Chapter VII (2)

.... Don't be alarmed. Our Chevalier will do _well_; I hope in
_every_ sense of the word. But happy or unhappy, he will do
_right_ I am sure, and _more_ than well. James Harris says, you
know, nothing _can_ happen that shall prevent a wise man from
behaving wisely, an honourable man from behaving honourably; and
for _his_ conduct I will stake my life.

He must be diligent to-day, for he is to act Mark Antony
to-morrow, and you will not see him, which will mortify us both,
but he had no notice till this morning....

I am sick of my Foolery before it begins, _very_ sick indeed,
tho' people send me kind encouragement too....

James Harris, M.P. for Christchurch, whom Johnson set down as "a prig, and a bad prig," is best known as the author of _Hermes_, of which he gave Mrs. Piozzi an interleaved copy before her first marriage.

_Monday 24._

My dearest Mrs. Pennington must stay over Saturday; our
Chevalier comes out in a new character, and seems to like
it. His Mark Antony transcended all I ever saw of scenic
perfection,--dramatic rather. The tender pathos with which he
said, "Oh! pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,"[29] was
beyond all praise, and _Lady_ Salusbury liked it. Sir John seems
to consider Conway as much inferior to Warde in beauty, voice,
and action: and the Chevalier's bright eyes, seeing how opinion
goes, drop when he enters the room. They have dined but once
together indeed, but both can see into a mill stone as far as
most men. We meet at Bourdois' and Burney's to-morrow, and he
acts Moranges on Wednesday. He will be introduced to the Masonic
Honours on Thursday; and then give you, whom he justly adores,
the meeting at my Concert. If he does not dance with the proper
Partner, it will vex you and me both: but he _will_--surely he
will. Meanwhile here's a flood to fright one. He, and all the
people at the bottom of our town are in real danger....

[29] _Julius Cæsar_, III. i. 254.

The weather hurts everybody, and the applications to me for
cards make me, like Othello, _perplex'd in the extreme_.[30]
Here comes a tempest of visitants; no gloomy sky keeps them
away....

[30] _Othello_, V. ii. 346.

On the following day Mrs. Pennington replies:

.... This weather will thin your room and lessen your expences,
notwithstanding the unreasonable demands upon you for
additional cards of admission. One half of the people originally
invited will be laid up in their beds, as my dear Husband is at
this moment with the Gout.... There is not now a chance of his
being able to move by Thursday ... I am more than sorry, I am
_grieved_! I feel _nobody_ amongst numbers without my Husband.
He will not however hear of my staying at home. He says I must
have the satisfaction of seeing you in your glory, surrounded by
all those who best love, and most admire you....

Every tribute paid to the dear Chevalier delights me.... I am
perfectly _up_ to the preference given to Warde's talents and
beauty. _I foretold it._ Our favourite is so _very_ superior
that he is much more likely to excite envy than admiration
from his own sex. In this instance it is indeed Hyperion to a
Satyr....

Ah! I am just informed of the sad news. The Duke of Kent is no
more! What heavy afflictions fall on the House of Coburg! That
poor Lady, left a stranger in the land, is much to be pitied!
They were happier, as married people, than those of their rank
can in general boast of being....

Her great fête to celebrate her eightieth birthday passed off most successfully. The concert, ball, and supper drew a crowd of over 600 people to the Assembly Rooms on January 27. Her health was proposed by Admiral Sir James Saumarez, and received by the company with three times three. She opened the ball with Sir John Salusbury, dancing, as Mangin remarks, "with astonishing elasticity," but in spite of her exertions the callers next day found her as well, and as mirthful and witty as usual.

Conway was present among the crowd, but in such a state of suffering, mental and physical, as prevented him from enjoying the entertainment himself, or contributing to the enjoyment of others. A letter from Mrs. Pennington dated Sunday, January 30, gives an account of a visit she had paid him the previous day, just before her return to Clifton, when she found him "like 'mobled Hecuba,'[31] hooded up in handkerchiefs and bandages," suffering from what she calls a tumour.

[31] _Hamlet_, II. ii.

_Sunday, 30 Jan. 1820._

My dearest Mrs. Pennington's sweet silver tongue has done
our noble blooded, noble minded Friend more good than all my
_written wisdom_. He promises me now explicitly, (and Conway
will keep his word,) that he will in all things take your
advice. "Kind, charming Lady!" is his expression, "she has bound
me to her with ribs of steel." ...

What a world it is! and you, and I, and he _all_ proud of our
talents, if we would confess it. Fine folly!

Is it of intellectual powers,
Which time developes, time devours,
Which forty years we may call ours,
That Man is vain?
Of such the Infant shows no sign,
And Childhood dreads the dazzling shine
Of knowledge, bright with rays divine,
As mental pain.
Worse still, when passions bear the sway,
Unbridled Youth brooks no delay,
He drives dull Reason far away,
With scorn avow'd.
For forty years she reigns at most,
Labour and study pay the cost;
Just to be raised, is all our boast,
Above the crowd.
Sickness then fills th' uneasy chair,
Sorrow succeeds, with Pain and Care,
While Faith just keeps us from despair,
Wishing to die.
Till the Farce ends as it began,
Reason deserts the dying man,
And leaves,--to encounter as he can
Eternity.

