A Celebration of Women Writers

Juniper Hall: A Rendezvous of Certain Illustrious Personages during the French Revolution, Including Alexandre D'Arblay and Fanny Burney
Illustrated by Ellen G. Hill.
London and New York:
John Lane, The Bodley Head Limited
, 1904.

violence during the French Revolution



JANE AUSTEN: HER HOMES & HER FRIENDS. By CONSTANCE HILL. With numerous illustrations by ELLEN G. HILL, together with photogravure portraits.

21S. net. Demy 8vo. $6.00 net.

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view across a broad landscape to a large house in a valley
Juniper Hall






London & Edinburgh


IN a beautiful part of Surrey there stands a house famous as the resort of some distinguished French émigrés, who, during the Reign of Terror, had escaped from the guillotine.

This house, known as "Juniper Hall," is situated between the village of Mickleham and Burfordbridge. Within its walls there met together, a little more than a century ago, a group of singularly interesting persons, both French and English.

The French colony consisted of leading members of the Constitutional party, who had made great personal sacrifices in the cause of reform, and who had now suddenly fallen from power with the fall of their king; while among their English neighbours were the relatives of our authoress, Fanny Burney, and after a while Fanny Burney herself.

The letters of Miss Burney and of her sister, Mrs. Phillips, written during this period, reproduce the charming conversation and polished manners of this French "salon" on English soil, whose members, it has been remarked, united "toute la vigueur de la liberté et toute la grâce de la politesse ancienne."

Out of this intercourse of French and English the love-affair between Fanny Burney and M. d'Arblay arose, which, resulting as it did in their marriage, gives a special interest to the émigrés' sojourn in Mickleham.

By the kindness of members of the Burney family and others valuable original matter has been put into our hands, including unpublished letters by Fanny, and by her father, Dr. Burney, by Edmund Burke, Arthur Young, and other persons. Permission has also been given for the reproduction of interesting portraits and of contemporary sketches.

The literary reader will of necessity remark sundry lapses in grammar in the letters of Fanny Burney – which are surprising as coming from an authoress of her experience. But the freshness and spontaneity of her letters shine, perhaps, all the brighter from our feeling that nothing has been changed or corrected by an after-thought.

The portrait of Fanny Burney, given in this book, is now published for the first time. It is reproduced from the picture in the possession of Colonel Burney, which he inherited from his grandfather, Richard Allen Burney, who was a nephew and contemporary of the authoress. It is one of two portraits painted by Fanny's cousin, Edward Burney; the other being the well-known portrait prefixed to the "Diary and Letters."

The portrait of M. d'Arblay is a reproduction of the original crayon drawing now in the possession of Mr. Leverton Harris, M. P., of "Camilla Lacey," to whose kindness we also owe the permission to make use of other objects of interest in the Burney-parlour.

The portrait of Mr. Lock, of Norbury Park, is reproduced from a pencil drawing made by Edward Burney from the original portrait in oils by Sir Thomas Lawrence. This drawing is in all probability the sketch that used to hang on the walls of the cottage at Bookham, and which is spoken of by Madame d'Arblay as "dearest Mr. Lock, our founder's portrait."

To Lord Wallscourt, the great-grandson of Mr. and Mrs. Lock, we are indebted for permission to reproduce the beautiful portrait of Mrs. Lock, by Downman.

The picture of Juniper Hall is engraved from a watercolour drawing, by Dibdin, in the possession of Dr. Symes Thompson. It was taken many years before the house underwent any alteration.

The best portraits of the émigrés have been sought out by us in Paris, Versailles, and elsewhere, and we have obtained contemporary prints of the prison of the Abbaye and of the Place de Grève, scenes connected with their imprisonment or escape; while in the neighbourhood of Mickleham numerous sketches have been made of places where their intercourse with the Burney family and others took place.

Among the books from which material has chiefly been drawn are the "Diary and Letters of Madame d'Arblay," edited by her niece; the "Memoir of Dr. Burney," by Madame d'Arblay; the "Memoires de Malouet," and, for its autobiographical portions, Madame de Staël's "Considérations sur les principaux Evénémens de la Revolution Française."

We should like to take this opportunity of thanking all who have assisted in the production of this book; whether by allowing us to visit their interesting houses or providing us with fresh material and portraits. Among them we would especially mention the name of Archdeacon Burney, a grand-nephew of the authoress, whose important collection has been generously put at our disposal.

The subject of this work has been found by the writer to be interesting and inspiring to a high degree. It is hoped that the reader may find it so also.


         October 1903.




Juniper Hall (From a water-colour drawing by Dibdin, taken in 1844)Frontispiece
River Mole2
Ruined Chapel4
Cypher used by Marie AntoinetteTo face 12
Old balcony, with the Fleur-de-lis, Quai Bourbon, Paris14
Portrait of Victor Pierre MalouetTo face 16
Doorway in the Rue du Bac (Adapted from a French drawing)19
Portrait of Lally-Tollendal (his flight from Paris below)To face 22
Prison of the Abbaye (Old Print)To face 24
Hôtel de Ville and Place de Grève (Old Print)To face 28
Dover Cliffs36
The Cottage at West-Humble38
A Room in the Cottage40
Portrait of Arthur YoungTo face 42
Portrait of the Duc de LiancourtTo face 44
Portrait of Alexandre, G. P. d'Arblay (From the original crayon drawing in the possession of F. Leverton Harris, Esq., M.P.)To face 54
The Sculptured Drawing-room at Juniper Hall57
The Home of Captain and Mrs. Phillips 61
Mrs. Phillips' Drawing-room64
Portrait of Mr. Lock of Norbury Park (From a drawing by Edward Burney, after the painting by Sir Thomas Lawrence)To face 66
Old Houses on the Seine69
Norbury Park from the Valley71
Portrait of Louis Lara, Comte de NarbonneTo face 74
A French Château78
Portrait of Fanny Burney (From a painting by Edward Burney, in the possession of Colonel Burney)To face 80
The "Whitestone" on Hampstead Heath87
The Picture-room, Norbury Park97
Portrait of Mrs. Lock (From a drawing by Downman, in the possession of the Lord Wallscourt)To face 100
The Hall, Norbury Park103
Portrait of the Abbé EdgeworthTo face 110
Box Hill from the Valley117
Portrait of Madame de Staël (From a painting by F. Reyberg)To face 118
Portrait of Monsieur de TalleyrandTo face 130
Norbury Park (Entrance side) (Old print)To face 138
Old Conservatory, Norbury Park140
"The Running Horse"143
The "Druids' Walk," Norbury Park145
Chesington Hall. (Front a drawing in the possession of Archdeacon Burney)147
Mulberry Tree in the Garden of Chesington Hall150
The "Mount" and Summer-house152
Window of the "Conjuring Closet" in Chesington Hall156
Carved Stone Seat, Norbury Park161
Portrait of Charles Burney. (After Sir Thomas Lawrence)To face 162
Chimney-piece decoration in Juniper Hall164
Mickleham Church in the Eighteenth Century166
Facsimile of the Entry in Mickleham Church Books of the Marriage of Alexandre d'Arblay and Frances BurneyTo face 166
Norman Doorway of Mickleham Church167
Chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador, Lincoln's Inn Fields169
Chimney-piece Ornament in Juniper Hall175
Portrait of Edmund Burke (By Romney)To face 182
Title-page of Madame d'Arblay's Appeal on Behalf of the French Emigrant Clergy184
The Cottage at Bookham190
Interior of the Cottage192
Box Hedges at Mickleham197
Portrait of Mrs. (afterwards Lady) CreweTo face 202
A Baby's Pincushion204
Old Cottages near Mickleham207
Title-page of "Camilla"211
The Terrace at Windsor in the Eighteenth Century212
The "Friseur"214
Portrait of Edward Burney (By himself)To face 224
Camilla Cottage (From and old sketch in the possession of F. Leverton Harris, Esq., M.P.)230
Chimney-piece Ornament in Juniper Hall233
Facsimile of Autograph Letter from Madame d'Arblay to her brother CharlesTo face 238
Passage in Camilla Cottage239
The Unaltered Room in Camilla Cottage244
General d'Arblay's "Hillock"245
Juniper Hill253
Medallion. A Mural Decoration in Juniper Hall, and also in Norbury Park (Subject unknown)262


The scroll upon the binding of this book is copied from a marble chimney-piece in Juniper Hall.



IT is a summer's afternoon. A Surrey valley lies before us, silent in the warm, sleepy sunshine. A lark is singing over head, and the air is filled with the scent of hay. The lazy Mole winds slowly beneath its vault of spreading boughs and its fringe of white hemlock and red campion. Above the river rise the wooded slopes of Norbury Park, while, on the further side of the valley, towers Box Hill, its patches of chalky cliff catching the rays of the western sun.

In old times the pilgrims, on their way to Canterbury, trod this ground. They came over the North Downs, and, descending into the valley through a dip in the hills, crossed the Mole by a foot-bridge which bore the name of Pray-bridge. A field hard by is still known as Pray-meadow. The ruins of a chapel, on the slope of the Downs, mark the pilgrims' halting-station, and give the names to Chapel Lane and Chapel Croft.

We fancy we see the long motley procession, with its pack-horses and mules, slowly moving across the valley and ascending the hill on the

The river Mole winds beneath spreading trees

further side. As the pilgrims pass out of sight, another vision arises, and we see here, in this same valley among its green lanes and sunny pastures, foreign faces and foreign figures, and we listen to a foreign tongue! Who can these strangers be? Their rapid utterance and eager gesticulations, combined with their airs of courtly elegance, can surely belong to but one nation? Yes, they are French; but what has brought them to our shores?

A great turmoil is surging beyond the Channel; the French Revolution, so nobly begun, has now entered upon its dark and tragic stage and all good men and true, thrust out of power, are being hunted down like wild beasts. It is some of these very persons who, just escaped from the guillotine, have sought safety and shelter in our peaceful valley – and, as our eyes rest upon the woods of Norbury Park, we rejoice to think of the hearty welcome given by its owner to these strangers. We think, too, of the no less hearty welcome given by the dwellers in a modest cottage at the foot of that park – the near relatives of our authoress, Fanny Burney.

It is a circumstance to strike the imagination – this little colony of émigrés, with their high sounding names, famous as statesmen, as orators, or as writers – dropped down, as if from the skies, on to this quiet country side! We seem to hear the echo of their brilliant talk, coming across a space of more than a hundred years. We catch the words of eloquence of Madame de Staël and the cynical jests of Talleyrand, and can distinguish the voices of Narbonne and of Matthieu de Montmorenci, of Malouet, of Jaucourt, of Lally-Tollendal, of the Princesse d'Hénin, of Madame de Broglie, of Madame de la Châtre, of Girardin and of General d'Arblay.

Let us approach nearer to this goodly company – we have the means of doing so – and can meet them both in France and in England in spite of the intervening century.

ruins of a chapel
[Ruined Chapel]


ON the 14th of July, 1792, the Fête of the Federation, together with the third anniversary of the taking of the Bastille, was to be celebrated in Paris. A great concourse of people had arrived from all parts of the kingdom, and were assembled in the Champ de Mars.

Madame de Staël, who was an eye-witness of the proceedings, tells us that "the throng of armed men looked as if they had met together for a riot rather than a fête." They had little fear of being controlled by the civic authorities, since Péthion, Mayor of Paris, was their ally and favourite, and to do him honour the Marseillais were "seen wearing, in their ragged caps" the motto of " Péthion ou la mort." They marched in triumph past the low platform upon which the King and the royal family were stationed, shouting "Vive Péthion!" A feeble cry in the midst of the uproar was heard of "Vive le Roi!" "The words sounded like a last farewell, or as a parting benediction."

"The Queen's face," continues Madame de Staël, "wore an expression which will never be effaced from my memory. Her eyes were full of tears. The splendour of her attire and the dignity of her bearing contrasted strangely with the wild appearance of the people around her, from whom she was separated only by a few soldiers of the National Guard.

"The King had to leave the royal daïs and to proceed on foot to an altar erected at the further end of the Champ de Mars, where, for a second time, his oath to maintain the constitution was to be taken. His countenance and his whole bearing, as he walked, were impressive. On other occasions one might have wished him to assume a more lofty dignity of demeanour, but, at this moment, to remain perfectly simple and natural was sublime. I watched his powdered head as it moved through the mass of surrounding black heads, while his coat, gilt and embroidered as in former days, was conspicuous among the costumes of the common people that pressed around him. When he mounted the steps of the altar it seemed to me that we were looking upon a saintly victim who was offering himself as a voluntary sacrifice."

"The Queen, with the Dauphin close beside her," writes another eye-witness,[1] "stood motionless on the platform, following the King's proceedings through a field-glass, whilst the ruffians around her were shouting vehemently, 'À bas l'Autrichienne! à bas Monsieur et Madame Veto!' There was one moment of intense anxiety. As the King was ascending the steps his foot slipped so that he nearly fell, and, until his head was again visible above the crowd, it was fully believed that he had been struck down."

"When he had taken the oath," continues Madame de Staël, "the King descended the steps, and, passing again through the disorderly ranks of the armed men, returned to the daïs and seated himself between his wife and children. After that day his people saw him no more until he stood before them on the scaffold."

It was during this same month of July that Malouet received a letter from Madame de Staël begging him to come to her house upon a matter of importance. "I went," he tells us in his Memoirs, "and found her much agitated. 'The King and Queen are lost,' she exclaimed, 'unless they can be rescued at once, and I offer myself as their rescuer. Yes, myself, though they look upon me as their enemy I would risk my life to save them. Listen to me,' she continued, 'they have confidence in you. This is my plan.'

"'There is an estate to be sold near to Dieppe.[1] I will purchase this estate and I will take with me, in my journeys between Paris and Dieppe, a man who has a face and figure not unlike the King's – I can count absolutely on his fidelity – I will also take a woman of the age and general appearance of the Queen, and I will take my own little son, who is of the same age as the Dauphin. When people have noticed my travelling twice with these attendants it will be easy for me, the third time, to take the royal family in their stead. Madame Elizabeth can represent my second waiting-woman. There is no time to lose. If you can undertake to lay my proposal before the King, you must bring me his answer this very night, or to-morrow morning.'"

"This project," continues Malouet, "appeared to me to be an excellent one, as excellent indeed as the feelings which had prompted it. I went immediately (to the Tuileries) in search of Monsieur de la Porte, told him all that I had just heard, and arranged that he should bring me, by a secret staircase, into the King's presence.

"I waited in a small room while Monsieur de la Porte went forward to announce my arrival. After the lapse of half an hour I saw him descending the stairs with a sorrowful countenance. The King and Queen, fearing that I might press them to accept Madame de Staël's proposal, did not even wish to see me. He said they were determined to accept of no service from Madame de Staël, though thanking her for her generous offer. They had good reasons, they declared, for desiring to remain in Paris, and also for believing that no imminent danger was to be feared. Monsieur de la Porte then told me, in confidence, that they were carrying on negotiations with the leading Jacobins."

Deeply concerned at receiving this intelligence, Malouet endeavoured to convince his friend of the folly of such a course, and pointed out to him the fact that the Jacobins were doing all in their power, at that very time, to bring about the deposition of the King. He then proceeded to disclose another plan of escape. This plan, which had been carefully thought out and matured by himself, Montmorin and the Duc de Liancourt, was to get the King, and his family to Rouen, where a yacht was then in readiness to carry them to Havre or, if necessary, to England. Liancourt was Governor-General and Commandant of Normandy, and was stationed at Rouen, where he had four regiments under his command. He had, before this, generously offered to place almost his whole fortune at the King's service. This scheme seemed likely to be successful, as Normandy was well disposed towards the royal cause.

It was therefore arranged between Malouet and Monsieur de la Porte, that Malouet should write a letter to the King, giving him a detailed account of the Rouen scheme, and giving him at the same time positive proofs of the dangers of his present situation. Monsieur de la Porte undertook to deliver the letter himself. Communication by letter was considered safest, as personal intercourse with the King was becoming more and more difficult because the Tuileries was full of Jacobin spies, who were denouncing Malouet, Montmorin,[1] and their friends as the "Comité Autrichien."

"My letter," writes Malouet, "was placed by Monsieur de la Porte in the King's hands after he had dined, and when he was seated with the Queen and the Princess Elizabeth in the Queen's parlour. The King read it without uttering a word, but he walked up and down the room in a hurried manner, showing great agitation of mind. The Queen inquired from whom the letter had come. His Majesty replied, 'It is from Monsieur Malouet. I do not read it to you, because it would give you pain. He is devoted to us; but there is exaggeration in his alarms and but little security in his plan of escape. We shall see how matters go. There is no need, as yet, for me to take a hazardous step. The affair of Varennes is a warning.'

"The Queen and Madame Elizabeth made no answer, and the general silence and embarrassment continuing, Monsieur de la Porte felt bound to retire. When he related to me and to Monsieur de Montmorin what had passed the latter exclaimed, 'We must take our own course now, or we shall all be massacred, and that before long.'

"At two o'clock the following morning, the Baron de Gilliers entered my bed-chamber in a state of consternation. He was the confidential friend of Madame Elizabeth, and this Princess had sent for him at midnight and said to him: 'We are in ignorance, both the Queen and I, of what Monsieur Malouet has written to the King, but the King is so moved, so agitated that we want to know the purport of his letter. Go to Monsieur Malouet and beg him on my behalf to confide the matter to you, or to send me the draft, or at least a memorandum, of its contents.' I gave Monsieur de Gilliers the draft of my letter, and he carried it to the Princess Elizabeth. When she had read it she remarked, 'He is right; I think as he does. I should prefer his plan to all others, but we are bound to another course. We must wait patiently. God knows what will happen!'"

Malouet continues, "This narrative affects me deeply as I write, and those who will read what I am writing will surely be affected in the same way. The King's ruin was brought about," he adds, "not merely by his indecision, but by a certain unhappy tendency in his character which disposed him to place only half confidence in those he really esteemed, and to give his full confidence to no one."

The Oueen, who was unlike her husband in most respects, resembled him, as Malouet points out, in this sad defect of character. The time had been when she had put her confidence in Malouet himself. When, after the return from Varennes, he presented himself at the Tuileries to do homage to the humiliated King and Queen, Marie Antoinette turned to the Dauphin and said,

"My son, do you know this gentleman?"

"No, my mother," replied the child.

"It is Monsieur Malouet," she said; "never forget his name."

But now she had her agents whom she but half trusted, and who were continually changed. Sometimes it was with a member of the Girondist party that she was in secret correspondence; now, turning to the Jacobins for help, it was with Danton himself that she was holding private communication.

Bertrand de Moleville,[1] in his Memoirs, tells us that he also urged the King to adopt the Rouen scheme, but without success. Marie Antoinette, he says, opposed it because, unhappily, she was

cypher used by H. R. Marie Antoinette, Queen of France
Of H. R. Marie Antoinette, Queen of France

prejudiced against the Duc de Liancourt and therefore mistrusted his loyalty.

Undaunted by repeated failure, Malouet and his friends continued to work in the King's cause. He tells us that he, Montmorin and Malesherbes, together with Lally-Tollendal, Gouverneur Morris,[1] Monsieur de Clermont-Tonnerre, Bertrand de Moleville and others of their party conferred frequently together to arrange the details of some plan of escape that the King might consent to adopt. Or to induce him to do what was still better – namely – to take vigorous measures even at this eleventh hour to quell revolt. But Louis rejected all their schemes, for he still trusted in the delusive promises of the Jacobins, and therefore refused alike to quit Paris or to resort to measures of defence.

On August 7 the friends met together for the last time. They now knew that the great rising, to take place on the 10th was completely organised, and were determined to make a final effort to save the King and his family.

Malouet describes the friends as gathered together in the garden of Montmorin's house, towards the evening of August 7, "sadly communing with each other over the horrible situation." Malesherbes proposed, as a means of averting assassination, that the King should go to the Assembly, demand its protection, and request that a council of regency might be appointed to take the direction of affairs until law and order could be restored. He had hardly finished speaking when a messenger arrived, in all haste, from the Tuileries with a packet, sent by the King to Monsieur de Montmorin. It contained letters from Guadet and Vergniaud (the Girondists), making the very same proposal.

Monsieur de Montmorin, in his reply to the King, spoke of "the humiliation of adopting such a course," but said if the King could not bring himself to agree to any plan of either flight or defence, he feared this last "despairing step" must be taken.

The friends left Montmorin at a late hour. "On separating," writes Malouet, "we bid each other a last farewell."

Old balcony, with the Fleur-de-lis, Quai Bourbon, Paris
[Old balcony, with the Fleur-de-lis, Quai Bourbon, Paris]


BEFORE morning had dawned on August 10, the city of Paris, as we know, was in an uproar. The tocsin was clanging, and a wild mob, led by the Marseillais, was on its way to attack the Tuileries.

The palace, however, was prepared for such an attack, being well guarded both within and without by troops devoted to the royal cause. In the first assault the Swiss Guards were victorious; they routed the mob, who fled panic-stricken in all directions.

"At that moment," says Madame de Staël, "the King should have placed himself at the head of his troops, and led them boldly against his enemies. The Queen herself was of this opinion, and the courageous advice she gave her husband at this crisis does her honour and should be remembered by posterity." "Had he acted in this way," says a Girondist writer, "the great majority of the battalions of Paris would at once have declared for him, and victory for the monarchy must have been the result."

But Louis, who had always condemned the conduct of Charles I. in making war upon his subjects, could not, at this juncture, bring himself to follow Charles's example. Rather than defend his cause by force of arms, he chose the alternative of applying to the Assembly (now governed by the Jacobins) for its protection. Presenting himself in their midst he exclaimed, "I am come here to prevent the commission of a great crime." "He did not consider," says a well-known historian, "that in thus surrendering his person, he surrendered the State; and in resigning himself like a sheep to the slaughter, he was conducting all honest men to the same fate."

Malouet and his friends were now in the utmost peril. The first to suffer was the good Duc de Clermont-Tonnerre, who was murdered during the night of the 10th August. On the same night, whilst the assassins were actually searching for Malouet to put him to death also, a warning note reached him from the Duke's widow who, in the midst of her anguish, wrote, "Your friend and colleague is dead; he has been assassinated. France is no place for honest men – fly."

Malouet took refuge, he tells us, first in one place, then in another, his heart filled with grief for the misery inflicted on all his associates and for the treacherous imprisonment of the King and the Royal family.

portrait, head and shoulders of Victor Pierre Malouet

Before long the "domiciliary visits" had commenced. On a certain fixed day the inhabitants of Paris, having been ordered to remain in their houses, the streets were occupied by soldiers, and the passage of the Seine guarded by armed boats. These preparations completed, a great band of armed Jacobins and Sans-culottes were let loose upon the city. They burst into every house suspected of harbouring proscribed persons, and seized all whom they could lay hands on. Men and women were thrown into prison by hundreds, and within a few days these wretched people were exterminated by the awful massacres instituted by Danton.

It was on the eve of these massacres that Malouet lay concealed in a house in the Place de l'Odéon occupied by his sister-in-law, Madame Behotte. Her landlord, who was commissaire of his section, and therefore respected by the common people, had offered to do all in his power to protect the fugitive.

"At midnight," writes Malouet, "we heard loud knocking at the hall door. The door opened and in an instant a troop of men rushed up-stairs and entered the room occupied by myself and my sister-in-law. Madame Behotte had fainted and was lying upon a sofa, whilst I leaning over her was giving her water and smelling-salts. Of the ten men who composed the search-party, two only knew me – our commissaire and a friendly upholsterer – the others took me for a doctor, called in to attend the sick lady. Seeing their mistake, I sustained my part with coolness. I begged the men to visit the adjoining rooms as quickly as possible, and not to return to the salon on account of the invalid. Touched by the sight of a fainting lady of an attractive countenance, they quitted the room at once, leaving me by her side. The men then proceeded to search for me in every part of the house, looking under the mattresses of the beds and into all kinds of places, whilst the honest commissaire and the good upholsterer, pale and frightened to death lest I should be discovered, kept my secret."

Thus the immediate danger was averted.

In the meantime Madame de Staël was doing all in her power to rescue such of her friends as were proscribed.

Her house, the Hotel de Suède, stood in the Rue du Bac at the corner of the Rue Grenelle. Monsieur de Staël, the Swedish Ambassador, was at that time absent from Paris, but his wife hoped that his abode would be respected as neutral ground, and not, therefore, subjected to a search. In this hope she had given temporary shelter to several fugitives.

Monsieur de Narbonne (late Minister of War) was concealed in her house when she learnt one morning that his name was placarded at the corner of her street as a traitor. "A few days

doorway of Monsieur de Staël, the Swedish Ambassador, in the Rue du Bac

later," she writes, "the dreaded domiciliary visit actually took place. Monsieur de Narbonne, having been outlawed, must inevitably perish if discovered, and I was well aware that he would be discovered if the search were made effectually. It was necessary, therefore, at all hazards, to prevent this search from taking place."

When the emissaries of the Commune entered the salon, "I pointed out to them," continues Madame de Staël, "that they were breaking the law in searching the house of a foreign Ambassador; and, as their knowledge of geography was very limited, I made them believe that Sweden lay just beyond the frontiers of France, so that it could menace their country, if insulted, with an immediate attack . . . . I soon perceived that my words had made an impression, and I had the courage, in spite of my inward terror, to rally these men playfully upon their ill-founded suspicions . . . . While talking in this manner I conducted them back to the hall door and saw them out, thanking God in my heart for the extraordinary strength He had given me in such a moment of trial."

Shortly afterwards a certain Dr. Bollman came to the assistance of Madame de Staël. It was the same man who, a few years later, risked his life in attempting to rescue Lafayette from prison. He now proposed to provide Narbonne with a false passport, and generously offered himself to conduct him to England. The two gentlemen left Paris together, and four days later Narbonne was safe in London.

"On the 31st of August," writes Madame de Staël, "I was informed that Monsieur de Jaucourt (member of the Legislative Assembly) and Monsieur de Lally-Tollendal had just been taken to the Abbaye; a prison to which those persons only were sent who were destined to be handed over to the assassins."

Monsieur de Lally was a most eloquent speaker, and he employed all his powers in defending one of his fellow prisoners whose acquittal he finally obtained. Condorcet admired his genius and endeavoured to save him; and Lady Sutherland, wife of the English Ambassador, who took an active part in befriending proscribed persons, also espoused his cause.

Monsieur de Jaucourt had fewer friends in a position to help him, so Madame de Staël set to work herself with a view of obtaining his release.

"I examined," she writes, "a list of members of the Commune of Paris, for it was these men who had now become masters of the city. I knew them only by their terrible reputation, and I sought, at haphazard, for some guidance in the choice of the man to whom I should make my appeal.

"Suddenly I remembered that one of them – Manuel – had dabbled in literature – that he had just published Mirabeau's 'Letters,' with a preface of his own; ill-written, it is true, but which showed his ambition to figure as an author. I considered that a desire for applause might lay him open to my solicitations, and it was therefore to Manuel that I wrote requesting an audience. This he granted me at seven o'clock the next morning – rather a democratic hour, but one which I kept to the minute.

"I arrived before he had risen, and was shown into his study. I observed his own portrait hanging over his bureau, which strengthened my hope that he would be pregnable through his vanity."

There is a small portrait of Manuel, possibly this very picture, at the Musée Carnavalet in Paris, which represents him as a well-dressed, middle-aged man, with a florid, self-satisfied countenance.

"He entered the room," continues Madame de Staël, "and I had my audience. I must do him the justice, however, to say that it was by appealing to his better feelings that I won him to my purpose. I set before him the terrible vicissitudes of popularity of which we were witnessing examples every day. 'Six months hence,' I said, 'you may no longer be in power. Save Monsieur de Lally and Monsieur de Jaucourt; secure for

Portrait of Lally-Tollendal; over scene of man on horseback followed by coach
[Portrait of Lally-Tollendal]

yourself the remembrance of this good deed to console you when you, in your turn, may be proscribed.'"[1]

The day after this interview had taken place, Madame de Staël received a letter from Manuel, informing her that Condorcet had obtained the release of Lally-Tollendal, and that he had, himself, set Jaucourt free.

On the night of September 1, news reached Paris that the Prussian army of invasion had suddenly besieged Verdun, and it was realised that if that town were captured, the road to Paris itself would be thrown open to the enemy.

This news threw the populace into a state of excitement bordering almost on frenzy, and a cry arose from the violent party accusing all who were not of their number of being in league with the foreign invader. Revenge and extermination were demanded. That night the sound of the tocsin was again heard, mingling with the booming of cannon. Danton appeared before the Assembly and announced that these sounds were a call to arms, and that to vanquish their enemies all they needed was "de l'audace, encore de l'audace et toujours de l'audace!"

The massacres in the prisons at once began.

Montmorin had been arrested and was confined in the Abbaye. A band of assassins, armed and subsidised by the Commune, demanded entrance at this, as at the other prisons. The terrified gaolers dared not refuse to give up the keys. The band entered, and a mock trial was held before a ruffian named Maillard.

When Montmorin was dragged before this prison tribunal he calmly protested against the illegality of their proceedings. One of Maillard's underlings exclaimed, "Monsieur le President, the crimes of Montmorin are well known, let him be sent to La Force to be judged." "Yes, yes, to La Force," cried all the judges at once.

"A La Force" was a phrase they had invented to serve as a death-signal. Unaware of this, Montmorin asked for a carriage to convey him to "La Force," and was told that he would find one in the courtyard. He turned to leave, but was met by a body of assassins, who stabbed him to death.

These appalling massacres continued for more than three days and three nights, till the number of the slain amounted to 1300. The courtyards of the prisons – nay, the very roads outside their walls – were soaked in blood. Malouet, who was in hiding in the neighbourhood, tells us that, venturing to take the air on the evening of September 2, he chanced to pass beneath the walls of the Abbaye. He heard, to his horror,

people gathered before the Prison de l'Abbaye

Onze Soldats aux Gardes Francaises, prisonniers dans l'Abbaye St. Germain, pour fait d'insubordination, avant fait annoncer au Palais Roi que la cause de leur détention était le refus qu'ils avaient fait à Versailles de tourner leurs armes contre les Citoyens, une foule d'Ouvriers conduits par d'honnêtes Particuliers, se porta sur le champ à la Prison de l'Abbaye, les portes furent entoncées, et tous les Prisonniers délivrés.


the cries of the victims, and, before regaining his place of shelter, had actually to cross a stream of blood!

Strange to say, in the very midst of these atrocities, occasional instances are recorded of humanity amongst the very assassins themselves. If, by chance, a prisoner were acquitted they embraced him with tears of joy, and, for the time being, seemed thankful to lay aside their awful trade, although in a few minutes they were ready to resume it.

In the meanwhile, Danton and his associates sat in council directing this carnage, and bestowing a payment of six francs a day upon the assassins for their services. "Paris," says an eye-witness, "remained mute and motionless . . . . It seemed as if some secret power – some irresistible influence – had pinioned the arms of her citizens and benumbed their energies."


MADAME DE Staël had made arrangements to quit Paris on the 2nd of September. She was ready to start when news reached her of the awful scenes being enacted in the city, and of the general excitement. Her friends urged her to postpone her departure, considering it dangerous to any person of her class to be seen driving through Paris at such a time. But this Madame de Staël refused to do, as the safety of a proscribed friend, the Abbé de Montesquiou, depended upon her movements. It had been arranged between them that he should meet her at a certain point of the route and be taken, disguised as one of her servants, across the frontier.

"My passports being all duly signed and in perfect order," she writes, "I considered my best plan of action would be to travel (in ambassadorial state) in my berline, drawn by six horses and attended by my servants in full livery. The people on seeing all this pomp would understand, I thought, that I was authorised to leave Paris, and would suffer me to pass unmolested. I made a woeful mistake. Hardly had my carriage advanced four paces amid the cracking of my postillions' whips when a swarm of old hags, sorties de l'enfer, threw themselves upon my horses crying out that I was carrying off the nation's money, that I was going to join the enemy, and I know not what besides. Their cries attracted a crowd around me. My postillions were seized by fierce-looking men, and were commanded to drive me to the Assembly of my Section – the Faubourg Saint Germain.

"I had just time, whilst actually descending from my carriage, to whisper to a servant of the Abbé de Montesquiou that he must go at once to his master and acquaint him with what had happened.

"I then entered the Assembly . . . . A man who called himself the President, declared that I had been denounced for attempting to rescue proscribed persons, and that, in consequence, all my servants must be examined. This done he found that one of them was missing. (It was the servant whom I had just despatched to the Abbé.) Upon making this discovery he declared that I must be conducted by a gendarme to the Hôtel de Ville. Nothing could be more alarming than such an order. I knew that it would be necessary to drive through half Paris to get there and to leave my carriage in the Place de Grève in front of the Hôtel de Ville, on the steps of which building several persons had been massacred on the 10th of August.

