The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 1 of 5) Read online

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  THE WANDERER

  Or

  Female Difficulties

  FANNY BURNEY

  CONTENTS

  Dedication xvii

  Volume I 1

  Volume II 179

  Volume III 361

  Volume IV 537

  Volume V 681

  TO DOCTOR BURNEY, FRS _and correspondent to the institute of France_[1]

  [Footnote 1: To which honour Dr Burney was elected, by the wholly unsolicited votes of the members _des beaux arts_. His daughter brought over his diploma from Paris.]

  The earliest pride of my heart was to inscribe to my much-loved Fatherthe first public effort of my pen; though the timid offering,unobtrusive and anonymous, was long unpresented; and, even at last,reached its destination through a zeal as secret as it was kind, bymeans which he would never reveal; and with which, till within theselast few months, I have myself been unacquainted.

  With what grateful delight do I cast, now, at the same revered feetwhere I prostrated that first essay, this, my latest attempt!

  Your name I did not dare then pronounce; and myself I believed to be'wrapt up in a mantle of impenetrable obscurity[2].' Little did Iforesee the indulgence that would bring me forward! and that my dearfather himself, whom, even while, urged by filial feelings, and yetnameless, I invoked,[3] I thought would be foremost to aid, nay, chargeme to shun the public eye; that He, whom I dreaded to see blush at myproduction, should be the first to tell me not to blush at it myself!The happy moment when he spoke to me those unexpected words, is everpresent, and still gay to my memory.

  [Footnote 2: Preface to Evelina.]

  [Footnote 3: Inscription of Evelina, 'O Author of my being!' &c.]

  The early part of this immediate tribute has already twice traversed theocean in manuscript: I had planned and begun it before the end of thelast century but the bitter, and ever to be deplored affliction withwhich this new era opened to our family, in depriving us of the darlingof our hearts,[4] at the very moment--when--after a grievous absence, webelieved her restored to us, cast it from my thoughts, and even from mypowers, for many years. I took with me, nevertheless, my preparedmaterials in the year 1802, to France; where, ultimately, though only atodd intervals, I sketched the whole work; which, in the year 1812,accompanied me back to my native land. And, to the honour and liberalityof both nations, let me mention, that, at the Custom-house oneither--alas!--hostile shore, upon my given word that the paperscontained neither letters, nor political writings; but simply a work ofinvention and observation; the voluminous manuscript was suffered topass, without demur, comment, or the smallest examination.

  [Footnote 4: Susanna Elizabeth Phillips.]

  A conduct so generous on one side, so trusting on the other, in time ofwar, even though its object be unimportant, cannot but be read withsatisfaction by every friend of humanity, of either rival nation, intowhose hands its narrative may chance to fall.

  Such, therefore,--if any such there be,--who expect to find herematerials for political controversy; or fresh food for nationalanimosity; must turn elsewhere their disappointed eyes: for here, theywill simply meet, what the Author has thrice sought to present to themalready, a composition upon general life, manners, and characters;without any species of personality, either in the form of foreigninfluence, or of national partiality. I have felt, indeed, nodisposition,--I ought rather, perhaps, to say talent,--for venturingupon the stormy sea of politics; whose waves, for ever either recedingor encroaching, with difficulty can be stemmed, and never can betrusted.

  Even when I began;--how unconsciously you, dear Sir, well know,--what Imay now, perhaps, venture to style my literary career, nothing can moreclearly prove that I turned, instinctively, from the tempestuous course,than the equal favour with which I was immediately distinguished bythose two celebrated, immortal authors, Dr Johnson and the RightHonourable Edmund Burke; whose sentiments upon public affairs divided,almost separated them, at that epoch; yet who, then, and to their lasthours, I had the pride, the delight, and the astonishment to find thewarmest, as well as the most eminent supporters of my honoured essays.Latterly, indeed, their political opinions assimilated; but when each,separately, though at the same time, condescended to stand for thechampion of my first small work; ere ever I had had the happiness ofbeing presented to either; and ere they knew that I bore, my Father!your honoured name; that small work was nearly the only subject uponwhich they met without contestation[5]:--if I except the equallyingenious and ingenuous friend whom they vied with each other topraise, to appreciate, and to love; and whose name can never vibrate onour ears but to bring emotion to our hearts;--Sir Joshua Reynolds.

  [Footnote 5: So strongly this coincidence of sentiment was felt by MrBurke himself, that, some years afterwards, at an assembly at LadyGalloway's, where each, for a considerable time, had seemed to stimulatethe other to a flow of partial praise on Evelina and--just thenpublished--Cecilia; Mr Burke, upon Dr Johnson's endeavouring to detainme when. I rose to depart, by calling out, 'Don't go yet, littlecharacter-monger!' followed me, gaily, but impressively exclaiming,'Miss Burney, die to-night!']

