Chapter II (1)

The Piozzis in Hanover Square--Scotch tour, 1789--Visit
to Wales--Return to Streatham Park, 1790--Harriet
Lee's romance--Nuneham and Mrs. Siddons, 1791--French
Revolution--Cecilia's admirers--Apprehensions for Cecilia--The
September massacres--Miss Weston's engagement.

In July 1788 the Piozzis took rooms at Exmouth, from which they had views "of sea and land, Lord Courtney's fine seat and Lord Lisburne's pretty grounds all facing us." But though there was "a very pretty little snug society" there, Mrs. Piozzi votes it "a dull place," where "if one is idle, one is lost." Idleness, however, was not one of her failings. Early in the year she had published her _Letters to and from the late Samuel Johnson, LL.D._, which made £500, and had a large sale. Some allusions in the correspondence, more truthful than complimentary, to Joseph Baretti, who had at one time acted as tutor to Miss Thrale at Streatham, roused him to make a coarse and violent attack upon her in the _European Magazine_, which caused her much pain. He also satirised her in a farce entitled _The Sentimental Mother_, in which she figures as Lady Fantasma Tunskull, and her husband as Signor Squalici. Yet she forgave him, and when he died in the following year, sent a kindly notice of him to the _World_. This year too, as she records in her Commonplace Book, she wrote a dramatic masque called _The Fountains_, which was much admired by Miss Farren, and which Sheridan and Kemble "pretended to like exceedingly," but contrived to lose the copy. She adds: "It has often been in my head to publish it with other poems--but 'tis better let that alone." About this time she must have been engaged on a more ambitious task, the record of her continental tour, which appeared in 1789 under the title of _A Journey through France, Italy, and Germany_. This was well received by the general public, though some of the Blue-Stockings objected to its colloquial style. Anna Seward, for instance, gently reproved "the pupil of Dr. Johnson" for "polluting with the vulgarisms of unpolished conversation her animated pages," and wrote as follows to Miss Weston, who defended her: "You say Mrs. Piozzi's style, in conversation, is exactly that of her travels. Our interviews were only two; no vulgarness of idiom or phrase, no ungrammatic inelegance struck me then as escaping, amidst the fascination of her wit, and the gaiety of her spirit; but inaccuracies and ungraceful expressions often pass unnoticed in the quick commerce of verbal society, that are very disgusting after their deliberate passage through the pen." The critics found fault with her matter as well as her manner, as did Gifford in the often quoted lines:

"See Thrale's grey widow with a satchel roam,
And bring in pomp laborious nothings home."

But she bore him no malice, and took her revenge by obtaining an invitation to a house where he was dining, to his obvious embarrassment, from which she relieved him by proposing "a glass of wine to their future good-fellowship."

As long as the Piozzis and Westons were living close together in town, there was naturally little occasion for letters, but they recommence in 1789 when Sophia had gone to Bath after an illness. On 13th April Mrs. Piozzi writes from Hanover Square, after a visit to Drury Lane: "I have scarcely slept since for the strong agitation into which Sothern and Siddons threw me last night in Isabella"; while her husband adds a P.S.: "I assure you I cried oll (_sic_) the Tragedy." This was no doubt Sothern's _Fatal Marriage_, in which Mrs. Siddons took the part of the heroine Isabella, a character in which she was painted by William Hamilton. Mrs. Piozzi was much interested in the thanksgiving for the King's recovery after his first illness, "the most joyful occasion ever known in England"; for which she wrote an Ode, which was printed (with emendations that greatly annoyed her) in the _Public Advertiser_. For the State procession to St. Paul's on 23rd April, Miss Weston had secured them places in a balcony, "which, if it tumbles down with our weight, why we fall in a good cause, but I wish the day were over."

This summer the Piozzis went northwards, intending, as it would seem, to emulate Johnson's Highland tour. On 11th July she writes from Scarborough: "We like our journey so far exceeding well, but 'tis as cold as October, and just that wintry feel upon the air; a Northern Summer is cold sport to be sure, but Castle Howard is a fine place, and the sea bathing at this town particularly good. What difference between Scarbro' and Exmouth! yet is this bay by no means without its beauties, but they are more of _Features_ than _Complexion_." They made their way north as far as Edinburgh, but the projected Highland tour was given up; the biographers say on account of Cecilia's delicacy, but in a letter in Mr. Broadley's collection, written from Glasgow, 26th July, she says: "Our weather has been so very unfavourable here, and my own health so whimsical, I fear Mr. Piozzi will not venture far into the Highlands." The first letter of sufficient interest to be quoted at length is written from the Capital.

EDINBURGH, _10 Jul. 1789_.

And so you will not write again--no, _that_ you will not, Dear
Miss Weston,--with all your mock Humility!--till Mrs. Piozzi
answers the last letter, and begs another. Well! so she does
then: I never was good at _pouting_ when a Miss; and after
fifteen years are gone, one should know the value of Life
better than to _pout_ any part of it away. Write me a pretty
Letter then directly, like a good girl, and tell me all the
News. The emptier London is, the more figure a little News
will make, as a short Woman shows best at Ranelagh when there
is not much company. Echoes are best heard too when there are
few People to break the sound, you know, so let the Travelling
Trunks, Hat Boxes, and Imperials that pass over Westminster
Bridge every Day at this time of the Year, be no excuse for
your not writing. We have had a good Journey, and the Weather
cannot be finer; a Northern Latitude is charming in July, and
the long Days here at Edinburgh delightful--but no Days are long
enough to admire its Situation or new Buildings, the symmetrical
beauties of which last quite exceed my expectations, while the
Romantic Magnificence of the first is such as gives no notion
at all of the other. So I like Scotland vastly; and as we have
Engagements for every Day, one should be ungrateful not to
like the Scotch too. But for that my heart was always equally
disposed.... I am much flattered with finding my Book read here,
and everybody talks about _Zeluco_, but I hope no one more than
myself, or with more true esteem of its Author....

