Chapter IV (1)

Cecilia's engagement and marriage to Mostyn, 1795--Her dangerous
illness--Friction with the Mostyns--Disturbances in Italy and
Ireland--Death of Maria Siddons--Visit to Bath, 1798.

While the Piozzis were staying at Denbigh, and superintending the building of Brynbella, Cecilia, still in her teens, met her future husband, John Meredith Mostyn.

DENBIGH, _March 24, 1795_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will excuse her old Friend if, having
long forborne to write because she had nothing to say, she
continued that forbearance lately because she had too much. My
heart has been very full: Cecilia seems to have seen the man
she likes at last, and thinking about them occupies very, very
much of my mind. As my Countryman is no Lord, nor no Wit, nor
no Beau, nor no man of _monstrous Fortune_, I know not how the
connection will be relished by London Friends, or by Cecy's
Sisters, Guardians, the Chancellor, etc. But that she should
pitch upon a youth of ancient and respectable family in my own
neighbourhood, grandson to an old intimate of my own Father,
with a clear estate of £2000 pr. Ann.; independent in mind,
manners, and fortune, with a _beautiful_ person, and character
highly esteem'd, cannot chuse but be agreeable to me. Meantime
the World is _so_ wicked, and one is _so_ terrified at the
thoughts of what _may_ happen in it to two creatures, neither of
them quite 20 years old, that I live in a fever....

Write soon--directly if you can; we don't go to Streatham till
the 14th of April. Adieu! I cannot make my pen obey me, it will
neither stop nor run. Cecilia is out on horseback with her
Sweetheart, but she bid me tell you all. And now I have forgot
to add his name--'tis John Meredith Mostyn--of Segroid. We call
the people by the names of their country seats, as in Scotland,
'tis necessary where there are so many old aristocrate families
branch'd out into many separate houses and establishments.

Once more Adieu! Give my best regards to _your_ Husband, and
pray for a good one to Cecy, or what will become of your H. L.
P.?

Mr. Piozzi is out at Brinbella. Building and planting, marrying
and giving in marriage, you see we _do_ go on till the very end
of the world, undeterred by false Prophets which precede it.

This rascal Brothers will be _seriously_ listen'd to, if the
Prince of Wales's match goes off. He rested the truth of his
mission upon that event, but we are expressly told that some of
them _will_ do signs and wonders; yet are we commanded strictly
_not to go forth after them_,--as I find many do.

The Mostyns of Segroid (now of Llewesog, co. Denbigh) were a branch of the Mostyns of Mostyn, Barts., who claimed descent from Tudor Trevor. In previous generations they had intermarried with the Salusburys and Pennants, and J. M. Mostyn's sister Maria married Colonel Salusbury of Galtfynan. His grandfather, John Mostyn, was of Capel Gwyddelwern, co. Monmouth, and died 1731.

Richard Brothers was originally a Lieutenant R.N., but retired from the service, and set up as a prophet in London about 1787. His vegetarian diet, and conscientious objection to oaths, helped to bring him into notoriety, while his scruples about drawing his pay brought him into the workhouse. But he soon found admirers and supporters, and was enabled to publish his "Revealed Knowledge of Prophecies and Times, wrote under the direction of the Lord God," in 1794. Some of his predictions had a remarkable fulfilment: _e.g._ in 1792 he foretold violent deaths for the King of Sweden and Louis XVI, but others, such as the destruction of London by fire, were less successful. He now developed megalomania of a religious type, styling himself "Nephew of God" (explained as in virtue of descent from one of the "Brethren of the Lord") and the "Prince of the Hebrews" who was to lead the Jews back to Palestine. Some wild political utterances led to an examination before the Privy Council on suspicion of treason, but the fitting result was his confinement, not in a gaol, but in a lunatic asylum.

STREATHAM PARK, _Tuesday, 5 May_.

My dear Friend will, I am sure, be pleased to hear that we
are safe arrived here, and our children about us: Mr. Mostyn
grows every day dearer to me, and the connection with him
more desired as we make closer acquaintance. Cecilia seems to
resist, for his sake, all temptations from her Sisters to a
London Spring; and Mr. Piozzi, in return, treats us all with
frequent excursions for amusement, so as to render a _week's
stay in Town_ less necessary to her happiness. What a Town
'tis! And what strange events occur in it every hour! Prophets,
Traitors, Lunatic Ladies who elope from their husbands, even
without Gallants to seduce, or even feigned ill-usage to impell
them. They run to _Bristol_ however, you know I say that all
the Wonder-doers, Conjurors, Poets, Impostors,--every one have
something to do with Bristol.... Mr. Jackson, tho' guilty, is
recommended to mercy I perceive, but his condemnation will, in
a certain manner, implicate Mr. Stone. Apropos, Helen Williams
finds a defender in Col. Barry, who is as amiable, as clever,
and as eccentrick as possible. Lovely Siddons is set out for
Scotland in this moment, she will have cheated herself of Summer
completely....

Whilst I am writing come my three Daughters, two of them at
least, from Town, and bring the news of Jackson's suicide. What
astonishing times are these! and the World, tho' wicked, is so
enraged against my Lady Jersey, that people expect her to be
hissed in her carriage, or at the theatres. Our new Princess's
popularity daily encreases, I think, and if she _should_ bring
us a little boy the World would really be quite charmed with
her. Is it not astonishing that she never learned English, when
that study is grown even fashionable upon the Continent?

This is one of those days which Brothers pitched on for the
Earthquake. Do you take any interest in his abettors and their
pamphlets, Wright, Bryan, Halhead?...

