The young Roscius (William Henry West Betty), whose acting at the age of twelve created such a furore, and whose popularity for a time eclipsed that of Mrs. Siddons, had already appeared at Bath in 1812. He retired from the stage in 1824 and died in 1874.
Bath, Tuesday Night,
6 June, 1820.
... Mr. Ward has taken leave, and all the Ladies wept. Such was the croud, I am told, that James my man could not get in to any place he could stand upon.
The Londoners will have as good food for starers as Mr. Ward can give the Bath folks. Queen Caroline is said to be arrived, and is to inhabit Wanstead House. The rumours and reports are indeed innumerable....
Meanwhile my heart is heavy with affliction at losing an old, tried, and true friend, Archdeacon Thomas. Poor man! and poor Mrs. Thomas! for whom my heart bleeds. He was buried in the Abbey, where he was walking with Dr. Harington, his father-in-law, some few years ago. "Let us look," said they, "for a place where we may lie." "Ay, Thomas, so we will, for
These ancient walls, with many a mouldering bust,
But shew how well Bath Waters lay the dust."
repeated the ever-ready Doctor.
How long, dear Mrs. Pennington, am I to live? How many valuable companions am I to lose? These gentlemen were among the very pleasing ones I have known.... Thank God Salusbury and Conway—dear Lads—are young, and likely to last me out. But when they do not write my foolish heart is fluttering for their safety,—naughty children as they are in neglecting to send me a letter. I have heard but once from Brynbella since my £100 went there....
Mrs. Dimond told [Miss Williams] that Bath would have a sad loss of Mrs. Piozzi; but the Queen will put everything but herself out of everybody's head. The weather is wonderfully dull; so is my letter....
Henry Harington, M.D., Physician to the Duke of York, was a talented musician, and founder of the Bath Philharmonic Society. A letter quoted by Hayward describes him in 1815 as "listening with delight to his own charming compositions. The last Catch and Glee are said to be the best he ever wrote." The incident mentioned above took place the same year. There is a curious little note about him in Mrs. Piozzi's Commonplace Book. "Dr. Harrington, who was then 88 years old, never took any air or exercise that he could possibly avoid, going constantly to his patients in a Sedan; and held a handkerchief before his face to keep the air away."
Another note, dated June 7, 1820, runs as follows: "Am I, H. L. P., sorry to leave Bath? No, but I should be half sorry to think I never should return, which it is most probable I never shall; my age so far advanced. Well, God's will, not mine, be done."
Penzance, Tuesday 25 Jul. 1821.
[clearly a slip for 1820.]
My dearest Mrs. Pennington will be pleased to hear that we arrived safely at Penzance last night.... All we are told about the place seems true.... We shall get a good house, with a sea view ... upon the Regent's Terrace, paying £16 o' month, thro' the whole ten, from 1st of August next to 1st of June 1821....
Our dear Conway's name at length appears in the Morning Post, summoning his troops to meet in the Green Room of the new Theatre, Birmingham. If Mrs. Rudd does not know it, do her the honour to call with the information.
I wish the ship was come with our Cook, and our books, and our luggage. A Mr. Paul shew'd me 4 fine Red Mullets he had just paid a penny each for, this very morning: yet the Inn gave us a stale Soal yesterday, and will charge a shilling at least for it. But Honesty is a shrub harder to raise than Myrtle, which grows here in open air sure enough, and the people are so fond of it that they plant the beautiful Bay out of their sight as much as possible, preferring green trees to blue waves completely.
St. Michael's Mount is a disappointing object, at least to me; and as to the country we came thro', nothing ever looked so poverty-stricken, except the very roughest part of North Wales in rough days, before they had begun enclosing. Goats browsing wild about the rocks, as in some districts of Snowdonia, serve the peasants as good substitutes for cattle, who could not pick a living so as to enable them to give milk for the innumerable children that crowd the cottages. Yet Mrs. Hill complains that they grow saucy, and refuse Barley Bread now, which used to be their regular sustenance. I have not, however, seen a beggar, and the shops are splendid, while the streets are odious,—too filthy, too mean to be endured. Bangor and Beaumaris would be ashamed of them. I might have had a good house for two Guineas o' week, but could not away with the situation, coming from Clifton Hill. Peat stacks at every turn shew what fires they use here in the winter, but till last January snow had not been seen for many years, and it lasted but one day. The tide here is like that in the Mediterranean, just visible the Ebb and Flow; tho' full moon to-day, no rise appears to my eyes that are unused to a land-locked bay, and which, (foolishly enough), expected an open Ocean, such as the Sussex coast exhibits. But old Neptune here puts on a quiet aspect, resembling that he wears at Weymouth or at Tenby. No mud however offends the Bathers, and no Machine assists them.
I saw the Holmes, and pretty Mendip Lodge, as we came along, and fancied I could discern Weston super Mare, whose Sea View Place is just such a row of houses as Regent's Terrace; only we have here such magnificent gardens, and one good house in the middle of the row, looking down with true contempt on the mouse-holes each side it:—and that Mansion I am in chase of, only suspecting that, before we knew it was to be had, I entangled myself in a mouse-hole.
The women here are beautiful. The Lady of Mousetrap Hall, with whom I have entangled myself, has eyes like Garrick's, teeth like Salusbury's, complexion like your own, but cruel as lovely. I fear she will not let me off; and in her house I should regret the ample space of your house, or mine at Weston super Mare.