.... Bessy's increasing illness grieves me. Dr. Gibbes _tries_
to save her from Consumption. We could not call him sooner.
She is now cover'd with Blisters, after which come Leeches and
James's Powder, with orders to eat _nothing at all_ but--Milk.

The noble blood attributed to Conway evidently refers to a story, mentioned later by Mrs. Pennington, that he was a natural son of one of the Marquis of Hertford's family. He appears to have made an attempt to obtain some acknowledgment of his relationship from his putative father, but without much success; and the failure may have had something to do with his determination to leave England.

King George III died on January 29, six days after the Duke of Kent, and the new king, who was too ill to be present at his father's death-bed, nearly followed him to the grave. He had caught a severe chill, and to relieve the inflammation his medical advisers saw fit to relieve him of 130 ounces of blood, which all but killed him. Yet he was convalescent by February 6.

On February 2 Mrs. Pennington writes: "Your verses, my beloved Friend, are above all praise, for _yours_ they must be, as no one else can delineate such profound thinking with the same ease and perspicuity. The late events do indeed give a grave and solemn tone to one's reflections, and these awful death-bells sounding from every quarter in one's ears, fill me with trembling apprehension for everything that is near and dear to me. I rejoice that George IV was not proclaimed on the anniversary of the Martyrdom of Charles the Ist. To my easily alarmed mind it would have seemed frightfully ominous!...

"I do not wish [Conway] to be in too much haste to renew his visits in Camden Place. I would strongly recommend him to play a _back_ game, and see how absence, and some degree of solicitude, which surely his illness must excite, operates there. It is of the first consequence to _his_ and to _her_ future peace and happiness, that _she_ should be able to appreciate, and _he_ to ascertain, the degree of affection existing on her part. If she has mistaken the sentiment, I think she will now be able to detect the mistake; as nothing is more likely to bring out the truth, than any real or imaginary danger respecting the object. And if the same futile objections remain, depend upon it she _has_ mistaken the feeling, whether she knows it or not, and she would do better to put an end at once to all suspense on the subject...."

_3 Feb. 1820._

I am glad dear Mrs. Pennington approved my Verses, your taste is
so good. They are like lines written in 1712, not at all of a
modern sort. You have seen our Chevalier since I did; he keeps
close, and Bessy, whom I sent to comfort him in his illness,
brings me no good accounts. She is bad enough herself, poor
girl, but pities him: I wish they were both at Clifton under
your care....

Death is near us all, and after death, judgment. Poor Mr.
Eckersall has had a stroke of Apoplexy or Palsy, but the family
seem little aware o'nt: and I was seized with such a lethargic
stupor after dinner yesterday at Dorset Fellowes's, I was forced
to play Loo to keep myself awake, and lost four shillings....

This Recess, shocking as the cause may be, is fortunate for our
Chevalier; and I hope he will shine out and dazzle all beholders
at his Benefit. Don't you remember Siddons saying she never
acted so well as once when her heart was heavy concerning the
loss of a child?

I break off to say the present King is dying. God's judgments
are abroad. Write to dear Conway, and with your sweet eloquence
persuade him to sink all thought of his own calamities in those
of the Nation he is an honour to....

On February 5 Mrs. Pennington replies. "Your letter, dearest Friend, nearly paralysed me. Poor Bessy ill!--Dear Conway no better!--Everybody sick or dying! I am absolutely ill with terror and solicitude! I was quite afraid to enquire for the Papers to-day but, thank God! the accounts of the King are more favourable.... The first impressions I had of perfect manly grace, and princely dignity, were drawn from the fine form and gracious manners of our present Sovereign. Early impressions are always the most lasting. Never have I seen, but in our favourite, dear Conway, anything to compare with him, nor ever shall I see his equal again; and I feel that my affliction would be almost _personal_ grief, should anything fatal happen to him at this time.... God, of his mercy, avert this great additional calamity from us, I most heartily pray....

"Everybody was pleased with the _respectful_ and affectionate attention [of Sir John Salusbury] at the Ball.... I was surprised at some hints dropped at the chagrin he felt on the subject of your _increased_ acquaintance; and could not help telling him, tho' in perfect good humour, that _my_ claims in that line were prior to his own. I was sorry I did not recollect to observe to him, that it was a maxim of Dr. Johnson's, whose wisdom no one could question, 'that we should renew, and keep our acquaintance and our friends in _repair_, as we did our wardrobes, _because they would wear out_.'"

BATH, _Sunday 6 Feb. 1820_.

Bessy is safe, dearest Mrs. Pennington, by dint of bleeding,
starving, blistering. Bessy is safe, ... and our noble-minded,
tender-hearted friend ... is better too; I shall not outlive
_all_ that love me. It is a trying time, and some affliction
falls on every family, the Royal Family worst.

As if Misfortune made the Throne her seat,
And none could be unhappy,--but the Great.

