"Poor Dr. Johnson has had a very bad winter, attended by Heberden and Brocklesby, who neither of them expected he would have survived the frost: that being gone, he still remains, and I hope will now continue, at least till the next severe one. It has indeed carried off a great many old people."

Johnson to Mrs. Thrale:

"March 10th, 1784.

"Your kind expressions gave me great pleasure; do not reject me from your thoughts. Shall we ever exchange confidence by the fireside again?"

He was so absorbed with his own complaints as to make no allowance for hers. Yet her health was in a very precarious state, and in the autumn of the same year, his complaints of silence and neglect were suspended by the intelligence that her daughter Sophia was lying at death's door. On March 27th, 1784, she writes:

"You tell one of my daughters that you know not with distinctness the cause of my complaints. I believe she who lives with me knows them no better; one very dreadful one is however removed by dear Sophia's recovery. It is kind in you to quarrel no more about expressions which were not meant to offend; but unjust to suppose, I have not lately thought myself dying. Let us, however, take the Prince of Abyssinia's advice, _and not add to the other evils of life the bitterness of controversy._ If courage is a n.o.ble and generous quality, let us exert it _to_ the last, and _at_ the last: if faith is a Christian virtue, let us willingly receive and accept that support it will most surely bestow--and do permit me to repeat those words with which I know not why you were displeased: _Let us leave behind us the best example that we can_.

"All this is not written by a person in high health and happiness, but by a fellow-sufferer, who has more to endure than she can tell, or you can guess; and now let us talk of the Severn salmons, which will be coming in soon; I shall send you one of the finest, and shall be glad to hear that your appet.i.te is good."

Johnson to Mrs. Thrale:

"April 21st, 1784.

"The Hooles, Miss Burney, and Mrs. Hull (Wesley's sister), feasted yesterday with me very cheerfully on your n.o.ble salmon. Mr. Allen could not come, and I sent him a piece, and a great tail is still left."

"April 26th, 1784.

"Mrs. Davenant called to pay me a guinea, but I gave two for you.

Whatever reasons you have for frugality, it is not worth while to save a guinea a year by withdrawing it from a public charity."

"Whilst I am writing, the post has brought me your kind letter. Do not think with dejection of your own condition: a little patience will probably give you health: it will certainly give you riches, and all the accommodations that riches can procure."

Up to this time she had put an almost killing restraint on her inclinations, and had acted according to Johnson's advice in everything but the final abandonment of Piozzi; yet Boswell reports him as saying, May 16th: "Sir, she has done everything wrong since Thrale's bridle was off her neck."

The next extracts are from "Thraliana":

"_Bath, Nov. 30th, 1783._--Sophia will live and do well; I have saved my daughter, perhaps obtained a friend. They are weary of seeing me suffer so, and the eldest beg'd me yesterday not to sacrifice my life to her convenience. She now saw my love of Piozzi was incurable, she said. Absence had no effect on it, and my health was going so fast she found that I should soon be useless either to her or him. It was the hand of G.o.d and irresistible, she added, and begged me not to endure any longer such unnecessary misery.

"So now we may be happy if we will, and now I trust _some_ [_(sic) query "no?_"] other cross accident will start up to torment us; I wrote my lover word that he might come and fetch me, but the Alps are covered with snow, and if his prudence is not greater than his affection--my life will yet be lost, for it depends on his safety.

Should he come at my call, and meet with any misfortune on the road ... death, with acc.u.mulated agonies, would end me. May Heaven avert such insupportable distress!"

"_Dec._ 1783.--My dearest Piozzi's Miss Chanon is in distress. I will send her 10_l_. Perhaps he loved her; perhaps she loved _him_; perhaps both; yet I have and will have confidence in his honour. I will not suffer love or jealousy to narrow a heart devoted to _him_.

He would a.s.sist her if he were in England, and _she_ shall not suffer for his absence, tho' I _do_. She and her father have reported many things to my prejudice; she will be ashamed of herself when she sees me forgive and a.s.sist her. O Lord, give me grace so to return good for evil as to obtain thy gracious favour who died to procure the salvation of thy professed enemies. 'Tis a good Xmas work!"