William Jackson was an Irish clergyman, who had held a curacy in London, and acted as chaplain to the "amazing" Duchess of Kingston: afterwards, taking up journalism, he was editor of the _Public Ledger_ and the _Morning Post_. Espousing the cause of the United Irishmen, he went over to France as their envoy, with a view to procure assistance for the projected Irish rising. Being brought to trial and convicted, he took poison, and died in the dock while sentence was being pronounced. His suicide was perhaps designed to save his property, which would have been forfeited to the Crown on conviction for high treason.

Frances, daughter of Dr. Philip Twysden, Bishop of Raphoe, and wife of George Bussy, fourth Earl of Jersey, had created considerable scandal, even in that lax age, by her relations with the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. The shameless way in which he forced her into the household of the Princess, was no doubt largely responsible for the sympathy so widely felt for the erring but injured wife. The Prince's marriage took place in April 1795, but the only child, born in 1796, was the Princess Charlotte, who married Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, afterwards King of the Belgians.

Nathaniel Brassey Halhead, M.P. for Lymington, was a man of considerable attainments, as shown by his Bengali Grammar and "Gentoo Code of Laws"; but his learning did not save him from becoming the disciple, not to say dupe, of the mad prophet, under whose influence he wrote a treatise on the millenium, and a "Testimony to the Authenticity of the Prophecies of R. Brothers."

STREATHAM PARK, _Monday, 11 May 1795_.

* * * * *

Mrs. Siddons is gone to work her brother out of a gaol at
Edinburgh, and was forced to leave her husband,--who, being
security for him, is most deeply interested in his success,--_a
cripple upon crutches_. Such stuff is this world made of, and
'tis time to look sharp about money matters _now_, when a common
fowl is paid seven _shillings_ for in Carnaby Market, and a leg
o' mutton at the same place _eight_ pence o' pound. For these
uncommon misfortunes I refused to take common report; so left
the carriage in Marlborough Street, and walked in my black
bonnet and cloke all over that eminently cheap and plentiful
market myself, in order to ascertain the real truth, and I now
write down what I saw and heard in letters, not figures, to
prevent the possibility even of _supposed_ mistake. What however
most amazes me is, that our Batchelor Friends say the prices are
not raised yet in eating-house or tavern, nor are the dinners
worse; and Virgo the poulterer told me he never sold more
articles than since they have been at this unexampled price.
Make these facts agree as you can.

With regard to Spring, all _order and gradation_ seem as
completely abolished as if the _Elements_ had experienced a
_Revolution_. The Walnut is now contemporary with the Primrose,
a thing I never saw before, and all our Oaks are in broad leaf,
before the Pear trees have shed their blossoms, a circumstance
wholly new to me. Not a Blackbird is seen or heard in our
desolated shrubbery, which, as you know, used to resound with
them: and nobody but myself (who am ever on the watch,) has seen
any Swallows. I observed six yesterday. But what strange times
are these, with our false Christs too, and false Prophets! Mercy
on me! but I do think Cecilia is beginning the World just in
the _last Act_ of it. May she at least play _her part_ well!
Mostyn and she are trying to get married, if possible, before he
comes of age, and so they will amuse the time till he _is_ of
age, I suppose....

Apparently the Chancellor proved obdurate in the matter of the marriage of the legal "infants," so the impatient Cecilia indulged in one more characteristic escapade by eloping to Gretna Green; an unnecessary proceeding which must have been very annoying for Mrs. Piozzi, though she makes no allusion to it in the letters. Their married life was but short, as Mostyn died 19th May 1807. His widow survived him just half a century, and died at Silwood House, Brighton, 1st May 1857, æt. eighty.

Mrs. Siddons' brother, Stephen Kemble, had taken the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, in 1789, but from the first was involved in disputes with his intended partner and an unsuccessful competitor. He tried to escape from these by opening the New Theatre in 1793, only to find that the legitimate drama was altogether prohibited there, as infringing the rights of the Theatre Royal. He returned to the latter in the following year, but disputes and litigation still continued, so that in spite of his sister's assistance it could not have proved a very profitable situation: but he did not resign till 1800.

_From the Collection of A. M. Broadley, Esq._]

STREATHAM PARK, _Sat. 13 Jun. 1795_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will be pleased to hear that our Cecilia
is married, and happy, and gone down with her very amiable
husband to Llewesog Lodge, near Denbigh, N. Wales, the seat of
_his_ mother, Mrs. Wynne. A letter from you, so directed, will
be a pleasure to her. We cannot get down as early as we wish,
tho' things here are so high-prized, _that_ circumstance alone
might drive one if one's heart were not, as much of mine now is,
in the country with Mrs. Mostyn. These really are sad times,
are they not? A cessation of hostilities without any peace,
a pause somehow more shocking than war, like the pause in a
pulse lately hurried on by _fever_, now stopt by a symptom more
dreadful than the fever itself.

The elements too are really very severe of late; the Park is
converted into what farmers call a Lay--_our_ Park; it will not
pay the haymaking. It is a new sight to me, and a mournful one,
and the weather is like a cold October.

What becomes of our friends the Whalleys? I never hear of them,
and what do they say to these terrifying moments? They will be
sorry for those who are starving. My daughters tell me that
the little sheds about St. George's Fields are full of Emigrée
French dying of actual want; having exhausted the Charity so
much--indeed so _justly_ admired in our beneficent nation. Poor
things! They expire quietly now, and say nothing; but stirring
up Oatmeal and Cold water together, live on _that_ while they
can get it, and then--perish. Countesses and children of high
quality in France, thus lost amidst the crowds of thieves
and blackguards that infest the environs of London. How very
dreadful! How very poignant the reflexion!...

Charming Siddons is somewhere in the North, setting up the
individuals of her family, like Ninepins, for Fortune to bowl
at, and knock down again. _She_ meantime secures glorious
immortality in both worlds....

