as the beggar maid uplifted in her rags to the side of the -King. - -That had been her dream when listening to the singing, and it returned -to her now, as she sat alone in the little parlour, having just taken -the last step that was necessary before giving to the world the book -which was to do so much for her. Her visions of success showed her no -more entrancing a prospect than that of being by his side with her fame -as a dowry worthy of his acceptance at her hands; so that people might -not say that he had chosen unworthily--he, who had all the world to -choose from. - -And quite naturally there came to her in due sequence the marvellous -thought that he had already chosen her out of all the world--he -had chosen her, believing her to be the dowerless daughter of a -music-teacher--the one uninteresting member of a popular family! - -This was the most delightful thought of the whole train that came -to her. It was worth cherishing above all the rest--close to her -heart--close to her heart. She hugged that thought so close to her that -it became warm with the warmth of her heart. Even though her book should -never be heard of again, even though the world might treat it with -contempt, she would still be consoled by the reflection that he had -chosen her. - -***** - -"Why on earth should you be sitting here in the cold, Fanny?" came the -voice from the opened door--the voice of firm domestic virtue. - -"Cold? cold? Surely 'Tis not cold, mamma," she said. - -"Not so very cold; but when there is a fire in the work-room it should -not be wasted," said Mrs. Burney. "But to say the truth you do not look -as if you were cold; your face is quite flushed, child. I hope you do -not feel that you are on the brink of a sickness, my dear." - -"Dear mamma, I never felt stronger in my life," cried Fanny with a -laugh. - -"I am glad to hear that. I was saying to Lottie just now that for some -days past you have had alternately a worried look and the look of one -whose brain is over-excited. Is anything the matter, my child?" - -"Nothing--nothing--indeed nothing! I never felt more at ease in all my -life." - -"Well, well, a little exercise will do you no harm, I am sure; so put on -your hat and accompany me to the fishmonger's. He has not been treating -us at all fairly of late. It is not that I mind the remark made quite -respectfully by James at dinner yesterday--it would be ridiculous to -expect to find fish as fresh in the centre of London as he and his -shipmates were accustomed to in the middle of the Pacific Ocean; but it -would not be unreasonable for us to look for turbot with less of a taint -than that we had yesterday. You will hear the man excuse himself -by asserting that I chose the fish at his stall; but my answer to -that--well, come with me and you shall hear what is my answer." - -Fanny went with her and heard. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -|THE faithful Cousin Edward had carried the sheets of "Evelina" to Mr. -Lowndes's shop, with her list of errata, sisters Lottie and Susy -giving him ample instructions as to the disguise he should assume in -discharging that duty; it would be terrible, they thought, if the secret -which they had so carefully guarded for so long should be revealed just -when it was most important that it should be kept. Their imagination -was keen enough to suggest to them the possibility of good Mr. -Lowdnes setting a watch upon the people entering his shop, and giving -instructions that the bearer of the parcel of "Evelina" should be -detained and brought into his presence to be questioned. - -They advised that Edward should muffle up his face well before going -into the shop, and then lay down his parcel and fly like the wind--that -would be the best way of defeating the curiosity of the bookseller. - -But Edward was of the opinion that such a course of action might -possibly only stimulate the man's curiosity as well as that of the -people in the street, and the cry of "Stop thief!" might bring his -frantic flight to a standstill. He thought that the most artful course -to adopt would be to hang around the shop until he found that several -customers were within; then he would enter quite casually and wait until -Mr. Lowndes had served one customer and was about to attend to another. -If the parcel were thrust into his hands during this interval, he, -Edward, would have a good chance of getting safely away before Mr. -Lowndes should have time to examine its contents. - -They were rather struck with his idea, and he got permission to put it -into practice; but in any case he must take the greatest care of the -parcel; valuable parcels were snatched out of people's hands every day. - -He smiled. - -In another hour he was back at the house in St. Martin's Street to -report to them the safe delivery of the precious parcel. After all, he -had had nothing more exciting to do than to place it on a counter--the -elderly gentleman with a pen behind his ear had not even taken the -trouble to rise from his stool to receive it. - -"Parcel for Mr. Lowndes? All right. Leave it there"--those were the -exact words with which the parcel was received, Edward reported--the -clerk was buried in his ledger before he had left the shop. - -The girls were not a little disappointed at this very tame conclusion of -what they expected would have been an exciting episode; and to say the -truth, their chagrin was shared by Cousin Edward. - -He had looked for his resources of artfulness to be drawn on in the -transaction--perhaps even his physical qualifications for the defence of -the sacred secret as well. He felt as a strong man might feel on going -forth to meet a giant, to find himself confronted by a dwarf. The -mission was unworthy of his powers. Fanny's thanks heartily given to -him, with the repeated assurance that, but for him, the affair could -never have been carried out, scarcely compensated him for the tameness -of the affair. - -For the next month or two it was a busy household in St. Martin's -Street. Lieutenant Burney was joining his ship for another long voyage, -and he had to be provided with a fresh outfit. The stitching that went -on in the work-room surpassed even that maintained during the months -preceding Esther's marriage; but the labour was lightened upon more -than one occasion by the appearance of Mr. Garrick. Mr. Garrick had the -freedom of the house in St. Martin's Street, as he had had that of the -Poland Street domicile, where he had so often spent hours amusing the -children with his inimitable drolleries. - -But Mrs. Burney thought he went a little too far in taking off their -friends, and even their own father, though his malicious touches were as -light as the pinches of Puck. He had been paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs. -Kendal, and he convulsed even Mrs. Burney by his acting of the scene of -his reception by them, the lady much more coy than she had ever been at -the Wells, and the gentleman overflowing in his attentions to her; but -both of them esteeming him as their benefactor. - -And they were so well satisfied with the honourable estate to which he -had called them, that they appeared to be spending all their time -trying to bring about matches among their acquaintance. No matter how -unsuitable some of the projected unions seemed, no matter how unlikely -some of the people were to do credit to their discrimination, they -seemed determined that none should escape "the blissful bondage"--that -was Mr. Kendal's neat phrase. Mr. Garrick repeated it with a smile that -made his audience fancy that Mr. Kendal was before them. - -"'The blissful bondage--that's what I term it, sir,'" said Mr. Kendal, -through Mr. Garrick. "'But the worst of the matter is, Mr. Garrick, -that we have nearly exhausted our own circle of friends'--'I can easily -believe that, sir,' interposed Mr. Garrick--' and so we feel it our duty -to fall back upon you.' 'Lud, sir,' cried Mr. Garrick, jumping a step or -two back as if to avoid a heavy impact--'Lud, sir! a little man like me! -I should be crushed as flat as a black beetle.' 'Nay, sir, I mean that -we are compelled to ask you for a list of a few of your friends who, -you think, should be brought together--half a dozen of each sex would be -sufficient to begin with.'" - -"Of course I demurred," said Garrick, telling his story, "but before -'the blissful bondage' had been repeated more than a score of times I -began to think of all against whom I bore a grudge--here was clearly the -means of getting level with them; the only trouble with me was that -I found myself confounding the people who bore me a grudge with those -against whom I bore a grudge--the former are plentiful, the latter very -meagre in number. With the exception of a few very dear animosities -which I was hoarding up to make old age endurable, I have killed off all -my enemies, and was forced, like Mr. Kendal, to fall back on my friends; -but even among these I could find few that I could honestly say -were deserving of such a fate as I was asked to nominate them for. I -ventured, however, to mention the name of Lieutenant Burney, of His -Majesty's Fleet, coupling it with--I could not at first think of an -appropriate partner for James, but at last I hit upon exactly the right -lady." - -"What! a splice before I set sail next week?" cried Jim. "That's good -news, sir. And the lady's name, if you please, and her address. Give me -my hat, Susy; there is no time to be lost. A splice in a trice. Come, -Mr. Garrick, her name? Cannot you see that I am hanging in stays until -you tell me who she is?" - -"She is a very pleasant lady, sir. I can assure you of that," said -Garrick. "Not too tall even with her hair built _ la mode_; a pleasant -smile, and a happy way of conversing. In short, Lieutenant Burney, I can -strongly recommend the lady, for I have known her for the past twenty -years and more, and from the first she was a staid, sensible person--the -very partner for a sailor, sir, being so contrary to him in every -point." - -"Hark'ee, Mr. Garrick; though I don't quite see myself in tow of such a -state barge, I'll trouble you to relieve my suspense by telling me her -name." - -"I have more than once thought when I was young that she would make me -an excellent wife," said Garrick; "but I soon perceived that I was not -good enough for her. She has always been an exemplary sister, and I saw -that, try as I might, I could never become her equal in that respect; -and for married happiness, my boy, there is nothing like----" - -"Her name--her name?" shrieked the girls. - -The actor looked at them with pained surprise on every feature. - -"Her name?" he said. "Surely I have described her very badly if you have -not recognized the portrait. But, for that matter, I have often felt how -inadequate are words to describe character combined with grace--a -nature inclined to seriousness in conjunction with a desire to -attract--loftiness of purpose linked with a certain daintiness----" - -He made a few gestures with his hands, keeping his elbows close to his -side, and then imitated the spreading of a capacious skirt preparatory -to sinking in a curtsey, and in a moment there was a cry from every part -of the room of "Miss Reynolds--Miss Reynolds!" - -"And who has a word to say against Miss Reynolds?" cried the actor. - -"No one--no one," said Fanny. "Character combined with grace--Miss -Reynolds linked with Lieutenant Burney." - -"She would make a fine sheet anchor for an Admiral of the Blue," laughed -Jim. "And with your permission, sir, I will postpone my offer until I -have attained that rank." - -"I have advised Mr. Kendal to hurry things on," said Garrick gravely. -"For if you have time to spare before making up your mind, the lady -cannot reasonably be thought equally fortunate. 'Lieutenant Burney, your -attitude is not complimentary to the blissful bondage'"--once more it -was Mr. Kendal who was in the room. - -"Call the roll," said Jim. "Who comes next on your list, Mr. Garrick?" - -"Well, I was thinking of Dr. Johnson with Mrs. Abington," said Garrick; -"but perhaps you may quibble even at that." - -The room rang with laughter, for everyone had seen the beautiful actress -whose lead in dress was followed by all the ladies in the fashionable -world who could afford to do so, and a greater number who could not; and -the worsted hose and scorched wig, two sizes too small, of Dr. Johnson -had been gazed at with awe by the Burney family when he visited the -house in St. Martin's Street. - -"Let the banns be published without delay," cried Jim. "Next pair, -please." - -"Well, I was thinking of Signor Rauzzini and Mrs. Montagu," said -Garrick, "but perhaps that would not be approved of by you any more than -the others." - -"Nay, Mr. Garrick, I will not have our friends made any longer the -subject of your fooling," said Mrs. Burney. - -Garrick and Jim had the laugh between them, but it seemed that they -alone saw the jest of coupling the lively Roman with the mature leader -of the bluestockings: the girls bent silently over their work. - -"Madam," said Garrick apologetically, "I ask your pardon for my -imprudence. May I ask which name I am to withdraw? Was my offence the -introduction of the lady's name or the gentleman's? Oh, I can guess. -Those rosy-tinted faces before me--I vow that you will find yourself -going to sea with a chestful of pink shirts, Lieutenant--those sweet -blushing faces reveal the secret more eloquently than any words could -do." - -Undoubtedly the three girls were blushing very prettily; but at the -mention of the word "secret" two of them gave a little start, but -without looking up. - -"The secret--oh, I have been feeling for some time that I was well to -the leeward of a secret," cried Jim, "and I'll not start tack or sheet -until I learn what it is." - -"What, sir; you a sailor and not able to penetrate the secret of a -pretty girl's blushes!" cried Garrick. - -The brother looked at each of his sisters in turn. They continued -stitching away demurely at his shirts. - -"Helm's a-lee," he said. "Ready about, and off we go on another tack, -for hang me if I see anything of guilt on their faces, bless 'em! Come, -Mr. Garrick, you shall interpret them for me. Let me into the secret -which you say you have read as if it was a book." - -Susy gave a sharp cry. - -"The needle!" she said. "That is the third time it has pricked me since -morning." - -"Pay no attention to her, sir," cried Garrick. "It was a feint on her -part to put us off the scent of the secret." - -"In heaven's name, then, let us have it," cried Jim. - -"If you will have it, here it is," said Garrick. "Your three sisters, -Mr. Burney, are contemplating applying to Mrs. Montagu to be admitted to -the freedom and the livery of the Society of Bluestockings. That is why -they thought it akin to sacrilege for me to introduce the lady's name -into a jest. Their blush was but a reflex of their guilty intention." - -"Indeed, Mr. Garrick, you go too far sometimes," said Mrs. Burney. "Mrs. -Montagu is a worthy lady, and our girls respect her too highly to fancy -that they have any qualification to be received into her literary set." - -"Faith, Madam, I know my duty too well, I hope, to accuse any of the -Miss Burneys of possessing literary qualities," said Garrick. "But what -I do say is that if such qualities as they possess were to be introduced -into Mrs. Montagu's set, it would quickly become the most popular -drawing-room in town. The idea of thinking that any young woman would go -to the trouble of writing a book when she can reach the heart of mankind -so much more easily by blushing over the breast of a shirt! Continue -stitching and doing your own blushing, dear children, and you will never -give anyone cause to blush for you." - -He bowed elaborately to each of them in turn and afterward to Mrs. -Burney, and made a most effective exit. He always knew when he should -go, and never failed to leave a few fragrant phrases behind him, as -though he had dropped a bunch of roses for the girls to cherish. - -"Where should we be without Mr. Garrick?" said James, when he had seen -the actor to the door and returned to the work-room. - -"If only he would not go too far in his jesting," remarked Mrs. Burney, -shaking her head. "Mr. Garrick sometimes forgets himself." - -"That is how it comes that he is the greatest actor in the world," said -James. "It is only when a man has learned to forget himself completely -that he causes everyone else to remember him. Now there's the text for a -homily that you can write to your Daddy Crisp, Fanny." - -"I'll note it, Jim, and if Mr. Crisp breaks off correspondence with me -you shall bear the blame," said Fanny. - -"Mercy on us!" whispered Susy when she was alone with her sister a -little later. "I never got such a fright as when Mr. Garrick pretended -to read your secret. Thank goodness! he failed to get the least inkling -of it." - -"Thank goodness, indeed!" whispered Fanny. But she was thinking of quite -a different secret when she spoke. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -|HE was beside her before she was aware of it, in the great music-room -at Lady Hales's house. She had not seen him approach her--she could -not have done so without turning round, for he had approached her from -behind, and slipped into the chair that Esther had vacated in order to -play to the company. Esther's husband, who had been in the seat beyond -her, had been led away some time earlier by Mr. Linley's clever son in -order that he might give an opinion respecting one of the songs in a -piece named _The Duenna_, which was about to be produced at Drury Lane. - -He was beside her and whispering in her ear, though she had not even -known that he was to be present. - -Of course he went through the pantomimic form of inquiring how it was -that she was alone--this was, she knew, for the benefit of anyone who -might be watching them and suspect an assignation. The idea of anyone -seriously fancying that Dr. Burney's daughter would have an assignation -with Signor Rauzzini in such a place and in the midst of such a company! -But Signor Rauzzini came from a land of intrigue, and his experience of -England led him to believe that he had come to another; and so he made -those gestures of inquiry, and she gave him a few words of explanation, -so that no one might suspect! But, for that matter, their chairs were -in the least conspicuous place in the room, and the shadow of the heavy -hangings of a window fell half across them both. - -"And we have not met for months," said he in French. - -"Nay, have you forgotten our evening at the Pantheon?" she asked. - -"Forgotten it? But that is months ago--ages. And it was all -unfinished--broken off when at its best--mutilated. That hour we had! -Oh, was it a melody suddenly interrupted when it was approaching its -best? Was it a poem snatched away by some ruthless hand just when we had -begun a deathless line?" - -"What I remember best is your singing of 'Waft her.' I am not quite sure -that I have yet returned to the earth from those regions whither I felt -myself wafted. Are you conscious of having any part in _Dido_ into which -you can throw yourself with the same spirit?" - -"_Dido!_ pah! _Dido_ is a paltry playhouse--Maestro Handel's work is a -Sistine Chapel--ah, more--more--a noble cathedral. When other composers -built their garden houses in imitation of Greek temples, he -spent all his time raising cathedrals. His genius is his -own--mighty--overpowering! Every time I approach the great _maestro_ I -feel that I should put off my shoes from my feet. It is holy ground--it -is--ah, mademoiselle, it was you who led me to chatter of myself and my -music when we were last together, and I had no wish to do so; I meant to -talk of yourself alone, but we had parted before I had the chance again. -I have been wondering ever since if such a chance would return--if I -had not thrown it away; and now you have lured me once more toward the -golden net of music; but I have seen it spread: I will not step into it. -I want to talk to you of love--love and you--and--me." - -He had restrained his voice so that it was no more than a whisper, and -he had chastened his gestures until he seemed rigid. Fanny knew that -even if their chairs had not been far away from the next that were -occupied, his words could reach no ears but her own; but the effort that -he was making to restrain his gestures--oh, was it not more significant -to any observant eye than his most florid action would have been? With -bent head she was conscious of the quivering of the muscles of his -clenched hands--of the tremulous earnestness of his expressive face. -Surely everyone who so much as glanced at him would know what was the -subject of his discourse--and hers--hers--but what should hers be? What -answer was she to make to such a man whispering such a word as love? - -"I am afraid," she said. "You make me afraid. Is this the place? Is this -the time? Am I the one?" - -"Every place is the place--every time is the time--and you--you are the -only one," said he, becoming more fervent every moment. "If you and I -were alone--but we are alone--our love isolates us--we are alone in the -splendid isolation of our love. What are these people who are about -us? They are nothing to us--less than nothing, What are the people in -a church to the devout one who enters and keeps his eyes fixed upon -the lovely face of the saint to whom he prays. The saint and he are in -communion together, and their communion isolates them though the church -is crowded? I keep my eyes of devotion upon your face, my beautiful -saint, and I am rapt with the glory of this hour--we are carried away -on the wings of our love until the world is too far beneath us to be -seen--only the heaven is revealed to us--to me--I look into your face -and I have a glimpse of heaven itself! Ah, gentle saint, you will not -deny me a response--one word--only lift up your eyes--let our eyes meet -and it will be as if our lips had met. I am but a mortal, but I feel, -gazing into the face of my saint, as if I were immortal--immortal and -crossing the threshold of the heaven that is hers--I feel that we are -equal----" - -She drew in her breath--the sound was something like a gasp--the gasp -of one who has been swept away into the midst of a swirling sea and made -breathless. She had been swept away on the amazing flood of his words; -it was not until he had said that word "equal" that she felt herself -swirled into the air once more, so to speak, and gave that gasp for -breath: he, too, was breathless after his long and fervid outburst, -repressed as to tone, but sounding therefore all the more passionate. -Her gasp sounded like a sigh; his like a sob. - -"Not yet--not yet," she said in a whisper--disjointed and staccato. "I -cannot listen to you yet. I dare not--I have my pride." - -"Pride? What is pride? How have I wounded your pride?" he said. "Ah, -my God! you cannot think that I would propose anything that is not -honourable? You do not look on me as such a wretch? Ah, you cannot." - -"Oh, no, no," she said quickly. "I would trust you. I have looked into -your face. I have heard you sing." - -"You place your faith in me? But you cannot do that unless you love me. -And if you love me--have I been too headlong? Have I startled you? But -surely you must have seen that on the very first day we met, before I -had been an hour in your presence, my life was yours. I tell you that -I knew it--not an hour--one glance was enough to tell me that I was -all yours, and that for me no other one lived or would ever live in the -world. What have you to say? Do not you believe me? What did you mean -by that word 'pride'? It does not seem to me that it had any connection -with you or me." - -"Do not ask me to explain anything just now," she said. "You would not -like to be asked to explain how you came to--to--think of me--to feel in -regard to me as you have said you do----" - -"Why should I shrink from it?" he asked. "But no one who has seen you -would put such a question to me. I loved you because you were--_you_. Is -not that enough? It would be sufficient for anyone who knew you. I saw -you sitting there--so sweetly timid--a little flower that is so startled -to find itself awakened into life in the spring, that it would fain -ask the earth to hide it again. I thought of you as that modest little -flower--a violet trying to obscure its own charm by the leaves that -surround it; but all in vain--in vain, for its presence has given a -subtle perfume to the air, and all who breathe of its delicate sweetness -take the spirit of the spring into their souls and know that a violet -is there, though hidden from their view. That is how I saw you. I have -always loved the violet, and felt that shyness and sweetness were ever -one; and am I to be reproached if I have a longing to pluck my violet -and have her ever with me?" - -"This is madness--the poetry of madness," she cried, and there was -really a piteous note in her voice. "But if I did not believe that you -feel every word that you have spoken, I would let you continue, and -drink in the sweetness of every word that falls from your lips. It is -because I know that you are speaking from your heart and because I also -know my own unworthiness that I pray of you to say no more--yet." - -"Why should I not tell you the truth, if you confess that you believe I -am speaking sincerely?" - -"Sincerely, but in a dream." - -"Is all love a dream, then?--is that what is in your thought?" - -"I do not want it to be a dream. I wish the love to continue with your -eyes open, and therefore I say--not yet." - -"You wish my love to continue? Oh, never doubt that your wish shall be -granted. But why that 'not yet '? I am weary of this mystery." - -She was perplexed. Why should she hold out any longer against this -impetuous Prince of the land of King Cophetua? Why should she not be as -other girls who allow themselves to be lifted out of insignificance by -the man who loves them. Why should that gift of being able to see more -closely into the truth of things that most others accept without a -question, be laid upon her as a burden? - -She had a strong impulse to let her resolution go down the wind, and to -put her hand in his, no matter who might be looking on, and say the word -to him that would give him happiness. Who was she to suggest that his -happiness would not endure--that her happiness would not endure? - -She was perplexed. She had more than once been called prim; but that -only meant that it was her nature to weigh everything in a mental -balance, as it were, and her imagination was equal (she thought) to the -task of assigning their relative value to the many constituents of human -happiness. If she had been told that this meant that she had not yet -been in love, and that she was not now in love, she would not have felt -uneasy in her mind. She did not mistrust the feeling she had for the man -who was beside her. Surely this was the very spirit of truth in loving, -to be ready to sacrifice everything, so that unhappiness should not -overtake him; and she had long ago felt that unhappiness only could -result from his linking his life with one who was rather less than a -mere nobody. The thought never once left her mind of what would be -said when it was known that she had married him. A dunce's triumph, the -incident would be styled by the wits, and (assuming that the wits were -masculine) how would it be styled by the opposite sex? She could see -uplifted hands--incredulous eyebrows raised, while they discussed it, -and she knew that the conclusion that everyone would come to was that to -be the most divine singer in the world did not save a man from being the -greatest fool in the world. - -Was her love the less true because her intelligence insisted on her -perceiving that such a man as Signor Rauzzini would not be happy if -married to a nonentity like herself? "Surely not," she would have -cried. "Surely it is only the truest of all loves that would be ready -to relinquish its object rather than bring unhappiness upon him! Is -intelligence never to be found in association with true love? Must true -love and folly ever be regarded as allies?" - -Her intellect was quick in apprehending the strength of the position -taken up by two combatants in an argument; but the juxtaposition of the -Prim and the Passionate was too much for her. She was all intellect; he -was all passion. Her mental outlook on the situation was acute; but his -was non-existent. His passion blinded him; her intellect had a thousand -eyes. - -And there he was by her side; she could almost hear the strong beating -of his heart in the pause that followed his question. - -"What is this mystery?" - -It was her feeling of this tumultuous beating of his heart that all but -made her lose her intellectual foothold. His heart beating close to hers -swayed her as the moon sways the tides, until for some moments she -could not have told whether it was her heart or his that was beating -so wildly--only for some moments, however; only long enough for that -madness to suggest itself to her--to let her resolution fly to the -winds--what did anything matter so long as she could lay her hand in -his, and feel his fingers warm over hers? It was her first acquaintance -with the tyranny of a heart aflame, and for a moment she bent her -head before it. He thought that he had got the better of her scruples, -whatever they were, by the way her voice broke as she said: - -"Madness--it would be madness!" - -He was not acute enough to perceive that she was talking to -herself--trying to bring her reason to help her to hold out against the -throbbing of her heart--_his_ heart. - -"It would indeed be madness for us to turn our backs upon happiness when -it is within our reach," said he. "That is what you would say, sweet -saint?" - -But she had now recovered herself. - -"Indeed it is because I have no thought except for your happiness that I -entreat of you to listen to me," said Fanny. - -"I will listen to you if you tell me in one word that you love me," said -he. - -There was no pause before she turned her eyes upon him saying: - -"You know it. You have never doubted it. It is because I love you so -truly I wish to save you from unhappiness. I want to hold your love for -ever and ever." - -"My sweet saint! You have heard my prayers. You are to make me happy." - -"All that I can promise as yet is to save you from supreme unhappiness. -I am strong enough to do so, I think." - -"You can save me from every unhappiness if you will come to me--and you -are coming, I know." - -"I hope that if you ask me three months hence I shall be able to say -'yes'; but now--at this moment--I dare not. It is not so long to ask you -to wait, seeing that I have let you have a glimpse of my heart, and told -you that as you feel for me, so I feel for you." - -"Three months is an eternity! Why should it be in three months? Why not -now?" - -She shook her head. - -"I cannot tell you. It is my little secret," she said. "Ah, is it not -enough that I have told you I love you? I shall never cease to love -you." - -"Oh, this accursed place! These accursed people!" he murmured. "Why are -we fated to meet only surrounded by these wretches? Why cannot we meet -where I can have you in _my_ arms, and kiss your lips that were made for -kissing?" - -There was something terrifying to her in that low whisper of his. He had -put his head down to her until his lips were close to her ear. She felt -the warmth of his face; it made her own burn. But she could not move her -face away to the extent of an inch. Her feminine instinct of flight was -succeeded by the equally feminine instinct of surrender. If it had been -his intention--and it certainly seemed that it was--to kiss her in the -presence of all the company, she would still have been incapable of -avoiding such a caress. - -He swore again in her ear, and Fanny, for all her primness, felt a -regret deep down in her heart that her training would not allow of her -expressing herself through the same medium. - -But he did not come any nearer to her than that. He changed his phrases -of abuse of their entourage to words of delight at her presence so close -to him--alternately passionate and tender. His voice became a song in -her ears, containing all such variations. His vocalism was equal to the -demand put upon it. It was his _mtier_ to interpret such emotions, and -now he did justice to his training, even if he fell short--and he was -conscious of doing so--of dealing adequately with his own feelings. -He called her once again his sweet saint who had heard his prayer; his -cherished flower, whose fragrance was more grateful to him than all the -incense burned in all the temples of the world was to the Powers above. - -It was, he repeated, her violet modesty that had first made him adore -her. Her humility brought before his eyes the picture painted by Guido -Reni--the Madonna saying: _Ecce ancilla Domini_. - -Ah, her humility was divine. And she was so like his mother--his dear -mother who had died when he was a boy and who had taught him to sing. -Ah, she was herself now singing in Paradise, and she would look down -and approve his choice. She, too, had been as meek as a flower, and had -never been so happy as when they had been together at a little farm in -Tuscany with him by her side among the olives. Oh, she would approve -his choice. And quite simply he addressed his dead mother, as though -she were beside him, asking her if she could desire to have a daughter -sweeter or more gentle. He had lapsed into his native Italian in this; -but Fanny could follow his slow, devout words, and her eyes were full of -tears, her heart of love. - -She now perceived how simple and gentle a nature was that of the young -Roman. He remained unspoilt by the adulation which he had received -both in his own country and in England. Seeing him thus revealing a -simplicity which she had not associated with him before, she was led to -ask herself if there was, after all, so great a difference between them -as she had believed to exist. She had forgotten all about his singing, -and he was now in her eyes nothing more than a man--the man who loved -her. Ah, that was enough. He loved her, and therefore she was bound to -save him from the mortification of hearing the whispers of the people -around them asking how he could ever have been stupid enough to marry a -girl like herself, who was a nobody and without a fortune, when he might -have chosen any girl in the world. - -Her resolution came back to her with greater force than ever. Since -he had made his nature plain to her, it would, she felt, be taking -advantage of his simplicity to engage herself to him just as she was. -She knew more of the world than he did. She knew how the world talked, -and how it would talk regarding herself as well as regarding him in such -a matter. He was simple and generous; it was necessary for her to take -thought for both of them. - -"Have you heard me?" he asked of her in a whisper. - -"The tears are still in my eyes," she replied. "Oh, my dear friend, -cannot you see how bitter it is for me to be compelled to ask you to -wait for these months that I spoke of? Cannot you see that it is a -matter of conscience and honour? Ah, I should never forgive myself if I -were to do other than I have done! If you----" - -"Dear one," said he, "I ask for nothing more than to hear you tell me -that you love me. Who am I, that I should demand your secret? So long as -you do not conceal your love from me, I do not mind if you have a score -of secrets locked away in your white bosom. Tell me again that you love -me and all must be well." - -She looked at him, but he knew that she could not see a feature of his -face by reason of the tears that were still in her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -|IT was on one of the last mornings in January that Mrs. Burney was -reading out of the newly-arrived _London Chronicle_ such paragraphs as -she thought would appeal to the varied interests of the breakfast-table. -There were a few announcements of marriages about to take place between -people whose names they knew, the amount of the bride's dowry being -stated in each in plain figures, though Mrs. Burney took it upon her to -affirm in one or two cases that the sum was exaggerated, or to suggest -that if the father of the bride were just enough to pay his debts first, -the portion of his daughter would be considerably reduced. In the case -of one of the gentlemen, who was marrying thirty thousand pounds, she -ventured to express the hope that he would now pay at least some of his -creditors. - -These were, of course, the most interesting items of news, though their -attractiveness was not greatly superior to that of the gossip respecting -Mr. F------, who had been noticed in high dudgeon because of Lady -P------'s dancing three times with Sir Julian Y------; or that which -suggested that a reconcilement must have taken place between the -beautiful Mrs. G------ and her husband, for they had been seen taking -the air together in the Park. - -It was also pleasant to learn that His Majesty had given great -encouragement to Mrs. Delany in the production of her ingenious mosaic -flowers, in which she was so skilled as to excite the wonder of several -criticks in the Royal circle; and also that His Royal Highness the -Prince of Wales had been graciously pleased to say in publick that he -had always admired the Perdita of the beautiful Mrs. Robinson, though he -considered Mrs. Abington, on the whole, the most tasteful dresser in the -Drury Lane company. - -It was only when Mrs. Burney had folded the newspaper and was about to -put it away, that a few lines of an advertisement caught her eye--she -commented before she read, as though she had been a fully qualified -critic: - -"More novels! More stuff for the circulating libraries! Enough to make -poor Mr. Richardson feel uncomfortable in his grave! Could he but have -known that he was turning all England into novel readers he would never -have put pen to paper. Here is another imitator in the field. 'Evelina; -or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World,' published to-day by Mr. -Lowndes--three volumes, seven and sixpence sewed, nine shillings in -covers. 'Evelina,' a distant cousin to 'Clarissa' and 'Pamela' I doubt -not. I hope your father will not bring anyone here to dinner to-day. -Hashed mutton is a wholesome dish, to be sure, but some visitors are -fastidious. He may bring as many as he pleases to-morrow, for Mr. -Greville's gift of pheasants will be on the table. Why are you staring -so at your sister, Lottie?" - -Lottie was becoming a hardened dissembler: she scarcely started when -asked to interpret certain furtive glances she cast at Fanny. - -"I was wondering if Fanny would make a face: she never was fond of -hashed mutton," said Lottie glibly. "If she had gone to school in France -she would soon have got a liking for it, cooked as it is there." - -"I am not partial to French kickshaws," said Mrs. Burney. "There's -nothing like good English fare. To my thinking, the principle of making -food tasty when in ordinary circumstances it should not be so, is a bad -one. Hash of mutton is wholesome food, and it should be eaten as such -without further question. If Providence had meant it to be tasty as -well, He would have made His intentions as plain as in the case of roast -pheasant." - -"Lottie will tell you that I made no face at the mention of hash of -mutton," said Fanny. "What does it signify whether one sits down to a -simple platter of mutton hash or a great dinner such as father gets at -Mr. Thrale's? A pair of geese, a leg of mutton, a tongue, a rib of roast -beef and a brace of pheasants, with two or three dishes of fish, and for -Dr. Johnson a veal pie or a piece of pork--those were on the table at -one time. What is the benefit of such abundance, when all that one can -eat is a single slice of beef?" - -She spoke rapidly, for she, too, had been a great dissembler. She meant -to take away her stepmother's attention from those questionable glances -which she had exchanged with Lottie; and she succeeded very well. - -"It would make no difference to us whether we had one dish or ten; but -it makes all the difference in the world to Mr. Thrale. They say he has -a prodigious appetite, and eats of at least six heavy dishes of meat at -dinner." - -"Mr. Baretti affirms that some day he will not awake from the stupor -into which he falls after one of his heavy meals," said Susy. - -"And all the time Mrs. Thrale is entreating him to be more moderate," -cried Lottie. - -"A humiliating duty for such as Mrs. Thrale," said her mother. "That -shows how true is all that Fanny has remarked: a simple dish should be -enough for any reasonable person. I have often wondered how the converse -at the Streatham table could be so wise and witty if the master of -the house eats like a hog, and Dr. Johnson, suffering from ill-health, -expends so much energy over his pork that the veins stand out on his -forehead and his face is bathed in perspiration." - -"I am sure that Mrs. Thrale has wit and liveliness enough to serve for -the whole company," said Fanny. - -"She is chatty enough, I doubt not," replied Mrs. Burney. "There are -those who think she talks over-much for a woman." - -"Not for a woman of fashion," suggested Lottie with some pertness, when -their stepmother had left the room. "It is long since Mrs. Thrale has -invited mother to one of the Streatham dinners," she added under her -breath. - -And then the three fell upon the _Chronicle_ for the announcement of the -book. - -They read it in whispers, each following the other, as though it were -the _piano_ part of a catch or a glee, and glancing fearfully toward the -door now and again, lest it should open and Mrs. Burney reappear. - -"How amazing it is!" said Susy. "This is the announcement of the birth -of a baby--and such a baby!" - -"The birth and the christening and all," said Lottie. "Oh, Fanny, I -had no idea that it would be in the papers--I forgot that it would be -advertised; and when mamma read this out I thought I should sink through -the floor. So did you, I know." - -"I only wish that it had been possible," said Fanny. "I could feel -myself getting hot all over my body. And then you gave me that look, -Lottie!" - -"Could I help it?" asked Lottie. "You cannot blame me. I really thought -that it was you who gave me a look, as much as to say: 'If you let the -cat out of the bag I will never forgive you--no, never! '" - -"Never mind! Among us we managed to get out of the difficulty very well, -I think. Were we not clever, guiding the conversation away from Mr. -Lowndes's shop on to the high road to Streatham?" cried Susy. - -"'Twas the hash that saved us," said Lottie. "Have you not heard dear -Jim applying the sailors' expression, to make a hash of something? But -we didn't make a hash of our matter, did we, Fanny?" said Susan. - -"We have become adroit dissemblers, and I am growing more ashamed of it -every day," cried Fanny. "I have reached the condition of a man of whom -I read in a volume of history: he had committed a crime, and the effort -that it cost him to keep it hidden so preyed upon his mind that he could -stand the strain no longer, so he confessed it and was relieved." - -"But he could not have been really happy until they hanged him," said -Susy. "And do you intend to confess and be hanged, Fanny? Please do not. -I think it is the most exciting thing in the world to share a secret -like this. I would not have missed the enjoyment for anything. Think, -Fan, if you were to confess, you would draw us into it too--you would -make us out to be as guilty as yourself." - -"I will not confess," said Fanny. "No; it would not be honourable of me. -But I do feel that the secret is having a bad effect upon us all. It has -made us all such--such--dissemblers." - -"Psha!" said Lottie with a sniff. "That's only another way of saying -that we are ladies of quality at an early age." - -Fanny shook her head. She thought that if any proof were needed of the -ill effects of their treasuring their secret from their parents, this -cynical pertness of Lottie supplied it. She shook her head. - -"I should like 'Evelina' to come into mamma's hands," continued Lottie. -"She will go through the three volumes at a hand gallop, even though she -did take it upon her to condemn it as being on a level with the odious -stuff that comes to us nowadays." - -"And if she condemns it so heartily before she has read it, what will -she say about it when she has finished the last chapter?" asked Fanny. - -"She will say that it is the prettiest story that has been written since -her dear Mr. Richardson died," said Susy. - -"I doubt it, my dear," said Fanny. - -"Well, let the worst come, she will never guess that you wrote it," -laughed Lottie. - -"It is the padre whom I fear," said Fanny. "Surely he will not need to -go beyond the Ode on the first leaf to know that it is he himself whom I -address." - -"And if he should--smoke it?" asked Susy, lapsing into slang which she -had acquired from her sailor brother, who was in no sense a purist. - -"If he should--well, either of two things will happen," replied the -authoress. "He will either think me the most double-dealing wretch in -the world or the most dutiful of daughters." - -"And which will be right?" asked Lottie. - -"Both views will be right," said Fanny. "Although I meant every word -of the Ode, I really think now that the idea of writing it before the -dedication came to me only when I felt that I had behaved badly in -sending the book to the printer without his consent." - -"You wished the Ode to be a sort of peace-offering?" said Susy. "You -hoped that when he read it he would forget to be angry? Well, that was -cunning of you, Fanny!" - -"I tell you that the whole affair has had a bad effect upon us all," -said Fanny gently. - -Once again she was conscious of someone telling her that there was no -use crying over spilt milk, and this impression was followed by one that -took the form of a resolution to be more careful in future. If she -had spilt some milk once, that was no reason why she should not, by -exercising proper forethought, refrain from doing so again. - -But the book was now given to the world, if the world would have it, but -as yet a copy had not come into her hand. She wondered if she would -have to spend seven and sixpence in buying a copy. Seven shillings and -sixpence, sewed. It was a great deal of money. Was it possible that -there were five hundred people in the world ready to pay seven and -sixpence for a novel with the name of no author on the title page? -(She thought it best to leave out of her consideration altogether the -possible purchasers of the nine shilling set of bound volumes.) - -Who were the people that ever laid out so much money upon books which -could be read through between the rising and the setting of the sun? -She had never met such liberal enthusiasts. Of course, it was only -reasonable that so splendid a work as the "History of Music" should be -in the library of every house wherein people of taste resided, but that -was not a book to be galloped through; some people might not be able to -read it within a month. Besides, it bore the honoured name of Dr. Burney -on the title page, and the fame of Dr. Burney was great. But as for that -poor little seven-and-sixpenny sewed "Evelina," how should anyone take -an interest in her without reading her story? How would anyone read her -story without feeling afterwards that seven-and-sixpence (leaving the -nine shilling expenditure out of the question) was a ridiculous price to -pay for such an entertainment? - -She felt that people would come to look on her as the instigator of a -fraud if they paid their money and read the book and then found out -that she had written it. The wisdom of concealing her name even from the -bookseller was now more apparent to her than it had ever been. She had -visions of indignant purchasers railing against Mr. Lowndes, and Mr. -Lowndes searching for her, so that he might rail against her; and so her -speculations ended in laughter; but even her laughter grated upon her -sensitive ears: she felt that it was the malicious jeering of a clever -cheat at the thought of having got the better of a worthy man. - -Her precious "Evelina" was leading her a pretty dance. If it had not -been able to do so it would have been a paltry sort of book and she -would have been a paltry sort of author. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -|TWO or three weeks passed without her hearing anything of the book, and -it seemed as if it had fallen, as she had at some moments hoped it would -fall, like a dull stone into the depths of the sea. She heard nothing of -it, and soon she perceived that her sisters felt grievously disappointed -at its failure to produce any impression upon the town. Even a dull -stone, if dropped into the deep, creates a little fuss on the surface -before it sinks out of sight; but Fanny's book did not, so far as they -could see, produce even so superficial an impression. What they expected -of it they might have had some trouble explaining; but as it was, they -could not conceal their disappointment from Fanny; and they showed it -after a short time in a very delicate way: they never alluded to the -book in her presence. She perceived that what was in their minds was -that it would show very bad taste on their part to refer to it in any -way. She was grateful for their consideration; and she resolved to -accept their decision on this point as final; she would never allude to -the horrid thing in their hearing. - -It so happened, however, that she was left alone with Susy in the house -one evening. Dr. Burney and his wife had gone to a concert at Esther's, -and Lottie was staying for a day or two in the country. Susy was -practising her part of a new duet on the piano, and Fanny was at her -sewing. So far as conversation between the two sisters was concerned, -the evening had been a very silent one. Indeed, during the whole week a -constrained silence had marked the intercourse of the three girls. - -Susy hammered away at the music for half an hour; then her playing -became more fitful, and at last it ceased altogether. - -There was a long silence before Fanny heard a little sound that caused -her to raise her head. It was the sound of a sob, and when she looked up -she saw that Susy was leaning her forehead upon the bottom of the music -rest, weeping bitterly. - -Fanny was by her side in a moment. - -"Dearest Susy, what is the matter?" she said soothingly. "Tell me, dear; -has anything happened? Has anyone been unkind to you? Have I unwittingly -done or said anything that seemed to you unkind? Tell me all, Susy." - -But Susy continued crying with her face hidden, though she yielded one -of her hands to Fanny. - -"Come, my dear, I have helped you before now, and I may be able to help -you now. Prithee, what is your trouble?" said Fanny, putting her arm -round the girl's shoulders. - -Still Susy remained silent, except for her sobs. - -"Tell me," said Fanny, in a whisper. "Is it that you think that I am -chagrined about--about--the book?" - -In an instant Susy had whirled round on her seat and flung her arms -round her sister's neck, laying her head on her shoulder. - -"Oh, Fanny, Fanny, 'tis too cruel!" she sobbed. "We were sure that so -much would come of it--it seemed so splendid to read, even before it -was printed--so much better than any other story that ever came into our -hands--and you worked so hard at it--every spare moment when you might -have been enjoying yourself--in the cold of last winter up in that -room--and at Lynn too--and Chessington--and now, when we think that your -cleverness, your patience, your genius, is to be rewarded, nothing comes -of it--all your trouble has gone for nothing--all our secrecy! Oh, it is -too cruel!" - -"You dear child," said Fanny. "It is only cruel if it sets you crying in -this way. What does it matter to anyone if the book has gone and nothing -has come of it? I have been thinking that writing a book and publishing -it is like throwing a stone into the sea. It may fall so that it sinks -down plumb, or it may fall so that it makes a splash for a while, but -it sinks to the bottom all the same. Success or failure is only the -difference between a splash and a ripple. We were fools to fancy that -our little stone would float." - -"But it was not a stone, it was full of life and it should have--it -should have--swum! Oh, the people who buy books are so stupid!" - -"They are--that was the hope that I builded on. They are stupid, but not -stupid enough to buy my book." - -"Oh, Fanny!" - -"That is really the frame of mind that I find myself in to-day. I tell -you truly, Susy, that after the first week, I schooled myself to think -of the business in this way; and I am certain that in another month I -shall even feel delighted that my little pebble made no splash. Look at -the matter philosophically, Susy." - -"Oh, philosophically!" - -"Well, reasonably. Are we in a different position to-day from that we -were in before the book was published? We are not. We are just the same -as we were before. It has not injured us in any way. Nay, if you think -of it, we are--I, at least, am--all the better for having failed, for I -have learned my lesson. I was beginning to feel cleverer than I had any -right to think myself, and this has come as a chastening--to make me -know my right place. These rebukes do not come by chance, Susy. I know -now that I was inclined to hold my head too high. I don't think that I -will do so again." - -"You never held your head too high--just the opposite. And I think it -very cruel that you should be rebuked for nothing. But I do not blame -_anyone_ except the wretched people who refused to buy your nice book, -but spent their seven and sixpence at Vauxhall or Ranelagh--perhaps -watching Mr. Foote and his puppets at the Haymarket. Oh, I have no -patience with them! Why, it only needed a thousand people to buy the -book and it would have been accounted a success!" - -"Then we shall put the blame on the shoulders of that thousand, -wheresoever they may be found, and for my part I shall not hold a second -thousand altogether blameless--my indignation may even extend to a -third. Now, that's the last word I mean to speak about the book. It -has by this time reached the bottom of the sea on which I threw it; and -there let it lie!" - -"You are an angel--I see that plainly now." - -"Ah, there you see, what I said was true: I am much better for the -rebuke I talked about; you never perceived before that I was an angel. -Now let that be the last word between us on the subject of my poor -little 'Evelina.' Her entrance into the world has proved fatal. Oh, -Susy, she was stillborn, but her parent is making a rapid recovery." - -"That may be; but cannot you join with me in----" - -"I will join with you in maintaining silence on the subject of the little -one. I cannot bear to hear her name mentioned. I refuse to say another -word about her or her fate. She must have been greatly beloved of -the gods to die so young. Let that be 'Evelina's' epitaph. I will say -nothing more about her." - -It so happened, however, that she was compelled to say a good deal more -on the subject, for within half an hour Cousin Edward had called, and he -began to talk of "Evelina" at once. - -"I went to Hill's library in the Strand yesterday, to get a book for -mother, and there, sure enough, I saw your 'Evelina,'" said he. "I asked -the man in charge what it was about, and he replied that he didn't know; -it was bad enough, he thought, to be compelled to hand out books all day -to readers without being forced to read them for himself; but he -supposed that 'Evelina' was a novel of the usual sort." - -"That was not extravagant praise," remarked Susy. - -"He didn't mean to praise it," said Edward. "But when I asked him if -anyone who had read it had recommended it, he admitted that every one -of the five ladies who had read it was ready to speak well of it--one of -them had taken it away a second time; and--would you believe it?--while -I was standing at the counter a footman entered the shop with a demand -for 'Eveliena,' as he called it; and he carried off the copy that was -already on the desk." - -"For the delectation of the servants' hall?" suggested Fanny. - -"Not at all--it had been recommended to her ladyship, he said, and he -had been commanded on no account to return without it; her ladyship -was liberal; she would not mind paying sixpence for it, instead of the -ordinary fourpence." - -"That was more than liberal, it was generous to a degree," said Fanny. - -"Don't interrupt him," cried Susy. "Continue your narrative, Eddy. I am -dying to hear the rest." - -"I asked the library man if he knew who wrote the book, and he -replied that he had heard the name, but had forgotten it; so far as he -remembered the author was a peer of high rank but eccentric habits," -said Edward. - -"The book represented his eccentric habits, I suppose," remarked Fanny. - -"I ran out of the place roaring," said Edward. "'A peer of high rank but -eccentric habits'--describes you to a T, doesn't it, Cousin Fanny? Pray -what is your lordship's next work to be, and when will it be given to an -eager world?" - -"Is that all you have to tell?" asked Susy. - -"By no means. When I heard that the book was thought well of in -the Strand, I thought I would try to get at the opinion of Stanhope -Street--you know Masterman's circulating library there? Well, I boldly -entered, and there, sure enough, was a well-thumbed 'Evelina' in front -of the librarian. I asked for some book that no one had ever heard of, -and when the librarian had told me that he had never been asked for that -book before, I pointed to 'Evelina,' inquiring if it was any good. 'I'm -dead tired on account of its goodness, for I was fool enough to take -it to bed with me last night, and I never closed my eyes in sleep,' -he replied. 'I had it praised to me by a lady of quality, and so too -hastily concluded that it would either send me asleep with its dullness, -or shock me with its ribaldry; but it did neither, unhappily.' Just then -a chariot stopped at the door and another footman entered with the name -'Evelina' written on a sheet of paper, and off he popped with the full -three volumes under his arm. I waited no longer; but hurried hither -to give you my news. I did not get so far, however, for I was unlucky -enough to be overtaken by that vile downpour of rain, and it did not -blow over until your dinner hour was at hand." - -"You are my good angel," cried Fanny, her cheeks glowing. "We have heard -nothing of all this respecting the book, and, hearing nothing, we took -it for granted that it was dead--dead before it was ever alive. Oh, this -is good news you have brought us, Eddy!" - -"The best news that has come to us for months!" said Susy. She had -turned her head away and was furtively wiping her eyes. The good news -affected the sympathetic Susy almost as deeply as her disappointment had -done. - -"But I have only told you of my adventures of yesterday," said -Edward. "To-day I tried the booksellers, beginning with Mr. Davies and -working-round to the Dillys in the Poultry--it cost me three shillings, -for I had to buy something that I did not particularly want in every -shop to excuse my inquiries--and I found 'Evelina' on every counter. I -cannot say that any customer came in to buy it while I was in any shop, -but you may be sure that the book would not be on the counter unless it -was highly thought of. Of course I had need to be very discreet among -the booksellers; I dared not ask who was the author, but I longed to do -so, if only to hear what new story had been made up about it." - -"You heard quite enough to make us glad," cried Susy. "Oh, how foolish -we were to take it for granted that because we had no news of the book, -it was dead! It is alive--greatly alive, it would appear! How could any -news of it have come to us here? We should have gone forth in search of -it." - -"I knew that we could depend on your discretion," said Fanny, laying a -hand on each of his shoulders. "I do not think that I ever thanked you -as I should for the wise way in which you managed the business with Mr. -Lowndes, and now I must not neglect to do so for having acted the part -of a benevolent agent in bringing us such good news about the book." - -"Psha! there should be no talk of gratitude and the like between us," -said he. "There are family ties--I think of the honour of our family. -People already talk of the clever Burneys, but they left you out of the -question, Cousin Fanny, since they only thought of music. But now -that you have shown what you can do in another direction, you must be -reckoned with alongside the others." - -"And what about the other branch of the clever Burneys?" said Fanny. -"Don't you think that people will some of these days begin to ask if -Edward Burney, the great painter, is really a brother of the musical -Burneys? I hope they will, dear Edward; I hope that the fame of Edward -Burney, the painter, will go far beyond that of the musical Burneys, as -well as poor Fanny Burney who once wrote a novel." - -The young man blushed as Fanny herself would certainly have done if -confronted with the least little compliment. But there was no false -shame about his acceptance of her suggestion. - -"I mean to become as good a painter as I can, in order to be worthy of -the name of Burney," said he. "I feel proud of being a Burney--more so -to-day than ever before, and I hope that the rest of the Burney's will -some day look on me as doing credit to our name." - -"I am sure that they will have every reason to do so," said Fanny. - -When he had gone, Susy gave way to her delight at the news which he had -brought. She was a good deal taller than Fanny, and catching her round -the waist after the manner of the Elizabethan dancer with his partner, -she danced round the table with her, lilting a somewhat breathless pan. -Fanny herself needed no coaxing to be her partner in this revel. In -her jubilant moments she got rid of the primness which most people -associated with her. She had a wild jig known as "Nancy Dawson," and -she had more than once found it necessary to get rid of her superfluous -spirits through this medium. She joined in her sister's little whoop -at the completion of the third "lap" of the table, and they both threw -themselves breathless on the sofa. - -"I knew it," said Susy between her gasps. "I knew that I could not be -mistaken in believing 'Evelina' to be good--I knew that she would make -her way in the affections of her readers, and I was right--you see I was -right." - -"You were right, dear Susy--quite right," said Fanny. "I do not like -to be too sanguine, but I do believe, from the reports Eddy brought us, -that the book will find plenty of readers. Now that we can think over -the matter in a reasonable way, we must see how foolish we were to -expect that the very day after the book was published people would crowd -to buy it; but now, after six weeks, when Eddy goes in search of news -about it, he brings back a report which is--we had best say for the -present no more than 'quite satisfactory'--that was the bookseller's -report about the sales of the first volume of the padre's -'History'--'quite satisfactory'--that should be quite satisfactory for -the author of 'Evelina' and her sisters. There is nothing in the book to -stir people as it would if written by Mr. Wilkes, but in its humble way -it will, I am now persuaded, be pronounced 'quite satisfactory.' At any -rate, there goes my sewing for the evening." - -She rolled up the strip of linen into a ball and used her hand, after -two false starts, as a battledore, to send it flying across the room -within reach of Susy, who, being more adroit, was able at the first -attempt to return it with both force and precision. Once more Fanny -struck it, and her sister sent it back, but by this time the unequal -ball had opened out, so that it was only by her foot that Fanny could -deal with it effectively. Then, daintily holding up their petticoats, -the author of "Evelina" and Susy Burney played with the thing until once -more they were panting and laughing joyously. - -Perhaps Fanny had a faint inkling of the symbolism implied by this -treatment of the discarded needlework. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -|BUT little Miss Burney had recovered all her primness on the evening -when, a week later, she accompanied her stepmother to partake of tea at -the home of the Barlowes in the Poultry. - -Young Mr. Barlowe had, for some time after his visit to St. Martin's -Street, brooded over his indiscretion in allowing his impulse at the -moment of saying good night to carry him away so that he pressed Miss -Burney's hand, looking into her eyes with an expression in his own of -the deepest sympathy--rather more than sympathy. He felt that he had -been unduly and indiscreetly hasty in his action. It had been purely -impulsive. He had by no means made up his mind that Miss Burney would -make him a satisfactory wife. His father and mother had, for a long -time, thought very highly of Mrs. Burney, looking on her as a most -thrifty and excellent manager of a household. She had shown herself -to be all this and more when her first husband was alive and they had -visited her at Lynn; and she had proved her capabilities in the same -direction since she had married Dr. Burney. Unfortunately, however, -the virtues of a stepmother could not be depended on to descend to the -children of her husband's family, and it was by no means certain that -Miss Burney had made full use of her opportunities of modelling herself -upon her father's second wife. - -No, he had not quite made up his mind on this subject--the gravest that -had ever occupied his attention, and he remained sleepless for hours, -fearful that he had gone too far in that look and that squeeze. He had -heard of fathers and even brothers waiting upon young men who had acted -toward a daughter or a sister pretty much as he had in regard to Miss -Burney. He had rather a dread of being visited by Miss Burney's brother, -that young naval officer who had boasted of having been educated by a -murderer. Mr. Barlowe thought that a visit from such a young man would -be most undesirable, and for several days he went about his business -with great uneasiness. - -But when a week had gone by and neither father nor brother had waited -upon him, he began to review his position more indulgently than when he -had previously given it his consideration. He thought more hopefully of -Miss Burney as a wife. Perhaps she might have profited more largely than -he had thought by her daily intercourse with so capable a woman as Mrs. -Burney. At any rate, she was not musical, and that was something in her -favour. Then her stepmother had praised her needlework, and everyone -knows that to be a good sempstress is next to being a good housekeeper. - -He thought that on the whole she would do. Her brother, Lieutenant -Burney, would naturally spend most of his time at sea. That was a good -thing. Thomas felt that he should hesitate to make any change in his -life that involved a liability of frequent visits from a young man who -had been taught by a murderer. Who could tell what might happen in the -case of such a young man? As for Miss Burney herself, she was, -quite apart from her housewifely qualities, a most estimable young -lady--modest and retiring, as a young woman should be, and very -beautiful. To be sure, he had often heard that beauty was only skin -deep, but even assuming that it did not go any deeper, it had always -been highly esteemed by men--none of them seemed to wish it to be of any -greater depth; and it was certain that a man with a handsome wife was -greatly envied--more so even than a man who was married to a plain woman -but a good housewife. Oh, undoubtedly her beauty commended her to his -most indulgent consideration. He had no objection in the world to be -widely envied, if only on account of his wife's good looks. It never -occurred to him that it might be that some people would think very -ordinary a face that seemed to one who was in love with it extremely -lovely. He preserved the precious privilege of a man to raise up his own -standard of beauty and expect all the rest of the world to acknowledge -its supremacy. - -Yes, he thought that Miss Burney, beauty and all, would suit him, but -still he hesitated in making another call. - -This was when Mr. Kendal had the honour of waiting upon Mrs. Burney, and -his visit only preceded by a day or two Mrs. Burney's call upon her old -friend, Mrs. Barlowe, in the Poultry; this interchange of courtesies -being speedily followed by an invitation for Mrs. Burney and a -stepdaughter to drink tea with the Barlowe family. - -"I am taking you with me, Fanny, because you are the eldest and, as -should be, the most sensible of the household," said Mrs. Burney, -explaining--so far as she thought wise--the invitation on the morning it -was received. "There will be no music at Mrs. Barlowe's, I think, and -so you will have no distracting influence to prevent your forming a just -opinion of my old friends." - -"I do not mind in the least the absence of music for one night," said -Fanny. - -"I am sure of that," said Mrs. Burney. "Goodness knows we have music -enough here during any day to last us over a whole week. The -others could not live without it, even if it were not your father's -profession." - -"Without which none of us could live," remarked Fanny, who had no -wish to be forced into the position of the opponent of music in the -household. - -"Quite right, my dear," acquiesced the elder lady. "It is a precarious -way of making a living. To my mind there is nothing so satisfactory as a -good commercial business--a merchant with a shop at his back can afford -to laugh at all the world." - -"But he usually refrains," said Fanny. - -"True; he looks at life with proper seriousness, and without levity. -Great fortunes are the result of serious attention to business. Levity -leads to poverty." - -"Except in the case of Mr. Garrick and a few others." - -"Mr. Garrick is certainly an exception. But, then, you must remember -that he was a merchant before he became an actor, and his business -habits never left him. I have heard it said that he got more out of his -company for the salaries he paid than any theatre manager in Europe. -But I did not come to you to talk about Mr. Garrick. I only meant to say -that I know you are an observant girl. You do not merely glance at the -surface of things, so I am sure that you will perceive much to respect -in all the members of Mrs. Barlowe's family." - -"I am sure they are eminently--respectable, mamma; and I am glad that -you have chosen me to be your companion this evening. I like going among -such people--it is useful." - -She stopped short in a way that should have aroused the suspicions of -Mrs. Burney, but that lady was unsuspecting, she was only puzzled. - -"Useful?" she said interrogatively. - -Fanny had no mind to explain that she thought herself rather good at -describing people of the Barlowe type, and was ready to submit herself -to more experience of them in case she might be encouraged to write -another novel. But she knew that she would have some difficulty in -explaining this to her stepmother, who herself was an excellent type. - -"Useful--perhaps I should rather have said 'instructive,'" she replied, -after a little pause. - -"Instructive, yes; I am glad that you look at our visit so sensibly--I -knew you would do so. Yes, you should learn much of the excellence of -these people even in the short time that we shall be with them. And it -is well that you should remember, my dear Fanny, that you are now quite -old enough to have a house of your own to look after." - -It was now Fanny's turn to seem puzzled. - -"I do not quite see how--I mean why--why--that is, the connection--is -there any connection between----?" - -"What I mean to say is that if at some time a suitor for your hand -should appear, belonging to a respectable mercantile family, you will -know, without the need of any telling, that your chances of happiness -with such a man are far greater than they would be were you to wed -someone whose means of getting a living were solely the practice of some -of the arts, as they are called--music or painting or the rest." - -"I do not doubt that, mamma," said Fanny demurely. She was beginning to -think that her stepmother was a far better type than she had fancied. - -And her stepmother was beginning to think that she had never given Fanny -credit for all the good sense she possessed. - -The six o'clock tea-party in the Poultry was a function that Fanny -Burney's quick pen only could describe as it deserved to be described. -All the time that it was proceeding her fingers were itching to start -on it. She could see Mr. Crisp smiling in that appreciative way that he -had, as he read her smart sentences, every one of them with its little -acid flavour, that remained on the palate of his memory. She was an -artist in character drawing, and she was one of the first to perceive -how excellent was the material for artistic treatment that might be -found in the house of the English tradesman--the superior tradesman -who aspired to be called a merchant. She neglected no opportunity of -observing such houses; it was only when she was daily consorting with -people of the highest rank that she became alarmed lest her descriptions -should be accepted as proof that she was in the habit of meeting on -terms of intimacy the types of English bourgeois which she had drawn. - -The ground-floor of Mr. Barlowe's house in the Poultry was given over to -his business, which, as has already been mentioned, was that of a -vendor of gold and silver lace. The walls carried shelves from floor to -ceiling, and every shelf had its line of boxes enclosing samples of an -abundant and valuable stock. The large room at the back was a sort of -counting-house parlour, where Mr. Barlowe sat during the day with his -son and an elderly clerk, ready for the customers, whose arrival was -announced by the ringing of a spring.-bell. The scales for the weighing -of the bullion and the worked gold and silver wire were suspended above, -the broad counter in the shop, and from a hook between the shelves there -hung a number of ruled forms with spaces for oz., dwt. and grs. On these -were entered the particulars of the material supplied to the workmen who -made up the lace as required. The upper part of the house was the home -of the family, the spacious dining-room being in the front, its convex -windows overhanging the busy thoroughfare. Opening off this apartment -was an equally large drawingroom, and the furniture of both was of -walnut made in the reign of Queen Anne, with an occasional piece of -Dutch marqueterie of the heavier character favoured by the craftsmen of -the previous sovereigns. The rooms themselves were panelled with oak and -lighted by candles in brass sconces. - -It seemed to Fanny, on entering the diningroom, that every seat was -occupied. But she soon saw that there were several vacant chairs. It -was the imposing row of figures confronting her that made the room seem -full, although only six persons were present besides young Mr. Barlowe -and his parents, who met Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughter at the door. -Fanny greeted Thomas at once, and she could see that his eyes were -beaming, but with a rather more subdued light than shone in them on that -night when he had pressed her hand. - -She was conscious, at the same time, of the approach of a big elderly -gentleman, wearing a well-ordered wig, evidently newly curled, with a -small lady clad in expensive and expansive black silk by his side. He -was holding the tips of her fingers and they advanced in step as though -they were starting to dance a minuet. - -They stood in front of her and her mother, while Thomas, moving to one -side, said, making a low bow: - -"Miss Burney, I have the honour to present to you my father, Mr. -Barlowe, and my mother, Mrs. Barlowe. Mrs. Burney, madam, you are, I -know, already acquainted with my parents." - -The little lady curtsied and her husband made a fine shopkeeper's bow, -first to Fanny, then to Mrs. Burney. - -The formality of the presentation was overwhelming to poor Fanny. She -could feel herself blushing, and she certainly was more overcome than -she had been when Count Orloff, the Russian, visited the house in St. -Martin's Street and she gazed with awe upon the thumb that had, it was -rumoured, pressed too rigidly the wind-pipe of the unfortunate Peter. -All that she could do was to try to hide her confusion by the deepest of -curtsies. - -"We are sensible of the honour you have done us, madam," said Mr. -Barlowe when he had recovered himself--he was addressing Fanny, ignoring -for the moment the presence of Mrs. Burney. - -"Our son has spoken to us of you with great admiration, Miss Burney," -said the little lady. "But I protest that when I look at you I feel as -King Solomon did when he saw the Queen of Sheba, the half has not been -told." - -"Oh, madam, you flatter me," said Fanny, trying to put some force into a -voice that her shyness had rendered scarcely audible. - -Her stepmother, perceiving how she was suffering, hastened to greet in -a much less formal way their host and hostess; but she had considerable -difficulty in bringing them down to her level. It seemed that they had -prepared some high phrases of welcome for their younger visitor only, -and they had no mind that they should be wasted. - -"My stepdaughter is of a retiring nature," said Mrs. Burney. "She is -quite unused to such ceremony as you honour her with. Well, Martha, how -is the rheumatism?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -|MRS. BARLOWE did not seem half pleased to be brought down so from the -high parallels of etiquette among which she had been soaring. But she -had lost her place, and before she could recover herself, Fanny had -slipped behind her stepmother. - -"Ask me all about her rheumatism, madam, for 'tis me that knows more -about it than her," said Mr. Barlowe, with a jerk of his thumb and a -wink in the direction of his wife. The homely enquiry of Mrs. Burney had -clearly forced him to throw off all ceremony and treat the visit of Miss -Burney as an ordinary domestic incident. - -His wife would have none of this, however; she said in tones of stiff -reproof: - -"Mr. Barlowe, you forget that the young lady has not been presented to -Brother Jonathan or the Alderman. Thomas, it is for you to usher the -lady into the presence of your uncles and aunts. Pray be not remiss, -Thomas. There is no excuse for such an omission." - -"I was only waiting until you had finished, ma'am," said Thomas. - -"I have finished," she replied, with a stiff nod. "To be sure, 'twas my -intention to express, in what I trust would be appropriate terms, our -happiness in welcoming Miss Burney to our humble home; a few phrases of -this sort were not thought out of place when I was young; but it appears -that your father knows better what is _comme il faut_ and _haut ton_ -than me. Bring the young lady forward, Thomas." - -The younger Thomas looked dubiously from his mother to his father. -He was uncommonly like an actor who had forgotten his part, Fanny -thought--he had no initiative. Fanny herself was more at home than any -of the household. While the young man hesitated, she walked up the room -as if she meant to present herself to the six figures that sat in a row -at the farther end. - -Thomas was beside her in a moment. - -"I ask your pardon, Miss Burney," he said. "But I knew that mamma had at -least two more welcomes for your ear, and I feared that she had forgot -them. Do not you think that mamma speaks well? Perhaps it would be -unjust to judge her by what she said--she only made a beginning. You -will be delighted when you are going away." - -Fanny felt that this prediction was certain to be realized. - -"Yes, mamma's good-byes are as well worded as her greetings," he -continued; "a clergyman could scarcely better them; and I hope----" - -But now they were face to face with the six figures sitting in a row, -and as his conversation was only designed as an accompaniment to the -march of Fanny to this position, there was no reason to continue it. - -The figures were of two men and four ladies. The former were middle-aged -and bore an expression of gravity that a judge might have envied. Their -dress was sombre, but of the finest material possible to buy, and each -of them was painfully conscious of being in unusual garments. Of course, -Fanny saw in a moment that they were merchants wearing the garments in -which they attended church. - -Of the four ladies, three were elderly and the fourth much younger. They -wore their hair built up in a way that suggested that they desired to -follow the fashion but had not the courage to complete the scheme with -which they had started. The long and thin and highly-coloured feathers -which crowned the stunted structures on their heads gave them the -appearance of a picture of unfamiliar birds. Their dresses were -extremely glossy and of an expensive material, but there was an -eccentric note about all that made them seem not impressive as they -should have been, but almost ludicrous. The youngest lady in the row -showed unmistakable signs of being given to simpering. She had gone much -further than the others of the party in the architecture of her hair, -but that was possibly because the material at her command was more -abundant. The dressing of her hair, however, was by no means in sympathy -with the style of her garments, the latter being simple and indeed -rather too girlish for the wearer, who looked between twenty-five and -thirty. - -It was an extraordinary ordeal that confronted Miss Burney, for young -Mr. Barlowe began presenting her to the group, starting from his left -and working slowly to the last of the row on the right. There was -she with the young man standing close to her, but sideways, doing the -formalities of presenting her, while his father and mother stood behind -to see that he omitted nothing. Mrs. Burney, a little way apart, was -alternately smiling and frowning at the ceremonial. She could see, from -observing the effect that the whole business was producing upon Fanny, -that the Barlowes were defeating their own ends, assuming that -they desired Fanny to become a member of their family. These absurd -formalities were, Mrs. Burney knew, quite out of place in a private -house. But what could she do to cut them short? She had made an attempt -before, and it was received in anything but a friendly spirit by their -hostess, so that she did not feel inclined to interfere again: the thing -must run its course, she felt, reflecting upon it as though it were a -malady. There was no means of curtailing it. - -And its course was a slow one for the unhappy victim. - -"Miss Burney, I have the honour to present my aunt on my mother's -side--Mrs. Alderman Kensit," droned Thomas, and the lady on the extreme -left rose at the mention of her name and made a carefully prepared -curtsey, while the sky-blue feather in her hair jerked awkwardly forward -until the end almost touched her nose. - -"Proud to meet Miss Burney, I vow," said she as she rose; and anyone -could see from the expression on her face that she was satisfied that -she had gone far in proving her claim to be looked on as a lady of -fashion. She had never said "I vow" before, and she knew that it had -startled her relations. She felt that she could not help that. Miss -Burney would understand that she was face to face with someone who had -mingled with the best. - -"And this is Aunt Maria, father's sister, Mrs. Hutchings," came the -voice of Thomas, and the second lady bobbed up with quivering feathers -and made a well-practised curtsey. She did not trust herself to speak. -Having heard her neighbour's "I vow," she knew that she could not go -farther. She would not compete with such an exponent of the mysteries of -_haut ton_. - -"And this is Alderman Kensit of the Common Council; he is my uncle on my -mother's side--mother is a Kensit, you know," resumed Thomas. "And -this is Aunt Jelicoe. My mother's sister married Mr. Jelicoe, of Tooley -Street. And this is my cousin, Miss Jelicoe. I am sure that you will -like Miss Jelicoe, Miss Burney, she is so young." - -The youngest lady of the group simpered with great shyness, concealing -half her face with her fan and holding her head to one side, and then -pretending to be terribly fluttered. Her curtsey was made in a flurry, -and with a little exclamation of "Oh, la!" - -Another uncle only remained to be presented; he turned out to be Mr. -Jonathan Barlowe, and he was, Thomas whispered half audibly to Fanny, in -trade in the Indies. - -It was all over, curtsies and bows and exclamations--echoes of the world -of fashion and elsewhere--she had been presented to every member of the -row and they had resumed their seats, while she hastened to the side of -her stepmother, hot and breathless. She had never before been subjected -to such an ordeal. She had gladly agreed to accompany her stepmother to -this house, for she hoped thereby to increase her observation of a class -of people who repaid her study of them; but she had no notion that she -should have to vacate her place as an Observer and take up that of a -Participator. She was to pay dearly for her experience. - -She was burning, her stepmother could see; and she believed that this -was due to her mortification on noticing that the dress of the ladies -was infinitely more expensive than hers. That would be enough to make -any young woman with ordinary susceptibilities indignant, she felt; and -she herself, having had an opportunity of giving some attention to -the expensive silks--she could appraise their value to a penny--was -conscious of some chagrin on this account. She was almost out of -patience with her old friend, Martha Barlowe, for making all this -parade. The foolish woman had done so, she knew, in order to impress -Miss Burney and to give her to understand that she was becoming -associated with no ordinary family. But Mrs. Burney had seen enough -since she had left Lynn for London to know that Fanny would not be the -least impressed except in the direction of boredom by such an excess of -ceremony in the house of a tradesman. She had heard Fanny's comment upon -the gorgeous chariot which Sir Joshua Reynolds had set up, and she could -not doubt what Fanny's opinion would be regarding this simple tea to -which she had consented to go at the Barlowes' house. - -Fanny had hurried to her side as soon as she had passed the row of -uncles and aunts. She thought that the girl seemed overcome by the -tedium of the formalities; but in a few minutes she saw that Fanny was -on the verge of laughter. - -Mrs. Burney could not say whether she would rather that her charge -became moody or hilarious. - -"Eight separate curtsies," murmured Fanny. "If there are to be the same -number going away we should begin at once." - -Mrs. Burney thought it better not to reprove her for her flippancy just -at that moment. She condoned it with a smile. - -Only a minute were the Burneys left to themselves. Mr. Barlowe, the -elder, walked solemnly up to them. - -"Going on nicely, eh?" he said in a confidential way to Mrs. Burney. -"Everything being done decently and in order, madam. There has been no -cause of offence up to the present, though there are three persons in -that row who are as ready to see an offence where none is meant as a -bunch of flax to break into flame when a spark falls on it. The young -lady is discreet; if she had spoken to any one of them and not to the -others, there would have been a flare-up. The touchy ones belong to my -wife's family. She was a Kensit, you know." - -He made this explanation behind his hand and in a whisper; he saw that -his wife and son had been in earnest consultation together over some -vexed question, and now they were hovering about, waiting to catch his -eye. - -"I spoke too soon," he said. "Something has gone astray, and the blame -will fall on me." - -They hovered still nearer, and when he caught his eye, Thomas, the -younger, stepped up to his father, saying something in his ear. Mrs. -Barlowe went on hovering a yard or two away. - -"That would never do," said her husband, evidently in reply to some -remonstrance offered by young Thomas. "Never. The whole of the Kensits -would take offence." Then he turned again to Mrs. Burney, saying: - -"Mrs. Burney, madam, my son has just reminded me that I have been remiss -in doing my duty. It was left to me to present you to our relations at -the head of the room, but I failed to do so, my mind being too full of -the pretty curtsies of Miss. But I am ready to make amends now." - -But Mrs. Burney had observed a little twinkle in Fanny's eye; she had -no notion of going through the ordeal to which Fanny had been subjected, -though the spectacle would doubtless have diverted Fanny hugely. - -"Nay, sir," she said quickly to the waiting gentleman, "Nay, sir; you -have forgotten that the presentation of a lady's daughter is equivalent -to the presentation of the lady herself." - -"What, is that so?" said he. - -"Rest assured that it is," said she, "and an excellent rule it is. It -saves a repetition of a formality that is now frequently omitted in the -private houses of simple folk like ourselves. Lend me your arm, sir. I -shall soon make myself at home with Martha's relations." - -She did not give him a chance of discussing the point with her; she saw -that he was about to state his objections to the rule she had invented -for her own saving, and she was already in advance of him in approaching -the row of figures on the chairs against the wall. Fanny heard her -greeting them in turn without any formality, and once again Thomas, the -younger, was by her side. - -His mother was still hovering, glancing suspiciously, first at the young -couple, and then at the hasty proceedings of her friend, Mrs. Burney. - -"It was unlike father to make so grave an omission, Miss Burney," he -said, apologetically. - -"I hope that no harm will come of it," said Fanny. "I am afraid that you -found us very homely folk at our little house when you did us the honour -of visiting us," she added. - -He waved his hand indulgently, smiling over her head. - -"I am always ready to take my place in such a circle," said he, -"though all the time I have a pretty full knowledge of the exchange of -courtesies which should mark the introduction of a stranger. Oh, yes, I -do not mind meeting some people as an equal, if they do not presume upon -me afterwards. Your brother has gone back to sea, I hear?" he added. - -"Yes, we shall not see him again for two years," she replied. "Did he -presume upon you, sir? If so, I will take it upon me to offer you a -humble apology." - -"I was considering if it might be possible that he was himself mistaken -in regard to the ear-trumpet," said Thomas. - -"Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet? What of that?" - -"Lieutenant Burney told me that it was a newly invented musical -instrument, blown by the ear instead of the mouth. It was not until I -had spoken of it to my father that I learned that the instrument was an -ear-trumpet used by the deaf. I had never seen one before. I wonder if -your brother intentionally deceived me." - -"My brother is an officer in His Majesty's Fleet, sir." - -"What does that mean, miss?" - -"It means that he would resent an accusation of falsehood, sir." - -"Pray do not misunderstand me; I would shrink from accusing him of any -conduct unworthy of an officer and a gentleman. But I was certainly -deceived in fancying that the ear-trumpet was a musical instrument." - -Fanny made no reply. Her attention was directed to the entrance of two -servants, one bearing a large urn, the other a dish on which lay an -immense ham. - -"I hope you have an appetite, Miss Burney," said young Thomas. "If so, -you will be able to stay it at that table, I'll warrant. Tea and cake -may be well enough for such as dine at four, but for us, who are three -hours earlier, something more substantial is needed. You will find that -there is no stint in this house." - -Fanny had an idea that the young man meant to suggest that she would -find the tea-table at the Poultry to make a striking contrast to that of -St. Martin's Street; and she was not mistaken. - -Neither was he. A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined. When -Fanny was formally conducted to a seat at the table by the side of young -Mr. Barlowe, she found herself confronting such a variety of eatables as -was absolutely bewildering. The first glance that she had at the dishes -had a stunning effect upon her. Her impression was one of repletion; she -felt that that glance was by itself equivalent to a hearty meal--a heavy -meal. She felt inclined to turn her head away. - -But a moment afterwards she became alert. Here was food--ample food for -an amusing letter to Mr. Crisp, and, later, for a chapter in a possible -novel. She would let nothing escape her notice. - -She settled down to observe everything; and her stepmother, sitting -opposite to her, knew from the twinkle in her eyes, that Thomas's suit -was hopeless. She had heard that music is the food of love. She was not -sure of this; but she was convinced that butcher's meat was not. That -was where she saw that Thomas had made his mistake. He had placed too -much dependence upon that great ham. He carved that ham with all the -solemnity that should accompany such a rite, not knowing that he was -slicing away all his chances of commending himself to Fanny. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -|IT was an interesting experience for Miss Burney, the writer of novels -and the writer of letters. She had never sat down with such a company. -They all had their table peculiarities. One uncle took ale for his -tea, and drained a tankard before eating anything. The other claimed a -particular cup on account of its capacity, and he held it to his mouth -with one hand, while he passed a second down the table to Miss Burney, -only spilling a spoonful or two in effecting the transit. One of the -aunts refused to eat anything except cake, explaining, in order to -relieve the anxiety of the company, the details of an acute attack of -spleen from which she had recently suffered. The spleen and its humours -formed the subject of a fitful conversation at her end of the table. - -But it was plain that everyone understood that the company had not come -to the table for conversation, but for food. They did not converse, -but that was not the same as saying the room was silent. There was a -constant clanging of cups, a constant clatter of platters, a loud and -insistent demand on the part of Thomas, the elder, and Thomas, the -younger, for their guests to say what they would like to eat. This was -followed by the handing of plates up and down the table, the sound of -steel knives being sharpened, and the jingle of spoons in saucers. The -Alderman, who was, of course, an authority on the etiquette of banquets, -was formulating an elaborate explanation of the mistake that had been -made in the service of the cold sirloin in advance of the venison pasty; -and all the time his neighbour was striking the haft of his knife upon -the table with a request for someone to pass him the pickles. - -All the ceremonial veneer had plainly left the company the moment they -seated themselves, and they addressed themselves to the business of -feeding. They had healthy appetites--even the lady who had had a recent -attack of the spleen. She would eat nothing but cake, but she did eat -cake with confidence. There was no sort of cake that she did not try, -and her cup was kept in constant circulation from the tea-maker to -herself--four times she had it refilled, Fanny could not help noticing, -and she wondered what effect such a diet would have upon her capricious -spleen. Fanny had an inward hint or two that she had observed quite -enough of the party to serve her purpose, and she began to count the -moments until she might be able to steal away without offending the -susceptibilities of her over-hospitable host and hostess. She hoped that -her stepmother would listen to her plea of weariness and take her back -to St. Martin's Street--to the music of St. Martin's Street--to the -quiet of St. Martin's Street. - -The most solid hour of her life had, however, to elapse before her -fellow-guests pushed their plates (empty) away from them, and Mrs. -Barlowe said: - -"I am afraid you have made a poor tea, Miss Burney; but if you cannot be -persuaded to have a slice of ham--my son's ham, I call it, for 'tis he -who picks it out of the curer's stock whenever we have a party--if you -still refuse it, we might go to the drawing-room." - -Fanny was on her feet in an instant. But not sooner than Alderman -Kensit. That gentleman, rapping with the haft of his knife on the table, -stood with a sheaf of notes in his hand and clearing his throat with -great deliberation, started upon a speech in eulogy of Mr. Barlowe's -merits as a host and as a merchant, and droned away for a good -half-hour in praise of the virtue of hospitality, his text being on -the possibility of entertaining angels unawares. Of course, it was only -natural that, having got upon this track and with the word "angels" -in his mind, he should go on to say that it was quite possible for a -hospitably-inclined person to entertain an angel and be fully cognizant -of the fact, and so forth: in a speech of well-worn platitudes such a -suggestion seemed inevitable; and all eyes were directed to poor -Fanny when it seemed impending. It was a great disappointment to -everybody--except Fanny and her stepmother--when the orator skipped the -expected phrases, and went on to describe a business visit which he had -once made to Spain, apropos of nothing in particular. His account of -this feat was familiar to all his relations, but they listened to him -without a murmur, only wondering when he would come to the angel and -Miss Burney. - -He never came to the angel and Miss Burney, for it so happened that he -had turned over two pages of his notes when he should have only turned -over one. The omitted platitude was on the first, and he failed to -notice the absence of a platitudinal sequence in the heads of his -discourse which he had jotted down during the day. - -When he had seated himself, Mr. Barlowe, the elder, got upon his feet, -but he had no notes, and not being a member of the Common Council, he -was not a past-master of commonplaces. He was only dull for about five -minutes instead of half an hour. He had risen with a view to repair his -relative's omission of that obvious point about entertaining an angel by -appointment in the shape of Miss Burney, but he lost himself before he -managed to deliver it; it swam out of his ken with several other points -the moment he got upon his legs. - -Fully recognizing how narrow was the escape she had had, Fanny was -resolved not to run any further chances. She was looking imploringly -toward Mrs. Burney, trying to catch that lady's eye, but without -success, and she was about to walk round the table to her side and to -beg her to come away, when Mrs. Barlowe moved up to her. - -"Miss Burney," she said, "I am afraid you did not get anything you liked -at the table: I saw that you scarce ate more than a morsel of cake." - -"I assure you, madam, I had enough," said Fanny. "Your cake was so tasty -I had no mind to go away from it in search of other delicacies." - -"I am glad you liked it. I made it with my own hands," said the hostess. -"That cake was ever a favourite with Mr. Barlowe and my son. It pleases -me to know that you and my son have tastes in common. He is a good son, -is Thomas, though I say it that shouldn't; and he is making his way to -the front by treading in his father's footsteps. Mr. Barlowe is not a -Common Councilman, but his father, Thomas's grandfather, was for a year -Deputy-Master of the Wyre Drawers' Company--his certificate still hangs -on the wall of the drawing-room. You must see it. Thomas, you will show -Miss Burney your grandfather's certificate as Deputy-Master." - -"I should like very much to see it," said Fanny quickly, "but I fear -that mamma will wish me to accompany her home at once. My sisters are -alone to-night and they will feel lonely: we promised to return early." - -"I will get Mrs. Burney's permission for you--so good an opportunity -should not be thrown away," said Mrs. Barlowe, giving the latter part of -her sentence an unmistakable inflection as she looked toward her son and -smiled. - -She had gone round the table before Fanny could think of another excuse -for evading the visit to the drawing-room in the company of Mr. Barlowe, -the younger. - -And Mr. Barlowe, the younger, was still by her side. - -"Doesn't Uncle Kensit make a fine speech?" he inquired. "He is always -ready. I have heard it said that he speaks longer than any Alderman in -the Council." - -"I can quite believe it," replied Fanny. - -"Tis a wonderful gift," said he--"to be always ready to say what one is -expected to say. Though I did think that when he referred to the angels -he meant to--to--go farther--I mean nearer-nearer home." - -Thomas might himself have gone farther had his mother not returned at -that moment from her diplomatic errand. - -"I have prevailed upon Mrs. Burney to let you stay to see the -certificate," said she. "Thomas, you will conduct Miss Burney to the -drawing-room." - -"I am sure that mamma would wish to see the certificate also," said -Fanny. "I will ask her." - -"There is no need, Miss Burney: we shall all join you later," said Mrs. -Barlowe. - -Poor Fanny saw that there was no use trying to evade the attentions of -Thomas, and as she walked toward the folding doors by his side she was -conscious of a silence in the room and of all eyes being turned upon -her--smiles--such knowing smiles--and a smirk from the young lady. Fanny -was aware of all, and what she was too short-sighted to see she was able -to imagine. She was burning at the thought of all those people gazing at -her in silence. It was the most trying moment of her life. - -She passed through the door which Thomas opened for her and closed -behind her. - -"I am glad to have this opportunity, Miss Burney," said he, when they -were alone in the big half-lighted room. - -"You must hold your grandfather's certificate in high esteem, sir," said -she. "I suppose so high a place as he reached is but rarely attained -by mortals. You will have to guide me to the document: I have very poor -eyesight, as you must have noticed." - -"It is a great drawback," said he. "But we will not talk about -grandfather's certificate just yet, if you please: I have something to -say to you that will, I hope, interest you even more than that." - -"You surprise me, sir," said Fanny icily. - -"Nay, I hope that you know me well enough not to be surprised by all -that I have to reveal to you now that the opportunity has been given to -me. Have you no inkling of what I am about to say, Miss Burney?" - -"Not the least, sir. I expected only to see that relic of your -grandfather's honourable career." - -"What, after meeting Uncle Kensit and Aunt Jelicoe, you do not feel -interested in their families?" said he, in a tone of genuine surprise. - -Fanny looked at him before she spoke, and there certainly was more than -a note of casual interest in her voice as she said: - -"Their families? Oh, I should like above all things to hear about their -families." - -"I knew that you would," said he, apparently much relieved. (She -wondered if the relief that she felt was as apparent as his.) "Yes, -I felt certain that you would welcome this opportunity of learning -something about the Kensits and the Jelicoes. They are remarkable -people, as you cannot have failed to perceive." - -He made a pause---a pause that somehow had an interrogative tendency. -She felt that he meant it to be filled up by her. - -"They are remarkable people--very remarkable," said she. - -"We are very fortunate in all our relations, Miss Burney," said he with -great solemnity. "But, of course, Uncle Kensit stands high above them -all in force of character. A great man indeed is Alderman Kensit--a -member of the Haberdashers' and Grocers' Companies as well as the City -Council, and yet quite ready to meet ordinary persons as fellow-men. He -had heard the name of your friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds, though not the -name of Dr. Burney, and he was kind enough to say that he would have no -objection in the world to meet either of these gentlemen. That shows you -what sort of man he is--his fine, simple nature. 'If Dr. Burney or Sir -Joshua Reynolds were duly presented to me, I should feel it my duty to -be civil to him '--those were his exact words." - -Once more there was an interrogative pause. - -"Perhaps they may be fortunate enough to meet him some day," was all -Fanny could trust herself to say. - -"I would not say so much to them--he is very busy just now," said Thomas -hastily. "It would have to be arranged with care and thought--I would -not like them to be disappointed. But if it would please you, I daresay -a meeting could be brought about; meantime, I would not raise up any -false hopes on the matter, if I were you." - -"You may depend on my preserving the strictest secrecy, Mr. Barlowe," -said Fanny. "I should think that I might even discipline myself to -forget that such a person as Alderman Kensit existed." - -"That would perhaps be the safest course to pursue," said he -thoughtfully, and with an air of prudence that made him for the moment -the subject of a description after Fanny's own heart. She felt that -she could fool this young man as easily as her brother had fooled him. -Surely he was made to be fooled, with his solemn airs and his incapacity -to distinguish what is worthy from what is pompous. - -"Yes," she continued, "Dr. Burney has had it intimated to him since the -publication of his 'History' that the King was desirous of talking to -him at Windsor, and I know that Sir Joshua is being visited daily by -the Duchess of Devonshire and the Duchess of Ancaster, and it would be -a great pity if my father were forced to write excusing himself to His -Majesty on account of having to meet Alderman--Alderman--I protest that -I have already forgotten the gentleman's name--nay, do not tell it to -me; I might be tempted to boast of having met him, and if I did so in -Sir Joshua's presence, his beautiful Duchesses would be forlorn when -they found that he had hurried away on the chance of meeting the -Alderman. And now, sir, I think that I shall return to Mrs. Burney." - -"But I have not told you half of what I can tell about our family," he -cried. "I have said nothing about my aunts--I have four aunts and eleven -cousins. You would surely like to hear of my cousins. They do not -all live in London. I have three as far away as Lewes; their name is -Johnson. My mother's youngest sister married a Johnson, as you may have -heard. I believe that some objection was raised to the match at first, -but it turned out quite satisfactory." - -"It is pleasant to know that; and so, sir, as we have come to this -point, don't you think that we had better adjourn our conference?" said -Fanny. "It would be doing the Johnson family a grave injustice were you -to attempt to describe their virtues within the time that is left to -us, and that would be the greatest catastrophe of all. Besides, I came -hither all unprepared for these revelations. If you had hinted at -what was in store for me I would, of course, have disciplined -myself--forewarned is forearmed, you know." - -Miss Burney had received many a lesson from Mr. Garrick, from the days -when he had come to entertain her in the nursery, in the art of fooling, -and she was now quite capable of holding her own when she found herself -in the presence of so foolable a person as this egregious young man. But -the game was apt to become wearisome at the close of an evening when -she had suffered much, and when the subject of her raillery had shown -himself to be incapable even of suspecting her of practising on him. - -"But there is Aunt Jelicoe; I should like to tell you something of Aunt -Jelicoe," pleaded Thomas. "Without any of the advantages of her parents, -Aunt Jelicoe--and--oh, I have something more to say to you--not about -them--about ourselves--you and me--I was nearly forgetting--you will -stay----" - -"One cannot remember everything, Mr. Barlowe," said Fanny, with her -hand on the knob of the door. "You have done very well, I think, in -remembering so much as you have told me. As for ourselves--you have -quite convinced me of my own insignificance--and yours also, sir. You -would be doing us a grave injustice were you to speak of us so soon -after your estimable relations." - -"Perhaps you are right," said he, after a few moments of frowning -thought. "Yes. I see now that it might have been wiser if I had begun -with ourselves and then----" - -Fanny had turned the handle. She re-entered the dining-room, and the -moment that she appeared silence fell upon the company, and once again -she was conscious of many eyes gazing at her and of horrid smiles and a -smirk. That was another ordeal for the shy little Miss Burney--it was an -evening of ordeals. - -She walked straight across the room to her stepmother. - -"I am ready to go away now," she said. "We have never stayed at any -house so long when we only came for tea. I am tired to death." - -She took care, of course, that Mrs. Burney only should hear her; and -Mrs. Burney, being well aware that Fanny was not one to complain unless -with ample cause, charitably interposed between her and Mrs. Barlowe, -whom she saw bearing down upon her from the other side of the room. - -"Fanny and I will say our good-night to you now, my dear Martha," she -said. "You have treated us far too kindly. That must be our excuse for -staying so long. When people drop in to tea they do not, as a rule, stop -longer than an hour, as you know. But you overwhelmed us." - -"I was hoping--" began Mrs. Barlowe, trying to get on to Fanny, but by -the adroitness of Mrs. Burney, not succeeding. "I was hoping--you know -what I was hoping--we were all hoping--expecting--they were in the -drawing-room long enough." - -Mrs. Burney gave her a confidential look, which she seemed to interpret -easily enough. She replied by a confidential nod--the nod of one who -understands a signal. - -"Mum it shall be, then," she whispered. "Not a word will come from me, -simply good-night; but we could all have wished--never mind, Thomas will -tell us all." - -Mrs. Burney allowed her to pass on to Fanny, having obtained her promise -not to bother the girl--that was how Mrs. Burney framed the promise in -her own mind--and Mrs. Barlowe kept faith with her, and even persuaded -Alderman Kensit, who was approaching them slowly with a sheaf of notes -in his hand, to defer their delivery in the form of a speech until the -young woman had gone. - -And thus the visitors from St. Martin's Street were able to escape going -through the formality of taking leave of all the party. They shook hands -only with their host and hostess and their son, curtseying very politely -to the company of relations. - -"They are warm-hearted people, but their weakness for ceremony and the -like is foolish enough," said Mrs. Burney to Fanny, when they were safe -within the hackney carriage. - -Fanny laughed. - -"Oh, indeed, there is no harm in any of them," she said. "They may be -a little foolish in thinking that the Poultry is St. James's Palace or -Buckingham House. The only one among them who is an arrant fool is the -son. You saw how his mother made it up that he should lead me into the -other room?" - -"It was maladroitly done indeed. What had he to say to you when he got -you there, I wonder?" - -"He had nothing to say to me except that his uncles were second in all -the virtues and all the talents to no man in town, and that his aunts -and cousins--but he did not get so far in his praise of his aunts and -cousins; I fled. Oh, did you see him cut slices off the ham?" - -Fanny laughed quite pleasantly, with a consciousness of having at -her command the material on which to found a scene that would set her -sisters shrieking. - -"Oh, if Mr. Garrick had but seen him carve that ham!" she cried. - -"I wish that Mr. Garrick would give all his attention to his own affairs -and leave us to manage ours in our own way," said Mrs. Burney. - -"What? Why, what had Mr. Garrick to do with our visit to----" - -"'Twas Mr. Garrick who continued his fooling of Mr. Kendal, sending him -all over the town trying to make matches. He believes that he is under -a debt of gratitude to Mr. Garrick and your father for the happiness he -enjoys with his bride." - -"And he suggested that a match might be made between someone in St. -Martins Street and someone in the Poultry? But how does Mr. Kendal come -to be acquainted with the Barlowes?" - -"His wife was a Johnson before she married her first husband, and the -Johnsons are closely connected with the Barlowes." - -"Young Mr. Barlowe was just coming to the family history of the Johnsons -when I interrupted him." - -"Was he coming to any other matter that concerned you more closely, -think you?" - -Fanny laughed again, only much longer this time than before. She had to -wipe her eyes before she could answer. - -"Dear mamma," she said, "you would laugh as heartily if you had seen him -when he suddenly recollected that in his eagerness to make me acquainted -with the glories of the Kensits and the abilities of the Johnsons, he -had neglected the object of his excursion to that room with my poor -self, until it was too late." - -"I doubt it," said Mrs. Burney. "I do not laugh at incidents of that -sort. I lose patience when I hear of a young man neglecting his chances -when they are offered to him. But had he ever a chance with you, Fanny?" - -"Not the remotest, dear mamma. If he had remembered to speak in time, -and if he had spoken with all the eloquence of his admirable uncle, the -Alderman, he would not have succeeded. If Thomas Barlowe were the last -man in the world I should e'en die an old maid." - -"That is a foolish thing for you to say. You may die an old maid for -that. But indeed when I saw young Mr. Barlowe in his home, I perceived -that he was not for you. I could not see you a member of that family, -worthy though they may be." - -"I think if a girl loves a young man with all her heart she will agree -to marry him, however worthy may be his family," said Fanny. "But I am -not that girl, and young Mr. Barlowe is not that man." - -"I daresay that is how you feel," said the elder lady. "But you must not -forget, Fanny, that you are no longer a girl; it is quite time that you -had a house of your own." - -"That is true, dear mamma, but for the present I am happy in living in -your house, and I ask for nothing better than to be allowed to stay in -your service." - -"That is all very well, but----" - -"Ah, do not introduce that 'but'--life would be thoroughly happy if it -were not for its 'buts.' Here we are in Leicester Fields. I feel as if -I should like a roast apple for supper, to put a pleasant taste in my -mouth at the close of the longest day I can remember." - -They entered the parlour on the ground floor, and found Lottie and -Susy roasting apples on the hearth, while Dr. Burney sat in his chair -reading. - -"I did not expect you back so soon," said Mrs. Burney to her husband. - -"I did not mean to return for another hour," said he, "but Sir Joshua -left early and brought me with him in his coach. He cut his evening -short in order to get back to a book which he affirms is the best he has -read since Fielding." - -"It would have to be a good book to take the attention of Sir Joshua," -said Mrs. Burney. "Did you hear what was its name?" - -"It is called 'Evelina,' I believe," replied Dr. Burney. - -"A novel, of course. I remember hearing the name some time ago," said -his wife. "'Evelina'; yes, it has a familiar sound. I cannot recollect -at this moment who it was that mentioned it to me. I believe I told you -of it at the time, Fanny." - -"I do not remember your telling me that anyone had mentioned it to you; -but I am nearly sure that that was the name of the novel advertised in -the _Chronicle_--you read out all about it after breakfast one morning," -said Fanny. - -"You are quite right--that was how I got the name in my mind. Now you -can have your roasted apple, child. But if you are hungry you have only -yourself to thank for it. Don't bend so over the fire, Susy; your face -is frightfully fed--so, for that matter, is Lottie's. No, thanks, you -need not roast one for me." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -|SOME weeks had passed since Cousin Edward had brought his exhilarating -news that the book was being asked for at the libraries, and during this -interval, Fanny had heard nothing of its progress. She had applied in -the name of Mr. Grafton for a copy to be addressed to the Orange Coffee -House, but Mr. Lowndes had paid no attention to her request, Edward -found out on going to the Coffee House, so it seemed plain to Fanny that -the book was not making the stir in the world that her cousin's report -from the libraries had attributed to it. But here was a distinct proof -that it had at last reached their own circle, and somehow Fanny and her -sisters felt that this meant fame. Somehow they had come to think of -the readers of the book as being very remote from them--people whom they -were never likely to meet; they had never thought of the possibility of -its being named under their own roof by anyone not in the secret of its -authorship. But now the strange thing had come to pass: it was not -only named by their father, but named with the most extraordinary -recommendation that it could receive! - -What! Sir Joshua was not only reading it, but he had curtailed his stay -at the club in order to get home to continue it! Sir Joshua had actually -been content to forsake the society of his brilliant friends, every one -of them more or less notable in the world, in order that he might read -the story which Fanny Burney had written all out of her own head! - -The idea was simply astounding to the girls and to Fanny herself as -well. It meant fame, they were assured, and they were right. It took -such a hold upon Susy and Lottie as prevented them from giving any -attention to Fanny's amusing account of the evening at the Barlowes'; -and the fun she made--modelled on Mr. Garrick's best nursery style--of -the Alderman and Mrs. Alderman, with the speeches of the one and the -St. Giles's curtsies of the other, went for quite as little as did her -imitation of the bobbing of the crown feathers of the aunts and the -rustling of their dresses, the material of which was too expensive to -be manageable: the thick silk was, Fanny said, like a valuable horse, -impatient of control. She showed how it stood round them in massive -folds when they curtsied, refusing to respond to the many kicks they -dealt it to keep it in its place. - -From the recalcitrant silks--with illustrations--Fanny had gone to the -slicing of the ham, the hacking at the great sirloin, the clatter of the -teacups, and the never-ending passing of plates and pickles, of mustard -and pepper and salt--the things were moving round the table as the -planets were shown circling round the sun in the clever invention called -the Orrery, after one of the titles of the Earl of Cork--only the noise -made by the perpetual handing on of the things did not suggest the music -of the spheres, Fanny said. - -Her descriptions, bright though they were and full of apt metaphors, -went for nothing. Her sisters were too full of that wonderful thing -which had happened--the great Sir Joshua Reynolds, President of the -Royal Academy, the painter of all the most beautiful duchesses that -were in the world, to say nothing of beautiful ladies of less exalted -rank--this great man, who was so busy conferring immortality upon -duchesses that he was compelled to keep in his painting-room on Sundays -as well as every other day, and who had never been known to suspend -his work except upon the occasion of the death of his dear friend Dr. -Goldsmith--this man was actually at that very moment sitting in his -arm-chair eagerly reading the words which their sister Fanny had -written! - -The thought was too wonderful for them. The effect that it had on them -was to make them feel that they had two sisters in Fanny, the one a -pleasant, homely, hem-stitching girl, who could dance the Nancy Dawson -jig for them and take off all the people whom she met and thought worth -taking off; the other a grave authoress, capable of writing books that -great men forsook the society of other great men to read! - -They looked on her now with something of awe in their eyes, and it was -this lens of awe which, while magnifying her work as a writer where it -came into their focus, made them fail to appreciate her fun, for they -saw it, as it were, through the edges of the lens and not through the -centre. - -She quickly perceived the lack of sympathy of her audience. - -"What is the matter with you both to-night?" she cried--they were now -upstairs in her room, and she knew that at the same moment Mrs. Burney -was giving her husband an account of the party. "What is the matter -with you both? Has anything happened when I was away to put you out? Why -don't you laugh as usual? I am sure I never told you anything half so -funny as this, and I was thinking all the way coming home that it would -make you roar, and now you sit gravely looking at me and not taking in -half I say. Pray, what is the matter?" - -"Nothing is the matter, dear," said Lottie. "Nothing--only I can't help -thinking that Sir Joshua is at this moment sitting eagerly reading the -book that you wrote--you, sister Fanny, that no one who comes to us -notices particularly. I can hardly bring myself to believe that there is -only one Fanny." - -Fanny looked at her strangely for some moments, and then said: - -"I do not blame you, dear; for I am myself of the same way of thinking: -I cannot realize what the padre told us. I cannot think of myself as the -Fanny Burney whose book is keeping Sir Joshua out of his bed. That is -why I kept on harping like a fool on the single string of that odious -party. I feel that I must keep on talking, lest my poor brain should -give way when I sit down to think if I am really Fanny Burney, who was -ever happiest sitting unnoticed in a corner when people came to this -house, or laughing with you all up here. I cannot think how it would -be possible for me to write a book that could be read by such as Sir -Joshua." - -"Better think nothing more about it," said Susy, who fancied she saw -a strange look in Fanny's eyes. "What's the good of brooding over the -matter? There's nothing strange about Sir Joshua's reading the book: -I read it and I told you that it was so lovely everybody would want to -read it. Besides, Sir Joshua may only have mentioned it for want of a -better excuse to leave the club early; so you may not be so famous after -all, Fanny." - -Susy's well-meant attempt to restore her threatened equilibrium was -too much for Fanny. But there was a considerable interval before her -laughter came. She put an arm about Susy, saying: - -"You have spoken the truth, my dear sister. I have no right to give -myself airs until we find out exactly how we stand. But if Fanny Burney, -the dunce, should find out to-morrow that Sir Joshua has not really -been kept out of his bed in order to read 'Evelina' by Fanny Burney, the -writer, the first Fanny will feel dreadfully mortified." - -"One thing I can promise you," said Susy, "and this is that Susannah -Burney will not be kept out of her bed any longer talking to Fanny -Burney about Fanny Burney's novel, whether Fanny Burney be mortified -or not. We shall know all about the matter when we go to the Reynolds's -to-morrow. In the meantime, I hope to have some hours of sleep, though -I daresay that Fanny Burney will lie awake as a proper authoress should -do, thinking over the exciting party in the Poultry and wondering how -she will work in a description of it in her next novel. Good-night, and -pleasant dreams! Come along, Lottie." - -And Fanny Burney did just what her sister had predicted she would do. -She recalled some of the incidents of the tea-party in the Poultry, -having before her, not as she had in the hackney coach, the possibility -of describing them in a letter to Mr. Crisp, but of introducing them -into a new book. - -Before she slept she had made up her mind to begin a new book; for she -now found it comparatively easy to believe that Sir Joshua was reading -"Evelina" with great interest. At any rate, she would hear the next day -when she should go to the Reynolds's, whether Sir Joshua had read it, -or whether he had only made it an excuse for getting home early in the -night, so that he might arise early and refreshed to resume his painting -of the duchesses. - -But the next evening, when, with her sisters and their stepmother she -tripped along the hundred yards or so of Leicester Fields that lay -between their house and that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, all thoughts of -the book which she had written and of the book which she meant to write, -vanished the moment that she was close enough to Sir Joshua's to hear, -with any measure of clearness, the nature of the singing, the sound of -which fell gently upon her ears. - -"H'sh!" said Mrs. Burney, stopping a few feet from the door. "H'sh! some -one is singing. I did not know that it was to be a musical party." - -"It is Signor Rauzzini," said Lottie. "I would know his voice anywhere. -We are lucky. There is no one who can sing like Signor Rauzzini." - -"We should have come earlier," said Mrs. Burney. "But when Miss Reynolds -asked us she did not say a word about Rauzzini. And now we cannot ring -the bell, lest we should interrupt his song." - -She stood there with the three girls, under the lighted windows of the -house, listening to the silvery notes of the young Roman that floated -over their heads, as if an angel were hovering there, filling their -ears with celestial music. (The simile was Susy's.) The music sounded -celestial to the ears of at least another of the group besides Susy; and -that one thought: - -"How can anyone trouble oneself with such insignificant matters as the -writing of books or the reading of books, when such a voice as that is -within hearing?" - -And then, all at once, she was conscious of the merging of the two -Fanny Burneys into one, and of the existence of a new Fanny Burney -altogether--the Fanny Burney who was beloved by the celestial singer, -and this was certainly the most wonderful of the three. - -The thought thrilled her, and she knew that with it the truth of life -had come to her: there was nothing worth anything in the world save only -loving and being loved. - -And this truth remained with her when the song had come to an end, -soaring to a high note and dwelling on it for an enraptured space and -then dying away, so gradually that a listener scarcely knew when it had -ceased. - -Fanny's imagination enabled her to hear, at the close, the drawing-in of -the breath of the people in the room where the song had been sung: she -knew that up to this point they had been listening breathlessly to -every note. She could hear the same soft inspiration--it sounded like -a sigh--by her sisters and their stepmother. A dozen wayfarers through -Leicester Fields had been attracted to-the house by the sound of the -singing, and now stood timidly about the doorway. They also had been -breathless. One woman murmured "Beautiful!" Fanny could understand -how the word had sprung to her lips, but what could the man mean, who, -almost at the same moment, said: - -"Oh, my God! how could I have been so great a fool?" - -She was startled, and glanced at him. He was a young man, shabbily -dressed, and on his face there were signs of dissipation. He was -unconscious of her glance for some moments, then with a slight start he -seemed to recover himself. He took off his hat with a respectful bow, -and then hurried away. But Fanny saw him turn when he had gone about a -dozen yards into the roadway, and take off his hat once more, with his -eyes looking up to the lighted windows of the house. He was saluting the -singer whom he had not seen, and to Fanny the act, following the words -which he had unwittingly uttered, was infinitely pathetic. - -It appeared that Mrs. Burney herself received the same impression. Fanny -was surprised to hear her say: - -"Poor fellow! he was once a gentleman!" - -Then they entered Sir Joshua's house and were shown upstairs to the -great painting-room, where Sir Joshua and his sister Frances were -receiving their guests. - -It was quite a small party--not more than a score of people altogether, -and all seemed to be acquainted with one another. Fanny knew several of -them; one girl, however, she had never seen before, but she knew who -she was in a moment. She was standing at one end of the room chatting to -Mrs. Sheridan, and on the wall just above her there hung the picture of -a girl in oriental costume and wearing a turban. Fanny Burney had often -looked at it in admiration, and Sir Joshua had encouraged her, affirming -that it was the best picture he had ever painted and that it would -remain in his painting-room until the day of his death. She looked at -it now with renewed interest, for the original was the girl standing -beneath it--the beautiful Miss Homeck whom Oliver Goldsmith had called -the Jessamy Bride. Several years had passed since Sir Joshua had painted -that portrait, from which Miss Burney had recognized the original; and -fifty years later another lady recognized the same face, still beautiful -in old age, from having seen merely a print of the same picture. - -When Fanny turned her eyes from the portrait it was to admire the -features of Mrs. Sheridan. Mrs. Sheridan was gazing somewhat pensively -at the picture of St. Cecilia which was hanging a little way from that -of Miss Horneck, and Fanny was near enough to her to perceive how her -expression grew into that of the face in the picture. At first sight, it -did not appear to Fanny that the two faces were the same, and it seemed -as if Mrs. Sheridan perceived this, and determined to vindicate Sir -Joshua's skill by assuming the pose of the picture. But Miss Burney knew -that the beautiful lady had done it unconsciously--that it was simply -because she was recalling the days when she had sat for the painter, and -had obeyed his injunction to lose herself among the simple chords of the -aria that was sacred to her since her sister died with the strain upon -her lips--"I know that my Redeemer liveth." - -Fanny gazed at the exquisite face, illuminated with what seemed to her -to be a divine light, and for the first time she knew something of what -it was to be a great painter. After "St. Cecilia" the other portraits on -the walls seemed paltry. There was no divine light in the faces of the -duchesses. There was life in them; they breathed and smiled and posed -and looked gracious, but looking at them one remained on earth and among -mortals. But St. Cecilia carried one into the glorious company of the -immortals. "She drew an angel down," was the line that flashed through -Miss Burney's mind at that moment. An angel? A whole celestial company. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -|YOU are looking at her--I, too, have been looking at her; she is -divine," came a voice beside her. She did not need to turn to see the -speaker. She had been longing for the sound of his voice for many days. -She had not even a chance of hearing him sing before this evening. - -"She is St. Cecilia herself," said she. "You have seen Sir Joshua's -picture?" - -"My countryman, Piozzi, pointed it out to me," he replied. "I was -enraptured with the picture. But when the living St. Cecilia entered the -room and I heard her story, I felt ready to throw myself at her feet and -implore her as the guardian of poor singers to take me to her care. Her -face has on it the bloom of a flower dropped fresh from the garden of -God--angelic beyond the voice of man to describe." - -He spoke, as usual, in French to Fanny, but he had greeted Mrs. Burney -in English, and he tried to translate his last phrase to her into the -same language. He failed after the first word or two, and begged Miss -Burney to complete his task for him. She did so, and her stepmother -smiled and nodded in appreciation of his comment. - -"She is indeed a beautiful creature," said Mrs. Burney. "I heard her -sing more than once at Bath. People went mad about her beauty and her -singing, and truly I never heard any singing that so affected me. It was -said that she hated to let her voice be heard in public. Her father, -Mr. Linley, made her sing: she was a gold mine to Mr. Linley and he knew -it." - -Signor Rauzzini had listened attentively and picked up all that she had -said without the aid of a word from Fanny. - -"But now she will never be heard again no more," said he in English. -"And she is right in making such a resolution, and her husband is a -noble man to agree with her in this," he continued, but in French to -Fanny. "Picture that lovely creature placing herself on the level of -such a one as the Agujari! sordid--vulgar--worldly! quarrelling daily -with the _impresario_ on some miserable question of precedence---holding -out for the largest salary--turning a gift which should be divine into -gold! Oh; she was right." - -"Signor Rauzzini no doubt thinks it a pity that such a voice should -cease to give pleasure to the thousands it enchanted," said Mrs. Burney, -not being able to follow him in French. - -"Oh, no, no; just the opposite," cried Fanny. "He says he admires her -the more for her resolution." - -"I am so glad. Pray tell him that I agree with him," said Mrs. Burney. -"A good woman will avoid publicity. Her home should be sufficient for -her." - -Fanny did not need to translate the words, he grasped their meaning at -once. - -"I agree with all of my heart, madame," he cried. "I would not wish my -mother or my sister to have their names spoken with freedom by -everyone who paid a coin to hear them sing. I should think it--_come -si chiamo?_--Ah! forgive my poor English." He went off into French once -more--"Pray tell madame that I think it would be odious to hear the name -of my mother or my sister tossed from man to man as they toss the name -of a woman who comes before the public. I think the woman who would hide -herself from all eyes as a violet hides itself under a leaf is the true -woman. The shy, timid, retiring one--I know her--I esteem her. I could -love no other. I have a deep respect for the woman of the Orient who -would die sooner than let her face be seen by a man." - -"What does he say--I like his eagerness?" asked Mrs. Burney. - -Fanny translated some of his phrases, and Mrs. Burney nodded and smiled -her approval. - -"The bloom on the wing of a butterfly is a very tender thing," resumed -the Roman; "the breath of a man is sufficient to remove it--a single -breath--and when the bloom has gone the charm of the beautiful creature -has gone also." - -"I am not sure that I like the comparison to the butterfly," said Fanny, -smiling. "The butterfly is the emblem of all that is fickle--all that -is idle except for its yielding to its fickleness. It is beautiful, but -nothing else." - -He laughed. - -"I am rebuked," he said. "But with us the butterfly is the symbol of the -life--of the soul. Assume that and you will, I think, see that I meant -not to hint at the beauty of the frivolity, but at the beauty of the -soul. I feel that a woman's life has on it the bloom of a butterfly's -wing, and if that is once breathed on, its beauty is gone for ever--the -woman's life is never again what it was--what it was meant to be. But -if you wish, I will not go beyond the violet as my emblem of the best -woman--my woman." - -"I thank heaven that I have no voice," said Fanny gently, after a -pause. Young Mr. North-cote, Sir Joshua's pupil, had approached Mrs. -Burney--his eye was on Susy--in order to tell her that tea was being -served in the drawing-room. - -Mrs. Burney thanked him and took the arm that he offered. - -"We shall all go in together," said Mrs. Burney, with a sign to Fanny. - -But Rauzzini contrived to evade her eye by renewing his admiration of -the "St. Cecilia." - -"If I could but reproduce in song the effect that flows from her face I -should be the greatest singer in the world," said he. - -"You need not envy her," said Fanny. "Do you remember Mr. Handel's -setting of 'Alexander's Feast '?" - -"Only an aria or two." - -"One of the lines came into my mind just now when I looked at that -picture. 'She drew an angel down.'" - -"And it was very apt. She would draw an angel down." - -"Yes; but the poet has another line before that one--it refers to a -singer--'He raised a mortal to the skies.' That was the line which came -to my mind when I heard you sing. You raise mortals to the skies. Your -power is equal to that of St. Cecilia." - -"Nay, nay; that is what you have done. I have been uplifted to the -highest heaven by you. When you are near me I cannot see anything of the -world. Why have we not met more frequently? Ah, I forget--I am always -forgetting that the months you spoke of have not yet run out. But I am -not impatient, knowing that the prize will come to me in good time. -I have been away at the Bath and Salisbury and Bristol and I know not -where, singing, singing, singing, and now I go to Paris and Lyon for a -few months, but you may be certain that I shall return to England--then -the separating months shall have passed and you will welcome me--is not -that so?" - -"I think I can promise you--every day seems to make it more certain that -I shall welcome you." - -"My angel--my dream!----" - -He said the words--both long-drawn monosyllables in French--in a whisper -that gave them the full force of passionate expression. He had need to -whisper, for several people were in the room, and Mr. Boswell was among -the number, and everyone knew that Mr. Boswell, as a gossip-monger, had -no equal in town. He was always pimping and prying--nosing out germs -of scandal--ever ready to make mischief by telling people all the -nasty things other people had said of them. Mr. Boswell had his eye on -them--and his ear. In addition, Mrs. Thrale, who had arrived late, had -no idea of allowing the handsome Roman singer to waste himself with a -nonentity like Miss Burney, and she was now perilously close to him whom -she came to rescue. - -But the whisper and the expression imparted to it were enough for Fanny -Burney. He might have talked for hours in his impassioned way without -achieving the effect of his whispered exclamations. - -Then Mrs. Thrale hastened up to his side full of her resolution to -rescue him from the conversation with the insignificant person whom his -good nature suffered to engage his attention. - -"Why, what is this?" cried the little lady who regarded herself with -complacency as the soul of tact. "Have you explained to Signor Rauzzini -that you are the unmusical member of the family, Miss Burney?" - -"I believe that he is aware of that fact already, madam," replied Fanny. - -"And yet he is in close converse with you? He is the most good-natured -man in town," said Mrs. Thrale. "Does he hope to interest you when your -father failed?" - -"He has never ceased, to interest me, madam," said Fanny. - -"Then he did not talk about music?" - -"Oh, yes; I think he said something about music." - -"Yes, touching a note here and there, as one might in passing a -harpsichord. Of course you could not have lived in Dr. Burney's house -without being able to understand something of music. But we must not -trespass upon Signor Rauzzin's courtesy, Miss Burney. Everyone is -talking of him in the drawing-room--he must gratify the company by -mingling with them." - -Then she addressed Rauzzini in French. - -"I promised to go in search of you, signor," she said. "Madame Reynolds -is distracted. I came on my mission famished--I had vowed, as the -crusaders did, not to taste food or drink until I had succeeded in -my emprise. May I ask you to have pity on me now and lead me to the -tea-table?" - -He turned to ask Fanny to accompany them, but he found that she had -slipped quietly away. She was already at the door. - -"My duty was to Miss Burney, madame, but she has been frightened away," -said he. - -"Oh, she is the shy one of the family, I believe," said Mrs. Thrale. "I -am sure that all the time you were so good-natured as to talk to her -she was wishing that the floor would open and allow her to sink out of -sight. She would have thought it much more good-natured on your part -if you had taken no notice of her. I have scarcely spoken to her half a -dozen times myself, though I have frequently been to her father's house. -I cannot rack my brain to discover a congenial topic with such young -people. Were you successful, do you think?" - -He made a gesture with his hands that might mean anything. Mrs. Thrale -assumed that it meant nothing--that he felt he was not greatly concerned -whether he had been successful in finding a congenial topic of converse -with Miss Burney or not. - -She laughed. - -"Poor girl!" she said. "She may have her dreams like other girls." - -"I believe she has--poor girl!" said he. "But I know that in her -knowledge of music she goes deeper--soars higher than most young ladies -who have submitted to lessons from a _maestro_--nay, higher than the -_maestro_ himself." - -Mrs. Thrale looked doubtfully at him. - -"Is it possible that we are talking of two different people?" said she. - -"Ah, that is quite possible," said he. - -"I was referring to Miss Burney, the one of the family who does nothing -except sew--her mother commends her sewing very highly. I fear that you -actually believed that you were in converse with one of her sisters." - -"Madame," said he, "it is my belief that the one who sews in a family is -far more interesting than the one who sings. But Miss Burney need not, -in my eyes, be any more than Miss Burney to be interesting, though she -has taught me more of music than I ever learned before." - -"Is't possible? Oh, yes: I should remember that her father told me that -she was his amanuensis--she made a neat copy of all his notes for the -'History of Music.' It is no wonder that she knows something about -it. Such a good daughter! And the father took no trouble about her -education. She did not know her letters till she was eight or nine, I -believe--perhaps twelve. I don't believe that I ever exchanged half a -dozen words with her before this evening; and as for men--you are the -first man I ever saw taking any notice of her." - -His face lit up strangely, Mrs. Thrale thought, at this revelation. He -gave a laugh. - -"So much the better for her--so much the worse for the men," said he. -"And now, madame, if the tea has not become too strong, and if your -hunger has not made you too weak to walk to the table, I should esteem -it an honour to conduct you thither." - -Mrs. Thrale smiled her acquiescence, and she entered the drawing-room on -the arm of the singer. Nothing could have convinced her that he did not -feel grateful to her for rescuing him from the position in which his -good nature had placed him--by the side of the most insignificant young -woman among all Sir Joshua's guests. - -She believed that she was increasing his debt of gratitude to her by -keeping him with her for the next half-hour. Her sense of protecting him -gave her naturally a sense of patronage, which was quite pleasant for -her to experience, especially when she glanced round the room and saw -several ladies of higher rank than she could pretend to, frowning in her -direction. She knew how Signor Rauzzini was pestered by the attentions -of such as these, and she could almost hear the well-bred sneers of -her friends as they glanced at her and wondered if she never meant to -release the unfortunate young man--she knew just what they would say, -and she accepted their imaginary words as a real compliment to -her protective powers. Her smile down the table was one of great -complacency. - -She also noticed that the insignificant Miss Burney was glowing as she -had never seen her glow before. Her face was rosy and her eyes were -actually sparkling. Mrs. Thrale had never imagined that such eyes as -Miss Burney's could sparkle, no matter what their provocation might be. - -"Poor girl! Poor child! Her head is turned, as I feared it would be -when I saw the Rauzzini with her. She is the unhappy victim of his good -nature." - -This was the conclusion come to by the little lady whose ability to -pronounce an opinion on such a matter was widely acknowledged; and -coming to such a conclusion, she naturally commended all the more -heartily the step which she had taken for separating the foolish girl -and the fascinating young man. - -She would have waved aside any suggestion that might be made to her to -the effect that the increase in Miss Burney's colouring and the light in -her eyes was due to Miss Burney's overhearing the conversation between -her mother and Sir Joshua respecting a book which he had stayed up all -night to read and which he had just finished in time to receive his -guests. - -The name of the book was "Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the -World," he said, and he was urging Mrs. Burney to follow his example and -read it without further delay. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -|FANNY was at her stepmother's elbow while Sir Joshua gave her a full -account of how he had been induced to send to Lowndes for this wonderful -book on the recommendation of Mrs. Darner, whose portrait he was -painting. Mrs. Darner had excused her unpunctuality at one of her -sittings on the ground that she had become so interested in the fortunes -of "Evelina" that she could not put the book down. - -"Get it for yourself, sir," she had said, "and you will quickly -acknowledge that my excuse is valid." - -"Of course I did not get it then," said Sir Joshua. "I find it -impossible to keep pace with the useful books that are printed in these -days, and I have long ago given up novels. But when, the next day, Mrs. -Darner came to sit to me with a woebegone countenance and the traces of -tears on her cheeks, so that I could only paint her draping, and that, -too, had a woeful droop in its folds--for let me tell you, madam, that a -woman's dress is usually in sympathy with the mood of the wearer--when, -I say, the lady entered my painting-room in this guise, I ventured to -inquire if she was serious in her wish that I should depict her in the -character of Niobe. 'Oh, sir,' she cried, ''tis all due to that horrid -Branghton--he it is that has brought me to this.' 'The wretch!' said I. -'Have you no friend who will run him through the vitals? Where is he -to be found, that I may arrange for his destruction?' 'He is the -persecutor of my beloved Evelina,' she replied, 'and heaven only knows -what is to become of the poor girl.' - -"Now, madam, when I had thus brought before me the effect that the book -had produced upon so natural a lady as Mrs. Darner, what was left for -me but to buy it? And now you see the effect that it has had upon me," -continued Sir Joshua, "so you must e'en buy it also." - -"Nay, Sir Joshua," said Mrs. Burney, "your case has furnished me with -the strongest of reasons for not buying it. I would not allow a book -into my house that would so turn me aside from my ordinary life and my -daily business. What, sir, would you have me stay out of my comfortable -bed for hours, in order that I might make myself more uncomfortable -still by reading of the imaginary woes of a young woman who is nothing -to me but a shadow?" - -"Oh, I promise you that you will find Evelina far from being a shadow," -said Sir Joshua. "She is a creature of flesh and blood, with a heart -that beats so that you find your own heart keeping time with it, whether -it pulsates slowly or fast. In short, Evelina lives. I have no patience -with those attenuated figures that dance on the stage of so many of our -new novel writers; I can see the stuffing of straw when their constant -gyrating has worked a rip in their seamy side; creatures of rag and -wire--they never deceive one for a moment--why, their very gyrations are -not true to life. But Evelina lives. Some of the characters in the book -are distasteful--some of them are vulgar, but the world is made up of -distasteful and vulgar people, and a novel should be true to the world -in which the characters are placed. Oh, that was where the greatness -of poor Dr. Goldsmith was to be found. He would abate nothing of the -vulgarity of the vulgar characters in his plays, because he meant them -to live. The people hissed his vulgar bailiffs in his _Good-Natured -Man_, and when Colman cut them out he himself restored them when Shuter -played the piece for his benefit the following year, and everyone saw -that they were true to life. The vulgarity of Tony Lumpkin and the Three -Pigeons made Walpole shudder, but there they remain in the best comedy -of our time, and there they will remain for ever. Oh, yes; the author of -'Evelina' knows what life is, and so his book will live." - -"And who is the author of this surprising book?" asked Mrs. Burney. - -"That is a mystery," replied Reynolds. "I sent to Lowndes, the -bookseller, to inquire, and he pretended that he did not know. He could -only say that he was a gentleman of note living in Westminster." - -"Ah, that is one of the booksellers' tricks to make their wares seem -more attractive," said she. "They know that a man in a mask awakens -curiosity." - -"That is so; but 'Evelina' stands in need of no advertisement of such a -nature. It would attract attention even though the name of Mr. Kenrick -were attached to it. But everyone is dying to find out the name of the -author; Mrs. Darner believes it to have been written by Horace Walpole, -but only because 'The Castle of Otranto' was published without his name -being on the title page." - -"Not a very cogent line of argument, it seems to me," said Mrs. Burney. -"Well, Sir Joshua, I hope you will enjoy a comfortable sleep to-night, -now that you have the fortunes of that young lady off your mind." - -"Oh, my dear madam, I do assure you that my mind is not yet free from -the effects of reading that book," cried Reynolds. "I am more faithful -to my friends in some books than to forget all about them when I lay -them on the shelf. If they live, be assured that I live with them, and -the thought of them is to me at times as pleasant as the thought of the -best friends I have met in my daily life. I have laid 'Evelina' on a -shelf in my memory--not one of the back shelves, but one that is near -to me, so that I can console myself with her companionship when I am -lonely." - -"I have never heard you praise a book so heartily, sir," said Mrs. -Burney. "But I will beg of you not to mention it to any of my family, -for if it has so unhinged you, what would it not do to those poor -girls?" - -He did not catch all she had said, for she spoke in a voice which she -did not mean to travel to Fanny or Susy, who were chatting to Miss -Theophila Palmer, Sir Joshua's niece. - -"You may depend on my telling them all I find out in regard to the -author," said he in a tone of assent. - -"No, no," she cried, getting nearer to the bell of his trumpet. "No, no; -I want you to refrain from mentioning the book to them. I discourage all -novel reading, excepting, of course, the works of Mr. Richardson, and -perhaps one or two of Fielding, with some of the pages gummed together -to prevent them from being read." - -"Nay, to tempt people to read them," said Reynolds. "What were we saying -about the attractions of a mask? Well, my word for it, the attractions -of a book without a name are as nothing compared with the attraction -of gummed pages. But you will let them read 'Evelina,' and you will, -moreover, read it yourself--yes, and you will all be the better and not -the worse for doing so." - -Mrs. Burney shook her head. - -It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale thought that Miss Burney looked -flushed at this time, or that there was an unwonted sparkle in her eyes; -for she had heard nearly every word that Sir Joshua had said, and she -could scarcely contain herself for delight. For all her primness, she -was at heart a merry schoolgirl, ready to break into a dance at good -news, and to shout for joy when things had advanced as she had hoped -they would. She felt that it was very hard on her that she could not -throw her hat up to the ceiling of the room, as she had heard of Dr. -Goldsmith's doing with his wig in the exuberance of his spirits in this -same room--when Miss Reynolds was in her bed upstairs. It was very hard -on her to be compelled to restrain her feelings; she was unconscious of -the sparkle in her eyes, or of the pony flush of her cheeks that Mrs. -Thrale had noticed and was still noticing. - -She had never felt so happy in all her life. A short time before she had -felt that everything in the world was insignificant in comparison -with love; but now she realized that there was another joy worthy of -recognition. She was not wise enough to perceive that the two emotions -sprang from the same source--that the foundation of love is the impulse -to create, and that the foundation of an artist's joy in fame is the -knowledge that what he has created is recognized by the world. She was -(fortunately) not wise enough to be able to analyse her feelings--to be -wise enough to analyse one's feelings is to be incapable of feeling. All -that she was conscious of at that moment was that all worth having in -the world was hers--the instinct to create, which men call Love, the joy -of obtaining recognition for the thing created, which men call Fame. - -It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale saw that light in her face and in her -eyes; nor was it strange that the same observant lady should attribute -that illumination to the touch of the fire of the sacred torch. She -looked at the handsome face of the Roman youth, with its expression of -frankness, and at his eyes, full of the generous warmth of the South, -and once more she glanced at Miss Burney, and saw in her face the -reflection of the southern sunny glow. - -"Poor girl--poor girl!" were the words that sprung to her lips. "Only a -moment's attention from him--only a word--nay, a glance from those -eyes would have been enough--and she is at his feet. Poor girl! -Knowing nothing of the world--incapable of understanding anything of -life--having no gift to attract attention---" - -"Dear Mrs. Thrale, I have come to you for help. You are sure to have -read this book that everyone is talking about--this 'Evelina'--and you -can, I am certain, tell us who is the author. Pray let us know if your -friend Dr. Johnson had a finger in it--I have heard that some of the -writing is in the style of Dr. Johnson--or was it Mr. Anstey--they say -that some chapters could only have come from the author of 'The Bath -Guide.'" - -It was Lady Hales who had hurried up with her inquiries. She seemed -to be the representative of a group with whom she had been standing, -several ladies and two or three men. - -It so happened, however, that Mrs. Thrale had not yet read the book -around which discussion had been buzzing; but she had no intention of -acknowledging that, with her literary tastes and with her friendship for -Dr. Johnson, she was behind the times. Two or three people had within -the week made remarks about "Evelina" in her presence, but she had no -idea that it was to become a topic of society. - -She smiled enigmatically, to give herself time to make up her mind what -her reply should be--whatever it might be, it certainly would not be a -confession of ignorance. She came to the conclusion that on the whole -she could not do better than mould her answer so as to heighten the -mystery of the authorship. - -"Is it possible that none of our friends have discovered the author?" -she asked, still smiling shrewdly, so as to suggest that she herself had -long ago been let into the secret. - -"We have had many conjectures," said Lady Hales. "And let me whisper in -your ear--there is one among us who is ready to affirm that the address -of the author is Thrale Hall, Streatham." - -"I vow that I am overwhelmed," cried the little lady. "The compliment is -one that any writer might envy. Pray how could it enter the mind of any -of our friends to connect me with the authorship of such a book?" - -"There are some touches of your style in many of the letters of -Evelina," replied Lady Hales. "And some have said that only you could -have had the varied experiences described so vividly." - -"A marvellous book, truly, this 'Evelina,'" cried Mrs. Thrale. "Some -people, you say, recognize the hand of Dr. Johnson in its pages, others -the pen that wrote 'The Bath Guide,' and now it is suggested that the -whole was the work of a humble scribbler named Mrs. Thrale--a person who -has surely little in common with the two writers you have named." - -She took care that her affectation of surprise had an artificial note -about it. There was no knowing how things might turn out. Mrs. Thrale -had no objection in the world to have her name associated with the -authorship of a book about which it was clear a good many people would -be talking for some months to come. - -"May I not be entrusted with something more definite?" asked Lady Hales -in a low voice. "If it is a secret for the present--well, you know that -I am one to be trusted." - -"I can assure you definitely that the book was not written by Dr. -Johnson," replied Mrs. Thrale, with a smile. "He has not for a single -week during the past year failed to visit us at Streatham for at least -four days at a time. He reads to me all that he writes--it is not -much--and I can give you an assurance that the name of Evelina has not -once appeared in his manuscript. I may also say that if you take my -advice you will not be in too great haste to attribute the book to Mr. -Anstey." - -This was not mystification, it sounded much more like revelation, Lady -Hales thought. - -"I dare not press you further, madam," she said. - -"Believe me, I can appreciate your reticence, if----" - -"Nay, now you suggest that I have told you a secret that I have -concealed from everyone else, and that is going too far," cried Mrs. -Thrale. "Now, dear madam, cannot you see that even if I were in the -secret of the authorship, I should be guilty of a great breach of -courtesy were I to reveal it to anyone? If an author choose to remain -anonymous, is it not discourteous to try to snatch away his--or -her--veil of anonymity?" - -"I can but assent," said Lady Hales. "I do not doubt that this view of -the matter is the correct one. At any rate, you may depend on my acting -in accordance with it. I shall make no further attempt to pry into -the secret, and I shall think it right to dissuade my friends from the -quest." - -"In that I am sure you will be acting in accordance with the author's -wishes," said Mrs. Thrale, smiling knowingly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -|SO they parted; and Lady Hales hastened back to her friends to whisper -in their ears that the mystery was as good as solved: Mrs. Thrale had as -much as acknowledged that she was the author of "Evelina," but she hoped -that, as she had written the book without the knowledge of her husband, -her friends would respect her desire to remain anonymous. - -"Mr. Thrale, being a Member of Parliament, would not like to have the -name of his wife bandied about among ordinary people as that of the -writer of a novel," Lady Hales explained, though really no explanation -was needed of a fact that could be appreciated by every sensible person -aware of the contemptible character of the novels of the day. "Only Dr. -Johnson is in the secret," she continued. "Dr. Johnson, as we all know, -lives at Thrale Hall for five days out of every week, finding the table -provided by Mrs. Thrale to suit his palate very much better than that -controlled by poor blind Mrs. Williams at Bolt Court." - -"That may account for some of the touches in the book in the style of -Dr. Johnson," said one of the ladies. "You may be sure that no book -could be written under the same roof as Dr. Johnson without his having -something to say to it." - -"I never could understand how so fastidious a lady as Mrs. Thrale could -tolerate the company of Dr. Johnson at her table, but now the secret is -out--this secret and t'other," said one of the gentlemen. "Dr. Johnson -is not seen at his best at the dinner-table." - -"So far as that goes, neither is Mr. Thrale himself," said another. "He -has a huge appetite." - -"I had an inkling all along that Mrs. Thrale wrote the book," said a -lady with a huge hat. "I actually remarked to my sister, while I was -reading it, 'if this story is not written by Mrs. Thrale, Mrs. Thrale is -the one who would like to have written it.'" - -"But mind, not a word must be breathed that would hint that she -acknowledged it to me by direct word of mouth," cried Lady Hales, -beginning to have some qualms. "No; you must understand clearly that she -did not say in so many words that she wrote it. Indeed, her last words -to me were, that anyone who should name in public the author of a book -published anonymously would be guilty of a great discourtesy." - -"She is perfectly right: to do so would be to exhibit very bad taste -truly," came more than one acquiescent voice. - -And the result of their complete agreement on this point was the -immediate dissemination of the report that Mrs. Thrale was indeed the -writer of "Evelina." - -But that clever little lady, on getting rid of the questioner, found -that Signor Rauzzini had slipped away from her side and was now making -his adieux to Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughters. She noticed that the -light had gone out of Fanny Burney's eyes as the young singer bent -over her hand, and once again she shook her head. She had given more -attention to Miss Burney during the previous hour than during all the -years she had visited at St. Martin's Street. She thought that it might -be her duty to say a word of warning to the young woman, who could not -possibly know anything about the world or the deceitfulness of Italian -vocalists. - -Meantime, however, she ordered one of her three footmen to tell the -coachman to drive to the shop of Lowndes, the bookseller, and there she -purchased a bound copy of "Evelina," at nine shillings. - -Mrs. Thrale was, of course, well known to Mr. Lowndes, and seeing her, -through the window of his office, enter his shop, he put his quill -behind his ear and emerged, bowing and smiling. - -"How was it that you failed to apprise me that you had printed 'Evelina -'?" she inquired. - -"Is't possible that you did not receive my advertisement, madam?" he -cried. "Why, I posted it to you with my own hands even before the book -had left the press, the truth being that I was anxious to get your -opinion respecting it." - -"I never had any advertisement from you about it," she replied. - -"Oh, I was to blame for not underlining the announcement, madam," said -he. "I ask your pardon. How were you to know that it was not one of the -usual novels of the season?