Chapter II (2)

My own health has been shaken, but will tie up again with use
of the tub, or perhaps we may try the Sea too. But I feel so
glad to get home that scarcely will pleasure or profit tempt
me out again in a hurry. Harriet talks of going to Weymouth or
Southampton: if he should go to find Belvidere House without
his favourite Bird, how would he feel? Yet will I not tell him
the project, lest he should make that an excuse for not going:
let him go, and hear, perhaps see that she is ill, from those
whom he will believe. Better so; she may change her mind too,
and I hope she will; but I only give her information always,
not advice. I have this day acquainted her with all he says and
does, 'tis she must act accordingly. My dear Master is pleased
to find me at Streatham Park once more in a whole skin; the
danger will be better to talk than write about, and we shall
meet again some time, I trust, and exchange minds....

Dear, charming Siddons is better; we stopt at her _village_, not
at her _house_, returning, and heard y^t Sheridan and Kemble
were with her; on _business_ no doubt, so we would not go in,
but sent com^ts. They may see I do not want any favours they
have to bestow.

Adieu! my charming friend! Poor Harriet laments your loss most
pathetically, and I am very, very sorry for her: yet let us
remember 'tis not now above six or seven weeks suspense. I
should, from the first, have thought it very fortunate if she
had not to count by _months_ at least, if not _years_. Adieu and
love your

H. L. P.

John Kemble, Mrs. Siddons's brother, became manager for Sheridan at Drury Lane in 1788. His sister's retirement during the season of 1788-9, though mainly due to ill-health, was not altogether unconnected with the difficulty of extracting her salary from the brilliant but unbusinesslike Sheridan.

At this date Miss Weston was staying at Corston, near Bath, with the Rev. F. Randolph, D.D., Canon of Bristol, who afterwards acted as Domestic Chaplain and English Instructor to the Duchess of Kent in the little Court at Amorbach, shortly before the birth of the Princess Victoria.

The Rev. Reynold Davies, M.A., of Streatham, who is frequently referred to in the later letters, was much esteemed by Mrs. Piozzi, who entrusted him with the education of John Salusbury Piozzi for some years after he was brought to England. In the Oxford Matriculation Registers he is described in the usual way as Reynold Davies, son of David, &c.; but on the monument he erected to his parents it is stated that he was the son of David Powell of Bodwiggied in Penderyn, co. Brecknock, an unusually late instance of the old Welsh system of nomenclature, by which the father's Christian name was taken as a surname by the son.

_Tues. 28 Sep. '91._

Your letters, my lovely friend, are like the places they
describe, cultivated, rich, and various: the prominent feature
elegance, but always some sublimity in hope and prospect....

Our Italian Friends are still with us; the Marquis talks
seldomer than ever of his intended tour through S. Wales to
Bath, yet may mean it ne'er the less; and I dare say he will go
and refresh his passion. Make Harriet Lee tell you Cecilia's
saucy trick; it will divert her to tell it, and I won't take the
tale out of her hands: her spirits mend, I see, as to her heart,
it scarce _can_ receive improvement; and the strong sense she
posesses, with such variety of resources too, will guard those
passes where tenderness prevails over prudent apathy....

My Master went last night to Town with good old Mr. Jones, to
see what sport the transmigration of Old Drury can afford. We
hear that all goes well, and that the Town accepts Kemble's new
terms willingly and generously....

During 1791-2 Drury Lane Theatre was rebuilding, and Kemble and his company were acting at the Haymarket until the new house was ready for occupation.

"Good old Mr. Jones" was a connection by marriage of Mrs. Piozzi's, having married a daughter of Sir William Fowler, her mother's cousin. He was instrumental in bringing about the public reconciliation between Mrs. Piozzi and her daughters, as narrated later on.

STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 15 Oct._

My dear Miss Weston's letter contain'd more agreeable
descriptions of the places I love, than of the people. I must
hear better accounts of our sweet Harriet before my heart is
easy, yet I doubt not her command over a passion which no longer
appears to disturb the tranquility of her once half-frantic
Admirer; who told my Master, in confidence _no_,--was his
expression to me,--but in common discourse, that if he married a
woman of inferior birth, such were his _peculiar_ circumstances,
that exactly one half of his estates would be forfeited. He
remains constantly with us, but the world seems a blank to
him: he takes no pleasure, as I can observe, and either feels
no pain, or pretends to feel none. If he ever does marry an
Italian lady he will be a very miserable man however, from
being haunted by our Harriet's form, adorned with talents, and
radiant with excellence. Should he renew his attachment to her,
and sacrifice half his fortune to his love, every child she
brings will seemingly reproach him for lessening an ancient
patrimony.--_Such is life._

Mrs. Siddons is at Harrogate, and, we hope, mending. Poor Sir
Charles Hotham is going to change the _Scene_, I hear: his state
of existence, so far as relates to this world, draws to an end.
Yet though the Physicians send him to Bath, he and Lady Dorothy
resolve, it seems, to see the _new_ Drury Lane Hay Market before
their curtain falls. Who says there is no ruling passion? It
appears to me that _any_ passion, or even inclination, nursed
up carefully, will rule the rest, tho' naturally larger and
stronger; as our little Flo lords it over the out-door dogs,
merely on the strength of being his Mistress' _favourite_.

Chevalier Pindemonte has written me a long letter. He sends
particular compliments to all our Friends and Coterie almost,
and says a vast deal about dear Siddons. "What," cries Mr.
Buchetti, "does he say of Helena Williams?" "Oh! not a word,"
replied I, "men never speak at all of the woman whom they really
like." A painter would have enjoyed Marquis Trotti's countenance
at this conversation. Meantime our little democratic friend
is not doing a foolish thing at last by leaving England, I do
believe. Such is the advantage of exchange between London and
Orleans, that they say the very difference may make it worth her
while; nor is that position a weak one, if it be true that a
British Guinea is worth thirty-two French Shillings; and it was
a man just arrived who told it me for a fact....