STREATHAM PARK, _Fryday 26 Jun._

My dear Mrs. Pennington may assure herself I know no more of
Helen Williams's actual situation than I do of Colonel Barry's
address. I have seen him but for five minutes since I saw _you_,
and 'twas his diversion then, (in his clever way,) to make out
her defence against some of the company who sported the reports
you mention.

Mr. James, whom you have heard me speak of, died in a French
prison, poor fellow! His widow and children are returned; they
have suffered greatly, but the pressure is nearly general, and
these last riots truly tremendous. If we do not catch the Corn
Fleet going from America to France--the Lord have mercy upon us!

Turning towards individuals is the likeliest method to find some
happiness, yet _you_, my dear Friend, complain, and poor Mr.
Whalley's sufferings will be _too_ great, if his wife really
should _die_ in consequence of his Niece's naughtiness. Oh
surely I hope that will never be. Can any beside parents feel
_mortal_ anxiety? I hoped not.

Sweet Cecy is loaded with comforts and pleasures; the family she
falls into adores her, and the peasants take off the horses and
draw her about in triumph. Her sisters too are _now_ contented,
and express their approbation, etc., in bridal presents. May she
but be sensible of her felicity! The lot she has drawn is indeed
a very great one; personal beauty, birth, unblemished character,
and gentle manners in one man united, is no common prize....

My Girls always say how they wish for your acquaintance. I will
not yet despair of seeing you next Spring, for we _have_ a
project, but I must not mention it yet.

Mr. James was a portrait painter at Bath, who was elected A.R.A. in 1770. He was imprisoned during the Terror, but was apparently released after the fall of Robespierre, as he actually died at Boulogne.

Lord Howe had put out in the spring to find the French fleet, but returned on hearing that it had been damaged by a storm, and had put into Brest to refit. Though in failing health he remained in nominal command, but the English fleet was actually led by Alexander Hood, Lord Bridport, who, three days before Mrs. Piozzi wrote, gained a notable victory, with a much inferior force, over the French Fleet of twenty-two ships off L'Orient.

A letter of thanks from Cecilia for Mrs. Pennington's congratulations follows. Her condolences on Mrs. Whalley's supposed death were somewhat premature. Subsequent letters show that she made a satisfactory recovery from the effects of her niece's "naughtiness," whatever it may have been.

LLEWESOG LODGE, _July the 2d._

MY DEAR MRS. PENNINGTON,--I am extremely obliged to you
and Mr. Pennington for your kind congratulations, and should
have written to thank you sooner had I been quite well. Now the
correspondence has begun, may I hope it will continue, for I
have now not the same means of knowing how you all go on. I am
not likely to see my dear Mother for at least two months, as
their house goes on very slowly here. Wasn't there a talk once
of your coming into Wales? Sure it would be a good as well as an
agreeable plan. How glad we should all be to see you. Do let me
know if there are any hopes of such a thing; or to have a pretty
little cottage--how nice it would be. Any body may live here
without money almost, every thing is so cheap.

I have this moment heard of poor Mrs. Whalley's death. How
grieved you must be, and poor Mr. Whalley; indeed I am very
sorry. That dreadful Mrs. Mullins was, I suppose, the cause; do
you know what is become of her?... Ever yours,

CECILIA MOSTYN.

By the autumn the Piozzis were established in their own house, which Mrs. Piozzi for some time continues to write as Brinbella. Though commenced only as a "cottage," Mrs. Piozzi states in her Commonplace Book that the total cost was over £20,000.

BRINBELLA, _Wednesday 21 Oct. 1795_.

* * * * *

My Master is just recovered from a fit of gout, which, coming at
so very untoward a moment, left me no leisure for thinking at
the time of any thing else:--but _now_ I am glad that 'tis over.

We were scarce warm in our house before he was laid up, and
'twas cruel to have him disturb'd at such an hour by Workmens'
hammers. _To them_ the less disagreeable noise of pretty ladies'
prattle has at length happily succeeded; and Mr. Piozzi gallants
his wife's four daughters to Holywell Assembly to-morrow.
Meantime Mrs. Mostyn _is_ settled at her husband's old Family
Seat at Segroid, near Denbigh; his Mama lives with _her_
husband, Major Wynne, at Llewesog Lodge, about four miles from
them,--I think we at Brinbella measure eight or nine. Mr. Mostyn
means to build another summer, but resides in the old Mansion
while that work is going on. I hear no talk of any young ones
coming as yet, but we need not despair. Harriet Lee's hour of
felicity will come to me, I doubt not; she _says_, you know,
that no human being is truly happy but a _Grandmother_.

Marquis Trotti is married, and Annette is gone to Manchester. I
think the latter a lucky incident, she will have no one to talk
the other event over to, and it will fade away the sooner from
her memory. Friendship has its thorns like any other rose; a
person to whom you can speak freely is a perpetual reflector of
your own sensations, and if they are not agreeable, serves to
double the pain. The younger sister too may make conquests in
a new place, where her accomplishments are likely to strike as
rareties. Such companions as our lovely Nancy will not easily be
found in a trading town.

_My_ young ladies mean to spend the winter at Clifton, I
understand, but all seasons begin late now, and we shall of
course endeavour to detain them here as long as possible. They
have been prospect-hunting ever since June, and confess these
environs very beautiful notwithstanding that Mount Edgecumbe
and Penfield have been taken into their tour. They have heard
much of dear Mrs. Pennington, and I dare say you will like one
another exceedingly; the Siddonses and they are grown quite
intimate....

The public news is dismal indeed, but my Master says _'twill
mend_.

The dowager Mrs. Mostyn took for her second husband Edward Watkin Wynne, of Llwyn, co. Denbigh, the representative of a younger branch of the Wynnes of Gwydir.