--I do not venture to recommend such to the -attention of ladies of superior tastes like yourself, madam. I shall not -forgive myself, rest assured. But I am punished, in that I have been -unable to sell a second edition by telling my customers how highly it -was esteemed by Mrs. Thrale." - -"You assume that it would be highly esteemed by me, Mr. Lowndes; but I -am not quite sure that you do not flatter yourself in believing that my -judgment would be the same as that of the public. The poor public! How -can they possibly know whether a book is good or bad?" - -"They cannot, madam; that is why we poor booksellers must only trust to -sell our books on the recommendation of ladies of taste and judgment. -May I beg, madam, that you will favour me with your opinion respecting -the merits of 'Evelina'?" - -"It has been so great a success that I fear I shall not think highly of -it. Pray, who is your modest author?" - -"Positively, madam, I am unable to tell you. The MS. was brought to me -with a letter purporting to come from a Mr. Grafton at the Orange Coffee -House, near the Haymarket, and he desired the secret of its authorship -to be kept close." - -"Ah, yes; to be sure--kept close from the vulgar public; but he could -never think that you were violating his confidence by telling me his -name." - -"He could not be so unreasonable, madam--nay, rather would he kneel -to you--for he could scarce fail to understand the value that we set -on----" - -"I am not convinced either that he would benefit from the exchange of -confidence or that I should; but prithee, sir, what is his name?" - -"'Fore heaven, madam, I have told you so much as is known by me -respecting the gentleman. Never before have I been placed in so -remarkable a position. My fault, Mrs. Thrale, no doubt: I should have -taken precautions against being thus surprised into publishing a book -without knowing the name of the author. But although my judgment enabled -me to perceive that the work was out of the common, yet I never counted -on its merits being recognized so speedily. May I beg of you to favour -me with your opinion as to who the writer may be, madam--that is, when -you have read it, unless, indeed--" he glanced at her shrewdly with -a little knowing smile-- "unless, indeed, you could so favour me -_instanter_." - -"Nay, Mr. Lowndes, how would it be possible for me to give you an -opinion as to the authorship of a book which I have not yet read? I am -not one of those astute critics who, they say, can tell you all there -is to be known about a book without cutting the leaves, or even--if you -slip a guinea into their hand--without opening the covers." - -"I thought that perhaps you might be one of those who have been let into -the secret, madam. I trust that Dr. Johnson's health has not been so bad -as to prevent him from doing any literary work. Ah, what does not that -great man--nay, what does not the world owe to you, Mrs. Thrale?" - -"If you would suggest, Mr. Lowndes, that the book about which we have -been conversing was written, even in part, by Dr. Johnson, I can give -you an assurance that such is not the case. He is in no way inclined -to engage in any form of literary labour. He grudges his friends even a -note." - -"There are some gentlemen who come hither and honour me by conversing -on the subject of letters, and more than one of them has pointed out -passages in 'Evelina' that show signs of the great Doctor's pen; but for -that matter----" - -"I agree with you, sir; every scribbler in Grub Street apes the style of -Dr. Johnson, but only to reveal the ape in himself. Now, Mr. Lowndes, -if you really are in earnest in saying that you are unaware who is the -author of your book, I have done you some service in curtailing by one -the list of authors to whom it might possibly be attributed. You may -strike out the name of Johnson, sir, on my authority." - -"I shall certainly do so, madam--not that I, for my own part, was ever -foolish enough to fancy that he had written more of it than a page or -two. I am indebted to you, Mrs. Thrale." - -"Then if you would wish to pay off the debt, you can do so by informing -me of your success in discovering the writer. 'Tis quite impossible to -conceive of the man's remaining unrevealed for any length of time, and I -confess that I am anxious to know if he is among my acquaintance." - -"You assume the sex, madam." - -"What, have you a doubt of it?" - -"There are so many literary ladies nowadays, Mrs. Thrale." - -"But you surely saw the handwriting of the script?" - -"That is just the point. My printers have examined it and say that it -is a lady's caligraphy only disguised to look like a man's. In my own -judgment they are right. It is an upright hand, neat and clear--not in -the least like that of an author. Still, that counts but little, seeing -that the writer of the book would be pretty certain to have a clear copy -made of his script by someone else. I have had a suspicion, from the -mystery insisted on by this Mr. Grafton, that he is none other than the -author of the 'Castle of Otranto.'" - -"What, Mr. Walpole?" - -"Even so. You recollect how delighted he was to conceal the hand he had -in that book--going much farther than I thought any gentleman would in -honour go, to make people believe it was what it pretended to be?" - -"Mr. Lowndes, I know not what your experience has been; but mine is -that when a gentleman becomes an author he lays aside whatever sense of -honour he possesses as a gentleman." - -"I have had little to do with gentlemen authors, madam. Most of my -writers are simply authors." - -"And Mr. Walpole very properly put himself in line with them, and so had -no hesitation in carrying out his fraud in 'Otranto.' Well, if it be so, -you may count on his revealing himself now that the book has become a -success. In any case, you will not forget to keep me informed, and I -shall esteem it a favour, Mr. Lowndes." - -Mr. Lowndes renewed his promise and bowed the lady to the door. The -three volumes of "Evelina" had been brought out to the chariot by one -of the footmen, a second following in his footsteps to see that he -deposited them fairly upon one of the cushions, and a third standing by -the open door in case of the breakdown of either of the others. - -Mrs. Thrale got into the splendid machine, the three lackeys swung -themselves up on their platform behind, and clung on to the heavy -straps, looking, in their brilliant livery, as the chariot lurched away -over the uneven cobble-stones, like mighty butterflies of a tropical -forest swaying together on the rim of a gigantic flower. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -|NO chance had Rauzzini of saying more than the most conventional words -of farewell to Fanny. Mrs. Burney was beside her and her two sisters -also. He yielded to his impulse to pronounce a malediction on Mrs. -Thrale, who had so interrupted his conversation with Fanny--the last he -could possibly have until his return from France after fulfilling his -engagements. But this was when he had seen the Burney family out of -the door of the house in Leicester Fields and to the entrance to St. -Martin's Street. He was then alone, and could give in some measure -expression to his feelings in his own tongue. - -His imagination was quite vivid enough to suggest to him all that the -officiousness of Mrs. Thrale had interrupted--the exchange of vows--the -whispered assurances of fidelity--perhaps a passionate kiss--a -heaven-sent chance during a marvellous minute when the painting-room -should be emptied of all but herself and him! It was distracting to -think of all that had been cut out of his life by that busybody. While -he had been talking alone with Fanny his eyes had taken in the splendid -possibilities of the painting-room. There were three immense easels on -different parts of the floor, and each carried a glorious canvas for -a life-size portrait. Two of them were already finished, and the third -contained a portion of the Greek altar at which a fair lady was to be -depicted making her oblation to Aphrodite, or perhaps Artemis. The young -man, however, did not give a thought to the glowing work of the great -painter on the canvases, he thought only of the possibilities of a -moment or two spent in the protecting shadow of one of them with that -gentle, loving girl yielding herself to his clasp--only for a moment--he -could not reasonably hope that it should be for longer than a single -moment, but what raptures might not be embraced even within that brief -space! A moment--one immortal moment worth years of life! That was -what he saw awaiting him in the friendly shade of one of Sir Joshua's -portraits--that was all that the sublime picture meant to the ardent -lover--it was not the immortal picture, but the immortal moment that was -before his eyes--but just when, by a little manoeuvring on his part, the -joy that should change all his life and console him for being deprived -of the society of his beloved for three months, was within his reach, -that foolish woman had come bustling up with her chatter and had -separated them! - -For which he now implored heaven and a heathen deity or two that still -linger in the language of malediction in their native Italy, to send -her soul to the region where Orpheus had sought his Eurydice. Down--down -with her to the lowest depths of the Inferno he implored his patrons to -bear her and to keep her there for ever. - -His imploration was quite as lyrical as his "Waft her, Angels, to the -Skies," only its bearing was upon the fate of the lady in just the -opposite direction, and he was even more fervent in its delivery. But -having delivered it, he felt some of that relief which is experienced -by a true artist who has a consciousness of having done some measure of -justice to his theme. He felt that if beatitude had been denied to him, -the one who had separated him from it would not escape scathless, if the -intensity of an appeal to the high gods of his native land counted for -anything in their estimation. - -And then he went more or less contentedly to his lodgings to prepare for -his appearance in the opera of the night. - -He sang divinely as an angel, and again if any of his audience remained -unmoved by the enchantment of his voice, they certainly could not but -have yielded to the charm of his presence. Some women might be incapable -of appreciating the exquisite character of his vocalism, but none could -remain impervious to the appeal of his smile. - -As for the girl who alone had appealed to his heart, she went home with -her mother and sisters without a word, for she had not perceived the -glorious possibilities lurking behind the grand canvases in Sir Joshua's -painting-room. She could even bring herself to believe that the coming -of Mrs. Thrale had been rather opportune than otherwise; for if she had -not joined her stepmother at that time she would not have heard all that -Sir Joshua had said about "Evelina." - -All that she had heard had made her supremely happy, not, she thought, -because she was greedy for fame, but because it meant to her that she -was a step nearer to the arms of the man she loved. The fame which Sir -Joshua's words implied was dear to her because she knew that she need -not now hesitate to seat herself by the side of this king of men, as his -equal--no, not quite as his equal, but certainly not as a beggar maid. -She knew that when it was announced that she was the writer of a great -book, or, what was better still, a book that everybody was talking -about, people would not shrug their shoulders when they heard that -Rauzzini> the Roman singer, whose name was in everybody's mouth, was -about to marry her. The event that she scarcely dared hope for had -actually happened: she was no longer the nobody which she had been, she -was a woman the product of whose brain had been acclaimed by the best -judges, and so the barrier that she had seen separating her lover from -herself had been thrown down. The same voices that had acclaimed her -Rauzzini as a singer had acclaimed her as a writer; for though she had -hesitated to receive her cousin Edward's reports from the libraries as -conclusive of the mark that the book was making, she could not now -have any doubt on the subject: a book that was spoken of by Sir Joshua -Reynolds as he had spoken of "Evelina" must be granted a place high -above the usual volumes to be found on the shelves of a circulating -library. She was convinced that in a short time everyone would be -talking about it in the same strain, and though people might be -incredible on the subject of its authorship, the fact would remain the -same--she had written the book, and the fame that attached to the writer -would assuredly be hers. There would now be no sneering references to -King Cophetua. Everyone within their circle would admit that there -was no disparity between her position as the writer of the book that -everyone was talking about and that of the singer whom people crowded to -hear. - -She felt supremely happy. Though Mrs. Burney had not shown any -particular wish to repeat what Reynolds had said to her about the -book, she knew perfectly well that this was only because of her general -distrust of anything in the form of a novel, and her fear lest something -unreadable should get into the hands of the girls. But Fanny also knew -that the fact of Mrs. Burney's shunning the novels of the circulating -libraries would not interfere with the reputation that must accrue to -the author of "Evelina"; so she was not affected by the indifference -shown by her stepmother to all that Reynolds had said. She awaited -without impatience the day when her father should take up the book and -read the Ode at the beginning. She felt that, although his name was not -at the head, he would know that the verses were addressed to him, and -that it was his daughter Fanny who had written them. She knew that -however firmly he might assert himself on the side of his wife in -preventing the entrance to the house of all novels excepting those of -Richardson--Fanny herself had never had a chance of reading even -"The Vicar of Wakefield"--he would be proud of her as the writer of -"Evelina." She was not quite sure if he would be as proud of her as if -she had developed a wonderful musical capacity; but she never doubted -that his affection for her--assisted by his knowledge of the impression -the book had made upon the most important of his own associates--would -cause him to take her into his arms with delight and to forgive her -for running the chance of being classed among the Miss Minifies of the -period--the female writers whose ridiculous productions were hidden -beneath the sofa cushions in so many households. Fanny Burney was a -dutiful daughter and she had nothing of the cynic about her, but she was -well aware of the fact that success would be regarded by her father as -justifying an experiment that failure would have made discreditable. - -Once more, then, the three sisters met that night in Fanny's bedroom. -The two younger could now look on her without their feeling of awe. They -were on the verge of being indignant with Mrs. Burney for having made no -reference whatever since returning from the Reynoldses to the subject of -Sir Joshua's eulogy. - -"Not once did she mention the name of 'Evelina' to the padre; Sir -Joshua might just as well have talked of Miss Herschel's comet to her," -said Susy. - -"And after our schooling ourselves so rigidly to give no sign that we -were in any measure connected with the book too--it was cruel!" said -Lottie. - -"It was not as if the padre did not give her a good chance more than -once," continued Susy. "Did he not ask if anyone had given her any news? -And what did she answer?--Why, only that someone had said that Mr. Fox -had lost a fortune a few nights ago at faro! As if anybody cares about -Mr. Fox! I was prepared for her opening out at once to him about the -book--maybe begging him to send Williams to buy it at Mr. Lowndes'." - -"What, at seven-and-sixpence!" cried Fanny. "My dear child, do you know -mamma no better than to fancy that?" - -"What I don't know is how she resisted it," said Lottie. "Oh, you heard -how Sir Joshua talked about it; and Miss Reynolds too--she praised it up -to the skies." - -"Other people in the painting-room as well as in the drawing-room were -talking of it," said Susy. "I heard the beautiful Miss Horneck speak -of it to the lady with the big muff and the rose taffeta with the -forget-me-not embroidery." - -"I am sure that everybody was speaking of it--I could hear the name -'Evelina' buzzing round the rooms," cried Lottie. - -"Yes; everyone was talking about it, and only mamma was silent--_is_ -silent. I don't think that at all fair," continued Susy. - -Fanny laughed. - -"You are silly little geese," she cried. "Could you not see that she -would not mention it lest it should reach our ears and we should be -filled with an _irresistible_ desire to possess it--_it_--a modern -novel! Think of it! Oh, my dears, you are too unreasonable, Mamma knows -her duty too well to allow even the name of a novel to pass her lips -and maybe reach the ears of such a group of fly-away young things as -ourselves! She understands the extent of her responsibilities. Go to -your beds and be thankful that you have so excellent a guardian." - -"But when we were prepared----" began one of them, when Fanny -interrupted her. - -"You may conserve your preparations--you will hear her say the name soon -enough--you may depend upon that," she said. "You may prepare to hear -yourselves summoned into her presence to give a full and true account -of your complicity in the thing which was perpetrated under this sacred -roof--nay, in the very room where the great philosopher Newton wrote his -thesis! A novel written in the room in which the divine 'Principia' -was produced! Why, 'twere as bad in mamma's eyes as acting one of Mr. -Foote's farces in St. Paul's Cathedral. Oh, yes, you'll have to face her -soon enough, and after that you'll never wish to hear the name Evelina -again. Now, good-night, and thank heaven for your respite." - -They left her, glum and dissatisfied. It was plain to her that they were -disappointed at not being given the opportunity of showing how admirably -they had themselves under control in regard to the secret--of showing -Fanny how they could hear Mrs. Burney talk at length about "Evelina," -while neither of them gave the least sign of ever having heard the name -before. It was indeed disappointing that all their studied immobility -should go for nothing. - -But Fanny knew that their secret could not possibly remain hidden for -many more days. If the book was going into everybody's hands, her father -would be certain to have it, and then--would he not know? Would not she -be summoned into his presence and that of his wife--the lady of many -responsibilities--and required to defend herself?... - -She fell asleep before she had come to any conclusion as to the line of -defence that she should adopt. - -And in spite of the readiness of her sisters for any inquisition to -which they might be summoned, they were startled--as was also Fanny -herself--when, immediately after a rather silent and portentous -breakfast, Mrs. Burney said: - -"Susy and Lottie, you may go to your duties. You, Fanny, will remain, as -your father wishes to speak to you on a matter of some gravity." - -So the long-expected hour had come, the three girls thought. By some -accident unknown to them their secret was exposed, and Fanny was about -to be called upon to explain, if she could, to the satisfaction of -her father and her stepmother, how it came that she so far forgot the -precepts of her upbringing as to write a novel quite in the modern -spirit, though adopting a form which the master-touch of Mr. Samuel -Richardson had hallowed. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -|THE two girls left the room slowly, after sending in the direction of -Fanny a glance which they meant should encourage her--a glance which -should let her know that they were quite ready to share her punishment, -should the worst come to the worst. - -Fanny replied to them with her eyes; and then prepared for the worst. - -It quickly came. - -"My dear daughter," said Dr. Burney, when they were alone, Mrs. Burney -in her chair at the head of the table. "My dear Fanny, I am no believer -in leading by degrees up to such a communication as I have to make to -you. I think that the sooner it is got over the better it will be -for all whom it may concern. Well, this is it: Mr. Thomas Barlowe has -written to me asking my permission for him to address you with a view to -marriage." - -He made a pause, looking at her to observe the effect of this -revelation. - -And what he saw at first was a girl with a pale face and downcast eyes, -awaiting, almost breathlessly, an accusation from which she shrank; but -when he had spoken he saw a great change come over her. Not immediately, -but gradually. It seemed to him that she had not fully realized the -meaning of his words--that she was puzzled--trying to recall what he had -said. Then the light seemed to dawn upon her. She flushed, and, after -a few moments, threw back her head and went into a peal of laughter--a -real schoolgirl's fit of laughter at something amazingly comic--the -tumbling of a clown into a pool of water with a splash, or, perhaps, the -slipping of a dignified beadle upon a butter slide. Her laughter went -on for a long time, but without in the least suggesting hysteria--it -was simply a girl's natural laughter on realizing the comic side of a -situation which grown-up people would regard as extremely serious. - -Neither her father nor his wife could understand why she should receive -in such a spirit an essentially serious communication--the most serious -that any young woman could receive. They had not before them the -ludicrous picture that presented itself to her imagination--a picture of -the Roman Rauzzini on the one side and the Poultry Barlowe on the other, -asking her to choose between them. It was this presentment, coming in a -flash the moment she realized that the publishing of the book was not -the question which she had to face, that forced her to yield to that -long fit of laughter. - -Her father and stepmother sat stolidly by, but she knew that had she and -her father been alone, he would at least have smiled with her. - -In a few minutes she had recovered herself sufficiently to be able to -apologize for her levity. - -"I beg your pardon," she said. "I am behaving like a goose, but I could -not help it--something forced me--something that occurred to me--a funny -thing. I am very sorry." - -"There is nothing funny that I can see in the honourable request made by -an honest young man, my dear Fanny," said Mrs. Burney. - -"No, no; nothing whatever; only--well, funny ideas will occur to foolish -people like myself at the most serious moments," said Fanny. - -"That is quite true, indeed," said her father. "I have myself -experienced what you say. Perhaps, after all, I should not have blurted -out what I had to tell you--it came to you as a surprise, I doubt not." - -"A great surprise, indeed," she replied. "I cannot understand how Mr. -Barlowe could ever fancy that I--that he--that--oh, I should have known -what that terrible entertainment was meant to lead to--but when, in that -clumsily marked way I was sent into the drawing-room with him alone, he -began to talk of his uncle, the Aider-man--he said that the Alderman was -quite approachable even in regard to ordinary people like ourselves--and -then came his cousins--all of them remarkable! But you should have seen -him slice away at the ham--the biggest ham I ever saw--it needed to -be--such eating!" - -"The recollection of that no doubt made you laugh," said Dr. Burney. -"But, at the same time, you must remember that though the customs of -the Poultry are not ours, still, they may be very reasonable -customs--perhaps more reasonable than our own. It may suit us to dine as -late as halfpast four and only to have a slice of cake with our tea; but -business people find it more convenient to dine at one o'clock--it makes -an equal division of their long working-day--so that a slice of ham----" - -"I know that is quite true, and I was not so foolish as to give myself -airs because I had dined at half-past four and had no appetite for ham," -said Fanny; "but--oh, mother, you saw how foolishly formal was the whole -thing." - -"I said that I thought it quite unnecessarily formal," replied Mrs. -Burney, "and if I had had any notion that it was going to be like that -I would certainly have given Mrs. Barlowe a hint. Still, Thomas is, I -know, an excellent young man who has never given his parents an -hour's uneasiness, and his intentions are honourable, and so should be -honoured. If you have no tender regard for him at present that is no -reason why, when you get accustomed to the thought of him as a suitor -for your hand----" - -"Oh, mother, that is quite impossible!" cried Fanny. "How could I ever -get accustomed to such a thought?" - -"I do not know why you should not," replied Mrs. Burney. "He is a most -worthy young man, and Mr. Barlowe's business is one of the best in -the City. You must remember, my dear Fanny, that in these days a girl, -unless she has a portion, runs a very great chance of becoming an old -maid, so that no opportunity of settling down in a comfortable home -should be neglected." - -"That is perfectly true," said Dr. Burney. "You will understand that we -have no desire to force this or any match upon you, my dear child: so -long as I have a house over my head you shall share it. But I am sure -that you must know that I am a poor man to-day, although I have worked -as hard at my profession as any living man, and I cannot provide you or -your sisters with any portion. Heaven knows that if I had a fortune I -would gladly divide it among you; but as it is, I think it right to tell -you that you need expect nothing." - -"Dearest father," said Fanny, dissolving into tears, as she took his -hand and kissed it, "I have never expected a fortune from you--not a -penny piece. I know that I shall be portionless, and I daresay that Mr. -Barlowe thinks himself generous in his proposal; but I could never bring -myself to accept him--to look on him as a suitor. It would be quite -impossible. If I thought it possible that I should ever have any -affection for him, I might feel myself justified in encouraging him; but -I know that it would be out of the question. I would prefer to go forth -and beg my bread--nay, to starve." - -"Then we shall pursue the matter no farther for the present," said her -father, kissing her on the forehead as she nestled close to him. - -"Yes, that is best--for the present," acquiesced his wife. "Still, if -you will be advised by me, my dear Fanny, you will remember that Mr. -Barlowe is ready to address you knowing that you will be portionless, -and if you bear that in mind, perhaps you will be surprised to find -some' day, not so far distant, that the thought of him is not so -repugnant to you. You are no longer a girl, and when one is midway -between twenty and thirty every extra year counts in reducing one's -chances of being settled in life. I could cite dozens of instances that -I have known of young women being glad to accept at twenty-eight the -suitors they scorned at twenty or even twenty-five. Oh, yes, the years -come upon one and bring with them a clearer vision of life and love; -frequently they bring regret for opportunities neglected. But we will -not press the matter any farther--just now. I dare say the young man -will submit to be put off--for a time." - -"Nay, for ever," said Fanny resolutely. - -"Oh, well," said her stepmother. - -After a pause, during which Fanny seemed to be debating some matter -in her mind, a little line showing itself along her forehead, she said -slowly: "I do not think that I shall be a burden on you, dear father; I -believe that one day I may be able to do something." - -"Do not fancy that I would ever think of you as a burden, my dear -child," said her father. "But what do you mean by saying that you may -one day do something?--some work, do you suggest?" - -"Something--I am fond of writing," she murmured. - -He laughed gently, saying: - -"You are a very good girl, my love, and I know how much I am indebted to -you for your admirable copying of my notes for the History; but do not -let the idea take hold of you that such work is well paid. If you ever -get in touch with a bookseller, he will tell you that the work of a -copyist is very poorly paid." - -"I was not thinking of copying," murmured Fanny. - -"Of what then, pray?" he asked. - -"If I could but write a book," she replied, with her eyes on the floor. - -"A book!" cried Mrs. Burney, who thought that she had been silent long -enough. "A book!" - -"To be sure--to be sure," said her father, in the indulgent tone of a -parent humouring a child. "You might write a book--so might anyone who -could pay for a ream of paper, a bottle of ink and a box of quills. -You should speak to Mr. Newbery about it: he has printed many nursery -stories since 'Goody Two Shoes.' You might indeed do something that the -children would take a fancy to. Well, Francis Newbery is as honest a man -as his uncle, and we may talk to him about it. By the by, did not you -once tell me that you had written something, or that you were going to -write something? You thought it proper to get my leave. I had forgotten -that. Well, if it be a moral nursery story, we might interest Mr. -Newbery in it." - -"I do not think that it is quite wise to encourage a girl to neglect -her useful household duties in order to compile some rubbish that no one -would read," said Mrs. Burney. - -"Of course you will understand that you are not to neglect your -household duties, Fanny," said her father. - -"If she performs her household duties and sticks to her needlework, -she will have no time left for scribbling rubbish," cried Mrs. Burney, -hastily. - -"She made a bonfire of all that childish nonsense long ago, and I hope -that she will never be so foolish as to waste good paper and pens and, -most precious of all, good time, over such exercises. That is all we -have to say just now, I think--is it not, Doctor? I shall reply to Mr. -Barlowe's letter--a most creditable letter--straightforward--honourable! -I am only sorry that I cannot make the reply to it that it deserves." - -She had opened the door and called for William, their manservant, to -remove the breakfast things. Fanny lingered for a few minutes after she -had risen from her chair. She had assumed from the moment she had begun -to speak of writing, that her opportunity had come; if her stepmother -had not interposed so hastily and so emphatically, she would have made -her confession as to "Evelina,", let the consequences be what they -might; but now that the servant had come with his tray and her -stepmother jingled her key-basket, she perceived that her chance was -gone. She had a sense of sneaking out of the room. - -As she went slowly up the stairs she could hear the voice of her -stepmother remonstrating with her father for having said something that -she, Fanny, might regard as encouragement to waste her precious time in -the pursuit of such folly as writing a book. - -She heard her father's little laugh as he explained (she was sure) that -of course he had not been speaking seriously; but that he had not the -heart to be severe upon her and her harmless scribbling. - -The author of "Evelina" went very slowly upstairs, and when she reached -the work-room landing she found Susy and Lottie waiting for her, glowing -with excitement. Susy was waving over her head what seemed to be a bulky -pamphlet. Coming closer, Fanny saw that it was the chief of the literary -reviews, which had apparently just arrived at the house. - -"A splendid column about 'Evelina,'" she whispered. "Not so good as -it should be, but still splendid. Here it is. But why are you so glum? -Surely they did not scold you now that the book is so great a success." - -"They did not ask me to tarry in the room to charge me with -double-dealing in regard to the book," said Fanny. "They would not allow -me to make my confession when I had the opportunity--the best that I -shall ever have. 'Twas not my confession that was on the _tapis_, but -quite another. That is why I look glum." - -"Another--another confession? But what had either of them to confess?" -cried Lottie. - -"Nothing. They didn't confess." - -"But whose confession was it, then, if not theirs?" asked Lottie. - -"It was young Mr. Barlowe's," said Fanny, with a lugubriousness that was -quite comic. "Young Mr. Barlowe wrote to the padre to confess that -he was passionately--madly--in love with me, and threatening to drown -himself unless permission were given to him to address me--we all know -how fervently young Mr. Barlowe would put his case--that was what I was -summoned to listen to--the fiery letter--only it was too ardent for my -ears: I was only told its purport." - -"But who would ever have thought that he had it in him?" cried Susy. -"Such impudence! I never dreamt that he could rise to such a height of -impudence or I should have thought better of him." - -"'Tis not too late yet, my child," said Fanny. "You are at liberty to -think as highly of Thomas as you please--or as it would please him. -Please take over his blighted affections and it will be a weight off -my mind. Now give me a chance of reading my splendid review--not that -I care in the least what these foolish critics may say of me--I care -nothing, I tell you, only if you do not let me see it at once I shall -die at your feet." - -"There it is," said Susy, "a full column! The idea of anyone written -of in such terms being proposed to by Thomas Barlowe! Such impudence -indeed!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -|THE levity shown by Fanny Burney and the flippancy of her phrases did -not wholly conceal from her sisters all that she was feeling on the -subject of the proposal to which she had referred with such lightness. -She knew that while her father and her stepmother would not treat her -with any marked disfavour on account of her rejection of the worthy -young man who was ready to offer her a home, still Mrs. Burney at least -regarded with great disfavour the nature of the answer which she had -to send to the Poultry, and Fanny was very well aware of the ease with -which so conscientious a guardian as Mrs. Burney could make her feel -every day of her life what was Mrs. Burney's opinion of her rejection of -an eligible young man. - -Fanny recognized the great merits of her stepmother, and she could look -from her standpoint at most of the incidents of their daily life. In -that household one mouth less to feed was worth consideration--the -number of mouths to feed was a constant source of thought with Mrs. -Burney, as was also the question of a provision for the future of all of -them. - -Mrs. Burney would be fully justified in feeling cross with her, not -being aware of the fact that another young man, compared with whom -Thomas Barlowe was as the dust of the ground, was burning, with an -ardour of which Thomas was incapable, to take her to himself and provide -for her in a style undreamt of in the Poultry. - -But the worst of the matter was that she could not let her stepmother -into this secret. She could not say that she was engaged to marry Signor -Rauzzini, and she might leave herself open to the gravest rebuke for -having listened to his protestations of devotion without obtaining the -consent of either of her parents. - -And through all this tangle of reflections there ran the silken thread -of consciousness that she was no longer the Fanny Burney who was -regarded by her stepmother as the dunce, but Fanny Burney the writer of -"Evelina," to whom the most critical review had devoted a full column of -adulation! - -That was what made her position so anomalous; and it was because she -took the happenings of the previous days to heart that she went to bed -with a shocking headache, and after a sleepless night was found on the -verge of a fever. She was suffering from suppressed secrets; but the -doctor did not know this. He prescribed James's Powders; and when these -should have done all that they were meant to do--a small part of all -that Dr. James and Mr. Newbery affirmed they would do--a change into the -country. - -But several weeks had passed before she was strong enough to start on -the latter and most essential portion of the prescription, and found -herself in her own room in Mr. Crisp's isolated house at Chessington. - -Meantime, of course, she had no further news of the book, and she -remained unconfessed, so far as the secret of its publication was -concerned. Her sisters did not so much as mention its name or the name -of Thomas Barlowe, so cleverly had they diagnosed the nature of her -malady and so tactfully did they try to hasten her recovery. - -Her old friend Mr. Crisp had been her guide since her childhood. She -always alluded to him as her second Daddy--so far as paternal influence -was concerned she might have given him the foremost place. He it was who -had led her on to embody in letters to him the daily incidents of -her life, thus unconsciously setting the loom, as it were, in which -"Evelina" was to be woven. He it was who became her teacher and her -critic, and it was possibly because she feared his criticism of her work -that she refrained from making a confidant of him from the first. She -felt that she could face the public and the reviewers--it did not matter -how they might receive the book, but she was too timid to submit it to -the mature judgment of the man who had first put a pen in her hand. It -was not on her own account that she refrained from giving him a chance -of reading her book, but on his: she knew how hurt he would be if he -found her book to be an indifferent one, and whether indifferent or not, -how angry he would be if people did not buy it by the thousand. - -Now, however, that she found herself alone with him, she made up her -mind to tell him all about it. She would choose her own time for doing -this; but it would certainly be done before she returned to St. Martin's -Street. - -But on the second day after her arrival at Ches-sington a parcel came -for her, addressed by Susy. On opening it, she found it to contain two -volumes of "Evelina." The letter that was enclosed told her that Cousin -Edward had called at the Orange Coffee House and found that a set -had been left there at the instance of Mr. Lowndes, addressed to Mr. -Grafton. Of these, Lottie had read the first two, which were now sent on -to the author, but the third she had not finished, and hoped that Fanny -would not mind her detaining it for a few days longer. - -This was really the first glimpse that the author had of her book in its -binding. She had, in the name of Mr. Grafton, requested Mr. Lowndes -to send a set of the volumes to the Orange Coffee House. But that was -nearly three months ago, and until now Mr. Lowndes appeared not to have -thought it worth his while to comply with the request. Now, however, it -seemed to have occurred to him that the author of a book that everyone -was talking about might be worth conciliating, and so he had directed a -set of volumes to the Coffee House. - -At once Fanny made up her mind that she would pave the way, so to speak, -for a full confession to Mr. Crisp. - -"Susy has sent me on two volumes of a new novel, lest I should feel -dull," she said. "As if I am not much more likely to feel dull in the -company of a new novel than of my old Daddy!" - -"I thought that your stepmother prohibited the reading of novels, new or -old, in your house," said he. - -"Perhaps mamma did not know anything about this particular one," replied -Fanny; "besides, it is to be read in your house, not ours." - -"So that the responsibility will be mine?" said he. "Mrs. Burney is -only answerable to heaven for keeping your mind free from the baleful -influence of novels, but I am in a worse case, for I am answerable to -Mrs. Burney. And what is the name of the precious production?" - -"Let me see," said Fanny, artfully referring to the title page. "Oh, -yes: 'Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.' Do you call -that an alluring title?" - -"Too sentimental by half," he replied. "But I have heard of the thing, -and one of the reviews dealt with it some weeks ago." - -"Praise or blame?" - -"Oh, foolish adulation for the great part; but not without a reasonable -word here and there." - -"The reasonable part you are sure must be the censorious? That is not -fair to the poor author." - -"Poor author? Yes, they are all poor authors nowadays. What's the name -of this particular item of poverty?" - -"There is no name on the title page; but I hear that the writer was Mr. -Anstey himself." - -"What! another 'Bath Guide'!" - -"Sir Joshua Reynolds told mamma that he had remained up all night -reading it." - -"Poor Sir Joshua! His eyes are none too good at the best! And does Susy -believe that the book which kept Sir Joshua awake is the best one to -send you asleep? You came to Chessington, you know, to get as much as -possible; 'Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!' the truest words -that Shakespeare ever writ." - -"What I propose to do is to try it upon you, my dear sir. I mean to give -you a dose of it this evening, instead of gruel, and if it makes you -sleep I will know that I may continue it for myself--it will be more -wholesome than poppy or mandragora." - -"Good! But I dare swear that it will be bad enough to keep me awake. You -know that extremes meet in the case of books, as well as other matters; -one keeps awake reading a good book, in expectancy of its undeveloped -goodness; and reading a bad one, wondering how far the author can -actually go in point of dullness." - -"I have often thought that; but Susy has sent only two of the three -volumes." - -"So that we shall not be able to fathom the full depth of the author's -dullness? We should be grateful to Susy--so should the author. Well, you -shall begin after tea, while there is yet daylight: _Le livre ne vaut -pas la chandelle._" - -"_Nous verrons_," cried Fanny. - -And she started reading the book that same day, an hour before sunset. -The room in which they sat was a small one with a window facing the west -and overlooking a long stretch of billowy common. The spicy scent of -the wallflowers in the little garden patch at the side of the house was -wafted through the half-open lattice, and occasionally there came the -sound of the ducks gabbling at the pool beyond the gate that shut off -the house from the lane. It was a cloudless evening, and the sunset -promised to be peach-like in its tender tints of pink and saffron with -the curves of delicate green in the higher sky. Fanny sat at the window -and the old man reclined at his ease upon the sofa. - -"I am giving myself every chance," he said. "All that I ask of you, my -Fannikin, is that you do not glance at me every now and again to see -if I am still awake. If you do so, I shall never yield to so much as a -doze." - -"I promise faithfully to await your signal that you are alert," said -she. - -And so began one of the most delightful hours of her life. - -She was not a particularly good reader aloud when a book was casually -put into her hands, but here she had before her a volume that she could -almost have repeated verbatim, so that she soon found that she was just -too fluent: she felt that if she went on at this rate his critical ear -would tell him that she had every page by heart, and he would ask her -for an explanation of so singular a thing as her being able to repeat -so much of a book which she professed to have in her hands for the first -time. She put a check upon her fluency, and though she did not go so -far as to simulate stumbling over certain words, she neglected the -punctuation now and again, and then went back upon some of the passages, -causing him to give a little grumble and say: - -"Be careful, my dear; there's no need for haste: the evening is still -young." - -After that she was more careful--which is the same as saying she was -more careless of adhering to the scheme she had adopted. She felt that -as he had now been put off the scent, she might run along as she pleased -without there being a chance of his suspecting anything through her -showing herself familiar with passage after passage. - -Before she had got through more than a dozen pages she heard a creaking -of the sofa--she trusted herself to glance in that direction and -found that he was no longer reclining: he was sitting up and listening -attentively. She continued reading without making a remark for a full -hour. The sun had set, but the twilight was clear enough to allow of her -seeing the print on the page before her for some time still; then the -darkness seemed to fall all at once, and she laid the book down when she -had come to the close of one of the letters. - -"Candles," he said. "Candles! Upon my word, the world is right for once: -the stuff is good. We must have candles. Candles, I say!" - -"Supper, say I," cried Fanny. "I feel that I have need of bodily -refreshment after such a task. Does it sound real to you, Daddy -Crisp--all about the Young Lady who is about to enter the world?" - -"Not merely does it sound real, it is real--it is reality," he replied -quickly. "The man who wrote what you have read has something of the -genius of--of--now whom does he resemble, think you?--Richardson here -and there, and in places, Fielding, it seems to me." - -"You suppose that 'tis written by a man?" she said. - -"Why, of course, 'tis the work of a man," he replied. "Where is the -woman living that is capable of writing a single page of that book? -What, have I gone to so much trouble in training you to understand -what is bad and what is good in writing, to so little purpose, that you -should have a doubt as to the sex of what you have just read?" - -"The sex of a book--a novel?" - -"Why not? There are masculine books and there is feminine--trash. There -you have the difference." - -"And you do not consider this to be--trash?" - -"Will you get the candles, Miss Burney? It seems that you are sorely in -need of illumination if you put that question to me seriously. Trash? -Madam, you perceive that I am all eagerness to hear the rest of the -story, and yet you put that silly question to me! Look you here, you -rogue, cannot you see that the very fact of your putting such a question -to me shows that the book is the work of a man? When a carefully trained -woman such as you cannot yet discriminate between the good and the trash -that is written, how would it be possible for a woman to write what you -have read?" - -"You think there is nothing womanly in the book?" - -"There is nothing effeminate in the writing, so much is sure. There is -plenty that is womanly in the book, because the man who wrote it knows -how to convey to a reader a sense of womanliness to be in keeping with -the character of the letters--that is what is meant by genius. A woman -trying to produce the same effect would show the frill of her petticoat -on every page. She would make the men's parts in the book as feminine as -the women's. Now, no more chatter an you please, but get the candles." - -"And Mrs. Hamilton will get our supper by their light." - -Fanny tripped away, and was behind the door of the larder before she -allowed the laughter which was pent up very close to her eyes to have -its freedom. It was a very hearty laugh that she had, for there was a -constant buzzing in her ears of the question: - -"What will he say when he learns the truth?" - -She was ready to dance her Nancy Dawson in delight at seeing the effect -of the book upon the old man whom she loved--the man who was directly -responsible for its existence. If Mr. Crisp had not taken trouble with -her, encouraging her to write her letters to him in a natural style, the -correspondence in "Evelina" would, she knew, be very different from what -it was. So, after all, she reflected, he was right in pronouncing the -book the work of a man; but he had no idea that he was the man who was -responsible for it. That reflection of hers was as fully imbued with the -true spirit of comedy as her anticipation of the effect that would be -produced upon him by the revelation of the authorship. - -And that was why this young student of the human comedy was able to -restrain herself from making the revelation to him at once: she had, as -it were, a delicate palate for comedy, and it was a delight to her--the -gratification of her natural vanity had nothing to do with it--to lead -him on to commit himself more deeply every moment on the question of the -sex of the writer. Oh, no; she had no idea of making any confession to -him for the present. She would have many another chat with him before -the moment for that _dnouement_ in the comedy should arrive. - -So she got the candles and the housekeeper laid the cold chicken and the -plates on the supper-table, and Mr. Crisp set about mixing the salad in -the manner he had acquired in Italy. And all the time they were engaged -over the simple meal he was criticising what she had read, and he had -scarcely a word to say about it that was not favourable. But he took -care to protect himself in case he should be forced to retire from the -position he had taken up. - -"A man is a fool to pronounce an opinion on a book before he has had -the last page read to him," he said. "I have only been touching upon the -part that I have heard, and I say that it seems to me to be as good -as anything I have read for years; but that is not saying that the -remainder, or some portions of the remainder, may not be so greatly -inferior as to compel me to pronounce unfavourably of the book as a -whole. I have had instances of such inequality shown by many writers, -and it may be that the writer of 'Evelina' will be added to the list, -although he shows no sign of falling off up to your last page. Do not be -hurried by me, my dear, but if you have indeed made up your mind to eat -no cheese, Mrs. Hamilton can remove the _dbris_, and unless you are -tired, you will read me a few pages more." - -She read until midnight. The only pauses that she made were when he -trimmed the wicks of the candles. He commended her fluency. She -had never read better in his hearing, he said. She showed that she -understood what she was reading; and that, after all, was the greatest -praise that could be given to anyone. He did not suggest the likelihood -that she was tired. - -There was the sound of the bleating of lambs occasionally borne from the -meadows beyond the little stream--the sound of an owl that came nightly -about the house from the barn of the farm a few hundred yards away--the -sound of a large moth bumping against the glass of the casement through -which the candle-light shone. There was nothing to interrupt her in her -delightful task until the church clock struck the hour of midnight. - -"Not another line," she cried, jumping from her chair. "Poor Evelina! -she will be the better for a sleep. When she awakens she may be able to -see more clearly who are her true friends and who are not to be trusted. -Good-night, dear Daddy; and receive my thanks for your attention." - -"Give me the volume," he said. "I usually awake before six, and so shall -have a couple of hours of it before rising." - -"You will not get it from me, sir," she cried. "Captain Mervain knows -the naval rule about drinking glass for glass, and let me tell you that -the same rule holds in the matter of reading a book--chapter for chapter -between us, sir; we shall finish as we have begun." - -She blew him a kiss and ran upstairs to escape his protests: he shouted -them after her from the foot of the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -|THE next morning was a lovely one, and Fanny was feeding the ducks -in the brook before eight o'clock. When she came into the house to -breakfast she found Mr. Crisp in the porch. - -"You have given me a sleepless night," he said. "I lay awake -endeavouring to determine for my own satisfaction what would be the -outcome of the girl's meeting that dreadful Branghton family. I worked -out the story to its proper conclusion--so I thought--on my left side; -but when I turned on my right I found that I had been grossly astray in -all my fancies; and forthwith I set to work to put myself right. After -an hour or two I thought I had succeeded, but, lo! a turn on my back and -I saw that, as I planned it, the story would never come to an end. So -I kept on until the dawn. Then I fell asleep, but only to find myself -surrounded by demons, in the form of Branghtons, and a master devil -wearing the epaulets of a naval officer, and he made for me with a -horrid leer and a cry of Mervain! I awoke in a worse state than did the -Duke of Clarence in the play, and I have not slept since. Oh, that -little mischief, Susy! Wherefore did she send hither that magic book to -be my undoing?" - -"Ah, sir, never before did I perceive the evil of novel reading," she -said. "I could not understand my mother's banning all such books, but -now I see the wisdom of it. I now see how they tend to unsettle one. -But it may not yet be too late to save you from the evil influence of -'Evelina.' If I read no more of her story, you will soon forget her and -all may be well." - -"You will read no more? Good! Carry out your threat and I will e'en take -the coach to London and buy a full set at Mr. Newbery's." - -"At Mr. Newbery's? Ah, sir, that is a threat you could not carry out, -however vindictive you might be." - -"And why not, prithee? Think you I would begrudge the seven or eight -shillings it would cost?" - -"Nay, sir; but if you went to Mr. Newbery you would probably find -yourself treated badly by him if you accused him of publishing the book. -'Tis Mr. Lowndes who is the guilty person." - -"You will not put one to the humiliation of a journey to London all for -a trumpery novel?" - -"Nay, not for a trumpery novel; but we were talking of 'Evelina.'" - -"I submit to the correction, my dear; and so now we are in perfect -agreement, you will continue the story, if only to allay my sleepless -speculations." - -"I wonder how it will sound when read in the morning? I fear that it -will be as dull as a play would seem in the garish light of day." - -"Tell not that to me. There are novels of the morn as well as of -the even, and I believe that the freshness of this one will be best -appreciated in the brightness of such a morning as this. At any rate, we -can but make a trial of it. If we find that it does not read well, you -can lay it aside till the evening." - -Fanny was delighted to find that he was as interested in her book as -Susy had been; and the noon came and found her beginning the second -volume to him, sitting by his side in the sunlight that bathed the -little garden, and his attention never flagged. Once or twice, however, -he grumbled, but her ear assured her that his grumble was not a critical -one; it was only meant to censure the behaviour of the rude Captain -Mervain. - -They were still in the garden when, shortly after noon, a chaise was -heard in the lane: it appeared to be on its way to the house. - -"What! as I live 'tis mamma and my sisters come to pay us a visit," -cried Fanny, seeing a handkerchief waved to her from the window. - -"They shall be made welcome, for I cannot doubt that they have brought -the third volume with them," said Mr. Crisp, rising to receive his -visitors. - -In this way the reading was interrupted, and indeed Fanny was rather -glad of a respite. She had not risen from her chair since nine o'clock. -A chance of stretching her limbs was very acceptable. - -Mrs. Burney and the girls had scarcely settled down to their cakes -and sweet wine, after explaining that Dr. Burney had insisted on their -taking this drive into the country, the day promised to be so fine, when -Mr. Crisp turned to Susy, saying: - -"You wicked girl! What did you mean by sending us the two volumes of -that vile novel to upset us poor country folk? And I hope you have not -neglected to bring with you the third." Poor Susy reddened and glanced -at Fanny without trying to make any reply. - -"Eh, what is this?" cried the old man. "Do you mean to disclaim all -responsibility for the act? Ah, 'tis too late for you to make such an -attempt. The evil has been done. The poison has begun to work in our -blood; and its effects can only be neutralized by the contents of the -third volume. Say at once, I pray, if you have brought it." - -"Do not trouble poor Susy with your tropes, sir," said Fanny. "She -cannot grasp your meaning, and only trusts that we have not gone mad. I -suppose the road was as usual--half of it muddy and the rest dusty?" - -"I insist on hearing if the third volume is in the chaise," said Mr. -Crisp, firmly. "If it be not, then you may drive straight back to St. -Martin's Street and return hither with it in time for Fannikin to read -it to-night." - -"Pray what book is it that you refer to, Mr. Crisp?" inquired Mrs. -Burney. - -"What book, madam! As if there were more books than one printed this -year! Why, Mrs. Burney, where have you been living all this time, that -you have never heard of 'Evelina '?" cried he. - -"I have heard of little else save this 'Evelina' for some time past; -but I have no time for reading novels, nor has any member of my family," -replied the lady. - -"I insisted on one member of your family finding the time yesterday -and to-day, and the consequence is that she has gone through the first -volume and part of the second since Susy was so obliging as to send -them hither. I was in hopes that you had brought the third volume; but I -perceive that we shall have to wait for it now." - -Susy was examining very closely the pattern on her plate when Mrs. -Burney turned to her, saying: - -"Does Mr. Crisp mean that you got that novel and sent it hither to -Fanny?" - -"Only part of it--no more than two volumes," said Susy quickly, as -though anxious to submit extenuating circumstances to the notice of her -stepmother. - -"Did you get it at Hill's library, or where?" inquired Mrs. Burney. - -"I did not get it at a library," replied Susy slowly, as a reluctant -witness might answer an incriminating question. - -"What, did you buy it? Did you spend your money on it?" cried Mrs. -Burney, with a note of amazement not free from anxiety. - -"Oh, no; I did not buy it," said Susy. - -"How did it come into your hands, then--tell me that?" - -"Cousin Edward brought it for Fanny." - -"And you read the first two volumes and are now reading the third?" - -"Nay, mamma, 'tis I that was led by my curiosity," said Lottie hastily. - -"Though you have often heard me protest against the vice of novel -reading? I wonder at you, Lottie. I am shocked that you should so yield -to a vulgar temptation," said Mrs. Burney. - -"Nay, my dear madam, you must not talk of our dear 'Evelina' as if she -were an everyday person," said Mr. Crisp. "On the contrary, she is a -most interesting young lady, and if I do not soon learn what happens -to her now that she has formed some very dubious intimacies, I shall be -inconsolable. Have you read the book, Mrs. Burney?" - -"Not I indeed," replied Mrs. Burney, with more than a suggestion of -indignation that such a charge should be brought against her. "I have -heard enough about that book during the past month to prevent me from -having any wish to read it, even if I were a novel reader, which I -certainly deny. I am ashamed that any member of my household should so -far forget her duty as to read such stuff." - -"Come, come, my dear lady, you must remember that there are novels and -novels," said Mr. Crisp. "I have heard you praise Mr. Richardson, have I -not?" - -"Mr. Richardson was a genius and a great moral writer, sir, as well." - -"The two are not invariably associated. But what if I tell you that -this new book is worthy of being placed between 'Clarissa Harlowe' and -'Pamela'?" - -"You will not do so gross an injustice to the memory of a great man, I -am sure. But, if you please, we will discuss this no longer. No matter -what this 'Evelina' may be, the fact remains that I gave a command that -our home should be free from the taint of novel reading, and my wishes -have been secretly ignored. I should not wonder if Fanny had encouraged -Edward to procure the book for her." - -"I cannot deny it," said Fanny in a low voice. "'Twas my doing -altogether. All the blame should rest on my shoulders--yes, from the -first--the very first--from the title page on to 'Finis.'" - -"And your delinquency has given me greater pleasure than I have derived -from other people's rectitude," said Mr. Crisp. Then he turned to Mrs. -Burney. - -"Dear madam, you must forgive our Fannikin for her misdemeanour. If -you had but read the book for yourself you would feel as I do on the -subject. 'Tis the most fascinating story----" - -"That is, I hold, the worst of the matter," said Mrs. Burney. "The more -fascinating the novel, the more dangerous it is, and the greater reason -there is why it should be excluded from every honest home. A dull story -may do but little harm. One might reasonably tolerate it even among a -household of young girls, but a clever one--a fascinating one, as you -call this 'Evelina,' should never be allowed to cross the threshold. -But, by your leave, sir, we will talk no more upon a question on which I -know we shall never agree." - -"That is the most satisfactory proposal that could be made," said Mr. -Crisp, bowing. "I will only add that since you are so fully sensible -of the danger of a delightful book in your house, you will take prompt -measures to prevent the baleful influence of 'Evelina' from pervading -your home, by despatching the third volume to me without delay. The -third volume of such a novel may in truth be likened to the match in -the barrel of gunpowder: 'tis the most dangerous part of the whole. The -first two volumes are like the gunpowder--comparatively innocent, but -the moment the third volume is attached--phew! So you would do well -not to delay in getting rid of such an inflammatory composition, Mrs. -Burney." - -"I promise you that you shall have it at once, sir," said Mrs. Burney. -"And I trust that you will not allow the first and second to return to -my house. A barrel of gunpowder may be as innocent as you say, so long -as the match is withheld, but still I have no intention of turning our -home into a powder magazine." - -That was the last reference made to "Evelina" while Mrs. Burney and the -two girls remained at Chessington. They went away so as to be back -in St. Martin's Street in time for dinner; but the moment they -were together in the chaise Mrs. Burney burst out once more in her -denunciation of the vice of novel reading. From her general treatment -of the theme she proceeded--as the girls feared she would--to the -particular instance of its practice which had just come under her -notice. She administered to poor Susy a sound scolding for having -received the book from her cousin Edward in secret, and another to poor -Lottie for having ventured to read it without asking leave. The girls -were soon reduced to tears, but not a word did they say in reply. They -were loyal to their sister and her secret with which they had been -entrusted. Not a word did either of them utter. - -The drive home on that lovely afternoon was a dreary one, especially -after Mrs. Burney had said: - -"I fear that this duplicity has been going on for a long time in our -house. Yes, I have noticed more than once an exchange of meaning glances -between you and Fanny, and sometimes, too, when your cousin Edward was -in the room. It seemed to me that you had some secret in common which -you were determined to keep from me. I said nothing at that time, for -though my suspicions were awakened, yet I thought it best to take the -most favourable view of the matter, and I assumed that the secret--if -there was a secret--was an innocent one--such as girls in a family may -share among themselves about some trifling thing; but now I have no -doubt that your glances and your winks and your elbowings had to do with -the smuggling of books into the house for your surreptitious reading. I -am ashamed of you. It hurts me deeply to find that, after all the care I -have taken to preserve you in innocence of the world and its wickedness, -you have been behaving with such duplicity. I shall, of course, think -it my duty to let your father know what I have found out, and he may be -able to suggest some means of preventing a repetition of such conduct." - -The poor girls dared not even look at each other for mutual sympathy, -lest such glances should be interpreted by their mother as a further -attempt to pursue the scheme of duplicity with which she had charged -them. They could only sit tearful and silent until they were once again -in St. Martin's Street. They longed to rush upstairs together to their -room and mingle their tears in a sisterly embrace before determining -how they should meet their stepmother's charges in the presence of their -father. - -But Mrs. Burney was too astute a strategist to permit them to consult -together. - -"Is your master within?" she inquired of William, the man-servant, who -opened the door for them. - -"He is in the library, madam, with Mrs. Esther," replied the man. - -"So much the better," said Mrs. Burney to the girls. "We shall go -directly to him, and your sister Esther will be present." - -She made them precede her to the room that was called the library. Dr. -Burney and Hetty were laughing together across the table--the sound of -their merriment had been heard by the girls before the door was opened. -But at the portentous gravity of the entrance of Mrs. Burney her husband -became grave. - -"You have returned early," he said, "and--good heavens! you have been -weeping--you do not bring bad news--Fanny has not had a relapse?" - -"Fanny is quite well; but I bring you bad news," replied Mrs. Burney. -"You will, I am sure, regard it as the worst possible news when I tell -you that she, as well as her sisters here, have been guilty of the -grossest disobedience--a conspiracy of disobedience, I may call it." - -"I am amazed--and grieved," said he. "But I can scarcely believe that, -brought up as they have been----" - -"They do not deny it," said she. "I only discovered by chance that, in -defiance of our rule against novel reading, they been have trafficking -with their cousin Edward to procure novels for their secret reading, and -the latest they smuggled into the house is that one called 'Evelina'--I -actually found Fanny reading the book to Mr. Crisp, and her sisters -admitted----" - -"But what did Fanny admit?" he cried. - -"She admitted that Edward had procured the book at her request," replied -his wife. "Was not that enough?" - -"Not half enough--not a quarter enough, considering that it was Fanny -who wrote 'Evelina' with her own hand and under our very noses without -our suspecting it," said Dr. Burney quietly. - -Mrs. Burney looked at him dumbly for more than a whole minute. There was -silence in the room. - -Then she sat slowly down on the nearest chair, still keeping her eyes -fixed upon him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -|DOCTOR BURNEY sat for a long time staring at a point high above his -wife's head. The eldest daughter, Hetty, standing at the other side of -the writing-table, was radiant; her eyes were dancing. The two others -were standing together--huddled together, it might be said, for they -suggested a pair of lambs recently frightened--doubtful of what is going -to happen next and feeling that the closer they are to each other the -safer they will be. - -"Did you ever hear of anything so funny?" said Hetty, glancing around -and still radiant. - -Her father got upon his feet. - -"And she was the only one that never had any attention," said he, as if -he had not heard Hetty's remark. "Fanny was left to make her own way as -pleased her best--no one troubled about her education. She was left -to pick up knowledge as best she could--the crumbs that fell from the -others' table--that was how she picked up French when the others came -back from school, and now she speaks it with the best of them... And -so shy! Tell me, if you can, how she got her knowledge of things--the -things in that book--the pictures red with life--the real life-blood of -men and women--love--emotion--pathos--all that make up life--and don't -forget the characterization--that's what seems to me all but miraculous. -Hogarth--we all know that Hogarth drew his characters and fitted them -into his pictures because he made it a point to walk among them and look -at them with observant eyes; but tell me, if you can, what chance that -child had of seeing anything; and yet she has filled her canvas, and -every bit is made up of firm, true drawing. That is the chief wonder." - -He spoke evidently under the impulse of a great excitement at first, not -looking at anyone in particular--just skimming them all with his eyes -as he paced the room. But he seemed gradually to recover himself as -he talked, and he appeared to address his last words to his wife. This -assisted her to recover herself also--a minute or so in advance of him. - -"You seem to be sure that Fanny wrote it," she said, when he had done. -"Is it fair to condemn her before you make sure?" - -Everyone looked at Mrs. Burney; but only her husband laughed. - -"Condemn her--condemn her for having written the finest novel since -Fielding?" he said, with the laugh still on his face. There was no laugh -on hers; on the contrary, its expression was more serious than ever. - -"A novel is a novel," she said. "I told Mr. Crisp--but that was -only about the reading of novels--the cleverer they are the more -mischievous--dangerous--even the reading--I never dreamt of her going -so far as to write one, clever or otherwise. But a novel is still a -novel--she must have neglected her duties in the house, though I failed -to observe it... and sending it to a bookseller without saying a word to -us! Who would have believed that a young woman with her training--" - -"It flashed across me when I read the verses addressed to myself at the -beginning that she had asked my permission some months ago, and that -I had given it--I did so laughing at the poor child's credulousness in -believing that any bookseller would print it for her and pay her for the -privilege--the privilege of making a thousand pounds out of her book." - -"What! are you serious?--a thousand pounds, did you say?" - -"Mr. Lowndes will make more than a thousand pounds by the sale of the -book--Hetty tells me that he only paid Fanny twenty for it." - -"What is the world coming to--a fortune in a single book! And we talked -about her being portionless, when all the time she was more richly -endowed than all the rest of the family; for if she has written one -book, she can certainly write another equally remunerative. 'Perhaps she -has another ready for the printers." - -Mrs. Burney was blessed with the capacity to look at matters, -however artistic they might be, from the standpoint of the practical -housekeeper. The mention of so sonorous a sum as a thousand pounds -caused the scales of prejudice to fall from the eyes through which she -had regarded the act of authorship, and at that instant she perceived -that it should not be thought of as a delinquency but as a merit. - -And, after all, it appeared that the girl had obtained the permission of -her father to print it--that put quite a different complexion upon the -transaction, did it not? - -And a thousand pounds--that appealed to the good sense of a practical -person and swept away the last cobweb of prejudice that she had had -respecting novels and their writers. - -"Has she another book written, think you?" she inquired in a tone full -of interest. "Of course we shall see that she gets a better share of Mr. -Lowndes' thousand pounds than she did for her first." - -"She has not written a line since 'Evelina,'" said Esther. "To be sure, -I have not been her _confidante_ since I got married, but I know that -she was so frightened at the thought of what she had done that she would -not write another page." - -"Frightened! What had she to be frightened about?" cried Mrs. Burney in -a tone of actual amazement. - -"Goodness knows," said Esther with a laugh. - -The sound of the dinner-bell coming at that moment had about it also -something of the quality of a long, loud, sonorous outburst of laughter -with a cynical tinkle at the last. - -The group in that room dissolved in all directions with exclamations of -dismay at being overtaken by the dinner-hour so unprepared. - -"It is all over now," said Susy to Lottie, when they were alone in their -room. "I was afraid when she ushered us so formally into the library -that we would be forced to tell our secret." - -"I made up my mind that no torture of the rack or wild horses would -unseal my lips," said Susy, earnestly. "Do you know, Lottie, I feel -quite lonely without our secret." - -"It is just the same with me, dear," said Lottie. "I feel as if I were -suddenly cut off from some great interest in life--as if I had gone -downstairs one morning and found that someone had stolen the piano. I -wonder if it was Hetty who told the padre." - -"Make haste and we shall soon learn all," said Susy. - -Before they had finished dinner they learned from their father how he -had got to the bottom of the secret that they had so cherished. - -He had gone as usual to give a music lesson to Queenie Thrale, and when -partaking of some refreshment before setting out for London, Mrs. Thrale -had talked to him in terms of the highest praise of "Evelina." She had -read the book twice over, she told him, and had lent it to Dr. Johnson, -who could talk of nothing else. Then Mrs. Cholmondeley had arrived on a -visit to Thrale Hall, and she, too, was full of praise of the book. She, -too, had lent her copy to someone else--to no less important a person -than Mr. Edmund Burke, and he had declared himself as greatly captivated -by it as his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds had been. Everybody was -talking about it, and the question of the authorship had been as widely -discussed as before; Mrs. Cholmondeley had declared that she would give -twenty guineas to find out for certain who it was that had written the -book. - -Mrs. Thrale had thereupon suggested that Dr. Burney was in a better -position than most people for solving the mystery, going about as he was -from one part of the town to another and being in close touch with all -manner of people. - -"But I had not, as you know, so much as read the book for myself--I -seemed to be the only one in town who had not done so--and on getting -home I sent William post haste to Mr. Lowndes to purchase a set. This -done, I sat down to peruse the first volume. The page opened on the Ode; -it lay beneath my eyes, and I tell you truly that I did not seem to read -it: I seemed to hear Fanny's voice reading the verses in my ear, and -the truth came upon me in a flash--incredible though it appeared, I knew -that it was she who had written the book. Hetty came in before my eyes -were dry--she saw the volume in my hand, and she understood all. 'You -know,' was all that she said. I think that the greatest marvel was the -keeping of the secret of the book! To think of its being known to four -girls and never becoming too great for them to bear!" - -He was appealing to his wife, but she only nodded a cold acquiescence in -his surprise. She remained silent, however, and this was something to be -grateful for, the girls thought: they knew just what she was thinking, -and they also knew that if they had some little trouble in keeping their -secret, she had very much more in restraining herself from uttering some -comment upon their reticence--their culpable reticence, she would -think it. They could see that she was greatly displeased at having been -excluded from their secret, since such an exclusion had forced her into -a false position more than once--notably in the presence of Mr. Crisp, -when she had become the assailant of novels and novel reading generally, -and also when she had scolded them on their return in the chaise. But -they were good girls, and they were ready to allow that they were in the -wrong, even though they did not think so: that is what really good girls -do in their desire for peace in their homes. And Lottie and Susy made -up their minds that should their stepmother tax them with double-dealing -and deceit, they would not try to defend themselves. The reflection that -they had kept their sister's secret would more than compensate them for -any possible humiliation they might suffer at Mrs. Burney's hands. - -All that Mrs. Burney said at the conclusion of her husband's further -rhapsody about the marvel of Fanny's achievement, considering how she -had been generally thought the dunce of the family, was comprised in a -few phrases uttered in a hurt tone: - -"While no one is more pleased than myself to witness her success, I -cannot but feel that she would have shown herself possessed of a higher -sense of her duty as a daughter if she had consulted her father or his -wife in the matter," she said. - -"That may be true enough," said Dr. Burney; "but if she had done so, -would she have achieved her purpose any more fully than she has, I ask -you? No, my dear, I do not feel, with any measure of certainty, that I -would have gone far in my encouragement of her efforts, nor do I think -that you would have felt it consistent with your principles to do so." - -"I was only referring to the question of a simple girl's duty in regard -to her parents," said Mrs. Burney. - -"And your judgment on that point is, I am certain, unassailable," said -he. "But here we have a girl who is no simple girl, but a genius; and -I think that a good deal of latitude should be allowed to a genius--a -little departure from the hard and fast line of the duties expected from -a simple girl may be permitted in such a one as Fanny." - -"Well, she has succeeded in her aims--so much is plain," said Mrs. -Burney. "But I hope that should any of her sisters set about a similar -enterprise----" - -But the ringing laughter that came from the sisters, their father -joining in with great heartiness, saved the need for her to complete -her sentence. At first she felt hurt, but she quickly yielded to the -exuberant spirit that pervaded the atmosphere of the room, and smiled -indulgently, after the manner of a staid elderly lady who is compelled -to take part in the romp of her girls and boys at Christmas time. - -She continued smiling, and the others continued laughing, and this -spirit of good humour was maintained until bedtime. - -The girls knew that they would not be scolded for their participation -in Fanny's secret; for Fanny by her success had justified any amount of -double-dealing. If Fanny had made a fool of herself they would feel -that they deserved to participate in her scolding; but success is easily -pardoned, and so they rightly counted upon a general amnesty. What was -it that their father had said about a thousand pounds? - -They went to bed quite happy, in spite of being deprived of the fearful -joy of having a secret to keep. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -|DR. BURNEY had given instructions that Fanny was not to be communicated -with at Chessington until he had seen her; but that the third volume -of the book was to be sent to Mr. Crisp without delay. He was to go to -Streatham again in two days' time, and thence to Chessington, where he -would make Mr. Crisp aware of the identity of the writer of "Evelina." - -He anticipated an interesting hour with Mr. Crisp, but a very much more -interesting half-hour with Mrs. Thrale; for he meant, of course, to lose -no time in letting that lady into the secret: he knew that she would -make the most of the information he could impart to her; to be the first -to learn what all her friends were striving to learn would at once place -her above Mrs. Cholmondeley, who was willing to pay twenty guineas for -the knowledge, and even Mrs. Montagu, who was inclined to patronize -Mrs. Thrale and a good many other ladies, in spite of the fact that Dr. -Johnson dined usually five days out of every week with Mrs. Thrale, -but had only dined once with Mrs. Montagu since she had gone to her new -house. - -Dr. Burney was well aware how valuable the Thrale connection was to him; -a teacher of music is apt to look with sparkling eyes at a houseful of -girls whose father possesses the possibilities of such wealth as was -defined by Dr. Johnson in this particular case as beyond the dreams -of avarice. Dr. Burney had a very nice judgment on the subject of an -influential connection, and so was delighted to have a chance of doing -a signal good turn to so deserving a patroness as Mrs. Thrale. Yes, -he felt sure that his half-hour at Streatham Hall would be the -most interesting of the many half-hours he had spent under the same -hospitable roof. - -And he was not mistaken in his surmise. - -Mrs. Thrale had, as usual, several friends coming to partake of an early -repast with her; and Dr. Burney had pictured to himself the effect of -his announcement to the company that his daughter had written the book -upon which he was pretty sure the conversation would turn--indeed, he -felt that he would be greatly surprised if the conversation did not -immediately rush to the question of "Evelina" and remain there for the -rest of the afternoon; for the enterprising ladies would doubtless -bring with them some fresh suggestions or new cues to its authorship. -He pictured himself allowing them to go on for some time until perhaps a -statement would be made which he should have to contradict point-blank. -They would all look at him in surprise. What did he know about the -matter? Was he interested in the question? Had he found out anything? - -How he would smile while saying quietly: - -"Well, I am more or less interested in the matter, the fact being that -'Evelina' is the work of my daughter, Fanny Burney!" - -That would be, he thought, a fitting moment in which to divulge the -secret; he saw the whole scene clearly before him. - -But before he had reached his destination that intuition of what would -commend itself to a patron which had been so important an auxiliary to -his ability in placing him above his rivals in his profession, overcame -his desire to play the most important part in a dramatic scene; he -perceived that such a rle should be taken by an influential patroness, -and not by himself. Thus it was that when Mrs. Thrale was giving him a -cup of chocolate after his journey he smiled, saying: - -"I was greatly interested in the conversation between Mrs. Cholmondeley -and the other ladies when I was last here." - -"About 'Evelina'?" she inquired. "Ah, I wonder if Mrs. Cholmondeley has -yet paid over her twenty guineas to the discoverer of the author. It -seems that he has as arduous a task in regard to 'Evelina' as Raleigh -had in regard to his El Dorado." - -"So it would appear," said Dr. Burney. "Let us hope that his efforts -will be more highly valued than those of poor Sir Walter. Have you -yourself no suspicions on the subject, madam?" - -"Oh, suspicions? There have been as many suspicions set going on this -subject within the month as would be entertained only by the most -imaginative Bow Street runner. For my own part, I maintain that the book -could only have been writ by our friend Horace Walpole. He found that -his 'Otranto' excited so much curiosity when published without a name, -he came to the conclusion that he would produce another novel with -the same amount of mystery attached to it. The only point against this -assumption is that----" - -"That the book was assuredly written by another person," said Burney, -smiling in a way that he designed to be somewhat enigmatical. - -Mrs. Thrale tried to interpret his smile. - -"What!" she exclaimed, "you have formed another theory--you--you have -heard something since you were last here?" - -"Not something, madam--not a mere something, but everything--everything -that is to be known regarding the writer of that book." - -"Is't possible? Who is your informant?--the value of all that you have -heard is dependent upon the accuracy of your informant." - -"The book was written by the person whom I fancied I knew best of all -the people in the world, and yet the last person whom I would believe -capable of such a feat. The author of the book--I am the author of her -being--she is none other than my daughter Fanny." - -Mrs. Thrale sat staring at him, one arm resting upon the table, her lips -parted as if about to utter an exclamation of surprise, but unable to do -so by reason of her surprise. - -More than a minute had passed before she was able to speak, and then she -could do no more than repeat his words. - -"Your daughter Fanny--your daughter--but is not Fanny the little shy -one that goes into a corner when you have company?" she asked, in a -tone that suggested that she had heard something too ridiculous to be -believed. - -"She is that one, madam," he replied. "It would seem as if the corner -of a room has its advantages in enabling one to observe life from a -true standpoint. Two eyes looking out from a corner with a brain behind -them--there you have the true writer of a novel of life and character. -Poor Fanny! How often have not I talked of her as 'poor Fanny'? She had -no education except what she contrived to pick up haphazard--a sweet -child--a lovable daughter, but the last person in the world to be -suspected of such a book as 'Evelina.'" - -"You are sure, sir--you have seen--heard--you know?" - -"Beyond any doubt. Her sisters were let into the secret, but neither -of her parents. I know now why that was--no want of duty--no lack of -respect--she began the book for her own amusement, and it grew under -her hand; she sent it to a bookseller, more as a jest than in the belief -that anything would come of it, and up to the last it was treated by -her and her sisters as a schoolroom mystery--a nursery secret--and -Mrs. Burney and I were kept out of it solely because we were not of the -nursery or the schoolroom. And when it became a serious matter we were -excluded because they were afraid to reveal it to us--Fanny herself, -dear child!--feared that we would be concerned if it were stillborn. It -was only when it was at the point of being published by Mr. Lowndes that -she came to me saying that she had been writing something and wanted -my leave to send it forth, promising that no name would appear upon the -title page. I gave my leave with a smile, and when I had my laugh at the -innocence of the girl in fancying that any bookseller would pay for the -printing of what she might scribble, I forgot all about the matter. It -was only when I sent for the book and read the Ode addressed to myself -that I seemed to hear Fanny's voice speaking the words in my ear--I told -the others so when they returned from visiting her at Chessington. But -meantime Esther had come to me, and she told me all that was known to -her about the book and its secret." - -"The most wonderful story ever known--more wonderful than the story of -Evelina herself!" cried Mrs. Thrale. "How people--Mrs. Cholmondeley and -the rest--will lift up their hands! Who among them will believe it all -possible? List, my dear doctor, you must bring her to me in the first -instance--all the others will be clamouring for her to visit them--I -know them! You must bring her to me without delay--why not to-day? I can -easily send a chaise for her--a coach if necessary. Well, if not to-day, -to-morrow. I must have her here. We will understand each other--she and -I; and Dr. Johnson will be with us--quite a little company--for dinner. -You will promise me?" - -"Be assured, dear madam, that there is no house apart from her home -where I feel she would be happier than in this," said Dr. Burney. "She -has often expressed the warmest admiration for you, and I know that her -dearest wish is to be on terms of intimacy with you." - -"The sweet girl! she shall have her dearest wish gratified to the -fullest extent, sir. You will bring her as early to-morrow as it suits -you. Good heavens! to think of that dear retiring child taking the town -by storm! Dr. Johnson wrote to me no later than last evening, expressing -once more his delight in reading the book, and Mr. Burke, too--but you -heard about Mr. Burke. I will never forget your courtesy in telling me -first of all your friends that she was the author, dear doctor." - -"If not you, madam, whom would I have told?" - -"I shall be ever grateful. You will give me leave to make the revelation -to my friends who will be here to-day?" - -"It is open for you to tell them all that I have told you, my dear -madam; and you may truthfully add that if the writing of the book will -bring her into closer intimacy with Mrs. Thrale, the author will feel -that it has not been written in vain." - -He made his lowest bow on rising from the table to receive his pupil, -who entered the room at that moment. - -He had confidence that he was right in his intuition that his patroness -would act with good effect the rle which he had relinquished in -her favour, when her friends would arrive in another hour for their -"collation;" and he was ready to allow that none could have played the -part more neatly than she did when the time came to prove how much -better-informed she was than the rest of the world. She might have been -possessed of the knowledge that Miss Burney was the writer of "Evelina" -from the first, from the easy and natural way in which she said: - -"Pray do not trouble yourselves telling me what Mrs. Cholmondeley said -to Mr. Lowndes, or what Mr. Lowndes said to someone else about the -writer of the novel; for it happens that I know, and have known for--for -some time the name of the author." - -There were a few little exclamations of surprise, and a very pretty -uplifting of several pairs of jewelled hands at this calm announcement. - -"Oh, yes," she continued, "the writer is a friend of my own, and the -daughter of one of my most valued friends, and if any people talk to you -in future of 'Evelina' being the work of Mr. Walpole or Mr. Anstey or -any man of letters, pay no attention to these astute investigators, but -tell them that I said the book is the work of Miss Fanny Burney, one of -the daughters of the celebrated Dr. Charles Burney, himself the author -of a 'History of Music' that will live so long as the English language -has a literature of its own." - -Mrs. Thrale did it all with amazing neatness, Dr. Burney thought; and -the attempt that she made to conceal the expression of triumph in the -glance that she gave to her guests let him know that his tact had been -exercised in the right direction. Mrs. Thrale was not the woman to -forget that he had given her such a chance of proving to her friends how -intimate was her association with the literary history of the day. She -had been for several years the patroness of Dr. Johnson, who had written -the best dictionary, and now she was about to take under her protection -Miss Burney, who had written the best novel. He knew that Mrs. Thrale -was almost as glad to be able to reveal the secret of "Evelina" as if -she had written the book herself. - -And everyone else at the table felt that Mrs. Thrale was indeed an -amazingly clever woman; and wondered how Mrs. Cholmondeley would feel -when she had learned that she had been forestalled in her quest after -the information on which she had placed a value of twenty guineas. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -|IT had all come to her now. She had had her dreams from time to time -when working at her novel--dreams of recognition--of being received on -terms of equality by some of the lesser literary people who had visited -the house in St. Martin's Street, and had gone away praising the musical -talents of her sisters, but leaving her unnoticed. Her aspirations had -been humble, but it seemed to her so stupid to be stupid in the midst of -a brilliant household, that she longed to be able to do something that -would, at least, cause their visitors of distinction to glance into her -corner and recognize her name when it was spoken in their hearing. -That was all she longed for at first--to be recognized as "the one who -writes," as people recognized "the one who plays." But since Signor -Rauzzini had come upon the scene her ambitions had widened. She dreamt -not merely of recognition, but of distinction, so that he might be proud -of her, and that she might not merely be spoken of as the wife of the -Roman singer. That dream of hers had invariably been followed by a -feeling of depression as she reflected upon the improbability of its -ever being realized, and if it should not be realized, all hope of -happiness would pass from her life. Thus it was that for some months she -had lived with the cold finger of despair constantly pressing upon her -heart. She was so practical--so reasonable--that she could never yield -herself up to the fascination of the Fool's Paradise of dreams; she was -ready to estimate her chances of literary success, and the result of -the operation was depressing. How could any young woman who had seen so -little of life, and who had been so imperfectly educated, have any hope -to be received as a writer of distinction? What claim to distinction -could such a girl as she advance in the face of the competition that was -going on around her in every branch of distinctive work? - -For some months her good sense and her clear head were her greatest -enemies; evermore bringing her back to the logic of a life in which -everything is represented by figures, from a great artistic success to -a butcher's bill--a life in which dreams play a part of no greater -significance than the splendid colours clinging about the West in the -unalterable routine of the setting sun. - -Many times she had awakened in the night to weep as she felt the -bitterness of defeat; for her book had been given to the world and the -world had received it as the sea receives a stone that is flung upon its -surface. That simile of the stone and the sea was constantly recurring -to her, and every time she saw that it was weak--that it fell short of -meeting her case, for her book had made no stir whatsoever in the world, -whereas a stone, however small it might be, could not be given to the -sea without creating some stir on the surface of the waters. - -And then, quite unexpectedly, had come a whisper from the world to tell -her that her book had not been submerged: the whisper had increased in -volume until it had sounded in her ears like a shout of acclamation, -telling her that the reality had far surpassed her most sanguine dreams, -and that common-sense reasoning is sometimes farther astray in its -operation than are the promptings of the most unreasonable ambition. - -These were her rose-tinted reflections while driving with her father -from Chessington to Streatham, a journey which represented to her the -passing from obscurity to distinction, the crossing of the Jordan and -the entering into the Land of Promise. - -Fanny Burney has herself told the story of her father's coming to her -at Chessington, and of her dear old friend's reception of the marvellous -news that Dr. Burney brought to him--of the phrases which she -overheard while the two men were in a room together--the incredulous -exclamations--"Wonderful--it's wonderful!"--"Why, she has had very -little education but what she has given herself--less than any of the -others"--"The variety of characters--the variety of scenes, and the -language"--"Wonderful!" And then Mr. Crisp's meeting her, catching her -by the hands as she was going in to supper, and crying, "Why, you little -hussy, ain't you ashamed to look me in the face you--you 'Evelina,' you! -Why, what a dance you have led me about it!" Miss Burney has brought the -scene vividly before our eyes in her Diary. - -It was one of the happiest days of her life; she saw the pride with -which her father regarded her, for Dr. Burney was a practical man -who valued achievement as it deserved, and was, besides, the best of -fathers, and the most anxious to advance the interests of his children. -He looked with pride upon his daughter, and talked of her having made -Mr. Lowndes a wealthy man. His estimate of her earning powers had -increased: he now declared that even if Lowndes had paid a thousand -pounds for the book, his profits off it would enable him to buy an -estate! - -It was the happiest evening of her life; and now she was in the chaise -with her beloved father, driving to Streatham, where they were to -dine, and Dr. Johnson was to be of the party. This meant more than -recognition, it meant the Land of Promise of her ambitious dreams. - -She had many matters to reflect upon at this time, but all her -reflections led to the one point--her next meeting with Rauzzini. The -truth that had been revealed to her among Sir Joshua Reynolds' superb -canvases, that love was more than all else that the world could give -her, remained before her, as a luminous fixed star, to be a guide to her -life; and the happiness that she now felt was due to the thought that -she could go to the man whom she loved, without a misgiving, without -fearing that he would hear those dreaded voices of the world saying that -he had been a fool to ally himself with a nonentity, or that she would -hear the whispers of those who might suggest that she had done very well -for herself. She had long before made her resolution only to go to him -when she could do so on terms of equality. At that time her resolution -seemed to shut her out from all chances of happiness; she knew this, but -at the same time she believed that it would shut both of them out from -every chance of unhappiness; and so she had allowed it to dominate her -life. - -That was where her common-sense and her reasonableness had their way, -prevailing over that blind impulse which she now and again had, to trust -to chance--and love--to overcome every other consideration, and to give -her lover and herself happiness solely by being together. It was such -impulses as this that caused love to be referred to as blind. But she -was now ready to thank heaven for having given her strength to overcome -it and so to give the victory to reason and good sense. - -She made up her mind to write to him before she slept that very night, -telling him what her resolution had been--he had called it a mystery, -not knowing anything about it--and asking him to rejoice with her that -she had been able to maintain it, so that the barrier which she had seen -between them was now swept away. - -"Come to me--come to me"--that would be the burden of her letter to him; -she would send it to him and he would come. - -The thought made her lean back among the cushions of the chaise and shut -her eyes, the better to enclose the vision of happiness that came from -her heart. He would come to her and her happiness would be complete. - -So she arrived with her father at Thrale Hall and was welcomed by Mrs. -Thrale in the porch. When she had made her toilet for dinner she was -shown into the drawing-room. As she entered, she was conscious of the -presence of several men, and the one nearest to her was, she saw, Signor -Rauzzini. - -All the men in the room were looking toward her except Rauzzini. He was -standing by the side of a small table, presenting his profile to her, -and his eyes were gazing across the room at a picture that hung between -the windows, a frown on his face. - -She was startled, and the blood rushed to her cheeks. It would have done -so on her entering the room, even if she had not been surprised to see -her lover there when she believed him to be still in France. - -She had stopped before reaching the middle of the room, and then she -was hidden from the view of everybody by a huge mass of manhood in the -person of Dr. Johnson. He seemed inclined to embrace her; and as he -swung himself close to her, there was no one in the room that had not a -moment of trepidation lest he should fall over her and crush her flat. - -Mrs. Thrale tripped alongside Fanny, as if ready to die with her. - -"Oh, come, Dr. Johnson," she cried. "I have no intention of allowing -you to monopolize Miss Burney, for that I perceive is your desire. The -gentlemen must be presented to her in proper form." - -"Madam," said he, "I understood clearly that Miss Burney was coming -hither for myself alone, and I have no mind to share so precious a -morsel with others. Miss Burney and I are old friends, give me leave to -say; I have more than once been interested in a book in the room where -she was sitting in her father's house. Come to my arms, Miss Burney, and -we shall laugh together at the jealous glances the others cast at me." - -"Miss Burney will sit beside you at dinner, sir, and that must suffice -you for the present," said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny by the hand. - -But Johnson had succeeded, after more than one ineffectual attempt, in -grasping Miss Burney's left hand, and in his ponderous playfulness, he -refused to relinquish it, so that she had to make her curtsies to the -gentlemen with Mrs. Thrale on one side of her and Johnson on the other. -There was Mr. Seward and Sir Joshua Reynolds, and two others besides -Signor Rauzzini. Each of them had a compliment to offer her, and did so -very pleasantly and with great tact. - -"Now that is done, Miss Burney and I can sit together on the sofa, and -she will tell me why she loves the Scotch and I will scold her for it," -said Johnson complacently. - -"Nay, sir, Miss Burney has not yet greeted Signor Rauzzini," said Mrs. -Thrale. "You and Miss Burney are already acquainted, I know, Signor -Rauzzini, though you did fancy that she was one of the musical girls of -St. Martin's Street." - -Rauzzini took a single step away from the table at which he had remained -immovable, and bowed low, without speaking a word. - -Fanny responded. They were separated by at least three yards. - -"Dinner is on the table, sir," announced a servant from the door. - -"I am not sorry," said Johnson. "Mrs. Thrale gave me a solemn promise -that Miss Burney should sit next to me. That was why I kept my eye on -Miss Burney." - -"And hand too, sir," remarked Mr. Seward. - -"Why, yes, sir, and hand too, if you insist," said Johnson. "And let me -tell you, sir, that a Lichfield man will keep his hand on anything he -wishes to retain when another Lichfield man is in the same room." - -His laughter set the ornaments on the mantelpiece a-jingling. - -And they went in to dinner before the echoes had died away. - -Mrs. Thrale kept her promise, and Fanny was placed next to Johnson. But -even then he did not let go her hand. He held it in one of his own and -patted it gently with the other. Fanny glanced down the table and saw -that the eyes of the young Roman were looking in her direction, and that -they were flaming. What could he mean, she wondered. She had been at -first amazed at his bearing toward her in the drawing-room; but after -a moment's thought, she had supposed that he had assumed that distant -manner to prevent anyone from suspecting the intimacy there was between -them. But what could that angry look in his eyes portend? Was it -possible that he could be jealous of Dr. Johnson's awkward attention to -her? - -She was greatly troubled. - -But if he had, indeed, resented Johnson's attention to her, such a plea -was no longer valid after the first dish had been served, for in an -instant Johnson's attention was transferred, with increased force, to -the plate before him, and during the solid part of the meal, at least, -it was never turned in any other direction. Poor Fanny had never seen -him eat, nor had she the same privilege in respect of Mr. Thrale. But -she needed all the encouragement that her hostess could afford her to -enable her to make even the most moderate meal while such distractions -were in her immediate neighbourhood; and she came to the conclusion that -she had been ridiculously fastidious over the prodigious tea and its -service at Mr. Barlowe's in the Poultry. - -But Mrs. Thrale was as tactful and as chatty as ever, and Mr. Seward -made pleasant conversation for her, sitting, as he did, on the other -side from Johnson. When Johnson was eating, his fellow guests understood -that their chance was come to express their views without a dread of -being contradicted by him. - -But from the feebleness of her contribution to the chat of the table, -Mrs. Thrale as well as Mr. Seward perceived that all they had been told -about the timidity of little Miss Burney was even less than the truth. - -But for that matter, Signor Rauzzini, who had been placed between Mrs. -Thrale and Dr. Burney, was found by both of them to be also singularly -averse from joining in the conversation, whether in reply to Burney, who -addressed him in Italian, or to his hostess, who spoke French to him. - -As Mrs. Thrale talked a good deal herself, however, she rose with an -impression that there had been no especial lack of brilliancy at the -table. - -She took Fanny away with her, her determination being that if she should -fail to draw this shy young creature out of her shell, she would at any -rate convince her that her hostess was deserving of the reputation -which she enjoyed for learning, combined with vivacity, so that their -companionship could not be otherwise than profitable after all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -|IT was not yet six o'clock and the sun was not due to set for more than -another hour. The evening was a lovely one. From the shrubberies around -the house came the liquid notes of countless blackbirds and thrushes, -and above the trees of the park the cawing of the rooks as they wheeled -above their nests and settled upon the branches. - -"We shall sit on the terrace for half an hour, if you have a mind -to," said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny through the drawing-room into a -smaller room that opened upon a long terrace above the beds of the -flower-garden. Here were several seats and a small table bearing writing -materials. - -"Here I do most of my correspondence in the summer," said Mrs. Thrale. -"Sitting at that table in the open air, I have few distractions, unless -I choose to accept the birds as such; and here I hope you will begin -a new novel, or better still, a comedy that Mr. Sheridan will produce, -with Mrs. Abington in her most charming gowns--you must give your -namesake a chance of wearing a whole trunkful of gowns." They seated -themselves, and Mrs. Thrale continued: - -"Now I have confided in you how I do my simple work, and I wish to hear -from you by what means you found time to write your novel. That is the -greatest secret of all associated with 'Evelina'--so your father thinks. -Mrs. Burney I always knew as a model housekeeper--a model manager of a -family, and how you could contrive to write a single page without her -knowledge is what baffles me as well as your father." - -"To tell you all would, I fear, be to confess to a lifetime of -duplicity," said Fanny. "I am sometimes shocked now when I reflect upon -my double-dealing." - -"Tell me how you first came to stray from the paths of virtue--such a -story is invariably interesting," said Mrs. Thrale. - -"My story is like all the others," replied Fanny. "I only meant to turn -aside a little way, but soon I lost myself and I knew that there was no -retracing my steps." - -"Alas, alas, the old story!" said Mrs. Thrale, with a long-drawn sigh. -"Well, happily, you were not able to retrace your steps." - -"I had no idea that the story would grow upon me as it did," said Fanny. -"I really only meant it to be a diversion for our dear friend, Mr. -Crisp, and an exercise for myself. I wrote a scrap now and again at odd -moments--when I was supposed to be writing to Mr. Crisp, or copying out -my father's notes for his History, at home as well as at Ches-sington, -and when I was staying at Lynn; and so the thing grew and grew until I -was afraid to look at what I had perpetrated." - -"You are paraphrasing _Macbeth_, my dear: 'I am afeared to think what I -have done: Look on't again I dare not,'" said the elder lady. "But with -all you were able to prepare your father's great work for the press--he -told me as much; so that what your double-dealing comes to is that you -did his writing as well as your own, and at the same time neglected none -of your ordinary household duties--if you had done so Mrs. Burney would -have informed you of it, I have no doubt. An excellent housewife, Mrs. -Burney! And now you shall tell me how you contrived to bring together so -marvellous a group of characters--you who have lived so short a time in -the world, and had so small an amount of experience." - -"I should like someone to answer that question for me," said Fanny. "It -was not until I read the book in print that I began to be surprised at -it, and to wonder how it came to be written and how those characters had -found their way into it." - -But this question was too interesting a one not to be pursued by Mrs. -Thrale; and for half an hour she put inquiry after inquiry to Fanny -respecting the characters, the incidents and the language of "Evelina." -Mrs. Thrale was certainly determined to place herself in a position to -prove to her friends that Miss Burney had made a _confidante_ of her in -all matters, down to the smallest detail of the book. - -In ordinary circumstances Fanny would have been delighted to give -her her confidence in regard to these particulars--she had always a -childlike pleasure in talking about her books--but at this time she only -did so with a great effort. For while Mrs. Thrale was plying her with -questions about "Evelina," there was ever before Fanny the unanswered -question as to what Rauzzini meant by his coldness and formality both -before dinner and during that meal. What did he mean by looking at her -with that reproachful frown upon his face? What did he mean by averting -his eyes from her when he had a chance of exchanging confidences with -her, as he had often done before? What did he mean by sitting at the -table without addressing a single word to her? - -These were the questions which she was struggling in vain to answer to -her own satisfaction all the time that Mrs. Thrale was putting -inquiry after inquiry to her upon a matter that Fanny now regarded as -insignificant compared with the one that she was trying to answer for -herself. - -Mrs. Thrale was just beginning a series of questions on the subject of -the comedy which she meant Miss Burney to write, when a servant appeared -with a message for the former. - -"Tiresome!" exclaimed Fanny's hostess, rising. "Here is some -insignificant household matter that can only be dealt with by the -mistress--summer frocks for two girls: the carrier has brought some -boxes--the summer has come upon us before spring has prepared us for -its arrival, and there has been a despairing cry heard in the nursery. -I need not excuse myself to you, Miss Burney. You will spare me for ten -minutes." - -Miss Burney hoped that the feeling of relief of which she was conscious -did not show itself on her face, when she expressed the hope that Mrs. -Thrale would not think of her; she would be quite happy with the birds. - -"And the comedy--do not forget the comedy." - -Miss Burney laughed, but before her hostess had reached the door leading -off the terrace, she was once more immersed in that question: - -"What does he mean by his change of attitude in regard to me?" - -It was serious--so much she knew. He had heard something that had caused -him to change. But what could he have heard? What manner of man was he -that would allow himself to be so influenced by anything that he might -hear against her, without first coming to her for an explanation? - -Her mind went back to the evening when they had first met. It was in St. -Martin's Street. He was there on the invitation of Dr. Burney: but it -seemed that he had become conscious of a sympathy existing between her -and himself, for he had remained by her side for a full hour while the -others in the room were singing and playing on the piano, and he had -held her hand at parting, expressing the hope, which his eyes confirmed, -that they would soon meet again. - -And they had met again and again until one evening they found themselves -alone in an anteroom to the apartment where a musical programme -was being performed at a great house. Then he had told her that his -happiness depended on her returning the love which he bore her; and -startled though she had been, yet when he took her hand all her shyness -seemed to vanish and she confessed.... - -A sound behind her only served to make her memory seem more vivid, for -it was his voice that reached her ear and it was singing the same aria -that he had come from singing on that evening--the passionate -"_Lascia ch'io pianga_" of Handel. Once more she was listening to -the strains--they came from one of the rooms that opened upon the -terrace--and now the chords of the accompaniment were struck with a -vehemence that had been absent from her father's playing to Rauzzini's -singing upon that occasion. - -She listened as if in a dream while the noble, despairing strain went on -to its close, and the melody sobbed itself into silence--a silence -that the birds among the roses seemed unwilling to break, for only an -occasional note of a thrush was in the air.... - -She heard the sound of the door opening a little way down the -terrace--of a foot upon the flagged path. She did not raise her head, -but she knew that he was there--only a few yards away from her. - -Through the silence there came the cawing of rooks far away among the -trees of the park. - -Then all at once she heard his sudden exclamation of surprise. He had -not seen her at first; he saw her now. - -"_Dio mio! ella qui!_" - -Still she did not turn her head toward him. More than a minute had -passed before she heard his slow steps as he approached her. He was -beside her for quite as long before he spoke. - -"I did not know that you were here," he said in a low voice. "But I am -glad. It is but right that I should say good-bye to you alone." - -Then she looked up. - -"Why--why--why?" she cried almost piteously. "Why should you say -good-bye? What has made the change in you?" - -"It is not I who have changed: it is you," said he. "I loved the sweet, -modest, untarnished jewel of a girl--a pearl hidden away from the sight -of men in a dim sea-cave--a violet--ah, I told you how I loved the -violet that hides itself from every eye--that was what you were when -I loved you, and I hoped to return to your side and find you the same. -Well, I return and--ah, where is the exquisite shrinking one that I -looked for? Gone--gone--gone for ever, and in her place I find one whose -name is in every mouth--not a soft, gentle girl, but a woman who has put -her heart into a book--_Dio mio!_ A woman who puts her heart into a -book is like a woman who disrobes in a public place--worse--worse--she -exposes a heart that should be sacred--feelings that it would be a gross -indelicacy to exhibit to the eyes of man!" - -"And that is how you think of me on account of what I have done?" said -she. - -"How can I think anything else?" he cried. "I told you that I loved you -because you were so unlike others--because you were like a child for -timidity and innocence of the world. I told you on that last evening we -were together how greatly I admired the act of Miss Linley in turning -her back upon the platform where she had sung and vowing never to -return to it--that was what I told you I loved--I who have seen how -the nature--the womanly charm of every woman suffers by reason of her -appealing to the public for money--for applause. That beautiful creature -forsook the platform before it was too late--before the evil influence -could work her ruin. But you--what do I hear the day I return to -England?--you have put your heart--your soul, into a book that causes -your name to be tossed about from mouth to mouth--Fanny Burney--Fanny -Burney--Fanny Burney--I hear that name, which I regarded as sacred, -spoken as freely as men speak the name of their Kitty Fisher--their -Polly Kennedy--their Fanny Abington! These are public characters--so -are you--oh, my God! so are you. You should have heard how you were -discussed in that room behind us before you arrived to-day--that -gross man Johnson--he called you by a dozen pet names as if he had a -right--'Fan'--'Fannikin'--I know not what--' a shy rogue '--that was -another! They laughed! They did not see the degradation of it. You were -a toy of the public--the vulgar crowd! Ah, you saw how that gross man, -who fed himself as a wolf, tucked you under his arm and the others only -smiled! Oh, I was shocked--shocked!" - -"And I felt proud--prouder than I have felt in my life," said she. "But -now I see what I have lost--forfeited. Listen to me and I will tell -you what my dream was. I had written that book, but I had no hope of -printing it until I met you and heard from your lips--all that I heard." - -"It was the truth--then: I loved you--then." - -"I knew that it was the truth. But who was I that I should be beloved by -you? I felt that it would be unendurable to me to hear people refer -to us--as I knew they would--the great singer who had stooped to a -nonentity." - -"Ah! that was the charm!" - -"Who except you would have said so? I knew what they would say, and I -made up my mind that I would not go to you except as an equal. I wanted -you to marry someone of whom you would feel proud, and I thought that -I had a little gift which I would lay at your feet. I did my best to -perfect it for your sake; but even when the book was printed I would not -give you my promise until I had assured myself that the gift would be -pronounced worthy of your acceptance. That was why I put you off for so -many months." - -"Ah, that was your mystery--you called it a mystery." - -"That was my secret--my mystery. Never mind; I thought that my hope was -realized when everyone about me was talking of the book and when people -whose opinion was valuable had said it was good--my one thought, God -knows, was that I could go to you--that I could make you happy, since I -should be thought by the world to be in some measure at least, worthy of -you." - -"My poor child! you have not made me happy, but miserable. No one can -make me happy now. I do not love you now--you are a different person -now, and you can never return to be what you were. That is the worst of -all: you can never return to your former innocence." - -"I can bear to hear you say even that; for now I perceive the mistake I -made. I should not have thought of the difference between us: I should -only have had one thought--that you had offered me your love and that I -was ready to offer you my love. That should have been enough for me. You -were right, I was wrong. Good-bye." - -He looked at her for a few moments--tears were in his eyes and on his -cheeks--then he turned away with a passionate gesture, crying in his -native tongue: - -"Mother--mother in heaven! I loved her because she was of a nature the -same as yours--saint-like as a lily--shrinking from the world--in the -world but having nothing in common with the world. I loved her because -I thought that she was as you were. I will not be a traitor to your -ideal--to your memory." - -He returned to her. - -"I am alone in the world; but I know that the spirit of that saint, -my mother, looks down upon me from her heaven, and will comfort me. My -heart is broken. _Addio! Addio!_ I do not mean to be cruel--tell me that -you do not accuse me of being cruel!" - -"I do not accuse you. I think I understand you--that is all." - -"_Addio--addio--addio!_" - -The sound of his voice grew less with every word. - -She was alone in the silence of the twilight. - -Not for long, however. She heard the voice of Mrs. Thrale in the room -behind her, followed by the protests of Dr. Johnson. - -"Miss Burney and I want to have an undisturbed talk together about -writing books," Mrs. Thrale was saying as she came out upon the terrace. - -"Books, madam; any fool can talk of books, and a good many fools avail -themselves of the licence," cried Johnson. "Miss Burney and I are going -to talk about life. Books are not life, Miss Burney." - -"No, sir," said Miss Burney slowly; "books are not life--books are not -life." - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - -***** This file should be named 51922-8.txt or 51922-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/2/51922/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51922-8.zip b/old/51922-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b98e85c..0000000 --- a/old/51922-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51922-h.zip b/old/51922-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 6e41a96..0000000 --- a/old/51922-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51922-h/51922-h.htm b/old/51922-h/51922-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index a6a78f9..0000000 --- a/old/51922-h/51922-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11652 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fanny's First Novel - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51922] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore. - </h2> - <h4> - Author of “The Jessamy Bride,” “A Nest of Linnets,” “I Forbid the 'Banns,” - Etc. - </h4> - <h4> - London: Hutchinson & Co. Paternoster Row, E. C. - </h4> - <h3> - 1913 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - <i>FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL</i> - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>NDEED, I am not - quite assured in my mind that the influence of Mr. Garrick upon such a - family as ours is healthy,” said Mrs. Burney, when the breakfast cups had - been removed and the maid had left the room in the little house in St. - Martin's Street, off Leicester Fields. Dr. Burney, the music-master, had - not to hurry away this day: his first lesson did not begin until noon; it - was to be given at the mansion of Mr. Thrale, the brewer, at Streatham, - and the carriage was not to call for him for another hour. He was glancing - at the <i>Advertiser</i> in unaccustomed indolence, but when his wife had - spoken he glanced up from the paper and an expression of amused surprise - was upon his face. His daughter Fanny glanced up from the work-basket - which her mother had placed ready for her the moment that the - breakfast-table had been cleared, and the expression upon little Miss - Burney's face was one that had something of fright in it. She was too - short-sighted to see the wink which her brother James, lieutenant in His - Majesty's navy, gave her, for their stepmother had her back turned to him. - But Mrs. Burney, without seeing him, knew that, as he himself would phrase - it, he had tipped Fanny a wink. She turned quickly round upon him, and if - she had previously any doubt on this point, it was at once dispelled by - the solemnity of his face. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney gave a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “The influence of Mr. Garrick is like that of the air we breathe,” said - he. “It is not to be resisted by the age we live in, leaving family - matters out of the question altogether: the Burney family must inhale as - much of the spirit of Mr. Garrick as the rest of the town-they cannot help - themselves, <i>ces pauvres Burneys!</i> they cannot live without Mr. - Garrick.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney shook her head solemnly; so did Lieutenant James Burney, for - he had all his life been under the influence of Mr. Garrick, when the - atmosphere brought by Mr. Garrick was one of comedy. - </p> - <p> - “My meaning is that Mr. Garrick is not content to allow simple people such - as ourselves to live as simple people,” said Mrs. Burney. “I protest that - I have felt it: the moment he enters our house we seem to be in a new - world-whatsoever world it is his whim to carry us to.” - </p> - <p> - “That is the truth, my dear-he can do what he pleases with us and with all - the thousands who have flocked to his playhouse since his Goodman's Fields - days—he has made a fortune as a courier; transporting people to - another world for an hour or two every night—a world that is less - humdrum than this in which four beats go to every bar and every crotchet - goes to a beat! Dear soul! he has made our hearts beat at times beyond all - computation of time and space.” - </p> - <p> - “You will herring-bone the edges neatly, Fanny: I noticed some lack of - neatness in the last of the napery that left your hand, my dear,” said - Mrs. Burney, bending over her stepdaughter at her work-basket; and, - indeed, it seemed that the caution was not unnecessary, for Fanny's eyes - were gleaming and she was handling her work with as great indifference - (for the moment) as though she esteemed plain sewing something of drudgery - rather than a delight. And now, having administered her timely caution, - the good lady turned to her husband, saying: - </p> - <p> - “To my mind what you have claimed for Mr. Garrick but adds emphasis to my - contention that his visits have a disturbing influence upon a homely - family, taking them out of themselves, so to speak, and transporting them - far beyond the useful work of their daily life. I have noticed with pain - for some time past that Fanny's heart has not been in her work: her - cross-stitch has been wellnigh slovenly, and her herring-boning has really - been indifferent—I say it with sorrow; but dear Fanny is too good a - girl to take offence at my strictures, which she knows are honest and - meant for her good.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said Lieutenant Burney, “I pray you to give me leave to bear you - out; but at the same time to make excuses for Fan. I must do so in justice - to her, for the blame rests with me so far as the herring-boning is - concerned. I confess, with tears in my eyes, that 'twas I who provided her - with the last models for her herring-boning; and 'twas surely some demon - in my breast that prompted me to substitute the skeleton of one of the - South Sea fishes which I hooked when becalmed with Captain Cook within - sight of Otaheite, for the true herring whose backbone is a model of - regularity to be followed by all workers with the needle, when deprived of - the flesh, which is the staple fare of hundreds of honest families and, - while nourishing them amply, prevents their thoughts from carrying them - beyond the region pervaded by the smell of their cooking.” - </p> - <p> - “That were a wide enough area upon occasions for the most ambitious of - thinkers,” said Dr. Burney, controlling his features, seeing that his wife - took the ward-room humour of his son with dreadful seriousness. He made a - sign to James to go no further—but James had gone round the world - once, and he was not to be checked in a humbler excursion. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madam, 'tis my duty to confess that Fanny's model was the - flying-fish, and not the simple Channel herring, hence the failure to - achieve the beautiful regularity of design which exists in the backbone of - the latter from the figurehead to the stern, larboard sloping in one - direction and starboard in the other. If anyone be culpable 'tis myself, - not Fanny; but I throw myself on your mercy, and only implore that the - herring-boning of my sister will not result in a whaling for me.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney looked seriously from her brother to Fanny, and getting no cue - from either, began: - </p> - <p> - “'Tis indeed honourable for you to endeavour by your confession to excuse - the fault of your sister, James——-” - </p> - <p> - “The traditions of the service, madam——” began the lieutenant, - laying his hand on his heart; but he got no further, for Fanny could - restrain herself no longer; she burst into a laugh and dropped her work, - and her father rose, holding up his hand. - </p> - <p> - “The jest has gone far enough, James,” he said. “We sleep in beds in this - house and do not swing in hammocks. Keep your deep-sea jests until you are - out of soundings, if it please you.” - </p> - <p> - “I ask your pardon, sir,” said James; “but i' faith there's many a true - word said in jest; and it seems to me that there's a moral in the parable - of the young woman who took the flying-fish of the South Seas for her - model rather than the herring of the three-fathom coast-line of the - Channel; and that moral touches close upon the complaint made by our good - mother against Mr. Garrick.” - </p> - <p> - “Let it be so,” said Mrs. Burney, who was a clever enough woman to - perceive that it would be unwise to make a grievance of the impudence of a - young naval gentleman. “Let it be so; let it be that we are simple, - homely, wholesome herrings, we are none the better for such a flying-fish - as Mr. Garrick coming among us, giving us, it may be, the notion that our - poor fins are wings, and so urging us to make fools of ourselves by - emulating the eagle. The moral of your fable is that we should keep to our - own element—is not that so, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I' faith, madam, I am not sure but that 'tis so, and I haul down my - colours to you, and feel no dishonour in the act,” cried James. “Lord, - where should we all be to-day if it were not for the good women who hold - fast to the old traditions of the distaff and needle? They are the women - who do more for the happiness of men than all who pass their time dipping - quills in ink-horns or daubing paint upon good canvas that might with luck - be hung from a stunsail boom and add another knot to the log of a frigate - of seventy-two! Is there anyone who dines at the table of Sir Joshua - Reynolds round the corner that does not wish with all his heart that his - sister would sell her palette and buy a wine-glass or two with the - proceeds? Why, when we went to dinner at Sir Joshua's yesterday there were - not enough glasses to go round the table.” - </p> - <p> - “There never are—that is well known,” said Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay; let us take to ourselves the reproof of Dr. Johnson to Mr. - Boswell when he complained, loud enough almost for Sir Joshua himself to - hear him, about the scarcity of service. 'Sir,' said Dr. Johnson, 'some - who have the privilege of sitting at this table, and you are one of them, - sir, will be wiser if they keep their ears open and their mouths shut than - they would if they had the means of drinking all that you are longing to - drink.'” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Boswell, in spite of the reproof, contrived to lurch from the table - with more wine than wisdom 'tween decks,” remarked James. - </p> - <p> - “He must have found a wine-glass,” said Miss Susy Burney, who had been - quite silent but quite attentive to every word that had been spoken since - breakfast-time. - </p> - <p> - “And so the honour of Mrs. Reynolds's housekeeping is saved,” said Dr. - Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, is not Mr. Boswell a Scotsman?” cried the irrepressible James. - </p> - <p> - “That is his lifelong sorrow, since he fancies it to be an insuperable - barrier between his idol, Dr. Johnson, and himself,” replied his father. - “But how does his Scotsmanship bear upon the wine-glass question?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, without being versed in the subtleties of theology I make bold - to think that Father Adam did not suffer hunger until knives and forks - were invented,” said James. “Your drouthy Scot will drink straight from - the bottle if no beaker be at hand. Oh, why was not Mr. Garrick at Sir - Joshua's to rouse our spirits by his imitation of Mr. Boswell seeking for - a wine-glass—and after?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Boswell is too trivial a subject for Davy: I have seen him take off - Dr. Johnson mixing a bowl of punch until I was like to die of laughter. I - protest that when he came to the squeezing of the imaginary lemon, while - he cried out in the Doctor's broadest Lichfield, 'Who's for poonch?' I - could smell the acid juice,” said Dr. Burney, and he laughed at the - recollection of Garrick's fooling. - </p> - <p> - The naval man gave a resounding nautical smack to his thigh. - </p> - <p> - “That is what 'tis to be a sailor,” he cried. “I have had no chance of - seeing Mr. Garrick at his best. I should dearly like to hear him take off - Mr. Boswell when three sheets in the wind. Why was he not with us - yesterday?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Garrick himself has had a drinking bout on. He has been at the Wells - for the past fortnight,” said his father. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Ecce signum!</i>” came a doleful voice from the door, and a little man - slowly put round the jamb a face bearing such an expression of piteous - nausea as caused everyone in the room—not even excepting Mrs. Burney—to - roar with laughter—uncontrollable laughter. - </p> - <p> - Then the expression on the little man's face changed to one of surprised - indignation. He crept into the room and looked at every person therein - with a different expression on his face for each—a variation of his - original expression of disgust and disappointment mingled with doleful - reproof. It seemed as if it was not a single person who had entered the - room, but half a dozen persons—a whole doleful and disappointed - family coming upon an unsympathetic crew convulsed with hilarity. - </p> - <p> - And then he shook his head sadly. - </p> - <p> - “And these are the people who have just heard that I have been taking the - nauseous waters of Tunbridge Wells for a whole fortnight,” and there was a - break in his voice. “Oh, Friendship, art thou but a name? Oh, Sympathy, - art thou but a mask? Is the world of sentiment nothing more than a world - of shadows? Have all the sweet springs of compassion dried up, leaving us - nothing but the cataracts of chalybeate to nauseate the palate?” - </p> - <p> - He looked round once more, and putting the tips of his fingers together, - glanced sadly up to the ceiling, then sighed and turned as if to leave the - room. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir,” cried Dr. Burney, “I do not believe that the chalybeate - cataracts still flow: 'tis my firm belief, from the expression of your - face, that you have swallowed the whole spring—the Wells of - Tunbridge must have been dried up by you before you left—your face - betrays you. I vow that so chalybeate an expression could not be attained - by lesser means.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, you do me honour, and you have a larger faith in me than my own - physician,” said the little man, brightening up somewhat. “Would you - believe that he had the effrontery to accuse me of shirking the hourly - pailful that he prescribed for me?” - </p> - <p> - “He had not seen you as we have, Mr. Garrick,” said Dr. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “He accused me of spending my days making matches and making mischief in - the Assembly Rooms and only taking the waters by sips—me, sir, that - have so vivid a memory of Mr. Pope's immortal lines: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - A little sipping is a dangerous tiling, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Drink deep or taste not the chalybeate spring!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “You were traduced, my friend—but tell us of the matches and the - mischief and we shall be the more firmly convinced of your integrity.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir; I give you my word that 'twas but the simplest of matches—not - by any means of the sort that yonder desperado fresh from the South Seas - applies to the touch-hole of one of his horrible ten-pounders when the - enemy's frigate has to be sunk—nay, a simple little match with no - more powder for it to burn than may be found on the wig of a gentleman of - fifty-two and on the face of a lady of forty-five—the one a gay - bachelor, t'other a ripe widow—' made for one another,' said I; and - where was the mischief in that? And if I ventured to broach the subject of - the appropriateness of the union of the twain, and to boast under the - inspiring influence of the chalybeate spring that I could bring it about, - is there anyone that will hint that I was not acting out of pure good - nature and a desire to make two worthy folk happy—as happy as - marriage can make any two——-” - </p> - <p> - “Give us their names, sir, and let us judge on that basis,” said Dr. - Bumey. - </p> - <p> - “I have no desire to withhold them, my dear Doctor; for I want you to back - me up, and I am sure that—oh, Lord! here comes the man himself. For - the love of heaven, back me up, Doctor, and all will be well.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, I will not be dragged by the hair of the head into any of your - plots, my friend,” cried Burney. “Nay, not I. I have some reputation to - maintain, good friend Garrick; you must play alone the part of Puck that - you have chosen for yourself this many a year. Think not that you will - induce me to study the character under you, and so thus——-” - </p> - <p> - The manservant threw open the door of the room, announcing: - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Kendal to wait upon you, sir.” - </p> - <p> - But by the time a small and rather rotund gentleman had been ushered into - the room, Mr. Garrick was apparently engaged in an animated conversation - with Miss Burney on the subject of the table-cover at which she was - working. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE visitor walked - with the short strut of the man who at least does not underrate his own - importance in the world. But he suggested just at the moment the man who - is extremely nervous lest he may not appear perfectly selfpossessed. There - was an air of bustle about him as he strutted into the room, saying: - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Burney, I am your servant, sir. I have done myself the honour to - visit you on a rather important piece of business.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, you have conferred honour upon me,” said Dr. Burney. - </p> - <p> - Then the gentleman seemed to become aware for the first time that there - were other people in the room; but it was with an air of reluctance that - he felt called on to greet the others. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Burney, I think,” he said, bowing to that lady, “and her estimable - family, I doubt not. Have I not had the privilege of meeting Mrs. Burney - at the house of—of my friend—my esteemed friend, Mrs. Barlowe? - And this gentleman of the Fleet—ha, to be sure I have heard that - there was a Lieutenant Burney of the Navy! And—gracious heavens! Mr. - Garrick!” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Garrick had revealed himself from the recesses of Miss Burney's - work-basket. He, at any rate, was sufficiently self-possessed to pretend - to be vastly surprised. He raised both his hands, crying: - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible that this is Mr. Kendal? But surely I left you at the - Wells no later than—now was it not the night before last? You were - the cynosure of the Assembly Rooms, sir, if I may make bold to say so. But - I could not look for you to pay attention to a poor actor when you were - receiving the attentions of the young, and, may I add without offence, the - fair? But no, sir; you will not find that I am the one to tell tales out - of school, though I doubt not you have received the congratulations of——” - </p> - <p> - “There you go, sir, just the same as the rest of them!” cried the visitor. - “Congratulations! felicitations! smiles of deep meaning from the ladies, - digs in the ribs with suggestive winks from the gentlemen—people - whose names I could not recall—whom I'll swear I had never spoken to - in my life—that is why I left the Wells as hastily as if a tipstaff - had been after me—that is why I am here this morning, after posting - every inch of the way, to consult Dr. Burney as to my position.” - </p> - <p> - “I protest, sir, that I do not quite take you,” said Mr. Garrick, with the - most puzzled expression on his face that ever man wore. “Surely, sir, your - position as a man of honour is the most enviable one possible to imagine! - Mrs. Nash——” - </p> - <p> - “There you blurt out the name, Mr. Garrick, and that is what I had no - intention of doing, even when laying my case before Dr. Burney, who is a - man of the world, and whom I trust to advise me what course I should - pursue.” - </p> - <p> - “I ask your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Garrick humbly; “but if the course you - mean to pursue has aught to do with the pursuit of so charming a lady, and - a widow to boot——” - </p> - <p> - “How in the name of all that's reasonable did that gossip get about?” - cried the visitor. “I give you my word that I have not been pursuing the - lady—I met her at the Wells for the first time a fortnight ago—pursuit - indeed!” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, I did not suggest that the pursuit was on your part,” said - Garrick in a tone of irresistible flattery. “But 'tis well known that as - an object of pursuit of the fair ones, the name of Mr. Kendal has been for - ten years past acknowledged without a peer.” - </p> - <p> - The gentleman held up a deprecating hand, but the smile that was on his - face more than neutralized his suggestion. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Mr. Garrick, I am but a simple country gentleman,” he cried. “To be - sure, I have been singled out more than once for favours that might have - turned the head of an ordinary mortal—one of them had a fortune and - was the toast of the district; another——” - </p> - <p> - “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, the Miss Burneys and myself will take - our leave of you: we have household matters in our hands,” said Mrs. - Burney, making a sign to Fanny and her sister, and going toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “Have I said too much, madam? If so, I pray of you to keep my secret,” - cried the visitor. “The truth is that I have confidence in the advice of - Dr. Burney as a man of the world.” - </p> - <p> - “I fear that to be a man of the world is to be of the flesh and the devil - as well,” said Dr. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Augmented qualifications for giving advice on an affair of the Wells,” - said Garrick slyly to the naval lieutenant. - </p> - <p> - “You will not forget, Doctor, that Mr. Thrale's carriage is appointed to - call for you within the hour,” said Mrs. Burney over her shoulder as she - left the room. - </p> - <p> - Fanny and her sister were able to restrain themselves for the few minutes - necessary to fly up the narrow stairs, but the droll glance that Mr. - Garrick had given them as they followed their mother, wellnigh made them - disgrace themselves by bursting out within the hearing of their father's - visitor. But when they reached the parlour at the head of the stairs and - had thrown themselves in a paroxysm of laughter on the sofa, Mrs. Burney - reproved them with some gravity. - </p> - <p> - “This is an instance, if one were needed, of the unsettling influence of - Mr. Garrick,” she said. “He has plainly been making a fool of that - conceited gentleman, and it seems quite likely that he will persuade your - father to back him up.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not think that Mr. Garrick could improve greatly upon Nature's - handiwork in regard to that poor Mr. Kendal,” said Fanny. “But what would - life be without Mr. Garrick?” - </p> - <p> - “It would be more real, I trust,” said her stepmother. “He would have us - believe that life is a comedy, and that human beings are like the puppets - which Mr. Foote put on his stage for the diversion of the town a few years - ago.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny Burney became grave; the longer she was living in the world, the - more impressed was she becoming with the idea that life was a puppet-show; - only when the puppets began to dance on their wires in a draught of wind - from another world the real comedy began. She felt that as an interpreter - of life Mr. Garrick had no equal on the stage or off. On the stage he - could do no more than interpret other people's notions of life, and these, - except in the case of Shakespeare, were, she thought, mostly feeble; but - when he was off the stage—well, Sir Joshua Reynolds had told her - what that queer person, Dr. Goldsmith, had written about Garrick—the - truest criticism Garrick had ever received: “'Twas only that when he was - off he was acting.” She knew what she herself owed to Garrick from the - time she was nine years old, when he had accustomed her and her sister to - look for him at their house almost daily; she knew that whatever sense of - comedy she possessed—and she looked on it as a precious possession—was - to be attributed to the visits of Garrick. Every time she looked at her - carefully locked desk in that room at the top of the house in St. Martin's - Street, which had once been Sir Isaac Newton's observatory, she felt that - without the tuition in comedy that she had received at the hands of Mr. - Garrick, the contents of that desk would have been very different. Her - stepmother, however, had no information on this point; she had lived all - her life among the good tradespeople of Lynn, and had known nothing of Mr. - Garrick until Dr. Burney had married her and brought her to look after his - children, which Fanny knew she had done faithfully, according to her - lights, in London. - </p> - <p> - Fanny kept silent on the subject of Mr. Garrick's fooling, while Mrs. - Burney bent with great gravity over the cutting out of a pinafore for - Fanny's little niece—also a Burney; and every now and again there - came from the closed room downstairs the sound of the insisting voice of - the visitor. She hoped that Mr. Garrick would re-enact the scene for her; - she had confidence that it would lose nothing by its being re-enacted by - Mr. Garrick. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> SUPPOSE that I - must e'en follow in the wake of the womenkind,” said Lieutenant Burney, - making an extremely slow move in the direction of the door, when the door - had been closed upon his stepmother and his sisters. - </p> - <p> - “Is there any need?” asked Garrick. “It seems to me that in such a case as - this which Mr. Kendal promises to propound to your father, His Majesty's - Navy should be represented. In all matters bearing upon a delicate <i>affaire - de cour</i> surely a naval man should be present to act as assessor.” - </p> - <p> - 'Mr. Kendal looked puzzled. - </p> - <p> - “I fail to take your meaning, sir,” said he, after a pause; he was still - rubbing his chin with a fore-finger, when Garrick cried: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sir, surely the advantage of the counsel of an officer trained to - navigate femininity in the shape of a ship, is apparent: a ship, even - though a three-decker ready to fire a broadside of a hundred guns, is - invariably alluded to as 'she,'” said he, airily. - </p> - <p> - “Such an one must surely be the most formidable piece of femininity in the - world,” said Mr. Kendal. - </p> - <p> - “By no means,” said Garrick. “During my career as the manager of a - playhouse I have had to face worse. Still, the training of a naval officer - in dealing with feminine craft—at times off a lee shore, and often - during a storm at sea—nothing to be compared to the tempests in our - green-room—is certain to be of value. You will stay, Lieutenant - Burney, if it please you.” - </p> - <p> - “I should be most unwilling to obtrude upon your council, sir,” said young - Burney, “unless you are convinced that my humble services——” - </p> - <p> - “You have been among the savages of the South Seas, and you are acquainted - with all the rules of chasing and capturing prizes, all of the feminine - gender—I allude to your sloops and frigates and catamarans—I - take it for granted that a catamaran is as feminine in its ways as any - wherry that floats,” cried Garrick. Then he turned to their visitor, who - was looking more puzzled than ever. - </p> - <p> - “You may reckon yourself fortunate in the presence of our young friend, - sir,” he said. “So far as I can gather this is a case of chase, with a - possible capture of a prize. I venture to think that in these days a - gentleman of family and fortune, like yourself, is something of a prize, - Mr. Kendal.” This was language that contained nothing to puzzle anyone, - the visitor perceived. His face brightened, and he waved young Burney to a - seat. - </p> - <p> - “I take it that Mr. Garrick knows what he is talking about,” he said. “And - though it was truly your father to whom I came for counsel, I doubt not - that you will take my part, should the worst come to the worst.” - </p> - <p> - “Which means, should the lady come to the gentleman, Mr. Burney,” said - Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Pay out your yarn, sir: I gather that you are still to the windward of - your enemy, and that is the position which the books tell us we should - manoeuvre for,” cried the nautical assessor. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney sat silently by, he had no mind to join in the fooling of the - others. Dr. Burney had never in his life lost a sense of his own dignity. - He had been a church organist for thirty years, and no man who has had - such an experience of the control of an instrument of such superlative - dignity could be otherwise than dignified. He had never once run off on a - keyboard a single phrase of “The Beggar's Opera.” Even Handel's “Ruddier - than the Cherry,” with Mr. Gay's ticklish rhymed line about “Kidlings - blithe and merry,” he only played apologetically, allowing it to be - clearly understood that Mr. Handel and Mr. Gay divided between them the - responsibility for so frivolous a measure. - </p> - <p> - He remained dignified and silent while Garrick and James carried on their - fooling. Only a short time before he had occasion to reprove the lack of - dignity on the part of his important patroness, Mrs. Thrale, the wife of - the wealthy brewer, in having put herself behind Signor Piozzi while he - was singing a sentimental canzone and mimicked his southern fervour of - expression. Mrs. Thrale had taken his reproof in good part at the time; - but no one—least of all Mrs. Thrale herself—could have - foreseen that her contrition should extend so far as to cause her to marry - the singer on the death of Mr. Thrale. - </p> - <p> - “To be brief, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, addressing, not Dr. Burney, whom he - had come to consult, but Mr. Garrick, who had shown himself to be much - more sympathetic. “To be brief, I had gone to the Wells as my custom has - been for the past twenty years. I went honestly to drink the waters, not - making it an excuse, as so many do, for indulging in the gaieties, or, I - may add, the intrigues, of the Assembly Rooms. I was civil, as I hoped, to - everyone, but, I give you my word, no more so to Mrs. Nash than any other - lady.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not doubt that you believe this, sir,” said Garrick, with an - indulgent wave of the hand; “but when a lady has eyes only for one - gentleman, she is apt to place a construction upon the simplest of his - civilities beyond that assigned to it by ordinary people; but pray - proceed, sir. I will only add that it was quite well known at the Wells - that the lady regarded you with the tenderest of emotions. Had she not - boldly said to Lady———— no; I dare not mention her - name; but her ladyship is invariably what the Italians term <i>simpatica</i> - in regard to the tender affairs of her sisters—and it was to her - that Mrs. Nash confided her secret—referring to you as bearing a - striking resemblance to the Apollo Belvedere, hoping that her doing so - would not cause anyone to accuse her of Pagan leanings.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible! The poor lady! poor lady! But I was not to blame. I can - justly acquit myself of all blame in this unhappy affair,” said Mr. - Kendal. - </p> - <p> - “You are quite right, sir; is it a man's fault that he should bear a - striking likeness to the Apollo—I doubt not that the resemblance has - caused you some annoyance at various times of your life, Mr. Kendal,” said - Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Never, sir, never—at least——” he took a step to one - side that allowed of his having a full-length view of his reflection in - the narrow mirror that filled up the space between the windows; and the - result of his scrutiny of the picture was certainly not displeasing to - him. He boldly put forward a leg, and then quite unconscious, as anyone - could see, struck an attitude, though not quite that of the Apollo - Belvedere. Then he smirked. - </p> - <p> - “A leg like yours, Mr. Kendal, to say nothing of the poise of your head, - is a great responsibility,” said Garrick seriously. “The poor lady!—poor - ladies!—I confess that I have heard of others. And she acknowledged - to you that—that—oh, that most delicate of secrets!” - </p> - <p> - “Never to me, sir—never in my hearing, I give you my word,” cried - the man emphatically. “Nay, I did not so much as suspect it. The first - intimation that I had of the matter was when, on Monday morning last—only - three days ago—Captain Kelly—the boisterous Irishman—clapt - me on the shoulder and almost shouted out his congratulations in my ear. - When I forced him to mention the name of the lady, he ridiculed my denial—his - forefinger in my ribs—painful as well as undignified. Who is Captain - Kelly, that he should subject me to his familiarities? But if he was - undignified, I flatter myself that I was not so. 'Sir, you presume,' I - said, and walked on, leaving this vulgar fellow roaring with laughter.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! Kelly is a nobody,” said Garrick. “You should not have allowed - yourself to be discomposed by such as he.” - </p> - <p> - “Nor did I,” cried the other. “But what was I to think when I had advanced - no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly by Sir John - Dingle?—you know him, Mr. Garrick—I have seen him in your - company—more congratulations—the same attitude, sir. And then - up marches Mr. Sheridan—leaving his handsome wife—ah, I fear - that I joined with all Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley—and - Mr. Sheridan was wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. Up - comes Mrs. Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set her - down when she saw me—up went the roof and up went her head, with a - shrill cry of 'Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save only - myself that Benedick is to be a married man!' And before she had finished - her ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman behind her - with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted only for a - special night in the Rooms, and her 'Happy man!' came with a flick of her - fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the last—I saw - them hurrying up to me from all sides—ladies with smiles, and - gentlemen with smirks—fingers twitching for my ribs—down they - flowed upon me! I ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and I - am glad to have the opportunity of hearing your opinion—I ask you, - if I was not justified in turning about and hastening away—what you - nautical gentlemen term 'cutting my cable '?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, sir; if I could believe that you gave the lady no encouragement, - I would say that—that—but no one will convince me that upon - some occasion—it may be forgotten by you—such men of fashion - as yourself soon forget these things, I have heard, though the unhappy - lady treasures them as golden memories—I say upon some occasion you - may have given the Widow Nash encouragement. You have your reputation as a - sly rogue to maintain, Mr. Kendal,” said young Burney gravely, as though - he were a lawyer being seriously consulted. - </p> - <p> - “Fore Gad, sir, I gave her no encouragement,” cried Mr. Kendal. “I have - ever been most cautious, I swear.” - </p> - <p> - “Then the greater shame for you, sir,” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - The man whom he addressed looked in amazement first at Garrick, then at - Lieutenant Burney—Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, was - smiling quite unnoticed in a corner. His part, apparently, was no more - than that of the looker-on at a comedy. His presence was ignored by the - others. - </p> - <p> - “The more shame—the more——” began the visitor. “I - protest that I scarcely take your meaning, Mr. Garrick.” - </p> - <p> - “My meaning is plain, sir,” said Garrick firmly, almost sternly. “I affirm - that it lay with you, when you perceived that the lady was so deeply - enamoured of you——” - </p> - <p> - “But I did not perceive it—you have my word for it.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir,” said Garrick, with the shrug of a Frenchman, which he had - studied for some months in Paris—Mr. Garrick and Lord Chesterfield - had alone mastered the art. “Ah, sir, we are all men of the world here. - 'Twere idle for you to pretend that a gentleman with the figure of the - Belvedere Apollo and the leg of—of——” he turned to young - Burney— “You have seen the proud-stepping figure-heads of many ships - of the line, Mr. Burney,” he said; “prithee help me out in my search for—for—the - name I am in search of.” - </p> - <p> - “H'm, let me see—something wooden with a leg to be proud of?” said - the naval gentleman, considering the matter very earnestly. - </p> - <p> - “Zounds, sir, I did not make it a condition that it should be a wooden - leg,” cried Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “I have seen more than one Admiral of the Fleet mighty proud of a wooden - leg, sir,” said Burney. “But this is beside the question, which I take to - be the responsibility of our good friend here—I hope I don't - presume, Mr. Kendal—for kindling, albeit unconsciously, so far as he - was concerned—that sacred flame in the breast of—to name only - one out of a score—the lady whose name he mentioned.” - </p> - <p> - “You are with me heart and soul, as I felt sure you would be, Mr. Burney; - as a naval officer of judgment and experience,” cried Garrick, “and so, - sir—” he turned to their visitor— “I cannot doubt that you - will comport yourself as a gentleman of honour in this affair. Do not - allow your yielding to the natural impulse to run away to weigh too - heavily upon you. If your act should cause you to be referred to with - reprobation, not to say scorn, by the ladies or gentlemen of fashion who - are certain to espouse the cause of the lady, your subsequent conduct will - show them that they mistook your character. And I promise you that should - you receive a challenge from any of the lady's admirers—those whose - prayers she rejected because her heart was set on a gentleman who was - worthy of her choice—I think you can afford to ignore them, having - won the prize. Ah, sir, is there not a poet who says that every man that - lives has a good angel and a bad one contending for dominion over him? - That is the truth, Mr. Kendal, and I see that your good angel is none - other than the lady whose name I reckon too sacred to pass our lips at - such a time as this. Ah, sir, think of her, and let your mind go back to - the days of your happy boyhood, and say if the mother at whose knees you - knelt did not resemble her. The affection of a son for his mother—let - that plead for the lady who esteems you with more than a mother's love.” - </p> - <p> - He had laid his hand on the poor gentleman's shoulder, and was looking - into his face, while the tears stood in his eyes, and his voice broke more - than once. - </p> - <p> - And there sat Dr. Burney wiping his eyes, and Lieutenant Burney blubbering - away like any child—the two accessories to the actor's farce could - not avoid yielding to the-influence of his unparalleled art. Though they - were in his secret, he made fools of them as easily as he made a fool of - the poor gentleman who was presumably his victim. And they had no feeling - of being ashamed of yielding to his powers. He could do anything that he - pleased with them. He could do anything he pleased with the multitudes - before whom he acted. He was the master of their emotions for the time - being. He played upon their passions as though every passion was a puppet - and the strings in his own hands. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE scene ended by - Mr. Garrick's victim groping through his tears for Mr. Garrick's hand. He - grasped it emotionally, and though for some moments he was too greatly - overcome to be able to utter a word, yet at last he managed to blurt out - with affecting incoherence a few phrases. - </p> - <p> - “Say no more—say no more, sir,” he muttered. “I have a heart—a - heart! I give you my word, whether you believe me or not, that I had no - notion—but you have shown me what 'tis to be a woman. Oh, sir, there - is no sweeter sex in the world! Deception! how a man's own heart may - deceive him—ay, up to a certain point—but then—ah, you - have taught me—but are you sure that the lady—what—have - we not been going ahead too fast? What—what; are you convinced?” - </p> - <p> - “You may take my word for it, sir,” replied Garrick. “There are signs that - all who run may read. What, do you suppose that all those persons of - quality whose names you mentioned just now as having offered you their - felicitations—do you suppose that they could all be in error?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course not—they must have seen—well, more than I saw,” - said the man. “Matrimony! Lud! if an angel had come down to tell me that I - should be contemplating such a change of life—and at my time of life - too!—I should have——” - </p> - <p> - “What an angel may fail to convince a man of, a woman may succeed in - doing, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick sententiously. “But do not talk of your - time of life as if you were an old or even a middle-aged man, sir. To do - so were to make Dr. Burney and myself feel patriarchs.” - </p> - <p> - The mention of Dr. Burney seemed to cause the man to recollect how it was - he came to be in Dr. Burney's house. He turned to Burney, saying: - </p> - <p> - “Dear sir, I pray that you will look on my visit with lenient eyes. I - admit that I came hitherto be advised by you—my friend, Mr. Fulke - Greville, holds your opinion in the highest esteem, as do I, sir; and it - was actually on my mind to ask you if you thought it would be wiser for me - to go abroad for a year or two, or simply to seek some place of retirement - at home—say, Cornwall or the Hebrides—I gather from the - account of Dr. Johnson's tour thither that there are many places difficult - of access in the Hebrides—that was on my mind, Doctor, I blush to - acknowledge, so greatly overcome was I by what had happened at the Wells.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, with what great ease a man may slam the door that shuts out happiness - from his life for evermore!” remarked Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Even now—even now I feel timid,” said Mr. Kendal thoughtfully, and, - when he had found which pocket his handkerchief was in, wiping some dew - from his brow. “The truth is, Doctor, that I have allowed some people to - assume that I am but forty-seven years old, while as a matter of fact I - have been forty-eight for some time.” - </p> - <p> - “For some years?” asked young Burney, who did not know when he should keep - silence. - </p> - <p> - “For some months, sir—only for some months, I give you my word.” - </p> - <p> - “Your deception in this matter could only have added to your reputation - for accuracy,” said Garrick coolly. “For I vow that were you to confess - that you were forty-eight, you would find none to believe you.” - </p> - <p> - The gentleman's eyes twinkled, he pursed out his lips, and once again - manoeuvred to get a full-length view of himself in the long mirror. He put - out his right leg and assumed the attitude of a dancing master giving the - <i>pas</i> for the <i>minuet de cour</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Well, well,” he cried, “if that be your opinion—and I happen to - know that 'tis shared by others—it might not be unwise to allow the - assumption, erroneous though it be, to continue. We will not undeceive the - good folk. And you do not think that a bachelor of forty-eight—What - is the name of that play of Mr. Sheridan's that took the town a year ago?—ah, - <i>The School for Scandal</i>—you are sure that our friends will not - call me—What was the gentleman's name?” - </p> - <p> - “No one who knows how excellent are your principles will think of you - either as Charles or Joseph, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “No, no; but the one who was in my mind was neither of the brothers. I was - thinking of—was it not Sir Peter Teazle?” - </p> - <p> - Garrick as well as Burney laughed heartily, for the man at that moment - suggested by his attitude and expression the Sir Peter Teazle of Kina, the - actor. - </p> - <p> - “Make your mind easy on that score, sir,” said Dr. Burney. “It is not your - purpose to wed so skittish a young person as Lady Teazle. That was where - Sir Peter showed his folly.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no; Mrs. Nash is more mature, certainly, than Mrs. Abington looked in - the part,” said Mr. Kendal confidently, and Lieutenant Burney was about to - agree with him boisterously, but Garrick did not give him a chance. - </p> - <p> - “There is none that will not commend your choice, Mr. Kendal—ay, - sir, and look on you with envy as well,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “There can be no doubt about it,” said Mr. Kendal doubtfully. “The widow - Nash is a monstrous fine woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Monstrous, I doubt not,” put in young Burney, now that he had the chance. - </p> - <p> - “All that I am uneasy about is the interpretation that she may put upon - your sudden flight,” said Garrick. “You have, you will readily allow, sir, - placed her in a somewhat difficult position at the Wells. While everyone - who is anyone has been offering you congratulations upon the match, and a - double portion to the lady, strange inquiries may be made as to your - disappearance from the Wells; and she may not be able to give a - satisfactory explanation at a moment's notice.” - </p> - <p> - “Egad! I never thought of that, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, after a pause. “I - fear that I have placed her in a very awkward position.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay, sir; and the consequences may be that she will be snapped up by some - adventurous person before you can put your fate to the test,” said the - naval man, raising a warning finger. “I have heard of ladies throwing - themselves into the arms of the next comer out of sheer chagrin at being - disappointed by the man on whom they had set their affections.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a possibility that should not be neglected,” said Garrick. “But - it was only on Monday that you fled. By rapid posting you may yet prevent - such a calamity.” - </p> - <p> - He was beginning to tire of his game now that he had succeeded so well in - it and so easily. The fooling of the man who had so completely succumbed - to his art had no further interest for him. He only wanted to get rid of - him. He was as capricious and as fickle as a child over the toys of its - nursery. - </p> - <p> - “I shall lose no moment, be assured,” said Mr. Kendal. “I may still be in - time. My hope in this direction is increased when I remember that the lady - has been a widow for some years—to be exact, without being - uncomplimentary, nine years. I remember when Mr. Nash died. 'Twas of - pleurisy.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not reckon too confidently on that, sir,” said young Burney. “Nine - years have not passed since she faced the company at the Wells, every one - of which was surely pointing at her and asking in mute eloquence, 'What - has become of Mr. Kendal?' But by posting without delay you may yet - retrieve your error. Still, I confess to you that I have known of a lady - who, out of sheer impatience at the delay of a lover whom she had hoped to - espouse, married his rival after the lapse of twenty-four hours—ay, - and when the belated gentleman arrived just after the ceremony, he - furnished the wedding party with a succulent feast. She was the Queen of - one of the islands that we visited in the company of Captain Cook, and the - cockswain of our galley kept the pickled hand of the belated lover for - many a day—the very hand which he had designed to offer the lady.” - </p> - <p> - “This simple and affecting narrative proves more eloquently than any - phrases of mine could possibly do how a man may miss the happiness of his - life by a hair's breadth,” said Garrick. “And the lesson will not be lost - upon you, I am certain, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Lud, Mr. Garrick, you do not mean to suggest that——” - </p> - <p> - “That the lady may make a meal off you on your late return, sir? Nay, Mr. - Kendal. The Wells are still the Wells, not the South Seas; but on the - whole I am disposed to believe that the scheme of revenge of the woman - scorned is fiercer, though perhaps not, at first sight, so primeval, in - the region of Chalybeate Waters than in a cannibal island of the South - Seas. Therefore—there is no time to be lost. Fly to your charmer, - sir, and throw yourself at her feet. She may be thinking over some - punishment for your having placed her in a false position for some days; - but do not mind that. You can always console yourself with the reflection - that a rod in pickle is much more satisfactory than a hand in pickle. Fly, - my dear friend, fly; every moment is precious. Take my word for it, joy - awaits you at the end of your journey.” - </p> - <p> - “'Journeys end in lovers meeting,'” remarked Dr. Burney, with a slight - suggestion of the setting of the words of the lyric by his old master, Dr. - Arne. - </p> - <p> - At this moment a servant entered the room. - </p> - <p> - “The Streatham carriage is at the door, sir,” he announced. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney rose from his chair. - </p> - <p> - “I am forced to leave you, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendal. “But really there - is naught further to consult on at present, and I know that you are - impatient—it is but natural—to fly to the side of your - charmer.” - </p> - <p> - “I am all impatience, sir; but with what words can I express my obligation - to you, Doctor, for the benefit of your counsel?” cried Mr. Kendal. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, dear sir, I am but the lessee of the theatre where the comedy has - been played,” said he; and he had good reason for feeling that he had - defined with accuracy the position that he occupied. But Mr. Kendal was - thinking too much about himself and the position he occupied to appreciate - such <i>nuances</i>. - </p> - <p> - “I knew that I was safe in coming to a friend of Mr. Greville,” he said. - “I care not if, as you suggest, you have become Mr. Garrick's successor at - Drury Lane, though I thought that Mr. Sheridan——” - </p> - <p> - “Zounds, sir, you are never going to wait to discuss theatre matters,” - cried Garrick. “Dr. Burney has been exercising his powers of oratory in - vain upon you for this half hour if you tarry even to thank him. Post, - sir, post at once to Tunbridge Wells, and send Dr. Burney your thanks when - you have put the momentous question to the lady. Go, sir, without the - pause of a moment, and good luck attend you.” - </p> - <p> - “Good luck attend you! Keep up your heart, sir: the lady may refuse you - after all,” said young Burney; but the poor gentleman who was being - hurried away was too much flurried to be able to grasp the young man's - innuendo, though one could see by the look that came to his face that he - had an uneasy impression that Lieutenant Burney's good wishes had not been - happily expressed. The great thing, however, was that he was at the other - side of the door, calling out his obligations to everyone, and striving to - shake hands with them all at once and yet preserve the security of his - hat, which he had tucked under his arm. So excited was he that he was only - restrained at the last moment from mounting the Thrales' carriage which - was awaiting Dr. Burney, and even when his mistake was explained to him, - he took off his hat to the splendid footman who had guarded the door of - the vehicle. - </p> - <p> - In the room where the comedy had been played, Garrick and Lieutenant - Burney had thrown themselves into chairs with roars of laughter, when Dr. - Burney returned from the hall, carrying his hat and cane. He was scarcely - smiling. - </p> - <p> - “You have played a pretty prank upon an inoffensive gentleman, the pair of - you!” said he. “I am ashamed that my house has been used by you for so - base a purpose! The poor gentleman!” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! my dear Doctor, make your mind easy; the lady will teach that - coxcomb a lesson that will be of advantage to him for the rest of his - life,” said Garrick. “He has been the laughingstock of the Wells for the - past fortnight, and no one laughed louder than the Widow Nash. She will - bundle him out of her presence before he has had time to rise from his - marrow-bones—he does not find the process a rapid one, I assure you. - Oh, he was her <i>bete noire</i> even when he was most civil to her.” - </p> - <p> - “And it was you who concocted that plot of getting all your friends—Mrs. - Cholmondeley, Mrs. Thrale and the rest—to make a fool of him, - driving him away from the Wells to encounter a more irresistible pair of - mocking demons in this room!” said Burney. “You cannot deny it, my friend, - I know your tricks but too well.” - </p> - <p> - “I swear to you that I had no hope of encountering him in this house, my - dear Doctor,” said Garrick. “I give you my word that I had laid my plans - quite differently. My plot was a far more elaborate one, and Polly - Cholmondeley had agreed to take part in it, as well as Dick Sheridan. They - will be disappointed to learn that it has miscarried. Who could guess that - he should come to you of all men in the world, Doctor? He has never been - one of your intimates.” - </p> - <p> - “Only when I was living with Mr. Greville had we more than a superficial - acquaintance,” replied Burney. “But that does not make me the less ashamed - of having lent myself to your nefarious project. And you, James, you threw - yourself with gusto into the fooling of the unhappy man—and woman - too—and woman too, I repeat.” - </p> - <p> - “Pray do not distress yourself on her account, Doctor. She will send him - off with a flea in his ear by to-morrow night, and she will take care to - pose as the insulted widow of Mr. Nash, whose memory is dear to her,” said - Garrick. - </p> - <p> - “Will she, indeed?” said Burney. “David Garrick, you are the greatest - actor that has ever lived in England—probably in the world—but - you are a poor comedian compared with such as are at work upon our daily - life: we call them Circumstance, and Accident, and Coincidence. You know - the couplet, I doubt not: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - ' Men are the sport of circumstances when - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The circumstances seem the sport of men.' - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - You have sounded the depths of human impulses, so far as your plummet - allows you, and womankind seems to you an open book——” - </p> - <p> - “An illuminated missal, with the prayers done in gold and the Lessons for - the day in the most roseate tint, Doctor.” - </p> - <p> - “And the Responses all of a kind—the same in one book as another? - But I make bold to believe, my friend, that every woman is a separate - volume, of which only one copy has been printed; and, moreover, that every - separate volume of woman is sealed, so that anyone who fancies he knows - all that is bound up between the covers, when he has only glanced at the - binding, makes a mistake.” - </p> - <p> - “Admirably put, sir, and, I vow, with fine philosophy,” said Garrick. “But - what imports this nomination of a woman at the present moment, Doctor?” - </p> - <p> - “Its import is that you are over sanguine in your assurance that Mrs. - Nash, widow, will reject Mr. Kendal, bachelor, when he offers her his hand - after a dusty journey; and so good day to you, David Garrick, and I pray - you to spend the rest of the day in the study of the history of those - women who have opened the leaves of their lives a little way before the - eyes of mankind.” - </p> - <p> - He had left the room and was within the waiting carriage and driving away - before his son remarked: - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Garrick, it seems to me that my good father has spoken the wisest - words that you or I have heard to-day or for many a day.” - </p> - <p> - “And i' faith, James, it seems to me that that remark of yours is the - second wisest that has been uttered in this room,” said Garrick. - </p> - <p> - He went away without a further word—without even taking his leave of - the two young women and their stepmother, who herself had been a widow - before she had married Dr. Burney. He had once believed that nothing a - woman—young or old—could do would surprise him; for some - reason or other he was not now quite so confident as he had been. But he - certainly did not think that one of the greatest surprises of the century - should be due to the demure young woman who seemed the commonplace - daughter of a very ordinary household, and who at the moment of his - departure was darning a small hole in a kitchen table-cloth, under the - superintendence of her admirable stepmother. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the course of - the morning Esther, the married daughter of the Bumey family, called at - the house in St. Martin's Street. Esther, or as she was usually alluded to - by her sisters, Hetty or Hettina, was handsome and accomplished. She had - been married for some years to her cousin, Charles Rousseau Burney, who - was a musician, and they lived and enjoyed living in an atmosphere of - music. Her father took care that she was never likely to be asphyxiated; - their atmosphere would never become attenuated so long as they lived, as - they did, close to St. Martin's Street. He was well aware of the fact that - his Hetty's duets with her husband—“matrimonial duets” they were - called by Fanny in some of her letters—and also with her sister - Charlotte, served to attract many distinguished visitors and profitable - patrons to his house; he never forgot that profitable patrons and - patronesses are always attracted by distinguished visitors. When one finds - oneself in the company of distinguished people, one naturally feels a - distinguished person also. - </p> - <p> - Moreover, Dr. Burney knew perfectly well that when ambitious patrons and - patronesses were made aware of the success which he had achieved in - respect of his daughters, they were all ready to implore of him to spare - some of his valuable time to give lessons to themselves, seeing no reason - why, with his assistance, they should not reach the level of his two - musical daughters. He conducted his teaching on the principle which brings - fortunes to the Parisian modiste, who takes good care that her mannequins - are good-looking and of a fine figure, knowing that the visitors to the - showrooms have no doubt, no matter how little Nature has done for their - own features or figures, that in the robes of the mannequins they will - appear equally fascinating. - </p> - <p> - The adoption of this system in the Burney household operated extremely - well, and Dr. Burney had for several years enjoyed the proceeds of his - cultivation of the musical tastes of the most influential clientèle in - London. In addition, the greatest singers in Europe, knowing that there - was always an influential <i>assistance</i> to be found at Dr. Burney's - little concerts in St. Martin's Street, were greatly pleased to contribute - to the entertainment, for love, what they were in the habit of receiving - large sums for from an impresario. Those Italian operatic artists most - notorious for the extravagance of their demands when appearing in public, - were pushing each other aside, so to speak, to be allowed to sing at Dr. - Burney's, and really upon more than one occasion the contest between the - generosity of a pair of the most distinguished of these singers must have - been somewhat embarrassing to Dr. Burney. They were clearly singing - against each other; and one of them, who invariably received fifty guineas - for every contribution she made to a programme in public, insisted on - singing no fewer than five songs, “all for love” (and to prove her - superiority to her rival), upon a certain occasion at the Burneys'; so - that really the little company ran a chance of being suffocated beneath - the burden of flowers, as it were—the never-ending <i>fioriture</i> - of these generous artists—and Dr. Burney found himself in the - position of the lion-tamer who runs a chance of being overwhelmed by the - caresses of the carnivora who rush to lick his hands. - </p> - <p> - The result of all this was extremely gratifying, and eminently profitable. - Had Dr. Burney not been a great musician and shown by the publication of - the first volume of the greatest History of Music the world had yet - received, that he was worthy of being placed in the foremost ranks of - scientific musicians, he would have run a chance of being placed only a - little higher than the musical Cornelys of Soho Square, who gave their - concerts, and entertained their friends, and made quite a reputation for - some years before bankruptcy overtook them and the precincts of the Fleet - became their headquarters. - </p> - <p> - And now the beautiful Esther Burney was toying with the contents of her - sister Fanny's work-basket, talking about her husband and his prospects, - and inquiring what Mr. Garrick and James had to talk about in the room - downstairs. - </p> - <p> - “Pray speak in French to Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney. “I cannot get Lottie - and Susan to do so as frequently as I could wish. You must remember that - poor Fanny has had none of your advantages, and I do not want her to be - talked of as the dunce of the family. She really is not a dunce, you know; - in spite of her bad sight she really has done some very pretty sewing.” - </p> - <p> - “I have seen it,” said Esther. “She works very neatly—more neatly - than any of us.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny blushed and smiled her thanks to her sister for the compliment. - </p> - <p> - “What else is there left for me to do but to give all my attention to my - needle?” she said. “I constantly feel that I am the dunce of the family—you - are all so clever.” - </p> - <p> - “It is well for many families that they include one useful member,” said - her stepmother in a way that suggested her complete agreement with the - girl's confession that she was the dunce of the family. A mother's - acknowledgment that a girl is either useful or good-natured is practically - an announcement that she is neither pretty nor accomplished. - </p> - <p> - “And Fanny has many friends,” continued Mrs. Burney indulgently. - </p> - <p> - “Which shows how kind people are, even to a dunce,” said Fanny, not - bitterly, but quite good-humouredly. - </p> - <p> - “But I am not sure that she should spend so much of her time writing to - Mr. Crisp,” said the elder Mrs. Burney to the younger. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, poor Daddy Crisp!” cried Fanny. “Pray, mother, do not cut him off - from his weekly budget of news. If I fail to send him a letter he is - really disconsolate. 'Tis my letters that keep him still in touch with the - life of the town.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, my dear Fanny, I shall not deprive you of your Daddy Crisp,” - said her stepmother. “Poor Mr. Crisp must not be left to the tender - mercies of Susan or Lottie. He is most hospitable, and his house at - Chessington makes a pleasant change for us now and again, and he took a - great fancy to you from the first.” - </p> - <p> - “Daddy Crisp was always Fanny's special friend,” said Esther. “And I am - sure that it is good practice for Fanny to write to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she has long ago given up that childish nonsense,” cried the mother. - “Poor Fanny made a pretty bonfire of her scribblings, and she has shown no - weakness in that way since she took my advice in regard to them.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny was blushing furiously and giving all her attention to her work. - </p> - <p> - “She has still a sense of the guilt that attaches to the writing of - stories, though I am sure that no one in this house remembers it against - her,” said Esther with a laugh, as Fanny's blushes increased. “But indeed - I had not in my mind Mr. Crisp's advantage to her in this way, but only in - regard to her correspondence. She has become quite an expert letter-writer - since he induced her to send him her budget, and indeed I think that good - letter-writing is as much of an accomplishment in these careless days as - good singing—that is ordinary good singing—the good singing - that we hear from some of father's pupils—Queenie Thrale, <i>par - exemple!</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Your father is a good teacher, but the best teacher in the world cannot - endow with a good singing-voice anyone who has not been so gifted by - Nature,” said the elder lady. “'Tis somewhat different, to be sure, in - regard to correspondence, and I do not doubt that Fanny's practice in - writing to good Mr. Crisp will one day cause her to be regarded as one of - the best letter-writers in the family, and that is something. It is a - ladylike accomplishment, and one that is worth excelling in; it gives - innocent pleasure to so many of her friends who live at a distance; and - your father can always obtain plenty of franks, Mr. Charmier and Mr. - Thrale are very obliging.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny was a little fidgety while her eldest sister and her stepmother were - discussing her in a tone of indulgence which was more humiliating than - open reprobation would have been. But she knew that the truth was, that - from her earliest years she was looked on as the dunce of the family, and - she was so morbidly self-conscious that she was quite ready to accept - their estimate of her. The silent member of a musical family soon finds - out how she is looked on by the others; not with unkindness—quite - the contrary—but only as if she were to be slightly pitied for her - deficiency. But she had a secret or two, the treasuring of which in her - heart prevented her from having any feeling of humiliation in the presence - of her splendid sister, whom all the world sought to attract to their - houses, especially when there were guests anxious to be entertained by the - sweet singing of a handsome young woman with a very presentable young - husband. Fanny had her secrets and cherished them with a fearful joy, for - she knew that any day might remove either or both of them, and then there - would be nothing left for her in the household but to put her heart into - her needlework. But one cannot do needlework without needles, and if she - were to put her heart into her work, and if every needle had a point, the - result would, she knew, be a good many prickings. - </p> - <p> - She trusted that she might never be condemned to put her heart into her - needlework. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEN Lieutenant - Burney sauntered into the room and greeted Esther; but when Fanny inquired - with some eagerness what had been the result of Mr. Garrick's fooling of - poor Mr. Kendal, James was by no means so glib or amusing as Fanny - expected him to be. - </p> - <p> - “Psha!” he cried; “that Mr. Kendal is not worth powder and shot—at - least not the weight of metal that Mr. Garrick can discharge—not in - a broadside—Mr. Garrick is not given to broadsides—they are - too clumsy for him—he is like Luke Boscawen, our chief gunner; he - had a contempt for what he was used to term a blustering broadside, having - a liking only for the working of his little brass swivel. He could do - anything that he pleased with his little swivel. 'Ping!' it would go, when - he had squinted along the sights, and the object he aimed at half a mile - away—sometimes so small that we could scarce see it from our foretop—down - it went. Boscawen could do what he pleased with it—the blunt nose of - a whale rising to spout a mile away—the stem of a cocoa-nut palm on - one of the islands when we were not sure of the natives and there was no - time to climb the tree—that is the marksmanship of Mr. Garrick, and - your Mr. Kendal was not worthy of an exercise of so much skill.” - </p> - <p> - “Nobody seems too insignificant to be made a fool of by Mr. Garrick,” said - Mrs. Burney. “He is as happy when he has made a gruesome face and - frightened a maid with a mop at the doorstep, as when he has stricken us - with awe when the ghost enters in <i>Hamlet</i>, or when Macbeth declaims - of the horror of the curse of sleeplessness that has been cast on him. - That is why I said before he arrived that I was not sure that his - influence upon you all is for good. He makes one lose one's sense of the - right proportions and realities of life. Now is not that so, Hetty? I make - no appeal to Fanny, for I know that she has ever been devoted to Mr. - Garrick. Is it not true that she was used to frighten poor Lottie before - she was ten by showing how Mr. Garrick frowned as the Duke of Gloster?” - </p> - <p> - “I know that Fanny murdered us all in turn in our beds, assuring us that - we were the Princes in the Tower, or some less real characters invented by - herself,” said Esther. “But indeed if James tells us that Mr. Garrick's - gun practice smashed the cocoa-nut that serves Mr. Kendal as a head, I - should not grieve. Tell us what happened, James.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, 'twas naught worth words to describe,” said James. “The man came to - take counsel of Daddy in regard to a jest that Mr. Garrick had, unknown to - his victim, played off upon him, and Mr. Garrick so worked upon him that - Daddy had no chance to speak. But Mr. Garrick made fools of us as well, - for I give you my word, though we were in with him in his jest, he had us - blubbering like boobies when he laid his hand on the fellow's shoulder and - spoke nonsense in a voice quivering and quavering as though he were at the - point of breaking down.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney the elder shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “That is what I do not like—that trifling with sacred things,” she - said. “'Tis not decent in a private house—I would not tolerate it - even in a playhouse, and I see that you are of my opinion, James, though - you may have been dragged into the abetting of Mr. Garrick in whatever mad - scheme he had set himself upon perfecting.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, for that matter we are all sorry when we have been merry at the - expense of another, even though he be an elderly coxcomb such as that Mr. - Kendal,” said James. “But enough—more than enough—of coxcomb - Kendal! Tell us of the Duchess's concert, Hetty. Were the matrimonial - duets as successful as usual?” - </p> - <p> - Esther, who had been disappointed that her stepmother had not yet said a - word about the concert of the previous night given by the Dowager Duchess - of Portland, at which she and her husband had performed, brightened up at - her brother's question. - </p> - <p> - “The concert was well enough,” she replied with an affectation of - carelessness. “'Twas no better than many that have taken place under this - roof. Her Grace and her grandees were very kind to us—we had enough - plaudits to turn the head of Gabrielli herself.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the Gabrielli's head has been turned so frequently that one can never - tell when it sits straight on her shoulders,” said James. - </p> - <p> - “She was <i>very</i> civil to us last evening,” said Esther. “Indeed, she - was civil to everyone until the enchanter Rauzzini sang the solo from <i>Piramo - e Tisbe</i> and swept the company off their feet. The poor Gabrielli had - no chance against Rauzzini.” - </p> - <p> - “Especially in a company that numbered many ladies,” said James, with a - laugh. “You remember what Sir Joshua told us that Dr. Goldsmith had once - said of Johnson?—that in his argument he was like the highwayman: - when his pistol missed fire he knocked one down with the butt.” - </p> - <p> - “I heard that upon one occasion Dr. Johnson knocked a man down with a - heavy book, but I cannot imagine his ever firing a pistol,” remarked Mrs. - Burney, who had been used, when the wife of a straightforward merchant of - Lynn, to take every statement literally, and had not yet become accustomed - to the involved mode of speaking of the brilliant young Burneys. - </p> - <p> - “You mean that Rauzzini—I don't quite perceive what you do mean by - your reference to Dr. Goldsmith's apt humour,” said Esther. - </p> - <p> - “I only mean that among such a company as assembled at the Duchess's, if - he missed fire with his singing, he glanced around with those dark eyes of - his and the ladies went down before him by the score,” replied James. “Do - not I speak the truth, Fanny?” he added, turning quickly to where Fanny - was searching with her short-sighted eyes close to her work-basket for - some material that seemed to be missing. - </p> - <p> - But she had clearly heard her brother's question, for she did not need to - raise her head or to ask him to repeat it. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, we are all the slaves of the nobil' signor,” she said, and continued - her search in the basket. - </p> - <p> - “From the way he talked to us last night it might be fancied that it was - he who was the captive,” said Esther. - </p> - <p> - “And I do not doubt that he is living in a state of constant captivity,” - laughed James. “Ay, or I should rather term it inconstant captivity, for I - dare swear that those black eyes of his do a deal of roving in the course - of a year—nay, in the course of a day. These singer fellows feel - that 'tis due to their art, this moving the hearts of their hearers, by - moving their own affections from heart to heart. The Rauzzini is, I fancy, - like one of the splendid butterflies we came upon in the Straits, - fluttering from flower to flower.” - </p> - <p> - “I have heard no stories of his inconstancy, even from the Gabrielli when - she was most envious of his plaudits,” said Esther, and she glanced at her - sister, who was earnestly threading a needle. - </p> - <p> - “You goose!” cried James to Esther. “Do you suppose that Gabrielli would - tell you anything so greatly complimentary to him? In these days you - cannot pay a man a greater compliment than to compare him to the fickle - butterfly. You see that suggests a welcome from every flower.” - </p> - <p> - “I protest that it is to sailors I have heard most compliments of that - sort paid,” laughed Esther, and then, putting herself in a singing - attitude before him, she lilted most delightfully: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Men were deceivers ever, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - One foot on sea- - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “ha, ha, brother James! - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - and one on shore, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To one thing constant never. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Now be advised by me, dear James, and do not attribute even in a cynical - way, the vice of inconstancy to a singer, until you have left the Navy.” - </p> - <p> - “I did not allude to it as a vice—rather as a virtue,” said James. - “Just think of the hard fate of any girl to have such a person as a singer - ever by her side!” - </p> - <p> - He easily evaded the rush down upon him made by Hetty, and used his - nautical skill to sail to the windward of her, as it were, until he had - reached the door, whence he sent a parting shot at her. - </p> - <p> - “You surely don't think that I hinted that your spouse was a singer,” he - cried. “A singer! Oh, lud! I should be swaying away on all top ropes if I - were to call the matrimonial duets singing.” - </p> - <p> - He gave a shout of laughter as he caught the ball of wool which Esther - threw at him, having picked it up from her stepmother's work-table. He - returned it with a better aim, and before his sister could get a hand on - it, he had shut the door, only opening it a little space a few seconds - later to put in his head with a mocking word, withdrawing it at once, and - then his foot was heard upon the stair, while he gave a sailor's version - of Mr. Garrick's patriotic naval song: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “He has gone before I had a chance of asking him to take a message to the - cheesemonger,” said Mrs. Burney, calling out to him while she hurried - after him out of the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE moment the two - sisters were alone, the elder said quickly in a low voice, leaning across - the table: - </p> - <p> - “We had a long talk with Signor Rauzzini, my dearest Fanny. I could not, - of course, tell you before mother.” - </p> - <p> - “You mentioned his name; but were you discreet?” said Fanny. “I think - mother felt that you were going too far when you referred to his eyes. - Mother most surely believes that the dark eyes of an Italian form a topic - that should not be discussed except by our elders, and then only with - bated breath and a fearful glance around lest a word should be overheard.” - </p> - <p> - “His eyes—you know his eyes, Fanny?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said Fanny, with an inflection that was between a sigh and a moan. - </p> - <p> - “You should have seen them while he spoke of you,” said Esther. “Talk of - flashes of lightning!—Dear child, it seemed so singular to us that a - mite like you should inspire a grand passion in such a man. You are not - angry with us, I know, but it was so indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I feel angry with you for feeling just what I do myself, only - more intensely,” said Fanny. “Tis one of the greatest mysteries of life—the - only mystery of life that I have yet faced—why a man who is as - handsome as an archangel, and who possesses a voice that an archangel - might envy, should so much as glance at an insignificant young woman like - myself! Oh! 'tis no wonder that the notion amused you, dear Hetty.” - </p> - <p> - “It only diverted us for a time, I assure you, my Fanny; it did not take - us very long to perceive how it was no laughing matter, but, on the - contrary, a very serious matter. Signor Rauzzini is, as I said, an - enchanter, but do you not think that 'tis somewhat dangerous to—to——” - </p> - <p> - “To play with fire? That is what is on your mind, dear—to allow the - fire of his Roman eyes to play about me? Dangerous? I admit that wherever - there is fire there is danger, especially when it flashes from such eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad that you need no warning, child. As your elder sister I am - pleased that—that—but no one in the house seems to think for a - moment that the favour he has so distinctly shown to you can mean - anything. Indeed, until last night, neither Charles nor I could believe——” - </p> - <p> - Fanny laughed, half closing her short-sighted eyes with a curious - expression as she looked at her sister. - </p> - <p> - “It is only natural, my dear Hettina,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Have I ever ventured to suggest that I am other than the dunce of the - family?” - </p> - <p> - “You have always been absurdly humble, Fanny, and I have never hesitated - to say so,” cried Esther. “I am sure that none of us could have made up - such clever little pieces to act as you did when we were children. And as - for writing, could any of us have so neatly copied out the padre's History - as you did last year? Mr. Crisp, too—he never takes pleasure in any - letters of the family except what you write for him.” - </p> - <p> - “All perfectly true, my Hettina,” replied Fanny. “But where am I when the - house is filled with visitors? You know that I am nobody—that all I - pray for with all my heart is that no one will take any notice of me, and - I think I can say that my prayer is nearly always granted.” - </p> - <p> - “That is because you are so dreadfully—so absurdly shy,” said - Esther. “You are the little mouse that is evermore on the look out for a - hole into which you can creep and be safe from the observation of all - eyes. You are ever trying to escape, unless when Mr. Garrick is here.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Hettina, I know my place—that is all. I have weak eyes, but - quick ears, and I have heard strangers ask, when they have heard you sing - and Susan play, who the little short-sighted girl in the corner is and - what she means to do for the entertainment of the company. When they are - assured that I am one of the clever Burney family they whisper an - incredulous 'No?' They cannot believe that so insignificant a person as - myself can be one of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Tis your morbid self-consciousness, Fanny, that suggests so much to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; I was the dunce from the first. You know that while you could - read any book with ease when you were six, I did not even know my letters - when I was eight. Don't you remember how James made a jest of my thirst - for knowledge by pretending to teach me the alphabet with the page turned - upside down? And when you had gone to school at Paris and it was my turn - as the next eldest, the wise padre perceived in a moment that the money - would be much better spent upon Susan and Lottie, and they went to be - educated while I remained at home in ignorance? The dear padre was right: - he knew that I should have been miserable among bright girls away from - home.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause before the elder sister said quite pathetically: - </p> - <p> - “My poor Fanny! I wonder if you have not been treated shabbily among us.” - </p> - <p> - “Not. I, my Hettina. I have always been treated fairly. I have had as many - treats as any of you; when you were learning so much in Paris I have been - learning quite a number of things at home. And one of the most important - things I learned was that so brilliant a person as Signor Rauzzini could - never be happy if married to so insignificant a person as Fanny Burney.” - </p> - <p> - Esther gave a little sigh of relief. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I think that your conclusion is a right one, dear,” she said. “We - both came to the conclusion—Charles and I—that it would be a - huge misfortune if you should allow yourself to be attracted by the - glamour that attaches to the appearance of such a man as the Rauzzini, - though, mind you, I believe that he honestly fancies himself in love with - you—oh, he made no disguise of it in talking with us last night. But - I hoped that you would be sensible.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, in the matter of sense I am the equal of anyone in the family,” said - Fanny, laughing. “That I mean to make my one accomplishment—good - sense. That is the precious endowment of the dunce of the clever family—good - sense; the one who stands next to the dunce in the lack of accomplishments - should be endowed with good nature. Good sense and good nature go hand in - hand in plain grey taffeta, not down the primrose paths of life, but along - the King's highway of every day, where they run no chance of jostling the - simple foot-passengers or exciting the envy of any by the flaunting of - feathers in their face. Good sense and good nature are best satisfied when - they attract no attention, but pass on to obscurity, smiling at the - struggle of others to be accounted persons of importance.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you have indeed made up your mind to marry Mr. Barlowe?” cried - Esther. - </p> - <p> - Fanny laughed enigmatically. - </p> - <p> - “Does it not mean rather that I have made up my mind not to marry Mr. - Barlowe?” she cried. - </p> - <p> - Esther looked puzzled: she was puzzled, and that was just what Fanny meant - her to be. - </p> - <p> - But then she looked piqued, as elder sisters do when puzzled by the words - or the acts of the younger. What business have younger sisters puzzling - their elders? Their doing so suggests pertness when the elders are - unmarried, but sheer insubordination when they are married; and Esther was - by no means willing at any time to abrogate the privileges of her position - as a married woman. - </p> - <p> - “I protest that I do not understand your meaning, Fanny,” she said, - raising her chin in a way that gave her head a dignified poise. There was - also a chill dignity in the tone of her voice. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Hettina, I ask your pardon,” cried Fanny quickly. “I fear that I - replied to you with a shameful unreasonableness. But indeed I am not sure - that you had reason on your side when you assumed that because I was ready - to acknowledge that it would not mean happiness to our dear Signor - Rauzzini to marry an insignificant person like myself, I was therefore - prepared to throw myself into the arms of Mr. Barlowe.” - </p> - <p> - “I fancied that—that—but you may have another suitor in your - mind whose name you have not mentioned to anyone.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should it be necessary for me to have a suitor of any kind? Is it not - possible to conceive of the existence of a young woman without a row of - suitors in the background? I admit that the 'Odyssey' of Homer—you - remember how I used to listen to your reading of Mr. Broome's translation - to mother—would be shorn of much of its interest but for that - background of suitors in one of the last books, but—well, my dear - sister, I hold that the alternative song of life to the matrimonial duet - is the spinster's solo, and it does not seem to me to be quite devoid of - interest.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I took it for granted——” began Esther, when Fanny broke - in upon her. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know what all the happily wedded ones take for granted,” she - cried. “You assume that the wedded life is the only one worth living; but - as we are told in the Bible that there is one glory of the sun and another - of the moon, so I hold that I am justified in believing that if matrimony - be celestial, spinsterhood is terrestrial, but a glory all the same, and - not unattractive to me. I may be wise enough to content myself with the - subdued charm of moonlight if it so be that I am shut off from the midday - splendour of matrimony.” - </p> - <p> - Esther did not laugh in the least as did her sister when she had spoken - with an air of finality. She only made a little motion with her shoulders - suggesting a shrug, while she said: - </p> - <p> - “I hope you will succeed in convincing mother that your views are the best - for the household; but I think you will have some difficulty in doing so, - considering what a family of girls we are.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not doubt that mother will be on the side of immediate matrimony and - poor Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Why poor Mr. Barlowe?” cried Esther. “He is a young man of excellent - principles, and he has never given his parents a day's trouble. It is - understood that if he marries sensibly he will be admitted to a - partnership in the business, so that——” - </p> - <p> - “Principles and a partnership make for matrimonial happiness, I doubt - not,” said Fanny. “And I doubt not that Dr. Fell had both excellent - principles and an excellent practice; still someone has recorded in - deathless verse that she—I assume the sex—did not like that - excellent man.” - </p> - <p> - “And you do not like Mr. Barlowe on the same mysterious grounds?” said - Hetty. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, I am not so unreasonable, I hope,” replied Fanny. “But—but—dear - sister, I remember how I thought that the song of the linnet which was in - our little garden at Lynn was the loveliest strain of the grove, and such - was my belief until I awoke one night at Chessington and heard the - nightingale.” - </p> - <p> - “You are puzzling—singularly puzzling today,” said Esther frowning. - “You have started two or three mystifying parables already. You told me - some time ago as a great secret that you had been renewing your - story-writing, in spite of your having burnt all that you had written for - our edification—all that story—what was its name? The heroine - was one Caroline Evelyn. You were ever an obedient child, or you would not - have sacrificed your offspring at the bidding of our new mother, though - the advice that she gave you was good, if you have not quite adhered to - it. Novel writing is not for young ladies any more than novel reading, and - certainly talking in parables is worse still. Well, I have no more time to - spend over your puzzles.” - </p> - <p> - “You would not find their solution to repay you, my dear,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Still, I am pleased to learn that you take a sensible view of Signor - Rauzzini and his heroics—but, indeed, I cannot see that Mr. Barlowe - should not be considered, with his prospects—his father is a mercer - in gold and silver lace, as you know——” - </p> - <p> - “I have heard so—it is a profitable trade, I believe.” - </p> - <p> - “None more so. It is impossible to believe that a time will ever come when - gold and silver lace will cease to be worn by gentlemen.” - </p> - <p> - “That would be an evil day for England as well as for Messieurs Barlowe, - <i>père et fils</i>. But thank heaven it is not yet in sight. Good - morning, dear sister; and be assured you have my thanks for your advice. - But mind you keep my little secret about the writing. Good-bye. You can - face mother boldly, knowing that you have carried out her commission to - the letter, and very neatly and discreetly into the bargain.” - </p> - <p> - “I would not have done so if her views had not been mine also; as for your - writing—you may depend on my keeping your secret. But you will have - to get the padre's permission to have it printed—that's something - still in the far future, I suppose;”—and the elder sister stooped to - kiss the younger—Fanny was not up to the shoulder of the beautiful - and stately Esther. - </p> - <p> - And so they parted. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ANNY BURNEY had - been forced, for the first time, to make her sister aware of the fact that - she knew she was looked on as the dunce of the brilliant Burney family. - She could see that her doing so had startled her sister, for neither - Esther nor any of the other girls had ever suggested to her that they - thought of her as being on a different level from themselves, though it - was tacitly allowed that it was a great pity that Fanny did not emulate - them in taking pains to shine as it was expected the children of that - estimable master of music, Dr. Burney, should shine, so as to make the - house in that narrow little street off Leicester Fields attractive to its - many distinguished visitors. - </p> - <p> - Fanny had truly defined her place in the household. She had recognized her - place for several years; but there was not the least suggestion of rancour - in her tone when talking to her brilliant elder sister, for the simple - reason that there was no bitterness in her heart against any member of the - family for being cleverer than herself. Fanny took pride in the - accomplishments of her sisters, and was quite content with her position in - relation to them. She got on well with all of them, because she was fond - of them all, and they were all fond of her. She had not rebelled when her - father had sent her younger sisters to be educated in Paris, and had - allowed her to pick up her own education as best she might in his own - library; and it had been a great happiness to her to be allowed the - privilege of copying out for the press the first volume of her father's - “History of Music.” It was her stepmother who, finding out that Fanny had - what Mrs. Burney called “a taste for writing,” had suggested that that was - the legitimate channel in which such a taste should flow; and it was her - stepmother who had induced her to make a bonfire of all her own writings—the - scribblings of her girlhood that represented the foolish errant flow of - her “taste for writing “: and now and again she had a consciousness of her - own duplicity in failing to resist the impulse that had come upon her to - do some more of what her mother termed her “girlish scribbling.” - </p> - <p> - One of the guilty secrets that Fanny cherished was that when it was - believed she was writing her long letters to her old friend Mr. Crisp, she - had been composing a novel which was now about to be given to the world; - the second was that Signor Rauzzini, the handsome young Roman singer with - whom half the fashionable ladies of the town were in love, was in love - with her. - </p> - <p> - These were two secrets worth the cherishing, she knew; and the thought of - them more than compensated her for the reflection that she was the dunce - of the family, and that the unconscious tone of patronage adopted toward - her by her elder sister and the dreadful compliments paid to her plain - sewing, as though plain sewing represented the highest hopes that could - reasonably be entertained in regard to her, were only to be looked for in - the circumstances. - </p> - <p> - The two secrets were closely bound up together, she knew. She had the - deepest affection for Signor Rauzzini. How could she fail to return the - feeling which the whisper of his musical voice had told her he had - conceived for her? He loved her in spite of the fact that she was the - least attractive member of the family—in spite of the fact that half - the town was at his feet, and that he might have made his choice from - among the best. He had chosen her whom no one else had ever noticed, with - the exception of her father's old friend, Mr. Crisp, and—oh, yes - (she laughed now, perceiving that she had done an injustice to the other - person who had been attracted to her—mainly, she thought, on account - of her reputation for plain sewing)—a young man named Thomas - Barlowe, the excellent son of the well-known mercer of gold and silver - lace, in the Poultry! - </p> - <p> - Thinking of young Mr. Barlowe by the side of Signor Rauzzini, Fanny - laughed again. She had so restricted an opinion of her own attractiveness - that the tears actually came into her eyes for having given that derisive - laugh as she compared the two young men; and she felt that she had been - grossly ungrateful to young Mr. Barlowe; for even young Mr. Barlowe had a - right to look above her level for a wife. As the daughter of a simple - music master with a large family she could have no endowment so far as - worldly goods were concerned; and she knew that the practical parents of - young business men, as a rule, looked for their sons to marry, if not - great fortunes, at least young women with a few thousands to their names. - </p> - <p> - She felt that she had treated the condescending young Mr. Barlowe very - badly in laughing at the poor figure he cut by the side of the angelic - Roman singer—she had failed to resist the temptation to call Signor - Rauzzini angelic in one of her letters to Mr. Crisp—and now, in - thinking of Mr. Barlowe as a very worthy young man, she was unconsciously - relegating him to a hopeless position as a lover. It is not the very - worthy young men who are beloved by young women of a romantic temperament: - if it were there would be very few romances left. But little Miss Burney - desired only to ease the twinges of her conscience for having laughed at - the thought of young Tommy Barlowe; and she thought that she had done the - right thing in assuring herself that he was a very worthy person. - </p> - <p> - And then she thought no more about him. She had a feeling that to give - another thought to him when she had such a man as Signor Rauzzini to think - about, would be a constructive act of treason in regard to Rauzzini. She - had received many hints from her stepmother to the effect that all the - family considered her to be a very fortunate young woman (all things taken - into account) in having a chance of marrying the Thomas who seemed ready - to pay his addresses to her; but though quite submissive to her stepmother - in household matters, she was ready to face her with the “Never!” of the - avowed rebel in the matter of consenting to wed the highly approved - Thomas, and so she dismissed him from her thoughts, in favour of the man - whom she loved. - </p> - <p> - But thinking of the man whom she loved was by no means equivalent to - passing into a region of unalloyed happiness. She had mystified her sister - by the way in which she had spoken about Signor Rauzzini, and the seal had - been put upon the mystery by her frank acknowledgment that she did not - think a union between so distinguished a man as Rauzzini and so - insignificant a person as herself was likely to be satisfactory. - </p> - <p> - She had certainly allowed Hetty to go away believing that this was in her - mind; and that was just what was in her mind when her thoughts turned from - Thomas, whom she considered so estimable, to Rauzzini, whom she loved. She - loved the Roman singer so truly that she had made a resolution never to - consent to his marrying anyone so insignificant as she believed herself to - be. - </p> - <p> - She had no illusions regarding herself. She knew just how good-looking she - was; she knew that by the side of any of her sisters she was almost plain; - but that she had a pleasing, simple face of a very ordinary type. She knew - that she could love with the truest devotion and she could trust herself - not to change with time. But she felt that these were not beyond the - traits of the ordinary young woman, and that they did not lift her from - the level of insignificance to the level of Signor Rauzzini. - </p> - <p> - She knew that she was at that moment an insignificant person; and she made - no attempt to think of herself as otherwise. - </p> - <p> - Yes; but she had heard of people—even young women—being - insignificant one day, and the next springing to a pinnacle of fame to - which all eyes looked up. How would it be if she were destined to reach in - a moment a position that would place her on a level with the man of her - thoughts—the man whose fame as a singer had caused him to be the - centre round which every conversation in the most notable circles turned? - Everyone was talking in praise of Rauzzini; and she herself thought of him - as occupying a place on a height as far above her as King Cophetua's - throne was above the marble steps at the foot of which the beggar maid had - crouched; but in her mind there was the possibility that her name might - one day be spoken by the world in connection with an achievement that - would raise her from the insignificance of Fanny Burney to the importance - of Signor Rauzzini, and prevent people from asking what on earth had - induced so glorious a person as he to make her his wife! - </p> - <p> - That was the secret dream which filled the imagination of this imaginative - young woman—the same dream as comes to so many young women who have - written the last chapter of a book and sent it forth for the world to - receive with acclaim—the dream of fame—of immortality! She had - written a novel and it was about to be given to the world, if the world - would have it, and upon its success her happiness depended. If it brought - her fame, it would place her by the side of the man whom she loved; but if - it failed, then she would remain a person of no significance, and quite - unworthy of sharing the honours which were showered upon her lover. She - had imagination, and this faculty it was that made her more than doubtful - of the success of King Cophetua's rash experiment. She felt sure that King - Cophetua had now and again, turning suddenly round, caught one of his - courtiers with his tongue in his cheek when his Majesty was entering the - throne-room with his shy and insignificant Queen by his side, and that the - Queen had occasionally overheard the whispers of her maids of honour, when - they did not know she was at hand, asking one another what on earth the - King had seen in her that induced him to make her his consort. Little Miss - Burney had long ago made up her mind that the union of King Cophetua and - his beggar maid was far from being a happy one—that the King looked - around him and saw several princesses of great beauty and quite devoid of - shyness who were fully acquainted with the convenances of his court and - would not, if he had married any one of them, have made the mistakes which - she was sure the young person whom he had elevated had fallen into, - causing him constant irritation. - </p> - <p> - Little Miss Burney had resolved that she would never play the part of a - crowned beggar maid. The man whom she loved had won fame for himself, and - she would not go to him unless she, too, had at least made such a name for - herself as should prevent her from feeling herself in the position of the - beggar maid whom King Cophetua had raised to his side. Little Miss Burney - resolved that although she could scarcely expect to go to her lover - wearing purple robes embroidered with gold, she could, at any rate, - refrain from wearing beggars' rags. She had her ambitions, and she felt - that they were not ignoble, but that they made for the happiness of the - man she loved, and who had been gracious enough to love her—the - least attractive member of the family. - </p> - <p> - But after she had sat for some time with her hands lying idle on the - sempstress' work at which she had been engaged on the departure of her - sister—after her imagination had carried her much farther away than - she intended it should, she was sensible of a return to the cold world - from which she had soared. Her heart, which had begun to beat quickly when - Hetty had told her how the divine Rauzzini had spoken of her, sank within - her as she seemed to hear a voice asking who was she that she should hope - to reach by the publication of that story which she had been writing by - stealth and at odd times during the past three years, even the smallest - measure of fame that would compare with that of Signor Rauzzini? What fame - attached to the writing of a novel in comparison with that achieved by the - enchantment of a singer who had power to move the hearts of men and women - as it pleased him? Orpheus—ah, what fame could compare with the fame - of Orpheus, the singer? His was a heaven-sent gift. What was her little - talent compared with such a gift? If she had the ability even to make - music such as one of her sisters could bring forth from the keys of the - piano, she would have a better chance of being accounted worthy of a place - beside Signor Rauzzini than if her novel found its way to the shelves of - many readers. The writing of a novel was a poor achievement—nay, in - the opinion of a good many people, including her own stepmother—a - most practical woman—it was something to be ashamed of; and Fanny - herself, thinking over all the novels written by women which she herself - had read—most of them surreptitiously—was disposed to agree - with her. That was why she had kept as a secret for more than three years - the fact that she was trying to write a novel. Her father knew nothing of - it, and her stepmother was equally uninformed. Even her old friend Mr. - Crisp, to whom she wrote voluminous letters week after week, and to whom - she gave her confidence on many matters, had no suspicion that she had - written her novel. - </p> - <p> - She had thought it prudent to keep this matter hidden from them, for she - did not doubt that if she had told any one of them of her project, she - would never have a chance of realizing it. They would certainly have - pronounced against such a proceeding even before a page of her novel came - to be written. - </p> - <p> - And yet it was the thought that this novel was shortly to be published - that had caused her to feel that she was drawing nearer to her lover. - </p> - <p> - As she reflected upon this, sitting idly over her work when her sister had - left the house, her tears began to fall, not in a torrent, but slowly - dropping at intervals upon the fabric which she had been sewing. She felt - very sad, very hopeless, very lonely. - </p> - <p> - Nor could it be said that the sudden return of Mrs. Burney meant a return - of happiness to the girl. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney did not consider that Fanny had made satisfactory progress - with her work, and did not hesitate to express her opinion to this effect. - But she was not imprudently unkind; for young Mr. Barlowe had just written - to her, begging permission to pay his respects to Mrs. Burney and her - daughter that evening, and she meant that Fanny should be in a good humour - to entertain him. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney had great hopes that the question of Fanny's future—a - constant topic of conversation and consultation between her and her - husband—might be settled by a series of visits of young Mr. Barlowe. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUNG Mr. Barlowe - took himself very seriously, and he had every right to do so; for a more - serious young man was not to be found in business in London. He had been - brought up to look upon everything in the world as having an intimate - connection with business, and it had always been impressed upon him that - business meant the increase of money, and that there was hardly anything - in the world worth giving a thought to apart from the increase of money. - It never occurred to any of his preceptors to suggest that the advantage - of increasing one's money lay in the splendid possibilities of spending - it. The art of making money forms the whole curriculum of a business man's - education; he is supposed to require no instruction in the art of spending - it. Thus it is that, by attending only to one side of the question, so - many business men lead much less interesting lives than they might, if - they had it in their power to place themselves under the guidance of a - trustworthy professor of the Art of Spending. But no Chair of Spending has - yet been provided at any University, nor is there any instructor on this - important branch of business education at any of the City schools, hence - it is that the sons of so many money-making men turn out spendthrifts. - They have been taught only one side of the great money question, and that - the less important side into the bargain. In making an honest endeavour to - master the other side, usually on the death of a father or a bachelor - uncle, both looked on as close-fisted curmudgeons, a good many young men - find themselves in difficulties. - </p> - <p> - Young Mr. Barlowe, on being introduced to the Burney family, through the - circumstance of Mrs. Burney's first husband having done business with Mr. - Barlowe the elder, found himself in a strange atmosphere. He had never - before imagined the existence of a household where music and plays and - books were talked about as if these were the profitable topics of life. - Previously he had lived in a house where the only profitable topic was - thought to be the Profits. At his father's table in the Poultry the - conversation never travelled beyond the Profits. The likelihood of a rise - in the price of gold or silver sometimes induced the father to increase - his stock of bullion without delay, and then if the price rose, he could - conscientiously charge his customers for the lace at such a rate per ounce - as gave him a clear five per cent, extra profit; and it was upon such - possibilities that the conversation in the Poultry parlour invariably - turned. - </p> - <p> - And here were these Burneys talking with extraordinary eagerness and - vivacity upon such matters as the treatment by a singer named Gabrielli of - one of the phrases in a song of Mr. Handel's, beginning: “Angels ever - bright and fair”! For himself, young Mr. Barlowe thought that there was no - need for so much repetition in any song. “Angels ever bright and fair, - Take, oh take me to your care”—that was the whole thing, as it - seemed to him; and when that request had been made once he thought it was - quite enough; to repeat it half a dozen times was irritating and really - tended to defeat its purpose. Only children in the nursery kept - reiterating their requests. But he had heard Dr. Burney and his - son-in-law, Esther's husband, discuss the Gabrielli's apparently - unauthorized pause before the second violins suggested (as it appeared to - the younger musician) a whisper of assent floating from the heaven; and - all the members of the family except Fanny had taken sides in the - controversy, as though a thing like that had any bearing upon the daily - life of the City! - </p> - <p> - Thomas Barlowe was amazed at the childishness of the discussion, and he - was particularly struck by the silence of Fanny on this occasion. She was - silent, he was sure, because she agreed with him in thinking it ridiculous - to waste words over a point that should be relegated to the nursery for - settlement. - </p> - <p> - “They seem pleasant enough people in their way,” he told his mother after - his first visit. “But they know nothing of what is going on in the world—the - real world, of which the Poultry is the centre. It might be expected that - the young man who is a naval officer and has seen the world would know - something of the import of the question when I asked him what direction he - thought gold would move in; but he only winked and replied, 'Not across my - hawse, I dare swear,' and the others laughed as if he had said something - humorous.” - </p> - <p> - “Mayhap it was humorous,” suggested his mother gravely. - </p> - <p> - “It would be sheer ribaldry for anyone to jest upon such a subject as the - fluctuations in the price of silver,” said Thomas slowly. “Lieutenant - Burney must surely know how serious a matter would be a fall of a fraction - of a crown when we have bought heavily in prospect of a rise. But Miss - Burney looks to be different from the others of the family. I have told - you that while her father, and indeed all the rest, were talking excitedly - on that ridiculous point in Mr. Handel's music, she sat in silence. She is - short-sighted, but I noticed more than once that she had her eyes fixed on - me, as if she had found something to study in me. She is, I think, a - steady, observant young lady. When Mrs. Burney said she hoped that I would - visit them again, I think I perceived a sort of interest on Miss Burney's - face as she awaited my answer.” - </p> - <p> - Thomas had resolved not to frustrate the hopes that Mrs. Burney had - expressed as to his paying another visit—as a matter of fact he had - come three times, and on every occasion he had devoted himself to Fanny—to - be more exact than Mrs. Burney, who had described his attentions in this - phrase, he had passed his time subjecting her to a sort of catechism with - a view to discover if she would make him the sort of wife that would suit - him. It appeared that the result of his inquisition was satisfactory, and - that his attentions were gradually becoming intentions; but Mrs. Burney - had never gone farther than to comment favourably to Fanny upon the young - man's steadiness, and to suggest that the young woman whom he might choose - to be his wife would be fortunate, steady young men with good prospects in - the City being far from abundant. She had never gone so far as to ask - Fanny if she would accept good fortune coming to her in such a form; - though Fanny knew very well that she had asked Esther to sound her on this - point. - </p> - <p> - How far Esther's mission was accounted successful by their stepmother, - Fanny, of course, could not guess; but at any rate Thomas was to pay a - visit after dinner, and Fanny felt that it was necessary for her to be - discreet. It had been very interesting for her to study Thomas, with the - possibility before her of writing a second novel, in which some of his - traits of character might be introduced with advantage; but she perceived - how there was a likelihood of her course of study being paid for at too - high a rate; so she resolved—to be discreet beyond her ordinary - exercise of a virtue which she displayed at all times of her life. - </p> - <p> - So Thomas came to the house in St. Martin's Street while tea was being - served in the drawingroom, to the accompaniment of a duet on the piano—Dr. - Burney had quickly perceived the merits of this new instrument over that - of the harpsichord—between Susan and her father. Very close to the - instrument, pressing the receiver of his ear-trumpet to the woodwork of - the case, sat Sir Joshua Reynolds, while his sister—a lady of middle - age who was gradually relinquishing the idea that she, too, could paint - portraits—was suffering Mrs. Burney to explain to her the advantages - of Lynn over London as a place of residence for people anxious to - economize. - </p> - <p> - Fanny was at the table where the teapot and urn were being drawn on, and - close to her sat her brother James, with a volume like an account-book - lying face down on the table while he drank his tea. - </p> - <p> - The progress of the duet was not arrested by the entrance of young Mr. - Barlowe, but he looked in the direction of the instrument when he had - shaken hands with Mrs. Burney and bowed to Miss Reynolds. It was obvious - that he was mystified by seeing Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet pressed against - the sound-conducting case of the piano. He was still looking at it with - curious eyes while he greeted Fanny with the concentrated politeness of - the Poultry. - </p> - <p> - Lieutenant Burney roused himself from his lolling attitude when he saw the - puzzled look on the young man's face, and he obligingly endeavoured to - explain away the mystery. - </p> - <p> - “'Tis no wonder that you are amazed, Mr. Barlowe,” he said in a whisper. - “I own that when it was first brought to my notice I thought it - extraordinary. A marvellous instrument, is it not, that is played by the - ear instead of by the mouth? And yet you must own that some of the notes - it produces are very fine—much more delicate than could be produced - by any other means.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not profess to be a judge of music, sir,” said Thomas; “but I know - what pleases me.” Fanny wondered how often she had heard that same boast—the - attempt of complete ignorance to be accredited with the virtue of - frankness. “Yes, I own that I consider the music monstrous pretty; but - with the ear—that is what puzzles me: it seems a simple trumpet, - such as is blown by the mouth.” - </p> - <p> - “Pray do not let my father hear you say that, Mr. Barlowe,” whispered - James. “That instrument is his fondest. You know that he has written a - 'History of Music'?” - </p> - <p> - “All the world knows that, sir,” replied Thomas gallantly. “I have not yet - found time to read it myself, but——” - </p> - <p> - “Neither have I, sir; but I understand that that instrument which seems - new to such simpletons as you and I is really as ancient as the pyramids - of Egypt—nay, more so, for my father discovered in his researches - that this was the identical form of the first instrument made by Tubal - Cain himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Is't possible? In our Family Bible there is a picture of Tubal Cain, but - he is depicted blowing through a conch shell.” - </p> - <p> - “A shell! Ah! such was the ignorance of the world on these matters before - my father wrote his History. But he has managed to clear up many points - upon which complete ignorance or very erroneous opinions prevailed. It is - not generally known, for instance, that Tubal had his second name given to - him by reason of his habitually murdering every musical piece that he - attempted to play.” - </p> - <p> - “But he was the inventor, was he not?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite true, Mr. Barlowe. But that fact, you must admit, only made his - offence the more flagrant. So the inscriptions on the rocks assert; and - there are some sensible people nowadays who believe that Tubal's second - and very suggestive name should be coupled with the names of many more - recent performers on musical instruments.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not allude to the gentleman who is playing that new instrument—I - mean that very ancient instrument—by the side of Dr. Burney?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, surely not. That gentleman is one of the most notable performers of - our age, Mr. Barlowe. I ask you plainly, sir, have you ever seen, even at - a raree show, a musician who could play an instrument with his ear and - produce such a good effect? You can easily believe that a vast amount of - ingenuity is needed to produce even the simplest sound in that way.” - </p> - <p> - “If I had not it demonstrated before my eyes I should not believe it - possible. I protest, sir, that the effect is very pretty. Is't not so, - Miss Burney?” - </p> - <p> - The young man turned to Fanny, who was doing her best to refrain from an - outburst of laughter; she could not trust herself to put her cup of tea to - her lips while her brother was continuing his fooling. She thought that it - was scarcely good manners of him to play such a jest upon a visitor, - though she knew the ward-room code of manners which her naval brother had - acquired was very liberal on such points. She was about to give Mr. - Barlowe a hint of the truth of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet, but James, - perceiving her intention, defeated it by saying in a tone above a whisper: - </p> - <p> - “Cain—we mentioned Cain, did we not, Mr. Barlowe? Oh, yes; and it - must have occurred to you how strangely customs have altered during the - past ten years—how strongly opposed people are to-day to principles - that were accepted without demur so recently as in our own boyhood. You - take my meaning, sir?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Barlowe did not look as if he quite grasped Lieutenant Burney's drift, - and Fanny felt it incumbent on her to prevent further fooling (as he - thought she would) by remarking: - </p> - <p> - “My brother means, Mr. Barlowe, that 'tis remarkable how many changes are - being made in many ways—but what he had in his mind was, of course, - in respect to the forte-piano—on which my father and sister are - playing a duet: only a few years ago no one thought to improve upon the - harpsichord; and yet my father asserts that in a short time the - harpsichord will be no more than a curiosity—that the forte-piano—or - as we simply call it now, the piano, will take its place in every - household. That is what you meant, was it not, James?” - </p> - <p> - “I was thinking of Cain and his profession—Cain, the good old - murderer, rather than of Tubal Cain, who was perhaps equally criminal in - inventing the liveliest source of human torture,” replied James gravely. - “Yes, I was thinking—suggested by the mention of Cain—how - strange people nowadays would regard my father's intentions regarding my - future when he assumed that I should have the best chance for cultivating - my bent, which he had early recognized in me, by sending me, before it - became too late, to be educated for the profession to an accomplished - murderer.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUNG Mr. Barlowe - started so violently that he spilt his tea over his knees; for just before - James had uttered his last sentence the music stopped, but as it had been - somewhat loud in the final bars, and James had raised his voice in the - same proportion, the inertia of his tone defied any attempt to modulate - it, so that it was almost with a shout that he had declared that he had - been sent to be educated in his profession to a murderer. - </p> - <p> - Fanny was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the contretemps to - be able to laugh. Her brother, who had had no intention of startling - anyone in the room except young Mr. Barlowe, hung his head and was - blushing under the South Sea tan of his skin; Sir Joshua Reynolds had - heard nothing after the crashing chords that concluded the duet; but poor - Miss Reynolds almost sprang from her chair in horror. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney was very angry. - </p> - <p> - “You have been making a fool of yourself as usual, James,” she cried. - “Pray give Mr. Barlowe another cup of tea, Fanny. I vow that 'tis a shame - for you, James Burney, to treat such a company as though you were on the - deck of the <i>Adventure</i> facing your South Sea savages.” - </p> - <p> - But Dr. Burney, with his customary tact, raised a hand half reprovingly - toward his wife. - </p> - <p> - “Give Mr. Barlowe his cup, and then pass one to me, Fanny,” he said, - rising from the piano. “You know that James has spoken no more than the - truth, my dear,” he added, smiling at his wife. “I can see that the rascal - has been fooling while our backs were turned to him; but we know that he - spoke no more than the truth—at least in that one sentence which he - bawled out for us. He was, indeed, sent to a school where he was placed - under an accomplished usher who was some time after hanged as a murderer. - You see, madam——” he had turned, still smiling, to Miss - Reynolds, thereby doing much to restore her confidence in the sanity of - the family—“You see that James was from the first so desperate a - young rascal that, just as a boy who is an adept at figures is educated - for the counting-house, and one who spends all the day before he is six - picking out tunes on the harpsichord should be apprenticed, as I was, to a - musician, so we thought our James should be sent whither he could be - properly grounded in the only profession at which he was likely to excel. - But, alas! the poor usher was carried off by the police, tried at the next - assizes and duly hanged before James had made much progress in his - studies; but I believe that a few years in the navy does as much for a - youth who has made up his mind to succeed, as a protracted course under a - fully qualified criminal.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Reynolds looked as if she were not quite certain that, in spite of - his smiles, Dr. Burney was jesting; but when Mrs. Burney, seeing how her - husband's mock seriousness was likely to produce a wrong impression upon - plain people, said: - </p> - <p> - “You must recall hearing about Mr. Eugene Aram some years back, Mrs. - Reynolds,” that lady showed that her mind was greatly relieved. - </p> - <p> - “I recall the matter without difficulty,” she said. “The man was usher at - the grammar school at Lynn.” - </p> - <p> - “And no school had a more learned teacher than that unfortunate man,” said - Sir Joshua. Young Mr. Barlowe had been divided in his amazement at what - Dr. Burney had said, and at the sight of Sir Joshua holding the trumpet to - his ear, though the instrument remained mute. He had never found himself - within the circle of so startling a society. He wished himself safe at - home in the Poultry, where people talked sense and made no attempt to blow - a trumpet with their ears. - </p> - <p> - “James had acquired quite a liking for poor Aram,” said Dr. Burney, “and, - indeed, I own to having had a high opinion of the man's ability myself. It - was to enable him to purchase books necessary for his studies in philology - that he killed his victim—a contemptible curmudgeon named Johnstone. - I fear that all our sympathy was on the side of the usher.” - </p> - <p> - “I was greatly interested in Mr. Aram, and read a full account of his - trial,” said Sir Joshua. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder that a man of so sensitive a mind as his did not so brood over - his crime as to cause suspicion to fall on him earlier than it did.” - </p> - <p> - “Only upon one occasion it seemed that he was affected by an incident - which might possibly have awakened some suspicion in the mind of a person - given to suspicion,” said Dr. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “James had been presented with a copy of the translation of Gessner's - 'Death of Abel'—everyone was going mad about the book that year—more - copies were sold of it than of any translation since Pope's 'Homer,' but I - fancy James found it dull enough reading. He had it on his knee trying to - get through a page or two in case the kind donor might question him upon - it, when the usher came up. He took the volume in his hand and glanced at - the title. Down the book fell from his grasp and he hurried away without a - word—'as if he had been stung,' James said, in telling us about it, - to excuse the broken cover. Of course, I never gave a thought to the - matter at the time; but when I heard of the arrest of Eugene Aram the - following year, I recalled the incident.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like to make a picture of the scene, and name it 'Remorse,'” - said Reynolds. - </p> - <p> - (<i>He never did make such a picture; many years had passed, and - Lieutenant Burney had become an Admiral before his narration of the - incident touched the imagination of a poet who dealt with it in verse that - has thrilled a good many readers.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Thomas Barlowe was not greatly thrilled by the story as told by Dr. - Burney. He seemed rather shocked to find himself at the table with someone - who had been taught by a murderer. He glanced furtively at James Burney, - who had remained silent since the contretemps that had prevented him from - perfecting his fooling of Thomas; and the result of Thomas's scrutiny at - that moment was to cause Thomas a tremor; for who could say what fearful - knowledge Lieutenant Burney might have acquired during his intercourse - with the murderer—knowledge which might jeopardize the safety of a - simple visitor like himself? Thomas felt that no ordinary person could be - accounted absolutely safe in a company that included a tall, able-bodied - young naval man who had begun his education under a murderer and had gone - to complete it among the cannibals of the South Seas; and, in addition, an - elderly gentleman who fancied that he could bring any sound out of a - trumpet by pressing it to his ear instead of his lips, and had shown - himself ready to extol the scholarship of any man who had been hanged. - </p> - <p> - But then Thomas looked at Fanny, and she pleased him more than ever. She - was so demure, so modest, so shy. She had a very pretty blush, and she did - not play on the piano. It was a thousand pities, he felt, that such a girl - should be compelled to remain in such uncongenial companionship. All the - time that Dr. Burney and his other daughter were playing a second duet, - and the silly gentleman holding the bell of his trumpet to the case of the - piano, still fondly believing that he was also a performer with the - mouth-piece in his ear, Thomas Barlowe was feeling wave after wave of pity - passing over him for the unhappy position of the shy girl in the midst of - so doubtful a household. Before long his compassion for her so stimulated - his imagination that he began to think of the possibility of his rescuing - her—he began to think of himself in the character of a hero—he - did not remember the name of any particular hero who had carried off a - young woman who was placed in a similar situation to that occupied by Miss - Burney; but he had no doubt that more than one romance was founded upon - the doings of such a man as he felt himself fully qualified to be, if he - made up his mind to assume such a rôle. - </p> - <p> - As the music continued—it was an arrangement of Bach's <i>Orfèo</i>—Thomas - Barlowe became more and more resolute. He would be the heroic person who - should appear at the right moment and achieve the emancipation of that - sweet and shy girl, who by no fault of hers was forced to live in that - house and remain, if she could, on friendly terms with her father and - sisters, who kept strumming on the piano, and with her brother, who was - ready to boast of having received the rudiments of his education from a - murderer. All that he needed was the opportunity to show his heroism, and - he did not doubt that when he set his mind to work on the matter, he would - have such an opportunity. - </p> - <p> - If anyone had whispered in his ear that his inward consciousness of being - equal to the doing of great deeds was solely due to the music which was - being played, and to which he was unwillingly listening, he would have - been indignant. He would have thought it preposterous had it been - suggested to him that the effect of that strumming was to make him feel - more like a god than a man—to be ready to face hell for the love of - a woman, as Jean Sebastian Bach imagined Orpheus doing for Eurydice. But - Jean Sebastian Bach knew what he was about when he had composed his <i>Orfèo</i>, - and Dr. Burney was quite equal to the business of interpreting his aims, - and of urging his daughter Susan to join with him in impressing them upon - even so unimpressionable a nature as that of Thomas Barlowe; so that while - Thomas Barlowe believed that this music was one of the most petty of all - human interests, it was making him think such thoughts as had never before - entered his mind—it was giving him aspirations from which in - ordinary circumstances he would have shrunk. - </p> - <p> - The master musician and his interpreters were making sport of him, leading - him if not quite into the region of the heroic, at least to the boundary - of that region, and supplying him with a perspective glass, as the - Interpreter did to the Pilgrims, by the aid of which he might see the - wonderful things that had been beyond his natural scope. - </p> - <p> - And that was how it came about that he gazed into Miss Burney's eyes and - pressed her hand at parting with a tenderness he had never previously - associated with his leave-taking. He felt sure that Miss Burney would - understand what he meant, though he knew that he would have difficulty in - expressing it all to her in words; for the effect of the music was to make - him feel that he could put so much feeling into a look, into a squeeze of - the hand, as would touch the heart of any young woman and cause her to be - certain that she might trust him though all other help might fail her. - </p> - <p> - That was the effect which the heroic music had upon him, though he did not - know it; it made him feel willing to face hell for her sake at that - moment, and even until he had walked through more than a mile of the - network of streets that lay between Leicester Fields and the Poultry. - </p> - <p> - But the effect of such an intoxicant as music upon such a nature as his is - not lasting. Before he had reached Cheapside his own individuality was - beginning to assert itself; and he wondered if he had not gone too far for - discretion—discretion being, according to his reckoning, the power - to withdraw from a position that might compromise him. And before he - reached his home he had got the length of wondering how he had so far - forgotten himself as to yield to that compromising impulse represented by - the gaze and the squeeze. He could not for the life of him understand what - had come over him at that moment; for he had by no means satisfied himself - that Miss Burney was the young woman who would make him comfortable as his - wife. He still thought highly of her on account of her modesty and her - dainty shyness, but marriage was a serious matter, and he was not sure - that he should take her for his wife. - </p> - <p> - On the whole, he felt that he had had a very trying evening—between - the Lieutenant who had so nearly qualified to practise as a murderer, and - the father and daughter who seemed ready to strum their duets until - midnight, to say nothing of the foolish gentleman who tried to play the - trumpet with his ear; and Thomas made up his mind that he would not trust - himself into the midst of so unusual a circle until he was certain that he - wanted to marry the young woman whose hand he had, for some reason or - other, pressed at parting. - </p> - <p> - But Mrs. Burney had noticed much more clearly than Fanny had done the - expression that the face of Thomas Barlowe had worn when he had looked - into the girl's eyes; she had measured to the fraction of a second the - duration of his holding of her hand beyond the time essential for the - discharge of the ordinary courtesy of a hand-shake; and she was satisfied - that Thomas was progressing in his wooing of the least attractive and - certainly the least accomplished member of the family. The good woman - thought, however, that it was rather a pity that her husband and Susan had - persisted in the practice of their duets; for by doing so they had not - given a chance to Thomas and Fanny of being alone together. - </p> - <p> - But, looking back upon the incidents of the evening, she came to the - conclusion that, on the whole, she had no reason to complain of the - progress that was being made in the young man's wooing. She was no - believer in undue haste in this respect; and had not Thomas looked into - Fanny's eyes at the close of the evening? Yes, at the close; and that - proved to her satisfaction that he had not suffered discouragement by the - maladroit conversation about Mr. Eugene Aram. The unhappy episode upon - which her husband had dwelt with far too great attention to its details, - was one to which she herself had never alluded; for at Lynn, where she had - lived all her life previous to being married to Dr. Burney, the Eugene - Aram episode was regarded as a scandal to be ignored by those of the - inhabitants whose children had attended the school where he had been - usher. It was a distinctly favourable sign of the impression made upon - young Mr. Barlowe by Fanny, that he had gazed into her eyes in spite of - his having been made aware of the connection of the family with the - tragedy of that wretched schoolmaster. Mrs. Burney took no account of the - effect of Bach's marvellous music upon a young man who was a lover in the - rough. In this respect, as has been indicated, she did not differ from the - young man himself. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was at the - Pantheon in the Oxford Road a fortnight later, that Mrs. Thrale, the - brewer's lively wife, had an opportunity of shining, by a display of that - <i>esprit</i> which caused Mr. Garrick to affirm solemnly that if she had - gone upon the stage she would have been a dangerous rival to Mistress - Clive; and Fanny Burney, with her father and Mr. Linley, the father of the - beautiful Mrs. Sheridan, was a witness of the ease with which the lady - sparkled as she described for the benefit of the circle how Mr. Garrick's - jest at the expense of poor Mr. Kendal and the Widow Nash had set all the - Wells laughing. She imitated Mr. Garrick to his face, in offering his - congratulations to Mr. Kendal and so setting the ball a-rolling until - within an hour the poor, silly gentleman had been offered the - felicitations of half the Wells upon his engagement to Widow Nash. Mrs. - Thrale re-enacted with great gravity the part she had played in Mr. - Garrick's plot, and then she hastened to imitate Mrs. Cholmondeley's part, - and even Mr. Sheridan's, upon that lively morning at Tunbridge Wells. - </p> - <p> - But there was much more to tell, and Mrs. Thrale took very good care to - abate nothing of her narrative; it gave her so good a chance of acting, - and it gave Mr. Garrick so good a chance of complimenting her before all - the company. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I vow that we played our parts to perfection,” she cried, “and - without any rehearsal either. But then what happened? You will scarce - believe it, Mr. Garrick has always borne such a character for scrupulous - honour in his dealings with his companies, but indeed 'tis a fact that our - manager decamped as soon as he found that the poor man had been teased to - the verge of madness by the fooling he had started—off he went, we - knew not whither; leaving no message for any of us. He was not to be found - by noon; and what happened by dinner-time? Why, the poor gentleman whom we - had been fooling had also fled!” - </p> - <p> - “That was indeed too bad of Mr. Kendal,” said Dr. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “'Twas too inconsiderate of him truly,” cried Mrs. Thrale. “'Tis no great - matter if the manager of the playhouse runs away when his play is produced—you - remember that Mr. Colman hurried off to Bath to escape lampooners when the - success of Dr. Goldsmith's comedy <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> had proved - to all the town that he was no judge of a play; but for the one who has - been made the object of such a jest as ours to escape without giving us a - chance of bringing our teasing to a fitting climax is surely little short - of infamous.” - </p> - <p> - “And when did you design the fitting climax to arrive, madam?” asked one - of the circle. - </p> - <p> - “Why, when the gentleman and lady should come face to face in the Assembly - Rooms, to be sure,” replied Mrs. Thrale. “We were all there to await the - scene of their meeting; and you can judge of our chagrin when only the - lady appeared.” - </p> - <p> - “We can do so, indeed,” said Mrs. Darner, who was also in the circle. “I - can well believe that you were furious. When one has arranged a burletta - for two characters 'tis infamous when only one of the actors appears on - the stage.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale smiled the smile of the lady who knows that she is harbouring - a surprise for her friends and only awaits the right moment to spring it - upon them—a cat to be let out of the bag at the pulling of a string. - </p> - <p> - “I knew that we should have your sympathy, Mrs. Darner,” she said - demurely. “You have, I doubt not, more than once experienced all the - chagrin that follows the miscarrying of a well-planned scheme. But as it - so happened, we were more than compensated for our ill-usage at that time - by the unlooked-for appearance of the missing actor two nights later.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, lud!” cried Mrs. Darner, holding up both her hands in a very dainty - way. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Garrick also lifted up his hands in amazement, but he did not need to - exclaim anything to emphasize the effect of his gesture. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney smiled, trying to catch the eye of Mr. Garrick, but Mr. Garrick - took very good care that he should not succeed in doing so. - </p> - <p> - “You may well cry, 'oh, lud!'” said Mrs. Thrale. “But if you had been in - the Rooms when the man entered you would not have been able to say a word - for surprise, I promise you. The poor gentleman had posted all the way - from town to Tunbridge, apparently for our diversion only, and what a - sight he was! It seems that he had got over his fright at the coupling of - his name with the lady's, while flying to London, but from this point a - reaction set in, and he spent all the time that he was posting back to the - Wells adding fuel to the fire of his resolution to throw himself at the - feet of the lady at the earliest possible moment. Was there ever such a - comedy played, Mr. Garrick?” - </p> - <p> - “'Twould be too extravagant for the theatre, madam, but not for Nature's - playhouse,” replied Garrick. “I have more than once been told the story of - soldiers having fled in a panic from the field of battle, but on finding - themselves in a place of safety they returned to the fight and fought like - demons. Was there aught that could be termed demoniacal in the gentleman's - conduct on finding himself face to face with the enemy—I mean the - lady?” - </p> - <p> - “Aught demoniacal, do you ask me?” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Oh, sir, have you - not heard the parable of the demon that was cast out of a man, but finding - its homeless condition unsupportable, sought out seven of its friends and - returned with them to its former habitation, so that the last state of the - man was more demoniacal than the first?” - </p> - <p> - “I fancy I have heard the parable, madam, but its application——” - began Garrick, when Mrs. - </p> - <p> - Darner broke in upon him, crying: - </p> - <p> - “Do not ever attempt to point out the aptness of the application of a - parable, Mrs. Thrale. Do not, if you are wise. Would you lead us to - believe that the unhappy wretch found it necessary to post up to town to - obtain his relay of demons for his own discomfiture when so much rank and - fashion was at the Wells, though at the fag end of the season?” - </p> - <p> - “Leaving parables aside, demons and all, I can bear witness to the - condition of the man when he entered the Rooms and strode with - determination on his face up to where the Widow Nash was fanning herself—not - without need,” said Mrs. Thrale. “It so happened that she was seated under - the gallery at the furthest end of the Rooms, but our gentleman did not - pause on entering to look round for her—I tell you that it seemed as - if he went by instinct straight up to her, and bowing before her, said: - 'Madam, may I beg the honour of a word or two with you in private?'—I - was close by and so were several other equally credible witnesses, and we - heard every word. The widow looked at him coolly——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you said she had been fanning herself,” remarked Mrs. Darner, but - without interrupting the flow of the narrative. - </p> - <p> - “There was no need of a fan for her voice, I can assure you, when she had - completed her survey of the dusty gentleman and thought fit to reply to - him,” continued Mrs. Thrale. “'I vow, sir,' said she, 'that I consider - this room sufficiently private for anything you have to say to me.' She - had plainly got wind of Mr. Garrick's plot and so was fully prepared for - the worst—though some people might call it the best—that could - happen. 'Madam,' said Mr. Kendal, 'what I have to say is meant for your - ear alone,' and I am bound to admit that he spoke with suavity and - dignity. 'Pray let my friends here be the judges of that,' said the widow. - That was a pretty rebuff for any gentleman with a sense of his own - dignity, you will say; but he did not seem to accept it in such a spirit. - He hesitated, but only for a few moments, then he looked around him to see - who were within hearing, and with hardly a pause, he said in the clearest - of tones, 'I perceive that we are surrounded just now with some ladies - who, two days ago, offered me congratulations upon my good fortune in - winning your promise, madam; and I venture now to come before you to - implore of you to give me permission to assume that their congratulations - were well founded'—those were his words; we did not think that he - had it in him to express himself so well.” - </p> - <p> - “And what was the lady's reply?” asked Dr. Burney, recalling the prophecy - in which he had indulged when parting from Garrick at his own door. - </p> - <p> - “The lady's reply was disappointing, though dignified,” replied Mrs. - Thrale. “'Sir,' she said, 'I have oft heard that the credulity of a man - has no limits, but I have never before had so conspicuous an instance of - the truth of this. Surely the merest schoolboy would have been able to - inform you that you were being made the victim of one of Mr. Garrick's - silly jests—that these ladies here lent themselves to the - transaction, hoping to make a fool of me as well as of you; but I trust - that they are now aware of the fact that I, at least, perceived the truth - from the first, so that whoever has been fooled I am not that person; and - so I have the honour to wish you and them a very good evening.' Then she - treated us to a very elaborate curtsey and stalked away to the door, - leaving us all amazed at her display of dignity—real dignity, not - the stage imitation, Mr. Garrick.” - </p> - <p> - “You should have been there, if only to receive a lesson, Mr. Garrick,” - said Mrs. Damer. - </p> - <p> - “I hope those who had the good fortune to be present were taught a - lesson,” said another lady in the circle. - </p> - <p> - “If you mean me, madam,” said Mrs. Thrale, with tactful good humour, “I - frankly allow that I profited greatly by observing the scene. 'Tis a - dangerous game to play—that of trying to show others in a ridiculous - light, and in future I vow that all my attention shall be given to the - duty of avoiding making a fool of myself. Your jest miscarried, Mr. - Garrick; though how that gentleman who fled from the Wells in that - headlong fashion was induced to return, is beyond my knowledge.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! madam, the fellow is a coxcomb and not worth discussing,” cried - Garrick. “He got no more than his deserts when the lady left him to be the - laughing-stock of the Assembly. I knew that that would be his fate if he - ever succeeded in summing up sufficient courage to face her.” - </p> - <p> - “But strange to say, we did not laugh at him then,” said Mrs. Thrale. “He - seemed to be quite a different man from the one whom we had tried to fool - two days earlier. There was a certain dignity about him that disarmed us. - You must allow, Mr. Garrick, that only the bravest of men would have had - the courage to march up the Assembly Rooms and make his proposal to the - lady in public.” - </p> - <p> - “That is the courage of the coxcomb who believes himself to be - irresistible to the other sex, madam,” said Garrick; “and I affirm that - 'twas most reprehensible to refrain from laughing at him.” Then, putting - his arm through that of Burney as if to stroll on with him, and so give - the others to understand that he had had enough of Mr. Kendal as a topic, - he whispered: - </p> - <p> - “Ha, my friend, did not I prophesy aright what would be the fellow's fate? - I know men, and women, too—ay, in some measure, though they are - sealed books, eh, friend Burney? And you tried to persuade me that she - would not snub him? I knew better—I knew that she—eh, what—what - are they staring at?” - </p> - <p> - “They are staring at the appearance of Mr. Kendal with the Widow Nash on - his arm—there they are, David, and you are staring at them too,” - said Burney with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “Angels and Ministers of Grace! 'Tis a man and his wife we are staring at! - The woman has married him after all!” cried David, his hand dropping - limply from Burney's shoulder. “A man and his wife: I know the look in - their faces!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was, indeed, the - same man who had come to consult Dr. Burney, but had not been allowed the - chance of doing so by Garrick, a fortnight before—the same man, but - with a marked difference, who was now walking across the pillared room in - the Pantheon, with a smiling, well-favoured lady by his side; and toward - the pair the eyes of all the circle whom Mrs. Thrale had been addressing - were directed. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale and her friends were too much amazed to be able to speak, but - the lips of every one of them were holding back some exclamation of - surprise: an acute observer would have been able easily to set down the - various unuttered exclamations of the party, from the simple “Oh, Lud!” of - Mrs. Thrale to the more emphatic “Merciful Powers!” of Mrs. Cholmondeley, - though not a word was spoken between them, while Mr. Kendal and the lady - walked, straight through the room to where they were standing. - </p> - <p> - “Slip behind the pillar: I will cover you, my friend,” whispered Dr. - Burney to Garrick. - </p> - <p> - But Garrick had no intention of doing anything so ignominious—more - especially as he perceived that Mr. Kendal had caught sight of him; and it - was really Garrick who advanced to meet the couple, with the air of a host - about to welcome two long-expected guests—it was really Garrick who - received them with one of his finest bows, and who—to add to the - amazement of the group behind him—was greeted by Mr. Kendal and the - lady with the friendliest of smiles (the lady was blushing, not Mr. - Garrick). - </p> - <p> - And then it was to Dr. Burney the gentleman turned. - </p> - <p> - “Dear sir,” he cried, “with what words should I approach you? It is to - your counsel and Mr. Garrick's that I owe my happiness.” Then he made his - bow to the others of the group. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Thrale,” he said, when he had recovered himself, “we hoped to find - you here with your friends, so that we might lose no moment in offering - you our thanks for the tactful way in which you brought us together. Only - such genius as yours, madam, could have perceived—well, all that you - did perceive. I protest that neither Mrs. Kendal nor myself apprehended - the too flattering truth. But the heart of a woman who has herself loved—ah, - that is the source of such genius as you displayed with such subtlety. She - is mine, madam; we have been married a whole week, and I, at least, know - what a treasure—but I cannot trust myself to talk of my happiness - just now. Perhaps at some future time I shall be able to tell you - coherently how I felt within me that my Diana—Mrs. Nash, as she was - then—did not mean her rebuff as a final dismissal, and thus I was - led to her side—to implore an audience of her, in the course of - which she confessed to me that——” - </p> - <p> - But his bride prevented the flow of his eloquence by tapping him under the - chin in exquisite playfulness with her fan, smiling roguishly at him - first, and then looking round the group with an air of chastened triumph - while she said: - </p> - <p> - “Foolish man! Prithee remember, Ferdinand, that you are in a public place, - and that the secrets of the confessional are sacred. I protest that you - are exceeding a husband's privilege in revealing aught that I confessed - when taken aback at your sudden appearance before me!” - </p> - <p> - “I ask your pardon, my angel,” he cried. “I had no right to say even the - little that I have said. I suppose I shall learn discretion in time and - with practice. But when I think of the kindly interest that some of our - friends here showed in bringing us together, I feel that they should be - rewarded by a repetition of the whole story.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay, sir, you may take my word for it that we look not for such a - reward,” cried Garrick. “Such philanthropists as Mrs. Thrale and myself - feel more than rewarded when we succeed in bringing together a lady and - gentleman who were so plainly intended by Providence for each other's - happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “It was Mr. Garrick who looked with the eyes of Providence into your case - as associated with Mr. Kendal, madam. That is, if Puck may ever be thought - of as assuming the rôle of Providence,” said Mrs. Thrale. “For myself, I - believe that Puck has more to do with the making of matches than heaven; - and assuredly in this particular case the mischievous fairy had more than - a finger. But however that may be, we can still wish you every happiness - in life, and offer you an apology for——” - </p> - <p> - “H'sh!” whispered Garrick, raising a hand. “Rauzzini is beginning to sing. - I am sure, Mrs. Kendal, that you will willingly accept Signor Rauzzini's - song in lieu of Mrs. Thrale's apology, however admirably worded the latter - were sure to be.” - </p> - <p> - The bride smiled benignly at Mrs. Thrale, and there was more than a trace - of triumph in her smile. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney smiled also at the adroitness of the actor, who, he could - perceive, had no intention of allowing himself to be incriminated by any - confession, assuming the form of an apology, that Mrs. Thrale might make - in a moment of contrition for having been a partner with him in a piece of - fooling that had had a very different result from the one he (and she) had - looked for. - </p> - <p> - Garrick, still holding up a warning finger as if he had at heart the best - interests of the composer as well as the singer of “Waft her, Angels,” - prevented another word from being spoken, though more than a full minute - had passed before Rauzzini had breathed the first notes of the recitativo. - </p> - <p> - But incautiously lowering his finger when the handsome Roman had begun, - Mrs. Thrale took advantage of her release from the thraldom imposed upon - her, to say in a low tone, looking toward the gallery in front of which - the singer stood: - </p> - <p> - “It is one angel talking to the others! Was there ever so angelic a man?” - </p> - <p> - And little Miss Burney, who had also her eyes fixed upon the singer, felt - that little Mrs. Thrale was not merely an angel, but a goddess. She - expressed her opinion to this effect in her next letter to Mr. Crisp. - </p> - <p> - She listened in a dream to the singing that no one could hear and remain - unmoved, even though one had not the advantage of looking at the singer at - the same time. Fanny Burney was too shortsighted to be able to distinguish - one face from another at such a distance; but this made no difference to - her; she had the face of the sweet singer ever before her—most - clearly when she closed her eyes, as she did now, and listened to him. - </p> - <p> - “Waft her, angels, to the skies—Waft her, angels, waft her, angels, - waft her to the skies,” rang out his fervent imploration, and she felt - that there were no powers that could withstand the force of such an - appeal. For herself she felt carried away on the wings of song into the - highest heaven. She felt that harps of heaven alone could provide an - adequate accompaniment to such a voice as his; and she gave herself up to - it as unreservedly as a bride gives herself to the arms of her lover. She - had that sensation of a sweet yielding to the divine influence of the - music until she could feel it enfolding her and bearing her into the - infinite azure of a realm more beautiful than any that her dreams had - borne her to in the past. She wanted nothing better than this in any - world. All that she wanted was an assurance that it would continue for - ever and ever.... - </p> - <p> - With the cessation of the singing she seemed to awaken from a dream of - divine delight, and in her awaking to retain the last thought that had - been hers—the longing for an assurance that the delight which she - was feeling would endure. She was awake now, and she knew that love had - been all her dream, and that what she longed for was the assurance that - that love would continue. And now she remembered that it was this same - longing that had brought about her resolution that she would never go to - her King as the beggar maid had gone to King Cophetua. There would be no - assurance of the continuing of love between them if she had the - humiliating feeling that he had stooped to raise her to his level. - </p> - <p> - That was the thought which took possession of her mind when she had - returned from the sublimities to which she had been borne by her lover's - singing, and in another minute the reaction had come. She had been soaring - high, but now she was conscious of a sinking at heart; for the whole - building was resounding with acclamations of the singer. There did not - seem to be anyone silent, save only herself, throughout the hall. Everyone - seemed calling the name of Rauzzini—all seemed ready to throw - themselves at his feet; and when he stood up to acknowledge their tribute - of enthusiasm to his marvellous powers, there was something of frenzy in - the way his name was flung from hundreds of voices—it was not enough - for the people whom he had stirred to shout his name, they surrounded him - with the banners of a great conqueror—the air was quivering with the - lace and the silk that were being waved on all sides to do him honour—handkerchiefs, - scarves, fans—the air was full of them. - </p> - <p> - And there he stood high above them, smiling calmly and bending his head - gravely to right and left in acknowledgment of all.... - </p> - <p> - That was his position before the world. Her heart sank within her as she - asked herself what was hers. How could she ever hope to attain to such a - place as should win from the world such applause as this? How could she - ever be so vain as to think that the giving of a little book to the world - should have an effect worthy of being compared with this demonstration - which was shaking the Pantheon? - </p> - <p> - Her heart sank to a deeper depth still when the thunders had passed away—reluctantly - as the reverberations of a great storm—and there was a buzz of - voices all about her—exclamations of delight—whispers of - admiration—ladies with clasped hands, fervent in their words about - the marvellous face of the young Roman—and her father and his - friend, Mr. Fulke Greville, exchanging recollections of the singing of the - same air by other vocalists, and coming gradually to the conclusion that - none had put such feeling into it as had Rauzzini. - </p> - <p> - The buzz of voices did not cease when the singer had come down from his - gallery and was greeting some of his friends on the floor of the great - hall. He had trouble in making his way as far as the group which he meant - to reach. The most distinguished ladies of high quality had pressed round - him with uncritical expressions of appreciation of his singing, and there - was no lack of gentlemen of fashion to follow their example, though - wondering greatly that the ladies of quality should allow themselves to - show such transports respecting a man with no trait of a true-born - Englishman about him. Signor Rauzzini might have indulged in a score of - pinches of snuff out of the gold and enamelled boxes that were thrust - forward for his acceptance with the finest artificial grace of a period - when it was not thought effeminate to be graceful over small things. - </p> - <p> - He bowed low to the ladies of quality, and smiled his polite rejection of - the snuff of the gentlemen of fashion. But such convenances made it - impossible for him to keep his eyes upon the group toward which he was - making a necessarily slow way, and he only reached the side of Dr. Burney - to find that Dr. Burney's daughter had disappeared. He had no chance of - seeing how Miss Burney at his approach had slipped behind a pillar and - suffered herself to be conducted thence to a seat by her cousin Edward: - the fact that Edward was learning to be a painter was a sufficient excuse - for his paying an occasional visit to such scenes of colour as were - unfolded before the eyes of a frequenter of the fashionable Pantheon every - night. - </p> - <p> - Fanny felt that if Signor Rauzzini had come to her side after passing - through the ranks of lace and velvet and brocade, she would have sunk - through the floor of the hall. But she knew that it was to her side he was - coming, and she took the opportunity of flying when he was compelled to - make a pause in front of the flattery of the Duchess of Ancaster. - </p> - <p> - She was painfully shy at all times, but overwhelmingly so at that moment, - though she knew that she was the only woman in the place who would make - the attempt to evade the distinction which threatened her. How could she - remain where she had been with all eyes in the room upon her? She felt - that it would be impossible. - </p> - <p> - Her heart was beating quickly as she thought: - </p> - <p> - “Not yet—not yet.” - </p> - <p> - After all there is no more womanly trait than that of fleeing from a - lover; but Fanny Burney was yielding to its impulse without an attempt to - analyse it, and without being consoled by the reflection of the woman of - the younger world, that if it is woman's instinct to fly from a lover, it - is a lover's instinct to pursue. - </p> - <p> - She had scarcely finished the cup of ice which her cousin had brought her, - before the man had found her. - </p> - <p> - But now the Gabrielli was beginning to sing, and all eyes were directed - upon the Gabrielli, so that no one but Rauzzini saw how Dr. Burney's - over-shy daughter was flushing. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEY spoke in - French, with an occasional phrase in Italian when they found the other - tongue lacking in melody or in the exact shade of meaning that they sought - to express. Edward Burney thought that the moment was one that favoured - his ambition to study the pose of Madame Gabrielli, with a view to - starting on a portrait that should make him famous. He asked Fanny's - permission to allow him to take up a place a few yards beyond the pillar. - He promised not to be long absent, and Fanny had not the heart to detain - him. - </p> - <p> - “You fled from me—was that kind?” asked Rauzzini when the cousin had - moved away, but was still in view. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” said she, “one who has my odious selfconsciousness does not ask what - is kind or unkind, she simply flies.” - </p> - <p> - “But you knew that I was coming to your side?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “I know that you are wise enough to value the criticism of a musician like - my father above the vapid phrases of the people of fashion,” replied - Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “That is true indeed,” said he. “I value a word of praise or blame from - Dr. Burney as precious. But Dr. Burney has a daughter whose words are to - me as precious.” - </p> - <p> - “She is not here to-night,” said Fanny. “My sister Esther, to whom you - refer, is indeed a discriminating critic. She told me how exquisitely you - sang at the concert where you met her—it is scarcely a fortnight - ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Dr. Burney has more daughters than that one,” said he. - </p> - <p> - Fanny laughed. - </p> - <p> - “He has indeed more daughters than one,” she said. “We were a household of - daughters before Esther married and when my brother was in the South Seas. - But only Esther is critical as a musician.” - </p> - <p> - “In the name of heaven, do you think that it is only possible for me to - value words that refer to my singing?” he asked. “Do you not know that I - would rather listen to your voice than——” - </p> - <p> - “Than Madame Gabrielli's?” said Fanny; he had spoken his last sentence in - too loud a tone, even though the Gabrielli's brilliant vocalism usually - admitted of a conversation being carried on with some vehemence in the - great room of the Pantheon without causing remark. - </p> - <p> - He smiled at her warning, and it was in a subdued voice that he said: - </p> - <p> - “I am tired of hearing the Gabrielli; but what of your voice? How often - have you given me the chance of hearing it? Even now you fled from me as - though I carried the plague about with me! Was that kind or unkind?” - </p> - <p> - “You do not entertain the thought that perhaps I have not yet tired of - Madame Gabrielli's vocalism: I knew that she was at the point of beginning - her aria.” - </p> - <p> - “You would sacrifice me on the altar of your favourite? Well, perhaps you - would be justified in doing so. Hold up your finger now and I shall be - mute as a fish until Gabrielli has had her last shriek. I can still look - at you—it will not spoil your appreciation of the aria if I merely - look at you.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I would rather that you talked to me than merely looked at me. I - do not invite people to look at me, and happily few people do. I am not - conspicuous. I am the insignificant one. There is Mrs. Thrale, for - instance; she has been several times at our house, and every time she - comes she inquires who is the little one.” - </p> - <p> - He smiled and held up his finger in imitation of the way she had rebuked - him for talking too loud. - </p> - <p> - “H'sh; I am anxious to hear the Signora Gabrielli,” he said, and the - express on that he made his face assume at that moment would have - convinced anyone that he was giving all his attention to the singing—drinking - in every note with the earnestness of an enthusiast. There was a certain - boyish exaggeration in his expression that was very amusing to Fanny, - though less observing persons would have been ready to accept it as - evidence of the generous appreciation on the part of one great singer of - the success of another. - </p> - <p> - So he remained until the <i>cavatina</i> had come to an end; and then he - was loudest in his cry of “Brava!” - </p> - <p> - “It is a treat—a great—a sacred treat,” said he, turning to - Fanny. “I do not think I ever heard that song before. Has it a name, I - wonder?” - </p> - <p> - “If I mistake not it is from an opera in which a certain Roman tenore made - a name for himself last year, in happy conjunction with Madame Gabrielli,” - said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible? I had not heard of that circumstance,” said he, with a - look of the most charming innocence in his large eyes. It was his hands - that were most expressive, however, as he added: - </p> - <p> - “But it was last year, you say, mademoiselle? Ah, who is it that remembers - an opera from one year to another? No one, except the <i>impresario</i> - who has lost his good money, or somebody's else's money, over its - production. Enough, the <i>cantatrice</i> has given us of her best, and is - there now any reason why we should remain dumb? The great charm of the - singing of these brilliant artistes of last year's operas is that when - they have sung, they have sung—they leave one nothing to think about - afterward. Is not that so, mademoiselle?” - </p> - <p> - “They leave one nothing to think about—except their singing,” said - Fanny. “For myself, I am still thinking of 'Waft her, angels,' although - nearly half an hour must have passed since I heard the last notes. And it - seems to me that when half a century will have passed I shall still be - thinking of it.” - </p> - <p> - He did not offer her the conventional acknowledgement of a bow. He only - looked at her with those large eyes of his; they were capable of - expressing in a single glance all the tenderness of feeling of a poem. - </p> - <p> - “I have not sung in vain,” he said in a low tone. “My old <i>maestro</i> - gave me the advice one day when I was proving to him my success in - reaching the high note which I had been striving for years to bring into - my compass: 'That is all very well,' he said. 'You have aimed at touching - that rare note, now your aim must be to touch the heart of everyone who - hears you sing.' I sometimes think that he set for me too difficult a - task.” - </p> - <p> - “Not too difficult—for you,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “There are dangers,” he said thoughtfully. “I have known singers who tried - to reach the hearts of their hearers by tricks—yes, and they - succeeded through these illegitimate means in making themselves popular, - while far better singers who had a scorn of such tricks and gave their - best to all who listened to them, failed to please anyone who had not a - knowledge of the true boundary of music.” - </p> - <p> - “I have seen these tricksters, too,” said Fanny. “I have witnessed their - sentimental grimaces—their head shakings—their appeal to the - feelings with pathetic eyes turned heavenward. They made me ashamed of - them—ashamed of myself for listening to them, though people about me - had been moved to tears. But I think that the people who are easily moved - to tears are those who retain an impression the shortest space of time.” - </p> - <p> - “You give me confidence—encouragement,” he cried. “I have made up my - mind that if I cannot reach a heart by the straight King's highway, I will - not try to do so by any bypath. Bypaths are, we know, the resorts of - brigands: they may captivate a heart or two, but only to leave them empty - afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - So they talked together for many minutes. Faney Burney had a sufficient - acquaintance among musicians, vocal as well as instrumental, to have - learned, long ago, that they can easily be prevented from talking on any - other subject than music, and the same reflection that had caused her to - say that “Not yet—not yet,” had impelled her to lead Rauzzini in - another direction than that in which he had shown so strong a tendency to - go. He had been trying to make her understand that he had travelled - through the obstructions of the hall not in order that he might obtain the - criticism of so accomplished a <i>maestro</i> as Dr. Burney upon his - singing, but in order that he should have a chance of talking to Dr. - Burney's unaccomplished daughter; he had shown her that his wish was to - converse on the topic of this unaccomplished daughter; but she had no mind - to acquiesce in his aims for the present. She still felt herself to be the - beggar maid, and she would not allow her king to get any nearer to her. - </p> - <p> - It was not until her cousin had returned to where she was seated, that the - young Italian found that he had not made much progress with his suit. He - had intended that this <i>tête-à-tête</i> with her should make her aware - of how he felt in regard to her, but he had allowed his opportunity to - pass, and in place of talking about her he had been led to talk of - himself. - </p> - <p> - That was how he expressed himself to her when he found that their <i>tête-à-tête</i> - was at an end. - </p> - <p> - “How has this come about?” he cried in surprise. “How is it that I have - shown myself to be so vain as to make speeches about my singing when I - meant to talk to you of yourself?” - </p> - <p> - “'Twas I who found a more profitable topic for you, <i>signore mio</i>,” - she replied, feeling her way through the words of his native tongue, for - he had spoken out his surprise in Italian. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head and made a gesture with his hands. - </p> - <p> - “But it is a mystery!” he said in French. “I had no desire to talk about - myself or my singing. I meant to tell you what was in my mind when I saw - you entering this place with your father. Shall we retrace our steps in - our conversation until I find how it was that I took a wrong turning? - Alas! I fear that it would not be possible!” - </p> - <p> - “It would not be possible, indeed,” she replied. “Did you not say - something about the bypaths being dangerous with banditti? We kept our - feet upon the King's highway, which is safe. I was swept off my feet—carried - away—away—by your singing of the aria; I had scarce touched - the earth once more when you came to my side, and now we are parting - happily, you to realize your aspirations, I to—to—well, to - retain for ever the memory of your singing—the memory of those - celestial harmonies into the midst of which I was wafted by the angels of - your imploration. That is enough for one evening of my life. Nay, you must - not speak another word lest the charm of all should fade away. I shall go - home to dream of angels.” - </p> - <p> - “And I shall go to dream of you,” he said in a low tone. - </p> - <p> - He did not hold her hand so long as Thomas Barlowe had done when parting - from her, but she felt that somehow he had accomplished more by his - reserve than Thomas had achieved by his impetuosity. She hoped that she - might never see Thomas again; but for Signor Rauzzini—— - </p> - <p> - They parted. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HESE foreigners!” - exclaimed young Edward Burney when Rauzzini had left them, and Fanny was - asking her cousin if her father was not looking for her. “These - foreigners! Your father is talking with another of them—an Italian - too, as I live—I have seen him in St. Martin's Street—Signor - Piozzi. But I suppose Uncle Burney likes to keep in touch with them. The - town is swarming with them: they are even to be found about Leicester - Fields. Why do some people fancy that we must have Italians to sing for - us? There are plenty of good singers in England, without a drop of foreign - blood in their veins. A good sea song with a chorus that is easy to get - into the swing of—that's English and honest.” - </p> - <p> - “Honest down to the hoarsest note,” said Fanny. “You and James are at one - in the matter of songs.” - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Jim hates foreigners, as is quite proper that an officer in a - King's ship should,” said Edward stoutly. - </p> - <p> - “Not all foreigners,” said Fanny smiling. “You forget how kindly he took - to Prince Omai.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, a South Sea Islander is different,” cried her cousin. “I expect that - the South Seas will soon become as English as ourselves if Captain Cook - goes on discovering islands.” - </p> - <p> - “Edward,” said Fanny, after a pause sufficient to allow of the - introduction of a new topic; “Edward, could you make it convenient to call - at the Orange Coffee House some day soon to inquire if there is another - letter for Mr. Grafton?” - </p> - <p> - “I'll not omit it on any account,” he replied. “Oh, yes, Mr. Grafton, I'll - collect your correspondence for you, never fear. You have not let anyone - else into the secret, I hope?” - </p> - <p> - “No one knows it except Susy and Lottie and Charles and Hetty; but Hetty - only knows that I wrote the book, not that it is to be printed—Charles - is still away from us, or I would not trouble you, Edward.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Charlie grew tired of the Orange Coffee House, did he not? He told - me how you made him your messenger at first, disguising him in a cloak and - a gentleman's hat, so that he might not seem quite the boy that he was. - But how the secret has been kept so well is a wonder to me—kept from - the powers that be, I mean—uncle and aunt. I wonder if your mother - never had a suspicion of what was going on, especially as she knew all - about your writing long ago.” - </p> - <p> - “I think that it was the copying out of the padre's History that saved - me,” said Fanny. “Many a page of my novel I wrote when she believed that I - was copying the notes for the History—yes, that, and the letters - which Mr. Crisp insists on my sending him every week. But even with these - excuses I could sometimes not get through more than three or four pages of - my own book during a whole week.” - </p> - <p> - “How will you look when the secret is let out—it must be let out - some day, you know? If the writing a novel is thought shocking, how will - Uncle Burney receive the news, think you? He has not yet given you leave - to publish it.” - </p> - <p> - There was a troubled look on poor Fanny's face as she replied, after a - pause: - </p> - <p> - “I have often meant to ask father's permission, but I was not able to - summon up courage enough to face him with the whole truth. But it cannot - be delayed much longer. Perhaps I might write him a letter about it some - time when I am at Chessington.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't envy you the duty, my dear Fanny,” said lie. “But I think that - the sooner you get it over the easier you will feel. I suppose that - writing a novel is worse than writing a 'History of Music.' I wonder why - you took so much trouble over the business.” - </p> - <p> - “I could not help it,” she cried. “I have often wondered myself why I was - sitting up in that cold room at the top of the house, writing until my - fingers were benumbed, when I might have been at my comfortable sewing in - front of a fire downstairs; but I could not help it—I could not help - doing it, Eddy.” - </p> - <p> - Eddy never reached that point in his career as a painter when he found the - artist's impulse to create too great to be resisted. He could not - appreciate her explanation. - </p> - <p> - “'I couldn't help it,' that's what we were used to say long ago, when we - got into mischief; I hope that Uncle Burney and Aunt Burney—don't - forget her in this matter—I hope that they will accept your excuse. - Anyhow, you may trust me to act as your 'Mr. Grafton' at the Orange Coffee - House some day this week.” - </p> - <p> - He caught a glimpse of his uncle, Dr. Burney, sitting with Mr. Greville, - so that he had no trouble in placing Fanny once more in charge of her - father. He could see that the girl was a little downcast, and tried to - cheer her up a bit by whispering in a sly way into her ear: - </p> - <p> - “Good-night, Mr. Grafton; my best respects to Mrs. Grafton and the - children—especially Evelina.” - </p> - <p> - The smile that Fanny gave in acknowledgment of his pleasantry did not - quite carry conviction that his well-meant effort had been successful. He - went away feeling as much sympathy for her as was possible for him to have - in common with the reflection that if she was in a difficult position, it - was wholly one of her own seeking. What could have induced a girl who had - been carefully brought up, and provided with an excellent stepmother, to - write a novel, placing herself thereby on a level with those dreadful - ladies whose productions were prohibited in every self-respecting - household and only read by stealth when obtained at a cost of twopence—more - than the best of them were worth—at the circulating library? - </p> - <p> - Yes, poor Fanny was undoubtedly to be pitied; but she had really only - herself to blame for the trouble that was looming in front of her when the - secret of her authorship should be revealed to her father and her - excellent stepmother—one of the best judges to be found anywhere of - all sorts of needlework—not merely plain sewing and buttonholing, - but satin stitch, herring-boning and running and felling. - </p> - <p> - The very next day Cousin Edward called at St. Martin's Street, carrying - with him a small parcel neatly done up in white paper. He was lucky enough - to find Fanny and Susan alone in the work-room; and after asking - mysteriously if there was any chance of his uncle or aunt coming upon - them, and being assured that they were both away for the day, he carefully - locked the door of the room, saying in the whisper of a man of plots and - mysteries: - </p> - <p> - “'Tis better to be sure than sorry. In matters of this nature 'tis - impossible to be too cautious.” - </p> - <p> - He then handed the parcel to Fanny, who gave an exclamation when she saw - that it was addressed: - </p> - <p> - “<i>To Mr. Grafton, at the Orange Coffee House, Orange Street</i>.” - </p> - <p> - She opened the parcel, and found it to contain a printer's unbound copy of - a book, the title page of which stared up at her: “<i>Evelina; or, A Young - Lady's Entrance into the World</i>,” and with it was a letter from Mr. - Lowndes, the bookseller, presenting his compliments to Mr. Grafton, with - the request that Mr. Grafton would read the book and prove it as soon as - possible, returning the list of errata to Mr. Lowndes, so that the edition - might go to press for early publication. - </p> - <p> - There it lay on the table in front of her. She read the letter standing, - and remained on her feet, looking down at the unbound book. It had a - queer, half-dressed appearance, lacking covers; and when, after some - minutes of silence, Susy took a step or two closer to it, and, with her - hand on Fanny's arm, looked down on it also, the picture that they made - suggested two sisters looking into the cradle where the first baby of one - of them lay. The expression on Susy's face—a mingling of wonder and - curiosity, with delight not far off—was exactly that which the - younger sister of the picture might be expected to wear, catching a - glimpse of the undressed morsel of humanity in its first cot. - </p> - <p> - Susy put her hand down to it, and moved the printed sheets about. She read - the title page down to the last name on the imprint, and then she flung up - her hands, crying: - </p> - <p> - “How lovely! how lovely! But it seems wonderful! How did it come into - being? It looks like a real thing now that we see it printed. The copy - that you wrote out in that disguised hand seemed somehow quite different - from this. There is life in this. It feels warm, actually warm, Fanny. Oh, - don't you love it, dear?” - </p> - <p> - Fanny, the young mother, shook her head, but with no significance, so far - as Susy could see. - </p> - <p> - “'Tis too late now,” said Edward gloomily, taking on himself the burden of - interpreting that head-shake. “You are bound down to go on with it now. - You should have thought of all this before.” - </p> - <p> - “What nonsense is this you are talking?” cried Susy, turning upon him - almost indignantly; for his tone suggested an aspersion upon the - offspring. “What do you say is too late now? Do you mean to say that - there's anything to be ashamed of in this? Cannot you see that she did not - put her name to it? Who is there to know that it came from this house? The - name of Burney nowhere appears on it.” - </p> - <p> - “That's so much, at any rate,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to say that you don't think it quite wonderful, Eddy?” cried - Susy. “And getting twenty pounds for it—twenty pounds! And you say - something about it being too late!” - </p> - <p> - “I only judged from the way Fanny shook her head,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that was not what Fanny was thinking at all—now was it, Fanny?” - said Susy encouragingly to her sister. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know quite what I meant or what I mean even now,” replied Fanny. - “It made me feel for the moment somehow as if I had appeared in a street - full of people before I had quite finished dressing!” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” exclaimed Edward. - </p> - <p> - “But that is nonsense, dear,” said Susy, still consolatory. “The book is - not yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “Not all myself, but part of myself—that is what I feel,” said - Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot see that that is so. You are you—you yourself quite apart - from the book. Whatever the book may be, you will still remain Fanny - Burney, the best daughter and the best sister in the world. What does it - matter if people—foolish people who know nothing about it—laugh - at it or say nasty things about it? Do you think that that will make any - of us like you the less?” - </p> - <p> - She put her arm about Fanny and kissed her on the cheek, and Fanny's tears - began to fall. The young man standing by felt more uneasy than he had ever - felt in his life. He crossed the room and looked out of the window, - turning his back upon the scene of the sisters. He did not know what to - say to a girl when once she allowed herself to weep. He wished with all - his heart that he had not been dragged into this business. But Fanny's - tears convinced him that his first impression of her reception of her book - was the correct one: she was, like other young mothers he had heard of, - bitterly repentant when it was too late. - </p> - <p> - The next sound of which he became aware was of the crinkling of the stiff - paper of the wrapper. One of the girls was folding up the parcel. He - glanced round and saw that it was Fanny herself who was so engaged. She - had dried her tears; the expression on her face was one of resignation—one - of determination to make the best of a bad matter. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that's better,” said he, going to her and picking up the string from - the floor. “There's no use crying over spilt milk, is there, Fanny? We - have all kept your secret loyally, and no one need ever know that you so - far forgot yourself. Certainly the revelation will never come from my - lips.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny burst out laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear Eddy, you are the best cousin that any poor girl could have,” - she said. “Your words have helped me greatly. They have helped to make me - feel what is the aspect of the world in regard to my poor little story. It - has been my constant companion night and day for three years and more. I - worked at it in the cold and I tried how I could improve pages of it, - copying it and recopying it; I practised a duplicity which was foreign to - my nature in writing it—I have deceived my father and my mother - about it—I wasted my eyesight over it—I robbed myself of sleep - so that I might complete it, and when it was completed I lay awake in - anxiety lest no bookseller would look at it, all this trouble I had with - it, so that the world might have of my best, and what is the verdict of - the world after all this? You have pronounced it, dear Eddy—you said - thoughtfully and consolingly—'There's no use crying over spilt - milk.' You are quite right. Not another tear will I shed over this poor - little bantling of mine. 'A Young Lady's Entrance into the World'? Nay, - call it rather a rickety brat that should never have made its entrance - into the world at all.” - </p> - <p> - “I should be ashamed of myself if I ever spoke of it in such terms,” cried - Susy, looking indignantly at her cousin as though he had abused it in that - phrase. “'Rickety brat,' indeed! Oh, I should be ashamed. It looked so - much alive—more alive, I think, than if it was in its covers. Let us - sit down and read it together, Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - Cousin Edward felt that he was being badly treated between these sisters. - That last remark of Susy was rather more than a suggestion that he might - go as soon as it pleased him. He had not any previous experience of young - women and their offspring. He could not know that their attitude in such - circumstances is one of hostility to the male—that they resent his - appearance as an intrusion. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad that you are so pleased,” said he, with only a trace of - irritability in his voice. “And I am glad that I have been of any use to - you, Cousin Fanny. After all, the thing is yours, not Susy's.” - </p> - <p> - “That is true, indeed,” cried Fanny. “And it is I who offer you my - gratitude for your help. Believe me, Eddy, I am sensible of the adroitness - you have shown in this matter ever since we let you into our secret; and - if any trouble comes from what we have done you may be quite sure that I - will accept the entire responsibility for it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, so far as that goes, I do not shrink from taking my share,” said he - magnanimously. “I do not feel quite without blame—I am a man and I - should have warned you at the outset. But you had nearly finished it - before I heard anything of it—you must not forget that.” - </p> - <p> - “That is true indeed,” said Fanny. “I was self-willed. I wonder was it - vanity that impelled me. Never mind! It cannot be helped now. It may never - be heard of again.” - </p> - <p> - “There's always that to remember,” said he, with the eagerness of a - drowning man grasping at a straw. - </p> - <p> - “And I believe that the chances are greatly in favour of that hope being - realized. Thank you again for your encouragement, dear Eddy,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that's nothing—nothing worth talking about,” said he, picking - up his gloves. “You can command me always, Cousin Fanny. And you have seen - that I can keep a secret. Now mind you don't leave that lying about”—he - pointed to the parcel, the string of which Susy was knotting—“and, - be advised by me, turn the key in the lock when you are working at it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Susy, “we'll be sure to do our best to prevent anyone from - suspecting that we have a secret, by locking ourselves in.” - </p> - <p> - “Caution—nothing like caution,” said he in a whisper, unfastening - the door and putting his head out to glance to right and left of the short - corridor. He held up his finger. “All safe so far,” he whispered; “no one - is in sight.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE moment he - disappeared, Susy slipped the knot which she had just made on the parcel - and flung the paper away. - </p> - <p> - “Now we can settle down to it properly, Fanny,” she cried, catching up the - bundle of unstitched sheets and throwing herself back upon the little - sofa. “Come beside me, dear, and we shall go through every word together. - Never mind what Eddy said; I think it looks quite lovely, and how easily - it reads—just like poetry—'Evelina'!—how did you think - of that sweet name?—'<i>or, A Young Lady's Entrance into the World</i>.' - Not a mistake so far. The printers must surely be careful men! And now - that you come to think of it, this is really the entrance of the Young - Lady into the world. Here she is, smiling, but a little shy—just - like her mamma—your Evelina takes after you, dear—now, confess - that there is something agreeably shy in the italics printing of that line - beginning with '<i>A Young Lady's Entrance</i>,' Fanny; it may be wrong to - write a novel, but don't you think that this is worth it? Edward is a - goose to talk as he did about crying over spilt milk. I wonder that you - had patience to listen to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Eddy is a dear boy, and he only said what he knew nearly everybody else - would be disposed to say about this business. I started the story, as you - know, half in fun—by way of exercising my hand—but then it got - hold of me, and it became deadly earnest, and now—oh, Susy, what I - feel now about it is just what I said to Edward: it seems as if it were - the best part of myself that I am giving to the world. I wonder if it is - right for anyone who has written a book, if it be only a novel, to look - upon it in that light.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should it not be right? Didn't you put all your thoughts into it, and - are not one's thoughts part of oneself?” said Susy. “And although so many - people look down upon novels—all the novels that have been written - since Mr. Richardson died—still—oh, did not Dr. Johnson once - write a novel? Yes, 'Rasselas' was what he called it. I tried to read it - but——” - </p> - <p> - “H'sh, Susy. Dr. Johnson might write anything that he pleased. Though Dr. - Johnson wrote a novel, that should be no excuse for such as I having the - audacity to do the like.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose that's what some people will say. But I can't see that if a - good man does an evil thing, it becomes a good thing simply because he - does it.” - </p> - <p> - “Stop, Susy: I remember that he confessed to someone, who told it to Mr. - Crisp, that he had written 'Rasselas' in order to get money enough to pay - for his mother's funeral.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, in that case—might he not have written something a good deal - better, Fanny? Oh, I see that you are stricken with horror at my thinking - anything that came from Dr. Johnson to be dull. I daresay I began reading - it too soon: I should have waited until I had learned that if a great man - writes a book it is a great book, but that if a simple girl writes a novel—well, - there's no use crying over spilt milk. Now that's the last word that I - have to say, for I mean to read every word that's printed here—here—here!” - She brought down her open hand on the topmost sheets of “Evelina” in three - crescendo slaps, and then tucked her feet under her and buried herself in - the book. - </p> - <p> - Fanny sat laughing beside her; and when Susy paid no attention to her - laughter, she continued sitting there in silence, while Susy read page - after page. - </p> - <p> - Several minutes had passed before the authoress asked: - </p> - <p> - “How does the thing read, dear?” - </p> - <p> - Susy gave a start at the sound of her voice and looked around her as if - she had just been awakened. This should have been enough for Fanny. She - should not have repeated her question: it was already answered. - </p> - <p> - “How does the thing read, Susy?” - </p> - <p> - “How does it read?” cried Susy. “Oh, Fanny, it reads exactly like a book—exactly. - There is no difference between this and a real book. Oh, 'tis a thousand - times nicer to read in print than it was as you wrote it. It is so good, - too!—the best story I ever read! I can't understand how you ever - came to write it. You who have seen nothing of life—how did such a - story ever come to you?” - </p> - <p> - “I wish I knew,” replied Fanny. “And do you think that anyone else will - read it now that it is printed?” she asked (she was rapidly acquiring the - most prominent traits of the complete novel writer). - </p> - <p> - “Anyone else? Nay, everyone—everyone will read it, and everyone will - love it. How could anyone help—even daddy and mamma? Now please - don't interrupt me again.” - </p> - <p> - Down went Susy's face once more among the printed sheets, and Fanny - watched her with delight. She had been quite ready a short time before to - accept the verdict of Cousin Edward as equivalent to that of the public - upon her book; and now she was prepared to accept Susy as the - representative of all readers of taste and discrimination. - </p> - <p> - “Edward—psha! What could he know about it?” she was ready to - exclaim: every moment was bringing her nearer to the complete novelist. - </p> - <p> - “Surely,” she thought, “there can be no dearer pleasure in life than to - watch the effect of one's own book upon an appreciative reader!” - </p> - <p> - (The appreciative reader is always the one who is favourably impressed; - the other sort knows nothing about what constitutes an interesting book.) - </p> - <p> - It was the first draught of which she had ever partaken of this particular - cup of happiness, and it was a bombard. She was draining it to the very - dregs: it was making her intoxicated, even though it was only offered to - her by her younger sister, who had never read half a dozen novels in all - her life, and these surreptitiously. She could know by the varying changes - in expression on Susy's face what place she had come to in the book: the - turning over of the pages was no guide to her, for she had no idea of the - quantity of her writing the printers had put into a page, but she had no - trouble in finding Susy's place, so exquisitely reflective was the girl's - face of the incidents among which she was wandering. Surely little Susy - had always been her favourite sister (she was smiling at one of the - drolleries of characterization upon which she had come); oh, there could - be no doubt that she had never loved any of her sisters as she loved Susy - (Susy's eyes were now becoming watery, and Fanny knew that she had-reached - the first of Evelina's troubles). - </p> - <p> - It was the happiest hour of Fanny's life, and she gave herself up to it. - She did not feel any irresistible desire to judge for herself if the - opinion expressed by Susy respecting the story was correct or otherwise. - She had no impulse to see how her ideas “looked in print.” She was content - to observe the impression they were making upon her first lay reader. She - had a vague suspicion that her own pleasure in reading the book would be - infinitely less than the pleasure she derived from following the course of - the story in her sister's face. - </p> - <p> - Half an hour had actually passed before Susy seemed to awaken to the - realities of life. She jumped up from the sofa with an exclamation of - surprise, and then glanced down at Fanny with an inquiring look on her - face—a puzzled look that gave the seal to Fanny's happiness. - </p> - <p> - “You are wondering how I come to be here, Susy,” said she smiling. “You - are wondering how I come to be mixed up with the Branghtons and the - Mervains and the rest of them. You would make me out to be an enchantress - carrying you into the midst of a strange society; and I don't want any - more delightful compliments, dear.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Fanny, 'tis so wonderful—so——” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to hear anything about it beyond what you have already told - me, my dear Susy. I watched your face and it told me all. Give me a kiss, - Susy. You have given me a sensation of pleasure such as I never knew - before, and such as, I fear, I shall never know again.” - </p> - <p> - In an instant the two girls were in each other's arms, mingling their - tears and then their laughter, but exchanging no word until they had - exhausted every other means of expressing what they felt. - </p> - <p> - It was Susy who spoke first. - </p> - <p> - “Take it away, Fanny,” she said. “Take the book away, for I know that if I - read any more of it I shall betray your secret to all the house. They will - read it on my face every time I look at you.” - </p> - <p> - “I think that the hour has come for me to relieve you of the precious - book,” said Fanny. “There is the letter from Mr. Lowndes asking me to make - out the list of errata as quickly as possible, and I do believe that I - shall have to read the book before I can oblige him.” - </p> - <p> - “'Twas thoughtless for me to jump into the middle as I did, when you had - to read it,” cried Susy. “But there is really no mistake on any page, so - far as I could see.” - </p> - <p> - “Unless the whole is a mistake,” said Fanny. “But I will not suggest that - now, having seen your face while you were devouring it. Dear Susy, if I - find many such readers I shall be happy.” - </p> - <p> - She gathered together the loose sheets and carried them off to the little - room at the top of the house where it was understood she wrote her long - weekly letter to Mr. Crisp, who had made himself a hermit at Chessington, - but who, like some other hermits, looked forward with impatience to the - delightful glimpses of the world which he had forsaken, afforded to him on - every page written by her. - </p> - <p> - Susy did not see her again until dinner-time, and by that time the younger - girl felt that she had herself under such complete control that she could - preserve inviolate the secret of the authorship until it should cease to - be a secret. The result of her rigid control of herself was that her - brother James said to her when they were having tea in the drawing-room: - </p> - <p> - “What was the matter with you at dinner, Sue? You looked as if you were - aware that something had happened and you were fearful lest it might be - found out. Have you broken a china ornament, or has the cat been turning - over the leaves of the 'History of Music' with her claws, and left her - signature on the morocco of the cover?” - </p> - <p> - “What nonsense!” cried Susan. “Nothing has happened. What was there to - happen, prithee tell me?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that is beyond my power,” he replied. “I suppose you girls will have - your secrets—ay, ay; until some day you reveal them to another girl - with the strictest of cautions never to let the matter go beyond her—and - so forth—and so forth. Never mind, I'll not be the one to tempt you - to blab. I never yet had a secret told to me that was worth wasting words - over.” - </p> - <p> - “If I had a secret of importance I think that you would be a safe person - to tell it to,” said Susy. - </p> - <p> - “You are right there,” he assented with a nautical wink. “You could find - in me the safest depository you could wish for; you might safely depend - upon my forgetting all about it within the hour.” - </p> - <p> - He did not trouble her any further, but she felt somewhat humiliated to - think that she had had so little control of herself as to cause her - brother's suspicions to be aroused. She thought that it would only be a - matter of minutes when her father or her stepmother would approach her - with further questions. Happily, however, it seemed that James was the - keenest observer in the household, for no one put a question to her - respecting her tell-tale face. - </p> - <p> - Still she was glad when she found herself safely and snugly in bed and so - in a position to whisper across the room to her sister Charlotte the news - that Fanny's novel had been printed and that a copy was safely locked up - in Fanny's desk, and that it looked lovely in its new form. - </p> - <p> - Charlotte was greatly excited, but thought that Fanny might have told her - the news before dinner. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Fanny! she will have to tell the Padre to-morrow and ask his leave - to—to do what she has already done without it. Poor Fanny!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> FEW days later - Dr. Burney was at the point of setting out for Chessington to share Mr. - Crisp's hermitage until the end of the week. He had already said good-bye - to the household; but Fanny accompanied him to the door. It was her last - chance, she knew. She had long ago made up her mind that one of her - secrets must be told to him, and she had more than once, since the printed - sheets had been brought to her, tried to screw up her courage to the point - of telling him, but she had not yet succeeded. And now he was going to - Chessington for four days, and in the meantime the book should be returned - to the printer. It was the last chance she would have of discharging the - duty which was incumbent on her. She had been hovering around him in the - hall, shaking out his gloves for him, polishing the gold knob of his cane, - picking a scrap of dust from the collar of his travelling-cloak. In - another minute he would be gone—her opportunity would be gone. - </p> - <p> - And then came the relieving thought of further procrastination: - </p> - <p> - “I shall write to him at Chessington and confess all.” - </p> - <p> - It seemed as though she had uttered her thought aloud, for he turned to - her with his hand on the latch of the hall door, saying: - </p> - <p> - “You will write to Chessington to-morrow or the day after, my dear. It is - no trouble to you to write. You enjoy it, do you not?