In London the two friends met frequently, and agreed most harmoniously.One tie, indeed, was wanting to their mutual attachment.Burney loved his own art passionately; and Johnson just knew the bell of Saint Clement's church from the organ.They had, however, many topics in common; and on winter nights their conversations were sometimes prolonged till the fire had gone out, and the candles had burned away to the wicks.Burney's admiration of the powers which had produced Rasselas and The Rambler bordered on idolatry.Johnson, on the other hand, condescended to growl out that Burney was an honest fellow, a man whom it was impossible not to like.
Garrick, too, was a frequent visitor in Poland Street and Saint Martin's Street.That wonderful actor loved the society of children, partly from good-nature, and partly from vanity.The ecstasies of mirth and terror, which his gestures and play of countenance never failed to produce in a nursery, flattered him quite as much as the applause of mature critics.He often exhibited all his powers of mimicry for the amusement of the little Burneys, awed them by shuddering and crouching as if he saw a ghost, scared them by raving like a maniac in Saint Luke's, and then at once became an auctioneer, a chimney-sweeper, or an old woman, and made them laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks.
But it would be tedious to recount the names of all the men of letters and artists whom Frances Burney had an opportunity of seeing and hearing.Colman, Twining, Harris, Baretti, Hawkesworth, Reynolds, Barry, were among those who occasionally surrounded the tea-table and supper-tray at her father's modest dwelling.This was not all.The distinction which Dr.Burney had acquired as a musician, and as the historian of music, attracted to his house the most eminent musical performers of that age.The greatest Italian singers who visited England regarded him as the dispenser of fame in their art, and exerted themselves to obtain his suffrage.Pachierotti became his intimate friend.The rapacious Agujari, who sang for nobody else under fifty pounds an air, sang her best for Dr.Burney without a fee; and in the company of Dr.Burney even the haughty and eccentric Gabrielli constrained herself to behave with civility.It was thus in his power to give, with scarcely any expense, concerts equal to those of the aristocracy.On such occasions the quiet street in which he lived was blocked up by coroneted chariots, and his little drawing-room was crowded with peers, peeresses, ministers, and ambassadors.On one evening, of which we happen to have a full account, there were present Lord Mulgrave, Lord Bruce, Lord and Lady Edgecumbe, Lord Carrington from the War Office, Lord Sandwich from the Admiralty, Lord Ashburnham, with his gold key dangling from his pocket, and the French Ambassador, M.De Guignes, renowned for his fine person and for his success in gallantry.But the great show of the night was the Russian Ambassador, Count Orloff, whose gigantic figure was all in a blaze with jewels, and in whose demeanour the untamed ferocity of the Scythian might be discerned through a thin varnish of French politeness.As he stalked about the small parlour, brushing the ceiling with his toupee, the girls whispered to each other, withmingled admiration and horror, that he was the favoured lover of his august mistress; that he had borne the chief part in the revolution to which she owed her throne; and that his huge hands, now glittering with diamond rings, had given the last squeeze to the windpipe of her unfortunate husband.
With such illustrious guests as these were mingled all the most remarkable specimens of the race of lions, a kind of game which is hunted in London every spring with more than Meltonian ardour and perseverance.Bruce, who had washed down steaks cut from living oxen with water from the fountains of the Nile, came to swagger and talk about his travels.Omai lisped broken English, and made all the assembled musicians hold their ears by howling Otaheitean love songs, such as those with which Oberea charmed her Opano.
With the literary and fashionable society, which occasionally met under Dr.Burney's roof, Frances can scarcely be said to have mingled.She was not a musician, and could therefore bear no part in the concerts.She was shy almost to awkwardness, and scarcely ever joined in the conversation.The slightest remark from a stranger disconcerted her; and even the old friends of her father who tried to draw her out could seldom extract more than a Yes or a No.Her figure was small, her face not distinguished by beauty.
She was therefore suffered to withdraw quietly to the background, and, unobserved herself, to observe all that passed.Her nearest relations were aware that she had good sense, but seem not to have suspected that, under her demure and bashful deportment, were concealed a fertile invention and a keen sense of the ridiculous.She had not, it is true, an eye for the fine shades of character.But every marked peculiarity instantly caught her notice and remained engraven on her imagination.Thus, while still a girl, she had laid up such a store of materials for fiction as few of those who mix much in the world are able to accumulate during a long life.She had watched and listened to people of every class, from princes and great officers of state down to artists living in garrets, and poets familiar with subterranean cookshops.Hundreds of remarkable persons had passed in review before her, English, French, German, Italian, lords and fiddlers, deans of cathedrals and managers of theatres, travellers leading about newly caught savages, and singing women escorted by deputy husbands.