BRINBELLA, _24 Nov. 1795_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington will receive this letter from an old
Friend by the hand of her Daughters; they will be pleased with
your acquaintance, and you will have it in your power to shew
them some attentions.

Streatham Park will serve as a common theme for the beginning
of conversation, tho' Heaven knows the present times afford
ample scope for talk which can scarcely avoid interesting us
all. Meantime Miss Thrale has seen so much beautiful scenery
in the Western Counties of our Island, England and Wales, that
you will delight in making her recapitulate their peculiarities
of excellence. Nobody I ever knew, who loved London society
with your degree of fondness, continued to possess so strong a
taste of Nature and her solitary charms; but I know not whether
Clifton Hill makes you any amends yet for loss of Hanover Square.

I heard that poor Mrs. Whalley was dead, but 'tis not true, I
hope; if anything will make dear Siddons sit down to write a
letter, it must be asking her that question....

BRYNBELLA, _Monday 7_.

My dear Mrs. Pennington does me wrong in thinking I forget her;
but though we live an apparently retired life, being far distant
both from Bath and from the Capital, I do not perceive that
more time to be disposed of falls to one's share here than at
Streatham Park. Our walks, being more varied, are pleasanter,
and tempt us out much more. So many _improvements_ too, with
_Chickens to peck, and Pidgeons to flee_, as the Fool said to
Mr. Whalley; I am, I think, quite tired by 10 o'clock at night
always, and yet impatient for another day, that something may
get forward. We have a way too of going to dinner with our
neighbours here perpetually, and of sleeping at each other's
houses in good familiarity, which takes up some not disagreeable
moments. Of London acquaintance we cannot be supposed to see
many, but Miss Thrales and Mr. Chappelow, who have been among
us, will, I flatter myself, make a good report. For conversation
we talk of peace, and war, and fashions, with great success;
and the price provisions bear, principally corn, is a matter of
serious moment, to _us_. Strange to me how 'tis endured in the
Metropolis, and stranger how the evil will be cured.

You had more need write to _me_, dear Friend, than think of
letters from one who, for all topics of thought or talk, depends
upon distant intelligence, and I depend upon good forage in
the _Bristol quarter_. There is always somewhat going forward
_there_.... Send me a yard-long letter....

The "Fool," whose sayings are several times referred to, was doubtless the "famous mechanic, Merlin," of whom Mrs. Piozzi relates in her Commonplace Book that, hearing a discussion on the possibility of stopping the expected French army of invasion, he inquired, "Could they not stop them at the Turnpikes?"

BRYNBELLA, _Fryday 18 Dec. '95_.

* * * * *

Well the changes and chances of this world are many and various,
and sometimes happen for the better, as they do now upon the
Continent. The French run very well indeed;--I _told_ you that
vengeance awaited them, and 'tis coming at last.

Meantime you must do me a favour. You must enquire me a
Housekeeper such as you _know_ will suit us; a good country
housewife, who can salt Bacon, cure Hams, see also to the
baking, etc., and be an active manager of and for a dozen
troublesome servants: in a word, _Abbiss_ without her faults.
The London women of this profession hate to leave the Capital;
I should hope better from a rough inhabitant of Bristol or
Liverpool, where the people keep good houses, and good order in
their houses, and give excellent dinners, be the times scarce or
plentiful.

You see Helen Williams advertises a new Book; _her_ friends
are uppermost in Paris now, but if these foreign affairs run
counter so, I much doubt their ability to _stand_ when general
enthusiasm begins to _fall_.

Adieu, my kind friend, and do look me out a servant such as
I have described; the torment these people cause me here at
such a distance is intolerable; fetching and carrying them is
as expensive as can be, and then the others won't live with
them,--and there is no end of their worrying one. Ask your good
Mother if she knows one likely to do.

Helen Williams about this time published _Letters containing a Sketch of the Politics of France, 1793-4_; she had also employed herself in making a translation of _Paul et Virginie_ while in prison under Robespierre. After his fall, the party of the Gironde to which she belonged framed the new Constitution, which came into force 28th October 1795. The Convention dissolved itself to make way for the Directory, which served as a stepping-stone for Napoleon's rise to power.

_Wednesday, 20 [Apr. 1796]_, BRINBELLA.

What a world it is, dear Mrs. Pennington! But the amiable
Whalleys have found better than they expected in it. Everybody
will be glad, they are people I think particularly beloved: and
since Mrs. Mullins has scamper'd off so, I hope _you_ will be
the only favourite, and then good will come out of evil.

Cecilia and her husband are gone to London. I am sorry for it;
but she felt very tired of Wales, and he felt disposed--not to
_indulge_ but to _obey_ her. I am sorry for _that too_, a little
bridle is not amiss for a young Filly Foal like her. If she
had been bringing a pretty Boy, instead of driving to Town in
a dangerous Curricle, I should have liked it better, but they
think of themselves, not of us.

I congratulate you upon the new Tax: there will be _many dogs
the fewer for it_. Do you remember saying upon Streatham Hill,
one day when I thought my neighbour's favourite Spaniel in
danger from old Browney, "Let him alone; if he kills it there
will at worst be _one_ dog less in the world"?

The dear Lees will, I hope, be all well and happy in the success
which is expected to attend Almeyda. Sweet Siddons does not
write as if she was encumbered with either health or happiness,
but things will mend sometime, _sure_. I wish she had done with
her profession, and could buy a pretty little house and farm
just by us here,--_that I do_: she would like this place better
than you would. Mr. Chappelow came and spent three weeks with
us, and said how beautiful the country was, and the people how
agreeable. But I caught him at last rejoicing in the sight of
a man that _had seen Wandsworth_; and when I observed he was
a knowing fellow in his way,--"Why, yes," says he, "you may
perceive he has English notions; he was bred at _Wandsworth_,
etc." ...