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is my chief enjoyment. That is why I have been practising it so - much, just as the others have been practising their music. I have no music - in my soul, so I—I have been writing. Of course, it is not to be - expected that I could do more than write some nonsense—my equivalent - to the strumming of the scales.” - </p> - <p> - “It pleases me greatly to hear that,” said he. “But you do yourself an - injustice; Mr. Crisp never ceases to praise your letters.” - </p> - <p> - “He is praising his own pupil then,” said she, “for 'twas he who first - taught me how to write, and now I have been putting together some - imaginary letters, and I thought that if he could see them printed in - front of him he would be amused.” - </p> - <p> - “Imaginary letters? Why not continue your real ones, my dear? It would - cost a great deal to have your imaginary ones printed.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear father,” she cried, “you surely do not think that I would ask you - for money to pay for my whim? But if I could prevail on someone—a - bookseller—to print what I write, I hope you will consent to my - doing so—not putting my name to the thing, of course?” - </p> - <p> - “And does my Fanny believe that 'tis all so easy to persuade a bookseller - to pay her printer's bill?” he said, pinching her ear. “Booksellers are - shrewd men of business.” - </p> - <p> - “But even men of business have their weak moments,” said she. “And so if—if—you - would not think it too bold of me to let James take my parcel to a - bookseller? You would not forbid me to try to realize my ambition?” - </p> - <p> - “You may be sure that the one to frustrate your aims will not be your - father,” said he, smiling shrewdly. “I will consent if—ah, there is - the fatal if—if your bookseller consents. Now goodbye, my dear - child. I will take your love to your Daddy Crisp, and tell him to await a - real letter from you—not an imaginary one.” - </p> - <p> - She stood on tiptoe to kiss him—but even then he had to stoop before - his lips were on her forehead. - </p> - <p> - He was gone in another moment. She stood at the inner side of the closed - door and listened to the rattling of the wheels of the chaise over the - cobble-stones. - </p> - <p> - So the ordeal that she dreaded had been faced, and how simple a thing it - had turned out after all! Her father had treated the idea which she had - submitted to him as if it were nothing beyond the thought of a simpleton—a - foolish, simple girl who knew nothing of the world of business and - booksellers, and who fancied that a bookseller would print everything that - was sent to him. - </p> - <p> - He had delivered that contingent “if” with the shake of the head and the - shrewd smile of one who is acquainted with the seamy side of business, in - the presence of a child who fancies that printing follows automatically - upon the writing of a book and that there are thousands of buyers eagerly - awaiting the chance of securing everything that passes through a - printing-press. She had perceived just what was in his mind; and his - consent, followed by that contingent “if,” to her publishing what she had - written, was given to her with the same freedom that would have - accompanied his permission to appropriate all the gold used in paving the - streets of the City. She could see from the way he smiled that he felt - that she knew as little about the conditions under which books are printed - as a child does about the paving of the streets of the City. - </p> - <p> - She knew that he would never again refer to the subject of those imaginary - letters of hers—he would be too considerate of her feelings to do - so; he would have no desire to humiliate her. He would not even rally her - in a playful way about her literary work, asking her how the printing was - progressing, and if she had made up her mind to start a coach as grand as - that magnificent piece of carved and gilded furniture which Sir Joshua had - just had built for himself—oh, no: her father had always respected - her sensibility. Years ago, when her brothers and sisters were making - their light jests upon her backwardness, he had stopped them and said that - he had no fears for the future of Fanny; and she was certain that in - referring to her, as he so frequently did, as “poor Fanny,” he meant - nothing but kindness to her. To be sure, at first it grated upon her - sensitiveness to be referred to in that kindly pitying way, but she did - not resent it—indeed, she usually thought of herself as “poor - Fanny.” In a household where proficiency in music was the standard from - which every member was judged, it was inevitable that her incompetence - should be impressed upon her; but no one was hard upon her—the - kindly “poor Fanny” of her father represented the attitude of the - household toward her, even when she had confided to some of the members - the fact that she was writing a novel. They had been startled; but, then, - a novel was not a musical composition, and such an achievement could not - be received with the warmth that Esther's playing received. It was really - not until the printed sheets of the book lay before Susy that she felt - that Fanny had, in one leap, brought herself well-nigh to the level of - Esther; and by the time Susy had read the story to the end she had made up - her mind that if it might be possible to compare the interest of a - literary work with that of the playing of a piece of music, Fanny's work - could claim precedence over the best that Esther had done—she had - confessed as much to Fanny in secret, and Fanny had called her a foolish - child. - </p> - <p> - Fanny had seated herself in the parlour opening off the little hall, on - the departure of her father, and her memory took her back to the days she - had passed in the house at Poland Street, when she had written her story - of Caroline Evelyn, and had been induced by her stepmother to burn it, - with sundry dramas and literary moralizings after the manner of the <i>Tatler</i>—all - the work of her early youth. She recalled her resolution never again to - engage in any such unprofitable practices as were represented by the smoke - which was ascending from the funeral pyre of her “Caroline Evelyn” and the - rest. - </p> - <p> - How long had she kept to her resolution? She could not remember. She could - not recall having any sense of guilt when she had begun her “Evelina”—it - seemed to have sprung from the ashes of “Caroline Evelyn”—nor could - she recollect what had been on her mind when she was spending those long - chilly hours of her restricted leisure toiling over the book. All that she - could remember now was her feeling that it had to be written—that it - seemed as if someone in authority had laid on her the injunction to write - it, and she had no choice but to obey. - </p> - <p> - Well, she had obeyed—the book had been written and printed and she - meant to send the corrected sheets back to Mr. Lowndes in the course of - the day. Her father's consent to its publication had been obtained and it - would be advertised for sale within some months, and then—— - </p> - <p> - Her imagination was not equal to the pursuit of the question of its - future. Sometimes she felt that she never wished to hear of the book - again. She could almost hope that sending the sheets back to Mr. Lowndes - would be the same as dropping them, with a heavy stone in the parcel, into - the deep sea. - </p> - <p> - But that was when the trouble of getting her father's permission to - publish it was looming before her. Now that this cloud had been dispelled - she felt less gloomy. She had a roseate dream of hearing people talk about - the book and even wishing to know the name of the author. She had a dream - of Fame herself carrying her away to sublime heights—to such heights - as she had been borne by the singing of “Waft her, Angels.” Her dream was - of sitting on these heights of Fame by the side of the singer—on the - same level—not inferior in the eyes of the world—not as the - beggar maid uplifted in her rags to the side of the King. - </p> - <p> - That had been her dream when listening to the singing, and it returned to - her now, as she sat alone in the little parlour, having just taken the - last step that was necessary before giving to the world the book which was - to do so much for her. Her visions of success showed her no more - entrancing a prospect than that of being by his side with her fame as a - dowry worthy of his acceptance at her hands; so that people might not say - that he had chosen unworthily—he, who had all the world to choose - from. - </p> - <p> - And quite naturally there came to her in due sequence the marvellous - thought that he had already chosen her out of all the world—he had - chosen her, believing her to be the dowerless daughter of a music-teacher—the - one uninteresting member of a popular family! - </p> - <p> - This was the most delightful thought of the whole train that came to her. - It was worth cherishing above all the rest—close to her heart—close - to her heart. She hugged that thought so close to her that it became warm - with the warmth of her heart. Even though her book should never be heard - of again, even though the world might treat it with contempt, she would - still be consoled by the reflection that he had chosen her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - “Why on earth should you be sitting here in the cold, Fanny?” came the - voice from the opened door—the voice of firm domestic virtue. - </p> - <p> - “Cold? cold? Surely 'Tis not cold, mamma,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Not so very cold; but when there is a fire in the work-room it should not - be wasted,” said Mrs. Burney. “But to say the truth you do not look as if - you were cold; your face is quite flushed, child. I hope you do not feel - that you are on the brink of a sickness, my dear.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear mamma, I never felt stronger in my life,” cried Fanny with a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad to hear that. I was saying to Lottie just now that for some - days past you have had alternately a worried look and the look of one - whose brain is over-excited. Is anything the matter, my child?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing—nothing—indeed nothing! I never felt more at ease in - all my life.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, a little exercise will do you no harm, I am sure; so put on - your hat and accompany me to the fishmonger's. He has not been treating us - at all fairly of late. It is not that I mind the remark made quite - respectfully by James at dinner yesterday—it would be ridiculous to - expect to find fish as fresh in the centre of London as he and his - shipmates were accustomed to in the middle of the Pacific Ocean; but it - would not be unreasonable for us to look for turbot with less of a taint - than that we had yesterday. You will hear the man excuse himself by - asserting that I chose the fish at his stall; but my answer to that—well, - come with me and you shall hear what is my answer.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny went with her and heard. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE faithful Cousin - Edward had carried the sheets of “Evelina” to Mr. Lowndes's shop, with her - list of errata, sisters Lottie and Susy giving him ample instructions as - to the disguise he should assume in discharging that duty; it would be - terrible, they thought, if the secret which they had so carefully guarded - for so long should be revealed just when it was most important that it - should be kept. Their imagination was keen enough to suggest to them the - possibility of good Mr. Lowdnes setting a watch upon the people entering - his shop, and giving instructions that the bearer of the parcel of - “Evelina” should be detained and brought into his presence to be - questioned. - </p> - <p> - They advised that Edward should muffle up his face well before going into - the shop, and then lay down his parcel and fly like the wind—that - would be the best way of defeating the curiosity of the bookseller. - </p> - <p> - But Edward was of the opinion that such a course of action might possibly - only stimulate the man's curiosity as well as that of the people in the - street, and the cry of “Stop thief!” might bring his frantic flight to a - standstill. He thought that the most artful course to adopt would be to - hang around the shop until he found that several customers were within; - then he would enter quite casually and wait until Mr. Lowndes had served - one customer and was about to attend to another. If the parcel were thrust - into his hands during this interval, he, Edward, would have a good chance - of getting safely away before Mr. Lowndes should have time to examine its - contents. - </p> - <p> - They were rather struck with his idea, and he got permission to put it - into practice; but in any case he must take the greatest care of the - parcel; valuable parcels were snatched out of people's hands every day. - </p> - <p> - He smiled. - </p> - <p> - In another hour he was back at the house in St. Martin's Street to report - to them the safe delivery of the precious parcel. After all, he had had - nothing more exciting to do than to place it on a counter—the - elderly gentleman with a pen behind his ear had not even taken the trouble - to rise from his stool to receive it. - </p> - <p> - “Parcel for Mr. Lowndes? All right. Leave it there”—those were the - exact words with which the parcel was received, Edward reported—the - clerk was buried in his ledger before he had left the shop. - </p> - <p> - The girls were not a little disappointed at this very tame conclusion of - what they expected would have been an exciting episode; and to say the - truth, their chagrin was shared by Cousin Edward. - </p> - <p> - He had looked for his resources of artfulness to be drawn on in the - transaction—perhaps even his physical qualifications for the defence - of the sacred secret as well. He felt as a strong man might feel on going - forth to meet a giant, to find himself confronted by a dwarf. The mission - was unworthy of his powers. Fanny's thanks heartily given to him, with the - repeated assurance that, but for him, the affair could never have been - carried out, scarcely compensated him for the tameness of the affair. - </p> - <p> - For the next month or two it was a busy household in St. Martin's Street. - Lieutenant Burney was joining his ship for another long voyage, and he had - to be provided with a fresh outfit. The stitching that went on in the - work-room surpassed even that maintained during the months preceding - Esther's marriage; but the labour was lightened upon more than one - occasion by the appearance of Mr. Garrick. Mr. Garrick had the freedom of - the house in St. Martin's Street, as he had had that of the Poland Street - domicile, where he had so often spent hours amusing the children with his - inimitable drolleries. - </p> - <p> - But Mrs. Burney thought he went a little too far in taking off their - friends, and even their own father, though his malicious touches were as - light as the pinches of Puck. He had been paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs. - Kendal, and he convulsed even Mrs. Burney by his acting of the scene of - his reception by them, the lady much more coy than she had ever been at - the Wells, and the gentleman overflowing in his attentions to her; but - both of them esteeming him as their benefactor. - </p> - <p> - And they were so well satisfied with the honourable estate to which he had - called them, that they appeared to be spending all their time trying to - bring about matches among their acquaintance. No matter how unsuitable - some of the projected unions seemed, no matter how unlikely some of the - people were to do credit to their discrimination, they seemed determined - that none should escape “the blissful bondage”—that was Mr. Kendal's - neat phrase. Mr. Garrick repeated it with a smile that made his audience - fancy that Mr. Kendal was before them. - </p> - <p> - “'The blissful bondage—that's what I term it, sir,'” said Mr. - Kendal, through Mr. Garrick. “'But the worst of the matter is, Mr. - Garrick, that we have nearly exhausted our own circle of friends'—'I - can easily believe that, sir,' interposed Mr. Garrick—' and so we - feel it our duty to fall back upon you.' 'Lud, sir,' cried Mr. Garrick, - jumping a step or two back as if to avoid a heavy impact—'Lud, sir! - a little man like me! I should be crushed as flat as a black beetle.' - 'Nay, sir, I mean that we are compelled to ask you for a list of a few of - your friends who, you think, should be brought together—half a dozen - of each sex would be sufficient to begin with.'” - </p> - <p> - “Of course I demurred,” said Garrick, telling his story, “but before 'the - blissful bondage' had been repeated more than a score of times I began to - think of all against whom I bore a grudge—here was clearly the means - of getting level with them; the only trouble with me was that I found - myself confounding the people who bore me a grudge with those against whom - I bore a grudge—the former are plentiful, the latter very meagre in - number. With the exception of a few very dear animosities which I was - hoarding up to make old age endurable, I have killed off all my enemies, - and was forced, like Mr. Kendal, to fall back on my friends; but even - among these I could find few that I could honestly say were deserving of - such a fate as I was asked to nominate them for. I ventured, however, to - mention the name of Lieutenant Burney, of His Majesty's Fleet, coupling it - with—I could not at first think of an appropriate partner for James, - but at last I hit upon exactly the right lady.” - </p> - <p> - “What! a splice before I set sail next week?” cried Jim. “That's good - news, sir. And the lady's name, if you please, and her address. Give me my - hat, Susy; there is no time to be lost. A splice in a trice. Come, Mr. - Garrick, her name? Cannot you see that I am hanging in stays until you - tell me who she is?” - </p> - <p> - “She is a very pleasant lady, sir. I can assure you of that,” said - Garrick. “Not too tall even with her hair built <i>à la mode</i>; a - pleasant smile, and a happy way of conversing. In short, Lieutenant - Burney, I can strongly recommend the lady, for I have known her for the - past twenty years and more, and from the first she was a staid, sensible - person—the very partner for a sailor, sir, being so contrary to him - in every point.” - </p> - <p> - “Hark'ee, Mr. Garrick; though I don't quite see myself in tow of such a - state barge, I'll trouble you to relieve my suspense by telling me her - name.” - </p> - <p> - “I have more than once thought when I was young that she would make me an - excellent wife,” said Garrick; “but I soon perceived that I was not good - enough for her. She has always been an exemplary sister, and I saw that, - try as I might, I could never become her equal in that respect; and for - married happiness, my boy, there is nothing like——” - </p> - <p> - “Her name—her name?” shrieked the girls. - </p> - <p> - The actor looked at them with pained surprise on every feature. - </p> - <p> - “Her name?” he said. “Surely I have described her very badly if you have - not recognized the portrait. But, for that matter, I have often felt how - inadequate are words to describe character combined with grace—a - nature inclined to seriousness in conjunction with a desire to attract—loftiness - of purpose linked with a certain daintiness——” - </p> - <p> - He made a few gestures with his hands, keeping his elbows close to his - side, and then imitated the spreading of a capacious skirt preparatory to - sinking in a curtsey, and in a moment there was a cry from every part of - the room of “Miss Reynolds—Miss Reynolds!” - </p> - <p> - “And who has a word to say against Miss Reynolds?” cried the actor. - </p> - <p> - “No one—no one,” said Fanny. “Character combined with grace—Miss - Reynolds linked with Lieutenant Burney.” - </p> - <p> - “She would make a fine sheet anchor for an Admiral of the Blue,” laughed - Jim. “And with your permission, sir, I will postpone my offer until I have - attained that rank.” - </p> - <p> - “I have advised Mr. Kendal to hurry things on,” said Garrick gravely. “For - if you have time to spare before making up your mind, the lady cannot - reasonably be thought equally fortunate. 'Lieutenant Burney, your attitude - is not complimentary to the blissful bondage'”—once more it was Mr. - Kendal who was in the room. - </p> - <p> - “Call the roll,” said Jim. “Who comes next on your list, Mr. Garrick?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I was thinking of Dr. Johnson with Mrs. Abington,” said Garrick; - “but perhaps you may quibble even at that.” - </p> - <p> - The room rang with laughter, for everyone had seen the beautiful actress - whose lead in dress was followed by all the ladies in the fashionable - world who could afford to do so, and a greater number who could not; and - the worsted hose and scorched wig, two sizes too small, of Dr. Johnson had - been gazed at with awe by the Burney family when he visited the house in - St. Martin's Street. - </p> - <p> - “Let the banns be published without delay,” cried Jim. “Next pair, - please.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I was thinking of Signor Rauzzini and Mrs. Montagu,” said Garrick, - “but perhaps that would not be approved of by you any more than the - others.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Mr. Garrick, I will not have our friends made any longer the subject - of your fooling,” said Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - Garrick and Jim had the laugh between them, but it seemed that they alone - saw the jest of coupling the lively Roman with the mature leader of the - bluestockings: the girls bent silently over their work. - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said Garrick apologetically, “I ask your pardon for my - imprudence. May I ask which name I am to withdraw? Was my offence the - introduction of the lady's name or the gentleman's? Oh, I can guess. Those - rosy-tinted faces before me—I vow that you will find yourself going - to sea with a chestful of pink shirts, Lieutenant—those sweet - blushing faces reveal the secret more eloquently than any words could do.” - </p> - <p> - Undoubtedly the three girls were blushing very prettily; but at the - mention of the word “secret” two of them gave a little start, but without - looking up. - </p> - <p> - “The secret—oh, I have been feeling for some time that I was well to - the leeward of a secret,” cried Jim, “and I'll not start tack or sheet - until I learn what it is.” - </p> - <p> - “What, sir; you a sailor and not able to penetrate the secret of a pretty - girl's blushes!” cried Garrick. - </p> - <p> - The brother looked at each of his sisters in turn. They continued - stitching away demurely at his shirts. - </p> - <p> - “Helm's a-lee,” he said. “Ready about, and off we go on another tack, for - hang me if I see anything of guilt on their faces, bless 'em! Come, Mr. - Garrick, you shall interpret them for me. Let me into the secret which you - say you have read as if it was a book.” - </p> - <p> - Susy gave a sharp cry. - </p> - <p> - “The needle!” she said. “That is the third time it has pricked me since - morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Pay no attention to her, sir,” cried Garrick. “It was a feint on her part - to put us off the scent of the secret.” - </p> - <p> - “In heaven's name, then, let us have it,” cried Jim. - </p> - <p> - “If you will have it, here it is,” said Garrick. “Your three sisters, Mr. - Burney, are contemplating applying to Mrs. Montagu to be admitted to the - freedom and the livery of the Society of Bluestockings. That is why they - thought it akin to sacrilege for me to introduce the lady's name into a - jest. Their blush was but a reflex of their guilty intention.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, Mr. Garrick, you go too far sometimes,” said Mrs. Burney. “Mrs. - Montagu is a worthy lady, and our girls respect her too highly to fancy - that they have any qualification to be received into her literary set.” - </p> - <p> - “Faith, Madam, I know my duty too well, I hope, to accuse any of the Miss - Burneys of possessing literary qualities,” said Garrick. “But what I do - say is that if such qualities as they possess were to be introduced into - Mrs. Montagu's set, it would quickly become the most popular drawing-room - in town. The idea of thinking that any young woman would go to the trouble - of writing a book when she can reach the heart of mankind so much more - easily by blushing over the breast of a shirt! Continue stitching and - doing your own blushing, dear children, and you will never give anyone - cause to blush for you.” - </p> - <p> - He bowed elaborately to each of them in turn and afterward to Mrs. Burney, - and made a most effective exit. He always knew when he should go, and - never failed to leave a few fragrant phrases behind him, as though he had - dropped a bunch of roses for the girls to cherish. - </p> - <p> - “Where should we be without Mr. Garrick?” said James, when he had seen the - actor to the door and returned to the work-room. - </p> - <p> - “If only he would not go too far in his jesting,” remarked Mrs. Burney, - shaking her head. “Mr. Garrick sometimes forgets himself.” - </p> - <p> - “That is how it comes that he is the greatest actor in the world,” said - James. “It is only when a man has learned to forget himself completely - that he causes everyone else to remember him. Now there's the text for a - homily that you can write to your Daddy Crisp, Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll note it, Jim, and if Mr. Crisp breaks off correspondence with me you - shall bear the blame,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Mercy on us!” whispered Susy when she was alone with her sister a little - later. “I never got such a fright as when Mr. Garrick pretended to read - your secret. Thank goodness! he failed to get the least inkling of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank goodness, indeed!” whispered Fanny. But she was thinking of quite a - different secret when she spoke. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E was beside her - before she was aware of it, in the great music-room at Lady Hales's house. - She had not seen him approach her—she could not have done so without - turning round, for he had approached her from behind, and slipped into the - chair that Esther had vacated in order to play to the company. Esther's - husband, who had been in the seat beyond her, had been led away some time - earlier by Mr. Linley's clever son in order that he might give an opinion - respecting one of the songs in a piece named <i>The Duenna</i>, which was - about to be produced at Drury Lane. - </p> - <p> - He was beside her and whispering in her ear, though she had not even known - that he was to be present. - </p> - <p> - Of course he went through the pantomimic form of inquiring how it was that - she was alone—this was, she knew, for the benefit of anyone who - might be watching them and suspect an assignation. The idea of anyone - seriously fancying that Dr. Burney's daughter would have an assignation - with Signor Rauzzini in such a place and in the midst of such a company! - But Signor Rauzzini came from a land of intrigue, and his experience of - England led him to believe that he had come to another; and so he made - those gestures of inquiry, and she gave him a few words of explanation, so - that no one might suspect! But, for that matter, their chairs were in the - least conspicuous place in the room, and the shadow of the heavy hangings - of a window fell half across them both. - </p> - <p> - “And we have not met for months,” said he in French. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, have you forgotten our evening at the Pantheon?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Forgotten it? But that is months ago—ages. And it was all - unfinished—broken off when at its best—mutilated. That hour we - had! Oh, was it a melody suddenly interrupted when it was approaching its - best? Was it a poem snatched away by some ruthless hand just when we had - begun a deathless line?” - </p> - <p> - “What I remember best is your singing of 'Waft her.' I am not quite sure - that I have yet returned to the earth from those regions whither I felt - myself wafted. Are you conscious of having any part in <i>Dido</i> into - which you can throw yourself with the same spirit?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Dido!</i> pah! <i>Dido</i> is a paltry playhouse—Maestro - Handel's work is a Sistine Chapel—ah, more—more—a noble - cathedral. When other composers built their garden houses in imitation of - Greek temples, he spent all his time raising cathedrals. His genius is his - own—mighty—overpowering! Every time I approach the great <i>maestro</i> - I feel that I should put off my shoes from my feet. It is holy ground—it - is—ah, mademoiselle, it was you who led me to chatter of myself and - my music when we were last together, and I had no wish to do so; I meant - to talk of yourself alone, but we had parted before I had the chance - again. I have been wondering ever since if such a chance would return—if - I had not thrown it away; and now you have lured me once more toward the - golden net of music; but I have seen it spread: I will not step into it. I - want to talk to you of love—love and you—and—me.” - </p> - <p> - He had restrained his voice so that it was no more than a whisper, and he - had chastened his gestures until he seemed rigid. Fanny knew that even if - their chairs had not been far away from the next that were occupied, his - words could reach no ears but her own; but the effort that he was making - to restrain his gestures—oh, was it not more significant to any - observant eye than his most florid action would have been? With bent head - she was conscious of the quivering of the muscles of his clenched hands—of - the tremulous earnestness of his expressive face. Surely everyone who so - much as glanced at him would know what was the subject of his discourse—and - hers—hers—but what should hers be? What answer was she to make - to such a man whispering such a word as love? - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid,” she said. “You make me afraid. Is this the place? Is this - the time? Am I the one?” - </p> - <p> - “Every place is the place—every time is the time—and you—you - are the only one,” said he, becoming more fervent every moment. “If you - and I were alone—but we are alone—our love isolates us—we - are alone in the splendid isolation of our love. What are these people who - are about us? They are nothing to us—less than nothing, What are the - people in a church to the devout one who enters and keeps his eyes fixed - upon the lovely face of the saint to whom he prays. The saint and he are - in communion together, and their communion isolates them though the church - is crowded? I keep my eyes of devotion upon your face, my beautiful saint, - and I am rapt with the glory of this hour—we are carried away on the - wings of our love until the world is too far beneath us to be seen—only - the heaven is revealed to us—to me—I look into your face and I - have a glimpse of heaven itself! Ah, gentle saint, you will not deny me a - response—one word—only lift up your eyes—let our eyes - meet and it will be as if our lips had met. I am but a mortal, but I feel, - gazing into the face of my saint, as if I were immortal—immortal and - crossing the threshold of the heaven that is hers—I feel that we are - equal——” - </p> - <p> - She drew in her breath—the sound was something like a gasp—the - gasp of one who has been swept away into the midst of a swirling sea and - made breathless. She had been swept away on the amazing flood of his - words; it was not until he had said that word “equal” that she felt - herself swirled into the air once more, so to speak, and gave that gasp - for breath: he, too, was breathless after his long and fervid outburst, - repressed as to tone, but sounding therefore all the more passionate. Her - gasp sounded like a sigh; his like a sob. - </p> - <p> - “Not yet—not yet,” she said in a whisper—disjointed and - staccato. “I cannot listen to you yet. I dare not—I have my pride.” - </p> - <p> - “Pride? What is pride? How have I wounded your pride?” he said. “Ah, my - God! you cannot think that I would propose anything that is not - honourable? You do not look on me as such a wretch? Ah, you cannot.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, no,” she said quickly. “I would trust you. I have looked into - your face. I have heard you sing.” - </p> - <p> - “You place your faith in me? But you cannot do that unless you love me. - And if you love me—have I been too headlong? Have I startled you? - But surely you must have seen that on the very first day we met, before I - had been an hour in your presence, my life was yours. I tell you that I - knew it—not an hour—one glance was enough to tell me that I - was all yours, and that for me no other one lived or would ever live in - the world. What have you to say? Do not you believe me? What did you mean - by that word 'pride'? It does not seem to me that it had any connection - with you or me.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not ask me to explain anything just now,” she said. “You would not - like to be asked to explain how you came to—to—think of me—to - feel in regard to me as you have said you do——” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I shrink from it?” he asked. “But no one who has seen you - would put such a question to me. I loved you because you were—<i>you</i>. - Is not that enough? It would be sufficient for anyone who knew you. I saw - you sitting there—so sweetly timid—a little flower that is so - startled to find itself awakened into life in the spring, that it would - fain ask the earth to hide it again. I thought of you as that modest - little flower—a violet trying to obscure its own charm by the leaves - that surround it; but all in vain—in vain, for its presence has - given a subtle perfume to the air, and all who breathe of its delicate - sweetness take the spirit of the spring into their souls and know that a - violet is there, though hidden from their view. That is how I saw you. I - have always loved the violet, and felt that shyness and sweetness were - ever one; and am I to be reproached if I have a longing to pluck my violet - and have her ever with me?” - </p> - <p> - “This is madness—the poetry of madness,” she cried, and there was - really a piteous note in her voice. “But if I did not believe that you - feel every word that you have spoken, I would let you continue, and drink - in the sweetness of every word that falls from your lips. It is because I - know that you are speaking from your heart and because I also know my own - unworthiness that I pray of you to say no more—yet.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not tell you the truth, if you confess that you believe I am - speaking sincerely?” - </p> - <p> - “Sincerely, but in a dream.” - </p> - <p> - “Is all love a dream, then?—is that what is in your thought?” - </p> - <p> - “I do not want it to be a dream. I wish the love to continue with your - eyes open, and therefore I say—not yet.” - </p> - <p> - “You wish my love to continue? Oh, never doubt that your wish shall be - granted. But why that 'not yet '? I am weary of this mystery.” - </p> - <p> - She was perplexed. Why should she hold out any longer against this - impetuous Prince of the land of King Cophetua? Why should she not be as - other girls who allow themselves to be lifted out of insignificance by the - man who loves them. Why should that gift of being able to see more closely - into the truth of things that most others accept without a question, be - laid upon her as a burden? - </p> - <p> - She had a strong impulse to let her resolution go down the wind, and to - put her hand in his, no matter who might be looking on, and say the word - to him that would give him happiness. Who was she to suggest that his - happiness would not endure—that her happiness would not endure? - </p> - <p> - She was perplexed. She had more than once been called prim; but that only - meant that it was her nature to weigh everything in a mental balance, as - it were, and her imagination was equal (she thought) to the task of - assigning their relative value to the many constituents of human - happiness. If she had been told that this meant that she had not yet been - in love, and that she was not now in love, she would not have felt uneasy - in her mind. She did not mistrust the feeling she had for the man who was - beside her. Surely this was the very spirit of truth in loving, to be - ready to sacrifice everything, so that unhappiness should not overtake - him; and she had long ago felt that unhappiness only could result from his - linking his life with one who was rather less than a mere nobody. The - thought never once left her mind of what would be said when it was known - that she had married him. A dunce's triumph, the incident would be styled - by the wits, and (assuming that the wits were masculine) how would it be - styled by the opposite sex? She could see uplifted hands—incredulous - eyebrows raised, while they discussed it, and she knew that the conclusion - that everyone would come to was that to be the most divine singer in the - world did not save a man from being the greatest fool in the world. - </p> - <p> - Was her love the less true because her intelligence insisted on her - perceiving that such a man as Signor Rauzzini would not be happy if - married to a nonentity like herself? “Surely not,” she would have cried. - “Surely it is only the truest of all loves that would be ready to - relinquish its object rather than bring unhappiness upon him! Is - intelligence never to be found in association with true love? Must true - love and folly ever be regarded as allies?” - </p> - <p> - Her intellect was quick in apprehending the strength of the position taken - up by two combatants in an argument; but the juxtaposition of the Prim and - the Passionate was too much for her. She was all intellect; he was all - passion. Her mental outlook on the situation was acute; but his was - non-existent. His passion blinded him; her intellect had a thousand eyes. - </p> - <p> - And there he was by her side; she could almost hear the strong beating of - his heart in the pause that followed his question. - </p> - <p> - “What is this mystery?” - </p> - <p> - It was her feeling of this tumultuous beating of his heart that all but - made her lose her intellectual foothold. His heart beating close to hers - swayed her as the moon sways the tides, until for some moments she could - not have told whether it was her heart or his that was beating so wildly—only - for some moments, however; only long enough for that madness to suggest - itself to her—to let her resolution fly to the winds—what did - anything matter so long as she could lay her hand in his, and feel his - fingers warm over hers? It was her first acquaintance with the tyranny of - a heart aflame, and for a moment she bent her head before it. He thought - that he had got the better of her scruples, whatever they were, by the way - her voice broke as she said: - </p> - <p> - “Madness—it would be madness!” - </p> - <p> - He was not acute enough to perceive that she was talking to herself—trying - to bring her reason to help her to hold out against the throbbing of her - heart—<i>his</i> heart. - </p> - <p> - “It would indeed be madness for us to turn our backs upon happiness when - it is within our reach,” said he. “That is what you would say, sweet - saint?” - </p> - <p> - But she had now recovered herself. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed it is because I have no thought except for your happiness that I - entreat of you to listen to me,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “I will listen to you if you tell me in one word that you love me,” said - he. - </p> - <p> - There was no pause before she turned her eyes upon him saying: - </p> - <p> - “You know it. You have never doubted it. It is because I love you so truly - I wish to save you from unhappiness. I want to hold your love for ever and - ever.” - </p> - <p> - “My sweet saint! You have heard my prayers. You are to make me happy.” - </p> - <p> - “All that I can promise as yet is to save you from supreme unhappiness. I - am strong enough to do so, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “You can save me from every unhappiness if you will come to me—and - you are coming, I know.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope that if you ask me three months hence I shall be able to say - 'yes'; but now—at this moment—I dare not. It is not so long to - ask you to wait, seeing that I have let you have a glimpse of my heart, - and told you that as you feel for me, so I feel for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Three months is an eternity! Why should it be in three months? Why not - now?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell you. It is my little secret,” she said. “Ah, is it not - enough that I have told you I love you? I shall never cease to love you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, this accursed place! These accursed people!” he murmured. “Why are we - fated to meet only surrounded by these wretches? Why cannot we meet where - I can have you in <i>my</i> arms, and kiss your lips that were made for - kissing?” - </p> - <p> - There was something terrifying to her in that low whisper of his. He had - put his head down to her until his lips were close to her ear. She felt - the warmth of his face; it made her own burn. But she could not move her - face away to the extent of an inch. Her feminine instinct of flight was - succeeded by the equally feminine instinct of surrender. If it had been - his intention—and it certainly seemed that it was—to kiss her - in the presence of all the company, she would still have been incapable of - avoiding such a caress. - </p> - <p> - He swore again in her ear, and Fanny, for all her primness, felt a regret - deep down in her heart that her training would not allow of her expressing - herself through the same medium. - </p> - <p> - But he did not come any nearer to her than that. He changed his phrases of - abuse of their entourage to words of delight at her presence so close to - him—alternately passionate and tender. His voice became a song in - her ears, containing all such variations. His vocalism was equal to the - demand put upon it. It was his <i>métier</i> to interpret such emotions, - and now he did justice to his training, even if he fell short—and he - was conscious of doing so—of dealing adequately with his own - feelings. He called her once again his sweet saint who had heard his - prayer; his cherished flower, whose fragrance was more grateful to him - than all the incense burned in all the temples of the world was to the - Powers above. - </p> - <p> - It was, he repeated, her violet modesty that had first made him adore her. - Her humility brought before his eyes the picture painted by Guido Reni—the - Madonna saying: <i>Ecce ancilla Domini</i>. - </p> - <p> - Ah, her humility was divine. And she was so like his mother—his dear - mother who had died when he was a boy and who had taught him to sing. Ah, - she was herself now singing in Paradise, and she would look down and - approve his choice. She, too, had been as meek as a flower, and had never - been so happy as when they had been together at a little farm in Tuscany - with him by her side among the olives. Oh, she would approve his choice. - And quite simply he addressed his dead mother, as though she were beside - him, asking her if she could desire to have a daughter sweeter or more - gentle. He had lapsed into his native Italian in this; but Fanny could - follow his slow, devout words, and her eyes were full of tears, her heart - of love. - </p> - <p> - She now perceived how simple and gentle a nature was that of the young - Roman. He remained unspoilt by the adulation which he had received both in - his own country and in England. Seeing him thus revealing a simplicity - which she had not associated with him before, she was led to ask herself - if there was, after all, so great a difference between them as she had - believed to exist. She had forgotten all about his singing, and he was now - in her eyes nothing more than a man—the man who loved her. Ah, that - was enough. He loved her, and therefore she was bound to save him from the - mortification of hearing the whispers of the people around them asking how - he could ever have been stupid enough to marry a girl like herself, who - was a nobody and without a fortune, when he might have chosen any girl in - the world. - </p> - <p> - Her resolution came back to her with greater force than ever. Since he had - made his nature plain to her, it would, she felt, be taking advantage of - his simplicity to engage herself to him just as she was. She knew more of - the world than he did. She knew how the world talked, and how it would - talk regarding herself as well as regarding him in such a matter. He was - simple and generous; it was necessary for her to take thought for both of - them. - </p> - <p> - “Have you heard me?” he asked of her in a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “The tears are still in my eyes,” she replied. “Oh, my dear friend, cannot - you see how bitter it is for me to be compelled to ask you to wait for - these months that I spoke of? Cannot you see that it is a matter of - conscience and honour? Ah, I should never forgive myself if I were to do - other than I have done! If you——” - </p> - <p> - “Dear one,” said he, “I ask for nothing more than to hear you tell me that - you love me. Who am I, that I should demand your secret? So long as you do - not conceal your love from me, I do not mind if you have a score of - secrets locked away in your white bosom. Tell me again that you love me - and all must be well.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him, but he knew that she could not see a feature of his - face by reason of the tears that were still in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was on one of - the last mornings in January that Mrs. Burney was reading out of the - newly-arrived <i>London Chronicle</i> such paragraphs as she thought would - appeal to the varied interests of the breakfast-table. There were a few - announcements of marriages about to take place between people whose names - they knew, the amount of the bride's dowry being stated in each in plain - figures, though Mrs. Burney took it upon her to affirm in one or two cases - that the sum was exaggerated, or to suggest that if the father of the - bride were just enough to pay his debts first, the portion of his daughter - would be considerably reduced. In the case of one of the gentlemen, who - was marrying thirty thousand pounds, she ventured to express the hope that - he would now pay at least some of his creditors. - </p> - <p> - These were, of course, the most interesting items of news, though their - attractiveness was not greatly superior to that of the gossip respecting - Mr. F———, who had been noticed in high dudgeon because - of Lady P———'s dancing three times with Sir Julian Y———; - or that which suggested that a reconcilement must have taken place between - the beautiful Mrs. G——— and her husband, for they had - been seen taking the air together in the Park. - </p> - <p> - It was also pleasant to learn that His Majesty had given great - encouragement to Mrs. Delany in the production of her ingenious mosaic - flowers, in which she was so skilled as to excite the wonder of several - criticks in the Royal circle; and also that His Royal Highness the Prince - of Wales had been graciously pleased to say in publick that he had always - admired the Perdita of the beautiful Mrs. Robinson, though he considered - Mrs. Abington, on the whole, the most tasteful dresser in the Drury Lane - company. - </p> - <p> - It was only when Mrs. Burney had folded the newspaper and was about to put - it away, that a few lines of an advertisement caught her eye—she - commented before she read, as though she had been a fully qualified - critic: - </p> - <p> - “More novels! More stuff for the circulating libraries! Enough to make - poor Mr. Richardson feel uncomfortable in his grave! Could he but have - known that he was turning all England into novel readers he would never - have put pen to paper. Here is another imitator in the field. 'Evelina; - or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World,' published to-day by Mr. - Lowndes—three volumes, seven and sixpence sewed, nine shillings in - covers. 'Evelina,' a distant cousin to 'Clarissa' and 'Pamela' I doubt - not. I hope your father will not bring anyone here to dinner to-day. - Hashed mutton is a wholesome dish, to be sure, but some visitors are - fastidious. He may bring as many as he pleases to-morrow, for Mr. - Greville's gift of pheasants will be on the table. Why are you staring so - at your sister, Lottie?” - </p> - <p> - Lottie was becoming a hardened dissembler: she scarcely started when asked - to interpret certain furtive glances she cast at Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “I was wondering if Fanny would make a face: she never was fond of hashed - mutton,” said Lottie glibly. “If she had gone to school in France she - would soon have got a liking for it, cooked as it is there.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not partial to French kickshaws,” said Mrs. Burney. “There's nothing - like good English fare. To my thinking, the principle of making food tasty - when in ordinary circumstances it should not be so, is a bad one. Hash of - mutton is wholesome food, and it should be eaten as such without further - question. If Providence had meant it to be tasty as well, He would have - made His intentions as plain as in the case of roast pheasant.” - </p> - <p> - “Lottie will tell you that I made no face at the mention of hash of - mutton,” said Fanny. “What does it signify whether one sits down to a - simple platter of mutton hash or a great dinner such as father gets at Mr. - Thrale's? A pair of geese, a leg of mutton, a tongue, a rib of roast beef - and a brace of pheasants, with two or three dishes of fish, and for Dr. - Johnson a veal pie or a piece of pork—those were on the table at one - time. What is the benefit of such abundance, when all that one can eat is - a single slice of beef?” - </p> - <p> - She spoke rapidly, for she, too, had been a great dissembler. She meant to - take away her stepmother's attention from those questionable glances which - she had exchanged with Lottie; and she succeeded very well. - </p> - <p> - “It would make no difference to us whether we had one dish or ten; but it - makes all the difference in the world to Mr. Thrale. They say he has a - prodigious appetite, and eats of at least six heavy dishes of meat at - dinner.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Baretti affirms that some day he will not awake from the stupor into - which he falls after one of his heavy meals,” said Susy. - </p> - <p> - “And all the time Mrs. Thrale is entreating him to be more moderate,” - cried Lottie. - </p> - <p> - “A humiliating duty for such as Mrs. Thrale,” said her mother. “That shows - how true is all that Fanny has remarked: a simple dish should be enough - for any reasonable person. I have often wondered how the converse at the - Streatham table could be so wise and witty if the master of the house eats - like a hog, and Dr. Johnson, suffering from ill-health, expends so much - energy over his pork that the veins stand out on his forehead and his face - is bathed in perspiration.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure that Mrs. Thrale has wit and liveliness enough to serve for the - whole company,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “She is chatty enough, I doubt not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “There are those - who think she talks over-much for a woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Not for a woman of fashion,” suggested Lottie with some pertness, when - their stepmother had left the room. “It is long since Mrs. Thrale has - invited mother to one of the Streatham dinners,” she added under her - breath. - </p> - <p> - And then the three fell upon the <i>Chronicle</i> for the announcement of - the book. - </p> - <p> - They read it in whispers, each following the other, as though it were the - <i>piano</i> part of a catch or a glee, and glancing fearfully toward the - door now and again, lest it should open and Mrs. Burney reappear. - </p> - <p> - “How amazing it is!” said Susy. “This is the announcement of the birth of - a baby—and such a baby!” - </p> - <p> - “The birth and the christening and all,” said Lottie. “Oh, Fanny, I had no - idea that it would be in the papers—I forgot that it would be - advertised; and when mamma read this out I thought I should sink through - the floor. So did you, I know.” - </p> - <p> - “I only wish that it had been possible,” said Fanny. “I could feel myself - getting hot all over my body. And then you gave me that look, Lottie!” - </p> - <p> - “Could I help it?” asked Lottie. “You cannot blame me. I really thought - that it was you who gave me a look, as much as to say: 'If you let the cat - out of the bag I will never forgive you—no, never! '” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind! Among us we managed to get out of the difficulty very well, I - think. Were we not clever, guiding the conversation away from Mr. - Lowndes's shop on to the high road to Streatham?” cried Susy. - </p> - <p> - “'Twas the hash that saved us,” said Lottie. “Have you not heard dear Jim - applying the sailors' expression, to make a hash of something? But we - didn't make a hash of our matter, did we, Fanny?” said Susan. - </p> - <p> - “We have become adroit dissemblers, and I am growing more ashamed of it - every day,” cried Fanny. “I have reached the condition of a man of whom I - read in a volume of history: he had committed a crime, and the effort that - it cost him to keep it hidden so preyed upon his mind that he could stand - the strain no longer, so he confessed it and was relieved.” - </p> - <p> - “But he could not have been really happy until they hanged him,” said - Susy. “And do you intend to confess and be hanged, Fanny? Please do not. I - think it is the most exciting thing in the world to share a secret like - this. I would not have missed the enjoyment for anything. Think, Fan, if - you were to confess, you would draw us into it too—you would make us - out to be as guilty as yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I will not confess,” said Fanny. “No; it would not be honourable of me. - But I do feel that the secret is having a bad effect upon us all. It has - made us all such—such—dissemblers.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha!” said Lottie with a sniff. “That's only another way of saying that - we are ladies of quality at an early age.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny shook her head. She thought that if any proof were needed of the ill - effects of their treasuring their secret from their parents, this cynical - pertness of Lottie supplied it. She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I should like 'Evelina' to come into mamma's hands,” continued Lottie. - “She will go through the three volumes at a hand gallop, even though she - did take it upon her to condemn it as being on a level with the odious - stuff that comes to us nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - “And if she condemns it so heartily before she has read it, what will she - say about it when she has finished the last chapter?” asked Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “She will say that it is the prettiest story that has been written since - her dear Mr. Richardson died,” said Susy. - </p> - <p> - “I doubt it, my dear,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Well, let the worst come, she will never guess that you wrote it,” - laughed Lottie. - </p> - <p> - “It is the padre whom I fear,” said Fanny. “Surely he will not need to go - beyond the Ode on the first leaf to know that it is he himself whom I - address.” - </p> - <p> - “And if he should—smoke it?” asked Susy, lapsing into slang which - she had acquired from her sailor brother, who was in no sense a purist. - </p> - <p> - “If he should—well, either of two things will happen,” replied the - authoress. “He will either think me the most double-dealing wretch in the - world or the most dutiful of daughters.” - </p> - <p> - “And which will be right?” asked Lottie. - </p> - <p> - “Both views will be right,” said Fanny. “Although I meant every word of - the Ode, I really think now that the idea of writing it before the - dedication came to me only when I felt that I had behaved badly in sending - the book to the printer without his consent.” - </p> - <p> - “You wished the Ode to be a sort of peace-offering?” said Susy. “You hoped - that when he read it he would forget to be angry? Well, that was cunning - of you, Fanny!” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you that the whole affair has had a bad effect upon us all,” said - Fanny gently. - </p> - <p> - Once again she was conscious of someone telling her that there was no use - crying over spilt milk, and this impression was followed by one that took - the form of a resolution to be more careful in future. If she had spilt - some milk once, that was no reason why she should not, by exercising - proper forethought, refrain from doing so again. - </p> - <p> - But the book was now given to the world, if the world would have it, but - as yet a copy had not come into her hand. She wondered if she would have - to spend seven and sixpence in buying a copy. Seven shillings and - sixpence, sewed. It was a great deal of money. Was it possible that there - were five hundred people in the world ready to pay seven and sixpence for - a novel with the name of no author on the title page? (She thought it best - to leave out of her consideration altogether the possible purchasers of - the nine shilling set of bound volumes.) - </p> - <p> - Who were the people that ever laid out so much money upon books which - could be read through between the rising and the setting of the sun? She - had never met such liberal enthusiasts. Of course, it was only reasonable - that so splendid a work as the “History of Music” should be in the library - of every house wherein people of taste resided, but that was not a book to - be galloped through; some people might not be able to read it within a - month. Besides, it bore the honoured name of Dr. Burney on the title page, - and the fame of Dr. Burney was great. But as for that poor little - seven-and-sixpenny sewed “Evelina,” how should anyone take an interest in - her without reading her story? How would anyone read her story without - feeling afterwards that seven-and-sixpence (leaving the nine shilling - expenditure out of the question) was a ridiculous price to pay for such an - entertainment? - </p> - <p> - She felt that people would come to look on her as the instigator of a - fraud if they paid their money and read the book and then found out that - she had written it. The wisdom of concealing her name even from the - bookseller was now more apparent to her than it had ever been. She had - visions of indignant purchasers railing against Mr. Lowndes, and Mr. - Lowndes searching for her, so that he might rail against her; and so her - speculations ended in laughter; but even her laughter grated upon her - sensitive ears: she felt that it was the malicious jeering of a clever - cheat at the thought of having got the better of a worthy man. - </p> - <p> - Her precious “Evelina” was leading her a pretty dance. If it had not been - able to do so it would have been a paltry sort of book and she would have - been a paltry sort of author. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>WO or three weeks - passed without her hearing anything of the book, and it seemed as if it - had fallen, as she had at some moments hoped it would fall, like a dull - stone into the depths of the sea. She heard nothing of it, and soon she - perceived that her sisters felt grievously disappointed at its failure to - produce any impression upon the town. Even a dull stone, if dropped into - the deep, creates a little fuss on the surface before it sinks out of - sight; but Fanny's book did not, so far as they could see, produce even so - superficial an impression. What they expected of it they might have had - some trouble explaining; but as it was, they could not conceal their - disappointment from Fanny; and they showed it after a short time in a very - delicate way: they never alluded to the book in her presence. She - perceived that what was in their minds was that it would show very bad - taste on their part to refer to it in any way. She was grateful for their - consideration; and she resolved to accept their decision on this point as - final; she would never allude to the horrid thing in their hearing. - </p> - <p> - It so happened, however, that she was left alone with Susy in the house - one evening. Dr. Burney and his wife had gone to a concert at Esther's, - and Lottie was staying for a day or two in the country. Susy was - practising her part of a new duet on the piano, and Fanny was at her - sewing. So far as conversation between the two sisters was concerned, the - evening had been a very silent one. Indeed, during the whole week a - constrained silence had marked the intercourse of the three girls. - </p> - <p> - Susy hammered away at the music for half an hour; then her playing became - more fitful, and at last it ceased altogether. - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence before Fanny heard a little sound that caused her - to raise her head. It was the sound of a sob, and when she looked up she - saw that Susy was leaning her forehead upon the bottom of the music rest, - weeping bitterly. - </p> - <p> - Fanny was by her side in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Dearest Susy, what is the matter?” she said soothingly. “Tell me, dear; - has anything happened? Has anyone been unkind to you? Have I unwittingly - done or said anything that seemed to you unkind? Tell me all, Susy.” - </p> - <p> - But Susy continued crying with her face hidden, though she yielded one of - her hands to Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Come, my dear, I have helped you before now, and I may be able to help - you now. Prithee, what is your trouble?” said Fanny, putting her arm round - the girl's shoulders. - </p> - <p> - Still Susy remained silent, except for her sobs. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me,” said Fanny, in a whisper. “Is it that you think that I am - chagrined about—about—the book?” - </p> - <p> - In an instant Susy had whirled round on her seat and flung her arms round - her sister's neck, laying her head on her shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Fanny, Fanny, 'tis too cruel!” she sobbed. “We were sure that so much - would come of it—it seemed so splendid to read, even before it was - printed—so much better than any other story that ever came into our - hands—and you worked so hard at it—every spare moment when you - might have been enjoying yourself—in the cold of last winter up in - that room—and at Lynn too—and Chessington—and now, when - we think that your cleverness, your patience, your genius, is to be - rewarded, nothing comes of it—all your trouble has gone for nothing—all - our secrecy! Oh, it is too cruel!” - </p> - <p> - “You dear child,” said Fanny. “It is only cruel if it sets you crying in - this way. What does it matter to anyone if the book has gone and nothing - has come of it? I have been thinking that writing a book and publishing it - is like throwing a stone into the sea. It may fall so that it sinks down - plumb, or it may fall so that it makes a splash for a while, but it sinks - to the bottom all the same. Success or failure is only the difference - between a splash and a ripple. We were fools to fancy that our little - stone would float.” - </p> - <p> - “But it was not a stone, it was full of life and it should have—it - should have—swum! Oh, the people who buy books are so stupid!” - </p> - <p> - “They are—that was the hope that I builded on. They are stupid, but - not stupid enough to buy my book.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Fanny!” - </p> - <p> - “That is really the frame of mind that I find myself in to-day. I tell you - truly, Susy, that after the first week, I schooled myself to think of the - business in this way; and I am certain that in another month I shall even - feel delighted that my little pebble made no splash. Look at the matter - philosophically, Susy.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, philosophically!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, reasonably. Are we in a different position to-day from that we were - in before the book was published? We are not. We are just the same as we - were before. It has not injured us in any way. Nay, if you think of it, we - are—I, at least, am—all the better for having failed, for I - have learned my lesson. I was beginning to feel cleverer than I had any - right to think myself, and this has come as a chastening—to make me - know my right place. These rebukes do not come by chance, Susy. I know now - that I was inclined to hold my head too high. I don't think that I will do - so again.” - </p> - <p> - “You never held your head too high—just the opposite. And I think it - very cruel that you should be rebuked for nothing. But I do not blame <i>anyone</i> - except the wretched people who refused to buy your nice book, but spent - their seven and sixpence at Vauxhall or Ranelagh—perhaps watching - Mr. Foote and his puppets at the Haymarket. Oh, I have no patience with - them! Why, it only needed a thousand people to buy the book and it would - have been accounted a success!” - </p> - <p> - “Then we shall put the blame on the shoulders of that thousand, - wheresoever they may be found, and for my part I shall not hold a second - thousand altogether blameless—my indignation may even extend to a - third. Now, that's the last word I mean to speak about the book. It has by - this time reached the bottom of the sea on which I threw it; and there let - it lie!” - </p> - <p> - “You are an angel—I see that plainly now.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, there you see, what I said was true: I am much better for the rebuke - I talked about; you never perceived before that I was an angel. Now let - that be the last word between us on the subject of my poor little - 'Evelina.' Her entrance into the world has proved fatal. Oh, Susy, she was - stillborn, but her parent is making a rapid recovery.” - </p> - <p> - “That may be; but cannot you join with me in——” - </p> - <p> - “I will join with you in maintaining silence on the subject of the little - one. I cannot bear to hear her name mentioned. I refuse to say another - word about her or her fate. She must have been greatly beloved of the gods - to die so young. Let that be 'Evelina's' epitaph. I will say nothing more - about her.” - </p> - <p> - It so happened, however, that she was compelled to say a good deal more on - the subject, for within half an hour Cousin Edward had called, and he - began to talk of “Evelina” at once. - </p> - <p> - “I went to Hill's library in the Strand yesterday, to get a book for - mother, and there, sure enough, I saw your 'Evelina,'” said he. “I asked - the man in charge what it was about, and he replied that he didn't know; - it was bad enough, he thought, to be compelled to hand out books all day - to readers without being forced to read them for himself; but he supposed - that 'Evelina' was a novel of the usual sort.” - </p> - <p> - “That was not extravagant praise,” remarked Susy. - </p> - <p> - “He didn't mean to praise it,” said Edward. “But when I asked him if - anyone who had read it had recommended it, he admitted that every one of - the five ladies who had read it was ready to speak well of it—one of - them had taken it away a second time; and—would you believe it?—while - I was standing at the counter a footman entered the shop with a demand for - 'Eveliena,' as he called it; and he carried off the copy that was already - on the desk.” - </p> - <p> - “For the delectation of the servants' hall?” suggested Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Not at all—it had been recommended to her ladyship, he said, and he - had been commanded on no account to return without it; her ladyship was - liberal; she would not mind paying sixpence for it, instead of the - ordinary fourpence.” - </p> - <p> - “That was more than liberal, it was generous to a degree,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Don't interrupt him,” cried Susy. “Continue your narrative, Eddy. I am - dying to hear the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “I asked the library man if he knew who wrote the book, and he replied - that he had heard the name, but had forgotten it; so far as he remembered - the author was a peer of high rank but eccentric habits,” said Edward. - </p> - <p> - “The book represented his eccentric habits, I suppose,” remarked Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “I ran out of the place roaring,” said Edward. “'A peer of high rank but - eccentric habits'—describes you to a T, doesn't it, Cousin Fanny? - Pray what is your lordship's next work to be, and when will it be given to - an eager world?” - </p> - <p> - “Is that all you have to tell?” asked Susy. - </p> - <p> - “By no means. When I heard that the book was thought well of in the - Strand, I thought I would try to get at the opinion of Stanhope Street—you - know Masterman's circulating library there? Well, I boldly entered, and - there, sure enough, was a well-thumbed 'Evelina' in front of the - librarian. I asked for some book that no one had ever heard of, and when - the librarian had told me that he had never been asked for that book - before, I pointed to 'Evelina,' inquiring if it was any good. 'I'm dead - tired on account of its goodness, for I was fool enough to take it to bed - with me last night, and I never closed my eyes in sleep,' he replied. 'I - had it praised to me by a lady of quality, and so too hastily concluded - that it would either send me asleep with its dullness, or shock me with - its ribaldry; but it did neither, unhappily.' Just then a chariot stopped - at the door and another footman entered with the name 'Evelina' written on - a sheet of paper, and off he popped with the full three volumes under his - arm. I waited no longer; but hurried hither to give you my news. I did not - get so far, however, for I was unlucky enough to be overtaken by that vile - downpour of rain, and it did not blow over until your dinner hour was at - hand.” - </p> - <p> - “You are my good angel,” cried Fanny, her cheeks glowing. “We have heard - nothing of all this respecting the book, and, hearing nothing, we took it - for granted that it was dead—dead before it was ever alive. Oh, this - is good news you have brought us, Eddy!” - </p> - <p> - “The best news that has come to us for months!” said Susy. She had turned - her head away and was furtively wiping her eyes. The good news affected - the sympathetic Susy almost as deeply as her disappointment had done. - </p> - <p> - “But I have only told you of my adventures of yesterday,” said Edward. - “To-day I tried the booksellers, beginning with Mr. Davies and - working-round to the Dillys in the Poultry—it cost me three - shillings, for I had to buy something that I did not particularly want in - every shop to excuse my inquiries—and I found 'Evelina' on every - counter. I cannot say that any customer came in to buy it while I was in - any shop, but you may be sure that the book would not be on the counter - unless it was highly thought of. Of course I had need to be very discreet - among the booksellers; I dared not ask who was the author, but I longed to - do so, if only to hear what new story had been made up about it.” - </p> - <p> - “You heard quite enough to make us glad,” cried Susy. “Oh, how foolish we - were to take it for granted that because we had no news of the book, it - was dead! It is alive—greatly alive, it would appear! How could any - news of it have come to us here? We should have gone forth in search of - it.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew that we could depend on your discretion,” said Fanny, laying a - hand on each of his shoulders. “I do not think that I ever thanked you as - I should for the wise way in which you managed the business with Mr. - Lowndes, and now I must not neglect to do so for having acted the part of - a benevolent agent in bringing us such good news about the book.” - </p> - <p> - “Psha! there should be no talk of gratitude and the like between us,” said - he. “There are family ties—I think of the honour of our family. - People already talk of the clever Burneys, but they left you out of the - question, Cousin Fanny, since they only thought of music. But now that you - have shown what you can do in another direction, you must be reckoned with - alongside the others.” - </p> - <p> - “And what about the other branch of the clever Burneys?” said Fanny. - “Don't you think that people will some of these days begin to ask if - Edward Burney, the great painter, is really a brother of the musical - Burneys? I hope they will, dear Edward; I hope that the fame of Edward - Burney, the painter, will go far beyond that of the musical Burneys, as - well as poor Fanny Burney who once wrote a novel.” - </p> - <p> - The young man blushed as Fanny herself would certainly have done if - confronted with the least little compliment. But there was no false shame - about his acceptance of her suggestion. - </p> - <p> - “I mean to become as good a painter as I can, in order to be worthy of the - name of Burney,” said he. “I feel proud of being a Burney—more so - to-day than ever before, and I hope that the rest of the Burney's will - some day look on me as doing credit to our name.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure that they will have every reason to do so,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - When he had gone, Susy gave way to her delight at the news which he had - brought. She was a good deal taller than Fanny, and catching her round the - waist after the manner of the Elizabethan dancer with his partner, she - danced round the table with her, lilting a somewhat breathless pæan. Fanny - herself needed no coaxing to be her partner in this revel. In her jubilant - moments she got rid of the primness which most people associated with her. - She had a wild jig known as “Nancy Dawson,” and she had more than once - found it necessary to get rid of her superfluous spirits through this - medium. She joined in her sister's little whoop at the completion of the - third “lap” of the table, and they both threw themselves breathless on the - sofa. - </p> - <p> - “I knew it,” said Susy between her gasps. “I knew that I could not be - mistaken in believing 'Evelina' to be good—I knew that she would - make her way in the affections of her readers, and I was right—you - see I was right.” - </p> - <p> - “You were right, dear Susy—quite right,” said Fanny. “I do not like - to be too sanguine, but I do believe, from the reports Eddy brought us, - that the book will find plenty of readers. Now that we can think over the - matter in a reasonable way, we must see how foolish we were to expect that - the very day after the book was published people would crowd to buy it; - but now, after six weeks, when Eddy goes in search of news about it, he - brings back a report which is—we had best say for the present no - more than 'quite satisfactory'—that was the bookseller's report - about the sales of the first volume of the padre's 'History'—'quite - satisfactory'—that should be quite satisfactory for the author of - 'Evelina' and her sisters. There is nothing in the book to stir people as - it would if written by Mr. Wilkes, but in its humble way it will, I am now - persuaded, be pronounced 'quite satisfactory.' At any rate, there goes my - sewing for the evening.” - </p> - <p> - She rolled up the strip of linen into a ball and used her hand, after two - false starts, as a battledore, to send it flying across the room within - reach of Susy, who, being more adroit, was able at the first attempt to - return it with both force and precision. Once more Fanny struck it, and - her sister sent it back, but by this time the unequal ball had opened out, - so that it was only by her foot that Fanny could deal with it effectively. - Then, daintily holding up their petticoats, the author of “Evelina” and - Susy Burney played with the thing until once more they were panting and - laughing joyously. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps Fanny had a faint inkling of the symbolism implied by this - treatment of the discarded needlework. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>UT little Miss - Burney had recovered all her primness on the evening when, a week later, - she accompanied her stepmother to partake of tea at the home of the - Barlowes in the Poultry. - </p> - <p> - Young Mr. Barlowe had, for some time after his visit to St. Martin's - Street, brooded over his indiscretion in allowing his impulse at the - moment of saying good night to carry him away so that he pressed Miss - Burney's hand, looking into her eyes with an expression in his own of the - deepest sympathy—rather more than sympathy. He felt that he had been - unduly and indiscreetly hasty in his action. It had been purely impulsive. - He had by no means made up his mind that Miss Burney would make him a - satisfactory wife. His father and mother had, for a long time, thought - very highly of Mrs. Burney, looking on her as a most thrifty and excellent - manager of a household. She had shown herself to be all this and more when - her first husband was alive and they had visited her at Lynn; and she had - proved her capabilities in the same direction since she had married Dr. - Burney. Unfortunately, however, the virtues of a stepmother could not be - depended on to descend to the children of her husband's family, and it was - by no means certain that Miss Burney had made full use of her - opportunities of modelling herself upon her father's second wife. - </p> - <p> - No, he had not quite made up his mind on this subject—the gravest - that had ever occupied his attention, and he remained sleepless for hours, - fearful that he had gone too far in that look and that squeeze. He had - heard of fathers and even brothers waiting upon young men who had acted - toward a daughter or a sister pretty much as he had in regard to Miss - Burney. He had rather a dread of being visited by Miss Burney's brother, - that young naval officer who had boasted of having been educated by a - murderer. Mr. Barlowe thought that a visit from such a young man would be - most undesirable, and for several days he went about his business with - great uneasiness. - </p> - <p> - But when a week had gone by and neither father nor brother had waited upon - him, he began to review his position more indulgently than when he had - previously given it his consideration. He thought more hopefully of Miss - Burney as a wife. Perhaps she might have profited more largely than he had - thought by her daily intercourse with so capable a woman as Mrs. Burney. - At any rate, she was not musical, and that was something in her favour. - Then her stepmother had praised her needlework, and everyone knows that to - be a good sempstress is next to being a good housekeeper. - </p> - <p> - He thought that on the whole she would do. Her brother, Lieutenant Burney, - would naturally spend most of his time at sea. That was a good thing. - Thomas felt that he should hesitate to make any change in his life that - involved a liability of frequent visits from a young man who had been - taught by a murderer. Who could tell what might happen in the case of such - a young man? As for Miss Burney herself, she was, quite apart from her - housewifely qualities, a most estimable young lady—modest and - retiring, as a young woman should be, and very beautiful. To be sure, he - had often heard that beauty was only skin deep, but even assuming that it - did not go any deeper, it had always been highly esteemed by men—none - of them seemed to wish it to be of any greater depth; and it was certain - that a man with a handsome wife was greatly envied—more so even than - a man who was married to a plain woman but a good housewife. Oh, - undoubtedly her beauty commended her to his most indulgent consideration. - He had no objection in the world to be widely envied, if only on account - of his wife's good looks. It never occurred to him that it might be that - some people would think very ordinary a face that seemed to one who was in - love with it extremely lovely. He preserved the precious privilege of a - man to raise up his own standard of beauty and expect all the rest of the - world to acknowledge its supremacy. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he thought that Miss Burney, beauty and all, would suit him, but - still he hesitated in making another call. - </p> - <p> - This was when Mr. Kendal had the honour of waiting upon Mrs. Burney, and - his visit only preceded by a day or two Mrs. Burney's call upon her old - friend, Mrs. Barlowe, in the Poultry; this interchange of courtesies being - speedily followed by an invitation for Mrs. Burney and a stepdaughter to - drink tea with the Barlowe family. - </p> - <p> - “I am taking you with me, Fanny, because you are the eldest and, as should - be, the most sensible of the household,” said Mrs. Burney, explaining—so - far as she thought wise—the invitation on the morning it was - received. “There will be no music at Mrs. Barlowe's, I think, and so you - will have no distracting influence to prevent your forming a just opinion - of my old friends.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not mind in the least the absence of music for one night,” said - Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure of that,” said Mrs. Burney. “Goodness knows we have music - enough here during any day to last us over a whole week. The others could - not live without it, even if it were not your father's profession.” - </p> - <p> - “Without which none of us could live,” remarked Fanny, who had no wish to - be forced into the position of the opponent of music in the household. - </p> - <p> - “Quite right, my dear,” acquiesced the elder lady. “It is a precarious way - of making a living. To my mind there is nothing so satisfactory as a good - commercial business—a merchant with a shop at his back can afford to - laugh at all the world.” - </p> - <p> - “But he usually refrains,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “True; he looks at life with proper seriousness, and without levity. Great - fortunes are the result of serious attention to business. Levity leads to - poverty.” - </p> - <p> - “Except in the case of Mr. Garrick and a few others.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Garrick is certainly an exception. But, then, you must remember that - he was a merchant before he became an actor, and his business habits never - left him. I have heard it said that he got more out of his company for the - salaries he paid than any theatre manager in Europe. But I did not come to - you to talk about Mr. Garrick. I only meant to say that I know you are an - observant girl. You do not merely glance at the surface of things, so I am - sure that you will perceive much to respect in all the members of Mrs. - Barlowe's family.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure they are eminently—respectable, mamma; and I am glad that - you have chosen me to be your companion this evening. I like going among - such people—it is useful.” - </p> - <p> - She stopped short in a way that should have aroused the suspicions of Mrs. - Burney, but that lady was unsuspecting, she was only puzzled. - </p> - <p> - “Useful?” she said interrogatively. - </p> - <p> - Fanny had no mind to explain that she thought herself rather good at - describing people of the Barlowe type, and was ready to submit herself to - more experience of them in case she might be encouraged to write another - novel. But she knew that she would have some difficulty in explaining this - to her stepmother, who herself was an excellent type. - </p> - <p> - “Useful—perhaps I should rather have said 'instructive,'” she - replied, after a little pause. - </p> - <p> - “Instructive, yes; I am glad that you look at our visit so sensibly—I - knew you would do so. Yes, you should learn much of the excellence of - these people even in the short time that we shall be with them. And it is - well that you should remember, my dear Fanny, that you are now quite old - enough to have a house of your own to look after.” - </p> - <p> - It was now Fanny's turn to seem puzzled. - </p> - <p> - “I do not quite see how—I mean why—why—that is, the - connection—is there any connection between——?” - </p> - <p> - “What I mean to say is that if at some time a suitor for your hand should - appear, belonging to a respectable mercantile family, you will know, - without the need of any telling, that your chances of happiness with such - a man are far greater than they would be were you to wed someone whose - means of getting a living were solely the practice of some of the arts, as - they are called—music or painting or the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not doubt that, mamma,” said Fanny demurely. She was beginning to - think that her stepmother was a far better type than she had fancied. - </p> - <p> - And her stepmother was beginning to think that she had never given Fanny - credit for all the good sense she possessed. - </p> - <p> - The six o'clock tea-party in the Poultry was a function that Fanny - Burney's quick pen only could describe as it deserved to be described. All - the time that it was proceeding her fingers were itching to start on it. - She could see Mr. Crisp smiling in that appreciative way that he had, as - he read her smart sentences, every one of them with its little acid - flavour, that remained on the palate of his memory. She was an artist in - character drawing, and she was one of the first to perceive how excellent - was the material for artistic treatment that might be found in the house - of the English tradesman—the superior tradesman who aspired to be - called a merchant. She neglected no opportunity of observing such houses; - it was only when she was daily consorting with people of the highest rank - that she became alarmed lest her descriptions should be accepted as proof - that she was in the habit of meeting on terms of intimacy the types of - English bourgeois which she had drawn. - </p> - <p> - The ground-floor of Mr. Barlowe's house in the Poultry was given over to - his business, which, as has already been mentioned, was that of a vendor - of gold and silver lace. The walls carried shelves from floor to ceiling, - and every shelf had its line of boxes enclosing samples of an abundant and - valuable stock. The large room at the back was a sort of counting-house - parlour, where Mr. Barlowe sat during the day with his son and an elderly - clerk, ready for the customers, whose arrival was announced by the ringing - of a spring.-bell. The scales for the weighing of the bullion and the - worked gold and silver wire were suspended above, the broad counter in the - shop, and from a hook between the shelves there hung a number of ruled - forms with spaces for oz., dwt. and grs. On these were entered the - particulars of the material supplied to the workmen who made up the lace - as required. The upper part of the house was the home of the family, the - spacious dining-room being in the front, its convex windows overhanging - the busy thoroughfare. Opening off this apartment was an equally large - drawingroom, and the furniture of both was of walnut made in the reign of - Queen Anne, with an occasional piece of Dutch marqueterie of the heavier - character favoured by the craftsmen of the previous sovereigns. The rooms - themselves were panelled with oak and lighted by candles in brass sconces. - </p> - <p> - It seemed to Fanny, on entering the diningroom, that every seat was - occupied. But she soon saw that there were several vacant chairs. It was - the imposing row of figures confronting her that made the room seem full, - although only six persons were present besides young Mr. Barlowe and his - parents, who met Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughter at the door. Fanny - greeted Thomas at once, and she could see that his eyes were beaming, but - with a rather more subdued light than shone in them on that night when he - had pressed her hand. - </p> - <p> - She was conscious, at the same time, of the approach of a big elderly - gentleman, wearing a well-ordered wig, evidently newly curled, with a - small lady clad in expensive and expansive black silk by his side. He was - holding the tips of her fingers and they advanced in step as though they - were starting to dance a minuet. - </p> - <p> - They stood in front of her and her mother, while Thomas, moving to one - side, said, making a low bow: - </p> - <p> - “Miss Burney, I have the honour to present to you my father, Mr. Barlowe, - and my mother, Mrs. Barlowe. Mrs. Burney, madam, you are, I know, already - acquainted with my parents.” - </p> - <p> - The little lady curtsied and her husband made a fine shopkeeper's bow, - first to Fanny, then to Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - The formality of the presentation was overwhelming to poor Fanny. She - could feel herself blushing, and she certainly was more overcome than she - had been when Count Orloff, the Russian, visited the house in St. Martin's - Street and she gazed with awe upon the thumb that had, it was rumoured, - pressed too rigidly the wind-pipe of the unfortunate Peter. All that she - could do was to try to hide her confusion by the deepest of curtsies. - </p> - <p> - “We are sensible of the honour you have done us, madam,” said Mr. Barlowe - when he had recovered himself—he was addressing Fanny, ignoring for - the moment the presence of Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Our son has spoken to us of you with great admiration, Miss Burney,” said - the little lady. “But I protest that when I look at you I feel as King - Solomon did when he saw the Queen of Sheba, the half has not been told.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, madam, you flatter me,” said Fanny, trying to put some force into a - voice that her shyness had rendered scarcely audible. - </p> - <p> - Her stepmother, perceiving how she was suffering, hastened to greet in a - much less formal way their host and hostess; but she had considerable - difficulty in bringing them down to her level. It seemed that they had - prepared some high phrases of welcome for their younger visitor only, and - they had no mind that they should be wasted. - </p> - <p> - “My stepdaughter is of a retiring nature,” said Mrs. Burney. “She is quite - unused to such ceremony as you honour her with. Well, Martha, how is the - rheumatism?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>RS. BARLOWE did - not seem half pleased to be brought down so from the high parallels of - etiquette among which she had been soaring. But she had lost her place, - and before she could recover herself, Fanny had slipped behind her - stepmother. - </p> - <p> - “Ask me all about her rheumatism, madam, for 'tis me that knows more about - it than her,” said Mr. Barlowe, with a jerk of his thumb and a wink in the - direction of his wife. The homely enquiry of Mrs. Burney had clearly - forced him to throw off all ceremony and treat the visit of Miss Burney as - an ordinary domestic incident. - </p> - <p> - His wife would have none of this, however; she said in tones of stiff - reproof: - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Barlowe, you forget that the young lady has not been presented to - Brother Jonathan or the Alderman. Thomas, it is for you to usher the lady - into the presence of your uncles and aunts. Pray be not remiss, Thomas. - There is no excuse for such an omission.” - </p> - <p> - “I was only waiting until you had finished, ma'am,” said Thomas. - </p> - <p> - “I have finished,” she replied, with a stiff nod. “To be sure, 'twas my - intention to express, in what I trust would be appropriate terms, our - happiness in welcoming Miss Burney to our humble home; a few phrases of - this sort were not thought out of place when I was young; but it appears - that your father knows better what is <i>comme il faut</i> and <i>haut ton</i> - than me. Bring the young lady forward, Thomas.” - </p> - <p> - The younger Thomas looked dubiously from his mother to his father. He was - uncommonly like an actor who had forgotten his part, Fanny thought—he - had no initiative. Fanny herself was more at home than any of the - household. While the young man hesitated, she walked up the room as if she - meant to present herself to the six figures that sat in a row at the - farther end. - </p> - <p> - Thomas was beside her in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “I ask your pardon, Miss Burney,” he said. “But I knew that mamma had at - least two more welcomes for your ear, and I feared that she had forgot - them. Do not you think that mamma speaks well? Perhaps it would be unjust - to judge her by what she said—she only made a beginning. You will be - delighted when you are going away.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny felt that this prediction was certain to be realized. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, mamma's good-byes are as well worded as her greetings,” he - continued; “a clergyman could scarcely better them; and I hope——” - </p> - <p> - But now they were face to face with the six figures sitting in a row, and - as his conversation was only designed as an accompaniment to the march of - Fanny to this position, there was no reason to continue it. - </p> - <p> - The figures were of two men and four ladies. The former were middle-aged - and bore an expression of gravity that a judge might have envied. Their - dress was sombre, but of the finest material possible to buy, and each of - them was painfully conscious of being in unusual garments. Of course, - Fanny saw in a moment that they were merchants wearing the garments in - which they attended church. - </p> - <p> - Of the four ladies, three were elderly and the fourth much younger. They - wore their hair built up in a way that suggested that they desired to - follow the fashion but had not the courage to complete the scheme with - which they had started. The long and thin and highly-coloured feathers - which crowned the stunted structures on their heads gave them the - appearance of a picture of unfamiliar birds. Their dresses were extremely - glossy and of an expensive material, but there was an eccentric note about - all that made them seem not impressive as they should have been, but - almost ludicrous. The youngest lady in the row showed unmistakable signs - of being given to simpering. She had gone much further than the others of - the party in the architecture of her hair, but that was possibly because - the material at her command was more abundant. The dressing of her hair, - however, was by no means in sympathy with the style of her garments, the - latter being simple and indeed rather too girlish for the wearer, who - looked between twenty-five and thirty. - </p> - <p> - It was an extraordinary ordeal that confronted Miss Burney, for young Mr. - Barlowe began presenting her to the group, starting from his left and - working slowly to the last of the row on the right. There was she with the - young man standing close to her, but sideways, doing the formalities of - presenting her, while his father and mother stood behind to see that he - omitted nothing. Mrs. Burney, a little way apart, was alternately smiling - and frowning at the ceremonial. She could see, from observing the effect - that the whole business was producing upon Fanny, that the Barlowes were - defeating their own ends, assuming that they desired Fanny to become a - member of their family. These absurd formalities were, Mrs. Burney knew, - quite out of place in a private house. But what could she do to cut them - short? She had made an attempt before, and it was received in anything but - a friendly spirit by their hostess, so that she did not feel inclined to - interfere again: the thing must run its course, she felt, reflecting upon - it as though it were a malady. There was no means of curtailing it. - </p> - <p> - And its course was a slow one for the unhappy victim. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Burney, I have the honour to present my aunt on my mother's side—Mrs. - Alderman Kensit,” droned Thomas, and the lady on the extreme left rose at - the mention of her name and made a carefully prepared curtsey, while the - sky-blue feather in her hair jerked awkwardly forward until the end almost - touched her nose. - </p> - <p> - “Proud to meet Miss Burney, I vow,” said she as she rose; and anyone could - see from the expression on her face that she was satisfied that she had - gone far in proving her claim to be looked on as a lady of fashion. She - had never said “I vow” before, and she knew that it had startled her - relations. She felt that she could not help that. Miss Burney would - understand that she was face to face with someone who had mingled with the - best. - </p> - <p> - “And this is Aunt Maria, father's sister, Mrs. Hutchings,” came the voice - of Thomas, and the second lady bobbed up with quivering feathers and made - a well-practised curtsey. She did not trust herself to speak. Having heard - her neighbour's “I vow,” she knew that she could not go farther. She would - not compete with such an exponent of the mysteries of <i>haut ton</i>. - </p> - <p> - “And this is Alderman Kensit of the Common Council; he is my uncle on my - mother's side—mother is a Kensit, you know,” resumed Thomas. “And - this is Aunt Jelicoe. My mother's sister married Mr. Jelicoe, of Tooley - Street. And this is my cousin, Miss Jelicoe. I am sure that you will like - Miss Jelicoe, Miss Burney, she is so young.” - </p> - <p> - The youngest lady of the group simpered with great shyness, concealing - half her face with her fan and holding her head to one side, and then - pretending to be terribly fluttered. Her curtsey was made in a flurry, and - with a little exclamation of “Oh, la!” - </p> - <p> - Another uncle only remained to be presented; he turned out to be Mr. - Jonathan Barlowe, and he was, Thomas whispered half audibly to Fanny, in - trade in the Indies. - </p> - <p> - It was all over, curtsies and bows and exclamations—echoes of the - world of fashion and elsewhere—she had been presented to every - member of the row and they had resumed their seats, while she hastened to - the side of her stepmother, hot and breathless. She had never before been - subjected to such an ordeal. She had gladly agreed to accompany her - stepmother to this house, for she hoped thereby to increase her - observation of a class of people who repaid her study of them; but she had - no notion that she should have to vacate her place as an Observer and take - up that of a Participator. She was to pay dearly for her experience. - </p> - <p> - She was burning, her stepmother could see; and she believed that this was - due to her mortification on noticing that the dress of the ladies was - infinitely more expensive than hers. That would be enough to make any - young woman with ordinary susceptibilities indignant, she felt; and she - herself, having had an opportunity of giving some attention to the - expensive silks—she could appraise their value to a penny—was - conscious of some chagrin on this account. She was almost out of patience - with her old friend, Martha Barlowe, for making all this parade. The - foolish woman had done so, she knew, in order to impress Miss Burney and - to give her to understand that she was becoming associated with no - ordinary family. But Mrs. Burney had seen enough since she had left Lynn - for London to know that Fanny would not be the least impressed except in - the direction of boredom by such an excess of ceremony in the house of a - tradesman. She had heard Fanny's comment upon the gorgeous chariot which - Sir Joshua Reynolds had set up, and she could not doubt what Fanny's - opinion would be regarding this simple tea to which she had consented to - go at the Barlowes' house. - </p> - <p> - Fanny had hurried to her side as soon as she had passed the row of uncles - and aunts. She thought that the girl seemed overcome by the tedium of the - formalities; but in a few minutes she saw that Fanny was on the verge of - laughter. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney could not say whether she would rather that her charge became - moody or hilarious. - </p> - <p> - “Eight separate curtsies,” murmured Fanny. “If there are to be the same - number going away we should begin at once.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney thought it better not to reprove her for her flippancy just at - that moment. She condoned it with a smile. - </p> - <p> - Only a minute were the Burneys left to themselves. Mr. Barlowe, the elder, - walked solemnly up to them. - </p> - <p> - “Going on nicely, eh?” he said in a confidential way to Mrs. Burney. - “Everything being done decently and in order, madam. There has been no - cause of offence up to the present, though there are three persons in that - row who are as ready to see an offence where none is meant as a bunch of - flax to break into flame when a spark falls on it. The young lady is - discreet; if she had spoken to any one of them and not to the others, - there would have been a flare-up. The touchy ones belong to my wife's - family. She was a Kensit, you know.” - </p> - <p> - He made this explanation behind his hand and in a whisper; he saw that his - wife and son had been in earnest consultation together over some vexed - question, and now they were hovering about, waiting to catch his eye. - </p> - <p> - “I spoke too soon,” he said. “Something has gone astray, and the blame - will fall on me.” - </p> - <p> - They hovered still nearer, and when he caught his eye, Thomas, the - younger, stepped up to his father, saying something in his ear. Mrs. - Barlowe went on hovering a yard or two away. - </p> - <p> - “That would never do,” said her husband, evidently in reply to some - remonstrance offered by young Thomas. “Never. The whole of the Kensits - would take offence.” Then he turned again to Mrs. Burney, saying: - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Burney, madam, my son has just reminded me that I have been remiss - in doing my duty. It was left to me to present you to our relations at the - head of the room, but I failed to do so, my mind being too full of the - pretty curtsies of Miss. But I am ready to make amends now.” - </p> - <p> - But Mrs. Burney had observed a little twinkle in Fanny's eye; she had no - notion of going through the ordeal to which Fanny had been subjected, - though the spectacle would doubtless have diverted Fanny hugely. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir,” she said quickly to the waiting gentleman, “Nay, sir; you have - forgotten that the presentation of a lady's daughter is equivalent to the - presentation of the lady herself.” - </p> - <p> - “What, is that so?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Rest assured that it is,” said she, “and an excellent rule it is. It - saves a repetition of a formality that is now frequently omitted in the - private houses of simple folk like ourselves. Lend me your arm, sir. I - shall soon make myself at home with Martha's relations.” - </p> - <p> - She did not give him a chance of discussing the point with her; she saw - that he was about to state his objections to the rule she had invented for - her own saving, and she was already in advance of him in approaching the - row of figures on the chairs against the wall. Fanny heard her greeting - them in turn without any formality, and once again Thomas, the younger, - was by her side. - </p> - <p> - His mother was still hovering, glancing suspiciously, first at the young - couple, and then at the hasty proceedings of her friend, Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “It was unlike father to make so grave an omission, Miss Burney,” he said, - apologetically. - </p> - <p> - “I hope that no harm will come of it,” said Fanny. “I am afraid that you - found us very homely folk at our little house when you did us the honour - of visiting us,” she added. - </p> - <p> - He waved his hand indulgently, smiling over her head. - </p> - <p> - “I am always ready to take my place in such a circle,” said he, “though - all the time I have a pretty full knowledge of the exchange of courtesies - which should mark the introduction of a stranger. Oh, yes, I do not mind - meeting some people as an equal, if they do not presume upon me - afterwards. Your brother has gone back to sea, I hear?” he added. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we shall not see him again for two years,” she replied. “Did he - presume upon you, sir? If so, I will take it upon me to offer you a humble - apology.” - </p> - <p> - “I was considering if it might be possible that he was himself mistaken in - regard to the ear-trumpet,” said Thomas. - </p> - <p> - “Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet? What of that?” - </p> - <p> - “Lieutenant Burney told me that it was a newly invented musical - instrument, blown by the ear instead of the mouth. It was not until I had - spoken of it to my father that I learned that the instrument was an - ear-trumpet used by the deaf. I had never seen one before. I wonder if - your brother intentionally deceived me.” - </p> - <p> - “My brother is an officer in His Majesty's Fleet, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “What does that mean, miss?” - </p> - <p> - “It means that he would resent an accusation of falsehood, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Pray do not misunderstand me; I would shrink from accusing him of any - conduct unworthy of an officer and a gentleman. But I was certainly - deceived in fancying that the ear-trumpet was a musical instrument.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny made no reply. Her attention was directed to the entrance of two - servants, one bearing a large urn, the other a dish on which lay an - immense ham. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you have an appetite, Miss Burney,” said young Thomas. “If so, you - will be able to stay it at that table, I'll warrant. Tea and cake may be - well enough for such as dine at four, but for us, who are three hours - earlier, something more substantial is needed. You will find that there is - no stint in this house.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny had an idea that the young man meant to suggest that she would find - the tea-table at the Poultry to make a striking contrast to that of St. - Martin's Street; and she was not mistaken. - </p> - <p> - Neither was he. A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined. When Fanny - was formally conducted to a seat at the table by the side of young Mr. - Barlowe, she found herself confronting such a variety of eatables as was - absolutely bewildering. The first glance that she had at the dishes had a - stunning effect upon her. Her impression was one of repletion; she felt - that that glance was by itself equivalent to a hearty meal—a heavy - meal. She felt inclined to turn her head away. - </p> - <p> - But a moment afterwards she became alert. Here was food—ample food - for an amusing letter to Mr. Crisp, and, later, for a chapter in a - possible novel. She would let nothing escape her notice. - </p> - <p> - She settled down to observe everything; and her stepmother, sitting - opposite to her, knew from the twinkle in her eyes, that Thomas's suit was - hopeless. She had heard that music is the food of love. She was not sure - of this; but she was convinced that butcher's meat was not. That was where - she saw that Thomas had made his mistake. He had placed too much - dependence upon that great ham. He carved that ham with all the solemnity - that should accompany such a rite, not knowing that he was slicing away - all his chances of commending himself to Fanny. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was an - interesting experience for Miss Burney, the writer of novels and the - writer of letters. She had never sat down with such a company. They all - had their table peculiarities. One uncle took ale for his tea, and drained - a tankard before eating anything. The other claimed a particular cup on - account of its capacity, and he held it to his mouth with one hand, while - he passed a second down the table to Miss Burney, only spilling a spoonful - or two in effecting the transit. One of the aunts refused to eat anything - except cake, explaining, in order to relieve the anxiety of the company, - the details of an acute attack of spleen from which she had recently - suffered. The spleen and its humours formed the subject of a fitful - conversation at her end of the table. - </p> - <p> - But it was plain that everyone understood that the company had not come to - the table for conversation, but for food. They did not converse, but that - was not the same as saying the room was silent. There was a constant - clanging of cups, a constant clatter of platters, a loud and insistent - demand on the part of Thomas, the elder, and Thomas, the younger, for - their guests to say what they would like to eat. This was followed by the - handing of plates up and down the table, the sound of steel knives being - sharpened, and the jingle of spoons in saucers. The Alderman, who was, of - course, an authority on the etiquette of banquets, was formulating an - elaborate explanation of the mistake that had been made in the service of - the cold sirloin in advance of the venison pasty; and all the time his - neighbour was striking the haft of his knife upon the table with a request - for someone to pass him the pickles. - </p> - <p> - All the ceremonial veneer had plainly left the company the moment they - seated themselves, and they addressed themselves to the business of - feeding. They had healthy appetites—even the lady who had had a - recent attack of the spleen. She would eat nothing but cake, but she did - eat cake with confidence. There was no sort of cake that she did not try, - and her cup was kept in constant circulation from the tea-maker to herself—four - times she had it refilled, Fanny could not help noticing, and she wondered - what effect such a diet would have upon her capricious spleen. Fanny had - an inward hint or two that she had observed quite enough of the party to - serve her purpose, and she began to count the moments until she might be - able to steal away without offending the susceptibilities of her - over-hospitable host and hostess. She hoped that her stepmother would - listen to her plea of weariness and take her back to St. Martin's Street—to - the music of St. Martin's Street—to the quiet of St. Martin's - Street. - </p> - <p> - The most solid hour of her life had, however, to elapse before her - fellow-guests pushed their plates (empty) away from them, and Mrs. Barlowe - said: - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid you have made a poor tea, Miss Burney; but if you cannot be - persuaded to have a slice of ham—my son's ham, I call it, for 'tis - he who picks it out of the curer's stock whenever we have a party—if - you still refuse it, we might go to the drawing-room.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny was on her feet in an instant. But not sooner than Alderman Kensit. - That gentleman, rapping with the haft of his knife on the table, stood - with a sheaf of notes in his hand and clearing his throat with great - deliberation, started upon a speech in eulogy of Mr. Barlowe's merits as a - host and as a merchant, and droned away for a good half-hour in praise of - the virtue of hospitality, his text being on the possibility of - entertaining angels unawares. Of course, it was only natural that, having - got upon this track and with the word “angels” in his mind, he should go - on to say that it was quite possible for a hospitably-inclined person to - entertain an angel and be fully cognizant of the fact, and so forth: in a - speech of well-worn platitudes such a suggestion seemed inevitable; and - all eyes were directed to poor Fanny when it seemed impending. It was a - great disappointment to everybody—except Fanny and her stepmother—when - the orator skipped the expected phrases, and went on to describe a - business visit which he had once made to Spain, apropos of nothing in - particular. His account of this feat was familiar to all his relations, - but they listened to him without a murmur, only wondering when he would - come to the angel and Miss Burney. - </p> - <p> - He never came to the angel and Miss Burney, for it so happened that he had - turned over two pages of his notes when he should have only turned over - one. The omitted platitude was on the first, and he failed to notice the - absence of a platitudinal sequence in the heads of his discourse which he - had jotted down during the day. - </p> - <p> - When he had seated himself, Mr. Barlowe, the elder, got upon his feet, but - he had no notes, and not being a member of the Common Council, he was not - a past-master of commonplaces. He was only dull for about five minutes - instead of half an hour. He had risen with a view to repair his relative's - omission of that obvious point about entertaining an angel by appointment - in the shape of Miss Burney, but he lost himself before he managed to - deliver it; it swam out of his ken with several other points the moment he - got upon his legs. - </p> - <p> - Fully recognizing how narrow was the escape she had had, Fanny was - resolved not to run any further chances. She was looking imploringly - toward Mrs. Burney, trying to catch that lady's eye, but without success, - and she was about to walk round the table to her side and to beg her to - come away, when Mrs. Barlowe moved up to her. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Burney,” she said, “I am afraid you did not get anything you liked - at the table: I saw that you scarce ate more than a morsel of cake.” - </p> - <p> - “I assure you, madam, I had enough,” said Fanny. “Your cake was so tasty I - had no mind to go away from it in search of other delicacies.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you liked it. I made it with my own hands,” said the hostess. - “That cake was ever a favourite with Mr. Barlowe and my son. It pleases me - to know that you and my son have tastes in common. He is a good son, is - Thomas, though I say it that shouldn't; and he is making his way to the - front by treading in his father's footsteps. Mr. Barlowe is not a Common - Councilman, but his father, Thomas's grandfather, was for a year - Deputy-Master of the Wyre Drawers' Company—his certificate still - hangs on the wall of the drawing-room. You must see it. Thomas, you will - show Miss Burney your grandfather's certificate as Deputy-Master.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like very much to see it,” said Fanny quickly, “but I fear that - mamma will wish me to accompany her home at once. My sisters are alone - to-night and they will feel lonely: we promised to return early.” - </p> - <p> - “I will get Mrs. Burney's permission for you—so good an opportunity - should not be thrown away,” said Mrs. Barlowe, giving the latter part of - her sentence an unmistakable inflection as she looked toward her son and - smiled. - </p> - <p> - She had gone round the table before Fanny could think of another excuse - for evading the visit to the drawing-room in the company of Mr. Barlowe, - the younger. - </p> - <p> - And Mr. Barlowe, the younger, was still by her side. - </p> - <p> - “Doesn't Uncle Kensit make a fine speech?” he inquired. “He is always - ready. I have heard it said that he speaks longer than any Alderman in the - Council.” - </p> - <p> - “I can quite believe it,” replied Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Tis a wonderful gift,” said he—“to be always ready to say what one - is expected to say. Though I did think that when he referred to the angels - he meant to—to—go farther—I mean nearer-nearer home.” - </p> - <p> - Thomas might himself have gone farther had his mother not returned at that - moment from her diplomatic errand. - </p> - <p> - “I have prevailed upon Mrs. Burney to let you stay to see the - certificate,” said she. “Thomas, you will conduct Miss Burney to the - drawing-room.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure that mamma would wish to see the certificate also,” said Fanny. - “I will ask her.” - </p> - <p> - “There is no need, Miss Burney: we shall all join you later,” said Mrs. - Barlowe. - </p> - <p> - Poor Fanny saw that there was no use trying to evade the attentions of - Thomas, and as she walked toward the folding doors by his side she was - conscious of a silence in the room and of all eyes being turned upon her—smiles—such - knowing smiles—and a smirk from the young lady. Fanny was aware of - all, and what she was too short-sighted to see she was able to imagine. - She was burning at the thought of all those people gazing at her in - silence. It was the most trying moment of her life. - </p> - <p> - She passed through the door which Thomas opened for her and closed behind - her. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad to have this opportunity, Miss Burney,” said he, when they were - alone in the big half-lighted room. - </p> - <p> - “You must hold your grandfather's certificate in high esteem, sir,” said - she. “I suppose so high a place as he reached is but rarely attained by - mortals. You will have to guide me to the document: I have very poor - eyesight, as you must have noticed.” - </p> - <p> - “It is a great drawback,” said he. “But we will not talk about - grandfather's certificate just yet, if you please: I have something to say - to you that will, I hope, interest you even more than that.” - </p> - <p> - “You surprise me, sir,” said Fanny icily. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, I hope that you know me well enough not to be surprised by all that - I have to reveal to you now that the opportunity has been given to me. - Have you no inkling of what I am about to say, Miss Burney?” - </p> - <p> - “Not the least, sir. I expected only to see that relic of your - grandfather's honourable career.” - </p> - <p> - “What, after meeting Uncle Kensit and Aunt Jelicoe, you do not feel - interested in their families?” said he, in a tone of genuine surprise. - </p> - <p> - Fanny looked at him before she spoke, and there certainly was more than a - note of casual interest in her voice as she said: - </p> - <p> - “Their families? Oh, I should like above all things to hear about their - families.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew that you would,” said he, apparently much relieved. (She wondered - if the relief that she felt was as apparent as his.) “Yes, I felt certain - that you would welcome this opportunity of learning something about the - Kensits and the Jelicoes. They are remarkable people, as you cannot have - failed to perceive.” - </p> - <p> - He made a pause—-a pause that somehow had an interrogative tendency. - She felt that he meant it to be filled up by her. - </p> - <p> - “They are remarkable people—very remarkable,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “We are very fortunate in all our relations, Miss Burney,” said he with - great solemnity. “But, of course, Uncle Kensit stands high above them all - in force of character. A great man indeed is Alderman Kensit—a - member of the Haberdashers' and Grocers' Companies as well as the City - Council, and yet quite ready to meet ordinary persons as fellow-men. He - had heard the name of your friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds, though not the - name of Dr. Burney, and he was kind enough to say that he would have no - objection in the world to meet either of these gentlemen. That shows you - what sort of man he is—his fine, simple nature. 'If Dr. Burney or - Sir Joshua Reynolds were duly presented to me, I should feel it my duty to - be civil to him '—those were his exact words.” - </p> - <p> - Once more there was an interrogative pause. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps they may be fortunate enough to meet him some day,” was all Fanny - could trust herself to say. - </p> - <p> - “I would not say so much to them—he is very busy just now,” said - Thomas hastily. “It would have to be arranged with care and thought—I - would not like them to be disappointed. But if it would please you, I - daresay a meeting could be brought about; meantime, I would not raise up - any false hopes on the matter, if I were you.” - </p> - <p> - “You may depend on my preserving the strictest secrecy, Mr. Barlowe,” said - Fanny. “I should think that I might even discipline myself to forget that - such a person as Alderman Kensit existed.” - </p> - <p> - “That would perhaps be the safest course to pursue,” said he thoughtfully, - and with an air of prudence that made him for the moment the subject of a - description after Fanny's own heart. She felt that she could fool this - young man as easily as her brother had fooled him. Surely he was made to - be fooled, with his solemn airs and his incapacity to distinguish what is - worthy from what is pompous. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she continued, “Dr. Burney has had it intimated to him since the - publication of his 'History' that the King was desirous of talking to him - at Windsor, and I know that Sir Joshua is being visited daily by the - Duchess of Devonshire and the Duchess of Ancaster, and it would be a great - pity if my father were forced to write excusing himself to His Majesty on - account of having to meet Alderman—Alderman—I protest that I - have already forgotten the gentleman's name—nay, do not tell it to - me; I might be tempted to boast of having met him, and if I did so in Sir - Joshua's presence, his beautiful Duchesses would be forlorn when they - found that he had hurried away on the chance of meeting the Alderman. And - now, sir, I think that I shall return to Mrs. Burney.” - </p> - <p> - “But I have not told you half of what I can tell about our family,” he - cried. “I have said nothing about my aunts—I have four aunts and - eleven cousins. You would surely like to hear of my cousins. They do not - all live in London. I have three as far away as Lewes; their name is - Johnson. My mother's youngest sister married a Johnson, as you may have - heard. I believe that some objection was raised to the match at first, but - it turned out quite satisfactory.” - </p> - <p> - “It is pleasant to know that; and so, sir, as we have come to this point, - don't you think that we had better adjourn our conference?” said Fanny. - “It would be doing the Johnson family a grave injustice were you to - attempt to describe their virtues within the time that is left to us, and - that would be the greatest catastrophe of all. Besides, I came hither all - unprepared for these revelations. If you had hinted at what was in store - for me I would, of course, have disciplined myself—forewarned is - forearmed, you know.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Burney had received many a lesson from Mr. Garrick, from the days - when he had come to entertain her in the nursery, in the art of fooling, - and she was now quite capable of holding her own when she found herself in - the presence of so foolable a person as this egregious young man. But the - game was apt to become wearisome at the close of an evening when she had - suffered much, and when the subject of her raillery had shown himself to - be incapable even of suspecting her of practising on him. - </p> - <p> - “But there is Aunt Jelicoe; I should like to tell you something of Aunt - Jelicoe,” pleaded Thomas. “Without any of the advantages of her parents, - Aunt Jelicoe—and—oh, I have something more to say to you—not - about them—about ourselves—you and me—I was nearly - forgetting—you will stay——” - </p> - <p> - “One cannot remember everything, Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny, with her hand - on the knob of the door. “You have done very well, I think, in remembering - so much as you have told me. As for ourselves—you have quite - convinced me of my own insignificance—and yours also, sir. You would - be doing us a grave injustice were you to speak of us so soon after your - estimable relations.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you are right,” said he, after a few moments of frowning thought. - “Yes. I see now that it might have been wiser if I had begun with - ourselves and then——” - </p> - <p> - Fanny had turned the handle. She re-entered the dining-room, and the - moment that she appeared silence fell upon the company, and once again she - was conscious of many eyes gazing at her and of horrid smiles and a smirk. - That was another ordeal for the shy little Miss Burney—it was an - evening of ordeals. - </p> - <p> - She walked straight across the room to her stepmother. - </p> - <p> - “I am ready to go away now,” she said. “We have never stayed at any house - so long when we only came for tea. I am tired to death.” - </p> - <p> - She took care, of course, that Mrs. Burney only should hear her; and Mrs. - Burney, being well aware that Fanny was not one to complain unless with - ample cause, charitably interposed between her and Mrs. Barlowe, whom she - saw bearing down upon her from the other side of the room. - </p> - <p> - “Fanny and I will say our good-night to you now, my dear Martha,” she - said. “You have treated us far too kindly. That must be our excuse for - staying so long. When people drop in to tea they do not, as a rule, stop - longer than an hour, as you know. But you overwhelmed us.” - </p> - <p> - “I was hoping—” began Mrs. Barlowe, trying to get on to Fanny, but - by the adroitness of Mrs. Burney, not succeeding. “I was hoping—you - know what I was hoping—we were all hoping—expecting—they - were in the drawing-room long enough.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney gave her a confidential look, which she seemed to interpret - easily enough. She replied by a confidential nod—the nod of one who - understands a signal. - </p> - <p> - “Mum it shall be, then,” she whispered. “Not a word will come from me, - simply good-night; but we could all have wished—never mind, Thomas - will tell us all.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney allowed her to pass on to Fanny, having obtained her promise - not to bother the girl—that was how Mrs. Burney framed the promise - in her own mind—and Mrs. Barlowe kept faith with her, and even - persuaded Alderman Kensit, who was approaching them slowly with a sheaf of - notes in his hand, to defer their delivery in the form of a speech until - the young woman had gone. - </p> - <p> - And thus the visitors from St. Martin's Street were able to escape going - through the formality of taking leave of all the party. They shook hands - only with their host and hostess and their son, curtseying very politely - to the company of relations. - </p> - <p> - “They are warm-hearted people, but their weakness for ceremony and the - like is foolish enough,” said Mrs. Burney to Fanny, when they were safe - within the hackney carriage. - </p> - <p> - Fanny laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, indeed, there is no harm in any of them,” she said. “They may be a - little foolish in thinking that the Poultry is St. James's Palace or - Buckingham House. The only one among them who is an arrant fool is the - son. You saw how his mother made it up that he should lead me into the - other room?” - </p> - <p> - “It was maladroitly done indeed. What had he to say to you when he got you - there, I wonder?” - </p> - <p> - “He had nothing to say to me except that his uncles were second in all the - virtues and all the talents to no man in town, and that his aunts and - cousins—but he did not get so far in his praise of his aunts and - cousins; I fled. Oh, did you see him cut slices off the ham?” - </p> - <p> - Fanny laughed quite pleasantly, with a consciousness of having at her - command the material on which to found a scene that would set her sisters - shrieking. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if Mr. Garrick had but seen him carve that ham!” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “I wish that Mr. Garrick would give all his attention to his own affairs - and leave us to manage ours in our own way,” said Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “What? Why, what had Mr. Garrick to do with our visit to——” - </p> - <p> - “'Twas Mr. Garrick who continued his fooling of Mr. Kendal, sending him - all over the town trying to make matches. He believes that he is under a - debt of gratitude to Mr. Garrick and your father for the happiness he - enjoys with his bride.” - </p> - <p> - “And he suggested that a match might be made between someone in St. - Martins Street and someone in the Poultry? But how does Mr. Kendal come to - be acquainted with the Barlowes?” - </p> - <p> - “His wife was a Johnson before she married her first husband, and the - Johnsons are closely connected with the Barlowes.” - </p> - <p> - “Young Mr. Barlowe was just coming to the family history of the Johnsons - when I interrupted him.” - </p> - <p> - “Was he coming to any other matter that concerned you more closely, think - you?” - </p> - <p> - Fanny laughed again, only much longer this time than before. She had to - wipe her eyes before she could answer. - </p> - <p> - “Dear mamma,” she said, “you would laugh as heartily if you had seen him - when he suddenly recollected that in his eagerness to make me acquainted - with the glories of the Kensits and the abilities of the Johnsons, he had - neglected the object of his excursion to that room with my poor self, - until it was too late.” - </p> - <p> - “I doubt it,” said Mrs. Burney. “I do not laugh at incidents of that sort. - I lose patience when I hear of a young man neglecting his chances when - they are offered to him. But had he ever a chance with you, Fanny?” - </p> - <p> - “Not the remotest, dear mamma. If he had remembered to speak in time, and - if he had spoken with all the eloquence of his admirable uncle, the - Alderman, he would not have succeeded. If Thomas Barlowe were the last man - in the world I should e'en die an old maid.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a foolish thing for you to say. You may die an old maid for that. - But indeed when I saw young Mr. Barlowe in his home, I perceived that he - was not for you. I could not see you a member of that family, worthy - though they may be.” - </p> - <p> - “I think if a girl loves a young man with all her heart she will agree to - marry him, however worthy may be his family,” said Fanny. “But I am not - that girl, and young Mr. Barlowe is not that man.” - </p> - <p> - “I daresay that is how you feel,” said the elder lady. “But you must not - forget, Fanny, that you are no longer a girl; it is quite time that you - had a house of your own.” - </p> - <p> - “That is true, dear mamma, but for the present I am happy in living in - your house, and I ask for nothing better than to be allowed to stay in - your service.” - </p> - <p> - “That is all very well, but——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, do not introduce that 'but'—life would be thoroughly happy if - it were not for its 'buts.' Here we are in Leicester Fields. I feel as if - I should like a roast apple for supper, to put a pleasant taste in my - mouth at the close of the longest day I can remember.” - </p> - <p> - They entered the parlour on the ground floor, and found Lottie and Susy - roasting apples on the hearth, while Dr. Burney sat in his chair reading. - </p> - <p> - “I did not expect you back so soon,” said Mrs. Burney to her husband. - </p> - <p> - “I did not mean to return for another hour,” said he, “but Sir Joshua left - early and brought me with him in his coach. He cut his evening short in - order to get back to a book which he affirms is the best he has read since - Fielding.” - </p> - <p> - “It would have to be a good book to take the attention of Sir Joshua,” - said Mrs. Burney. “Did you hear what was its name?” - </p> - <p> - “It is called 'Evelina,' I believe,” replied Dr. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “A novel, of course. I remember hearing the name some time ago,” said his - wife. “'Evelina'; yes, it has a familiar sound. I cannot recollect at this - moment who it was that mentioned it to me. I believe I told you of it at - the time, Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not remember your telling me that anyone had mentioned it to you; - but I am nearly sure that that was the name of the novel advertised in the - <i>Chronicle</i>—you read out all about it after breakfast one - morning,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “You are quite right—that was how I got the name in my mind. Now you - can have your roasted apple, child. But if you are hungry you have only - yourself to thank for it. Don't bend so over the fire, Susy; your face is - frightfully fed—so, for that matter, is Lottie's. No, thanks, you - need not roast one for me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OME weeks had - passed since Cousin Edward had brought his exhilarating news that the book - was being asked for at the libraries, and during this interval, Fanny had - heard nothing of its progress. She had applied in the name of Mr. Grafton - for a copy to be addressed to the Orange Coffee House, but Mr. Lowndes had - paid no attention to her request, Edward found out on going to the Coffee - House, so it seemed plain to Fanny that the book was not making the stir - in the world that her cousin's report from the libraries had attributed to - it. But here was a distinct proof that it had at last reached their own - circle, and somehow Fanny and her sisters felt that this meant fame. - Somehow they had come to think of the readers of the book as being very - remote from them—people whom they were never likely to meet; they - had never thought of the possibility of its being named under their own - roof by anyone not in the secret of its authorship. But now the strange - thing had come to pass: it was not only named by their father, but named - with the most extraordinary recommendation that it could receive! - </p> - <p> - What! Sir Joshua was not only reading it, but he had curtailed his stay at - the club in order to get home to continue it! Sir Joshua had actually been - content to forsake the society of his brilliant friends, every one of them - more or less notable in the world, in order that he might read the story - which Fanny Burney had written all out of her own head! - </p> - <p> - The idea was simply astounding to the girls and to Fanny herself as well. - It meant fame, they were assured, and they were right. It took such a hold - upon Susy and Lottie as prevented them from giving any attention to - Fanny's amusing account of the evening at the Barlowes'; and the fun she - made—modelled on Mr. Garrick's best nursery style—of the - Alderman and Mrs. Alderman, with the speeches of the one and the St. - Giles's curtsies of the other, went for quite as little as did her - imitation of the bobbing of the crown feathers of the aunts and the - rustling of their dresses, the material of which was too expensive to be - manageable: the thick silk was, Fanny said, like a valuable horse, - impatient of control. She showed how it stood round them in massive folds - when they curtsied, refusing to respond to the many kicks they dealt it to - keep it in its place. - </p> - <p> - From the recalcitrant silks—with illustrations—Fanny had gone - to the slicing of the ham, the hacking at the great sirloin, the clatter - of the teacups, and the never-ending passing of plates and pickles, of - mustard and pepper and salt—the things were moving round the table - as the planets were shown circling round the sun in the clever invention - called the Orrery, after one of the titles of the Earl of Cork—only - the noise made by the perpetual handing on of the things did not suggest - the music of the spheres, Fanny said. - </p> - <p> - Her descriptions, bright though they were and full of apt metaphors, went - for nothing. Her sisters were too full of that wonderful thing which had - happened—the great Sir Joshua Reynolds, President of the Royal - Academy, the painter of all the most beautiful duchesses that were in the - world, to say nothing of beautiful ladies of less exalted rank—this - great man, who was so busy conferring immortality upon duchesses that he - was compelled to keep in his painting-room on Sundays as well as every - other day, and who had never been known to suspend his work except upon - the occasion of the death of his dear friend Dr. Goldsmith—this man - was actually at that very moment sitting in his arm-chair eagerly reading - the words which their sister Fanny had written! - </p> - <p> - The thought was too wonderful for them. The effect that it had on them was - to make them feel that they had two sisters in Fanny, the one a pleasant, - homely, hem-stitching girl, who could dance the Nancy Dawson jig for them - and take off all the people whom she met and thought worth taking off; the - other a grave authoress, capable of writing books that great men forsook - the society of other great men to read! - </p> - <p> - They looked on her now with something of awe in their eyes, and it was - this lens of awe which, while magnifying her work as a writer where it - came into their focus, made them fail to appreciate her fun, for they saw - it, as it were, through the edges of the lens and not through the centre. - </p> - <p> - She quickly perceived the lack of sympathy of her audience. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter with you both to-night?” she cried—they were now - upstairs in her room, and she knew that at the same moment Mrs. Burney was - giving her husband an account of the party. “What is the matter with you - both? Has anything happened when I was away to put you out? Why don't you - laugh as usual? I am sure I never told you anything half so funny as this, - and I was thinking all the way coming home that it would make you roar, - and now you sit gravely looking at me and not taking in half I say. Pray, - what is the matter?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing is the matter, dear,” said Lottie. “Nothing—only I can't - help thinking that Sir Joshua is at this moment sitting eagerly reading - the book that you wrote—you, sister Fanny, that no one who comes to - us notices particularly. I can hardly bring myself to believe that there - is only one Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny looked at her strangely for some moments, and then said: - </p> - <p> - “I do not blame you, dear; for I am myself of the same way of thinking: I - cannot realize what the padre told us. I cannot think of myself as the - Fanny Burney whose book is keeping Sir Joshua out of his bed. That is why - I kept on harping like a fool on the single string of that odious party. I - feel that I must keep on talking, lest my poor brain should give way when - I sit down to think if I am really Fanny Burney, who was ever happiest - sitting unnoticed in a corner when people came to this house, or laughing - with you all up here. I cannot think how it would be possible for me to - write a book that could be read by such as Sir Joshua.” - </p> - <p> - “Better think nothing more about it,” said Susy, who fancied she saw a - strange look in Fanny's eyes. “What's the good of brooding over the - matter? There's nothing strange about Sir Joshua's reading the book: I - read it and I told you that it was so lovely everybody would want to read - it. Besides, Sir Joshua may only have mentioned it for want of a better - excuse to leave the club early; so you may not be so famous after all, - Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - Susy's well-meant attempt to restore her threatened equilibrium was too - much for Fanny. But there was a considerable interval before her laughter - came. She put an arm about Susy, saying: - </p> - <p> - “You have spoken the truth, my dear sister. I have no right to give myself - airs until we find out exactly how we stand. But if Fanny Burney, the - dunce, should find out to-morrow that Sir Joshua has not really been kept - out of his bed in order to read 'Evelina' by Fanny Burney, the writer, the - first Fanny will feel dreadfully mortified.” - </p> - <p> - “One thing I can promise you,” said Susy, “and this is that Susannah - Burney will not be kept out of her bed any longer talking to Fanny Burney - about Fanny Burney's novel, whether Fanny Burney be mortified or not. We - shall know all about the matter when we go to the Reynolds's to-morrow. In - the meantime, I hope to have some hours of sleep, though I daresay that - Fanny Burney will lie awake as a proper authoress should do, thinking over - the exciting party in the Poultry and wondering how she will work in a - description of it in her next novel. Good-night, and pleasant dreams! Come - along, Lottie.” - </p> - <p> - And Fanny Burney did just what her sister had predicted she would do. She - recalled some of the incidents of the tea-party in the Poultry, having - before her, not as she had in the hackney coach, the possibility of - describing them in a letter to Mr. Crisp, but of introducing them into a - new book. - </p> - <p> - Before she slept she had made up her mind to begin a new book; for she now - found it comparatively easy to believe that Sir Joshua was reading - “Evelina” with great interest. At any rate, she would hear the next day - when she should go to the Reynolds's, whether Sir Joshua had read it, or - whether he had only made it an excuse for getting home early in the night, - so that he might arise early and refreshed to resume his painting of the - duchesses. - </p> - <p> - But the next evening, when, with her sisters and their stepmother she - tripped along the hundred yards or so of Leicester Fields that lay between - their house and that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, all thoughts of the book - which she had written and of the book which she meant to write, vanished - the moment that she was close enough to Sir Joshua's to hear, with any - measure of clearness, the nature of the singing, the sound of which fell - gently upon her ears. - </p> - <p> - “H'sh!” said Mrs. Burney, stopping a few feet from the door. “H'sh! some - one is singing. I did not know that it was to be a musical party.” - </p> - <p> - “It is Signor Rauzzini,” said Lottie. “I would know his voice anywhere. We - are lucky. There is no one who can sing like Signor Rauzzini.” - </p> - <p> - “We should have come earlier,” said Mrs. Burney. “But when Miss Reynolds - asked us she did not say a word about Rauzzini. And now we cannot ring the - bell, lest we should interrupt his song.” - </p> - <p> - She stood there with the three girls, under the lighted windows of the - house, listening to the silvery notes of the young Roman that floated over - their heads, as if an angel were hovering there, filling their ears with - celestial music. (The simile was Susy's.) The music sounded celestial to - the ears of at least another of the group besides Susy; and that one - thought: - </p> - <p> - “How can anyone trouble oneself with such insignificant matters as the - writing of books or the reading of books, when such a voice as that is - within hearing?” - </p> - <p> - And then, all at once, she was conscious of the merging of the two Fanny - Burneys into one, and of the existence of a new Fanny Burney altogether—the - Fanny Burney who was beloved by the celestial singer, and this was - certainly the most wonderful of the three. - </p> - <p> - The thought thrilled her, and she knew that with it the truth of life had - come to her: there was nothing worth anything in the world save only - loving and being loved. - </p> - <p> - And this truth remained with her when the song had come to an end, soaring - to a high note and dwelling on it for an enraptured space and then dying - away, so gradually that a listener scarcely knew when it had ceased. - </p> - <p> - Fanny's imagination enabled her to hear, at the close, the drawing-in of - the breath of the people in the room where the song had been sung: she - knew that up to this point they had been listening breathlessly to every - note. She could hear the same soft inspiration—it sounded like a - sigh—by her sisters and their stepmother. A dozen wayfarers through - Leicester Fields had been attracted to-the house by the sound of the - singing, and now stood timidly about the doorway. They also had been - breathless. One woman murmured “Beautiful!” Fanny could understand how the - word had sprung to her lips, but what could the man mean, who, almost at - the same moment, said: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my God! how could I have been so great a fool?” - </p> - <p> - She was startled, and glanced at him. He was a young man, shabbily - dressed, and on his face there were signs of dissipation. He was - unconscious of her glance for some moments, then with a slight start he - seemed to recover himself. He took off his hat with a respectful bow, and - then hurried away. But Fanny saw him turn when he had gone about a dozen - yards into the roadway, and take off his hat once more, with his eyes - looking up to the lighted windows of the house. He was saluting the singer - whom he had not seen, and to Fanny the act, following the words which he - had unwittingly uttered, was infinitely pathetic. - </p> - <p> - It appeared that Mrs. Burney herself received the same impression. Fanny - was surprised to hear her say: - </p> - <p> - “Poor fellow! he was once a gentleman!” - </p> - <p> - Then they entered Sir Joshua's house and were shown upstairs to the great - painting-room, where Sir Joshua and his sister Frances were receiving - their guests. - </p> - <p> - It was quite a small party—not more than a score of people - altogether, and all seemed to be acquainted with one another. Fanny knew - several of them; one girl, however, she had never seen before, but she - knew who she was in a moment. She was standing at one end of the room - chatting to Mrs. Sheridan, and on the wall just above her there hung the - picture of a girl in oriental costume and wearing a turban. Fanny Burney - had often looked at it in admiration, and Sir Joshua had encouraged her, - affirming that it was the best picture he had ever painted and that it - would remain in his painting-room until the day of his death. She looked - at it now with renewed interest, for the original was the girl standing - beneath it—the beautiful Miss Homeck whom Oliver Goldsmith had - called the Jessamy Bride. Several years had passed since Sir Joshua had - painted that portrait, from which Miss Burney had recognized the original; - and fifty years later another lady recognized the same face, still - beautiful in old age, from having seen merely a print of the same picture. - </p> - <p> - When Fanny turned her eyes from the portrait it was to admire the features - of Mrs. Sheridan. Mrs. Sheridan was gazing somewhat pensively at the - picture of St. Cecilia which was hanging a little way from that of Miss - Horneck, and Fanny was near enough to her to perceive how her expression - grew into that of the face in the picture. At first sight, it did not - appear to Fanny that the two faces were the same, and it seemed as if Mrs. - Sheridan perceived this, and determined to vindicate Sir Joshua's skill by - assuming the pose of the picture. But Miss Burney knew that the beautiful - lady had done it unconsciously—that it was simply because she was - recalling the days when she had sat for the painter, and had obeyed his - injunction to lose herself among the simple chords of the aria that was - sacred to her since her sister died with the strain upon her lips—“I - know that my Redeemer liveth.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny gazed at the exquisite face, illuminated with what seemed to her to - be a divine light, and for the first time she knew something of what it - was to be a great painter. After “St. Cecilia” the other portraits on the - walls seemed paltry. There was no divine light in the faces of the - duchesses. There was life in them; they breathed and smiled and posed and - looked gracious, but looking at them one remained on earth and among - mortals. But St. Cecilia carried one into the glorious company of the - immortals. “She drew an angel down,” was the line that flashed through - Miss Burney's mind at that moment. An angel? A whole celestial company. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OU are looking at - her—I, too, have been looking at her; she is divine,” came a voice - beside her. She did not need to turn to see the speaker. She had been - longing for the sound of his voice for many days. She had not even a - chance of hearing him sing before this evening. - </p> - <p> - “She is St. Cecilia herself,” said she. “You have seen Sir Joshua's - picture?” - </p> - <p> - “My countryman, Piozzi, pointed it out to me,” he replied. “I was - enraptured with the picture. But when the living St. Cecilia entered the - room and I heard her story, I felt ready to throw myself at her feet and - implore her as the guardian of poor singers to take me to her care. Her - face has on it the bloom of a flower dropped fresh from the garden of God—angelic - beyond the voice of man to describe.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke, as usual, in French to Fanny, but he had greeted Mrs. Burney in - English, and he tried to translate his last phrase to her into the same - language. He failed after the first word or two, and begged Miss Burney to - complete his task for him. She did so, and her stepmother smiled and - nodded in appreciation of his comment. - </p> - <p> - “She is indeed a beautiful creature,” said Mrs. Burney. “I heard her sing - more than once at Bath. People went mad about her beauty and her singing, - and truly I never heard any singing that so affected me. It was said that - she hated to let her voice be heard in public. Her father, Mr. Linley, - made her sing: she was a gold mine to Mr. Linley and he knew it.” - </p> - <p> - Signor Rauzzini had listened attentively and picked up all that she had - said without the aid of a word from Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “But now she will never be heard again no more,” said he in English. “And - she is right in making such a resolution, and her husband is a noble man - to agree with her in this,” he continued, but in French to Fanny. “Picture - that lovely creature placing herself on the level of such a one as the - Agujari! sordid—vulgar—worldly! quarrelling daily with the <i>impresario</i> - on some miserable question of precedence—-holding out for the - largest salary—turning a gift which should be divine into gold! Oh; - she was right.” - </p> - <p> - “Signor Rauzzini no doubt thinks it a pity that such a voice should cease - to give pleasure to the thousands it enchanted,” said Mrs. Burney, not - being able to follow him in French. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, no; just the opposite,” cried Fanny. “He says he admires her the - more for her resolution.” - </p> - <p> - “I am so glad. Pray tell him that I agree with him,” said Mrs. Burney. “A - good woman will avoid publicity. Her home should be sufficient for her.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny did not need to translate the words, he grasped their meaning at - once. - </p> - <p> - “I agree with all of my heart, madame,” he cried. “I would not wish my - mother or my sister to have their names spoken with freedom by everyone - who paid a coin to hear them sing. I should think it—<i>come si - chiamo?</i>—Ah! forgive my poor English.” He went off into French - once more—“Pray tell madame that I think it would be odious to hear - the name of my mother or my sister tossed from man to man as they toss the - name of a woman who comes before the public. I think the woman who would - hide herself from all eyes as a violet hides itself under a leaf is the - true woman. The shy, timid, retiring one—I know her—I esteem - her. I could love no other. I have a deep respect for the woman of the - Orient who would die sooner than let her face be seen by a man.” - </p> - <p> - “What does he say—I like his eagerness?” asked Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - Fanny translated some of his phrases, and Mrs. Burney nodded and smiled - her approval. - </p> - <p> - “The bloom on the wing of a butterfly is a very tender thing,” resumed the - Roman; “the breath of a man is sufficient to remove it—a single - breath—and when the bloom has gone the charm of the beautiful - creature has gone also.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not sure that I like the comparison to the butterfly,” said Fanny, - smiling. “The butterfly is the emblem of all that is fickle—all that - is idle except for its yielding to its fickleness. It is beautiful, but - nothing else.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed. - </p> - <p> - “I am rebuked,” he said. “But with us the butterfly is the symbol of the - life—of the soul. Assume that and you will, I think, see that I - meant not to hint at the beauty of the frivolity, but at the beauty of the - soul. I feel that a woman's life has on it the bloom of a butterfly's - wing, and if that is once breathed on, its beauty is gone for ever—the - woman's life is never again what it was—what it was meant to be. But - if you wish, I will not go beyond the violet as my emblem of the best - woman—my woman.” - </p> - <p> - “I thank heaven that I have no voice,” said Fanny gently, after a pause. - Young Mr. North-cote, Sir Joshua's pupil, had approached Mrs. Burney—his - eye was on Susy—in order to tell her that tea was being served in - the drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney thanked him and took the arm that he offered. - </p> - <p> - “We shall all go in together,” said Mrs. Burney, with a sign to Fanny. - </p> - <p> - But Rauzzini contrived to evade her eye by renewing his admiration of the - “St. Cecilia.” - </p> - <p> - “If I could but reproduce in song the effect that flows from her face I - should be the greatest singer in the world,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “You need not envy her,” said Fanny. “Do you remember Mr. Handel's setting - of 'Alexander's Feast '?” - </p> - <p> - “Only an aria or two.” - </p> - <p> - “One of the lines came into my mind just now when I looked at that - picture. 'She drew an angel down.'” - </p> - <p> - “And it was very apt. She would draw an angel down.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; but the poet has another line before that one—it refers to a - singer—'He raised a mortal to the skies.' That was the line which - came to my mind when I heard you sing. You raise mortals to the skies. - Your power is equal to that of St. Cecilia.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, nay; that is what you have done. I have been uplifted to the highest - heaven by you. When you are near me I cannot see anything of the world. - Why have we not met more frequently? Ah, I forget—I am always - forgetting that the months you spoke of have not yet run out. But I am not - impatient, knowing that the prize will come to me in good time. I have - been away at the Bath and Salisbury and Bristol and I know not where, - singing, singing, singing, and now I go to Paris and Lyon for a few - months, but you may be certain that I shall return to England—then - the separating months shall have passed and you will welcome me—is - not that so?” - </p> - <p> - “I think I can promise you—every day seems to make it more certain - that I shall welcome you.” - </p> - <p> - “My angel—my dream!——” - </p> - <p> - He said the words—both long-drawn monosyllables in French—in a - whisper that gave them the full force of passionate expression. He had - need to whisper, for several people were in the room, and Mr. Boswell was - among the number, and everyone knew that Mr. Boswell, as a gossip-monger, - had no equal in town. He was always pimping and prying—nosing out - germs of scandal—ever ready to make mischief by telling people all - the nasty things other people had said of them. Mr. Boswell had his eye on - them—and his ear. In addition, Mrs. Thrale, who had arrived late, - had no idea of allowing the handsome Roman singer to waste himself with a - nonentity like Miss Burney, and she was now perilously close to him whom - she came to rescue. - </p> - <p> - But the whisper and the expression imparted to it were enough for Fanny - Burney. He might have talked for hours in his impassioned way without - achieving the effect of his whispered exclamations. - </p> - <p> - Then Mrs. Thrale hastened up to his side full of her resolution to rescue - him from the conversation with the insignificant person whom his good - nature suffered to engage his attention. - </p> - <p> - “Why, what is this?” cried the little lady who regarded herself with - complacency as the soul of tact. “Have you explained to Signor Rauzzini - that you are the unmusical member of the family, Miss Burney?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe that he is aware of that fact already, madam,” replied Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “And yet he is in close converse with you? He is the most good-natured man - in town,” said Mrs. Thrale. “Does he hope to interest you when your father - failed?” - </p> - <p> - “He has never ceased, to interest me, madam,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Then he did not talk about music?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes; I think he said something about music.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, touching a note here and there, as one might in passing a - harpsichord. Of course you could not have lived in Dr. Burney's house - without being able to understand something of music. But we must not - trespass upon Signor Rauzzin's courtesy, Miss Burney. Everyone is talking - of him in the drawing-room—he must gratify the company by mingling - with them.” - </p> - <p> - Then she addressed Rauzzini in French. - </p> - <p> - “I promised to go in search of you, signor,” she said. “Madame Reynolds is - distracted. I came on my mission famished—I had vowed, as the - crusaders did, not to taste food or drink until I had succeeded in my - emprise. May I ask you to have pity on me now and lead me to the - tea-table?” - </p> - <p> - He turned to ask Fanny to accompany them, but he found that she had - slipped quietly away. She was already at the door. - </p> - <p> - “My duty was to Miss Burney, madame, but she has been frightened away,” - said he. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she is the shy one of the family, I believe,” said Mrs. Thrale. “I am - sure that all the time you were so good-natured as to talk to her she was - wishing that the floor would open and allow her to sink out of sight. She - would have thought it much more good-natured on your part if you had taken - no notice of her. I have scarcely spoken to her half a dozen times myself, - though I have frequently been to her father's house. I cannot rack my - brain to discover a congenial topic with such young people. Were you - successful, do you think?” - </p> - <p> - He made a gesture with his hands that might mean anything. Mrs. Thrale - assumed that it meant nothing—that he felt he was not greatly - concerned whether he had been successful in finding a congenial topic of - converse with Miss Burney or not. - </p> - <p> - She laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Poor girl!” she said. “She may have her dreams like other girls.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe she has—poor girl!” said he. “But I know that in her - knowledge of music she goes deeper—soars higher than most young - ladies who have submitted to lessons from a <i>maestro</i>—nay, - higher than the <i>maestro</i> himself.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale looked doubtfully at him. - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible that we are talking of two different people?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that is quite possible,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “I was referring to Miss Burney, the one of the family who does nothing - except sew—her mother commends her sewing very highly. I fear that - you actually believed that you were in converse with one of her sisters.” - </p> - <p> - “Madame,” said he, “it is my belief that the one who sews in a family is - far more interesting than the one who sings. But Miss Burney need not, in - my eyes, be any more than Miss Burney to be interesting, though she has - taught me more of music than I ever learned before.” - </p> - <p> - “Is't possible? Oh, yes: I should remember that her father told me that - she was his amanuensis—she made a neat copy of all his notes for the - 'History of Music.' It is no wonder that she knows something about it. - Such a good daughter! And the father took no trouble about her education. - She did not know her letters till she was eight or nine, I believe—perhaps - twelve. I don't believe that I ever exchanged half a dozen words with her - before this evening; and as for men—you are the first man I ever saw - taking any notice of her.” - </p> - <p> - His face lit up strangely, Mrs. Thrale thought, at this revelation. He - gave a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “So much the better for her—so much the worse for the men,” said he. - “And now, madame, if the tea has not become too strong, and if your hunger - has not made you too weak to walk to the table, I should esteem it an - honour to conduct you thither.