The full title of the work just mentioned was _Zeluco, various views of Human Nature, taken from Life and Manners, Foreign and Domestic_, its object being "to trace the windings of vice, and delineate the disgusting features of villany." Its author, John Moore, M.D., an army physician, tutor to Douglas, eighth Duke of Hamilton, and father of General Sir John Moore, is frequently mentioned in the letters. He was in Paris during the massacres of the Revolution, and published the Journal kept during his residence there in 1793.

The Piozzis returned southward by Glasgow and the Lake District to Liverpool.

LIVERPOOL, _Sat. 22d Aug._

So dear Miss Weston, and her Hanover Square friends, have shared
all the delights that _Water_ can give this hot weather, while

"A River or a Sea
Was to us a Dish of Tea," &c.

Meantime I do not tell you 'twas judiciously managed to run from
Lago Maggiore to Loch Lomond, and finish with the Cumberland
Meres, any more than it would be wisely done to put Milton into
the hands of a young beginner; and when good taste was obtained,
lay Thomson's charming _Seasons_ on the desk; then make your
Pupil close his studies with Waller's poem on the Summer Islands.

Beg of Major Barry to make my peace with his countrymen; some
one told me the other day they were offended at a passage in
y^e _Journey through Italy_, and I should be very sorry on one
side my head, and much flattered on the other, _that they should
think it worth their while_....

We spent a sweet day at Drumphillin, near Glasgow, in
consequence of Dr. Moore's attentive kindness, and even from
that charming spot continued to see the majestic mountain which
attracted all my admiration, and which still keeps possession
of my heart. I took _my_ last leave of it from the Duke of
Hamilton's Summer House, but at a distance of seventy or eighty
miles it may be discerned. If you ask me what single object has
most impressed my mind in this journey of 800 miles round the
Island, I shall reply BEN LOMOND....

If I promised you an account of Glasgow, I did a foolish thing;
what account can one give of a very fine, old-fashioned,
regularly-built, continental-looking town?--full as Naples, yet
solemn as Ferrara: after Glasgow too, everything looks so little.

I think Mr. Piozzi must write the account of _this_ town, he
is all day upon the Docks, and all night at the Theatre; both
are crowded, yet both are _clean_: the streets embellished
with showy shops all day, and lighted up like Oxford Road all
night; a Harbour full of ships, a chearful, opulent, commodious
city. Have you had enough for a dose? and will you give all our
compliments to all our friends, and will you love my husband and
Cecilia?

The Major Barry above mentioned, apparently a member of an Irish family, is frequently referred to in the letters. He became a Colonel in 1790, and acted as A.D.C. to Lord Rawdon (afterwards Marquess of Hastings) in the American War, in which capacity he sent home "the best despatches ever written." Retiring from the Army in 1794, he settled in Bath, where he was a prominent figure in literary and scientific circles till his death, which occurred shortly after that of Mrs. Piozzi.

From Liverpool they went to inspect Mrs. Piozzi's Welsh property, and the next letter gives the first hint of the idea of building a house on it, which was carried out later on. Perhaps the postscript was hardly meant seriously, as no steps were taken in the matter for some years, and Mrs. Piozzi herself states that the suggestion was made by the Marquis Trotti, who does not appear upon the scene till 1791.

DENBIGH, _Tuesday 1 Sep._

DEAR MISS WESTON,--I thank you for your invitation
to pretty Ludlow, and shall let you know when we are likely
to arrive there, that all possible advantage may be taken of
your friendly hints. Mr. Knight is an old acquaintance of my
Husband by the description you give of his taste and elegant
conversation; at least it would be strange should there be _two_
such men of any _English_ name. Scotch and Welsh families are
disposed in a different manner: _we_ have but so many names, and
all who bear those names are related to each other. I find a
great resemblance between the two nations, in a hundred little
peculiarities, and the Erse sounded so like my own native tongue
that I wished for erudition to prove the original affinity
between them.

The French nation was never a favourite of mine, and I see
little done to encrease one's esteem of them _as_ a nation.
Their low people are very ignorant, their high ones very
self-sufficient: you now read in every Paper the effects of
that self-sufficiency acting upon that ignorance. Fermentation
however will, after much turbulence, at length produce a _clear_
spirit, though probably 'twill be a _coarse_ one. They will know
in a dozen years what they would have, and I fancy _that_ will
be once more an Absolute Monarchy....

Mr. Piozzi adds a _P.S._ "In a few days I intend go to see
our little estate, and choose the place to building a little
Cottage, and a little room for our dear friend Miss Weston....
G. P."

In her remarks on surnames Mrs. Piozzi does not display her usual acumen. There is hardly any English name of which it can safely be predicated that all the individuals who bear it are related to each other, and assuredly this is not the case with a name like Knight. She shows more penetration in her estimate of the trend of events in France, where the mutterings of the coming storm were already making themselves heard. The States-General had assembled in May, in June the Commons had constituted themselves the National Assembly, the Bastille had fallen on 14th July, and on 4th August the nobles had relinquished their hereditary privileges. Well within the twelve years which she postulates, the Revolution of Brumaire (1799) had practically put the supreme power in the hands of Bonaparte as First Consul, though he was not proclaimed Emperor till 1804.

From North Wales they went, by way of Ludlow, to Bath, probably for the benefit of Piozzi, who was already beginning to suffer from the attacks of gout which finally proved fatal.

