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Memoirs of the Life of Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan Vol 2

T >> Thomas Moore >> Memoirs of the Life of Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan Vol 2




"MY DEAR LISSY,

"_London, June 6._

"I am happy to find by your last that our apprehensions on Charles's
account were useless. The many reports that were circulated here of his
accident gave us a good deal of uneasiness; but it is no longer wonderful
that he should be buried here, when Mr. Jackman has so barbarously
murdered him with you. I fancy he would risk another broken head, rather
than give up his title to it as an officer of the Crown. We go on here
wrangling as usual, but I am afraid all to no purpose. Those who are in
possession of power are determined to use it without the least pretence
to justice or consistency. They have ordered a Scrutiny for Westminster,
in defiance of all law or precedent, and without any other hope or
expectation but that of harassing and tormenting Mr. Fox and his friends,
and obliging them to waste their time and money, which perhaps they think
might otherwise be employed to a better purpose in another cause. We have
nothing for it but patience and perseverance, which I hope will at last
be crowned with success, though I fear it will be a much longer trial
than we at first expected. I hear from every body that your ... are
vastly disliked--but are you not all kept in awe by such beauty? I know
she flattered herself to subdue all your Volunteers by the fire of her
eyes only:--how astonished she must be to find that they have not yet
laid down their arms! There is nothing would tempt me to trust my sweet
person upon the water sooner than the thoughts of seeing you; but I fear
my friendship will hardly ever be put to so hard a trial. Though Sheridan
is not in office, I think he is more engaged by politics than ever.

"I suppose we shall not leave town till September. We have promised to
pay many visits, but I fear we shall be obliged to give up many of our
schemes, for I take it for granted Parliament will meet again as soon as
possible. We are to go to Chatsworth, and to another friend of mine in
that neighborhood, so that I doubt our being able to pay our annual visit
to Crewe Hall. Mrs. Crewe has been very ill all this winter with your old
complaint, the rheumatism--she is gone to Brightelmstone to wash it away
in the sea. Do you ever see Mrs. Greville? I am glad to hear my two
nephews are both in so thriving a way. Are you still a nurse? I should
like to take a peep at your bantlings. Which is the handsomest? have you
candor enough to think any thing equal to your own boy? if you have, you
have more merit than I can claim. Pray remember me kindly to Bess, Mr.
L., &c., and don't forget to kiss the little squaller for me when you
have nothing better to do. God bless you.

"Ever yours."

"The inclosed came to Dick in one of Charles's franks; he said he should
write to you himself with it, but I think it safest not to trust him."

In another letter, written in the same year, there are some touches both
of sisterly and of conjugal feeling, which seem to bespeak a heart happy
in all its affections.

"MY DEAR LISSY,

_Putney, August 16._

"You will no doubt be surprised to find me still dating from this place,
but various reasons have detained me here from day to day, to the great
dissatisfaction of my dear Mary, who has been expecting me hourly for the
last fortnight. I propose going to Hampton-Court tonight, if Dick returns
in any decent time from town.

"I got your letter and a half the day before yesterday, and shall be very
well pleased to have such blunders occur more frequently. You mistake, if
you suppose I am a friend to your tarrers and featherers:--it is such
wretches that always ruin a good cause. There is no reason on earth why
you should not have a new Parliament as well as us:--it might not,
perhaps, be quite as convenient to our immaculate Minister, but I
sincerely hope he will not find your Volunteers so accommodating as the
present India troops in our House of Commons. What! does the Secretary at
War condescend to reside in any house but his own?--'Tis very odd he
should turn himself out of doors in his situation. I never could perceive
any economy in dragging furniture from one place to another; but, of
course, he has more experience in these matters than I have.

"Mr. Forbes dined here the other day, and I had a great deal of
conversation with him on various subjects relating to you all. He says,
Charles's manner of talking of his wife, &c. is so ridiculous, that,
whenever he comes into company, they always cry out,--'Now S----a, we
allow you half an hour to talk of the beauties of Mrs. S.----, half an hour
to your child, and another half hour to your farm,--and then we expect
you will behave like a reasonable person.'

"So Mrs. ---- is not happy: poor thing, I dare say, if the truth were
known, he teazes her to death. Your _very good_ husbands generally
contrive to make you sensible of their merit somehow or other.

"From a letter Mr. Canning has just got from Dublin, I find you have been
breaking the heads of some of our English heroes. I have no doubt in the
world that they deserved it; and if half a score more that I know had
shared the same fate, it might, perhaps become less the fashion among our
young men to be such contemptible coxcombs as they certainly are.