  If, therefore, then,--when every tie, whether public or mental, wassingle; and every wish had one direction; I held political topics to bewithout my sphere, or beyond my skill; who shall wonder thatnow,--united, alike by choice and by duty, to a member of a foreignnation, yet adhering, with primaeval enthusiasm, to the country of mybirth, I should leave all discussions of national rights, and modes, oracts of government, to those whose wishes have no opposing calls; whoseduties are undivided; and whose opinions are unbiased by individualbosom feelings; which, where strongly impelled by dependant happiness,insidiously, unconsciously direct our views, colour our ideas, andentangle our partiality in our interests.

  Nevertheless, to avoid disserting upon these topics as matter ofspeculation, implies not an observance of silence to the events whichthey produce, as matter of act: on the contrary, to attempt todelineate, in whatever form, any picture of actual human life, withoutreference to the French Revolution, would be as little possible, as togive an idea of the English government, without reference to our own:for not more unavoidably is the last blended with the history of ournation, than the first, with every intellectual survey of the presenttimes.

  Anxious, however,--inexpressibly!--to steer clear, alike, of allanimadversions that, to my adoptive country, may seem ungrateful, or, tothe country of my birth unnatural; I have chosen, with respect to what,in these volumes, has any reference to the French Revolution, a periodwhich, completely past, can excite no rival sentiments, nor awaken anyparty spirit; yet of which the stupendous iniquity and cruelty, thoughalready historical, have left traces, that, handed down, even buttraditionally, will be sought with curiosity, though reverted to withhorrour, from generation to generation.

  Every friend of humanity, of what soil or what persuasion soever he maybe, must rejoice that those days, though still so recent, are over; andtruth and justice call upon me to declare, that, during the teneventful years, from 1802 to 1812, that I resided in the capital ofFrance, I was neither startled by any species of investigation, nordistressed through any difficulties of conduct. Perhapsunnoticed,--certainly unannoyed,--I passed my time either by my ownsmall--but precious fire-side; or in select society; perfe
ctly astranger to all personal disturbance; save what sprang from the painfulseparation that absented me from you my dearest Father, from my lovedfamily, and native friends and country. To hear this fact thus publiclyattested, you, dear Sir, will rejoice; and few, I trust, amongst itsreaders, will disdain to feel some little sympathy in your satisfaction.

  With regard to the very serious subject treated upon, from time to time,in this work, some,--perhaps many,--may ask, Is a Novel the vehicle forsuch considerations? such discussions?

  Permit me to answer; whatever, in illustrating the characters, manners,or opinions of the day, exhibits what is noxious or reprehensible,should scrupulously be accompanied by what is salubrious, or chastening.Not that poison ought to be infused merely to display the virtues of anantidote; but that, where errour and mischief bask in the broad light ofday, truth ought not to be suffered to shrink timidly into the shade.

  Divest, for a moment, the title of Novel from its stationary standard ofinsignificance, and say! What is the species of writing that offersfairer opportunities for conveying useful precepts? It is, or it oughtto be, a picture of supposed, but natural and probable human existence.It holds, therefore, in its hands our best affections; it exercises ourimaginations; it points out the path of honour; and gives to juvenilecredulity knowledge of the world, without ruin, or repentance; and thelessons of experience, without its tears.

  And is not a Novel, permit me, also, to ask, in common with every otherliterary work, entitled to receive its stamp as useful, mischievous, ornugatory, from its execution? not necessarily, and in its changelessstate, to be branded as a mere vehicle for frivolous, or seductiveamusement? If many may turn aside from all but mere entertainmentpresented under this form, many, also, may, unconsciously, be allured byit into reading the severest truths, who would not even open any work ofa graver denomination.

  What is it that gives the universally acknowledged superiority to theepic poem? Its historic truth? No; the three poems, which, during somany centuries, and till Milton arose, stood unrivalled in celebrity,are, with respect to fact, of constantly disputed, or, rather,disproved authenticity. Nor is it even the sweet witchery of sound; theode, the lyric, the elegiac, and other species of poetry, have risen toequal metrical beauty:--

  'Tis the grandeur, yet singleness of the plan; the never broken, yetnever obvious adherence to its execution; the delineation and support ofcharacter; the invention of incident; the contrast of situation; thegrace of diction, and the beauty of imagery; joined to a judiciouschoice of combinations, and a living interest in every partial detail,that give to that sovereign species of the works of fiction, itsglorious pre-eminence.

  Will my dear Father smile at this seeming approximation of thecompositions which stand foremost, with those which are sunk lowest inliterary estimation? No; he will feel that it is not the futilepresumption of a comparison that would be preposterous; but a fonddesire to separate,--with a high hand!--falsehood, that would deceive toevil, from fiction, that would attract another way;--and to rescue fromill opinion the sort of production, call it by what name we may, thathis daughter ventures to lay at his feet, through the alluring, butawful tribunal of the public.

  He will recollect, also, how often their so mutually honoured Dr Johnsonhas said to her, 'Always aim at the eagle!--even though you expect butto reach a sparrow!'

  The power of prejudice annexed to nomenclature is universal: the samebeing who, unnamed, passes unnoticed, if preceded by the title of ahero, or a potentate, catches every eye, and is pursued with clamorouspraise, or,--its common reverberator!--abuse: but in nothing is theforce of denomination more striking than in the term Novel; a species ofwriting which, though never mentioned, even by its supporter, but with alook that fears contempt, is not more rigidly excommunicated, from itsappellation, in theory, than sought and fostered, from its attractions,in practice.