You must direct your next to me at Dr. Wynn's House, Beaumaris,
Anglesey. A dip in our Irish Channel will do me good, and I
shall see some waves that have been at Bristol. If we can either
get or save half a crown, we will visit you next year, but these
sweet grounds round the new house take up all our money. They
are beautiful, however, and I do not grudge it. If we live, it
will repay us in pleasure certainly, perhaps in profit. Mr.
Piozzi mends the estate every day. I wish you could _but_ see
it. Miss Thrales like Streatham better, of course....

Nobody ever writes me word whether Marquis Trotti has
perpetuated his family by marrying this pretty young Countess,
and _he_ has done corresponding with me now. So melt away our
quondam society, my dear Mrs. Pennington, and so melt we away
ourselves, none of us quite what we were I believe, but none
less changed, (tho' not well neither,) than your ever equally
faithful

H. L. P.

The above letter is franked, a very unusual circumstance in Mrs. Piozzi's correspondence, by "R. W. Wynne," probably her neighbour Colonel Robert William Wynne of Garthwin, who was High Sheriff for the county.

BRYNBELLA, _1 August, 1796_.

Well! dear Mrs. Pennington! this next winter, if we all live so
long, will we shake hands, and tell old tales of other times
over a fire together. Our dear Master has had a fit of Gout in
Anglesey, and he has a fancy to have the next at Bath, and will
go thither--if it please God--on the 1st of Jan^y 1797. How
many things, foreign and domestic, shall we find to chat about!
How many odd and new incidents have claim'd attention since we
parted! And how comfortable will it be to talk all matters over
in the old way!...

Cecilia and her husband were in London this Spring with their
sisters, but as they went without taking leave of us, so they
returned without taking any notice. These are _some_ of the odd
things.

Some of the odder still are that Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn went to
Streatham Park, when tired of Town, called their friends about
them there, and nobody said or wrote a word to Mr. Piozzi or me
about the matter, except Miss Thrale, who beg'd permission for
Susan and Sophy. Since then Lord and Lady William Russell have
wished us _to let it_, and Lord and Lady Clonmel have wished
us _to lend it_. My Master says he'll go next Spring and live
awhile in it to spite 'em. I shall be glad when we return, for
dear Brynbella has full possession of her heart who is ever
faithfully yours,

H. L. P.

BRYNBELLA, _17 Aug. 1796_.

MY DEAR FRIEND,--This very post brought me your kind
letter; see then, if I am slow in answering it, though every
day makes me hate writing more than the last day did. What can
one write freely? Not about one's children, unless they were
good as mine are, and giving no cause of complaint. Nor about
one's friends certainly, for if they did wrong, or disgraced
expectation of right, _they_ are the very people one would not
blame. Enemies--less still; for in that blame _some_ envy or
some ill-nature would very likely be mingled, and _more_ be
suspected at all times. Of the French, and the French only, may
one write freely, and blame liberally; for though all fear, I
think all (even the maddest,) begin to abhor them. 'Tis too late
however, and unless some decisive blow be soon struck in Italy,
(of which I am not wholly without hope,) all must go, and then
politics will cease to be, as now, an extraneous subject, to
keep us from talking of what truly interests our heart or purse,
it will be what most immediately touches our nearest and dearest
concerns. May the great battle likely to take place before
beautiful Verona's gates _avert_, by the success of General
Wurmser,--at least _defer_, that very dreadful moment! But
there are other hopes. We _may_ take Leghorn ourselves. The old
Empress _may_ think y^e time come when she ought to rouze from
her Northern torpor, that keeps all animals asleep till late in
the season by its cold, and the whole human race _may_ unite
against that portion of it which so seeks the utter ruin of the
rest. Any of these will do; and if nothing of y^s should happen,
we must revere and acknowledge the _visible_ finger of God, and
prepare for what's to follow. So much for public matters....

I fancy Madam D'Arblaye lives much with foreigners. She talks
of _demanding_ and _according_ in a way English people never
talk; and of _descending_ to breakfast, and says one sister
aided another to rise, or lye down, as English people never do.
We say _ask_, and _grant_, and _help_, and _go down stairs_,
you know; the other words are French. The characters however of
Mrs. Arlberry and Mrs. Berlington are surely well contrasted,
and both likely enough to strike a young creature of Camilla's
cast. Mrs. Mittin too has much of my applause, and Bellamy
frighted me with his feigned character and his false friendship,
and his _pouncing_ upon Eugenia, so like "_one Hawk with one
Pidgeon_,"--do you remember?

Cecilia is very well, and looks prettier than she used to do....
She has been to see us since I wrote, both with and without her
Husband. They are going into Westmoreland on a shooting party,
and propose visiting my oldest friend, Mrs. Strickland. Her
sisters are at Tunbridge.

Helen Williams's conduct seems to astound Harriet Lee, whose
own sweetness hindered her from seeing what led to it long ago,
but we must yet suspend our judgments. I expect some Harlequin
escape from censure will yet be performed for our delight and
her benefit.

Dr. Moore battles the Ladies on their own ground, I see. Mr.
Cumberland and he come forward with novels contesting the palm
against very formidable antagonists. I never saw Henry, but have
heard many commend it, and from Edward I really expect a good
deal.

The epilogue to Almeyda pleased me more than even the prologue,
some lines of which are however exquisite. The play itself
half broke my heart in reading, 'twas so tender, and somehow
I had expected terror more than pity would have been produced
by Sophia Lee. Like yourself, I was all for _Orasmyn_. When
will these dear creatures cease their combinations of calamity?
There is so much in the _real living_ world at present, 'tis
surprising how one can find tears for _nothing_ so, and for
_nobody_.