Della Crusca has married a Woman of elegant person and address,
and who will bring him perhaps £500 o' year, with an unblemished
character, as people tell me: the husband meantime will
congratulate himself charmingly on his own _superiority_, no
small pleasure to some minds; and the world will always be on
his side in every dispute, tho' he had neither character _nor_
fortune when they met. His family, I hear, are very angry.

The Kembles get money apace. Mr. Chappelow says he is sure
that the Pit _alone_ pays every night's expence, and people in
general seem highly satisfied. _Here's_ a long letter from your
ever affectionate

H. L. P.

Sir Charles Hotham lived long enough to see the new theatre after all: his curtain did not actually fall till 1794.

It was during her Italian tour that Mrs. Piozzi had met Mr. Chappelow, who remained her firm friend till his death. Her connection with Robert Merry ("Della Crusca") at Florence has been mentioned in the Introduction. He returned to England in 1787, and published some rather turgid poems of a sentimental character, which were satirised by Gifford in the _Baviad_. At some time in the course of this year he was in Paris, being, like Helena Williams, an ardent sympathiser with the Revolution.

STREATHAM PARK, _Tues. 8 Nov._

My dearest Miss Weston would readily forgive my long silence,
if she knew how heavily my hours are passing, and how happy a
moment I think even this that I have stolen to write at last.
Poor Mr. Piozzi has been, and _is_ as ill with the Gout as I do
believe a man can possibly be. Knees, hands, feet,--crippled in
all, and unable even at this hour to turn in the bed....

Marquis Trotti and Mr. Buchetti have both been excessively kind
indeed, and I shall feel eternally obliged by their attentive
friendship. The Marquis has delayed his journey till he sees our
Master on his legs again, and Mr. Buchetti keeps his courage up,
as nobody but a countryman _can_ do in a strange land....

I rejoice in our dear Harriet's recovery, which _you_ say
proceeds from her fate's being decided, a position I never
believed, yet cannot contradict, for to me he never names her;
notwithstanding I am confident he thinks of her still, nor would
I bet a large wager he does not yet marry her; but it was not an
event ever likely to happen in three months, and in three years
she may, for aught I see, still be his, tho' I never more will
tell her so.

Agitation of spirits is the worst illness, of which my present
situation is a proof, and too much love is good for nothing, as
I see, except to make one wretched. Mr. Piozzi has had Gout upon
his throat, his voice, all that could agitate and terrifie me,
but now _Safe's_ the word, and I care little for his _pain_,
poor soul, if we can but keep away danger....

STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 20 Nov._

My dear Miss Weston deserves twenty letters, yet can I scarce
write her _one_ somehow. That all have their vexations is
very true, and perhaps my share has been hitherto not quite
equal to my neighbours'. Notwithstanding they would make no
inconsiderable figure if prettily dressed up,--I mean _my
own_. Poor Piozzi gets on as the Crabs do, he says, backward.
Yesterday no creature could bear to see his agony, and tho' we
all dined in the Library, we wished ourselves back a'bed....

I have had a letter from sweet Helena [Williams] this very post,
telling how she is got safe to Orleans; 'tis however written in
a strain less triumphant than tender, I think; and if as she
purposes, we may hope to see her next Summer, I shall have few
fears of her return to France.

As to our dear Harriet, you know how much I love her, but old
Barba Jove and I have a vile trick of laughing at Lovers'
resolutions. No matter, my heart wishes her sincerely well, and
I have too many obligations to Marquis Trotti's politeness and
attention while Mr. Piozzi was ill, not to wish and desire all
good for him which he can desire for himself....

Owing, no doubt, to Miss Weston's return from Bath to Westminster, there are no letters for the next three months; the next, though as usual, undated, is shown by the postmark to have been written from Bath in 1792.

_Monday 5 Mar. No. 15 Milsom Street._

My dearest Miss Weston will not wonder I write so little while
my hands are full of engagements, my heart with anxiety, and my
head,--as old Cymbeline says,--amazed with too much matter.[5]
Harriet will have let you into a great deal of my story, and you
will be surprised less at the behaviour of a man who, it seems,
had no birth nor education to found good manners upon. The only
difficulty is whether we shall tell the lady what we know, or
suppress it. I am for the latter, because like Zara she may care
little whether he is Osmyn or Alphonzo, for aught I know. But my
Master, ever steady to the care of _his own honour_, says she
shall be told _that which we have heard_, because 'tis our duty
to speak as much as hers to listen. Send me some good counsel,
and continue to love your

H. L. P.

[5] _Cymbeline_, IV. iii. 28.

So ends Harriet Lee's romance. No clue is given as to what had been heard to Trotti's prejudice, but it must have been something serious, and as Harriet had met him, as a friend of the family, at Mr. Piozzi's house, the latter felt bound to clear himself of any suspicion of collusion. The Marquis, if not altogether an impostor, was clearly not what he seemed; the curious thing is that the Piozzis had not had their suspicions aroused sooner.

The characters alluded to by Mrs. Piozzi occur in Congreve's _Mourning Bride_, in which Osmyn, otherwise Alphonzo, son of the King of Valentia, is wrecked on the coast of Africa, where Queen Zara falls in love with him.

The next letter, undated, but bearing the postmark of July '92, alludes to a pecuniary loss Mrs. Weston had sustained, apparently through the fault of her son. Perhaps as the result of this they left the house in Queen Square, and till September the Westons took up their abode at Lewisham.