"My passage from the Faubourg Saint Germain to the Hôtel de Ville took three hours. I was conducted at a foot pace through a great concourse of people, whose threats and execrations pursued me the whole length of my route. Their insults were not levelled at me personally; but a grand equipage and gilded liveries represented to them the aristocrats whom they longed to exterminate . . . . I spoke to the gendarmes, who walked by my carriage, urging them to defend me, but they replied only by contemptuous or threatening gestures; the gendarme, however, who rode with me in the carriage, unlike his comrades, was touched by my situation[1] and promised to defend me at the risk of his life. The most dangerous moment of all would be the arrival at the Place de Grève, but I nerved myself beforehand for this ordeal.

"When I descended from my carriage I found myself in the midst of an armed multitude, and had to walk under an avenue of crossed pikes. As I mounted the long flight of steps, which bristled on either side with lances, a man made a thrust at me with his weapon, but the blow was parried by my friendly gendarme. Had I fallen

Hôtel de Ville and Place de Grève

at that moment I should certainly have lost my life . . . . Finally I reached the hall of the Commune where Robespierre was presiding, and I breathed more freely because I had escaped the fury of the populace. But what a strange protector was Robespierre! Collot d'Herbois and Billaud Varennes acted as his secretaries . . . . The hall was full of people – men, women, and children – who were shouting at the top of their voices 'Vive la nation!'"

Madame de Staël was placed next to the Committee on a sort of platform. "I rose," she continues, "and claimed my right to leave Paris at my own free will in my capacity of wife of the Swedish Ambassador, and I pointed out (to the President) that this right had been duly recognised in my passports. At that moment Manuel entered the hall. He was greatly surprised to find me in such a position, and declared that he would himself be responsible for my person until the Commune had come to a decision respecting my fate. Then, taking me out of the terrible assembly, he placed me, together with my waiting-woman, in his own private study and locked us in. There we remained awaiting his return for six hours, exhausted with hunger, thirst, and fear. The window of the apartment looked on to the Place de Grève, and we could see the assassins as they returned from the prisons, their bare arms covered with blood, and could hear their horrible shouts.

"My carriage with all its luggage had remained standing in the centre of the 'Place'; the mob were just preparing to pillage it when I noticed a tall man, clad in the uniform of the National Guard, mount the box, and heard him command the people to touch nothing. For two hours he defended my property, and I was unable to conceive why he should take an interest in so small a matter amid the horrors which surrounded us. That evening this man entered the room in which I was confined, accompanied by Manuel, and proved to be the brewer Santerre, who, later on, became so painfully notorious. It appeared that he had been present many times at the distribution of corn sent by my father to the Faubourg Saint Antoine in times of distress, and had even been one of the distributors himself, as he lived in that quarter. He was still animated by feelings of gratitude to my father . . . . As soon as Manuel saw me, he exclaimed with emotion, 'How thankful I am that I set your two friends at liberty yesterday!' In truth he was suffering bitterly under the wholesale assassination now going forward, and which he was powerless to prevent. Indeed, behind the steps of each man who acquired authority an abyss was opening, into which, if he attempted to draw back, he instantly fell.

"When darkness set in Manuel took me home in his own carriage. We were stopped frequently on the way, but on my companion declaring that he was the 'Procureur' of the Commune, he was respectfully saluted and allowed to proceed. On arriving at my house Manuel informed me that a new passport was to be made out, that I should be allowed to take no one with me excepting my maid, and that a gendarme would conduct me as far as the frontier.

"The next day Tallien[1] came to me, charged by the Commune to accompany me as far as the barrier. When he entered my salon several proscribed persons were with me. I begged him not to denounce them and he gave me his word he would not do so, a promise which he kept.

"I had some difficulties to encounter in the outskirts of Paris, but as I passed further and further from the city the waves of the great storm seemed to have spent themselves, and when I, at last, reached the mountains of the Jura not a sight nor a sound recalled the awful turmoil of which Paris was the theatre."

But we must return to the turmoil to complete the story of the escape of Malouet whom, the reader will remember, was last heard of as living in concealment first in one part of Paris and then in another. He was unusually tall of stature, and this fact made it difficult to obtain a false passport describing a man of similar dimensions.

Malouet writes, "One day a tall young man came to the house of my sister-in-law. 'Madame,' he said, 'I am in search of M. Malouet, but it is in order to save him. I am the son of M. de Boyne, late Minister of Marine. I have full credit in my Section and journey to and from my house at Neuilly every day carrying with me a free pass. I have brought this pass for M. Malouet. When he is once outside Paris we will procure him another.' I was brought face to face with this young man whom I embraced with emotion. He gave me his papers and instructed me how to proceed.

" . . . On arriving at the barrier of La Conférance the guard at once arrested me, in spite of my free pass, and led me before the Committee of the Section of Roule, who were then holding a meeting. Here I called to mind Milton's description of an assembly in the infernal regions, for nothing could be more hideous than the scene before me. A hundred or more persons, some arrested and denounced, others accusing them, were huddled together round a long table covered with green baize, upon which lay piles of swords and daggers. Twenty 'patriots,' with their shirt sleeves rolled back, some holding pistols and others holding pens in their hands formed the Committee. They were all speaking at once, hurling abuse or threats at each other and calling out the words "traitor, conspirator, to prison, to the guillotine!" The excited spectators, screaming and gesticulating, seemed ready to fly at each other's throats.

"My entrance was the signal for a general mélée, in the midst of which, however, I was able to effect my escape; and this through the mercy of the President, who was an honest man though surrounded by wild beasts. One of the most vehement of the assembly, brandishing his sword to strike an antagonist, paused on seeing me, and exclaimed, 'There's Malouet!' But his opponent seized this moment of inaction to fell him to the ground. Seeing my denouncer thus laid low, the President quickly signed my passport and whispered to me, 'Citizen, fly!' I needed no second injunction to do this, but slipped out of the hall and down the stairs.

"That same evening I reached Gennevilliers and was hospitably received by my friend Madame Coutard – a lady distinguished by rare goodness and generosity. She lived quietly in the country under the protection of her own cook, who was an ardent Jacobin, but who, nevertheless, adored his mistress. This man, who was a member of the Council of his Section and in league with assassins was pitiless to aristocrats in general, but he made exception in favour of Madame Coutard and also of her friends, whose persons were sacred in his eyes. Thus her house became a sure refuge, and the good lady was sheltering at this very time three nuns from Meaux and two priests of her own parish as well as myself."

On the third day after Malouet's arrival, the cook appeared in the salon to warn the company to retire to their several apartments as he was about to receive a visit, in that very room, from a friend of his – a member of the Commune of Paris and one of the Commissaires of the prisons. "Madame Coutard and I," writes Malouet, "retired to a small parlour with a door opening into the salon; I therefore overheard the whole conversation of the two friends.

"The Commissaire, it appeared, was himself one of the judges who had presided over the massacres in the prison of the Abbaye. He described to his friend the various reasons which had moved the judges to order this prisoner to be slaughtered and that one to be spared . . . . The man seemed to have felt some twinges of conscience, for he spoke indignantly, at any rate, of the men employed to perpetrate the massacres. They belonged, he said, to the class of common labourers and street porters. Arms had been given to each one and a daily allowance of six livres. He, as the Municipal Commissaire, had been charged with the giving out of these wages, and he confessed to his friend that he had shuddered to hear many of these men demand double or treble payment as a reward for having slaughtered a larger number of victims than had fallen to the share of their comrades."

After remaining a few days with Madame Coutard, Malouet was enabled to proceed on his journey. At Amiens he could count upon assistance, since a friend and former colleague in the Constituent Assembly – a M. Le Roux – was at the head of its Municipal Council. "This friend had been told," writes Malouet, "that I was massacred in the 'Abbaye.' When he beheld me he embraced me with tears of joy." M. Le Roux provided the fugitive with fresh passports and carefully concealed his identity from the other members of the Council, all of whom he said were in league with the Commune of Paris.

Having encountered some further difficulties, both at Arras and Boulogne, Malouet at last found himself safely on board a packet bound for Dover. "When the vessel had fairly set sail," he writes, "and all fear of Municipal visits and arrests were over, I noticed some persons creeping out of berths where they had lain concealed beneath mattresses, and I recognised the Bishop of Coutance, M. de Monciel, and the ex-Minister, M. La Tour-du-Pin . . . . On landing at Dover I blessed the hospitable shores of England – a country in which true liberty reigns. My first feelings were those of unbounded joy, but they were quickly succeeded by the sad recollection of all the sorrow and suffering that lay behind me in my own country."

Dover Cliffs
[Dover Cliffs]


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

"This house is taken by Madame de Broglie, daughter of the Maréchal who is in the army with the French Princes; or rather wife to his son,

The Cottage at West-Humble

Victor Broglie, till very lately General of one of the French armies, and at present disgraced, and fled nobody knows where. This poor lady came over in an open boat, with a son younger than my Norbury, and was fourteen hours at sea. She has other ladies with her, and gentlemen, and two little girls who had been sent to England some weeks ago; they are all to lodge in a sort of cottage, containing only a kitchen and parlour on the ground floor."

This cottage we think we have identified. Mrs. Phillips's and other contemporary descriptions, with information gained from an old chart of the district, all point to a small dwelling called "The Cottage" as being that inhabited by Madame de Broglie. It stands in a corner of ground formed by the junction of Westhumble Lane and the Dorking road. A new front, together with some extra rooms, has been added, so that, seen from the lane, it has a rather modern appearance; but at the back the original part of the cottage is to be seen just as we believe Madame de Broglie found it. The glass-door opening into the garden, seen in the accompanying drawing belongs to the little parlour mentioned by Mrs. Phillips. Above this parlour is a small room, whose low ceiling is supported by beams, which was, in all probability, Madame de Broglie's bedroom. Its tiny window, now wreathed in ivy, overlooks the cottage garden.

We seem to see this delicate French lady, who was accustomed to every luxury, in the Hôtel de Broglie, with "its salons, its tapestry furniture, and its vast gardens," settled with her children in this

A Room in the Cottage

humble dwelling, yet thankful for its safety and security after her dire adventures.

Mrs. Phillips continues:

"At Jenkinson's are – la Marquise de la Châtre, whose husband is with the emigrants at Coblentz; her son; M. de Narbonne, lately Ministre de la Guerre; M. de Montmorency; Charles or Theodore Lameth; Jaucourt; and one or two more, whose names I have forgotten, are either arrived to-day or expected. I feel infinitely interested for all these persecuted persons. Pray tell me whatever you hear of M. de Liancourt."

The Duc de Liancourt, who had been forced to fly from France, had taken up his residence in Bury St. Edmunds, in order to be near to his old friend, Mr. Arthur Young, of Bradfield Hall, the famous agriculturist and traveller. Mr. Young had visited him in former times at his château of Liancourt, and had witnessed with great interest the benevolent works carried on by this good landowner for the benefit of his tenantry. Among these was the manufacture of linen and cotton stuffs, introduced for the first time into that part of France by the Duke.

The friendship between these two men of such different types is striking. Liancourt, the statesman, courtier, and patriot – the elegant and accomplished Frenchman; and Arthur Young, the eccentric agriculturist and typical John Bull. Mr. Young was, as is well known, a warm friend of the Burney family, besides being brother-in-law to Dr. Burney's second wife. An unpublished letter written by him to Charlotte Burney on the occasion of her marriage puts the man before the reader, and is therefore given here :

"DEAR MADAM, – You know enough of me to be well assured that I can do nothing in a formal or complimentary style – so that if I must either write a letter of congratulation or be guilty of a terrible omission, ye choice is made as soon as thought of, and you must pronounce me guilty.

"Besides, congratulate upon what? Upon marrying? To be sure it is a good sort of a state for those who know how to make a proper use of it – but how should I know that you are in that number? Many things will be necessary to convince me that you are. Are you disposed to a country life? Or must you be gadding for ever to London?

"Will the admiration of a heap of fools weigh in the scale against ye friendship of one worthy man? Are you in the midst of poultry? Do you know your best cow? Are your lambs safe from foxes? Are you planting shrubs and making walks? and can you pun as well in Norfolk as in London? Then, on the other hand, there is your husband – What sort of man is he? 'Tis true I hear many excellent things of him; but does he farm hugely? Are his turnips clean? Are his lands forward for beans and oats? Does he plough with oxen? You must confess that

Portrait of Arthur Young

these are points much more to the purpose than the common rubbish of character ye common mortals attend to. Hence you see, my friend, that instead of congratulating you, I give you a sheaf of reasons for doing no such thing.

"Then why write this letter? I'll tell you; it is because Bradfield lies half-way between London and Aylesham; and as your husband has settled in Norfolk (one good point in his character) we must have some farming discourse together. You can tell him I am a plain man not abounding in speeches, and can assure him there is nothing but plain sincerity in the wish that he would make this house his home on every occasion that suits him; he will meet only farmer's fare, but always garnished with a farmer's welcome. Adieu, you see I am as queer a fellow as usual.

"Yours, with great truth,



"February 20 1786."

On arriving at Bradfield Hall Fanny Burney writes to Mrs. Phillips: "Sarah, who was staying with her aunt, Mrs. Young, expected me, and came running out before the chaise stopped at the door, and Mr. Young following with both hands full of French newspapers. He welcomed me with all his old spirit and impetuosity . . . . . The rest of the day we spoke only of French politics. Mr. Young is a severe penitent of his democratic principles."

From her host Fanny heard the details of Liancourt's escape from France. He was in Rouen, at the head of his troops, when news reached him of the doings of the 10th of August. He at once summoned his officers and men, and standing in the midst of them "he took off his hat and called out aloud, 'Vive le Roi!' His officers echoed the sound – all but one! – yet not a soldier joined. Again he waved his hat, and louder and louder called 'Vive le Roi!' and then every soldier repeated it after him." But the one dissentient officer called out, "As an officer of the Nation I forbid this – 'Vive la Nation!'" Soon afterwards a friend came to Liancourt in private and conjured him to fly the country. "The Jacobin party of Rouen," he said, "have heard of your indiscretion, and a price is this moment set upon your head!"

Liancourt's bold outspoken temperament had been shown to King as well as people. It was he who, on July 14, 1789, announced to Louis XVI. the fall of the Bastille.

"It is a revolt!" exclaimed the King.

"Sire," replied the Duke, "it is a revolution."

"In what manner," writes Miss Burney, "he effected his escape out of Rouen he has never

Portrait of the Duc de Liancourt

mentioned." Arrived at the sea-coast a faithful young groom arranged means for his crossing the Channel. At midnight both Liancourt and his groom embarked in a small boat, manned by two sailors. They "planted themselves in the bottom of the boat and were covered with faggots," and thus remained "till they thought themselves at a safe distance from France. The poor youth, then looking up, exclaimed: 'Ah! nous sommes perdus! they are carrying us back to our own country.' The Duke started up, he had the same opinion, but thought opposition vain; he charged him to keep silent and quiet, and after about another league they found this, at least, a false alarm owing merely to a thick fog or mist.

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

"How long he slept he knows not, but he awoke in the middle of the night without the smallest consciousness of where he was, or what had happened. France alone was in his head – France with its horrors, which nothing, not even English porter and intoxication and sleep, could drive away.

"He looked round the room with amaze at first, and soon after with consternation. It was so unfurnished, so miserable, so lighted with only one small bit of a candle, that it occurred to him he was in a maison de force – thither conveyed in his sleep.

"The stillness of everything confirmed this dreadful idea. He arose, slipped on his clothes, and listened at the door. He heard no sound. He was scarce yet, I suppose, quite awake, for he took the candle and determined to make an attempt to escape. Downstairs he crept, neither hearing nor making any noise; and he found himself in a kitchen; he looked round, and the brightness of a shelf of pewter plates struck his eye; under them were pots and kettles shining and polished. 'Ah!' cried he to himself, 'Je suis en Angleterre!' The recollection came all at once at sight of a cleanliness which, in these articles, he says, is never met with in France.

"He did not escape too soon, for his first cousin, the good Due de la Rochefoucault, was massacred the next month. The character he has given of this murdered relation is the most affecting in praise and virtues that can possibly be heard. They had been élèves together, and loved each other as the tenderest brothers.

"The Duke accepted the invitation for to-day," continues Miss Burney, "and came early on horseback. Mrs. Young was not able to appear; Mr. Young came to my room-door to beg I would waste no time; Sarah and I, therefore, proceeded to the drawing-room.

"The Duke was playing with a favourite dog – the thing probably the most dear to him in England; for it was just brought him over by his faithful groom, whom he had sent back upon business to his son. He is very tall, and were his figure less would be too fat, but all is in proportion. His face, which is very handsome, though not critically so, has rather a haughty expression when left to itself, but becomes soft and spirited in turn, according to whom he speaks, and has great play and variety. His carriage is peculiarly upright and his person uncommonly well made.

"His first address was in the highest style. I shall not attempt to recollect his words. With Sarah he then shook hands. She had been his interpretess here on his arrival, and he seems to have conceived a real kindness for her; an honour of which she is extremely sensible, and with reason.

"A little general talk ensued, and he made a point of curing Sarah of being afraid of his dog. He made no secret of thinking it affectation, and never rested till he had conquered it completely. He called the dog round her, made it jump on her shoulder, and amused himself as in England only a schoolboy or a professed foxhunter would have dreamt of doing. Then he tranquilly drew a chair next mine, and began a sort of separate conversation which he suffered nothing to interrupt till we were summoned to dinner. His subject was 'Cecilia,' and he seemed not to have the smallest idea I could object to discussing it, any more than if it had been the work of another person. I answered all his demands and interrogatories with a degree of openness I have never answered any others upon this topic. Mr. Young listened with amaze and all his ears to the many particulars and elucidations which the Duke drew from me.

"At length we were called to dinner.

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

"Mr. Young would hardly let Sarah and me retreat; however, we promised to meet soon to coffee.

"I went away full of concern for his injuries and fuller of amazement at the vivacity with which he bore them.

"When, at last, we met in the drawing-room I found the Duke all altered. Recollections and sorrow had retaken possession of his mind; and his spirit, his vivacity, his power of rallying were all at an end. He was strolling about the room with an air the most gloomy, and a face that looked enveloped in clouds of sadness and moroseness.

"Not to disturb him we talked with one another, but he soon shook himself and joined us.

"Sarah spoke of Madame Brulard,[1] and, in a little malice to draw him out, said her sister knew her very well. The Duke, with eyes of fire at the sound, came up to me; 'Comment, Mademoiselle! vous avez connu cette coquine de Brulard?' And then he asked me what I thought of her.

"I frankly answered that I had thought her charming, gay, intelligent, well-bred, well-informed and amiable. He instantly drew back as if sorry he had named her so roughly, and looked at Sally for thus surprising him; but I immediately continued that I could now no longer think the same of her, as I could no longer esteem her.

"'Ah!' he cried, "with her talents, her knowledge, her parts, had she been modest, reserved, gentle, what a blessing might she have proved to her country! But she is devoted to intrigue and cabal, and proves its curse.'"

Madame de Genlis, under her feigned name of Brulard, had been staying in Bury, together with Mdlles. Egalité, Pamela, Henrietta Circe, and several others, "who appeared as artists, gentlemen, domestics, and equals on various occasions. The history of their way of life is extraordinary, and not very comprehensible; probably owing to the many necessary difficulties which the new system of equality produces." Probably the lady was unwilling to encounter the Duc de Liancourt, for she left Bury in all haste on hearing of his expected arrival. "She did not even wait to pay her debts, and left poor Henrietta Circe behind, as a sort of hostage, to prevent alarm. The creditors, however, finding her actually gone, entered the house, and poor Henrietta was terrified into hysterics.

"Madame Brulard then sent for her, remitted money and proclaimed her intention of returning to Suffolk no more. The Duke is now actually in her house. There was no other vacant that suited him so well."

Fanny mentions an invitation which Liancourt had received through Mr. Young from the Duke of Grafton, pressing him to make Euston his abode while in England, and offering him every means of comfort and privacy in his power. "He seemed much gratified with the invitation," she remarks, "but I see he cannot brook obligations; he would rather live in a garret and call it his own. The Duke told me, however, with an air of some little pleasure, that he had received just such another letter from Lord Sheffield. I believe that both these noblemen had been entertained at Liancourt some years ago."

Fanny concludes this letter to her sister with the following words: "He (Liancourt) inquired very particularly after your Juniper colony and M. de Narbonne, but said he most wished to meet with M. d'Arblay, who was a friend and favourite of his eldest son."


MRS. PHILLIPS writes to her sister Fanny Burney; from Mickleham (November 1792): "It gratified me very much that I have been able to interest you for our amiable and charming neighbours.

"Mrs. Lock has been so kind as to pave the way for my introduction to Madame de la Châtre, and carried me on Friday to Juniper Hall, where we found M. de Montmorency, a ci-devant duc, and one who gave some of the first great examples of sacrificing personal interest to what was then considered the public good. I know not whether you will like him the better when I tell you that from him proceeded the motion for the abolition of titles in France; but if you do not, let me, in his excuse, tell you he was scarcely one and twenty when an enthusiastic spirit impelled him to this, I believe, ill-judged and mischievous act."

This motion was carried on August 4, 1789. It is said that Talleyrand, meeting Montmorency shortly afterwards, accosted him by his family name of Mathew Bouchard. "But I am a Montmorency," exclaimed the young duke, and he at once mentioned his great ancestors who had fought at Bouvines and St. Denis. "Yes, yes, my dear Mathew," interrupted the wit, "you are the first member of your family who has laid down his arms."

Mrs. Phillips continues: "My curiosity was greatest to see M. de Jaucourt because I remembered many lively and spirited speeches made by him during the time of the Assemblée Legislative, and that he was a warm defender of my favourite hero M. Lafayette.

"Of M. de Narbonne's abilities we could have no doubt from his speeches and letters whilst Ministre de la Guerre, which post he did not quit till last May. By his own desire he then joined Lafayette's army and acted under him; but on August 10 he was involved, with perhaps nearly all the most honourable and worthy of the French nobility, accused as a traitor by the Jacobins, and obliged to fly from his country.

"M. d'Argenson was already returned to France, and Madame de Broglie had set out the same day, hoping to escape the decree against the emigrants.

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

"A gentleman was with her whom Mrs. Lock had not yet seen, M. d'Arblay. She introduced him, and when he had quitted the room, told us he was Adjutant-General to M. Lafayette, Maréchal de camp, and, in short, the first in military rank of those who had accompanied that General when he so unfortunately fell into the hands of the Prussians; but not having been one of the Assemblée Constituante, he was allowed with four others to proceed into Holland, and there M. de Narbonne wrote to him: 'Et comme il l'aime infiniment,' said Madame de la Châtre, 'il l'a prié de venir vivre avec lui.' He had arrived only two days before. He is tall, and has a good figure, with an open and manly countenance; about forty, I imagine.

"It was past twelve. However, Madame de la Châtre owned she had not breakfasted – ces messieurs were not yet ready. A little man who looked very triste indeed, in an old-fashioned suit of clothes, with long flaps to his waistcoat embroidered in silk, no longer very brilliant, sat in a corner of the room. I could not imagine who he was, but when he spoke was immediately convinced he was no Frenchman. I afterwards heard he had been engaged by M. de Narbonne for a year, to teach him and all the party English.

Portrait of Alexandre, G. P. d'Arblay

He had had a place in some College in France at the beginning of the Revolution, but was now driven out and destitute. His name is Clarke. He speaks English with an accent tant soit peu Scotch.

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

"M. de Narbonne came in. He seems forty, rather fat, but would be handsome were it not for a slight cast in one eye. He was this morning in great spirits . . . . He came up very courteously to me and begged leave de me faire sa cour at Mickleham, to which I graciously assented.

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

Juniper Hall, where these interesting people met together on that November day, stands, within its smooth lawns and gay flower-beds, a little back from the main road between Mickleham and Burford Bridge, being half hidden from view by a group of magnificent wide-spreading cedars. At one time this house was an inn, bearing the sign of the "Royal Oak," but a purchaser of the property in the middle of the eighteenth century – Sir Cecil Bishopp – enlarged the building and fitted it up with much taste and elegance for his private residence. From Sir Cecil it passed into the hands of a Mr. Jenkinson, "an affluent lottery-office keeper," who, as we have seen, let it to the émigrés.

Although Juniper Hall has been much altered of late years, some of the more important rooms remain almost the same as when occupied by Madame de la Châtre and her friends. The

Sculptured Drawing-room

walls and ceiling of the large drawing-room still retain the delicate sculptured wreaths and scrolls of the Adam style of decoration, and its tall chimney-piece of carved grey and white marble belongs to the same period.

About three-quarters of a mile from Juniper Hall, at the lower end of the pretty village of Mickleham, stands the modest dwelling once occupied by Mrs. Phillips and her family. We have been able to identify it by the description given by Madame d'Arblay in the "Memoirs" of her father, and also by reference to an old tithe map. The dwelling known as "Mickleham Cottage" stands just where the high road takes a sharp turn towards Leatherhead, and is separated from Norbury Park by the river Mole. In former times there was a ford at this point where the bridge now stands.

Fanny speaks of her sister as "settled at Mickleham in a house at the foot of Norbury Park," and she also mentions its being opposite "the ford." In the tithe map this ford is marked, the only one in that neighbourhood, and the cottage is also marked exactly in the position mentioned by Fanny, the only building so placed.

The cottage has been enlarged in later years, but it is still a cottage with quaint low rooms, which open into a sunny garden bounded by an old wall covered with roses, above which rise the sheltering elms of Norbury Park.

Mrs. Phillips's husband, Molesworth Phillips, was a Captain of Marines. He had travelled far and wide before marrying and settling in his country home. He had made the voyage round the world in company with Captain Cook, and was actually standing by the side of that good man when he was murdered by the natives of Owhyhee.

The author of the "History of Captain Cook's Last Voyage," after describing the terrible scene of his death, goes on to say: "It has been already related that four of the marines who attended Captain Cook were killed by the islanders. The rest, with Mr. Phillips, their Lieutenant, threw themselves into the water, and escaped under cover of a smart fire from the boats. On this occasion a remarkable instance of gallant behaviour, and of affection for his men, was shown by that officer. For he had scarcely got into the boat when, seeing one of the marines who was a bad swimmer struggling in the water, and in danger of being taken by the enemy, he immediately jumped into the sea to his assistance, though much wounded himself; and after receiving a blow on the head from a stone which had nearly sent him to the bottom, he caught the man by the hair, and brought him safe off."

exterior of cottage

It was during the voyage of Captain Cook that Phillips became acquainted with James Burney, the eldest brother of his future wife who was serving under Captain Cook, and in whose honour one of the newly discovered islands was called Burney Island.

Norbury House, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lock, stands on the summit of a range of wooded hills and dominates the valley of Mickleham.

Mr. Lock was a generous patron of art and literature. Sir Joshua Reynolds had been his guest, introduced by Dr. Burney, and Sir Thomas Lawrence, when a young man, received from him hospitality and encouragement.

In after life Sir Thomas remarked to one of the Burney family, "I have seen much of the world since I was first admitted to Norbury Park, but I have never seen another Mr. Lock!"

We shall visit this hospitable household later on, in company with the émigrés, but for the moment, we would ask the reader to take a peep into the cottage of Mrs. Phillips. That lady writes to her sister Fanny on Wednesday, November 7: "Phillips was at work in the parlour, and I had just stepped into the next room for some papers, when I heard a man's voice, and presently distinguished these words: 'Je ne parle pas trop bien l'Anglais, Monsieur.' I came forth immediately to relieve Phillips, and then found it was M. d'Arblay.

"I received him de bien bon coeur, as courteously as I could. The Adjutant of M. Lafayette, and one of those who proved faithful to that excellent

Drawing-room of the cottage

General, could not but be interesting to me. I was extremely pleased at his coming, and more and more pleased with himself every moment that passed. He seems to me a true militaire, franc et loyal – open as the day – warmly affectionate to his friends – intelligent, ready and amusing in conversation, with a great share of gaité de coeur, and at the same time of naiveté and bon foi.

"We went up into the drawing-room with him and met Willy on the stairs, and Norbury capered before us. 'Ah, Madame!' cried M. d'Arblay, 'la jolie petite maison que vous avez, et les jolis petits hôtes!' looking at the children, the drawings, &c. &c. He took Norbury on his lap and played with him. I asked the child if he was not proud of being so kindly noticed by the Adjutant-General of M. Lafayette.

"'Est-ce qu'il sait le nom de M. Lafayette?' said he, smiling. I said he was our hero.

"'Ah! nous voilà donc bons amis! There is not a better man upon the earth than Lafayette.'

"'And how shamefully he has been treated,' cried I. A little shrug and his eyes cast up was the answer. I said I was thankful to see at least one of his faithful friends here. I asked if M. Lafayette was allowed to write and receive letters. He said yes, but they were always given to him open.

"Norbury now (still seated on his knee) took courage to whisper to him: 'Were you, sir, put in prison with M. Lafayette?' 'Oui, mon ami.' 'And – was it quite dark?' I was obliged, laughing, to translate this curious question. M. d'Arblay laughed too. 'Non, mon ami,' said he, ' we were placed in a tolerably comfortable room. That was at Nivelle.'

"'You were there, sir, with M. Lafayette?'

"'Yes, Madame, for a few days; after that we were separated.'

"Upon my mentioning," writes Mrs. Phillips, "the sacrifices made by the French nobility, and, by a great number of them, voluntarily, he said no one had made more than M. de Narbonne; that previous to the Revolution he had more wealth and more power than almost any except the Princes of the Blood."

Narbonne, whose mother was Dame d'Honneur to Madame Adelaide (daughter of Louis XV.), had been brought up at Court, where he was looked upon almost as a relation by the Royal family. M. le Dauphin (father of Louis XVI.) had "deigned himself to superintend the child's early studies," and, in after life, Narbonne dwelt with pleasure on the fact that he had received from him his first lessons in the Greek language.

After speaking of his own property M. d'Arblay continued: "And now, Madame, you see me reduced to nothing save a little ready money and but little of that. What Narbonne may be able to rescue of his shattered fortune I cannot tell but whatever it be we shall share it between us.

Portrait of Mr. Lock of Norbury Park

I shall make no scruple of doing this since we have always made common cause together and have loved each other like brothers.[1]

"I wish I could paint to you the manly franchise with which these words were spoken; but you will not find it difficult to believe that they raised MM. de Narbonne and d'Arblay very high in my estimation.

"The next day," she continues, "Madame de la Châtre was so kind as to send me the French papers, by her son, who made a silent visit of about five minutes. Friday Morning. I sent Norbury [to Juniper Hall] with the French papers, desiring him to give them to M. d'Arblay. He stayed a prodigious while, and at last came back attended by M. de Narbonne, M. de Jaucourt, and M. d'Arblay. M. de Jaucourt is a delightful man – as comic, entertaining, unaffected, unpretending, and good-humoured as dear Mr. Twining, [2] only younger and not quite so black. He is a man likewise of first-rate abilities – M. de Narbonne says perhaps superior to Vaublanc – and of very uncommon firmness and integrity of character."

On his resigning his membership of the Legislative Assembly when "all hope of justice and order seemed to be lost," he was "thrown into the Prison of the Abbaye, where, had it not been for the extraordinary and admirable exertions of Madame de Staël . . . he would infallibly have been massacred . . . . This lady was indefatigable in her efforts to save every one she knew from this dreadful massacre.

*    *    *    *    *

"M. de Narbonne brought me two volumes of new 'Contes Moraux' by Marmontel, who is yet living; they are printed at Liège, and in this year (1792). He was in very depressed spirits, I saw, and entered into some details of his late situation with great openness . . . . Last May il donna sa démission of the place of Ministre de la Guerre being annoyed in all his proceedings by the Jacobins, and prevented from serving his country effectually by the instability of the King, for whom he, nevertheless, professes a sincere personal attachment. 'But I found,' said Narbonne, 'that it was impossible to serve him. All his best friends have found it so, and this on account of his very virtues as well as his faults. Indeed, to speak the truth, the King did not even rely upon himself, and in consequence he was distrustful of all others.'"

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

Old Houses on the Seine
[Old Houses on the Seine]


"THE next Sunday, November 18," continues Mrs. Phillips, "Augusta and Amelia[1] came to me after church very much grieved at the inhuman decrees just passed in the Convention including as emigrants, with those who have taken arms against their country, all who have quitted it since last July; and adjudging their estates to confiscation and their persons to death should they return to France.