Charming Siddons has been silent ever since I refused running
after her from Beaumaris to Liverpool, but such an expedition
was more impracticable than she dreamt on. Mr. Pott, who I met
in Anglesey, said she had lost much of health and something of
good looks. Oh! for those two things, if true, _I am really and
sincerely sorry_....

Mrs. Piozzi's hopes of successes against the French were doomed to disappointment. The command in Italy had now been entrusted to Bonaparte, who won the battle of Lodi and entered Milan in May. His opponent, General Wurmser, though at the head of 10,000 Austrians, and aided by the disaffection of the States newly subjugated by France, was driven out of Italy in a week; and on attempting to retrieve his fortunes by a second campaign, was shut up in Mantua, and compelled to capitulate. Nor had the English forces fared any better, having been driven out of Leghorn and Corsica in the course of the summer.

Madame D'Arblay's new novel, _Camilla_, which had just been published, proved highly successful. Besides 1100 subscribers at a guinea, 3500 copies were sold in three months. The contemporary reviewer in the _British Critic_ was struck by the genius required to bring together such a number of distinctly characterised persons, and make them act consistently, and singled out, like Mrs. Piozzi, the character of Mrs. Arlberry as one of the most highly finished portraits.

The scope of Dr. Moore's work is sufficiently shown by its title--_Edward; various views of human nature, taken from life and manners, chiefly in England_. This, being devoted to the better side of human nature, was considered much less thrilling than _Zeluco_. His third venture, _Mordaunt_, published in 1803, was tamer still, being the conventional story of a workhouse foundling, recognised by his parents through the happy accident of a strawberry-mark.

Dr. Richard Cumberland, son of the Bishop of Clogher and Killaloe, and a grandson of Dr. Richard Bentley, professedly modelled his _Henry_ (published 1795) on the style of Fielding. His work was fairly well received by the public, but his peculiar temper made him unpopular with his fellow authors, of whom Goldsmith drew his portrait in _Retaliation_, while Sheridan in _The Critic_ caricatured him unmercifully as Sir Fretful Plagiary.

BRYNBELLA, _Shortest day, 1796_.

How, my dear Mrs. Pennington, shall I begin a letter which is
sure to be so truly disagreeable to us both? How shall I tell
you that we are not coming either to Bath or Bristol? Harriet
has a commission from us now to un-order the lodgings we meant
to take.

Business, and that of a mortifying nature, _drags_ not _draws_
us to the neighbourhood of London; it is Cecy's business
chiefly, but must not be neglected. There are now but thirteen
short months to her coming of age, and those who are most
earnest that she should be taken care of, call to us for that
assistance, which, at any rate, we are anxious to give. She
has never called here, or I fancy thought of such an exertion
these nine or ten weeks; but if she does not know her duty, we
know ours, and will endeavour to do it:--but let us talk of
something,--of _anything_ else.

The pleasantest subject is the new Loan: whilst the Metropolis
can subscribe half a million an hour she will _fear_ no invasion
I suppose, although such treasures might tempt plunder from less
unprincipled robbers than the French. People make comfort out of
the pecuniary distresses of our enemy too; but a wolf becomes
more formidable from being hungry. I am not among the warm
_hopers_ yet.... My Master and I are nearly as much rusticated
as you consider _yourself_ to be: we shall open our eyes and
ears and hope to bring both back full.

The Rebellion at the Hot Wells was a vexatious circumstance, did
you conquer or compromise at last? The days of obedience are
over; old Nash was the last who governed, like Elizabeth, by
nicely blending love and fear together, and by so exalting the
force of influence that I believe _they mistook_ it for power of
authority, and their subjects would not undeceive them.

Have you read all these new Romances? The Knights of the Swan
for example, the terrific Lenore, and a Ballad of Alonzo the
Brave? I think a great change has been made in taste of popular
literature,--or rather, popular _reading_,--since we parted.
People were tired of Master Jacky and Miss Jenny I suppose,
and flew from insipid diet of water-gruel and chicken broth to
Caviare and Cayenne, and Peppermint water for drink. The other
extreme was wholesomer, and 'tis better be studying stories of
little Eugenia tumbling off the plank, out from old simple Sir
Hugh's arms, than follow the frightful Monk to his precipice.
Send me word what your Mother says when you read these horrible
tales to _her_. Sure we shall see Colonel Barry again sometime;
it seems to me long since I enjoyed his conversation, his
criticism is always ingenious, and commonly exact, and by
perpetually filling and continually emptying his mind, it
acquires peculiar clearness, like a cold bath where the stream
runs _through_....

To meet the expected French invasion, the Government raised a loan of eighteen millions, which was all subscribed before the close of the second day. The price of issue was 112, which at the time was considered low.

Beau Nash had been dead for more than thirty years when Mrs. Piozzi wrote. His reign at Bath, which made the reputation of that town as a fashionable resort, lasted for over half a century; but though his prestige suffered little diminution, he fell on evil days, and towards the close of his life lived on a pension voted by the grateful Corporation, who also accorded him a public funeral in the Abbey.

_From a print in the British Museum_]

_The Knights of the Swan_, a romance of the Court of Charlemagne, was translated from the French of Madame de Genlis by the Rev. Mr. Beresford in 1796. In the same year appeared some half-dozen English versions of August Bürgher's _Lenore_; those by Stanley, Pye, and Spencer are reviewed in the _British Critic_. The poem of "Alonzo the Brave" occurs in the romance of _The Monk_, by Matthew Gregory Lewis, commonly known as "Monk" Lewis, and served as a basis for the play of _Alonzo and Imogene_.

STREATHAM PARK, _Wed. 26 April 1797_.

I have long promised myself the pleasure of sitting down to send
dear Mrs. Pennington a long letter, but long things and little
people ill agree, and I never could find time till to-night....