I would not, dearest Miss Weston, for the World, add to your
torments. Comfort your poor Mother, and present her my cordial
good wishes and compliments. Tell her that I say one good child
out of only two is a good proportion, and I am sure God Almighty
will not forsake her if the World does. While I have a house
you command an apartment; consider it as your own, and come
when it suits you. Cecilia will get her arm again, but 'twas
a dreadful accident; that Girl is always saved from the brink
of a precipice somehow: nothing could be more painful or more
dangerous, she must wear it in a sling for a week at least....
Could not Mr. Vandercorn be useful? he would make a point of
serving you, I'm sure; but I fear, I fear the poor £1000 is
irretrievably gone. Despair not of Fortune however, she is never
long in a mind, and will not be always so cross, I am _sure_ she
will not....

Marquis Trotti was here yesterday, to _my_ amazement, who
concluded him gone abroad; he brought Zenobio, Merlini, and
Buchetti with him, and we had no manner of talk: he looks very
well, says he leaves London for Paris next Wednesday,--I will
not tell Harriet for fear of keeping her away. Would he had
never come! We wanted him not, Heaven knows....

No sooner is one romance ended than another begins, destined, like the last, to give Mrs. Piozzi a good deal of anxiety to equally little purpose. Cecilia's first admirer appears upon the scene, in the person of a Mr. Drummond, and prosecutes his suit with an ardour which for a time carries all before him.

Whatever faults the Marquis may have committed, he did not consider himself in any way cut off from intercourse with the Piozzis, or feel any difficulty about keeping up a correspondence after he left England, which he did just in time to be present at Paris during the September massacres.

STREATHAM PARK, _Tues. 17 Jul._

Mr. Piozzi has so many things to call and to hurry him--he can
only come on _Monday_ next to fetch his dear Miss Weston and
mine. Be ready then kind creature and come away....

I am wholly of your Mother's opinion, that 'tis best be _near
the spot_: and if _she_ is contented with her situation, what
need you care to change it?... My vote is for doing nothing, it
commonly is you know, if one stirs, 'tis always to hurt oneself,
I think, literally and figuratively and all....

No news has been heard of the Federation, but all is supposed to
be quiet in France, as an effect of the late coalition between
the King and Jacobins. We shall see how matters end; I wonder
one has no letter from Marquis Trotti.

Mr. James Drummond has pranced over the Common now with comical
effect enough; for he half frighted a quiet old Gentleman of
our Village here by stopping him on his ride, and telling his
tender tale to most unwilling ears, as no man could like a love
story less: and he had no claim to his confidence, for he could
not guess who he might be. Mr. Thomas--a man you have heard Mr.
Davies call his Oracle--was the person so unwillingly trusted,
and while they were together, Drummond called to Miss Lees, who
were walking on the lawn, and renewed his acquaintance with
them: he likewise halload to Jacob in a gay tone. Such Geniuses
are entertaining and comical as Larks, but I like them not about
my house, and shall feel uneasy on the 25th lest some frisk may
be performed.

The elder daughter of Mrs. Siddons, Sarah Martha, known among her friends as Sally, was just now staying with the Piozzis, as a companion for Cecilia, who was her junior by about two years.

STREATHAM PARK, _Sun. 9 Sep. 1792_.

My dearest Miss Weston, this is my last letter from home; we go
to morrow, and I am now so glad we are going, because Kitchen
looks and talks as if Cecilia's cold had fastened seriously
upon her breast and lungs. She certainly does breathe with less
freedom, and the cough, though the slightest possible, is not
removed. Lord! Lord! what an agony does it give me to think
on possibilities! But change of air is the first thing in the
world for such disorders, and _she_ must have Asses' milk now,
instead of Sally Siddons, who grows fat and merry. Be happy
if you can, sweet friend, 'tis a hard task, even with all _I_
have to make me so: but let us never provoke God's judgements
by repining even at his _mercies_. Accept the present offer as
such, if you _do_ accept it; and carry this kind hearted man a
chearful countenance, for that he has deserved. What does Mrs.
Weston say? Write me all, and write me soon, remembering how
truly I am yours

H. L. P.

This letter gives the first hint of Miss Weston's approaching change of condition. That it had not occurred before was not due to any lack of admirers. In 1779 she was indulging in a semi-Platonic friendship for the half-genius, half-charlatan, and wholly egotist, long patronised by the Whalleys, who signed himself Courtney Melmoth; who wrote to her from Longford Court letters of seven foolscap sheets, filled with rhapsodies about his charmer, or rather about his own feelings for her, in which he seems to have been much more interested. This extraordinary being, who in real life was named Samuel Jackson Pratt, was a man of good family and education, being a graduate of Cambridge, and son of a High Sheriff of Huntingdon, had in his life already played many parts, having been by turns priest, actor, fortune-teller, bookseller, playwright, poet, and essayist. He was a thoroughly untrustworthy person, as Sophia seems to have discovered in time, though he was the only one of her admirers whose letters she was at pains to preserve. William Siddons had reason to believe that he was the original author of the anonymous attacks on his wife, previously alluded to, and the Swan of Lichfield was convinced of similar duplicity on his part towards herself. It is from her letters to Sophia that we get some information as to the latter's more serious admirers.

Of these the first was Major Cathcart Taylor, who evidently made some impression on her heart, but proved himself "unworthy," and was dismissed before 1784. Later on a strong mutual attachment grew up between her and Mr. W. Davenport; but the engagement was broken off by what Anna Seward terms "the rascality of a parent." The last of the series, who made the Swan his confidante, and whom she calls "the gentle Wickens," had a "little temple of the Arts" at Lichfield. But "prudence laid a cold hand upon his hopes"; the lady was far above him, and he gave her up for her own sake. "He admires the brightness of the Star, but will not draw it from its habitual sphere."