Of the present Sovereign I know nothing _personally_. From the
old King I got a kiss when presented, and the late Regent made
application thro' Murphy, for my acquaintance 20 years ago. But
as Mr. Thrale's _daughters_ were then upon a visit to Streatham
Park, and not their own Father master of the house, I declined
all such honours: and therein acted wisely, which I seldom do....

What you say of an exacting, authoritative friend is most true.
One thinks immediately of Marmontel, "Je baisse les _liens_
de l'amitie,--j'en redoute la _chaine_." I'm willing still to
kiss the links of friendship, but from the chain I fly. Those
_I_ have never found _me_ exacting, or (without request,)
interfering. Friendship is far more delicate than love. Quarrels
and fretful complaints are attractive in the last, offensive
in the first. And the very things which heap fewel on the fire
of ardent passion, choke and extinguish sober and true regard.
On the other hand, time, which is sure to _destroy_ that love
of which half certainly depends upon _desire_, is as sure to
increase a friendship founded on talents, warm with esteem, and
ambitious of success for the object of it. Such feelings depend
on the merit of the man or woman that excites them, and can be
_dull'd_ only by their conduct.

So here's a fine heap of _wise nothings_, as you call your own
preachments,--which I hope our dear Chevalier will thank you for.

The King is safe,--as well as Bessy. Equal in the sight of Him
who created and redeem'd them: very unequal in importance to
those who look up to them for support and assistance.

They _live_ however, and so for awhile does dear Mrs.
Pennington's poor old Friend

H. L. P.

Mrs. Pennington replies in a long letter dated February 9, from which it appears that Conway's love-affair had come to the conclusion she had anticipated. Miss S[tratton] could not stoop to the position of an actor's wife, and insisted on his abandoning his profession, if he was to aspire to her hand, a step which he could not bring himself to take. While full of sympathy for the suffering this decision had caused him, she is quite convinced that, as far as his career is concerned, it is all for the best, and concludes thus:

"I shall hate a _Miss_ something more to the end of my life for his sake, and what is worse, notwithstanding the just and high regard he entertains for you, and his _new liking_ for me, I fear he will contract a hatred for Bath, and I shall see little more of him for the rest of my life: and then what a silly thing have I done to interest myself thus deeply in his concerns! The most astonishing thing of all is the power he possesses of creating so strong and pure an interest in his favour, especially with me, who have long since ceased to feel the influence of that sort of enthusiasm, and am become fastidious from disappointment. In very few instances have I _ever_ experienced the attachment I feel to him! It seems as if that Girl alone was exempt from the power of the magic he bears about him. Well, let her go!--sit down at ease with a Country Squire, 'suckle fools, and chronicle small Beer.' ... But as you say, while we do right, and honourably, and wisely, (and when he has recovered the proper use of his reason--I am sure he will do,) all will ultimately go well, and _better_ than if it had gone _our_ way, depend upon it."

* * * * *

The two "Love Letters," so called, written to Conway on February 2 and 3, when read in connection with those to Mrs. Pennington, show not Mrs. Piozzi's doting fondness for the handsome actor (as the Editor evidently desired to insinuate), but her deep concern for his welfare, and her anxiety lest he should damage his professional prospects by giving way to despondency or despair as the result of his rejection. In the first she subscribes herself "your more than Mother, as you kindly call your H. L. P." In the second she mentions having received a call from the Strattons, and that she could not bring herself to touch the hand of Mrs. S., whom she evidently held responsible for the rupture. She refers to them in her Commonplace Book, in a passage evidently written about this date. "Strattons, a family here, pretended passionate love [for Conway,] and I thought them in earnest, ... dined with me yesterday, and said _all was over_, because the girl's friends would not agree to the connection." The words in brackets have been carefully obliterated, but there is little doubt about them, as Conway's name has been similarly treated in several other places. The last of the "Love Letters" is dated February 28.

_Thursday Evening, 10 Feb. 1820._

My dear Mrs. Pennington's prognostics are always wise,
lucky, and fulfilled; and I doubt not but we shall lose our
accomplished Chevalier,--after this Season,--for ever. Let us
get him a good Benefit first, and send him down the wind, with
fav'ring gales. I will leave, in the vulgar phrase, no stone
unturned to serve him. Meanwhile he is in London, escaping our
wise letters of good advice; of which, if now _weary_, he will
on a future day be _proud_. The world is full of incident, and
some good ones may illuminate _his_ Drama.

Yesterday's post brought word that Lady Salusbury's Father
was most alarmingly ill. To-day's post said he was _dying_.
Yesterday at dinner Salusbury broke one of his fine teeth.
To-day it was drawn, and they are gone to Shropshire. So runs
the world away. Jealous of Aunt's favour, and glad to carry
little Wifey far from that widely spreading influence which,
as you say, throws an attractive halo round us all: which _she_
feels among the rest, for who can 'scape? Sir John's chagrin
won't kill him: and he says he will perhaps come again--_by
himself_--but he will find enough to do at home.