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

"On Tuesday, the 20th I called to condole with our friends on these new misfortunes. Madame de la Châtre received me with politeness and even cordiality; she told me she was

Norbury Park from the Valley

a little recovered from the first shock – that she should hope to gather together a small débris of her fortune, but never enough to settle in England – that, in short, her parti était pris that she must go to America. It went to my heart to hear her say so.

"Presently came in M. Girardin.[1] He is the son of the Marquis de Girardin d'Ermenonville, the friend of Rousseau, whose last days were passed and whose remains are deposited in his domain. This M. Girardin was a pupil of Rousseau."

In his "Journal et Souvenirs" M. Girardin gives an interesting account of Rousseau's peaceful life at Ermenonville.

"Jean-Jacques used to rise," he tells us, "with the sun, and spend the whole day in roving through the woods and meadows in search of herbs. In the evenings he would take a row with his friends on the lake, himself plying an oar, so that the children used to call him their 'Sweet-water Admiral.' Sometimes the party would sit in some shady spot by the riverside listening to the strains of the clarionette; or when confined to the house Rousseau would sing to them songs of his own composition, whilst the young Stanislas accompanied him upon an old spinet. His voice, though enfeebled by age and somewhat quavering, was still full of passion and sentiment. I loved Jean-Jacques dearly," continues Stanislas, "though unable, at that time, to appreciate his genius."

M. Girardin had been a member of the Legislative Assembly and an able opponent of the Jacobins. When it was proposed to hurl an accusation of treason against Lafayette it was Girardin who mounted the tribune and defended him at the risk of his life.

"M. Girardin," continues Mrs. Phillips, "had been riding as far as to the cottage Mr. Malthouse had mentioned to him – l'asile de Jean Jacques – [saying] it was very near this place" (it is at the foot of Leith Hill, Mr. Lock has since told me).

"[Our friends] then talked over the newspapers which were come that morning. M. de St. Just who made a most fierce speech for the trial and condemnation of the King, they said, had before only been known by little madrigals, romances, and épitres tendres, published in the 'Almanac des Muses.' 'But now,' said M. de Jaucourt laughing, 'he is a bold republican, and there is the Abbé Fouché, too, who harangues the meetings, and does it by no means badly.'

"'Certainly he shows ability,' said Madame de la Châtre, 'for his arguments are precisely those calculated to convince the Convention.'

"For Condorcet, in despite of his abilities, they feel a sovereign contempt. They spoke of his ingratitude to the Duc de la Rochefoucauld with great disgust, and of the terrible end of that most respectable man, with a mixture of concern and indignation that left them and us for a few minutes silent and in a kind of consternation.

"It appears that there is an exception in the detestable law concerning the emigrants, in favour of such persons as are established in other countries in any trade. M. de Jaucourt said, 'It seems to me that I have something of a vocation for cookery. I will take up that business. Do you know what our cook said to me this morning? He had been consulting me respecting his risking the danger of a return to France. "But you know, Monsieur," he observed, "an exception is made in favour of all artists." "Very well, then," concluded M. de Jaucourt, "I will be an artist-cook also!'"

"M. de Narbonne delighted me by his accounts of M. de Lafayette, who is, I am now certain, precisely the character I took him to be – one whom prosperity could never have corrupted, and that misfortune will never subdue. 'An access of bonté de coeur,' M. d'Arblay said, 'was almost the only fault he knew him to have.' This made him so unwilling to suspect treachery in those who called themselves his friends, that it was almost impossible to put him on his guard. 'Il carressait ceux qui cherchaient a l'égorger.'

"Tuesday, November 27. – Phillips and I determined

Portrait of Louis Lara

at about half-past one to walk to Junipère together.

"M. d'Arblay received us at the door and showed the most flattering degree of pleasure at our arrival.

"We found with Madame de la Châtre another French gentleman, M. Sicard (just arrived from Holland), who was also an officer of M. de Lafayette's.

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

"I was obliged to entreat Phillips to bring him back, and entreated him to entendre raison.

"'Mais, mais, Madame,' cried M. de Narbonne, ' ne soyez pas disgracieuse.'

"'Je ne suis pas disgracieuse,' answered I, asset naïvement, which occasioned a general comical, but not affronting laugh, 'sur ce sujet au moins,' I had the modesty to add. I pleaded their late hour of dinner, our having no carriage, and my disuse to the night air at this time of the year; but M. de Narbonne said their cabriolet (they have no other carriage) should take us home, and that there was a top to it, and Madame de la Châtre declared she would cover me well with shawls, &c.

"'Allons, allons,' cried M. d'Arblay; 'voilà qui est fait, for I am sure Monsieur Phillips will not venture to refuse us.'

"Effectivement, Monsieur Phillips was perfectly agreeable; so that all my efforts were vain, and I was obliged to submit, in spite of various worldly scruples, to pass a most charmingly pleasant day.

"M. d'Arblay scampered off for the little ones, whom all insisted upon having, and Phillips accompanied him . . . . 'Ce sera,' said Madame de la Châtre; 'ce qu'il nous faut; ce sera une journeé.'

"Then my dress – oh, it was parfaite, and would give them all the courage to remain as they were, sans toilette; in short, nothing was omitted to render us comfortable and at our ease, and I have seldom passed a more pleasant day – never, I may fairly say, with such new acquaintance.

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

The following are passages from the "Défense du Roi':

"Alas!" exclaims Necker, "can I hope to be listened to, when the very approach of those who would defend innocence oppressed is denied them? My voice – my feeble voice – can it make itself heard above the noise and tumult of passions which a gloomy and fanatic policy has aroused and now directs at its will?" Then, appealing to the generous-minded of the nation, he points out to them the many benefits conferred by Louis XVI. on his people even before the meeting of the States-General – the remains of vassalage abolished – forced labour done away with – torture of prisoners put an end to – and, in more recent times, free admission of the Protestants, after so many years of persecution, to all the rights of citizenship – added to all this the example he had set his people, so rare among the kings of France, of moral purity. "Oh, God!" cries the writer, "watch over this Prince, the friend of religion, the friend of morality – this Prince, whose soul expands with mercy and kindness."

Then, addressing the Convention, he concludes with these words:

"Let not your members forget that Freedom, for which we have made so many sacrifices, will fly from our shores, never to return, if, yielding to the pressure of a few men eager for the royal blood, we show by this violation of our promises and of our oaths that we are unworthy to possess her."

A French Château
[A French Château]


WE left Fanny Burney a short time since at Bradfield Hall, where she was staying with her friends Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Young, and where she had enjoyed the society of the good Duc de Liancourt.

Fanny, as the reader will know, had but recently escaped from a prison life, not indeed resembling that of our friends the émigrés, but one of five long years' duration, which had taken her away from her family, her friends, and her literary career, and had kept her within a narrow circle, hemmed in by restraints of all kinds.

When, in 1786, the post of Second Keeper of the Robes to Queen Charlotte had been offered to Miss Burney, the affair was looked upon as a piece of great good fortune. Her father was delighted, her friends triumphant. "I am glad for her interest," wrote Horace Walpole, "though sorry for my own, that Evelina and Cecilia are to be transformed into a Madame de Motteville, as I shall certainly not live to read her memoirs, though I might another novel."

Amidst the general joy, Fanny alone had felt some misgivings. Her nature was too shy and too sensitive for a Court life. And how was it possible for the ladies and gentlemen of the Court to make amends to her for the loss of such friends as Johnson and Burke and Sir Joshua Reynolds? And the dull routine of her evenings at Windsor, for the delightful gatherings at Mrs. Thrale's, at Mrs. Crewe's, and at Mrs. Montague's? Not to mention the happy visits, now abandoned, to her "Daddy Crisp" at Chesington, and to her warm friends, the Locks, at Norbury Park?

Indeed Fanny's misgivings were amply fulfilled if only in the sufferings she was soon to endure from the tyranny of the vulgar and violent-tempered Madame Schwellenberg, her superior in office.

It is pleasant, however, to reflect that in the midst of all her trials there were alleviations. The "most popular novel-writer of her day" had a keen sense of humour and a ready pen. How she must have laughed to herself as each evening she jotted down the events and reported the conversations of the day, in her dramatic diaries – diaries that are far more valuable at the present day than any further novels from her pen could

Portrait of Fanny Burney
Fanny Burney

possibly have been! It is through Fanny Burney that "Queen Charlotte and stout King George are better known to us than any other royal pair mentioned in English history," and that all the characters of their Court, from the little Princess Amelia, the darling of the household, to the insolent First Keeper of the Robes, are as real to us as if we met them every day of our lives.

It was in July 1791 that Fanny, after several vain efforts to carry her point, obtained the Queen's sanction to her resignation of office. Though looked upon as inefficient in the capacity of lady's maid, she was, at any rate, considered both interesting and entertaining as a converser, and her kindly nature had won the affection of many members of the Royal Household, especially of the young princesses. These could not see her depart without sorrow – a sorrow sincerely shared by Fanny herself. When the Queen announced her intention of bestowing upon Miss Burney a pension amounting to half her salary,[1] the King exclaimed, "It is but her due. She has given up five years of her pen."

Upon Fanny's return, at last, to her home and to her friends, Edmund Burke, it is said, remembering his delight at her appointment, observed that the story of those five years of her Court life would have furnished Johnson with another vivid illustration for his "Vanity of Human Wishes."

An illness followed upon Fanny's release from office, through which she was tenderly nursed by her family. When sufficiently recovered she passed some months in travelling about the south of England with a friend, enjoying the beauties of Devonshire, and visiting many a fine cathedral; till, at last, she found herself once more in her father's house,[1] among her own people, with health restored, and "with a satisfaction, a serenity of heart immeasurable."

A warm welcome awaited Miss Burney's return to social life. We are tempted to give an account, in her own words, of a pleasant gathering at Mrs. Crewe's house at Hampstead which took place in June 1792. Mrs. Crewe, so celebrated, as the reader will remember, for her beauty and her talents, was the daughter of Dr. Burney's early patron – Fulk Greville. She had invited Edmund Burke on this particular occasion to meet the Burneys, but Fanny was looking forward with some anxiety to the meeting, for the great trial of Warren Hastings was fresh in the minds of all, and she and her father were known to have espoused the cause of the man impeached by Burke.

"The little villa at Hampstead," writes Miss Burney to her sister Mrs. Phillips, "is small but commodious. We were received by Mrs. Crewe with great kindness." Soon company began to arrive, among them, "Mr. Richard Burke; that original, humorous, flashing and entertaining brother of THE Burke . . . . At length Mr. Burke himself was announced and made his appearance, accompanied by the tall keen-eyed Mr. Elliot, one of the Twelve Managers of the Impeachment.

"The moment Mr. Burke had paid his devoirs to Mrs. Crewe, he turned to shake hands, with an air the most cordial, with my father . . . . I thought this the happiest chance of obtaining his notice, and I arose, though with a strong inward tremor, and ventured to make him a curtsey; but where was I, my dear Susan, when he returned me the most distant bow, without speaking or advancing? . . .

"Grieved I felt – O how grieved and mortified – not only at the loss of so noble a friend, but at the thought of having given pain and offence to one from whom I had received so much favour, and to whom I owed so much honour!

. . . "Whilst I hesitated – all sad within – whether to retire to my retreat in the background or to abide where I stood, obviously seeking to move his returning kindness, Mrs. Crewe suddenly said, 'I don't think I have introduced Mr. Elliot to Miss Burney?' . . . The moment I was named, imagine my joy, my infinite joy, to find that Mr. Burke had not recollected me! He is more near-sighted, considerably, even than my father or myself. 'Miss Burney!' in a tone of vivacity and surprise, he now exclaimed, coming instantly, courteously, and smilingly forward, and taking my willing hand, 'and I did not see – did not know you!' . . . I felt a glow the most vivid tingle in my cheeks and my whole face . . . . Mr. Burke took the colour for reestablished health, and began to pour forth the most fervent expressions of satisfaction at my restoration. 'You look,' said he, still affectionately holding my hand, 'quite renewed – revived! – in short, disengaged!' . . . My father soon afterwards joined us, and politics took the lead. Mr. Burke then spoke eloquently indeed, but with a vehemence that banished the graces, though it redoubled his energies. I assented tacitly to all that he addressed to me against the revolutionary horrors; but I was tacit without assent to his fears for stout old England. Surely with such a warning before us, we cannot fall into similar atrocities. We have, besides, so little comparatively to redress!

"After expatiating copiously and energetically upon the present pending dangers . . . he abruptly exclaimed, 'This it is, the hovering in the air of this tremendous mischief, that has made ME an abettor and supporter of kings and courts!' . . . At dinner Mr. Burke sat next to Mrs. Crewe; and I, my dear Susan, had the happiness to be seated next to Mr. Burke, and that by his own smiling arrangement . . . . How I wish my dear Susanna and Fredy[1] could meet this wonderful man when he is easy, happy, and with people he cordially likes. But politics, even then, and on his own side, must always be excluded. His irritability is so terrible upon politics that they are no sooner the topic of discourse than they cast upon his face the expression of a man who is going to defend himself against murderers!

. . . "Mr. Richard Burke narrated very comically various censures that had reached his ears upon his brother, concerning his last and most popular work,[2] accusing him of being the Abettor of Despots, because he had been shocked at the imprisonment of the King of France; and the Friend of Slavery, because he was anxious to preserve our own limited monarchy in the same state in which it so long had flourished.

"When . . . the general laugh was over, the Burke, good-humouredly turning to me and pouring out a glass of wine, cried, 'Come, then, Miss Burney, here's "Slavery for Ever!"'

. . . "'This would do for you completely, Mr. Burke,' cried Mrs. Crewe, laughing, 'if it could but get into a newspaper. Mr. Burke, they would say, has now spoken out! The truth has come to light over a bottle of wine! and his real defection from the cause of liberty is acknowledged. I should like,' added she, laughing quite heartily, 'to draw up the paragraph myself.'

"'Pray, then,' said Mr. Burke, 'complete it by putting in that the toast was addressed to Miss Burney! – in order to pay my court to the Queen!'"

After dinner the party is increased by the accidental arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Erskine, who have been taking a stroll across the heath from their house near the fir-trees, in company with Lord Loughborough. The conjunction causes some embarrassment, and Burke, desiring to avoid a conversation with Lord Erskine, throws himself on a settee at a distant part of the room and, taking up a book, begins to read aloud! "What to me," continues Fanny, "made this seem highly comic was that the work was French, and he read it not only with the English accent, but exactly as if the two nations had one pronunciation in common of the alphabet.

"The company having dispersed, we finished this charming evening in a little trio of our three selves, and retired to rest in very serene good-humour, I believe, with one another."

Milestone on Hampstead Heath
[The "Whitestone" on Hampstead Heath]


FANNY BURNEY, who was at this time visiting her sister Charlotte at Aylesham, in Norfolk, writes to Mrs. Phillips: "I am truly amazed and half alarmed to find this county filled with little revolution societies which transmit their notion of things to the larger committee at Norwich, which communicates the whole to the reformists of London. I am told there is scarce a village in Norfolk free from these meetings . . . . I will be very discreet in the points that require it, au reste. I like to inspire those I see with an interest for your little colony at Juniper Hall, by such recitals as are safe, especially as all the constituants are now reviled as authors and originators of all the misfortunes of France.

"Who is this M. Malouet who has the singular courage and feeling to offer to plead the cause of a fallen monarch in the midst of his ferocious accusers? And how ventures M. de Chauvelin[1] to transmit such a proposal? I wish your French neighbours could give some account of this."

Malouet, in his earnest appeal to the Convention, remarks, "I feel bound to offer myself as the official defender of a Prince whose virtues I have always esteemed and whose misfortunes I must now deplore." But he appealed in vain. After hearing his letter read aloud, the members of the Convention passed contemptuously to the "order of the day," pausing only to insert Malouet's name in the "List of Emigrés" and to declare his property confiscated to the State.

Narbonne demanded leave of the Convention to appear at the trial as a witness for the King. His demand was rejected, and he then addressed a Memorial to that body defending Louis XVI. from such charges as he knew, from his own experience as Minister of War, to be false. This Memorial he sent to Malesherbe, who expressed to him in the King's name "the most touching words of acknowledgment."

M. d'Arblay also sent a declaration in favour of Louis XVI., defending him from a charge of having purposely left the town of Longwy exposed to the invasion of the Prussian army. M. d'Arblay had formerly held the post of Commandant of Longwy, and although he had been promoted to another post shortly before the town was besieged, his exact evidence as to the strength of the garrison was very valuable, and he received a letter from M. de Malesherbe saying he should certainly make use of this evidence in the defence.

The Duc de Liancourt urged his claims to defend the King – "as the friend of humanity and justice." "By this title," he writes, "and this alone, I venture to make my demand, although unworthy in other respects to stand by the side of those men of commanding talents who will now offer themselves as the defenders of Louis XVI."

Lally-Tollendal was also using every means in his power to obtain permission to act as advocate for the King. A letter which he addressed to the President of the Convention, written in London and dated December 17, 1792, is now preserved in the "Archives de la Répubique" at Paris. We have held that letter in our hands; and as we gazed upon its faded ink and its paper yellow with age, the whole tragic drama seemed to be enacting over again, and we realised the heroism of this little band of good and wise men who were so eager to lay down their lives "in the cause of humanity and of justice."

"I demand," writes Lally-Tollendal, "that my name be presented to Louis XVI. beneath that of Malesherbe. My speech is prepared. Within a quarter of an hour of my arrival in Paris, I can present myself at the bar. I need not even see Louis XVI.; all that I require are the pleadings of his denouncers and the Act of Accusation."

This speech, which Lally's biographer tells us was singularly eloquent and pathetic, was never delivered, for the leaders of the Convention, having determined upon the death of the King, refused to hear any further evidence in his favour.

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

M. d'Arblay, after dwelling upon these sad events, remarked:- "I see no hope of tranquillity for my unhappy country during my lifetime. The people are so vitiated by the impunity of crime, and by becoming accustomed to the sight of bloodshed, that to all appearances there will be neither peace nor security in France for thirty or forty years to come. But happily for us," he added more cheerfully, "you have adopted us, and I hope we shall never leave you."

"Yesterday (Saturday, December 15)," continues Mrs. Phillips, "I was very pleasantly surprised by a visit from M. de Narbonne, who was as gracious and as pleasant as ever he could be. We talked over Marmontel's new tales, which, I believe, I mentioned his having been so good as to lend me; he told me the author of them was in Paris, unhappy enough in seeing the state of public affairs – 'Mais pour l'interieur de sa Maison, on ne peut guère voir de bonheur plus parfait . . . . C'est un homme rempli de sentiment et douceur.'

"He had heard nothing new from France, but mentioned with great concern the indiscretion of the King in having kept all his letters since the Revolution; that the papers lately discovered in the Tuileries would bring ruin and death on hundreds of his friends; and that almost every one in that number s'y trouvait compliqué some way or other. A decree of accusation had been lancé against M. de Talleyrand, not for anything found from himself, but because M. de la Porte, long since executed . . . had written to the King that l'Evéque d'Autun was well disposed to serve him. Can there be injustice more flagrant?

"M. Talleyrand, it seems, had purposed returning, and hoped to settle his affairs in France in person, but now he must be content with life; and as for his property (save what he may chance to have in other countries), he must certainly lose all . . . . They are now printing, by order of the Convention, all the letters to the King's brothers which had been seized at Verdun and in other places; amongst them some from 'le traître Narbonne,' in which he professed his firm and unalterable attachment to royalty and made offers of his services to the Princes.

"But the M. de Narbonne whose letters are printed is not our M. de Narbonne, but a relation of his, a man of true honour, but a decided aristocrat from the beginning of the Revolution who had consequently devoted himself to the party of the Princes. The Convention knew this perfectly, M. de Narbonne said, but it suited their purpose best to enter into no explanations, but to let all who were not so well informed conclude that 'ce traître de Narbonne' and 'ce scélérat de Narbonne' was the Minister, in whom such conduct would really have been a treachery . . . . He spoke with considerable emotion on the subject, and said that, after all his losses and all that he had undergone, that which he felt most severely was the expectation of being 'confondu avec tous les scélérats de sa malheureuse patrie' not only 'de son vivant' but by posterity.

"Monday, December 17, in the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Lock called, and with them came Madame de la Châtre to take leave.

"She now told us (perfectly in confidence) that Madame de Broglie had found a friend in the Mayor of Boulogne, that she was lodged in his house, and that she could answer for her (Madame de la Châtre) being received by him as well as she could desire . . . . Madame de la Châtre said all her friends who had ventured upon writing to her entreated her not to lose the present moment to return, as the three months allowed for the return of those excepted in the decree once past, all hope would be lost for ever. Madame de Broglie, who is her cousin, was most excessively urgent to her to lose not an instant in returning. 'Vous croyez donç, Madame,' said I rather tristement, 'y aller?' 'Oui, sûrement, je l'éspère; car sans celà, tous mes projets sont anéanties. Si enfin je n'y pouvais aller, je serais réduite à presque rien.'

. . . "I tried to hope without fearing for her, and, indeed, most sincerely offer up my petitions for her safety. Heaven prosper her! Her courage and spirits are wonderful."

Madame de Broglie's "little son," who in after years wrote of those troubled times, says: "I have but a faint recollection of the short time we spent in the neighbourhood of London with Madame de la Châtre, a friend of my mother and her son, a young man of great promise . . . but I distinctly remember the precautions we had to take when returning to France. An English boat landed us at night, in great secrecy, on the beach of Boulogne. I recollect the state of excitement in which we found the population, and which affected even our own servants." Speaking of their life in Paris during the Revolution the same writer says: "The events which struck me most were – first the sacking of the Hotel de Castries. From our windows we could hear distinctly the yells of the mob and the fall of the furniture which they threw down from the windows, and second the grand spectacle of the Fête of the Federation.[1] I still see, in the midst of the excited people which thronged the Champs de Mars, the ladies wearing tricolour ribbons, and pretending to wield shovels and to wheel barrows. My mother was one of them."


MRS. PHILLIPS, writing to her sister Fanny, remarks: "Friday, December 21, we dined at Norbury Park, and met our French friends."

We can imagine the company arriving on that Christmas evening at the beautiful mansion of Norbury, and fancy we see Mr. and Mrs. Lock receiving them in the great "Picture Room," whose decorated walls and ceiling would form a quaint background to such a scene. "The room," writes one of the artists who painted it long ago, "represents a bower or arbour admitting a fictitious sky through a large oval at the top, and covered at the angles with trellis-work, interwoven with honeysuckles, vines and clustering grapes. . . . The sides of the room are divided by eight painted pilasters appearing to support the trellis roof and open to four views. That towards the south is real – the other three (representing lakes and mountains) are artificial. [The sun is depicted as setting on the western side of the room] and

Room with elaborately decorated walls and ceiling showing outdoor scenes

when," remarks the artist, with enthusiasm, "the natural hour corresponds with the hour represented, there is a coincidence of artificial and natural light, and all the landscapes both within and without the room appear illumined by the same sun."[1]

"Dinner over, M. d'Arblay came in to coffee before the other gentlemen," writes Mrs. Phillips. "We had been talking of Madame de la Châtre and conjecturing conjectures about her sposo: we were all curious, and all inclined to imagine him old, ugly, proud, aristocratic – a kind of ancient and formal courtier, so we questioned M. d'Arblay, acknowledging our curiosity, and that we wished to know enfin, if M. de la Châtre was digne d'être l'épouse d'une personne si aimable et si charmante que Madame de la Châtre." He looked very drolly, scarce able to meet our eyes; but at last, as he is la franchise même, he answered: "M. de la Châtre is an excellent man – an excellent man; but he is brusque comme un cheval de carrosse."

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

"His abord and behaviour answered extremely well the idea M. d'Arblay had given us of him, who in the word brusque rather meant unpolished in manners than harsh in character.

"He is quite old enough to be father to Madame de la Châtre, and had he been presented to us as such, all our wonder would have been to see so little elegance in the parent of such a woman.

"After the first introduction was over, he turned his back to the fire, and began sans façon a most confidential discourse with M. de Narbonne. They had not met since the beginning of the Revolution, and, having been of very different parties, it was curious and pleasant to see them now, in their mutual misfortunes, meet en bons amis. They rallied each other sur leurs disgraces very good-humouredly and comically; and though poor M. de la Châtre had missed his wife by only one day, and his son by a few hours, nothing seemed to give him de l'humeur. He gave an account of his disastrous journey since he had quitted the Princes, who are themselves reduced to great distress and were unable to pay him his

Portrait of Mrs. Lock

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

"At this M. de Narbonne threw himself on his seat, exclaiming against the hard fate which pursued all ses malheureux amis!

"'Wait a bit,' cried the good-humoured M. de la Châtre, 'I have not finished yet. We were informed that no one had perished and that even the contents of the vessel had been saved.'

"He said, however, that, being now in danger of falling into the hands of the French, he dared not stop for his box or servants; but, leaving a note of directions behind him, he proceeded incognito, and at length got on board a packet-boat bound for England, in which though he found several of his countrymen and old acquaintance, he dared not discover himself till they were en pleine mer.

"'And, you see,' he remarked, 'there is no end to my unlucky adventures; for the first thing I hear on my arrival at this place is that my wife left for France yesterday, and Alphonse this very day, and God knows if I shall see him again for forty years to come.'

"How very, very unfortunate! We were all truly sorry for him; however, he went on gaily enough, laughing at ses amis les constitutionnaires, and M. de Narbonne, with much more wit and not less good-humour, retorting back his raillery on the parti de Brunswick.

"'Eh bien,' said M. de la Châtre, 'each in his turn. You were the first to be ruined. You framed a constitution which could not hold water.'

"'Pardon me,' cried M. d'Arblay with quickness, 'it was never tried.'

"'Well, it was set aside all the same; there is no question about it now,' said M. de la Châtre; 'and there is nothing left for all of us to do but to starve merrily together.'

"M. de la Châtre mentioned the quinzaine in which the Princes' army had been paid up as the most wretched he had ever known. 'It was a time of grief, of suffering, and of despair, impossible for you to imagine. Of 22,000 men who formed the army of the emigrants, 16,000 were gentlemen – men of family and fortune, who were now, with their families, destitute.'"

This sudden disbanding took place upon the

hallway with pillars and archway

retreat of the Duke of Brunswick before the victorious army of the Revolutionists. General Custine, who had seized Worms, Spire, Frankfurt, Wurtzberg, and Mayence, was threatening Coblentz. There Louis XVI.'s brothers were living in fancied security surrounded by their pigmy court – a court as full of etiquette and ceremonial as that of the Grand Monarque himself! When the news arrived of the invaders' approach a general flight commenced not only of the Princes and courtiers, but of all the inhabitants of those regions bordering the Rhine, and so thronged were the roads with carriages, horsemen, and waggons, that the whole route from Mayence to Cologne, we are told, resembled the busy thoroughfare of a city. The soldiers of the émigrés' army, repulsed on all sides, wandered from place to place begging their bread, while their officers were but little better off.[1]

"M. de la Châtre mentioned two of the officers," continues Mrs. Phillips, "who had engaged themselves lately in some orchestra where they played first and second flute. 'They are the envy, I assure you, of the whole army,' said he, 'for, generally speaking, we soldiers can do nothing whatever but fight.'

"'The Princes,' he said, 'had been twice arrested for debt in different places – that they were now so reduced that they dined the Comte d'Artois, children, tutors, &c. – eight or nine persons in all – upon one single dish; and burnt de la chandelle parceque les bougies coutaient trop cher.'

". . . M. de Narbonne asked how he (M. de la Châtre) had been able to travel, since his money and clothes had been left behind.

"' Most fortunately,' he replied, 'I had my purse with me, but on reaching London I had to apply to a tailor for clothes, for I was informed at my inn that if I walked about in the suit I was then wearing, I should be a public laughing-stock.

"'Well, the tailor made me this waistcoat that you see, et ces culottes' (in a low voice, but laughing, to M. de Narbonne). They were, I must tell you, of the most common and cheap materials; but M. de Narbonne, interrupting him gravely but very good-naturedly, said, 'Eh bien, you can go anywhere as you are now. In this country people can go where they like in such an attire.'

"'You see this overcoat,' replied M. de la Châtre, who continued the whole evening in it, 'the tailor made it also. But as to my coat there was no time to make one as I could not wait longer (in London). He therefore lent me his own coat.'

"'What, the tailor?'

"'Yes, certainly – you see it is quite becoming.'

"There was something so frank and so good-humoured in all this that, added to the deplorable situation to which he was reduced, I could almost have cried, though it was impossible to forbear laughing."

Fanny Burney, from her home in Chelsea Hospital, was following the Mickleham émigrés with eager interest, an interest which she could not overcome, in spite of prejudices engendered by her life at Court, which made her suspicious of reformers as a class and inclined to believe that a king must always be in the right.

"Your French colonies," she writes, "are truly attractive. I am sure they must be so to have caught me so substantially, fundamentally, the foe of all their proceedings while in power. . de la Châtre has my whole heart. I am his friend, not only upon the pleas of compassion, but upon the firm basis of principle. My heart ached to read of his 22,000 fellow sufferers for loyalty. I like, too, his brusque and franc character.

. . . "Poor M. d'Arblay's belief in perpetual banishment is dreadful . . . . (His) speech should be translated and read to all English imitators of French reformers. What a picture of the now reformed! . . . I am glad M. d'Arblay has joined the set at Junipère."


TOWARDS the end of January 1793, Fanny Burney went to Norbury Park to visit her friends the Locks.

Soon after her arrival the news reached the Mickleham colony of the execution of Louis XVI. Fanny writes to her father:

"I have been wholly without spirit for writing, reading, working, or even walking or conversing ever since my arrival. The dreadful tragedy acted in France has entirely absorbed me . . . . Except the period of the illness of our own inestimable King, I have never been so overcome with grief and dismay for any but personal and family calamities. O what a tragedy! How implacable its villainy, and how severe its sorrows!

. . . Good Heaven! what must have been the sufferings of the few unhardened in crimes who inhabit that city of horrors, if I, an English person, have been so deeply afflicted that even this sweet house and society – even my Susan and her lovely children – have been incapable to give me any pleasure?

. . . "M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay have been almost annihilated; they are for ever repining that they are French, and though two of the most accomplished and elegant men I ever saw, they break our hearts with the humiliation they feel for their guiltless birth in that guilty country! 'Is it possible, Mr. Lock,' cries M. de Narbonne, 'that you can still retain friendly feelings towards those who have the shame and the misfortune to be born Frenchmen?'"

A few days later Fanny writes: "I hear daily more and more affecting accounts of the saint-like end of the martyred Louis. Madame de Staël, daughter of M. Necker, is now at the head of the colony of French noblesse established near Mickleham. She has just received by a private letter many particulars not yet made public, and which the Commune and Commissaries of the Temple had ordered should be suppressed. It has been exacted by those cautious men of blood that nothing should be printed that could attendrir le peuple.

. . . "When the King left the Temple to go to the place of execution, the cries of his wretched family were heard loud and shrill through the courts without. Good Heaven! what distress and horror equalled ever what they must then experience?

"When he arrived at the scaffold his Confessor, as if with the courage of inspiration, called out to him aloud, after his last benediction: 'Fils de Saint Louis, montez au ciel!' The King ascended with firmness, and meant to harangue his guilty subjects; but the wretch Santerre said he was not there to speak, and the drums drowned the words, except to those nearest the terrible spot. To those he audibly was heard to say 'Citoyens, je meurs innocent! Je pardonne à mes assassins; et je souhaite que ma mort soit utile à mon peuple.'"

The "Confessor," as the reader will remember, was the Abbé Edgeworth,[1] known in France as the Abbé de Firmont. He has left on record his experiences of that solemn time. About a week before the King's execution he wrote to Edmund Burke, who had urged him to fly from France: "The Malheureux Maître charges me not to quit the country, for that I am the person he intends to employ to prepare him for death, in case the iniquity of the nation should commit that last act of cruelty and parricide. In these circumstances I must endeavour to prepare myself, too, for death; for I am convinced that popular rage will not

Portrait of the Abbé Edgeworth

allow me to survive one hour after that tragic act. But I am resigned; my life is of no consequence; the preservation of it or the shedding of my blood is not connected with the happiness or misery of millions . . . . Fiat voluntas tua."

In a letter to a brother the Abbé says that the King's message, asking him to attend his last moments, was "moving beyond expression." "The King," he remarks, "though in chains, had a right to command; but he commanded not. My attendance was requested merely as a pledge of my affection for him – as a favour which he hoped I would not refuse. . . . . I made answer that whether he lived or died I would be his friend to the last."