"_Bath, Jan. 27th_, 1784.--On this day twelvemonths ... oh dreadfullest of all days to me I did I send for my Piozzi and tell him we must part. The sight of my countenance terrified Dr. Pepys, to whom I went into the parlour for a moment, and the sight of the agonies I endured in the week following would have affected anything but interest, avarice, and pride personified, ... with such, however, I had to deal, so my sorrows were unregarded. Seeing them continue for a whole year, indeed, has mollified my strong-hearted companions, and they _now_ relent in earnest and wish me happy: I would now therefore be _loath to dye_, yet how shall I recruit my const.i.tution so as to live? The pardon certainly did arrive the very instant of execution--for I was ill beyond all power of description, when my eldest daughter, bursting into tears, bid me call home the man of my heart, and not expire by slow torture in the presence of my children, who had my life in their power. 'You are dying _now_,' said she. 'I know it,' replied I, 'and I should die in peace had I but seen him _once again_.' 'Oh send for him,' said she, 'send for him quickly!'

'He is at Milan, child,' replied I, 'a thousand miles off!' 'Well, well,' returns she, 'hurry him back, or I myself will send him an express.' At these words I revived, and have been mending ever since.

This was the first time that any of us had named the name of Piozzi to each other since we had put our feet into the coach to come to Bath. I had always thought it a point of civility and prudence never to mention what could give nothing but offence, and cause nothing but disgust, while they desired nothing less than a revival of old uneasiness; so we were all silent on the subject, and Miss Thrale thought him dead."

According to the Autobiography, the daughters did not conclusively relent till the end of April or the beginning of May, when a missive was dispatched for Piozzi, and Mrs. Thrale went to London to make the requisite preparations.

_Mrs. Thrale to Miss F. Burney_.

"Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square, "Tuesday Night, May, 1784.

"I am come, dearest Burney. It is neither dream nor fiction; though I love you dearly, or I would not have come. Absence and distance do nothing towards wearing out real affection; so you shall always find it in your true and tender H.L.T.

"I am somewhat shaken bodily, but 'tis the mental shocks that have made me unable to bear the corporeal ones. 'Tis past ten o'clock, however, and I must lay myself down with the sweet expectation of seeing my charming friend in the morning to breakfast. I love Dr.

Burney too well to fear him, and he loves me too well to say a word which should make me love him less."

_Journal (Madame D'Arblay's) Resumed_.

"May 17.--Let me now, my Susy, acquaint you a little more connectedly than I have done of late how I have gone on. The rest of that week I devoted almost wholly to sweet Mrs. Thrale, whose society was truly the most delightful of cordials to me, however, at times mixed with bitters the least palatable.

"One day I dined with Mrs. Grarrick to meet Dr. Johnson, Mrs. Carter, Miss Hamilton, and Dr. and Miss Cadogan; and one evening I went to Mrs. Vesey, to meet almost everybody,--the Bishop of St. Asaph, and all the Shipleys, Bishop Chester and Mrs. Porteous, Mrs. and Miss Ord, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Miss Palmer, Mrs. Buller, all the Burrows, Mr. Walpole, Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Grarrick, and Miss More, and some others. But all the rest of my time I gave wholly to dear Mrs. Thrale, who lodged in Mortimer Street, and who saw n.o.body else.

Were I not sensible of her goodness, and full of incurable affection for her, should I not be a monster?

"I parted most reluctantly with my dear Mrs. Thrale, whom, when or how, I shall see again, Heaven only knows! but in sorrow we parted--on _my_ side in real affliction."

The excursion is thus mentioned in "Thraliana": "_28th May_, 1784.--Here is the most sudden and beautiful spring ever seen after a dismal winter: so may G.o.d grant me a renovation of comfort after my many and sharp afflictions. I have been to London for a week to visit f.a.n.n.y Burney, and to talk over my intended (and I hope approaching) nuptials, with Mr. Borghi: a man, as far as I can judge in so short an acquaintance with him, of good sense and real honour:--who loves my Piozzi, _likes_ my conversation, and wishes to serve us sincerely.