BATH, _2 Nov. 1789_.

DEAR MISS WESTON,--Not _one_ letter do I owe you, nor
_three_ nor _four_, but forty if they would make compensation
for your kind ones to Ludlow, where Miss Powell's politeness
made the time pass very agreeably indeed, spight of rain, which,
however provoking, could not conceal the beauty of its elegant
environs, even from an eye made fastidious by the recent sight
of richer and more splendid scenery.

Mrs. Byron read me the kind words for which Mr. Piozzi and I
owe you so many thanks: she gains strength daily, and will be
quite restored if kept clear from vexation, and indulged in her
favourite exercises of riding and the Cold Bath. My husband and
she have many an amicable spar about _Bell's Oracle_, on account
of his savage treatment of dear Siddons, whose present state of
health demands tenderness, while her general merit must enforce
respect. I wonder, for my own part, what rage possesses the
people who wish to see, or delight in seeing, virtue insulted.
Let us not learn to tear characters in England, as persons
are torne in France, and drink the _intellectual life_ of our
neighbours warm in our Lemonade.

Major Barry has written me a charming letter, Do tell him that
he shall find my acknowledgements at Lichfield; I mean to write
a reference to Miss Seward, about a critical dispute we had here
at Bath some evenings ago, concerning the two new novels, which
I find are set up in opposition to each other, and people take
sides. You will easily imagine that _Zeluco_ and Hayley's _Young
Widow_ are the competitors.

Give my kind love to Miss Williams when you see her, and tell
her that she is one of the persons I please myself with hoping
to see a great deal of this winter.

We are all going to the Milkwoman's Tragedy to-morrow; I fear
with much ill will towards its success. Her ingratitude to Miss
More deserves rough censure, but hissing the play will not mend
her morals.

Miss Wallis is to play Belvidera next Saturday. She is scarcely
more of a woman than Cecilia Thrale, and quite as young looking;
very ladylike though, and a pretty behaved girl in a room. I
advised Dimond in sport to act Douglas to her Lady Randolph,
as a still more suitable part than Belvidera. Here's nonsense
enough for one pacquet. 'Tis time to say how much I am dear Miss
Weston's affect^e servant

H. L. P.

Mrs. Byron, whose name frequently recurs in the letters, was a daughter of John Trevannion, who married, "pour ses péchés," as Mrs. Piozzi elsewhere remarks, Admiral the Hon. John Byron, known in the Service as Foulweather Jack, the grandfather of the poet.

The attack on Mrs. Siddons in _Bell's Oracle_ was one of the rare exceptions to the general chorus of praise she commonly evoked from the Press; it seems to have been quite undeserved, and her reputation was far too firmly established to be shaken by it.

_Zeluco_ has already been referred to. Its competitor, _The Young Widow, or a History of Cornelia Sudley_, was the work of William Hayley, the poet, of whom Southey said: "Everything about that man is good, except his poetry." Yet it hit the popular taste, and he was even offered the Laureateship in succession to Warton.

The Milkwoman, Anna Maria Yearsley, otherwise "Lactilla," was a rustic genius discovered by Hannah More, who brought out a volume of her poems, for which she wrote a preface. But her action in investing the proceeds for the benefit of the authoress, without giving the latter any control of the money, produced a rupture between them, and the quarrel was carried on in the Press "to a disgusting excess," as their contemporaries thought. Besides her play of _Earl Godwin_, she wrote a novel called _The Royal Captives_, which met with some success, so that she was enabled to set up a Circulating Library at the Hot Wells, Clifton.

Miss Wallis, whose career began in the Smock Alley Theatre, Dublin, had just made her first appearance in England at Covent Garden, where she played Belvidera (in Otway's _Venice Preserved_) and other leading parts, with some success. But she seems to have found provincial audiences more appreciative, and played regularly at Bath and Bristol for five years.

In 1814, several years after his death, Mrs. Piozzi writes in her Commonplace Book: "Dimond the Bath Actor was, of all _common mortals_ I have known, completely the best. So honourable that he left no debts unpaid, so prudent that he never overran his Income, Pious in his family, pleasant among his friends. Temperate in his appetites, and courageous to conquer the passion which no man could have felt more strongly."

With the return of the Piozzis to Town the letters cease until the summer of 1790, when the tenant vacated Streatham Park, and Mrs. Piozzi found herself again established there, but under happier auspices. In May and June she scribbles hasty notes of invitation to Miss Weston, explaining that "the Hay is carrying, the Weather changing, and even the Master of the House going to Town on horseback, because Jacob must not be disturbed." The special attraction held out was the presence of Mrs. Siddons, but illness prevented Miss Weston from coming till it was too late to meet her. Mrs. Siddons was herself suffering from some trouble, apparently rather mental than physical, for she adds at the end of one of Mrs. Piozzi's notes: "I fear my heart will fail _me_ when _I_ fail to receive the comfort and consolation of our dear Mrs. P. There are many disposed to comfort one, but no one knows so rationally or effectually how to do it as that unwearied spirit of kindness."

STREATHAM, _12 Oct. 1790_.

I am watching the Moon's increase with more attentive and more
interested care than ever I recollect to have watched it since
your project of coming hither with the Colonel has depended on
her getting fat. I am glad he is much at Lord Sydney's, and
hope it bodes well for us all, and that he will soon have his
orders to fight these hateful French, whose pretended love of
England and English Liberty--in good time!--ends at last in
real attachment to Spain, and to the ratification of old Family
Compacts. I never expected better for my own part, and long for
you to come and tell me all the harm of them you know. My Master
looks better, and gains strength every day....