Some days elapsed before the Abbé was summoned to attend the King. They were employed by him in putting his affairs in order, in making his will, and in providing for the care of his large flock; for the Archbishop of Paris, who had fled from the city, had committed his whole diocese into the hands of the Abbé Edgeworth.

On the 20th of January the summons came. The Abbé was then lying concealed in the house of his mother and sister in the Rue du Bacq.

"It was five o'clock in the afternoon," he writes, "and a coach was waiting at my door; but as I knew my poor mother would be alarmed to see me go out at that time of the evening whilst all was danger in the streets, I sent immediately to an intimate friend of hers and gave her my secret, requesting her to keep it until she had news of me, and to tell my mother that I had been suddenly called upon to assist a dying person, and would not come home until morning. This quieted her completely; but Betty was no dupe. 'Oh,' said she to her friend, 'the dying person is the King! I always apprehended this moment for my brother – he is lost for me; but his duty is to go, and I must resign myself to my fate.'"

The Abbé describes the long procession moving slowly, on the following morning, to the place of execution. When the carriage drew up at the Place Louis XV., "the guards," he says, "would have jumped out, but the King stopped them, and leaning his arm on my knee, 'Gentlemen,' said he, in a voice of authority, 'I recommend to you this good man; take care that after my death no insult be offered him. I charge you to prevent it.'"

After giving the details of the scene upon the scaffold the Abbé goes on to say: "As soon as the fatal blow was given, I fell upon my knees, and thus remained until the vile wretch who acted the principal part in this horrid tragedy came with shouts of joy, showing the bleeding head to the mob, and sprinkling me with the blood that streamed from it. Then, indeed, I thought it time to quit the scaffold; but casting my eyes round about I saw myself invested by twenty or thirty thousand men in arms . . . . All eyes were fixed on me . . . but as soon as I reached the first line, to my great surprise, no resistance was made; the second line opened in the same manner, and when I got to the fourth or fifth, my coat being a common surtout (for I was not permitted, on this occasion, to wear any exterior marks of a priest), I was absolutely lost in the crowd, and no more noticed than if I had been a simple spectator of a scene which for ever will dishonour France." In one of his letters the Abbé describes Louis XVI. as "a prince who, with every virtue, had but one fault – that of thinking too well of others, whilst he refused common justice to himself."


DR. BURNEY writes to his daughter on January 31: "The horrors of last week's news still prey upon my spirits with the addition of new political disgusts. The cry of Charles Fox and his adherents against a war on the French wild beasts is so loud and clamorous that I fear it will dismay honest men and real lovers of their country and Constitution. He . . . urges stronger than ever the necessity of treating with France.

"To [his arguments] I answer that we neither want nor wish to meddle with the interior government of that country within its own limits, but to check their conquests and ravages without; to prevent their spreading anarchy, desolation and atheism over all Europe. If England does not try to prevent their preying upon all the rest of the world, who or what else is likely to do it? They have voted an army of between 500,000 and 600,000 men for the next campaign. What but our fleet can impede their progress and subsistence? But alas! Ireland, Scotland, and several English counties are said to be ripe for open rebellion; yet they will be more easily kept in obedience during war than peace."

Dr. Burney, although a Tory of the old school, had sympathised in many respects with the earlier phases of the Revolution. There is an unpublished letter of his extant, addressed to Mrs. Crewe, which shows that he largely approved of the Constitution of 1791. "Do not the articles," he writes, "appear to you unexpectedly moderate? . . . I am glad to see that the establishment of juries and limitations of the King's prerogative are imitations of our English Constitution. Indeed, I wish the powers of making war were taken from all the princes upon earth."

During the month of February Fanny Burney quitted Norbury Park, and went to Mickleham Cottage to visit her sister, Mrs. Phillips. Captain Phillips was at that time absent in Ireland.

Fanny writes on February 29 to her father: "Have you not begun, dear sir, to give me up as a lost sheep? Susan's temporary widowhood, however, has tempted me on, and spelled me with a spell I know not how to break. It is long, long since we have passed any time so completely together; her three lovely children only knit us the closer."

Fanny goes on to speak of Madame de Staël, and gives an account of her brave conduct in rescuing her proscribed friends, and also of her own adventures in quitting France. "She is one of the first women I have ever met with," continues the writer, "for abilities and extraordinary intellect. She is more in the style of Mrs. Thrale than of any other celebrated character, but she has infinitely more depth, and seems an even profound politician and metaphysician. She has suffered us to hear some of her works in MS.; which are truly wonderful for powers both of thinking and expression . . . . Ever since her arrival, Madame de Staël has been pressing me to spend some time with her before I return to town. She wanted Susan and me to pass a month with her, but finding that impossible, she bestowed all her entreaties upon me alone, and they are grown so urgent, upon my preparations for departing, and acquainting her my furlough of absence was over, that she not only insisted upon my writing to you and telling why I deferred my return, but declares she will also write herself to ask your permission for the visit. She exactly resembles Mrs. Thrale in the ardour and warmth of her temper and partialities. I find her impossible to resist; and, therefore, if your answer to her is such as I conclude it must be, I shall wait upon her for a week. She is only a short walk from hence at Juniper Hall."

Fanny even, at first sight, was feeling the influence of Madame de Staël's strong personality, as so many others had done before her. "The Staël is a genius," writes Dr. Bollman; "an

Box Hill from the Valley

extraordinary eccentric woman in all that she does. She only sleeps during a very few hours, and is uninterruptedly and fearfully busy all the rest of the time. Whilst her hair is being dressed, whilst she breakfasts, in fact, during a third of the day, she writes. She has not sufficient quiet to look over what she has written, to improve it, or finish it; but even the rough outpourings of her ever active mind are of the greatest interest."

"She is always entertaining," writes Miss Berry, "and I who know her so well will add, always good-natured, and never méchante; but she does not dwell long enough upon anything; life, characters, and even feelings pass before her eyes like a magic-lantern. She spends herself upon paper, and runs through the world to see all, to hear all, and to say all – to excite herself, and to give it all back to the world and to the society from whence she has drawn it."

Lord Byron, in later years, on hearing that one of her sons had been killed in a duel, remarked "Madame de Staël has lost one of her young barons . . . . Corinne is, of course, what all mothers must be, but will, I venture to prophesy, do what few mothers could – write an essay upon it!"

Most of her acquaintance found her "torrent of words," however eloquent, at times somewhat overpowering. "Her works are my delight," writes Byron, "and so is she herself for – half an hour!"

"There can be nothing imagined," writes Miss Burney, "more charming, more fascinating, than this colony; between their sufferings and their agrémens they occupy us almost wholly. M. de

Portrait of Madame de Staël

Narbonne . . . bears the highest character for goodness, parts, sweetness of manners, and ready wit. You could not keep your heart from him if you saw him only for half an hour. He has not yet recovered from the black blow of the King's death, but he is better and less jaundiced; and he has had a letter which I hear has comforted him, though at first it was almost heart-breaking, informing him of the unabated regard for him of the truly saint-like Louis. This is communicated in a letter from M. de Malesherbes.

"M. d'Arblay is one of the most singularly interesting characters that can ever have been formed. He has a sincerity, a frankness, an ingenuous openness of nature, that I had been unjust enough to think could not belong to a Frenchman. With all this, which is his military portion, he is passionately fond of literature, a most delicate critic in his own language, well versed in both Italian and German, and a very elegant poet. He has just undertaken to become my French master for pronunciation, and he gives me long daily lessons in reading. Pray expect wonderful improvements! In return I hear him in English; and for his theme this evening he has been writing an English address à Mr. Burney (i.e., M. le Docteur), joining in Madame de Staël's request.

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

Mr. and Mrs. Lock had gone to London for a visit of some weeks. Fanny writes to Mrs. Lock: "I quite fear with you that even the bas bleu will not recompense [you] for the loss of the Junipère society. It is, indeed, of incontestable superiority. But you must burn this confession, or my poor effigy will blaze for it. I must tell you of our proceedings, as they all relate to these people of a thousand.

"M. d'Arblay came from the melancholy sight of departing Norbury to Mickleham, and with an air the most triste, and a sound of voice quite dejected, as I learn from Susanna; for I was in my heroics and could not appear till the last half-hour. A headache prevented my waiting upon Madame de Staël that day, and obliged me to retreat soon after nine o'clock in the evening, and my douce compagne would not let me retreat alone. We had only robed ourselves in looser drapery, when a violent ringing at the bell startled us; we listened, and heard the voice of M. d'Arblay, and Jerry answering, 'They're gone to bed.' 'Comment? What?' cried he. 'C'est impossible. What you say?' Jerry then, to show his new education in this new colony, said, 'Allée couchée!' It rained furiously, and we were quite grieved, but there was no help. He left a book for Mlle. Burnet, and word that Madame de Staël could not come on account of the bad weather. M. Ferdinand was with him, and has bewailed the disaster; and M. Sicard says he accompanied them till he was quite wet through his redingote; but this enchanting M. d'Arblay will murmur at nothing.

"The next day they all came just as we had dined for a morning visit – Madame de Staël, M. Talleyrand, M. Sicard, and M. d'Arblay; the latter then made insistance upon commencing my master of the language, and I think he will be almost as good a one as the little Don.[1]

"M. de Talleyrand opened at last with infinite wit and capacity. Madame de Staël whispered me, 'How do you like him?' 'Not very much,' I answered, 'but I do not know him.' 'O, I assure you,' cried she, 'he is the best of men.' I was happy not to agree . . . . She read the noble tragedy of 'Tancrede' till she blinded us all round. She is the most charming person, to use her own phrase, 'that never I saw.'

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

Thursday, Mickleham.

"I have been scholaring all day and mastering too, for our lessons are mutual, and more entertaining than can easily be conceived. My master of the language says he dreams of how much more solemnly he shall write to charming Mrs. Lock after a little more practice.

"Madame de Staël has written me two English notes, quite beautiful in ideas, and not very reprehensible in idiom. But English has nothing to do with elegance such as theirs – at least, little and rarely."

Here are these two notes –

"When J learned to read English," she writes, "J begun by milton, to know all or renounce at all in once. J follow the same system in writing my first English letter to Miss burney; after such an enterprize nothing can affright me. J feel for her so tender a friendship that it melts my admiration, and impresses me with the idea that in a tongue even unknown J could express sentiments so deeply felt.

"My servant will return for a french answer. J entreat Miss burney to correct the words but to preserve the sense of that card.

"best compliments to my dear protectress, Madame Phillipe."

And after hearing from Fanny she writes again

"Your card in french, my dear, has already something of your grace in writing english; it is Cecilia translated. My only correction is to fill the interruptions of some sentences, and J put in them kindnesses for me . . . let me speak upon a grave subject: do J see you that morning? What news from Captain Phillip? when do you come spend a large week in that house? every question requires an exact answer; a good also. My happiness depends on it, and J have for pledge your honour.

"Good morrow and farewell."

Fanny writes to Mrs. Lock: "It is inconceivable what a convert M. de Talleyrand has made of me; I think him now one of the first members, and one of the most charming of this exquisite set; Susanna is as complete a proselyte. His powers of entertainment are astonishing, both in information and raillery . . . . We dined and stayed till midnight at Junipère on Tuesday, and I would I could recollect but the twentieth part of the excellent things that were said. Madame de Staël read us the opening of her work 'Sur le bonheur'; it seems to me admirable. M. de Talleyrand avowed he had met with nothing better thought or more ably expressed; it contains the most touching allusions to their country's calamities."

Dr. Burney was now becoming rather uneasy at his daughter's growing intimacy with Madame de Staël, about whom some foolish gossiping stories had reached his ears. These stories, it seems, were circulated by the French Refugees of the ultra-royalist party who were in high favour at our English Court. Their hatred of Necker, the Minister who had deprived them of their pensions and of their ancient privileges, had descended to his daughter, and no words were strong enough to express their ill-will. Dr. Burney, though but half crediting these rumours, writes to give Fanny a word of warning and to advise her, if possible, to avoid paying the proposed visit to Madame de Staël.

"I am both hurt and astonished," exclaims Fanny in her reply, "at the acrimony of malice; indeed, I believe all this party to merit nothing but honour, compassion and praise. Madame de Staël . . . entered into the opening of the Revolution just as her father entered into it; but as to her house having become the centre of the Revolutionists before the 10th of August, it was so only for the Constitutionalists, who at that period were not only members of the then established Government, but the decided friends of the King. The aristocrats were then already banished, or wanderers from fear, or concealed and silent from cowardice; and the Jacobins – I need not, after what I have already related, mention how utterly abhorrent to her must be that fiend-like set.

"The aristocrats, however, as you well observe and as she has herself told me, hold the Constitutionalists in greater horror than the Convention itself. This, however, is a violence against justice, which cannot, I hope, be lasting; and the malignant assertions which persecute her, all of which she has lamented to us, she imputes equally to the bad and virulent of both these parties.

"The intimation concerning M. de N. was, however, wholly new to me, and I do firmly believe it a gross calumny . . . . She loves him even tenderly, but so openly, so simply, so unaffectedly, and with such utter freedom from all coquetry, that if they were two men, or two women, the affection could not, I think, be more obviously undesigning. She is very plain, he is very handsome; her intellectual endowments must be with him her sole attraction.

"M. de Talleyrand is another of her society, and she seems equally attached to him. M. le Viscomte de Montmorenci she loves, she says, as her brother; he is another of this bright constellation, and esteemed of excellent capacity . . . . In short, her whole coterie live together as brethren. Madame la Marquise de la Châtre, who has lately returned to France . . . is a bosom friend of Madame de Staël and of all this circle; she is reckoned a very estimable as well as fashionable woman; and a daughter of the unhappy Montmorin, who was killed on the 1st of September, is another of this set. Indeed, I think you could not spend a day with them and not see that their commerce is that of pure but exalted and most elegant friendship."

In spite of this warm defence of Madame de Staël's character and conduct, the visit to Juniper Hall was not paid. Fanny, who all her life had been accustomed to bow to her father's wishes, would not oppose them now, and having at the same time heard that Dr. Burney was out of health she hastened her return to Chelsea.


MRS. PHILLIPS writes to Mrs. Lock early in April: "I must say something of Juniper, whence I had an irresistible invitation to dine yesterday and hear M. de Lally-Tollendal read his 'Mort de Strafford,' which he had already recited once, and which Madame de Staël requested him to repeat for my sake . . . . He is extremely absorbed by his tragedy, which he recites by heart, acting as well as declaiming with great energy, though seated.

. . . "M. Talleyrand seemed much struck with his piece, which appears to me to have very fine lines and passages in it, but which altogether interested me but little."

Mrs. Phillips describes M. de Lally as "large and fat," and as possessing "nothing distingué in manner." It is evident that on this first introduction she did not greatly admire him. But a little later on, when she knew him better, she felt very differently. His was, in fact, an heroic nature. He had spent many years of his earlier life in endeavouring to clear the memory of his father from an unjust accusation of treason for which he had suffered death. The Comte de Lally had been Governor of Pondicherry when that town was captured by the English, and was accused by his countrymen of treacherously delivering it into their hands. It was not till nearly twenty years had elapsed after the execution of the Count that his son obtained a reversal of the iniquitous judgment.

Mrs. Phillips concludes her letter by remarking: "M. Malouet has left [Juniper Hall]. La Princesse d'Hénin is a very pleasing, well-bred woman; she [also] left the next morning with M. de Lally."

Malouet was staying at that time in London with the Princesse d'Hénin. His health had suffered much from the perilous times he had passed through in Paris, and we hear but little of his doings. There is, however, an allusion to his being at Mickleham in a letter from Lally-Tollendal to M. d'Arblay, written a few months later, in which he says: "I am sure Miss Burney will have heard you talk of our poor Louis XVI. with the same emotion which drew tears from the eyes of Malouet and from my own the last time we walked and talked together."

We should like to mention here the fact that Malouet was the intimate friend of Mallet du Pan, and that the two men had, so to speak, stood shoulder to shoulder "through the first three years of the Revolution." Malouet is described by Mallet's son as "a man who possessed every virtue which can distinguish a public man and form an inestimable and useful citizen" and as their "best and dearest friend."[1]

The Princesse d'Hénin was the intimate friend of Lafayette and of his family. In the "Memoires de Lafayette," published by his descendants, the writer remarks that "most of the letters written during his captivity were addressed to her." While his wife and almost all his relations and friends "were immured in the prisons of the Terreur, Madame d'Hénin was the centre of their correspondence, and endeavoured to give to each consolation and intelligence of the others."

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

"Madame de Staël was very gay and M. de Talleyrand very comique this evening; he criticised, amongst other things, her reading of prose with great sang froid. 'Vous lisez très mal la prose,' he said. 'There is a kind of chant in your voice – a sort of rhythm, followed by a monotonous intonation, which is not at all good. It is as if you were reading poetry aloud. Celà a un fort mauvais effet.'

"They talked over a number of their friends and acquaintance with the utmost unreserve and sometimes with the most comic humour imaginable – M. de Lally, M. de Lafayette, la Princesse d'Hénin, la Princesse de Poix, and a M. Guibert,

Portrait of Monsieur de Talleyrand

an author, who was, Madame de S. told me, passionately in love with her before she married, and innumerable others."

We fancy we see the whole scene, and can picture to ourselves the cynical look on Talleyrand's face as he censures Madame de Staël's method of reading aloud, for we have sat in the very room where it took place – the same in which the émigrés and the Phillipses and the Locks so often met together – the sculptured drawing-room of Juniper Hall.

Whilst in company with these celebrated talkers it is interesting to turn to their remarks upon the art of conversation.

Talleyrand observed one day to his secretary, M. Colmache:[1] "Talk not to me of books . . . . They can express neither surprise nor fear – the very anger which they convey has been all premeditated . . . . They are 'composed' by men, and are even greater hypocrites than they . . . but the causeur is himself, and speaks as he feels and thinks . . . . Even Louis Quatorze, whose Bastille yawned so greedily for those who dared to write a syllable against the justice of his measures, was known to wince beneath the lash of the witty causeurs of his day; he felt he was powerless against their attacks, and was compelled to flatter and to pardon, as Richelieu, that greater tyrant still, had been forced to do before him.

. . . "These witlings are as troublesome as summer flies," said the magnificent monarch one day to Colbert, who had reported to him an epigram which he had heard in the salon of Madame Cornel.

"Yes, sire, and just as unconquerable," replied Colbert.

Madame de Staël takes a different tone. "Conversation in France," she says, "is not, as elsewhere, merely a means of communicating ideas and sentiments, or of conveying directions concerning the business of life; it is an instrument upon which we love to play, and which cheers and invigorates the mind as music does in some countries or wine in others.

"Bacon," she says, "has truly observed that conversation is not a road which leads direct to a house, but a path along which we may roam hither and thither at our pleasure."

It seems to us that the charm of the old French salons was due perhaps as much to the listeners as to the talkers. "There is an eloquence of heart," says a French writer, "as well as of outward expression, and it often belongs in equal measure to him who speaks and to him who listens." Surely this hidden partnership is necessary for the unconstrained flow and perfect development of conversation.

Sydney Smith, who knew Talleyrand in after life, says "he never talked till he had finished and digested his dinner, a slow process with him, but nobody's wit was of so high an order as Talleyrand's when it did come, or has stood so well the test of time."

We feel tempted to insert two of his sayings to Madame de Staël, at the risk of repeating what may be already well known. The first is related by Samuel Rogers, the second by M. Pichot.

"Talleyrand was a great admirer of Madame Récamier and Madame de Staël, the first for her beauty, the other for her wit. Madame de Staël asked him, one day, if he found himself with both of them in the sea on a plank and could only save one, which it would be; to which he replied, 'Ah! Madame de Staël knows so many things, doubtless she knows how to swim!'"

"When 'Delphine' appeared it was said that Madame de Staël had described herself as Delphine, and had described Talleyrand as Madame de Vernon. Meeting the authoress soon afterwards, Talleyrand remarked, in his most gentle tone of voice, 'I hear that both you and I appear in your new book, but disguised as women.'"


"OUR Juniperians," writes Mrs. Phillips, "went to see Paine's Hill yesterday, and had the good nature to take my little happy Norbury."

The French colony had managed, by sharing the expense, to purchase a cabriolet, a hooded one-horse chaise which held two people inside, and had a "dicky" behind for a servant. At the back of the vehicle there was a small window. Talleyrand, Narbonne, and the other gentlemen, we are told, used to take turns in riding behind, but as they could by no means bear to be excluded from the animated conversation that flowed from within the vehicle, they broke the window pane, and thus came in for their due share! Madame de Staël declares that she never heard more brilliant talk than on these occasions.

Whether the friends paused in their discourse to admire the beauties of nature, we do not know. At any rate, it is not likely that Madame de Staël did, for she is said to have exclaimed on one occasion to a friend, "I would not take the trouble to throw open my window to look for the first time upon the Bay of Naples, but I would willingly go a thousand miles to converse, for the first time, with a man of genius." And when a friend, visiting her at Coppet, went into raptures at the sight of Lake Lemon, "Oh!" cried she, "give me rather the gutter in the Rue du Bac!"

The French, as a nation, perhaps, do not quite enter into the beauties of landscape scenery as we do. It has been shrewdly observed that "the Englishman admires nature, while the Frenchman admires the way in which he admires nature."

Little Norbury had become a favourite with the émigrés, as the reader may have noticed, and often accompanied them in their walks or drives. There is a letter, preserved in the Burney family, written about him in broken English by M. de Narbonne, addressed to Charles Burney. The child was spending a few days at the time with his uncle at Hammersmith, and Narbonne, happening to be in London, had taken him out for the day.

"J beg Dr. Charles Burney to be excused for not having taken back the little Norbury at the fixed hour; but very awkwardly J mistook my way, and the poor little man should have missed his dinner if J would have not forced him to come with me in town. J am very unhappy to have lost an occasion more of being acquainted with Dr. Burney, who will be, J hope, as kind for me as the rest of his family.


During the absence of her friends at Paine's Hill, Mrs. Phillips received the visit of an English neighbour. "In the evening," she writes, "came Miss F . . . . She talked of our neighbours, and very shortly and abruptly said, 'So, Mrs. Phillips, we hear you are to have Mr. Nawbone and the other French company to live with you. Pray is it so?'

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

"I had scarcely said thus much when our party arrived from Paine's Hill; the young lady, though she had drunk tea, was so obliging as to give us her company for near two hours, and made a curious attack on M. de N., upon the first pause in wretched French, though we had before, all of us, talked no other language than English.

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

"She has many faults," said one who knew her well, "but much that would be faulty in others is not so in her . . . . Her open-hearted, frank nature and kind of honesty and truthfulness make her very attractive." "She is a woman by herself," said Lord Byron, "and has done more than all the rest of them together, intellectually – she ought to have been a man."

"I must go back to Monday," writes Mrs. Phillips "to tell you something that passed which struck and affected me very much. M. de Talleyrand arrived at Juniper to dinner, and Madame de Staël, in a state of the most vehement impatience for news, would scarce give him time to breathe between her questions; and when she had heard all he could tell her, she was equally impetuous to hear all his conjectures. She was evidently elated with hopes of such success as would give peace, security and happiness to them all, yet scarce dared give way to all her flattering expectations.

"M. de Talleyrand's hopes were alive likewise, though he did not, like her, lose his composure and comic placidness of manner. After some conversation had followed, 'For my part,' continued he, laughing, 'I own I should greatly like to do some fighting.'

. . . "'You think so,' said M. de N., with sadness, 'because you do not live in Juniper – near to Norbury and to Madame Philippe – because you live in Woodstock Street.'

"' Well,' said M. de Talleyrand, 'I give you my word, it would afford me real pleasure to fight those rascals.'

"'Why, what pleasure could there be,' said M. de N., with a mixture of douceur and sadness which was very touching, 'in killing poor wretches whose worst crimes are ignorance and folly? If war could be made simply against Marat, Danton, Robespierre, M. Egalité, and a few hundred more of such villains, I might myself find satisfaction in it.'

"After this the conversation was supported by Madame de Staël and M. de Talleyrand, who, by the way, is going to sell all his books, and who

Norbury Park

very placidly said to-day, 'I shall give up my house in Woodstock Street; it is too expensive.'

. . . "Poor Madame de Staël has been greatly disappointed and hurt," remarks Mrs. Phillips to Fanny, "by the failure of the friendship and intercourse she had wished to maintain with you . . . . She asked me if you would accompany Mrs. Lock back into the country. I answered that my father would not wish to lose you for so long a time at once, as you had been absent from him as a nurse so many days.

"After a little pause, 'But is a woman in tutelage for her whole life in this country?' she said. 'It seems to me that your sister might be a girl of fourteen.'

"I did not oppose this idea, but enlarged rather on the constraints laid upon females, some very unnecessarily, in England – hoping to lessen her dépit; it continued, however, visible in her countenance, though she did not express it in words."

Fanny Burney had been visiting the Locks in their London house, where the two Miss Locks had both been ill. Soon afterwards the family returned to Norbury.

"Sunday, after church, I walked up to Norbury," writes Mrs. Phillips. "There, unexpectedly, I met all our Juniperians, and listened to one of the best conversations I have ever heard; it was on literary topics, and the chief speakers Madame de Staël, M. de Talleyrand, Mr. Lock, and M. Dumont, a gentleman on a visit of two days

Conservatory at Norbury Park

at Juniper, a Genevois, homme d'esprit et de lettres."

M. Dumont was the friend of Jeremy Bentham and the editor of many of his works. He was also intimate with the Edgeworth family, and from all we read of him in Maria Edgeworth's "Letters," he seems to have been a man of a singularly amiable and attractive character.

"On Monday I went, by invitation, to Juniper to dine," continues Mrs. Phillips, "and before I came away at night a letter arrived express to Madame de Staël. On reading it the change in her countenance made me guess the contents. It was from the Swedish gentleman who had been appointed by her husband to meet her at Ostend; he wrote from that place that he was awaiting her arrival. She had designed walking home with us by moonlight, but her spirits were too much oppressed to enable her to keep this intention."

Madame de Staël's marriage, as is well known, was not a happy one. Her husband was many years older than herself, and he was unfortunately a spendthrift.

"M. d'Arblay walked home with Phillips and me," continues the writer. "Every moment of his time has been given of late to transcribing a MS. work of Madame de Staël on 'L'Influence des Passions.' It is a work of considerable length, and written in a hand the most difficult possible to decipher.

"On Tuesday we all met again at Norbury, where we spent the day. Madame de Staël could not rally her spirits at all, and seemed like one torn from all that was dear to her. I was truly concerned.

"After giving me a variety of charges, or rather entreaties, to watch and attend to the health, spirits, and affairs of the friends she was leaving, she said to me. Et dites à Mlle. Burney je ne lui en veux pas du tout – that I quit the country loving her sincerely, and without any feelings of rancour.

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

"She seemed pleased, and said, 'Vous êtes bien bonne de me dire celà,' but in a low and faint voice, and dropped the subject.

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

"I determined, however, to see her again, and met her near the school[1] on Wednesday morning with a short note and a little offering which I was irresistibly tempted to make her. She could

inn where stage-coaches stopped

not speak to me, but kissed her hand with a very speaking and touching expression of countenance."

Fanny, in a letter to Mrs. Lock, expresses great regret at the unfortunate termination of her acquaintance with Madame de Staël, which "had begun with so much spirit and pleasure." "I wish," she says, "the world would take more care of itself and less of its neighbours. I should have been very safe, I trust, without such flights and distances and breaches. But there seemed an absolute resolution formed to crush this acquaintance, and compel me to appear its wilful renouncer.

. . . "I am vexed, however – very much vexed – at the whole business. I hope Madame de Staël left Norbury Park with full satisfaction in its steady and more comfortable connection. I fear mine will pass for only a fashionable one."

It is satisfactory to know that before long the breach was healed to a large extent. This is shown by an affectionate letter from Madame de Staël to Miss Burney which we shall give later on.

Whilst the various events of the last few months were taking place in the valley of Mickleham, a romance between two members of the little community was gradually weaving itself into shape.

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

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

Walk at Norbury Park
[The "Druids' Walk," Norbury Park]


CHESINGTON HALL, the home of her "Daddy Crisp," was dear to the heart of Fanny Burney. There her father during his widowhood used to take "his delighted children to enjoy the society of that most valued friend," and so complete was the enjoyment of young and old on these occasions that "in this long-loved rural abode," says Fanny, "the Burneys and happiness seemed to make a stand."

"The old Hall," she tells us, "had been built upon a large, lone and nearly desolate common; and no regular road, or even track, to the mansion from Epsom (the nearest town) had been spared from its encircling ploughed fields or fallow ground." So isolated, indeed, was its position that strangers could not reach it without a guide, and to Dr. Burney alone, among his former friends and acquaintance, had Crisp confided the clue which would enable him to discover the route. Crisp had fixed his abode in Chesington Hall that he might be far removed from all contact with the world and its disappointments; but he had not shut out his heart from human love and sympathy, nor his mind from intellectual influences. He was, as Macaulay has said, "a scholar, a thinker, and an excellent counsellor," and he became, by common consent, the family adviser of the Burney household, while his solitary home came to be their holiday resort.

Chesington Hall

Fanny from early girlhood had been accustomed to write long letters to her Chesington "Daddy" to while away his lonely hours by accounts of the various gatherings in the little parlour of her home in St. Martin's Street, where distinguished singers, and statesmen and women of fashion all thronged to wait upon the author of the "History of Music." In after life Fanny entered in one of her notebooks the following memorandum: "A charge delivered to me by our dear vehement Mr. Crisp at the opening of my juvenile correspondence with him: 'Harkee, you little monkey! dash away whatever comes uppermost; if you stop to consider either what you say, or what may be said of you, I would not give one fig for your letters."'

In describing the interior of Chesington Hall, Fanny dwells affectionately upon every detail – nothing is omitted; not a "nook or corner; nor a dark passage leading to nothing; nor a hanging tapestry of prim demoiselles and grim cavaliers; nor a tall canopied bed tied up to the ceiling; nor Japan cabinets of two or three hundred drawers of different dimensions; nor an oaken corner-cupboard, carved with heads, thrown in every direction, save such as might let them fall on men's shoulders; nor a window stuck in some angle close to the ceiling of a lofty slip of a room; nor a quarter of a staircase leading to some quaint unfrequented apartment; nor a wooden chimney-piece, cut in diamonds, squares and round nobs, surmounting another of blue and white tiles, representing vis-à-vis a dog and a cat, as symbols of married life and harmony."

At the end of a long passage on the first storey, running from the front to the back of the house, there was a small room which Mr. Crisp had named the "Conjuring Closet," for there his friend Dr. Burney had written a large portion of his "History of Music"; delighting in the quiet and seclusion of Chesington for his literary work.

It was at Chesington that Fanny was staying in July 1778, when the sudden and unlooked for success of "Evelina" became known to her. No one out of her own family had been let into the secret of its authorship, not even her "Daddy Crisp." She revered him too highly as a literary critic to venture to show him her "little book which she had written simply for her private recreation," and had "printed for a frolic."

One morning a packet was put into her hands containing a letter from her father, who had just read "Evelina" for the first time, full of the warmest expressions in its favour. This letter was accompanied by the astonishing intelligence that Dr. Johnson was its ardent and outspoken admirer, that "Sir Joshua Reynolds had been fed while reading the little work, even refusing to quit it at table," and that Edmund Burke had sat up a whole night to finish it! "All this," writes Fanny, "so struck, so nearly bewildered the author, that, seized with a fit of wild spirits, and not knowing how to account for the vivacity of her emotion to Mr. Crisp, she darted out of the room, in which she had read the tidings by his side, to a small lawn before the window, where she danced lightly, blithely, gaily, around a large old mulberry-tree as impulsively and airily as she had often done in her days of adolescence."

We have visited Chesington and have seen that very tree, which stands on the lawn strong and healthy as ever. As we gazed upon its spreading branches, the whole scene rose before our eyes, and we danced, in spirit, with Fanny on that eventful morning.

Mulberry Tree in the Garden of Chesington Hall

Three years later she was ensconced at Chesington writing her novel of "Cecilia." All was going well, when an urgent summons came from the outer world, in the shape of a letter from Mrs. Thrale, to call her away. Fanny obeyed, and soon afterwards, on the sudden death of Mr. Thrale, accompanied his widow to Streatham, and there remained for a long period to comfort and cheer her, Meanwhile the MS. lay at Chesington untouched, and Fanny's two fathers became uneasy on the subject. Urged by Crisp, Dr. Burney agreed to recall his daughter, but he found himself powerless against the "self-willed little lady of Thrale Place," so Daddy Crisp himself came to the rescue. He made the journey to Streatham in spite of his infirmities, carried his point with Mrs. Thrale, and "bore off his young friend to the quiet and exclusive possession of the Doctor's Conjuring Closet at Chesington!" Early in the following year the book was published.