Our Benefit will probably take place towards the end of this
month. Conway comes back to open the Theatre with a swarthy face
on the 18th, in a new Play written by Mr. Dimond;--St. Clara's
Eve. That young man's brother, Charles Dimond, who I used to
say resembled a Thames Smelt, and who has long been settled in
London, marries a girl with £10,000, and pretty besides, a Miss
Wood. Leoni Lee too has found a maid with the _love-beaming
eye_; he took her to St. James's Church yesterday.

The King's calling to his bedside the Duke of Sussex is a pretty
and a tender anecdote. "My Father and my Brother are lying dead
now," said he, "your life, my dear Augustus, is very precarious,
my own saved almost by a miracle. Let us not quarrel more with
each other, while Death is at hand so to quarrel with us all."
Everybody says that Prince's amiable son will marry a daughter
of the Duke of Montrose.

I hope you will begin the next month with _me_, under St.
Taffy's influence: and if you invite me early in the Spring,
when our tall Beau is gone, or going, I will come to Clifton,
and escape visitors. My door never rests here, and when once out
of town, they may knock in vain. But till the Theatre is shut,
or the great Light of it extinguished, the halo hangs round me,
and I shall neither be willing nor _able_ to stir. The less
indeed, because persuaded that his return hither, (unless either
the Gentleman or Lady is married,) is very unlikely, and would
perhaps be imprudent. I mean his professional return, as now, in
the character of principal performer.

Adieu, dear Mrs. Pennington, continue to him your regard;
do not willingly lose sight of him; your value is by him
duly appreciated, and I depend on living long in _both your
memories_. You will often talk together of yours and his true
friend and faithful servant

H. L. P.

The "amiable son" of the Duke of Sussex, Augustus Frederick, born 1794, who took the name of d'Este, died unmarried.

* * * * *

On February 15 Mrs. Pennington replies in two closely-written sheets, full of indignation at the girl who, she is convinced, could never have felt any real love for Conway, or she could not have dismissed him without "one word of sympathy, one token of pity, or sentence of consolation." ... "It was most silly and illiberal to tell him 'she could not support the idea of being sunk in her rank of life, and looked down, on,' etc." ... "I trust, as Dr. Johnson would have said, he will never think of hunting down a _Kitten_ again."

She goes on to refer to the story of his being the son of William Conway, an old college friend of Sir Walter James, who had remarked on the likeness between them. His reputed father must therefore have been Lord William Seymour Conway, sixth son of Francis, first Marquess of Hertford.

Sir Walter "said of his acting, that he was the best Pierre he ever saw, though he had a perfect recollection of Holland, who was thought _perfection_ in the character. That he would advise him by all means to keep clear of the London Theatres for two or three years, and then burst upon them, a _finished_ actor. He said it was remarkable they never received an Actor _as such_, whatever his merits, so young, or so young-looking, as Conway, until more matured by experience and knowledge of the business; and instanced Mrs. Siddons's failure in early life, Mr. Young's, etc. It was some years before Kemble made his way to the popularity he at last attained.... Sir Walter says your verses are the best he has seen of modern verses, and like those sterling things of 50 years back....

"I wonder what the generality of people would think if they were to pick up our letters?"

_16 Feb. 1820._

Thank you kindly, dear Mrs. Pennington, for your kind letters.
Our Chevalier longed to see them whilst in London, and I
disappointed him by not sending them forward. It was the first
pain I ever put him to, and it shall be the last. Our business
is to soothe and solace, not to chide him, or add a particle to
what he suffers. If female friendship is worth anything, let us
benefit and please him all we can. Your part must be to advise,
mine to console; and both of us will try to get him a blazing
night, when once the time is appointed.... Sir Walter James is
very unwell, and I am sorry for it. He always instinctively
loved our friend Conway; and the last time we changed a word
about him, his expression to me was, "I think that young fellow
is all that a man ought to be." ...

Sir Walter James Head, of Langley Hall, Berks, who assumed the name of James, and was created a Baronet 1791, was the great-grandfather of the present Lord Northbourne.

* * * * *

On February 18 Mrs. Pennington writes: "I begin now to get very anxious on the subject of _our Benefit_. I know, by experience, that only _general_ and simultaneous impulse will _fill_ a Theatre or a Ball Room. The Pit and Galleries are prime objects, a showy play is the best attraction there. The boxes there can be no doubt about, and Bessy must exert all her influence with your tradespeople, not only to _take_ Tickets for the other parts of the House, but to _dispose_ of as many as they can. Not a word however about these sordid matters to our high-minded Friend, whose feelings _I_ would not hurt in any way, intentionally, for the world....

"The King was saved to a minute! Dr. Tierney had the courage to do what others durst not hazard;--but his worst sufferings, I fear, are yet to come with that _bad_ woman,--and what mischief have not _such_ women effected? The Duke of Berri's assassination has congealed us all with horror! It is plain that unfortunate family is to have no successor."

Another letter follows, dated February 22, written in much the same strain, and giving an account of a visit from Conway, who acted as the bearer of Mrs. Piozzi's last.