The match she was now contemplating was not brilliant, or even romantic, and probably her head was much more concerned in the decision than her heart. But the suitor, in spite of a somewhat scandalous story retailed to Sophia by her cousin Mrs. Whalley, was evidently an honourable man, and certainly his suit was not prompted by mercenary motives. William Pennington probably belonged to a Bristol family, for a merchant of these names was living there earlier in the century; but he himself, according to the editor of Whalley's correspondence, was a loyal colonist ruined by the American War of Independence. This account goes on to relate how, on the way home, he made the acquaintance of another colonist returning to find relations in the Old Country with whom he had long lost touch. The latter fell ill on the voyage, and, in spite of all Pennington's care, died before they reached England; but not before he had made a will leaving everything to his new friend. Pennington's first care on landing was to seek out the dead man's relations, and then, having torn up the will, to put them in the way of obtaining the property.

This must have been before 1783, as in January of that year Sophia, writing to Whalley, incidentally mentions that Mr. Pennington is sharing a house with "cousin Somers." In 1785 we find him acting as Master of the Ceremonies at the Clifton Hot Wells. A contemporary Guide Book informs us that he was "inducted" to this important office "under the patronage of the Archbishop of Tuam, and the Bishop of Cloyne, and with the unanimous voice of a numerous circle of nobility and gentry." Here, "distinguished by a medallion and ribbon," he presided over the Assemblies, and legislated for the better preservation of their dignity, ordaining, _inter alia_: "That no Gentleman appear with a sword or with spurs in these rooms, or, on a ball night, in boots. That the Subscription Balls will begin as soon as possible after seven o'clock, and conclude at eleven, on account of the health of the Company." He continued to officiate as M.C. for twenty-eight years.

_From the original picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds about 1781, in
possession of Mrs. Hugh Perkins of Fulwood Park, Liverpool This
was just about the time of her first meeting with Piozzi_]

CROWN INN, DENBIGH, _15 Sep. Sat._

I make haste to assure my kind friend that all apprehensions for
Cecilia are at an end. The change of air relieved her oppression
the first day, and carried off what remained of cold, or cough,
or whatever it was, the _second_. But soon as arrived here,
after the rainyest journey ever seen, I suppose, poor Sally
Siddons was taken ill of an excessive sickness and pain, and
our whole night has been spent as yours was, when I was just
as ill at Streatham Park.... She is now risen and better, and
eating Chicken Broth. I am very sorry to think you have been
suffering the same torture, but do make haste and get well, and
take Bark; it is the best thing after all for _you_ who have,
I think, few complaints except what proceed from irritated
nerves and perpetual anxiety of heart. A decided situation
will tranquillize every sensation, and calm the tossing of the
waves, which keep on their turbulent motion very often long
after the storm is over. Yours is surely past, and so Dear Coz,
(as Cecilia says to Rosalind,) Sweet Coz, be merry.[6] Your
Mother is right, I daresay, about going to London, Lewisham
is a dull place, it were better live here at Denbigh. We have
Coals at 10_d._ per C.--and they say how _dear_ it all is!
and Chickens 1_s._ a couple,--and _such_ a prospect! Well! I
do think my own poor Country a very pretty one, that I do: and
cheap, for though we are called the Squire and his Lady, who
live upon _the best_, and pay _for the best_, they cannot for
shame ask more than seven Guineas o' week for our lodging and
boarding and linnen and china and all included;--four people and
three servants, and we have one very long _staring_ room and
clean beds.

[6] "Sweet my Coz, be merry."--_As You Like It_, I. ii. 1.

So much for Wales, meantime our letters from France will come
slowly, for though they boast their brisk intelligence, I
believe the Duke of Brunswick may be in quiet possession of
Paris, or beaten back to Coblentz, before we shall hear a bit
about the matter, as this town lies in the high road to no
town, and smaller events than the deposition or restoration of
Sovereigns make much ado here. We shall be quiet to morrow, and
go to Funnen Vaino on Monday, if Sally recovers quite well, and
I doubt not her doing so; our Medical Man here is very kind and
comfortable.

Helena Williams should mind who she keeps company with; so
indeed should Hester Piozzi: that fine man she brought to our
house lives in _no_ Emigrants' Hotel at Paris, but a common
Lodging, in a place where numbers lodge. He carried _no_ wife
over with him, nor _no_ children; they are left at Hackney I am
told. Her mother and sister are at Montreuil....

_P.S._--(by Mr. Piozzi.)

Dear friend, we are arrived at Denbigh very safe; the Crown
Inn is prety comfortable, and I've got a very fine room for
Company; next Monday morning we'll go all togheter to see our
place for the new House, and I hope in two years she should be
finisd to receive our selves, and our dear friend; be merry and
comfortable if you can, and believe me for alway your

G. P.

If letters from France came slowly, yet they did arrive. Mr. Broadley's collection contains two written from Paris by the Marquis Trotti, who found himself in the thick of the September massacres, of which he speaks in guarded terms. In the first, dated 3rd September, he says: "I did not run any risk in the terrible bloodshed of yesterday. It was an horrid havock: but I forbear to come into any detail, as it would very likely prevent your receiving this letter. The King and Queen are still living.... I am a Traveller, and never meddled in anything, and as such I trust to come out safe." He writes again on 13th September: "So it is, Madam, I long to be in some peaceful, retired place, where people are happy and free without such violent exertions to be so. What I saw lately in Paris is quite enough for me, and I would hate myself if I was to grow familiar to such horrid scenes. Slaughter in cold blood, and murder without provocation, bring us straight back to the state of a brute, which would be ten thousand times worse, living as we do now in populous cities, than as we did formerly in forests.... O how often shall I remember the sweet tranquillity of Streatham Park, and the circumstances which will always endear it to me."