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale smiled her acquiescence, and she entered the drawing-room on - the arm of the singer. Nothing could have convinced her that he did not - feel grateful to her for rescuing him from the position in which his good - nature had placed him—by the side of the most insignificant young - woman among all Sir Joshua's guests. - </p> - <p> - She believed that she was increasing his debt of gratitude to her by - keeping him with her for the next half-hour. Her sense of protecting him - gave her naturally a sense of patronage, which was quite pleasant for her - to experience, especially when she glanced round the room and saw several - ladies of higher rank than she could pretend to, frowning in her - direction. She knew how Signor Rauzzini was pestered by the attentions of - such as these, and she could almost hear the well-bred sneers of her - friends as they glanced at her and wondered if she never meant to release - the unfortunate young man—she knew just what they would say, and she - accepted their imaginary words as a real compliment to her protective - powers. Her smile down the table was one of great complacency. - </p> - <p> - She also noticed that the insignificant Miss Burney was glowing as she had - never seen her glow before. Her face was rosy and her eyes were actually - sparkling. Mrs. Thrale had never imagined that such eyes as Miss Burney's - could sparkle, no matter what their provocation might be. - </p> - <p> - “Poor girl! Poor child! Her head is turned, as I feared it would be when I - saw the Rauzzini with her. She is the unhappy victim of his good nature.” - </p> - <p> - This was the conclusion come to by the little lady whose ability to - pronounce an opinion on such a matter was widely acknowledged; and coming - to such a conclusion, she naturally commended all the more heartily the - step which she had taken for separating the foolish girl and the - fascinating young man. - </p> - <p> - She would have waved aside any suggestion that might be made to her to the - effect that the increase in Miss Burney's colouring and the light in her - eyes was due to Miss Burney's overhearing the conversation between her - mother and Sir Joshua respecting a book which he had stayed up all night - to read and which he had just finished in time to receive his guests. - </p> - <p> - The name of the book was “Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the - World,” he said, and he was urging Mrs. Burney to follow his example and - read it without further delay. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ANNY was at her - stepmother's elbow while Sir Joshua gave her a full account of how he had - been induced to send to Lowndes for this wonderful book on the - recommendation of Mrs. Darner, whose portrait he was painting. Mrs. Darner - had excused her unpunctuality at one of her sittings on the ground that - she had become so interested in the fortunes of “Evelina” that she could - not put the book down. - </p> - <p> - “Get it for yourself, sir,” she had said, “and you will quickly - acknowledge that my excuse is valid.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course I did not get it then,” said Sir Joshua. “I find it impossible - to keep pace with the useful books that are printed in these days, and I - have long ago given up novels. But when, the next day, Mrs. Darner came to - sit to me with a woebegone countenance and the traces of tears on her - cheeks, so that I could only paint her draping, and that, too, had a - woeful droop in its folds—for let me tell you, madam, that a woman's - dress is usually in sympathy with the mood of the wearer—when, I - say, the lady entered my painting-room in this guise, I ventured to - inquire if she was serious in her wish that I should depict her in the - character of Niobe. 'Oh, sir,' she cried, ''tis all due to that horrid - Branghton—he it is that has brought me to this.' 'The wretch!' said - I. 'Have you no friend who will run him through the vitals? Where is he to - be found, that I may arrange for his destruction?' 'He is the persecutor - of my beloved Evelina,' she replied, 'and heaven only knows what is to - become of the poor girl.' - </p> - <p> - “Now, madam, when I had thus brought before me the effect that the book - had produced upon so natural a lady as Mrs. Darner, what was left for me - but to buy it? And now you see the effect that it has had upon me,” - continued Sir Joshua, “so you must e'en buy it also.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Sir Joshua,” said Mrs. Burney, “your case has furnished me with the - strongest of reasons for not buying it. I would not allow a book into my - house that would so turn me aside from my ordinary life and my daily - business. What, sir, would you have me stay out of my comfortable bed for - hours, in order that I might make myself more uncomfortable still by - reading of the imaginary woes of a young woman who is nothing to me but a - shadow?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I promise you that you will find Evelina far from being a shadow,” - said Sir Joshua. “She is a creature of flesh and blood, with a heart that - beats so that you find your own heart keeping time with it, whether it - pulsates slowly or fast. In short, Evelina lives. I have no patience with - those attenuated figures that dance on the stage of so many of our new - novel writers; I can see the stuffing of straw when their constant - gyrating has worked a rip in their seamy side; creatures of rag and wire—they - never deceive one for a moment—why, their very gyrations are not - true to life. But Evelina lives. Some of the characters in the book are - distasteful—some of them are vulgar, but the world is made up of - distasteful and vulgar people, and a novel should be true to the world in - which the characters are placed. Oh, that was where the greatness of poor - Dr. Goldsmith was to be found. He would abate nothing of the vulgarity of - the vulgar characters in his plays, because he meant them to live. The - people hissed his vulgar bailiffs in his <i>Good-Natured Man</i>, and when - Colman cut them out he himself restored them when Shuter played the piece - for his benefit the following year, and everyone saw that they were true - to life. The vulgarity of Tony Lumpkin and the Three Pigeons made Walpole - shudder, but there they remain in the best comedy of our time, and there - they will remain for ever. Oh, yes; the author of 'Evelina' knows what - life is, and so his book will live.” - </p> - <p> - “And who is the author of this surprising book?” asked Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “That is a mystery,” replied Reynolds. “I sent to Lowndes, the bookseller, - to inquire, and he pretended that he did not know. He could only say that - he was a gentleman of note living in Westminster.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that is one of the booksellers' tricks to make their wares seem more - attractive,” said she. “They know that a man in a mask awakens curiosity.” - </p> - <p> - “That is so; but 'Evelina' stands in need of no advertisement of such a - nature. It would attract attention even though the name of Mr. Kenrick - were attached to it. But everyone is dying to find out the name of the - author; Mrs. Darner believes it to have been written by Horace Walpole, - but only because 'The Castle of Otranto' was published without his name - being on the title page.” - </p> - <p> - “Not a very cogent line of argument, it seems to me,” said Mrs. Burney. - “Well, Sir Joshua, I hope you will enjoy a comfortable sleep to-night, now - that you have the fortunes of that young lady off your mind.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my dear madam, I do assure you that my mind is not yet free from the - effects of reading that book,” cried Reynolds. “I am more faithful to my - friends in some books than to forget all about them when I lay them on the - shelf. If they live, be assured that I live with them, and the thought of - them is to me at times as pleasant as the thought of the best friends I - have met in my daily life. I have laid 'Evelina' on a shelf in my memory—not - one of the back shelves, but one that is near to me, so that I can console - myself with her companionship when I am lonely.” - </p> - <p> - “I have never heard you praise a book so heartily, sir,” said Mrs. Burney. - “But I will beg of you not to mention it to any of my family, for if it - has so unhinged you, what would it not do to those poor girls?” - </p> - <p> - He did not catch all she had said, for she spoke in a voice which she did - not mean to travel to Fanny or Susy, who were chatting to Miss Theophila - Palmer, Sir Joshua's niece. - </p> - <p> - “You may depend on my telling them all I find out in regard to the - author,” said he in a tone of assent. - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” she cried, getting nearer to the bell of his trumpet. “No, no; I - want you to refrain from mentioning the book to them. I discourage all - novel reading, excepting, of course, the works of Mr. Richardson, and - perhaps one or two of Fielding, with some of the pages gummed together to - prevent them from being read.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, to tempt people to read them,” said Reynolds. “What were we saying - about the attractions of a mask? Well, my word for it, the attractions of - a book without a name are as nothing compared with the attraction of - gummed pages. But you will let them read 'Evelina,' and you will, - moreover, read it yourself—yes, and you will all be the better and - not the worse for doing so.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney shook her head. - </p> - <p> - It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale thought that Miss Burney looked flushed - at this time, or that there was an unwonted sparkle in her eyes; for she - had heard nearly every word that Sir Joshua had said, and she could - scarcely contain herself for delight. For all her primness, she was at - heart a merry schoolgirl, ready to break into a dance at good news, and to - shout for joy when things had advanced as she had hoped they would. She - felt that it was very hard on her that she could not throw her hat up to - the ceiling of the room, as she had heard of Dr. Goldsmith's doing with - his wig in the exuberance of his spirits in this same room—when Miss - Reynolds was in her bed upstairs. It was very hard on her to be compelled - to restrain her feelings; she was unconscious of the sparkle in her eyes, - or of the pæony flush of her cheeks that Mrs. Thrale had noticed and was - still noticing. - </p> - <p> - She had never felt so happy in all her life. A short time before she had - felt that everything in the world was insignificant in comparison with - love; but now she realized that there was another joy worthy of - recognition. She was not wise enough to perceive that the two emotions - sprang from the same source—that the foundation of love is the - impulse to create, and that the foundation of an artist's joy in fame is - the knowledge that what he has created is recognized by the world. She was - (fortunately) not wise enough to be able to analyse her feelings—to - be wise enough to analyse one's feelings is to be incapable of feeling. - All that she was conscious of at that moment was that all worth having in - the world was hers—the instinct to create, which men call Love, the - joy of obtaining recognition for the thing created, which men call Fame. - </p> - <p> - It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale saw that light in her face and in her - eyes; nor was it strange that the same observant lady should attribute - that illumination to the touch of the fire of the sacred torch. She looked - at the handsome face of the Roman youth, with its expression of frankness, - and at his eyes, full of the generous warmth of the South, and once more - she glanced at Miss Burney, and saw in her face the reflection of the - southern sunny glow. - </p> - <p> - “Poor girl—poor girl!” were the words that sprung to her lips. “Only - a moment's attention from him—only a word—nay, a glance from - those eyes would have been enough—and she is at his feet. Poor girl! - Knowing nothing of the world—incapable of understanding anything of - life—having no gift to attract attention—-” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Mrs. Thrale, I have come to you for help. You are sure to have read - this book that everyone is talking about—this 'Evelina'—and - you can, I am certain, tell us who is the author. Pray let us know if your - friend Dr. Johnson had a finger in it—I have heard that some of the - writing is in the style of Dr. Johnson—or was it Mr. Anstey—they - say that some chapters could only have come from the author of 'The Bath - Guide.'” - </p> - <p> - It was Lady Hales who had hurried up with her inquiries. She seemed to be - the representative of a group with whom she had been standing, several - ladies and two or three men. - </p> - <p> - It so happened, however, that Mrs. Thrale had not yet read the book around - which discussion had been buzzing; but she had no intention of - acknowledging that, with her literary tastes and with her friendship for - Dr. Johnson, she was behind the times. Two or three people had within the - week made remarks about “Evelina” in her presence, but she had no idea - that it was to become a topic of society. - </p> - <p> - She smiled enigmatically, to give herself time to make up her mind what - her reply should be—whatever it might be, it certainly would not be - a confession of ignorance. She came to the conclusion that on the whole - she could not do better than mould her answer so as to heighten the - mystery of the authorship. - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible that none of our friends have discovered the author?” she - asked, still smiling shrewdly, so as to suggest that she herself had long - ago been let into the secret. - </p> - <p> - “We have had many conjectures,” said Lady Hales. “And let me whisper in - your ear—there is one among us who is ready to affirm that the - address of the author is Thrale Hall, Streatham.” - </p> - <p> - “I vow that I am overwhelmed,” cried the little lady. “The compliment is - one that any writer might envy. Pray how could it enter the mind of any of - our friends to connect me with the authorship of such a book?” - </p> - <p> - “There are some touches of your style in many of the letters of Evelina,” - replied Lady Hales. “And some have said that only you could have had the - varied experiences described so vividly.” - </p> - <p> - “A marvellous book, truly, this 'Evelina,'” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Some - people, you say, recognize the hand of Dr. Johnson in its pages, others - the pen that wrote 'The Bath Guide,' and now it is suggested that the - whole was the work of a humble scribbler named Mrs. Thrale—a person - who has surely little in common with the two writers you have named.” - </p> - <p> - She took care that her affectation of surprise had an artificial note - about it. There was no knowing how things might turn out. Mrs. Thrale had - no objection in the world to have her name associated with the authorship - of a book about which it was clear a good many people would be talking for - some months to come. - </p> - <p> - “May I not be entrusted with something more definite?” asked Lady Hales in - a low voice. “If it is a secret for the present—well, you know that - I am one to be trusted.” - </p> - <p> - “I can assure you definitely that the book was not written by Dr. - Johnson,” replied Mrs. Thrale, with a smile. “He has not for a single week - during the past year failed to visit us at Streatham for at least four - days at a time. He reads to me all that he writes—it is not much—and - I can give you an assurance that the name of Evelina has not once appeared - in his manuscript. I may also say that if you take my advice you will not - be in too great haste to attribute the book to Mr. Anstey.” - </p> - <p> - This was not mystification, it sounded much more like revelation, Lady - Hales thought. - </p> - <p> - “I dare not press you further, madam,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Believe me, I can appreciate your reticence, if——” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, now you suggest that I have told you a secret that I have concealed - from everyone else, and that is going too far,” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Now, - dear madam, cannot you see that even if I were in the secret of the - authorship, I should be guilty of a great breach of courtesy were I to - reveal it to anyone? If an author choose to remain anonymous, is it not - discourteous to try to snatch away his—or her—veil of - anonymity?” - </p> - <p> - “I can but assent,” said Lady Hales. “I do not doubt that this view of the - matter is the correct one. At any rate, you may depend on my acting in - accordance with it. I shall make no further attempt to pry into the - secret, and I shall think it right to dissuade my friends from the quest.” - </p> - <p> - “In that I am sure you will be acting in accordance with the author's - wishes,” said Mrs. Thrale, smiling knowingly. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>O they parted; and - Lady Hales hastened back to her friends to whisper in their ears that the - mystery was as good as solved: Mrs. Thrale had as much as acknowledged - that she was the author of “Evelina,” but she hoped that, as she had - written the book without the knowledge of her husband, her friends would - respect her desire to remain anonymous. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Thrale, being a Member of Parliament, would not like to have the name - of his wife bandied about among ordinary people as that of the writer of a - novel,” Lady Hales explained, though really no explanation was needed of a - fact that could be appreciated by every sensible person aware of the - contemptible character of the novels of the day. “Only Dr. Johnson is in - the secret,” she continued. “Dr. Johnson, as we all know, lives at Thrale - Hall for five days out of every week, finding the table provided by Mrs. - Thrale to suit his palate very much better than that controlled by poor - blind Mrs. Williams at Bolt Court.” - </p> - <p> - “That may account for some of the touches in the book in the style of Dr. - Johnson,” said one of the ladies. “You may be sure that no book could be - written under the same roof as Dr. Johnson without his having something to - say to it.” - </p> - <p> - “I never could understand how so fastidious a lady as Mrs. Thrale could - tolerate the company of Dr. Johnson at her table, but now the secret is - out—this secret and t'other,” said one of the gentlemen. “Dr. - Johnson is not seen at his best at the dinner-table.” - </p> - <p> - “So far as that goes, neither is Mr. Thrale himself,” said another. “He - has a huge appetite.” - </p> - <p> - “I had an inkling all along that Mrs. Thrale wrote the book,” said a lady - with a huge hat. “I actually remarked to my sister, while I was reading - it, 'if this story is not written by Mrs. Thrale, Mrs. Thrale is the one - who would like to have written it.'” - </p> - <p> - “But mind, not a word must be breathed that would hint that she - acknowledged it to me by direct word of mouth,” cried Lady Hales, - beginning to have some qualms. “No; you must understand clearly that she - did not say in so many words that she wrote it. Indeed, her last words to - me were, that anyone who should name in public the author of a book - published anonymously would be guilty of a great discourtesy.” - </p> - <p> - “She is perfectly right: to do so would be to exhibit very bad taste - truly,” came more than one acquiescent voice. - </p> - <p> - And the result of their complete agreement on this point was the immediate - dissemination of the report that Mrs. Thrale was indeed the writer of - “Evelina.” - </p> - <p> - But that clever little lady, on getting rid of the questioner, found that - Signor Rauzzini had slipped away from her side and was now making his - adieux to Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughters. She noticed that the light - had gone out of Fanny Burney's eyes as the young singer bent over her - hand, and once again she shook her head. She had given more attention to - Miss Burney during the previous hour than during all the years she had - visited at St. Martin's Street. She thought that it might be her duty to - say a word of warning to the young woman, who could not possibly know - anything about the world or the deceitfulness of Italian vocalists. - </p> - <p> - Meantime, however, she ordered one of her three footmen to tell the - coachman to drive to the shop of Lowndes, the bookseller, and there she - purchased a bound copy of “Evelina,” at nine shillings. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale was, of course, well known to Mr. Lowndes, and seeing her, - through the window of his office, enter his shop, he put his quill behind - his ear and emerged, bowing and smiling. - </p> - <p> - “How was it that you failed to apprise me that you had printed 'Evelina - '?” she inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Is't possible that you did not receive my advertisement, madam?” he - cried. “Why, I posted it to you with my own hands even before the book had - left the press, the truth being that I was anxious to get your opinion - respecting it.” - </p> - <p> - “I never had any advertisement from you about it,” she replied. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I was to blame for not underlining the announcement, madam,” said he. - “I ask your pardon. How were you to know that it was not one of the usual - novels of the season?—I do not venture to recommend such to the - attention of ladies of superior tastes like yourself, madam. I shall not - forgive myself, rest assured. But I am punished, in that I have been - unable to sell a second edition by telling my customers how highly it was - esteemed by Mrs. Thrale.” - </p> - <p> - “You assume that it would be highly esteemed by me, Mr. Lowndes; but I am - not quite sure that you do not flatter yourself in believing that my - judgment would be the same as that of the public. The poor public! How can - they possibly know whether a book is good or bad?” - </p> - <p> - “They cannot, madam; that is why we poor booksellers must only trust to - sell our books on the recommendation of ladies of taste and judgment. May - I beg, madam, that you will favour me with your opinion respecting the - merits of 'Evelina'?” - </p> - <p> - “It has been so great a success that I fear I shall not think highly of - it. Pray, who is your modest author?” - </p> - <p> - “Positively, madam, I am unable to tell you. The MS. was brought to me - with a letter purporting to come from a Mr. Grafton at the Orange Coffee - House, near the Haymarket, and he desired the secret of its authorship to - be kept close.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes; to be sure—kept close from the vulgar public; but he could - never think that you were violating his confidence by telling me his - name.” - </p> - <p> - “He could not be so unreasonable, madam—nay, rather would he kneel - to you—for he could scarce fail to understand the value that we set - on——” - </p> - <p> - “I am not convinced either that he would benefit from the exchange of - confidence or that I should; but prithee, sir, what is his name?” - </p> - <p> - “'Fore heaven, madam, I have told you so much as is known by me respecting - the gentleman. Never before have I been placed in so remarkable a - position. My fault, Mrs. Thrale, no doubt: I should have taken precautions - against being thus surprised into publishing a book without knowing the - name of the author. But although my judgment enabled me to perceive that - the work was out of the common, yet I never counted on its merits being - recognized so speedily. May I beg of you to favour me with your opinion as - to who the writer may be, madam—that is, when you have read it, - unless, indeed—” he glanced at her shrewdly with a little knowing - smile— “unless, indeed, you could so favour me <i>instanter</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, Mr. Lowndes, how would it be possible for me to give you an opinion - as to the authorship of a book which I have not yet read? I am not one of - those astute critics who, they say, can tell you all there is to be known - about a book without cutting the leaves, or even—if you slip a - guinea into their hand—without opening the covers.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought that perhaps you might be one of those who have been let into - the secret, madam. I trust that Dr. Johnson's health has not been so bad - as to prevent him from doing any literary work. Ah, what does not that - great man—nay, what does not the world owe to you, Mrs. Thrale?” - </p> - <p> - “If you would suggest, Mr. Lowndes, that the book about which we have been - conversing was written, even in part, by Dr. Johnson, I can give you an - assurance that such is not the case. He is in no way inclined to engage in - any form of literary labour. He grudges his friends even a note.” - </p> - <p> - “There are some gentlemen who come hither and honour me by conversing on - the subject of letters, and more than one of them has pointed out passages - in 'Evelina' that show signs of the great Doctor's pen; but for that - matter——” - </p> - <p> - “I agree with you, sir; every scribbler in Grub Street apes the style of - Dr. Johnson, but only to reveal the ape in himself. Now, Mr. Lowndes, if - you really are in earnest in saying that you are unaware who is the author - of your book, I have done you some service in curtailing by one the list - of authors to whom it might possibly be attributed. You may strike out the - name of Johnson, sir, on my authority.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall certainly do so, madam—not that I, for my own part, was - ever foolish enough to fancy that he had written more of it than a page or - two. I am indebted to you, Mrs. Thrale.” - </p> - <p> - “Then if you would wish to pay off the debt, you can do so by informing me - of your success in discovering the writer. 'Tis quite impossible to - conceive of the man's remaining unrevealed for any length of time, and I - confess that I am anxious to know if he is among my acquaintance.” - </p> - <p> - “You assume the sex, madam.” - </p> - <p> - “What, have you a doubt of it?” - </p> - <p> - “There are so many literary ladies nowadays, Mrs. Thrale.” - </p> - <p> - “But you surely saw the handwriting of the script?” - </p> - <p> - “That is just the point. My printers have examined it and say that it is a - lady's caligraphy only disguised to look like a man's. In my own judgment - they are right. It is an upright hand, neat and clear—not in the - least like that of an author. Still, that counts but little, seeing that - the writer of the book would be pretty certain to have a clear copy made - of his script by someone else. I have had a suspicion, from the mystery - insisted on by this Mr. Grafton, that he is none other than the author of - the 'Castle of Otranto.'” - </p> - <p> - “What, Mr. Walpole?” - </p> - <p> - “Even so. You recollect how delighted he was to conceal the hand he had in - that book—going much farther than I thought any gentleman would in - honour go, to make people believe it was what it pretended to be?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Lowndes, I know not what your experience has been; but mine is that - when a gentleman becomes an author he lays aside whatever sense of honour - he possesses as a gentleman.” - </p> - <p> - “I have had little to do with gentlemen authors, madam. Most of my writers - are simply authors.” - </p> - <p> - “And Mr. Walpole very properly put himself in line with them, and so had - no hesitation in carrying out his fraud in 'Otranto.' Well, if it be so, - you may count on his revealing himself now that the book has become a - success. In any case, you will not forget to keep me informed, and I shall - esteem it a favour, Mr. Lowndes.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Lowndes renewed his promise and bowed the lady to the door. The three - volumes of “Evelina” had been brought out to the chariot by one of the - footmen, a second following in his footsteps to see that he deposited them - fairly upon one of the cushions, and a third standing by the open door in - case of the breakdown of either of the others. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale got into the splendid machine, the three lackeys swung - themselves up on their platform behind, and clung on to the heavy straps, - looking, in their brilliant livery, as the chariot lurched away over the - uneven cobble-stones, like mighty butterflies of a tropical forest swaying - together on the rim of a gigantic flower. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>O chance had - Rauzzini of saying more than the most conventional words of farewell to - Fanny. Mrs. Burney was beside her and her two sisters also. He yielded to - his impulse to pronounce a malediction on Mrs. Thrale, who had so - interrupted his conversation with Fanny—the last he could possibly - have until his return from France after fulfilling his engagements. But - this was when he had seen the Burney family out of the door of the house - in Leicester Fields and to the entrance to St. Martin's Street. He was - then alone, and could give in some measure expression to his feelings in - his own tongue. - </p> - <p> - His imagination was quite vivid enough to suggest to him all that the - officiousness of Mrs. Thrale had interrupted—the exchange of vows—the - whispered assurances of fidelity—perhaps a passionate kiss—a - heaven-sent chance during a marvellous minute when the painting-room - should be emptied of all but herself and him! It was distracting to think - of all that had been cut out of his life by that busybody. While he had - been talking alone with Fanny his eyes had taken in the splendid - possibilities of the painting-room. There were three immense easels on - different parts of the floor, and each carried a glorious canvas for a - life-size portrait. Two of them were already finished, and the third - contained a portion of the Greek altar at which a fair lady was to be - depicted making her oblation to Aphrodite, or perhaps Artemis. The young - man, however, did not give a thought to the glowing work of the great - painter on the canvases, he thought only of the possibilities of a moment - or two spent in the protecting shadow of one of them with that gentle, - loving girl yielding herself to his clasp—only for a moment—he - could not reasonably hope that it should be for longer than a single - moment, but what raptures might not be embraced even within that brief - space! A moment—one immortal moment worth years of life! That was - what he saw awaiting him in the friendly shade of one of Sir Joshua's - portraits—that was all that the sublime picture meant to the ardent - lover—it was not the immortal picture, but the immortal moment that - was before his eyes—but just when, by a little manoeuvring on his - part, the joy that should change all his life and console him for being - deprived of the society of his beloved for three months, was within his - reach, that foolish woman had come bustling up with her chatter and had - separated them! - </p> - <p> - For which he now implored heaven and a heathen deity or two that still - linger in the language of malediction in their native Italy, to send her - soul to the region where Orpheus had sought his Eurydice. Down—down - with her to the lowest depths of the Inferno he implored his patrons to - bear her and to keep her there for ever. - </p> - <p> - His imploration was quite as lyrical as his “Waft her, Angels, to the - Skies,” only its bearing was upon the fate of the lady in just the - opposite direction, and he was even more fervent in its delivery. But - having delivered it, he felt some of that relief which is experienced by a - true artist who has a consciousness of having done some measure of justice - to his theme. He felt that if beatitude had been denied to him, the one - who had separated him from it would not escape scathless, if the intensity - of an appeal to the high gods of his native land counted for anything in - their estimation. - </p> - <p> - And then he went more or less contentedly to his lodgings to prepare for - his appearance in the opera of the night. - </p> - <p> - He sang divinely as an angel, and again if any of his audience remained - unmoved by the enchantment of his voice, they certainly could not but have - yielded to the charm of his presence. Some women might be incapable of - appreciating the exquisite character of his vocalism, but none could - remain impervious to the appeal of his smile. - </p> - <p> - As for the girl who alone had appealed to his heart, she went home with - her mother and sisters without a word, for she had not perceived the - glorious possibilities lurking behind the grand canvases in Sir Joshua's - painting-room. She could even bring herself to believe that the coming of - Mrs. Thrale had been rather opportune than otherwise; for if she had not - joined her stepmother at that time she would not have heard all that Sir - Joshua had said about “Evelina.” - </p> - <p> - All that she had heard had made her supremely happy, not, she thought, - because she was greedy for fame, but because it meant to her that she was - a step nearer to the arms of the man she loved. The fame which Sir - Joshua's words implied was dear to her because she knew that she need not - now hesitate to seat herself by the side of this king of men, as his equal—no, - not quite as his equal, but certainly not as a beggar maid. She knew that - when it was announced that she was the writer of a great book, or, what - was better still, a book that everybody was talking about, people would - not shrug their shoulders when they heard that Rauzzini> the Roman singer, - whose name was in everybody's mouth, was about to marry her. The event - that she scarcely dared hope for had actually happened: she was no longer - the nobody which she had been, she was a woman the product of whose brain - had been acclaimed by the best judges, and so the barrier that she had - seen separating her lover from herself had been thrown down. The same - voices that had acclaimed her Rauzzini as a singer had acclaimed her as a - writer; for though she had hesitated to receive her cousin Edward's - reports from the libraries as conclusive of the mark that the book was - making, she could not now have any doubt on the subject: a book that was - spoken of by Sir Joshua Reynolds as he had spoken of “Evelina” must be - granted a place high above the usual volumes to be found on the shelves of - a circulating library. She was convinced that in a short time everyone - would be talking about it in the same strain, and though people might be - incredible on the subject of its authorship, the fact would remain the - same—she had written the book, and the fame that attached to the - writer would assuredly be hers. There would now be no sneering references - to King Cophetua. Everyone within their circle would admit that there was - no disparity between her position as the writer of the book that everyone - was talking about and that of the singer whom people crowded to hear. - </p> - <p> - She felt supremely happy. Though Mrs. Burney had not shown any particular - wish to repeat what Reynolds had said to her about the book, she knew - perfectly well that this was only because of her general distrust of - anything in the form of a novel, and her fear lest something unreadable - should get into the hands of the girls. But Fanny also knew that the fact - of Mrs. Burney's shunning the novels of the circulating libraries would - not interfere with the reputation that must accrue to the author of - “Evelina”; so she was not affected by the indifference shown by her - stepmother to all that Reynolds had said. She awaited without impatience - the day when her father should take up the book and read the Ode at the - beginning. She felt that, although his name was not at the head, he would - know that the verses were addressed to him, and that it was his daughter - Fanny who had written them. She knew that however firmly he might assert - himself on the side of his wife in preventing the entrance to the house of - all novels excepting those of Richardson—Fanny herself had never had - a chance of reading even “The Vicar of Wakefield”—he would be proud - of her as the writer of “Evelina.” She was not quite sure if he would be - as proud of her as if she had developed a wonderful musical capacity; but - she never doubted that his affection for her—assisted by his - knowledge of the impression the book had made upon the most important of - his own associates—would cause him to take her into his arms with - delight and to forgive her for running the chance of being classed among - the Miss Minifies of the period—the female writers whose ridiculous - productions were hidden beneath the sofa cushions in so many households. - Fanny Burney was a dutiful daughter and she had nothing of the cynic about - her, but she was well aware of the fact that success would be regarded by - her father as justifying an experiment that failure would have made - discreditable. - </p> - <p> - Once more, then, the three sisters met that night in Fanny's bedroom. The - two younger could now look on her without their feeling of awe. They were - on the verge of being indignant with Mrs. Burney for having made no - reference whatever since returning from the Reynoldses to the subject of - Sir Joshua's eulogy. - </p> - <p> - “Not once did she mention the name of 'Evelina' to the padre; Sir Joshua - might just as well have talked of Miss Herschel's comet to her,” said - Susy. - </p> - <p> - “And after our schooling ourselves so rigidly to give no sign that we were - in any measure connected with the book too—it was cruel!” said - Lottie. - </p> - <p> - “It was not as if the padre did not give her a good chance more than - once,” continued Susy. “Did he not ask if anyone had given her any news? - And what did she answer?—Why, only that someone had said that Mr. - Fox had lost a fortune a few nights ago at faro! As if anybody cares about - Mr. Fox! I was prepared for her opening out at once to him about the book—maybe - begging him to send Williams to buy it at Mr. Lowndes'.” - </p> - <p> - “What, at seven-and-sixpence!” cried Fanny. “My dear child, do you know - mamma no better than to fancy that?” - </p> - <p> - “What I don't know is how she resisted it,” said Lottie. “Oh, you heard - how Sir Joshua talked about it; and Miss Reynolds too—she praised it - up to the skies.” - </p> - <p> - “Other people in the painting-room as well as in the drawing-room were - talking of it,” said Susy. “I heard the beautiful Miss Horneck speak of it - to the lady with the big muff and the rose taffeta with the forget-me-not - embroidery.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure that everybody was speaking of it—I could hear the name - 'Evelina' buzzing round the rooms,” cried Lottie. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; everyone was talking about it, and only mamma was silent—<i>is</i> - silent. I don't think that at all fair,” continued Susy. - </p> - <p> - Fanny laughed. - </p> - <p> - “You are silly little geese,” she cried. “Could you not see that she would - not mention it lest it should reach our ears and we should be filled with - an <i>irresistible</i> desire to possess it—<i>it</i>—a modern - novel! Think of it! Oh, my dears, you are too unreasonable, Mamma knows - her duty too well to allow even the name of a novel to pass her lips and - maybe reach the ears of such a group of fly-away young things as - ourselves! She understands the extent of her responsibilities. Go to your - beds and be thankful that you have so excellent a guardian.” - </p> - <p> - “But when we were prepared——” began one of them, when Fanny - interrupted her. - </p> - <p> - “You may conserve your preparations—you will hear her say the name - soon enough—you may depend upon that,” she said. “You may prepare to - hear yourselves summoned into her presence to give a full and true account - of your complicity in the thing which was perpetrated under this sacred - roof—nay, in the very room where the great philosopher Newton wrote - his thesis! A novel written in the room in which the divine 'Principia' - was produced! Why, 'twere as bad in mamma's eyes as acting one of Mr. - Foote's farces in St. Paul's Cathedral. Oh, yes, you'll have to face her - soon enough, and after that you'll never wish to hear the name Evelina - again. Now, good-night, and thank heaven for your respite.” - </p> - <p> - They left her, glum and dissatisfied. It was plain to her that they were - disappointed at not being given the opportunity of showing how admirably - they had themselves under control in regard to the secret—of showing - Fanny how they could hear Mrs. Burney talk at length about “Evelina,” - while neither of them gave the least sign of ever having heard the name - before. It was indeed disappointing that all their studied immobility - should go for nothing. - </p> - <p> - But Fanny knew that their secret could not possibly remain hidden for many - more days. If the book was going into everybody's hands, her father would - be certain to have it, and then—would he not know? Would not she be - summoned into his presence and that of his wife—the lady of many - responsibilities—and required to defend herself?... - </p> - <p> - She fell asleep before she had come to any conclusion as to the line of - defence that she should adopt. - </p> - <p> - And in spite of the readiness of her sisters for any inquisition to which - they might be summoned, they were startled—as was also Fanny herself—when, - immediately after a rather silent and portentous breakfast, Mrs. Burney - said: - </p> - <p> - “Susy and Lottie, you may go to your duties. You, Fanny, will remain, as - your father wishes to speak to you on a matter of some gravity.” - </p> - <p> - So the long-expected hour had come, the three girls thought. By some - accident unknown to them their secret was exposed, and Fanny was about to - be called upon to explain, if she could, to the satisfaction of her father - and her stepmother, how it came that she so far forgot the precepts of her - upbringing as to write a novel quite in the modern spirit, though adopting - a form which the master-touch of Mr. Samuel Richardson had hallowed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE two girls left - the room slowly, after sending in the direction of Fanny a glance which - they meant should encourage her—a glance which should let her know - that they were quite ready to share her punishment, should the worst come - to the worst. - </p> - <p> - Fanny replied to them with her eyes; and then prepared for the worst. - </p> - <p> - It quickly came. - </p> - <p> - “My dear daughter,” said Dr. Burney, when they were alone, Mrs. Burney in - her chair at the head of the table. “My dear Fanny, I am no believer in - leading by degrees up to such a communication as I have to make to you. I - think that the sooner it is got over the better it will be for all whom it - may concern. Well, this is it: Mr. Thomas Barlowe has written to me asking - my permission for him to address you with a view to marriage.” - </p> - <p> - He made a pause, looking at her to observe the effect of this revelation. - </p> - <p> - And what he saw at first was a girl with a pale face and downcast eyes, - awaiting, almost breathlessly, an accusation from which she shrank; but - when he had spoken he saw a great change come over her. Not immediately, - but gradually. It seemed to him that she had not fully realized the - meaning of his words—that she was puzzled—trying to recall - what he had said. Then the light seemed to dawn upon her. She flushed, - and, after a few moments, threw back her head and went into a peal of - laughter—a real schoolgirl's fit of laughter at something amazingly - comic—the tumbling of a clown into a pool of water with a splash, - or, perhaps, the slipping of a dignified beadle upon a butter slide. Her - laughter went on for a long time, but without in the least suggesting - hysteria—it was simply a girl's natural laughter on realizing the - comic side of a situation which grown-up people would regard as extremely - serious. - </p> - <p> - Neither her father nor his wife could understand why she should receive in - such a spirit an essentially serious communication—the most serious - that any young woman could receive. They had not before them the ludicrous - picture that presented itself to her imagination—a picture of the - Roman Rauzzini on the one side and the Poultry Barlowe on the other, - asking her to choose between them. It was this presentment, coming in a - flash the moment she realized that the publishing of the book was not the - question which she had to face, that forced her to yield to that long fit - of laughter. - </p> - <p> - Her father and stepmother sat stolidly by, but she knew that had she and - her father been alone, he would at least have smiled with her. - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes she had recovered herself sufficiently to be able to - apologize for her levity. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” she said. “I am behaving like a goose, but I could - not help it—something forced me—something that occurred to me—a - funny thing. I am very sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing funny that I can see in the honourable request made by - an honest young man, my dear Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “No, no; nothing whatever; only—well, funny ideas will occur to - foolish people like myself at the most serious moments,” said Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “That is quite true, indeed,” said her father. “I have myself experienced - what you say. Perhaps, after all, I should not have blurted out what I had - to tell you—it came to you as a surprise, I doubt not.” - </p> - <p> - “A great surprise, indeed,” she replied. “I cannot understand how Mr. - Barlowe could ever fancy that I—that he—that—oh, I - should have known what that terrible entertainment was meant to lead to—but - when, in that clumsily marked way I was sent into the drawing-room with - him alone, he began to talk of his uncle, the Aider-man—he said that - the Alderman was quite approachable even in regard to ordinary people like - ourselves—and then came his cousins—all of them remarkable! - But you should have seen him slice away at the ham—the biggest ham I - ever saw—it needed to be—such eating!” - </p> - <p> - “The recollection of that no doubt made you laugh,” said Dr. Burney. “But, - at the same time, you must remember that though the customs of the Poultry - are not ours, still, they may be very reasonable customs—perhaps - more reasonable than our own. It may suit us to dine as late as halfpast - four and only to have a slice of cake with our tea; but business people - find it more convenient to dine at one o'clock—it makes an equal - division of their long working-day—so that a slice of ham——” - </p> - <p> - “I know that is quite true, and I was not so foolish as to give myself - airs because I had dined at half-past four and had no appetite for ham,” - said Fanny; “but—oh, mother, you saw how foolishly formal was the - whole thing.” - </p> - <p> - “I said that I thought it quite unnecessarily formal,” replied Mrs. - Burney, “and if I had had any notion that it was going to be like that I - would certainly have given Mrs. Barlowe a hint. Still, Thomas is, I know, - an excellent young man who has never given his parents an hour's - uneasiness, and his intentions are honourable, and so should be honoured. - If you have no tender regard for him at present that is no reason why, - when you get accustomed to the thought of him as a suitor for your hand——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, mother, that is quite impossible!” cried Fanny. “How could I ever get - accustomed to such a thought?” - </p> - <p> - “I do not know why you should not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “He is a most - worthy young man, and Mr. Barlowe's business is one of the best in the - City. You must remember, my dear Fanny, that in these days a girl, unless - she has a portion, runs a very great chance of becoming an old maid, so - that no opportunity of settling down in a comfortable home should be - neglected.” - </p> - <p> - “That is perfectly true,” said Dr. Burney. “You will understand that we - have no desire to force this or any match upon you, my dear child: so long - as I have a house over my head you shall share it. But I am sure that you - must know that I am a poor man to-day, although I have worked as hard at - my profession as any living man, and I cannot provide you or your sisters - with any portion. Heaven knows that if I had a fortune I would gladly - divide it among you; but as it is, I think it right to tell you that you - need expect nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “Dearest father,” said Fanny, dissolving into tears, as she took his hand - and kissed it, “I have never expected a fortune from you—not a penny - piece. I know that I shall be portionless, and I daresay that Mr. Barlowe - thinks himself generous in his proposal; but I could never bring myself to - accept him—to look on him as a suitor. It would be quite impossible. - If I thought it possible that I should ever have any affection for him, I - might feel myself justified in encouraging him; but I know that it would - be out of the question. I would prefer to go forth and beg my bread—nay, - to starve.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we shall pursue the matter no farther for the present,” said her - father, kissing her on the forehead as she nestled close to him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that is best—for the present,” acquiesced his wife. “Still, if - you will be advised by me, my dear Fanny, you will remember that Mr. - Barlowe is ready to address you knowing that you will be portionless, and - if you bear that in mind, perhaps you will be surprised to find some' day, - not so far distant, that the thought of him is not so repugnant to you. - You are no longer a girl, and when one is midway between twenty and thirty - every extra year counts in reducing one's chances of being settled in - life. I could cite dozens of instances that I have known of young women - being glad to accept at twenty-eight the suitors they scorned at twenty or - even twenty-five. Oh, yes, the years come upon one and bring with them a - clearer vision of life and love; frequently they bring regret for - opportunities neglected. But we will not press the matter any farther—just - now. I dare say the young man will submit to be put off—for a time.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, for ever,” said Fanny resolutely. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well,” said her stepmother. - </p> - <p> - After a pause, during which Fanny seemed to be debating some matter in her - mind, a little line showing itself along her forehead, she said slowly: “I - do not think that I shall be a burden on you, dear father; I believe that - one day I may be able to do something.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not fancy that I would ever think of you as a burden, my dear child,” - said her father. “But what do you mean by saying that you may one day do - something?—some work, do you suggest?” - </p> - <p> - “Something—I am fond of writing,” she murmured. - </p> - <p> - He laughed gently, saying: - </p> - <p> - “You are a very good girl, my love, and I know how much I am indebted to - you for your admirable copying of my notes for the History; but do not let - the idea take hold of you that such work is well paid. If you ever get in - touch with a bookseller, he will tell you that the work of a copyist is - very poorly paid.” - </p> - <p> - “I was not thinking of copying,” murmured Fanny. - </p> - <p> - “Of what then, pray?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “If I could but write a book,” she replied, with her eyes on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “A book!” cried Mrs. Burney, who thought that she had been silent long - enough. “A book!” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure—to be sure,” said her father, in the indulgent tone of a - parent humouring a child. “You might write a book—so might anyone - who could pay for a ream of paper, a bottle of ink and a box of quills. - You should speak to Mr. Newbery about it: he has printed many nursery - stories since 'Goody Two Shoes.' You might indeed do something that the - children would take a fancy to. Well, Francis Newbery is as honest a man - as his uncle, and we may talk to him about it. By the by, did not you once - tell me that you had written something, or that you were going to write - something? You thought it proper to get my leave. I had forgotten that. - Well, if it be a moral nursery story, we might interest Mr. Newbery in - it.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not think that it is quite wise to encourage a girl to neglect her - useful household duties in order to compile some rubbish that no one would - read,” said Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Of course you will understand that you are not to neglect your household - duties, Fanny,” said her father. - </p> - <p> - “If she performs her household duties and sticks to her needlework, she - will have no time left for scribbling rubbish,” cried Mrs. Burney, - hastily. - </p> - <p> - “She made a bonfire of all that childish nonsense long ago, and I hope - that she will never be so foolish as to waste good paper and pens and, - most precious of all, good time, over such exercises. That is all we have - to say just now, I think—is it not, Doctor? I shall reply to Mr. - Barlowe's letter—a most creditable letter—straightforward—honourable! - I am only sorry that I cannot make the reply to it that it deserves.” - </p> - <p> - She had opened the door and called for William, their manservant, to - remove the breakfast things. Fanny lingered for a few minutes after she - had risen from her chair. She had assumed from the moment she had begun to - speak of writing, that her opportunity had come; if her stepmother had not - interposed so hastily and so emphatically, she would have made her - confession as to “Evelina,”, let the consequences be what they might; but - now that the servant had come with his tray and her stepmother jingled her - key-basket, she perceived that her chance was gone. She had a sense of - sneaking out of the room. - </p> - <p> - As she went slowly up the stairs she could hear the voice of her - stepmother remonstrating with her father for having said something that - she, Fanny, might regard as encouragement to waste her precious time in - the pursuit of such folly as writing a book. - </p> - <p> - She heard her father's little laugh as he explained (she was sure) that of - course he had not been speaking seriously; but that he had not the heart - to be severe upon her and her harmless scribbling. - </p> - <p> - The author of “Evelina” went very slowly upstairs, and when she reached - the work-room landing she found Susy and Lottie waiting for her, glowing - with excitement. Susy was waving over her head what seemed to be a bulky - pamphlet. Coming closer, Fanny saw that it was the chief of the literary - reviews, which had apparently just arrived at the house. - </p> - <p> - “A splendid column about 'Evelina,'” she whispered. “Not so good as it - should be, but still splendid. Here it is. But why are you so glum? Surely - they did not scold you now that the book is so great a success.” - </p> - <p> - “They did not ask me to tarry in the room to charge me with double-dealing - in regard to the book,” said Fanny. “They would not allow me to make my - confession when I had the opportunity—the best that I shall ever - have. 'Twas not my confession that was on the <i>tapis</i>, but quite - another. That is why I look glum.” - </p> - <p> - “Another—another confession? But what had either of them to - confess?” cried Lottie. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing. They didn't confess.” - </p> - <p> - “But whose confession was it, then, if not theirs?” asked Lottie. - </p> - <p> - “It was young Mr. Barlowe's,” said Fanny, with a lugubriousness that was - quite comic. “Young Mr. Barlowe wrote to the padre to confess that he was - passionately—madly—in love with me, and threatening to drown - himself unless permission were given to him to address me—we all - know how fervently young Mr. Barlowe would put his case—that was - what I was summoned to listen to—the fiery letter—only it was - too ardent for my ears: I was only told its purport.” - </p> - <p> - “But who would ever have thought that he had it in him?” cried Susy. “Such - impudence! I never dreamt that he could rise to such a height of impudence - or I should have thought better of him.” - </p> - <p> - “'Tis not too late yet, my child,” said Fanny. “You are at liberty to - think as highly of Thomas as you please—or as it would please him. - Please take over his blighted affections and it will be a weight off my - mind. Now give me a chance of reading my splendid review—not that I - care in the least what these foolish critics may say of me—I care - nothing, I tell you, only if you do not let me see it at once I shall die - at your feet.” - </p> - <p> - “There it is,” said Susy, “a full column! The idea of anyone written of in - such terms being proposed to by Thomas Barlowe! Such impudence indeed!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE levity shown by - Fanny Burney and the flippancy of her phrases did not wholly conceal from - her sisters all that she was feeling on the subject of the proposal to - which she had referred with such lightness. She knew that while her father - and her stepmother would not treat her with any marked disfavour on - account of her rejection of the worthy young man who was ready to offer - her a home, still Mrs. Burney at least regarded with great disfavour the - nature of the answer which she had to send to the Poultry, and Fanny was - very well aware of the ease with which so conscientious a guardian as Mrs. - Burney could make her feel every day of her life what was Mrs. Burney's - opinion of her rejection of an eligible young man. - </p> - <p> - Fanny recognized the great merits of her stepmother, and she could look - from her standpoint at most of the incidents of their daily life. In that - household one mouth less to feed was worth consideration—the number - of mouths to feed was a constant source of thought with Mrs. Burney, as - was also the question of a provision for the future of all of them. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney would be fully justified in feeling cross with her, not being - aware of the fact that another young man, compared with whom Thomas - Barlowe was as the dust of the ground, was burning, with an ardour of - which Thomas was incapable, to take her to himself and provide for her in - a style undreamt of in the Poultry. - </p> - <p> - But the worst of the matter was that she could not let her stepmother into - this secret. She could not say that she was engaged to marry Signor - Rauzzini, and she might leave herself open to the gravest rebuke for - having listened to his protestations of devotion without obtaining the - consent of either of her parents. - </p> - <p> - And through all this tangle of reflections there ran the silken thread of - consciousness that she was no longer the Fanny Burney who was regarded by - her stepmother as the dunce, but Fanny Burney the writer of “Evelina,” to - whom the most critical review had devoted a full column of adulation! - </p> - <p> - That was what made her position so anomalous; and it was because she took - the happenings of the previous days to heart that she went to bed with a - shocking headache, and after a sleepless night was found on the verge of a - fever. She was suffering from suppressed secrets; but the doctor did not - know this. He prescribed James's Powders; and when these should have done - all that they were meant to do—a small part of all that Dr. James - and Mr. Newbery affirmed they would do—a change into the country. - </p> - <p> - But several weeks had passed before she was strong enough to start on the - latter and most essential portion of the prescription, and found herself - in her own room in Mr. Crisp's isolated house at Chessington. - </p> - <p> - Meantime, of course, she had no further news of the book, and she remained - unconfessed, so far as the secret of its publication was concerned. Her - sisters did not so much as mention its name or the name of Thomas Barlowe, - so cleverly had they diagnosed the nature of her malady and so tactfully - did they try to hasten her recovery. - </p> - <p> - Her old friend Mr. Crisp had been her guide since her childhood. She - always alluded to him as her second Daddy—so far as paternal - influence was concerned she might have given him the foremost place. He it - was who had led her on to embody in letters to him the daily incidents of - her life, thus unconsciously setting the loom, as it were, in which - “Evelina” was to be woven. He it was who became her teacher and her - critic, and it was possibly because she feared his criticism of her work - that she refrained from making a confidant of him from the first. She felt - that she could face the public and the reviewers—it did not matter - how they might receive the book, but she was too timid to submit it to the - mature judgment of the man who had first put a pen in her hand. It was not - on her own account that she refrained from giving him a chance of reading - her book, but on his: she knew how hurt he would be if he found her book - to be an indifferent one, and whether indifferent or not, how angry he - would be if people did not buy it by the thousand. - </p> - <p> - Now, however, that she found herself alone with him, she made up her mind - to tell him all about it. She would choose her own time for doing this; - but it would certainly be done before she returned to St. Martin's Street. - </p> - <p> - But on the second day after her arrival at Ches-sington a parcel came for - her, addressed by Susy. On opening it, she found it to contain two volumes - of “Evelina.” The letter that was enclosed told her that Cousin Edward had - called at the Orange Coffee House and found that a set had been left there - at the instance of Mr. Lowndes, addressed to Mr. Grafton. Of these, Lottie - had read the first two, which were now sent on to the author, but the - third she had not finished, and hoped that Fanny would not mind her - detaining it for a few days longer. - </p> - <p> - This was really the first glimpse that the author had of her book in its - binding. She had, in the name of Mr. Grafton, requested Mr. Lowndes to - send a set of the volumes to the Orange Coffee House. But that was nearly - three months ago, and until now Mr. Lowndes appeared not to have thought - it worth his while to comply with the request. Now, however, it seemed to - have occurred to him that the author of a book that everyone was talking - about might be worth conciliating, and so he had directed a set of volumes - to the Coffee House. - </p> - <p> - At once Fanny made up her mind that she would pave the way, so to speak, - for a full confession to Mr. Crisp. - </p> - <p> - “Susy has sent me on two volumes of a new novel, lest I should feel dull,” - she said. “As if I am not much more likely to feel dull in the company of - a new novel than of my old Daddy!” - </p> - <p> - “I thought that your stepmother prohibited the reading of novels, new or - old, in your house,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps mamma did not know anything about this particular one,” replied - Fanny; “besides, it is to be read in your house, not ours.” - </p> - <p> - “So that the responsibility will be mine?” said he. “Mrs. Burney is only - answerable to heaven for keeping your mind free from the baleful influence - of novels, but I am in a worse case, for I am answerable to Mrs. Burney. - And what is the name of the precious production?” - </p> - <p> - “Let me see,” said Fanny, artfully referring to the title page. “Oh, yes: - 'Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.' Do you call that an - alluring title?” - </p> - <p> - “Too sentimental by half,” he replied. “But I have heard of the thing, and - one of the reviews dealt with it some weeks ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Praise or blame?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, foolish adulation for the great part; but not without a reasonable - word here and there.” - </p> - <p> - “The reasonable part you are sure must be the censorious? That is not fair - to the poor author.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor author? Yes, they are all poor authors nowadays. What's the name of - this particular item of poverty?” - </p> - <p> - “There is no name on the title page; but I hear that the writer was Mr. - Anstey himself.” - </p> - <p> - “What! another 'Bath Guide'!” - </p> - <p> - “Sir Joshua Reynolds told mamma that he had remained up all night reading - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Sir Joshua! His eyes are none too good at the best! And does Susy - believe that the book which kept Sir Joshua awake is the best one to send - you asleep? You came to Chessington, you know, to get as much as possible; - 'Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!' the truest words that - Shakespeare ever writ.” - </p> - <p> - “What I propose to do is to try it upon you, my dear sir. I mean to give - you a dose of it this evening, instead of gruel, and if it makes you sleep - I will know that I may continue it for myself—it will be more - wholesome than poppy or mandragora.” - </p> - <p> - “Good! But I dare swear that it will be bad enough to keep me awake. You - know that extremes meet in the case of books, as well as other matters; - one keeps awake reading a good book, in expectancy of its undeveloped - goodness; and reading a bad one, wondering how far the author can actually - go in point of dullness.” - </p> - <p> - “I have often thought that; but Susy has sent only two of the three - volumes.” - </p> - <p> - “So that we shall not be able to fathom the full depth of the author's - dullness? We should be grateful to Susy—so should the author. Well, - you shall begin after tea, while there is yet daylight: <i>Le livre ne - vaut pas la chandelle.</i>” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Nous verrons</i>,” cried Fanny. - </p> - <p> - And she started reading the book that same day, an hour before sunset. The - room in which they sat was a small one with a window facing the west and - overlooking a long stretch of billowy common. The spicy scent of the - wallflowers in the little garden patch at the side of the house was wafted - through the half-open lattice, and occasionally there came the sound of - the ducks gabbling at the pool beyond the gate that shut off the house - from the lane. It was a cloudless evening, and the sunset promised to be - peach-like in its tender tints of pink and saffron with the curves of - delicate green in the higher sky. Fanny sat at the window and the old man - reclined at his ease upon the sofa. - </p> - <p> - “I am giving myself every chance,” he said. “All that I ask of you, my - Fannikin, is that you do not glance at me every now and again to see if I - am still awake. If you do so, I shall never yield to so much as a doze.” - </p> - <p> - “I promise faithfully to await your signal that you are alert,” said she. - </p> - <p> - And so began one of the most delightful hours of her life. - </p> - <p> - She was not a particularly good reader aloud when a book was casually put - into her hands, but here she had before her a volume that she could almost - have repeated verbatim, so that she soon found that she was just too - fluent: she felt that if she went on at this rate his critical ear would - tell him that she had every page by heart, and he would ask her for an - explanation of so singular a thing as her being able to repeat so much of - a book which she professed to have in her hands for the first time. She - put a check upon her fluency, and though she did not go so far as to - simulate stumbling over certain words, she neglected the punctuation now - and again, and then went back upon some of the passages, causing him to - give a little grumble and say: - </p> - <p> - “Be careful, my dear; there's no need for haste: the evening is still - young.” - </p> - <p> - After that she was more careful—which is the same as saying she was - more careless of adhering to the scheme she had adopted. She felt that as - he had now been put off the scent, she might run along as she pleased - without there being a chance of his suspecting anything through her - showing herself familiar with passage after passage. - </p> - <p> - Before she had got through more than a dozen pages she heard a creaking of - the sofa—she trusted herself to glance in that direction and found - that he was no longer reclining: he was sitting up and listening - attentively. She continued reading without making a remark for a full - hour. The sun had set, but the twilight was clear enough to allow of her - seeing the print on the page before her for some time still; then the - darkness seemed to fall all at once, and she laid the book down when she - had come to the close of one of the letters. - </p> - <p> - “Candles,” he said. “Candles! Upon my word, the world is right for once: - the stuff is good. We must have candles. Candles, I say!” - </p> - <p> - “Supper, say I,” cried Fanny. “I feel that I have need of bodily - refreshment after such a task. Does it sound real to you, Daddy Crisp—all - about the Young Lady who is about to enter the world?” - </p> - <p> - “Not merely does it sound real, it is real—it is reality,” he - replied quickly. “The man who wrote what you have read has something of - the genius of—of—now whom does he resemble, think you?—Richardson - here and there, and in places, Fielding, it seems to me.” - </p> - <p> - “You suppose that 'tis written by a man?” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course, 'tis the work of a man,” he replied. “Where is the woman - living that is capable of writing a single page of that book? What, have I - gone to so much trouble in training you to understand what is bad and what - is good in writing, to so little purpose, that you should have a doubt as - to the sex of what you have just read?” - </p> - <p> - “The sex of a book—a novel?” - </p> - <p> - “Why not? There are masculine books and there is feminine—trash. - There you have the difference.” - </p> - <p> - “And you do not consider this to be—trash?” - </p> - <p> - “Will you get the candles, Miss Burney? It seems that you are sorely in - need of illumination if you put that question to me seriously. Trash? - Madam, you perceive that I am all eagerness to hear the rest of the story, - and yet you put that silly question to me! Look you here, you rogue, - cannot you see that the very fact of your putting such a question to me - shows that the book is the work of a man? When a carefully trained woman - such as you cannot yet discriminate between the good and the trash that is - written, how would it be possible for a woman to write what you have - read?” - </p> - <p> - “You think there is nothing womanly in the book?” - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing effeminate in the writing, so much is sure. There is - plenty that is womanly in the book, because the man who wrote it knows how - to convey to a reader a sense of womanliness to be in keeping with the - character of the letters—that is what is meant by genius. A woman - trying to produce the same effect would show the frill of her petticoat on - every page. She would make the men's parts in the book as feminine as the - women's. Now, no more chatter an you please, but get the candles.” - </p> - <p> - “And Mrs. Hamilton will get our supper by their light.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny tripped away, and was behind the door of the larder before she - allowed the laughter which was pent up very close to her eyes to have its - freedom. It was a very hearty laugh that she had, for there was a constant - buzzing in her ears of the question: - </p> - <p> - “What will he say when he learns the truth?” - </p> - <p> - She was ready to dance her Nancy Dawson in delight at seeing the effect of - the book upon the old man whom she loved—the man who was directly - responsible for its existence. If Mr. Crisp had not taken trouble with - her, encouraging her to write her letters to him in a natural style, the - correspondence in “Evelina” would, she knew, be very different from what - it was. So, after all, she reflected, he was right in pronouncing the book - the work of a man; but he had no idea that he was the man who was - responsible for it. That reflection of hers was as fully imbued with the - true spirit of comedy as her anticipation of the effect that would be - produced upon him by the revelation of the authorship. - </p> - <p> - And that was why this young student of the human comedy was able to - restrain herself from making the revelation to him at once: she had, as it - were, a delicate palate for comedy, and it was a delight to her—the - gratification of her natural vanity had nothing to do with it—to - lead him on to commit himself more deeply every moment on the question of - the sex of the writer. Oh, no; she had no idea of making any confession to - him for the present. She would have many another chat with him before the - moment for that <i>dénouement</i> in the comedy should arrive. - </p> - <p> - So she got the candles and the housekeeper laid the cold chicken and the - plates on the supper-table, and Mr. Crisp set about mixing the salad in - the manner he had acquired in Italy. And all the time they were engaged - over the simple meal he was criticising what she had read, and he had - scarcely a word to say about it that was not favourable. But he took care - to protect himself in case he should be forced to retire from the position - he had taken up. - </p> - <p> - “A man is a fool to pronounce an opinion on a book before he has had the - last page read to him,” he said. “I have only been touching upon the part - that I have heard, and I say that it seems to me to be as good as anything - I have read for years; but that is not saying that the remainder, or some - portions of the remainder, may not be so greatly inferior as to compel me - to pronounce unfavourably of the book as a whole. I have had instances of - such inequality shown by many writers, and it may be that the writer of - 'Evelina' will be added to the list, although he shows no sign of falling - off up to your last page. Do not be hurried by me, my dear, but if you - have indeed made up your mind to eat no cheese, Mrs. Hamilton can remove - the <i>débris</i>, and unless you are tired, you will read me a few pages - more.” - </p> - <p> - She read until midnight. The only pauses that she made were when he - trimmed the wicks of the candles. He commended her fluency. She had never - read better in his hearing, he said. She showed that she understood what - she was reading; and that, after all, was the greatest praise that could - be given to anyone. He did not suggest the likelihood that she was tired. - </p> - <p> - There was the sound of the bleating of lambs occasionally borne from the - meadows beyond the little stream—the sound of an owl that came - nightly about the house from the barn of the farm a few hundred yards away—the - sound of a large moth bumping against the glass of the casement through - which the candle-light shone. There was nothing to interrupt her in her - delightful task until the church clock struck the hour of midnight. - </p> - <p> - “Not another line,” she cried, jumping from her chair. “Poor Evelina! she - will be the better for a sleep. When she awakens she may be able to see - more clearly who are her true friends and who are not to be trusted. - Good-night, dear Daddy; and receive my thanks for your attention.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me the volume,” he said. “I usually awake before six, and so shall - have a couple of hours of it before rising.” - </p> - <p> - “You will not get it from me, sir,” she cried. “Captain Mervain knows the - naval rule about drinking glass for glass, and let me tell you that the - same rule holds in the matter of reading a book—chapter for chapter - between us, sir; we shall finish as we have begun.” - </p> - <p> - She blew him a kiss and ran upstairs to escape his protests: he shouted - them after her from the foot of the stairs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning - was a lovely one, and Fanny was feeding the ducks in the brook before - eight o'clock. When she came into the house to breakfast she found Mr. - Crisp in the porch. - </p> - <p> - “You have given me a sleepless night,” he said. “I lay awake endeavouring - to determine for my own satisfaction what would be the outcome of the - girl's meeting that dreadful Branghton family. I worked out the story to - its proper conclusion—so I thought—on my left side; but when I - turned on my right I found that I had been grossly astray in all my - fancies; and forthwith I set to work to put myself right. After an hour or - two I thought I had succeeded, but, lo! a turn on my back and I saw that, - as I planned it, the story would never come to an end. So I kept on until - the dawn. Then I fell asleep, but only to find myself surrounded by - demons, in the form of Branghtons, and a master devil wearing the epaulets - of a naval officer, and he made for me with a horrid leer and a cry of - Mervain! I awoke in a worse state than did the Duke of Clarence in the - play, and I have not slept since. Oh, that little mischief, Susy! - Wherefore did she send hither that magic book to be my undoing?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, sir, never before did I perceive the evil of novel reading,” she - said. “I could not understand my mother's banning all such books, but now - I see the wisdom of it. I now see how they tend to unsettle one. But it - may not yet be too late to save you from the evil influence of 'Evelina.' - If I read no more of her story, you will soon forget her and all may be - well.” - </p> - <p> - “You will read no more? Good! Carry out your threat and I will e'en take - the coach to London and buy a full set at Mr. Newbery's.” - </p> - <p> - “At Mr. Newbery's? Ah, sir, that is a threat you could not carry out, - however vindictive you might be.” - </p> - <p> - “And why not, prithee? Think you I would begrudge the seven or eight - shillings it would cost?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir; but if you went to Mr. Newbery you would probably find yourself - treated badly by him if you accused him of publishing the book. 'Tis Mr. - Lowndes who is the guilty person.” - </p> - <p> - “You will not put one to the humiliation of a journey to London all for a - trumpery novel?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, not for a trumpery novel; but we were talking of 'Evelina.'” - </p> - <p> - “I submit to the correction, my dear; and so now we are in perfect - agreement, you will continue the story, if only to allay my sleepless - speculations.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder how it will sound when read in the morning? I fear that it will - be as dull as a play would seem in the garish light of day.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell not that to me. There are novels of the morn as well as of the even, - and I believe that the freshness of this one will be best appreciated in - the brightness of such a morning as this. At any rate, we can but make a - trial of it. If we find that it does not read well, you can lay it aside - till the evening.” - </p> - <p> - Fanny was delighted to find that he was as interested in her book as Susy - had been; and the noon came and found her beginning the second volume to - him, sitting by his side in the sunlight that bathed the little garden, - and his attention never flagged. Once or twice, however, he grumbled, but - her ear assured her that his grumble was not a critical one; it was only - meant to censure the behaviour of the rude Captain Mervain. - </p> - <p> - They were still in the garden when, shortly after noon, a chaise was heard - in the lane: it appeared to be on its way to the house. - </p> - <p> - “What! as I live 'tis mamma and my sisters come to pay us a visit,” cried - Fanny, seeing a handkerchief waved to her from the window. - </p> - <p> - “They shall be made welcome, for I cannot doubt that they have brought the - third volume with them,” said Mr. Crisp, rising to receive his visitors. - </p> - <p> - In this way the reading was interrupted, and indeed Fanny was rather glad - of a respite. She had not risen from her chair since nine o'clock. A - chance of stretching her limbs was very acceptable. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney and the girls had scarcely settled down to their cakes and - sweet wine, after explaining that Dr. Burney had insisted on their taking - this drive into the country, the day promised to be so fine, when Mr. - Crisp turned to Susy, saying: - </p> - <p> - “You wicked girl! What did you mean by sending us the two volumes of that - vile novel to upset us poor country folk? And I hope you have not - neglected to bring with you the third.” Poor Susy reddened and glanced at - Fanny without trying to make any reply. - </p> - <p> - “Eh, what is this?” cried the old man. “Do you mean to disclaim all - responsibility for the act? Ah, 'tis too late for you to make such an - attempt. The evil has been done. The poison has begun to work in our - blood; and its effects can only be neutralized by the contents of the - third volume. Say at once, I pray, if you have brought it.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not trouble poor Susy with your tropes, sir,” said Fanny. “She cannot - grasp your meaning, and only trusts that we have not gone mad. I suppose - the road was as usual—half of it muddy and the rest dusty?” - </p> - <p> - “I insist on hearing if the third volume is in the chaise,” said Mr. - Crisp, firmly. “If it be not, then you may drive straight back to St. - Martin's Street and return hither with it in time for Fannikin to read it - to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Pray what book is it that you refer to, Mr. Crisp?” inquired Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “What book, madam! As if there were more books than one printed this year! - Why, Mrs. Burney, where have you been living all this time, that you have - never heard of 'Evelina '?” cried he. - </p> - <p> - “I have heard of little else save this 'Evelina' for some time past; but I - have no time for reading novels, nor has any member of my family,” replied - the lady. - </p> - <p> - “I insisted on one member of your family finding the time yesterday and - to-day, and the consequence is that she has gone through the first volume - and part of the second since Susy was so obliging as to send them hither. - I was in hopes that you had brought the third volume; but I perceive that - we shall have to wait for it now.” - </p> - <p> - Susy was examining very closely the pattern on her plate when Mrs. Burney - turned to her, saying: - </p> - <p> - “Does Mr. Crisp mean that you got that novel and sent it hither to Fanny?” - </p> - <p> - “Only part of it—no more than two volumes,” said Susy quickly, as - though anxious to submit extenuating circumstances to the notice of her - stepmother. - </p> - <p> - “Did you get it at Hill's library, or where?” inquired Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “I did not get it at a library,” replied Susy slowly, as a reluctant - witness might answer an incriminating question. - </p> - <p> - “What, did you buy it? Did you spend your money on it?” cried Mrs. Burney, - with a note of amazement not free from anxiety. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; I did not buy it,” said Susy. - </p> - <p> - “How did it come into your hands, then—tell me that?” - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Edward brought it for Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - “And you read the first two volumes and are now reading the third?” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, mamma, 'tis I that was led by my curiosity,” said Lottie hastily. - </p> - <p> - “Though you have often heard me protest against the vice of novel reading? - I wonder at you, Lottie. I am shocked that you should so yield to a vulgar - temptation,” said Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, my dear madam, you must not talk of our dear 'Evelina' as if she - were an everyday person,” said Mr. Crisp. “On the contrary, she is a most - interesting young lady, and if I do not soon learn what happens to her now - that she has formed some very dubious intimacies, I shall be inconsolable. - Have you read the book, Mrs. Burney?” - </p> - <p> - “Not I indeed,” replied Mrs. Burney, with more than a suggestion of - indignation that such a charge should be brought against her. “I have - heard enough about that book during the past month to prevent me from - having any wish to read it, even if I were a novel reader, which I - certainly deny. I am ashamed that any member of my household should so far - forget her duty as to read such stuff.” - </p> - <p> - “Come, come, my dear lady, you must remember that there are novels and - novels,” said Mr. Crisp. “I have heard you praise Mr. Richardson, have I - not?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Richardson was a genius and a great moral writer, sir, as well.” - </p> - <p> - “The two are not invariably associated. But what if I tell you that this - new book is worthy of being placed between 'Clarissa Harlowe' and - 'Pamela'?” - </p> - <p> - “You will not do so gross an injustice to the memory of a great man, I am - sure. But, if you please, we will discuss this no longer. No matter what - this 'Evelina' may be, the fact remains that I gave a command that our - home should be free from the taint of novel reading, and my wishes have - been secretly ignored. I should not wonder if Fanny had encouraged Edward - to procure the book for her.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot deny it,” said Fanny in a low voice. “'Twas my doing altogether. - All the blame should rest on my shoulders—yes, from the first—the - very first—from the title page on to 'Finis.'” - </p> - <p> - “And your delinquency has given me greater pleasure than I have derived - from other people's rectitude,” said Mr. Crisp. Then he turned to Mrs. - Burney. - </p> - <p> - “Dear madam, you must forgive our Fannikin for her misdemeanour. If you - had but read the book for yourself you would feel as I do on the subject. - 'Tis the most fascinating story——” - </p> - <p> - “That is, I hold, the worst of the matter,” said Mrs. Burney. “The more - fascinating the novel, the more dangerous it is, and the greater reason - there is why it should be excluded from every honest home. A dull story - may do but little harm. One might reasonably tolerate it even among a - household of young girls, but a clever one—a fascinating one, as you - call this 'Evelina,' should never be allowed to cross the threshold. But, - by your leave, sir, we will talk no more upon a question on which I know - we shall never agree.” - </p> - <p> - “That is the most satisfactory proposal that could be made,” said Mr. - Crisp, bowing. “I will only add that since you are so fully sensible of - the danger of a delightful book in your house, you will take prompt - measures to prevent the baleful influence of 'Evelina' from pervading your - home, by despatching the third volume to me without delay. The third - volume of such a novel may in truth be likened to the match in the barrel - of gunpowder: 'tis the most dangerous part of the whole. The first two - volumes are like the gunpowder—comparatively innocent, but the - moment the third volume is attached—phew! So you would do well not - to delay in getting rid of such an inflammatory composition, Mrs. Burney.” - </p> - <p> - “I promise you that you shall have it at once, sir,” said Mrs. Burney. - “And I trust that you will not allow the first and second to return to my - house. A barrel of gunpowder may be as innocent as you say, so long as the - match is withheld, but still I have no intention of turning our home into - a powder magazine.” - </p> - <p> - That was the last reference made to “Evelina” while Mrs. Burney and the - two girls remained at Chessington. They went away so as to be back in St. - Martin's Street in time for dinner; but the moment they were together in - the chaise Mrs. Burney burst out once more in her denunciation of the vice - of novel reading. From her general treatment of the theme she proceeded—as - the girls feared she would—to the particular instance of its - practice which had just come under her notice. She administered to poor - Susy a sound scolding for having received the book from her cousin Edward - in secret, and another to poor Lottie for having ventured to read it - without asking leave. The girls were soon reduced to tears, but not a word - did they say in reply. They were loyal to their sister and her secret with - which they had been entrusted. Not a word did either of them utter. - </p> - <p> - The drive home on that lovely afternoon was a dreary one, especially after - Mrs. Burney had said: - </p> - <p> - “I fear that this duplicity has been going on for a long time in our - house. Yes, I have noticed more than once an exchange of meaning glances - between you and Fanny, and sometimes, too, when your cousin Edward was in - the room. It seemed to me that you had some secret in common which you - were determined to keep from me. I said nothing at that time, for though - my suspicions were awakened, yet I thought it best to take the most - favourable view of the matter, and I assumed that the secret—if - there was a secret—was an innocent one—such as girls in a - family may share among themselves about some trifling thing; but now I - have no doubt that your glances and your winks and your elbowings had to - do with the smuggling of books into the house for your surreptitious - reading. I am ashamed of you. It hurts me deeply to find that, after all - the care I have taken to preserve you in innocence of the world and its - wickedness, you have been behaving with such duplicity. I shall, of - course, think it my duty to let your father know what I have found out, - and he may be able to suggest some means of preventing a repetition of - such conduct.” - </p> - <p> - The poor girls dared not even look at each other for mutual sympathy, lest - such glances should be interpreted by their mother as a further attempt to - pursue the scheme of duplicity with which she had charged them. They could - only sit tearful and silent until they were once again in St. Martin's - Street. They longed to rush upstairs together to their room and mingle - their tears in a sisterly embrace before determining how they should meet - their stepmother's charges in the presence of their father. - </p> - <p> - But Mrs. Burney was too astute a strategist to permit them to consult - together. - </p> - <p> - “Is your master within?” she inquired of William, the man-servant, who - opened the door for them. - </p> - <p> - “He is in the library, madam, with Mrs. Esther,” replied the man. - </p> - <p> - “So much the better,” said Mrs. Burney to the girls. “We shall go directly - to him, and your sister Esther will be present.” - </p> - <p> - She made them precede her to the room that was called the library. Dr. - Burney and Hetty were laughing together across the table—the sound - of their merriment had been heard by the girls before the door was opened. - But at the portentous gravity of the entrance of Mrs. Burney her husband - became grave. - </p> - <p> - “You have returned early,” he said, “and—good heavens! you have been - weeping—you do not bring bad news—Fanny has not had a - relapse?” - </p> - <p> - “Fanny is quite well; but I bring you bad news,” replied Mrs. Burney. “You - will, I am sure, regard it as the worst possible news when I tell you that - she, as well as her sisters here, have been guilty of the grossest - disobedience—a conspiracy of disobedience, I may call it.” - </p> - <p> - “I am amazed—and grieved,” said he. “But I can scarcely believe - that, brought up as they have been——” - </p> - <p> - “They do not deny it,” said she. “I only discovered by chance that, in - defiance of our rule against novel reading, they been have trafficking - with their cousin Edward to procure novels for their secret reading, and - the latest they smuggled into the house is that one called 'Evelina'—I - actually found Fanny reading the book to Mr. Crisp, and her sisters - admitted——” - </p> - <p> - “But what did Fanny admit?” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “She admitted that Edward had procured the book at her request,” replied - his wife. “Was not that enough?” - </p> - <p> - “Not half enough—not a quarter enough, considering that it was Fanny - who wrote 'Evelina' with her own hand and under our very noses without our - suspecting it,” said Dr. Burney quietly. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney looked at him dumbly for more than a whole minute. There was - silence in the room. - </p> - <p> - Then she sat slowly down on the nearest chair, still keeping her eyes - fixed upon him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>OCTOR BURNEY sat - for a long time staring at a point high above his wife's head. The eldest - daughter, Hetty, standing at the other side of the writing-table, was - radiant; her eyes were dancing. The two others were standing together—huddled - together, it might be said, for they suggested a pair of lambs recently - frightened—doubtful of what is going to happen next and feeling that - the closer they are to each other the safer they will be. - </p> - <p> - “Did you ever hear of anything so funny?” said Hetty, glancing around and - still radiant. - </p> - <p> - Her father got upon his feet. - </p> - <p> - “And she was the only one that never had any attention,” said he, as if he - had not heard Hetty's remark. “Fanny was left to make her own way as - pleased her best—no one troubled about her education. She was left - to pick up knowledge as best she could—the crumbs that fell from the - others' table—that was how she picked up French when the others came - back from school, and now she speaks it with the best of them... And so - shy! Tell me, if you can, how she got her knowledge of things—the - things in that book—the pictures red with life—the real - life-blood of men and women—love—emotion—pathos—all - that make up life—and don't forget the characterization—that's - what seems to me all but miraculous. Hogarth—we all know that - Hogarth drew his characters and fitted them into his pictures because he - made it a point to walk among them and look at them with observant eyes; - but tell me, if you can, what chance that child had of seeing anything; - and yet she has filled her canvas, and every bit is made up of firm, true - drawing. That is the chief wonder.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke evidently under the impulse of a great excitement at first, not - looking at anyone in particular—just skimming them all with his eyes - as he paced the room. But he seemed gradually to recover himself as he - talked, and he appeared to address his last words to his wife. This - assisted her to recover herself also—a minute or so in advance of - him. - </p> - <p> - “You seem to be sure that Fanny wrote it,” she said, when he had done. “Is - it fair to condemn her before you make sure?” - </p> - <p> - Everyone looked at Mrs. Burney; but only her husband laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Condemn her—condemn her for having written the finest novel since - Fielding?” he said, with the laugh still on his face. There was no laugh - on hers; on the contrary, its expression was more serious than ever. - </p> - <p> - “A novel is a novel,” she said. “I told Mr. Crisp—but that was only - about the reading of novels—the cleverer they are the more - mischievous—dangerous—even the reading—I never dreamt of - her going so far as to write one, clever or otherwise. But a novel is - still a novel—she must have neglected her duties in the house, - though I failed to observe it... and sending it to a bookseller without - saying a word to us! Who would have believed that a young woman with her - training—” - </p> - <p> - “It flashed across me when I read the verses addressed to myself at the - beginning that she had asked my permission some months ago, and that I had - given it—I did so laughing at the poor child's credulousness in - believing that any bookseller would print it for her and pay her for the - privilege—the privilege of making a thousand pounds out of her - book.” - </p> - <p> - “What! are you serious?—a thousand pounds, did you say?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Lowndes will make more than a thousand pounds by the sale of the book—Hetty - tells me that he only paid Fanny twenty for it.” - </p> - <p> - “What is the world coming to—a fortune in a single book! And we - talked about her being portionless, when all the time she was more richly - endowed than all the rest of the family; for if she has written one book, - she can certainly write another equally remunerative. 'Perhaps she has - another ready for the printers.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Burney was blessed with the capacity to look at matters, however - artistic they might be, from the standpoint of the practical housekeeper. - The mention of so sonorous a sum as a thousand pounds caused the scales of - prejudice to fall from the eyes through which she had regarded the act of - authorship, and at that instant she perceived that it should not be - thought of as a delinquency but as a merit. - </p> - <p> - And, after all, it appeared that the girl had obtained the permission of - her father to print it—that put quite a different complexion upon - the transaction, did it not? - </p> - <p> - And a thousand pounds—that appealed to the good sense of a practical - person and swept away the last cobweb of prejudice that she had had - respecting novels and their writers. - </p> - <p> - “Has she another book written, think you?” she inquired in a tone full of - interest. “Of course we shall see that she gets a better share of Mr. - Lowndes' thousand pounds than she did for her first.” - </p> - <p> - “She has not written a line since 'Evelina,'” said Esther. “To be sure, I - have not been her <i>confidante</i> since I got married, but I know that - she was so frightened at the thought of what she had done that she would - not write another page.” - </p> - <p> - “Frightened! What had she to be frightened about?” cried Mrs. Burney in a - tone of actual amazement. - </p> - <p> - “Goodness knows,” said Esther with a laugh. - </p> - <p> - The sound of the dinner-bell coming at that moment had about it also - something of the quality of a long, loud, sonorous outburst of laughter - with a cynical tinkle at the last. - </p> - <p> - The group in that room dissolved in all directions with exclamations of - dismay at being overtaken by the dinner-hour so unprepared. - </p> - <p> - “It is all over now,” said Susy to Lottie, when they were alone in their - room. “I was afraid when she ushered us so formally into the library that - we would be forced to tell our secret.” - </p> - <p> - “I made up my mind that no torture of the rack or wild horses would unseal - my lips,” said Susy, earnestly. “Do you know, Lottie, I feel quite lonely - without our secret.” - </p> - <p> - “It is just the same with me, dear,” said Lottie. “I feel as if I were - suddenly cut off from some great interest in life—as if I had gone - downstairs one morning and found that someone had stolen the piano. I - wonder if it was Hetty who told the padre.” - </p> - <p> - “Make haste and we shall soon learn all,” said Susy. - </p> - <p> - Before they had finished dinner they learned from their father how he had - got to the bottom of the secret that they had so cherished. - </p> - <p> - He had gone as usual to give a music lesson to Queenie Thrale, and when - partaking of some refreshment before setting out for London, Mrs. Thrale - had talked to him in terms of the highest praise of “Evelina.” She had - read the book twice over, she told him, and had lent it to Dr. Johnson, - who could talk of nothing else. Then Mrs. Cholmondeley had arrived on a - visit to Thrale Hall, and she, too, was full of praise of the book. She, - too, had lent her copy to someone else—to no less important a person - than Mr. Edmund Burke, and he had declared himself as greatly captivated - by it as his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds had been. Everybody was talking - about it, and the question of the authorship had been as widely discussed - as before; Mrs. Cholmondeley had declared that she would give twenty - guineas to find out for certain who it was that had written the book. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale had thereupon suggested that Dr. Burney was in a better - position than most people for solving the mystery, going about as he was - from one part of the town to another and being in close touch with all - manner of people. - </p> - <p> - “But I had not, as you know, so much as read the book for myself—I - seemed to be the only one in town who had not done so—and on getting - home I sent William post haste to Mr. Lowndes to purchase a set. This - done, I sat down to peruse the first volume. The page opened on the Ode; - it lay beneath my eyes, and I tell you truly that I did not seem to read - it: I seemed to hear Fanny's voice reading the verses in my ear, and the - truth came upon me in a flash—incredible though it appeared, I knew - that it was she who had written the book. Hetty came in before my eyes - were dry—she saw the volume in my hand, and she understood all. 'You - know,' was all that she said. I think that the greatest marvel was the - keeping of the secret of the book! To think of its being known to four - girls and never becoming too great for them to bear!” - </p> - <p> - He was appealing to his wife, but she only nodded a cold acquiescence in - his surprise. She remained silent, however, and this was something to be - grateful for, the girls thought: they knew just what she was thinking, and - they also knew that if they had some little trouble in keeping their - secret, she had very much more in restraining herself from uttering some - comment upon their reticence—their culpable reticence, she would - think it. They could see that she was greatly displeased at having been - excluded from their secret, since such an exclusion had forced her into a - false position more than once—notably in the presence of Mr. Crisp, - when she had become the assailant of novels and novel reading generally, - and also when she had scolded them on their return in the chaise. But they - were good girls, and they were ready to allow that they were in the wrong, - even though they did not think so: that is what really good girls do in - their desire for peace in their homes. And Lottie and Susy made up their - minds that should their stepmother tax them with double-dealing and - deceit, they would not try to defend themselves. The reflection that they - had kept their sister's secret would more than compensate them for any - possible humiliation they might suffer at Mrs. Burney's hands. - </p> - <p> - All that Mrs. Burney said at the conclusion of her husband's further - rhapsody about the marvel of Fanny's achievement, considering how she had - been generally thought the dunce of the family, was comprised in a few - phrases uttered in a hurt tone: - </p> - <p> - “While no one is more pleased than myself to witness her success, I cannot - but feel that she would have shown herself possessed of a higher sense of - her duty as a daughter if she had consulted her father or his wife in the - matter,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “That may be true enough,” said Dr. Burney; “but if she had done so, would - she have achieved her purpose any more fully than she has, I ask you? No, - my dear, I do not feel, with any measure of certainty, that I would have - gone far in my encouragement of her efforts, nor do I think that you would - have felt it consistent with your principles to do so.” - </p> - <p> - “I was only referring to the question of a simple girl's duty in regard to - her parents,” said Mrs. Burney. - </p> - <p> - “And your judgment on that point is, I am certain, unassailable,” said he. - “But here we have a girl who is no simple girl, but a genius; and I think - that a good deal of latitude should be allowed to a genius—a little - departure from the hard and fast line of the duties expected from a simple - girl may be permitted in such a one as Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, she has succeeded in her aims—so much is plain,” said Mrs. - Burney. “But I hope that should any of her sisters set about a similar - enterprise——” - </p> - <p> - But the ringing laughter that came from the sisters, their father joining - in with great heartiness, saved the need for her to complete her sentence. - At first she felt hurt, but she quickly yielded to the exuberant spirit - that pervaded the atmosphere of the room, and smiled indulgently, after - the manner of a staid elderly lady who is compelled to take part in the - romp of her girls and boys at Christmas time. - </p> - <p> - She continued smiling, and the others continued laughing, and this spirit - of good humour was maintained until bedtime. - </p> - <p> - The girls knew that they would not be scolded for their participation in - Fanny's secret; for Fanny by her success had justified any amount of - double-dealing. If Fanny had made a fool of herself they would feel that - they deserved to participate in her scolding; but success is easily - pardoned, and so they rightly counted upon a general amnesty. What was it - that their father had said about a thousand pounds? - </p> - <p> - They went to bed quite happy, in spite of being deprived of the fearful - joy of having a secret to keep. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>R. BURNEY had - given instructions that Fanny was not to be communicated with at - Chessington until he had seen her; but that the third volume of the book - was to be sent to Mr. Crisp without delay. He was to go to Streatham again - in two days' time, and thence to Chessington, where he would make Mr. - Crisp aware of the identity of the writer of “Evelina.” - </p> - <p> - He anticipated an interesting hour with Mr. Crisp, but a very much more - interesting half-hour with Mrs. Thrale; for he meant, of course, to lose - no time in letting that lady into the secret: he knew that she would make - the most of the information he could impart to her; to be the first to - learn what all her friends were striving to learn would at once place her - above Mrs. Cholmondeley, who was willing to pay twenty guineas for the - knowledge, and even Mrs. Montagu, who was inclined to patronize Mrs. - Thrale and a good many other ladies, in spite of the fact that Dr. Johnson - dined usually five days out of every week with Mrs. Thrale, but had only - dined once with Mrs. Montagu since she had gone to her new house. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Burney was well aware how valuable the Thrale connection was to him; a - teacher of music is apt to look with sparkling eyes at a houseful of girls - whose father possesses the possibilities of such wealth as was defined by - Dr. Johnson in this particular case as beyond the dreams of avarice. Dr. - Burney had a very nice judgment on the subject of an influential - connection, and so was delighted to have a chance of doing a signal good - turn to so deserving a patroness as Mrs. Thrale. Yes, he felt sure that - his half-hour at Streatham Hall would be the most interesting of the many - half-hours he had spent under the same hospitable roof. - </p> - <p> - And he was not mistaken in his surmise. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale had, as usual, several friends coming to partake of an early - repast with her; and Dr. Burney had pictured to himself the effect of his - announcement to the company that his daughter had written the book upon - which he was pretty sure the conversation would turn—indeed, he felt - that he would be greatly surprised if the conversation did not immediately - rush to the question of “Evelina” and remain there for the rest of the - afternoon; for the enterprising ladies would doubtless bring with them - some fresh suggestions or new cues to its authorship. He pictured himself - allowing them to go on for some time until perhaps a statement would be - made which he should have to contradict point-blank. They would all look - at him in surprise. What did he know about the matter? Was he interested - in the question? Had he found out anything? - </p> - <p> - How he would smile while saying quietly: - </p> - <p> - “Well, I am more or less interested in the matter, the fact being that - 'Evelina' is the work of my daughter, Fanny Burney!” - </p> - <p> - That would be, he thought, a fitting moment in which to divulge the - secret; he saw the whole scene clearly before him. - </p> - <p> - But before he had reached his destination that intuition of what would - commend itself to a patron which had been so important an auxiliary to his - ability in placing him above his rivals in his profession, overcame his - desire to play the most important part in a dramatic scene; he perceived - that such a rôle should be taken by an influential patroness, and not by - himself. Thus it was that when Mrs. Thrale was giving him a cup of - chocolate after his journey he smiled, saying: - </p> - <p> - “I was greatly interested in the conversation between Mrs. Cholmondeley - and the other ladies when I was last here.” - </p> - <p> - “About 'Evelina'?” she inquired. “Ah, I wonder if Mrs. Cholmondeley has - yet paid over her twenty guineas to the discoverer of the author. It seems - that he has as arduous a task in regard to 'Evelina' as Raleigh had in - regard to his El Dorado.” - </p> - <p> - “So it would appear,” said Dr. Burney. “Let us hope that his efforts will - be more highly valued than those of poor Sir Walter. Have you yourself no - suspicions on the subject, madam?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, suspicions? There have been as many suspicions set going on this - subject within the month as would be entertained only by the most - imaginative Bow Street runner. For my own part, I maintain that the book - could only have been writ by our friend Horace Walpole. He found that his - 'Otranto' excited so much curiosity when published without a name, he came - to the conclusion that he would produce another novel with the same amount - of mystery attached to it. The only point against this assumption is that——” - </p> - <p> - “That the book was assuredly written by another person,” said Burney, - smiling in a way that he designed to be somewhat enigmatical. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale tried to interpret his smile. - </p> - <p> - “What!” she exclaimed, “you have formed another theory—you—you - have heard something since you were last here?” - </p> - <p> - “Not something, madam—not a mere something, but everything—everything - that is to be known regarding the writer of that book.” - </p> - <p> - “Is't possible? Who is your informant?—the value of all that you - have heard is dependent upon the accuracy of your informant.” - </p> - <p> - “The book was written by the person whom I fancied I knew best of all the - people in the world, and yet the last person whom I would believe capable - of such a feat. The author of the book—I am the author of her being—she - is none other than my daughter Fanny.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale sat staring at him, one arm resting upon the table, her lips - parted as if about to utter an exclamation of surprise, but unable to do - so by reason of her surprise. - </p> - <p> - More than a minute had passed before she was able to speak, and then she - could do no more than repeat his words. - </p> - <p> - “Your daughter Fanny—your daughter—but is not Fanny the little - shy one that goes into a corner when you have company?” she asked, in a - tone that suggested that she had heard something too ridiculous to be - believed. - </p> - <p> - “She is that one, madam,” he replied. “It would seem as if the corner of a - room has its advantages in enabling one to observe life from a true - standpoint. Two eyes looking out from a corner with a brain behind them—there - you have the true writer of a novel of life and character. Poor Fanny! How - often have not I talked of her as 'poor Fanny'? She had no education - except what she contrived to pick up haphazard—a sweet child—a - lovable daughter, but the last person in the world to be suspected of such - a book as 'Evelina.'” - </p> - <p> - “You are sure, sir—you have seen—heard—you know?” - </p> - <p> - “Beyond any doubt. Her sisters were let into the secret, but neither of - her parents. I know now why that was—no want of duty—no lack - of respect—she began the book for her own amusement, and it grew - under her hand; she sent it to a bookseller, more as a jest than in the - belief that anything would come of it, and up to the last it was treated - by her and her sisters as a schoolroom mystery—a nursery secret—and - Mrs. Burney and I were kept out of it solely because we were not of the - nursery or the schoolroom. And when it became a serious matter we were - excluded because they were afraid to reveal it to us—Fanny herself, - dear child!—feared that we would be concerned if it were stillborn. - It was only when it was at the point of being published by Mr. Lowndes - that she came to me saying that she had been writing something and wanted - my leave to send it forth, promising that no name would appear upon the - title page. I gave my leave with a smile, and when I had my laugh at the - innocence of the girl in fancying that any bookseller would pay for the - printing of what she might scribble, I forgot all about the matter. It was - only when I sent for the book and read the Ode addressed to myself that I - seemed to hear Fanny's voice speaking the words in my ear—I told the - others so when they returned from visiting her at Chessington. But - meantime Esther had come to me, and she told me all that was known to her - about the book and its secret.” - </p> - <p> - “The most wonderful story ever known—more wonderful than the story - of Evelina herself!” cried Mrs. Thrale. “How people—Mrs. - Cholmondeley and the rest—will lift up their hands! Who among them - will believe it all possible? List, my dear doctor, you must bring her to - me in the first instance—all the others will be clamouring for her - to visit them—I know them! You must bring her to me without delay—why - not to-day? I can easily send a chaise for her—a coach if necessary. - Well, if not to-day, to-morrow. I must have her here. We will understand - each other—she and I; and Dr. Johnson will be with us—quite a - little company—for dinner. You will promise me?” - </p> - <p> - “Be assured, dear madam, that there is no house apart from her home where - I feel she would be happier than in this,” said Dr. Burney. “She has often - expressed the warmest admiration for you, and I know that her dearest wish - is to be on terms of intimacy with you.” - </p> - <p> - “The sweet girl! she shall have her dearest wish gratified to the fullest - extent, sir. You will bring her as early to-morrow as it suits you. Good - heavens! to think of that dear retiring child taking the town by storm! - Dr. Johnson wrote to me no later than last evening, expressing once more - his delight in reading the book, and Mr. Burke, too—but you heard - about Mr. Burke. I will never forget your courtesy in telling me first of - all your friends that she was the author, dear doctor.” - </p> - <p> - “If not you, madam, whom would I have told?” - </p> - <p> - “I shall be ever grateful. You will give me leave to make the revelation - to my friends who will be here to-day?” - </p> - <p> - “It is open for you to tell them all that I have told you, my dear madam; - and you may truthfully add that if the writing of the book will bring her - into closer intimacy with Mrs. Thrale, the author will feel that it has - not been written in vain.” - </p> - <p> - He made his lowest bow on rising from the table to receive his pupil, who - entered the room at that moment. - </p> - <p> - He had confidence that he was right in his intuition that his patroness - would act with good effect the rôle which he had relinquished in her - favour, when her friends would arrive in another hour for their - “collation;” and he was ready to allow that none could have played the - part more neatly than she did when the time came to prove how much - better-informed she was than the rest of the world. She might have been - possessed of the knowledge that Miss Burney was the writer of “Evelina” - from the first, from the easy and natural way in which she said: - </p> - <p> - “Pray do not trouble yourselves telling me what Mrs. Cholmondeley said to - Mr. Lowndes, or what Mr. Lowndes said to someone else about the writer of - the novel; for it happens that I know, and have known for—for some - time the name of the author.” - </p> - <p> - There were a few little exclamations of surprise, and a very pretty - uplifting of several pairs of jewelled hands at this calm announcement. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes,” she continued, “the writer is a friend of my own, and the - daughter of one of my most valued friends, and if any people talk to you - in future of 'Evelina' being the work of Mr. Walpole or Mr. Anstey or any - man of letters, pay no attention to these astute investigators, but tell - them that I said the book is the work of Miss Fanny Burney, one of the - daughters of the celebrated Dr. Charles Burney, himself the author of a - 'History of Music' that will live so long as the English language has a - literature of its own.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale did it all with amazing neatness, Dr. Burney thought; and the - attempt that she made to conceal the expression of triumph in the glance - that she gave to her guests let him know that his tact had been exercised - in the right direction. Mrs. Thrale was not the woman to forget that he - had given her such a chance of proving to her friends how intimate was her - association with the literary history of the day. She had been for several - years the patroness of Dr. Johnson, who had written the best dictionary, - and now she was about to take under her protection Miss Burney, who had - written the best novel. He knew that Mrs. Thrale was almost as glad to be - able to reveal the secret of “Evelina” as if she had written the book - herself. - </p> - <p> - And everyone else at the table felt that Mrs. Thrale was indeed an - amazingly clever woman; and wondered how Mrs. Cholmondeley would feel when - she had learned that she had been forestalled in her quest after the - information on which she had placed a value of twenty guineas. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T had all come to - her now. She had had her dreams from time to time when working at her - novel—dreams of recognition—of being received on terms of - equality by some of the lesser literary people who had visited the house - in St. Martin's Street, and had gone away praising the musical talents of - her sisters, but leaving her unnoticed. Her aspirations had been humble, - but it seemed to her so stupid to be stupid in the midst of a brilliant - household, that she longed to be able to do something that would, at - least, cause their visitors of distinction to glance into her corner and - recognize her name when it was spoken in their hearing. That was all she - longed for at first—to be recognized as “the one who writes,” as - people recognized “the one who plays.” But since Signor Rauzzini had come - upon the scene her ambitions had widened. She dreamt not merely of - recognition, but of distinction, so that he might be proud of her, and - that she might not merely be spoken of as the wife of the Roman singer. - That dream of hers had invariably been followed by a feeling of depression - as she reflected upon the improbability of its ever being realized, and if - it should not be realized, all hope of happiness would pass from her life. - Thus it was that for some months she had lived with the cold finger of - despair constantly pressing upon her heart. She was so practical—so - reasonable—that she could never yield herself up to the fascination - of the Fool's Paradise of dreams; she was ready to estimate her chances of - literary success, and the result of the operation was depressing. How - could any young woman who had seen so little of life, and who had been so - imperfectly educated, have any hope to be received as a writer of - distinction? What claim to distinction could such a girl as she advance in - the face of the competition that was going on around her in every branch - of distinctive work? - </p> - <p> - For some months her good sense and her clear head were her greatest - enemies; evermore bringing her back to the logic of a life in which - everything is represented by figures, from a great artistic success to a - butcher's bill—a life in which dreams play a part of no greater - significance than the splendid colours clinging about the West in the - unalterable routine of the setting sun. - </p> - <p> - Many times she had awakened in the night to weep as she felt the - bitterness of defeat; for her book had been given to the world and the - world had received it as the sea receives a stone that is flung upon its - surface. That simile of the stone and the sea was constantly recurring to - her, and every time she saw that it was weak—that it fell short of - meeting her case, for her book had made no stir whatsoever in the world, - whereas a stone, however small it might be, could not be given to the sea - without creating some stir on the surface of the waters. - </p> - <p> - And then, quite unexpectedly, had come a whisper from the world to tell - her that her book had not been submerged: the whisper had increased in - volume until it had sounded in her ears like a shout of acclamation, - telling her that the reality had far surpassed her most sanguine dreams, - and that common-sense reasoning is sometimes farther astray in its - operation than are the promptings of the most unreasonable ambition. - </p> - <p> - These were her rose-tinted reflections while driving with her father from - Chessington to Streatham, a journey which represented to her the passing - from obscurity to distinction, the crossing of the Jordan and the entering - into the Land of Promise. - </p> - <p> - Fanny Burney has herself told the story of her father's coming to her at - Chessington, and of her dear old friend's reception of the marvellous news - that Dr. Burney brought to him—of the phrases which she overheard - while the two men were in a room together—the incredulous - exclamations—“Wonderful—it's wonderful!”—“Why, she has - had very little education but what she has given herself—less than - any of the others”—“The variety of characters—the variety of - scenes, and the language”—“Wonderful!” And then Mr. Crisp's meeting - her, catching her by the hands as she was going in to supper, and crying, - “Why, you little hussy, ain't you ashamed to look me in the face you—you - 'Evelina,' you! Why, what a dance you have led me about it!” Miss Burney - has brought the scene vividly before our eyes in her Diary. - </p> - <p> - It was one of the happiest days of her life; she saw the pride with which - her father regarded her, for Dr. Burney was a practical man who valued - achievement as it deserved, and was, besides, the best of fathers, and the - most anxious to advance the interests of his children. He looked with - pride upon his daughter, and talked of her having made Mr. Lowndes a - wealthy man. His estimate of her earning powers had increased: he now - declared that even if Lowndes had paid a thousand pounds for the book, his - profits off it would enable him to buy an estate! - </p> - <p> - It was the happiest evening of her life; and now she was in the chaise - with her beloved father, driving to Streatham, where they were to dine, - and Dr. Johnson was to be of the party. This meant more than recognition, - it meant the Land of Promise of her ambitious dreams. - </p> - <p> - She had many matters to reflect upon at this time, but all her reflections - led to the one point—her next meeting with Rauzzini. The truth that - had been revealed to her among Sir Joshua Reynolds' superb canvases, that - love was more than all else that the world could give her, remained before - her, as a luminous fixed star, to be a guide to her life; and the - happiness that she now felt was due to the thought that she could go to - the man whom she loved, without a misgiving, without fearing that he would - hear those dreaded voices of the world saying that he had been a fool to - ally himself with a nonentity, or that she would hear the whispers of - those who might suggest that she had done very well for herself. She had - long before made her resolution only to go to him when she could do so on - terms of equality. At that time her resolution seemed to shut her out from - all chances of happiness; she knew this, but at the same time she believed - that it would shut both of them out from every chance of unhappiness; and - so she had allowed it to dominate her life. - </p> - <p> - That was where her common-sense and her reasonableness had their way, - prevailing over that blind impulse which she now and again had, to trust - to chance—and love—to overcome every other consideration, and - to give her lover and herself happiness solely by being together. It was - such impulses as this that caused love to be referred to as blind. But she - was now ready to thank heaven for having given her strength to overcome it - and so to give the victory to reason and good sense. - </p> - <p> - She made up her mind to write to him before she slept that very night, - telling him what her resolution had been—he had called it a mystery, - not knowing anything about it—and asking him to rejoice with her - that she had been able to maintain it, so that the barrier which she had - seen between them was now swept away. - </p> - <p> - “Come to me—come to me”—that would be the burden of her letter - to him; she would send it to him and he would come. - </p> - <p> - The thought made her lean back among the cushions of the chaise and shut - her eyes, the better to enclose the vision of happiness that came from her - heart. He would come to her and her happiness would be complete. - </p> - <p> - So she arrived with her father at Thrale Hall and was welcomed by Mrs. - Thrale in the porch. When she had made her toilet for dinner she was shown - into the drawing-room. As she entered, she was conscious of the presence - of several men, and the one nearest to her was, she saw, Signor Rauzzini. - </p> - <p> - All the men in the room were looking toward her except Rauzzini. He was - standing by the side of a small table, presenting his profile to her, and - his eyes were gazing across the room at a picture that hung between the - windows, a frown on his face. - </p> - <p> - She was startled, and the blood rushed to her cheeks. It would have done - so on her entering the room, even if she had not been surprised to see her - lover there when she believed him to be still in France. - </p> - <p> - She had stopped before reaching the middle of the room, and then she was - hidden from the view of everybody by a huge mass of manhood in the person - of Dr. Johnson. He seemed inclined to embrace her; and as he swung himself - close to her, there was no one in the room that had not a moment of - trepidation lest he should fall over her and crush her flat. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale tripped alongside Fanny, as if ready to die with her. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come, Dr. Johnson,” she cried. “I have no intention of allowing you - to monopolize Miss Burney, for that I perceive is your desire. The - gentlemen must be presented to her in proper form.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said he, “I understood clearly that Miss Burney was coming hither - for myself alone, and I have no mind to share so precious a morsel with - others. Miss Burney and I are old friends, give me leave to say; I have - more than once been interested in a book in the room where she was sitting - in her father's house. Come to my arms, Miss Burney, and we shall laugh - together at the jealous glances the others cast at me.” - </p> - <p> - “Miss Burney will sit beside you at dinner, sir, and that must suffice you - for the present,” said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny by the hand. - </p> - <p> - But Johnson had succeeded, after more than one ineffectual attempt, in - grasping Miss Burney's left hand, and in his ponderous playfulness, he - refused to relinquish it, so that she had to make her curtsies to the - gentlemen with Mrs. Thrale on one side of her and Johnson on the other. - There was Mr. Seward and Sir Joshua Reynolds, and two others besides - Signor Rauzzini. Each of them had a compliment to offer her, and did so - very pleasantly and with great tact. - </p> - <p> - “Now that is done, Miss Burney and I can sit together on the sofa, and she - will tell me why she loves the Scotch and I will scold her for it,” said - Johnson complacently. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, sir, Miss Burney has not yet greeted Signor Rauzzini,” said Mrs. - Thrale. “You and Miss Burney are already acquainted, I know, Signor - Rauzzini, though you did fancy that she was one of the musical girls of - St. Martin's Street.” - </p> - <p> - Rauzzini took a single step away from the table at which he had remained - immovable, and bowed low, without speaking a word. - </p> - <p> - Fanny responded. They were separated by at least three yards. - </p> - <p> - “Dinner is on the table, sir,” announced a servant from the door. - </p> - <p> - “I am not sorry,” said Johnson. “Mrs. Thrale gave me a solemn promise that - Miss Burney should sit next to me. That was why I kept my eye on Miss - Burney.” - </p> - <p> - “And hand too, sir,” remarked Mr. Seward. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes, sir, and hand too, if you insist,” said Johnson. “And let me - tell you, sir, that a Lichfield man will keep his hand on anything he - wishes to retain when another Lichfield man is in the same room.” - </p> - <p> - His laughter set the ornaments on the mantelpiece a-jingling. - </p> - <p> - And they went in to dinner before the echoes had died away. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale kept her promise, and Fanny was placed next to Johnson. But - even then he did not let go her hand. He held it in one of his own and - patted it gently with the other. Fanny glanced down the table and saw that - the eyes of the young Roman were looking in her direction, and that they - were flaming. What could he mean, she wondered. She had been at first - amazed at his bearing toward her in the drawing-room; but after a moment's - thought, she had supposed that he had assumed that distant manner to - prevent anyone from suspecting the intimacy there was between them. But - what could that angry look in his eyes portend? Was it possible that he - could be jealous of Dr. Johnson's awkward attention to her? - </p> - <p> - She was greatly troubled. - </p> - <p> - But if he had, indeed, resented Johnson's attention to her, such a plea - was no longer valid after the first dish had been served, for in an - instant Johnson's attention was transferred, with increased force, to the - plate before him, and during the solid part of the meal, at least, it was - never turned in any other direction. Poor Fanny had never seen him eat, - nor had she the same privilege in respect of Mr. Thrale. But she needed - all the encouragement that her hostess could afford her to enable her to - make even the most moderate meal while such distractions were in her - immediate neighbourhood; and she came to the conclusion that she had been - ridiculously fastidious over the prodigious tea and its service at Mr. - Barlowe's in the Poultry. - </p> - <p> - But Mrs. Thrale was as tactful and as chatty as ever, and Mr. Seward made - pleasant conversation for her, sitting, as he did, on the other side from - Johnson. When Johnson was eating, his fellow guests understood that their - chance was come to express their views without a dread of being - contradicted by him. - </p> - <p> - But from the feebleness of her contribution to the chat of the table, Mrs. - Thrale as well as Mr. Seward perceived that all they had been told about - the timidity of little Miss Burney was even less than the truth. - </p> - <p> - But for that matter, Signor Rauzzini, who had been placed between Mrs. - Thrale and Dr. Burney, was found by both of them to be also singularly - averse from joining in the conversation, whether in reply to Burney, who - addressed him in Italian, or to his hostess, who spoke French to him. - </p> - <p> - As Mrs. Thrale talked a good deal herself, however, she rose with an - impression that there had been no especial lack of brilliancy at the - table. - </p> - <p> - She took Fanny away with her, her determination being that if she should - fail to draw this shy young creature out of her shell, she would at any - rate convince her that her hostess was deserving of the reputation which - she enjoyed for learning, combined with vivacity, so that their - companionship could not be otherwise than profitable after all. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was not yet six - o'clock and the sun was not due to set for more than another hour. The - evening was a lovely one. From the shrubberies around the house came the - liquid notes of countless blackbirds and thrushes, and above the trees of - the park the cawing of the rooks as they wheeled above their nests and - settled upon the branches. - </p> - <p> - “We shall sit on the terrace for half an hour, if you have a mind to,” - said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny through the drawing-room into a smaller - room that opened upon a long terrace above the beds of the flower-garden. - Here were several seats and a small table bearing writing materials. - </p> - <p> - “Here I do most of my correspondence in the summer,” said Mrs. Thrale. - “Sitting at that table in the open air, I have few distractions, unless I - choose to accept the birds as such; and here I hope you will begin a new - novel, or better still, a comedy that Mr. Sheridan will produce, with Mrs. - Abington in her most charming gowns—you must give your namesake a - chance of wearing a whole trunkful of gowns.” They seated themselves, and - Mrs. Thrale continued: - </p> - <p> - “Now I have confided in you how I do my simple work, and I wish to hear - from you by what means you found time to write your novel. That is the - greatest secret of all associated with 'Evelina'—so your father - thinks. Mrs. Burney I always knew as a model housekeeper—a model - manager of a family, and how you could contrive to write a single page - without her knowledge is what baffles me as well as your father.” - </p> - <p> - “To tell you all would, I fear, be to confess to a lifetime of duplicity,” - said Fanny. “I am sometimes shocked now when I reflect upon my - double-dealing.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me how you first came to stray from the paths of virtue—such a - story is invariably interesting,” said Mrs. Thrale. - </p> - <p> - “My story is like all the others,” replied Fanny. “I only meant to turn - aside a little way, but soon I lost myself and I knew that there was no - retracing my steps.” - </p> - <p> - “Alas, alas, the old story!” said Mrs. Thrale, with a long-drawn sigh. - “Well, happily, you were not able to retrace your steps.” - </p> - <p> - “I had no idea that the story would grow upon me as it did,” said Fanny. - “I really only meant it to be a diversion for our dear friend, Mr. Crisp, - and an exercise for myself. I wrote a scrap now and again at odd moments—when - I was supposed to be writing to Mr. Crisp, or copying out my father's - notes for his History, at home as well as at Ches-sington, and when I was - staying at Lynn; and so the thing grew and grew until I was afraid to look - at what I had perpetrated.” - </p> - <p> - “You are paraphrasing <i>Macbeth</i>, my dear: 'I am afeared to think what - I have done: Look on't again I dare not,'” said the elder lady. “But with - all you were able to prepare your father's great work for the press—he - told me as much; so that what your double-dealing comes to is that you did - his writing as well as your own, and at the same time neglected none of - your ordinary household duties—if you had done so Mrs. Burney would - have informed you of it, I have no doubt. An excellent housewife, Mrs. - Burney! And now you shall tell me how you contrived to bring together so - marvellous a group of characters—you who have lived so short a time - in the world, and had so small an amount of experience.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like someone to answer that question for me,” said Fanny. “It - was not until I read the book in print that I began to be surprised at it, - and to wonder how it came to be written and how those characters had found - their way into it.” - </p> - <p> - But this question was too interesting a one not to be pursued by Mrs. - Thrale; and for half an hour she put inquiry after inquiry to Fanny - respecting the characters, the incidents and the language of “Evelina.” - Mrs. Thrale was certainly determined to place herself in a position to - prove to her friends that Miss Burney had made a <i>confidante</i> of her - in all matters, down to the smallest detail of the book. - </p> - <p> - In ordinary circumstances Fanny would have been delighted to give her her - confidence in regard to these particulars—she had always a childlike - pleasure in talking about her books—but at this time she only did so - with a great effort. For while Mrs. Thrale was plying her with questions - about “Evelina,” there was ever before Fanny the unanswered question as to - what Rauzzini meant by his coldness and formality both before dinner and - during that meal. What did he mean by looking at her with that reproachful - frown upon his face? What did he mean by averting his eyes from her when - he had a chance of exchanging confidences with her, as he had often done - before? What did he mean by sitting at the table without addressing a - single word to her? - </p> - <p> - These were the questions which she was struggling in vain to answer to her - own satisfaction all the time that Mrs. Thrale was putting inquiry after - inquiry to her upon a matter that Fanny now regarded as insignificant - compared with the one that she was trying to answer for herself. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Thrale was just beginning a series of questions on the subject of the - comedy which she meant Miss Burney to write, when a servant appeared with - a message for the former. - </p> - <p> - “Tiresome!” exclaimed Fanny's hostess, rising. “Here is some insignificant - household matter that can only be dealt with by the mistress—summer - frocks for two girls: the carrier has brought some boxes—the summer - has come upon us before spring has prepared us for its arrival, and there - has been a despairing cry heard in the nursery. I need not excuse myself - to you, Miss Burney. You will spare me for ten minutes.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Burney hoped that the feeling of relief of which she was conscious - did not show itself on her face, when she expressed the hope that Mrs. - Thrale would not think of her; she would be quite happy with the birds. - </p> - <p> - “And the comedy—do not forget the comedy.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Burney laughed, but before her hostess had reached the door leading - off the terrace, she was once more immersed in that question: - </p> - <p> - “What does he mean by his change of attitude in regard to me?” - </p> - <p> - It was serious—so much she knew. He had heard something that had - caused him to change. But what could he have heard? What manner of man was - he that would allow himself to be so influenced by anything that he might - hear against her, without first coming to her for an explanation? - </p> - <p> - Her mind went back to the evening when they had first met. It was in St. - Martin's Street. He was there on the invitation of Dr. Burney: but it - seemed that he had become conscious of a sympathy existing between her and - himself, for he had remained by her side for a full hour while the others - in the room were singing and playing on the piano, and he had held her - hand at parting, expressing the hope, which his eyes confirmed, that they - would soon meet again. - </p> - <p> - And they had met again and again until one evening they found themselves - alone in an anteroom to the apartment where a musical programme was being - performed at a great house. Then he had told her that his happiness - depended on her returning the love which he bore her; and startled though - she had been, yet when he took her hand all her shyness seemed to vanish - and she confessed.... - </p> - <p> - A sound behind her only served to make her memory seem more vivid, for it - was his voice that reached her ear and it was singing the same aria that - he had come from singing on that evening—the passionate “<i>Lascia - ch'io pianga</i>” of Handel. Once more she was listening to the strains—they - came from one of the rooms that opened upon the terrace—and now the - chords of the accompaniment were struck with a vehemence that had been - absent from her father's playing to Rauzzini's singing upon that occasion. - </p> - <p> - She listened as if in a dream while the noble, despairing strain went on - to its close, and the melody sobbed itself into silence—a silence - that the birds among the roses seemed unwilling to break, for only an - occasional note of a thrush was in the air.... - </p> - <p> - She heard the sound of the door opening a little way down the terrace—of - a foot upon the flagged path. She did not raise her head, but she knew - that he was there—only a few yards away from her. - </p> - <p> - Through the silence there came the cawing of rooks far away among the - trees of the park. - </p> - <p> - Then all at once she heard his sudden exclamation of surprise. He had not - seen her at first; he saw her now. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Dio mio! ella è qui!</i>” - </p> - <p> - Still she did not turn her head toward him. More than a minute had passed - before she heard his slow steps as he approached her. He was beside her - for quite as long before he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “I did not know that you were here,” he said in a low voice. “But I am - glad. It is but right that I should say good-bye to you alone.” - </p> - <p> - Then she looked up. - </p> - <p> - “Why—why—why?” she cried almost piteously. “Why should you say - good-bye? What has made the change in you?” - </p> - <p> - “It is not I who have changed: it is you,” said he. “I loved the sweet, - modest, untarnished jewel of a girl—a pearl hidden away from the - sight of men in a dim sea-cave—a violet—ah, I told you how I - loved the violet that hides itself from every eye—that was what you - were when I loved you, and I hoped to return to your side and find you the - same. Well, I return and—ah, where is the exquisite shrinking one - that I looked for? Gone—gone—gone for ever, and in her place I - find one whose name is in every mouth—not a soft, gentle girl, but a - woman who has put her heart into a book—<i>Dio mio!</i> A woman who - puts her heart into a book is like a woman who disrobes in a public place—worse—worse—she - exposes a heart that should be sacred—feelings that it would be a - gross indelicacy to exhibit to the eyes of man!” - </p> - <p> - “And that is how you think of me on account of what I have done?” said - she. - </p> - <p> - “How can I think anything else?” he cried. “I told you that I loved you - because you were so unlike others—because you were like a child for - timidity and innocence of the world. I told you on that last evening we - were together how greatly I admired the act of Miss Linley in turning her - back upon the platform where she had sung and vowing never to return to it—that - was what I told you I loved—I who have seen how the nature—the - womanly charm of every woman suffers by reason of her appealing to the - public for money—for applause. That beautiful creature forsook the - platform before it was too late—before the evil influence could work - her ruin. But you—what do I hear the day I return to England?—you - have put your heart—your soul, into a book that causes your name to - be tossed about from mouth to mouth—Fanny Burney—Fanny Burney—Fanny - Burney—I hear that name, which I regarded as sacred, spoken as - freely as men speak the name of their Kitty Fisher—their Polly - Kennedy—their Fanny Abington! These are public characters—so - are you—oh, my God! so are you. You should have heard how you were - discussed in that room behind us before you arrived to-day—that - gross man Johnson—he called you by a dozen pet names as if he had a - right—'Fan'—'Fannikin'—I know not what—' a shy - rogue '—that was another! They laughed! They did not see the - degradation of it. You were a toy of the public—the vulgar crowd! - Ah, you saw how that gross man, who fed himself as a wolf, tucked you - under his arm and the others only smiled! Oh, I was shocked—shocked!” - </p> - <p> - “And I felt proud—prouder than I have felt in my life,” said she. - “But now I see what I have lost—forfeited. Listen to me and I will - tell you what my dream was. I had written that book, but I had no hope of - printing it until I met you and heard from your lips—all that I - heard.” - </p> - <p> - “It was the truth—then: I loved you—then.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew that it was the truth. But who was I that I should be beloved by - you? I felt that it would be unendurable to me to hear people refer to us—as - I knew they would—the great singer who had stooped to a nonentity.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that was the charm!” - </p> - <p> - “Who except you would have said so? I knew what they would say, and I made - up my mind that I would not go to you except as an equal. I wanted you to - marry someone of whom you would feel proud, and I thought that I had a - little gift which I would lay at your feet. I did my best to perfect it - for your sake; but even when the book was printed I would not give you my - promise until I had assured myself that the gift would be pronounced - worthy of your acceptance. That was why I put you off for so many months.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that was your mystery—you called it a mystery.” - </p> - <p> - “That was my secret—my mystery. Never mind; I thought that my hope - was realized when everyone about me was talking of the book and when - people whose opinion was valuable had said it was good—my one - thought, God knows, was that I could go to you—that I could make you - happy, since I should be thought by the world to be in some measure at - least, worthy of you.” - </p> - <p> - “My poor child! you have not made me happy, but miserable. No one can make - me happy now. I do not love you now—you are a different person now, - and you can never return to be what you were. That is the worst of all: - you can never return to your former innocence.” - </p> - <p> - “I can bear to hear you say even that; for now I perceive the mistake I - made. I should not have thought of the difference between us: I should - only have had one thought—that you had offered me your love and that - I was ready to offer you my love. That should have been enough for me. You - were right, I was wrong. Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her for a few moments—tears were in his eyes and on his - cheeks—then he turned away with a passionate gesture, crying in his - native tongue: - </p> - <p> - “Mother—mother in heaven! I loved her because she was of a nature - the same as yours—saint-like as a lily—shrinking from the - world—in the world but having nothing in common with the world. I - loved her because I thought that she was as you were. I will not be a - traitor to your ideal—to your memory.” - </p> - <p> - He returned to her. - </p> - <p> - “I am alone in the world; but I know that the spirit of that saint, my - mother, looks down upon me from her heaven, and will comfort me. My heart - is broken. <i>Addio! Addio!</i> I do not mean to be cruel—tell me - that you do not accuse me of being cruel!” - </p> - <p> - “I do not accuse you. I think I understand you—that is all.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Addio—addio—addio!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The sound of his voice grew less with every word. - </p> - <p> - She was alone in the silence of the twilight. - </p> - <p> - Not for long, however. She heard the voice of Mrs. Thrale in the room - behind her, followed by the protests of Dr. Johnson. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Burney and I want to have an undisturbed talk together about writing - books,” Mrs. Thrale was saying as she came out upon the terrace. - </p> - <p> - “Books, madam; any fool can talk of books, and a good many fools avail - themselves of the licence,” cried Johnson. “Miss Burney and I are going to - talk about life. Books are not life, Miss Burney.” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” said Miss Burney slowly; “books are not life—books are - not life.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL *** - -***** This file should be named 51922-h.htm or 51922-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/2/51922/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore.
- </title>
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanny's First Novel, by Frank Frankfort Moore
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-Title: Fanny's First Novel
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-Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
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-Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51922]
-Last Updated: March 13, 2018
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-Language: English
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-Character set encoding: UTF-8
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-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank Frankfort Moore.
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author of “The Jessamy Bride,” “A Nest of Linnets,” “I Forbid the 'Banns,”
- Etc.
- </h4>
- <h4>
- London: Hutchinson & Co. Paternoster Row, E. C.
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1913
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- <i>FANNY'S FIRST NOVEL</i>
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>NDEED, I am not
- quite assured in my mind that the influence of Mr. Garrick upon such a
- family as ours is healthy,” said Mrs. Burney, when the breakfast cups had
- been removed and the maid had left the room in the little house in St.
- Martin's Street, off Leicester Fields. Dr. Burney, the music-master, had
- not to hurry away this day: his first lesson did not begin until noon; it
- was to be given at the mansion of Mr. Thrale, the brewer, at Streatham,
- and the carriage was not to call for him for another hour. He was glancing
- at the <i>Advertiser</i> in unaccustomed indolence, but when his wife had
- spoken he glanced up from the paper and an expression of amused surprise
- was upon his face. His daughter Fanny glanced up from the work-basket
- which her mother had placed ready for her the moment that the
- breakfast-table had been cleared, and the expression upon little Miss
- Burney's face was one that had something of fright in it. She was too
- short-sighted to see the wink which her brother James, lieutenant in His
- Majesty's navy, gave her, for their stepmother had her back turned to him.
- But Mrs. Burney, without seeing him, knew that, as he himself would phrase
- it, he had tipped Fanny a wink. She turned quickly round upon him, and if
- she had previously any doubt on this point, it was at once dispelled by
- the solemnity of his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney gave a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The influence of Mr. Garrick is like that of the air we breathe,” said
- he. “It is not to be resisted by the age we live in, leaving family
- matters out of the question altogether: the Burney family must inhale as
- much of the spirit of Mr. Garrick as the rest of the town-they cannot help
- themselves, <i>ces pauvres Burneys!</i> they cannot live without Mr.
- Garrick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney shook her head solemnly; so did Lieutenant James Burney, for
- he had all his life been under the influence of Mr. Garrick, when the
- atmosphere brought by Mr. Garrick was one of comedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My meaning is that Mr. Garrick is not content to allow simple people such
- as ourselves to live as simple people,” said Mrs. Burney. “I protest that
- I have felt it: the moment he enters our house we seem to be in a new
- world-whatsoever world it is his whim to carry us to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is the truth, my dear-he can do what he pleases with us and with all
- the thousands who have flocked to his playhouse since his Goodman's Fields
- days—he has made a fortune as a courier; transporting people to
- another world for an hour or two every night—a world that is less
- humdrum than this in which four beats go to every bar and every crotchet
- goes to a beat! Dear soul! he has made our hearts beat at times beyond all
- computation of time and space.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will herring-bone the edges neatly, Fanny: I noticed some lack of
- neatness in the last of the napery that left your hand, my dear,” said
- Mrs. Burney, bending over her stepdaughter at her work-basket; and,
- indeed, it seemed that the caution was not unnecessary, for Fanny's eyes
- were gleaming and she was handling her work with as great indifference
- (for the moment) as though she esteemed plain sewing something of drudgery
- rather than a delight. And now, having administered her timely caution,
- the good lady turned to her husband, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “To my mind what you have claimed for Mr. Garrick but adds emphasis to my
- contention that his visits have a disturbing influence upon a homely
- family, taking them out of themselves, so to speak, and transporting them
- far beyond the useful work of their daily life. I have noticed with pain
- for some time past that Fanny's heart has not been in her work: her
- cross-stitch has been wellnigh slovenly, and her herring-boning has really
- been indifferent—I say it with sorrow; but dear Fanny is too good a
- girl to take offence at my strictures, which she knows are honest and
- meant for her good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said Lieutenant Burney, “I pray you to give me leave to bear you
- out; but at the same time to make excuses for Fan. I must do so in justice
- to her, for the blame rests with me so far as the herring-boning is
- concerned. I confess, with tears in my eyes, that 'twas I who provided her
- with the last models for her herring-boning; and 'twas surely some demon
- in my breast that prompted me to substitute the skeleton of one of the
- South Sea fishes which I hooked when becalmed with Captain Cook within
- sight of Otaheite, for the true herring whose backbone is a model of
- regularity to be followed by all workers with the needle, when deprived of
- the flesh, which is the staple fare of hundreds of honest families and,
- while nourishing them amply, prevents their thoughts from carrying them
- beyond the region pervaded by the smell of their cooking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That were a wide enough area upon occasions for the most ambitious of
- thinkers,” said Dr. Burney, controlling his features, seeing that his wife
- took the ward-room humour of his son with dreadful seriousness. He made a
- sign to James to go no further—but James had gone round the world
- once, and he was not to be checked in a humbler excursion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, madam, 'tis my duty to confess that Fanny's model was the
- flying-fish, and not the simple Channel herring, hence the failure to
- achieve the beautiful regularity of design which exists in the backbone of
- the latter from the figurehead to the stern, larboard sloping in one
- direction and starboard in the other. If anyone be culpable 'tis myself,
- not Fanny; but I throw myself on your mercy, and only implore that the
- herring-boning of my sister will not result in a whaling for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney looked seriously from her brother to Fanny, and getting no cue
- from either, began:
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis indeed honourable for you to endeavour by your confession to excuse
- the fault of your sister, James——-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The traditions of the service, madam——” began the lieutenant,
- laying his hand on his heart; but he got no further, for Fanny could
- restrain herself no longer; she burst into a laugh and dropped her work,
- and her father rose, holding up his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The jest has gone far enough, James,” he said. “We sleep in beds in this
- house and do not swing in hammocks. Keep your deep-sea jests until you are
- out of soundings, if it please you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ask your pardon, sir,” said James; “but i' faith there's many a true
- word said in jest; and it seems to me that there's a moral in the parable
- of the young woman who took the flying-fish of the South Seas for her
- model rather than the herring of the three-fathom coast-line of the
- Channel; and that moral touches close upon the complaint made by our good
- mother against Mr. Garrick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let it be so,” said Mrs. Burney, who was a clever enough woman to
- perceive that it would be unwise to make a grievance of the impudence of a
- young naval gentleman. “Let it be so; let it be that we are simple,
- homely, wholesome herrings, we are none the better for such a flying-fish
- as Mr. Garrick coming among us, giving us, it may be, the notion that our
- poor fins are wings, and so urging us to make fools of ourselves by
- emulating the eagle. The moral of your fable is that we should keep to our
- own element—is not that so, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I' faith, madam, I am not sure but that 'tis so, and I haul down my
- colours to you, and feel no dishonour in the act,” cried James. “Lord,
- where should we all be to-day if it were not for the good women who hold
- fast to the old traditions of the distaff and needle? They are the women
- who do more for the happiness of men than all who pass their time dipping
- quills in ink-horns or daubing paint upon good canvas that might with luck
- be hung from a stunsail boom and add another knot to the log of a frigate
- of seventy-two! Is there anyone who dines at the table of Sir Joshua
- Reynolds round the corner that does not wish with all his heart that his
- sister would sell her palette and buy a wine-glass or two with the
- proceeds? Why, when we went to dinner at Sir Joshua's yesterday there were
- not enough glasses to go round the table.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There never are—that is well known,” said Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay; let us take to ourselves the reproof of Dr. Johnson to Mr.
- Boswell when he complained, loud enough almost for Sir Joshua himself to
- hear him, about the scarcity of service. 'Sir,' said Dr. Johnson, 'some
- who have the privilege of sitting at this table, and you are one of them,
- sir, will be wiser if they keep their ears open and their mouths shut than
- they would if they had the means of drinking all that you are longing to
- drink.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Boswell, in spite of the reproof, contrived to lurch from the table
- with more wine than wisdom 'tween decks,” remarked James.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He must have found a wine-glass,” said Miss Susy Burney, who had been
- quite silent but quite attentive to every word that had been spoken since
- breakfast-time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so the honour of Mrs. Reynolds's housekeeping is saved,” said Dr.
- Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, is not Mr. Boswell a Scotsman?” cried the irrepressible James.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is his lifelong sorrow, since he fancies it to be an insuperable
- barrier between his idol, Dr. Johnson, and himself,” replied his father.
- “But how does his Scotsmanship bear upon the wine-glass question?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir, without being versed in the subtleties of theology I make bold
- to think that Father Adam did not suffer hunger until knives and forks
- were invented,” said James. “Your drouthy Scot will drink straight from
- the bottle if no beaker be at hand. Oh, why was not Mr. Garrick at Sir
- Joshua's to rouse our spirits by his imitation of Mr. Boswell seeking for
- a wine-glass—and after?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Boswell is too trivial a subject for Davy: I have seen him take off
- Dr. Johnson mixing a bowl of punch until I was like to die of laughter. I
- protest that when he came to the squeezing of the imaginary lemon, while
- he cried out in the Doctor's broadest Lichfield, 'Who's for poonch?' I
- could smell the acid juice,” said Dr. Burney, and he laughed at the
- recollection of Garrick's fooling.
- </p>
- <p>
- The naval man gave a resounding nautical smack to his thigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what 'tis to be a sailor,” he cried. “I have had no chance of
- seeing Mr. Garrick at his best. I should dearly like to hear him take off
- Mr. Boswell when three sheets in the wind. Why was he not with us
- yesterday?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Garrick himself has had a drinking bout on. He has been at the Wells
- for the past fortnight,” said his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Ecce signum!</i>” came a doleful voice from the door, and a little man
- slowly put round the jamb a face bearing such an expression of piteous
- nausea as caused everyone in the room—not even excepting Mrs. Burney—to
- roar with laughter—uncontrollable laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the expression on the little man's face changed to one of surprised
- indignation. He crept into the room and looked at every person therein
- with a different expression on his face for each—a variation of his
- original expression of disgust and disappointment mingled with doleful
- reproof. It seemed as if it was not a single person who had entered the
- room, but half a dozen persons—a whole doleful and disappointed
- family coming upon an unsympathetic crew convulsed with hilarity.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he shook his head sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And these are the people who have just heard that I have been taking the
- nauseous waters of Tunbridge Wells for a whole fortnight,” and there was a
- break in his voice. “Oh, Friendship, art thou but a name? Oh, Sympathy,
- art thou but a mask? Is the world of sentiment nothing more than a world
- of shadows? Have all the sweet springs of compassion dried up, leaving us
- nothing but the cataracts of chalybeate to nauseate the palate?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked round once more, and putting the tips of his fingers together,
- glanced sadly up to the ceiling, then sighed and turned as if to leave the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir,” cried Dr. Burney, “I do not believe that the chalybeate
- cataracts still flow: 'tis my firm belief, from the expression of your
- face, that you have swallowed the whole spring—the Wells of
- Tunbridge must have been dried up by you before you left—your face
- betrays you. I vow that so chalybeate an expression could not be attained
- by lesser means.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, you do me honour, and you have a larger faith in me than my own
- physician,” said the little man, brightening up somewhat. “Would you
- believe that he had the effrontery to accuse me of shirking the hourly
- pailful that he prescribed for me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He had not seen you as we have, Mr. Garrick,” said Dr. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He accused me of spending my days making matches and making mischief in
- the Assembly Rooms and only taking the waters by sips—me, sir, that
- have so vivid a memory of Mr. Pope's immortal lines:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- A little sipping is a dangerous tiling,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Drink deep or taste not the chalybeate spring!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were traduced, my friend—but tell us of the matches and the
- mischief and we shall be the more firmly convinced of your integrity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir; I give you my word that 'twas but the simplest of matches—not
- by any means of the sort that yonder desperado fresh from the South Seas
- applies to the touch-hole of one of his horrible ten-pounders when the
- enemy's frigate has to be sunk—nay, a simple little match with no
- more powder for it to burn than may be found on the wig of a gentleman of
- fifty-two and on the face of a lady of forty-five—the one a gay
- bachelor, t'other a ripe widow—' made for one another,' said I; and
- where was the mischief in that? And if I ventured to broach the subject of
- the appropriateness of the union of the twain, and to boast under the
- inspiring influence of the chalybeate spring that I could bring it about,
- is there anyone that will hint that I was not acting out of pure good
- nature and a desire to make two worthy folk happy—as happy as
- marriage can make any two——-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give us their names, sir, and let us judge on that basis,” said Dr.
- Bumey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no desire to withhold them, my dear Doctor; for I want you to back
- me up, and I am sure that—oh, Lord! here comes the man himself. For
- the love of heaven, back me up, Doctor, and all will be well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, I will not be dragged by the hair of the head into any of your
- plots, my friend,” cried Burney. “Nay, not I. I have some reputation to
- maintain, good friend Garrick; you must play alone the part of Puck that
- you have chosen for yourself this many a year. Think not that you will
- induce me to study the character under you, and so thus——-”
- </p>
- <p>
- The manservant threw open the door of the room, announcing:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Kendal to wait upon you, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But by the time a small and rather rotund gentleman had been ushered into
- the room, Mr. Garrick was apparently engaged in an animated conversation
- with Miss Burney on the subject of the table-cover at which she was
- working.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE visitor walked
- with the short strut of the man who at least does not underrate his own
- importance in the world. But he suggested just at the moment the man who
- is extremely nervous lest he may not appear perfectly selfpossessed. There
- was an air of bustle about him as he strutted into the room, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Burney, I am your servant, sir. I have done myself the honour to
- visit you on a rather important piece of business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, you have conferred honour upon me,” said Dr. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the gentleman seemed to become aware for the first time that there
- were other people in the room; but it was with an air of reluctance that
- he felt called on to greet the others.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Burney, I think,” he said, bowing to that lady, “and her estimable
- family, I doubt not. Have I not had the privilege of meeting Mrs. Burney
- at the house of—of my friend—my esteemed friend, Mrs. Barlowe?
- And this gentleman of the Fleet—ha, to be sure I have heard that
- there was a Lieutenant Burney of the Navy! And—gracious heavens! Mr.
- Garrick!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Garrick had revealed himself from the recesses of Miss Burney's
- work-basket. He, at any rate, was sufficiently self-possessed to pretend
- to be vastly surprised. He raised both his hands, crying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible that this is Mr. Kendal? But surely I left you at the
- Wells no later than—now was it not the night before last? You were
- the cynosure of the Assembly Rooms, sir, if I may make bold to say so. But
- I could not look for you to pay attention to a poor actor when you were
- receiving the attentions of the young, and, may I add without offence, the
- fair? But no, sir; you will not find that I am the one to tell tales out
- of school, though I doubt not you have received the congratulations of——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There you go, sir, just the same as the rest of them!” cried the visitor.
- “Congratulations! felicitations! smiles of deep meaning from the ladies,
- digs in the ribs with suggestive winks from the gentlemen—people
- whose names I could not recall—whom I'll swear I had never spoken to
- in my life—that is why I left the Wells as hastily as if a tipstaff
- had been after me—that is why I am here this morning, after posting
- every inch of the way, to consult Dr. Burney as to my position.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest, sir, that I do not quite take you,” said Mr. Garrick, with the
- most puzzled expression on his face that ever man wore. “Surely, sir, your
- position as a man of honour is the most enviable one possible to imagine!
- Mrs. Nash——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There you blurt out the name, Mr. Garrick, and that is what I had no
- intention of doing, even when laying my case before Dr. Burney, who is a
- man of the world, and whom I trust to advise me what course I should
- pursue.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ask your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Garrick humbly; “but if the course you
- mean to pursue has aught to do with the pursuit of so charming a lady, and
- a widow to boot——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How in the name of all that's reasonable did that gossip get about?”
- cried the visitor. “I give you my word that I have not been pursuing the
- lady—I met her at the Wells for the first time a fortnight ago—pursuit
- indeed!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, I did not suggest that the pursuit was on your part,” said
- Garrick in a tone of irresistible flattery. “But 'tis well known that as
- an object of pursuit of the fair ones, the name of Mr. Kendal has been for
- ten years past acknowledged without a peer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The gentleman held up a deprecating hand, but the smile that was on his
- face more than neutralized his suggestion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Mr. Garrick, I am but a simple country gentleman,” he cried. “To be
- sure, I have been singled out more than once for favours that might have
- turned the head of an ordinary mortal—one of them had a fortune and
- was the toast of the district; another——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, the Miss Burneys and myself will take
- our leave of you: we have household matters in our hands,” said Mrs.
- Burney, making a sign to Fanny and her sister, and going toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I said too much, madam? If so, I pray of you to keep my secret,”
- cried the visitor. “The truth is that I have confidence in the advice of
- Dr. Burney as a man of the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fear that to be a man of the world is to be of the flesh and the devil
- as well,” said Dr. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Augmented qualifications for giving advice on an affair of the Wells,”
- said Garrick slyly to the naval lieutenant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will not forget, Doctor, that Mr. Thrale's carriage is appointed to
- call for you within the hour,” said Mrs. Burney over her shoulder as she
- left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny and her sister were able to restrain themselves for the few minutes
- necessary to fly up the narrow stairs, but the droll glance that Mr.
- Garrick had given them as they followed their mother, wellnigh made them
- disgrace themselves by bursting out within the hearing of their father's
- visitor. But when they reached the parlour at the head of the stairs and
- had thrown themselves in a paroxysm of laughter on the sofa, Mrs. Burney
- reproved them with some gravity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is an instance, if one were needed, of the unsettling influence of
- Mr. Garrick,” she said. “He has plainly been making a fool of that
- conceited gentleman, and it seems quite likely that he will persuade your
- father to back him up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not think that Mr. Garrick could improve greatly upon Nature's
- handiwork in regard to that poor Mr. Kendal,” said Fanny. “But what would
- life be without Mr. Garrick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be more real, I trust,” said her stepmother. “He would have us
- believe that life is a comedy, and that human beings are like the puppets
- which Mr. Foote put on his stage for the diversion of the town a few years
- ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny Burney became grave; the longer she was living in the world, the
- more impressed was she becoming with the idea that life was a puppet-show;
- only when the puppets began to dance on their wires in a draught of wind
- from another world the real comedy began. She felt that as an interpreter
- of life Mr. Garrick had no equal on the stage or off. On the stage he
- could do no more than interpret other people's notions of life, and these,
- except in the case of Shakespeare, were, she thought, mostly feeble; but
- when he was off the stage—well, Sir Joshua Reynolds had told her
- what that queer person, Dr. Goldsmith, had written about Garrick—the
- truest criticism Garrick had ever received: “'Twas only that when he was
- off he was acting.” She knew what she herself owed to Garrick from the
- time she was nine years old, when he had accustomed her and her sister to
- look for him at their house almost daily; she knew that whatever sense of
- comedy she possessed—and she looked on it as a precious possession—was
- to be attributed to the visits of Garrick. Every time she looked at her
- carefully locked desk in that room at the top of the house in St. Martin's
- Street, which had once been Sir Isaac Newton's observatory, she felt that
- without the tuition in comedy that she had received at the hands of Mr.
- Garrick, the contents of that desk would have been very different. Her
- stepmother, however, had no information on this point; she had lived all
- her life among the good tradespeople of Lynn, and had known nothing of Mr.
- Garrick until Dr. Burney had married her and brought her to look after his
- children, which Fanny knew she had done faithfully, according to her
- lights, in London.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny kept silent on the subject of Mr. Garrick's fooling, while Mrs.
- Burney bent with great gravity over the cutting out of a pinafore for
- Fanny's little niece—also a Burney; and every now and again there
- came from the closed room downstairs the sound of the insisting voice of
- the visitor. She hoped that Mr. Garrick would re-enact the scene for her;
- she had confidence that it would lose nothing by its being re-enacted by
- Mr. Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> SUPPOSE that I
- must e'en follow in the wake of the womenkind,” said Lieutenant Burney,
- making an extremely slow move in the direction of the door, when the door
- had been closed upon his stepmother and his sisters.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is there any need?” asked Garrick. “It seems to me that in such a case as
- this which Mr. Kendal promises to propound to your father, His Majesty's
- Navy should be represented. In all matters bearing upon a delicate <i>affaire
- de cour</i> surely a naval man should be present to act as assessor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- 'Mr. Kendal looked puzzled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fail to take your meaning, sir,” said he, after a pause; he was still
- rubbing his chin with a fore-finger, when Garrick cried:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sir, surely the advantage of the counsel of an officer trained to
- navigate femininity in the shape of a ship, is apparent: a ship, even
- though a three-decker ready to fire a broadside of a hundred guns, is
- invariably alluded to as 'she,'” said he, airily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Such an one must surely be the most formidable piece of femininity in the
- world,” said Mr. Kendal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By no means,” said Garrick. “During my career as the manager of a
- playhouse I have had to face worse. Still, the training of a naval officer
- in dealing with feminine craft—at times off a lee shore, and often
- during a storm at sea—nothing to be compared to the tempests in our
- green-room—is certain to be of value. You will stay, Lieutenant
- Burney, if it please you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should be most unwilling to obtrude upon your council, sir,” said young
- Burney, “unless you are convinced that my humble services——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have been among the savages of the South Seas, and you are acquainted
- with all the rules of chasing and capturing prizes, all of the feminine
- gender—I allude to your sloops and frigates and catamarans—I
- take it for granted that a catamaran is as feminine in its ways as any
- wherry that floats,” cried Garrick. Then he turned to their visitor, who
- was looking more puzzled than ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may reckon yourself fortunate in the presence of our young friend,
- sir,” he said. “So far as I can gather this is a case of chase, with a
- possible capture of a prize. I venture to think that in these days a
- gentleman of family and fortune, like yourself, is something of a prize,
- Mr. Kendal.” This was language that contained nothing to puzzle anyone,
- the visitor perceived. His face brightened, and he waved young Burney to a
- seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I take it that Mr. Garrick knows what he is talking about,” he said. “And
- though it was truly your father to whom I came for counsel, I doubt not
- that you will take my part, should the worst come to the worst.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which means, should the lady come to the gentleman, Mr. Burney,” said
- Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pay out your yarn, sir: I gather that you are still to the windward of
- your enemy, and that is the position which the books tell us we should
- manoeuvre for,” cried the nautical assessor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney sat silently by, he had no mind to join in the fooling of the
- others. Dr. Burney had never in his life lost a sense of his own dignity.
- He had been a church organist for thirty years, and no man who has had
- such an experience of the control of an instrument of such superlative
- dignity could be otherwise than dignified. He had never once run off on a
- keyboard a single phrase of “The Beggar's Opera.” Even Handel's “Ruddier
- than the Cherry,” with Mr. Gay's ticklish rhymed line about “Kidlings
- blithe and merry,” he only played apologetically, allowing it to be
- clearly understood that Mr. Handel and Mr. Gay divided between them the
- responsibility for so frivolous a measure.
- </p>
- <p>
- He remained dignified and silent while Garrick and James carried on their
- fooling. Only a short time before he had occasion to reprove the lack of
- dignity on the part of his important patroness, Mrs. Thrale, the wife of
- the wealthy brewer, in having put herself behind Signor Piozzi while he
- was singing a sentimental canzone and mimicked his southern fervour of
- expression. Mrs. Thrale had taken his reproof in good part at the time;
- but no one—least of all Mrs. Thrale herself—could have
- foreseen that her contrition should extend so far as to cause her to marry
- the singer on the death of Mr. Thrale.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be brief, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, addressing, not Dr. Burney, whom he
- had come to consult, but Mr. Garrick, who had shown himself to be much
- more sympathetic. “To be brief, I had gone to the Wells as my custom has
- been for the past twenty years. I went honestly to drink the waters, not
- making it an excuse, as so many do, for indulging in the gaieties, or, I
- may add, the intrigues, of the Assembly Rooms. I was civil, as I hoped, to
- everyone, but, I give you my word, no more so to Mrs. Nash than any other
- lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not doubt that you believe this, sir,” said Garrick, with an
- indulgent wave of the hand; “but when a lady has eyes only for one
- gentleman, she is apt to place a construction upon the simplest of his
- civilities beyond that assigned to it by ordinary people; but pray
- proceed, sir. I will only add that it was quite well known at the Wells
- that the lady regarded you with the tenderest of emotions. Had she not
- boldly said to Lady———— no; I dare not mention her
- name; but her ladyship is invariably what the Italians term <i>simpatica</i>
- in regard to the tender affairs of her sisters—and it was to her
- that Mrs. Nash confided her secret—referring to you as bearing a
- striking resemblance to the Apollo Belvedere, hoping that her doing so
- would not cause anyone to accuse her of Pagan leanings.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible! The poor lady! poor lady! But I was not to blame. I can
- justly acquit myself of all blame in this unhappy affair,” said Mr.
- Kendal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are quite right, sir; is it a man's fault that he should bear a
- striking likeness to the Apollo—I doubt not that the resemblance has
- caused you some annoyance at various times of your life, Mr. Kendal,” said
- Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never, sir, never—at least——” he took a step to one
- side that allowed of his having a full-length view of his reflection in
- the narrow mirror that filled up the space between the windows; and the
- result of his scrutiny of the picture was certainly not displeasing to
- him. He boldly put forward a leg, and then quite unconscious, as anyone
- could see, struck an attitude, though not quite that of the Apollo
- Belvedere. Then he smirked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A leg like yours, Mr. Kendal, to say nothing of the poise of your head,
- is a great responsibility,” said Garrick seriously. “The poor lady!—poor
- ladies!—I confess that I have heard of others. And she acknowledged
- to you that—that—oh, that most delicate of secrets!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never to me, sir—never in my hearing, I give you my word,” cried
- the man emphatically. “Nay, I did not so much as suspect it. The first
- intimation that I had of the matter was when, on Monday morning last—only
- three days ago—Captain Kelly—the boisterous Irishman—clapt
- me on the shoulder and almost shouted out his congratulations in my ear.
- When I forced him to mention the name of the lady, he ridiculed my denial—his
- forefinger in my ribs—painful as well as undignified. Who is Captain
- Kelly, that he should subject me to his familiarities? But if he was
- undignified, I flatter myself that I was not so. 'Sir, you presume,' I
- said, and walked on, leaving this vulgar fellow roaring with laughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! Kelly is a nobody,” said Garrick. “You should not have allowed
- yourself to be discomposed by such as he.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor did I,” cried the other. “But what was I to think when I had advanced
- no more than a dozen paces, and found my hand grasped warmly by Sir John
- Dingle?—you know him, Mr. Garrick—I have seen him in your
- company—more congratulations—the same attitude, sir. And then
- up marches Mr. Sheridan—leaving his handsome wife—ah, I fear
- that I joined with all Bath in being in love with the lovely Miss Linley—and
- Mr. Sheridan was wellnigh affronted at my denial. But that was not all. Up
- comes Mrs. Cholmondeley in her chair and tapped for the men to set her
- down when she saw me—up went the roof and up went her head, with a
- shrill cry of 'Kendal, you rogue! to tell everyone at the Wells save only
- myself that Benedick is to be a married man!' And before she had finished
- her ridicule of my denial, up struts Mrs. Thrale, her footman behind her
- with her spaniel, and down she sinks in a curtsey, fitted only for a
- special night in the Rooms, and her 'Happy man!' came with a flick of her
- fan; and she, too, named Mrs. Nash! And that was not the last—I saw
- them hurrying up to me from all sides—ladies with smiles, and
- gentlemen with smirks—fingers twitching for my ribs—down they
- flowed upon me! I ask you, Lieutenant Burney, as a naval gentleman, and I
- am glad to have the opportunity of hearing your opinion—I ask you,
- if I was not justified in turning about and hastening away—what you
- nautical gentlemen term 'cutting my cable '?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed, sir; if I could believe that you gave the lady no encouragement,
- I would say that—that—but no one will convince me that upon
- some occasion—it may be forgotten by you—such men of fashion
- as yourself soon forget these things, I have heard, though the unhappy
- lady treasures them as golden memories—I say upon some occasion you
- may have given the Widow Nash encouragement. You have your reputation as a
- sly rogue to maintain, Mr. Kendal,” said young Burney gravely, as though
- he were a lawyer being seriously consulted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fore Gad, sir, I gave her no encouragement,” cried Mr. Kendal. “I have
- ever been most cautious, I swear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then the greater shame for you, sir,” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man whom he addressed looked in amazement first at Garrick, then at
- Lieutenant Burney—Dr. Burney, whom he had come to consult, was
- smiling quite unnoticed in a corner. His part, apparently, was no more
- than that of the looker-on at a comedy. His presence was ignored by the
- others.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The more shame—the more——” began the visitor. “I
- protest that I scarcely take your meaning, Mr. Garrick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My meaning is plain, sir,” said Garrick firmly, almost sternly. “I affirm
- that it lay with you, when you perceived that the lady was so deeply
- enamoured of you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I did not perceive it—you have my word for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir,” said Garrick, with the shrug of a Frenchman, which he had
- studied for some months in Paris—Mr. Garrick and Lord Chesterfield
- had alone mastered the art. “Ah, sir, we are all men of the world here.
- 'Twere idle for you to pretend that a gentleman with the figure of the
- Belvedere Apollo and the leg of—of——” he turned to young
- Burney— “You have seen the proud-stepping figure-heads of many ships
- of the line, Mr. Burney,” he said; “prithee help me out in my search for—for—the
- name I am in search of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “H'm, let me see—something wooden with a leg to be proud of?” said
- the naval gentleman, considering the matter very earnestly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Zounds, sir, I did not make it a condition that it should be a wooden
- leg,” cried Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have seen more than one Admiral of the Fleet mighty proud of a wooden
- leg, sir,” said Burney. “But this is beside the question, which I take to
- be the responsibility of our good friend here—I hope I don't
- presume, Mr. Kendal—for kindling, albeit unconsciously, so far as he
- was concerned—that sacred flame in the breast of—to name only
- one out of a score—the lady whose name he mentioned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are with me heart and soul, as I felt sure you would be, Mr. Burney;
- as a naval officer of judgment and experience,” cried Garrick, “and so,
- sir—” he turned to their visitor— “I cannot doubt that you
- will comport yourself as a gentleman of honour in this affair. Do not
- allow your yielding to the natural impulse to run away to weigh too
- heavily upon you. If your act should cause you to be referred to with
- reprobation, not to say scorn, by the ladies or gentlemen of fashion who
- are certain to espouse the cause of the lady, your subsequent conduct will
- show them that they mistook your character. And I promise you that should
- you receive a challenge from any of the lady's admirers—those whose
- prayers she rejected because her heart was set on a gentleman who was
- worthy of her choice—I think you can afford to ignore them, having
- won the prize. Ah, sir, is there not a poet who says that every man that
- lives has a good angel and a bad one contending for dominion over him?
- That is the truth, Mr. Kendal, and I see that your good angel is none
- other than the lady whose name I reckon too sacred to pass our lips at
- such a time as this. Ah, sir, think of her, and let your mind go back to
- the days of your happy boyhood, and say if the mother at whose knees you
- knelt did not resemble her. The affection of a son for his mother—let
- that plead for the lady who esteems you with more than a mother's love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had laid his hand on the poor gentleman's shoulder, and was looking
- into his face, while the tears stood in his eyes, and his voice broke more
- than once.
- </p>
- <p>
- And there sat Dr. Burney wiping his eyes, and Lieutenant Burney blubbering
- away like any child—the two accessories to the actor's farce could
- not avoid yielding to the-influence of his unparalleled art. Though they
- were in his secret, he made fools of them as easily as he made a fool of
- the poor gentleman who was presumably his victim. And they had no feeling
- of being ashamed of yielding to his powers. He could do anything that he
- pleased with them. He could do anything he pleased with the multitudes
- before whom he acted. He was the master of their emotions for the time
- being. He played upon their passions as though every passion was a puppet
- and the strings in his own hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE scene ended by
- Mr. Garrick's victim groping through his tears for Mr. Garrick's hand. He
- grasped it emotionally, and though for some moments he was too greatly
- overcome to be able to utter a word, yet at last he managed to blurt out
- with affecting incoherence a few phrases.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say no more—say no more, sir,” he muttered. “I have a heart—a
- heart! I give you my word, whether you believe me or not, that I had no
- notion—but you have shown me what 'tis to be a woman. Oh, sir, there
- is no sweeter sex in the world! Deception! how a man's own heart may
- deceive him—ay, up to a certain point—but then—ah, you
- have taught me—but are you sure that the lady—what—have
- we not been going ahead too fast? What—what; are you convinced?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may take my word for it, sir,” replied Garrick. “There are signs that
- all who run may read. What, do you suppose that all those persons of
- quality whose names you mentioned just now as having offered you their
- felicitations—do you suppose that they could all be in error?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course not—they must have seen—well, more than I saw,”
- said the man. “Matrimony! Lud! if an angel had come down to tell me that I
- should be contemplating such a change of life—and at my time of life
- too!—I should have——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What an angel may fail to convince a man of, a woman may succeed in
- doing, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick sententiously. “But do not talk of your
- time of life as if you were an old or even a middle-aged man, sir. To do
- so were to make Dr. Burney and myself feel patriarchs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The mention of Dr. Burney seemed to cause the man to recollect how it was
- he came to be in Dr. Burney's house. He turned to Burney, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear sir, I pray that you will look on my visit with lenient eyes. I
- admit that I came hitherto be advised by you—my friend, Mr. Fulke
- Greville, holds your opinion in the highest esteem, as do I, sir; and it
- was actually on my mind to ask you if you thought it would be wiser for me
- to go abroad for a year or two, or simply to seek some place of retirement
- at home—say, Cornwall or the Hebrides—I gather from the
- account of Dr. Johnson's tour thither that there are many places difficult
- of access in the Hebrides—that was on my mind, Doctor, I blush to
- acknowledge, so greatly overcome was I by what had happened at the Wells.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, with what great ease a man may slam the door that shuts out happiness
- from his life for evermore!” remarked Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even now—even now I feel timid,” said Mr. Kendal thoughtfully, and,
- when he had found which pocket his handkerchief was in, wiping some dew
- from his brow. “The truth is, Doctor, that I have allowed some people to
- assume that I am but forty-seven years old, while as a matter of fact I
- have been forty-eight for some time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For some years?” asked young Burney, who did not know when he should keep
- silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For some months, sir—only for some months, I give you my word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your deception in this matter could only have added to your reputation
- for accuracy,” said Garrick coolly. “For I vow that were you to confess
- that you were forty-eight, you would find none to believe you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The gentleman's eyes twinkled, he pursed out his lips, and once again
- manoeuvred to get a full-length view of himself in the long mirror. He put
- out his right leg and assumed the attitude of a dancing master giving the
- <i>pas</i> for the <i>minuet de cour</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well,” he cried, “if that be your opinion—and I happen to
- know that 'tis shared by others—it might not be unwise to allow the
- assumption, erroneous though it be, to continue. We will not undeceive the
- good folk. And you do not think that a bachelor of forty-eight—What
- is the name of that play of Mr. Sheridan's that took the town a year ago?—ah,
- <i>The School for Scandal</i>—you are sure that our friends will not
- call me—What was the gentleman's name?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one who knows how excellent are your principles will think of you
- either as Charles or Joseph, Mr. Kendal,” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; but the one who was in my mind was neither of the brothers. I was
- thinking of—was it not Sir Peter Teazle?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Garrick as well as Burney laughed heartily, for the man at that moment
- suggested by his attitude and expression the Sir Peter Teazle of Kina, the
- actor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Make your mind easy on that score, sir,” said Dr. Burney. “It is not your
- purpose to wed so skittish a young person as Lady Teazle. That was where
- Sir Peter showed his folly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; Mrs. Nash is more mature, certainly, than Mrs. Abington looked in
- the part,” said Mr. Kendal confidently, and Lieutenant Burney was about to
- agree with him boisterously, but Garrick did not give him a chance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is none that will not commend your choice, Mr. Kendal—ay,
- sir, and look on you with envy as well,” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There can be no doubt about it,” said Mr. Kendal doubtfully. “The widow
- Nash is a monstrous fine woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Monstrous, I doubt not,” put in young Burney, now that he had the chance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All that I am uneasy about is the interpretation that she may put upon
- your sudden flight,” said Garrick. “You have, you will readily allow, sir,
- placed her in a somewhat difficult position at the Wells. While everyone
- who is anyone has been offering you congratulations upon the match, and a
- double portion to the lady, strange inquiries may be made as to your
- disappearance from the Wells; and she may not be able to give a
- satisfactory explanation at a moment's notice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Egad! I never thought of that, sir,” said Mr. Kendal, after a pause. “I
- fear that I have placed her in a very awkward position.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, sir; and the consequences may be that she will be snapped up by some
- adventurous person before you can put your fate to the test,” said the
- naval man, raising a warning finger. “I have heard of ladies throwing
- themselves into the arms of the next comer out of sheer chagrin at being
- disappointed by the man on whom they had set their affections.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a possibility that should not be neglected,” said Garrick. “But
- it was only on Monday that you fled. By rapid posting you may yet prevent
- such a calamity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beginning to tire of his game now that he had succeeded so well in
- it and so easily. The fooling of the man who had so completely succumbed
- to his art had no further interest for him. He only wanted to get rid of
- him. He was as capricious and as fickle as a child over the toys of its
- nursery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall lose no moment, be assured,” said Mr. Kendal. “I may still be in
- time. My hope in this direction is increased when I remember that the lady
- has been a widow for some years—to be exact, without being
- uncomplimentary, nine years. I remember when Mr. Nash died. 'Twas of
- pleurisy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not reckon too confidently on that, sir,” said young Burney. “Nine
- years have not passed since she faced the company at the Wells, every one
- of which was surely pointing at her and asking in mute eloquence, 'What
- has become of Mr. Kendal?' But by posting without delay you may yet
- retrieve your error. Still, I confess to you that I have known of a lady
- who, out of sheer impatience at the delay of a lover whom she had hoped to
- espouse, married his rival after the lapse of twenty-four hours—ay,
- and when the belated gentleman arrived just after the ceremony, he
- furnished the wedding party with a succulent feast. She was the Queen of
- one of the islands that we visited in the company of Captain Cook, and the
- cockswain of our galley kept the pickled hand of the belated lover for
- many a day—the very hand which he had designed to offer the lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This simple and affecting narrative proves more eloquently than any
- phrases of mine could possibly do how a man may miss the happiness of his
- life by a hair's breadth,” said Garrick. “And the lesson will not be lost
- upon you, I am certain, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lud, Mr. Garrick, you do not mean to suggest that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That the lady may make a meal off you on your late return, sir? Nay, Mr.
- Kendal. The Wells are still the Wells, not the South Seas; but on the
- whole I am disposed to believe that the scheme of revenge of the woman
- scorned is fiercer, though perhaps not, at first sight, so primeval, in
- the region of Chalybeate Waters than in a cannibal island of the South
- Seas. Therefore—there is no time to be lost. Fly to your charmer,
- sir, and throw yourself at her feet. She may be thinking over some
- punishment for your having placed her in a false position for some days;
- but do not mind that. You can always console yourself with the reflection
- that a rod in pickle is much more satisfactory than a hand in pickle. Fly,
- my dear friend, fly; every moment is precious. Take my word for it, joy
- awaits you at the end of your journey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Journeys end in lovers meeting,'” remarked Dr. Burney, with a slight
- suggestion of the setting of the words of the lyric by his old master, Dr.
- Arne.
- </p>
- <p>
- At this moment a servant entered the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Streatham carriage is at the door, sir,” he announced.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney rose from his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am forced to leave you, sir,” he said to Mr. Kendal. “But really there
- is naught further to consult on at present, and I know that you are
- impatient—it is but natural—to fly to the side of your
- charmer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am all impatience, sir; but with what words can I express my obligation
- to you, Doctor, for the benefit of your counsel?” cried Mr. Kendal.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, dear sir, I am but the lessee of the theatre where the comedy has
- been played,” said he; and he had good reason for feeling that he had
- defined with accuracy the position that he occupied. But Mr. Kendal was
- thinking too much about himself and the position he occupied to appreciate
- such <i>nuances</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that I was safe in coming to a friend of Mr. Greville,” he said.
- “I care not if, as you suggest, you have become Mr. Garrick's successor at
- Drury Lane, though I thought that Mr. Sheridan——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Zounds, sir, you are never going to wait to discuss theatre matters,”
- cried Garrick. “Dr. Burney has been exercising his powers of oratory in
- vain upon you for this half hour if you tarry even to thank him. Post,
- sir, post at once to Tunbridge Wells, and send Dr. Burney your thanks when
- you have put the momentous question to the lady. Go, sir, without the
- pause of a moment, and good luck attend you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good luck attend you! Keep up your heart, sir: the lady may refuse you
- after all,” said young Burney; but the poor gentleman who was being
- hurried away was too much flurried to be able to grasp the young man's
- innuendo, though one could see by the look that came to his face that he
- had an uneasy impression that Lieutenant Burney's good wishes had not been
- happily expressed. The great thing, however, was that he was at the other
- side of the door, calling out his obligations to everyone, and striving to
- shake hands with them all at once and yet preserve the security of his
- hat, which he had tucked under his arm. So excited was he that he was only
- restrained at the last moment from mounting the Thrales' carriage which
- was awaiting Dr. Burney, and even when his mistake was explained to him,
- he took off his hat to the splendid footman who had guarded the door of
- the vehicle.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the room where the comedy had been played, Garrick and Lieutenant
- Burney had thrown themselves into chairs with roars of laughter, when Dr.
- Burney returned from the hall, carrying his hat and cane. He was scarcely
- smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have played a pretty prank upon an inoffensive gentleman, the pair of
- you!” said he. “I am ashamed that my house has been used by you for so
- base a purpose! The poor gentleman!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! my dear Doctor, make your mind easy; the lady will teach that
- coxcomb a lesson that will be of advantage to him for the rest of his
- life,” said Garrick. “He has been the laughingstock of the Wells for the
- past fortnight, and no one laughed louder than the Widow Nash. She will
- bundle him out of her presence before he has had time to rise from his
- marrow-bones—he does not find the process a rapid one, I assure you.
- Oh, he was her <i>bete noire</i> even when he was most civil to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it was you who concocted that plot of getting all your friends—Mrs.
- Cholmondeley, Mrs. Thrale and the rest—to make a fool of him,
- driving him away from the Wells to encounter a more irresistible pair of
- mocking demons in this room!” said Burney. “You cannot deny it, my friend,
- I know your tricks but too well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I swear to you that I had no hope of encountering him in this house, my
- dear Doctor,” said Garrick. “I give you my word that I had laid my plans
- quite differently. My plot was a far more elaborate one, and Polly
- Cholmondeley had agreed to take part in it, as well as Dick Sheridan. They
- will be disappointed to learn that it has miscarried. Who could guess that
- he should come to you of all men in the world, Doctor? He has never been
- one of your intimates.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only when I was living with Mr. Greville had we more than a superficial
- acquaintance,” replied Burney. “But that does not make me the less ashamed
- of having lent myself to your nefarious project. And you, James, you threw
- yourself with gusto into the fooling of the unhappy man—and woman
- too—and woman too, I repeat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray do not distress yourself on her account, Doctor. She will send him
- off with a flea in his ear by to-morrow night, and she will take care to
- pose as the insulted widow of Mr. Nash, whose memory is dear to her,” said
- Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will she, indeed?” said Burney. “David Garrick, you are the greatest
- actor that has ever lived in England—probably in the world—but
- you are a poor comedian compared with such as are at work upon our daily
- life: we call them Circumstance, and Accident, and Coincidence. You know
- the couplet, I doubt not:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- ' Men are the sport of circumstances when
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The circumstances seem the sport of men.'
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- You have sounded the depths of human impulses, so far as your plummet
- allows you, and womankind seems to you an open book——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An illuminated missal, with the prayers done in gold and the Lessons for
- the day in the most roseate tint, Doctor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the Responses all of a kind—the same in one book as another?
- But I make bold to believe, my friend, that every woman is a separate
- volume, of which only one copy has been printed; and, moreover, that every
- separate volume of woman is sealed, so that anyone who fancies he knows
- all that is bound up between the covers, when he has only glanced at the
- binding, makes a mistake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Admirably put, sir, and, I vow, with fine philosophy,” said Garrick. “But
- what imports this nomination of a woman at the present moment, Doctor?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Its import is that you are over sanguine in your assurance that Mrs.
- Nash, widow, will reject Mr. Kendal, bachelor, when he offers her his hand
- after a dusty journey; and so good day to you, David Garrick, and I pray
- you to spend the rest of the day in the study of the history of those
- women who have opened the leaves of their lives a little way before the
- eyes of mankind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had left the room and was within the waiting carriage and driving away
- before his son remarked:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Garrick, it seems to me that my good father has spoken the wisest
- words that you or I have heard to-day or for many a day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And i' faith, James, it seems to me that that remark of yours is the
- second wisest that has been uttered in this room,” said Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went away without a further word—without even taking his leave of
- the two young women and their stepmother, who herself had been a widow
- before she had married Dr. Burney. He had once believed that nothing a
- woman—young or old—could do would surprise him; for some
- reason or other he was not now quite so confident as he had been. But he
- certainly did not think that one of the greatest surprises of the century
- should be due to the demure young woman who seemed the commonplace
- daughter of a very ordinary household, and who at the moment of his
- departure was darning a small hole in a kitchen table-cloth, under the
- superintendence of her admirable stepmother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the course of
- the morning Esther, the married daughter of the Bumey family, called at
- the house in St. Martin's Street. Esther, or as she was usually alluded to
- by her sisters, Hetty or Hettina, was handsome and accomplished. She had
- been married for some years to her cousin, Charles Rousseau Burney, who
- was a musician, and they lived and enjoyed living in an atmosphere of
- music. Her father took care that she was never likely to be asphyxiated;
- their atmosphere would never become attenuated so long as they lived, as
- they did, close to St. Martin's Street. He was well aware of the fact that
- his Hetty's duets with her husband—“matrimonial duets” they were
- called by Fanny in some of her letters—and also with her sister
- Charlotte, served to attract many distinguished visitors and profitable
- patrons to his house; he never forgot that profitable patrons and
- patronesses are always attracted by distinguished visitors. When one finds
- oneself in the company of distinguished people, one naturally feels a
- distinguished person also.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moreover, Dr. Burney knew perfectly well that when ambitious patrons and
- patronesses were made aware of the success which he had achieved in
- respect of his daughters, they were all ready to implore of him to spare
- some of his valuable time to give lessons to themselves, seeing no reason
- why, with his assistance, they should not reach the level of his two
- musical daughters. He conducted his teaching on the principle which brings
- fortunes to the Parisian modiste, who takes good care that her mannequins
- are good-looking and of a fine figure, knowing that the visitors to the
- showrooms have no doubt, no matter how little Nature has done for their
- own features or figures, that in the robes of the mannequins they will
- appear equally fascinating.
- </p>
- <p>
- The adoption of this system in the Burney household operated extremely
- well, and Dr. Burney had for several years enjoyed the proceeds of his
- cultivation of the musical tastes of the most influential clientèle in
- London. In addition, the greatest singers in Europe, knowing that there
- was always an influential <i>assistance</i> to be found at Dr. Burney's
- little concerts in St. Martin's Street, were greatly pleased to contribute
- to the entertainment, for love, what they were in the habit of receiving
- large sums for from an impresario. Those Italian operatic artists most
- notorious for the extravagance of their demands when appearing in public,
- were pushing each other aside, so to speak, to be allowed to sing at Dr.
- Burney's, and really upon more than one occasion the contest between the
- generosity of a pair of the most distinguished of these singers must have
- been somewhat embarrassing to Dr. Burney. They were clearly singing
- against each other; and one of them, who invariably received fifty guineas
- for every contribution she made to a programme in public, insisted on
- singing no fewer than five songs, “all for love” (and to prove her
- superiority to her rival), upon a certain occasion at the Burneys'; so
- that really the little company ran a chance of being suffocated beneath
- the burden of flowers, as it were—the never-ending <i>fioriture</i>
- of these generous artists—and Dr. Burney found himself in the
- position of the lion-tamer who runs a chance of being overwhelmed by the
- caresses of the carnivora who rush to lick his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- The result of all this was extremely gratifying, and eminently profitable.
- Had Dr. Burney not been a great musician and shown by the publication of
- the first volume of the greatest History of Music the world had yet
- received, that he was worthy of being placed in the foremost ranks of
- scientific musicians, he would have run a chance of being placed only a
- little higher than the musical Cornelys of Soho Square, who gave their
- concerts, and entertained their friends, and made quite a reputation for
- some years before bankruptcy overtook them and the precincts of the Fleet
- became their headquarters.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now the beautiful Esther Burney was toying with the contents of her
- sister Fanny's work-basket, talking about her husband and his prospects,
- and inquiring what Mr. Garrick and James had to talk about in the room
- downstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray speak in French to Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney. “I cannot get Lottie
- and Susan to do so as frequently as I could wish. You must remember that
- poor Fanny has had none of your advantages, and I do not want her to be
- talked of as the dunce of the family. She really is not a dunce, you know;
- in spite of her bad sight she really has done some very pretty sewing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have seen it,” said Esther. “She works very neatly—more neatly
- than any of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny blushed and smiled her thanks to her sister for the compliment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What else is there left for me to do but to give all my attention to my
- needle?” she said. “I constantly feel that I am the dunce of the family—you
- are all so clever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is well for many families that they include one useful member,” said
- her stepmother in a way that suggested her complete agreement with the
- girl's confession that she was the dunce of the family. A mother's
- acknowledgment that a girl is either useful or good-natured is practically
- an announcement that she is neither pretty nor accomplished.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Fanny has many friends,” continued Mrs. Burney indulgently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which shows how kind people are, even to a dunce,” said Fanny, not
- bitterly, but quite good-humouredly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I am not sure that she should spend so much of her time writing to
- Mr. Crisp,” said the elder Mrs. Burney to the younger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, poor Daddy Crisp!” cried Fanny. “Pray, mother, do not cut him off
- from his weekly budget of news. If I fail to send him a letter he is
- really disconsolate. 'Tis my letters that keep him still in touch with the
- life of the town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well, my dear Fanny, I shall not deprive you of your Daddy Crisp,”
- said her stepmother. “Poor Mr. Crisp must not be left to the tender
- mercies of Susan or Lottie. He is most hospitable, and his house at
- Chessington makes a pleasant change for us now and again, and he took a
- great fancy to you from the first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Daddy Crisp was always Fanny's special friend,” said Esther. “And I am
- sure that it is good practice for Fanny to write to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, she has long ago given up that childish nonsense,” cried the mother.
- “Poor Fanny made a pretty bonfire of her scribblings, and she has shown no
- weakness in that way since she took my advice in regard to them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny was blushing furiously and giving all her attention to her work.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has still a sense of the guilt that attaches to the writing of
- stories, though I am sure that no one in this house remembers it against
- her,” said Esther with a laugh, as Fanny's blushes increased. “But indeed
- I had not in my mind Mr. Crisp's advantage to her in this way, but only in
- regard to her correspondence. She has become quite an expert letter-writer
- since he induced her to send him her budget, and indeed I think that good
- letter-writing is as much of an accomplishment in these careless days as
- good singing—that is ordinary good singing—the good singing
- that we hear from some of father's pupils—Queenie Thrale, <i>par
- exemple!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your father is a good teacher, but the best teacher in the world cannot
- endow with a good singing-voice anyone who has not been so gifted by
- Nature,” said the elder lady. “'Tis somewhat different, to be sure, in
- regard to correspondence, and I do not doubt that Fanny's practice in
- writing to good Mr. Crisp will one day cause her to be regarded as one of
- the best letter-writers in the family, and that is something. It is a
- ladylike accomplishment, and one that is worth excelling in; it gives
- innocent pleasure to so many of her friends who live at a distance; and
- your father can always obtain plenty of franks, Mr. Charmier and Mr.
- Thrale are very obliging.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny was a little fidgety while her eldest sister and her stepmother were
- discussing her in a tone of indulgence which was more humiliating than
- open reprobation would have been. But she knew that the truth was, that
- from her earliest years she was looked on as the dunce of the family, and
- she was so morbidly self-conscious that she was quite ready to accept
- their estimate of her. The silent member of a musical family soon finds
- out how she is looked on by the others; not with unkindness—quite
- the contrary—but only as if she were to be slightly pitied for her
- deficiency. But she had a secret or two, the treasuring of which in her
- heart prevented her from having any feeling of humiliation in the presence
- of her splendid sister, whom all the world sought to attract to their
- houses, especially when there were guests anxious to be entertained by the
- sweet singing of a handsome young woman with a very presentable young
- husband. Fanny had her secrets and cherished them with a fearful joy, for
- she knew that any day might remove either or both of them, and then there
- would be nothing left for her in the household but to put her heart into
- her needlework. But one cannot do needlework without needles, and if she
- were to put her heart into her work, and if every needle had a point, the
- result would, she knew, be a good many prickings.
- </p>
- <p>
- She trusted that she might never be condemned to put her heart into her
- needlework.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEN Lieutenant
- Burney sauntered into the room and greeted Esther; but when Fanny inquired
- with some eagerness what had been the result of Mr. Garrick's fooling of
- poor Mr. Kendal, James was by no means so glib or amusing as Fanny
- expected him to be.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha!” he cried; “that Mr. Kendal is not worth powder and shot—at
- least not the weight of metal that Mr. Garrick can discharge—not in
- a broadside—Mr. Garrick is not given to broadsides—they are
- too clumsy for him—he is like Luke Boscawen, our chief gunner; he
- had a contempt for what he was used to term a blustering broadside, having
- a liking only for the working of his little brass swivel. He could do
- anything that he pleased with his little swivel. 'Ping!' it would go, when
- he had squinted along the sights, and the object he aimed at half a mile
- away—sometimes so small that we could scarce see it from our foretop—down
- it went. Boscawen could do what he pleased with it—the blunt nose of
- a whale rising to spout a mile away—the stem of a cocoa-nut palm on
- one of the islands when we were not sure of the natives and there was no
- time to climb the tree—that is the marksmanship of Mr. Garrick, and
- your Mr. Kendal was not worthy of an exercise of so much skill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nobody seems too insignificant to be made a fool of by Mr. Garrick,” said
- Mrs. Burney. “He is as happy when he has made a gruesome face and
- frightened a maid with a mop at the doorstep, as when he has stricken us
- with awe when the ghost enters in <i>Hamlet</i>, or when Macbeth declaims
- of the horror of the curse of sleeplessness that has been cast on him.
- That is why I said before he arrived that I was not sure that his
- influence upon you all is for good. He makes one lose one's sense of the
- right proportions and realities of life. Now is not that so, Hetty? I make
- no appeal to Fanny, for I know that she has ever been devoted to Mr.
- Garrick. Is it not true that she was used to frighten poor Lottie before
- she was ten by showing how Mr. Garrick frowned as the Duke of Gloster?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that Fanny murdered us all in turn in our beds, assuring us that
- we were the Princes in the Tower, or some less real characters invented by
- herself,” said Esther. “But indeed if James tells us that Mr. Garrick's
- gun practice smashed the cocoa-nut that serves Mr. Kendal as a head, I
- should not grieve. Tell us what happened, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, 'twas naught worth words to describe,” said James. “The man came to
- take counsel of Daddy in regard to a jest that Mr. Garrick had, unknown to
- his victim, played off upon him, and Mr. Garrick so worked upon him that
- Daddy had no chance to speak. But Mr. Garrick made fools of us as well,
- for I give you my word, though we were in with him in his jest, he had us
- blubbering like boobies when he laid his hand on the fellow's shoulder and
- spoke nonsense in a voice quivering and quavering as though he were at the
- point of breaking down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney the elder shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I do not like—that trifling with sacred things,” she
- said. “'Tis not decent in a private house—I would not tolerate it
- even in a playhouse, and I see that you are of my opinion, James, though
- you may have been dragged into the abetting of Mr. Garrick in whatever mad
- scheme he had set himself upon perfecting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, for that matter we are all sorry when we have been merry at the
- expense of another, even though he be an elderly coxcomb such as that Mr.
- Kendal,” said James. “But enough—more than enough—of coxcomb
- Kendal! Tell us of the Duchess's concert, Hetty. Were the matrimonial
- duets as successful as usual?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Esther, who had been disappointed that her stepmother had not yet said a
- word about the concert of the previous night given by the Dowager Duchess
- of Portland, at which she and her husband had performed, brightened up at
- her brother's question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The concert was well enough,” she replied with an affectation of
- carelessness. “'Twas no better than many that have taken place under this
- roof. Her Grace and her grandees were very kind to us—we had enough
- plaudits to turn the head of Gabrielli herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, the Gabrielli's head has been turned so frequently that one can never
- tell when it sits straight on her shoulders,” said James.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was <i>very</i> civil to us last evening,” said Esther. “Indeed, she
- was civil to everyone until the enchanter Rauzzini sang the solo from <i>Piramo
- e Tisbe</i> and swept the company off their feet. The poor Gabrielli had
- no chance against Rauzzini.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Especially in a company that numbered many ladies,” said James, with a
- laugh. “You remember what Sir Joshua told us that Dr. Goldsmith had once
- said of Johnson?—that in his argument he was like the highwayman:
- when his pistol missed fire he knocked one down with the butt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard that upon one occasion Dr. Johnson knocked a man down with a
- heavy book, but I cannot imagine his ever firing a pistol,” remarked Mrs.
- Burney, who had been used, when the wife of a straightforward merchant of
- Lynn, to take every statement literally, and had not yet become accustomed
- to the involved mode of speaking of the brilliant young Burneys.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that Rauzzini—I don't quite perceive what you do mean by
- your reference to Dr. Goldsmith's apt humour,” said Esther.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only mean that among such a company as assembled at the Duchess's, if
- he missed fire with his singing, he glanced around with those dark eyes of
- his and the ladies went down before him by the score,” replied James. “Do
- not I speak the truth, Fanny?” he added, turning quickly to where Fanny
- was searching with her short-sighted eyes close to her work-basket for
- some material that seemed to be missing.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she had clearly heard her brother's question, for she did not need to
- raise her head or to ask him to repeat it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, we are all the slaves of the nobil' signor,” she said, and continued
- her search in the basket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “From the way he talked to us last night it might be fancied that it was
- he who was the captive,” said Esther.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I do not doubt that he is living in a state of constant captivity,”
- laughed James. “Ay, or I should rather term it inconstant captivity, for I
- dare swear that those black eyes of his do a deal of roving in the course
- of a year—nay, in the course of a day. These singer fellows feel
- that 'tis due to their art, this moving the hearts of their hearers, by
- moving their own affections from heart to heart. The Rauzzini is, I fancy,
- like one of the splendid butterflies we came upon in the Straits,
- fluttering from flower to flower.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard no stories of his inconstancy, even from the Gabrielli when
- she was most envious of his plaudits,” said Esther, and she glanced at her
- sister, who was earnestly threading a needle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You goose!” cried James to Esther. “Do you suppose that Gabrielli would
- tell you anything so greatly complimentary to him? In these days you
- cannot pay a man a greater compliment than to compare him to the fickle
- butterfly. You see that suggests a welcome from every flower.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest that it is to sailors I have heard most compliments of that
- sort paid,” laughed Esther, and then, putting herself in a singing
- attitude before him, she lilted most delightfully:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more!
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Men were deceivers ever,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- One foot on sea-
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “ha, ha, brother James!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- and one on shore,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- To one thing constant never.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now be advised by me, dear James, and do not attribute even in a cynical
- way, the vice of inconstancy to a singer, until you have left the Navy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not allude to it as a vice—rather as a virtue,” said James.
- “Just think of the hard fate of any girl to have such a person as a singer
- ever by her side!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He easily evaded the rush down upon him made by Hetty, and used his
- nautical skill to sail to the windward of her, as it were, until he had
- reached the door, whence he sent a parting shot at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You surely don't think that I hinted that your spouse was a singer,” he
- cried. “A singer! Oh, lud! I should be swaying away on all top ropes if I
- were to call the matrimonial duets singing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave a shout of laughter as he caught the ball of wool which Esther
- threw at him, having picked it up from her stepmother's work-table. He
- returned it with a better aim, and before his sister could get a hand on
- it, he had shut the door, only opening it a little space a few seconds
- later to put in his head with a mocking word, withdrawing it at once, and
- then his foot was heard upon the stair, while he gave a sailor's version
- of Mr. Garrick's patriotic naval song:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has gone before I had a chance of asking him to take a message to the
- cheesemonger,” said Mrs. Burney, calling out to him while she hurried
- after him out of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE moment the two
- sisters were alone, the elder said quickly in a low voice, leaning across
- the table:
- </p>
- <p>
- “We had a long talk with Signor Rauzzini, my dearest Fanny. I could not,
- of course, tell you before mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mentioned his name; but were you discreet?” said Fanny. “I think
- mother felt that you were going too far when you referred to his eyes.
- Mother most surely believes that the dark eyes of an Italian form a topic
- that should not be discussed except by our elders, and then only with
- bated breath and a fearful glance around lest a word should be overheard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His eyes—you know his eyes, Fanny?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” said Fanny, with an inflection that was between a sigh and a moan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should have seen them while he spoke of you,” said Esther. “Talk of
- flashes of lightning!—Dear child, it seemed so singular to us that a
- mite like you should inspire a grand passion in such a man. You are not
- angry with us, I know, but it was so indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I feel angry with you for feeling just what I do myself, only
- more intensely,” said Fanny. “Tis one of the greatest mysteries of life—the
- only mystery of life that I have yet faced—why a man who is as
- handsome as an archangel, and who possesses a voice that an archangel
- might envy, should so much as glance at an insignificant young woman like
- myself! Oh! 'tis no wonder that the notion amused you, dear Hetty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It only diverted us for a time, I assure you, my Fanny; it did not take
- us very long to perceive how it was no laughing matter, but, on the
- contrary, a very serious matter. Signor Rauzzini is, as I said, an
- enchanter, but do you not think that 'tis somewhat dangerous to—to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To play with fire? That is what is on your mind, dear—to allow the
- fire of his Roman eyes to play about me? Dangerous? I admit that wherever
- there is fire there is danger, especially when it flashes from such eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad that you need no warning, child. As your elder sister I am
- pleased that—that—but no one in the house seems to think for a
- moment that the favour he has so distinctly shown to you can mean
- anything. Indeed, until last night, neither Charles nor I could believe——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny laughed, half closing her short-sighted eyes with a curious
- expression as she looked at her sister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is only natural, my dear Hettina,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I ever ventured to suggest that I am other than the dunce of the
- family?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have always been absurdly humble, Fanny, and I have never hesitated
- to say so,” cried Esther. “I am sure that none of us could have made up
- such clever little pieces to act as you did when we were children. And as
- for writing, could any of us have so neatly copied out the padre's History
- as you did last year? Mr. Crisp, too—he never takes pleasure in any
- letters of the family except what you write for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All perfectly true, my Hettina,” replied Fanny. “But where am I when the
- house is filled with visitors? You know that I am nobody—that all I
- pray for with all my heart is that no one will take any notice of me, and
- I think I can say that my prayer is nearly always granted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is because you are so dreadfully—so absurdly shy,” said
- Esther. “You are the little mouse that is evermore on the look out for a
- hole into which you can creep and be safe from the observation of all
- eyes. You are ever trying to escape, unless when Mr. Garrick is here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Hettina, I know my place—that is all. I have weak eyes, but
- quick ears, and I have heard strangers ask, when they have heard you sing
- and Susan play, who the little short-sighted girl in the corner is and
- what she means to do for the entertainment of the company. When they are
- assured that I am one of the clever Burney family they whisper an
- incredulous 'No?' They cannot believe that so insignificant a person as
- myself can be one of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tis your morbid self-consciousness, Fanny, that suggests so much to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no; I was the dunce from the first. You know that while you could
- read any book with ease when you were six, I did not even know my letters
- when I was eight. Don't you remember how James made a jest of my thirst
- for knowledge by pretending to teach me the alphabet with the page turned
- upside down? And when you had gone to school at Paris and it was my turn
- as the next eldest, the wise padre perceived in a moment that the money
- would be much better spent upon Susan and Lottie, and they went to be
- educated while I remained at home in ignorance? The dear padre was right:
- he knew that I should have been miserable among bright girls away from
- home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause before the elder sister said quite pathetically:
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor Fanny! I wonder if you have not been treated shabbily among us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not. I, my Hettina. I have always been treated fairly. I have had as many
- treats as any of you; when you were learning so much in Paris I have been
- learning quite a number of things at home. And one of the most important
- things I learned was that so brilliant a person as Signor Rauzzini could
- never be happy if married to so insignificant a person as Fanny Burney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Esther gave a little sigh of relief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I think that your conclusion is a right one, dear,” she said. “We
- both came to the conclusion—Charles and I—that it would be a
- huge misfortune if you should allow yourself to be attracted by the
- glamour that attaches to the appearance of such a man as the Rauzzini,
- though, mind you, I believe that he honestly fancies himself in love with
- you—oh, he made no disguise of it in talking with us last night. But
- I hoped that you would be sensible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, in the matter of sense I am the equal of anyone in the family,” said
- Fanny, laughing. “That I mean to make my one accomplishment—good
- sense. That is the precious endowment of the dunce of the clever family—good
- sense; the one who stands next to the dunce in the lack of accomplishments
- should be endowed with good nature. Good sense and good nature go hand in
- hand in plain grey taffeta, not down the primrose paths of life, but along
- the King's highway of every day, where they run no chance of jostling the
- simple foot-passengers or exciting the envy of any by the flaunting of
- feathers in their face. Good sense and good nature are best satisfied when
- they attract no attention, but pass on to obscurity, smiling at the
- struggle of others to be accounted persons of importance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you have indeed made up your mind to marry Mr. Barlowe?” cried
- Esther.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny laughed enigmatically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does it not mean rather that I have made up my mind not to marry Mr.
- Barlowe?” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- Esther looked puzzled: she was puzzled, and that was just what Fanny meant
- her to be.
- </p>
- <p>
- But then she looked piqued, as elder sisters do when puzzled by the words
- or the acts of the younger. What business have younger sisters puzzling
- their elders? Their doing so suggests pertness when the elders are
- unmarried, but sheer insubordination when they are married; and Esther was
- by no means willing at any time to abrogate the privileges of her position
- as a married woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I protest that I do not understand your meaning, Fanny,” she said,
- raising her chin in a way that gave her head a dignified poise. There was
- also a chill dignity in the tone of her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Hettina, I ask your pardon,” cried Fanny quickly. “I fear that I
- replied to you with a shameful unreasonableness. But indeed I am not sure
- that you had reason on your side when you assumed that because I was ready
- to acknowledge that it would not mean happiness to our dear Signor
- Rauzzini to marry an insignificant person like myself, I was therefore
- prepared to throw myself into the arms of Mr. Barlowe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fancied that—that—but you may have another suitor in your
- mind whose name you have not mentioned to anyone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should it be necessary for me to have a suitor of any kind? Is it not
- possible to conceive of the existence of a young woman without a row of
- suitors in the background? I admit that the 'Odyssey' of Homer—you
- remember how I used to listen to your reading of Mr. Broome's translation
- to mother—would be shorn of much of its interest but for that
- background of suitors in one of the last books, but—well, my dear
- sister, I hold that the alternative song of life to the matrimonial duet
- is the spinster's solo, and it does not seem to me to be quite devoid of
- interest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I took it for granted——” began Esther, when Fanny broke
- in upon her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know what all the happily wedded ones take for granted,” she
- cried. “You assume that the wedded life is the only one worth living; but
- as we are told in the Bible that there is one glory of the sun and another
- of the moon, so I hold that I am justified in believing that if matrimony
- be celestial, spinsterhood is terrestrial, but a glory all the same, and
- not unattractive to me. I may be wise enough to content myself with the
- subdued charm of moonlight if it so be that I am shut off from the midday
- splendour of matrimony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Esther did not laugh in the least as did her sister when she had spoken
- with an air of finality. She only made a little motion with her shoulders
- suggesting a shrug, while she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you will succeed in convincing mother that your views are the best
- for the household; but I think you will have some difficulty in doing so,
- considering what a family of girls we are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not doubt that mother will be on the side of immediate matrimony and
- poor Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why poor Mr. Barlowe?” cried Esther. “He is a young man of excellent
- principles, and he has never given his parents a day's trouble. It is
- understood that if he marries sensibly he will be admitted to a
- partnership in the business, so that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Principles and a partnership make for matrimonial happiness, I doubt
- not,” said Fanny. “And I doubt not that Dr. Fell had both excellent
- principles and an excellent practice; still someone has recorded in
- deathless verse that she—I assume the sex—did not like that
- excellent man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you do not like Mr. Barlowe on the same mysterious grounds?” said
- Hetty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, I am not so unreasonable, I hope,” replied Fanny. “But—but—dear
- sister, I remember how I thought that the song of the linnet which was in
- our little garden at Lynn was the loveliest strain of the grove, and such
- was my belief until I awoke one night at Chessington and heard the
- nightingale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are puzzling—singularly puzzling today,” said Esther frowning.
- “You have started two or three mystifying parables already. You told me
- some time ago as a great secret that you had been renewing your
- story-writing, in spite of your having burnt all that you had written for
- our edification—all that story—what was its name? The heroine
- was one Caroline Evelyn. You were ever an obedient child, or you would not
- have sacrificed your offspring at the bidding of our new mother, though
- the advice that she gave you was good, if you have not quite adhered to
- it. Novel writing is not for young ladies any more than novel reading, and
- certainly talking in parables is worse still. Well, I have no more time to
- spend over your puzzles.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would not find their solution to repay you, my dear,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Still, I am pleased to learn that you take a sensible view of Signor
- Rauzzini and his heroics—but, indeed, I cannot see that Mr. Barlowe
- should not be considered, with his prospects—his father is a mercer
- in gold and silver lace, as you know——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard so—it is a profitable trade, I believe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None more so. It is impossible to believe that a time will ever come when
- gold and silver lace will cease to be worn by gentlemen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would be an evil day for England as well as for Messieurs Barlowe,
- <i>père et fils</i>. But thank heaven it is not yet in sight. Good
- morning, dear sister; and be assured you have my thanks for your advice.
- But mind you keep my little secret about the writing. Good-bye. You can
- face mother boldly, knowing that you have carried out her commission to
- the letter, and very neatly and discreetly into the bargain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would not have done so if her views had not been mine also; as for your
- writing—you may depend on my keeping your secret. But you will have
- to get the padre's permission to have it printed—that's something
- still in the far future, I suppose;”—and the elder sister stooped to
- kiss the younger—Fanny was not up to the shoulder of the beautiful
- and stately Esther.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so they parted.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ANNY BURNEY had
- been forced, for the first time, to make her sister aware of the fact that
- she knew she was looked on as the dunce of the brilliant Burney family.
- She could see that her doing so had startled her sister, for neither
- Esther nor any of the other girls had ever suggested to her that they
- thought of her as being on a different level from themselves, though it
- was tacitly allowed that it was a great pity that Fanny did not emulate
- them in taking pains to shine as it was expected the children of that
- estimable master of music, Dr. Burney, should shine, so as to make the
- house in that narrow little street off Leicester Fields attractive to its
- many distinguished visitors.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny had truly defined her place in the household. She had recognized her
- place for several years; but there was not the least suggestion of rancour
- in her tone when talking to her brilliant elder sister, for the simple
- reason that there was no bitterness in her heart against any member of the
- family for being cleverer than herself. Fanny took pride in the
- accomplishments of her sisters, and was quite content with her position in
- relation to them. She got on well with all of them, because she was fond
- of them all, and they were all fond of her. She had not rebelled when her
- father had sent her younger sisters to be educated in Paris, and had
- allowed her to pick up her own education as best she might in his own
- library; and it had been a great happiness to her to be allowed the
- privilege of copying out for the press the first volume of her father's
- “History of Music.” It was her stepmother who, finding out that Fanny had
- what Mrs. Burney called “a taste for writing,” had suggested that that was
- the legitimate channel in which such a taste should flow; and it was her
- stepmother who had induced her to make a bonfire of all her own writings—the
- scribblings of her girlhood that represented the foolish errant flow of
- her “taste for writing “: and now and again she had a consciousness of her
- own duplicity in failing to resist the impulse that had come upon her to
- do some more of what her mother termed her “girlish scribbling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the guilty secrets that Fanny cherished was that when it was
- believed she was writing her long letters to her old friend Mr. Crisp, she
- had been composing a novel which was now about to be given to the world;
- the second was that Signor Rauzzini, the handsome young Roman singer with
- whom half the fashionable ladies of the town were in love, was in love
- with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- These were two secrets worth the cherishing, she knew; and the thought of
- them more than compensated her for the reflection that she was the dunce
- of the family, and that the unconscious tone of patronage adopted toward
- her by her elder sister and the dreadful compliments paid to her plain
- sewing, as though plain sewing represented the highest hopes that could
- reasonably be entertained in regard to her, were only to be looked for in
- the circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two secrets were closely bound up together, she knew. She had the
- deepest affection for Signor Rauzzini. How could she fail to return the
- feeling which the whisper of his musical voice had told her he had
- conceived for her? He loved her in spite of the fact that she was the
- least attractive member of the family—in spite of the fact that half
- the town was at his feet, and that he might have made his choice from
- among the best. He had chosen her whom no one else had ever noticed, with
- the exception of her father's old friend, Mr. Crisp, and—oh, yes
- (she laughed now, perceiving that she had done an injustice to the other
- person who had been attracted to her—mainly, she thought, on account
- of her reputation for plain sewing)—a young man named Thomas
- Barlowe, the excellent son of the well-known mercer of gold and silver
- lace, in the Poultry!
- </p>
- <p>
- Thinking of young Mr. Barlowe by the side of Signor Rauzzini, Fanny
- laughed again. She had so restricted an opinion of her own attractiveness
- that the tears actually came into her eyes for having given that derisive
- laugh as she compared the two young men; and she felt that she had been
- grossly ungrateful to young Mr. Barlowe; for even young Mr. Barlowe had a
- right to look above her level for a wife. As the daughter of a simple
- music master with a large family she could have no endowment so far as
- worldly goods were concerned; and she knew that the practical parents of
- young business men, as a rule, looked for their sons to marry, if not
- great fortunes, at least young women with a few thousands to their names.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt that she had treated the condescending young Mr. Barlowe very
- badly in laughing at the poor figure he cut by the side of the angelic
- Roman singer—she had failed to resist the temptation to call Signor
- Rauzzini angelic in one of her letters to Mr. Crisp—and now, in
- thinking of Mr. Barlowe as a very worthy young man, she was unconsciously
- relegating him to a hopeless position as a lover. It is not the very
- worthy young men who are beloved by young women of a romantic temperament:
- if it were there would be very few romances left. But little Miss Burney
- desired only to ease the twinges of her conscience for having laughed at
- the thought of young Tommy Barlowe; and she thought that she had done the
- right thing in assuring herself that he was a very worthy person.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then she thought no more about him. She had a feeling that to give
- another thought to him when she had such a man as Signor Rauzzini to think
- about, would be a constructive act of treason in regard to Rauzzini. She
- had received many hints from her stepmother to the effect that all the
- family considered her to be a very fortunate young woman (all things taken
- into account) in having a chance of marrying the Thomas who seemed ready
- to pay his addresses to her; but though quite submissive to her stepmother
- in household matters, she was ready to face her with the “Never!” of the
- avowed rebel in the matter of consenting to wed the highly approved
- Thomas, and so she dismissed him from her thoughts, in favour of the man
- whom she loved.
- </p>
- <p>
- But thinking of the man whom she loved was by no means equivalent to
- passing into a region of unalloyed happiness. She had mystified her sister
- by the way in which she had spoken about Signor Rauzzini, and the seal had
- been put upon the mystery by her frank acknowledgment that she did not
- think a union between so distinguished a man as Rauzzini and so
- insignificant a person as herself was likely to be satisfactory.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had certainly allowed Hetty to go away believing that this was in her
- mind; and that was just what was in her mind when her thoughts turned from
- Thomas, whom she considered so estimable, to Rauzzini, whom she loved. She
- loved the Roman singer so truly that she had made a resolution never to
- consent to his marrying anyone so insignificant as she believed herself to
- be.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had no illusions regarding herself. She knew just how good-looking she
- was; she knew that by the side of any of her sisters she was almost plain;
- but that she had a pleasing, simple face of a very ordinary type. She knew
- that she could love with the truest devotion and she could trust herself
- not to change with time. But she felt that these were not beyond the
- traits of the ordinary young woman, and that they did not lift her from
- the level of insignificance to the level of Signor Rauzzini.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that she was at that moment an insignificant person; and she made
- no attempt to think of herself as otherwise.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes; but she had heard of people—even young women—being
- insignificant one day, and the next springing to a pinnacle of fame to
- which all eyes looked up. How would it be if she were destined to reach in
- a moment a position that would place her on a level with the man of her
- thoughts—the man whose fame as a singer had caused him to be the
- centre round which every conversation in the most notable circles turned?
- Everyone was talking in praise of Rauzzini; and she herself thought of him
- as occupying a place on a height as far above her as King Cophetua's
- throne was above the marble steps at the foot of which the beggar maid had
- crouched; but in her mind there was the possibility that her name might
- one day be spoken by the world in connection with an achievement that
- would raise her from the insignificance of Fanny Burney to the importance
- of Signor Rauzzini, and prevent people from asking what on earth had
- induced so glorious a person as he to make her his wife!
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the secret dream which filled the imagination of this imaginative
- young woman—the same dream as comes to so many young women who have
- written the last chapter of a book and sent it forth for the world to
- receive with acclaim—the dream of fame—of immortality! She had
- written a novel and it was about to be given to the world, if the world
- would have it, and upon its success her happiness depended. If it brought
- her fame, it would place her by the side of the man whom she loved; but if
- it failed, then she would remain a person of no significance, and quite
- unworthy of sharing the honours which were showered upon her lover. She
- had imagination, and this faculty it was that made her more than doubtful
- of the success of King Cophetua's rash experiment. She felt sure that King
- Cophetua had now and again, turning suddenly round, caught one of his
- courtiers with his tongue in his cheek when his Majesty was entering the
- throne-room with his shy and insignificant Queen by his side, and that the
- Queen had occasionally overheard the whispers of her maids of honour, when
- they did not know she was at hand, asking one another what on earth the
- King had seen in her that induced him to make her his consort. Little Miss
- Burney had long ago made up her mind that the union of King Cophetua and
- his beggar maid was far from being a happy one—that the King looked
- around him and saw several princesses of great beauty and quite devoid of
- shyness who were fully acquainted with the convenances of his court and
- would not, if he had married any one of them, have made the mistakes which
- she was sure the young person whom he had elevated had fallen into,
- causing him constant irritation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Little Miss Burney had resolved that she would never play the part of a
- crowned beggar maid. The man whom she loved had won fame for himself, and
- she would not go to him unless she, too, had at least made such a name for
- herself as should prevent her from feeling herself in the position of the
- beggar maid whom King Cophetua had raised to his side. Little Miss Burney
- resolved that although she could scarcely expect to go to her lover
- wearing purple robes embroidered with gold, she could, at any rate,
- refrain from wearing beggars' rags. She had her ambitions, and she felt
- that they were not ignoble, but that they made for the happiness of the
- man she loved, and who had been gracious enough to love her—the
- least attractive member of the family.
- </p>
- <p>
- But after she had sat for some time with her hands lying idle on the
- sempstress' work at which she had been engaged on the departure of her
- sister—after her imagination had carried her much farther away than
- she intended it should, she was sensible of a return to the cold world
- from which she had soared. Her heart, which had begun to beat quickly when
- Hetty had told her how the divine Rauzzini had spoken of her, sank within
- her as she seemed to hear a voice asking who was she that she should hope
- to reach by the publication of that story which she had been writing by
- stealth and at odd times during the past three years, even the smallest
- measure of fame that would compare with that of Signor Rauzzini? What fame
- attached to the writing of a novel in comparison with that achieved by the
- enchantment of a singer who had power to move the hearts of men and women
- as it pleased him? Orpheus—ah, what fame could compare with the fame
- of Orpheus, the singer? His was a heaven-sent gift. What was her little
- talent compared with such a gift? If she had the ability even to make
- music such as one of her sisters could bring forth from the keys of the
- piano, she would have a better chance of being accounted worthy of a place
- beside Signor Rauzzini than if her novel found its way to the shelves of
- many readers. The writing of a novel was a poor achievement—nay, in
- the opinion of a good many people, including her own stepmother—a
- most practical woman—it was something to be ashamed of; and Fanny
- herself, thinking over all the novels written by women which she herself
- had read—most of them surreptitiously—was disposed to agree
- with her. That was why she had kept as a secret for more than three years
- the fact that she was trying to write a novel. Her father knew nothing of
- it, and her stepmother was equally uninformed. Even her old friend Mr.
- Crisp, to whom she wrote voluminous letters week after week, and to whom
- she gave her confidence on many matters, had no suspicion that she had
- written her novel.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had thought it prudent to keep this matter hidden from them, for she
- did not doubt that if she had told any one of them of her project, she
- would never have a chance of realizing it. They would certainly have
- pronounced against such a proceeding even before a page of her novel came
- to be written.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet it was the thought that this novel was shortly to be published
- that had caused her to feel that she was drawing nearer to her lover.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she reflected upon this, sitting idly over her work when her sister had
- left the house, her tears began to fall, not in a torrent, but slowly
- dropping at intervals upon the fabric which she had been sewing. She felt
- very sad, very hopeless, very lonely.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nor could it be said that the sudden return of Mrs. Burney meant a return
- of happiness to the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney did not consider that Fanny had made satisfactory progress
- with her work, and did not hesitate to express her opinion to this effect.
- But she was not imprudently unkind; for young Mr. Barlowe had just written
- to her, begging permission to pay his respects to Mrs. Burney and her
- daughter that evening, and she meant that Fanny should be in a good humour
- to entertain him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney had great hopes that the question of Fanny's future—a
- constant topic of conversation and consultation between her and her
- husband—might be settled by a series of visits of young Mr. Barlowe.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUNG Mr. Barlowe
- took himself very seriously, and he had every right to do so; for a more
- serious young man was not to be found in business in London. He had been
- brought up to look upon everything in the world as having an intimate
- connection with business, and it had always been impressed upon him that
- business meant the increase of money, and that there was hardly anything
- in the world worth giving a thought to apart from the increase of money.
- It never occurred to any of his preceptors to suggest that the advantage
- of increasing one's money lay in the splendid possibilities of spending
- it. The art of making money forms the whole curriculum of a business man's
- education; he is supposed to require no instruction in the art of spending
- it. Thus it is that, by attending only to one side of the question, so
- many business men lead much less interesting lives than they might, if
- they had it in their power to place themselves under the guidance of a
- trustworthy professor of the Art of Spending. But no Chair of Spending has
- yet been provided at any University, nor is there any instructor on this
- important branch of business education at any of the City schools, hence
- it is that the sons of so many money-making men turn out spendthrifts.
- They have been taught only one side of the great money question, and that
- the less important side into the bargain. In making an honest endeavour to
- master the other side, usually on the death of a father or a bachelor
- uncle, both looked on as close-fisted curmudgeons, a good many young men
- find themselves in difficulties.
- </p>
- <p>
- Young Mr. Barlowe, on being introduced to the Burney family, through the
- circumstance of Mrs. Burney's first husband having done business with Mr.
- Barlowe the elder, found himself in a strange atmosphere. He had never
- before imagined the existence of a household where music and plays and
- books were talked about as if these were the profitable topics of life.
- Previously he had lived in a house where the only profitable topic was
- thought to be the Profits. At his father's table in the Poultry the
- conversation never travelled beyond the Profits. The likelihood of a rise
- in the price of gold or silver sometimes induced the father to increase
- his stock of bullion without delay, and then if the price rose, he could
- conscientiously charge his customers for the lace at such a rate per ounce
- as gave him a clear five per cent, extra profit; and it was upon such
- possibilities that the conversation in the Poultry parlour invariably
- turned.
- </p>
- <p>
- And here were these Burneys talking with extraordinary eagerness and
- vivacity upon such matters as the treatment by a singer named Gabrielli of
- one of the phrases in a song of Mr. Handel's, beginning: “Angels ever
- bright and fair”! For himself, young Mr. Barlowe thought that there was no
- need for so much repetition in any song. “Angels ever bright and fair,
- Take, oh take me to your care”—that was the whole thing, as it
- seemed to him; and when that request had been made once he thought it was
- quite enough; to repeat it half a dozen times was irritating and really
- tended to defeat its purpose. Only children in the nursery kept
- reiterating their requests. But he had heard Dr. Burney and his
- son-in-law, Esther's husband, discuss the Gabrielli's apparently
- unauthorized pause before the second violins suggested (as it appeared to
- the younger musician) a whisper of assent floating from the heaven; and
- all the members of the family except Fanny had taken sides in the
- controversy, as though a thing like that had any bearing upon the daily
- life of the City!
- </p>
- <p>
- Thomas Barlowe was amazed at the childishness of the discussion, and he
- was particularly struck by the silence of Fanny on this occasion. She was
- silent, he was sure, because she agreed with him in thinking it ridiculous
- to waste words over a point that should be relegated to the nursery for
- settlement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They seem pleasant enough people in their way,” he told his mother after
- his first visit. “But they know nothing of what is going on in the world—the
- real world, of which the Poultry is the centre. It might be expected that
- the young man who is a naval officer and has seen the world would know
- something of the import of the question when I asked him what direction he
- thought gold would move in; but he only winked and replied, 'Not across my
- hawse, I dare swear,' and the others laughed as if he had said something
- humorous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mayhap it was humorous,” suggested his mother gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be sheer ribaldry for anyone to jest upon such a subject as the
- fluctuations in the price of silver,” said Thomas slowly. “Lieutenant
- Burney must surely know how serious a matter would be a fall of a fraction
- of a crown when we have bought heavily in prospect of a rise. But Miss
- Burney looks to be different from the others of the family. I have told
- you that while her father, and indeed all the rest, were talking excitedly
- on that ridiculous point in Mr. Handel's music, she sat in silence. She is
- short-sighted, but I noticed more than once that she had her eyes fixed on
- me, as if she had found something to study in me. She is, I think, a
- steady, observant young lady. When Mrs. Burney said she hoped that I would
- visit them again, I think I perceived a sort of interest on Miss Burney's
- face as she awaited my answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Thomas had resolved not to frustrate the hopes that Mrs. Burney had
- expressed as to his paying another visit—as a matter of fact he had
- come three times, and on every occasion he had devoted himself to Fanny—to
- be more exact than Mrs. Burney, who had described his attentions in this
- phrase, he had passed his time subjecting her to a sort of catechism with
- a view to discover if she would make him the sort of wife that would suit
- him. It appeared that the result of his inquisition was satisfactory, and
- that his attentions were gradually becoming intentions; but Mrs. Burney
- had never gone farther than to comment favourably to Fanny upon the young
- man's steadiness, and to suggest that the young woman whom he might choose
- to be his wife would be fortunate, steady young men with good prospects in
- the City being far from abundant. She had never gone so far as to ask
- Fanny if she would accept good fortune coming to her in such a form;
- though Fanny knew very well that she had asked Esther to sound her on this
- point.
- </p>
- <p>
- How far Esther's mission was accounted successful by their stepmother,
- Fanny, of course, could not guess; but at any rate Thomas was to pay a
- visit after dinner, and Fanny felt that it was necessary for her to be
- discreet. It had been very interesting for her to study Thomas, with the
- possibility before her of writing a second novel, in which some of his
- traits of character might be introduced with advantage; but she perceived
- how there was a likelihood of her course of study being paid for at too
- high a rate; so she resolved—to be discreet beyond her ordinary
- exercise of a virtue which she displayed at all times of her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- So Thomas came to the house in St. Martin's Street while tea was being
- served in the drawingroom, to the accompaniment of a duet on the piano—Dr.
- Burney had quickly perceived the merits of this new instrument over that
- of the harpsichord—between Susan and her father. Very close to the
- instrument, pressing the receiver of his ear-trumpet to the woodwork of
- the case, sat Sir Joshua Reynolds, while his sister—a lady of middle
- age who was gradually relinquishing the idea that she, too, could paint
- portraits—was suffering Mrs. Burney to explain to her the advantages
- of Lynn over London as a place of residence for people anxious to
- economize.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny was at the table where the teapot and urn were being drawn on, and
- close to her sat her brother James, with a volume like an account-book
- lying face down on the table while he drank his tea.
- </p>
- <p>
- The progress of the duet was not arrested by the entrance of young Mr.
- Barlowe, but he looked in the direction of the instrument when he had
- shaken hands with Mrs. Burney and bowed to Miss Reynolds. It was obvious
- that he was mystified by seeing Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet pressed against
- the sound-conducting case of the piano. He was still looking at it with
- curious eyes while he greeted Fanny with the concentrated politeness of
- the Poultry.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lieutenant Burney roused himself from his lolling attitude when he saw the
- puzzled look on the young man's face, and he obligingly endeavoured to
- explain away the mystery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis no wonder that you are amazed, Mr. Barlowe,” he said in a whisper.
- “I own that when it was first brought to my notice I thought it
- extraordinary. A marvellous instrument, is it not, that is played by the
- ear instead of by the mouth? And yet you must own that some of the notes
- it produces are very fine—much more delicate than could be produced
- by any other means.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not profess to be a judge of music, sir,” said Thomas; “but I know
- what pleases me.” Fanny wondered how often she had heard that same boast—the
- attempt of complete ignorance to be accredited with the virtue of
- frankness. “Yes, I own that I consider the music monstrous pretty; but
- with the ear—that is what puzzles me: it seems a simple trumpet,
- such as is blown by the mouth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray do not let my father hear you say that, Mr. Barlowe,” whispered
- James. “That instrument is his fondest. You know that he has written a
- 'History of Music'?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the world knows that, sir,” replied Thomas gallantly. “I have not yet
- found time to read it myself, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Neither have I, sir; but I understand that that instrument which seems
- new to such simpletons as you and I is really as ancient as the pyramids
- of Egypt—nay, more so, for my father discovered in his researches
- that this was the identical form of the first instrument made by Tubal
- Cain himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is't possible? In our Family Bible there is a picture of Tubal Cain, but
- he is depicted blowing through a conch shell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A shell! Ah! such was the ignorance of the world on these matters before
- my father wrote his History. But he has managed to clear up many points
- upon which complete ignorance or very erroneous opinions prevailed. It is
- not generally known, for instance, that Tubal had his second name given to
- him by reason of his habitually murdering every musical piece that he
- attempted to play.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he was the inventor, was he not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite true, Mr. Barlowe. But that fact, you must admit, only made his
- offence the more flagrant. So the inscriptions on the rocks assert; and
- there are some sensible people nowadays who believe that Tubal's second
- and very suggestive name should be coupled with the names of many more
- recent performers on musical instruments.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not allude to the gentleman who is playing that new instrument—I
- mean that very ancient instrument—by the side of Dr. Burney?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, surely not. That gentleman is one of the most notable performers of
- our age, Mr. Barlowe. I ask you plainly, sir, have you ever seen, even at
- a raree show, a musician who could play an instrument with his ear and
- produce such a good effect? You can easily believe that a vast amount of
- ingenuity is needed to produce even the simplest sound in that way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had not it demonstrated before my eyes I should not believe it
- possible. I protest, sir, that the effect is very pretty. Is't not so,
- Miss Burney?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man turned to Fanny, who was doing her best to refrain from an
- outburst of laughter; she could not trust herself to put her cup of tea to
- her lips while her brother was continuing his fooling. She thought that it
- was scarcely good manners of him to play such a jest upon a visitor,
- though she knew the ward-room code of manners which her naval brother had
- acquired was very liberal on such points. She was about to give Mr.
- Barlowe a hint of the truth of Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet, but James,
- perceiving her intention, defeated it by saying in a tone above a whisper:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cain—we mentioned Cain, did we not, Mr. Barlowe? Oh, yes; and it
- must have occurred to you how strangely customs have altered during the
- past ten years—how strongly opposed people are to-day to principles
- that were accepted without demur so recently as in our own boyhood. You
- take my meaning, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Barlowe did not look as if he quite grasped Lieutenant Burney's drift,
- and Fanny felt it incumbent on her to prevent further fooling (as he
- thought she would) by remarking:
- </p>
- <p>
- “My brother means, Mr. Barlowe, that 'tis remarkable how many changes are
- being made in many ways—but what he had in his mind was, of course,
- in respect to the forte-piano—on which my father and sister are
- playing a duet: only a few years ago no one thought to improve upon the
- harpsichord; and yet my father asserts that in a short time the
- harpsichord will be no more than a curiosity—that the forte-piano—or
- as we simply call it now, the piano, will take its place in every
- household. That is what you meant, was it not, James?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was thinking of Cain and his profession—Cain, the good old
- murderer, rather than of Tubal Cain, who was perhaps equally criminal in
- inventing the liveliest source of human torture,” replied James gravely.
- “Yes, I was thinking—suggested by the mention of Cain—how
- strange people nowadays would regard my father's intentions regarding my
- future when he assumed that I should have the best chance for cultivating
- my bent, which he had early recognized in me, by sending me, before it
- became too late, to be educated for the profession to an accomplished
- murderer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUNG Mr. Barlowe
- started so violently that he spilt his tea over his knees; for just before
- James had uttered his last sentence the music stopped, but as it had been
- somewhat loud in the final bars, and James had raised his voice in the
- same proportion, the inertia of his tone defied any attempt to modulate
- it, so that it was almost with a shout that he had declared that he had
- been sent to be educated in his profession to a murderer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the contretemps to
- be able to laugh. Her brother, who had had no intention of startling
- anyone in the room except young Mr. Barlowe, hung his head and was
- blushing under the South Sea tan of his skin; Sir Joshua Reynolds had
- heard nothing after the crashing chords that concluded the duet; but poor
- Miss Reynolds almost sprang from her chair in horror.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney was very angry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have been making a fool of yourself as usual, James,” she cried.
- “Pray give Mr. Barlowe another cup of tea, Fanny. I vow that 'tis a shame
- for you, James Burney, to treat such a company as though you were on the
- deck of the <i>Adventure</i> facing your South Sea savages.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Dr. Burney, with his customary tact, raised a hand half reprovingly
- toward his wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give Mr. Barlowe his cup, and then pass one to me, Fanny,” he said,
- rising from the piano. “You know that James has spoken no more than the
- truth, my dear,” he added, smiling at his wife. “I can see that the rascal
- has been fooling while our backs were turned to him; but we know that he
- spoke no more than the truth—at least in that one sentence which he
- bawled out for us. He was, indeed, sent to a school where he was placed
- under an accomplished usher who was some time after hanged as a murderer.
- You see, madam——” he had turned, still smiling, to Miss
- Reynolds, thereby doing much to restore her confidence in the sanity of
- the family—“You see that James was from the first so desperate a
- young rascal that, just as a boy who is an adept at figures is educated
- for the counting-house, and one who spends all the day before he is six
- picking out tunes on the harpsichord should be apprenticed, as I was, to a
- musician, so we thought our James should be sent whither he could be
- properly grounded in the only profession at which he was likely to excel.
- But, alas! the poor usher was carried off by the police, tried at the next
- assizes and duly hanged before James had made much progress in his
- studies; but I believe that a few years in the navy does as much for a
- youth who has made up his mind to succeed, as a protracted course under a
- fully qualified criminal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Reynolds looked as if she were not quite certain that, in spite of
- his smiles, Dr. Burney was jesting; but when Mrs. Burney, seeing how her
- husband's mock seriousness was likely to produce a wrong impression upon
- plain people, said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must recall hearing about Mr. Eugene Aram some years back, Mrs.
- Reynolds,” that lady showed that her mind was greatly relieved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I recall the matter without difficulty,” she said. “The man was usher at
- the grammar school at Lynn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And no school had a more learned teacher than that unfortunate man,” said
- Sir Joshua. Young Mr. Barlowe had been divided in his amazement at what
- Dr. Burney had said, and at the sight of Sir Joshua holding the trumpet to
- his ear, though the instrument remained mute. He had never found himself
- within the circle of so startling a society. He wished himself safe at
- home in the Poultry, where people talked sense and made no attempt to blow
- a trumpet with their ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “James had acquired quite a liking for poor Aram,” said Dr. Burney, “and,
- indeed, I own to having had a high opinion of the man's ability myself. It
- was to enable him to purchase books necessary for his studies in philology
- that he killed his victim—a contemptible curmudgeon named Johnstone.
- I fear that all our sympathy was on the side of the usher.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was greatly interested in Mr. Aram, and read a full account of his
- trial,” said Sir Joshua.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder that a man of so sensitive a mind as his did not so brood over
- his crime as to cause suspicion to fall on him earlier than it did.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only upon one occasion it seemed that he was affected by an incident
- which might possibly have awakened some suspicion in the mind of a person
- given to suspicion,” said Dr. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “James had been presented with a copy of the translation of Gessner's
- 'Death of Abel'—everyone was going mad about the book that year—more
- copies were sold of it than of any translation since Pope's 'Homer,' but I
- fancy James found it dull enough reading. He had it on his knee trying to
- get through a page or two in case the kind donor might question him upon
- it, when the usher came up. He took the volume in his hand and glanced at
- the title. Down the book fell from his grasp and he hurried away without a
- word—'as if he had been stung,' James said, in telling us about it,
- to excuse the broken cover. Of course, I never gave a thought to the
- matter at the time; but when I heard of the arrest of Eugene Aram the
- following year, I recalled the incident.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to make a picture of the scene, and name it 'Remorse,'”
- said Reynolds.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>He never did make such a picture; many years had passed, and
- Lieutenant Burney had become an Admiral before his narration of the
- incident touched the imagination of a poet who dealt with it in verse that
- has thrilled a good many readers.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Thomas Barlowe was not greatly thrilled by the story as told by Dr.
- Burney. He seemed rather shocked to find himself at the table with someone
- who had been taught by a murderer. He glanced furtively at James Burney,
- who had remained silent since the contretemps that had prevented him from
- perfecting his fooling of Thomas; and the result of Thomas's scrutiny at
- that moment was to cause Thomas a tremor; for who could say what fearful
- knowledge Lieutenant Burney might have acquired during his intercourse
- with the murderer—knowledge which might jeopardize the safety of a
- simple visitor like himself? Thomas felt that no ordinary person could be
- accounted absolutely safe in a company that included a tall, able-bodied
- young naval man who had begun his education under a murderer and had gone
- to complete it among the cannibals of the South Seas; and, in addition, an
- elderly gentleman who fancied that he could bring any sound out of a
- trumpet by pressing it to his ear instead of his lips, and had shown
- himself ready to extol the scholarship of any man who had been hanged.
- </p>
- <p>
- But then Thomas looked at Fanny, and she pleased him more than ever. She
- was so demure, so modest, so shy. She had a very pretty blush, and she did
- not play on the piano. It was a thousand pities, he felt, that such a girl
- should be compelled to remain in such uncongenial companionship. All the
- time that Dr. Burney and his other daughter were playing a second duet,
- and the silly gentleman holding the bell of his trumpet to the case of the
- piano, still fondly believing that he was also a performer with the
- mouth-piece in his ear, Thomas Barlowe was feeling wave after wave of pity
- passing over him for the unhappy position of the shy girl in the midst of
- so doubtful a household. Before long his compassion for her so stimulated
- his imagination that he began to think of the possibility of his rescuing
- her—he began to think of himself in the character of a hero—he
- did not remember the name of any particular hero who had carried off a
- young woman who was placed in a similar situation to that occupied by Miss
- Burney; but he had no doubt that more than one romance was founded upon
- the doings of such a man as he felt himself fully qualified to be, if he
- made up his mind to assume such a rôle.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the music continued—it was an arrangement of Bach's <i>Orfèo</i>—Thomas
- Barlowe became more and more resolute. He would be the heroic person who
- should appear at the right moment and achieve the emancipation of that
- sweet and shy girl, who by no fault of hers was forced to live in that
- house and remain, if she could, on friendly terms with her father and
- sisters, who kept strumming on the piano, and with her brother, who was
- ready to boast of having received the rudiments of his education from a
- murderer. All that he needed was the opportunity to show his heroism, and
- he did not doubt that when he set his mind to work on the matter, he would
- have such an opportunity.
- </p>
- <p>
- If anyone had whispered in his ear that his inward consciousness of being
- equal to the doing of great deeds was solely due to the music which was
- being played, and to which he was unwillingly listening, he would have
- been indignant. He would have thought it preposterous had it been
- suggested to him that the effect of that strumming was to make him feel
- more like a god than a man—to be ready to face hell for the love of
- a woman, as Jean Sebastian Bach imagined Orpheus doing for Eurydice. But
- Jean Sebastian Bach knew what he was about when he had composed his <i>Orfèo</i>,
- and Dr. Burney was quite equal to the business of interpreting his aims,
- and of urging his daughter Susan to join with him in impressing them upon
- even so unimpressionable a nature as that of Thomas Barlowe; so that while
- Thomas Barlowe believed that this music was one of the most petty of all
- human interests, it was making him think such thoughts as had never before
- entered his mind—it was giving him aspirations from which in
- ordinary circumstances he would have shrunk.
- </p>
- <p>
- The master musician and his interpreters were making sport of him, leading
- him if not quite into the region of the heroic, at least to the boundary
- of that region, and supplying him with a perspective glass, as the
- Interpreter did to the Pilgrims, by the aid of which he might see the
- wonderful things that had been beyond his natural scope.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that was how it came about that he gazed into Miss Burney's eyes and
- pressed her hand at parting with a tenderness he had never previously
- associated with his leave-taking. He felt sure that Miss Burney would
- understand what he meant, though he knew that he would have difficulty in
- expressing it all to her in words; for the effect of the music was to make
- him feel that he could put so much feeling into a look, into a squeeze of
- the hand, as would touch the heart of any young woman and cause her to be
- certain that she might trust him though all other help might fail her.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the effect which the heroic music had upon him, though he did not
- know it; it made him feel willing to face hell for her sake at that
- moment, and even until he had walked through more than a mile of the
- network of streets that lay between Leicester Fields and the Poultry.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the effect of such an intoxicant as music upon such a nature as his is
- not lasting. Before he had reached Cheapside his own individuality was
- beginning to assert itself; and he wondered if he had not gone too far for
- discretion—discretion being, according to his reckoning, the power
- to withdraw from a position that might compromise him. And before he
- reached his home he had got the length of wondering how he had so far
- forgotten himself as to yield to that compromising impulse represented by
- the gaze and the squeeze. He could not for the life of him understand what
- had come over him at that moment; for he had by no means satisfied himself
- that Miss Burney was the young woman who would make him comfortable as his
- wife. He still thought highly of her on account of her modesty and her
- dainty shyness, but marriage was a serious matter, and he was not sure
- that he should take her for his wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the whole, he felt that he had had a very trying evening—between
- the Lieutenant who had so nearly qualified to practise as a murderer, and
- the father and daughter who seemed ready to strum their duets until
- midnight, to say nothing of the foolish gentleman who tried to play the
- trumpet with his ear; and Thomas made up his mind that he would not trust
- himself into the midst of so unusual a circle until he was certain that he
- wanted to marry the young woman whose hand he had, for some reason or
- other, pressed at parting.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mrs. Burney had noticed much more clearly than Fanny had done the
- expression that the face of Thomas Barlowe had worn when he had looked
- into the girl's eyes; she had measured to the fraction of a second the
- duration of his holding of her hand beyond the time essential for the
- discharge of the ordinary courtesy of a hand-shake; and she was satisfied
- that Thomas was progressing in his wooing of the least attractive and
- certainly the least accomplished member of the family. The good woman
- thought, however, that it was rather a pity that her husband and Susan had
- persisted in the practice of their duets; for by doing so they had not
- given a chance to Thomas and Fanny of being alone together.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, looking back upon the incidents of the evening, she came to the
- conclusion that, on the whole, she had no reason to complain of the
- progress that was being made in the young man's wooing. She was no
- believer in undue haste in this respect; and had not Thomas looked into
- Fanny's eyes at the close of the evening? Yes, at the close; and that
- proved to her satisfaction that he had not suffered discouragement by the
- maladroit conversation about Mr. Eugene Aram. The unhappy episode upon
- which her husband had dwelt with far too great attention to its details,
- was one to which she herself had never alluded; for at Lynn, where she had
- lived all her life previous to being married to Dr. Burney, the Eugene
- Aram episode was regarded as a scandal to be ignored by those of the
- inhabitants whose children had attended the school where he had been
- usher. It was a distinctly favourable sign of the impression made upon
- young Mr. Barlowe by Fanny, that he had gazed into her eyes in spite of
- his having been made aware of the connection of the family with the
- tragedy of that wretched schoolmaster. Mrs. Burney took no account of the
- effect of Bach's marvellous music upon a young man who was a lover in the
- rough. In this respect, as has been indicated, she did not differ from the
- young man himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was at the
- Pantheon in the Oxford Road a fortnight later, that Mrs. Thrale, the
- brewer's lively wife, had an opportunity of shining, by a display of that
- <i>esprit</i> which caused Mr. Garrick to affirm solemnly that if she had
- gone upon the stage she would have been a dangerous rival to Mistress
- Clive; and Fanny Burney, with her father and Mr. Linley, the father of the
- beautiful Mrs. Sheridan, was a witness of the ease with which the lady
- sparkled as she described for the benefit of the circle how Mr. Garrick's
- jest at the expense of poor Mr. Kendal and the Widow Nash had set all the
- Wells laughing. She imitated Mr. Garrick to his face, in offering his
- congratulations to Mr. Kendal and so setting the ball a-rolling until
- within an hour the poor, silly gentleman had been offered the
- felicitations of half the Wells upon his engagement to Widow Nash. Mrs.
- Thrale re-enacted with great gravity the part she had played in Mr.
- Garrick's plot, and then she hastened to imitate Mrs. Cholmondeley's part,
- and even Mr. Sheridan's, upon that lively morning at Tunbridge Wells.
- </p>
- <p>
- But there was much more to tell, and Mrs. Thrale took very good care to
- abate nothing of her narrative; it gave her so good a chance of acting,
- and it gave Mr. Garrick so good a chance of complimenting her before all
- the company.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I vow that we played our parts to perfection,” she cried, “and
- without any rehearsal either. But then what happened? You will scarce
- believe it, Mr. Garrick has always borne such a character for scrupulous
- honour in his dealings with his companies, but indeed 'tis a fact that our
- manager decamped as soon as he found that the poor man had been teased to
- the verge of madness by the fooling he had started—off he went, we
- knew not whither; leaving no message for any of us. He was not to be found
- by noon; and what happened by dinner-time? Why, the poor gentleman whom we
- had been fooling had also fled!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was indeed too bad of Mr. Kendal,” said Dr. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twas too inconsiderate of him truly,” cried Mrs. Thrale. “'Tis no great
- matter if the manager of the playhouse runs away when his play is produced—you
- remember that Mr. Colman hurried off to Bath to escape lampooners when the
- success of Dr. Goldsmith's comedy <i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> had proved
- to all the town that he was no judge of a play; but for the one who has
- been made the object of such a jest as ours to escape without giving us a
- chance of bringing our teasing to a fitting climax is surely little short
- of infamous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when did you design the fitting climax to arrive, madam?” asked one
- of the circle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, when the gentleman and lady should come face to face in the Assembly
- Rooms, to be sure,” replied Mrs. Thrale. “We were all there to await the
- scene of their meeting; and you can judge of our chagrin when only the
- lady appeared.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can do so, indeed,” said Mrs. Darner, who was also in the circle. “I
- can well believe that you were furious. When one has arranged a burletta
- for two characters 'tis infamous when only one of the actors appears on
- the stage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale smiled the smile of the lady who knows that she is harbouring
- a surprise for her friends and only awaits the right moment to spring it
- upon them—a cat to be let out of the bag at the pulling of a string.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that we should have your sympathy, Mrs. Darner,” she said
- demurely. “You have, I doubt not, more than once experienced all the
- chagrin that follows the miscarrying of a well-planned scheme. But as it
- so happened, we were more than compensated for our ill-usage at that time
- by the unlooked-for appearance of the missing actor two nights later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, lud!” cried Mrs. Darner, holding up both her hands in a very dainty
- way.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Garrick also lifted up his hands in amazement, but he did not need to
- exclaim anything to emphasize the effect of his gesture.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney smiled, trying to catch the eye of Mr. Garrick, but Mr. Garrick
- took very good care that he should not succeed in doing so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may well cry, 'oh, lud!'” said Mrs. Thrale. “But if you had been in
- the Rooms when the man entered you would not have been able to say a word
- for surprise, I promise you. The poor gentleman had posted all the way
- from town to Tunbridge, apparently for our diversion only, and what a
- sight he was! It seems that he had got over his fright at the coupling of
- his name with the lady's, while flying to London, but from this point a
- reaction set in, and he spent all the time that he was posting back to the
- Wells adding fuel to the fire of his resolution to throw himself at the
- feet of the lady at the earliest possible moment. Was there ever such a
- comedy played, Mr. Garrick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twould be too extravagant for the theatre, madam, but not for Nature's
- playhouse,” replied Garrick. “I have more than once been told the story of
- soldiers having fled in a panic from the field of battle, but on finding
- themselves in a place of safety they returned to the fight and fought like
- demons. Was there aught that could be termed demoniacal in the gentleman's
- conduct on finding himself face to face with the enemy—I mean the
- lady?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aught demoniacal, do you ask me?” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Oh, sir, have you
- not heard the parable of the demon that was cast out of a man, but finding
- its homeless condition unsupportable, sought out seven of its friends and
- returned with them to its former habitation, so that the last state of the
- man was more demoniacal than the first?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fancy I have heard the parable, madam, but its application——”
- began Garrick, when Mrs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Darner broke in upon him, crying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not ever attempt to point out the aptness of the application of a
- parable, Mrs. Thrale. Do not, if you are wise. Would you lead us to
- believe that the unhappy wretch found it necessary to post up to town to
- obtain his relay of demons for his own discomfiture when so much rank and
- fashion was at the Wells, though at the fag end of the season?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Leaving parables aside, demons and all, I can bear witness to the
- condition of the man when he entered the Rooms and strode with
- determination on his face up to where the Widow Nash was fanning herself—not
- without need,” said Mrs. Thrale. “It so happened that she was seated under
- the gallery at the furthest end of the Rooms, but our gentleman did not
- pause on entering to look round for her—I tell you that it seemed as
- if he went by instinct straight up to her, and bowing before her, said:
- 'Madam, may I beg the honour of a word or two with you in private?'—I
- was close by and so were several other equally credible witnesses, and we
- heard every word. The widow looked at him coolly——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you said she had been fanning herself,” remarked Mrs. Darner, but
- without interrupting the flow of the narrative.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was no need of a fan for her voice, I can assure you, when she had
- completed her survey of the dusty gentleman and thought fit to reply to
- him,” continued Mrs. Thrale. “'I vow, sir,' said she, 'that I consider
- this room sufficiently private for anything you have to say to me.' She
- had plainly got wind of Mr. Garrick's plot and so was fully prepared for
- the worst—though some people might call it the best—that could
- happen. 'Madam,' said Mr. Kendal, 'what I have to say is meant for your
- ear alone,' and I am bound to admit that he spoke with suavity and
- dignity. 'Pray let my friends here be the judges of that,' said the widow.
- That was a pretty rebuff for any gentleman with a sense of his own
- dignity, you will say; but he did not seem to accept it in such a spirit.
- He hesitated, but only for a few moments, then he looked around him to see
- who were within hearing, and with hardly a pause, he said in the clearest
- of tones, 'I perceive that we are surrounded just now with some ladies
- who, two days ago, offered me congratulations upon my good fortune in
- winning your promise, madam; and I venture now to come before you to
- implore of you to give me permission to assume that their congratulations
- were well founded'—those were his words; we did not think that he
- had it in him to express himself so well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what was the lady's reply?” asked Dr. Burney, recalling the prophecy
- in which he had indulged when parting from Garrick at his own door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lady's reply was disappointing, though dignified,” replied Mrs.
- Thrale. “'Sir,' she said, 'I have oft heard that the credulity of a man
- has no limits, but I have never before had so conspicuous an instance of
- the truth of this. Surely the merest schoolboy would have been able to
- inform you that you were being made the victim of one of Mr. Garrick's
- silly jests—that these ladies here lent themselves to the
- transaction, hoping to make a fool of me as well as of you; but I trust
- that they are now aware of the fact that I, at least, perceived the truth
- from the first, so that whoever has been fooled I am not that person; and
- so I have the honour to wish you and them a very good evening.' Then she
- treated us to a very elaborate curtsey and stalked away to the door,
- leaving us all amazed at her display of dignity—real dignity, not
- the stage imitation, Mr. Garrick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should have been there, if only to receive a lesson, Mr. Garrick,”
- said Mrs. Damer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope those who had the good fortune to be present were taught a
- lesson,” said another lady in the circle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you mean me, madam,” said Mrs. Thrale, with tactful good humour, “I
- frankly allow that I profited greatly by observing the scene. 'Tis a
- dangerous game to play—that of trying to show others in a ridiculous
- light, and in future I vow that all my attention shall be given to the
- duty of avoiding making a fool of myself. Your jest miscarried, Mr.
- Garrick; though how that gentleman who fled from the Wells in that
- headlong fashion was induced to return, is beyond my knowledge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! madam, the fellow is a coxcomb and not worth discussing,” cried
- Garrick. “He got no more than his deserts when the lady left him to be the
- laughing-stock of the Assembly. I knew that that would be his fate if he
- ever succeeded in summing up sufficient courage to face her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But strange to say, we did not laugh at him then,” said Mrs. Thrale. “He
- seemed to be quite a different man from the one whom we had tried to fool
- two days earlier. There was a certain dignity about him that disarmed us.
- You must allow, Mr. Garrick, that only the bravest of men would have had
- the courage to march up the Assembly Rooms and make his proposal to the
- lady in public.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is the courage of the coxcomb who believes himself to be
- irresistible to the other sex, madam,” said Garrick; “and I affirm that
- 'twas most reprehensible to refrain from laughing at him.” Then, putting
- his arm through that of Burney as if to stroll on with him, and so give
- the others to understand that he had had enough of Mr. Kendal as a topic,
- he whispered:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, my friend, did not I prophesy aright what would be the fellow's fate?
- I know men, and women, too—ay, in some measure, though they are
- sealed books, eh, friend Burney? And you tried to persuade me that she
- would not snub him? I knew better—I knew that she—eh, what—what
- are they staring at?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are staring at the appearance of Mr. Kendal with the Widow Nash on
- his arm—there they are, David, and you are staring at them too,”
- said Burney with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Angels and Ministers of Grace! 'Tis a man and his wife we are staring at!
- The woman has married him after all!” cried David, his hand dropping
- limply from Burney's shoulder. “A man and his wife: I know the look in
- their faces!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was, indeed, the
- same man who had come to consult Dr. Burney, but had not been allowed the
- chance of doing so by Garrick, a fortnight before—the same man, but
- with a marked difference, who was now walking across the pillared room in
- the Pantheon, with a smiling, well-favoured lady by his side; and toward
- the pair the eyes of all the circle whom Mrs. Thrale had been addressing
- were directed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale and her friends were too much amazed to be able to speak, but
- the lips of every one of them were holding back some exclamation of
- surprise: an acute observer would have been able easily to set down the
- various unuttered exclamations of the party, from the simple “Oh, Lud!” of
- Mrs. Thrale to the more emphatic “Merciful Powers!” of Mrs. Cholmondeley,
- though not a word was spoken between them, while Mr. Kendal and the lady
- walked, straight through the room to where they were standing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Slip behind the pillar: I will cover you, my friend,” whispered Dr.
- Burney to Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Garrick had no intention of doing anything so ignominious—more
- especially as he perceived that Mr. Kendal had caught sight of him; and it
- was really Garrick who advanced to meet the couple, with the air of a host
- about to welcome two long-expected guests—it was really Garrick who
- received them with one of his finest bows, and who—to add to the
- amazement of the group behind him—was greeted by Mr. Kendal and the
- lady with the friendliest of smiles (the lady was blushing, not Mr.
- Garrick).
- </p>
- <p>
- And then it was to Dr. Burney the gentleman turned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear sir,” he cried, “with what words should I approach you? It is to
- your counsel and Mr. Garrick's that I owe my happiness.” Then he made his
- bow to the others of the group.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Thrale,” he said, when he had recovered himself, “we hoped to find
- you here with your friends, so that we might lose no moment in offering
- you our thanks for the tactful way in which you brought us together. Only
- such genius as yours, madam, could have perceived—well, all that you
- did perceive. I protest that neither Mrs. Kendal nor myself apprehended
- the too flattering truth. But the heart of a woman who has herself loved—ah,
- that is the source of such genius as you displayed with such subtlety. She
- is mine, madam; we have been married a whole week, and I, at least, know
- what a treasure—but I cannot trust myself to talk of my happiness
- just now. Perhaps at some future time I shall be able to tell you
- coherently how I felt within me that my Diana—Mrs. Nash, as she was
- then—did not mean her rebuff as a final dismissal, and thus I was
- led to her side—to implore an audience of her, in the course of
- which she confessed to me that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- But his bride prevented the flow of his eloquence by tapping him under the
- chin in exquisite playfulness with her fan, smiling roguishly at him
- first, and then looking round the group with an air of chastened triumph
- while she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Foolish man! Prithee remember, Ferdinand, that you are in a public place,
- and that the secrets of the confessional are sacred. I protest that you
- are exceeding a husband's privilege in revealing aught that I confessed
- when taken aback at your sudden appearance before me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ask your pardon, my angel,” he cried. “I had no right to say even the
- little that I have said. I suppose I shall learn discretion in time and
- with practice. But when I think of the kindly interest that some of our
- friends here showed in bringing us together, I feel that they should be
- rewarded by a repetition of the whole story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay, sir, you may take my word for it that we look not for such a
- reward,” cried Garrick. “Such philanthropists as Mrs. Thrale and myself
- feel more than rewarded when we succeed in bringing together a lady and
- gentleman who were so plainly intended by Providence for each other's
- happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was Mr. Garrick who looked with the eyes of Providence into your case
- as associated with Mr. Kendal, madam. That is, if Puck may ever be thought
- of as assuming the rôle of Providence,” said Mrs. Thrale. “For myself, I
- believe that Puck has more to do with the making of matches than heaven;
- and assuredly in this particular case the mischievous fairy had more than
- a finger. But however that may be, we can still wish you every happiness
- in life, and offer you an apology for——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “H'sh!” whispered Garrick, raising a hand. “Rauzzini is beginning to sing.
- I am sure, Mrs. Kendal, that you will willingly accept Signor Rauzzini's
- song in lieu of Mrs. Thrale's apology, however admirably worded the latter
- were sure to be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The bride smiled benignly at Mrs. Thrale, and there was more than a trace
- of triumph in her smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney smiled also at the adroitness of the actor, who, he could
- perceive, had no intention of allowing himself to be incriminated by any
- confession, assuming the form of an apology, that Mrs. Thrale might make
- in a moment of contrition for having been a partner with him in a piece of
- fooling that had had a very different result from the one he (and she) had
- looked for.
- </p>
- <p>
- Garrick, still holding up a warning finger as if he had at heart the best
- interests of the composer as well as the singer of “Waft her, Angels,”
- prevented another word from being spoken, though more than a full minute
- had passed before Rauzzini had breathed the first notes of the recitativo.
- </p>
- <p>
- But incautiously lowering his finger when the handsome Roman had begun,
- Mrs. Thrale took advantage of her release from the thraldom imposed upon
- her, to say in a low tone, looking toward the gallery in front of which
- the singer stood:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is one angel talking to the others! Was there ever so angelic a man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- And little Miss Burney, who had also her eyes fixed upon the singer, felt
- that little Mrs. Thrale was not merely an angel, but a goddess. She
- expressed her opinion to this effect in her next letter to Mr. Crisp.
- </p>
- <p>
- She listened in a dream to the singing that no one could hear and remain
- unmoved, even though one had not the advantage of looking at the singer at
- the same time. Fanny Burney was too shortsighted to be able to distinguish
- one face from another at such a distance; but this made no difference to
- her; she had the face of the sweet singer ever before her—most
- clearly when she closed her eyes, as she did now, and listened to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Waft her, angels, to the skies—Waft her, angels, waft her, angels,
- waft her to the skies,” rang out his fervent imploration, and she felt
- that there were no powers that could withstand the force of such an
- appeal. For herself she felt carried away on the wings of song into the
- highest heaven. She felt that harps of heaven alone could provide an
- adequate accompaniment to such a voice as his; and she gave herself up to
- it as unreservedly as a bride gives herself to the arms of her lover. She
- had that sensation of a sweet yielding to the divine influence of the
- music until she could feel it enfolding her and bearing her into the
- infinite azure of a realm more beautiful than any that her dreams had
- borne her to in the past. She wanted nothing better than this in any
- world. All that she wanted was an assurance that it would continue for
- ever and ever....
- </p>
- <p>
- With the cessation of the singing she seemed to awaken from a dream of
- divine delight, and in her awaking to retain the last thought that had
- been hers—the longing for an assurance that the delight which she
- was feeling would endure. She was awake now, and she knew that love had
- been all her dream, and that what she longed for was the assurance that
- that love would continue. And now she remembered that it was this same
- longing that had brought about her resolution that she would never go to
- her King as the beggar maid had gone to King Cophetua. There would be no
- assurance of the continuing of love between them if she had the
- humiliating feeling that he had stooped to raise her to his level.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the thought which took possession of her mind when she had
- returned from the sublimities to which she had been borne by her lover's
- singing, and in another minute the reaction had come. She had been soaring
- high, but now she was conscious of a sinking at heart; for the whole
- building was resounding with acclamations of the singer. There did not
- seem to be anyone silent, save only herself, throughout the hall. Everyone
- seemed calling the name of Rauzzini—all seemed ready to throw
- themselves at his feet; and when he stood up to acknowledge their tribute
- of enthusiasm to his marvellous powers, there was something of frenzy in
- the way his name was flung from hundreds of voices—it was not enough
- for the people whom he had stirred to shout his name, they surrounded him
- with the banners of a great conqueror—the air was quivering with the
- lace and the silk that were being waved on all sides to do him honour—handkerchiefs,
- scarves, fans—the air was full of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- And there he stood high above them, smiling calmly and bending his head
- gravely to right and left in acknowledgment of all....
- </p>
- <p>
- That was his position before the world. Her heart sank within her as she
- asked herself what was hers. How could she ever hope to attain to such a
- place as should win from the world such applause as this? How could she
- ever be so vain as to think that the giving of a little book to the world
- should have an effect worthy of being compared with this demonstration
- which was shaking the Pantheon?
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart sank to a deeper depth still when the thunders had passed away—reluctantly
- as the reverberations of a great storm—and there was a buzz of
- voices all about her—exclamations of delight—whispers of
- admiration—ladies with clasped hands, fervent in their words about
- the marvellous face of the young Roman—and her father and his
- friend, Mr. Fulke Greville, exchanging recollections of the singing of the
- same air by other vocalists, and coming gradually to the conclusion that
- none had put such feeling into it as had Rauzzini.
- </p>
- <p>
- The buzz of voices did not cease when the singer had come down from his
- gallery and was greeting some of his friends on the floor of the great
- hall. He had trouble in making his way as far as the group which he meant
- to reach. The most distinguished ladies of high quality had pressed round
- him with uncritical expressions of appreciation of his singing, and there
- was no lack of gentlemen of fashion to follow their example, though
- wondering greatly that the ladies of quality should allow themselves to
- show such transports respecting a man with no trait of a true-born
- Englishman about him. Signor Rauzzini might have indulged in a score of
- pinches of snuff out of the gold and enamelled boxes that were thrust
- forward for his acceptance with the finest artificial grace of a period
- when it was not thought effeminate to be graceful over small things.
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed low to the ladies of quality, and smiled his polite rejection of
- the snuff of the gentlemen of fashion. But such convenances made it
- impossible for him to keep his eyes upon the group toward which he was
- making a necessarily slow way, and he only reached the side of Dr. Burney
- to find that Dr. Burney's daughter had disappeared. He had no chance of
- seeing how Miss Burney at his approach had slipped behind a pillar and
- suffered herself to be conducted thence to a seat by her cousin Edward:
- the fact that Edward was learning to be a painter was a sufficient excuse
- for his paying an occasional visit to such scenes of colour as were
- unfolded before the eyes of a frequenter of the fashionable Pantheon every
- night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny felt that if Signor Rauzzini had come to her side after passing
- through the ranks of lace and velvet and brocade, she would have sunk
- through the floor of the hall. But she knew that it was to her side he was
- coming, and she took the opportunity of flying when he was compelled to
- make a pause in front of the flattery of the Duchess of Ancaster.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was painfully shy at all times, but overwhelmingly so at that moment,
- though she knew that she was the only woman in the place who would make
- the attempt to evade the distinction which threatened her. How could she
- remain where she had been with all eyes in the room upon her? She felt
- that it would be impossible.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart was beating quickly as she thought:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet—not yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After all there is no more womanly trait than that of fleeing from a
- lover; but Fanny Burney was yielding to its impulse without an attempt to
- analyse it, and without being consoled by the reflection of the woman of
- the younger world, that if it is woman's instinct to fly from a lover, it
- is a lover's instinct to pursue.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had scarcely finished the cup of ice which her cousin had brought her,
- before the man had found her.
- </p>
- <p>
- But now the Gabrielli was beginning to sing, and all eyes were directed
- upon the Gabrielli, so that no one but Rauzzini saw how Dr. Burney's
- over-shy daughter was flushing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HEY spoke in
- French, with an occasional phrase in Italian when they found the other
- tongue lacking in melody or in the exact shade of meaning that they sought
- to express. Edward Burney thought that the moment was one that favoured
- his ambition to study the pose of Madame Gabrielli, with a view to
- starting on a portrait that should make him famous. He asked Fanny's
- permission to allow him to take up a place a few yards beyond the pillar.
- He promised not to be long absent, and Fanny had not the heart to detain
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You fled from me—was that kind?” asked Rauzzini when the cousin had
- moved away, but was still in view.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” said she, “one who has my odious selfconsciousness does not ask what
- is kind or unkind, she simply flies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you knew that I was coming to your side?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that you are wise enough to value the criticism of a musician like
- my father above the vapid phrases of the people of fashion,” replied
- Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is true indeed,” said he. “I value a word of praise or blame from
- Dr. Burney as precious. But Dr. Burney has a daughter whose words are to
- me as precious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is not here to-night,” said Fanny. “My sister Esther, to whom you
- refer, is indeed a discriminating critic. She told me how exquisitely you
- sang at the concert where you met her—it is scarcely a fortnight
- ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr. Burney has more daughters than that one,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has indeed more daughters than one,” she said. “We were a household of
- daughters before Esther married and when my brother was in the South Seas.
- But only Esther is critical as a musician.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the name of heaven, do you think that it is only possible for me to
- value words that refer to my singing?” he asked. “Do you not know that I
- would rather listen to your voice than——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Than Madame Gabrielli's?” said Fanny; he had spoken his last sentence in
- too loud a tone, even though the Gabrielli's brilliant vocalism usually
- admitted of a conversation being carried on with some vehemence in the
- great room of the Pantheon without causing remark.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled at her warning, and it was in a subdued voice that he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am tired of hearing the Gabrielli; but what of your voice? How often
- have you given me the chance of hearing it? Even now you fled from me as
- though I carried the plague about with me! Was that kind or unkind?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not entertain the thought that perhaps I have not yet tired of
- Madame Gabrielli's vocalism: I knew that she was at the point of beginning
- her aria.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would sacrifice me on the altar of your favourite? Well, perhaps you
- would be justified in doing so. Hold up your finger now and I shall be
- mute as a fish until Gabrielli has had her last shriek. I can still look
- at you—it will not spoil your appreciation of the aria if I merely
- look at you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I would rather that you talked to me than merely looked at me. I
- do not invite people to look at me, and happily few people do. I am not
- conspicuous. I am the insignificant one. There is Mrs. Thrale, for
- instance; she has been several times at our house, and every time she
- comes she inquires who is the little one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled and held up his finger in imitation of the way she had rebuked
- him for talking too loud.
- </p>
- <p>
- “H'sh; I am anxious to hear the Signora Gabrielli,” he said, and the
- express on that he made his face assume at that moment would have
- convinced anyone that he was giving all his attention to the singing—drinking
- in every note with the earnestness of an enthusiast. There was a certain
- boyish exaggeration in his expression that was very amusing to Fanny,
- though less observing persons would have been ready to accept it as
- evidence of the generous appreciation on the part of one great singer of
- the success of another.
- </p>
- <p>
- So he remained until the <i>cavatina</i> had come to an end; and then he
- was loudest in his cry of “Brava!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is a treat—a great—a sacred treat,” said he, turning to
- Fanny. “I do not think I ever heard that song before. Has it a name, I
- wonder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I mistake not it is from an opera in which a certain Roman tenore made
- a name for himself last year, in happy conjunction with Madame Gabrielli,”
- said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible? I had not heard of that circumstance,” said he, with a
- look of the most charming innocence in his large eyes. It was his hands
- that were most expressive, however, as he added:
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it was last year, you say, mademoiselle? Ah, who is it that remembers
- an opera from one year to another? No one, except the <i>impresario</i>
- who has lost his good money, or somebody's else's money, over its
- production. Enough, the <i>cantatrice</i> has given us of her best, and is
- there now any reason why we should remain dumb? The great charm of the
- singing of these brilliant artistes of last year's operas is that when
- they have sung, they have sung—they leave one nothing to think about
- afterward. Is not that so, mademoiselle?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They leave one nothing to think about—except their singing,” said
- Fanny. “For myself, I am still thinking of 'Waft her, angels,' although
- nearly half an hour must have passed since I heard the last notes. And it
- seems to me that when half a century will have passed I shall still be
- thinking of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not offer her the conventional acknowledgement of a bow. He only
- looked at her with those large eyes of his; they were capable of
- expressing in a single glance all the tenderness of feeling of a poem.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not sung in vain,” he said in a low tone. “My old <i>maestro</i>
- gave me the advice one day when I was proving to him my success in
- reaching the high note which I had been striving for years to bring into
- my compass: 'That is all very well,' he said. 'You have aimed at touching
- that rare note, now your aim must be to touch the heart of everyone who
- hears you sing.' I sometimes think that he set for me too difficult a
- task.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not too difficult—for you,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are dangers,” he said thoughtfully. “I have known singers who tried
- to reach the hearts of their hearers by tricks—yes, and they
- succeeded through these illegitimate means in making themselves popular,
- while far better singers who had a scorn of such tricks and gave their
- best to all who listened to them, failed to please anyone who had not a
- knowledge of the true boundary of music.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have seen these tricksters, too,” said Fanny. “I have witnessed their
- sentimental grimaces—their head shakings—their appeal to the
- feelings with pathetic eyes turned heavenward. They made me ashamed of
- them—ashamed of myself for listening to them, though people about me
- had been moved to tears. But I think that the people who are easily moved
- to tears are those who retain an impression the shortest space of time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You give me confidence—encouragement,” he cried. “I have made up my
- mind that if I cannot reach a heart by the straight King's highway, I will
- not try to do so by any bypath. Bypaths are, we know, the resorts of
- brigands: they may captivate a heart or two, but only to leave them empty
- afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So they talked together for many minutes. Faney Burney had a sufficient
- acquaintance among musicians, vocal as well as instrumental, to have
- learned, long ago, that they can easily be prevented from talking on any
- other subject than music, and the same reflection that had caused her to
- say that “Not yet—not yet,” had impelled her to lead Rauzzini in
- another direction than that in which he had shown so strong a tendency to
- go. He had been trying to make her understand that he had travelled
- through the obstructions of the hall not in order that he might obtain the
- criticism of so accomplished a <i>maestro</i> as Dr. Burney upon his
- singing, but in order that he should have a chance of talking to Dr.
- Burney's unaccomplished daughter; he had shown her that his wish was to
- converse on the topic of this unaccomplished daughter; but she had no mind
- to acquiesce in his aims for the present. She still felt herself to be the
- beggar maid, and she would not allow her king to get any nearer to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until her cousin had returned to where she was seated, that the
- young Italian found that he had not made much progress with his suit. He
- had intended that this <i>tête-à-tête</i> with her should make her aware
- of how he felt in regard to her, but he had allowed his opportunity to
- pass, and in place of talking about her he had been led to talk of
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was how he expressed himself to her when he found that their <i>tête-à-tête</i>
- was at an end.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How has this come about?” he cried in surprise. “How is it that I have
- shown myself to be so vain as to make speeches about my singing when I
- meant to talk to you of yourself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twas I who found a more profitable topic for you, <i>signore mio</i>,”
- she replied, feeling her way through the words of his native tongue, for
- he had spoken out his surprise in Italian.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head and made a gesture with his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it is a mystery!” he said in French. “I had no desire to talk about
- myself or my singing. I meant to tell you what was in my mind when I saw
- you entering this place with your father. Shall we retrace our steps in
- our conversation until I find how it was that I took a wrong turning?
- Alas! I fear that it would not be possible!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would not be possible, indeed,” she replied. “Did you not say
- something about the bypaths being dangerous with banditti? We kept our
- feet upon the King's highway, which is safe. I was swept off my feet—carried
- away—away—by your singing of the aria; I had scarce touched
- the earth once more when you came to my side, and now we are parting
- happily, you to realize your aspirations, I to—to—well, to
- retain for ever the memory of your singing—the memory of those
- celestial harmonies into the midst of which I was wafted by the angels of
- your imploration. That is enough for one evening of my life. Nay, you must
- not speak another word lest the charm of all should fade away. I shall go
- home to dream of angels.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I shall go to dream of you,” he said in a low tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not hold her hand so long as Thomas Barlowe had done when parting
- from her, but she felt that somehow he had accomplished more by his
- reserve than Thomas had achieved by his impetuosity. She hoped that she
- might never see Thomas again; but for Signor Rauzzini——
- </p>
- <p>
- They parted.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HESE foreigners!”
- exclaimed young Edward Burney when Rauzzini had left them, and Fanny was
- asking her cousin if her father was not looking for her. “These
- foreigners! Your father is talking with another of them—an Italian
- too, as I live—I have seen him in St. Martin's Street—Signor
- Piozzi. But I suppose Uncle Burney likes to keep in touch with them. The
- town is swarming with them: they are even to be found about Leicester
- Fields. Why do some people fancy that we must have Italians to sing for
- us? There are plenty of good singers in England, without a drop of foreign
- blood in their veins. A good sea song with a chorus that is easy to get
- into the swing of—that's English and honest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Honest down to the hoarsest note,” said Fanny. “You and James are at one
- in the matter of songs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cousin Jim hates foreigners, as is quite proper that an officer in a
- King's ship should,” said Edward stoutly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not all foreigners,” said Fanny smiling. “You forget how kindly he took
- to Prince Omai.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, a South Sea Islander is different,” cried her cousin. “I expect that
- the South Seas will soon become as English as ourselves if Captain Cook
- goes on discovering islands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edward,” said Fanny, after a pause sufficient to allow of the
- introduction of a new topic; “Edward, could you make it convenient to call
- at the Orange Coffee House some day soon to inquire if there is another
- letter for Mr. Grafton?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll not omit it on any account,” he replied. “Oh, yes, Mr. Grafton, I'll
- collect your correspondence for you, never fear. You have not let anyone
- else into the secret, I hope?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one knows it except Susy and Lottie and Charles and Hetty; but Hetty
- only knows that I wrote the book, not that it is to be printed—Charles
- is still away from us, or I would not trouble you, Edward.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Charlie grew tired of the Orange Coffee House, did he not? He told
- me how you made him your messenger at first, disguising him in a cloak and
- a gentleman's hat, so that he might not seem quite the boy that he was.
- But how the secret has been kept so well is a wonder to me—kept from
- the powers that be, I mean—uncle and aunt. I wonder if your mother
- never had a suspicion of what was going on, especially as she knew all
- about your writing long ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that it was the copying out of the padre's History that saved
- me,” said Fanny. “Many a page of my novel I wrote when she believed that I
- was copying the notes for the History—yes, that, and the letters
- which Mr. Crisp insists on my sending him every week. But even with these
- excuses I could sometimes not get through more than three or four pages of
- my own book during a whole week.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How will you look when the secret is let out—it must be let out
- some day, you know? If the writing a novel is thought shocking, how will
- Uncle Burney receive the news, think you? He has not yet given you leave
- to publish it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a troubled look on poor Fanny's face as she replied, after a
- pause:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have often meant to ask father's permission, but I was not able to
- summon up courage enough to face him with the whole truth. But it cannot
- be delayed much longer. Perhaps I might write him a letter about it some
- time when I am at Chessington.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't envy you the duty, my dear Fanny,” said lie. “But I think that
- the sooner you get it over the easier you will feel. I suppose that
- writing a novel is worse than writing a 'History of Music.' I wonder why
- you took so much trouble over the business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not help it,” she cried. “I have often wondered myself why I was
- sitting up in that cold room at the top of the house, writing until my
- fingers were benumbed, when I might have been at my comfortable sewing in
- front of a fire downstairs; but I could not help it—I could not help
- doing it, Eddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Eddy never reached that point in his career as a painter when he found the
- artist's impulse to create too great to be resisted. He could not
- appreciate her explanation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I couldn't help it,' that's what we were used to say long ago, when we
- got into mischief; I hope that Uncle Burney and Aunt Burney—don't
- forget her in this matter—I hope that they will accept your excuse.
