“Not above a quarter of an hour had I been restored to my sole occupation of solace, before I was again interrupted and startled; but not as on the preceding occasion by riotous shouts; the sound was a howl, violent, loud, affrighting, and issuing from many voices. I ran to the window, and saw the Marché aux Bois suddenly filling with a populace, pouring in from all its avenues, and hurrying on rapidly, and yet as if unconscious in what direction; while women with children in their arms, or clinging to their clothes, ran screaming out of doors; and cries, though not a word was ejaculated, filled the air, and from every house, I saw windows closing, and shutters fastening; all this, though long in writing, was presented to my eyes in a single moment, and was followed in another by a burst into my apartment, to announce that the French were come!
“I know not even who made this declaration; my head was out of the window, and the person who made it scarcely entered the room and was gone.
“How terrific was this moment! My perilous situation urged me to instant flight; and, without waiting to speak to the people of the house, I crammed my papers and money into a basket, and throwing on a shawl and bonnet, I flew downstairs and out of doors.
“My intention was to go to the Boyds, to partake, as I had engaged, their fate; but the crowd were all issuing from the way I must have turned to have gained the Rue d’Assault, and I thought, therefore, I might be safer with Madame de Maurville, who, also, not being English, might be less obnoxious to the Bonapartists....
“What a dreadful day did I pass! dreadful in the midst of its glory! for it was not during those operations that sent details partially to our ears that we could judge of the positive state of affairs, or build upon any permanency of success. Yet here I soon recovered from all alarm for personal safety, and lost the horrible apprehension of being in the midst of a city that was taken, sword in hand, by an enemy....
“The alerte which had produced this effect, I afterwards learnt, though not till the next day, was utterly false; but whether it had been produced by mistake or by deceit I never knew. The French, indeed, were coming; but not triumphantly; they were prisoners, surprised and taken suddenly, and brought in, being disarmed, by an escort; and, as they were numerous, and their French uniform was discernible from afar, the almost universal belief at Brussels that Bonaparte was invincible, might perhaps, without any intended deception, have raised the report that they were advancing as conquerors.
“I attempt no description of this day, the grandeur of which was unknown, or unbelieved, in Brussels till it had taken its flight, and could only be named as time past.”
The writer’s pleasure at the success of the Allies was saddened by an accident which happened to General d’Arblay, who, while employed in raising a force of refugees at Trèves, had received a severe wound in the calf of his leg from the kick of a restive horse. This misfortune impaired still further a constitution already weakened. Being for the time disabled for service, and having passed his sixtieth year, the General found himself placed on the retired list, and obtained leave to settle with his wife in England. When sent on a mission to Blucher, he had been honoured by his master with the title of Comte, which, as being conferred only par une sorte d’usage de l’ancien régime, and being neither established by patent, nor connected with the ownership of an estate, he never used after the occasion on which it was given. He died at Bath on May 3, 1818.
Little remains to be told of the life of Madame d’Arblay. During her residence at Bath she renewed her acquaintance with Mrs. Piozzi. We have a long and entertaining account from her pen of an escape from drowning which she met with while staying at Ilfracombe. But with this exception, her last diaries and letters contain little of interest. Soon after the death of her husband she removed to No. 11, Bolton Street, Piccadilly. Her latter days she spent chiefly in retirement, seeing few persons but her own relations, and a small circle of established friends. Among the latter were Mrs. Locke and the poet Rogers, with the latter of whom she had made acquaintance on her first return from France. She was delighted, however, by a visit from Sir Walter Scott, who was brought to her by Rogers. Sir Walter, in his Diary for November 18, 1826, thus records the interview: “Introduced to Madame d’Arblay, the celebrated authoress of ‘Evelina’ and ‘Cecilia,’ an elderly lady with no remains of personal beauty, but with a simple and gentle manner, and pleasing expression of countenance, and apparently quick feelings. She told me she had wished to see two persons—myself, of course, being one, the other George Canning. This was really a compliment to be pleased with—a nice little handsome pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairy-maid, instead of the grease fit only for cart-wheels which one is dosed with by the pound. I trust I shall see this lady again.”
From the year 1828 to 1832, she occupied herself in compiling the Memoirs of Dr. Burney. This book, published in her eightieth year, has all the faults of her later style, in their most aggravated form. But her friend Bishop Jebb, while gently hinting at these defects, could honestly congratulate her on the merit of her work. “Much as we already know of the last age, you have brought many scenes of it, not less animated than new, graphically before our eyes; whilst I now seem familiar with many departed worthies, who were not before known to me, even so much as by name.” Southey also wrote to her son: “‘Evelina’ did not give me more pleasure, when I was a schoolboy, than these Memoirs have given me now; and this is saying a great deal. Except Boswell’s, there is no other work in our language which carries us into such society, and makes us fancy that we are acquainted with the persons to whom we are there introduced.”