"My sister desired me to say all sorts of affectionate things to you, in
return for your kind remembrance of her in your last. I assure you, you
lost a great deal by not seeing her in her maternal character:--it is the
prettiest sight in the world to see her with her children:--they are both
charming creatures, but my little namesake is my delight:--'tis
impossible to say how foolishly fond of her I am. Poor Mary! she is in a
way to have more;--and what will become of them all is sometimes a
consideration that gives me many a painful hour. But _they_ are
happy, with _their_ little portion of the goods of this
world:--then, what are riches good for? For my part, as you know, poor
Dick and I have always been struggling against the stream, and shall
probably continue to do so to the end of our lives,--yet we would not
change sentiments or sensations with ... for all his estate. By the bye,
I was told t'other day he was going to receive eight thousand pounds as a
compromise for his uncle's estate, which has been so long in
litigation;--is it true?--I dare say it is, though, or he would not be so
discontented as you say he is. God bless you.--Give my love to Bess, and
return a kiss to my nephew for me. Remember me to Mr. L. and believe me

"Truly yours."

The following letter appears to have been written in 1785, some months
after the death of her sister, Miss Maria Linley. Her playful allusions
to the fame of her own beauty might have been answered in the language of
Paris to Helen:--


"_Minor est tua gloria vero
Famaque de forma pene maligna est_."

"Thy beauty far outruns even rumor's tongue,
And envious fame leaves half thy charms unsung."


"MY DEAR LISSY,

"_Delapre Abbey, Dec. 27._

"Notwithstanding your incredulity, I assure you I wrote to you from
Hampton-Court, very soon after Bess came to England. My letter was a
dismal one; for my mind was at that time entirely occupied by the
affecting circumstance of my poor sister's death. Perhaps you lost
nothing by not receiving my letter, for it was not much calculated to
amuse you.

"I am still a recluse, you see, but I am preparing to _launch_ for
the winter in a few days. Dick was detained in town by a bad fever:--you
may suppose I was kept in ignorance of his situation, or I should not
have remained so quietly here. He came last week, and the fatigue of the
journey very nearly occasioned a relapse:--but by the help of a jewel of
a doctor that lives in this neighborhood we are both quite stout and well
again, (for _I_ took it into my head to fall sick again, too,
without rhyme or reason.)

"We purpose going to town to-morrow or next day. Our own house has been
painting and papering, and the weather has been so unfavorable to the
business, that it is probable it will not be fit for us to go into this
month; we have, therefore, accepted a most pressing invitation of General
Burgoyne to take up our abode with him, till our house is ready; so your
next must be directed to Bruton-Street, under cover to Dick, unless
Charles will frank it again. I don't believe what you say of Charles's
not being glad to have seen me in Dublin. You are very flattering in the
reasons you give, but I rather think his vanity would have been more
gratified by showing every body how much prettier and younger his wife
was than the Mrs. Sheridan in whose favor they have been prejudiced by
your good-natured partiality. If I could have persuaded myself to trust
the treacherous ocean, the pleasure of seeing you and your nursery would
have compensated for all the fame I should have lost by a comparison. But
my guardian sylph, vainer of my beauty, perhaps, than myself, would not
suffer me to destroy the flattering illusion _you_ have so often
displayed to your Irish friends. No,--I shall stay till I am past all
pretensions, and then you may excuse your want of taste by saying, 'Oh,
if you had seen her when she was young!'

"I am very glad that Bess is satisfied with my attention to her. The
unpleasant situation I was in prevented my seeing her as often as I could
wish. For _her_ sake I assure you I shall be glad to have Dick and
your father on good terms, without entering into any arguments on the
subject; but I fear, where _one_ of the parties, at least, has a
_tincture_ of what they call in Latin _damnatus obstinatus
mulio_, the attempt will be difficult, and the success uncertain. God
bless you, and believe me

"_Mrs. Lefanu, Great Cuff-Street, Dublin_.

"Truly yours."

The next letter I shall give refers to the illness with which old Mr.
Sheridan was attacked in the beginning of the year 1788, and of which he
died in the month of August following. It is unnecessary to direct the
reader's attention to the passages in which she speaks of her lost
sister, Mrs. Tickell, and her children:--they have too much of the
heart's best feelings in them to be passed over slightly.

"MY DEAR LISSY,

"_London, April 5._

"Your last letter I hope was written when you were low spirited, and
consequently inclined to forebode misfortune. I would not show it to
Sheridan:--he has lately been much harassed by business, and I could not
bear to give him the pain I know your letter would have occasioned.
Partial as your father has always been to Charles, I am confident
_he_ never has, nor ever will feel half the duty and affections that
Dick has always exprest. I know how deeply he will be afflicted, if you
confirm the melancholy account of his declining health;--but I trust your
next will remove my apprehensions, and make it unnecessary for me to
wound his affectionate heart by the intelligence. I flatter myself
likewise, that you have been without reason alarmed about poor Bess. Her
life, to be sure, must be dreadful;--but I should hope the good nature
and kindness of her disposition will support her, and enable her to
continue the painful duty so necessary, probably, to the comfort of your
poor father. If Charles has not or does not do every thing in his power
to contribute to the happiness of the few years which nature can allow
him, he will have more to answer to his conscience than I trust any of
those dear to me will have. Mrs. Crewe told us, the other day, she had
heard from Mrs. Greville, that every thing was settled much to your
father's satisfaction. I _will_ hope, therefore, as I have said
before, you were in a gloomy fit when you wrote, and in the mean time I
will congratulate you on the recovery of your own health and that of your
children.

