Discovering "Evelina": An Old-fashioned Romance / A Companion Book to "The Jessamy Bride"

by Frank Frankfort Moore

It had all come to her now. She had had her dreams from time to time when working at her novel—dreams of recognition—of being received on terms of equality by some of the lesser literary people who had visited the house in St. Martin’s Street, and had gone away praising the musical talents of her sisters, but leaving her unnoticed. Her aspirations had been humble, but it seemed to her so stupid to be stupid in the midst of a brilliant household, that she longed to be able to do something that would, at least, cause their visitors of distinction to glance into her corner and recognize her name when it was spoken in their hearing. That was all she longed for at first—to be recognized as “the one who writes,” as people recognized “the one who plays.”

But since Signor Rauzzini had come upon the scene her ambitions had widened. She dreamt not merely of recognition, but of distinction, so that he might be proud of her, and that she might not merely be spoken of as the wife of the Roman singer. That dream of hers had invariably been followed by a feeling of depression as she reflected upon the improbability of its ever being realized, and if it should not be realized, all hope of happiness would pass from her life. Thus it was that for some months she had lived with the cold finger of despair constantly pressing upon her heart. She was so practical—so reasonable—that she could never yield herself up to the fascination of the Fool’s Paradise of dreams; she was ready to estimate her chances of literary success, and the result of the operation was depressing. How could any young woman who had seen so little of life, and who had been so imperfectly educated, have any hope to be received as a writer of distinction? What claim to distinction could such a girl as she advance in the face of the competition that was going on around her in every branch of distinctive work?

For some months her good sense and her clear head were her greatest enemies; evermore bringing her back to the logic of a life in which everything is represented by figures, from a great artistic success to a butcher’s bill—a life in which dreams play a part of no greater significance than the splendid colours clinging about the West in the unalterable routine of the setting sun.

Many times she had awakened in the night to weep as she felt the bitterness of defeat; for her book had been given to the world and the world had received it as the sea receives a stone that is flung upon its surface. That simile of the stone and the sea was constantly recurring to her, and every time she saw that it was weak—that it fell short of meeting her case, for her book had made no stir whatsoever in the world, whereas a stone, however small it might be, could not be given to the sea without creating some stir on the surface of the waters.

And then, quite unexpectedly, had come a whisper from the world to tell her that her book had not been submerged: the whisper had increased in volume until it had sounded in her ears like a shout of acclamation, telling her that the reality had far surpassed her most sanguine dreams, and that common-sense reasoning is sometimes farther astray in its operation than are the promptings of the most unreasonable ambition.

These were her rose-tinted reflections while driving with her father from Chessington to Streatham, a journey which represented to her the passing from obscurity to distinction, the crossing of the Jordan and the entering into the Land of Promise.

Fanny Burney has herself told the story of her father’s coming to her at Chessington, and of her dear old friend’s reception of the marvellous news that Dr. Burney brought to him—of the phrases which she overheard while the two men were in a room together—the incredulous exclamations—“Wonderful—it’s wonderful!”—“Why, she has had very little education but what she has given herself—less than any of the others”—“The variety of characters—the variety of scenes, and the language”—“Wonderful!” And then Mr. Crisp’s meeting her, catching her by the hands as she was going in to supper, and crying, “Why, you little hussy, ain’t you ashamed to look me in the face you—you ‘Evelina,’ you! Why, what a dance you have led me about it!” Miss Burney has brought the scene vividly before our eyes in her Diary.

It was one of the happiest days of her life; she saw the pride with which her father regarded her, for Dr. Burney was a practical man who valued achievement as it deserved, and was, besides, the best of fathers, and the most anxious to advance the interests of his children. He looked with pride upon his daughter, and talked of her having made Mr. Lowndes a wealthy man. His estimate of her earning powers had increased: he now declared that even if Lowndes had paid a thousand pounds for the book, his profits off it would enable him to buy an estate!

It was the happiest evening of her life; and now she was in the chaise with her beloved father, driving to Streatham, where they were to dine, and Dr. Johnson was to be of the party. This meant more than recognition, it meant the Land of Promise of her ambitious dreams.

She had many matters to reflect upon at this time, but all her reflections led to the one point—her next meeting with Rauzzini. The truth that had been revealed to her among Sir Joshua Reynolds’ superb canvases, that love was more than all else that the world could give her, remained before her, as a luminous fixed star, to be a guide to her life; and the happiness that she now felt was due to the thought that she could go to the man whom she loved, without a misgiving, without fearing that he would hear those dreaded voices of the world saying that he had been a fool to ally himself with a nonentity, or that she would hear the whispers of those who might suggest that she had done very well for herself. She had long before made her resolution only to go to him when she could do so on terms of equality. At that time her resolution seemed to shut her out from all chances of happiness; she knew this, but at the same time she believed that it would shut both of them out from every chance of unhappiness; and so she had allowed it to dominate her life.