Название | Fanny Burney and Her Friends: Select Passages from Her Diary and Other Writings |
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Автор произведения | Burney Fanny |
Жанр | Языкознание |
Серия | |
Издательство | Языкознание |
Год выпуска | 0 |
isbn | 4064066247034 |
1. Owen and Blakeway’s ‘History of Shrewsbury,’ vol. ii., p. 388.
2. Actress and singer; married Theophilus Cibber, son of Colley Cibber. She was a special favorite with Handel, who wrote much of his contralto music for her. In the latter part of her career she was associated with Garrick at Drury Lane. Born, 1714; died, 1766.
3. This lady wrote verses, and acquired some repute by a poem entitled ‘A Prayer for Indifference.’
4. ‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney, by his Daughter, Madame d’Arblay,’ 1832.
5. Author of a didactic poem, ‘The Art of Preserving Health.’
6. Born at Lynn, December 4, 1756; LL.D. Aberdeen, 1792; vicar of Deptford, prebendary of Lincoln, chaplain to the King; died 1817.
7. The writer seems to have had in view the lines of Pope:
‘That live-long wig, which Gorgon’s self might own,
Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.’
By the buckle of a wig was meant its stiff curl when in trim condition.
8. Walpole to Bentley, March 6, 1754.
9. Thorne’s ‘Environs of London.’ The name is now written Chessington, but we retain the spelling which was always used by Fanny Burney and her friends.
10. ‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney,’ vol. ii., p. 185.
11. Preface to the ‘Wanderer.’
12. Edward, brother of King George III.
13. The title-page runs: ‘An Essay towards the history of the principal Comets that have appeared since 1742; with remarks and reflections upon the present Comet; to which is prefixed a Letter,’ etc. London, 1769. It is a curious instance of Madame d’Arblay’s inaccuracy in the matter of dates, that she writes in detail of this little tract, the title of which she misquotes, as having been produced when ‘the comet of the immortal Halley’ was being awaited. (‘Memoirs of Dr. Burney,’ vol. i., pp. 214–217.) But it was in 1759, not 1769, that Halley’s Comet returned. For notices of the comet of 1769, see the Gentleman’s Magazine of that year.
14. The house is now No. 35. It was occupied by Newton from the time when he became President of the Royal Society down to his death in 1727. He did not actually die there, as has been sometimes stated, but at Orbell’s Buildings, Kensington, whither he used to resort for change of air. See Notes and Queries, Third Series, i. 29. For the number of the house during Dr. Burney’s occupation, see a letter from him to Fanny in her Diary, New Edition, vol. i., 297.
CHAPTER II.
Life in St. Martin’s Street—Increase of Fame and Friends—Garrick’s First Call—Confusion—The Hairdresser—‘Tag-rag and Bobtail’—The History of Histories—Imitation of Dr. Johnson—The Great Roscius—Mr. Crisp’s Gout—Correspondence between him and Fanny—Dr. Burney’s Concerts—Abyssinian Bruce—Supper in St. Martin’s Street—Italian Singers—A Musical Evening—Visit of Count Orloff—His Stature and Jewels—Condescension—A Matrimonial Duet—The Empress’s Miniature—Jemmy Twitcher—Present State of St. Martin’s Street—Mr. and Mrs. Thrale—Dr. Johnson—Visit of the Thrales and Johnson—Appearance of Dr. Johnson—His Conversation—His Contempt for Music—Meeting of Dr. Johnson and Mr. Greville—Mrs. Thrale Defiant—Signor Piozzi.
Frances Burney’s Memoirs of her father, her letters to Daddy Crisp, and her Diary, together, give us a pretty distinct idea of her life in the little street south of Leicester Square. From the time when Dr. Burney became established in that quarter, the circle of his friends and his reputation steadily widened. In no long time he made acquaintance with his neighbours, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Miss Reynolds, and their nieces, the Misses Palmer; with another neighbour, the sculptor Nollekens; with the painter Barry, Harris of Salisbury,[15] Mrs. Ord, Sir Joseph Banks, and Abyssinian Bruce, then just returned from his travels. All these and others were, from time to time, to be found in the Doctor’s modest drawing-room, together with many old friends, such as the Stranges, Garrick, Colman, Mason, the Hooles, father and son, Twining, and Baretti.
We have, in the ‘Memoirs,’ an account of David Garrick’s first call at the house in St. Martin’s Street, which, though written in the author’s later style, was no doubt derived from contemporary notes or journals:—It was early morning, and the doorsteps were being washed by a new housemaid, who, not recognising the actor, demurred to his entering unannounced. He brushed past her, ran upstairs, and burst into the Doctor’s study. Here he found the master of the house under the hands of his hairdresser; while Susanna was reading a newspaper to him, Charlotte making his tea, and Fanny arranging his books. There was a litter of papers everywhere. Burney would have cleared a chair, but the visitor plumped down into one that was well cushioned with pamphlets, crying: ‘Ay, do now, Doctor, be in a little confusion! Whisk your matters all out of their places, and don’t know where to find a thing that you want for the rest of the day, and that will make us all comfortable.’ The Doctor then, laughing, returned to his place on the stool, that his wig—or, as Madame d’Arblay calls it, the furniture of his head—might go through its proper repairs. David, assuming a solemn air of profound attention, fastened his eyes upon the hairdresser, as if wonderstruck at his amazing skill. The man, highly gratified by such notice from the celebrated Garrick, briskly worked on, frizzing, curling, powdering, and pasting, after the mode of the day, with the utmost importance and self-complacency. Garrick himself had on what he called his scratch wig, which was so uncommonly ill-arranged and frightful that the whole family agreed no one else could have appeared in such a state in the public streets without risk of being hooted at.at. He dropped now all talk with the Doctor, not even answering what he said, and seemed wholly absorbed in watching what was going on; putting on, by degrees, with a power like transformation, a little mean face of envy and sadness, such as he wore in representing Abel Drugger, till at length, in the eyes of the spectators, he passed out of himself altogether, and, with his mouth hanging stupidly open, and his features vacant of all expression, he became the likeness of some daubed wooden block in a barber’s shop window. The friseur, who at the beginning had felt flattered on seeing his operations so curiously observed, was put