He goes on to allude to the project of building a house in Wales, and assuming the rôle of Prophet, foretells the founding and growth of a "New Salisbury" around Brynbella, greater and more imposing than the old one, with a monument to the "Illustrious Lady" erected in its great square.

The constituent Assembly, having framed the new Constitution, had dissolved itself, and left Louis to work it with the aid of the Girondins, who declared war on Austria in April, but were soon dismissed by the King. A threatening manifesto by the Duke of Brunswick helped to bring the Jacobins into power, who deprived the King of what little authority he possessed, while the new Assembly was succeeded by the Convention. These changes were speedily followed by the imprisonment of the Royal family, and the massacres by the Paris Commune in August and September; but of these Mrs. Piozzi had evidently not yet heard.

Helena Williams' friend was evidently John Hurford Stone, whose name occurs several times in the succeeding letters. He was a Unitarian, and originally a coal-merchant in London, and a prominent member of the Society of Friends of the Revolution. He had thus brought himself to the notice of Fox and Sheridan in England, and had made the acquaintance of Talleyrand and Madame de Genlis in France. He was now paying a visit to Paris from which he returned early in 1793, but soon took up his permanent abode in France, where, on the outbreak of the war, he was imprisoned as an Englishman. In 1794 he was divorced from his wife, and thereafter lived with Helena Williams. His tombstone in Père Lachaise styles him an "enlightened champion of Religion and Liberty."

The idea of building a residence on Mrs. Piozzi's Welsh property, first mooted in 1789, was now taking shape. The old mansion of Bach-y-graig, besides being inconvenient and ruinous, occupied a low and rather damp situation on the banks of the Clwyd, so a higher and drier site was chosen for the new house.

Sally Siddons soon recovered, but in a few days Cecilia had a serious relapse.

_Sat. 29 Sep._ [1792].

My head full of opium, my heart of anguish, I will write to
my valuable friend about _her_ affairs, my own I cannot trust
the pen with; dear Sally must write _them_ for me. Mr. Whalley
is angelick, you should be happy to call _him_ cousin, sure;
and the sweet, artless, _hoping_ man's letter enclosed, that
quotes my verses--in good Time!--and gives the lye to all old
maxims which say that we lose our Lovers when we lose our
fortune. How can you be so cold to him? But 'tis illness makes
you so; be well, sweet friend, and reject not Heaven's offer
of temporal happiness in its _natural form_: that of a good
husband. Every hour shows me there is no other comfort in this
world but what we receive from indissoluble union with a soul
somewhat like one's own. Even in my case I feel consolation in
my Husband's disinterested goodness. Your Husband, I am sure,
has a heart in which meanness will not make its abode. Then why
should you scruple to honour or obey him? _I_ honour him from
my heart. Have him! Have him! and try not to disappoint his
romantic expectations of felicity never to be found. Cecilia
mends hourly, or I could not write thus much; yes, hourly!--and
yet,--Sally takes the pen. Show Sir Lucas Pepys this letter; if
mortal pow'rs can save her, _his_ will; he saved her once, why
was he out of Town?

Ah! dear Miss Weston, what affliction have we all been in! what
anxious days and sleepless nights has poor Mrs. Piozzi pass'd!
Cecilia has been ill, _very_ ill, a Physician from Chester
has been call'd; we now hope to God she will recover, sure,
almost, that there is no immediate danger. _Not immediate_, but
dearest Miss Weston, how afflicted will you be to hear that
Dr. Hagarth indicated but too plainly that Cecilia, whom we
thought so strong, so free from every complaint, will fall into
a consumption. Dear Mrs. Piozzi has fear'd this since the first
day Cecilia ail'd any thing, which was last Sunday, when she
directly sent for Mr. Moore the Apothecary of Denbigh. He said
nothing was the matter but cold; she cough'd and complain'd of
a pain in her shoulder and side, Monday she was worse, Tuesday
and Wednesday she still got worse, Thursday she kept her bed,
and Dr. H. was sent for. That day she spit a good deal of blood
and was bled. Dr. Hagarth and Mr. Moore differ'd in opinion
concerning what part the blood came from. Dr. Hagarth feared it
was from the lungs, and that was a bad symptom,--they let her
blood again at night. Yesterday Dr. Hagarth left us, and Cecy,
after a good night was surprisingly better; she was in better
spirits, sat up some time, and was very well disposed to talk
and laugh, but she is ordered not to do either. To-day she is
still much better, and we hope soon to see her well. In the
meantime dear Mrs. Piozzi through anxiety and grief has caught
a violent cold, to-day she seems better. Oh, my kind friend,
how would your tender heart have bled for her! Mine was ready
to burst, in the midst of her affliction on Cecilia's account,
to see her compose herself, and assure Mr. Piozzi that for his
sake she would bear all patiently, and take care of her own
health: indeed, indeed, it was a heart breaking sight. Cecilia
does not in the least suspect her complaint, she was only
frighten'd when she spit the blood. Tho' to be a spectator of
such affliction is a sad thing, yet am I happy in being here.
Cecilia is pleas'd to have me near her; she turned everyone but
me out of the room when she was bled, and me she held fast and
close to her. I think I am a small comfort to poor Mrs. Piozzi
too,--at least she told me so. What melancholy reflections does
Cecy's illness bring into one's mind; that one who yesterday was
young, healthy, strong, prosperous in her fortunes, belov'd by
her Parent and friends, in short, with every thing conspiring
to render her happy, should to-day be within an inch of death,
and quitting for ever all these blessings, is a sad and striking
lesson. To make things still more vexatious, poor Jacob has had
a terrible fever and sore throat; he is to-day mending. Mr.
Piozzi is all tenderness; he is, you may easily conceive, low
spirited enough. Let us pray to God that Dr. Hagarth has been
deceiv'd, or at least, if he has not, that the complaint may be
got the better of. I am sorry indeed to hear how ill you have
been, do, dear Creature, get well, and accept of the comfortable
independence which is offer'd you by so amiable a person. Will
it not in some measure soften the affliction the former part
of my letter must have given you, to tell you that my belov'd
Mother is at length cur'd of her complaint, and quite an alter'd
woman? What a happy being was I when I received this charming
news from herself, in her own handwriting! The intended journey
to Guy's Cliff must, I fear, be given up, I will hope that when
dear Cecy is recover'd, we shall yet pass some happy days there
together. The weather has prevented our enjoying this lovely
country sufficiently; I have seen enough to make me never forget
the beautiful Vale of Clwydd. The new house is to be call'd the
Belvedere. Yours sincerely,