The Colonel here referred to was Colonel Barry, who had recently obtained promotion, and was hoping for active service. His patron was Thomas Townshend, second Viscount Sydney, who was Paymaster-General 1767, and Secretary for War 1782.

STREATHAM, _10 Nov. 1790_.

Dear Miss Weston is always partial to _me_, but I think she
now extends her kind thoughts, very charitably indeed, to the
whole race of Authors, when a finely written book so convinces
her of his virtue who wrote it. I do believe however that Mr.
Burke has, in the glorious Pamphlet you so justly admire, given
us _his own true and genuine_ sentiments; and 'tis on such
occasions that a writer shines, like the Sun, with his own
native and unborrowed fire. This book will be a most extensively
useful production at such a moment! and from such a man! Tell me
what charming Miss Seward thinks of it....

_By J. Landseer after S. Prout. From the Collection of A. M. Broadley,
Esq._]

The Pamphlet was, of course, Edmund Burke's _Reflections on the Revolution in France_, published this year, which ran through many editions, and was translated into several foreign languages.

Anna Seward, though a constant correspondent of Miss Weston's, was never very intimate with Mrs. Piozzi, whose literary style, as previously mentioned, she detested, though she admired her wit. This year she lost her father, the Canon of Lichfield, who had long been an invalid, but she continued to live at the Palace, which he had for many years occupied.

For the first half of 1791 only two letters are preserved, the first being written just as the Piozzis had decided to set out on a visit to Bath.

_Tuesday, 11 Jan. 1791._

My dear Miss Weston did not use to be so silent, I hope it is
not illness or ill-humour keeps her from writing. Here have
been more storms, and very rough ones, since you left us; Lady
Deerhurst apprehends the end of the World, but I think her own
dissolution, poor dear, is likeliest to happen, for she is
neither old nor tough like that, but very slight and feeble....

Peggy, Lady Deerhurst, was the daughter of a neighbour of the Piozzis at Streatham, Sir Abraham Pitches, Kt., and became the second wife of George William, then Lord Deerhurst, and afterwards seventh Earl Coventry. In spite of her feeble health she outlived her husband, and the dissolution which Mrs. Piozzi anticipates did not happen for near half a century.

Early in February the Piozzis went to Bath, from which place the next letter is written.

_11 Feb. 1791, Fryday._

My dear Miss Weston must be among the very first to whom I give
an Acct. of our safe arrival at a comfortable House, corner of
Saville Row, Alfred Street. We ... ran hither in one day from
Reading, but I found a strange Giddiness in my Head that was
not allay'd by the noisy concourse of young Gamesters, Rakes,
&c., at York House, where we staid till this Lodging was empty:
and here I have good Air and good Water, and good Company--and
at last--_good Nights_; so that I mean to be among the merriest
immediately. The Place is full, and the pretty girls kind, as my
Master says, so you must write pretty eloquent letters to hold
his heart fast....

Miss Hotham's accounts of our sweet Siddons are better than
common, so when things are at worst they mend, you see. Mr.
Kemble's illness, gain'd only by shining too brightly, and
wasting the Oyl in the Lamp, while here at Bath, is recovered by
now I hope, and his spirits properly recruited....

Cecilia was fourteen years old three days ago, and all the
ffolks say how she is grown, &c....

The letters cease after their return to Streatham, until Miss Weston in her turn went to stay with friends at Bath. Those which follow are full of an incipient romance which appealed strongly to Mrs. Piozzi, inasmuch as it bore a strong resemblance to her own. An acquaintance of her husband's, a certain Lorenzini, Marquis Trotti, their guest at Streatham, had been struck by the charms of Harriet Lee (afterwards joint authoress of the _Canterbury Tales_), who was now helping her sister Sophia in the school at Belvidere House. But considerations of worldly prudence, which had so far held him back from an actual declaration, seem finally to have prevailed, in spite of Mrs. Piozzi's well-meant encouragement. The final act of the drama is somewhat obscure, but from hints let fall in subsequent letters Harriet Lee would appear to have had rather a fortunate escape.

STREATHAM PARK, _Thursday, 28 Jul._

MY DEAR MISS WESTON,--I was happy to find the
Prescription, which, after all, I did not find, but made little
Kitchen copy. Do not forget Streatham, nor remit of your
kindness towards me, or towards those I love, dear Harriet in
particular: I hope you will contrive to see her very often.

Marquis Trotti is sensible of your partiality, and deserves all
your esteem. His behaviour is such that were he my son I should
kiss him, were he my brother I should be proud of him, and as
he is only my good friend, I pity and respect him. There is
much tenderness, joined with due manliness, in his character;
he is a very fine young fellow.... But as Hermione says in the
_Midsummer Night's Dream_:

"I never read in Tale or History
That course of true Love ever did run smooth,
But either it was crossed in _Degree_," &c.[3]

[3] _Midsummer Night's Dream_, I. i, 134.

Well! if 'tis of the right sort, opposition will but encrease
it, and as Marquis Trotti said to Buchetti in my company
yesterday, "The time is approaching when aristocratic notions
about marriage will fall to ground, and then those who have
sacrifized their happiness to such folly will look but like
Fools themselves."

Show this letter to our lovely and much beloved Harriet; she
is, I think, the object of a very honourable and a very tender
passion, and to a mind like hers that ought to be a very great
comfort....

Write to me only in general, not _particular_ terms. Write very
soon tho', or I shall be gone to Mrs. Siddons's.

The great actress was seeking retirement and country air at Nuneham Courtney, on the banks of the Thames below Oxford, and thither all the Streatham household shortly betook themselves.