When Fanny, in the summer of 1793, had resorted to her second home for quiet and tranquillity, in order to consider the great question of M. d'Arblay's proposal, her beloved "Daddy" was no more. He had died ten years before that period, deeply mourned by the whole Burney family. Fanny's hosts were now an aged lady – Mrs. Hamilton – and her younger companion, Kitty Cook, who had for many years occupied a part of the old Hall. "Miss Kitty Cook still amuses me very much," writes Fanny, "by her incomparable dialect; and by her kindness and friendliness I am taken the best care of imaginable."

Fanny mentions the "Mount," a hillock on the edge of the garden commanding a wide view. Here, in a rustic arbour, fashioned like a beehive, she had found in former days a retreat in which to compose much of "Evelina." Two giant elms sheltered the summer-house and formed a landmark at a distance of sixteen miles. Here Fanny

A rustic arbour shaped like a beehive

could see on the horizon the trees of Norbury Park. The "Mount" and its thatched arbour are unchanged, but one of the great elms has disappeared.

In describing the Hall to a friend, she speaks of its "insulated and lonely position, its dilapidated state, its nearly inaccessible roads, its quaint old pictures, and straight long garden paths." We have trod those garden paths. They are of the softest mown grass, and are flanked by long beds, with high box edgings, full of old-fashioned flowers and fruit-trees. The very pictures are still to be seen hanging on the walls of a long corridor. They are portraits of the Hatton family, a member of which built the mansion in the reign of Henry VIII. The house, it is true, was rebuilt nearly a century ago, but it was re-built upon the old plan, so that the present building closely resembles the former one. A sketch from a contemporary drawing will show the reader the Chesington Hall of Crisp's day. Its "lonely position" is still maintained. Corn-fields and meadows surround it as of yore, and it is united with the outer world by shady lanes.

Whilst Fanny was endeavouring to solve her perplexities at Chesington, M. d'Arblay, who was suffering the pains of suspense, found a friendly comforter in Mrs. Phillips.

"At dinner came our Tio," she writes to her sister, "very bad indeed. After it we walked with the children to Norbury; but little Fanny was so well pleased with his society that it was impossible to get a word on any particular subject. I, however, upon his venturing to question me whereabouts was the campagne où se trouvait Mlle. Burnet, ventured de mon côté to speak the name of Chesington, and give a little account of its inhabitants, the early love we had for the spot, our excellent Mr. Crisp, and your good and kind hostesses.

"He listened with much interest and pleasure, and said: 'Mais, ne pourrait on pas faire se petit voyage-là?'

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

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

Here is the account of M. d'Arblay's visit from Fanny herself. "I had prepared for it," she writes, "from the time of my own expectation, and I had much amusement in what the preparation produced. Mrs. Hamilton ordered half a ham to be boiled ready; and Miss Kitty trimmed up her best cap and tried it on, on Saturday, to get it in shape to her face. She made chocolate also, which we drank up on Monday and Tuesday because it was spoiling. 'I have never seen none of the French quality,' she says, 'and I have a purdigious curiosity; though as to dukes and dukes' sons, and these high top captains, I know they'll think me a mere country bumpkin. Howsoever they can't call me worse than Fat Kit Square, and that's the worst name I ever got from any of our English pelite bears, which I suppose these pelite French quality never heard the like of.'

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

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

exterior showing window of room where Dr. Burney wrote 'History of Music'
[Window of the "Conjuring Closet" in Chesington Hall]


FANNY, in writing on May 31 a letter addressed to both her sister Susan and to her beloved friend Mrs. Lock, says: "Much indeed in the course of last night and this morning has occurred to me that now renders my longer silence as to prospects and proceedings unjustifiable to myself.

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

. . . "My dearest Fredy, in the beginning of her knowledge of this transaction, told me that Mr. Lock was of opinion that the 100l. per annum[1] might do, as it does for many a curate. M. d'A. also most solemnly and affectingly declares that le simple nécessaire is all he requires, and here in your vicinity would unhesitatingly be preferred by him to the most brilliant fortune in another séjour.

"If he can say that, what must I be not to echo it? I, who in the bosom of my own most chosen, most darling friends – I need not enter more upon this . . . . I cannot picture such a fate with dry eyes.

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

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

"These reflections, with a mutual freedom from ambition, might lead to a quiet road, unbroken by the tortures of applications, expectations, attendance, disappointment and time-wasting hopes and fears; if there were not apprehensions the 100l. might be withdrawn. I do not think it likely, but it is a risk too serious to be run. Mr. d'A. protests he could not answer to himself the hazard. How to ascertain this, to clear the doubt, or to know the fatal certainty, before it should be too late, exceeds my powers of suggestion.

"In short, my dearest friends, you will think for me and let me know what occurs to you, and I will defer any answer till I hear your opinions.

"Heaven ever bless you! and pray for me at this moment.

"F. B."

In the meanwhile, Dr. Burney was becoming alarmed as to the turn affairs were taking. "I have for some time seen very plainly," he writes to his daughter, "that you are éprise, and have been extremely uneasy at the discovery. You must have observed my silent gravity, surpassing that of mere illness and consequent low spirits." He goes on to warn her "not to entangle herself in a wild and romantic attachment which offers nothing in prospect but poverty and distress." He dwells earnestly on the fact of M. d'Arblay's total loss of fortune, and remarks, "Your income, if it was as certain as a freehold estate, is insufficient for the purpose; and if the Queen should be displeased and withdraw her allowance, what could you do?

. . . "My objections are not personal," he adds, "but wholly prudential. As far as character, merit, and misfortune demand esteem and regard, you may be sure that M. d'Arblay will be always received by me with the utmost attention and respect; but in the present situation of things I can by no means think I ought to encourage (blind and ignorant as I am of all but his misfortunes) a serious and solemn union with one whose unhappiness would be a reproach to the facility and inconsiderateness of a most affectionate father."

"Dr. Burney," writes his daughter, in her "Memoir" of her father, "it may well be believed, was startled, was affrighted, when a proposition was made to him for the union of his daughter with a ruined gentleman – a foreigner – an emigrant; but the proposition came under the sanction of the wisest as well as kindest of that daughter's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lock, of Norbury Park; and with the fullest sympathies of his cherished Susanna . . . . The Doctor could not, therefore, turn from the application implacably; he only hesitated, and demanded time for consideration. Fortunately, at this crisis, some letters arrived from M. de Lally-Tollendal and from the Prince de Poix, mentioning the 'favour in which they knew M. d'Arblay to have stood with Louis XVI.,' and speaking from their own knowledge of 'the spotless honour, the stainless character, and the singularly amiable disposition for which, in his own country, M. d'Arblay had been distinguished.'"

This evidence had its due weight, and at the same time Mrs. Phillips sent to her father a statement she had drawn up "of the plans and means and purposes of M. d'A. and F. B. – so clearly

woman seated on carved stone bench

demonstrating their power of happiness, with willing economy, congenial tastes, and mutual love of the country, that Dr. B. gave way and sent, though reluctantly, a consent" to the marriage.

There is an unpublished letter (preserved in the Burney family) written by Fanny to her brother Charles to announce her engagement to M. d'Arblay. That letter is dated from Norbury Park, and we picture to ourselves Fanny, as she wrote it, seated very possibly in a small room to the front of the mansion, whose tall window looks across smooth lawns and groups of trees, to a blue distance lying in the direction of Chesington.

"NORBURY PARK, July 23, '93.


'' . . . Were I with you I should relieve myself from the extreme embarrassment of opening my own cause, by employing you in various conjectures and helping your imagination to play, till by skill or chance you came near to my subject; but at this distance I have no such resource – I have no aid – I am forced to mount my Pegasus without any esquire.

"My Pegasus? No! I have nothing to do with Poetics – nothing with fiction – all is plain truth, though, perhaps, you may not hold it to be plain or common sense. In brief – and to give you, at once, some little scope for conjecture – do you remember seeing at a concert in Titchfield Street[1] a gentleman whose face you said looked anything but French?

"Now your eyebrows begin to arch. This gentleman, if I am not of all women the most

Portrait of Charles Burney

mistaken, is one of the noblest characters now existing. An exile from patriotism and loyalty, he has been naturalised in the bosom of Norbury Park and Mickleham, amongst the dearest and best of my friends. He wishes there, in the vicinity where he has found a new home, new affections, new interests, and a new country, to fix himself for life – he wishes in that fixture to have a companion, with whom he may learn to forget, in some measure, his own misfortunes, or at least to soothe them.

"Can you guess the companion he would elect?

"I can enter now into no particulars; they are too diffuse, the tale is too long, and my spirits are too much agitated. I can only tell my dear Charles that if I should have given him another brother, he will find him one whom he can no sooner know than he must love and respect.

"My dear father, alas! from prudential scruples, is sadly averse to this transaction, and my heart is heavy from his evident ill-will to it – yet he has not refused his consent – and circumstances are such that I feel myself bound in honour, and even in necessity, to here fix my fate, or to relinquish, for ever, a person the most peculiarly to my taste, and whom I think the most peculiarly formed for my happiness of any mortal I ever saw or ever knew in my life.

"As this affair must be conveyed to the Q— before it is made public, even among my friends, I entreat you to keep its design to yourself till you hear further. It is of the highest importance that no accidental information should anticipate my communication.

"Pray write me a kind word. I send by this post letters to my sisters and to James, but I spread my confidence no wider for the reason I have just given.

"God bless you, my dearest Carlos. May you have good news to send me of yourself, with good wishes for your truly affectionate,


Chimney-piece decoration
[Chimney-piece decoration in Juniper Hall]


ON a Sunday morning, July 28, 1793, the marriage of Fanny Burney and Alexandre d'Arblay was solemnised in the village church of Mickleham.

The wedding, to which the company repaired from Mrs. Phillips' cottage, was quiet and private, but it was attended by some of the dearest friends or relatives of the bride and bridegroom – namely, by Captain James Burney, Fanny's eldest brother; by Captain and Mrs. Phillips, by Mr. and Mrs. Lock, and by M. de Narbonne. Mr. Lock, we are told, played the part of father to M. d'Arblay; and Captain Burney, in the absence of her father, gave his sister away.

We have looked upon the entry of that marriage in the Church Registry book for the year 1793, of which we give a facsimile. The date, as the reader will notice, is that of July 28, and not as given in the "Diaries" by some error as the 31st. Pieuchard (or Piochard as it is usually spelt) was M. d'Arblay's family name. The accompanying sketch from an old print of Mickleham Church enables us to realise the scene of that wedding.

The ceremony over, we fancy we see the little procession issuing out of the old Norman doorway and passing through the churchyard, out at the

Mickleham Church

wicket gate opposite the "Running Horse," and so, down the village street, to Mrs. Phillips' cottage at the bottom of the hill.

And again we seem to see them in the garden of that cottage with its trim lawn and gay flowerbeds, its clustering roses and its tall white foxgloves, holding happy converse one with another.

Two days later the marriage ceremony was, repeated, according to the Roman Catholic rites

marriage record of Marriage of Alexandre d'Arblay and Frances Burney, as shown in Mickleham Church records
Fac-simile of the entry in Mickleham Church books, of the marriage of Alexandre d'Arblay and Frances Burney.

in the chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador – a chapel adjoining what was formerly the Ambassador's house which faces Lincoln's Inn Fields. We have visited this quaint seventeenth-century building, with its double galleries and wooden

Norman Doorway of Mickleham Church

balustrades, and its small organ at the western end of the church, perched on the topmost gallery. The place is full of interesting historical associations which we talked over with one of the priests. By the kindness of this priest an old record volume was searched for and put into our hands, and there among the marriage entries for 1793 appeared the following

DIE 30 JULII, 1793.

"Nullo impedimento detecto in matrimonium conjuncti fuere Alexander Gabriel Pieuchard D'Arblay et Francisca Burney. Testibus Jacobo Burney et Louisa Maria Jacques et Felice Ferdinand.


The name of M. Ferdinand has been already mentioned, as the reader may remember, among the Mickleham émigrés. We cannot obtain any information respecting that of Louisa Maria Jacques.

M. d'Arblay had taken rooms in a farmhouse called Phenice Farm, on the summit of Bagden Hill. Thence Fanny writes to an intimate friend on August 3 to announce her marriage. After mentioning the many difficulties that had opposed her marriage, she goes on to say: "Those difficulties, however, have been conquered; and last Sunday Mr. and Mrs. Lock, my sister and Captain Phillips, and my brother, Captain Burney, accompanied us to the altar in Mickleham Church; since which the ceremony has been repeated in the chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador, that if, by a counter-revolution in France, M. d'Arblay recovers any of his rights, his wife may not be excluded from their participation.

"You may be amazed not to see the name of my dear father upon this solemn occasion; but his apprehensions from the smallness of our income have made him cold and averse; and though he granted his consent, I could not even solicit his presence. I feel satisfied, however, that time will

Chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador, Lincoln's Inn Fields

convince him I have not been so imprudent as he now thinks me. Happiness is the great end of all our worldly views and proceedings, and no one can judge for another in what will produce it. To me wealth and ambition would always be unavailing; I have lived in their most centrical possessions, and I have always seen that the happiness of the richest and the greatest has been the moment of retiring from riches and from power. Domestic comfort and social affection have invariably been the sole as well as ultimate objects of my choice, and I have always been a stranger to any other species of felicity.

"M. d'Arblay has a taste for literature and a passion for reading and writing as marked as my own; this is a sympathy to rob retirement of all superfluous leisure, and insure to us both occupation constantly edifying or entertaining.

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

The following is an unpublished letter preserved in the Burney family docketed by Madame d'Arblay, "Letter from my dearest, kindest Charles on my marriage, 1793." (Charles was then recovering from a severe illness.)

"With a hand debilitated by illness, but with an heart beating warm with affection and fraternal friendship, let me congratulate my beloved Fanny on her marriage, the news of which has just reached me by James and Sarah who are this moment arrived to see their half-alive brother. I can no more! My respects to Mr. d'Arblay, who I am most impatient to see, know, and love,

"Ever, ever, ever thine,


"CLIFTON, July 31st, 1793. Half-past one."

About this same time Fanny was gratified by receiving a letter, written by order of the Queen, in answer to her own letter announcing her marriage, which contained "the gracious wishes of the King himself, joined to those of the Queen and all the Princesses, for her health and happiness." Thus all anxiety respecting the continuance of her pension was removed.

Madame de Staël writes from Coppet (August 9) expressing her warmest sympathy and pleasure in the match. "And now," she says, "that you are become almost one of my own family, I hope, if I return to England, to see you as often as I can desire – that is to say, without ceasing. Memories of the past and hopes for the future all draw my heart out to Surrey. It is there that my earthly paradise is fixed. May yours be there also!"

In some lines addressed by Madame de Staël to "Norbury Park," she remarks:

"Douce image de Norbury, venez me rappeler qu'une félicité vive et pure peut exister stir la terre! . . . Dans cette retraite . . . j'ai trouvé quelques temps un asyle loin des crimes de la France . . . . Le respect, l'enthousiasme, dont mon âme est remplie, en contemplant l'ensemble des vertues morales et politiques qui constituent l'Angleterre; l'admiration d'un tel spectacle, le repos céleste qu'il me fasait goûter; ces sentiments si doux et si nécessaires après la tourmente de trois ans de revolution, s'unissent dans mon souvenir au delicieuse séjour, aux respectables amis, prés desquels je les ai éprouvés. Je les remercie de quatre mois de bonheur échappés au naufrage de la vie; je les remercie de m'avoir aimée."

Madame de Staël's admiration for England is well known – "the country par excellence," as she calls it, "of domestic happiness and of public liberty."

Lally-Tollendal, who writes to his friend d'Arblay from Twickenham, expresses unbounded satisfaction in the marriage. He goes on to say playfully: "But you have deprived me of an excellent argument for public debate. 'Give me an instance,' have I demanded hitherto with unruffled assurance, 'of any one man who has gained by the revolution.'

"This defiance at least cannot be uttered in the neighbourhood of Mickleham; for the tempest has carried you into a port that is better than that of your native shore, and the very demons themselves have thrown you at the feet of an angel who has raised you up. Your romance equals those of Miss Burney herself, and you act yours as effectively as she writes hers. Your destiny, my dear friend, is written in 'Cecilia,' and you will have as many witnesses of your felicity as 'Cecilia' has had readers . . . . Such profound knowledge of the human heart as its author possesses has naturally led her to discover the value of your heart and to appreciate your noble character.

"All our colony here [at Twickenham] have but one opinion and one sentiment respecting your marriage. The Prince[1] is now writing to you, Malouet is about to write, and the Princesse[2] begs that her name may be associated with all our congratulations."

There is an amusing postscript to this letter:

"When my father," writes M. de Lally, "commanded in India, he had reason to be much displeased with an officer who had been charged with a mission to the Dutch settlement, and who, through some grave error, had caused the mission to miscarry. My poor father, the best of men in action but the most irascible in speech, wrote to the officer, 'Should you commit this fault again, I warn you beforehand that if you possessed the head of my son on the shoulders of my father I would have it off!'

"As he was folding up his epistle, his steward entered the room, saying, 'I have just learnt, sir, that you are sending an express messenger to the Dutch Settlement. Our stock of coffee is nearly exhausted so I am come to ask if you will kindly order some more.' 'Certainly!' was the reply. And behold my father, who by this time had entirely forgotten his anger, reopens his letter and writes just below his startling declaration the following postscript: 'I beg you will be so obliging as to send me by bearer a bale of coffee.'

"To what does all this tend? Why to justify an incongruity equally flagrant which I, myself, am about to commit. My lackey has just come to me saying, 'I hear, sir, that you are writing to Mickleham. The last time you were there you left behind you a night-cap and a pair of slippers. Would you kindly request that they may be forwarded to you?' 'Certainly!' So behold me concluding my nuptial letter of congratulations with a request that the husband will give orders – I know not to whom – that these said slippers may be sent to London, No. 17 Norton Street."

Chimney-piece Ornament
[Chimney-piece Ornament in Juniper Hall]


IN September (1793) Fanny received the following letter from her father, showing a happy change in his feelings respecting her marriage:

"You say that M. d'Arblay is not only his own architect, but intends being his own gardener. I suppose the ground allotted to the garden of your maisonnette is marked out, and probably will be enclosed and broken up before the foundation of your mansion is laid; therefore to encourage M. d'Arblay in the study of horticulture, I have the honour to send him Miller's 'Gardener's Dictionary' – an excellent book, at least for the rudiments of the art.

"I send you, my dear Fanny, an edition of Milton, which I can well spare, and which you ought not to live without; and I send you both our dear friend Dr. Johnson's 'Rasselas.'"

In this same letter Dr. Burney acquaints his daughter with a plan, started by Mrs. Crewe, for the relief of the many poor French priests then in England, and suggests her writing a pamphlet in their behalf.

"When I received the last letter of my dearest father," she replies, "and for some hours after, I was the happiest of all human beings – I make no exception, for I think none possible; not a wish remained to me; not a thought of forming one.

"This was just the period – is it not always so? – for a blow of sorrow to reverse the whole scene; accordingly that evening M. d'Arblay communicated to me his desire of going to Toulon.

"He had intended retiring from public life; his services and his sufferings in his severe and long career, repaid by exile and confiscation. . . [had] led him without a single self-reproach to seek a quiet retreat in domestic society; but the second declaration of Lord Hood no sooner reached this little obscure dwelling – no sooner had he read the words 'Louis XVII. and the Constitution,' to which he had sworn, united – than his military ardour rekindled, his loyalty was all up in arms, and every sense of duty carried him back to wars and dangers.

"I dare not speak of myself, except to say that I have forborne to oppose him with a single solicitation; all the felicity of this our chosen and loved retirement would effectually be annulled by the smallest suspicion that it was enjoyed at the expense of any duty; and, therefore, since he is persuaded it is right to go, I acquiesce . . . .

"He is now writing an offer for entering as a volunteer into the army destined for Toulon; together with a list of his past services up to his becoming Commandant of Longwy; and the dates of his various promotions to the last recorded of Maréchal de Camp, which was yet unsigned and unsealed, when the captivity of Louis XVI. forced the emigration which brought M. d'Arblay to England . . . .

"This memorial he addresses and means to convey in person to Mr. Pitt. . . . As I am sure it will interest my father, I will copy it for him.

"This total break into all my tranquillity incapacitates me from attempting at this moment to compose any address for the poor suffering clergy; but as nothing could give me greater comfort than contributing the smallest mite in their favour, I beseech my dear father to let me know in what manner I should try – whether as a letter, and to whom; or how; . . . I would gladly make any experiment in my possible power, and M. d'Arblay particularly wishes it . . . .

"My dearest father, before this tremendous project broke into our domestic economy, M. d'Arblay had been employed in a little composition, which, being all in his power, he destined to lay at your feet, as a mark of his pleasure in your attention to his horticultural pursuit. He has just finished copying it for you, and to-morrow it goes by the stage – your hint of a book from time to time enchanted him; it seems to me the only present he accepts entirely without pain.

". . . This Toulon business finally determines our deferring the maisonnette till the spring. Heaven grant it may be deferred no longer!

". . . Meanwhile M. d'Arblay makes a point of our indulging ourselves with the gratification of subscribing one guinea to your fund, and Mrs. Lock begs you will trust her and insert her subscription in your list, and Miss Lock and Miss Amelia Lock. Mr. Lock is charmed with your plan . . . . Heavy as is my heart just now, I could work for them and your plan."

Dr. Burney writes (Oct. 4.):

"DEAR FANNY – This is a terrible coup so soon after your union; but I honour M. d'Arblay for offering his service on so great an occasion, and you for giving way to what seems an indispensable duty. Commonplace reflections on the vicissitudes of human affairs would afford you little consolation. The stroke is new to your situation, and so will be the fortitude necessary on the occasion . . . . Whether the offer is accepted or not, the having made it will endear M. d'Arblay to those embarked in the same cause among his fellow countrymen, and elevate him in the general opinion of the English public. This consideration I am sure, will afford you a satisfaction the most likely to enable you to support the anxiety and pain of absence.

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

". . . I have written to Mrs. Crewe all you have said on the subject of writing something to stimulate benevolence and commiseration in favour of the poor French ecclesiastics, amounting to 6000 now in England, besides 400 laity here, and 800 at Jersey, in utter want . . . . I have been working with my pen night and day for more than this last fortnight, in correspondence with Mrs. Crewe and others.

"The expense, in only allowing the clergy 8s. a week, amounts to about £7500 a month, which cannot be supported long by private subscriptions, and must at last be taken up by Parliament; but to save the national disgrace of suffering these excellent people to die of hunger, before the Parliament meets and agrees to do something for them, the ladies must work hard."

It was a Ladies' Committee which Mrs. Crewe had formed for the Emigrant Clergy Contribution Fund, of which Dr. Burney had undertaken the office of secretary. He gives a long list of names – "very illustrious and honourable" – of those whom Mrs. Crewe had induced to join her committee.

"Your mother works hard," continues the Doctor, "in packing and distributing papers among her friends in town and country, and Sally in copying letters. You and M. d'Arblay are very good in wishing to contribute your mite; but I did not intend leading you into this scrape. If you subscribe your pen, and he his sword, it will best answer Mr. Burke's idea, who says 'There are two ways by which people may be charitable – the one by their money, the other by their exertions.'"

Edmund Burke, in a letter unpublished save for the last sentence, writes to Dr. Burney (Sept. 15, 1793):

"The plan you send does great honour to Mrs. Crewe's goodness of heart and soundness of judgment. Mrs. B. will be glad to act an underpart in such an excellent design . . . . What is done by the public for these excellent persons is very honourable to the nation, but still it is not done in the exact way I could wish. What is done is done from general humanity and not as in favour of sufferers in a common cause. Their cause is our own, if the cause of honour, religion, fidelity, an adherence to the grand foundations of social order, be our cause. If things had been taken up on that ground our charity would not have been the less charity, and it would answer a great political purpose into the bargain." After lamenting the defeat of the Duke of York's army at Dunkirk, he remarks: "But I must say that the whole scheme of the war is mistaken (or appears to me to be so), for it ought not to be for Dunkirk, or this or t'other town – but to drive Jacobinism out of the world . . . . To say the truth I feel very awkward. I am as responsible as a Minister for the war, and yet in no one instance have I (or Wyndham that I know of) been consulted or communicated with. Most assuredly this affair of Dunkirk would never have been my plan, nor an errand on which I should have sent the Duke of York. But at present we must mum and give the enemy no occasion to insult and triumph. This complaint never would be made but to a friend, and one as warm in the cause as myself.

". . . This is a great thing, this of Toulon, – if Lord Hood can throw in a body of Spanish forces from Barcelona – otherwise it will not be as decisive as the possession of the great fort

Portrait of Edmund Burke

and arsenal of France in the Mediterranean ought to promise."

Mr. Burke goes on to say, however, that "well improved, the plan may promise complete success," and in that case, looking forward to better prospects for the émigrés, he observes: "The establishment of Madame d'Arblay is a matter in which I take no slight interest. If I had not the greatest affection to her virtues, my admiration of her incomparable talents would make me desirous of an order of things which would bring forward a gentleman of whose merits, by being the object of her choice, I have no doubt.

". . . Before I went to bed (last evening) a friend brought me the Gazette, which confirms the advantage obtained by Beaulieu . . . . I certainly should have been more pleased that the Duke of York had relieved Beaulieu than that Beaulieu had relieved the Duke of York . . . . [But] we must take the good which God gives us thankfully, and in the way in which he is pleased to give it. Surely no man was ever more thankful, though the weakness of our querulous nature cries – quan quam o!"

In the course of a few weeks Madame d'Arblay's pamphlet in aid of the French priests appeared before the public. That pamphlet lies before us, its paper discoloured by age. The title-page runs as follows




[Price one Shilling and Sixpence.]

The writer observes: "By addressing myself to females, I am far from inferring that charity is exclusively their praise; no, it is a virtue as manly as it is gentle; it is Christian, in one word, and ought therefore to be universal. But the pressure of present need is so urgent that the ladies who patronise this plan are content to spread it amongst their own sex, whose contributions, though smaller, may more conveniently be sudden, and whose demands for wealth being less serious may render those contributions more general."

After speaking with horror and indignation of the crimes perpetrated by the Convention, the writer goes on to remark: "Let us not, however, destroy the rectitude of our horror of these enormities by mingling it with implacable prejudice; nor condemn the oppressed with the oppressor, the slaughtered with the assassin . . . . We are too apt to consider ourselves rather as a distinct race of beings than as merely the emulous inhabitants of rival states; but ere our detestation leads to the indiscriminate proscription of a whole people, let us look at the Emigrant French Clergy, and ask where is the Englishman, where, indeed, the human being, in whom a sense of right can more disinterestedly have been demonstrated, or more nobly predominate? O let us be brethren with the good, wheresoever they may arise! and let us resist the culpable, whether abroad or at home . . . . Flourishing and happy ourselves, shall we see cast upon our coasts virtue we scarce thought mortal, sufferers whose story we could not read without tears, martrys that remind us of other days, and let them perish?"

In sending her manuscript to her father on October 21, Madame d'Arblay writes: "My dear father will think I have been very long in doing the little I have done . . . . [but] I have done it with my whole mind, and, to own the truth, with a species of emotion that has greatly affected me, for I could not deeply consider the situation of these venerable men without feeling for them to the quick. If what I have written should have power to procure for them one more guinea, I shall be paid."

During this same month of October, Marie Antoinette underwent her trial before the Revolutionary tribunal. Madame de Staël wrote an eloquent "defence of her conduct as queen, wife, and mother," addressed to the French nation; but those in power turned a deaf ear to all arguments in favour of the prisoner, and on the 16th of October Marie Antoinette was executed.

Fanny writes to her father: "The terrible confirmation of this last act of savage hardness of heart has wholly overset us again. M. d'Arblay had entirely discredited its probability, and, to the last moment, disbelieved the report; not from milder thoughts of the barbarous rulers of his unhappy country, but from seeing that the death of the Queen could answer no purpose, helpless as she was to injure them, while her life might answer some as a hostage with the Emperor. Good heaven! that that wretched princess should so finish sufferings so unexampled!

"With difficulties most incredible," she continues, "Madame de Staël has contrived, a second time, to save the lives of M. de Jaucourt and M. de Montmorenci, who are just arrived in Switzerland.[1] We know as yet none of the particulars; simply that they are saved is all; but they write in a style the most melancholy to M. de Narbonne, of the dreadful fanaticism of licence . . . that still reigns unsubdued in France.

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

M. d'Arblay's offer of serving in the expedition, we are told, "was not accepted," but before the answer reached Bookham "the attempt upon Toulon had proved abortive."

There is no doubt that both the Government and the Court looked with coldness and suspicion upon the party of the Constitutionels – the men who, through all the phases of the Revolution, alone had had the "enthusiasm of moderation." This feeling is shown in the attitude assumed by the Government towards Lafayette.

"The business of M. de Lafayette has indeed been extremely bitter to M. d'Arblay," writes his wife. "It required the utmost force he could put upon himself not to take some public part in it . . . . I was dreadfully uneasy during the conflict, knowing, far better than I can make him conceive, the mischiefs that might follow any interference at this moment in matters brought before the nation from a foreigner. But conscious of his own integrity, I plainly see he must either wholly retire or come forward to encounter whatever he thinks wrong."


ABOUT four months after her marriage Madame d'Arblay writes to a friend: "We are now removed to a very small house in the suburbs of a very small village called Bookham. Our views are not so beautiful as from Phenice Farm, but our situation is totally free from neighbours and intrusion. We are about a mile and a half from Norbury Park, and two miles from Mickleham. I am become already so stout a walker, by use and with the help of a very able supporter, that I go to those places and return home on foot without fatigue, when the weather is kind." In the "Memoirs" of her father she speaks of their dwelling as "a small but pleasant cottage, endeared for ever to their remembrance from having been found out for them by Mr. Lock."

This cottage stands near to Bookham Church, facing a shady lane. Its surroundings can have little changed during the century that has elapsed since the d'Arblays made it their home. The church, with its quaint wooden spire, remains the same, the village is little altered, and fields, as of yore, lie beyond the garden of the dwelling. The cottage itself was smaller in former times, as two

The Cottage at Bookham

rooms and a verandah have been added, but it is a cottage still – an ideal one indeed, with its tiled roof, its white window-frames, its green outside shutters, and its clustering roses. The little parlour and two bedrooms, one panelled, the other oak-floored, mentioned in the "Diaries," are said to be just as they were in the d'Arblays' day. We have sat in that parlour and have pictured to ourselves the husband and wife enjoying their peaceful occupations. "Here," writes Fanny, "we are tranquil, undisturbed, and undisturbing. 'Can life,' M. d'Arblay often says, 'be more innocent than ours, or happiness more inoffensive?' He works in his garden, or studies English and mathematics, while I write. When I work at my needle he reads to me; and we enjoy the beautiful country around us in long and romantic strolls. He is extremely fond, too, of writing, and makes, from time to time, memorandums of such memoirs, poems, and anecdotes as he recollects and I wish to have preserved."

The piece of land behind the cottage consisted, in those days, of a garden and orchard, the only change in modern times being that the garden has been increased in size. There are some old gnarled apple-trees at the further end of the lawn which may possibly be the very trees experimented on by M. d'Arblay. "Think of our horticultural shock last week," writes Fanny, "when Mrs. Bailey, our landlady, entreated M. d'Arblay 'not to spoil her fruit-trees!' – trees he had been pruning with his utmost skill and strength. However, he has consulted your 'Miller' thereupon, and finds out she is very ignorant, which he has gently intimated to her.

". . . This sort of work is so totally new to him that he receives every now and then some of poor Merlin's[1] 'disagreeable compliments,' for when Mr. Lock's or the Captain's gardeners

Interior of the Cottage showing door, grandfather clock, and stairs

favour our grounds with a visit they commonly make known that all has been done wrong. Seeds are sowing in some parts when plants ought to be reaping, and plants are running to seed while they are thought not yet at maturity. Our garden, therefore, is not yet quite the most profitable thing in the world; but M. d'A. assures me it is to be the staff of our table and existence.

"A little, too, he has been unfortunate; for, after immense toil in planting and transplanting strawberries round our hedge, he has just been informed they will bear no fruit the first year, and the second we may be 'over the hills and far away!'