On the 24th Mrs. Piozzi writes a note to say that the Benefit is fixed for March 11, and to arrange for Mrs. Pennington's visit on the 1st. She concludes: "I hate such short letters, but _my_ goose-quill,--poor old Goosey!--is _moulting_ as it appears. The Pens and Paper are worse than ever I remember. Yours at Bristol are better perhaps, I'm sure it _seems_ so."

Mrs. Pennington replies the next day: "What will the S--ns do on _the_ Night? If they absent themselves, known and marked as they [have] been, as dear Conway's staunch and particular Friends, surely it will excite remark? And yet how _can_ they be there? At any rate, if they are, I trust it will be in a situation not to meet _his_ eyes;--I should dread the consequences, at least I know I shall feel it for him in every Nerve. You talk, (with little reason,) of Bath stationery! I cannot get a sheet of paper that is not greasy and full of hairs, nor a pen that will pass over them without blotting, and when I look at your beautiful writing, I think my own letters only fit to bolster up candles, or for the Pastry Cook's use."

As Mrs. Pennington was staying at Bath, there are no letters to give an account of the Benefit, but there is not much doubt that Mrs. Piozzi made it a success. She evidently returned with Mrs. Pennington to Clifton, and the next letter is written immediately after her return home.

_Begun Thursday Night, 24 Mar. 1820._

Dearest Mrs. Pennington will be glad to hear that four horses,
and three able-bodied men, brought my little person safe home
... at 9 o'clock last night. Had I died, like Mrs. Luxmore, of
cough and strangulation, I should not have seen our tall Beau
for 5 minutes after breakfast:--_a morning call_. He looked in
high health and good spirits, said your eloquent praises had
produced others, which Miss Williams sends me this moment, and I
really think them very good indeed; he does deserve _all_ praise
in every situation,--in all situations of life,--and his adoring
mother says he was from infancy the best boy upon [earth]. We
had no time to talk of plans, present or future, [he] will go to
London next week, whether to return again I know not....

Captain Marshall has got what he wished and wanted. How long
will he be happy in the Prize he has so contended for? Mr.
Mangin said to me once, that if he were to go to Heaven,
(unlikely enough, added he,) it would be disagreeable to him
for a week at least,--the _first_ week,--but he should grow
reconciled to it. Would not _that_ speech make a good note to
some of the observations in Johnson's _Prince of Abyssinia_?
It would at least do well for Sophia Lee, whose misanthropism
I reverence, while others ridicule it. Why should she let the
people in to _visit_ her, as it is called? She knows they come
for curiosity, not from affection; and I suppose her means
of doing good have been curtailed by accident, her powers of
pleasing by infirmity and age. Why should she then exhibit
the _Skeleton_ of Wit?--or Beauty, if she ever possessed
it? Is there no time when one may be permitted to die in a
corner [after] arranging our little matters for the Journey?
Lord! I [shall have] to expire in a Curtsey and a Compliment,
and request the Spectators [to] _honour_ me with _their
commands_--to the next World....

Mrs. Pennington writes on March 26: "I was indeed glad to get your letter, dearest Friend, for tho' I entertained no fears for your personal safety, I was anxious lest the evening air should increase the _choaking_, and in great dread of dear Bessy's everlasting displeasure for suffering you to depart at _half past 5 o'clock_, without anything to sustain you on the way. There was more danger of your dying from inanition than suffocation. Poor Mrs. Luxmore was, I believe, a full liver. You and I shall not hasten the end of life _that_ way. However we certainly carried the starving system to excess the day you honoured Dowry Square with your presence; for if we had had the common sense to have sat down to Dinner an hour sooner, you would have been tempted, from mere good humoured compliance with our wishes, to have taken _something_ and a glass of wine to have supported you. But I was sick at heart, and could feel only regret at parting from you, and the rest of the party lost all their useful recollections in the pleasure of listening to you, and looking at you. They declared they would have gone without dinner for a week to have prolonged the gratification.

"Maria [Brown] is a paintress, and a really _good_ amateur artist;--she says she cannot take her attention from your _forehead and eyes_,--the unfurrowed smoothness of the one, and the lucid, sweet, and bright lustre of those blue orbs, giving a youthful expression that might pass for 20! It is _this_ that Jagher has hit off so happily, and that Roche could not touch. I _must_ have a copy of that picture some day or other, if I sell my silver spoons, for my Tea Pot I will never part with; but mind, I am not begging, nor whining. I will never have it from _your_ purse." ...

At the close of a long letter she returns to the subject of Conway. "Dare you hint to him before you part our _only_ fear? and venture to tell him that your, and his _saucy Friend_ says that if he goes to that odious Ireland, and pours as much wine down his throat as his strong head will bear, in a few years he will look like a moving steeple, with a blazing Beacon at the top? Oh! if he ever Carbuncles that beautiful nose, or heightens the natural colouring of that charming face, I will never give him another _kiss_. A tremendous threat, to be sure, considering the time I am looking forward to, especially as I am getting fast to poor Miss Wren's _ashey_ tint: but I intend to be beautiful again one of these days. _Ninon_ was charming at a much more advanced age, and wore spectacles as _we_ do.