He has recommended Duane to take my power of attorney, and Cator's loss will be the less felt. Duane's name is as high as the Monument, and his being known familiarly to Borghi will perhaps quicken his attention to our concerns.

"Dear Burney, who loves me _kindly_ but the world _reverentially_, was, I believe, equally pained as delighted with my visit: ashamed to be seen in my company, much of her fondness for me must of course be diminished; yet she had not chatted freely so long with anybody but Mrs. Philips, that my coming was a comfort to her. We have told all to her father, and he behaved with the utmost propriety.

"n.o.body likes my settling at Milan except myself and Piozzi; but I think 'tis n.o.body's affair but our own: it seems to me quite irrational to expose ourselves to unnecessary insults, and by going straight to Italy all will be avoided."

The crisis is told in "Thraliana":

"_10th June_, 1784.--I sent these lines to meet Piozzi on his return.

They are better than those he liked so last year at Dover:

"Over mountains, rivers, vallies, See my love returns to Calais, After all their taunts and malice, Ent'ring safe the gates of Calais, While delay'd by winds he dallies, Fretting to be kept at Calais, Muse, prepare some sprightly sallies To divert my dear at Calais, Say how every rogue who rallies Envies him who waits at Calais For her that would disdain a Palace Compar'd to Piozzi, Love, and Calais."

"_24th June_, 1784.--He is set out sure enough, here are letters from Turin to say so.... Now the Misses _must_ move; they are very loath to stir: from affection perhaps, or perhaps from art--'tis difficult to know.--Oh 'tis, yes, it is from tenderness, they want me to go with them to see Wilton, Stonehenge, &c.--I _will_ go with them to be sure."

"_27th June, Sunday_.--We went to Wilton, and also to Fonthill; they make an admirable and curious contrast between ancient magnificence and modern glare: Gothic and Grecian again, however. A man of taste would rather possess Lord Pembroke's seat, or indeed a single room in it; but one feels one should live happier at Beckford's.--My daughters parted with me at last prettily enough _considering_ (as the phrase is). We shall perhaps be still better friends apart than together. Promises of correspondence and kindness were very sweetly reciprocated, and the eldest wished for Piozzi's safe return very obligingly.

"I fancy two days more will absolutely bring him to Bath. The present moments are critical and dreadful, and would shake stronger nerves than mine! Oh Lord, strengthen me to do Thy will I pray."

"_28th June_.--I am not _yet sure of_ seeing him again--not _sure_ he lives, not _sure_ he loves me _yet_.... Should anything happen now!!

Oh, I will not trust myself with such a fancy: it will either kill me or drive me distracted."

"_Bath, 2nd July_, 1784.--The happiest day of my whole life, I think--Yes, quite the happiest: my Piozzi came home yesterday and dined with me; but my spirits were too much agitated, my heart was too much dilated. I was too _painfully_ happy _then_; my sensations are more quiet to-day, and my felicity less tumultuous."

Written in the margin of the last entry--"We shall go to London about the affairs, and there be married in the Romish Church."

"_25th July_, 1784.--I am returned from church the happy wife of my lovely faithful Piozzi ... subject of my prayers, object of my wishes, my sighs, my reverence, my esteem.--His nerves have been horribly shaken, yet he lives, he loves me, and will be mine for ever. He has sworn, in the face of G.o.d and the whole Christian Church; Catholics, Protestants, all are witnesses."

In one of her memorandum books she has set down:

"We were married according to the Romish Church in one of our excursions to London, by Mr. Smith, Padre Smit as they called him, chaplain to the Spanish Amba.s.sador.... Mr. Morgan tacked us together at St. James's, Bath, 25th July, 1784, and on the first day I think of September, certainly the first week, we took leave of England."

When her first engagement with Piozzi became known, the newspapers took up the subject, and rang the changes on the amorous disposition of the widow, and the adroit cupidity of the fortune-hunter. On the announcement of the marriage, they recommenced the attack, and people of our day can hardly form a notion of the storm of obloquy that broke upon her, except from its traces, which have never been erased.