"Another time, too, with great labour, he cleared a considerable compartment of weeds, and, when it looked clean and well, and he showed his work to the gardener, the man said he had demolished an asparagus bed! M. d'A. protested, however, nothing could look more like des mauvaises herbes.

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

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

Fanny's old friend, Mr. Arthur Young, must have rejoiced to hear of her new mode of life. In one of his letters, written to her soon after she had resigned her post at Court, he remarks: "What a plaguy business 'tis to take up one's pen to write to a person who is constantly moving in a vortex of pleasure, brilliancy, and wit – whose movements and connections are, as it were, in another world!

". . . It seemeth that you make a journey to Norfolk. Now, do you see, if you do not give a call on the farmer and examine his ram (an old acquaintance), his bull, his lambs, calves and crops, he will say but one thing of you – that you are fit for a Court, but not for a farm; and there is more happiness to be found among my rooks than in the midst of all the princes and princesses of Golconda. I would give a hundred pounds to see you married to a farmer that never saw London, with plenty of poultry ranging in a few green fields, and flowers and shrubs disposed where they should be, around a cottage, and not around a breakfast-room in Portman Square,[1] fading in eyes that know not to admire them."

In the summer of this same year (1794) Fanny had the great pleasure of receiving a visit from her father. In one of the Doctor's "domestic and amical tours . . . he suddenly turned out of his direct road to take a view of the dwelling of the Hermits of Bookham."

"It was not, perhaps, without the spur of some latent solicitude," she writes in the "Memoirs" of her father, "that Dr. Burney made this first visit to them abruptly, at an early hour, and when believed far distant; and if so, never were kind doubts more kindlily solved; he found all that most tenderly he could wish – concord and content; gay concord and grateful content.

"When he sent in his name from his post-chaise, the Hermits flew to receive him; and ere he could reach the little threshold of the little habitation, his daughter was in his arms. How long she thus kept him she knows not, but he was very patient at the detention, tears of pleasure standing in his full eyes at her rapturous reception."

Fanny writes to her father soon after his visit:

"It is just a week since I had the greatest gratification of its kind I ever, I think, experienced – so kind a thought, so sweet a surprise as was my dearest father's visit! How softly and soothingly it has rested upon my mind ever since!

'''Abdolomine'[1] has no regret but that his garden was not in better order; he was a little piqué, he confesses, that you said it was not very neat . . . . However, you should have seen the place before he began his operations to do him justice; there was then nothing else but mauvaises herbes; now you must, at least, allow there is a mixture of flowers and grain! I wish you had seen him yesterday, mowing down our hedge – with his sabre, and with an air and attitudes so military that, if he had been hewing down other legions than those he encountered – i.e., of spiders – he could scarcely have had a mien more tremendous or have demanded an arm more mighty. Heaven knows I am 'the most contente personne in the world 'to see his sabre so employed!

"You spirited me on in all ways; for this week past I have taken tightly to the grand ouvrage.[2] If I go on so a little longer, I doubt not but M. d'Arblay will begin settling where to have a new shelf for arranging it!

". . . Mr. Lock was gratified, even affected, by my account of the happiness you had given me. He says, from the time of our inhabiting this maisonnette one of his first wishes had been that you should see us in it; as no possible description or narration could so decidedly point out its competence . . . . How thankfully did I look back, the 28th of last month, upon a year that has not been blemished with one regretful moment!"

Dr. Burney, who was engaged at this time in translating some of Metastasio's poems, writes to his daughter: "I have this morning attempted his charming pastoral in 'Il Re Pastore.' I'll give you the translation, because the last stanza is a portrait:

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

Box hedges on either side of gate
[Box Hedges at Mickleham]


DR. BURNEY'S letters to his daughter bring whiffs of excitement from the "gay world" into the quiet cottage at Bookham.

In an unpublished letter, preserved in the Burney family, dated April 14, 1794, the Doctor describes his first meeting with Madame Piozzi (Mrs. Thrale) after her second marriage – a marriage which had caused so much chagrin to her old friends – especially to Fanny. "Who, among others, should I have met with," he writes, "at Salomon's concert this day 7 night but Mr. and Mrs. Piozzi and all the Miss Thrales? The ladies all on the same sofa, and la mère in the middle. Mr. Piozzi caught my eye first, and we approached each other and shook hands, and talked of the music and performers before I knew the ladies were there. But on my hoping that la Signora sa consorte was well, he said she was there, pointing to a sofa close to the orchestra. When I hastened towards it, and met her eyes with their usual fire and good humour, she held out her hand and mine met it with great eagerness and pleasure. 'Why, here's Dr. Burney as young as ever.' 'Oh, I am but just made up,' quoth I, 'indeed, but just got up from a bed of sickness,' &c. &c. Well, we talked and laughed as usual, and I never saw her more lively, good-humoured and pleasant in my life. My old affection of her all returned, and I would have done anything possible to have shown it with the same empressement as in the best of Johnsonian, Thralian and Streatham times."

In the "Memoirs" of her father, Fanny, alluding to this meeting, writes: "The Bookhamite Recluse, to whom this occurrence was immediately communicated, received it with true and tender delight. Most joyfully would she, also, have held out her hand to that once-so-dear friend, from whom she could never sever her heart, had she happily been at this Salomonic party."

Reverting to politics in the same letter the Doctor continues: "Mrs. Crewe says very truly that 'we are now playing for life or death,' and adds, 'may the Jacobins, like true scorpions, finish by stinging each other.' . . . Her politics and mine now agree in toto.[1] Mr. C., still the dupe of Chas F., has gone to Chester, I fear, to oppose the subscription for augmenting the militia and raising a troop of Horse. 'No danger – all a Ministerial juggle – things in France exaggerated – we might make peace if we would – 'tis a cursed ruinous war – and might have been avoided'; these are the watchwords of our Mountaineers. And there are still Frenchmen here who say that in France tout est tranquille – vive la République!"

After alluding to M. d'Arblay's earnest desire to defend Lafayette against false accusations and to prove his innocence, Dr. Burney says: "But it would be difficult to convince the friends of our present Government or even that of Lord North . . . and his cause now being taken up by our most violent Jacobins . . . would render the task still more difficult . . . .

"God bless you – pray my best compliments to your industrious and wise gardener. I see nothing better or safer for him to do at present than to dig, delve and plant – but is it doing nothing to be happy?"

In the year (1794) "the happiness of the Hermitage," writes Madame d'Arblay, "was increased by the birth of a son, who was christened Alexander Charles Louis Piochard d'Arblay; receiving the names of his father, with those of his two godfathers, the Comte de Narbonne and Dr. Charles Burney." The child was born on December 18, and was baptized in Bookham Church on April 11 following.

We have seen a relic of this happy event in the shape of the baby's pincushion, now in the '' Burney parlour" at Camilla Lacey. The pins form the words "F. d'Arblay," on one side, and on the other "Long live the dear child."

"Oh, if you could see him now!" writes Fanny to her father, when the baby was nearly five months old. "He enters into all we think, say, mean, and wish! His eyes are sure to sympathise in all our affairs and all our feelings . . . . If he wants to be danced, we see that he has discovered that gaiety is exhilarating to us; if he refuses to be moved, we take notice that he fears to fatigue us. If he will not be quieted without singing, we delight in his early goût for les beaux-arts. If he is immovable to all we can devise to divert him, we are edified by the grand sérieux of his dignity and philosophy."

A month later she remarks in a postscript: "The bambino is half a year old this day. N. B. – I have not heard the Park or Tower guns. I imagine the wind did not set right!"

"My dear Fanny," writes Dr. Burney, "I have been such an évaporé lately! . . . . Three huge assemblies at Spencer House; two dinners at the Duke of Leeds'; two clubs; a déjeuner at Mrs. Crewe's villa at Hampstead; a dinner at Lord Macartney's; two ditto at Mr. Crewe's; two philosophical conversaziones at Sir Joseph Banks', Haydn's benefit; Salomon's ditto, &c. &c. What profligacy! . . . 'tis all vanity and exhalement of spirit. I am tired to death of it all, while your domestic and maternal joys are as fresh as the roses in your garden.

". . . I must tell you what happened at Mrs. Crewe's déjeuner. I arrived late, and met many people coming away, but still found the house and garden full of fashionables. It was a cold-lunch day, and, after eating was over, people went into the bit of a garden to a lottery, or to take a turn. Among the peripatetico-politicians, there was Lord Sheffield, the Master of the Rolls, Canning, with abundance of et ceteras, and Mr. Erskine. On meeting him and Mrs. Erskine we renewed last year's acquaintance. After we had passed each other several times we got into conversation, and what do you think about, but the reform of Parliament? He told me his whole plan of virtuous representation . . . . It is not to be quite universal suffrage at elections, which are to be triennial, &c.

"'Well, but,' says I quietly, 'can Government go on without influence, or a majority, unless its measures are good?'

"'Oh, yes; the people will be in good humour and easily governed.'

Portrait of Mrs. Crewe

"'But, my good sir . . . if it is rendered easy to pull down Mr. Pitt, will it not be easy, likewise, to pull down Mr. Fox, or any successor?'

"He did not seem prepared for so queer a question; he shuffled about and gave me an equivocal No, which more clearly said Yes. All this while he had hold of my arm, and people stared at our intimacy, while that rogue Mrs. Crewe and the Marchioness of Buckingham were upstairs sitting at a window, wondering and laughing at our confabulation."

The Princess of Wales was at this déjeuner of Mrs. Crewe's, and, at her request, the Doctor was presented to her. "How do you do, Dr. Burney?" she said. "You and I are not strangers; you are very well known in Germany, and often mentioned there; car enfin, vous étes un homme célèbre." And referring to him for his opinion in some playful debate, she remarked: "Is it not so, Dr. Burney? You are a wise man and must know of the best."

"The next time her Royal Highness had music," continues the Doctor, "I was remembered for a summons to Blackheath . . . and here the Princess had the politeness and condescension to show me her plantations and improvements . . . . The music was so good, and her Royal Highness was so lively, that Mrs. Crewe, whom I had the honour to accompany, could not take leave till past one o'clock in the morning; and it was past six ere my jaded horses and I reached Chelsea College.

". . . When shall I have done with telling you of mes bonnes fortunes? Betty Carter, Hannah More, Lady Clarges – nay, t'other day at Dickey Coxe's, I met the Miss Berrys, as lively and accomplished as ever; and I have strong invites to their cottage at Strawberry Hill. What say you to that, ma'am? Torn to pieces, I declare!"

Pincushion embroidered F. D'Arblay
[A Baby's Pincushion]


MADAME D'ARBLAY writes to a friend on June 15, 1795: "I have a long work, which a long time has been in hand, that I mean to publish soon – in about a year. Should it succeed, like 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' it may be a little portion to our bambino. We wish, therefore, to print it for ourselves in this hope; but the expenses of the press are so enormous, so raised by these late Acts, that it is out of the question for us to afford it. We have therefore been led by degrees to listen to counsel of some friends, and to print it by subscription. This is in many, many ways unpleasant and unpalatable to us both; but the real chance of real use and benefit to our little darling overcomes all scruples, and, therefore, to work we go!

". . . I once rejected such a plan, formed for me by Mr. Burke, where books were to be kept by ladies – not booksellers . . . but I was an individual then, and had no cares of times to come; now, thank Heaven! this is not the case."

There was a strong prejudice in those days against the very name of novel. "I own," she writes to her father, "I do not like calling it a novel; it gives so simply the notion of a mere love-story that I recoil a little from it. I mean this work to be sketches of characters and morals put into action – not a romance. I remember the word novel was long in the way of 'Cecilia,' as I was told at the Queen's house; and it was not permitted to be read by the princesses till sanctioned by a bishop's recommendation.

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

"How grieved I am you do not like my heroine's name!"

The name was then Ariella, changed afterwards to Camilla. It seems that Fanny had also changed the name of "Cecilia" before publication, for we have seen the original manuscript[1] of that novel, where the name was first given as "Albinia," and afterwards carefully erased, "Cecilia" being substituted in its place.

Madame d'Arblay's friends came eagerly forward to assist in the great undertaking. The Dowager-Duchess of Leinster, the Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Crewe, and Mrs. Lock each kept

Old Cottages

lists and received the names of subscribers, the subscription for a single set being one guinea.

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

Warren Hastings had just been finally acquitted after his long trial; and his accuser, Edmund Burke, "disgusted with the result of the impeachment," had retired into private life. But neither public cares nor family sorrows could lessen Burke's interest in his friends. He had just lost both his brother and his only son when he wrote to Mrs. Crewe: "As to Miss Burney – the subscription ought to be, for certain persons, five guineas; and to take but a single copy each. The rest as it is. I am sure it is a disgrace to the age and nation if this be not a great thing for her. If every person in England who has received pleasure and instruction from 'Cecilia' were to rate its value at the hundredth part of their satisfaction, Madame d'Arblay would be one of the richest women in the kingdom.

"Her scheme was known before she lost two of her most respectful admirers from this house; and this, with Mrs. Burke's subscription and mine, make the paper I send you." (He enclosed a bank-note for twenty pounds.)

The names of subscribers flowed in rapidly, till they amounted to more than eleven hundred! We have seen the long list, which is prefixed to the first edition of "Camilla," and which fills thirty-eight pages of close printing. It comprises almost all the notable persons of the day – statesmen, writers, ladies of the old Blue Stocking Club, scientific men, Windsor courtiers; together with hundreds of unknown admirers of "Evelina" and "Cecilia." But there is one entry in that list that rivets our attention more than all the rest – "Miss J. Austen, Steventon." Jane Austen, then a girl of nineteen years of age, thus pays tribute to her earlier sister writer – a writer who had founded the special branch of art – the domestic novel – which she herself adopted and has raised to its highest level.

We find, too, in that same list, the name of Maria Edgeworth, whose spirited pictures of Irish life can never die.

Macaulay, in speaking of the service rendered by Miss Burney to posterity, remarks: "She took away the reproach which lay on a most useful and delightful species of composition. She vindicated the right of her sex to an equal share in a fair and noble province, of letters . . . . No class of works is more honourably distinguished by fine observation, by grace, by delicate wit, by pure moral feeling. Several among the successors of Madame d'Arblay have equalled her; two, we think, have surpassed her. But the fact that she has been surpassed gives her an additional claim to our respect and gratitude; for, in truth, we owe to her, not only 'Evelina,' 'Cecilia,' and 'Camilla,' but also 'Mansfield Park' and the 'Absentee.'"

At the end of the list of subscribers to "Camilla," there appears a group of French names. Among them we find those of la Princesse d'Hénin, Lally-Tollendal, Narbonne, and the Prince de Poix.

The title-page of the new work is reproduced here.

The work was dedicated, by permission, to the Queen. The dedication is in the form of a letter, and is dated Bookham, June 28, 1796.

A few days previously Fanny had written her last directions respecting the production of "Camilla" to her brother Charles, whom she calls her "dear agent." It was this same brother who long ago had carried her MS. of "Evelina," in all secrecy, to a printer's office, little imagining the result that was to follow.

The letter in question, hitherto unpublished,

Title Page of Camilla

has been lent to us by a member of the Burney family. In it the writer remarks:

"On that memorable day (Monday, the 20th) can you have the goodness to complete your agency by receiving for us the £750?

. . . Will you ask of the three assembling paymasters when the next set can be ready for the Queen, and give orders for its being conveyed where you recommend for being very handsomely bound in red morocco. It must precede all else. We shall want three other sets bound exactly alike and with the utmost elegance.

". . . Now, dearest brother, we all – id est my better half, I, and your godson – send you our best thanks for the news that the rest of the copy of 'Camilla' is dispatched and goes to the printers, who have been very kind, and will, I hope, make all their exertions to finish in time . . . . The service we have received from your brotherly friendship is beyond all words.

". . . Will you be so kind as to settle completely with Mr. Payne for us, deducting at once all expenses we are to pay, be they what they may, clear?"

Terrace at Windsor
[The Terrace at Windsor in the Eighteenth Century]


THE first copies of "Camilla; or a Picture of Youth," in their beautiful binding, reached Bookham early in July, and immediately Madame d'Arblay, accompanied by her husband, set off for Windsor in order to present them herself to the King and Queen.

"I had written the day before," writes Fanny to her father, "to my worthy old friend Mrs. Agnew, the housekeeper erst of my revered Mrs. Delany, to secure us rooms for one day and night, and to Miss Planta[1] to make known I could not set out till late. When we came into Windsor at seven o'clock the way to Mrs. Agnew's was so intricate that we could not find it, till one of the King's footmen, recollecting me, I imagine, came forward a volunteer and walked by the side of the chaise to show the postilion the house. N.B. – No bad omen to worldly augurers! Arrived, Mrs. Agnew came forth . . . to conduct us to our destined lodgings."

Hardly had the travellers settled themselves in their rooms and begun to unpack their trunk when Miss Planta came from the Queen "with orders of immediate attendance."

"Mrs. Agnew was my maid," continues

The 'Friseur' weaving feathers into her hair

Fanny, "Miss Planta my arranger; my landlord, who was a hairdresser, came to my head, and M. d'Arblay was general superintendent. The haste and the joy went hand-in-hand, and I was soon equipped.

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

". . . The Queen was in her dressing-room and with only the Princess Elizabeth. Her reception was the most gracious imaginable; yet when she saw my emotion in thus meeting her again, she was herself by no means quite unmoved. I presented my little – yet not small – offering, upon one knee, placing them, as she directed, upon a table by her side, and expressing, as well as I could, my devoted gratitude for her invariable goodness to me. She then began a conversation, in her old style, upon various things and people."

Presently the King came into the room on purpose to see Madame d'Arblay and to receive his copy of her book.

". . . The Queen then said: 'This book was begun here, sir.'

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

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

Many questions followed from the good-natured and inquisitive King, such as: "About what time did you give to it?" "Are you much frightened? As much frightened as you were before?" He asked if her father had overlooked the work and whether Mr. Lock had seen it? On being answered in the negative, "he seemed comically pleased," she remarks, "to have it in its first stage, and laughingly said: 'So you kept it quite snug?'

"Presently he inquired who corrected my proofs.

"'Only myself,' I answered.

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

"[The interview] broke up by the Queen saying, 'I have told Madame d'Arblay that if she can come again to-morrow, she shall see the Princesses.' The King . . . told me I should not know the Princess Amelia, she was so much grown, adding, 'She is taller than you!'

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

". . . You will believe, my dearest father," continues his daughter, "how light-hearted and full of glee I went back to my expecting companion . . . . The next morning at eight or nine o'clock my old footman, Moss, came with Mlle. Jacobi's[1] compliments to M. and Madame d'Arblay, and an invitation to dine (with her) at the Queen's Lodge."

Miss Planta arrived at ten with her Majesty's summons for an audience at 12 o'clock. "I stayed meanwhile with good Mrs. Agnew," writes Fanny, "and M. d'Arblay made acquaintance with her worthy husband, who is a skilful and famous botanist, and lately made gardener to the Queen for Frogmore; so M. d'Arblay consulted him about our cabbages! and so, if they have not now a high flavour, we are hopeless."

This second interview with the Queen was long and friendly, and was followed by a hearty and affectionate welcome from each of the Princesses in their separate apartments. These over, M. d'Arblay joined his wife at the Queen's Lodge. "And there," writes Fanny, "I shall leave my dear father the pleasure of seeing us, mentally, at dinner at my ancient table – both invited by the Queen's commands."

What a contrast this meal must have offered to those Fanny used to take day after day in that same room, when suffering from the insolence and tyranny of Madame Schwellenberg!

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

"The manner of this was so more than gracious, so kind, in the words us both, that indeed the money at the time was quite nothing in the scale of my gratification; it was even less, for it almost pained me. However, a delightful thought that in a few minutes occurred made all light and blythesome. 'We will come, then,' I said, 'once a year to Windsor to walk on the Terrace and see the King, Queen, and the sweet Princesses. This will enable us, and I shall never again look forward to so long a deprivation of their sight.'"

After dining again the following day at the Queen's Lodge, General and Madame d'Arblay repaired to the Terrace. "The evening," she writes, "was so raw and cold that there was very little company, and scarce any expectation of the Royal Family; and when we had been there about half an hour the musicians retreated, and everybody was preparing to follow, when a messenger suddenly came forward, helter-skelter, running after the horns and clarionets, and hallooing to them to return. This brought back the straggling parties, and the King, Duke of York, and six Princesses soon appeared.

"I have never yet," continues Fanny, "seen M. d'Arblay agitated as at this moment; he could scarce keep his steadiness, or even his ground. The recollections, he has since told me, that rushed upon his mind of his own King and Royal House were so violent and so painful as almost to disorder him.

". . . The King stopped to speak to the Bishop of Norwich and some others at the entrance, and then walked on towards us, who were at the further end. As he approached, the Princess Royal said . . . 'Madame d'Arblay, sir'; and instantly he came on a step and then stopped and addressed me, and after a word or two of the weather, he said, 'Is that M. d'Arblay?' and most graciously bowed to him and entered into a little conversation, demanding how long he had been in the country, &c. &c. . . .

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

"Upon the King's bowing and leaving us, the Commander-in-Chief most courteously bowed also to M. d'Arblay, and the Princesses all came up to speak to me, and to curtsy to him."

As soon as they had all re-entered the Lodge and the d'Arblays were about to retire, the Princess Royal appeared, saying, "Madame d'Arblay, I come to waylay you," and she was carried off to the Queen's dressing-room for another audience, whilst the Princess herself repaired to Mlle. Jacobi's apartments to hold some conversation with M. d'Arblay.

"The Duchess of York was seated with the Queen, and after some lively talk about 'Camilla,' which the Queen had already peeped into, the latter remarked, 'Duchess, Madame d'Arblay is aunt of the pretty little boy you were so good to . . . .' The King asked an explanation:

"'Sir,' said the Duchess, 'I was upon the road near Dorking, and I saw a little gig overturned and a little boy was taken out and sat down upon the road. I told them to stop and ask if the little boy was hurt, and they said yes; and I asked where he was to go, and they said to a village just a few miles off; so I took him into my coach and carried him home.'"

The child in question was little Norbury.

The next day the d'Arblays left Windsor and turned their faces homewards, stopping, however, on the way to visit Mrs. Boscawan at Richmond and a Mr. Cambridge at Twickenham.

Fanny concludes her long letter to her father by saying: "At a little before eleven we arrived at our dear cottage, and to our sleeping bambino."


THE sale of "Camilla," in spite of some rough treatment by the reviewers, was large and rapid. "I am quite happy," writes Madame d'Arblay to her father, "in what I have escaped of greater severity, though my mate cannot bear that the palm should be contested by 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia'; his partiality rates the last as so much the highest . . . . But those immense men whose single praise was fame and security – who established, by a word, the two elder sisters – are now silent. Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua are no more, and Mr. Burke is ill, or otherwise engrossed; yet even without their powerful influence . . . the essential success of 'Camilla' exceeds that of the elders'. The sale is truly astonishing. Charles has just sent [word] to me that five hundred only remain of four thousand, and it has appeared scarcely three months.

"The first edition of 'Evelina' was of eight hundred, the second of five hundred, and the third of a thousand. What the following have been I have never heard . . . . Of 'Cecilia' the first edition was reckoned enormous at two thousand . . . . It was printed like this, in July, and sold in October, to everyone's wonder. Here, however, the sale is increased in rapidity more than a third."

When the book had been out only a month, Dr. Burney informed Horace Walpole that it had already realised £2000. In spite of its success, however, "Camilla" is considered by most people as inferior to the earlier novels, but we must remember that no less a writer than Jane Austen has praised it. In her defence of novels introduced into "Northanger Abbey" she has instanced it and "Cecilia," together with "Belinda" (by Maria Edgeworth), as works in which "the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineations of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language."

We should much like to know if Miss Austen and Madame d'Arblay ever met. We know that Jane paid occasional visits at the Bookham Rectory, for Mrs. Cooke was her cousin and the rector her godfather. It is true there is no mention in Miss Austen's letters of such a meeting; but as a large number of these were destroyed at her death, an allusion to it may have been lost. It is not surprising that Madame d'Arblay does not mention Miss Austen in her correspondence, as, at that time, the future authoress of "Pride and Prejudice" was a young girl unknown to fame.

The money realised by the success of "Camilla," in spite of the heavy expenses of production, now enabled the d'Arblays to turn their attention once more to their new home.

"We have resumed our original plan," writes Fanny in the month of November, "and are going, immediately, to build a little cottage for ourselves. We shall make it as small and as cheap as will accord with its being warm and comfortable. We have relinquished, however, the very kind offer of Mr. Lock, which he has renewed, for his park. We mean to make this a property saleable or letable for our Alex . . . . M. d'Arblay, therefore, has fixed upon a field of Mr. Lock's, which he will rent, and of which Mr. Lock will grant him a lease of ninety years . . . . It is in the valley between Mr. Lock's park and Dorking, and where land is so scarce that there is not another possessor within many miles who would part, upon any terms, with half an acre.

"Imagine but the ecstasy of M. d'Arblay in training, all his own way, an entire new garden!

Portrait of Edward Burney

He dreams now of cabbage-walks, potato-beds, bean-perfumes and peas-blossoms."

And in another letter to her father, she says, "To show you how much he is 'of your advice' as to son jardin, he has been drawing a plan for it." (This plan still exists and is preserved among the other relics in the "Burney Parlour" of Camilla Lacey.)

"The well for water seems impervious. . . It is now at near ninety feet depth. M. d'Arblay works all day long at his new garden and orchard, and only comes home to a cold spoiled dinner at tea-time. Baby and I are just going to take a peep at him at his work."

"Our new house is stopped short in actual building," she writes later in this month, "from the shortness of the days, &c., but the master-surveyor has still much to settle there, and three workmen to aid in preparing the ground for agricultural purposes. [He] goes every morning for two, three or four hours to his field to work at a sunk fence that is to protect his garden from our cow. The foundation is laid, and on March 1 the little dwelling will begin to be run up. The well is just finished . . . . The water is said to be excellent."

It was during this same month of November that the Phillipses quitted Mickleham, to Fanny's sorrow, and went to live in Ireland, where the Captain had property and where his presence in those troubled times was needed.

"You will have heard," writes Fanny to her sister, "that the Princesse d'Hénin and M. de Lally have spent a few days at Norbury Park. We went every evening regularly to meet them, and they yet contrive to grow higher and higher in our best opinions and affections – they force that last word; none other is adequate to such regard as they excite.

"M. de Lally read us a pleading for émigrés of all descriptions, to the people and Government of France, for their reinstalment in their native land, that exceeds in eloquence, argument, taste, feeling, and every power of oratory and truth united, any thing I ever remember to have heard . . . . I shall be nothing less than surprised to live to see his statue erected in his own country, at the expense of his own restored exiles. 'Tis indeed a wonderful performance.

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

Most of the émigrés of Juniper Hall were now dispersed far and wide. M. de Narbonne was living upon very small means in Switzerland. In a letter to his friend d'Arblay, written some months previously, he had expressed disappointment at some further losses of property he had just sustained.

"What a letter," writes Madame d'Arblay to him in January (1796), "to terminate so long and painful a silence! It has penetrated us with sorrowing and indignant feelings . . . . I shall be brief in what I have to propose; sincerity need not be loquacious, and M. de Narbonne is too kind to demand phrases for ceremony.

"Should your present laudable but melancholy plan fail, and should nothing better offer, or till something can be arranged, will you, dear sir, condescend to share the poverty of our Hermitage? Will you take a little cell under our rustic roof, and fare as we fare? What to us two hermits is cheerful and happy, will to you indeed be miserable; but it will be some solace to the goodness of your heart to witness our contentment – to dig with M. d'A. in the garden will be of service to your health; to nurse sometimes with me in the parlour will be a relaxation to your mind. You will not blush to own your little godson. Come, then, and give him your blessing; relieve the wounded feelings of his father – oblige his mother – and turn hermit at Bookham, till brighter suns invite you elsewhere.


"You will have terrible dinners, alas! – but your godson comes in for the dessert."

This letter produced a most grateful and affectionate response from Narbonne, "à son aimable soeur." He says that nothing could give him greater happiness than to accept her and her husband's generous offer, but that for the present it was not possible for him to do so, and he was also able to assure her that his affairs were not quite so bad as she had feared they were. He speaks of his godson and begs her to teach the child to pronounce his name.

In the month of October of the following year (1797), M. d'Arblay received a letter from Lafayette to congratulate him upon his marriage. Lafayette had but just been released from prison, after his five long years of captivity, and now on his return to the world and with liberty to renew intercourse with his old friends he writes to express his warm sympathy in General d'Arblay's happiness, The letter is written from "Trilmuld, near Ploën," a small town in Lower Saxony, and is dated October 16, 1797. (The original is, of course, in French.) His fellow prisoners, Maubourg and De Pusy, had been also released.

"I knew well that wherever we were your solicitude would follow us, so that I was not surprised to learn that you had been labouring without intermission for your friends in prison. They did not forget you in their captivity. Maubourg and I dwelt with feelings of strong and tender friendship upon your faithful affection and upon the happiness which we knew you to be enjoying. We heard of your marriage while in prison at Magdebourg.

"To the universal admiration for Miss Burney I add a homage which is based on personal gratitude. Her writings alone had the power to make me occasionally forget my fate.

"It was in the midst of my enjoyment of the illusions produced by this enchantress that I suddenly became aware of her new claim to my warmest sentiments, and of my having some claim also to her kindly feelings.

"All my family will have great pleasure in being introduced to her, and beg her to believe in their sincere wish that she may find them worthy of her friendship . . . . Farewell, my dear d'Arblay . . . . Let me have news of you and keep your love for your old companion in arms, who will always remain your tenderly attached friend,


During the autumn of 1797 the building of the new home was completed. Fanny writes in the "Memoirs" of her father: "This small residence

Camilla Cottage

. . . had playfully received from Dr. Burney the name of Camilla Cottage; which name was afterwards adopted by all the friends of the hermits.

"Its architect, who was also its principal, its most efficient, and even its most laborious workman, had so skilfully arranged its apartments for use and for pleasure, by investing them with imperceptible closets, cupboards, and adroit recesses, and contriving to make every window offer a freshly beautiful view from the surrounding beautiful prospects, that while its numerous, though invisible conveniences gave it comforts which many dwellings on a much larger scale do not possess, its pleasing form and picturesque situation made it a point, though in miniature, of beauty and ornament, from every spot in the neighbourhood whence it could be discerned."

"We quitted Bookham," writes Fanny, "with one single regret – that of leaving our excellent neighbours the Cookes. The father is so worthy and the mother so good, so deserving, so liberal, and so infinitely kind, that the world certainly does not abound with people to compare with them. They both improved upon us considerably since we lost our dearest Susan – not, you will believe, as substitutes, but still for their intrinsic worth and most friendly partiality and regard.

"We languished for the moment of removal, with almost infantile fretfulness at every delay that distanced it; and when at last the grand day came, our final packings, with all their toil and difficulties, and labour and expense, were mere acts of pleasantry; so bewitched were we with the impending change, that though from six o'clock to three we were hard at work, without a kettle to boil the breakfast, or a knife to cut the bread for luncheon, we missed nothing, wanted nothing, and were as insensible to fatigue as to hunger.

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

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

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

". . . Our first week was devoted to unpacking, and exulting in our completed plan. To have no one thing at hand, nothing to eat, nowhere to sit – all were trifles, rather, I think, amusing than incommodious. The house looked so clean, the distribution of rooms and closets is so convenient, the prospect everywhere around is so gay and so lovely, and the park of dear Norbury is so close at hand, that we hardly knew how to require anything else for existence than the enjoyment of our own situation."

Chimney-piece Ornament
[Chimney-piece Ornament in Juniper Hall]


WHILST the d'Arblays were busy settling into Camilla Cottage, a visit from a future brother-in-law Mr. Broome, was proposed. Fanny, writing to her sister Charlotte[1] of her delight in the thought of welcoming him, remarks playfully: "But for Heaven's sake, my dear girl, how are we to give him a dinner? – unless he will bring with him his poultry, for ours is not yet arrived from Bookham; and his fish, for ours are still at the bottom of some pond we know not where; and his spit, for our jack is yet without one; and his kitchen grate, for ours waits for Count Rumford's next pamphlet – not to mention his table-linen – and not to speak of his knives and forks, some ten of our poor original twelve having been massacred in M. d'Arblay's first essays in the art of carpentering and to say nothing of his large spoons, the silver of our plated ones having feloniously made off, under cover of the whitening-brush – and not to start the subject of wine, ours, by some accident still remaining at the wine-merchant's!

