4 Dec. 1819.
To no one else in the world would I have written, dearest Mrs. Pennington; but you are so good and so partial. Other friends can find signs enough of torpor. Miss Williams's Beau, as we call him,—Mr. Wickens,—found me fast asleep on the sopha; he is a good creature and was sorry:—said the world was now coming to an end most surely, when such symptoms attacked, in the middle of the day, your H. L. P. If it goes on, my favourites must contrive to do without me. Our old King came into the world but a short time before his dutyful subject who writes this, and who hopes to get away in his train—if possible.
I have little thought to bestow on Dramatick Exhibitions; but Mr. Mangin, who is a classical Scholar, and has leisure to amuse himself with those who provide pastime for the rich and idle, said, when Conway acted Coriolanus here, that he had never seen the Roman Toga worne so gracefully. He has not yet left London. Macready was a fine promising Actor when I saw him last, three or four years ago: a very gentlemanly man too. We dined together at dear Dr. Gibbes's.
Mr. Pennington has, I hope, taken a new lease. Gout is a pledge of long life, if long life be indeed desirable. I begin to find it very burthensome to myself and my attendants, out of whose power it is to alleviate anything I feel. Dr. Whalley will do well enough among nieces and nephews, devoted to him of course, if he has retained any thing to divide among them at the hour of dissolution.
The Dipper at Weston super Mare came here on a visit yesterday, bringing me Fish and Poultry; how good natured! But I hear of a still cheaper and more charming place along the Cornish Coast, where chickens for 6d. each may yet be had, and Fish for almost nothing.
Meanwhile the Great are not exempt from ill-health or cares, any more than we. A general mourning will come, consequent on the Duchess of Gloster's death as on that of the King, and both will alike ruin my wretched Fête;—a foolish promise! but I must keep it now, and it will be the last folly.
With regard to Politics, they go very ill no doubt. My long life can call up but one year in which the machine went so as to please everybody: and there was printed at the beginning of the new Almanacks these words, observed perhaps by no one but myself,
In seventeen hundred and sixty—tis written,
All strife and contention shall cease in Great Britain.
In effect there was but this dispute in Parliament, whether our Success was the cause of our Unanimity, or our Unanimity the cause of our Success. And Garrick's song ending every stanza with
Cheer up, my Lads, with one heart let us sing
Our Soldiers, our Sailors, our Statesmen, and King
shews the same spirit. I believe they were never so praised en masse but that one time, which nobody recollects except—Yours and Mr. Pennington's
H. L. P.
In 1760, the year of George the Third's accession, Pitt's vigorous administration had, for the moment, annihilated party feeling. Wolfe's victory at Quebec had terminated the French rule in Canada; the battle of Plassey had given us Bengal; the French power in Southern India was broken by Coote; the engagement in Quiberon Bay testified to our power at sea; and England stood forth as the first maritime and colonial power in the world.
Tuesday, 7 Dec. 1819.
Threatening me as you do, dear, nervous Mrs. Pennington, I will, I must write directly. But surely we are neither of us such younglings as to fancy things at 80 years old can go on as they did at 40. We might then be shown for a show. It would be silly to believe my inside possessed its pristine strength, and the want of that strength leads to various uneasinesses, ill-described in a letter. We will do as well as we can.
Meanwhile assure yourself that one wonder does wait upon your newly-restored friend. At fourscore years old her outside is the best of her. Dr. Gibbes is too wise a man to wish to attend much; he knows there is nothing to be done, and what would you have him do? Mr. Cam the Baby Catcher would have suited me better to-day. The late Duke of Glo'ster kept one in the house the last six weeks of his wretched life's wretched end.
Weston did me nothing but service; gave a power to the unelastic nerves, and consoled body and mind. All is as it should be, though I do not think Conway's all-expressing countenance showed him contented with the looks of his Patroness yesterday, when he dropped in among other morning callers. I will mind Mr. Pennington's good advice and yours, and not disappoint the Boys and Girls of their Gala.
Salusbury and his wife will soon be here, I hope you will like them....