Of charming Siddons every Paper can inform you. I really never
saw her _so_ charming; but she has a mind to exhibit age,
avarice, and bitter disappointment instigating the most horrible
crimes, for her Benefit, when Lillo's Fatal Curiosity will be
acted. Miss Farren is bride-expectant, and everybody appears
to applaud Lord Derby's choice. The Greatheeds are going to
Germany next Summer on their son's account; Buonaparte is there
already--on his own. His Banditti have committed dreadful
ravages in the Venetian State, and among the rest of their
exploits, have frighted Mr. Piozzi's good old Father out of what
_remained_ of life at fourscore years of age. Dreadful deeds I
must confess, and horrible times in every sense of the word.
But as we were speaking of individuals, I must add that Helen
Williams is given up here by her most steady adherents. I am
sorry....

I have been told that Cecilia Mostyn and her husband are at
Bath, but since she wrote Mr. Piozzi a letter with heavy charges
against me in it, we have ceased corresponding. If you meet
with her, tell me how she looks, and if there are hopes of a
child; it would be the likeliest means of assuring her domestick
happiness. My husband is more hurt than I am at her accusations
of him for setting her horse to plough, and of her mother
for wearing her clothes, and charging them as accountable to
herself, besides a general charge of penurious niggardliness
observed in her education, which one knows not how to contradict
but by a general appeal to her own accomplishments,--and to her
own high-bred horse,--most incapable of being set to plough.
Mothers and daughters remind one of poor Lady Pitches, who dropt
down dead in earnest conversation with one of her young ladies'
sweethearts, or the father of one of them, the other day. I
did not do so with Drummond, tho' very near it I do think in
Milsom Street, Bath. So you see I am better off than some of my
neighbours. The Three Thrales are at Brighthelmstone, refreshing
from the fatigues of a gay winter by sea-bathing. Sophia hinted
that they should like a country house near Town for summer
residence, and Mr. Piozzi has requested them to _accept ours_,
which he could have easily have let, I trust, for £500 o'year;
but generously--as I think--preferred the future possessors as
present inhabitants of old Streatham Park, which will not now
look melancholy because we live in Wales. And when all debts are
paid we _may_ perhaps return; but my own heart being fixed on my
own Country, I shall never more wish to leave it, except for a
short visit to Bath and Hot Wells, a happiness I still keep in
sight for a motive to go forward.

As this is a letter of all fact and no sentiment, I will tell
you that poor old Flo died since we came hither, and lies buried
under the tree that has a seat round it. Not only a dog the
fewer as you used to say, but in his tomb lie my affections
buried; I feel that I shall never fondle dogs again. Belle went
to live with Mrs. Mostyn long ago, old Loup is dead, and Brown
Fox struck by the palsy;--Phyllis alone remains, and is no more
a parlour favourite. So fade away one's pleasures and one's
plagues; but Mr. Piozzi still retains his gout, and so I dare
say does Mr. Pennington.

My health is much as usual, and 'tis the speech to say that I
look very well. Let me hear good from _you_; from individuals
we may yet hope to find some, public calamities go on increasing
in velocity and strength, like a wheel downhill. A stone or
hillock may stop it for a moment, but to the bottom it must go
at last.

The Lord Derby here referred to was Edward, the twelfth Earl, who created considerable sensation in fashionable society by marrying, within two months of his first wife's death, the popular actress Eliza Farren.

By this time Bonaparte had accomplished his invasion of Austria from Italy, and the Emperor, seeing his capital threatened by French troops, was compelled to cede Belgium and the left bank of the Rhine. On his return to Italy an insurrection in Venice gave him a pretext for replacing the ruling oligarchy by a republican form of government, while the territory of Genoa was transformed into the Ligurian Republic. It was no doubt the confusion consequent on these changes which hastened the end of Mr. Piozzi's aged father.

STREATHAM PARK, _1 June 1797_.

MY DEAR MRS. PENNINGTON,--I feel your good-natured
expressions very sensibly, and so does our poor dear Master; he
is grown a sad invalid, always having the Gout, and crying out
with pain. But the sick people _live_, whilst the well people
_dye_, you know; so sings the sublime Mrs. Piozzi in her Journey
to Italy, and so experience teaches.

Your Brother came here one morning last week, and brought some
gentlemen with him to see the pictures in our Library. He is
not altered in person, perhaps not in _anything_. I think
character never changes; the Acorn becomes an Oak, which is
very little like an Acorn to be sure, but it never becomes an
Ash: and if Mrs. Mostyn is, as Miss Lees say, the same Cecilia,
I may add that that same Cecilia never cared a pin for me nor
my husband,--and cares not now. I have not done caring for her
however; somebody says she is at Bristol, tell me if 'tis
for health or pleasure she goes there, and how she looks, ...
and whether her husband is with her or no, and how they live
together. I can trust your information and your friendship....

I have been to the Exhibition. Lawrence is the Painter of the
day; and to prove that he can shine equally in describing a
_rising_ and a fallen Angel, he has seated _Mrs. Siddons at
Lucifer's feet_. There is a little thing of somebody's, I forget
who, representing Cassandra predicting the fall of Troy, which
few admire as I do, but it bears the true marks of genius and of
taste. The next best thing I saw was a drawing of Pellegrini's,
and no inelegant or worthless portrait of the Queen for la
Duchesse de Wirtemberg.

Mr. Piozzi's state of health has hindered my waiting upon Lady
Derby, but we met her in a Phaeton one day, and she stopt and
spoke very prettily and kindly indeed. All the world seems
pleased with _her_ good fortune, and Lord Deerhurst's, to whom
an old, distant relation has left no less than £80,000. It
came at a nice moment to comfort them, for Lady Pitches, who I
perhaps never told you, dropt down dead as she was stirring the
fire, about six or eight weeks ago, and the breaking up of that
house was a sad thing upon all her children....