S. SIDDONS.

This letter is addressed to 14 James Street, Westminster, where Mrs. Weston had taken rooms, and where she remained at any rate till her daughter's marriage. Sir Lucas Pepys, in whom Mrs. Piozzi reposed so much confidence, was the leading physician of the day. He had been created a Baronet in 1784, was President of the Royal College of Physicians, and attended the King in several of his illnesses.

The suggested name of Belvedere for the new house was not adhered to. The one finally chosen was a hybrid Cambro-Italian form, Brynbella, meaning the Beautiful Bank, or Brink.

CROWN INN, DENBIGH, _1st Oct. Monday_.

I write myself now, kindest Miss Weston, and I write with
steadier fingers. The cough has yielded to repeated bleedings,
and she mends as rapidly as she grew ill. Dr. Haygarth it was
who threw me in that agony, by pronouncing Cecilia in serious
danger from the blood spit up, which _he_ said came from the
lungs; and never did twenty Guineas purchase as much affliction
at one dose, I do believe, as those we gave to him. Dear Mr.
Moore, an agreeable Practitioner settled here as Accoucheur,
Surgeon, &c., who cured Sally Siddons, had repeatedly assured me
that it was _not_ from the lungs.... Her quick recovery gives
great reason to think _him_ right; and he _so_ smiles, and _so_
rejoyces, yet insists on my telling nobody that he differs from
Dr. Haygarth, who is a man of very high reputation, and in
earnest a very pleasing Physician--skilful too I dare say--and
fully perswaded of his own opinion, which is supported by
Science, as the other's by Experience.

Dear Cecy's recovery will, if complete, prove the old adage that
an Ounce of Mother is worth a Pound of Clergy; meaning that good
Common Sense, or _Mother Wit_ as we call it, beats learning out
of doors.

So may it prove! I will now pluck up courage and write to Sir
Lucas myself. Doctor Haygarth recommended us to take Cecilia
to a warmer climate, and that _instantly_: at the same time
he said she must not be _hurried_, or even suffered to _talk_
much, or move. _Naples_ was the first place that occurred: but
how should we get to _Naples_? Thro' France? They would refuse
Passports, perhaps _hurry_ her into _worse apartments_ than
these we are in: a prison, and present her with the sight of
heads streaming with blood. Thro' Germany? Through marching
armies into miserable towns, where want of horses to get forward
would detain us in a climate worse than that of Great Britain; a
German inn to escape catching cold at is a good joke to be sure.
'Tis a residence for Pigs only, not delicate Damsels, sure.

Let it be _Lisbon_ then! Very well, Lisbon be it; but now do
not you open your lips, or black one bit of paper with this
intelligence, for if she really ails nothing--which Mr. Moore
says will very soon appear to be the case--all these phantoms
vanish, and poor Mr. Piozzi and I are _not_ to be driven
forcibly, expensively, dangerously, and suddenly from all our
comforts, all our friends, present enjoyments, and future
projects. The little _Belvedere_ may yet go forward at Funnen
Vaino, and we may yet be merry with _you_ in many a beautiful
spot, but none like the _Vale of Llwydd_. My health, tho'
horribly shaken, _may_ tye up again, and I may kiss my pretty
black Cock and Hen (that I forgot to thank you for,) at poor old
Streatham Park. They are of the Polish breed; we will call them
the King and Queen of Poland, there will never be any other, I
fancy....

Jacob's dangerous sore throat and fever has been a great
addition to my agony, but he will live, poor fellow, I thank
God; and so the favourite horses got lamed with neglect
while he was sick, and Phillis came to evil, and all went
_consistently_. I expect my poor Husband to get a fit of the
gout every day, and that would _do_ for me. I should remind
myself of the Welch Parson's letter saying

"Dear Sir, as I was passing the heights of Snowdon last week,
with Mrs. Jones behind me, I got in much distress, for night
came on, my horse tired, and my Wife fell in labour...."

Of Sally Siddons I say, like as Imogen says of Pisanio, "thou
art all the comfort the gods will diet me with."[7] Her mother's
recovery is however one solid and certain felicity to us all. I
do thank God for that: she is an invaluable Creature.

[7] _Cymbeline_, III. iv. 183.

_Thursday 4 Oct._ DENBIGH.