There is a pretty Book come out, very pretty indeed, against the Blasphemers; but I will not put my feeble hand to the Ark, assure yourself. That women should keep silence in the Church is a good injunction, and should be obeyed now more than ever....
Bath, 10 Dec. 1819.
Well now, dearest Mrs. Pennington, I have got a complaint I can talk of, or write about—a sore throat!—tho' never out of this warm room since Sunday. I fancy it is caused by relaxation,—talking about you to Mr. Conway, who saw your charming letter.... Tho' I did say, in a prudent humour, that he should see as little as possible either of your letters or yourself....
How is your fortune going forward? Smilingly I hope; and how will my Gala get forward if I do nothing but write funny letters to Mrs. Pennington, instead of calling names over to fill up the Cards with, or sit and chat with dear Conway concerning past sorrows and future prospects. He says he is come to act Master Slender: and thin he is most certainly: but so young-looking, never. I hope we shall make a full house to witness his first performance in Coriolanus next Monday. Can't you come over anyhow without serious risque? It would be pity to miss such an exhibition, and your retentive memory has Kemble's mode of acting it well impress'd. Mine reflects back only one Scene, I think, and he never saw Emperor John in his short life.
The Salusburys come next Tuesday sennight, and where shall I get them lodgings? I am all in a fuss, as the Ladies say; and wish you were helping me to do the nothings I busy myself about.
The world looks white, but it is not the robe of innocence; gilt and gloom lie under, and will burst out—upon the thaw. Conway's account of Carlisle's tryal froze me with horror....
The last appearance of John Philip Kemble was at his Benefit at Covent Garden in 1817, so there is no reason why Conway should not have seen him, though perhaps not in the part of Coriolanus.
Fryday night, 17 Dec. 1819.
.... On Wednesday Conway acts Iachimo to Warde's Posthumus. They neither of 'em ever performed the characters, and it will be a pleasure worthy of Mrs. Pennington. How will you manage? Better make business subservient to enjoyment, and come. The Coriolanus electrified us all; and my amiable friend gets admirers and invitations every day. We spent our last evening at the Fellowes's. The Hon. Mr. Burrell there promised to introduce him to some Club of Gentlemen, who will all attend when Benefit time comes on, and will, I hope, compensate him in some measure for his past sufferings....
I suppose [the Salusburys] will just come time enough for my Foolery, which plagues me to death already. "Would it were night, Hal! and all well!"[28]
[28] "I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well."—1 Henry IV, V. i. 125.
John Prescott, who assumed the additional stage-name of Warde, had appeared at Bath in 1813, and till shortly before this date had been acting at the Haymarket. Mrs. Piozzi had a great admiration for his talents, and had helped to organise a Benefit for him in March.
Monday, 20 Dec. 1819.
Well, dearest Friend, I sent your letter to Conway, who is already in love with you, and wishes the impression he has already made not to be taken off by Iachimo. His wishes of being presented to you are most warm and cordial; he thinks you love his little Patroness, and I feel happy in the fancy that you will one day love each other, and talk confidentially concerning your poor H. L. P. when she is supposed to be far out of hearing....
My winter is not tedious for want of engagements. I am torne to pieces with invitations, and am forced to dine at Archdeacon Thomas's on Thursday, when I wished to be in the Theatre: but our Friend says we have time before us. So he has, if it please God, and so have you; but 80 years of my life are past, and I wish this winter was past too, that spring might make our intercourse more easy.
My Ball and Supper begin to be a plague to me, but I somehow hope and fancy that they may be of use to him whose welfare is really very near the heart of yours faithfully,
H. L. Piozzi.
In a note written three days afterwards Mrs. Piozzi announces that she and Conway are hoping to pay Mrs. Pennington a visit the following week, and then goes on: "Mrs. Stratton bore true witness to your impatience of our Separation; and indeed when the fine Statue we disagreed about has been pulled down a dozen years!!! 'tis fit the cobwebs should remain no longer." Can this really have been the origin of a misunderstanding between two sincerely attached friends, which lasted for fifteen years? It seems almost too ridiculous, but is the nearest approach to an explanation of the mystery afforded by the letters.