Madame d’Arblay’s Plans for her Son—Landing in England—Arrival at Chelsea—Saddening Change in Dr. Burney—Alexander d’Arblay at Cambridge—Publication of the ‘Wanderer’—Death of Dr. Burney—Madame d’Arblay presented to Louis XVIII.—M. d’Arblay appointed to the Corps de Gardes du Roi—Arrives in England and Carries Madame back to France—Madame d’Arblay presented to the Duchess d’AngoulÊme—The Hundred Days—Panic at Brussels—M. d’Arblay invalided—Settles in England—His Death—Remaining Days of Madame d’Arblay—Visit from Sir Walter Scott—The Memoirs of Dr. Burney—Tributes to their Value—Death of Alexander d’Arblay—Death of Madame d’Arblay—Conclusion.

Madame d’Arblay had other reasons for wishing to return to England besides the mere desire to see her father and kindred. The longer her only child remained in France, the greater risk he ran of being caught by the conscription, which continually increased its demands. The young Alexander was now of an age to be prepared for a profession, and it cannot be doubted that his mother was anxious to make provision for this purpose. Before leaving Paris, she had begun a treaty in London for the publication of her fourth story. Through what channel this was done we do not learn, but as early as December, 1811, Lord Byron^[123] had heard that a thousand guineas were being asked for a new novel by Madame d’Arblay. She brought the manuscript over with her in a half-finished state.

The travellers did not escape the perils of the time, though happily they were taken prisoners by their own countrymen. They and several others had engaged berths on board an American vessel, the astute captain of which delayed his departure so long, in order to obtain more passengers, that when at length he entered British waters, he found himself a prize to the coastguard, news having just arrived that the United States had declared war against England.

It was the middle of August when mother and son found themselves again on English ground. ‘I can hardly believe it,’ writes the former to her sister Charlotte, now Mrs. Broome; ‘I look around me in constant inquiry and doubt; I speak French to every soul, and I whisper still if I utter a word that breathes private opinion.’ She goes on to describe her meeting with her father: ‘I found him in his library by himself—but, oh! my dearest, very much altered indeed—weak, weak and changed—his head almost always hanging down, and his hearing most cruelly impaired. I was terribly affected, but most grateful to God for my arrival.’ During the separation, Dr. Burney had not been unfortunate until the infirmities of age overcame him: the pension which he ought to have received from Mr. Pitt had been procured for him by Mr. Fox. He had been happily employed in writing for Rees’s EncyclopÆdia; had received flattering notice from the Prince of Wales; had heard his Royal Highness quote Homer in Greek and imitate Dr. Parr’s lisp, and talked familiarly with him at the opera; had been a courted guest in many great houses; and had enjoyed the meetings of the Club till his sight and hearing both began to fail. When he could no longer go abroad, he spent most of his time in reading in his bedroom. Madame d’Arblay employed herself during this visit to England in nursing her father in his last days, in settling her son at Cambridge, and in bringing out her new book.

Having obtained the Tancred scholarship, Alexander d’Arblay commenced residence at Christ’s College, Cambridge, in October, 1813. He eventually graduated as tenth Wrangler, and became Fellow of his college. ‘But,’ says Macaulay, who had mixed with his fellow-students, ‘his reputation at the University was higher than might be inferred from his success in academical contests. His French education had not fitted him for the examinations of the Senate House;^[124] but in pure mathematics we have been assured by some of his competitors that he had very few equals.’

‘The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties’ appeared in the beginning of 1814. Notwithstanding the falling-off which had been observed in ‘Camilla,’ the whole edition of the new work was bespoken before it was published. In six months, 3,600 copies were sold at two guineas a copy. But it may be doubted whether the most conscientious reader persevered to the end of the fifth volume. Ten years of exile had destroyed all trace of the qualities which made ‘Evelina’ popular.

Dr. Burney lived to his eighty-eighth birthday, and died at Chelsea on the 12th of April, 1814, in the presence of his recovered daughter, who had tended his last hours. A tablet to his memory, bearing an inscription from her pen, was placed in Westminster Abbey.