Buchetti, whom Mrs. Piozzi had known for some years, was evidently a friend of Trotti, but seems, in spite of his Italian name, to have been a Frenchman. There is a letter from him in Mr. Broadley's collection, dated Paris, 11th June 1789, written in English, and signed Abbé de Buchetti, telling Mrs. Piozzi that he had written to her from Cadiz in October 1788, giving an account of his travels in Andalusia, &c. He goes on to mention the forthcoming meeting of the French Estates to debate on the new Constitution, which he expects will be very interesting, and at which he hopes to be present. He adds compliments from Trotti.

The following lines by Mrs. Piozzi, dated Streatham, 6th July 1791, occur on a loose sheet among the letters:

"By Friend Howard instructed our Virtue t' advance,
The difference is found 'twixt Great Britain and France;
Old England her Pris'ners to Palaces brings,
While the Palace in France makes a Prison for Kings."

RECTORY HOUSE, NUNEHAM,
_6 Aug. Saturday_.

I promised my dear Miss Weston a long Letter from sweet
Siddons's fairy Habitation, but had not an Idea of finding
as elegant a Thing as it is. England can boast no happier
Situation; a Hill scattered over with fragrance makes the
Stand for our lovely little Cottage, while Isis rolls at his
foot, and Oxford terminates our view. Ld. Harcourt's rich Wood
covers a rising Ground that conceals the flat Country on the
Left, and leaves no Spot unoccupied by cultivated, and I may
say peculiar Beauty. How I should love to range these Walks
with my own dear Streatham Coterie!--but now it is all broken
up. The Marquis and my Master with M. Buchetti left us this
Morning in search of Sublimer Scenes: I have given them a Tour
into Wales--Cecilia and myself sit and look here for their
Return--_that is for my Husband's_--unless Miss Owen's summons
or Signal of distress lures me to Shrewsbury, where I could wait
for _him_ and be nearer. They will reach Worcester to-night, and
visit Hagley to-morrow I trow. Never did mortal Nymph speed her
_polish'd_ Arrow more _surely_ than has our Harriet done: never
did stricken Deer struggle more ineffectually against the Shaft
which has fix'd itself firm in his Heart than does her noble
Lover. He has however no Mind, I fancy, to give up without an
Effort--but no one better knows than I do the difficulty, up to
impossibility, of such an Operation. _She_ too feels, and feels
sincerely, I'm sure; these are the true lasting Passions; when a
serpentine Walk leads they _know not whither_: for in Love, as
in Taste, I see

"He best succeeds who pleasingly _confounds_;
Surprizes, varies, and _conceals_ the _Bounds_."

Console and sooth her, _do_, my charming Friend, she will find
these five or six Weeks as many Years--but by then she will have
her Admirer at the Hot Wells, where he may drink the Water to
advantage. He is already much altered in countenance, but _so_
interesting!...

There is nothing like living near a Nobleman's house for making
a _Democrate_ of one: here has been such a deal of Ceremony
and Diddle Daddle to get these Letters frank'd as would make a
plain Body mad--and I see not that you or Harriet will get them
either quicker or cheaper for all the Ado we have made at last,
but now I am out of Parliament myself I will beg no more Free
Cost directions. Oh! would you believe the Gypsies have told
Truth to Marquis Trotti? They said he would have a great Influx
of Money soon--_Yellow Boys_ you know they called them: and he
said what stuff that was, because his Fortune could not easily
admit of Increase, as it was already an entail'd Estate--and
all his expectations well known to himself. But a few days ago a
Letter from Italy informed him of unclaimed Dividends found in
the Bank of Genoa, which might be his for asking. _He will not
go over_ to ask for them however; but sent his Father word he
was indifferent about the Matter--he had enough &c.--he is of
Aspasia's mind entirely--

"Love be our Wealth, and our Distinction Virtue."

His Income can be in no Danger though, do what he will: at
least a very considerable one, of which I am glad: he is a
deserving Character indeed, and will, I hope, lose very little
by his Sentiments of Dignity and Sensibility of Heart. Let our
Harriet read all this, I had no room for another Word in that
I sent _her_. How beautiful a bit of writing did she send me
upon leaving Streatham! I wish, when her Hand's _in_, some
clever verses would but drop from it: tell her I say so: this
is Inspiration's favourite Hour. How pleased it would make me
if I were but addressed in them! Her Talents have really made a
glorious Conquest, and she ought to cherish them. I long for the
sight of her dear pale Ink, that I do....

It appears so strange and so shocking to put up my Letter
without speaking of Miss Seward, that I can't bear it; nobody
has such a notion of her Talents as I have, though all the world
has talked so loudly about them. Her Mental and indeed her
Personal Charms, when I last saw them, united the three grand
Characteristics of Female Excellence to very great Perfection: I
mean Majesty, Vivacity, and Sweetness.

Well! you may speak as ill of Bath as you please, but I wish
I was there, and never look at old White Horse Hill, which
one sees from the Terrace, without sighing to pass it on the
Road--but Fate calls to Shrewsbury--and thither I shall hie me
on the 20 of this Month. And now remember Missey, that to kindle
and keep up a Man's Love so as to make him ardent enough
for the _overleaping_ Objections, is the true duty of prudent
Friendship; not to make him _talk_ of those _very Objections_
which we know already, and which will only strengthen by talking
of. So God bless you all, and love your

H. L. P.

The Aspasia here quoted appears to be the heroine of Beaumont and Fletcher's _Maid's Tragedy_.

_By W. Ridley after Romney, 1797. From a print in the British
Museum_]

Harriet Lee, as desired by Mrs. Piozzi, wrote the verses on Streatham Park which are given below.

VERSES TO MRS. PIOZZI,

_10 Aug. 1791._

(BY HARRIET LEE)

From the bright West the orb of Day
Far hence his dazzling fires removes;
While Twilight brings, in sober grey,
The pensive hour that Sorrow loves.