"With all these impediments, however, to convivial hilarity, if he will eat a quarter of a joint of meat . . . tied up by a packthread and roasted by a log of wood on the bricks – and declare no potatoes so good as those dug by M. d'Arblay out of our garden – and protest our small beer gives the spirits of champagne – and pronounce that bare walls are superior to tapestry – and promise us the first sight of his epistle upon visiting a new-built cottage – we shall be sincerely happy to receive him in our Hermitage."

The annual visit of ceremony to the Queen was at this time impending, and hardly had the d'Arblays been in their new home one week when the royal summons arrived – not to Windsor, but to the "Queen's house" in town. "The only drawback to the extreme satisfaction of the [Queen's] graciousness . . . . " writes Fanny, "was that exactly at this period the Princesse d'Hénin and M. de Lally were expected at Norbury. I hardly could have regretted anything else, I was so delighted by my summons; but this indeed I lamented. They arrived to dinner on Thursday; I was involved in preparations, and unable to meet them, and my mate would not be persuaded to relinquish aiding me.

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

". . . They made a long and kind visit, and in the afternoon we went to Norbury Park, where we remained till nearly eleven o'clock, and thought the time very short."

In going to Norbury House from West Humble, the d'Arblays would follow a footpath that winds along the precipitous sides of a wooded hill. It would lead them through a grove of ancient yews, whose weird boughs, reaching down to the ground, form a dark mysterious alley known as the "Druids' Walk." Leaving the wood they would find themselves on the green and sunny platform upon which stands Norbury House, with a wide view spread out before them to a distance of some forty miles.

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

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

"I set off for town early the next day, Saturday . . . . Mon ami could not accompany me, as we had still two men constantly at work, the house without being quite unfinished; but I could not bear to leave his little representative, who with Betty was my companion to Chelsea. There I was expected, and our dearest father came forth with open arms to welcome us. He was in delightful spirits, the sweetest humour, and perfectly good looks and good health. My little rogue soon engaged him in a romp . . . . and they became the best friends in the world."

The visit to the Queen and the Royal Family proved a very pleasant one, for at that moment there was joy in the palace, as well as in the nation at large, over Lord Duncan's victory off Camperdown – a victory which had banished for the time being all fear of a French invasion.

Within a week, however, that fear had returned, and the war tax was weighing heavily upon the people, especially upon those who had small means.

Fanny writes, on January 18 (1798), to her sister, Mrs. Phillips: "I am very impatient to know if the invasion threat affects your part of Ireland. Our 'Oracle' is of opinion the French soldiers will not go to Ireland . . . because they can expect but little advantage, after all the accounts . . . . of its starving condition; but that they will come to England . . . . because there they expect the very roads to be paved with gold.

"I own I am sometimes affrighted enough. These sanguine and sanguinary wretches will risk all for the smallest hope of plunder; and Barras assures them they have only to enter England to be lords of wealth unbounded.

"This very day," she continues, "I thank God! we paid the last of our workmen. Our house is now our own fairly; that it is our own madly, too, you will all think, when I tell you the small remnant of our income that has outlived this payment. However, if the Carmagnoles do not seize our walls we despair not of enjoying, in defiance of all straitness and strictness, our dear dwelling to our hearts' content. But we are reducing our expenses and way of life in order to go on in a

autograph letter of Madame d'Arblay
Fac-simile of an autograph letter of Madame d'Arblay.

Passage in Camilla Cottage

manner you would laugh to see, though almost cry to hear.

"But I never forget Dr. Johnson's words. When somebody said that a certain person had no turn for economy, he answered, 'Sir, you might as well say that he had no turn for honesty.'"

There is an old water-colour sketch of Camilla Cottage preserved in the "Burney Parlour," which enables us to realise the appearance of this loved home of the d'Arblays. A portion of the cottage forms the nucleus of the present picturesque white house known as Camilla Lacey. A narrow passage on the first floor, lighted by a small Gothic window, was pointed out to us as belonging to the d'Arblays' day, and certainly a little window let into the wall to light a staircase is suggestive of one of M. d'Arblay's "adroit contrivances." Opening out of this passage is the one unaltered room of the original cottage, whose window looking towards the heights of Ranmore, commands a "beautiful view from the surrounding beautiful prospects."

The oak tree indicated in the sketch of the cottage is still standing. Beyond it lies the field in which General d'Arblay worked so hard at his "sunk fence." In one of her letters Madame d'Arblay speaks of his raising a "hillock" with his own hands, in order to obtain a view of Norbury Park. The little mound is still to be seen in the field. We have sat by it on a summer's afternoon when the hay was down, and when the hillock was casting its shadow across the mown grass. "The longest day of sunshine," writes Fanny, "was always too short for the vigorous exertions and manly projects that called M. d'Arblay to plant in his garden, to graft and crop in his orchard, to work in his hayfield, or to invent and execute new paths, and to construct new seats and bowers in his wood."

A late owner of Camilla Lacey, the kindly Mr. Wylie, informed us that he had known an inhabitant of Mickleham, a Mrs. Goring, who lived to the advanced age of a hundred, who actually remembered M. and Me. d'Arblay. She used to describe the General's efforts at gardening, and the odd mistakes he made. "But, bless you," she would say, "his hands were all fine and delicate, and not fit for such work."

Although the furnishing of Camilla Cottage was not yet completed, neighbours were eager to pay their respects to the new-comers.

"I was extremely surprised," writes Madame d'Arblay, "to be told by the maid a gentleman and lady had called at the door, who sent in a card and begged to know if I could admit them; and to see the names on the card were Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld. . . We had never visited, and only met one evening at Mr. Burrows' by appointment, whither I was carried to meet Mrs. Barbauld by Mrs. Chapone. . . . You must be sure I could not hesitate to receive, and receive with thankfulness, this civility from the authoress of the most useful books, next to Mrs. Trimmer's, that have been yet written for dear little children; though this with the world is probably her very secondary merit, her many pretty poems, and particularly songs, being generally esteemed.

"Mr. Barbauld is a dissenting minister . . . . They were in our little dining-parlour – the only one that has any chairs in it – and began apologies for their visit; but I interrupted and finished them with my thanks . . . . Mrs. Barbauld's brother, Dr. Aiken, with his family, were passing the summer at Dorking on account of his ill-health, the air of that town having been recommended for his complaints. The Barbaulds were come to spend some time with him . . . . They had been walking in Norbury Park, which they admired very much; and Mrs. Barbauld very elegantly said: 'If there was such a public office as a legislator of taste, Mr. Lock ought to be chosen for it.'

". . . They desired to see Alex, and I produced him; and his orthographical feats were very well timed here, for as soon as Mrs. Barbauld said, 'What is your name, you pretty creature?' he sturdily answered, 'B O Y, boy.'

". . . I borrowed her poems afterwards of Mr. Daniel, who chanced to have them, and have read them with much esteem of the piety and worth they exhibit, and real admiration of the last amongst them, which is an epistle to Mr. Wilberforce in favour of the demolition of the slave-trade, in which her energy seems to spring from the real spirit of virtue, suffering at the luxurious depravity which can tolerate, in a free land, so unjust, cruel, and abominable a traffic."

Mrs. Barbauld had been an early admirer of "Cecilia." When that novel first appeared she happened to be staying in London, where the new and startling sight of the ascent of a balloon was occupying general attention. She writes to a friend: "Next to the balloon Miss B[urney] is the object of public curiosity; I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday. She is a very unaffected, modest, sweet and pleasing young lady – but you, now I think of it, are a Goth, and have not read 'Cecilia.' Read, read it, for shame!"

Dr. Burney paid a visit to his daughter and son-in-law during the autumn of this year (1798). He had been staying at Tunbridge. "Thence," he writes, "I went to Camilla Cottage at West Humble; a cottage buiit on a slice of Norbury Park, by M. d'Arblay and my daughter from the production of 'Camilla,' her third work; where, and at Mr. and Mrs. Lock's, I passed my time most pleasantly, in reading, in rural quiet, or in charming conversation."

"He could not witness," writes his daughter. "without admiration as well as pleasure, the fertile

Room in Camilla Cottage

resources with which his son-in-law, though a stranger [formerly] to a country or private life, could fill up a rainy day without a murmur; and pass through a retired evening without one moment of ennui either felt or given . . . . Dr. Burney, through the wide extent of his varied connections, could nowhere find taste more congenial, principles more strictly in unison, or a temper more harmoniously in accord with his own, than here, in the happy little dwelling which he named Camilla Cottage."

[General d'Arblay's "Hillock"]


DURING the summer of 1798 the d'Arblays received visits from some interesting French friends.

"M. la Jard," writes Fanny, "spent nearly a week with M. d'Arblay. He was Minister of War at the 10th of August, and his account of his endeavours to save the unhappy oppressed King on that fatal day by dissuading him from going to the cruel Assembly, and to defend himself in his palace, is truly afflictive." The King's decision made, it was La Jard who was deputed to conduct him in safety to the hall of the Assembly. He had already shown his devotion to Louis XVI., for on June 20, when the mob rushed into the royal apartments of the Tuileries, it was La Jard who, by placing the King in a recess in the wall and himself standing between him and the rioters, had saved his life.

"La Jard's own escape," continues Fanny, "was wonderful. He was concealed a fortnight in Paris. . . He had a principal command, before he was raised to the Ministry, in the National Guard under Lafayette and with M. d'Arblay.

"M. Bourdois also spent a week here twice. He was born and bred at Joigny, and therefore is dear to M. d'Arblay by earliest juvenile intimacy, though the gradations of opinions in the Revolution had separated them; for he remained in France when M. d'A. would serve there no longer. He became aide-de-camp to Dumourier, and is celebrated for his bravery at the battle of Jemappes. He is a very pleasant and obliging character, and dotingly fond of little Alex, from knowing and loving and honouring all his family; and this you will a little guess is something of an avenue to a certain urchin's madre. Besides, I like to see anybody who has seen Joigny."

M. d'Arblay was related to the family of Bourdois on his mother's side. He had an uncle of that name still living who was "inexpressibly dear to him," who had been "his guardian and was his best friend through life." But no relative bearing the name of d'Arblay now existed save "his own little English son."

"Before leaving," writes Fanny, "M. Bourdois brought hither M. le Comte de Riece, the officer whom M. d'Arblay immediately succeeded at Metz, and a gentleman in manners, deportment and speech, such as rarely is to be met with; elegantly polite and well-bred; serious even to sadness, and silent and reserved; yet seizing all attention by the peculiar interest of his manner.

"As soon as he entered our book-room, he exclaimed, 'Ah, de Narbonne!' looking at our drawing; and this led me to speak of that valued person, with whom I found he had always been much connected. He corresponds with him still, and [after speaking] of his hard fate and difficulties, told me he had some money of his still in his hands which Narbonne could call for at pleasure, but never demanded, though frequently reminded, of this little deposit. But when I mentioned this to M. d'Arblay, he said he fancied it was only money that M. de Riece insisted upon appropriating as a loan for him; for that De Riece who is [very rich] is the most benevolent of human beings and lives parsimoniously in every respect, to devote all beyond common comforts to suffering emigrants! . . . M. d'Arblay says he knows of great and incredible actions he has done in assisting his particular friends. I never saw a man who looked more like a chevalier of old times. He accompanied M. Bourdois here again when he came to take leave, and indeed they left us quite sad."

A family recently settled in West Humble, of the name of Dickinson, had called on the d'Arblays. "A gentleman, who seemed to belong to them," writes Fanny, "but whom we knew not, was yet more assiduous than themselves to make acquaintance here. He visited M. d'Arblay while working in his garden, brought him newspapers, gazettes extraordinary, political letters with recent intelligence, and exerted himself to be acceptable by intelligence as well as obligingness. M. d'Arblay, at length, one very bitterly cold morning, thought it incumbent upon him to invite his anonymous acquaintance into the house. He knew not how to name him, but, opening the door where I was waiting breakfast for him with Alex, he only pronounced my name. The gentleman, smilingly entering, said, 'I must announce mine myself, I believe – Mr. Strachan'; and we then found it was the printer to the King, who is Member of Parliament, son of the Andrew Strachan who was the friend of Johnson, and the principal printer of 'Camilla.'

"Much recollection of the many messages of business which had passed between us, while unknown, during the printing of that long work, made me smile also at his name, and we easily made acquaintance."

Fanny received news about this time that her sister Susan might possibly come over from Ireland, to pay a short visit to her family. The unsettled state of that country had long been causing them great anxiety on her behalf, and the joy of this intelligence was so overpowering "that I appeared," writes Fanny, "to my poor Alex, in deep grief from a powerful emotion of surprise and joy, which forced its way down my cheeks.

"The little creature, who was playing on the sofa, set up a loud cry, and instantly, with a desperate impulse, ran to me, darted up his little hands before I could imagine his design, and seized the letter with such violence that I must have torn it to have prevented him; then he flew with it to the sofa, and rumpling it up in his little hands, poked it under the cushions, and then resolutely sat down upon it . . . . He could not express himself better in words than by merely saying, 'I don't 'ike 'ou to 'ead a letter, mamma!' He had never happened to see me in tears before. Happy boy! – and oh, happy mother!"

*          *          *          *         *

And now, my beloved Susan," continues the writer, "I will sketch my last Court history of this year.

"The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill . . . of some complaint in her knee . . . was now returning from her sea-bathing at Worthing, and I heard from all around the neighbourhood that her Royal Highness was to rest and stop one night at Juniper Hall [Hill], whither she was to be attended by Mr. Keate the surgeon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician at Worthing."

The word "Hall" in the above letter is evidently a misprint. Juniper Hill was the house recently taken by Sir Lucas Pepys and his wife, Lady Rothes. It stands upon the slope of a hill, its grounds stretching down to Mickleham Church. Madame d'Arblay, in one of her letters, contrasts its prominent position in the landscape with that of the house formerly occupied by M. de Narbonne and his friends, which was sometimes, she says, called Juniper Hole from its standing in a hollow of the hills.

"I could not hear of the Princess approaching so near our habitation," continues Fanny, "and sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort to see her . . . . So infinitely sweet that young love of a Princess always is to me, that I gathered courage to address a petition to her Majesty herself, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave to pay my homage." A ready consent having been given a note was next despatched to Lady Rothes for her leave to pay the visit. "I intimated also," continues the writer, "my wish to bring my boy, not to be presented unless demanded, but to be put into some closet where he might be at hand in case of that honour."

exterior showing entrance to house

Little Alex had already been presented to the Princess Amelia, as well as to the other members of the Royal family, when taken by his mother to the "Queen's house" in town. The child had been rather awed by the unusual surroundings of a palace, but his heart had gone out instantly to the sweet-looking young girl who had taken him in her arms and played with him, making him forget all his shyness.

"It was the 1st of December," writes Madame d'Arblay, "but a beautifully clear and fine day. I borrowed Mr. Lock's carriage. Sir Lucas came to us immediately, and ushered us to the breakfast-parlour, giving me the most cheering accounts of the recovery of the Princess. Here I was received by Lady Rothes."

In former times the approach to Juniper Hill was on what is now the garden side of the house. There, upon a broad terrace overlooking a wide view, stands a porch of classic design, supported by fluted columns and reached by a double flight of curving stone steps, once the main entrance. Here Fanny and her little son must have alighted.

After she had had some pleasant chat with former colleagues of the Court, who were now in attendance on the Princess Amelia, "Lady Albinia," she writes, "retired. But in a very few minutes returned and said, 'Her Royal Highness desires to see Madame d'Arblay and her little boy.'

"The Princess was seated on a sofa, in a French-grey riding-dress with pink lapels, her beautiful shining fair locks unornamented. Her breakfast was still before her and Mrs. Cheveley in waiting, She received me with the brightest smile, calling me up to her, and stopping my profound reverence by pouting out her sweet ruby lips for me to kiss."

We have sat in the very parlour where this meeting must have taken place. The room, with its delicate Adam decorations, its carved chimney-piece of coloured and white marble, and its tall arched and recessed windows, is unchanged by the passing of a century; and as there happened to be in this parlour a large old-fashioned leather-covered sofa, the whole scene rose before our eyes, and we seemed to see the girlish figure of the Princess, then just turned fifteen, seated upon it in her graceful riding attire.

"She desired me to come and sit by her," continues Fanny, "but I seemed not to hear her, and drew a chair at a little distance. 'No, no,' she cried, nodding, 'come here; come and sit by me here, my dear Madame d'Arblay!' [so] I seated myself on her sofa . . .

"Her attention was now turned to my Alex, who required not quite so much solicitation to take his part of the sofa. He came jumping and skipping up to her . . . with such gay and merry antics that it was impossible not to be diverted with so sudden a change from his composed and quiet behaviour in the other room. He seemed enchanted to see her again, and I was only alarmed lest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing agility.

". . . Lady Albinia soon after left the room, and the Princess, then, turning hastily and eagerly to me said: 'Now we are alone, do let me ask you one question, Madame d'Arblay. Are you – are you – [looking with strong expression to discover her answer] – writing anything?'

"I could not help laughing, but replied in the negative.

"'Upon your honour?' she cried earnestly, and looking disappointed. This was too hard an interrogatory for evasion, and I was forced to say – the truth – that I was about nothing I had yet fixed if or not I should ever finish, but that I was rarely without some project. This seemed to satisfy and please her."

Soon afterwards Madame d'Arblay and her little son withdrew.

'Camilla Cottage was being furnished by degrees and with as little expense as possible. Dr. Burney had offered to provide a carpet for the best parlour, and Fanny writes to him on September 1 (1801):

"The carpet! how kind a thought! Goodness me! as Lady Hales used to say, I don't know what for to do more and more! But a carpet we have – though not yet spread, as the chimney is unfinished, and room incomplete. Charles brought us the tapis – so that, in fact, we have yet bought nothing for our best room, and meant – for our own share – to buy a table . . . and if my dearest father will be so good – and so naughty at once, as to crown our salle d'audience with a gift we shall prize beyond all others, we can think only of a table. Not a dining one, but a sort of table for a little work and a few books en gala, without which a room looks always forlorn."

The Doctor now offered to present two small tables to the cottage. There is an unpublished letter from Fanny, preserved in the Burney family, respecting this gift, which we give here. It is dated West Humble, September 6, 1801:

"Magnificent, my dearest padre, quite magnificent, will be the two noble card-tables! I remember them perfectly . . . . They will do a thousand times better than any Tavolina . . . so if my beloved father can spare them, I know not any furniture I should like so well. We have two exact places for them – 'as natral as if they were alive' – on the two sides of our fine room; and if you will come and use them – not at whist though – what a pleasure to us! I think no room looks really comfortable, or even quite furnished, without two tables – one to keep the wall and take upon itself the dignity of a little tidyness, the other to stand here, there, and everywhere, and hold letters and make the agreeable.

"Last week we had a long and very social visit from the two Miss Berrys and their father, brought to us by Mr. and Mrs. William Lock. They were very lively, very cordial, and very agreeable, and renewed our former acquaintance with an earnestness of cultivating it in future that was flattering in the highest degree; pressing to see us both at Twickenham and in town, and obviating all maternal objections by assurances they had a bed just fitted for Alex.

"They inquired much after you and were very pleasant. I could not but recollect Lord Orford's speech when he first presented us to each other, which was at Lady Hesketh's: 'There!' said he, having named us, 'now I have put you together you can't help getting on.'"


ONCE more we are standing in the valley of Mickleham. It is early autumn. The corn been gathered in and the Norbury woods are already tinged with gold. We watch the low rays of the afternoon sun as they touch field and meadow and stately tree, and sparkle on the Mole as it emerges from its dark archway of spreading boughs.

Our "book is completed and closed like the day," for the story of Juniper Hall and of the various events that came to pass from the meetings of French and English within its walls has been told. The opening of the nineteenth century is destined to bring about many changes to the persons with whom we have been holding converse in these pages, and with its arrival our Mickleham episode comes to a close.

But ere we part from those persons we would make the circuit of the valley and look once more on the places where "wingéd Fancy" has brought them before us so often.

There, behind its grand spreading cedars, stands Juniper Hall, the arched windows of its sculptured drawing-room lighted up by the setting sun. We pass on our way, catching a glimpse of Juniper Hill on its terrace above the tree-tops, and so, following the road as it descends abruptly, we reach the village church – the church where the d'Arblays were married, and where the squire's pew still stands in which the Locks used to sit, and and where a tablet records their honoured names. Passing down the village street we come to a certain cottage "at the foot of Norbury Park" – the home of Mrs. Phillips; and almost fancy we can hear the voice of little Norbury at play in the garden. Then, entering the park, we climb a long steep hill, passing on our way the footpath to Bookham, till we reach the wide platform upon which stands Norbury House. Surely, if we entered its "Picture-room," we should find our friends assembled there! Leaving the terrace and its grand view behind us, we enter the solemn shade of the Druids' Walk, and, pursuing our way through the wood, come out upon the open country where stands Camilla Cottage, the heights of Ranmore rising beyond it. Some one is working in the meadow. Can it be General d'Arblay, with his sword for a pruning-hook? As the evening closes in we turn away, and, casting a last look at our loved valley, we bid it and all its associations "Farewell."

mural decoration
[Medallion. A Mural Decoration in Juniper Hall, and also in Norbury Park]


[A]  [B]  [C]  [D]  [E]  [F]  [G]  [H]  [J]  [K]  [L]  [M]  [N]  [P]  [R]  [S]  [T]  [W]  [Y] 