A few days after his death, Madame d’Arblay was presented to Louis XVIII. By desire of Queen Charlotte, she attended a reception held by the restored King in London on the day preceding his departure for France. Her sovereign—for it must be remembered that she was now a French subject—paid her the most courteous attention. Addressing her ‘in very pretty English,’ he told her that he had known her long, for he had been charmed with her books, and ‘read them very often.’ He bade her farewell in French, with the words ‘Bonjour, Madame la Comtesse.’

M. d’Arblay had no further reason to complain of Bourbon ingratitude. Within a few weeks he received a commission in the King’s Corps de Gardes, and soon afterwards he was restored to his former rank of MarÉchal de Camp. He obtained leave of absence towards the close of the year, and came to England for a few weeks; after which Madame d’Arblay returned with him to Paris, leaving their son to pursue his studies at Cambridge.

In the early weeks of 1815, Madame d’Arblay was admitted to an audience of the Duchesse d’AngoulÊme, the King’s niece; close on which followed the return of Bonaparte from Elba, and the Hundred Days. Neither the General nor his wife seems to have felt any alarm till the Corsican reached Lyons. Then a passport was obtained for Madame, that she might be able to leave France in case of need, while her husband remained fixed to his post in the capital. In the night between the 19th and 20th of March, after the King had left Paris, and not many hours before Napoleon entered it, Madame d’Arblay took her departure, accompanied by the Princesse d’HÉnin. After many difficulties and misadventures, the fugitives reached Brussels. In that city Madame d’Arblay was presently joined by her husband, who had followed Louis XVIII. to Ghent with the rest of the royal bodyguard. She remained in Brussels till the close of the campaign, and for some weeks longer. At a later date she wrote from memory a narrative of what befell her during this period. It includes a description of the scenes that occurred in the Belgian capital while the armies were facing each other within cannon-sound of its streets. The account is graphic, though too diffuse to be quoted at length; evidently it furnished Thackeray with much of the material for the famous chapters in ‘Vanity Fair.’ We give some abridged extracts:

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.”

In January, 1837, she lost the last prop of her old age. Alexander d’Arblay, having taken Orders soon after his degree, became minister of Ely Chapel in 1836, and was about to marry, when he was carried off by an attack of influenza. His mother survived him nearly three years: she had a severe illness, attended by spectral illusions, in November, 1839; and died in London on January 6, 1840—a day which she had observed from the beginning of the century in memory of the death of her sister Susanna. She was buried at Walcot, near Bath, by the side of her husband and their only child.

Except for the production of the “Memoirs,” the last quarter of a century in Madame d’Arblay’s life was barren both of incident and employment. The details of her experience during the preceding fifteen years could not fail to interest us, if we had them related as she would have told them in her prime. Especially, we should like to know something more about that long detention in France, when chafing under police restrictions, and fretting for news from home, her heart vibrated to the continual echoes of cannon announcing Napoleon’s victories. But Fanny married, and growing elderly, was quite a different person from the Fanny of St. Martin’s Street and Chesington, of Streatham and Bath, of Windsor and Kew. Her Diary proper came to a final stop with the death of Mrs. Phillips in 1800. She will always be remembered as Frances Burney of the eighteenth century. Deriving her inspiration in part from Richardson, she heads the roll of those female novelists whose works form a considerable part of English literature. The purity of her writings first made the circulating library respectable. “We owe to her,” says Macaulay very justly, “not only ‘Evelina,’ ‘Cecilia,’ and ‘Camilla,’ but ‘Mansfield Park,’ and the ‘Absentee.’ Yet great as was her influence on her successors,^[125] it was exhausted before the present century began. Indeed, it has been suggested, with some reason, that the excessive sensibility of her heroines is answerable for a reaction in Miss Edgeworth and Miss Austen; for the too great amount of bright and cold good sense of the first; for the over-sobriety of feeling of the second.^[126] Fanny’s genius for expressing character in dialogue, aided by touches of description, placed her among the first memoir-writers of that journalizing age. A little more power of compression would have made her diaries equal to the best of Boswell’s sketches.