Well! My dearest Miss Weston, you are a _true_ friend if ever
any one had a true friend, and you will think of nobody but me,
and of nothing but my miseries; from some part of which however
charming Sir Lucas's letter and yours together have relieved me.
I write to him to-day, and I beg'd Dr. Haygarth to write. _His_
will doubtless be a _despairing_ letter, he despair'd even of
Jacob, who, Mr. Moore protested, was never in actual danger. No
matter now tho', for he certainly is recovering; and I earnestly
_hope_ I did not neglect my duty to him, while my heart was full
of everything else in the world.

Indeed, indeed, Cecilia has, between her lovers and her illness,
worked my poor heart very hard this year. I marvel Drummond is
not come down yet, for he knows all that happened, but the same
avarice which prompted his original pursuit of her restrains him
from spending seven Guineas to follow _her_, and fret _me_. Some
certain comfort every state affords, you know. Cecilia does mend
to be sure as fast as ever anybody did mend: ay, and as fast as
she grew worse, which was with a rapidity I never before was
witness to....

Dear Piozzi does _not_ get the gout, so we shall surely move
hence o' Monday, but Haygarth is very good, that he is, and
comes at a call very quickly too. He has made two visits, and
kind Mr. Moore nurses, and sends his wife to nurse, and help sit
up, and everything,--that is, he _did_ do so when wanted,--as if
he were one's oldest and sincerest friend. He _never_ thought
her in danger, and is now the happiest person, except myself, in
the Town of Denbigh. The neighbouring Gentlemen send in baskets
of fruit and sallads, and all they think she can want: so if she
_does_ hate Wales, which I do believe she does most heartily,
the People could do no more to make her love it.

Remember, that tho' the Dr. came twice, she spit blood but
once; remember too that I did not wait till she spit blood
before I sent for him,--_that_ agony was while he was coming
hither,--this day sennight, and Mr. Moore had just bled her as
he walked in. The state of her blood however, and of her case,
made Haygarth order the operation to be repeated; and 'tis to
bleeding alone that I impute her cure....

She was as well, as lively, and as handsome as ever you saw her
just before this attack: she lost the cold _you_ had observed
by the time she reached Meriden. I remember her running up and
down the garden slopes like a school-girl; so she ran up and
down the Castle Hill here, to fright me and Sally Siddons at the
heights she shew'd herself from,--for mere sport and frolick.
The disease was sudden and violent. She had caught the cold when
Jacob caught _his_, riding in the rain to the Belvedere, and
then coming home in the chaise with us, her habit wet thro'. She
_would_ ride that day tho' it was showry when she set out, but
the roads are so bad for a carriage that every body will ride
that _can_; and she is not used to mind a cold, poor soul....

This is, I think, my most rational letter yet.... Sally Siddons
is my darling daughter, and _so_ affectionate. Farewell; beg
dear Mr. Whalley's prayers for me, and write to Chester to yours
_gratefully_,

H. L. P.

_Sat. 6 Oct. 1792._

My dearest, truest, kindest Miss Weston's sympathizing letter
makes a nice contrast to cruel Doctor Haygarth's, this moment
received,--wherein he bids me not relax my caution, for that
diseases of these kinds are peculiarly insidious;--says Miss
Thrale ought to be watched with the most sedulous attention,
&c., and brought to him, if able to move, next Monday, to
Chester,--where however he _despairs_ again of finding us any
comfortable accommodations.

How can dear Sir Lucas Pepys love a man so unlike himself?--and
how can a creature who witness'd my anguish suspect, or pretend
to suspect, my care of a child whose welfare precludes every
other thought and consideration?

Well! Cecilia has no sweats, no febrile heat, no chills, no pain
in the breast _at all_. She sleeps uninteruptedly seven hours
at a time, and coughs only _now and then_, as we say, but it
certainly is not cured. This morning we try her with an airing,
but I'm forced to send my letter away, because our Posts come
and go very slowly, as you see. Sally Siddons scolds me for
crying over Haygarth's letter, because she says _she_ sees Cecy
mend every moment.

The remaining page and a half is filled up by Sally, who enlarges on this text in great detail, and with much common sense. She seems to have converted Mrs. Piozzi to her opinion, for the next letter, instead of being written at Chester, is dated from Guy's Cliffe, near Warwick, then the seat of the Greatheeds. Mrs. Piozzi had become intimate with Bertie Greatheed at Florence, and wrote the Epilogue for his blank-verse tragedy, _The Regent_, which was performed at Drury Lane in 1788. It was not a great success, in spite of the acting of John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons. Here the object, though not the nature, of Mrs. Piozzi's anxiety suffered a change; for Sally had a bad attack of the spasmodic asthma from which she suffered all her life, and of which she eventually died.

GUY'S CLIFFE, _Sunday 14 Oct. 1792._

Never, my dearest Miss Weston, never _try_ to oppose the
immediate dictates of Heaven. I was miserable, yes _miserable_
at coming to this sweet hospitable house, because I wanted to
be at home with Cecilia, to see and embrace my kind, my true
friend--and to endeavour at sleep in _my own_ bed--for from
every other it has long been flown. On the road hither however,
for we came softly, not to hurry poor Cecy, only 44 miles o'
day, Sally Siddons was taken _illish_. I hop'd it was the
Influenza, for cold she could not have catch'd, and I have kept
her at all possible distance from my own girl ever since she
threw up blood at Denbigh. Here however was she seized yesterday
with _such_ a paroxysm of Asthma, cough, spasm, _every_ thing,
as you nor I ever saw her attack'd by.... But as God never
leaves one deserted, _here_ most providentially was found Mr.
Rich'd Greatheed, who you know practised physick many years in
the West Indies; and under his care we are now _existing_, not
living. He is very charming, and so is his dear sister, who
desires her love to you, and all possible happiness. I told
her _my_ infinite obligations to your generous friendship, and
she says how good, and clever, and how much admired you always
were. Sally in her bed begs to be remembered to you, who have
so often watched her bedside. She has reason to adore Mrs.
Greatheed though, who ransacks the country for relief to the
dear creature, and we expect her mother every instant to add to
our agony.