"ABBAYE," Prison of the,
Jaucourt and Lally-Tollendal confined in, [21];
Montmorin's assasination, and general massacres, [23-25], [34-35]
Agnew, Mrs., [213-214], [217]
Amelia, Princess, youngest daughter of George III.,
described in Miss Burney's "Diaries," [81], [217] ;
expected at Juniper Hill, her kind reception of Madame d'Arblay and her little son, [251-257]
Arblay, Alex. G. P. d',
Adjutant-General, [4];
friend of Liancourt's son, [51];
at Juniper Hall, receives visit from Mrs. Lock and Mrs. Phillips, his connection with Lafayette, his intimacy with Narbonne, [54];
his visit to Mrs. Phillips' cottage, her description of him, Adjutant-General under Lafayette, in prison with him at Nivelle, his friendship with Narbonne, his loss of fortune, [63-67];
on guard at Tuileries when King and family escaped to Varennes, [68-69], [70];
his praise of Lafayette, [72];
welcomes Capt. and Mrs. Phillips to Juniper Hall, [75-76];
sends declaration to Malesherbes, defending Louis XVI. from a false charge of having exposed Longwy to invasion, [89-90];
at gathering at Norbury Park, [99-102];
his grief on hearing of execution of Louis XVI., [109];
his character described, gives lessons in French to Fanny Burney, his visits to Mrs. Phillips' cottage, [119-122], [136], [141];
his proposal of marriage to Fanny Burney, 144-145;
visits her at Chesington, [154-156];
urges his suit, Dr. Burney's opposition to the marriage, Lally-Tollendal's and Prince de Poix's testimony in his favour, Dr. Burney's consent given, [157-161];
his marriage with Fanny Burney (July 28, 1793) in Mickleham Church, marriage ceremony repeated in the Roman Catholic Chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador (July 30), takes rooms at Phenice Farm, proposes to build cottage on land given by Mr. Lock, [165-170];
offers to fight for Louis XVII and the Constitution in English army destined for Toulon, [177-180];
offer refused, distressed at injustice to Lafayette, [187-188];
takes cottage at Bookham, peaceful life there, his love of gardening, receives visit from Dr. Burney, [189-197];
desires to defend Lafayette, birth of a son, [200-201];
his visit to Windsor, is presented to George III., [213-221];
rents ground from Mr. Lock upon which to build Camilla Cottage, his "plan" and work in garden and grounds, [224-225];
receives letter from Lafayette, his own architect for Camilla Cottage, moves with family into new home, [228-233];
receives visit from the Princesse d'Hénin and Lally -Tollendal, meets them again at Norbury Park, [235-237];
works in his garden and grounds, [239-242];
receives visit from Dr. Burney, [244-246];
receives visits from La Jard, Bourdois, and the Comte de Riece, visited by Mr. Strachan, printer of "Camilla," [247-250], [261]
Arblay, Alex d' (son of M. and Mme. d'Arblay),
his birth, his godfathers, Narbonne and Charles Burney, [200-201];
his pleasure in Camilla Cottage, [232-233];
noticed by Mrs. Barbauld, [243-244], [248];
anecdote of, [250-251];
is taken to see the Princess Amelia at Juniper Hill, [252-257].
Arblay, Madame d' (for earlier entries see under Burney, Frances),
her letter from Phenice Farm, letters of congratulation received from her brother Charles Burney, from the Queen and Royal family, from Madame de Staël, and from Lalley-Tollendal, [168-175];
acquaints her father with M. d'Arblay's desire to fight for Louis XVII. and Constitution at Toulon, consents to write pamphlet in aid of exiled French priests, [177-179];
Burke's words in praise of her, her pamphlet published, writes of Marie Antoinette's execution, of Jaucourt and Montmorenci's second escape from France, and of injustice done to Lafayette, [183-188];
removes to cottage at Bookham, peaceful mode of life, M. d'Arblay's fondness for gardening, letter from Arthur Young, receives visit from her father, "Camilla" begun, [189-197];
Mrs. Thrale as Madame Piozzi, [198-199];
birth of son, her happiness, [200-201];
determines to publish "Camilla" by subscription, friends offer to keep lists, Warren Hastings and Burke eager to serve her, large number of subscribers, Jane Austen's name in list, Macaulay's words upon the service rendered by Madame d'Arblay to posterity, dedicates "Camilla" to Queen, letter to Charles Burney concerning book, [205-212];
her visit to Windsor, presents copies of "Camilla" to King and Queen, her kindly reception, presents M. d'Arblay to the King, returns home, [213-221];
extraordinary sale of "Camilla," praised by Jane Austen, Camilla Cottage to be built upon ground rented from Mr. Lock, M. d'Arblay's work in the new grounds, [222-225];
meets the Princesse d'Hénin and Lally-Tollendal at Norbury Park, offers Narbonne a home with her husband and herself, [226-228];
Lafayette's praise of her writings, 229;
regret at leaving Bookham, her account of removal to Camilla Cottage, [230-233];
amusing letter to her sister Charlotte, Royal summons arrives, Princesse d'Hénin and Lally-Tollendal visit the cottage, meets them again at Norbury Park, visit to the Queen and Royal family, fear of French invasion, means reduced by war tax, [234-239];
receives visit from Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld, [242-244];
her father at Camilla Cottage, [245-246];
receives visits from La Jard, Bourdois, and the Comte de Riece, receives visit from Mr. Strachan, printer of "Camilla," anecdote of her little son, [246-251];
her kindly reception by the Princess Amelia at Juniper Hill, letter to her father concerning his gifts towards furnishing Camilla Cottage, describes visit from the Miss Berrys, [251-259]
Argenson, M. d',
returns to France, [53]
Austen, Jane,
her name in list of subscribers for "Camilla," Macaulay's remarks upon her novels, [209-210];
her words in praise of "Cecilia" and "Camilla," [223-224]
BANKS, Sir Joseph,
Dr. Burney at his "philosophical conversaziones," [200]
Barbauld, Mr.,
his visit to Camilla Cottage, [242-244]
Barbauld, Mrs.,
her visit to Camilla Cottage, an early admirer of "Cecilia," 242-244
Berry, Miss (Mary),
her words about Madame de Staël's character, [218];
meets Dr. Burney, [204];
she and her sister at Camilla Cottage, [259]
at meeting of Commune, [29]
Bollman, Dr.,
provides Narbonne with false passport, and conducts him to England, [20-21];
his words about Madame de Staël's character and mode of life, [117-118]
cottage at, home of the d'Arblays, description of cottage and garden, [189], [191];
Dr. Burney, a visitor at, [195];
d'Arblays quit cottage and remove to West Humble (Dec. 1797), [231]
Boscawen, Hon. Mrs.,
keeps list of subscribers for "Camilla,'' [206-207];
visited by M. and Mme. d'Arblay, [221]
Bourdois, M.,
visitor at Camilla Cottage, his early intimacy with M. d'Arblay, [248-249]
Bradfield Hall,
residence by Arthur Young, [41], [43]
Broglie, Duc de,
his early recollections of revolutionary scenes, [94-95]
Broglie, Maréchal de, [38]
Broglie, Prince Victor de, [38]
Broglie, Madame de
(wife of the above), [4];
her escape from France with her little son, arrival in West Humble, her cottage identified, [37-40];
returns to France, [53];
urges Madame de la Châtre to join her at Boulogne, her son's account of their arrival at Boulogne, [94]
Broome, Mr.,
his proposed visit to Camilla Cottage, [234]
Burke, Edmund,
his words on Miss Burney's resignation of her post at Court, at Mrs. Crewe's house at Hampstead, meets Miss Burney and her father, his irritability when politics were discussed, his toast addressed to Miss Burney, avoids conversation with Mr. Erskine, [81-87];
letter to him from Abbé Edgeworth concerning Louis XVI., [110];
his admiration for "Evelina," [149];
his letter to Dr. Burney respecting Mrs. Crewe's plan in aid of French priests, laments defeat of Duke of York's army at Dunkirk, approves of Toulon expedition, his congratulations on Madame d'Arblay's marriage, [181-183], [205];
his praise of "Cecilia," his interest in "Camilla," sends large subscription, [208-209], [212], [222]
Burke, Richard,
at gathering at Mrs. Crewe's house at Hampstead, [83], [85]
Burney, Charles,
letter to him from Narbonne, [135-136];
letter from his sister Fanny Burney announcing her engagement to M. d'Arblay, [161-164];
his letter of congratulation on her marriage, [171];
stands godfather to her son, [200];
letter to him concerning "Camilla," [210-212];
his gift towards furnishing Camilla Cottage, [258]
Burney, Dr.,
letter to his daughter Fanny (January 31, 1793) state of excitement in England after execution of Louis XVI., his sympathy with earlier phases of Revolution, [114-115];
uneasy at Fanny's intimacy with Madame de Staël, persuades her to give up visit to Juniper Hall, [124], [126];
part of his "History of Music" written at Chesington, [148-149];
his disapproval of Fanny's engagement to M. d'Arblay, gives a reluctant consent to the marriage, [159-161];
his change of feeling respecting marriage, his wedding presents, suggests Fanny's writing pamphlet in aid of exiled French priests, [176-177];
his approval of M. d'Arblay's offer to fight for Louis XVII and Constitution, gives details concerning the distress of French priests, becomes Secretary to Mrs. Crewe's Ladies' Committee for obtaining funds, letter to him from Edmund Burke, [179-183];
his visit to the Bookham cottage, [195-197];
first meeting with Madame Piozzi after her second marriage, Mrs. Crewe and the. Jacobins, M. d'Arblay and Lafayette, [198-200];
at Mrs. Crewe's déjeuner at Hampstead, conversation with Erskine, meets Princess of Wales, visits her at Blackheath, meets the Miss Berrys, &c., [201-204];
gives name to "Camilla Cottage," [230];
his visit to the d'Arblays, [244-246];
his gifts towards furnishing Camilla Cottage, [257-259]
Burney, Frances (see also under Arblay, Madame d'), [3];
arrives at Bradfield Hall, is welcomed by Mr. Young, hears details of Liancourt's escape from France, [43-46];
her restricted life at Court, Horace Walpole's words about her, her sufferings from tyranny of Madame Schwellenberg, her graphic Diaries, resigns Court appointment (July 1791), receives pension from Queen, Burke's words about her, [79-82];
her return home, her welcome back to social life, describes gathering of friends at Mrs. Crewe's "villa at Hampstead," meets Burke, his kindness to her, his irritability when politics were discussed, his "toast" addressed to her, arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Erskine, [82-87]:
her letter to Mrs. Phillips written at Aylesham, Norfolk, Revolution societies prevalent in Norfolk, her interest in colony of émigrés, [88-89];
her interest in M. d'Arblay, [107];
staying at Norbury Park in January 1793, her letter on receiving news of Louis XVI's execution, gives details learned from Madame de Staël, [108-110];
visits her sister Mrs. Phillips, her admiration for Madame de Staël's conduct and character, is invited to stay with her at Juniper Hall, [115-116];
her praise of M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay, M. d'Arblay proposes to become her French master for pronunciation, describes Talleyrand's conversation, M. d'Arblay's visits to Mrs. Phillips' cottage, Madame de Staël's letters to her written in English, hears Madame de Staël read opening of her work "Sur le Bonheur," [118-124];
her vindication to Dr. Burney of Madame de Staël's conduct throughout Revolution, and of her conduct in private life, abandons proposed visit to Madame de Staël, and returns to Chelsea, [124-126];
regrets having pained Madame de Staël, receives offer of marriage from M. d'Arblay, goes to Chesington, [143-145];
her affection for her "Daddy Crisp," her description of Chesington Hall, staying there in 1778 when news reached her of success of "Evelina," writes much of "Cecilia" there, [146-151];
at Chesington Hall in 1793, part of "Evelina" written there, [151-152];
M. d'Arblay's visit to Chesington, [154-156];
writes to Mrs. Phillips and to Mrs. Lock, Dr. Burney's opposition to the marriage, his reluctant consent, her letter to her brother Charles announcing her engagement, [157-164];
her marriage to M. d'Arblay in Mickleham Church (July 28, 1793), ceremony repeated in the Roman Catholic Chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador (July 30, 1793), [165-168];
for further entries see under Arblay, Madame d'
Burney, Captain James,
serves under Captain Cook, Burney island named after him, [63];
at marriage of his sister Fanny Burney and M. d'Arblay, [166-168], [171]
Burney, Sarah Harriet,
step-sister of Fanney Burney, at Bradfield Hall, [43], [49], [171]
Byron, Lord,
his words about Madame de Staël, [118], [137]
CAMBRIDGE, Mr., [221]
"Camilla," novel of,
begun [196];
is published by subscription, Macaulay's words, work dedicated to the Queen, letters on the subject, [205-212];
copies presented to King and Queen, [213], [215-216], [218-219];
extraordinary sale of, admired by Jane Austen, [223-224]
Camilla Cottage,
its building rendered possible by sale of "Camilla," [224];
is commenced, [225];
name given by Dr. Burney, its situation, the d'Arblays move into it, [230-233];
cottage and grounds described, [239-242], [244-246];
"best parlour" being furnished, [257-259], [261]
Carter, Mrs. Elizabeth, [204]
"Cecilia," novel of,
Liancourt's interest in it, [48], [79];
much of it written at Chesington Hall, [150-151];
name originally "Albinia," [206];
Burke's words in praise of it, [208];
Macaulay's words, [210], [222-223];
praised by Jane Austen, [223];
admired by Mrs. Barbauld, [244]
Chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador,
marriage of Fanny Burney and M. d'Arblay at, Latin entry in church books, [166-168]
Chapone, Mrs., [243]
Charlotte, Queen,
described by Fanny Burney in her " Diaries," consents to her resignation of office, bestows pension upon her, [81];
signifies her approval of Miss Burney's marriage, [171];
"Camilla" dedicated to her, [210];
her kindly reception of Madame d'Arblay at Windsor, [214-221];
receives Madame d'Arblay at her house in town, [235-237]
Châtre, M. le Marquis de la,
with Louis XVI.'s brothers at Coblentz, [55];
his sudden appearance at Norbury Park, describes his disastrous journey since quitting the Princes, poverty of Princes, misery caused by the disbanding of their army, his good humour under misfortune, [99-107]
Châtre, Madame la Marquise de la, [4];
arrives at Juniper Hall, [40-41];
receives visit from Mrs. Lock and Mrs. Phillips, her account of M. d'Arblay's connection with Lafayette, his friendship for Narbonne, her own situation, [52-56], [67];
receives visit from Mrs. Phillips, suffering from decrees against the émigrés, [71-72], [73]
Captain and Mrs. Phillips spend day at Juniper Hall, [75-77];
takes leave of Mrs. Phillips previous to her return to France, arranges to join Madame de Broglie at Boulogne, [93-94], [99-100];
friend of Madame de Staël, [125-126]
Chauvelin, M. de,
French Ambassador in London, [88-89]
Chesington Hall, [80];
home of "Daddy Crisp," holiday resort of Burney Family, its isolated position, its quaint interior, the "Conjuring Closet," part of "Cecilia" written there, [146-151];
its grounds and garden, the "Mount," part of "Evelina" written there, its old pictures, built during the reign of Henry VIII., [151-153]
Clarges, Lady, [204]
Clarke Mr.,
at Juniper Hall, teaches English to émigrés, [54-55];
interview with Jenkinson, [130]
confers with friends respecting plans for King's escape, [13-14];
is murdered during night of August [10], [16]
Collot d'Herbois,
at meeting of Commune, [29]
Colmache, M.,
his "Reminiscences of Talleyrand," [131-132]
Commune of Paris,
their emissaries search houses for proscribed persons, [20];
assassins armed and subsidised by them, [24]
endeavours to obtain release of Lally-Tollendal, [21];
succeeds, [23];
his ingratitude to the Duc de La Rochefoucauld, [73]
Cook, Captain,
his murder by natives of Owhyhee, Captain Phillips and Captain Burney serve under him, [60-63]
Cook, Miss Kitty, [151];
welcomes Miss Burney to Chesington Hall, [154-156]
Cooke, Rev, Samuel,
rector of Bookham, [223];
Madame d'Arblay's esteem for him, [231]
Cooke, Mrs.,
wife of the above, at Bookham Cottage, [208];
a cousin of Jane Austen, [223];
Madame d'Arblay's esteem for her, [231]
Coutances, Bishop of,
seen by Malouet on his escape to England, [35]
Coutard, Madame,
her house a refuge for proscribed persons, shelters Malouet, [33-35]
Crewe, Mrs., [80];
daughter of Fulk Greville, celebrated for her beauty and talents, gathering at her house at Hampstead described by Miss Burney, Burke's toast, [82-87];
her plan for relief of exiled French priests, [176-177];
Dr. Burney becomes secretary of her committee, [180-181], [199];
her déjeuner at Hampstead, visits Princess of Wales at Blackheath in company with Dr. Burney, [201-204];
keeps list of subscribers for "Camilla," letter to her from Burke, [207-209]
Crisp, "Daddy," [80];
his connection with Burney family, his solitary home, Macaulay's words about him, Fanny Burney's affection for him, he enables her to finish "Cecilia," his death, [146-151], [153-154]
Queen's secret correspondence with, [12];
massacres in the prisons instituted by him, [17];
his words to the Assembly on September [1], [23];
directs carnage, gives wages to assassins, [25], [138]
at Fête of Federation of 1792, [6], [8];
sees Malouet, [12]
"Domiciliary visits," [17-20]
Dumont, M. (the friend of Jeremy Bentham),
a visitor at Juniper Hall, [140-141]
Duncan, Lord, his victory off Camperdown, [237]
Dunkirk, defeat of Duke of York's army at, [182]
EDGEWORTH, Abbé (known in France as the Abbé de Firmont),
confessor to Louis XVI., his words on the scaffold, his letter to Edmund Burke, the King's message to him, his answer, is summoned to attend King to his execution, his account of last scene, his escape, his words about Louis XVI., [110-113]
Edgeworth, Maria,
her name in list of subscribers for "Camilla," Macaulay's words, [209-210];
her novel of "Belinda," [223]
Egalité, M., [138]
Elizabeth, Madame, [8];
with King and Queen when Malouet's letter arrives, sends request at midnight to Malouet for draft of letter, [10-71]
Elizabeth, Princess,
daughter of George III, [215]
Elliot, Mr., one of the twelve managers of the impeachment of Warren Hastings, [83-84]
Erskine, Mr. (afterwards Lord),
at Mrs. Crewe's house at Hampstead, [86];
at her déjeuner, his conversation with Dr. Burney, [202-203]
Erskine, Mrs.,
at Mrs. Crewe's house at Hampstead, [86];
at her déjeuner [202]
"Evelina," [79];
its great success, [149-150];
much of it written at Chesington, [152];
Macaulay's words, [210], [222]
FERDINAND, M., émigré, at Juniper Hall, [121];
at Fanny Burney and M. d'Arblay's marriage at the Chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador, [168]
Fête of the Federation, July 14, 1792, [5]
Fisher, Dr., [214]
Fouché, Abbé, [73]
Francis, Mrs. (Charlotte Burney),
letter to her from Arthur Young, [47-43];
her second marriage to Mr. Broome in contemplation, [234]
GENLIS, Madame de,
assumes name of Brulard, strange mode of life at Bury St. Edmunds, [49-50]
George III.,
described by Fanny Burney in her "Diaries," his words about her pension, [87];
congratulates Miss Burney on her marriage, [171];
copy of "Camilla" presented to him by Madame d'Arblay, interview with M. d'Arblay on the terrace, [275-221]
Gilliers, Baron de, [11]
Girardin d'Ermenonville, Marquis de, friend of Rousseau, [72]
Girardin; Stanislas, [4];
at Juniper Hall, his "Journal et Souvenirs," defends Lafayette in Legislative Assembly, [72-73]
Grafton, Duke of,
invites Liancourt to reside with him while in England, [51]
Guibert, M., [130]
HALES, Lady, [257-258]
Hamilton, Mrs.,
hostess at Chesington Hall, [151];
welcomes Miss Burney to Chesington, [154-156]
Hastings, Warren,
trial of, [82];
eagerness to promote sale of "Camilla," [208]
Hénin, Princesse d', [4];
visitor at Juniper Hall, intimate friend of Lafayette and his family, [128-129], [130];
name in list of subscribers for "Camilla." [210];
at Norbury Park, her affection for Mrs. Phillips, [226-227];
at Norbury Park, her visit to Camilla Cottage, [235-237]
Hood, Lord,
summons adherents to fight for Louis XVII. and Constitution at Toulon, [177], [182-183]
JACOBI, Mlle.,
successor at Court to Madame Schwellenberg, [217-219]
King and Qneen carry on negotiations with them, they endeavour to bring about deposition of King, they denounce Malouet, Montmorin, and their friends as the "Comité Autrichien," [9-10];
organise Revolution of August 10, [13];
institute "domiciliary visits", [17]
Jacques, Louisa Maria,
at Fanny Burney and M. d'Arblay's marriage in Chapel of Sardinian Ambassador, [168]
Jaucourt, M. de, [4];
member of the Assemblée Legislative, is taken to the prison of the "Abbaye," Madame de Staël's efforts to rescue him, her success, [21-23];
arrives at Juniper Hall, [41];
his speeches before the Assemblée, [53];
Mrs. Phillips' description of him, [55-56];
his amusing conversation, [73-74];
his life saved a second time by Madame de Staël, [187]
owner of Juniper Hall, [37];
affluent lottery-office keeper, [56];
his exorbitant demands of his tenants, [129-130]
Johnson, Dr.,
his admiration for "Evelina," [149], [222], [239]
Juniper Hall,
arrival of émigrés at, [37];
description of, [56-57], [260-261]
Juniper Hill,
occupied by Sir Lucas Pepys and his wife, Lady Rothes, the Princess Amelia a visitor at (December 1798), its "classic porch" and "parlour" described, [251-256], [261]
KEATE, Mr., surgeon to the Princess Amelia, [252]
his connection with M. d'Arblay, in prison together at Nivelle, [64-66];
is defended in the Assembly by Girardin, [73];
Narbonne's and d'Arblay's admiration of him, [74];
injustice done him by English Government, [188];
his letter to M. d'Arblay congratulating him upon his marriage, [228-230], [248]
La Jard, M. (late Minister of War),
a visitor at Camilla Cottage, his experiences of August 10, his escape from Paris, [247-248]
Lally, Comte de,
Governor of Pondicherry, accused of treason by his countrymen and put to death, reversal of iniquitous judgment obtained in latter years by his son Lally-Tollendal, [128];
anecdote of, [174]
Lally-Tollendal, Comte de, [4];
confers with friends respecting plans for Louis XVI.'s escape, [13-14];
is taken to prison of the "Abbaye," an eloquent speaker, Madame de Staël, Condorcet, and Lady Sutherland endeavour to obtain his release, [21];
he is released, [23];
endeavours to obtain permission to act as advocate for King at his trial, [90-91];
at Juniper Hall, reads his "Mort de Strafford" to Mrs. Phillips and friends, it is admired by Talleyrand, his vindication of his father's character, [127-128], [130];
his testimony in favour of M. d'Arblay's character, [160-161];
his letter to M. d'Arblay upon his marriage, anecdote of his father, [173-175];
his name in list of subscribers for "Camilla," [210];
at Norbury Park, reads his "Plea" for the émigrés' return to France, [226];
at Norbury Park, visit to Camilla Cottage, his tragedy, [235-237]
Lameth, Charles,
arrives at Juniper Hall, [41]
La Tour-du-Pin, M. (ex-Minister),
seen by Malouet on his escape to England, [35-36]
Leeds, Duke of, [201]
Leigh, Mrs. (of Oxfordshire), [208]
Leinster, Dowager-Duchess of,
keeps lists of subscribers for "Camilla," [206-207]
Le Roux, M.,
assists in the escape of Malouet [35]
Liancourt, Duc de (Governor-General and Commandant of Normandy),
his plan of rescue for King and Royal family, offers to place nearly all his fortune at King's service, [9-10];
forced to fly from France, takes up residence in Bury St. Edmunds, friendship with Arthur Young, contrast of characters, [41];
last effort in the King's cause on August 10, price set upon his head, escape to Rouen, crosses the Channel in small boat, lands at Hastings, his adventure in inn, [44-46];
at Bradfield Hall, meets Fanny Burney, his interest in "Cecilia," censures conduct of Madame de Genlis, receives invitations of hospitality from Duke of Grafton and Lord Sheffield, [49-51];
urges his claim to defend Louis XVI. at his trial, [90]
Lock, Mr.,
of Norbury Park, assists émigrés on their arrival at Mickleham, [37];
at Juniper Hall, [56];
a patron of art and literature, [66], [73];
his visit to Mrs. Phillips, [93-94];
in London, [120], [123];
his conversation, [139-140];
approves of M. d'Arblay's proposal of marriage to Miss Burney, [157-160];
at their marriage, [166-168], [170];
interested in scheme in aid of French priests, [179], [189], [192];
his sympathy in the d'Arblays' happiness, [196-197];
grants lease of ground to them for the building of Camilla Cottage, [224], [232], [242], [261]
Lock, Mrs. (Fredrica),
takes Mrs. Phillips to juniper Hall, [52];
calls on Mrs. Phillips. [93-94];
letter to her from Fanny Burney, [120];
her parting from Madame de Staël, [142];
letter to her from Miss Burney concerning M. d'Arblay's proposal of marriage. [157-159], [160];
at marriage of Fanny Burney and M. d'Arblay, [166-168];
interested in scheme in aid of French priests, [179];
keeps lists of subscribers for "Camilla." [207]. [261]
Lock, Miss Amelia,
visits Mrs. Phillips, [70];
interested in scheme in aid of French priests, [179]
Lock, Miss Augusta, visits Mrs. Phillips, [70]
Lock, Mr. William, at Camilla Cottage, [259]
Lock, Mrs. William, at Camilla Cottage, [259]
Louis XVI.
at Féte of Federation of 1792, takes oath to maintain Constitution, [5-7];
rejects Madame de Staël's plan of rescue, [8-9];
reads letter from Malouet, refuses to adopt his plan of escape, Malouet's opinion of his character, [10-12];
puts confidence in Jacobins, rejects all plans of escape, is urged to demand protection of Assembly, his letter to Montmorin, [13-14];
refuses to defend his cause on August 10, seeks protection of Assembly, [15-16];
Narbonne's opinion of his character, [68];
Necker's testimony to benefits conferred by him on his people, [77-78];
offers received from Malouet, Narbonne, M. d'Arblay, Duc de Liancourt, and Lally-Tollendal to defend him at his trial, [88-91];
his private correspondence discovered, perilous result to his friends, [92-93];
his execution, last scene described by Abbé Edgeworth, [108-112]
MACARTNEY, Lord, [201-202]
Macaulay, Lord,
his words about Mr. Crisp, [147];
remarks upon Fanny Burney's service to posterity, [209-210]
Maillard, presides over prison tribunal, [24]
confers with friends respecting plans for King's escape, [13-14];
sends message from King to Narbonne respecting his memorial in connection with the King's trial, writes to M. d'Arblay saying he shall make use of his evidence in the defence, [89-90];
his letter to Narbonne concerning Louis XVI.'s regard for him, [119]
Malouet, Pierre Victor, [4];
his interview with Madame de Staël, endeavours to obtain King's acceptance of her plan of rescue, proposes new plan of rescue, his letter to the King, his account of its reception, he and his friends denounced as the "Comité Autrichien," sends draft of letter to Madame Elizabeth, his estimate of characters of King and Queen, Marie Antoinette's words about him, continues to work in King's cause, meeting of friends at Montmorin's house (August 1792), [7-14];
in great peril after August 10, is warned of his danger by Claremont-Tonnerre's widow, takes refuge in Madame Behotte's house, house searched, his escape, [16-18];
September massacres, [24-25];
his escape from Paris, is taken before Committee of Section of Roule, strange scene, his escape, reaches Gennevilliers, sheltered by Madame Coutard, overhears account of massacres in the "Abbaye" from one of the judges of the prison tribunal, proceeds to Amiens, is assisted by M. Le Roux, sails from Boulogne and lands at Dover, [31-36];
offers to defend Louis XVI. at his trial, offer refused, [88-89];
visits French colony at Juniper Hall, staying in London with the Princesse d'Hénin, is the intimate friend of Mallet du Pan and his family, [128-129];
his interest in M. d'Arblay's marriage, [173]
Manuel, member of the Commune of Paris,
his interview with Madame de Staël, [21-23];
protects Madame de Staël when brought before Robespierre, conducts her home in safety, [29-31]
Marat, [138]
Marie Antoinette,
at Fête of Federation of 1792, insulted by mob, [6-7];
refuses to accept service from Madame de Staël, [8-9];
with King when Malouet's letter arrives, [10-11];
Malouet's estimate of her character, her secret correspondence with Danton and others, prejudiced against Duc de Liancourt, [12-13];
her courageous advice to her husband on August 10, [15];
her trial and execution, [186-187]
his "Contes Moraux," [68];
his peaceful home life, [92]
in the prisons instituted by Danton, [17], [23];
continue for more than three days and three nights, [24]
Maubourg, M. de,
fellow prisoner of Lafayette, [229]
Mickleham Church,
marriage of Frances Burney and Alex. d'Arblay at (July 28, 1793), entry of marriage in church books, [165-166], [168], [261]
Mickleham Cottage, [37], [52];
identified as home of Mrs. Phillips, [59-60], [261]
Moleville, Bertrand de,
urges King to adopt Rouen scheme of rescue, [12];
confers with friends respecting plan for King's escape, [13-14]
Monciel, M. de,
seen by Malouet on his escape to England, [35]
Montesquiou, Abbé de,
his rescue planned by Madame de Staël, [26-27]
Montmorenci, Matthieu de, [4];
arrives at Juniper Hall, [41];
visit from Mrs. Lock and Mrs. Phillips, Talleyrand's bon-mot, [52-53], [125];
life saved by Madame de Staël, [187]
Montmorin, M, de (late Minister for Foreign Affairs),
his plan of rescue for King and Royal family, [9-10];
denounced by Jacobins, [10-11];
meeting of friends at his house on August 7, 1792, receives letter from King, his reply, [13-14];
is arrested and confined in the "Abbaye," his assassination, [23-24];
his daughter a friend of Madame de Staël, [126]
More, Hannah, [204]
Morris. Gouverneur (American Ambassador at Paris),
confers with friends respecting plans for King's escape, [13-14]
NARBONNE, Le Comte de, [4];
late Minister of War, concealed in Madame de Staël's house, his escape, is conducted to England by Dr. Bollman, [18-21];
arrives at Juniper Hall, [41], [51];
receives visit from Mrs. Lock and Mrs. Phillips, his friendship for M. d'Arblay, description of his person, [53-55];
his wealth and power previous to Revolution, visits to Mrs. Phillips, his words about Louis XVI., [67-69];
offers to appear as witness for the King at his trial, [70];
his accounts of Lafayette, reads Necker's "Défense du Roi," [74-78];
sends memorial containing important evidence to Malesherbes, message to him from Louis XVI., [89];
his name confounded with that of a Royalist relative, [93];
meeting with M. de la Châtre, [99-106];
his grief on hearing of the execution of Louis XVI., [109];
Louis XVI.'s "unabated regard" for him, [118-119], [123];
intercourse with friends, his letter to Charles Burney, [130-138];
at marriage of Miss Burney and M. d'Arblay, [166];
his letter to M. d'Arblay, [187];
stands godfather to his son, [200];
name in list of subscribers for "Camilla," [210];
living upon small means in Switzerland, d'Arblays' offer to share their home with him, his reply, [227-228], [249]
Necker, M.,
his "Défense du Roi," [76-78];
French ultra-Royalist's hatred of him, [124]
Norbury Park, [1], [3], [6];
evening gathering in "picture-room" described, [96-99];
Druids' Walk, [236], [261]
PARIS, Archbishop of,
flies from the city and commits his diocese to the care of the Abbé Edgeworth, [111]
Pepys, Sir Lucas,
physician to the Princess Amelia, owner of Juniper Hill, [252-253]
Péthion, Mayor of Paris,
ovation to him during the Féte of the Federation, [5]
Phenice Farm,
temporary home of the d'Arblays, [168];
its beautiful situation, [189]
Phillips, Captain Molesworth,
served as Lieutenant of Marines under Captain Cook, witnessed murder of Captain Cook, his gallant conduct, [60-63];
receives visit from M. d'Arblay, [63-64];
visit to Juniper Hall, [75-77];
at Fanny Burney and M. d'Arblay's wedding, [166-168];
leaves Mickleham and settles with his family in Ireland, [225-226]
Phillips, Mrs (sister of Fanny Burney),
describes arrival of French colony in Mickleham, émigrés hire Juniper Hall, cottage at Nest Humble occupied by Madame de Broglie, [37];
her visit to Juniper Hall with Mr. and Mrs. Lock, introduced to Madame de la Châtre, meets MM. de Montmorenci, de Jaucourt, de Narbonne, and General d'Arblay, [52-56];
describes M. d'Arblay's first visit to her cottage, [63-67];
grieved at decrees passed by Convention against émigrés, Narbonne's offer to appear at Louis XVI.'s trial, visits to Juniper Hall, meets Girardin, Jaucourt, Narbonne, and M. Sicard, hears Necker's "Défense du Roi" read aloud, [74-78];
"terrible events in France," M. d'Arblay's words about his "unhappy country," Narbonne's account of affairs in France, Madame de la Châtre takes leave of Mrs. Phillips, [91-94];
describes evening gathering at Norbury Park, arrival of M. de la Châtre, [96-107];
meets Lally-Tollendal at Juniper Hall and hears him read his "Mort de Strafford," description of his person, mentions Malouet and the Princesse d'Hénin as visitors at Juniper Hall, [127-128];
Mr. Jenkinson at Juniper Hall, describes Madame de Staël and Talleyrand's amusing conversation, [129-131];
kindness of émigrés to little Norbury, [134];
intercourse with Madame de Staël, Talleyrand, Narbonne, and M. Dumont, her parting with Me. de Staël, [134-144];
letter to Fanny concerning M. d'Arblay's visit to Chesington, [153-154]
her testimony in favour of the marriage of Fanny Burney and Alex. d'Arblay, [161];
is present at their wedding, [165-168];
leaves Mickleham and settles with family in Ireland, [125-126], [238]
Phillips, Norbury (child of Captain and Mrs. Phillips),
M. d'Arblay's kindness to him, [65-66];
sent to Juniper Hall, [67];
a favourite with the émigrés, [134-136];
Duchess of York's anecdote of, [221], [261]
Piozzi, Madame see Mrs. Thrale
Piozzi, Mr., second husband of Mrs. Thrale,
meets Dr. Burney in society, [198]
Pitt, William,
M. d'Arblay's memorial to him offering to serve in expedition to Toulon, [178];
offer refused, [187-188]
Planta, Miss,
former colleague at Court of Miss Burney, [213-215], [217], [252]
Poix, Prince de,
his testimony in favour of M. d'Arblay's character, [160-161];
name in list of subscribers for "Camilla," [210]
Poix, Princesse de, [130]
Porte, M. de la, [8-9];
delivers Malouet's letter to King, its reception, [10-11];
executed, [92]
Princes, the (Louis XVI.'s brothers),
their distress, disbanding of their army, their "pigmy Court" at Coblentz, [100-106]
Princess Royal, eldest daughter of George III., [220-221]
Pusy, B. de, fellow prisoner of Lafayette, [229]
REVOLUTION of August 10, 1792, [15-16]
Reynolds, Sir Joshua,
his admiration for "Evelina," [149], [222]
Riece, Comte de,
visitor at Camilla Cottage, his generosity to the émigrés, [248-249]
presides in Hall of Commune, Madame de Staël brought before him, [29], [138]
Rochefoucauld, Duc de La,
massacred, [46-47];
Condorcet's ingratitude to him, [73-74]
Rothes, Lady, wife of Sir Lucas Pepys,
residing at Juniper Hill, receives visit from Princess Amelia, [252-253]
Roule, Section of, Malouet brought before meeting of, [32-33]
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques,
peaceful life at Ermenonville, Stanislas Girardin a pupil of his, [72];
"l'asile de Jean-Jacques" at foot of Leith Hill, [73]
St. Just. M, de,
his fierce speech for trial and condemnation of the King, [73]
protects Madame de Staël's property, [30]
Schwellenberg, Madame,
First Keeper of the Robes to Queen Charlotte, her tyranny of Fanny Burney, [80-81], [218]
Sheffield, Lord,
invites Liancourt to reside with him while in England, [51];
at Mrs. Crewe's déjeuner at Hampstead, [202]
Sicard, M.,
officer in Lafayette's army, at Juniper Hall, [75];
at Mrs. Phillips' cottage, [121]
Smith, Sydney, his remarks on Talleyrand's wit, [133]
Staël, M. de (Swedish Ambassador),
absent from Paris during Revolution of August 10, [18]
Staël, Madame de, [3];
eye-witness of Féte of the Federation of 1792, her account of it, [5-7];
interview with Malouet, her plan to rescue King and Queen, plan rejected by them, [8-9];
her opinion of King's conduct on August 10, [15];
endeavours to rescue proscribed friends, Narbonne concealed in her house, her interview with emissaries of the Commune, saves Narbonne's life, rescues Jaucourt and Lally-Tollendal, her interview with Manuel, [18-23];
her adventures on September 2, perilous journey to the Hôtel de Ville, appears before meeting presided over by Robespierre, her courageous defence, Manuel comes to her assistance, her carriage and belongings defended from pillage by Santerre, escorted home by Manuel, is conducted as far as barrier by Tallien, [26-31];
her rescue of Jaucourt, [68];
at head of the Mickleham colony of émigrés, receives details of last hours and execution of Louis XVI., [109-110];
meets Fanny Burney at Mickleham, invites her to stay at Juniper Hall, her character and conduct described by Fanny Burney, by Dr. Bollman, by Miss Berry, and by Lord Byron. [115-118];
intercourse with Talleyrand, reads tragedy of "Tancred" to Miss Burney and her friends, her letters in English to Fanny Burney, evening at Juniper Hall, reads part of her work "Sur le bonheur" which is admired by Talleyrand, [121-124];
Miss Burney's defence of her character and conduct, [124-126];
interview with Mr. Jenkinson, evening at Juniper Hall, amusing talk, [130-131];
her remarks on the art of conversation, Tallyrand's bons-mots addressed to her, [132-133];
drives in cabriolet, her remark about the Rue du Bac, [134-135];
remarks upon her character by Lord Byron and others, gathering of friends at Juniper Hall, hurt at failure of intercourse with Fanny Burney, is summoned by her husband to join him in Belgium, grief at parting with her friends, friendly message to Miss Burney. takes leave of Mrs. Lock and Mrs. Phillips, Miss Burney's sorrow at having hurt her, [136-144];
congratulates Miss Burney on her marriage, her lines on "Norbury Park," [171-172];
her "Defence" of Marie Antoinette addressed to the French nation, saves the lives of Jaucourt and M. de Montmorenci, [186-187]
Strachan, Mr., printer of "Camilla,"
visits Madame d'Arblay at Camilla Cottage, [249-251]
Sutherland, Lady,
befriends proscribed persons, espouses cause of Lally-Tollendal, [21]
TALLEYRAND, M. de, [3];
his bon-mot concerning Montmorenci, [52-53];
decree of "accusation" pronounced against him, [92-93];
his conversation, [119-121];
admires Madame de Staël's work, "Sur le bonheur," [123-124], [125];
criticises Madame de Staël's mode of reading aloud, [130];
his remarks on the art of conversation, his bons-mots, [131-133], [134];
at Juniper Hall, at Norbury Park, his conversation, [137-140]
conducts Madame de Staël across the barrier, [31]
Thrale, Mrs., [80];
Fanny Burney, visits her, [151];
Dr. Burney meets her after her marriage to Mr. Piozzi, [188-189]
proposed expedition to, in aid of Louis XVII. and Consitution, [177-180], [182-183];
failure of expedition, [187-188]
Tuileries, [8], [10];
attacked by mob, [15-16]
WALES, Princess of,
at Mrs. Crewe's déjeuner at Hampstead, receives visit from Mrs. Crewe and Dr. Burney at Blackheath, [203-204]
Walpole, Horace (afterwards Lord Orford),
his words about Fanny Burney's Court appointment, [79], [223]. [259]
Wylie, Mr. late owner of Camilla Lacey, [242]
YORK, Duke of,
his defeat at Dunkirk, [182-183];
at Windsor, [219-220]
York, Duchess of,
her anecdote of Norbury Phillips, [221]
Young, Arthur,
his friendship with Duc de Liancourt, contrast of characters, his letter to Charlotte Burney on her marriage, [41-48];
Fanny Burney visits him at Bradfield Hall, he receives Liancourt, [47-51];
his letter to Fanny Burney, [194-195]
Young, Mrs., [43-47]


[Page 6]

1 Joseph Weber, a foster-brother of Marie Antoinette.

[Page 7]

1 This estate, called Lamotte, bordered the sea-coast.

[Page 10]

1 Late Minister of Foreign Affairs.

[Page 12]

1 Late Minister of Marine.

[Page 13]

1 American Ambassador.

[Page 23]

1 Before six months had elapsed Manuel had perished on the scaffold.

[Page 28]

1 Madame de Staël was at that time in delicate health.

[Page 31]

1 The same man who later on delivered France from Robespierre.

[Page 49]

1 The name assumed by Me. de Genlis.

[Page 67]

1 Mrs. Phillips usually gives the conversations of the émigrés in French. It has been thought well for the most part to render them in English.

2 The Rev. Thomas Twining, an accomplished Greek scholar and translator of Aristotle's "Poetics."

[Page 70]

1 Daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Lock.

[Page 72]

1 Stanislas Girardin.

[Page 81]

1 Her salary was only £200 a year.

[Page 82]

1 Dr. Burney occupied a suite of apartments in Chelsea Hospital, where he held the post of organist.

[Page 85]

1 Frederica (Mrs. Lock), so named after Frederick the Great, who was her godfather.

2 "Reflections on the French Revolution."

[Page 88]

1 French Ambassador in London.

[Page 95]

1 Of 1791.

[Page 99]

1 Gilpin's "Observations on the Picturesque in Art."

[Page 105]

1 See Daudet's "Histoire de l'Emigration."

[Page 110]

1 The Abbé belonged to the same family as that of the writer Maria Edgeworth.

[Page 121]

1 Mr. Clark.

[Page 129]

1 See "Mallet du Pan and the French Revolution," by Bernard Mallet.

[Page 131]

1 "Reminiscences of the late Prince Talleyrand," edited by M. Colmache.

[Page 143]

1 The school formerly stood near to the Church and also to the wayside inn of the "Running Horse" where the stage-coaches stopped.

[Page 157]

1 Miss Burney's pension from the Queen.

[Page 162]

1 Fanny's sister Esther and her husband, Rousseau Burney, lived in Titchfield Street.

[Page 173]

1 Prince de Poix.

2 Princesse d'Hénin.

[Page 187]

1 These gentlemen had returned to France some months previously.

[Page 192]

1 A French inventor whom Fanny had met at the house of Mrs. Thrale.

[Page 195]

1 Mrs. Thrale's town house was in Portman Square.

[Page 196]

1 Name of a gardener in a drama of Fontenelle's.

2 "Camilla," then lately begun.

[Page 199]

1 A favourite toast at Brooks's Club was "Buff and blue and Mrs. Crewe."

[Page 206]

1 Now preserved in the "Burney Parlour" of Camilla Lacey.

[Page 213]

1 One of the ladies-in-waiting and a former colleague of Miss Burney.

[Page 217]

1 The successor to Madame Schwellenberg.

[Page 234]

1 Charlotte (Mrs. Francis) had for some time been a widow.

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