I have half a mind not to let this go till I have finally settled this great affair. Great indeed just now, for as Goldsmith said
"These little things are great to little men."[33]
And on this 26th—I shall sit, fret, and dine
In a chair-lumber'd closet, just eight feet by nine.
For I feel myself after all condemned to the Mousehole for three months certain; £2, 15s. 0d. per week, with a view of the sea, and then (if we live to see November), Mr. Paul's comfortable Mansion at next door.
[33] The Traveller.
Penzance, Wed. 3 August, 1820.
Charming Mrs. Pennington's beautiful letter was indeed most welcome, tho' it does put me a little more out of humour with my run-away frolic than I was before it arrived....
Now for Penzance and its Parties. Mrs. Hill made a splendid one, for me I rather think, and my black satten gown (for no other is yet arrived,) was my best garment. Bessy lent me a cap of hers, and my youthful looks were duly appreciated—my whist-playing applauded. We had two tables, one for shillings, one for sixpences; a profusion of exquisite refreshments, and music in another room. Oh! if I escape all temptations to sensuality, I shall live to see dear Mr. and Mrs. Pennington again, and the Hot Wells, and Clifton Terrace, where I shall surely jump for very joy. But these Red Mullets and Dorees for two pence o' piece will certainly destroy some of us. Poor Bessy has been seriously, I might say dangerously ill, from indulging in a Crab; it made James sick too; all the family half-killed,—for the small price of a groat the fish, and a Pound to the Dr.... a real Physician, thank God, and not a country 'Pothecary....
The people know not how to be civil enough, and if my stomach will reconcile itself to the clouted cream, I shall come home as fat as the pigs of the country, and such pork did I never see. Our own garden affords potatoes for us all, and onions etc., besides the flower plot, perfuming the very air around with carnations of every hue, Myrtles of every form, and exotic shrubs with Linnean names innumerable. The appearance of our Mansion, pleasure ground, and kitchen garden, reminds me of Kingsmead Terrace, Bath; but James says the houses here are by no means so spacious as that where your compassion carried you when our incomparable Conway was so ill. I hope he has proved himself irresistible, and what must the heart be over which he cannot, if he pleases—triumph?... Oh! if I possessed an unappropriated £100 in the world, I would go see him act once again, that I would.... I am glad Mrs. Rudd's heart seems lighter than when we left her; the Rogue has never written to me, no, not a scrap; but she had an earlier pretension to his regard, I think it is scarce a truer.
Meanwhile Sophia Hoare has written me a more good-humour'd letter than usual, and I am so delighted! Maternal love is the only good thing mankind can not throw away. It springs fresh with the least drop of water flung upon it. She wishes her illustrious Neighbour out of Town I see, and says wisely that her present residence being so near the Barracks is unfortunate, because the soldiers' wives and children are among her every night's applauders. The Hoares are used to be violent opposers of the Ministry, but Democrates like to have their property held sacred, as well as you or I; and firing houses will make no sport to the Bankers, I trow.
So now pray accept these not elaborate verses: they will amuse Mr. Pennington's gout.
Around their Queen
Here are seen,
Sharp'ning every sting,
Bees,—alarming
By their swarming
People, Peers, and King.
But in their tricks,
Should they fix
On our property;
They must learn
To discern
That when they sting, they die.
Surely such Cakes, Jellies, etc., as they use here for refreshments, all new and warm, were never seen at Bath or London, so various, so profuse. I never touch them, certainly, but never was so tempted. No Confectioner's shop visible in the place, all made at home.
With regard to rain, we live in a cloud of soft mist, rain, if you please to call it so; certainly a perpetual damp, warm moisture. Lady Jane James said, you know, that she never put on a dry chemise at St. Michael's Mount, and truly did she speak; but nobody ever told me that the sea here is as tame as the country is wild. Wild without sublimity, coarse externally, like other Misers; its riches all concealed underground. I saw Hay carried last night, two months after the environs of Clifton. But I have wrong'd old Neptune; he can roar, I hear him now, thank Heaven. Oh! how much more delightful is the music he now makes than that of the pretty Ladies of the parties, to the rude ears of dearest Mrs. Pennington's everlastingly obliged and faithful
H. L. P.
Aug 3. Fateful month! but no clothes, no books, no Cook, no Conway's portrait yet for poor H. L. P.
Cook, books, and clothes were still in the Port of Bristol, as Mrs. Pennington writes on the 29th, waiting, as it appeared, for the captain to make up his freight; and might then be expected to take from four days to a fortnight—according to the wind—to make Penzance.
The renewed enthusiasm for Queen Caroline was aroused by the anticipation of the Bill of Pains and Penalties, intended to dissolve the marriage, which was brought in on August 14, but proved so unpopular, both in and out of Parliament, that it had to be dropped.
On August 10 Mrs. Pennington is able to announce that the Happy Return had actually sailed, with Mrs. Piozzi's belongings, five days before. Conway had been to see his mother, and had called on herself, rather, she thinks, from civility than from choice. "There was a polite distance assumed, evidently for the purpose of repressing enquiry.... I am persuaded we trouble ourselves much more about his concerns than he either wishes or likes." She gathered, however, that he had secured some sort of recognition from his father. She alludes to the letter of "lovely Mrs. Hoare," whom "I always liked ... because I thought her more personally like you than any of the Ladies."