“You may suppose, after that, nobody asked for a closer view of any more of his ornaments! The good, yet unaffectedly humorous philosopher of Salisbury, could not help laughing, even while actually blushing at it, that his own curiosity should have involved The Ladies in this supercilious sort of sarcastic homage.
“There was hardly any looking at the picture of the Empress for the glare of the diamonds. One of them, I really believe, was as big as a nutmeg: though I am somewhat ashamed to undignify my subject by so culinary a comparison.
“When we were all satisfied, the miniature was restored by General Bawr to the Prince, who took it with stately complacency; condescendingly making a smiling bow to each fair female who had had possession of it; and receiving from her in return a lowly courtesy.
“Mr. Harris, who was the most curious to see the Empress, because his son, Sir James[45], was, or is intended to be, minister at her court, had slily looked over every shoulder that held her; but would not venture, he archly whispered, to take the picture in his own hands, lest he should be included, by the Prince, amongst The Ladies, as an old woman!
“Have you had enough of this concert, my dear Mr. Crisp? I have given it in detail, for the humour of letting you see how absorbing of the public voice is La Gabrielli: and, also, for describing to you Prince Orloff; a man who, when time lets out facts, and drives in mysteries, must necessarily make a considerable figure, good or bad—but certainly not indifferent,—in European History. Besides, I want your opinion, whether there is not an odd and striking resemblance in general manners, as well as in Herculean strength and height, in this Siberian Prince and his Abyssinian Majesty?”—vol. ii. p. 43–60.
The authoress’s account of the publication of the first volume of Dr. Burney’s History of Music, and its presentation to the Queen, occupies three pages, but contains no new information whatever, except that the Doctor was so delighted by her Majesty’s condescension in receiving the presentation copy, that he thenceforward never omitted to attend the Court on the birth-days. The shortness of this musical article is, however, immediately and fully made up for by an episode of full fifty pages, about Streatham, the Thrales, Dr. Johnson, Piozzi, &c.; in which all that relates to Dr. Burney might be comprised in almost as many words. But the authoress must be forgiven; she evidently wrote these memoirs under at least a double influence, and over her pen
‘Divisum imperium cum Burney Johnson habet.’
The next episode which the authoress has introduced is one on which we would willingly be silent, and which we heartily wish, for her own sake, she had either omitted, or, at least, curtailed within one tenth the limits to which it is extended. It is the history of the origin, writing, printing, and anonymous publication of the authoress’s first novel, which every patron and patroness of a circulating library still knows is entitled ‘EVELINA; or, a Young Lady’s Introduction into Life;’ together with the further history of the effect this anonymous novel made, first in the novel reading, and then in the literary world; then the discovery of the authoress, which, curiously enough, seems to have been first made by the Doctor himself; who, by the way, was in the secret of his daughter’s being an authoress; though ignorant whether her maiden production was a spelling book or a homily; then the anonymous triumphs achieved by Evelina over Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, &c.; then the bashful, half-reluctant consent that Mrs. Thrale, if pleased by reading it, might be admitted into the secret; and, finally, the full meridian blaze of popularity with Honourables and Right Honourables, Doctors, M.P.’s, statesmen, Lords Chancellor, and bas bleus, sounding aloft its praises from one end of the English Parnassus to the other. All this occupies fifty goodly pages, closed by an extract from a memorandum book of the Doctor’s, which gives the pith of the story in two,—but in which, singularly enough, the Doctor, though penning a private memorandum, never hints at how or whence he came to the knowledge of the secret. But this is not the worst; the game once started is never allowed to rest,—throughout the remainder of the volume scarce a conversation is reported which does not contain some well-turned compliment (always from some leading character) to Evelina and its authoress. At a bas-bleu meeting Mr. Soame Jenyns stands up, and delivers a regular eulogium on Evelina and its authoress. Sir Joshua Reynolds gives a dinner, to introduce to each other (we hardly know which to place in the first rank of celebrity, so follow the rule of Plâce aux Dames) the Authoress of Evelina and the Right Honourable Edmund Burke. At this dinner the following remarks were made, and are detailed by the authoress herself:—
“There has been,” Mr. Burke then, smilingly, resumed, “an age for all excellence; we have had an age for statesmen; an age for heroes; an age for poets; an age for artists;—but This,” bowing down, with an air of obsequious gallantry, his head almost upon the table cloth, “This is the age for women!”
“A very happy modern improvement!” cried Sir Joshua, laughing; “don’t you think so, Miss Burney?—but that’s not a fair question to put to you; so we won’t make a point of your answering it. However,” continued the dear natural knight, “what Mr. Burke says is very true, now. The women begin to make a figure in every thing. Though I remember, when I first came into the world, it was thought but a poor compliment to say a person did a thing like a lady!”