When we go hence, Miss Thrales will enliven the spot, they are
to succeed us in old Streatham Park. Whenever a loose half-crown
lies in our pockets, it pays a mile's Postage towards the Hot
Wells, you may assure yourself. Mrs. Siddons will see you first
however, for Sally says her plan is to meet her husband and
children at Mr. Whalley's, when she has been at two or three
places alone. The little Baby Cecilia is the most extraordinary
of all living babies; many have I seen, but none of such
premature intellect. It is a wonderful infant, seriously....

George William Coventry, then Lord Deerhurst, afterwards seventh Earl of Coventry, married in 1783 Peggy, daughter of Sir Abraham Pitches, Knt., a neighbour of the Piozzis at Streatham. The Lady Pitches here mentioned was therefore his mother-in-law.

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

Lawrence's great picture of _Satan summoning his Legions_, exhibited this year, is now the property of the Royal Academy. Contemporary opinions differed widely as to its merits. His admirers pronounced it sublime, but Pasquin described it as "a mad Sugar Baker dancing naked in a conflagration of his own treacle." Fuseli branded it as "a damned thing certainly, but not the Devil"; but Lawrence turned the laugh against him by proving, from his sketch-book, that the idea of Satan was taken from Fuseli himself, while posing on a rock near Bristol. Nearly thirty years afterwards Mrs. Pennington saw it exhibited at Bristol, but it failed to impress her. "It is only monstrous in my mind," she writes, "it gives no idea of Lucifer son of the morning."

Mrs. Piozzi's interest in the "Baby Cecilia" is, to some extent, accounted for by the fact that she was her godchild; but her portrait by Lawrence, drawn this year, certainly suggests a remarkable and precocious infant. She was the only one of Mrs. Siddons' daughters to survive her mother.

BRYNBELLA, _10 Jan. 1798_.

Before the long threatened Blister is put upon my right arm,
I will use it once more to assure my very tenderly remembered
friend that she has never been a moment _forgotten_. But I
wrote so exceeding long a letter to Harriet Lee a great while
ago, upon the odious subject of _self_ and family affairs, and
she answered me so coldly and drily, that I thought _nobody_
would like a correspondence of that kind; and felt unable to
try at others more entertaining. Desire to see our place and
our acquaintance brought us hither for three months' amusement
on the 10th of Oct^r,--I mean of _August_ last, and the first
thing we heard was that Mrs. Mostyn had [returned home]--no
doubt, said I, that she may be attended by Mr. Moore, who was
so comfortable and attentive when she was in the same country
confined by illness seven years ago, and dear Miss Weston
offered to go with us to Lisbon upon Haygarth's saying her
health required Continental air. We sent, and went, and were
received _civilly_, and not _un_kindly; so I thought we were
upon terms, as 'tis called, and a servant was daily dispatched
to know how she went on. Miss Thrale, who was with her, always
returned for answer y^t all was going as well as possible. So
we went out as usual to visit our neighbours, and at one Lady's
house heard _suddenly_, and _accidentally_, not only of her
illness, but her extream danger. Mr. Moore was in the room where
we heard it; she was attended by people from Chester and Ruthyn
whom neither she nor I had ever seen, but tho' so oddly thrown
aside, Mr. Moore, to calm my inquietude, ran away to learn
particulars, and I sate in agony at bottom of Denbigh Town,
while the footman galloped forward to request my admission. It
was refused. Disastrous scenes ... followed; and Mr. Piozzi
shed tears at the account of her severe sufferings. In due time
I was admitted, and warned to make my visit _short_, and so I
did. The visit was coldly, but not _un_civilly, in course of 3
months, returned,--and all passed off quietly. The Litigation
for recovery of money spent on Cecilia while she remained with
us went on of course; and the other day almost, the Master
made Report against Mr. Piozzi, who, he said, could _compel_
no payment, but y^t Mostyn must be a _strange_ man (was his
expression,) to endeavour so at squeezing his wife's necessary
expenses out of a Father-in-law's pocket; and added--"I can tell
you, gentlemen, that had you come to me as John Wilmot, not
as Master in Chancery, I should have decided very differently
indeed." The Counsellors on _both sides_ beg'd him _even yet_
to stand between us and y^e Chancellor, and act as _Referee_.
"If your clients please," replied he, "so I will." Mr. Piozzi
wrote to express _his_ consent, but when we asked Miss Thrale
concerning her brother and sister's determination, she said it
was a subject that had _never employed their minds even for
a moment_. I requested her to remind 'em of it, and at night
came a Billet with "Proper Com^s; Mr. Mostyn will take time for
deliberation." And so he does, for that's a fortnight ago.

So much for the superiority with which your poor mortified and
severely humbled friend has been treated; now for domestic
_comforts_. On the 20th of October my Master went to bed with a
raging fit of Gout in breast, side, back, and collar bone, but
soon fixing in one heel and one toe, it _tore them open_ into
the most frightful _ulcers_ I or poor Mr. Moore ever did behold.
There has the Gout gnawed and bitten for 12 entire weeks, during
which time has the truly wretched patient suffered torments
inexpressible, and I believe rarely endured: his letters from
Italy irritating even _that_ anguish by narrations of what
brothers, sisters, friends, etc. endure from the rapacity of
these vile French,--false as they are cruel, and insolent as
they are successful. His own particular Town has been the
immediate scene of distress, and all these are completely and
inevitably _ruined_. Let us thank God they have not yet been
_called_ hither, they will do us no harm _till they are called_.
'Tis our own traytrous Vipers I am afraid of,--not the French:
and of the taxes I am not afraid, except as it gives a handle
for abuse to those who object to everything proposed, and
propose nothing themselves.