CHAPTER XII.
Miss Burney at Norbury Park—Execution of the French King—Madame de Staël and Talleyrand at Mickleham—Miss Burney’s Impressions of M. d’Arblay—Proposed Marriage—Visit to Chesington—The Marriage takes place—A Happy Match—The General as Gardener—Madame d’Arblay resumes her Pen—Birth of a Son—‘Edwy and Elgiva’—Acquittal of Warren Hastings—Publishing Plans—The Subscription List—Publication of ‘Camilla’—Visit of the Author to Windsor—Interview with the King and Queen—A Compliment from their Majesties—The Royal Family on the Terrace—Princess Elizabeth—Great Sale of ‘Camilla’—Criticisms on the Work—Declension of Madame d’Arblay’s Style—Camilla Cottage—Wedded Happiness—Madame d’Arblay’s Comedy of ‘Love and Fashion’ withdrawn—Death of Mrs. Phillips—Straitened Circumstances—The d’Arblays go to France—Popularity of Bonaparte—Reception at the Tuileries and Review—War between England and France—Disappointments—Life at Passy—Difficulty of Correspondence—Madame d’Arblay’s Desire to return to England—Sails from Dunkirk.
On the opening of 1793, the French Constitutionalists were at the lowest point of depression and disgrace. They were reviled on all hands for having given weight and impetus to a movement which they were impotent to control. Norbury Park and Mickleham were eager that Miss Burney should see their new friends and judge them for herself. “Your French colonies,” she wrote in reply to Mrs. Locke’s pressing invitation, “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.” Having tarried long enough to pay her birthday duty to the Queen, she left London at the commencement of the season, and went down to Surrey. A day or two after her arrival came the news of the French King’s execution. The excitement caused by this intelligence quickened the already frequent intercourse between the Lockes and Juniper Hall, and Fanny soon found herself on familiar terms with the refugees. Before the end of January, Madame de Staël appeared on the scene, and placed herself at the head of the little colony. Necker’s daughter had earned the rage of the Commune by her exertions to save life during the massacres of August and September; nor was it at all clear that the privilege which she enjoyed as wife of the Swedish Ambassador would avail for her protection. She had, therefore, crossed the Channel, and now joined her Constitutionalist friends at Juniper Hall, whither she was soon followed by Talleyrand, who had come to England in her company. No other party of refugees could boast two names of equal distinction, though French titles had become plentiful as blackberries in several parts of England. Madame de Staël paid the most flattering attention to the author of ‘Cecilia,’ whose second novel had procured her considerable reputation in Paris. A warm but short-lived intimacy between the two ladies ensued. No two persons could be less suited to one another than our timid, prudish little Burney and the brilliant and audacious French femme de lettres. The public acts of the Bishop of Autun—‘the viper that had cast his skin,’ as Walpole called him—had not inclined Fanny in his favour; but his extraordinary powers conquered her admiration, and as she listened to the exchanges of wit, criticism, and raillery between him and Madame de Staël, she could see for the moment no blemishes in either, and looked on the little band of exiles, some of whom could almost vie with these leaders, as rare spirits from some brighter world. The group, consisting at different times of some dozen persons,[[112]] were all most agreeable; but one, perhaps the least dazzling of the whole constellation, proved more attractive than the rest:
“M. d’Arblay,” wrote Fanny, “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 have 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.”
The natural consequences followed. In a few days we read: “I have been scholaring all day, and mastering too; for our lessons are mutual, and more entertaining than can easily be conceived.” Our novelist, in short, was more romantic than any of her own creations: Evelina, Cecilia, and Camilla were prosaic women compared with Frances. On the verge of forty-one, she gave away her heart to an admirer, suitable to her in age, indeed, but possessing neither fortune, occupation, nor prospects of any kind. Whatever property d’Arblay could claim, the Convention had confiscated. Fanny herself had nothing but the small annuity which she enjoyed during the Queen’s pleasure, and which might be discontinued if she married this Roman Catholic alien. Such a match, in any case, implied seclusion almost as complete as that from which she had recently escaped. This was anything but the issue that her father had been promised when he was pressed to sanction her resignation. It is not surprising, therefore, that he wrote her a remonstrance stronger and more decided than he had been in the habit of addressing to any of his children. But Dr. Burney stood alone. The Lockes and Phillipses were as much fascinated by their French neighbours as his enamoured daughter. Susanna was in avowed league with the enemy. Mr. Locke gave it as his opinion that two persons, with one or more babies, might very well subsist on a hundred a year. Thus assailed by opposing influences, Fanny went to deliberate in solitude at Chesington, and sauntered about the lanes where she had planned ‘Cecilia,’ wondering if the Muse would ever visit her again. The General’s pursuing letters convinced her that his grief at her hesitation was sincere and profound. He made a pilgrimage to see her, which vouched his devotion, and gained him the support of her simple hostesses, Mrs. Hamilton and Kitty Cooke, who wept at his tale of misfortunes, and learned for the first time what was meant by the French Revolution. Finally, through the mediation of his favourite Susanna, Dr. Burney was persuaded to give way and send a reluctant consent. The wedding took place on the 31st of July, 1793, in Mickleham Church, in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Locke, Captain and Mrs. Phillips, M. de Narbonne, and Captain Burney, who acted as proxy for his father. On the following day, the ceremony was repeated at the Sardinian Chapel in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, according to the rites of the Romish Church.
The marriage proved eminently happy. Dr. Burney, though he shrank from giving away the bride, was a respecter of accomplished facts, and soon became on excellent terms with his new son-in-law. The late impetuous lovers proceeded to translate their romance into the most sober prose. Love in a cottage had been the goal of their ambition. Mr. Locke had promised a site for the cottage; but as funds for building it were not immediately forthcoming, the pair went first into farm lodgings, afterwards into a hired house of two or three rooms at Bookham, within two miles of Mickleham and Norbury Park. D’Arblay, a man of real honour, would have left his wife, almost in their honeymoon, to fight for Louis XVII. at Toulon; but his offer of service was declined by the English Government, and thenceforth the General resigned himself to wait for better times. Like a sensible man, il cultivait son jardin. Like a man of sense, but not like a good husbandman. His wife, who, notwithstanding her happiness, seems to have lost her sense of humour very soon after matrimony, enjoyed one of her last hearty laughs at the expense of her lord:
“This sort of work is so totally new to him, that he receives every now and then some of poor Merlin’s[[113]] ‘disagreeable compliments’; for when Mr. Locke’s or the Captain’s gardeners favour our grounds with a visit, they commonly make known that all has been done wrong. Seeds are sowing in some parts when plants ought to be reaping, and plants are running to seed while they are thought not yet at maturity. Our garden, therefore, is not yet quite the most profitable thing in the world; but M. d’A. assures me it is to be the staff of our table and existence.
“A little, too, he has been unfortunate; for, after immense toil in planting and transplanting strawberries round our hedge here at Bookham, he has just been informed they will bear no fruit the first year, and the second we may be ‘over the hills and far away.’
“Another time, too, with great labour, he cleared a considerable compartment of weeds; and when it looked clean and well, and he showed his work to the gardener, the man said he had demolished an asparagus bed! M. d’A. protested, however, nothing could look more like des mauvaises herbes.