Tho' the dim Landscape mock my Eye,
Mine Eye its fading charm pursues:
Ah! tell me, busy Fancy, why
Thro' the lone Eve thou still would'st muse?

More rich perfume does Flora yield?
Blows the light breeze a softer Gale?
Do fresher dews revive the Field?
Does sweeter music fill the Vale?

No, idle Wand'rer, no!--in vain
For thee they blend their sweetest Powers;
Thine ear persues a _distant_ Strain,
Thy gaze still courts far distant Bowers.

To that loved Roof where Friendship's fires
With pure and generous ardor burn,
Lost to whate'er this Scene inspires,
Thy fond affections still return.

E'en now I tread the velvet plain
That spreads its graceful curve around;
Where Pleasure bade her fairy train
With magic influence bless the ground.

Now, on that more than Syren song,
Where Nature lends her grace to Art,
My Sense delighted hovers long,
And hails the language of my Heart.

And thou, much loved, whose cultured mind
Each Muse and every Virtue crown,
If aught to charm in mine thou find,
Ah, justly deem that charm thine own!

From thee I learnt that grace to seize
Whose varying tints can gild each hour;
From thee that warm _desire_ to please,
Which only could bestow the _power_.

Then let me court pale Fancy still,
Still bid her bright delusions last,
The present hour she best can fill
That kindly can recall the past.

And oh! that past!--fond heart forbear!
Nor dim the Vision with a Tear!

Having successfully invoked her friend's muse, Mrs. Piozzi herself felt inspired to pay a poetical tribute to the absent Piozzi and Trotti; both poems, as it happened, being composed on the same day. It will be noticed that her fourth stanza contains a pretty pointed allusion to the marriage she hoped to bring about between the Marquis and Harriet Lee.

STANZAS TO THE TRAVELLERS

(Marquis Trotti and Mr. Piozzi)

_Written at the Rectory, Nuneham, 10 Aug. 1791_

1

While you your wandering footsteps bear
To harsher climes and colder air,
Nor once our absence feel;
Here still beneath the shady tree
We sip our solitary Tea,
Or turn the pensive Wheel.

2

Yet oft our thoughts recur to you
As the rich landscape lies in view,
And spreads its beauties wide;
Such beauties once were found, we cry,
In our loved Friends' society,
By us 'ere while enjoyed.

3

In the pure current as we gaze,
Where Isis through the valley strays,
Far from her silvery source;
From Pride and Prejudice as clear,
We read our _noble Traveller_,
Refining in his course.

4

Like him she haunts the rural shade,
Nor loves the clam'rous, proud Cascade,
Loudest in stormy weather:
Nor scorns to mix her _ancient Name_
With honest, artless, _British Thame_,
And seek the Seas together.

5

But if around we turn our eyes
Where Learning's lofty turrets rise,
Dropping their classick Manna;
How swift does fancy back reflect
The hours devoted to collect
Our fav'rite Buchettiana!

6

When Cynthia swells with silver light,
Lending new lustre to the night,
If Philomel we hear,
Pouring her wood-notes o'er the plain,
How does our Piozzi's sweeter strain
Still vibrate in our ear.

7

Too empty then your projects prove,
To run from Friendship and from Love,
And call it Separation;
Reason admits of many a cheat,
But never yet was found deceit
Cou'd trick the Imagination.

With regard to her own compositions she writes in her Commonplace Book: "Grave verses have seldom, I think, dropt from my pen. Poor dear Jane Hamilton, afterwards Holman, used to say she was at a loss to decide whether the ground work of my character was seriousness embellished with gaiety; or a blythe, pleasant temper, shaded with very serious, and not seldom melancholy, reflexions."

The next letter, though undated, was evidently written before that dated 18th August, and within a few days of receiving Harriet Lee's verses.

I know not, my dear Girl, whether the great Dictionary is a
good incentive to Love or no, but if agreable letters produce
it the Gypsie prophecy towards _you_ will not surely be
long in completing. I never read any Book so interesting or
entertaining, therefore recommend no Novels, but write again,
and that directly....

Dear, lovely, sweet Siddons is better; and at last tolerably
reconciled to parting with me for the relief of those whose
anguish is of the soul, while hers, I thank God, is confined
wholly to the beautiful clay that fits it so neatly with its
truly well suited inclosure....

And now my beloved friends do not think me wanting in my duty
about our Lorenzini; I never was remiss in bringing the subject
forward, never lost sight on't but from thinking it prudent so
to do; as Adriana says,

"It was a Copy of our Conference,
Alone it was the subject of our Theme,
In company I often glanc'd at it,
Still did I place it in his constant view."[4]

[4] _Comedy of Errors_, V. i, 62.