“The author herself,” says Mr. Leslie Stephen, “with her insatiable delight in compliments—certainly such as might well turn her head—her quick observation and lively garrulity, her effusion of sentiment rather lively than deep, but never insincere, her vehement prejudices corrected by flashes of humour, is always amusing.” We may assent to every word of this sentence, and yet feel that it does its subject something less than justice. We trust that our readers have found Fanny amusing; we trust also that they have recognised in her the possession of some higher qualities. If she was vain, her egotism was of the most innocent kind. It was more harmless than Goldsmith’s, for we cannot recall in her utterances a single envious or jealous remark. Of how many self-conscious authors can the like be said? The simple love of praise which led her to entertain her acquaintance with what was said about herself, has assisted to render her interesting to a wider circle. “Vain glory,” says Bacon quaintly, “helpeth to perpetuate a man’s memory: like unto varnish that makes ceilings not only shine, but last.” If she had strong prejudices, they were free from every taint of personal malevolence. Her dislike of the Opposition resembled Johnson’s professed hatred of the Scotch, at which the doctor himself used to laugh. She goes to the trial of Hastings, full of zeal for his cause, and spends her time there chiefly in conversing with his prosecutors. And however prejudiced on some points, she was far from narrow-minded on many matters of controversy. Though brought up a strict Protestant, she married a Roman Catholic. Though to the end of her days an attached daughter of the English Church, she expresses unqualified esteem for the piety of those very pronounced dissenters, Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld. The sympathy between herself and her own family was at all times perfect. There were no rivalries among them. “I am sure,” she wrote modestly in 1800, “my dear father will not think I mean to parallel our works.” She was extremely pleased when Queen Charlotte declared a tale published by her half-sister Sarah to be “very pretty.” Her faithfulness to duty and her friends was celebrated by her royal mistress in the saying that Miss Burney was “true as gold.” When she had cast in her lot with her Chevalier, no isolation, no privation, no anxiety for the future could make her repine. “I never forget,” she wrote in her poverty, “Dr. Johnson’s words. When somebody said that a certain person had no turn for economy, he answered, ‘Sir, you might as well say that he has no turn for honesty.’“ Whatever cavils have been raised by Croker and one or two like-minded detractors, no artifice or indirect dealing can be laid to her charge, even in literary matters, in regard to which such manoeuvres are too often deemed excusable. We are not holding her up as a pattern of elevated or extraordinary virtue. She was simply the best representative of a worthy and amiable family who had been trained in the school of Samuel Johnson. That type of character has passed away. The rugged old dictator’s political creed is unintelligible to the present age; his devotion is taken for superstition or formalism; his canons of criticism are obsolete. His disciples felt nothing of what was stirring in the air. They were but little accessible to fresh ideas. The cause of popular freedom, the Evangelical movement in religion, the romantic spirit in poetry appealed to them with the smallest effect. They were zealous for authority; they were not in the least introspective; when they wanted a line or two of verse, they nearly always went to Pope for it. The speculations, the problems of the modern world were all unknown to them. They were far less inclined to embrace new dogmas of faith or agnosticism than to observe old rules of action. Yet when we read the annals of the Burneys—the accomplished, the genial, self-respecting, conscientious, pious Burneys—may we not be pardoned for thinking that there was a good deal, after all, in those antiquated Johnsonian principles?

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CAMBRIDGE. By J. W. Clark, M.A. With many Illustrations by A. Brunet-Debaines and H. Toussaint. 6s., cloth.

WINDSOR. By W. J. Loftie, dedicated by permission to Her Majesty the Queen. With many Illustrations. 6s.

STRATFORD-ON-AVON. In the Middle Ages and the Time of the Shakespeares. By S. L. Lee. With many Illustrations. 6s., cloth.

EDINBURGH. Picturesque Notes. By Robert Louis Stevenson. With many Illustrations. 3s. 6d., cloth; 5s., roxburgh.

CHARING CROSS TO ST. PAUL’S. Mr. Justin McCarthy. With Illustrations by Joseph Pennell. 6s., cloth.

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