"I have been told I have a cast of her in my character, with a _total exception_, I beg leave to be understood, as to her physical and constitutional propensities, (as also to her erudition,)--but that she was fair and gentle, with my stature and carriage;--often serious;--generally rather tender, interesting, and amusing, than brilliant, tho' sometimes gay and sprightly,--

'From grave to gay,--from lively to severe.'

I wonder how all this nonsense came into my head?... If our dear Chevalier mars what God has made so exquisitely well, and stamped so clearly an impress of the Divinity upon, it will be a _great sin_."

_28 March, 1820._

My dear Mrs. Pennington's _gratuitous_ letter gives me the best
certainty of her returning health and spirits. This answer to it
will cost no more.

My health has little to do, at 81 years old, with cramming or
starving, and if I am to be _blest_, as you seem to think it,
with "second childishness and mere oblivion;"[32] to sit, like
old Elspet in her wicker-chair, turned over by _kind_ inquirers,
like a last year's Almanack:--why, be it so! This is a week of
mortification and resignation, and I will endeavour to endure
the degrading idea....

[32] _As You Like It_, II. vi. 165.

The loss of _his_ company and talents will be a great privation
to me, but on _his_ account my heart feels no fears. Conway's
virtues are not, I trust, what Johnson would call ambulatory,
meaning dependant upon climate and company. He will come home to
_you_ I hope, in seven years time, two or three little children
at his side, his own incomparable soul unsullied, his merits
unmolested, his beauty unimpair'd....

Mr. Hunt's being elected into Parliament is another tub for the
whale; so if old Britannia, like her daughters, must live to be
sick and superannuated, why, Henry Hunt and Horace Twiss may
hold the smelling bottle to her nose.

I have at last seen a man who profess'd himself _happy_. It
was Captain Marshall. But as he left me, and dress'd for the
Member's Dinner, to which he went in a Sedan, a wagon overset
his little vehicle, ran over his Chairman, breaking both his
thighs, and brought _him_ to the Hall--too late for Dinner.

Those who converse with the Great expect our King to be crowned
on his birthday, the 12th of August. My dividends will be come
in by then, and Salusbury may have his promised £100, to see the
Coronation. I hate being worse than my word. Our friend Fellie
may not perhaps find _her Grandees_ so scrupulous. But she has
had many assurances of the Herb-woman's place in the Procession,
which I have heard was £400 or £500 o' year for life. She is
a sweet Lady, but ladies _are_ charming creatures, of course;
_yours_ most particularly so _surely_, when they think it fit to
fling so much flattery away upon your poor affection^e Friend,

H. L. P.

Hunt was tried for his share in the Peterloo meeting this year, and sentenced to two years imprisonment. He was, however, actually returned to Parliament for Preston in 1830, in which capacity he presented the first petition in favour of Women's Rights.

The actual date of the coronation was 19th July 1821, when "Fellie," otherwise Miss Anne Fellowes, the sister of Mrs. Piozzi's friend and executor, Sir James Fellowes, did officiate as Herb-Woman.

_By M. Gauci after Mrs. Baker. From the Collection of A. M. Broadley,
Esq._]

_Monday, 10 Apr. 1820._

My dear Mrs. Pennington is but too kind in excusing my
peevishness, but this sharp weather freezes all my faculties: it
is as cold as January _ought_ to be. You will have a sad loss
in Maria Browne, and I have a sad loss in dear Conway; and his
steady resolution never to write is such a bad trick. Siddons
has the same you know: and Dr. Johnson used to complain, I
remember, of David Garrick. "One would believe," said he, "that
the little Dog loved one, if it was only by conversation one
knew him: but 'out of sight, out of mind,' is an old proverb,
and they have all of them so much to do."

If my coming to Clifton depended on my being weary of Bath,
you would see me soon indeed: but till July dividends I have
no money for _move-about_. Lord bless me! I wonder how other
people's Bank Notes hold out. Mine melt away like butter in the
sun. 'Tis a great mercy that the Stocks hold firm with a well
organised rebellion in the Island. In _my_ time, had such a
state of things existed, people would have laid down knife and
fork, and fallen to praying: those I mean who did not _fight_
either on the one side or the other. We do not now lay down
even our Cards. My friend Dr. Gray however, whom you do, or you
do _not_ remember at Streatham Park, has taken serious fright,
and fled to London with his family, from Durham; wishing to
change his valuable living for one, even half as profitable,
in the South. Altho' Miss Normans told me on Saturday, at Mrs.
Pierrepoint's or Mrs. Courtenay's Assembly, that the Bishops
were insulted going to Dinner with some of our Ministers of
State, last week; and the circumstance created some alarm.

Mr. Eckersall says the Comte d'Artois' life has been attempted,
and _that_ it was gave the King of France gout in his stomach.
Our gracious Queen's arrival may possibly produce a like effect
in the stomach of Louis Dixhuit's personal friend.