The _verses_ I dispatched after them to Denbigh, which they
cannot yet have reached, a proof I never shrunk one instant from
the cause, and as this moment has brought me a _cold, stiff_
letter from him, dated Shrewsbury,--this moment shall carry one
back from me to tell him _I think it such_. Meantime you know
I never said that it was likely he should marry in this manner
unless from irresistible impulse; the obstacles I _know_ to be
_all but_, if not _wholly_ insurmountable. Only my notion of his
_Love_ is stronger than yours can be, who have seen so little of
him; and proportionable power will vanquish proportionable, or
rather disproportionable resistance. If Gunpowder _enough_ is
put under Mont Blanc--_it must give way_. Such was my reasoning
always, and I still think it just. The last evening he spent
here, crying over Piozzi's Song, and applying every word on't,
as I could see, mentally to his own situation; looking all
the while like _very Death_, and never sleeping in the night,
but employing himself in penning his Journal forsooth, which
consisted only of tender sallies at the sight of the Bath Road;
at thoughts of leaving Streatham; &c., till his very heart
was breaking with passion, apparently increased instead of
diminished by absence. Vindicate my hopes and even _belief_ that
he will relieve his anguish, when become totally insupportable,
by a union which every _natural_ friend he has in the world will
certainly disapprove. As to the letters which he brought down to
the Library in his hand the morning we left Streatham, they were
letters he had himself _written_, not _received_: I suppose to
say that he was resolved on remaining another year in England.
They had, as he confes't, cost him even _tortures_ to write
them. O my sweet Sophy! I know most fatally from experience
every pang that poor young man is feeling; yet I was an
_Englishwoman_! of a country where no such aristocratic notions
are acknowledged as taint his hotter soil; and yet three years
did I languish in agony, absence, and lingering expectation.
"If fortune," said he to me one day, (dancing to the tune in
his own head, for I had not mentioned fortune,) "If fortune
were the only obstacle, I hate it, I despise it; I have been
offered fortunes enough, the first in Lombardy I may say; but I
abhor them all." "One may see," was the reply, "you have no such
mean notions." "My Father pleased himself," said he, "I made no
objections. If _people were generous_! but----" "But what, my
Lord?" quoth I. He put his handkerchief to his eyes, and changed
the conversation. Who would have pressed him further to tell
that which I know already, and which no power on earth can cure;
the difference of Birth, Religion, and Country? If however he
has but _love enough_, all those three things which would drown
him if he tried to swim across, may be _leaped_ over; and I, who
have taken the jump before him, never cease to show him how well
I feel myself after it. For the rest, he is now in bad company
for our cause to be sure; but I shall have another sight of him
at Shrewsbury, before he gets to Bath, and will send thither all
the particulars....

NUNEHAM, _Thurs. 18 Aug. 1791_.

One more long letter, dearest Miss Weston, and then away to
Shrewsbury, whither direct your next. This last has been just
as long reaching Oxford, whence I almost see myself within
five hours of you, as a letter yesterday received from Marquis
Trotti at Wrexham, a place not less, surely, than 140 miles
off. They make a mighty slow progress, which tires my spirits
to follow; and seem exceedingly well amused, a thing I was not
absolutely dying to hear. Meantime, what he has written, tho'
cold, has pensive passages in it which keep my hopes alive; and
'tis not cold neither, but _guarded_. Now I tho't it my duty to
keep Harriet ignorant of nothing I knew, and as I have told her
every good and desirable symptom, so have I left in no doubt his
present disposition, for the first letter I _copied_ for her,
and this last I _enclosed_.

Was there ever such a storm seen in England as this last
dreadful one of the 15th? Our December lightning that frighted
you so was nothing to it. Where was my poor Husband _then_, I
wonder? Perhaps on Snowdon, incumber'd with a horse no less
confounded than himself. We were all here much alarm'd indeed,
though Mrs. Siddons has mended ever since, I think....

Now for more public concerns, of which your last letter but one
gives me the best information. It does really appear, contrary
to my predictions, that all Europe will joyn to re-instate a
descendant of that House of Bourbon, which, when represented by
his ancestor _Louis Quatorze_, all Europe united to humble: but
this should be considered as justice, not caprice. That last
mentioned Prince sought openly to seize the rights of others,
while his wretched successor has been cruelly deprived of his
own; and the world will not look on, it seems, while the Crown
of France is trampled on, though none stir'd a step even when
the Sacred head of an _English_ monarch was sever'd from his
body by the _Democrats_ of that day.

Helena Williams is a courageous damsel, and will, I hope, never
be a distressed one in consequence of that conduct, which, if
anything happens but good to her, will be condemned as rashness;
and if she returns safe will be applauded as curiosity after
the great objects in life, while we are listening only to hear
how go the small ones. I find that fierce doings are expected,
and I am much delighted with your _nine thousand_ men: 'tis an
admirable anecdote of old Marshal Saxe, and to me a new one. It
will, may be, divert you to hear that he married a Lady he did
not much like, merely because her name was _Victoria_, and that
when he died, one of the female French wits said, what a pity
it was that no _De Profundis_ should be said for him who had so
often made France sing _Te Deum_. He was a Lutheran, you know.

You never sent me word you liked my Verses, and they were
really ingenious ones too; did Harriet ever shew them to you?
If much applause ensues, I shall be tempted to copy over some
stanzas made for pretty Siddons's little red book, where she
keeps everything y^t has been ever said or sung in her praise,
_unprinted_....

I expect a letter from my Travellers before I send this:
meantime Heaven forefend that I should meet the Marquis at
Shrewsbury. He will quit my Master at Denbigh, _sure_, and
go thro' S. Wales to Bristol. Say everything that expresses
esteem, love, and gratitude, to Mr. and Mrs. Whalley, and tell
Miss Seward how valuable her health is even to _me_, who see so
little of her: if she neglects it, she is doing public injury,
and is worse than a Democrate....

French affairs, as reported in England at this juncture, were no doubt very confusing. The King's attempt to leave Paris in July had been frustrated, but he had been making overtures to most of the crowned heads in Europe, and intervention on the part of some of them must have appeared imminent.