- Anyhow, you may trust me to act as your 'Mr. Grafton' at the Orange Coffee
- House some day this week.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught a glimpse of his uncle, Dr. Burney, sitting with Mr. Greville,
- so that he had no trouble in placing Fanny once more in charge of her
- father. He could see that the girl was a little downcast, and tried to
- cheer her up a bit by whispering in a sly way into her ear:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night, Mr. Grafton; my best respects to Mrs. Grafton and the
- children—especially Evelina.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile that Fanny gave in acknowledgment of his pleasantry did not
- quite carry conviction that his well-meant effort had been successful. He
- went away feeling as much sympathy for her as was possible for him to have
- in common with the reflection that if she was in a difficult position, it
- was wholly one of her own seeking. What could have induced a girl who had
- been carefully brought up, and provided with an excellent stepmother, to
- write a novel, placing herself thereby on a level with those dreadful
- ladies whose productions were prohibited in every self-respecting
- household and only read by stealth when obtained at a cost of twopence—more
- than the best of them were worth—at the circulating library?
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, poor Fanny was undoubtedly to be pitied; but she had really only
- herself to blame for the trouble that was looming in front of her when the
- secret of her authorship should be revealed to her father and her
- excellent stepmother—one of the best judges to be found anywhere of
- all sorts of needlework—not merely plain sewing and buttonholing,
- but satin stitch, herring-boning and running and felling.
- </p>
- <p>
- The very next day Cousin Edward called at St. Martin's Street, carrying
- with him a small parcel neatly done up in white paper. He was lucky enough
- to find Fanny and Susan alone in the work-room; and after asking
- mysteriously if there was any chance of his uncle or aunt coming upon
- them, and being assured that they were both away for the day, he carefully
- locked the door of the room, saying in the whisper of a man of plots and
- mysteries:
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis better to be sure than sorry. In matters of this nature 'tis
- impossible to be too cautious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He then handed the parcel to Fanny, who gave an exclamation when she saw
- that it was addressed:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>To Mr. Grafton, at the Orange Coffee House, Orange Street</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She opened the parcel, and found it to contain a printer's unbound copy of
- a book, the title page of which stared up at her: “<i>Evelina; or, A Young
- Lady's Entrance into the World</i>,” and with it was a letter from Mr.
- Lowndes, the bookseller, presenting his compliments to Mr. Grafton, with
- the request that Mr. Grafton would read the book and prove it as soon as
- possible, returning the list of errata to Mr. Lowndes, so that the edition
- might go to press for early publication.
- </p>
- <p>
- There it lay on the table in front of her. She read the letter standing,
- and remained on her feet, looking down at the unbound book. It had a
- queer, half-dressed appearance, lacking covers; and when, after some
- minutes of silence, Susy took a step or two closer to it, and, with her
- hand on Fanny's arm, looked down on it also, the picture that they made
- suggested two sisters looking into the cradle where the first baby of one
- of them lay. The expression on Susy's face—a mingling of wonder and
- curiosity, with delight not far off—was exactly that which the
- younger sister of the picture might be expected to wear, catching a
- glimpse of the undressed morsel of humanity in its first cot.
- </p>
- <p>
- Susy put her hand down to it, and moved the printed sheets about. She read
- the title page down to the last name on the imprint, and then she flung up
- her hands, crying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “How lovely! how lovely! But it seems wonderful! How did it come into
- being? It looks like a real thing now that we see it printed. The copy
- that you wrote out in that disguised hand seemed somehow quite different
- from this. There is life in this. It feels warm, actually warm, Fanny. Oh,
- don't you love it, dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny, the young mother, shook her head, but with no significance, so far
- as Susy could see.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis too late now,” said Edward gloomily, taking on himself the burden of
- interpreting that head-shake. “You are bound down to go on with it now.
- You should have thought of all this before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What nonsense is this you are talking?” cried Susy, turning upon him
- almost indignantly; for his tone suggested an aspersion upon the
- offspring. “What do you say is too late now? Do you mean to say that
- there's anything to be ashamed of in this? Cannot you see that she did not
- put her name to it? Who is there to know that it came from this house? The
- name of Burney nowhere appears on it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's so much, at any rate,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean to say that you don't think it quite wonderful, Eddy?” cried
- Susy. “And getting twenty pounds for it—twenty pounds! And you say
- something about it being too late!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only judged from the way Fanny shook her head,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that was not what Fanny was thinking at all—now was it, Fanny?”
- said Susy encouragingly to her sister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know quite what I meant or what I mean even now,” replied Fanny.
- “It made me feel for the moment somehow as if I had appeared in a street
- full of people before I had quite finished dressing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” exclaimed Edward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But that is nonsense, dear,” said Susy, still consolatory. “The book is
- not yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not all myself, but part of myself—that is what I feel,” said
- Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot see that that is so. You are you—you yourself quite apart
- from the book. Whatever the book may be, you will still remain Fanny
- Burney, the best daughter and the best sister in the world. What does it
- matter if people—foolish people who know nothing about it—laugh
- at it or say nasty things about it? Do you think that that will make any
- of us like you the less?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She put her arm about Fanny and kissed her on the cheek, and Fanny's tears
- began to fall. The young man standing by felt more uneasy than he had ever
- felt in his life. He crossed the room and looked out of the window,
- turning his back upon the scene of the sisters. He did not know what to
- say to a girl when once she allowed herself to weep. He wished with all
- his heart that he had not been dragged into this business. But Fanny's
- tears convinced him that his first impression of her reception of her book
- was the correct one: she was, like other young mothers he had heard of,
- bitterly repentant when it was too late.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next sound of which he became aware was of the crinkling of the stiff
- paper of the wrapper. One of the girls was folding up the parcel. He
- glanced round and saw that it was Fanny herself who was so engaged. She
- had dried her tears; the expression on her face was one of resignation—one
- of determination to make the best of a bad matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that's better,” said he, going to her and picking up the string from
- the floor. “There's no use crying over spilt milk, is there, Fanny? We
- have all kept your secret loyally, and no one need ever know that you so
- far forgot yourself. Certainly the revelation will never come from my
- lips.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny burst out laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dear Eddy, you are the best cousin that any poor girl could have,”
- she said. “Your words have helped me greatly. They have helped to make me
- feel what is the aspect of the world in regard to my poor little story. It
- has been my constant companion night and day for three years and more. I
- worked at it in the cold and I tried how I could improve pages of it,
- copying it and recopying it; I practised a duplicity which was foreign to
- my nature in writing it—I have deceived my father and my mother
- about it—I wasted my eyesight over it—I robbed myself of sleep
- so that I might complete it, and when it was completed I lay awake in
- anxiety lest no bookseller would look at it, all this trouble I had with
- it, so that the world might have of my best, and what is the verdict of
- the world after all this? You have pronounced it, dear Eddy—you said
- thoughtfully and consolingly—'There's no use crying over spilt
- milk.' You are quite right. Not another tear will I shed over this poor
- little bantling of mine. 'A Young Lady's Entrance into the World'? Nay,
- call it rather a rickety brat that should never have made its entrance
- into the world at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should be ashamed of myself if I ever spoke of it in such terms,” cried
- Susy, looking indignantly at her cousin as though he had abused it in that
- phrase. “'Rickety brat,' indeed! Oh, I should be ashamed. It looked so
- much alive—more alive, I think, than if it was in its covers. Let us
- sit down and read it together, Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Cousin Edward felt that he was being badly treated between these sisters.
- That last remark of Susy was rather more than a suggestion that he might
- go as soon as it pleased him. He had not any previous experience of young
- women and their offspring. He could not know that their attitude in such
- circumstances is one of hostility to the male—that they resent his
- appearance as an intrusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad that you are so pleased,” said he, with only a trace of
- irritability in his voice. “And I am glad that I have been of any use to
- you, Cousin Fanny. After all, the thing is yours, not Susy's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is true, indeed,” cried Fanny. “And it is I who offer you my
- gratitude for your help. Believe me, Eddy, I am sensible of the adroitness
- you have shown in this matter ever since we let you into our secret; and
- if any trouble comes from what we have done you may be quite sure that I
- will accept the entire responsibility for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, so far as that goes, I do not shrink from taking my share,” said he
- magnanimously. “I do not feel quite without blame—I am a man and I
- should have warned you at the outset. But you had nearly finished it
- before I heard anything of it—you must not forget that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is true indeed,” said Fanny. “I was self-willed. I wonder was it
- vanity that impelled me. Never mind! It cannot be helped now. It may never
- be heard of again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's always that to remember,” said he, with the eagerness of a
- drowning man grasping at a straw.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I believe that the chances are greatly in favour of that hope being
- realized. Thank you again for your encouragement, dear Eddy,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that's nothing—nothing worth talking about,” said he, picking
- up his gloves. “You can command me always, Cousin Fanny. And you have seen
- that I can keep a secret. Now mind you don't leave that lying about”—he
- pointed to the parcel, the string of which Susy was knotting—“and,
- be advised by me, turn the key in the lock when you are working at it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Susy, “we'll be sure to do our best to prevent anyone from
- suspecting that we have a secret, by locking ourselves in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Caution—nothing like caution,” said he in a whisper, unfastening
- the door and putting his head out to glance to right and left of the short
- corridor. He held up his finger. “All safe so far,” he whispered; “no one
- is in sight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE moment he
- disappeared, Susy slipped the knot which she had just made on the parcel
- and flung the paper away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now we can settle down to it properly, Fanny,” she cried, catching up the
- bundle of unstitched sheets and throwing herself back upon the little
- sofa. “Come beside me, dear, and we shall go through every word together.
- Never mind what Eddy said; I think it looks quite lovely, and how easily
- it reads—just like poetry—'Evelina'!—how did you think
- of that sweet name?—'<i>or, A Young Lady's Entrance into the World</i>.'
- Not a mistake so far. The printers must surely be careful men! And now
- that you come to think of it, this is really the entrance of the Young
- Lady into the world. Here she is, smiling, but a little shy—just
- like her mamma—your Evelina takes after you, dear—now, confess
- that there is something agreeably shy in the italics printing of that line
- beginning with '<i>A Young Lady's Entrance</i>,' Fanny; it may be wrong to
- write a novel, but don't you think that this is worth it? Edward is a
- goose to talk as he did about crying over spilt milk. I wonder that you
- had patience to listen to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eddy is a dear boy, and he only said what he knew nearly everybody else
- would be disposed to say about this business. I started the story, as you
- know, half in fun—by way of exercising my hand—but then it got
- hold of me, and it became deadly earnest, and now—oh, Susy, what I
- feel now about it is just what I said to Edward: it seems as if it were
- the best part of myself that I am giving to the world. I wonder if it is
- right for anyone who has written a book, if it be only a novel, to look
- upon it in that light.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should it not be right? Didn't you put all your thoughts into it, and
- are not one's thoughts part of oneself?” said Susy. “And although so many
- people look down upon novels—all the novels that have been written
- since Mr. Richardson died—still—oh, did not Dr. Johnson once
- write a novel? Yes, 'Rasselas' was what he called it. I tried to read it
- but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “H'sh, Susy. Dr. Johnson might write anything that he pleased. Though Dr.
- Johnson wrote a novel, that should be no excuse for such as I having the
- audacity to do the like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose that's what some people will say. But I can't see that if a
- good man does an evil thing, it becomes a good thing simply because he
- does it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop, Susy: I remember that he confessed to someone, who told it to Mr.
- Crisp, that he had written 'Rasselas' in order to get money enough to pay
- for his mother's funeral.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, in that case—might he not have written something a good deal
- better, Fanny? Oh, I see that you are stricken with horror at my thinking
- anything that came from Dr. Johnson to be dull. I daresay I began reading
- it too soon: I should have waited until I had learned that if a great man
- writes a book it is a great book, but that if a simple girl writes a novel—well,
- there's no use crying over spilt milk. Now that's the last word that I
- have to say, for I mean to read every word that's printed here—here—here!”
- She brought down her open hand on the topmost sheets of “Evelina” in three
- crescendo slaps, and then tucked her feet under her and buried herself in
- the book.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny sat laughing beside her; and when Susy paid no attention to her
- laughter, she continued sitting there in silence, while Susy read page
- after page.
- </p>
- <p>
- Several minutes had passed before the authoress asked:
- </p>
- <p>
- “How does the thing read, dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Susy gave a start at the sound of her voice and looked around her as if
- she had just been awakened. This should have been enough for Fanny. She
- should not have repeated her question: it was already answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How does the thing read, Susy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How does it read?” cried Susy. “Oh, Fanny, it reads exactly like a book—exactly.
- There is no difference between this and a real book. Oh, 'tis a thousand
- times nicer to read in print than it was as you wrote it. It is so good,
- too!—the best story I ever read! I can't understand how you ever
- came to write it. You who have seen nothing of life—how did such a
- story ever come to you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish I knew,” replied Fanny. “And do you think that anyone else will
- read it now that it is printed?” she asked (she was rapidly acquiring the
- most prominent traits of the complete novel writer).
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anyone else? Nay, everyone—everyone will read it, and everyone will
- love it. How could anyone help—even daddy and mamma? Now please
- don't interrupt me again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Down went Susy's face once more among the printed sheets, and Fanny
- watched her with delight. She had been quite ready a short time before to
- accept the verdict of Cousin Edward as equivalent to that of the public
- upon her book; and now she was prepared to accept Susy as the
- representative of all readers of taste and discrimination.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edward—psha! What could he know about it?” she was ready to
- exclaim: every moment was bringing her nearer to the complete novelist.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely,” she thought, “there can be no dearer pleasure in life than to
- watch the effect of one's own book upon an appreciative reader!”
- </p>
- <p>
- (The appreciative reader is always the one who is favourably impressed;
- the other sort knows nothing about what constitutes an interesting book.)
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the first draught of which she had ever partaken of this particular
- cup of happiness, and it was a bombard. She was draining it to the very
- dregs: it was making her intoxicated, even though it was only offered to
- her by her younger sister, who had never read half a dozen novels in all
- her life, and these surreptitiously. She could know by the varying changes
- in expression on Susy's face what place she had come to in the book: the
- turning over of the pages was no guide to her, for she had no idea of the
- quantity of her writing the printers had put into a page, but she had no
- trouble in finding Susy's place, so exquisitely reflective was the girl's
- face of the incidents among which she was wandering. Surely little Susy
- had always been her favourite sister (she was smiling at one of the
- drolleries of characterization upon which she had come); oh, there could
- be no doubt that she had never loved any of her sisters as she loved Susy
- (Susy's eyes were now becoming watery, and Fanny knew that she had-reached
- the first of Evelina's troubles).
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the happiest hour of Fanny's life, and she gave herself up to it.
- She did not feel any irresistible desire to judge for herself if the
- opinion expressed by Susy respecting the story was correct or otherwise.
- She had no impulse to see how her ideas “looked in print.” She was content
- to observe the impression they were making upon her first lay reader. She
- had a vague suspicion that her own pleasure in reading the book would be
- infinitely less than the pleasure she derived from following the course of
- the story in her sister's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Half an hour had actually passed before Susy seemed to awaken to the
- realities of life. She jumped up from the sofa with an exclamation of
- surprise, and then glanced down at Fanny with an inquiring look on her
- face—a puzzled look that gave the seal to Fanny's happiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are wondering how I come to be here, Susy,” said she smiling. “You
- are wondering how I come to be mixed up with the Branghtons and the
- Mervains and the rest of them. You would make me out to be an enchantress
- carrying you into the midst of a strange society; and I don't want any
- more delightful compliments, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Fanny, 'tis so wonderful—so——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want to hear anything about it beyond what you have already told
- me, my dear Susy. I watched your face and it told me all. Give me a kiss,
- Susy. You have given me a sensation of pleasure such as I never knew
- before, and such as, I fear, I shall never know again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant the two girls were in each other's arms, mingling their
- tears and then their laughter, but exchanging no word until they had
- exhausted every other means of expressing what they felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Susy who spoke first.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take it away, Fanny,” she said. “Take the book away, for I know that if I
- read any more of it I shall betray your secret to all the house. They will
- read it on my face every time I look at you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that the hour has come for me to relieve you of the precious
- book,” said Fanny. “There is the letter from Mr. Lowndes asking me to make
- out the list of errata as quickly as possible, and I do believe that I
- shall have to read the book before I can oblige him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twas thoughtless for me to jump into the middle as I did, when you had
- to read it,” cried Susy. “But there is really no mistake on any page, so
- far as I could see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless the whole is a mistake,” said Fanny. “But I will not suggest that
- now, having seen your face while you were devouring it. Dear Susy, if I
- find many such readers I shall be happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gathered together the loose sheets and carried them off to the little
- room at the top of the house where it was understood she wrote her long
- weekly letter to Mr. Crisp, who had made himself a hermit at Chessington,
- but who, like some other hermits, looked forward with impatience to the
- delightful glimpses of the world which he had forsaken, afforded to him on
- every page written by her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Susy did not see her again until dinner-time, and by that time the younger
- girl felt that she had herself under such complete control that she could
- preserve inviolate the secret of the authorship until it should cease to
- be a secret. The result of her rigid control of herself was that her
- brother James said to her when they were having tea in the drawing-room:
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was the matter with you at dinner, Sue? You looked as if you were
- aware that something had happened and you were fearful lest it might be
- found out. Have you broken a china ornament, or has the cat been turning
- over the leaves of the 'History of Music' with her claws, and left her
- signature on the morocco of the cover?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What nonsense!” cried Susan. “Nothing has happened. What was there to
- happen, prithee tell me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that is beyond my power,” he replied. “I suppose you girls will have
- your secrets—ay, ay; until some day you reveal them to another girl
- with the strictest of cautions never to let the matter go beyond her—and
- so forth—and so forth. Never mind, I'll not be the one to tempt you
- to blab. I never yet had a secret told to me that was worth wasting words
- over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had a secret of importance I think that you would be a safe person
- to tell it to,” said Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right there,” he assented with a nautical wink. “You could find
- in me the safest depository you could wish for; you might safely depend
- upon my forgetting all about it within the hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not trouble her any further, but she felt somewhat humiliated to
- think that she had had so little control of herself as to cause her
- brother's suspicions to be aroused. She thought that it would only be a
- matter of minutes when her father or her stepmother would approach her
- with further questions. Happily, however, it seemed that James was the
- keenest observer in the household, for no one put a question to her
- respecting her tell-tale face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still she was glad when she found herself safely and snugly in bed and so
- in a position to whisper across the room to her sister Charlotte the news
- that Fanny's novel had been printed and that a copy was safely locked up
- in Fanny's desk, and that it looked lovely in its new form.
- </p>
- <p>
- Charlotte was greatly excited, but thought that Fanny might have told her
- the news before dinner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Fanny! she will have to tell the Padre to-morrow and ask his leave
- to—to do what she has already done without it. Poor Fanny!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> FEW days later
- Dr. Burney was at the point of setting out for Chessington to share Mr.
- Crisp's hermitage until the end of the week. He had already said good-bye
- to the household; but Fanny accompanied him to the door. It was her last
- chance, she knew. She had long ago made up her mind that one of her
- secrets must be told to him, and she had more than once, since the printed
- sheets had been brought to her, tried to screw up her courage to the point
- of telling him, but she had not yet succeeded. And now he was going to
- Chessington for four days, and in the meantime the book should be returned
- to the printer. It was the last chance she would have of discharging the
- duty which was incumbent on her. She had been hovering around him in the
- hall, shaking out his gloves for him, polishing the gold knob of his cane,
- picking a scrap of dust from the collar of his travelling-cloak. In
- another minute he would be gone—her opportunity would be gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then came the relieving thought of further procrastination:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall write to him at Chessington and confess all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed as though she had uttered her thought aloud, for he turned to
- her with his hand on the latch of the hall door, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will write to Chessington to-morrow or the day after, my dear. It is
- no trouble to you to write. You enjoy it, do you not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it is my chief enjoyment. That is why I have been practising it so
- much, just as the others have been practising their music. I have no music
- in my soul, so I—I have been writing. Of course, it is not to be
- expected that I could do more than write some nonsense—my equivalent
- to the strumming of the scales.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It pleases me greatly to hear that,” said he. “But you do yourself an
- injustice; Mr. Crisp never ceases to praise your letters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is praising his own pupil then,” said she, “for 'twas he who first
- taught me how to write, and now I have been putting together some
- imaginary letters, and I thought that if he could see them printed in
- front of him he would be amused.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Imaginary letters? Why not continue your real ones, my dear? It would
- cost a great deal to have your imaginary ones printed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear father,” she cried, “you surely do not think that I would ask you
- for money to pay for my whim? But if I could prevail on someone—a
- bookseller—to print what I write, I hope you will consent to my
- doing so—not putting my name to the thing, of course?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And does my Fanny believe that 'tis all so easy to persuade a bookseller
- to pay her printer's bill?” he said, pinching her ear. “Booksellers are
- shrewd men of business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But even men of business have their weak moments,” said she. “And so if—if—you
- would not think it too bold of me to let James take my parcel to a
- bookseller? You would not forbid me to try to realize my ambition?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may be sure that the one to frustrate your aims will not be your
- father,” said he, smiling shrewdly. “I will consent if—ah, there is
- the fatal if—if your bookseller consents. Now goodbye, my dear
- child. I will take your love to your Daddy Crisp, and tell him to await a
- real letter from you—not an imaginary one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood on tiptoe to kiss him—but even then he had to stoop before
- his lips were on her forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was gone in another moment. She stood at the inner side of the closed
- door and listened to the rattling of the wheels of the chaise over the
- cobble-stones.
- </p>
- <p>
- So the ordeal that she dreaded had been faced, and how simple a thing it
- had turned out after all! Her father had treated the idea which she had
- submitted to him as if it were nothing beyond the thought of a simpleton—a
- foolish, simple girl who knew nothing of the world of business and
- booksellers, and who fancied that a bookseller would print everything that
- was sent to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had delivered that contingent “if” with the shake of the head and the
- shrewd smile of one who is acquainted with the seamy side of business, in
- the presence of a child who fancies that printing follows automatically
- upon the writing of a book and that there are thousands of buyers eagerly
- awaiting the chance of securing everything that passes through a
- printing-press. She had perceived just what was in his mind; and his
- consent, followed by that contingent “if,” to her publishing what she had
- written, was given to her with the same freedom that would have
- accompanied his permission to appropriate all the gold used in paving the
- streets of the City. She could see from the way he smiled that he felt
- that she knew as little about the conditions under which books are printed
- as a child does about the paving of the streets of the City.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that he would never again refer to the subject of those imaginary
- letters of hers—he would be too considerate of her feelings to do
- so; he would have no desire to humiliate her. He would not even rally her
- in a playful way about her literary work, asking her how the printing was
- progressing, and if she had made up her mind to start a coach as grand as
- that magnificent piece of carved and gilded furniture which Sir Joshua had
- just had built for himself—oh, no: her father had always respected
- her sensibility. Years ago, when her brothers and sisters were making
- their light jests upon her backwardness, he had stopped them and said that
- he had no fears for the future of Fanny; and she was certain that in
- referring to her, as he so frequently did, as “poor Fanny,” he meant
- nothing but kindness to her. To be sure, at first it grated upon her
- sensitiveness to be referred to in that kindly pitying way, but she did
- not resent it—indeed, she usually thought of herself as “poor
- Fanny.” In a household where proficiency in music was the standard from
- which every member was judged, it was inevitable that her incompetence
- should be impressed upon her; but no one was hard upon her—the
- kindly “poor Fanny” of her father represented the attitude of the
- household toward her, even when she had confided to some of the members
- the fact that she was writing a novel. They had been startled; but, then,
- a novel was not a musical composition, and such an achievement could not
- be received with the warmth that Esther's playing received. It was really
- not until the printed sheets of the book lay before Susy that she felt
- that Fanny had, in one leap, brought herself well-nigh to the level of
- Esther; and by the time Susy had read the story to the end she had made up
- her mind that if it might be possible to compare the interest of a
- literary work with that of the playing of a piece of music, Fanny's work
- could claim precedence over the best that Esther had done—she had
- confessed as much to Fanny in secret, and Fanny had called her a foolish
- child.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny had seated herself in the parlour opening off the little hall, on
- the departure of her father, and her memory took her back to the days she
- had passed in the house at Poland Street, when she had written her story
- of Caroline Evelyn, and had been induced by her stepmother to burn it,
- with sundry dramas and literary moralizings after the manner of the <i>Tatler</i>—all
- the work of her early youth. She recalled her resolution never again to
- engage in any such unprofitable practices as were represented by the smoke
- which was ascending from the funeral pyre of her “Caroline Evelyn” and the
- rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- How long had she kept to her resolution? She could not remember. She could
- not recall having any sense of guilt when she had begun her “Evelina”—it
- seemed to have sprung from the ashes of “Caroline Evelyn”—nor could
- she recollect what had been on her mind when she was spending those long
- chilly hours of her restricted leisure toiling over the book. All that she
- could remember now was her feeling that it had to be written—that it
- seemed as if someone in authority had laid on her the injunction to write
- it, and she had no choice but to obey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, she had obeyed—the book had been written and printed and she
- meant to send the corrected sheets back to Mr. Lowndes in the course of
- the day. Her father's consent to its publication had been obtained and it
- would be advertised for sale within some months, and then——
- </p>
- <p>
- Her imagination was not equal to the pursuit of the question of its
- future. Sometimes she felt that she never wished to hear of the book
- again. She could almost hope that sending the sheets back to Mr. Lowndes
- would be the same as dropping them, with a heavy stone in the parcel, into
- the deep sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- But that was when the trouble of getting her father's permission to
- publish it was looming before her. Now that this cloud had been dispelled
- she felt less gloomy. She had a roseate dream of hearing people talk about
- the book and even wishing to know the name of the author. She had a dream
- of Fame herself carrying her away to sublime heights—to such heights
- as she had been borne by the singing of “Waft her, Angels.” Her dream was
- of sitting on these heights of Fame by the side of the singer—on the
- same level—not inferior in the eyes of the world—not as the
- beggar maid uplifted in her rags to the side of the King.
- </p>
- <p>
- That had been her dream when listening to the singing, and it returned to
- her now, as she sat alone in the little parlour, having just taken the
- last step that was necessary before giving to the world the book which was
- to do so much for her. Her visions of success showed her no more
- entrancing a prospect than that of being by his side with her fame as a
- dowry worthy of his acceptance at her hands; so that people might not say
- that he had chosen unworthily—he, who had all the world to choose
- from.
- </p>
- <p>
- And quite naturally there came to her in due sequence the marvellous
- thought that he had already chosen her out of all the world—he had
- chosen her, believing her to be the dowerless daughter of a music-teacher—the
- one uninteresting member of a popular family!
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the most delightful thought of the whole train that came to her.
- It was worth cherishing above all the rest—close to her heart—close
- to her heart. She hugged that thought so close to her that it became warm
- with the warmth of her heart. Even though her book should never be heard
- of again, even though the world might treat it with contempt, she would
- still be consoled by the reflection that he had chosen her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why on earth should you be sitting here in the cold, Fanny?” came the
- voice from the opened door—the voice of firm domestic virtue.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cold? cold? Surely 'Tis not cold, mamma,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not so very cold; but when there is a fire in the work-room it should not
- be wasted,” said Mrs. Burney. “But to say the truth you do not look as if
- you were cold; your face is quite flushed, child. I hope you do not feel
- that you are on the brink of a sickness, my dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear mamma, I never felt stronger in my life,” cried Fanny with a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad to hear that. I was saying to Lottie just now that for some
- days past you have had alternately a worried look and the look of one
- whose brain is over-excited. Is anything the matter, my child?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing—nothing—indeed nothing! I never felt more at ease in
- all my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well, a little exercise will do you no harm, I am sure; so put on
- your hat and accompany me to the fishmonger's. He has not been treating us
- at all fairly of late. It is not that I mind the remark made quite
- respectfully by James at dinner yesterday—it would be ridiculous to
- expect to find fish as fresh in the centre of London as he and his
- shipmates were accustomed to in the middle of the Pacific Ocean; but it
- would not be unreasonable for us to look for turbot with less of a taint
- than that we had yesterday. You will hear the man excuse himself by
- asserting that I chose the fish at his stall; but my answer to that—well,
- come with me and you shall hear what is my answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny went with her and heard.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE faithful Cousin
- Edward had carried the sheets of “Evelina” to Mr. Lowndes's shop, with her
- list of errata, sisters Lottie and Susy giving him ample instructions as
- to the disguise he should assume in discharging that duty; it would be
- terrible, they thought, if the secret which they had so carefully guarded
- for so long should be revealed just when it was most important that it
- should be kept. Their imagination was keen enough to suggest to them the
- possibility of good Mr. Lowdnes setting a watch upon the people entering
- his shop, and giving instructions that the bearer of the parcel of
- “Evelina” should be detained and brought into his presence to be
- questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- They advised that Edward should muffle up his face well before going into
- the shop, and then lay down his parcel and fly like the wind—that
- would be the best way of defeating the curiosity of the bookseller.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Edward was of the opinion that such a course of action might possibly
- only stimulate the man's curiosity as well as that of the people in the
- street, and the cry of “Stop thief!” might bring his frantic flight to a
- standstill. He thought that the most artful course to adopt would be to
- hang around the shop until he found that several customers were within;
- then he would enter quite casually and wait until Mr. Lowndes had served
- one customer and was about to attend to another. If the parcel were thrust
- into his hands during this interval, he, Edward, would have a good chance
- of getting safely away before Mr. Lowndes should have time to examine its
- contents.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were rather struck with his idea, and he got permission to put it
- into practice; but in any case he must take the greatest care of the
- parcel; valuable parcels were snatched out of people's hands every day.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another hour he was back at the house in St. Martin's Street to report
- to them the safe delivery of the precious parcel. After all, he had had
- nothing more exciting to do than to place it on a counter—the
- elderly gentleman with a pen behind his ear had not even taken the trouble
- to rise from his stool to receive it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Parcel for Mr. Lowndes? All right. Leave it there”—those were the
- exact words with which the parcel was received, Edward reported—the
- clerk was buried in his ledger before he had left the shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girls were not a little disappointed at this very tame conclusion of
- what they expected would have been an exciting episode; and to say the
- truth, their chagrin was shared by Cousin Edward.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had looked for his resources of artfulness to be drawn on in the
- transaction—perhaps even his physical qualifications for the defence
- of the sacred secret as well. He felt as a strong man might feel on going
- forth to meet a giant, to find himself confronted by a dwarf. The mission
- was unworthy of his powers. Fanny's thanks heartily given to him, with the
- repeated assurance that, but for him, the affair could never have been
- carried out, scarcely compensated him for the tameness of the affair.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the next month or two it was a busy household in St. Martin's Street.
- Lieutenant Burney was joining his ship for another long voyage, and he had
- to be provided with a fresh outfit. The stitching that went on in the
- work-room surpassed even that maintained during the months preceding
- Esther's marriage; but the labour was lightened upon more than one
- occasion by the appearance of Mr. Garrick. Mr. Garrick had the freedom of
- the house in St. Martin's Street, as he had had that of the Poland Street
- domicile, where he had so often spent hours amusing the children with his
- inimitable drolleries.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mrs. Burney thought he went a little too far in taking off their
- friends, and even their own father, though his malicious touches were as
- light as the pinches of Puck. He had been paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs.
- Kendal, and he convulsed even Mrs. Burney by his acting of the scene of
- his reception by them, the lady much more coy than she had ever been at
- the Wells, and the gentleman overflowing in his attentions to her; but
- both of them esteeming him as their benefactor.
- </p>
- <p>
- And they were so well satisfied with the honourable estate to which he had
- called them, that they appeared to be spending all their time trying to
- bring about matches among their acquaintance. No matter how unsuitable
- some of the projected unions seemed, no matter how unlikely some of the
- people were to do credit to their discrimination, they seemed determined
- that none should escape “the blissful bondage”—that was Mr. Kendal's
- neat phrase. Mr. Garrick repeated it with a smile that made his audience
- fancy that Mr. Kendal was before them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'The blissful bondage—that's what I term it, sir,'” said Mr.
- Kendal, through Mr. Garrick. “'But the worst of the matter is, Mr.
- Garrick, that we have nearly exhausted our own circle of friends'—'I
- can easily believe that, sir,' interposed Mr. Garrick—' and so we
- feel it our duty to fall back upon you.' 'Lud, sir,' cried Mr. Garrick,
- jumping a step or two back as if to avoid a heavy impact—'Lud, sir!
- a little man like me! I should be crushed as flat as a black beetle.'
- 'Nay, sir, I mean that we are compelled to ask you for a list of a few of
- your friends who, you think, should be brought together—half a dozen
- of each sex would be sufficient to begin with.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I demurred,” said Garrick, telling his story, “but before 'the
- blissful bondage' had been repeated more than a score of times I began to
- think of all against whom I bore a grudge—here was clearly the means
- of getting level with them; the only trouble with me was that I found
- myself confounding the people who bore me a grudge with those against whom
- I bore a grudge—the former are plentiful, the latter very meagre in
- number. With the exception of a few very dear animosities which I was
- hoarding up to make old age endurable, I have killed off all my enemies,
- and was forced, like Mr. Kendal, to fall back on my friends; but even
- among these I could find few that I could honestly say were deserving of
- such a fate as I was asked to nominate them for. I ventured, however, to
- mention the name of Lieutenant Burney, of His Majesty's Fleet, coupling it
- with—I could not at first think of an appropriate partner for James,
- but at last I hit upon exactly the right lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! a splice before I set sail next week?” cried Jim. “That's good
- news, sir. And the lady's name, if you please, and her address. Give me my
- hat, Susy; there is no time to be lost. A splice in a trice. Come, Mr.
- Garrick, her name? Cannot you see that I am hanging in stays until you
- tell me who she is?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is a very pleasant lady, sir. I can assure you of that,” said
- Garrick. “Not too tall even with her hair built <i>à la mode</i>; a
- pleasant smile, and a happy way of conversing. In short, Lieutenant
- Burney, I can strongly recommend the lady, for I have known her for the
- past twenty years and more, and from the first she was a staid, sensible
- person—the very partner for a sailor, sir, being so contrary to him
- in every point.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hark'ee, Mr. Garrick; though I don't quite see myself in tow of such a
- state barge, I'll trouble you to relieve my suspense by telling me her
- name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have more than once thought when I was young that she would make me an
- excellent wife,” said Garrick; “but I soon perceived that I was not good
- enough for her. She has always been an exemplary sister, and I saw that,
- try as I might, I could never become her equal in that respect; and for
- married happiness, my boy, there is nothing like——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her name—her name?” shrieked the girls.
- </p>
- <p>
- The actor looked at them with pained surprise on every feature.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her name?” he said. “Surely I have described her very badly if you have
- not recognized the portrait. But, for that matter, I have often felt how
- inadequate are words to describe character combined with grace—a
- nature inclined to seriousness in conjunction with a desire to attract—loftiness
- of purpose linked with a certain daintiness——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a few gestures with his hands, keeping his elbows close to his
- side, and then imitated the spreading of a capacious skirt preparatory to
- sinking in a curtsey, and in a moment there was a cry from every part of
- the room of “Miss Reynolds—Miss Reynolds!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who has a word to say against Miss Reynolds?” cried the actor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one—no one,” said Fanny. “Character combined with grace—Miss
- Reynolds linked with Lieutenant Burney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She would make a fine sheet anchor for an Admiral of the Blue,” laughed
- Jim. “And with your permission, sir, I will postpone my offer until I have
- attained that rank.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have advised Mr. Kendal to hurry things on,” said Garrick gravely. “For
- if you have time to spare before making up your mind, the lady cannot
- reasonably be thought equally fortunate. 'Lieutenant Burney, your attitude
- is not complimentary to the blissful bondage'”—once more it was Mr.
- Kendal who was in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Call the roll,” said Jim. “Who comes next on your list, Mr. Garrick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I was thinking of Dr. Johnson with Mrs. Abington,” said Garrick;
- “but perhaps you may quibble even at that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The room rang with laughter, for everyone had seen the beautiful actress
- whose lead in dress was followed by all the ladies in the fashionable
- world who could afford to do so, and a greater number who could not; and
- the worsted hose and scorched wig, two sizes too small, of Dr. Johnson had
- been gazed at with awe by the Burney family when he visited the house in
- St. Martin's Street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let the banns be published without delay,” cried Jim. “Next pair,
- please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I was thinking of Signor Rauzzini and Mrs. Montagu,” said Garrick,
- “but perhaps that would not be approved of by you any more than the
- others.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Mr. Garrick, I will not have our friends made any longer the subject
- of your fooling,” said Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- Garrick and Jim had the laugh between them, but it seemed that they alone
- saw the jest of coupling the lively Roman with the mature leader of the
- bluestockings: the girls bent silently over their work.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said Garrick apologetically, “I ask your pardon for my
- imprudence. May I ask which name I am to withdraw? Was my offence the
- introduction of the lady's name or the gentleman's? Oh, I can guess. Those
- rosy-tinted faces before me—I vow that you will find yourself going
- to sea with a chestful of pink shirts, Lieutenant—those sweet
- blushing faces reveal the secret more eloquently than any words could do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Undoubtedly the three girls were blushing very prettily; but at the
- mention of the word “secret” two of them gave a little start, but without
- looking up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The secret—oh, I have been feeling for some time that I was well to
- the leeward of a secret,” cried Jim, “and I'll not start tack or sheet
- until I learn what it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, sir; you a sailor and not able to penetrate the secret of a pretty
- girl's blushes!” cried Garrick.
- </p>
- <p>
- The brother looked at each of his sisters in turn. They continued
- stitching away demurely at his shirts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Helm's a-lee,” he said. “Ready about, and off we go on another tack, for
- hang me if I see anything of guilt on their faces, bless 'em! Come, Mr.
- Garrick, you shall interpret them for me. Let me into the secret which you
- say you have read as if it was a book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Susy gave a sharp cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The needle!” she said. “That is the third time it has pricked me since
- morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pay no attention to her, sir,” cried Garrick. “It was a feint on her part
- to put us off the scent of the secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In heaven's name, then, let us have it,” cried Jim.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you will have it, here it is,” said Garrick. “Your three sisters, Mr.
- Burney, are contemplating applying to Mrs. Montagu to be admitted to the
- freedom and the livery of the Society of Bluestockings. That is why they
- thought it akin to sacrilege for me to introduce the lady's name into a
- jest. Their blush was but a reflex of their guilty intention.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed, Mr. Garrick, you go too far sometimes,” said Mrs. Burney. “Mrs.
- Montagu is a worthy lady, and our girls respect her too highly to fancy
- that they have any qualification to be received into her literary set.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Faith, Madam, I know my duty too well, I hope, to accuse any of the Miss
- Burneys of possessing literary qualities,” said Garrick. “But what I do
- say is that if such qualities as they possess were to be introduced into
- Mrs. Montagu's set, it would quickly become the most popular drawing-room
- in town. The idea of thinking that any young woman would go to the trouble
- of writing a book when she can reach the heart of mankind so much more
- easily by blushing over the breast of a shirt! Continue stitching and
- doing your own blushing, dear children, and you will never give anyone
- cause to blush for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed elaborately to each of them in turn and afterward to Mrs. Burney,
- and made a most effective exit. He always knew when he should go, and
- never failed to leave a few fragrant phrases behind him, as though he had
- dropped a bunch of roses for the girls to cherish.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where should we be without Mr. Garrick?” said James, when he had seen the
- actor to the door and returned to the work-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If only he would not go too far in his jesting,” remarked Mrs. Burney,
- shaking her head. “Mr. Garrick sometimes forgets himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is how it comes that he is the greatest actor in the world,” said
- James. “It is only when a man has learned to forget himself completely
- that he causes everyone else to remember him. Now there's the text for a
- homily that you can write to your Daddy Crisp, Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll note it, Jim, and if Mr. Crisp breaks off correspondence with me you
- shall bear the blame,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mercy on us!” whispered Susy when she was alone with her sister a little
- later. “I never got such a fright as when Mr. Garrick pretended to read
- your secret. Thank goodness! he failed to get the least inkling of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank goodness, indeed!” whispered Fanny. But she was thinking of quite a
- different secret when she spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E was beside her
- before she was aware of it, in the great music-room at Lady Hales's house.
- She had not seen him approach her—she could not have done so without
- turning round, for he had approached her from behind, and slipped into the
- chair that Esther had vacated in order to play to the company. Esther's
- husband, who had been in the seat beyond her, had been led away some time
- earlier by Mr. Linley's clever son in order that he might give an opinion
- respecting one of the songs in a piece named <i>The Duenna</i>, which was
- about to be produced at Drury Lane.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beside her and whispering in her ear, though she had not even known
- that he was to be present.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course he went through the pantomimic form of inquiring how it was that
- she was alone—this was, she knew, for the benefit of anyone who
- might be watching them and suspect an assignation. The idea of anyone
- seriously fancying that Dr. Burney's daughter would have an assignation
- with Signor Rauzzini in such a place and in the midst of such a company!
- But Signor Rauzzini came from a land of intrigue, and his experience of
- England led him to believe that he had come to another; and so he made
- those gestures of inquiry, and she gave him a few words of explanation, so
- that no one might suspect! But, for that matter, their chairs were in the
- least conspicuous place in the room, and the shadow of the heavy hangings
- of a window fell half across them both.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And we have not met for months,” said he in French.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, have you forgotten our evening at the Pantheon?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgotten it? But that is months ago—ages. And it was all
- unfinished—broken off when at its best—mutilated. That hour we
- had! Oh, was it a melody suddenly interrupted when it was approaching its
- best? Was it a poem snatched away by some ruthless hand just when we had
- begun a deathless line?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What I remember best is your singing of 'Waft her.' I am not quite sure
- that I have yet returned to the earth from those regions whither I felt
- myself wafted. Are you conscious of having any part in <i>Dido</i> into
- which you can throw yourself with the same spirit?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Dido!</i> pah! <i>Dido</i> is a paltry playhouse—Maestro
- Handel's work is a Sistine Chapel—ah, more—more—a noble
- cathedral. When other composers built their garden houses in imitation of
- Greek temples, he spent all his time raising cathedrals. His genius is his
- own—mighty—overpowering! Every time I approach the great <i>maestro</i>
- I feel that I should put off my shoes from my feet. It is holy ground—it
- is—ah, mademoiselle, it was you who led me to chatter of myself and
- my music when we were last together, and I had no wish to do so; I meant
- to talk of yourself alone, but we had parted before I had the chance
- again. I have been wondering ever since if such a chance would return—if
- I had not thrown it away; and now you have lured me once more toward the
- golden net of music; but I have seen it spread: I will not step into it. I
- want to talk to you of love—love and you—and—me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had restrained his voice so that it was no more than a whisper, and he
- had chastened his gestures until he seemed rigid. Fanny knew that even if
- their chairs had not been far away from the next that were occupied, his
- words could reach no ears but her own; but the effort that he was making
- to restrain his gestures—oh, was it not more significant to any
- observant eye than his most florid action would have been? With bent head
- she was conscious of the quivering of the muscles of his clenched hands—of
- the tremulous earnestness of his expressive face. Surely everyone who so
- much as glanced at him would know what was the subject of his discourse—and
- hers—hers—but what should hers be? What answer was she to make
- to such a man whispering such a word as love?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid,” she said. “You make me afraid. Is this the place? Is this
- the time? Am I the one?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Every place is the place—every time is the time—and you—you
- are the only one,” said he, becoming more fervent every moment. “If you
- and I were alone—but we are alone—our love isolates us—we
- are alone in the splendid isolation of our love. What are these people who
- are about us? They are nothing to us—less than nothing, What are the
- people in a church to the devout one who enters and keeps his eyes fixed
- upon the lovely face of the saint to whom he prays. The saint and he are
- in communion together, and their communion isolates them though the church
- is crowded? I keep my eyes of devotion upon your face, my beautiful saint,
- and I am rapt with the glory of this hour—we are carried away on the
- wings of our love until the world is too far beneath us to be seen—only
- the heaven is revealed to us—to me—I look into your face and I
- have a glimpse of heaven itself! Ah, gentle saint, you will not deny me a
- response—one word—only lift up your eyes—let our eyes
- meet and it will be as if our lips had met. I am but a mortal, but I feel,
- gazing into the face of my saint, as if I were immortal—immortal and
- crossing the threshold of the heaven that is hers—I feel that we are
- equal——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew in her breath—the sound was something like a gasp—the
- gasp of one who has been swept away into the midst of a swirling sea and
- made breathless. She had been swept away on the amazing flood of his
- words; it was not until he had said that word “equal” that she felt
- herself swirled into the air once more, so to speak, and gave that gasp
- for breath: he, too, was breathless after his long and fervid outburst,
- repressed as to tone, but sounding therefore all the more passionate. Her
- gasp sounded like a sigh; his like a sob.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet—not yet,” she said in a whisper—disjointed and
- staccato. “I cannot listen to you yet. I dare not—I have my pride.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pride? What is pride? How have I wounded your pride?” he said. “Ah, my
- God! you cannot think that I would propose anything that is not
- honourable? You do not look on me as such a wretch? Ah, you cannot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, no,” she said quickly. “I would trust you. I have looked into
- your face. I have heard you sing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You place your faith in me? But you cannot do that unless you love me.
- And if you love me—have I been too headlong? Have I startled you?
- But surely you must have seen that on the very first day we met, before I
- had been an hour in your presence, my life was yours. I tell you that I
- knew it—not an hour—one glance was enough to tell me that I
- was all yours, and that for me no other one lived or would ever live in
- the world. What have you to say? Do not you believe me? What did you mean
- by that word 'pride'? It does not seem to me that it had any connection
- with you or me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not ask me to explain anything just now,” she said. “You would not
- like to be asked to explain how you came to—to—think of me—to
- feel in regard to me as you have said you do——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I shrink from it?” he asked. “But no one who has seen you
- would put such a question to me. I loved you because you were—<i>you</i>.
- Is not that enough? It would be sufficient for anyone who knew you. I saw
- you sitting there—so sweetly timid—a little flower that is so
- startled to find itself awakened into life in the spring, that it would
- fain ask the earth to hide it again. I thought of you as that modest
- little flower—a violet trying to obscure its own charm by the leaves
- that surround it; but all in vain—in vain, for its presence has
- given a subtle perfume to the air, and all who breathe of its delicate
- sweetness take the spirit of the spring into their souls and know that a
- violet is there, though hidden from their view. That is how I saw you. I
- have always loved the violet, and felt that shyness and sweetness were
- ever one; and am I to be reproached if I have a longing to pluck my violet
- and have her ever with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is madness—the poetry of madness,” she cried, and there was
- really a piteous note in her voice. “But if I did not believe that you
- feel every word that you have spoken, I would let you continue, and drink
- in the sweetness of every word that falls from your lips. It is because I
- know that you are speaking from your heart and because I also know my own
- unworthiness that I pray of you to say no more—yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not tell you the truth, if you confess that you believe I am
- speaking sincerely?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sincerely, but in a dream.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is all love a dream, then?—is that what is in your thought?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not want it to be a dream. I wish the love to continue with your
- eyes open, and therefore I say—not yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wish my love to continue? Oh, never doubt that your wish shall be
- granted. But why that 'not yet '? I am weary of this mystery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was perplexed. Why should she hold out any longer against this
- impetuous Prince of the land of King Cophetua? Why should she not be as
- other girls who allow themselves to be lifted out of insignificance by the
- man who loves them. Why should that gift of being able to see more closely
- into the truth of things that most others accept without a question, be
- laid upon her as a burden?
- </p>
- <p>
- She had a strong impulse to let her resolution go down the wind, and to
- put her hand in his, no matter who might be looking on, and say the word
- to him that would give him happiness. Who was she to suggest that his
- happiness would not endure—that her happiness would not endure?
- </p>
- <p>
- She was perplexed. She had more than once been called prim; but that only
- meant that it was her nature to weigh everything in a mental balance, as
- it were, and her imagination was equal (she thought) to the task of
- assigning their relative value to the many constituents of human
- happiness. If she had been told that this meant that she had not yet been
- in love, and that she was not now in love, she would not have felt uneasy
- in her mind. She did not mistrust the feeling she had for the man who was
- beside her. Surely this was the very spirit of truth in loving, to be
- ready to sacrifice everything, so that unhappiness should not overtake
- him; and she had long ago felt that unhappiness only could result from his
- linking his life with one who was rather less than a mere nobody. The
- thought never once left her mind of what would be said when it was known
- that she had married him. A dunce's triumph, the incident would be styled
- by the wits, and (assuming that the wits were masculine) how would it be
- styled by the opposite sex? She could see uplifted hands—incredulous
- eyebrows raised, while they discussed it, and she knew that the conclusion
- that everyone would come to was that to be the most divine singer in the
- world did not save a man from being the greatest fool in the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was her love the less true because her intelligence insisted on her
- perceiving that such a man as Signor Rauzzini would not be happy if
- married to a nonentity like herself? “Surely not,” she would have cried.
- “Surely it is only the truest of all loves that would be ready to
- relinquish its object rather than bring unhappiness upon him! Is
- intelligence never to be found in association with true love? Must true
- love and folly ever be regarded as allies?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her intellect was quick in apprehending the strength of the position taken
- up by two combatants in an argument; but the juxtaposition of the Prim and
- the Passionate was too much for her. She was all intellect; he was all
- passion. Her mental outlook on the situation was acute; but his was
- non-existent. His passion blinded him; her intellect had a thousand eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- And there he was by her side; she could almost hear the strong beating of
- his heart in the pause that followed his question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is this mystery?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was her feeling of this tumultuous beating of his heart that all but
- made her lose her intellectual foothold. His heart beating close to hers
- swayed her as the moon sways the tides, until for some moments she could
- not have told whether it was her heart or his that was beating so wildly—only
- for some moments, however; only long enough for that madness to suggest
- itself to her—to let her resolution fly to the winds—what did
- anything matter so long as she could lay her hand in his, and feel his
- fingers warm over hers? It was her first acquaintance with the tyranny of
- a heart aflame, and for a moment she bent her head before it. He thought
- that he had got the better of her scruples, whatever they were, by the way
- her voice broke as she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madness—it would be madness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not acute enough to perceive that she was talking to herself—trying
- to bring her reason to help her to hold out against the throbbing of her
- heart—<i>his</i> heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would indeed be madness for us to turn our backs upon happiness when
- it is within our reach,” said he. “That is what you would say, sweet
- saint?”
- </p>
- <p>
- But she had now recovered herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed it is because I have no thought except for your happiness that I
- entreat of you to listen to me,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will listen to you if you tell me in one word that you love me,” said
- he.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no pause before she turned her eyes upon him saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know it. You have never doubted it. It is because I love you so truly
- I wish to save you from unhappiness. I want to hold your love for ever and
- ever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My sweet saint! You have heard my prayers. You are to make me happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All that I can promise as yet is to save you from supreme unhappiness. I
- am strong enough to do so, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can save me from every unhappiness if you will come to me—and
- you are coming, I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that if you ask me three months hence I shall be able to say
- 'yes'; but now—at this moment—I dare not. It is not so long to
- ask you to wait, seeing that I have let you have a glimpse of my heart,
- and told you that as you feel for me, so I feel for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Three months is an eternity! Why should it be in three months? Why not
- now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot tell you. It is my little secret,” she said. “Ah, is it not
- enough that I have told you I love you? I shall never cease to love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, this accursed place! These accursed people!” he murmured. “Why are we
- fated to meet only surrounded by these wretches? Why cannot we meet where
- I can have you in <i>my</i> arms, and kiss your lips that were made for
- kissing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something terrifying to her in that low whisper of his. He had
- put his head down to her until his lips were close to her ear. She felt
- the warmth of his face; it made her own burn. But she could not move her
- face away to the extent of an inch. Her feminine instinct of flight was
- succeeded by the equally feminine instinct of surrender. If it had been
- his intention—and it certainly seemed that it was—to kiss her
- in the presence of all the company, she would still have been incapable of
- avoiding such a caress.
- </p>
- <p>
- He swore again in her ear, and Fanny, for all her primness, felt a regret
- deep down in her heart that her training would not allow of her expressing
- herself through the same medium.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he did not come any nearer to her than that. He changed his phrases of
- abuse of their entourage to words of delight at her presence so close to
- him—alternately passionate and tender. His voice became a song in
- her ears, containing all such variations. His vocalism was equal to the
- demand put upon it. It was his <i>métier</i> to interpret such emotions,
- and now he did justice to his training, even if he fell short—and he
- was conscious of doing so—of dealing adequately with his own
- feelings. He called her once again his sweet saint who had heard his
- prayer; his cherished flower, whose fragrance was more grateful to him
- than all the incense burned in all the temples of the world was to the
- Powers above.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was, he repeated, her violet modesty that had first made him adore her.
- Her humility brought before his eyes the picture painted by Guido Reni—the
- Madonna saying: <i>Ecce ancilla Domini</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ah, her humility was divine. And she was so like his mother—his dear
- mother who had died when he was a boy and who had taught him to sing. Ah,
- she was herself now singing in Paradise, and she would look down and
- approve his choice. She, too, had been as meek as a flower, and had never
- been so happy as when they had been together at a little farm in Tuscany
- with him by her side among the olives. Oh, she would approve his choice.
- And quite simply he addressed his dead mother, as though she were beside
- him, asking her if she could desire to have a daughter sweeter or more
- gentle. He had lapsed into his native Italian in this; but Fanny could
- follow his slow, devout words, and her eyes were full of tears, her heart
- of love.
- </p>
- <p>
- She now perceived how simple and gentle a nature was that of the young
- Roman. He remained unspoilt by the adulation which he had received both in
- his own country and in England. Seeing him thus revealing a simplicity
- which she had not associated with him before, she was led to ask herself
- if there was, after all, so great a difference between them as she had
- believed to exist. She had forgotten all about his singing, and he was now
- in her eyes nothing more than a man—the man who loved her. Ah, that
- was enough. He loved her, and therefore she was bound to save him from the
- mortification of hearing the whispers of the people around them asking how
- he could ever have been stupid enough to marry a girl like herself, who
- was a nobody and without a fortune, when he might have chosen any girl in
- the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her resolution came back to her with greater force than ever. Since he had
- made his nature plain to her, it would, she felt, be taking advantage of
- his simplicity to engage herself to him just as she was. She knew more of
- the world than he did. She knew how the world talked, and how it would
- talk regarding herself as well as regarding him in such a matter. He was
- simple and generous; it was necessary for her to take thought for both of
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you heard me?” he asked of her in a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The tears are still in my eyes,” she replied. “Oh, my dear friend, cannot
- you see how bitter it is for me to be compelled to ask you to wait for
- these months that I spoke of? Cannot you see that it is a matter of
- conscience and honour? Ah, I should never forgive myself if I were to do
- other than I have done! If you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear one,” said he, “I ask for nothing more than to hear you tell me that
- you love me. Who am I, that I should demand your secret? So long as you do
- not conceal your love from me, I do not mind if you have a score of
- secrets locked away in your white bosom. Tell me again that you love me
- and all must be well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him, but he knew that she could not see a feature of his
- face by reason of the tears that were still in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was on one of
- the last mornings in January that Mrs. Burney was reading out of the
- newly-arrived <i>London Chronicle</i> such paragraphs as she thought would
- appeal to the varied interests of the breakfast-table. There were a few
- announcements of marriages about to take place between people whose names
- they knew, the amount of the bride's dowry being stated in each in plain
- figures, though Mrs. Burney took it upon her to affirm in one or two cases
- that the sum was exaggerated, or to suggest that if the father of the
- bride were just enough to pay his debts first, the portion of his daughter
- would be considerably reduced. In the case of one of the gentlemen, who
- was marrying thirty thousand pounds, she ventured to express the hope that
- he would now pay at least some of his creditors.
- </p>
- <p>
- These were, of course, the most interesting items of news, though their
- attractiveness was not greatly superior to that of the gossip respecting
- Mr. F———, who had been noticed in high dudgeon because
- of Lady P———'s dancing three times with Sir Julian Y———;
- or that which suggested that a reconcilement must have taken place between
- the beautiful Mrs. G——— and her husband, for they had
- been seen taking the air together in the Park.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was also pleasant to learn that His Majesty had given great
- encouragement to Mrs. Delany in the production of her ingenious mosaic
- flowers, in which she was so skilled as to excite the wonder of several
- criticks in the Royal circle; and also that His Royal Highness the Prince
- of Wales had been graciously pleased to say in publick that he had always
- admired the Perdita of the beautiful Mrs. Robinson, though he considered
- Mrs. Abington, on the whole, the most tasteful dresser in the Drury Lane
- company.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only when Mrs. Burney had folded the newspaper and was about to put
- it away, that a few lines of an advertisement caught her eye—she
- commented before she read, as though she had been a fully qualified
- critic:
- </p>
- <p>
- “More novels! More stuff for the circulating libraries! Enough to make
- poor Mr. Richardson feel uncomfortable in his grave! Could he but have
- known that he was turning all England into novel readers he would never
- have put pen to paper. Here is another imitator in the field. 'Evelina;
- or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World,' published to-day by Mr.
- Lowndes—three volumes, seven and sixpence sewed, nine shillings in
- covers. 'Evelina,' a distant cousin to 'Clarissa' and 'Pamela' I doubt
- not. I hope your father will not bring anyone here to dinner to-day.
- Hashed mutton is a wholesome dish, to be sure, but some visitors are
- fastidious. He may bring as many as he pleases to-morrow, for Mr.
- Greville's gift of pheasants will be on the table. Why are you staring so
- at your sister, Lottie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lottie was becoming a hardened dissembler: she scarcely started when asked
- to interpret certain furtive glances she cast at Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was wondering if Fanny would make a face: she never was fond of hashed
- mutton,” said Lottie glibly. “If she had gone to school in France she
- would soon have got a liking for it, cooked as it is there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not partial to French kickshaws,” said Mrs. Burney. “There's nothing
- like good English fare. To my thinking, the principle of making food tasty
- when in ordinary circumstances it should not be so, is a bad one. Hash of
- mutton is wholesome food, and it should be eaten as such without further
- question. If Providence had meant it to be tasty as well, He would have
- made His intentions as plain as in the case of roast pheasant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lottie will tell you that I made no face at the mention of hash of
- mutton,” said Fanny. “What does it signify whether one sits down to a
- simple platter of mutton hash or a great dinner such as father gets at Mr.
- Thrale's? A pair of geese, a leg of mutton, a tongue, a rib of roast beef
- and a brace of pheasants, with two or three dishes of fish, and for Dr.
- Johnson a veal pie or a piece of pork—those were on the table at one
- time. What is the benefit of such abundance, when all that one can eat is
- a single slice of beef?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke rapidly, for she, too, had been a great dissembler. She meant to
- take away her stepmother's attention from those questionable glances which
- she had exchanged with Lottie; and she succeeded very well.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would make no difference to us whether we had one dish or ten; but it
- makes all the difference in the world to Mr. Thrale. They say he has a
- prodigious appetite, and eats of at least six heavy dishes of meat at
- dinner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Baretti affirms that some day he will not awake from the stupor into
- which he falls after one of his heavy meals,” said Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And all the time Mrs. Thrale is entreating him to be more moderate,”
- cried Lottie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A humiliating duty for such as Mrs. Thrale,” said her mother. “That shows
- how true is all that Fanny has remarked: a simple dish should be enough
- for any reasonable person. I have often wondered how the converse at the
- Streatham table could be so wise and witty if the master of the house eats
- like a hog, and Dr. Johnson, suffering from ill-health, expends so much
- energy over his pork that the veins stand out on his forehead and his face
- is bathed in perspiration.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure that Mrs. Thrale has wit and liveliness enough to serve for the
- whole company,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is chatty enough, I doubt not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “There are those
- who think she talks over-much for a woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not for a woman of fashion,” suggested Lottie with some pertness, when
- their stepmother had left the room. “It is long since Mrs. Thrale has
- invited mother to one of the Streatham dinners,” she added under her
- breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then the three fell upon the <i>Chronicle</i> for the announcement of
- the book.
- </p>
- <p>
- They read it in whispers, each following the other, as though it were the
- <i>piano</i> part of a catch or a glee, and glancing fearfully toward the
- door now and again, lest it should open and Mrs. Burney reappear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How amazing it is!” said Susy. “This is the announcement of the birth of
- a baby—and such a baby!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The birth and the christening and all,” said Lottie. “Oh, Fanny, I had no
- idea that it would be in the papers—I forgot that it would be
- advertised; and when mamma read this out I thought I should sink through
- the floor. So did you, I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only wish that it had been possible,” said Fanny. “I could feel myself
- getting hot all over my body. And then you gave me that look, Lottie!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Could I help it?” asked Lottie. “You cannot blame me. I really thought
- that it was you who gave me a look, as much as to say: 'If you let the cat
- out of the bag I will never forgive you—no, never! '”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind! Among us we managed to get out of the difficulty very well, I
- think. Were we not clever, guiding the conversation away from Mr.
- Lowndes's shop on to the high road to Streatham?” cried Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twas the hash that saved us,” said Lottie. “Have you not heard dear Jim
- applying the sailors' expression, to make a hash of something? But we
- didn't make a hash of our matter, did we, Fanny?” said Susan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have become adroit dissemblers, and I am growing more ashamed of it
- every day,” cried Fanny. “I have reached the condition of a man of whom I
- read in a volume of history: he had committed a crime, and the effort that
- it cost him to keep it hidden so preyed upon his mind that he could stand
- the strain no longer, so he confessed it and was relieved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he could not have been really happy until they hanged him,” said
- Susy. “And do you intend to confess and be hanged, Fanny? Please do not. I
- think it is the most exciting thing in the world to share a secret like
- this. I would not have missed the enjoyment for anything. Think, Fan, if
- you were to confess, you would draw us into it too—you would make us
- out to be as guilty as yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not confess,” said Fanny. “No; it would not be honourable of me.
- But I do feel that the secret is having a bad effect upon us all. It has
- made us all such—such—dissemblers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha!” said Lottie with a sniff. “That's only another way of saying that
- we are ladies of quality at an early age.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny shook her head. She thought that if any proof were needed of the ill
- effects of their treasuring their secret from their parents, this cynical
- pertness of Lottie supplied it. She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like 'Evelina' to come into mamma's hands,” continued Lottie.
- “She will go through the three volumes at a hand gallop, even though she
- did take it upon her to condemn it as being on a level with the odious
- stuff that comes to us nowadays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if she condemns it so heartily before she has read it, what will she
- say about it when she has finished the last chapter?” asked Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She will say that it is the prettiest story that has been written since
- her dear Mr. Richardson died,” said Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doubt it, my dear,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, let the worst come, she will never guess that you wrote it,”
- laughed Lottie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the padre whom I fear,” said Fanny. “Surely he will not need to go
- beyond the Ode on the first leaf to know that it is he himself whom I
- address.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if he should—smoke it?” asked Susy, lapsing into slang which
- she had acquired from her sailor brother, who was in no sense a purist.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he should—well, either of two things will happen,” replied the
- authoress. “He will either think me the most double-dealing wretch in the
- world or the most dutiful of daughters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And which will be right?” asked Lottie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Both views will be right,” said Fanny. “Although I meant every word of
- the Ode, I really think now that the idea of writing it before the
- dedication came to me only when I felt that I had behaved badly in sending
- the book to the printer without his consent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wished the Ode to be a sort of peace-offering?” said Susy. “You hoped
- that when he read it he would forget to be angry? Well, that was cunning
- of you, Fanny!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you that the whole affair has had a bad effect upon us all,” said
- Fanny gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again she was conscious of someone telling her that there was no use
- crying over spilt milk, and this impression was followed by one that took
- the form of a resolution to be more careful in future. If she had spilt
- some milk once, that was no reason why she should not, by exercising
- proper forethought, refrain from doing so again.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the book was now given to the world, if the world would have it, but
- as yet a copy had not come into her hand. She wondered if she would have
- to spend seven and sixpence in buying a copy. Seven shillings and
- sixpence, sewed. It was a great deal of money. Was it possible that there
- were five hundred people in the world ready to pay seven and sixpence for
- a novel with the name of no author on the title page? (She thought it best
- to leave out of her consideration altogether the possible purchasers of
- the nine shilling set of bound volumes.)
- </p>
- <p>
- Who were the people that ever laid out so much money upon books which
- could be read through between the rising and the setting of the sun? She
- had never met such liberal enthusiasts. Of course, it was only reasonable
- that so splendid a work as the “History of Music” should be in the library
- of every house wherein people of taste resided, but that was not a book to
- be galloped through; some people might not be able to read it within a
- month. Besides, it bore the honoured name of Dr. Burney on the title page,
- and the fame of Dr. Burney was great. But as for that poor little
- seven-and-sixpenny sewed “Evelina,” how should anyone take an interest in
- her without reading her story? How would anyone read her story without
- feeling afterwards that seven-and-sixpence (leaving the nine shilling
- expenditure out of the question) was a ridiculous price to pay for such an
- entertainment?
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt that people would come to look on her as the instigator of a
- fraud if they paid their money and read the book and then found out that
- she had written it. The wisdom of concealing her name even from the
- bookseller was now more apparent to her than it had ever been. She had
- visions of indignant purchasers railing against Mr. Lowndes, and Mr.
- Lowndes searching for her, so that he might rail against her; and so her
- speculations ended in laughter; but even her laughter grated upon her
- sensitive ears: she felt that it was the malicious jeering of a clever
- cheat at the thought of having got the better of a worthy man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her precious “Evelina” was leading her a pretty dance. If it had not been
- able to do so it would have been a paltry sort of book and she would have
- been a paltry sort of author.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>WO or three weeks
- passed without her hearing anything of the book, and it seemed as if it
- had fallen, as she had at some moments hoped it would fall, like a dull
- stone into the depths of the sea. She heard nothing of it, and soon she
- perceived that her sisters felt grievously disappointed at its failure to
- produce any impression upon the town. Even a dull stone, if dropped into
- the deep, creates a little fuss on the surface before it sinks out of
- sight; but Fanny's book did not, so far as they could see, produce even so
- superficial an impression. What they expected of it they might have had
- some trouble explaining; but as it was, they could not conceal their
- disappointment from Fanny; and they showed it after a short time in a very
- delicate way: they never alluded to the book in her presence. She
- perceived that what was in their minds was that it would show very bad
- taste on their part to refer to it in any way. She was grateful for their
- consideration; and she resolved to accept their decision on this point as
- final; she would never allude to the horrid thing in their hearing.
- </p>
- <p>
- It so happened, however, that she was left alone with Susy in the house
- one evening. Dr. Burney and his wife had gone to a concert at Esther's,
- and Lottie was staying for a day or two in the country. Susy was
- practising her part of a new duet on the piano, and Fanny was at her
- sewing. So far as conversation between the two sisters was concerned, the
- evening had been a very silent one. Indeed, during the whole week a
- constrained silence had marked the intercourse of the three girls.
- </p>
- <p>
- Susy hammered away at the music for half an hour; then her playing became
- more fitful, and at last it ceased altogether.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence before Fanny heard a little sound that caused her
- to raise her head. It was the sound of a sob, and when she looked up she
- saw that Susy was leaning her forehead upon the bottom of the music rest,
- weeping bitterly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny was by her side in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dearest Susy, what is the matter?” she said soothingly. “Tell me, dear;
- has anything happened? Has anyone been unkind to you? Have I unwittingly
- done or said anything that seemed to you unkind? Tell me all, Susy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Susy continued crying with her face hidden, though she yielded one of
- her hands to Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, my dear, I have helped you before now, and I may be able to help
- you now. Prithee, what is your trouble?” said Fanny, putting her arm round
- the girl's shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still Susy remained silent, except for her sobs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me,” said Fanny, in a whisper. “Is it that you think that I am
- chagrined about—about—the book?”
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant Susy had whirled round on her seat and flung her arms round
- her sister's neck, laying her head on her shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Fanny, Fanny, 'tis too cruel!” she sobbed. “We were sure that so much
- would come of it—it seemed so splendid to read, even before it was
- printed—so much better than any other story that ever came into our
- hands—and you worked so hard at it—every spare moment when you
- might have been enjoying yourself—in the cold of last winter up in
- that room—and at Lynn too—and Chessington—and now, when
- we think that your cleverness, your patience, your genius, is to be
- rewarded, nothing comes of it—all your trouble has gone for nothing—all
- our secrecy! Oh, it is too cruel!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You dear child,” said Fanny. “It is only cruel if it sets you crying in
- this way. What does it matter to anyone if the book has gone and nothing
- has come of it? I have been thinking that writing a book and publishing it
- is like throwing a stone into the sea. It may fall so that it sinks down
- plumb, or it may fall so that it makes a splash for a while, but it sinks
- to the bottom all the same. Success or failure is only the difference
- between a splash and a ripple. We were fools to fancy that our little
- stone would float.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it was not a stone, it was full of life and it should have—it
- should have—swum! Oh, the people who buy books are so stupid!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are—that was the hope that I builded on. They are stupid, but
- not stupid enough to buy my book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Fanny!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is really the frame of mind that I find myself in to-day. I tell you
- truly, Susy, that after the first week, I schooled myself to think of the
- business in this way; and I am certain that in another month I shall even
- feel delighted that my little pebble made no splash. Look at the matter
- philosophically, Susy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, philosophically!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, reasonably. Are we in a different position to-day from that we were
- in before the book was published? We are not. We are just the same as we
- were before. It has not injured us in any way. Nay, if you think of it, we
- are—I, at least, am—all the better for having failed, for I
- have learned my lesson. I was beginning to feel cleverer than I had any
- right to think myself, and this has come as a chastening—to make me
- know my right place. These rebukes do not come by chance, Susy. I know now
- that I was inclined to hold my head too high. I don't think that I will do
- so again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You never held your head too high—just the opposite. And I think it
- very cruel that you should be rebuked for nothing. But I do not blame <i>anyone</i>
- except the wretched people who refused to buy your nice book, but spent
- their seven and sixpence at Vauxhall or Ranelagh—perhaps watching
- Mr. Foote and his puppets at the Haymarket. Oh, I have no patience with
- them! Why, it only needed a thousand people to buy the book and it would
- have been accounted a success!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we shall put the blame on the shoulders of that thousand,
- wheresoever they may be found, and for my part I shall not hold a second
- thousand altogether blameless—my indignation may even extend to a
- third. Now, that's the last word I mean to speak about the book. It has by
- this time reached the bottom of the sea on which I threw it; and there let
- it lie!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are an angel—I see that plainly now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, there you see, what I said was true: I am much better for the rebuke
- I talked about; you never perceived before that I was an angel. Now let
- that be the last word between us on the subject of my poor little
- 'Evelina.' Her entrance into the world has proved fatal. Oh, Susy, she was
- stillborn, but her parent is making a rapid recovery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be; but cannot you join with me in——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will join with you in maintaining silence on the subject of the little
- one. I cannot bear to hear her name mentioned. I refuse to say another
- word about her or her fate. She must have been greatly beloved of the gods
- to die so young. Let that be 'Evelina's' epitaph. I will say nothing more
- about her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It so happened, however, that she was compelled to say a good deal more on
- the subject, for within half an hour Cousin Edward had called, and he
- began to talk of “Evelina” at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I went to Hill's library in the Strand yesterday, to get a book for
- mother, and there, sure enough, I saw your 'Evelina,'” said he. “I asked
- the man in charge what it was about, and he replied that he didn't know;
- it was bad enough, he thought, to be compelled to hand out books all day
- to readers without being forced to read them for himself; but he supposed
- that 'Evelina' was a novel of the usual sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was not extravagant praise,” remarked Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He didn't mean to praise it,” said Edward. “But when I asked him if
- anyone who had read it had recommended it, he admitted that every one of
- the five ladies who had read it was ready to speak well of it—one of
- them had taken it away a second time; and—would you believe it?—while
- I was standing at the counter a footman entered the shop with a demand for
- 'Eveliena,' as he called it; and he carried off the copy that was already
- on the desk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For the delectation of the servants' hall?” suggested Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all—it had been recommended to her ladyship, he said, and he
- had been commanded on no account to return without it; her ladyship was
- liberal; she would not mind paying sixpence for it, instead of the
- ordinary fourpence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was more than liberal, it was generous to a degree,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't interrupt him,” cried Susy. “Continue your narrative, Eddy. I am
- dying to hear the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I asked the library man if he knew who wrote the book, and he replied
- that he had heard the name, but had forgotten it; so far as he remembered
- the author was a peer of high rank but eccentric habits,” said Edward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The book represented his eccentric habits, I suppose,” remarked Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ran out of the place roaring,” said Edward. “'A peer of high rank but
- eccentric habits'—describes you to a T, doesn't it, Cousin Fanny?
- Pray what is your lordship's next work to be, and when will it be given to
- an eager world?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that all you have to tell?” asked Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By no means. When I heard that the book was thought well of in the
- Strand, I thought I would try to get at the opinion of Stanhope Street—you
- know Masterman's circulating library there? Well, I boldly entered, and
- there, sure enough, was a well-thumbed 'Evelina' in front of the
- librarian. I asked for some book that no one had ever heard of, and when
- the librarian had told me that he had never been asked for that book
- before, I pointed to 'Evelina,' inquiring if it was any good. 'I'm dead
- tired on account of its goodness, for I was fool enough to take it to bed
- with me last night, and I never closed my eyes in sleep,' he replied. 'I
- had it praised to me by a lady of quality, and so too hastily concluded
- that it would either send me asleep with its dullness, or shock me with
- its ribaldry; but it did neither, unhappily.' Just then a chariot stopped
- at the door and another footman entered with the name 'Evelina' written on
- a sheet of paper, and off he popped with the full three volumes under his
- arm. I waited no longer; but hurried hither to give you my news. I did not
- get so far, however, for I was unlucky enough to be overtaken by that vile
- downpour of rain, and it did not blow over until your dinner hour was at
- hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are my good angel,” cried Fanny, her cheeks glowing. “We have heard
- nothing of all this respecting the book, and, hearing nothing, we took it
- for granted that it was dead—dead before it was ever alive. Oh, this
- is good news you have brought us, Eddy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best news that has come to us for months!” said Susy. She had turned
- her head away and was furtively wiping her eyes. The good news affected
- the sympathetic Susy almost as deeply as her disappointment had done.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I have only told you of my adventures of yesterday,” said Edward.
- “To-day I tried the booksellers, beginning with Mr. Davies and
- working-round to the Dillys in the Poultry—it cost me three
- shillings, for I had to buy something that I did not particularly want in
- every shop to excuse my inquiries—and I found 'Evelina' on every
- counter. I cannot say that any customer came in to buy it while I was in
- any shop, but you may be sure that the book would not be on the counter
- unless it was highly thought of. Of course I had need to be very discreet
- among the booksellers; I dared not ask who was the author, but I longed to
- do so, if only to hear what new story had been made up about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You heard quite enough to make us glad,” cried Susy. “Oh, how foolish we
- were to take it for granted that because we had no news of the book, it
- was dead! It is alive—greatly alive, it would appear! How could any
- news of it have come to us here? We should have gone forth in search of
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that we could depend on your discretion,” said Fanny, laying a
- hand on each of his shoulders. “I do not think that I ever thanked you as
- I should for the wise way in which you managed the business with Mr.
- Lowndes, and now I must not neglect to do so for having acted the part of
- a benevolent agent in bringing us such good news about the book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Psha! there should be no talk of gratitude and the like between us,” said
- he. “There are family ties—I think of the honour of our family.
- People already talk of the clever Burneys, but they left you out of the
- question, Cousin Fanny, since they only thought of music. But now that you
- have shown what you can do in another direction, you must be reckoned with
- alongside the others.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what about the other branch of the clever Burneys?” said Fanny.
- “Don't you think that people will some of these days begin to ask if
- Edward Burney, the great painter, is really a brother of the musical
- Burneys? I hope they will, dear Edward; I hope that the fame of Edward
- Burney, the painter, will go far beyond that of the musical Burneys, as
- well as poor Fanny Burney who once wrote a novel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man blushed as Fanny herself would certainly have done if
- confronted with the least little compliment. But there was no false shame
- about his acceptance of her suggestion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean to become as good a painter as I can, in order to be worthy of the
- name of Burney,” said he. “I feel proud of being a Burney—more so
- to-day than ever before, and I hope that the rest of the Burney's will
- some day look on me as doing credit to our name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure that they will have every reason to do so,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had gone, Susy gave way to her delight at the news which he had
- brought. She was a good deal taller than Fanny, and catching her round the
- waist after the manner of the Elizabethan dancer with his partner, she
- danced round the table with her, lilting a somewhat breathless pæan. Fanny
- herself needed no coaxing to be her partner in this revel. In her jubilant
- moments she got rid of the primness which most people associated with her.
- She had a wild jig known as “Nancy Dawson,” and she had more than once
- found it necessary to get rid of her superfluous spirits through this
- medium. She joined in her sister's little whoop at the completion of the
- third “lap” of the table, and they both threw themselves breathless on the
- sofa.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it,” said Susy between her gasps. “I knew that I could not be
- mistaken in believing 'Evelina' to be good—I knew that she would
- make her way in the affections of her readers, and I was right—you
- see I was right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were right, dear Susy—quite right,” said Fanny. “I do not like
- to be too sanguine, but I do believe, from the reports Eddy brought us,
- that the book will find plenty of readers. Now that we can think over the
- matter in a reasonable way, we must see how foolish we were to expect that
- the very day after the book was published people would crowd to buy it;
- but now, after six weeks, when Eddy goes in search of news about it, he
- brings back a report which is—we had best say for the present no
- more than 'quite satisfactory'—that was the bookseller's report
- about the sales of the first volume of the padre's 'History'—'quite
- satisfactory'—that should be quite satisfactory for the author of
- 'Evelina' and her sisters. There is nothing in the book to stir people as
- it would if written by Mr. Wilkes, but in its humble way it will, I am now
- persuaded, be pronounced 'quite satisfactory.' At any rate, there goes my
- sewing for the evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rolled up the strip of linen into a ball and used her hand, after two
- false starts, as a battledore, to send it flying across the room within
- reach of Susy, who, being more adroit, was able at the first attempt to
- return it with both force and precision. Once more Fanny struck it, and
- her sister sent it back, but by this time the unequal ball had opened out,
- so that it was only by her foot that Fanny could deal with it effectively.
- Then, daintily holding up their petticoats, the author of “Evelina” and
- Susy Burney played with the thing until once more they were panting and
- laughing joyously.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps Fanny had a faint inkling of the symbolism implied by this
- treatment of the discarded needlework.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>UT little Miss
- Burney had recovered all her primness on the evening when, a week later,
- she accompanied her stepmother to partake of tea at the home of the
- Barlowes in the Poultry.
- </p>
- <p>
- Young Mr. Barlowe had, for some time after his visit to St. Martin's
- Street, brooded over his indiscretion in allowing his impulse at the
- moment of saying good night to carry him away so that he pressed Miss
- Burney's hand, looking into her eyes with an expression in his own of the
- deepest sympathy—rather more than sympathy. He felt that he had been
- unduly and indiscreetly hasty in his action. It had been purely impulsive.
- He had by no means made up his mind that Miss Burney would make him a
- satisfactory wife. His father and mother had, for a long time, thought
- very highly of Mrs. Burney, looking on her as a most thrifty and excellent
- manager of a household. She had shown herself to be all this and more when
- her first husband was alive and they had visited her at Lynn; and she had
- proved her capabilities in the same direction since she had married Dr.
- Burney. Unfortunately, however, the virtues of a stepmother could not be
- depended on to descend to the children of her husband's family, and it was
- by no means certain that Miss Burney had made full use of her
- opportunities of modelling herself upon her father's second wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- No, he had not quite made up his mind on this subject—the gravest
- that had ever occupied his attention, and he remained sleepless for hours,
- fearful that he had gone too far in that look and that squeeze. He had
- heard of fathers and even brothers waiting upon young men who had acted
- toward a daughter or a sister pretty much as he had in regard to Miss
- Burney. He had rather a dread of being visited by Miss Burney's brother,
- that young naval officer who had boasted of having been educated by a
- murderer. Mr. Barlowe thought that a visit from such a young man would be
- most undesirable, and for several days he went about his business with
- great uneasiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when a week had gone by and neither father nor brother had waited upon
- him, he began to review his position more indulgently than when he had
- previously given it his consideration. He thought more hopefully of Miss
- Burney as a wife. Perhaps she might have profited more largely than he had
- thought by her daily intercourse with so capable a woman as Mrs. Burney.
- At any rate, she was not musical, and that was something in her favour.
- Then her stepmother had praised her needlework, and everyone knows that to
- be a good sempstress is next to being a good housekeeper.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought that on the whole she would do. Her brother, Lieutenant Burney,
- would naturally spend most of his time at sea. That was a good thing.
- Thomas felt that he should hesitate to make any change in his life that
- involved a liability of frequent visits from a young man who had been
- taught by a murderer. Who could tell what might happen in the case of such
- a young man? As for Miss Burney herself, she was, quite apart from her
- housewifely qualities, a most estimable young lady—modest and
- retiring, as a young woman should be, and very beautiful. To be sure, he
- had often heard that beauty was only skin deep, but even assuming that it
- did not go any deeper, it had always been highly esteemed by men—none
- of them seemed to wish it to be of any greater depth; and it was certain
- that a man with a handsome wife was greatly envied—more so even than
- a man who was married to a plain woman but a good housewife. Oh,
- undoubtedly her beauty commended her to his most indulgent consideration.
- He had no objection in the world to be widely envied, if only on account
- of his wife's good looks. It never occurred to him that it might be that
- some people would think very ordinary a face that seemed to one who was in
- love with it extremely lovely. He preserved the precious privilege of a
- man to raise up his own standard of beauty and expect all the rest of the
- world to acknowledge its supremacy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he thought that Miss Burney, beauty and all, would suit him, but
- still he hesitated in making another call.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was when Mr. Kendal had the honour of waiting upon Mrs. Burney, and
- his visit only preceded by a day or two Mrs. Burney's call upon her old
- friend, Mrs. Barlowe, in the Poultry; this interchange of courtesies being
- speedily followed by an invitation for Mrs. Burney and a stepdaughter to
- drink tea with the Barlowe family.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am taking you with me, Fanny, because you are the eldest and, as should
- be, the most sensible of the household,” said Mrs. Burney, explaining—so
- far as she thought wise—the invitation on the morning it was
- received. “There will be no music at Mrs. Barlowe's, I think, and so you
- will have no distracting influence to prevent your forming a just opinion
- of my old friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not mind in the least the absence of music for one night,” said
- Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure of that,” said Mrs. Burney. “Goodness knows we have music
- enough here during any day to last us over a whole week. The others could
- not live without it, even if it were not your father's profession.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Without which none of us could live,” remarked Fanny, who had no wish to
- be forced into the position of the opponent of music in the household.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite right, my dear,” acquiesced the elder lady. “It is a precarious way
- of making a living. To my mind there is nothing so satisfactory as a good
- commercial business—a merchant with a shop at his back can afford to
- laugh at all the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he usually refrains,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “True; he looks at life with proper seriousness, and without levity. Great
- fortunes are the result of serious attention to business. Levity leads to
- poverty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Except in the case of Mr. Garrick and a few others.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Garrick is certainly an exception. But, then, you must remember that
- he was a merchant before he became an actor, and his business habits never
- left him. I have heard it said that he got more out of his company for the
- salaries he paid than any theatre manager in Europe. But I did not come to
- you to talk about Mr. Garrick. I only meant to say that I know you are an
- observant girl. You do not merely glance at the surface of things, so I am
- sure that you will perceive much to respect in all the members of Mrs.
- Barlowe's family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure they are eminently—respectable, mamma; and I am glad that
- you have chosen me to be your companion this evening. I like going among
- such people—it is useful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stopped short in a way that should have aroused the suspicions of Mrs.
- Burney, but that lady was unsuspecting, she was only puzzled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Useful?” she said interrogatively.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny had no mind to explain that she thought herself rather good at
- describing people of the Barlowe type, and was ready to submit herself to
- more experience of them in case she might be encouraged to write another
- novel. But she knew that she would have some difficulty in explaining this
- to her stepmother, who herself was an excellent type.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Useful—perhaps I should rather have said 'instructive,'” she
- replied, after a little pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Instructive, yes; I am glad that you look at our visit so sensibly—I
- knew you would do so. Yes, you should learn much of the excellence of
- these people even in the short time that we shall be with them. And it is
- well that you should remember, my dear Fanny, that you are now quite old
- enough to have a house of your own to look after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was now Fanny's turn to seem puzzled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not quite see how—I mean why—why—that is, the
- connection—is there any connection between——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What I mean to say is that if at some time a suitor for your hand should
- appear, belonging to a respectable mercantile family, you will know,
- without the need of any telling, that your chances of happiness with such
- a man are far greater than they would be were you to wed someone whose
- means of getting a living were solely the practice of some of the arts, as
- they are called—music or painting or the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not doubt that, mamma,” said Fanny demurely. She was beginning to
- think that her stepmother was a far better type than she had fancied.
- </p>
- <p>
- And her stepmother was beginning to think that she had never given Fanny
- credit for all the good sense she possessed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The six o'clock tea-party in the Poultry was a function that Fanny
- Burney's quick pen only could describe as it deserved to be described. All
- the time that it was proceeding her fingers were itching to start on it.
- She could see Mr. Crisp smiling in that appreciative way that he had, as
- he read her smart sentences, every one of them with its little acid
- flavour, that remained on the palate of his memory. She was an artist in
- character drawing, and she was one of the first to perceive how excellent
- was the material for artistic treatment that might be found in the house
- of the English tradesman—the superior tradesman who aspired to be
- called a merchant. She neglected no opportunity of observing such houses;
- it was only when she was daily consorting with people of the highest rank
- that she became alarmed lest her descriptions should be accepted as proof
- that she was in the habit of meeting on terms of intimacy the types of
- English bourgeois which she had drawn.
- </p>
- <p>
- The ground-floor of Mr. Barlowe's house in the Poultry was given over to
- his business, which, as has already been mentioned, was that of a vendor
- of gold and silver lace. The walls carried shelves from floor to ceiling,
- and every shelf had its line of boxes enclosing samples of an abundant and
- valuable stock. The large room at the back was a sort of counting-house
- parlour, where Mr. Barlowe sat during the day with his son and an elderly
- clerk, ready for the customers, whose arrival was announced by the ringing
- of a spring.-bell. The scales for the weighing of the bullion and the
- worked gold and silver wire were suspended above, the broad counter in the
- shop, and from a hook between the shelves there hung a number of ruled
- forms with spaces for oz., dwt. and grs. On these were entered the
- particulars of the material supplied to the workmen who made up the lace
- as required. The upper part of the house was the home of the family, the
- spacious dining-room being in the front, its convex windows overhanging
- the busy thoroughfare. Opening off this apartment was an equally large
- drawingroom, and the furniture of both was of walnut made in the reign of
- Queen Anne, with an occasional piece of Dutch marqueterie of the heavier
- character favoured by the craftsmen of the previous sovereigns. The rooms
- themselves were panelled with oak and lighted by candles in brass sconces.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to Fanny, on entering the diningroom, that every seat was
- occupied. But she soon saw that there were several vacant chairs. It was
- the imposing row of figures confronting her that made the room seem full,
- although only six persons were present besides young Mr. Barlowe and his
- parents, who met Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughter at the door. Fanny
- greeted Thomas at once, and she could see that his eyes were beaming, but
- with a rather more subdued light than shone in them on that night when he
- had pressed her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was conscious, at the same time, of the approach of a big elderly
- gentleman, wearing a well-ordered wig, evidently newly curled, with a
- small lady clad in expensive and expansive black silk by his side. He was
- holding the tips of her fingers and they advanced in step as though they
- were starting to dance a minuet.
- </p>
- <p>
- They stood in front of her and her mother, while Thomas, moving to one
- side, said, making a low bow:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Burney, I have the honour to present to you my father, Mr. Barlowe,
- and my mother, Mrs. Barlowe. Mrs. Burney, madam, you are, I know, already
- acquainted with my parents.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little lady curtsied and her husband made a fine shopkeeper's bow,
- first to Fanny, then to Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- The formality of the presentation was overwhelming to poor Fanny. She
- could feel herself blushing, and she certainly was more overcome than she
- had been when Count Orloff, the Russian, visited the house in St. Martin's
- Street and she gazed with awe upon the thumb that had, it was rumoured,
- pressed too rigidly the wind-pipe of the unfortunate Peter. All that she
- could do was to try to hide her confusion by the deepest of curtsies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are sensible of the honour you have done us, madam,” said Mr. Barlowe
- when he had recovered himself—he was addressing Fanny, ignoring for
- the moment the presence of Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our son has spoken to us of you with great admiration, Miss Burney,” said
- the little lady. “But I protest that when I look at you I feel as King
- Solomon did when he saw the Queen of Sheba, the half has not been told.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, madam, you flatter me,” said Fanny, trying to put some force into a
- voice that her shyness had rendered scarcely audible.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her stepmother, perceiving how she was suffering, hastened to greet in a
- much less formal way their host and hostess; but she had considerable
- difficulty in bringing them down to her level. It seemed that they had
- prepared some high phrases of welcome for their younger visitor only, and
- they had no mind that they should be wasted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My stepdaughter is of a retiring nature,” said Mrs. Burney. “She is quite
- unused to such ceremony as you honour her with. Well, Martha, how is the
- rheumatism?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>RS. BARLOWE did
- not seem half pleased to be brought down so from the high parallels of
- etiquette among which she had been soaring. But she had lost her place,
- and before she could recover herself, Fanny had slipped behind her
- stepmother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ask me all about her rheumatism, madam, for 'tis me that knows more about
- it than her,” said Mr. Barlowe, with a jerk of his thumb and a wink in the
- direction of his wife. The homely enquiry of Mrs. Burney had clearly
- forced him to throw off all ceremony and treat the visit of Miss Burney as
- an ordinary domestic incident.
- </p>
- <p>
- His wife would have none of this, however; she said in tones of stiff
- reproof:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Barlowe, you forget that the young lady has not been presented to
- Brother Jonathan or the Alderman. Thomas, it is for you to usher the lady
- into the presence of your uncles and aunts. Pray be not remiss, Thomas.
- There is no excuse for such an omission.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was only waiting until you had finished, ma'am,” said Thomas.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have finished,” she replied, with a stiff nod. “To be sure, 'twas my
- intention to express, in what I trust would be appropriate terms, our
- happiness in welcoming Miss Burney to our humble home; a few phrases of
- this sort were not thought out of place when I was young; but it appears
- that your father knows better what is <i>comme il faut</i> and <i>haut ton</i>
- than me. Bring the young lady forward, Thomas.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The younger Thomas looked dubiously from his mother to his father. He was
- uncommonly like an actor who had forgotten his part, Fanny thought—he
- had no initiative. Fanny herself was more at home than any of the
- household. While the young man hesitated, she walked up the room as if she
- meant to present herself to the six figures that sat in a row at the
- farther end.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thomas was beside her in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ask your pardon, Miss Burney,” he said. “But I knew that mamma had at
- least two more welcomes for your ear, and I feared that she had forgot
- them. Do not you think that mamma speaks well? Perhaps it would be unjust
- to judge her by what she said—she only made a beginning. You will be
- delighted when you are going away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny felt that this prediction was certain to be realized.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, mamma's good-byes are as well worded as her greetings,” he
- continued; “a clergyman could scarcely better them; and I hope——”
- </p>
- <p>
- But now they were face to face with the six figures sitting in a row, and
- as his conversation was only designed as an accompaniment to the march of
- Fanny to this position, there was no reason to continue it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The figures were of two men and four ladies. The former were middle-aged
- and bore an expression of gravity that a judge might have envied. Their
- dress was sombre, but of the finest material possible to buy, and each of
- them was painfully conscious of being in unusual garments. Of course,
- Fanny saw in a moment that they were merchants wearing the garments in
- which they attended church.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of the four ladies, three were elderly and the fourth much younger. They
- wore their hair built up in a way that suggested that they desired to
- follow the fashion but had not the courage to complete the scheme with
- which they had started. The long and thin and highly-coloured feathers
- which crowned the stunted structures on their heads gave them the
- appearance of a picture of unfamiliar birds. Their dresses were extremely
- glossy and of an expensive material, but there was an eccentric note about
- all that made them seem not impressive as they should have been, but
- almost ludicrous. The youngest lady in the row showed unmistakable signs
- of being given to simpering. She had gone much further than the others of
- the party in the architecture of her hair, but that was possibly because
- the material at her command was more abundant. The dressing of her hair,
- however, was by no means in sympathy with the style of her garments, the
- latter being simple and indeed rather too girlish for the wearer, who
- looked between twenty-five and thirty.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an extraordinary ordeal that confronted Miss Burney, for young Mr.
- Barlowe began presenting her to the group, starting from his left and
- working slowly to the last of the row on the right. There was she with the
- young man standing close to her, but sideways, doing the formalities of
- presenting her, while his father and mother stood behind to see that he
- omitted nothing. Mrs. Burney, a little way apart, was alternately smiling
- and frowning at the ceremonial. She could see, from observing the effect
- that the whole business was producing upon Fanny, that the Barlowes were
- defeating their own ends, assuming that they desired Fanny to become a
- member of their family. These absurd formalities were, Mrs. Burney knew,
- quite out of place in a private house. But what could she do to cut them
- short? She had made an attempt before, and it was received in anything but
- a friendly spirit by their hostess, so that she did not feel inclined to
- interfere again: the thing must run its course, she felt, reflecting upon
- it as though it were a malady. There was no means of curtailing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- And its course was a slow one for the unhappy victim.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Burney, I have the honour to present my aunt on my mother's side—Mrs.
- Alderman Kensit,” droned Thomas, and the lady on the extreme left rose at
- the mention of her name and made a carefully prepared curtsey, while the
- sky-blue feather in her hair jerked awkwardly forward until the end almost
- touched her nose.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Proud to meet Miss Burney, I vow,” said she as she rose; and anyone could
- see from the expression on her face that she was satisfied that she had
- gone far in proving her claim to be looked on as a lady of fashion. She
- had never said “I vow” before, and she knew that it had startled her
- relations. She felt that she could not help that. Miss Burney would
- understand that she was face to face with someone who had mingled with the
- best.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And this is Aunt Maria, father's sister, Mrs. Hutchings,” came the voice
- of Thomas, and the second lady bobbed up with quivering feathers and made
- a well-practised curtsey. She did not trust herself to speak. Having heard
- her neighbour's “I vow,” she knew that she could not go farther. She would
- not compete with such an exponent of the mysteries of <i>haut ton</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And this is Alderman Kensit of the Common Council; he is my uncle on my
- mother's side—mother is a Kensit, you know,” resumed Thomas. “And
- this is Aunt Jelicoe. My mother's sister married Mr. Jelicoe, of Tooley
- Street. And this is my cousin, Miss Jelicoe. I am sure that you will like
- Miss Jelicoe, Miss Burney, she is so young.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The youngest lady of the group simpered with great shyness, concealing
- half her face with her fan and holding her head to one side, and then
- pretending to be terribly fluttered. Her curtsey was made in a flurry, and
- with a little exclamation of “Oh, la!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Another uncle only remained to be presented; he turned out to be Mr.
- Jonathan Barlowe, and he was, Thomas whispered half audibly to Fanny, in
- trade in the Indies.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was all over, curtsies and bows and exclamations—echoes of the
- world of fashion and elsewhere—she had been presented to every
- member of the row and they had resumed their seats, while she hastened to
- the side of her stepmother, hot and breathless. She had never before been
- subjected to such an ordeal. She had gladly agreed to accompany her
- stepmother to this house, for she hoped thereby to increase her
- observation of a class of people who repaid her study of them; but she had
- no notion that she should have to vacate her place as an Observer and take
- up that of a Participator. She was to pay dearly for her experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was burning, her stepmother could see; and she believed that this was
- due to her mortification on noticing that the dress of the ladies was
- infinitely more expensive than hers. That would be enough to make any
- young woman with ordinary susceptibilities indignant, she felt; and she
- herself, having had an opportunity of giving some attention to the
- expensive silks—she could appraise their value to a penny—was
- conscious of some chagrin on this account. She was almost out of patience
- with her old friend, Martha Barlowe, for making all this parade. The
- foolish woman had done so, she knew, in order to impress Miss Burney and
- to give her to understand that she was becoming associated with no
- ordinary family. But Mrs. Burney had seen enough since she had left Lynn
- for London to know that Fanny would not be the least impressed except in
- the direction of boredom by such an excess of ceremony in the house of a
- tradesman. She had heard Fanny's comment upon the gorgeous chariot which
- Sir Joshua Reynolds had set up, and she could not doubt what Fanny's
- opinion would be regarding this simple tea to which she had consented to
- go at the Barlowes' house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny had hurried to her side as soon as she had passed the row of uncles
- and aunts. She thought that the girl seemed overcome by the tedium of the
- formalities; but in a few minutes she saw that Fanny was on the verge of
- laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney could not say whether she would rather that her charge became
- moody or hilarious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eight separate curtsies,” murmured Fanny. “If there are to be the same
- number going away we should begin at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney thought it better not to reprove her for her flippancy just at
- that moment. She condoned it with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only a minute were the Burneys left to themselves. Mr. Barlowe, the elder,
- walked solemnly up to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going on nicely, eh?” he said in a confidential way to Mrs. Burney.
- “Everything being done decently and in order, madam. There has been no
- cause of offence up to the present, though there are three persons in that
- row who are as ready to see an offence where none is meant as a bunch of
- flax to break into flame when a spark falls on it. The young lady is
- discreet; if she had spoken to any one of them and not to the others,
- there would have been a flare-up. The touchy ones belong to my wife's
- family. She was a Kensit, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made this explanation behind his hand and in a whisper; he saw that his
- wife and son had been in earnest consultation together over some vexed
- question, and now they were hovering about, waiting to catch his eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I spoke too soon,” he said. “Something has gone astray, and the blame
- will fall on me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They hovered still nearer, and when he caught his eye, Thomas, the
- younger, stepped up to his father, saying something in his ear. Mrs.
- Barlowe went on hovering a yard or two away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would never do,” said her husband, evidently in reply to some
- remonstrance offered by young Thomas. “Never. The whole of the Kensits
- would take offence.” Then he turned again to Mrs. Burney, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Burney, madam, my son has just reminded me that I have been remiss
- in doing my duty. It was left to me to present you to our relations at the
- head of the room, but I failed to do so, my mind being too full of the
- pretty curtsies of Miss. But I am ready to make amends now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mrs. Burney had observed a little twinkle in Fanny's eye; she had no
- notion of going through the ordeal to which Fanny had been subjected,
- though the spectacle would doubtless have diverted Fanny hugely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir,” she said quickly to the waiting gentleman, “Nay, sir; you have
- forgotten that the presentation of a lady's daughter is equivalent to the
- presentation of the lady herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, is that so?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rest assured that it is,” said she, “and an excellent rule it is. It
- saves a repetition of a formality that is now frequently omitted in the
- private houses of simple folk like ourselves. Lend me your arm, sir. I
- shall soon make myself at home with Martha's relations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not give him a chance of discussing the point with her; she saw
- that he was about to state his objections to the rule she had invented for
- her own saving, and she was already in advance of him in approaching the
- row of figures on the chairs against the wall. Fanny heard her greeting
- them in turn without any formality, and once again Thomas, the younger,
- was by her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother was still hovering, glancing suspiciously, first at the young
- couple, and then at the hasty proceedings of her friend, Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was unlike father to make so grave an omission, Miss Burney,” he said,
- apologetically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that no harm will come of it,” said Fanny. “I am afraid that you
- found us very homely folk at our little house when you did us the honour
- of visiting us,” she added.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waved his hand indulgently, smiling over her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am always ready to take my place in such a circle,” said he, “though
- all the time I have a pretty full knowledge of the exchange of courtesies
- which should mark the introduction of a stranger. Oh, yes, I do not mind
- meeting some people as an equal, if they do not presume upon me
- afterwards. Your brother has gone back to sea, I hear?” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we shall not see him again for two years,” she replied. “Did he
- presume upon you, sir? If so, I will take it upon me to offer you a humble
- apology.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was considering if it might be possible that he was himself mistaken in
- regard to the ear-trumpet,” said Thomas.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Joshua's ear-trumpet? What of that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lieutenant Burney told me that it was a newly invented musical
- instrument, blown by the ear instead of the mouth. It was not until I had
- spoken of it to my father that I learned that the instrument was an
- ear-trumpet used by the deaf. I had never seen one before. I wonder if
- your brother intentionally deceived me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My brother is an officer in His Majesty's Fleet, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does that mean, miss?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It means that he would resent an accusation of falsehood, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray do not misunderstand me; I would shrink from accusing him of any
- conduct unworthy of an officer and a gentleman. But I was certainly
- deceived in fancying that the ear-trumpet was a musical instrument.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny made no reply. Her attention was directed to the entrance of two
- servants, one bearing a large urn, the other a dish on which lay an
- immense ham.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you have an appetite, Miss Burney,” said young Thomas. “If so, you
- will be able to stay it at that table, I'll warrant. Tea and cake may be
- well enough for such as dine at four, but for us, who are three hours
- earlier, something more substantial is needed. You will find that there is
- no stint in this house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny had an idea that the young man meant to suggest that she would find
- the tea-table at the Poultry to make a striking contrast to that of St.
- Martin's Street; and she was not mistaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither was he. A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined. When Fanny
- was formally conducted to a seat at the table by the side of young Mr.
- Barlowe, she found herself confronting such a variety of eatables as was
- absolutely bewildering. The first glance that she had at the dishes had a
- stunning effect upon her. Her impression was one of repletion; she felt
- that that glance was by itself equivalent to a hearty meal—a heavy
- meal. She felt inclined to turn her head away.
- </p>
- <p>
- But a moment afterwards she became alert. Here was food—ample food
- for an amusing letter to Mr. Crisp, and, later, for a chapter in a
- possible novel. She would let nothing escape her notice.
- </p>
- <p>
- She settled down to observe everything; and her stepmother, sitting
- opposite to her, knew from the twinkle in her eyes, that Thomas's suit was
- hopeless. She had heard that music is the food of love. She was not sure
- of this; but she was convinced that butcher's meat was not. That was where
- she saw that Thomas had made his mistake. He had placed too much
- dependence upon that great ham. He carved that ham with all the solemnity
- that should accompany such a rite, not knowing that he was slicing away
- all his chances of commending himself to Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was an
- interesting experience for Miss Burney, the writer of novels and the
- writer of letters. She had never sat down with such a company. They all
- had their table peculiarities. One uncle took ale for his tea, and drained
- a tankard before eating anything. The other claimed a particular cup on
- account of its capacity, and he held it to his mouth with one hand, while
- he passed a second down the table to Miss Burney, only spilling a spoonful
- or two in effecting the transit. One of the aunts refused to eat anything
- except cake, explaining, in order to relieve the anxiety of the company,
- the details of an acute attack of spleen from which she had recently
- suffered. The spleen and its humours formed the subject of a fitful
- conversation at her end of the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- But it was plain that everyone understood that the company had not come to
- the table for conversation, but for food. They did not converse, but that
- was not the same as saying the room was silent. There was a constant
- clanging of cups, a constant clatter of platters, a loud and insistent
- demand on the part of Thomas, the elder, and Thomas, the younger, for
- their guests to say what they would like to eat. This was followed by the
- handing of plates up and down the table, the sound of steel knives being
- sharpened, and the jingle of spoons in saucers. The Alderman, who was, of
- course, an authority on the etiquette of banquets, was formulating an
- elaborate explanation of the mistake that had been made in the service of
- the cold sirloin in advance of the venison pasty; and all the time his
- neighbour was striking the haft of his knife upon the table with a request
- for someone to pass him the pickles.
- </p>
- <p>
- All the ceremonial veneer had plainly left the company the moment they
- seated themselves, and they addressed themselves to the business of
- feeding. They had healthy appetites—even the lady who had had a
- recent attack of the spleen. She would eat nothing but cake, but she did
- eat cake with confidence. There was no sort of cake that she did not try,
- and her cup was kept in constant circulation from the tea-maker to herself—four
- times she had it refilled, Fanny could not help noticing, and she wondered
- what effect such a diet would have upon her capricious spleen. Fanny had
- an inward hint or two that she had observed quite enough of the party to
- serve her purpose, and she began to count the moments until she might be
- able to steal away without offending the susceptibilities of her
- over-hospitable host and hostess. She hoped that her stepmother would
- listen to her plea of weariness and take her back to St. Martin's Street—to
- the music of St. Martin's Street—to the quiet of St. Martin's
- Street.
- </p>
- <p>
- The most solid hour of her life had, however, to elapse before her
- fellow-guests pushed their plates (empty) away from them, and Mrs. Barlowe
- said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid you have made a poor tea, Miss Burney; but if you cannot be
- persuaded to have a slice of ham—my son's ham, I call it, for 'tis
- he who picks it out of the curer's stock whenever we have a party—if
- you still refuse it, we might go to the drawing-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny was on her feet in an instant. But not sooner than Alderman Kensit.
- That gentleman, rapping with the haft of his knife on the table, stood
- with a sheaf of notes in his hand and clearing his throat with great
- deliberation, started upon a speech in eulogy of Mr. Barlowe's merits as a
- host and as a merchant, and droned away for a good half-hour in praise of
- the virtue of hospitality, his text being on the possibility of
- entertaining angels unawares. Of course, it was only natural that, having
- got upon this track and with the word “angels” in his mind, he should go
- on to say that it was quite possible for a hospitably-inclined person to
- entertain an angel and be fully cognizant of the fact, and so forth: in a
- speech of well-worn platitudes such a suggestion seemed inevitable; and
- all eyes were directed to poor Fanny when it seemed impending. It was a
- great disappointment to everybody—except Fanny and her stepmother—when
- the orator skipped the expected phrases, and went on to describe a
- business visit which he had once made to Spain, apropos of nothing in
- particular. His account of this feat was familiar to all his relations,
- but they listened to him without a murmur, only wondering when he would
- come to the angel and Miss Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- He never came to the angel and Miss Burney, for it so happened that he had
- turned over two pages of his notes when he should have only turned over
- one. The omitted platitude was on the first, and he failed to notice the
- absence of a platitudinal sequence in the heads of his discourse which he
- had jotted down during the day.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had seated himself, Mr. Barlowe, the elder, got upon his feet, but
- he had no notes, and not being a member of the Common Council, he was not
- a past-master of commonplaces. He was only dull for about five minutes
- instead of half an hour. He had risen with a view to repair his relative's
- omission of that obvious point about entertaining an angel by appointment
- in the shape of Miss Burney, but he lost himself before he managed to
- deliver it; it swam out of his ken with several other points the moment he
- got upon his legs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fully recognizing how narrow was the escape she had had, Fanny was
- resolved not to run any further chances. She was looking imploringly
- toward Mrs. Burney, trying to catch that lady's eye, but without success,
- and she was about to walk round the table to her side and to beg her to
- come away, when Mrs. Barlowe moved up to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Burney,” she said, “I am afraid you did not get anything you liked
- at the table: I saw that you scarce ate more than a morsel of cake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I assure you, madam, I had enough,” said Fanny. “Your cake was so tasty I
- had no mind to go away from it in search of other delicacies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad you liked it. I made it with my own hands,” said the hostess.
- “That cake was ever a favourite with Mr. Barlowe and my son. It pleases me
- to know that you and my son have tastes in common. He is a good son, is
- Thomas, though I say it that shouldn't; and he is making his way to the
- front by treading in his father's footsteps. Mr. Barlowe is not a Common
- Councilman, but his father, Thomas's grandfather, was for a year
- Deputy-Master of the Wyre Drawers' Company—his certificate still
- hangs on the wall of the drawing-room. You must see it. Thomas, you will
- show Miss Burney your grandfather's certificate as Deputy-Master.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like very much to see it,” said Fanny quickly, “but I fear that
- mamma will wish me to accompany her home at once. My sisters are alone
- to-night and they will feel lonely: we promised to return early.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will get Mrs. Burney's permission for you—so good an opportunity
- should not be thrown away,” said Mrs. Barlowe, giving the latter part of
- her sentence an unmistakable inflection as she looked toward her son and
- smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had gone round the table before Fanny could think of another excuse
- for evading the visit to the drawing-room in the company of Mr. Barlowe,
- the younger.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Mr. Barlowe, the younger, was still by her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doesn't Uncle Kensit make a fine speech?” he inquired. “He is always
- ready. I have heard it said that he speaks longer than any Alderman in the
- Council.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can quite believe it,” replied Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tis a wonderful gift,” said he—“to be always ready to say what one
- is expected to say. Though I did think that when he referred to the angels
- he meant to—to—go farther—I mean nearer-nearer home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Thomas might himself have gone farther had his mother not returned at that
- moment from her diplomatic errand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have prevailed upon Mrs. Burney to let you stay to see the
- certificate,” said she. “Thomas, you will conduct Miss Burney to the
- drawing-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure that mamma would wish to see the certificate also,” said Fanny.
- “I will ask her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no need, Miss Burney: we shall all join you later,” said Mrs.
- Barlowe.
- </p>
- <p>
- Poor Fanny saw that there was no use trying to evade the attentions of
- Thomas, and as she walked toward the folding doors by his side she was
- conscious of a silence in the room and of all eyes being turned upon her—smiles—such
- knowing smiles—and a smirk from the young lady. Fanny was aware of
- all, and what she was too short-sighted to see she was able to imagine.
- She was burning at the thought of all those people gazing at her in
- silence. It was the most trying moment of her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- She passed through the door which Thomas opened for her and closed behind
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad to have this opportunity, Miss Burney,” said he, when they were
- alone in the big half-lighted room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must hold your grandfather's certificate in high esteem, sir,” said
- she. “I suppose so high a place as he reached is but rarely attained by
- mortals. You will have to guide me to the document: I have very poor
- eyesight, as you must have noticed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is a great drawback,” said he. “But we will not talk about
- grandfather's certificate just yet, if you please: I have something to say
- to you that will, I hope, interest you even more than that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You surprise me, sir,” said Fanny icily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, I hope that you know me well enough not to be surprised by all that
- I have to reveal to you now that the opportunity has been given to me.
- Have you no inkling of what I am about to say, Miss Burney?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not the least, sir. I expected only to see that relic of your
- grandfather's honourable career.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, after meeting Uncle Kensit and Aunt Jelicoe, you do not feel
- interested in their families?” said he, in a tone of genuine surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny looked at him before she spoke, and there certainly was more than a
- note of casual interest in her voice as she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Their families? Oh, I should like above all things to hear about their
- families.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that you would,” said he, apparently much relieved. (She wondered
- if the relief that she felt was as apparent as his.) “Yes, I felt certain
- that you would welcome this opportunity of learning something about the
- Kensits and the Jelicoes. They are remarkable people, as you cannot have
- failed to perceive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a pause—-a pause that somehow had an interrogative tendency.
- She felt that he meant it to be filled up by her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are remarkable people—very remarkable,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are very fortunate in all our relations, Miss Burney,” said he with
- great solemnity. “But, of course, Uncle Kensit stands high above them all
- in force of character. A great man indeed is Alderman Kensit—a
- member of the Haberdashers' and Grocers' Companies as well as the City
- Council, and yet quite ready to meet ordinary persons as fellow-men. He
- had heard the name of your friend, Sir Joshua Reynolds, though not the
- name of Dr. Burney, and he was kind enough to say that he would have no
- objection in the world to meet either of these gentlemen. That shows you
- what sort of man he is—his fine, simple nature. 'If Dr. Burney or
- Sir Joshua Reynolds were duly presented to me, I should feel it my duty to
- be civil to him '—those were his exact words.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more there was an interrogative pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps they may be fortunate enough to meet him some day,” was all Fanny
- could trust herself to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would not say so much to them—he is very busy just now,” said
- Thomas hastily. “It would have to be arranged with care and thought—I
- would not like them to be disappointed. But if it would please you, I
- daresay a meeting could be brought about; meantime, I would not raise up
- any false hopes on the matter, if I were you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may depend on my preserving the strictest secrecy, Mr. Barlowe,” said
- Fanny. “I should think that I might even discipline myself to forget that
- such a person as Alderman Kensit existed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would perhaps be the safest course to pursue,” said he thoughtfully,
- and with an air of prudence that made him for the moment the subject of a
- description after Fanny's own heart. She felt that she could fool this
- young man as easily as her brother had fooled him. Surely he was made to
- be fooled, with his solemn airs and his incapacity to distinguish what is
- worthy from what is pompous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she continued, “Dr. Burney has had it intimated to him since the
- publication of his 'History' that the King was desirous of talking to him
- at Windsor, and I know that Sir Joshua is being visited daily by the
- Duchess of Devonshire and the Duchess of Ancaster, and it would be a great
- pity if my father were forced to write excusing himself to His Majesty on
- account of having to meet Alderman—Alderman—I protest that I
- have already forgotten the gentleman's name—nay, do not tell it to
- me; I might be tempted to boast of having met him, and if I did so in Sir
- Joshua's presence, his beautiful Duchesses would be forlorn when they
- found that he had hurried away on the chance of meeting the Alderman. And
- now, sir, I think that I shall return to Mrs. Burney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I have not told you half of what I can tell about our family,” he
- cried. “I have said nothing about my aunts—I have four aunts and
- eleven cousins. You would surely like to hear of my cousins. They do not
- all live in London. I have three as far away as Lewes; their name is
- Johnson. My mother's youngest sister married a Johnson, as you may have
- heard. I believe that some objection was raised to the match at first, but
- it turned out quite satisfactory.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is pleasant to know that; and so, sir, as we have come to this point,
- don't you think that we had better adjourn our conference?” said Fanny.
- “It would be doing the Johnson family a grave injustice were you to
- attempt to describe their virtues within the time that is left to us, and
- that would be the greatest catastrophe of all. Besides, I came hither all
- unprepared for these revelations. If you had hinted at what was in store
- for me I would, of course, have disciplined myself—forewarned is
- forearmed, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Burney had received many a lesson from Mr. Garrick, from the days
- when he had come to entertain her in the nursery, in the art of fooling,
- and she was now quite capable of holding her own when she found herself in
- the presence of so foolable a person as this egregious young man. But the
- game was apt to become wearisome at the close of an evening when she had
- suffered much, and when the subject of her raillery had shown himself to
- be incapable even of suspecting her of practising on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But there is Aunt Jelicoe; I should like to tell you something of Aunt
- Jelicoe,” pleaded Thomas. “Without any of the advantages of her parents,
- Aunt Jelicoe—and—oh, I have something more to say to you—not
- about them—about ourselves—you and me—I was nearly
- forgetting—you will stay——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One cannot remember everything, Mr. Barlowe,” said Fanny, with her hand
- on the knob of the door. “You have done very well, I think, in remembering
- so much as you have told me. As for ourselves—you have quite
- convinced me of my own insignificance—and yours also, sir. You would
- be doing us a grave injustice were you to speak of us so soon after your
- estimable relations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you are right,” said he, after a few moments of frowning thought.
- “Yes. I see now that it might have been wiser if I had begun with
- ourselves and then——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny had turned the handle. She re-entered the dining-room, and the
- moment that she appeared silence fell upon the company, and once again she
- was conscious of many eyes gazing at her and of horrid smiles and a smirk.
- That was another ordeal for the shy little Miss Burney—it was an
- evening of ordeals.
- </p>
- <p>
- She walked straight across the room to her stepmother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am ready to go away now,” she said. “We have never stayed at any house
- so long when we only came for tea. I am tired to death.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took care, of course, that Mrs. Burney only should hear her; and Mrs.
- Burney, being well aware that Fanny was not one to complain unless with
- ample cause, charitably interposed between her and Mrs. Barlowe, whom she
- saw bearing down upon her from the other side of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fanny and I will say our good-night to you now, my dear Martha,” she
- said. “You have treated us far too kindly. That must be our excuse for
- staying so long. When people drop in to tea they do not, as a rule, stop
- longer than an hour, as you know. But you overwhelmed us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was hoping—” began Mrs. Barlowe, trying to get on to Fanny, but
- by the adroitness of Mrs. Burney, not succeeding. “I was hoping—you
- know what I was hoping—we were all hoping—expecting—they
- were in the drawing-room long enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney gave her a confidential look, which she seemed to interpret
- easily enough. She replied by a confidential nod—the nod of one who
- understands a signal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mum it shall be, then,” she whispered. “Not a word will come from me,
- simply good-night; but we could all have wished—never mind, Thomas
- will tell us all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney allowed her to pass on to Fanny, having obtained her promise
- not to bother the girl—that was how Mrs. Burney framed the promise
- in her own mind—and Mrs. Barlowe kept faith with her, and even
- persuaded Alderman Kensit, who was approaching them slowly with a sheaf of
- notes in his hand, to defer their delivery in the form of a speech until
- the young woman had gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- And thus the visitors from St. Martin's Street were able to escape going
- through the formality of taking leave of all the party. They shook hands
- only with their host and hostess and their son, curtseying very politely
- to the company of relations.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are warm-hearted people, but their weakness for ceremony and the
- like is foolish enough,” said Mrs. Burney to Fanny, when they were safe
- within the hackney carriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, indeed, there is no harm in any of them,” she said. “They may be a
- little foolish in thinking that the Poultry is St. James's Palace or
- Buckingham House. The only one among them who is an arrant fool is the
- son. You saw how his mother made it up that he should lead me into the
- other room?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was maladroitly done indeed. What had he to say to you when he got you
- there, I wonder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He had nothing to say to me except that his uncles were second in all the
- virtues and all the talents to no man in town, and that his aunts and
- cousins—but he did not get so far in his praise of his aunts and
- cousins; I fled. Oh, did you see him cut slices off the ham?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny laughed quite pleasantly, with a consciousness of having at her
- command the material on which to found a scene that would set her sisters
- shrieking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, if Mr. Garrick had but seen him carve that ham!” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish that Mr. Garrick would give all his attention to his own affairs
- and leave us to manage ours in our own way,” said Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What? Why, what had Mr. Garrick to do with our visit to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Twas Mr. Garrick who continued his fooling of Mr. Kendal, sending him
- all over the town trying to make matches. He believes that he is under a
- debt of gratitude to Mr. Garrick and your father for the happiness he
- enjoys with his bride.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he suggested that a match might be made between someone in St.
- Martins Street and someone in the Poultry? But how does Mr. Kendal come to
- be acquainted with the Barlowes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His wife was a Johnson before she married her first husband, and the
- Johnsons are closely connected with the Barlowes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Young Mr. Barlowe was just coming to the family history of the Johnsons
- when I interrupted him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was he coming to any other matter that concerned you more closely, think
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny laughed again, only much longer this time than before. She had to
- wipe her eyes before she could answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear mamma,” she said, “you would laugh as heartily if you had seen him
- when he suddenly recollected that in his eagerness to make me acquainted
- with the glories of the Kensits and the abilities of the Johnsons, he had
- neglected the object of his excursion to that room with my poor self,
- until it was too late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I doubt it,” said Mrs. Burney. “I do not laugh at incidents of that sort.
- I lose patience when I hear of a young man neglecting his chances when
- they are offered to him. But had he ever a chance with you, Fanny?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not the remotest, dear mamma. If he had remembered to speak in time, and
- if he had spoken with all the eloquence of his admirable uncle, the
- Alderman, he would not have succeeded. If Thomas Barlowe were the last man
- in the world I should e'en die an old maid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a foolish thing for you to say. You may die an old maid for that.
- But indeed when I saw young Mr. Barlowe in his home, I perceived that he
- was not for you. I could not see you a member of that family, worthy
- though they may be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think if a girl loves a young man with all her heart she will agree to
- marry him, however worthy may be his family,” said Fanny. “But I am not
- that girl, and young Mr. Barlowe is not that man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I daresay that is how you feel,” said the elder lady. “But you must not
- forget, Fanny, that you are no longer a girl; it is quite time that you
- had a house of your own.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is true, dear mamma, but for the present I am happy in living in
- your house, and I ask for nothing better than to be allowed to stay in
- your service.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is all very well, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, do not introduce that 'but'—life would be thoroughly happy if
- it were not for its 'buts.' Here we are in Leicester Fields. I feel as if
- I should like a roast apple for supper, to put a pleasant taste in my
- mouth at the close of the longest day I can remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They entered the parlour on the ground floor, and found Lottie and Susy
- roasting apples on the hearth, while Dr. Burney sat in his chair reading.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not expect you back so soon,” said Mrs. Burney to her husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not mean to return for another hour,” said he, “but Sir Joshua left
- early and brought me with him in his coach. He cut his evening short in
- order to get back to a book which he affirms is the best he has read since
- Fielding.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would have to be a good book to take the attention of Sir Joshua,”
- said Mrs. Burney. “Did you hear what was its name?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is called 'Evelina,' I believe,” replied Dr. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A novel, of course. I remember hearing the name some time ago,” said his
- wife. “'Evelina'; yes, it has a familiar sound. I cannot recollect at this
- moment who it was that mentioned it to me. I believe I told you of it at
- the time, Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not remember your telling me that anyone had mentioned it to you;
- but I am nearly sure that that was the name of the novel advertised in the
- <i>Chronicle</i>—you read out all about it after breakfast one
- morning,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are quite right—that was how I got the name in my mind. Now you
- can have your roasted apple, child. But if you are hungry you have only
- yourself to thank for it. Don't bend so over the fire, Susy; your face is
- frightfully fed—so, for that matter, is Lottie's. No, thanks, you
- need not roast one for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OME weeks had
- passed since Cousin Edward had brought his exhilarating news that the book
- was being asked for at the libraries, and during this interval, Fanny had
- heard nothing of its progress. She had applied in the name of Mr. Grafton
- for a copy to be addressed to the Orange Coffee House, but Mr. Lowndes had
- paid no attention to her request, Edward found out on going to the Coffee
- House, so it seemed plain to Fanny that the book was not making the stir
- in the world that her cousin's report from the libraries had attributed to
- it. But here was a distinct proof that it had at last reached their own
- circle, and somehow Fanny and her sisters felt that this meant fame.
- Somehow they had come to think of the readers of the book as being very
- remote from them—people whom they were never likely to meet; they
- had never thought of the possibility of its being named under their own
- roof by anyone not in the secret of its authorship. But now the strange
- thing had come to pass: it was not only named by their father, but named
- with the most extraordinary recommendation that it could receive!
- </p>
- <p>
- What! Sir Joshua was not only reading it, but he had curtailed his stay at
- the club in order to get home to continue it! Sir Joshua had actually been
- content to forsake the society of his brilliant friends, every one of them
- more or less notable in the world, in order that he might read the story
- which Fanny Burney had written all out of her own head!
- </p>
- <p>
- The idea was simply astounding to the girls and to Fanny herself as well.
- It meant fame, they were assured, and they were right. It took such a hold
- upon Susy and Lottie as prevented them from giving any attention to
- Fanny's amusing account of the evening at the Barlowes'; and the fun she
- made—modelled on Mr. Garrick's best nursery style—of the
- Alderman and Mrs. Alderman, with the speeches of the one and the St.
- Giles's curtsies of the other, went for quite as little as did her
- imitation of the bobbing of the crown feathers of the aunts and the
- rustling of their dresses, the material of which was too expensive to be
- manageable: the thick silk was, Fanny said, like a valuable horse,
- impatient of control. She showed how it stood round them in massive folds
- when they curtsied, refusing to respond to the many kicks they dealt it to
- keep it in its place.
- </p>
- <p>
- From the recalcitrant silks—with illustrations—Fanny had gone
- to the slicing of the ham, the hacking at the great sirloin, the clatter
- of the teacups, and the never-ending passing of plates and pickles, of
- mustard and pepper and salt—the things were moving round the table
- as the planets were shown circling round the sun in the clever invention
- called the Orrery, after one of the titles of the Earl of Cork—only
- the noise made by the perpetual handing on of the things did not suggest
- the music of the spheres, Fanny said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her descriptions, bright though they were and full of apt metaphors, went
- for nothing. Her sisters were too full of that wonderful thing which had
- happened—the great Sir Joshua Reynolds, President of the Royal
- Academy, the painter of all the most beautiful duchesses that were in the
- world, to say nothing of beautiful ladies of less exalted rank—this
- great man, who was so busy conferring immortality upon duchesses that he
- was compelled to keep in his painting-room on Sundays as well as every
- other day, and who had never been known to suspend his work except upon
- the occasion of the death of his dear friend Dr. Goldsmith—this man
- was actually at that very moment sitting in his arm-chair eagerly reading
- the words which their sister Fanny had written!
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought was too wonderful for them. The effect that it had on them was
- to make them feel that they had two sisters in Fanny, the one a pleasant,
- homely, hem-stitching girl, who could dance the Nancy Dawson jig for them
- and take off all the people whom she met and thought worth taking off; the
- other a grave authoress, capable of writing books that great men forsook
- the society of other great men to read!
- </p>
- <p>
- They looked on her now with something of awe in their eyes, and it was
- this lens of awe which, while magnifying her work as a writer where it
- came into their focus, made them fail to appreciate her fun, for they saw
- it, as it were, through the edges of the lens and not through the centre.
- </p>
- <p>
- She quickly perceived the lack of sympathy of her audience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is the matter with you both to-night?” she cried—they were now
- upstairs in her room, and she knew that at the same moment Mrs. Burney was
- giving her husband an account of the party. “What is the matter with you
- both? Has anything happened when I was away to put you out? Why don't you
- laugh as usual? I am sure I never told you anything half so funny as this,
- and I was thinking all the way coming home that it would make you roar,
- and now you sit gravely looking at me and not taking in half I say. Pray,
- what is the matter?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing is the matter, dear,” said Lottie. “Nothing—only I can't
- help thinking that Sir Joshua is at this moment sitting eagerly reading
- the book that you wrote—you, sister Fanny, that no one who comes to
- us notices particularly. I can hardly bring myself to believe that there
- is only one Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny looked at her strangely for some moments, and then said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not blame you, dear; for I am myself of the same way of thinking: I
- cannot realize what the padre told us. I cannot think of myself as the
- Fanny Burney whose book is keeping Sir Joshua out of his bed. That is why
- I kept on harping like a fool on the single string of that odious party. I
- feel that I must keep on talking, lest my poor brain should give way when
- I sit down to think if I am really Fanny Burney, who was ever happiest
- sitting unnoticed in a corner when people came to this house, or laughing
- with you all up here. I cannot think how it would be possible for me to
- write a book that could be read by such as Sir Joshua.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better think nothing more about it,” said Susy, who fancied she saw a
- strange look in Fanny's eyes. “What's the good of brooding over the
- matter? There's nothing strange about Sir Joshua's reading the book: I
- read it and I told you that it was so lovely everybody would want to read
- it. Besides, Sir Joshua may only have mentioned it for want of a better
- excuse to leave the club early; so you may not be so famous after all,
- Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Susy's well-meant attempt to restore her threatened equilibrium was too
- much for Fanny. But there was a considerable interval before her laughter
- came. She put an arm about Susy, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have spoken the truth, my dear sister. I have no right to give myself
- airs until we find out exactly how we stand. But if Fanny Burney, the
- dunce, should find out to-morrow that Sir Joshua has not really been kept
- out of his bed in order to read 'Evelina' by Fanny Burney, the writer, the
- first Fanny will feel dreadfully mortified.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One thing I can promise you,” said Susy, “and this is that Susannah
- Burney will not be kept out of her bed any longer talking to Fanny Burney
- about Fanny Burney's novel, whether Fanny Burney be mortified or not. We
- shall know all about the matter when we go to the Reynolds's to-morrow. In
- the meantime, I hope to have some hours of sleep, though I daresay that
- Fanny Burney will lie awake as a proper authoress should do, thinking over
- the exciting party in the Poultry and wondering how she will work in a
- description of it in her next novel. Good-night, and pleasant dreams! Come
- along, Lottie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Fanny Burney did just what her sister had predicted she would do. She
- recalled some of the incidents of the tea-party in the Poultry, having
- before her, not as she had in the hackney coach, the possibility of
- describing them in a letter to Mr. Crisp, but of introducing them into a
- new book.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before she slept she had made up her mind to begin a new book; for she now
- found it comparatively easy to believe that Sir Joshua was reading
- “Evelina” with great interest. At any rate, she would hear the next day
- when she should go to the Reynolds's, whether Sir Joshua had read it, or
- whether he had only made it an excuse for getting home early in the night,
- so that he might arise early and refreshed to resume his painting of the
- duchesses.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the next evening, when, with her sisters and their stepmother she
- tripped along the hundred yards or so of Leicester Fields that lay between
- their house and that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, all thoughts of the book
- which she had written and of the book which she meant to write, vanished
- the moment that she was close enough to Sir Joshua's to hear, with any
- measure of clearness, the nature of the singing, the sound of which fell
- gently upon her ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “H'sh!” said Mrs. Burney, stopping a few feet from the door. “H'sh! some
- one is singing. I did not know that it was to be a musical party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is Signor Rauzzini,” said Lottie. “I would know his voice anywhere. We
- are lucky. There is no one who can sing like Signor Rauzzini.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We should have come earlier,” said Mrs. Burney. “But when Miss Reynolds
- asked us she did not say a word about Rauzzini. And now we cannot ring the
- bell, lest we should interrupt his song.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood there with the three girls, under the lighted windows of the
- house, listening to the silvery notes of the young Roman that floated over
- their heads, as if an angel were hovering there, filling their ears with
- celestial music. (The simile was Susy's.) The music sounded celestial to
- the ears of at least another of the group besides Susy; and that one
- thought:
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can anyone trouble oneself with such insignificant matters as the
- writing of books or the reading of books, when such a voice as that is
- within hearing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, all at once, she was conscious of the merging of the two Fanny
- Burneys into one, and of the existence of a new Fanny Burney altogether—the
- Fanny Burney who was beloved by the celestial singer, and this was
- certainly the most wonderful of the three.