... Miss Wroughton, in her zeal for Mr. and Mrs. Ashe, asked
half a dozen amateur Gentlemen to mount the Balcony, and sing
for their Benefit, because the Theatre supported by Mr. Young
took all their best musicians away; just as her friends the
Ashes, took away Mr. Windsor, etc.--if you recollect--from my
Fête on the 27th of January. And so some laugh, and some are
angry, but Miss Wroughton, tho' she cross'd _me_ at every turn
this Winter, begs _me_ to take Tickets now for Mr. Ashe!!! I
really wonder how she can think of such a thing.

Clifton must be a charming place, sure, where there is no such
gossiping nonsense; and all the Devonshire coast too is so
quiet, and Penzance in Cornwall will soon be fashionable;--it is
so cheap, they say, and so warm....

You do not care much, I think, about these ridiculous reports
concerning Queen Caroline; how she is coming--so she is--to do
wonders unheard of till now: and Buonaparte!--how he's to be let
out, a Bag Fox, for all Europe to hunt again. People find torpor
worse than torture 'tis plain. They long for War, a property-tax
and a battle in every Newspaper: rebellion and assassination are
not hot enough. As Mr. Leo was constrained at last to warm his
brandy with Cayenne Pepper before his stomach could feel any
effect.

BATH, _April 22, 1820_.

Dear Mrs. Pennington will be glad to see the spring coming
forward so sweetly. She will be glad, too, to hear that her
true friends are well; the Little Old Woman, and the Tall
Young Beau. She will be glad that the Parties grow hot and
disagreeable, and that I feel longing for Clifton and the 10th
of June. Whether we are to be glad of the recovery of the
Great Lady I know not, for tho' her life does much good, her
death--poor Dear!--would have done no harm. Do you remember an
impudent Comic Actor on our Bath Stage? A Mr. Edwin, and we
said he resembled Dr. Randolph in the face: and how when he was
addressing the audience in an epilogue upon his own Night, he
suddenly turned to her Stage Box, singing

And the Duchess, who now sits so smiling here
Shall come to our Benefits every year.
Tol ol derol, Lol, etc.

I never saw any fair Female so confounded in my life. You were
with me.

How the ground and the trees do sigh and pine for rain! And what
a haze this odious North East wind sheds over all my prospect!
The people are right enough that go abroad. I would go myself,
but that I have an appointment to keep with dear Piozzi, who I
brought out of his own sweet Country, to lie in the vault he
made for me and my Ancestors at Dymerchion; where I am most
willing to keep him company, when I have performed _more_ than
_all_ the promises I ever, in any humour, made his Nephew; and
when I have, after paying every debt, saved a silver sixpence
or two for those who soften and amuse the closing scenes of a
life long drawn out,--perhaps for that very purpose. Meanwhile
we have a church building here, for my _particular friends_,
the Blackguards and tatter'd Belles of Avon Street, and my
Subscription will be soon expected.

Ay, Ay, I see where I shall pass the Winter months escaping
frosts, and keeping clear of expences, in a climate better than
Paris, the Latitude very little higher. But if you open your
lips--Adieu!...

Dear---- says _his_ health was never so perfect, and he uses
horse exercise, and sends love to his Friends,--and is a good
Boy. I used to bid my children when at distance, only write
three words,--safe, well, and happy: his letter is just like
theirs.

You are tired, are you not, of the silly talk concerning the
Queen and the Radicals. They are like the Statues in the
_Arabian Nights_, who clatter their armour to fright those who
go up the hill: but if you walk steadily forward it ends in
nothing.

We have an Italian Rope Dancer coming, _Diavol_ Antonio, as they
call him. Our shows have been like those in a Magic Lanthorn; so
the _Devil_ comes at last to end the whole ado.

_Fryday May 5th, 1820._

... We will see a great deal of each other when Clifton becomes
my place of residence for six pretty weeks. After them--old
Ocean. Can aught else compleatly wash away all recollection of
Bath _Parties_? That fair assemblage of glaring lights, empty
heads, aking hearts, and false faces?

Who is it says the conversation of a true friend brightens the
eyes? I have enjoy'd two chearful hours _talk_ with our best
_speaker_, best actor, best companion,--Conway. You seem to
express yourself as if half sorry you loved him so much. I am
only sorry that I can't love him ten times more....

Here is lovely weather for frisking up and down, and my empty
pockets will not _overload_ the carriage; altho' the whole
_family_ of _emigrants_ will be packed _in, and on, and upon_,
my Post chaise and four....

Salusbury sent me a whimpering letter, and has already got his
£100, which Heaven knows I owed, and much more, to the estate
of Messrs. Callan and Booth, Lodging House keepers. But if I
can get five Guineas o' week for No. 8, during absence, I shall
bring matters round in due time: because, as Clarissa says
in the _Rambler_, 'tis well known to all the Beau-Monde _that
nobody ever dies_.

In her next letter Mrs. Piozzi makes arrangements for the accommodation of herself and her household, consisting of her man James, her attendant Bessy, and two other maids at Clifton.