It seems likely that Mrs. Piozzi made the acquaintance of Helen Maria Williams through their common friend, Dr. Moore. She was a girl of great natural ability, but of scanty education; for though born in London, she was brought up at Berwick-on-Tweed. She returned to town with her mother in 1781, being then about twenty years of age, bringing with her a romantic poem, "Edwin and Eltruda," which, like several subsequent works, met with considerable success. In 1788 she went with her mother to France, on a visit to a sister who had married a Swiss Protestant minister; and having enthusiastically adopted the principles of the Revolution, she made that country her home, and wrote a good deal on French politics, as will be noticed later. These proceedings, and her intimacy with J. H. Stone, who had been separated from his wife, provoked a good deal of hostile comment, both among her acquaintances, and in the papers like the _Anti-Jacobin_, of which she was not aware till much later. It was currently reported that she was living under Stone's protection, a view accepted in the _Dictionary of National Biography_. But it is not quite fair to judge her conduct solely on such _ex-parte_ evidence, though perhaps it was all her biographer had to go upon. Her own letters, written to Mrs. Pennington, put a somewhat different complexion on the case. In the first of these, dated 2nd July 1803, she mentions that she is taking charge of the orphan children of her sister, who had died suddenly. She lives with her mother and another relative, Mrs. Persis Williams, whom she has never quitted for three days together since she left England, except for her journey to Switzerland, which was undertaken to save her neck. Stone procured her passport, but she travelled, not with him alone, as had been represented, but with three other gentlemen, one of whom was an English M.P., and on her arrival was placed under the charge of her brother-in-law's relatives. In 1811 she writes that her mother is dead, but that she is still living with Mrs. Persis Williams and her nephew. In another letter, dated 26th January 1819, after Stone's death, she mentions that his matrimonial troubles had begun before she knew him, and that it was his wife, "an odious woman," who provided herself with gallants in Paris, and then, seizing on the new Law of Divorce, "in spite of all our counsels," separated herself from her husband, who had by this time lost his fortune. After this they took Stone in, and he lived for twenty-five years as a member of the household.

Mrs. Piozzi, who abhorred her books, though she never quite lost her affection for their author, writes in her Commonplace Book: "I think Helen Williams turned wholly foreigner, and considered England only a place to get money from." Though her poems, novels, and politics may alike be forgotten, she has a certain claim on the gratitude of generations of play-goers, for it was her tale of _Perourou the Bellows Mender_ that the first Lord Lytton adapted for the Stage as the _Lady of Lyons_.

SHREWSBURY, _29 Aug. Monday_.

You are a noble girl yourself, dearest Miss Weston, and a true
friend; if to be an elegant letter writer was praise fit to
mix with this, I think you the best in England. _Both_ the sweet
Epistles came safe; the _first_ pleases me best tho', because
most natural. But if the thing is _credible_, believe it, they
have been come a little bit, and no enquiries has he made; but
he treats me with a haughty reserve, in consequence perhaps of
my verses, or I dream so: for when Buchetti praised 'em, he said
nothing. We are _none_ of us going through S. Wales to Bath and
Bristol. He has _business in London_, he says, and God knows we
have little pleasure here; so we all set out on Thursday morning
together. You will be sadly hurt at all this, but 'tis true.
No more does he follow me fondly about, as at Streatham or the
Rectory, but I think apparently avoids me. Bad symptoms these;
while poor Miss Owen, polite by habit, and desirous of keeping
her own anguish down by hospitable attentions in which _the
mind_ has no share, though the kind heart wishes it had, leaves
me not an instant to myself or to him.

Oh! but I have caught my Spark at last. He began talking to
me of the Assizes, "Where," said I, "Marquis Trotti shall
be indicted on a new Statute, for Heart-stealing without
intentions of payment." He coloured, laughed, and stared,--well
he might,--but asked my proofs, and I produced _your letter_.
We should have made a good picture enough. "And what," says
I, "is to be the end of all this?" "A ride to Bath," replied
he. "I have begged Jacob to buy me a horse, and I will go, and
_go alone_; and I will see S. Wales and all. As to the letter,
Miss Weston is charming, but, I hope, has embellished a good
deal. And who is going to sea-bathe?" "Only her sister-in-law,"
answered I. "Oh! that sea-bathing frighted me!"--We were
interrupted, but I find by Mr. Piozzi that this matter has been
discussed among them, and my husband _thinks now_ that there is
_somewhat in it_. But he is always right friendly and charming,
and says just what he ought, but wishes our Harriet well too,
and is reading your letter _now_.

No description can tell what I have suffered in another friend's
cause since I came here; but my death is not catched, and my leg
is not broken, so I'll say as little as possible on a subject
of more horror than one can express in words, though dear Miss
Weston chose them....

_From an engraving by J. Singleton in the British Museum_]

From the next letter it appears that all the party had returned to Streatham Park.

_Monday 5 Sep._

Kind! charming Miss Weston! your letter was a sweet cordial
after the journey, for I did get home very tired and fatigued
and latish on Saturday evening, after suffering something, sure
enough, in the cause of friendship....

The Marquis is making Jacob buy him a horse, to ride over _South
Wales_, and Mr. Davies tells him that Bath and Bristol is the
nearest way thither; sure he will never _ride_ that way, however
earnest to rid himself of his companion's good advice, which his
head probably applauded while his heart resists it. There is a
cold reserve about the man, mixed with fine qualities too, but
he has only a half confidence in me certainly; and seems, odd
enough! to like teizing my curiosity with conjecture about his
intentions towards Harriet, which I have not yet penetrated.
He waits in this neighbourhood for his servant from Paris,
whither he has sent him to fetch all his goods away. So far
looks well, and runs as he told me long ago, when he said "I
can at least give you _that_ satisfaction, that I do not leave
England this year." For my own part he puzzles me completely,
and _so_ confounds my conjectures, that were I to hear within a
month that Harriet was Marchioness Trotti, or were I to hear he
had informed her that such an event was impossible, I should in
neither case be surprised. He is gone to London this morning,
under promise to return o' Thursday, and says his servant will
not be here before the end of the week. So much for Lorenzo.