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought thrilled her, and she knew that with it the truth of life had
- come to her: there was nothing worth anything in the world save only
- loving and being loved.
- </p>
- <p>
- And this truth remained with her when the song had come to an end, soaring
- to a high note and dwelling on it for an enraptured space and then dying
- away, so gradually that a listener scarcely knew when it had ceased.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny's imagination enabled her to hear, at the close, the drawing-in of
- the breath of the people in the room where the song had been sung: she
- knew that up to this point they had been listening breathlessly to every
- note. She could hear the same soft inspiration—it sounded like a
- sigh—by her sisters and their stepmother. A dozen wayfarers through
- Leicester Fields had been attracted to-the house by the sound of the
- singing, and now stood timidly about the doorway. They also had been
- breathless. One woman murmured “Beautiful!” Fanny could understand how the
- word had sprung to her lips, but what could the man mean, who, almost at
- the same moment, said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my God! how could I have been so great a fool?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was startled, and glanced at him. He was a young man, shabbily
- dressed, and on his face there were signs of dissipation. He was
- unconscious of her glance for some moments, then with a slight start he
- seemed to recover himself. He took off his hat with a respectful bow, and
- then hurried away. But Fanny saw him turn when he had gone about a dozen
- yards into the roadway, and take off his hat once more, with his eyes
- looking up to the lighted windows of the house. He was saluting the singer
- whom he had not seen, and to Fanny the act, following the words which he
- had unwittingly uttered, was infinitely pathetic.
- </p>
- <p>
- It appeared that Mrs. Burney herself received the same impression. Fanny
- was surprised to hear her say:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor fellow! he was once a gentleman!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they entered Sir Joshua's house and were shown upstairs to the great
- painting-room, where Sir Joshua and his sister Frances were receiving
- their guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was quite a small party—not more than a score of people
- altogether, and all seemed to be acquainted with one another. Fanny knew
- several of them; one girl, however, she had never seen before, but she
- knew who she was in a moment. She was standing at one end of the room
- chatting to Mrs. Sheridan, and on the wall just above her there hung the
- picture of a girl in oriental costume and wearing a turban. Fanny Burney
- had often looked at it in admiration, and Sir Joshua had encouraged her,
- affirming that it was the best picture he had ever painted and that it
- would remain in his painting-room until the day of his death. She looked
- at it now with renewed interest, for the original was the girl standing
- beneath it—the beautiful Miss Homeck whom Oliver Goldsmith had
- called the Jessamy Bride. Several years had passed since Sir Joshua had
- painted that portrait, from which Miss Burney had recognized the original;
- and fifty years later another lady recognized the same face, still
- beautiful in old age, from having seen merely a print of the same picture.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Fanny turned her eyes from the portrait it was to admire the features
- of Mrs. Sheridan. Mrs. Sheridan was gazing somewhat pensively at the
- picture of St. Cecilia which was hanging a little way from that of Miss
- Horneck, and Fanny was near enough to her to perceive how her expression
- grew into that of the face in the picture. At first sight, it did not
- appear to Fanny that the two faces were the same, and it seemed as if Mrs.
- Sheridan perceived this, and determined to vindicate Sir Joshua's skill by
- assuming the pose of the picture. But Miss Burney knew that the beautiful
- lady had done it unconsciously—that it was simply because she was
- recalling the days when she had sat for the painter, and had obeyed his
- injunction to lose herself among the simple chords of the aria that was
- sacred to her since her sister died with the strain upon her lips—“I
- know that my Redeemer liveth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny gazed at the exquisite face, illuminated with what seemed to her to
- be a divine light, and for the first time she knew something of what it
- was to be a great painter. After “St. Cecilia” the other portraits on the
- walls seemed paltry. There was no divine light in the faces of the
- duchesses. There was life in them; they breathed and smiled and posed and
- looked gracious, but looking at them one remained on earth and among
- mortals. But St. Cecilia carried one into the glorious company of the
- immortals. “She drew an angel down,” was the line that flashed through
- Miss Burney's mind at that moment. An angel? A whole celestial company.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OU are looking at
- her—I, too, have been looking at her; she is divine,” came a voice
- beside her. She did not need to turn to see the speaker. She had been
- longing for the sound of his voice for many days. She had not even a
- chance of hearing him sing before this evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is St. Cecilia herself,” said she. “You have seen Sir Joshua's
- picture?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My countryman, Piozzi, pointed it out to me,” he replied. “I was
- enraptured with the picture. But when the living St. Cecilia entered the
- room and I heard her story, I felt ready to throw myself at her feet and
- implore her as the guardian of poor singers to take me to her care. Her
- face has on it the bloom of a flower dropped fresh from the garden of God—angelic
- beyond the voice of man to describe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke, as usual, in French to Fanny, but he had greeted Mrs. Burney in
- English, and he tried to translate his last phrase to her into the same
- language. He failed after the first word or two, and begged Miss Burney to
- complete his task for him. She did so, and her stepmother smiled and
- nodded in appreciation of his comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is indeed a beautiful creature,” said Mrs. Burney. “I heard her sing
- more than once at Bath. People went mad about her beauty and her singing,
- and truly I never heard any singing that so affected me. It was said that
- she hated to let her voice be heard in public. Her father, Mr. Linley,
- made her sing: she was a gold mine to Mr. Linley and he knew it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Signor Rauzzini had listened attentively and picked up all that she had
- said without the aid of a word from Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But now she will never be heard again no more,” said he in English. “And
- she is right in making such a resolution, and her husband is a noble man
- to agree with her in this,” he continued, but in French to Fanny. “Picture
- that lovely creature placing herself on the level of such a one as the
- Agujari! sordid—vulgar—worldly! quarrelling daily with the <i>impresario</i>
- on some miserable question of precedence—-holding out for the
- largest salary—turning a gift which should be divine into gold! Oh;
- she was right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Signor Rauzzini no doubt thinks it a pity that such a voice should cease
- to give pleasure to the thousands it enchanted,” said Mrs. Burney, not
- being able to follow him in French.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, no; just the opposite,” cried Fanny. “He says he admires her the
- more for her resolution.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so glad. Pray tell him that I agree with him,” said Mrs. Burney. “A
- good woman will avoid publicity. Her home should be sufficient for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny did not need to translate the words, he grasped their meaning at
- once.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I agree with all of my heart, madame,” he cried. “I would not wish my
- mother or my sister to have their names spoken with freedom by everyone
- who paid a coin to hear them sing. I should think it—<i>come si
- chiamo?</i>—Ah! forgive my poor English.” He went off into French
- once more—“Pray tell madame that I think it would be odious to hear
- the name of my mother or my sister tossed from man to man as they toss the
- name of a woman who comes before the public. I think the woman who would
- hide herself from all eyes as a violet hides itself under a leaf is the
- true woman. The shy, timid, retiring one—I know her—I esteem
- her. I could love no other. I have a deep respect for the woman of the
- Orient who would die sooner than let her face be seen by a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does he say—I like his eagerness?” asked Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny translated some of his phrases, and Mrs. Burney nodded and smiled
- her approval.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The bloom on the wing of a butterfly is a very tender thing,” resumed the
- Roman; “the breath of a man is sufficient to remove it—a single
- breath—and when the bloom has gone the charm of the beautiful
- creature has gone also.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not sure that I like the comparison to the butterfly,” said Fanny,
- smiling. “The butterfly is the emblem of all that is fickle—all that
- is idle except for its yielding to its fickleness. It is beautiful, but
- nothing else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am rebuked,” he said. “But with us the butterfly is the symbol of the
- life—of the soul. Assume that and you will, I think, see that I
- meant not to hint at the beauty of the frivolity, but at the beauty of the
- soul. I feel that a woman's life has on it the bloom of a butterfly's
- wing, and if that is once breathed on, its beauty is gone for ever—the
- woman's life is never again what it was—what it was meant to be. But
- if you wish, I will not go beyond the violet as my emblem of the best
- woman—my woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thank heaven that I have no voice,” said Fanny gently, after a pause.
- Young Mr. North-cote, Sir Joshua's pupil, had approached Mrs. Burney—his
- eye was on Susy—in order to tell her that tea was being served in
- the drawing-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney thanked him and took the arm that he offered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall all go in together,” said Mrs. Burney, with a sign to Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Rauzzini contrived to evade her eye by renewing his admiration of the
- “St. Cecilia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I could but reproduce in song the effect that flows from her face I
- should be the greatest singer in the world,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You need not envy her,” said Fanny. “Do you remember Mr. Handel's setting
- of 'Alexander's Feast '?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only an aria or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One of the lines came into my mind just now when I looked at that
- picture. 'She drew an angel down.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it was very apt. She would draw an angel down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; but the poet has another line before that one—it refers to a
- singer—'He raised a mortal to the skies.' That was the line which
- came to my mind when I heard you sing. You raise mortals to the skies.
- Your power is equal to that of St. Cecilia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, nay; that is what you have done. I have been uplifted to the highest
- heaven by you. When you are near me I cannot see anything of the world.
- Why have we not met more frequently? Ah, I forget—I am always
- forgetting that the months you spoke of have not yet run out. But I am not
- impatient, knowing that the prize will come to me in good time. I have
- been away at the Bath and Salisbury and Bristol and I know not where,
- singing, singing, singing, and now I go to Paris and Lyon for a few
- months, but you may be certain that I shall return to England—then
- the separating months shall have passed and you will welcome me—is
- not that so?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I can promise you—every day seems to make it more certain
- that I shall welcome you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My angel—my dream!——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He said the words—both long-drawn monosyllables in French—in a
- whisper that gave them the full force of passionate expression. He had
- need to whisper, for several people were in the room, and Mr. Boswell was
- among the number, and everyone knew that Mr. Boswell, as a gossip-monger,
- had no equal in town. He was always pimping and prying—nosing out
- germs of scandal—ever ready to make mischief by telling people all
- the nasty things other people had said of them. Mr. Boswell had his eye on
- them—and his ear. In addition, Mrs. Thrale, who had arrived late,
- had no idea of allowing the handsome Roman singer to waste himself with a
- nonentity like Miss Burney, and she was now perilously close to him whom
- she came to rescue.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the whisper and the expression imparted to it were enough for Fanny
- Burney. He might have talked for hours in his impassioned way without
- achieving the effect of his whispered exclamations.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Mrs. Thrale hastened up to his side full of her resolution to rescue
- him from the conversation with the insignificant person whom his good
- nature suffered to engage his attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, what is this?” cried the little lady who regarded herself with
- complacency as the soul of tact. “Have you explained to Signor Rauzzini
- that you are the unmusical member of the family, Miss Burney?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that he is aware of that fact already, madam,” replied Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet he is in close converse with you? He is the most good-natured man
- in town,” said Mrs. Thrale. “Does he hope to interest you when your father
- failed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has never ceased, to interest me, madam,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then he did not talk about music?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes; I think he said something about music.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, touching a note here and there, as one might in passing a
- harpsichord. Of course you could not have lived in Dr. Burney's house
- without being able to understand something of music. But we must not
- trespass upon Signor Rauzzin's courtesy, Miss Burney. Everyone is talking
- of him in the drawing-room—he must gratify the company by mingling
- with them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she addressed Rauzzini in French.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I promised to go in search of you, signor,” she said. “Madame Reynolds is
- distracted. I came on my mission famished—I had vowed, as the
- crusaders did, not to taste food or drink until I had succeeded in my
- emprise. May I ask you to have pity on me now and lead me to the
- tea-table?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned to ask Fanny to accompany them, but he found that she had
- slipped quietly away. She was already at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My duty was to Miss Burney, madame, but she has been frightened away,”
- said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, she is the shy one of the family, I believe,” said Mrs. Thrale. “I am
- sure that all the time you were so good-natured as to talk to her she was
- wishing that the floor would open and allow her to sink out of sight. She
- would have thought it much more good-natured on your part if you had taken
- no notice of her. I have scarcely spoken to her half a dozen times myself,
- though I have frequently been to her father's house. I cannot rack my
- brain to discover a congenial topic with such young people. Were you
- successful, do you think?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a gesture with his hands that might mean anything. Mrs. Thrale
- assumed that it meant nothing—that he felt he was not greatly
- concerned whether he had been successful in finding a congenial topic of
- converse with Miss Burney or not.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor girl!” she said. “She may have her dreams like other girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe she has—poor girl!” said he. “But I know that in her
- knowledge of music she goes deeper—soars higher than most young
- ladies who have submitted to lessons from a <i>maestro</i>—nay,
- higher than the <i>maestro</i> himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale looked doubtfully at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible that we are talking of two different people?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that is quite possible,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was referring to Miss Burney, the one of the family who does nothing
- except sew—her mother commends her sewing very highly. I fear that
- you actually believed that you were in converse with one of her sisters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madame,” said he, “it is my belief that the one who sews in a family is
- far more interesting than the one who sings. But Miss Burney need not, in
- my eyes, be any more than Miss Burney to be interesting, though she has
- taught me more of music than I ever learned before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is't possible? Oh, yes: I should remember that her father told me that
- she was his amanuensis—she made a neat copy of all his notes for the
- 'History of Music.' It is no wonder that she knows something about it.
- Such a good daughter! And the father took no trouble about her education.
- She did not know her letters till she was eight or nine, I believe—perhaps
- twelve. I don't believe that I ever exchanged half a dozen words with her
- before this evening; and as for men—you are the first man I ever saw
- taking any notice of her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face lit up strangely, Mrs. Thrale thought, at this revelation. He
- gave a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So much the better for her—so much the worse for the men,” said he.
- “And now, madame, if the tea has not become too strong, and if your hunger
- has not made you too weak to walk to the table, I should esteem it an
- honour to conduct you thither.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale smiled her acquiescence, and she entered the drawing-room on
- the arm of the singer. Nothing could have convinced her that he did not
- feel grateful to her for rescuing him from the position in which his good
- nature had placed him—by the side of the most insignificant young
- woman among all Sir Joshua's guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- She believed that she was increasing his debt of gratitude to her by
- keeping him with her for the next half-hour. Her sense of protecting him
- gave her naturally a sense of patronage, which was quite pleasant for her
- to experience, especially when she glanced round the room and saw several
- ladies of higher rank than she could pretend to, frowning in her
- direction. She knew how Signor Rauzzini was pestered by the attentions of
- such as these, and she could almost hear the well-bred sneers of her
- friends as they glanced at her and wondered if she never meant to release
- the unfortunate young man—she knew just what they would say, and she
- accepted their imaginary words as a real compliment to her protective
- powers. Her smile down the table was one of great complacency.
- </p>
- <p>
- She also noticed that the insignificant Miss Burney was glowing as she had
- never seen her glow before. Her face was rosy and her eyes were actually
- sparkling. Mrs. Thrale had never imagined that such eyes as Miss Burney's
- could sparkle, no matter what their provocation might be.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor girl! Poor child! Her head is turned, as I feared it would be when I
- saw the Rauzzini with her. She is the unhappy victim of his good nature.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the conclusion come to by the little lady whose ability to
- pronounce an opinion on such a matter was widely acknowledged; and coming
- to such a conclusion, she naturally commended all the more heartily the
- step which she had taken for separating the foolish girl and the
- fascinating young man.
- </p>
- <p>
- She would have waved aside any suggestion that might be made to her to the
- effect that the increase in Miss Burney's colouring and the light in her
- eyes was due to Miss Burney's overhearing the conversation between her
- mother and Sir Joshua respecting a book which he had stayed up all night
- to read and which he had just finished in time to receive his guests.
- </p>
- <p>
- The name of the book was “Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the
- World,” he said, and he was urging Mrs. Burney to follow his example and
- read it without further delay.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ANNY was at her
- stepmother's elbow while Sir Joshua gave her a full account of how he had
- been induced to send to Lowndes for this wonderful book on the
- recommendation of Mrs. Darner, whose portrait he was painting. Mrs. Darner
- had excused her unpunctuality at one of her sittings on the ground that
- she had become so interested in the fortunes of “Evelina” that she could
- not put the book down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get it for yourself, sir,” she had said, “and you will quickly
- acknowledge that my excuse is valid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I did not get it then,” said Sir Joshua. “I find it impossible
- to keep pace with the useful books that are printed in these days, and I
- have long ago given up novels. But when, the next day, Mrs. Darner came to
- sit to me with a woebegone countenance and the traces of tears on her
- cheeks, so that I could only paint her draping, and that, too, had a
- woeful droop in its folds—for let me tell you, madam, that a woman's
- dress is usually in sympathy with the mood of the wearer—when, I
- say, the lady entered my painting-room in this guise, I ventured to
- inquire if she was serious in her wish that I should depict her in the
- character of Niobe. 'Oh, sir,' she cried, ''tis all due to that horrid
- Branghton—he it is that has brought me to this.' 'The wretch!' said
- I. 'Have you no friend who will run him through the vitals? Where is he to
- be found, that I may arrange for his destruction?' 'He is the persecutor
- of my beloved Evelina,' she replied, 'and heaven only knows what is to
- become of the poor girl.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, madam, when I had thus brought before me the effect that the book
- had produced upon so natural a lady as Mrs. Darner, what was left for me
- but to buy it? And now you see the effect that it has had upon me,”
- continued Sir Joshua, “so you must e'en buy it also.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Sir Joshua,” said Mrs. Burney, “your case has furnished me with the
- strongest of reasons for not buying it. I would not allow a book into my
- house that would so turn me aside from my ordinary life and my daily
- business. What, sir, would you have me stay out of my comfortable bed for
- hours, in order that I might make myself more uncomfortable still by
- reading of the imaginary woes of a young woman who is nothing to me but a
- shadow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I promise you that you will find Evelina far from being a shadow,”
- said Sir Joshua. “She is a creature of flesh and blood, with a heart that
- beats so that you find your own heart keeping time with it, whether it
- pulsates slowly or fast. In short, Evelina lives. I have no patience with
- those attenuated figures that dance on the stage of so many of our new
- novel writers; I can see the stuffing of straw when their constant
- gyrating has worked a rip in their seamy side; creatures of rag and wire—they
- never deceive one for a moment—why, their very gyrations are not
- true to life. But Evelina lives. Some of the characters in the book are
- distasteful—some of them are vulgar, but the world is made up of
- distasteful and vulgar people, and a novel should be true to the world in
- which the characters are placed. Oh, that was where the greatness of poor
- Dr. Goldsmith was to be found. He would abate nothing of the vulgarity of
- the vulgar characters in his plays, because he meant them to live. The
- people hissed his vulgar bailiffs in his <i>Good-Natured Man</i>, and when
- Colman cut them out he himself restored them when Shuter played the piece
- for his benefit the following year, and everyone saw that they were true
- to life. The vulgarity of Tony Lumpkin and the Three Pigeons made Walpole
- shudder, but there they remain in the best comedy of our time, and there
- they will remain for ever. Oh, yes; the author of 'Evelina' knows what
- life is, and so his book will live.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who is the author of this surprising book?” asked Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a mystery,” replied Reynolds. “I sent to Lowndes, the bookseller,
- to inquire, and he pretended that he did not know. He could only say that
- he was a gentleman of note living in Westminster.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that is one of the booksellers' tricks to make their wares seem more
- attractive,” said she. “They know that a man in a mask awakens curiosity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is so; but 'Evelina' stands in need of no advertisement of such a
- nature. It would attract attention even though the name of Mr. Kenrick
- were attached to it. But everyone is dying to find out the name of the
- author; Mrs. Darner believes it to have been written by Horace Walpole,
- but only because 'The Castle of Otranto' was published without his name
- being on the title page.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a very cogent line of argument, it seems to me,” said Mrs. Burney.
- “Well, Sir Joshua, I hope you will enjoy a comfortable sleep to-night, now
- that you have the fortunes of that young lady off your mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my dear madam, I do assure you that my mind is not yet free from the
- effects of reading that book,” cried Reynolds. “I am more faithful to my
- friends in some books than to forget all about them when I lay them on the
- shelf. If they live, be assured that I live with them, and the thought of
- them is to me at times as pleasant as the thought of the best friends I
- have met in my daily life. I have laid 'Evelina' on a shelf in my memory—not
- one of the back shelves, but one that is near to me, so that I can console
- myself with her companionship when I am lonely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never heard you praise a book so heartily, sir,” said Mrs. Burney.
- “But I will beg of you not to mention it to any of my family, for if it
- has so unhinged you, what would it not do to those poor girls?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not catch all she had said, for she spoke in a voice which she did
- not mean to travel to Fanny or Susy, who were chatting to Miss Theophila
- Palmer, Sir Joshua's niece.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may depend on my telling them all I find out in regard to the
- author,” said he in a tone of assent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no,” she cried, getting nearer to the bell of his trumpet. “No, no; I
- want you to refrain from mentioning the book to them. I discourage all
- novel reading, excepting, of course, the works of Mr. Richardson, and
- perhaps one or two of Fielding, with some of the pages gummed together to
- prevent them from being read.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, to tempt people to read them,” said Reynolds. “What were we saying
- about the attractions of a mask? Well, my word for it, the attractions of
- a book without a name are as nothing compared with the attraction of
- gummed pages. But you will let them read 'Evelina,' and you will,
- moreover, read it yourself—yes, and you will all be the better and
- not the worse for doing so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale thought that Miss Burney looked flushed
- at this time, or that there was an unwonted sparkle in her eyes; for she
- had heard nearly every word that Sir Joshua had said, and she could
- scarcely contain herself for delight. For all her primness, she was at
- heart a merry schoolgirl, ready to break into a dance at good news, and to
- shout for joy when things had advanced as she had hoped they would. She
- felt that it was very hard on her that she could not throw her hat up to
- the ceiling of the room, as she had heard of Dr. Goldsmith's doing with
- his wig in the exuberance of his spirits in this same room—when Miss
- Reynolds was in her bed upstairs. It was very hard on her to be compelled
- to restrain her feelings; she was unconscious of the sparkle in her eyes,
- or of the pæony flush of her cheeks that Mrs. Thrale had noticed and was
- still noticing.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had never felt so happy in all her life. A short time before she had
- felt that everything in the world was insignificant in comparison with
- love; but now she realized that there was another joy worthy of
- recognition. She was not wise enough to perceive that the two emotions
- sprang from the same source—that the foundation of love is the
- impulse to create, and that the foundation of an artist's joy in fame is
- the knowledge that what he has created is recognized by the world. She was
- (fortunately) not wise enough to be able to analyse her feelings—to
- be wise enough to analyse one's feelings is to be incapable of feeling.
- All that she was conscious of at that moment was that all worth having in
- the world was hers—the instinct to create, which men call Love, the
- joy of obtaining recognition for the thing created, which men call Fame.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was no wonder that Mrs. Thrale saw that light in her face and in her
- eyes; nor was it strange that the same observant lady should attribute
- that illumination to the touch of the fire of the sacred torch. She looked
- at the handsome face of the Roman youth, with its expression of frankness,
- and at his eyes, full of the generous warmth of the South, and once more
- she glanced at Miss Burney, and saw in her face the reflection of the
- southern sunny glow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor girl—poor girl!” were the words that sprung to her lips. “Only
- a moment's attention from him—only a word—nay, a glance from
- those eyes would have been enough—and she is at his feet. Poor girl!
- Knowing nothing of the world—incapable of understanding anything of
- life—having no gift to attract attention—-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Mrs. Thrale, I have come to you for help. You are sure to have read
- this book that everyone is talking about—this 'Evelina'—and
- you can, I am certain, tell us who is the author. Pray let us know if your
- friend Dr. Johnson had a finger in it—I have heard that some of the
- writing is in the style of Dr. Johnson—or was it Mr. Anstey—they
- say that some chapters could only have come from the author of 'The Bath
- Guide.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Lady Hales who had hurried up with her inquiries. She seemed to be
- the representative of a group with whom she had been standing, several
- ladies and two or three men.
- </p>
- <p>
- It so happened, however, that Mrs. Thrale had not yet read the book around
- which discussion had been buzzing; but she had no intention of
- acknowledging that, with her literary tastes and with her friendship for
- Dr. Johnson, she was behind the times. Two or three people had within the
- week made remarks about “Evelina” in her presence, but she had no idea
- that it was to become a topic of society.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled enigmatically, to give herself time to make up her mind what
- her reply should be—whatever it might be, it certainly would not be
- a confession of ignorance. She came to the conclusion that on the whole
- she could not do better than mould her answer so as to heighten the
- mystery of the authorship.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible that none of our friends have discovered the author?” she
- asked, still smiling shrewdly, so as to suggest that she herself had long
- ago been let into the secret.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have had many conjectures,” said Lady Hales. “And let me whisper in
- your ear—there is one among us who is ready to affirm that the
- address of the author is Thrale Hall, Streatham.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I vow that I am overwhelmed,” cried the little lady. “The compliment is
- one that any writer might envy. Pray how could it enter the mind of any of
- our friends to connect me with the authorship of such a book?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are some touches of your style in many of the letters of Evelina,”
- replied Lady Hales. “And some have said that only you could have had the
- varied experiences described so vividly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A marvellous book, truly, this 'Evelina,'” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Some
- people, you say, recognize the hand of Dr. Johnson in its pages, others
- the pen that wrote 'The Bath Guide,' and now it is suggested that the
- whole was the work of a humble scribbler named Mrs. Thrale—a person
- who has surely little in common with the two writers you have named.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took care that her affectation of surprise had an artificial note
- about it. There was no knowing how things might turn out. Mrs. Thrale had
- no objection in the world to have her name associated with the authorship
- of a book about which it was clear a good many people would be talking for
- some months to come.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I not be entrusted with something more definite?” asked Lady Hales in
- a low voice. “If it is a secret for the present—well, you know that
- I am one to be trusted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can assure you definitely that the book was not written by Dr.
- Johnson,” replied Mrs. Thrale, with a smile. “He has not for a single week
- during the past year failed to visit us at Streatham for at least four
- days at a time. He reads to me all that he writes—it is not much—and
- I can give you an assurance that the name of Evelina has not once appeared
- in his manuscript. I may also say that if you take my advice you will not
- be in too great haste to attribute the book to Mr. Anstey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was not mystification, it sounded much more like revelation, Lady
- Hales thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare not press you further, madam,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Believe me, I can appreciate your reticence, if——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, now you suggest that I have told you a secret that I have concealed
- from everyone else, and that is going too far,” cried Mrs. Thrale. “Now,
- dear madam, cannot you see that even if I were in the secret of the
- authorship, I should be guilty of a great breach of courtesy were I to
- reveal it to anyone? If an author choose to remain anonymous, is it not
- discourteous to try to snatch away his—or her—veil of
- anonymity?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can but assent,” said Lady Hales. “I do not doubt that this view of the
- matter is the correct one. At any rate, you may depend on my acting in
- accordance with it. I shall make no further attempt to pry into the
- secret, and I shall think it right to dissuade my friends from the quest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In that I am sure you will be acting in accordance with the author's
- wishes,” said Mrs. Thrale, smiling knowingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>O they parted; and
- Lady Hales hastened back to her friends to whisper in their ears that the
- mystery was as good as solved: Mrs. Thrale had as much as acknowledged
- that she was the author of “Evelina,” but she hoped that, as she had
- written the book without the knowledge of her husband, her friends would
- respect her desire to remain anonymous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Thrale, being a Member of Parliament, would not like to have the name
- of his wife bandied about among ordinary people as that of the writer of a
- novel,” Lady Hales explained, though really no explanation was needed of a
- fact that could be appreciated by every sensible person aware of the
- contemptible character of the novels of the day. “Only Dr. Johnson is in
- the secret,” she continued. “Dr. Johnson, as we all know, lives at Thrale
- Hall for five days out of every week, finding the table provided by Mrs.
- Thrale to suit his palate very much better than that controlled by poor
- blind Mrs. Williams at Bolt Court.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may account for some of the touches in the book in the style of Dr.
- Johnson,” said one of the ladies. “You may be sure that no book could be
- written under the same roof as Dr. Johnson without his having something to
- say to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never could understand how so fastidious a lady as Mrs. Thrale could
- tolerate the company of Dr. Johnson at her table, but now the secret is
- out—this secret and t'other,” said one of the gentlemen. “Dr.
- Johnson is not seen at his best at the dinner-table.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So far as that goes, neither is Mr. Thrale himself,” said another. “He
- has a huge appetite.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had an inkling all along that Mrs. Thrale wrote the book,” said a lady
- with a huge hat. “I actually remarked to my sister, while I was reading
- it, 'if this story is not written by Mrs. Thrale, Mrs. Thrale is the one
- who would like to have written it.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But mind, not a word must be breathed that would hint that she
- acknowledged it to me by direct word of mouth,” cried Lady Hales,
- beginning to have some qualms. “No; you must understand clearly that she
- did not say in so many words that she wrote it. Indeed, her last words to
- me were, that anyone who should name in public the author of a book
- published anonymously would be guilty of a great discourtesy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is perfectly right: to do so would be to exhibit very bad taste
- truly,” came more than one acquiescent voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the result of their complete agreement on this point was the immediate
- dissemination of the report that Mrs. Thrale was indeed the writer of
- “Evelina.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But that clever little lady, on getting rid of the questioner, found that
- Signor Rauzzini had slipped away from her side and was now making his
- adieux to Mrs. Burney and her stepdaughters. She noticed that the light
- had gone out of Fanny Burney's eyes as the young singer bent over her
- hand, and once again she shook her head. She had given more attention to
- Miss Burney during the previous hour than during all the years she had
- visited at St. Martin's Street. She thought that it might be her duty to
- say a word of warning to the young woman, who could not possibly know
- anything about the world or the deceitfulness of Italian vocalists.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meantime, however, she ordered one of her three footmen to tell the
- coachman to drive to the shop of Lowndes, the bookseller, and there she
- purchased a bound copy of “Evelina,” at nine shillings.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale was, of course, well known to Mr. Lowndes, and seeing her,
- through the window of his office, enter his shop, he put his quill behind
- his ear and emerged, bowing and smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How was it that you failed to apprise me that you had printed 'Evelina
- '?” she inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is't possible that you did not receive my advertisement, madam?” he
- cried. “Why, I posted it to you with my own hands even before the book had
- left the press, the truth being that I was anxious to get your opinion
- respecting it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never had any advertisement from you about it,” she replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I was to blame for not underlining the announcement, madam,” said he.
- “I ask your pardon. How were you to know that it was not one of the usual
- novels of the season?—I do not venture to recommend such to the
- attention of ladies of superior tastes like yourself, madam. I shall not
- forgive myself, rest assured. But I am punished, in that I have been
- unable to sell a second edition by telling my customers how highly it was
- esteemed by Mrs. Thrale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You assume that it would be highly esteemed by me, Mr. Lowndes; but I am
- not quite sure that you do not flatter yourself in believing that my
- judgment would be the same as that of the public. The poor public! How can
- they possibly know whether a book is good or bad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They cannot, madam; that is why we poor booksellers must only trust to
- sell our books on the recommendation of ladies of taste and judgment. May
- I beg, madam, that you will favour me with your opinion respecting the
- merits of 'Evelina'?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has been so great a success that I fear I shall not think highly of
- it. Pray, who is your modest author?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Positively, madam, I am unable to tell you. The MS. was brought to me
- with a letter purporting to come from a Mr. Grafton at the Orange Coffee
- House, near the Haymarket, and he desired the secret of its authorship to
- be kept close.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes; to be sure—kept close from the vulgar public; but he could
- never think that you were violating his confidence by telling me his
- name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He could not be so unreasonable, madam—nay, rather would he kneel
- to you—for he could scarce fail to understand the value that we set
- on——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not convinced either that he would benefit from the exchange of
- confidence or that I should; but prithee, sir, what is his name?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Fore heaven, madam, I have told you so much as is known by me respecting
- the gentleman. Never before have I been placed in so remarkable a
- position. My fault, Mrs. Thrale, no doubt: I should have taken precautions
- against being thus surprised into publishing a book without knowing the
- name of the author. But although my judgment enabled me to perceive that
- the work was out of the common, yet I never counted on its merits being
- recognized so speedily. May I beg of you to favour me with your opinion as
- to who the writer may be, madam—that is, when you have read it,
- unless, indeed—” he glanced at her shrewdly with a little knowing
- smile— “unless, indeed, you could so favour me <i>instanter</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, Mr. Lowndes, how would it be possible for me to give you an opinion
- as to the authorship of a book which I have not yet read? I am not one of
- those astute critics who, they say, can tell you all there is to be known
- about a book without cutting the leaves, or even—if you slip a
- guinea into their hand—without opening the covers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought that perhaps you might be one of those who have been let into
- the secret, madam. I trust that Dr. Johnson's health has not been so bad
- as to prevent him from doing any literary work. Ah, what does not that
- great man—nay, what does not the world owe to you, Mrs. Thrale?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you would suggest, Mr. Lowndes, that the book about which we have been
- conversing was written, even in part, by Dr. Johnson, I can give you an
- assurance that such is not the case. He is in no way inclined to engage in
- any form of literary labour. He grudges his friends even a note.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are some gentlemen who come hither and honour me by conversing on
- the subject of letters, and more than one of them has pointed out passages
- in 'Evelina' that show signs of the great Doctor's pen; but for that
- matter——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I agree with you, sir; every scribbler in Grub Street apes the style of
- Dr. Johnson, but only to reveal the ape in himself. Now, Mr. Lowndes, if
- you really are in earnest in saying that you are unaware who is the author
- of your book, I have done you some service in curtailing by one the list
- of authors to whom it might possibly be attributed. You may strike out the
- name of Johnson, sir, on my authority.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall certainly do so, madam—not that I, for my own part, was
- ever foolish enough to fancy that he had written more of it than a page or
- two. I am indebted to you, Mrs. Thrale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then if you would wish to pay off the debt, you can do so by informing me
- of your success in discovering the writer. 'Tis quite impossible to
- conceive of the man's remaining unrevealed for any length of time, and I
- confess that I am anxious to know if he is among my acquaintance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You assume the sex, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, have you a doubt of it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are so many literary ladies nowadays, Mrs. Thrale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you surely saw the handwriting of the script?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is just the point. My printers have examined it and say that it is a
- lady's caligraphy only disguised to look like a man's. In my own judgment
- they are right. It is an upright hand, neat and clear—not in the
- least like that of an author. Still, that counts but little, seeing that
- the writer of the book would be pretty certain to have a clear copy made
- of his script by someone else. I have had a suspicion, from the mystery
- insisted on by this Mr. Grafton, that he is none other than the author of
- the 'Castle of Otranto.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, Mr. Walpole?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even so. You recollect how delighted he was to conceal the hand he had in
- that book—going much farther than I thought any gentleman would in
- honour go, to make people believe it was what it pretended to be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Lowndes, I know not what your experience has been; but mine is that
- when a gentleman becomes an author he lays aside whatever sense of honour
- he possesses as a gentleman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have had little to do with gentlemen authors, madam. Most of my writers
- are simply authors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Mr. Walpole very properly put himself in line with them, and so had
- no hesitation in carrying out his fraud in 'Otranto.' Well, if it be so,
- you may count on his revealing himself now that the book has become a
- success. In any case, you will not forget to keep me informed, and I shall
- esteem it a favour, Mr. Lowndes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Lowndes renewed his promise and bowed the lady to the door. The three
- volumes of “Evelina” had been brought out to the chariot by one of the
- footmen, a second following in his footsteps to see that he deposited them
- fairly upon one of the cushions, and a third standing by the open door in
- case of the breakdown of either of the others.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale got into the splendid machine, the three lackeys swung
- themselves up on their platform behind, and clung on to the heavy straps,
- looking, in their brilliant livery, as the chariot lurched away over the
- uneven cobble-stones, like mighty butterflies of a tropical forest swaying
- together on the rim of a gigantic flower.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>O chance had
- Rauzzini of saying more than the most conventional words of farewell to
- Fanny. Mrs. Burney was beside her and her two sisters also. He yielded to
- his impulse to pronounce a malediction on Mrs. Thrale, who had so
- interrupted his conversation with Fanny—the last he could possibly
- have until his return from France after fulfilling his engagements. But
- this was when he had seen the Burney family out of the door of the house
- in Leicester Fields and to the entrance to St. Martin's Street. He was
- then alone, and could give in some measure expression to his feelings in
- his own tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- His imagination was quite vivid enough to suggest to him all that the
- officiousness of Mrs. Thrale had interrupted—the exchange of vows—the
- whispered assurances of fidelity—perhaps a passionate kiss—a
- heaven-sent chance during a marvellous minute when the painting-room
- should be emptied of all but herself and him! It was distracting to think
- of all that had been cut out of his life by that busybody. While he had
- been talking alone with Fanny his eyes had taken in the splendid
- possibilities of the painting-room. There were three immense easels on
- different parts of the floor, and each carried a glorious canvas for a
- life-size portrait. Two of them were already finished, and the third
- contained a portion of the Greek altar at which a fair lady was to be
- depicted making her oblation to Aphrodite, or perhaps Artemis. The young
- man, however, did not give a thought to the glowing work of the great
- painter on the canvases, he thought only of the possibilities of a moment
- or two spent in the protecting shadow of one of them with that gentle,
- loving girl yielding herself to his clasp—only for a moment—he
- could not reasonably hope that it should be for longer than a single
- moment, but what raptures might not be embraced even within that brief
- space! A moment—one immortal moment worth years of life! That was
- what he saw awaiting him in the friendly shade of one of Sir Joshua's
- portraits—that was all that the sublime picture meant to the ardent
- lover—it was not the immortal picture, but the immortal moment that
- was before his eyes—but just when, by a little manoeuvring on his
- part, the joy that should change all his life and console him for being
- deprived of the society of his beloved for three months, was within his
- reach, that foolish woman had come bustling up with her chatter and had
- separated them!
- </p>
- <p>
- For which he now implored heaven and a heathen deity or two that still
- linger in the language of malediction in their native Italy, to send her
- soul to the region where Orpheus had sought his Eurydice. Down—down
- with her to the lowest depths of the Inferno he implored his patrons to
- bear her and to keep her there for ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- His imploration was quite as lyrical as his “Waft her, Angels, to the
- Skies,” only its bearing was upon the fate of the lady in just the
- opposite direction, and he was even more fervent in its delivery. But
- having delivered it, he felt some of that relief which is experienced by a
- true artist who has a consciousness of having done some measure of justice
- to his theme. He felt that if beatitude had been denied to him, the one
- who had separated him from it would not escape scathless, if the intensity
- of an appeal to the high gods of his native land counted for anything in
- their estimation.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he went more or less contentedly to his lodgings to prepare for
- his appearance in the opera of the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sang divinely as an angel, and again if any of his audience remained
- unmoved by the enchantment of his voice, they certainly could not but have
- yielded to the charm of his presence. Some women might be incapable of
- appreciating the exquisite character of his vocalism, but none could
- remain impervious to the appeal of his smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for the girl who alone had appealed to his heart, she went home with
- her mother and sisters without a word, for she had not perceived the
- glorious possibilities lurking behind the grand canvases in Sir Joshua's
- painting-room. She could even bring herself to believe that the coming of
- Mrs. Thrale had been rather opportune than otherwise; for if she had not
- joined her stepmother at that time she would not have heard all that Sir
- Joshua had said about “Evelina.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All that she had heard had made her supremely happy, not, she thought,
- because she was greedy for fame, but because it meant to her that she was
- a step nearer to the arms of the man she loved. The fame which Sir
- Joshua's words implied was dear to her because she knew that she need not
- now hesitate to seat herself by the side of this king of men, as his equal—no,
- not quite as his equal, but certainly not as a beggar maid. She knew that
- when it was announced that she was the writer of a great book, or, what
- was better still, a book that everybody was talking about, people would
- not shrug their shoulders when they heard that Rauzzini> the Roman singer,
- whose name was in everybody's mouth, was about to marry her. The event
- that she scarcely dared hope for had actually happened: she was no longer
- the nobody which she had been, she was a woman the product of whose brain
- had been acclaimed by the best judges, and so the barrier that she had
- seen separating her lover from herself had been thrown down. The same
- voices that had acclaimed her Rauzzini as a singer had acclaimed her as a
- writer; for though she had hesitated to receive her cousin Edward's
- reports from the libraries as conclusive of the mark that the book was
- making, she could not now have any doubt on the subject: a book that was
- spoken of by Sir Joshua Reynolds as he had spoken of “Evelina” must be
- granted a place high above the usual volumes to be found on the shelves of
- a circulating library. She was convinced that in a short time everyone
- would be talking about it in the same strain, and though people might be
- incredible on the subject of its authorship, the fact would remain the
- same—she had written the book, and the fame that attached to the
- writer would assuredly be hers. There would now be no sneering references
- to King Cophetua. Everyone within their circle would admit that there was
- no disparity between her position as the writer of the book that everyone
- was talking about and that of the singer whom people crowded to hear.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt supremely happy. Though Mrs. Burney had not shown any particular
- wish to repeat what Reynolds had said to her about the book, she knew
- perfectly well that this was only because of her general distrust of
- anything in the form of a novel, and her fear lest something unreadable
- should get into the hands of the girls. But Fanny also knew that the fact
- of Mrs. Burney's shunning the novels of the circulating libraries would
- not interfere with the reputation that must accrue to the author of
- “Evelina”; so she was not affected by the indifference shown by her
- stepmother to all that Reynolds had said. She awaited without impatience
- the day when her father should take up the book and read the Ode at the
- beginning. She felt that, although his name was not at the head, he would
- know that the verses were addressed to him, and that it was his daughter
- Fanny who had written them. She knew that however firmly he might assert
- himself on the side of his wife in preventing the entrance to the house of
- all novels excepting those of Richardson—Fanny herself had never had
- a chance of reading even “The Vicar of Wakefield”—he would be proud
- of her as the writer of “Evelina.” She was not quite sure if he would be
- as proud of her as if she had developed a wonderful musical capacity; but
- she never doubted that his affection for her—assisted by his
- knowledge of the impression the book had made upon the most important of
- his own associates—would cause him to take her into his arms with
- delight and to forgive her for running the chance of being classed among
- the Miss Minifies of the period—the female writers whose ridiculous
- productions were hidden beneath the sofa cushions in so many households.
- Fanny Burney was a dutiful daughter and she had nothing of the cynic about
- her, but she was well aware of the fact that success would be regarded by
- her father as justifying an experiment that failure would have made
- discreditable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more, then, the three sisters met that night in Fanny's bedroom. The
- two younger could now look on her without their feeling of awe. They were
- on the verge of being indignant with Mrs. Burney for having made no
- reference whatever since returning from the Reynoldses to the subject of
- Sir Joshua's eulogy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not once did she mention the name of 'Evelina' to the padre; Sir Joshua
- might just as well have talked of Miss Herschel's comet to her,” said
- Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And after our schooling ourselves so rigidly to give no sign that we were
- in any measure connected with the book too—it was cruel!” said
- Lottie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was not as if the padre did not give her a good chance more than
- once,” continued Susy. “Did he not ask if anyone had given her any news?
- And what did she answer?—Why, only that someone had said that Mr.
- Fox had lost a fortune a few nights ago at faro! As if anybody cares about
- Mr. Fox! I was prepared for her opening out at once to him about the book—maybe
- begging him to send Williams to buy it at Mr. Lowndes'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, at seven-and-sixpence!” cried Fanny. “My dear child, do you know
- mamma no better than to fancy that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What I don't know is how she resisted it,” said Lottie. “Oh, you heard
- how Sir Joshua talked about it; and Miss Reynolds too—she praised it
- up to the skies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Other people in the painting-room as well as in the drawing-room were
- talking of it,” said Susy. “I heard the beautiful Miss Horneck speak of it
- to the lady with the big muff and the rose taffeta with the forget-me-not
- embroidery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure that everybody was speaking of it—I could hear the name
- 'Evelina' buzzing round the rooms,” cried Lottie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; everyone was talking about it, and only mamma was silent—<i>is</i>
- silent. I don't think that at all fair,” continued Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are silly little geese,” she cried. “Could you not see that she would
- not mention it lest it should reach our ears and we should be filled with
- an <i>irresistible</i> desire to possess it—<i>it</i>—a modern
- novel! Think of it! Oh, my dears, you are too unreasonable, Mamma knows
- her duty too well to allow even the name of a novel to pass her lips and
- maybe reach the ears of such a group of fly-away young things as
- ourselves! She understands the extent of her responsibilities. Go to your
- beds and be thankful that you have so excellent a guardian.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But when we were prepared——” began one of them, when Fanny
- interrupted her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may conserve your preparations—you will hear her say the name
- soon enough—you may depend upon that,” she said. “You may prepare to
- hear yourselves summoned into her presence to give a full and true account
- of your complicity in the thing which was perpetrated under this sacred
- roof—nay, in the very room where the great philosopher Newton wrote
- his thesis! A novel written in the room in which the divine 'Principia'
- was produced! Why, 'twere as bad in mamma's eyes as acting one of Mr.
- Foote's farces in St. Paul's Cathedral. Oh, yes, you'll have to face her
- soon enough, and after that you'll never wish to hear the name Evelina
- again. Now, good-night, and thank heaven for your respite.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They left her, glum and dissatisfied. It was plain to her that they were
- disappointed at not being given the opportunity of showing how admirably
- they had themselves under control in regard to the secret—of showing
- Fanny how they could hear Mrs. Burney talk at length about “Evelina,”
- while neither of them gave the least sign of ever having heard the name
- before. It was indeed disappointing that all their studied immobility
- should go for nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Fanny knew that their secret could not possibly remain hidden for many
- more days. If the book was going into everybody's hands, her father would
- be certain to have it, and then—would he not know? Would not she be
- summoned into his presence and that of his wife—the lady of many
- responsibilities—and required to defend herself?...
- </p>
- <p>
- She fell asleep before she had come to any conclusion as to the line of
- defence that she should adopt.
- </p>
- <p>
- And in spite of the readiness of her sisters for any inquisition to which
- they might be summoned, they were startled—as was also Fanny herself—when,
- immediately after a rather silent and portentous breakfast, Mrs. Burney
- said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Susy and Lottie, you may go to your duties. You, Fanny, will remain, as
- your father wishes to speak to you on a matter of some gravity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So the long-expected hour had come, the three girls thought. By some
- accident unknown to them their secret was exposed, and Fanny was about to
- be called upon to explain, if she could, to the satisfaction of her father
- and her stepmother, how it came that she so far forgot the precepts of her
- upbringing as to write a novel quite in the modern spirit, though adopting
- a form which the master-touch of Mr. Samuel Richardson had hallowed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE two girls left
- the room slowly, after sending in the direction of Fanny a glance which
- they meant should encourage her—a glance which should let her know
- that they were quite ready to share her punishment, should the worst come
- to the worst.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny replied to them with her eyes; and then prepared for the worst.
- </p>
- <p>
- It quickly came.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear daughter,” said Dr. Burney, when they were alone, Mrs. Burney in
- her chair at the head of the table. “My dear Fanny, I am no believer in
- leading by degrees up to such a communication as I have to make to you. I
- think that the sooner it is got over the better it will be for all whom it
- may concern. Well, this is it: Mr. Thomas Barlowe has written to me asking
- my permission for him to address you with a view to marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a pause, looking at her to observe the effect of this revelation.
- </p>
- <p>
- And what he saw at first was a girl with a pale face and downcast eyes,
- awaiting, almost breathlessly, an accusation from which she shrank; but
- when he had spoken he saw a great change come over her. Not immediately,
- but gradually. It seemed to him that she had not fully realized the
- meaning of his words—that she was puzzled—trying to recall
- what he had said. Then the light seemed to dawn upon her. She flushed,
- and, after a few moments, threw back her head and went into a peal of
- laughter—a real schoolgirl's fit of laughter at something amazingly
- comic—the tumbling of a clown into a pool of water with a splash,
- or, perhaps, the slipping of a dignified beadle upon a butter slide. Her
- laughter went on for a long time, but without in the least suggesting
- hysteria—it was simply a girl's natural laughter on realizing the
- comic side of a situation which grown-up people would regard as extremely
- serious.
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither her father nor his wife could understand why she should receive in
- such a spirit an essentially serious communication—the most serious
- that any young woman could receive. They had not before them the ludicrous
- picture that presented itself to her imagination—a picture of the
- Roman Rauzzini on the one side and the Poultry Barlowe on the other,
- asking her to choose between them. It was this presentment, coming in a
- flash the moment she realized that the publishing of the book was not the
- question which she had to face, that forced her to yield to that long fit
- of laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her father and stepmother sat stolidly by, but she knew that had she and
- her father been alone, he would at least have smiled with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few minutes she had recovered herself sufficiently to be able to
- apologize for her levity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” she said. “I am behaving like a goose, but I could
- not help it—something forced me—something that occurred to me—a
- funny thing. I am very sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing funny that I can see in the honourable request made by
- an honest young man, my dear Fanny,” said Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; nothing whatever; only—well, funny ideas will occur to
- foolish people like myself at the most serious moments,” said Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is quite true, indeed,” said her father. “I have myself experienced
- what you say. Perhaps, after all, I should not have blurted out what I had
- to tell you—it came to you as a surprise, I doubt not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A great surprise, indeed,” she replied. “I cannot understand how Mr.
- Barlowe could ever fancy that I—that he—that—oh, I
- should have known what that terrible entertainment was meant to lead to—but
- when, in that clumsily marked way I was sent into the drawing-room with
- him alone, he began to talk of his uncle, the Aider-man—he said that
- the Alderman was quite approachable even in regard to ordinary people like
- ourselves—and then came his cousins—all of them remarkable!
- But you should have seen him slice away at the ham—the biggest ham I
- ever saw—it needed to be—such eating!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The recollection of that no doubt made you laugh,” said Dr. Burney. “But,
- at the same time, you must remember that though the customs of the Poultry
- are not ours, still, they may be very reasonable customs—perhaps
- more reasonable than our own. It may suit us to dine as late as halfpast
- four and only to have a slice of cake with our tea; but business people
- find it more convenient to dine at one o'clock—it makes an equal
- division of their long working-day—so that a slice of ham——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that is quite true, and I was not so foolish as to give myself
- airs because I had dined at half-past four and had no appetite for ham,”
- said Fanny; “but—oh, mother, you saw how foolishly formal was the
- whole thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I said that I thought it quite unnecessarily formal,” replied Mrs.
- Burney, “and if I had had any notion that it was going to be like that I
- would certainly have given Mrs. Barlowe a hint. Still, Thomas is, I know,
- an excellent young man who has never given his parents an hour's
- uneasiness, and his intentions are honourable, and so should be honoured.
- If you have no tender regard for him at present that is no reason why,
- when you get accustomed to the thought of him as a suitor for your hand——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, mother, that is quite impossible!” cried Fanny. “How could I ever get
- accustomed to such a thought?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not know why you should not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “He is a most
- worthy young man, and Mr. Barlowe's business is one of the best in the
- City. You must remember, my dear Fanny, that in these days a girl, unless
- she has a portion, runs a very great chance of becoming an old maid, so
- that no opportunity of settling down in a comfortable home should be
- neglected.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is perfectly true,” said Dr. Burney. “You will understand that we
- have no desire to force this or any match upon you, my dear child: so long
- as I have a house over my head you shall share it. But I am sure that you
- must know that I am a poor man to-day, although I have worked as hard at
- my profession as any living man, and I cannot provide you or your sisters
- with any portion. Heaven knows that if I had a fortune I would gladly
- divide it among you; but as it is, I think it right to tell you that you
- need expect nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dearest father,” said Fanny, dissolving into tears, as she took his hand
- and kissed it, “I have never expected a fortune from you—not a penny
- piece. I know that I shall be portionless, and I daresay that Mr. Barlowe
- thinks himself generous in his proposal; but I could never bring myself to
- accept him—to look on him as a suitor. It would be quite impossible.
- If I thought it possible that I should ever have any affection for him, I
- might feel myself justified in encouraging him; but I know that it would
- be out of the question. I would prefer to go forth and beg my bread—nay,
- to starve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we shall pursue the matter no farther for the present,” said her
- father, kissing her on the forehead as she nestled close to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, that is best—for the present,” acquiesced his wife. “Still, if
- you will be advised by me, my dear Fanny, you will remember that Mr.
- Barlowe is ready to address you knowing that you will be portionless, and
- if you bear that in mind, perhaps you will be surprised to find some' day,
- not so far distant, that the thought of him is not so repugnant to you.
- You are no longer a girl, and when one is midway between twenty and thirty
- every extra year counts in reducing one's chances of being settled in
- life. I could cite dozens of instances that I have known of young women
- being glad to accept at twenty-eight the suitors they scorned at twenty or
- even twenty-five. Oh, yes, the years come upon one and bring with them a
- clearer vision of life and love; frequently they bring regret for
- opportunities neglected. But we will not press the matter any farther—just
- now. I dare say the young man will submit to be put off—for a time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, for ever,” said Fanny resolutely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well,” said her stepmother.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a pause, during which Fanny seemed to be debating some matter in her
- mind, a little line showing itself along her forehead, she said slowly: “I
- do not think that I shall be a burden on you, dear father; I believe that
- one day I may be able to do something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not fancy that I would ever think of you as a burden, my dear child,”
- said her father. “But what do you mean by saying that you may one day do
- something?—some work, do you suggest?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something—I am fond of writing,” she murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed gently, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a very good girl, my love, and I know how much I am indebted to
- you for your admirable copying of my notes for the History; but do not let
- the idea take hold of you that such work is well paid. If you ever get in
- touch with a bookseller, he will tell you that the work of a copyist is
- very poorly paid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was not thinking of copying,” murmured Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of what then, pray?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I could but write a book,” she replied, with her eyes on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A book!” cried Mrs. Burney, who thought that she had been silent long
- enough. “A book!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure—to be sure,” said her father, in the indulgent tone of a
- parent humouring a child. “You might write a book—so might anyone
- who could pay for a ream of paper, a bottle of ink and a box of quills.
- You should speak to Mr. Newbery about it: he has printed many nursery
- stories since 'Goody Two Shoes.' You might indeed do something that the
- children would take a fancy to. Well, Francis Newbery is as honest a man
- as his uncle, and we may talk to him about it. By the by, did not you once
- tell me that you had written something, or that you were going to write
- something? You thought it proper to get my leave. I had forgotten that.
- Well, if it be a moral nursery story, we might interest Mr. Newbery in
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not think that it is quite wise to encourage a girl to neglect her
- useful household duties in order to compile some rubbish that no one would
- read,” said Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course you will understand that you are not to neglect your household
- duties, Fanny,” said her father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If she performs her household duties and sticks to her needlework, she
- will have no time left for scribbling rubbish,” cried Mrs. Burney,
- hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She made a bonfire of all that childish nonsense long ago, and I hope
- that she will never be so foolish as to waste good paper and pens and,
- most precious of all, good time, over such exercises. That is all we have
- to say just now, I think—is it not, Doctor? I shall reply to Mr.
- Barlowe's letter—a most creditable letter—straightforward—honourable!
- I am only sorry that I cannot make the reply to it that it deserves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had opened the door and called for William, their manservant, to
- remove the breakfast things. Fanny lingered for a few minutes after she
- had risen from her chair. She had assumed from the moment she had begun to
- speak of writing, that her opportunity had come; if her stepmother had not
- interposed so hastily and so emphatically, she would have made her
- confession as to “Evelina,”, let the consequences be what they might; but
- now that the servant had come with his tray and her stepmother jingled her
- key-basket, she perceived that her chance was gone. She had a sense of
- sneaking out of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she went slowly up the stairs she could hear the voice of her
- stepmother remonstrating with her father for having said something that
- she, Fanny, might regard as encouragement to waste her precious time in
- the pursuit of such folly as writing a book.
- </p>
- <p>
- She heard her father's little laugh as he explained (she was sure) that of
- course he had not been speaking seriously; but that he had not the heart
- to be severe upon her and her harmless scribbling.
- </p>
- <p>
- The author of “Evelina” went very slowly upstairs, and when she reached
- the work-room landing she found Susy and Lottie waiting for her, glowing
- with excitement. Susy was waving over her head what seemed to be a bulky
- pamphlet. Coming closer, Fanny saw that it was the chief of the literary
- reviews, which had apparently just arrived at the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A splendid column about 'Evelina,'” she whispered. “Not so good as it
- should be, but still splendid. Here it is. But why are you so glum? Surely
- they did not scold you now that the book is so great a success.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They did not ask me to tarry in the room to charge me with double-dealing
- in regard to the book,” said Fanny. “They would not allow me to make my
- confession when I had the opportunity—the best that I shall ever
- have. 'Twas not my confession that was on the <i>tapis</i>, but quite
- another. That is why I look glum.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another—another confession? But what had either of them to
- confess?” cried Lottie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing. They didn't confess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But whose confession was it, then, if not theirs?” asked Lottie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was young Mr. Barlowe's,” said Fanny, with a lugubriousness that was
- quite comic. “Young Mr. Barlowe wrote to the padre to confess that he was
- passionately—madly—in love with me, and threatening to drown
- himself unless permission were given to him to address me—we all
- know how fervently young Mr. Barlowe would put his case—that was
- what I was summoned to listen to—the fiery letter—only it was
- too ardent for my ears: I was only told its purport.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But who would ever have thought that he had it in him?” cried Susy. “Such
- impudence! I never dreamt that he could rise to such a height of impudence
- or I should have thought better of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tis not too late yet, my child,” said Fanny. “You are at liberty to
- think as highly of Thomas as you please—or as it would please him.
- Please take over his blighted affections and it will be a weight off my
- mind. Now give me a chance of reading my splendid review—not that I
- care in the least what these foolish critics may say of me—I care
- nothing, I tell you, only if you do not let me see it at once I shall die
- at your feet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There it is,” said Susy, “a full column! The idea of anyone written of in
- such terms being proposed to by Thomas Barlowe! Such impudence indeed!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE levity shown by
- Fanny Burney and the flippancy of her phrases did not wholly conceal from
- her sisters all that she was feeling on the subject of the proposal to
- which she had referred with such lightness. She knew that while her father
- and her stepmother would not treat her with any marked disfavour on
- account of her rejection of the worthy young man who was ready to offer
- her a home, still Mrs. Burney at least regarded with great disfavour the
- nature of the answer which she had to send to the Poultry, and Fanny was
- very well aware of the ease with which so conscientious a guardian as Mrs.
- Burney could make her feel every day of her life what was Mrs. Burney's
- opinion of her rejection of an eligible young man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny recognized the great merits of her stepmother, and she could look
- from her standpoint at most of the incidents of their daily life. In that
- household one mouth less to feed was worth consideration—the number
- of mouths to feed was a constant source of thought with Mrs. Burney, as
- was also the question of a provision for the future of all of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney would be fully justified in feeling cross with her, not being
- aware of the fact that another young man, compared with whom Thomas
- Barlowe was as the dust of the ground, was burning, with an ardour of
- which Thomas was incapable, to take her to himself and provide for her in
- a style undreamt of in the Poultry.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the worst of the matter was that she could not let her stepmother into
- this secret. She could not say that she was engaged to marry Signor
- Rauzzini, and she might leave herself open to the gravest rebuke for
- having listened to his protestations of devotion without obtaining the
- consent of either of her parents.
- </p>
- <p>
- And through all this tangle of reflections there ran the silken thread of
- consciousness that she was no longer the Fanny Burney who was regarded by
- her stepmother as the dunce, but Fanny Burney the writer of “Evelina,” to
- whom the most critical review had devoted a full column of adulation!
- </p>
- <p>
- That was what made her position so anomalous; and it was because she took
- the happenings of the previous days to heart that she went to bed with a
- shocking headache, and after a sleepless night was found on the verge of a
- fever. She was suffering from suppressed secrets; but the doctor did not
- know this. He prescribed James's Powders; and when these should have done
- all that they were meant to do—a small part of all that Dr. James
- and Mr. Newbery affirmed they would do—a change into the country.
- </p>
- <p>
- But several weeks had passed before she was strong enough to start on the
- latter and most essential portion of the prescription, and found herself
- in her own room in Mr. Crisp's isolated house at Chessington.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meantime, of course, she had no further news of the book, and she remained
- unconfessed, so far as the secret of its publication was concerned. Her
- sisters did not so much as mention its name or the name of Thomas Barlowe,
- so cleverly had they diagnosed the nature of her malady and so tactfully
- did they try to hasten her recovery.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her old friend Mr. Crisp had been her guide since her childhood. She
- always alluded to him as her second Daddy—so far as paternal
- influence was concerned she might have given him the foremost place. He it
- was who had led her on to embody in letters to him the daily incidents of
- her life, thus unconsciously setting the loom, as it were, in which
- “Evelina” was to be woven. He it was who became her teacher and her
- critic, and it was possibly because she feared his criticism of her work
- that she refrained from making a confidant of him from the first. She felt
- that she could face the public and the reviewers—it did not matter
- how they might receive the book, but she was too timid to submit it to the
- mature judgment of the man who had first put a pen in her hand. It was not
- on her own account that she refrained from giving him a chance of reading
- her book, but on his: she knew how hurt he would be if he found her book
- to be an indifferent one, and whether indifferent or not, how angry he
- would be if people did not buy it by the thousand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, however, that she found herself alone with him, she made up her mind
- to tell him all about it. She would choose her own time for doing this;
- but it would certainly be done before she returned to St. Martin's Street.
- </p>
- <p>
- But on the second day after her arrival at Ches-sington a parcel came for
- her, addressed by Susy. On opening it, she found it to contain two volumes
- of “Evelina.” The letter that was enclosed told her that Cousin Edward had
- called at the Orange Coffee House and found that a set had been left there
- at the instance of Mr. Lowndes, addressed to Mr. Grafton. Of these, Lottie
- had read the first two, which were now sent on to the author, but the
- third she had not finished, and hoped that Fanny would not mind her
- detaining it for a few days longer.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was really the first glimpse that the author had of her book in its
- binding. She had, in the name of Mr. Grafton, requested Mr. Lowndes to
- send a set of the volumes to the Orange Coffee House. But that was nearly
- three months ago, and until now Mr. Lowndes appeared not to have thought
- it worth his while to comply with the request. Now, however, it seemed to
- have occurred to him that the author of a book that everyone was talking
- about might be worth conciliating, and so he had directed a set of volumes
- to the Coffee House.
- </p>
- <p>
- At once Fanny made up her mind that she would pave the way, so to speak,
- for a full confession to Mr. Crisp.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Susy has sent me on two volumes of a new novel, lest I should feel dull,”
- she said. “As if I am not much more likely to feel dull in the company of
- a new novel than of my old Daddy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought that your stepmother prohibited the reading of novels, new or
- old, in your house,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps mamma did not know anything about this particular one,” replied
- Fanny; “besides, it is to be read in your house, not ours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that the responsibility will be mine?” said he. “Mrs. Burney is only
- answerable to heaven for keeping your mind free from the baleful influence
- of novels, but I am in a worse case, for I am answerable to Mrs. Burney.
- And what is the name of the precious production?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me see,” said Fanny, artfully referring to the title page. “Oh, yes:
- 'Evelina; or, a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.' Do you call that an
- alluring title?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too sentimental by half,” he replied. “But I have heard of the thing, and
- one of the reviews dealt with it some weeks ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Praise or blame?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, foolish adulation for the great part; but not without a reasonable
- word here and there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The reasonable part you are sure must be the censorious? That is not fair
- to the poor author.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor author? Yes, they are all poor authors nowadays. What's the name of
- this particular item of poverty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no name on the title page; but I hear that the writer was Mr.
- Anstey himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! another 'Bath Guide'!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Joshua Reynolds told mamma that he had remained up all night reading
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Sir Joshua! His eyes are none too good at the best! And does Susy
- believe that the book which kept Sir Joshua awake is the best one to send
- you asleep? You came to Chessington, you know, to get as much as possible;
- 'Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!' the truest words that
- Shakespeare ever writ.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What I propose to do is to try it upon you, my dear sir. I mean to give
- you a dose of it this evening, instead of gruel, and if it makes you sleep
- I will know that I may continue it for myself—it will be more
- wholesome than poppy or mandragora.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good! But I dare swear that it will be bad enough to keep me awake. You
- know that extremes meet in the case of books, as well as other matters;
- one keeps awake reading a good book, in expectancy of its undeveloped
- goodness; and reading a bad one, wondering how far the author can actually
- go in point of dullness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have often thought that; but Susy has sent only two of the three
- volumes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that we shall not be able to fathom the full depth of the author's
- dullness? We should be grateful to Susy—so should the author. Well,
- you shall begin after tea, while there is yet daylight: <i>Le livre ne
- vaut pas la chandelle.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Nous verrons</i>,” cried Fanny.
- </p>
- <p>
- And she started reading the book that same day, an hour before sunset. The
- room in which they sat was a small one with a window facing the west and
- overlooking a long stretch of billowy common. The spicy scent of the
- wallflowers in the little garden patch at the side of the house was wafted
- through the half-open lattice, and occasionally there came the sound of
- the ducks gabbling at the pool beyond the gate that shut off the house
- from the lane. It was a cloudless evening, and the sunset promised to be
- peach-like in its tender tints of pink and saffron with the curves of
- delicate green in the higher sky. Fanny sat at the window and the old man
- reclined at his ease upon the sofa.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am giving myself every chance,” he said. “All that I ask of you, my
- Fannikin, is that you do not glance at me every now and again to see if I
- am still awake. If you do so, I shall never yield to so much as a doze.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I promise faithfully to await your signal that you are alert,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so began one of the most delightful hours of her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was not a particularly good reader aloud when a book was casually put
- into her hands, but here she had before her a volume that she could almost
- have repeated verbatim, so that she soon found that she was just too
- fluent: she felt that if she went on at this rate his critical ear would
- tell him that she had every page by heart, and he would ask her for an
- explanation of so singular a thing as her being able to repeat so much of
- a book which she professed to have in her hands for the first time. She
- put a check upon her fluency, and though she did not go so far as to
- simulate stumbling over certain words, she neglected the punctuation now
- and again, and then went back upon some of the passages, causing him to
- give a little grumble and say:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be careful, my dear; there's no need for haste: the evening is still
- young.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that she was more careful—which is the same as saying she was
- more careless of adhering to the scheme she had adopted. She felt that as
- he had now been put off the scent, she might run along as she pleased
- without there being a chance of his suspecting anything through her
- showing herself familiar with passage after passage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before she had got through more than a dozen pages she heard a creaking of
- the sofa—she trusted herself to glance in that direction and found
- that he was no longer reclining: he was sitting up and listening
- attentively. She continued reading without making a remark for a full
- hour. The sun had set, but the twilight was clear enough to allow of her
- seeing the print on the page before her for some time still; then the
- darkness seemed to fall all at once, and she laid the book down when she
- had come to the close of one of the letters.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Candles,” he said. “Candles! Upon my word, the world is right for once:
- the stuff is good. We must have candles. Candles, I say!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Supper, say I,” cried Fanny. “I feel that I have need of bodily
- refreshment after such a task. Does it sound real to you, Daddy Crisp—all
- about the Young Lady who is about to enter the world?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not merely does it sound real, it is real—it is reality,” he
- replied quickly. “The man who wrote what you have read has something of
- the genius of—of—now whom does he resemble, think you?—Richardson
- here and there, and in places, Fielding, it seems to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You suppose that 'tis written by a man?” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course, 'tis the work of a man,” he replied. “Where is the woman
- living that is capable of writing a single page of that book? What, have I
- gone to so much trouble in training you to understand what is bad and what
- is good in writing, to so little purpose, that you should have a doubt as
- to the sex of what you have just read?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The sex of a book—a novel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not? There are masculine books and there is feminine—trash.
- There you have the difference.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you do not consider this to be—trash?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you get the candles, Miss Burney? It seems that you are sorely in
- need of illumination if you put that question to me seriously. Trash?
- Madam, you perceive that I am all eagerness to hear the rest of the story,
- and yet you put that silly question to me! Look you here, you rogue,
- cannot you see that the very fact of your putting such a question to me
- shows that the book is the work of a man? When a carefully trained woman
- such as you cannot yet discriminate between the good and the trash that is
- written, how would it be possible for a woman to write what you have
- read?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think there is nothing womanly in the book?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing effeminate in the writing, so much is sure. There is
- plenty that is womanly in the book, because the man who wrote it knows how
- to convey to a reader a sense of womanliness to be in keeping with the
- character of the letters—that is what is meant by genius. A woman
- trying to produce the same effect would show the frill of her petticoat on
- every page. She would make the men's parts in the book as feminine as the
- women's. Now, no more chatter an you please, but get the candles.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Mrs. Hamilton will get our supper by their light.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny tripped away, and was behind the door of the larder before she
- allowed the laughter which was pent up very close to her eyes to have its
- freedom. It was a very hearty laugh that she had, for there was a constant
- buzzing in her ears of the question:
- </p>
- <p>
- “What will he say when he learns the truth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was ready to dance her Nancy Dawson in delight at seeing the effect of
- the book upon the old man whom she loved—the man who was directly
- responsible for its existence. If Mr. Crisp had not taken trouble with
- her, encouraging her to write her letters to him in a natural style, the
- correspondence in “Evelina” would, she knew, be very different from what
- it was. So, after all, she reflected, he was right in pronouncing the book
- the work of a man; but he had no idea that he was the man who was
- responsible for it. That reflection of hers was as fully imbued with the
- true spirit of comedy as her anticipation of the effect that would be
- produced upon him by the revelation of the authorship.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that was why this young student of the human comedy was able to
- restrain herself from making the revelation to him at once: she had, as it
- were, a delicate palate for comedy, and it was a delight to her—the
- gratification of her natural vanity had nothing to do with it—to
- lead him on to commit himself more deeply every moment on the question of
- the sex of the writer. Oh, no; she had no idea of making any confession to
- him for the present. She would have many another chat with him before the
- moment for that <i>dénouement</i> in the comedy should arrive.
- </p>
- <p>
- So she got the candles and the housekeeper laid the cold chicken and the
- plates on the supper-table, and Mr. Crisp set about mixing the salad in
- the manner he had acquired in Italy. And all the time they were engaged
- over the simple meal he was criticising what she had read, and he had
- scarcely a word to say about it that was not favourable. But he took care
- to protect himself in case he should be forced to retire from the position
- he had taken up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A man is a fool to pronounce an opinion on a book before he has had the
- last page read to him,” he said. “I have only been touching upon the part
- that I have heard, and I say that it seems to me to be as good as anything
- I have read for years; but that is not saying that the remainder, or some
- portions of the remainder, may not be so greatly inferior as to compel me
- to pronounce unfavourably of the book as a whole. I have had instances of
- such inequality shown by many writers, and it may be that the writer of
- 'Evelina' will be added to the list, although he shows no sign of falling
- off up to your last page. Do not be hurried by me, my dear, but if you
- have indeed made up your mind to eat no cheese, Mrs. Hamilton can remove
- the <i>débris</i>, and unless you are tired, you will read me a few pages
- more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She read until midnight. The only pauses that she made were when he
- trimmed the wicks of the candles. He commended her fluency. She had never
- read better in his hearing, he said. She showed that she understood what
- she was reading; and that, after all, was the greatest praise that could
- be given to anyone. He did not suggest the likelihood that she was tired.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was the sound of the bleating of lambs occasionally borne from the
- meadows beyond the little stream—the sound of an owl that came
- nightly about the house from the barn of the farm a few hundred yards away—the
- sound of a large moth bumping against the glass of the casement through
- which the candle-light shone. There was nothing to interrupt her in her
- delightful task until the church clock struck the hour of midnight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not another line,” she cried, jumping from her chair. “Poor Evelina! she
- will be the better for a sleep. When she awakens she may be able to see
- more clearly who are her true friends and who are not to be trusted.
- Good-night, dear Daddy; and receive my thanks for your attention.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me the volume,” he said. “I usually awake before six, and so shall
- have a couple of hours of it before rising.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will not get it from me, sir,” she cried. “Captain Mervain knows the
- naval rule about drinking glass for glass, and let me tell you that the
- same rule holds in the matter of reading a book—chapter for chapter
- between us, sir; we shall finish as we have begun.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She blew him a kiss and ran upstairs to escape his protests: he shouted
- them after her from the foot of the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning
- was a lovely one, and Fanny was feeding the ducks in the brook before
- eight o'clock. When she came into the house to breakfast she found Mr.
- Crisp in the porch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have given me a sleepless night,” he said. “I lay awake endeavouring
- to determine for my own satisfaction what would be the outcome of the
- girl's meeting that dreadful Branghton family. I worked out the story to
- its proper conclusion—so I thought—on my left side; but when I
- turned on my right I found that I had been grossly astray in all my
- fancies; and forthwith I set to work to put myself right. After an hour or
- two I thought I had succeeded, but, lo! a turn on my back and I saw that,
- as I planned it, the story would never come to an end. So I kept on until
- the dawn. Then I fell asleep, but only to find myself surrounded by
- demons, in the form of Branghtons, and a master devil wearing the epaulets
- of a naval officer, and he made for me with a horrid leer and a cry of
- Mervain! I awoke in a worse state than did the Duke of Clarence in the
- play, and I have not slept since. Oh, that little mischief, Susy!
- Wherefore did she send hither that magic book to be my undoing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, sir, never before did I perceive the evil of novel reading,” she
- said. “I could not understand my mother's banning all such books, but now
- I see the wisdom of it. I now see how they tend to unsettle one. But it
- may not yet be too late to save you from the evil influence of 'Evelina.'
- If I read no more of her story, you will soon forget her and all may be
- well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will read no more? Good! Carry out your threat and I will e'en take
- the coach to London and buy a full set at Mr. Newbery's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Mr. Newbery's? Ah, sir, that is a threat you could not carry out,
- however vindictive you might be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why not, prithee? Think you I would begrudge the seven or eight
- shillings it would cost?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir; but if you went to Mr. Newbery you would probably find yourself
- treated badly by him if you accused him of publishing the book. 'Tis Mr.
- Lowndes who is the guilty person.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will not put one to the humiliation of a journey to London all for a
- trumpery novel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, not for a trumpery novel; but we were talking of 'Evelina.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I submit to the correction, my dear; and so now we are in perfect
- agreement, you will continue the story, if only to allay my sleepless
- speculations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder how it will sound when read in the morning? I fear that it will
- be as dull as a play would seem in the garish light of day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell not that to me. There are novels of the morn as well as of the even,
- and I believe that the freshness of this one will be best appreciated in
- the brightness of such a morning as this. At any rate, we can but make a
- trial of it. If we find that it does not read well, you can lay it aside
- till the evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny was delighted to find that he was as interested in her book as Susy
- had been; and the noon came and found her beginning the second volume to
- him, sitting by his side in the sunlight that bathed the little garden,
- and his attention never flagged. Once or twice, however, he grumbled, but
- her ear assured her that his grumble was not a critical one; it was only
- meant to censure the behaviour of the rude Captain Mervain.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were still in the garden when, shortly after noon, a chaise was heard
- in the lane: it appeared to be on its way to the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! as I live 'tis mamma and my sisters come to pay us a visit,” cried
- Fanny, seeing a handkerchief waved to her from the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They shall be made welcome, for I cannot doubt that they have brought the
- third volume with them,” said Mr. Crisp, rising to receive his visitors.
- </p>
- <p>
- In this way the reading was interrupted, and indeed Fanny was rather glad
- of a respite. She had not risen from her chair since nine o'clock. A
- chance of stretching her limbs was very acceptable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney and the girls had scarcely settled down to their cakes and
- sweet wine, after explaining that Dr. Burney had insisted on their taking
- this drive into the country, the day promised to be so fine, when Mr.
- Crisp turned to Susy, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wicked girl! What did you mean by sending us the two volumes of that
- vile novel to upset us poor country folk? And I hope you have not
- neglected to bring with you the third.” Poor Susy reddened and glanced at
- Fanny without trying to make any reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eh, what is this?” cried the old man. “Do you mean to disclaim all
- responsibility for the act? Ah, 'tis too late for you to make such an
- attempt. The evil has been done. The poison has begun to work in our
- blood; and its effects can only be neutralized by the contents of the
- third volume. Say at once, I pray, if you have brought it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not trouble poor Susy with your tropes, sir,” said Fanny. “She cannot
- grasp your meaning, and only trusts that we have not gone mad. I suppose
- the road was as usual—half of it muddy and the rest dusty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I insist on hearing if the third volume is in the chaise,” said Mr.
- Crisp, firmly. “If it be not, then you may drive straight back to St.
- Martin's Street and return hither with it in time for Fannikin to read it
- to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray what book is it that you refer to, Mr. Crisp?” inquired Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What book, madam! As if there were more books than one printed this year!
- Why, Mrs. Burney, where have you been living all this time, that you have
- never heard of 'Evelina '?” cried he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard of little else save this 'Evelina' for some time past; but I
- have no time for reading novels, nor has any member of my family,” replied
- the lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I insisted on one member of your family finding the time yesterday and
- to-day, and the consequence is that she has gone through the first volume
- and part of the second since Susy was so obliging as to send them hither.
- I was in hopes that you had brought the third volume; but I perceive that
- we shall have to wait for it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Susy was examining very closely the pattern on her plate when Mrs. Burney
- turned to her, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does Mr. Crisp mean that you got that novel and sent it hither to Fanny?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only part of it—no more than two volumes,” said Susy quickly, as
- though anxious to submit extenuating circumstances to the notice of her
- stepmother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you get it at Hill's library, or where?” inquired Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not get it at a library,” replied Susy slowly, as a reluctant
- witness might answer an incriminating question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, did you buy it? Did you spend your money on it?” cried Mrs. Burney,
- with a note of amazement not free from anxiety.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no; I did not buy it,” said Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did it come into your hands, then—tell me that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cousin Edward brought it for Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you read the first two volumes and are now reading the third?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, mamma, 'tis I that was led by my curiosity,” said Lottie hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Though you have often heard me protest against the vice of novel reading?
- I wonder at you, Lottie. I am shocked that you should so yield to a vulgar
- temptation,” said Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, my dear madam, you must not talk of our dear 'Evelina' as if she
- were an everyday person,” said Mr. Crisp. “On the contrary, she is a most
- interesting young lady, and if I do not soon learn what happens to her now
- that she has formed some very dubious intimacies, I shall be inconsolable.
- Have you read the book, Mrs. Burney?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I indeed,” replied Mrs. Burney, with more than a suggestion of
- indignation that such a charge should be brought against her. “I have
- heard enough about that book during the past month to prevent me from
- having any wish to read it, even if I were a novel reader, which I
- certainly deny. I am ashamed that any member of my household should so far
- forget her duty as to read such stuff.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, come, my dear lady, you must remember that there are novels and
- novels,” said Mr. Crisp. “I have heard you praise Mr. Richardson, have I
- not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Richardson was a genius and a great moral writer, sir, as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The two are not invariably associated. But what if I tell you that this
- new book is worthy of being placed between 'Clarissa Harlowe' and
- 'Pamela'?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will not do so gross an injustice to the memory of a great man, I am
- sure. But, if you please, we will discuss this no longer. No matter what
- this 'Evelina' may be, the fact remains that I gave a command that our
- home should be free from the taint of novel reading, and my wishes have
- been secretly ignored. I should not wonder if Fanny had encouraged Edward
- to procure the book for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot deny it,” said Fanny in a low voice. “'Twas my doing altogether.
- All the blame should rest on my shoulders—yes, from the first—the
- very first—from the title page on to 'Finis.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And your delinquency has given me greater pleasure than I have derived
- from other people's rectitude,” said Mr. Crisp. Then he turned to Mrs.
- Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear madam, you must forgive our Fannikin for her misdemeanour. If you
- had but read the book for yourself you would feel as I do on the subject.
- 'Tis the most fascinating story——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is, I hold, the worst of the matter,” said Mrs. Burney. “The more
- fascinating the novel, the more dangerous it is, and the greater reason
- there is why it should be excluded from every honest home. A dull story
- may do but little harm. One might reasonably tolerate it even among a
- household of young girls, but a clever one—a fascinating one, as you
- call this 'Evelina,' should never be allowed to cross the threshold. But,
- by your leave, sir, we will talk no more upon a question on which I know
- we shall never agree.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is the most satisfactory proposal that could be made,” said Mr.
- Crisp, bowing. “I will only add that since you are so fully sensible of
- the danger of a delightful book in your house, you will take prompt
- measures to prevent the baleful influence of 'Evelina' from pervading your
- home, by despatching the third volume to me without delay. The third
- volume of such a novel may in truth be likened to the match in the barrel
- of gunpowder: 'tis the most dangerous part of the whole. The first two
- volumes are like the gunpowder—comparatively innocent, but the
- moment the third volume is attached—phew! So you would do well not
- to delay in getting rid of such an inflammatory composition, Mrs. Burney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I promise you that you shall have it at once, sir,” said Mrs. Burney.
- “And I trust that you will not allow the first and second to return to my
- house. A barrel of gunpowder may be as innocent as you say, so long as the
- match is withheld, but still I have no intention of turning our home into
- a powder magazine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the last reference made to “Evelina” while Mrs. Burney and the
- two girls remained at Chessington. They went away so as to be back in St.
- Martin's Street in time for dinner; but the moment they were together in
- the chaise Mrs. Burney burst out once more in her denunciation of the vice
- of novel reading. From her general treatment of the theme she proceeded—as
- the girls feared she would—to the particular instance of its
- practice which had just come under her notice. She administered to poor
- Susy a sound scolding for having received the book from her cousin Edward
- in secret, and another to poor Lottie for having ventured to read it
- without asking leave. The girls were soon reduced to tears, but not a word
- did they say in reply. They were loyal to their sister and her secret with
- which they had been entrusted. Not a word did either of them utter.
- </p>
- <p>
- The drive home on that lovely afternoon was a dreary one, especially after
- Mrs. Burney had said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fear that this duplicity has been going on for a long time in our
- house. Yes, I have noticed more than once an exchange of meaning glances
- between you and Fanny, and sometimes, too, when your cousin Edward was in
- the room. It seemed to me that you had some secret in common which you
- were determined to keep from me. I said nothing at that time, for though
- my suspicions were awakened, yet I thought it best to take the most
- favourable view of the matter, and I assumed that the secret—if
- there was a secret—was an innocent one—such as girls in a
- family may share among themselves about some trifling thing; but now I
- have no doubt that your glances and your winks and your elbowings had to
- do with the smuggling of books into the house for your surreptitious
- reading. I am ashamed of you. It hurts me deeply to find that, after all
- the care I have taken to preserve you in innocence of the world and its
- wickedness, you have been behaving with such duplicity. I shall, of
- course, think it my duty to let your father know what I have found out,
- and he may be able to suggest some means of preventing a repetition of
- such conduct.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The poor girls dared not even look at each other for mutual sympathy, lest
- such glances should be interpreted by their mother as a further attempt to
- pursue the scheme of duplicity with which she had charged them. They could
- only sit tearful and silent until they were once again in St. Martin's
- Street. They longed to rush upstairs together to their room and mingle
- their tears in a sisterly embrace before determining how they should meet
- their stepmother's charges in the presence of their father.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mrs. Burney was too astute a strategist to permit them to consult
- together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is your master within?” she inquired of William, the man-servant, who
- opened the door for them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is in the library, madam, with Mrs. Esther,” replied the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So much the better,” said Mrs. Burney to the girls. “We shall go directly
- to him, and your sister Esther will be present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made them precede her to the room that was called the library. Dr.
- Burney and Hetty were laughing together across the table—the sound
- of their merriment had been heard by the girls before the door was opened.
- But at the portentous gravity of the entrance of Mrs. Burney her husband
- became grave.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have returned early,” he said, “and—good heavens! you have been
- weeping—you do not bring bad news—Fanny has not had a
- relapse?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fanny is quite well; but I bring you bad news,” replied Mrs. Burney. “You
- will, I am sure, regard it as the worst possible news when I tell you that
- she, as well as her sisters here, have been guilty of the grossest
- disobedience—a conspiracy of disobedience, I may call it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am amazed—and grieved,” said he. “But I can scarcely believe
- that, brought up as they have been——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They do not deny it,” said she. “I only discovered by chance that, in
- defiance of our rule against novel reading, they been have trafficking
- with their cousin Edward to procure novels for their secret reading, and
- the latest they smuggled into the house is that one called 'Evelina'—I
- actually found Fanny reading the book to Mr. Crisp, and her sisters
- admitted——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what did Fanny admit?” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She admitted that Edward had procured the book at her request,” replied
- his wife. “Was not that enough?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not half enough—not a quarter enough, considering that it was Fanny
- who wrote 'Evelina' with her own hand and under our very noses without our
- suspecting it,” said Dr. Burney quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney looked at him dumbly for more than a whole minute. There was
- silence in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she sat slowly down on the nearest chair, still keeping her eyes
- fixed upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>OCTOR BURNEY sat
- for a long time staring at a point high above his wife's head. The eldest
- daughter, Hetty, standing at the other side of the writing-table, was
- radiant; her eyes were dancing. The two others were standing together—huddled
- together, it might be said, for they suggested a pair of lambs recently
- frightened—doubtful of what is going to happen next and feeling that
- the closer they are to each other the safer they will be.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you ever hear of anything so funny?” said Hetty, glancing around and
- still radiant.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her father got upon his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she was the only one that never had any attention,” said he, as if he
- had not heard Hetty's remark. “Fanny was left to make her own way as
- pleased her best—no one troubled about her education. She was left
- to pick up knowledge as best she could—the crumbs that fell from the
- others' table—that was how she picked up French when the others came
- back from school, and now she speaks it with the best of them... And so
- shy! Tell me, if you can, how she got her knowledge of things—the
- things in that book—the pictures red with life—the real
- life-blood of men and women—love—emotion—pathos—all
- that make up life—and don't forget the characterization—that's
- what seems to me all but miraculous. Hogarth—we all know that
- Hogarth drew his characters and fitted them into his pictures because he
- made it a point to walk among them and look at them with observant eyes;
- but tell me, if you can, what chance that child had of seeing anything;
- and yet she has filled her canvas, and every bit is made up of firm, true
- drawing. That is the chief wonder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke evidently under the impulse of a great excitement at first, not
- looking at anyone in particular—just skimming them all with his eyes
- as he paced the room. But he seemed gradually to recover himself as he
- talked, and he appeared to address his last words to his wife. This
- assisted her to recover herself also—a minute or so in advance of
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You seem to be sure that Fanny wrote it,” she said, when he had done. “Is
- it fair to condemn her before you make sure?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Everyone looked at Mrs. Burney; but only her husband laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Condemn her—condemn her for having written the finest novel since
- Fielding?” he said, with the laugh still on his face. There was no laugh
- on hers; on the contrary, its expression was more serious than ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A novel is a novel,” she said. “I told Mr. Crisp—but that was only
- about the reading of novels—the cleverer they are the more
- mischievous—dangerous—even the reading—I never dreamt of
- her going so far as to write one, clever or otherwise. But a novel is
- still a novel—she must have neglected her duties in the house,
- though I failed to observe it... and sending it to a bookseller without
- saying a word to us! Who would have believed that a young woman with her
- training—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It flashed across me when I read the verses addressed to myself at the
- beginning that she had asked my permission some months ago, and that I had
- given it—I did so laughing at the poor child's credulousness in
- believing that any bookseller would print it for her and pay her for the
- privilege—the privilege of making a thousand pounds out of her
- book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! are you serious?—a thousand pounds, did you say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Lowndes will make more than a thousand pounds by the sale of the book—Hetty
- tells me that he only paid Fanny twenty for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is the world coming to—a fortune in a single book! And we
- talked about her being portionless, when all the time she was more richly
- endowed than all the rest of the family; for if she has written one book,
- she can certainly write another equally remunerative. 'Perhaps she has
- another ready for the printers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Burney was blessed with the capacity to look at matters, however
- artistic they might be, from the standpoint of the practical housekeeper.
- The mention of so sonorous a sum as a thousand pounds caused the scales of
- prejudice to fall from the eyes through which she had regarded the act of
- authorship, and at that instant she perceived that it should not be
- thought of as a delinquency but as a merit.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, after all, it appeared that the girl had obtained the permission of
- her father to print it—that put quite a different complexion upon
- the transaction, did it not?
- </p>
- <p>
- And a thousand pounds—that appealed to the good sense of a practical
- person and swept away the last cobweb of prejudice that she had had
- respecting novels and their writers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has she another book written, think you?” she inquired in a tone full of
- interest. “Of course we shall see that she gets a better share of Mr.
- Lowndes' thousand pounds than she did for her first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has not written a line since 'Evelina,'” said Esther. “To be sure, I
- have not been her <i>confidante</i> since I got married, but I know that
- she was so frightened at the thought of what she had done that she would
- not write another page.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frightened! What had she to be frightened about?” cried Mrs. Burney in a
- tone of actual amazement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Goodness knows,” said Esther with a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sound of the dinner-bell coming at that moment had about it also
- something of the quality of a long, loud, sonorous outburst of laughter
- with a cynical tinkle at the last.
- </p>
- <p>
- The group in that room dissolved in all directions with exclamations of
- dismay at being overtaken by the dinner-hour so unprepared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is all over now,” said Susy to Lottie, when they were alone in their
- room. “I was afraid when she ushered us so formally into the library that
- we would be forced to tell our secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I made up my mind that no torture of the rack or wild horses would unseal
- my lips,” said Susy, earnestly. “Do you know, Lottie, I feel quite lonely
- without our secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is just the same with me, dear,” said Lottie. “I feel as if I were
- suddenly cut off from some great interest in life—as if I had gone
- downstairs one morning and found that someone had stolen the piano. I
- wonder if it was Hetty who told the padre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Make haste and we shall soon learn all,” said Susy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before they had finished dinner they learned from their father how he had
- got to the bottom of the secret that they had so cherished.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had gone as usual to give a music lesson to Queenie Thrale, and when
- partaking of some refreshment before setting out for London, Mrs. Thrale
- had talked to him in terms of the highest praise of “Evelina.” She had
- read the book twice over, she told him, and had lent it to Dr. Johnson,
- who could talk of nothing else. Then Mrs. Cholmondeley had arrived on a
- visit to Thrale Hall, and she, too, was full of praise of the book. She,
- too, had lent her copy to someone else—to no less important a person
- than Mr. Edmund Burke, and he had declared himself as greatly captivated
- by it as his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds had been. Everybody was talking
- about it, and the question of the authorship had been as widely discussed
- as before; Mrs. Cholmondeley had declared that she would give twenty
- guineas to find out for certain who it was that had written the book.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale had thereupon suggested that Dr. Burney was in a better
- position than most people for solving the mystery, going about as he was
- from one part of the town to another and being in close touch with all
- manner of people.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I had not, as you know, so much as read the book for myself—I
- seemed to be the only one in town who had not done so—and on getting
- home I sent William post haste to Mr. Lowndes to purchase a set. This
- done, I sat down to peruse the first volume. The page opened on the Ode;
- it lay beneath my eyes, and I tell you truly that I did not seem to read
- it: I seemed to hear Fanny's voice reading the verses in my ear, and the
- truth came upon me in a flash—incredible though it appeared, I knew
- that it was she who had written the book. Hetty came in before my eyes
- were dry—she saw the volume in my hand, and she understood all. 'You
- know,' was all that she said. I think that the greatest marvel was the
- keeping of the secret of the book! To think of its being known to four
- girls and never becoming too great for them to bear!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was appealing to his wife, but she only nodded a cold acquiescence in
- his surprise. She remained silent, however, and this was something to be
- grateful for, the girls thought: they knew just what she was thinking, and
- they also knew that if they had some little trouble in keeping their
- secret, she had very much more in restraining herself from uttering some
- comment upon their reticence—their culpable reticence, she would
- think it. They could see that she was greatly displeased at having been
- excluded from their secret, since such an exclusion had forced her into a
- false position more than once—notably in the presence of Mr. Crisp,
- when she had become the assailant of novels and novel reading generally,
- and also when she had scolded them on their return in the chaise. But they
- were good girls, and they were ready to allow that they were in the wrong,
- even though they did not think so: that is what really good girls do in
- their desire for peace in their homes. And Lottie and Susy made up their
- minds that should their stepmother tax them with double-dealing and
- deceit, they would not try to defend themselves. The reflection that they
- had kept their sister's secret would more than compensate them for any
- possible humiliation they might suffer at Mrs. Burney's hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- All that Mrs. Burney said at the conclusion of her husband's further
- rhapsody about the marvel of Fanny's achievement, considering how she had
- been generally thought the dunce of the family, was comprised in a few
- phrases uttered in a hurt tone:
- </p>
- <p>
- “While no one is more pleased than myself to witness her success, I cannot
- but feel that she would have shown herself possessed of a higher sense of
- her duty as a daughter if she had consulted her father or his wife in the
- matter,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be true enough,” said Dr. Burney; “but if she had done so, would
- she have achieved her purpose any more fully than she has, I ask you? No,
- my dear, I do not feel, with any measure of certainty, that I would have
- gone far in my encouragement of her efforts, nor do I think that you would
- have felt it consistent with your principles to do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was only referring to the question of a simple girl's duty in regard to
- her parents,” said Mrs. Burney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And your judgment on that point is, I am certain, unassailable,” said he.
- “But here we have a girl who is no simple girl, but a genius; and I think
- that a good deal of latitude should be allowed to a genius—a little
- departure from the hard and fast line of the duties expected from a simple
- girl may be permitted in such a one as Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, she has succeeded in her aims—so much is plain,” said Mrs.
- Burney. “But I hope that should any of her sisters set about a similar
- enterprise——”
- </p>
- <p>
- But the ringing laughter that came from the sisters, their father joining
- in with great heartiness, saved the need for her to complete her sentence.
- At first she felt hurt, but she quickly yielded to the exuberant spirit
- that pervaded the atmosphere of the room, and smiled indulgently, after
- the manner of a staid elderly lady who is compelled to take part in the
- romp of her girls and boys at Christmas time.
- </p>
- <p>
- She continued smiling, and the others continued laughing, and this spirit
- of good humour was maintained until bedtime.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girls knew that they would not be scolded for their participation in
- Fanny's secret; for Fanny by her success had justified any amount of
- double-dealing. If Fanny had made a fool of herself they would feel that
- they deserved to participate in her scolding; but success is easily
- pardoned, and so they rightly counted upon a general amnesty. What was it
- that their father had said about a thousand pounds?
- </p>
- <p>
- They went to bed quite happy, in spite of being deprived of the fearful
- joy of having a secret to keep.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>R. BURNEY had
- given instructions that Fanny was not to be communicated with at
- Chessington until he had seen her; but that the third volume of the book
- was to be sent to Mr. Crisp without delay. He was to go to Streatham again
- in two days' time, and thence to Chessington, where he would make Mr.
- Crisp aware of the identity of the writer of “Evelina.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He anticipated an interesting hour with Mr. Crisp, but a very much more
- interesting half-hour with Mrs. Thrale; for he meant, of course, to lose
- no time in letting that lady into the secret: he knew that she would make
- the most of the information he could impart to her; to be the first to
- learn what all her friends were striving to learn would at once place her
- above Mrs. Cholmondeley, who was willing to pay twenty guineas for the
- knowledge, and even Mrs. Montagu, who was inclined to patronize Mrs.
- Thrale and a good many other ladies, in spite of the fact that Dr. Johnson
- dined usually five days out of every week with Mrs. Thrale, but had only
- dined once with Mrs. Montagu since she had gone to her new house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr. Burney was well aware how valuable the Thrale connection was to him; a
- teacher of music is apt to look with sparkling eyes at a houseful of girls
- whose father possesses the possibilities of such wealth as was defined by
- Dr. Johnson in this particular case as beyond the dreams of avarice. Dr.
- Burney had a very nice judgment on the subject of an influential
- connection, and so was delighted to have a chance of doing a signal good
- turn to so deserving a patroness as Mrs. Thrale. Yes, he felt sure that
- his half-hour at Streatham Hall would be the most interesting of the many
- half-hours he had spent under the same hospitable roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- And he was not mistaken in his surmise.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale had, as usual, several friends coming to partake of an early
- repast with her; and Dr. Burney had pictured to himself the effect of his
- announcement to the company that his daughter had written the book upon
- which he was pretty sure the conversation would turn—indeed, he felt
- that he would be greatly surprised if the conversation did not immediately
- rush to the question of “Evelina” and remain there for the rest of the
- afternoon; for the enterprising ladies would doubtless bring with them
- some fresh suggestions or new cues to its authorship. He pictured himself
- allowing them to go on for some time until perhaps a statement would be
- made which he should have to contradict point-blank. They would all look
- at him in surprise. What did he know about the matter? Was he interested
- in the question? Had he found out anything?
- </p>
- <p>
- How he would smile while saying quietly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I am more or less interested in the matter, the fact being that
- 'Evelina' is the work of my daughter, Fanny Burney!”
- </p>
- <p>
- That would be, he thought, a fitting moment in which to divulge the
- secret; he saw the whole scene clearly before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- But before he had reached his destination that intuition of what would
- commend itself to a patron which had been so important an auxiliary to his
- ability in placing him above his rivals in his profession, overcame his
- desire to play the most important part in a dramatic scene; he perceived
- that such a rôle should be taken by an influential patroness, and not by
- himself. Thus it was that when Mrs. Thrale was giving him a cup of
- chocolate after his journey he smiled, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was greatly interested in the conversation between Mrs. Cholmondeley
- and the other ladies when I was last here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About 'Evelina'?” she inquired. “Ah, I wonder if Mrs. Cholmondeley has
- yet paid over her twenty guineas to the discoverer of the author. It seems
- that he has as arduous a task in regard to 'Evelina' as Raleigh had in
- regard to his El Dorado.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So it would appear,” said Dr. Burney. “Let us hope that his efforts will
- be more highly valued than those of poor Sir Walter. Have you yourself no
- suspicions on the subject, madam?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, suspicions? There have been as many suspicions set going on this
- subject within the month as would be entertained only by the most
- imaginative Bow Street runner. For my own part, I maintain that the book
- could only have been writ by our friend Horace Walpole. He found that his
- 'Otranto' excited so much curiosity when published without a name, he came
- to the conclusion that he would produce another novel with the same amount
- of mystery attached to it. The only point against this assumption is that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That the book was assuredly written by another person,” said Burney,
- smiling in a way that he designed to be somewhat enigmatical.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale tried to interpret his smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!” she exclaimed, “you have formed another theory—you—you
- have heard something since you were last here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not something, madam—not a mere something, but everything—everything
- that is to be known regarding the writer of that book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is't possible? Who is your informant?—the value of all that you
- have heard is dependent upon the accuracy of your informant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The book was written by the person whom I fancied I knew best of all the
- people in the world, and yet the last person whom I would believe capable
- of such a feat. The author of the book—I am the author of her being—she
- is none other than my daughter Fanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale sat staring at him, one arm resting upon the table, her lips
- parted as if about to utter an exclamation of surprise, but unable to do
- so by reason of her surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- More than a minute had passed before she was able to speak, and then she
- could do no more than repeat his words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your daughter Fanny—your daughter—but is not Fanny the little
- shy one that goes into a corner when you have company?” she asked, in a
- tone that suggested that she had heard something too ridiculous to be
- believed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is that one, madam,” he replied. “It would seem as if the corner of a
- room has its advantages in enabling one to observe life from a true
- standpoint. Two eyes looking out from a corner with a brain behind them—there
- you have the true writer of a novel of life and character. Poor Fanny! How
- often have not I talked of her as 'poor Fanny'? She had no education
- except what she contrived to pick up haphazard—a sweet child—a
- lovable daughter, but the last person in the world to be suspected of such
- a book as 'Evelina.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are sure, sir—you have seen—heard—you know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beyond any doubt. Her sisters were let into the secret, but neither of
- her parents. I know now why that was—no want of duty—no lack
- of respect—she began the book for her own amusement, and it grew
- under her hand; she sent it to a bookseller, more as a jest than in the
- belief that anything would come of it, and up to the last it was treated
- by her and her sisters as a schoolroom mystery—a nursery secret—and
- Mrs. Burney and I were kept out of it solely because we were not of the
- nursery or the schoolroom. And when it became a serious matter we were
- excluded because they were afraid to reveal it to us—Fanny herself,
- dear child!—feared that we would be concerned if it were stillborn.
- It was only when it was at the point of being published by Mr. Lowndes
- that she came to me saying that she had been writing something and wanted
- my leave to send it forth, promising that no name would appear upon the
- title page. I gave my leave with a smile, and when I had my laugh at the
- innocence of the girl in fancying that any bookseller would pay for the
- printing of what she might scribble, I forgot all about the matter. It was
- only when I sent for the book and read the Ode addressed to myself that I
- seemed to hear Fanny's voice speaking the words in my ear—I told the
- others so when they returned from visiting her at Chessington. But
- meantime Esther had come to me, and she told me all that was known to her
- about the book and its secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The most wonderful story ever known—more wonderful than the story
- of Evelina herself!” cried Mrs. Thrale. “How people—Mrs.
- Cholmondeley and the rest—will lift up their hands! Who among them
- will believe it all possible? List, my dear doctor, you must bring her to
- me in the first instance—all the others will be clamouring for her
- to visit them—I know them! You must bring her to me without delay—why
- not to-day? I can easily send a chaise for her—a coach if necessary.
- Well, if not to-day, to-morrow. I must have her here. We will understand
- each other—she and I; and Dr. Johnson will be with us—quite a
- little company—for dinner. You will promise me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be assured, dear madam, that there is no house apart from her home where
- I feel she would be happier than in this,” said Dr. Burney. “She has often
- expressed the warmest admiration for you, and I know that her dearest wish
- is to be on terms of intimacy with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The sweet girl! she shall have her dearest wish gratified to the fullest
- extent, sir. You will bring her as early to-morrow as it suits you. Good
- heavens! to think of that dear retiring child taking the town by storm!
- Dr. Johnson wrote to me no later than last evening, expressing once more
- his delight in reading the book, and Mr. Burke, too—but you heard
- about Mr. Burke. I will never forget your courtesy in telling me first of
- all your friends that she was the author, dear doctor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If not you, madam, whom would I have told?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be ever grateful. You will give me leave to make the revelation
- to my friends who will be here to-day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is open for you to tell them all that I have told you, my dear madam;
- and you may truthfully add that if the writing of the book will bring her
- into closer intimacy with Mrs. Thrale, the author will feel that it has
- not been written in vain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made his lowest bow on rising from the table to receive his pupil, who
- entered the room at that moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had confidence that he was right in his intuition that his patroness
- would act with good effect the rôle which he had relinquished in her
- favour, when her friends would arrive in another hour for their
- “collation;” and he was ready to allow that none could have played the
- part more neatly than she did when the time came to prove how much
- better-informed she was than the rest of the world. She might have been
- possessed of the knowledge that Miss Burney was the writer of “Evelina”
- from the first, from the easy and natural way in which she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray do not trouble yourselves telling me what Mrs. Cholmondeley said to
- Mr. Lowndes, or what Mr. Lowndes said to someone else about the writer of
- the novel; for it happens that I know, and have known for—for some
- time the name of the author.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There were a few little exclamations of surprise, and a very pretty
- uplifting of several pairs of jewelled hands at this calm announcement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes,” she continued, “the writer is a friend of my own, and the
- daughter of one of my most valued friends, and if any people talk to you
- in future of 'Evelina' being the work of Mr. Walpole or Mr. Anstey or any
- man of letters, pay no attention to these astute investigators, but tell
- them that I said the book is the work of Miss Fanny Burney, one of the
- daughters of the celebrated Dr. Charles Burney, himself the author of a
- 'History of Music' that will live so long as the English language has a
- literature of its own.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale did it all with amazing neatness, Dr. Burney thought; and the
- attempt that she made to conceal the expression of triumph in the glance
- that she gave to her guests let him know that his tact had been exercised
- in the right direction. Mrs. Thrale was not the woman to forget that he
- had given her such a chance of proving to her friends how intimate was her
- association with the literary history of the day. She had been for several
- years the patroness of Dr. Johnson, who had written the best dictionary,
- and now she was about to take under her protection Miss Burney, who had
- written the best novel. He knew that Mrs. Thrale was almost as glad to be
- able to reveal the secret of “Evelina” as if she had written the book
- herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- And everyone else at the table felt that Mrs. Thrale was indeed an
- amazingly clever woman; and wondered how Mrs. Cholmondeley would feel when
- she had learned that she had been forestalled in her quest after the
- information on which she had placed a value of twenty guineas.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T had all come to
- her now. She had had her dreams from time to time when working at her
- novel—dreams of recognition—of being received on terms of
- equality by some of the lesser literary people who had visited the house
- in St. Martin's Street, and had gone away praising the musical talents of
- her sisters, but leaving her unnoticed. Her aspirations had been humble,
- but it seemed to her so stupid to be stupid in the midst of a brilliant
- household, that she longed to be able to do something that would, at
- least, cause their visitors of distinction to glance into her corner and
- recognize her name when it was spoken in their hearing. That was all she
- longed for at first—to be recognized as “the one who writes,” as
- people recognized “the one who plays.” But since Signor Rauzzini had come
- upon the scene her ambitions had widened. She dreamt not merely of
- recognition, but of distinction, so that he might be proud of her, and
- that she might not merely be spoken of as the wife of the Roman singer.
- That dream of hers had invariably been followed by a feeling of depression
- as she reflected upon the improbability of its ever being realized, and if
- it should not be realized, all hope of happiness would pass from her life.
- Thus it was that for some months she had lived with the cold finger of
- despair constantly pressing upon her heart. She was so practical—so
- reasonable—that she could never yield herself up to the fascination
- of the Fool's Paradise of dreams; she was ready to estimate her chances of
- literary success, and the result of the operation was depressing. How
- could any young woman who had seen so little of life, and who had been so
- imperfectly educated, have any hope to be received as a writer of
- distinction? What claim to distinction could such a girl as she advance in
- the face of the competition that was going on around her in every branch
- of distinctive work?
- </p>
- <p>
- For some months her good sense and her clear head were her greatest
- enemies; evermore bringing her back to the logic of a life in which
- everything is represented by figures, from a great artistic success to a
- butcher's bill—a life in which dreams play a part of no greater
- significance than the splendid colours clinging about the West in the
- unalterable routine of the setting sun.
- </p>
- <p>
- Many times she had awakened in the night to weep as she felt the
- bitterness of defeat; for her book had been given to the world and the
- world had received it as the sea receives a stone that is flung upon its
- surface. That simile of the stone and the sea was constantly recurring to
- her, and every time she saw that it was weak—that it fell short of
- meeting her case, for her book had made no stir whatsoever in the world,
- whereas a stone, however small it might be, could not be given to the sea
- without creating some stir on the surface of the waters.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, quite unexpectedly, had come a whisper from the world to tell
- her that her book had not been submerged: the whisper had increased in
- volume until it had sounded in her ears like a shout of acclamation,
- telling her that the reality had far surpassed her most sanguine dreams,
- and that common-sense reasoning is sometimes farther astray in its
- operation than are the promptings of the most unreasonable ambition.
- </p>
- <p>
- These were her rose-tinted reflections while driving with her father from
- Chessington to Streatham, a journey which represented to her the passing
- from obscurity to distinction, the crossing of the Jordan and the entering
- into the Land of Promise.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny Burney has herself told the story of her father's coming to her at
- Chessington, and of her dear old friend's reception of the marvellous news
- that Dr. Burney brought to him—of the phrases which she overheard
- while the two men were in a room together—the incredulous
- exclamations—“Wonderful—it's wonderful!”—“Why, she has
- had very little education but what she has given herself—less than
- any of the others”—“The variety of characters—the variety of
- scenes, and the language”—“Wonderful!” And then Mr. Crisp's meeting
- her, catching her by the hands as she was going in to supper, and crying,
- “Why, you little hussy, ain't you ashamed to look me in the face you—you
- 'Evelina,' you! Why, what a dance you have led me about it!” Miss Burney
- has brought the scene vividly before our eyes in her Diary.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was one of the happiest days of her life; she saw the pride with which
- her father regarded her, for Dr. Burney was a practical man who valued
- achievement as it deserved, and was, besides, the best of fathers, and the
- most anxious to advance the interests of his children. He looked with
- pride upon his daughter, and talked of her having made Mr. Lowndes a
- wealthy man. His estimate of her earning powers had increased: he now
- declared that even if Lowndes had paid a thousand pounds for the book, his
- profits off it would enable him to buy an estate!
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the happiest evening of her life; and now she was in the chaise
- with her beloved father, driving to Streatham, where they were to dine,
- and Dr. Johnson was to be of the party. This meant more than recognition,
- it meant the Land of Promise of her ambitious dreams.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had many matters to reflect upon at this time, but all her reflections
- led to the one point—her next meeting with Rauzzini. The truth that
- had been revealed to her among Sir Joshua Reynolds' superb canvases, that
- love was more than all else that the world could give her, remained before
- her, as a luminous fixed star, to be a guide to her life; and the
- happiness that she now felt was due to the thought that she could go to
- the man whom she loved, without a misgiving, without fearing that he would
- hear those dreaded voices of the world saying that he had been a fool to
- ally himself with a nonentity, or that she would hear the whispers of
- those who might suggest that she had done very well for herself. She had
- long before made her resolution only to go to him when she could do so on
- terms of equality. At that time her resolution seemed to shut her out from
- all chances of happiness; she knew this, but at the same time she believed
- that it would shut both of them out from every chance of unhappiness; and
- so she had allowed it to dominate her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was where her common-sense and her reasonableness had their way,
- prevailing over that blind impulse which she now and again had, to trust
- to chance—and love—to overcome every other consideration, and
- to give her lover and herself happiness solely by being together. It was
- such impulses as this that caused love to be referred to as blind. But she
- was now ready to thank heaven for having given her strength to overcome it
- and so to give the victory to reason and good sense.
- </p>
- <p>
- She made up her mind to write to him before she slept that very night,
- telling him what her resolution had been—he had called it a mystery,
- not knowing anything about it—and asking him to rejoice with her
- that she had been able to maintain it, so that the barrier which she had
- seen between them was now swept away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come to me—come to me”—that would be the burden of her letter
- to him; she would send it to him and he would come.
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought made her lean back among the cushions of the chaise and shut
- her eyes, the better to enclose the vision of happiness that came from her
- heart. He would come to her and her happiness would be complete.
- </p>
- <p>
- So she arrived with her father at Thrale Hall and was welcomed by Mrs.
- Thrale in the porch. When she had made her toilet for dinner she was shown
- into the drawing-room. As she entered, she was conscious of the presence
- of several men, and the one nearest to her was, she saw, Signor Rauzzini.
- </p>
- <p>
- All the men in the room were looking toward her except Rauzzini. He was
- standing by the side of a small table, presenting his profile to her, and
- his eyes were gazing across the room at a picture that hung between the
- windows, a frown on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was startled, and the blood rushed to her cheeks. It would have done
- so on her entering the room, even if she had not been surprised to see her
- lover there when she believed him to be still in France.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had stopped before reaching the middle of the room, and then she was
- hidden from the view of everybody by a huge mass of manhood in the person
- of Dr. Johnson. He seemed inclined to embrace her; and as he swung himself
- close to her, there was no one in the room that had not a moment of
- trepidation lest he should fall over her and crush her flat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale tripped alongside Fanny, as if ready to die with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come, Dr. Johnson,” she cried. “I have no intention of allowing you
- to monopolize Miss Burney, for that I perceive is your desire. The
- gentlemen must be presented to her in proper form.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said he, “I understood clearly that Miss Burney was coming hither
- for myself alone, and I have no mind to share so precious a morsel with
- others. Miss Burney and I are old friends, give me leave to say; I have
- more than once been interested in a book in the room where she was sitting
- in her father's house. Come to my arms, Miss Burney, and we shall laugh
- together at the jealous glances the others cast at me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Burney will sit beside you at dinner, sir, and that must suffice you
- for the present,” said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny by the hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Johnson had succeeded, after more than one ineffectual attempt, in
- grasping Miss Burney's left hand, and in his ponderous playfulness, he
- refused to relinquish it, so that she had to make her curtsies to the
- gentlemen with Mrs. Thrale on one side of her and Johnson on the other.
- There was Mr. Seward and Sir Joshua Reynolds, and two others besides
- Signor Rauzzini. Each of them had a compliment to offer her, and did so
- very pleasantly and with great tact.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now that is done, Miss Burney and I can sit together on the sofa, and she
- will tell me why she loves the Scotch and I will scold her for it,” said
- Johnson complacently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, sir, Miss Burney has not yet greeted Signor Rauzzini,” said Mrs.
- Thrale. “You and Miss Burney are already acquainted, I know, Signor
- Rauzzini, though you did fancy that she was one of the musical girls of
- St. Martin's Street.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Rauzzini took a single step away from the table at which he had remained
- immovable, and bowed low, without speaking a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fanny responded. They were separated by at least three yards.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dinner is on the table, sir,” announced a servant from the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not sorry,” said Johnson. “Mrs. Thrale gave me a solemn promise that
- Miss Burney should sit next to me. That was why I kept my eye on Miss
- Burney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And hand too, sir,” remarked Mr. Seward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, yes, sir, and hand too, if you insist,” said Johnson. “And let me
- tell you, sir, that a Lichfield man will keep his hand on anything he
- wishes to retain when another Lichfield man is in the same room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His laughter set the ornaments on the mantelpiece a-jingling.
- </p>
- <p>
- And they went in to dinner before the echoes had died away.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale kept her promise, and Fanny was placed next to Johnson. But
- even then he did not let go her hand. He held it in one of his own and
- patted it gently with the other. Fanny glanced down the table and saw that
- the eyes of the young Roman were looking in her direction, and that they
- were flaming. What could he mean, she wondered. She had been at first
- amazed at his bearing toward her in the drawing-room; but after a moment's
- thought, she had supposed that he had assumed that distant manner to
- prevent anyone from suspecting the intimacy there was between them. But
- what could that angry look in his eyes portend? Was it possible that he
- could be jealous of Dr. Johnson's awkward attention to her?
- </p>
- <p>
- She was greatly troubled.
- </p>
- <p>
- But if he had, indeed, resented Johnson's attention to her, such a plea
- was no longer valid after the first dish had been served, for in an
- instant Johnson's attention was transferred, with increased force, to the
- plate before him, and during the solid part of the meal, at least, it was
- never turned in any other direction. Poor Fanny had never seen him eat,
- nor had she the same privilege in respect of Mr. Thrale. But she needed
- all the encouragement that her hostess could afford her to enable her to
- make even the most moderate meal while such distractions were in her
- immediate neighbourhood; and she came to the conclusion that she had been
- ridiculously fastidious over the prodigious tea and its service at Mr.
- Barlowe's in the Poultry.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mrs. Thrale was as tactful and as chatty as ever, and Mr. Seward made
- pleasant conversation for her, sitting, as he did, on the other side from
- Johnson. When Johnson was eating, his fellow guests understood that their
- chance was come to express their views without a dread of being
- contradicted by him.
- </p>
- <p>
- But from the feebleness of her contribution to the chat of the table, Mrs.
- Thrale as well as Mr. Seward perceived that all they had been told about
- the timidity of little Miss Burney was even less than the truth.
- </p>
- <p>
- But for that matter, Signor Rauzzini, who had been placed between Mrs.
- Thrale and Dr. Burney, was found by both of them to be also singularly
- averse from joining in the conversation, whether in reply to Burney, who
- addressed him in Italian, or to his hostess, who spoke French to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- As Mrs. Thrale talked a good deal herself, however, she rose with an
- impression that there had been no especial lack of brilliancy at the
- table.
- </p>
- <p>
- She took Fanny away with her, her determination being that if she should
- fail to draw this shy young creature out of her shell, she would at any
- rate convince her that her hostess was deserving of the reputation which
- she enjoyed for learning, combined with vivacity, so that their
- companionship could not be otherwise than profitable after all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was not yet six
- o'clock and the sun was not due to set for more than another hour. The
- evening was a lovely one. From the shrubberies around the house came the
- liquid notes of countless blackbirds and thrushes, and above the trees of
- the park the cawing of the rooks as they wheeled above their nests and
- settled upon the branches.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall sit on the terrace for half an hour, if you have a mind to,”
- said Mrs. Thrale, taking Fanny through the drawing-room into a smaller
- room that opened upon a long terrace above the beds of the flower-garden.
- Here were several seats and a small table bearing writing materials.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here I do most of my correspondence in the summer,” said Mrs. Thrale.
- “Sitting at that table in the open air, I have few distractions, unless I
- choose to accept the birds as such; and here I hope you will begin a new
- novel, or better still, a comedy that Mr. Sheridan will produce, with Mrs.
- Abington in her most charming gowns—you must give your namesake a
- chance of wearing a whole trunkful of gowns.” They seated themselves, and
- Mrs. Thrale continued:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now I have confided in you how I do my simple work, and I wish to hear
- from you by what means you found time to write your novel. That is the
- greatest secret of all associated with 'Evelina'—so your father
- thinks. Mrs. Burney I always knew as a model housekeeper—a model
- manager of a family, and how you could contrive to write a single page
- without her knowledge is what baffles me as well as your father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To tell you all would, I fear, be to confess to a lifetime of duplicity,”
- said Fanny. “I am sometimes shocked now when I reflect upon my
- double-dealing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me how you first came to stray from the paths of virtue—such a
- story is invariably interesting,” said Mrs. Thrale.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My story is like all the others,” replied Fanny. “I only meant to turn
- aside a little way, but soon I lost myself and I knew that there was no
- retracing my steps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas, alas, the old story!” said Mrs. Thrale, with a long-drawn sigh.
- “Well, happily, you were not able to retrace your steps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had no idea that the story would grow upon me as it did,” said Fanny.
- “I really only meant it to be a diversion for our dear friend, Mr. Crisp,
- and an exercise for myself. I wrote a scrap now and again at odd moments—when
- I was supposed to be writing to Mr. Crisp, or copying out my father's
- notes for his History, at home as well as at Ches-sington, and when I was
- staying at Lynn; and so the thing grew and grew until I was afraid to look
- at what I had perpetrated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are paraphrasing <i>Macbeth</i>, my dear: 'I am afeared to think what
- I have done: Look on't again I dare not,'” said the elder lady. “But with
- all you were able to prepare your father's great work for the press—he
- told me as much; so that what your double-dealing comes to is that you did
- his writing as well as your own, and at the same time neglected none of
- your ordinary household duties—if you had done so Mrs. Burney would
- have informed you of it, I have no doubt. An excellent housewife, Mrs.
- Burney! And now you shall tell me how you contrived to bring together so
- marvellous a group of characters—you who have lived so short a time
- in the world, and had so small an amount of experience.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like someone to answer that question for me,” said Fanny. “It
- was not until I read the book in print that I began to be surprised at it,
- and to wonder how it came to be written and how those characters had found
- their way into it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But this question was too interesting a one not to be pursued by Mrs.
- Thrale; and for half an hour she put inquiry after inquiry to Fanny
- respecting the characters, the incidents and the language of “Evelina.”
- Mrs. Thrale was certainly determined to place herself in a position to
- prove to her friends that Miss Burney had made a <i>confidante</i> of her
- in all matters, down to the smallest detail of the book.
- </p>
- <p>
- In ordinary circumstances Fanny would have been delighted to give her her
- confidence in regard to these particulars—she had always a childlike
- pleasure in talking about her books—but at this time she only did so
- with a great effort. For while Mrs. Thrale was plying her with questions
- about “Evelina,” there was ever before Fanny the unanswered question as to
- what Rauzzini meant by his coldness and formality both before dinner and
- during that meal. What did he mean by looking at her with that reproachful
- frown upon his face? What did he mean by averting his eyes from her when
- he had a chance of exchanging confidences with her, as he had often done
- before? What did he mean by sitting at the table without addressing a
- single word to her?
- </p>
- <p>
- These were the questions which she was struggling in vain to answer to her
- own satisfaction all the time that Mrs. Thrale was putting inquiry after
- inquiry to her upon a matter that Fanny now regarded as insignificant
- compared with the one that she was trying to answer for herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Thrale was just beginning a series of questions on the subject of the
- comedy which she meant Miss Burney to write, when a servant appeared with
- a message for the former.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tiresome!” exclaimed Fanny's hostess, rising. “Here is some insignificant
- household matter that can only be dealt with by the mistress—summer
- frocks for two girls: the carrier has brought some boxes—the summer
- has come upon us before spring has prepared us for its arrival, and there
- has been a despairing cry heard in the nursery. I need not excuse myself
- to you, Miss Burney. You will spare me for ten minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Burney hoped that the feeling of relief of which she was conscious
- did not show itself on her face, when she expressed the hope that Mrs.
- Thrale would not think of her; she would be quite happy with the birds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the comedy—do not forget the comedy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Burney laughed, but before her hostess had reached the door leading
- off the terrace, she was once more immersed in that question:
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does he mean by his change of attitude in regard to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was serious—so much she knew. He had heard something that had
- caused him to change. But what could he have heard? What manner of man was
- he that would allow himself to be so influenced by anything that he might
- hear against her, without first coming to her for an explanation?
- </p>
- <p>
- Her mind went back to the evening when they had first met. It was in St.
- Martin's Street. He was there on the invitation of Dr. Burney: but it
- seemed that he had become conscious of a sympathy existing between her and
- himself, for he had remained by her side for a full hour while the others
- in the room were singing and playing on the piano, and he had held her
- hand at parting, expressing the hope, which his eyes confirmed, that they
- would soon meet again.
- </p>
- <p>
- And they had met again and again until one evening they found themselves
- alone in an anteroom to the apartment where a musical programme was being
- performed at a great house. Then he had told her that his happiness
- depended on her returning the love which he bore her; and startled though
- she had been, yet when he took her hand all her shyness seemed to vanish
- and she confessed....
- </p>
- <p>
- A sound behind her only served to make her memory seem more vivid, for it
- was his voice that reached her ear and it was singing the same aria that
- he had come from singing on that evening—the passionate “<i>Lascia
- ch'io pianga</i>” of Handel. Once more she was listening to the strains—they
- came from one of the rooms that opened upon the terrace—and now the
- chords of the accompaniment were struck with a vehemence that had been
- absent from her father's playing to Rauzzini's singing upon that occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- She listened as if in a dream while the noble, despairing strain went on
- to its close, and the melody sobbed itself into silence—a silence
- that the birds among the roses seemed unwilling to break, for only an
- occasional note of a thrush was in the air....
- </p>
- <p>
- She heard the sound of the door opening a little way down the terrace—of
- a foot upon the flagged path. She did not raise her head, but she knew
- that he was there—only a few yards away from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the silence there came the cawing of rooks far away among the
- trees of the park.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then all at once she heard his sudden exclamation of surprise. He had not
- seen her at first; he saw her now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Dio mio! ella è qui!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still she did not turn her head toward him. More than a minute had passed
- before she heard his slow steps as he approached her. He was beside her
- for quite as long before he spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not know that you were here,” he said in a low voice. “But I am
- glad. It is but right that I should say good-bye to you alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she looked up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why—why—why?” she cried almost piteously. “Why should you say
- good-bye? What has made the change in you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not I who have changed: it is you,” said he. “I loved the sweet,
- modest, untarnished jewel of a girl—a pearl hidden away from the
- sight of men in a dim sea-cave—a violet—ah, I told you how I
- loved the violet that hides itself from every eye—that was what you
- were when I loved you, and I hoped to return to your side and find you the
- same. Well, I return and—ah, where is the exquisite shrinking one
- that I looked for? Gone—gone—gone for ever, and in her place I
- find one whose name is in every mouth—not a soft, gentle girl, but a
- woman who has put her heart into a book—<i>Dio mio!</i> A woman who
- puts her heart into a book is like a woman who disrobes in a public place—worse—worse—she
- exposes a heart that should be sacred—feelings that it would be a
- gross indelicacy to exhibit to the eyes of man!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that is how you think of me on account of what I have done?” said
- she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I think anything else?” he cried. “I told you that I loved you
- because you were so unlike others—because you were like a child for
- timidity and innocence of the world. I told you on that last evening we
- were together how greatly I admired the act of Miss Linley in turning her
- back upon the platform where she had sung and vowing never to return to it—that
- was what I told you I loved—I who have seen how the nature—the
- womanly charm of every woman suffers by reason of her appealing to the
- public for money—for applause. That beautiful creature forsook the
- platform before it was too late—before the evil influence could work
- her ruin. But you—what do I hear the day I return to England?—you
- have put your heart—your soul, into a book that causes your name to
- be tossed about from mouth to mouth—Fanny Burney—Fanny Burney—Fanny
- Burney—I hear that name, which I regarded as sacred, spoken as
- freely as men speak the name of their Kitty Fisher—their Polly
- Kennedy—their Fanny Abington! These are public characters—so
- are you—oh, my God! so are you. You should have heard how you were
- discussed in that room behind us before you arrived to-day—that
- gross man Johnson—he called you by a dozen pet names as if he had a
- right—'Fan'—'Fannikin'—I know not what—' a shy
- rogue '—that was another! They laughed! They did not see the
- degradation of it. You were a toy of the public—the vulgar crowd!
- Ah, you saw how that gross man, who fed himself as a wolf, tucked you
- under his arm and the others only smiled! Oh, I was shocked—shocked!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I felt proud—prouder than I have felt in my life,” said she.
- “But now I see what I have lost—forfeited. Listen to me and I will
- tell you what my dream was. I had written that book, but I had no hope of
- printing it until I met you and heard from your lips—all that I
- heard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the truth—then: I loved you—then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that it was the truth. But who was I that I should be beloved by
- you? I felt that it would be unendurable to me to hear people refer to us—as
- I knew they would—the great singer who had stooped to a nonentity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! that was the charm!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who except you would have said so? I knew what they would say, and I made
- up my mind that I would not go to you except as an equal. I wanted you to
- marry someone of whom you would feel proud, and I thought that I had a
- little gift which I would lay at your feet. I did my best to perfect it
- for your sake; but even when the book was printed I would not give you my
- promise until I had assured myself that the gift would be pronounced
- worthy of your acceptance. That was why I put you off for so many months.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that was your mystery—you called it a mystery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was my secret—my mystery. Never mind; I thought that my hope
- was realized when everyone about me was talking of the book and when
- people whose opinion was valuable had said it was good—my one
- thought, God knows, was that I could go to you—that I could make you
- happy, since I should be thought by the world to be in some measure at
- least, worthy of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor child! you have not made me happy, but miserable. No one can make
- me happy now. I do not love you now—you are a different person now,
- and you can never return to be what you were. That is the worst of all:
- you can never return to your former innocence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can bear to hear you say even that; for now I perceive the mistake I
- made. I should not have thought of the difference between us: I should
- only have had one thought—that you had offered me your love and that
- I was ready to offer you my love. That should have been enough for me. You
- were right, I was wrong. Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her for a few moments—tears were in his eyes and on his
- cheeks—then he turned away with a passionate gesture, crying in his
- native tongue:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother—mother in heaven! I loved her because she was of a nature
- the same as yours—saint-like as a lily—shrinking from the
- world—in the world but having nothing in common with the world. I
- loved her because I thought that she was as you were. I will not be a
- traitor to your ideal—to your memory.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He returned to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am alone in the world; but I know that the spirit of that saint, my
- mother, looks down upon me from her heaven, and will comfort me. My heart
- is broken. <i>Addio! Addio!</i> I do not mean to be cruel—tell me
- that you do not accuse me of being cruel!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not accuse you. I think I understand you—that is all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Addio—addio—addio!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The sound of his voice grew less with every word.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was alone in the silence of the twilight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not for long, however. She heard the voice of Mrs. Thrale in the room
- behind her, followed by the protests of Dr. Johnson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Burney and I want to have an undisturbed talk together about writing
- books,” Mrs. Thrale was saying as she came out upon the terrace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Books, madam; any fool can talk of books, and a good many fools avail
- themselves of the licence,” cried Johnson. “Miss Burney and I are going to
- talk about life. Books are not life, Miss Burney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir,” said Miss Burney slowly; “books are not life—books are
- not life.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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