  So early was I impressed myself with ideas that fastened degradation tothis class of composition, that at the age of adolescence, I struggledagainst the propensity which, even in childhood, even from the moment Icould hold a pen, had impelled me into its toils; and on my fifteenthbirth-day, I made so resolute a conquest over an inclination at which Iblushed, and that I had always kept secret, that I committed to theflames whatever, up to that moment, I had committed to paper. And soenormous was the pile, that I thought it prudent to consume it in thegarden.

  You, dear Sir, knew nothing of its extinction, for you had never knownof its existence. Our darling Susanna, to whom alone I had ever venturedto read its contents, alone witnessed the conflagration; and--well Iremember!--and wept, with tender partiality, over the imaginary ashes ofCaroline Evelyn, the mother of Evelina.

  The passion, however, though resisted, was not annihilated: my bureauwas cleared; but my head was not emptied; and, in defiance of everyself-effort, Evelina struggled herself into life.

  If then, even in the season of youth, I felt ashamed of appearing to bea votary to a species of writing that by you, Sir, liberal as I knew youto be, I thought condemned; since your large library, of which I wasthen the principal librarian, contained only one work of that class;[6]how much deeper must now be my blush,--now, when that spring ofexistence has so long taken its flight,--transferring, I must hope, itsgenial vigour upon your grandson![7]--if the work which I here presentto you, may not shew, in the observations which it contains upon variouscharacters, ways, or excentricities of human life, that an exterior themost frivolous may enwrap illustrations of conduct, that the most rigidpreceptor need not deem dangerous to entrust to his pupils; for, if whatis inculcated is right, it will not, I trust, be cast aside, merelybecause so conveyed as not to be received as a task. On the contrary, tomake pleasant the path of propriety, is snatching from evil its mostalluring mode of ascendency. And your fortunate daughter, though pastthe period of chusing to write, or desiring to read, a merely romanticlove-tale, or a story of improbable wonders, may still hope toretain,--if she has ever possessed it,--the power of interesting theaffections, while still awake to them herself, through the many muchloved agents of sensibility, that still hold in their pristine energyher conjugal, maternal, fraternal, friendly, and,--dearest Sir!--herfilial feelings.

  [Footnote 6: Fielding's _Amelia_.]

  [Footnote 7: Alexander Charles Lewis d'Arblay.]

  Fiction, when animating the design of recommending right, has alwaysbeen permitted and cultivated, not alone by the moral, but by the piousinstructor; not alone to embellish what is prophane, but to promulgateeven what is sacred, from the first aera of tuition, to the presentpassing moment. Yet I am aware that all which, incidentally, is treatedof in these volumes upon the most momentous of subjects, may HERE, inthis favoured island, be deemed not merely superfluous, but, ifindulgence be not shewn to its intention, impertinent; and HERE, had Ialways remained, the most solemn chapter of the work,--I will notanticipate its number,--might never have been traced; for, since myreturn to this country, I have been forcibly struck in remarking, thatall sacred themes, far from being either neglected, or derided, arebecome almost common topics of common discourse; and rather, perhaps,from varying sects, and diversified opinions, too familiarly discussed,than defyingly set aside.

  But what I observed in my long residence abroad, presented anotherpicture; and its colours, not, indeed, with cementing harmony, but toproduce a striking contrast, have forcibly, though not, I hope,glaringly tinted my pen.

  Nevertheless, truth, and my own satisfaction, call upon me to mention,that, in the circle to which, in Paris, I had the honour, habitually, tobelong, piety, generally, in practice as well as in theory, held itsjust pre-eminence; though almost every other society, however cultured,brilliant, and unaffectedly good, of which occasionally I heard, or inwhich, incidentally, I mixed, commonly considered belief and bigotry assynonymous terms.

  They, however, amongst my adopted friends, for whose esteem I am mostsolicitous, will suffer my design to plead, I trust, in my favour; evenwhere my essays, whether for their projection, or their
execution, maymost sarcastically be criticised.

  Strange, indeed, must be my ingratitude, could I voluntarily giveoffence where, during ten unbroken years, I should, personally, haveknown nothing but felicity, had I quitted a country, or friends, I,could have forgotten. For me, however, as for all mankind, concomitantcircumstances took their usual charge of impeding any exception to thegeneral laws of life.

  And now, dear Sir, in leaving you to the perusal of these volumes, howmany apprehensions would be hushed, might I hope that they would revivein your feelings the partial pleasure with which you cherished theirpredecessors!

  Will the public be offended, if here, as in private, I conclude myletter with a prayer for my dearest Father's benediction andpreservation? No! the public voice, and the voice of his family is one,in reverencing his virtues, admiring his attainments, and ardentlydesiring that health, peace of mind, and fulness of merited honours, maycrown his length of days, and prolong them to the utmost verge ofenjoyable mortality!

  F. B. d'ARBLAY. _March 14. 1814_

  VOLUME I