_Tuesday, 16 May 1820._

... I can't stir till 10th of June.... I like to be under Mrs.
Rudd's roof, and mean to sleep under it next Saturday three
weeks, the Pretender's birthday, when old Tories in Wales wore
white Roses, the 10th day of June. Sunday's dinner I hope to
eat with Mr. and Mrs. Pennington, at their hospitable board,
and we will talk of anything and everything but la Partenza,
which cannot be before the same day of July, as till then I
have ne'er a groat. If life is lent me I will be rich that time
twelve-month; and if it is _not_ lent me, I shall want no money.

Meanwhile I expect no letters from our favourite Friend. I
have written to him tho', and told him that you and I were his
Hephestion and Parmenio; and if he does not laugh at his Blue
Ladies, we are surely well off.

Do you remember Charles Shephard, I wonder? and how we petted
him? and Piozzi trusted him with all his affairs, and bid me
do so; and _so I did_. The envious and jealous people however,
after my husband's death, (people of our mutual acquaintance,)
blew coals up between him and me, and parted us with _acrimony_
on his side, _mental_ resentment, very strong, on mine. I
express'd none however; only said, "God forgive and prosper
you, farewell." Many reports would have been made afterwards
concerning his _distresses_, which I regularly turned a deaf
ear to; and for these last 10 years never heard his name, and
scarcely ever pronounced it. Last Fryday brought me a beautiful
letter from him, dated West India, congratulating me on the gay
supper given last January, assuring me of his continued regard,
and bidding me direct back to the Hon. C. S. etc. because he is
a Privy Councillor, Chief Justice, and Lord knows what besides.

That he retains his confidence in me plainly appears from the
tender enquiries he makes after his favourite Lady; of whose
attachment to him, and his to her, no one ever knew but myself.
So I have lived long enough to have old friends restored, and
to have made _one_ new one. I hope dear Conway and he will be
acquainted when he comes home _rich_ and--no, _not_ happy, but
able to spite the spiters. If I am removed before then, you will
remain and introduce them to each other. It will be a mutual
pleasure, and you will talk of H. L. P., and Sir John will have
my letters to make money of, and give him some compensation for
my extravagance in the year 1820.

Callan and Booth, the people I take my house from, have heavy
claims on me _now_; so I have let it to Mr. Iveson for a
twelve-month, and mean to be smooth as Oyl'd Silk by July
1821....

There is much for you to do as my Sentimental Executrix, so
we will hear of no departure but mine for Marasion, just by
Penzance....

George Hammersley has just left me and taken my Banker's Book to
Pallmall to be regulated; and gives me great credit for my care
and exactness in my Money Matters: bidding me make no scruple
with regard to _their House_, etc., very good-naturedly indeed.
But as I told him I never yet overdrew my Banker, and will not
(unless something serious happens,) begin to do so in the year
1820. _One_ twelve month's short-biting will set all smooth, and
you shall see a merry face once more on the shoulders of yours
and dear Mr. Pennington's affectionate,

H. L. P.

A few days afterwards Mrs. Piozzi was much agitated, on Conway's account, by the news of the collapse of the stage of the Birmingham theatre, where it appears he was going to act; but it turned out that it was not during a performance, and the only injury done was to one of the workmen.

BATH, _Tuesday 23 May 1820_.

... I shall sleep at your Crescent House, Mrs. Rudd's, as we
agreed long ago on Saturday night, 10 June, if it pleases
God, and go to your Bristol Cathedral on Sunday morning: dine
in Dowry Square, chat with you all the evening, and pass a
comfortable night,--altho' the Queen is coming near enough to
put every one in a heat; if perhaps she may forbear to light up
a _fire_ in our Nation for purpose of roasting her own chicken
to her own mind.

Public and private villainies on the increase, as Dr. Randolph
used to tell us long ago. He did recommend Charles Shephard's
father for the education of young Salusbury, and the son
recommended _himself_ by his useful talents to dear Piozzi; by
his brilliant ones to me. I am happy to find he will be _rich_
and _prosperous_; happy he scarcely _can_ be from the nature of
his attachment; but 'tis happy to feel attachment at all, for
when that's over, all's over....

... At a wedding breakfast we were invited to yesterday Dr.
Wilkinson harangued in praise of Marazion, and our friend Mr.
Gifford said that when he was a young Officer, he treated his
brothers of the Corps with a dinner; two dishes of fish, one
ham, three chickens, a pigeon pye, and a plum pudding;--the
cost, 14 shillings....

Meanwhile Sir Wm. Hotham says the Levee was a Bear Garden.
Miss Knight's letter to Mrs. Lutwyche says it was full of
Grocers, Silk Dyers, and Upholsterers. And _I_ say it was a
_Levy-en-Masse_.

The Bath people must get substitutes for H. L. P. and W. A. C.
as they can. I fancy young Roscius will be the man, the woman is
yet to be looked for.

Admiral Sir William Hotham, one of Nelson's officers, was made a K.C.B. in 1815, and became one of the Gentlemen in Waiting to the King.

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.