Meantime Cecilia remains _just the same_ as when Haygarth
pronounced her _well_; but she is _not_ well, no nor _ill_
neither.... Well, her sisters had the best of my flesh and of
my purse; poor Cecilia can but pick the skeleton of either, and
she is welcome to _that_. I knew from the Lloyds that Drummond
was acquainted with all; he doubtless attributes her illness
to disappointed love of _him_. I knew it from them, but they
did not _tell_ me so, mind: oh, had I never known anything of
Drummond but what I had been _told_, my information had been
very shallow, sure.

Adieu! if no new affliction arises we shall be at Streatham Park
on Thursday night, 18, and you shall see what yet remains of
your poor

H. L. PIOZZI.

Mrs. Siddons was no stranger at Guy's Cliffe. More than twenty years before, when her parents were trying to break off her engagement to William Siddons, she had lived there for two years, nominally as lady's-maid, though it is said that her chief employment was to read poetry to the then master of the house, Mr. Samuel Greatheed. After her marriage in 1773 she often stayed there as a friend of the family.

STREATHAM PARK. _Wensday, 7 Nov. 1792._

I am truly delighted, dearest friend, with your charming
pacquet....

We are all in the right to love Mr. Pennington, 'tis for all our
credit to love him, and will be ever so to yours. Never were
so many knowing ones taken in at once as would be if he proved
worthless. You will follow _him_ soon, and the moment we have
half a crown _in hand_ we will follow you. Let mine be the first
letter sign'd P. S. P. Siddons says you must say nothing from
her, but you may tell Mr. Whalley from me, that I think her as
yet neither well nor happy, soon to be so however, as we all
hope; that's enough, she will always do right, we are sure of
her principles, _unbending_ as her best admirer said they were.

So you are a widow when this reaches you, and your true love is
gone away. What mistakes he will be guilty of till you come, I
am thinking; for he, poor soul! dreams only of his Sophia.
May your Mother end her days peaceably under his protection and
your care, and quite forget she ever had any other son! _'Tis
best_.

My Master will call some day, if he _can_, that is. Mr. Ray
has given him tickets for Lord Mayor's Feast, so he is to see
London's Glory,--_in good time_; he has seen the Apparitions,
which he greatly approves.

Helena Williams should not be sick now all goes her own way; Is
this a time, brave Caius, to wear a Kerchief? &c.,[8] as Brutus
says. I will write to her some of these days....

[8] "Oh what a time have you chose out, brave Caius," &c.--_Julius Cæsar_, II. i. 315.

_By R. J. Lane after Sir Thos. Lawrence_]

In France the Prussians had been driven back, the National Convention had abolished Royalty, proclaimed the Republic, and were now preparing to try the King, though it is not likely that the last item of news had yet reached Mrs. Piozzi. The Republic at once took up the offensive, and its troops occupied Savoy and Nice, which no doubt gave rise to the expectation of an attack on Rome, as mentioned in the next letter.

STREATHAM PARK, _Wensday 21_.

My dear Miss Weston's kind letter came safe to my hand, 'tis the
last I shall read with that signature. Do pray tell me whether
your Brother knows how matters go, and when he found it out.
Does good Mamma set out at the same time you do? Yes, I dare
say. Give my truest regards to charming Mr. Whalley, and your
_real_ cousin, his amiable Lady, and tell my Harriet Lee how I
expect her, and long to see her, and tell all my tales of sorrow
and of joy about poor Cecilia, whose kind and wise Physician
came here out of pure good will two days ago, and signed a _good
Bill of Health_ for all the family,--honest Jacob included; and
said moreover that sweet Siddons would recover in due time, and
that time not distant. He is one of _us_ her adorers....

How happy Mr. Pennington must be in Mrs. Tryon's admiration of
his Sophia's fine qualities. These are the bright moments, the
lucid spots of life, which those who never marry never see. Mr.
Whalley's is really a lucky house, I seldom have seen it without
a courting scene upon the foreground. Tell him, (if you can
remember,) that his democratic friend, Count Andriani, asked for
him the other day, tho' I perfectly recollect his turning quite
pale with passion while they disputed about politics. Meantime
the French are expected hourly at Rome, and at Loretto, to pay
their troops with the rich spoils of Palaces and Churches. Some
Italian noblemen dined here last week, and actually wept with
reflexions upon past terror and apprehended injuries. Excellenza
Pisani in particular, at whose throat, and at those of his
little girls, ten and eleven years old, they held knives and
pikes for the space of _four_ hours, surrounding his coach as
he came away, and loading him with the bitterest curses; adding
Rogue and Rascal, etc., till his daughters' Gouvernante, in
perpetual fits, seem'd wholly dead from fright, and his Steward
came out in a spotted fever with the agony. I never heard
anything so dreadful. Little Lady Caterina says she thought they
would kill Papa every minute. Remember that Pisani is one of the
first families in Europe, and that his person ought to have been
sacred as Ambassador from one of the first Republics in it.

Poor Marquis Spinola has the same tale to tell; but he had
lived twenty years in France, and acquired kindness enough for
the Nation to be sorry for _them_. Well! we will now think of
nothing but private happiness, and rejoice that 'tis still
within our reach. May you, my kind friend, long remain a proof
and pattern of it, prays your truly affectionate and obliged

H. L. PIOZZI.