"I have been confined now near two months:--I caught cold almost
immediately on coming to town, which brought on all those dreadful
complaints with which I was afflicted at Crewe-Hall. By constant
attention and strict regimen I am once more got about again; but I never
go out of my house after the sun is down, and on those terms only can I
enjoy tolerable health. I never knew Dick better. My dear boy is now with
me for his holydays, and a charming creature he is, I assure you, in
every respect. My sweet little charge, too, promises to reward me for all
my care and anxiety. The little ones come to me every day, though they do
not at present live with me. We think of taking a house in the country
this summer as necessary for my health and convenient to S., who must be
often in town. I shall then have _all_ the children with me, as they
now constitute a very great part of my happiness. The scenes of sorrow
and sickness I have lately gone through have depressed my spirits, and
made me incapable of finding pleasure in the amusements which used to
occupy me perhaps too much. My greatest delight is in the reflection that
I am acting according to the wishes of my ever dear and lamented sister,
and that by fulfilling the sacred trust bequeathed me in her last
moments, I insure my own felicity in the grateful affection of the sweet
creatures,--whom, though I love for their own sakes, I idolize when I
consider them as the dearest part of her who was the first and nearest
friend of my heart! God bless you, my dear Liss:--this is a subject that
always carries me away. I will therefore bid you adieu,--only entreating
you as soon as you can to send me a more comfortable letter. My kind love
to Bess, and Mr. L.

"Yours, ever affectionately."

I shall give but one more letter; which is perhaps only interesting as
showing how little her heart went along with the gayeties into which her
husband's connection with the world of fashion and politics led her.

"MY DEAR LISSY,

"_May 23._

"I have only time at present to write a few lines at the request of Mrs.
Crewe, who is made very unhappy by an account of Mrs. Greville's illness,
as she thinks it possible Mrs. G. has not confessed the whole of her
situation. She earnestly wishes you would find out from Dr. Quin what the
nature of her complaint is, with every other particular you can gather on
the subject, and give me a line as soon as possible.

"I am very glad to find your father is better. As there has been a recess
lately from the Trial, I thought it best to acquaint Sheridan with his
illness. I hope now, however, there is but little reason to be alarmed
about him. Mr. Tickell has just received an account from Holland, that
poor Mrs. Berkeley, (whom you know best as Betty Tickell,) was at the
point of death in a consumption.

"I hope in a very short time now to get into the country. The Duke of
Norfolk has lent us a house within twenty miles of London; and I am
impatient to be once more out of this noisy, dissipated town, where I do
nothing that I really like, and am forced to appear pleased with every
thing odious to me. God bless you. I write in the hurry of dressing for a
great ball given by the Duke of York to night, which I had determined not
to go to till late last night, when I was persuaded that it would be very
improper to refuse a Royal invitation, if I was not absolutely confined
by illness. Adieu. Believe me truly yours.

"You must pay for this letter, for Dick has got your last with the
direction; and any thing in his hands is _irrecoverable_!"

The health of Mrs. Sheridan, as we see by some of her letters, had been
for some time delicate; but it appears that her last, fatal illness
originated in a cold, which she had caught in the summer of the preceding
year. Though she continued from that time to grow gradually worse, her
friends were flattered with the hope that as soon as her confinement
should take place, she would be relieved from all that appeared most
dangerous in her complaint. That event, however, produced but a temporary
intermission of the malady, which returned after a few days with such
increased violence, that it became necessary for her, as a last hope, to
try the waters of Bristol.

The following affectionate letter of Tickell must have been written at
this period:--

"MY DEAR SHERIDAN,

"I was but too well prepared for the melancholy intelligence contained in
your last letter, in answer to which, as Richardson will give you this, I
leave it to his kindness to do me justice in every sincere and
affectionate expression of my grief for your situation, and my entire
readiness to obey and further your wishes by every possible exertion.

"If you have any possible opportunity, let me entreat you to remember me
to the dearest, tenderest friend and sister of my heart. Sustain
yourself, my dear Sheridan,

"And believe me yours,

"Most affectionately and faithfully,

"R. TICKELL."

The circumstances of her death cannot better be told than in the language
of a lady whose name it would be an honor to mention, who, giving up all
other cares and duties, accompanied her dying friend to Bristol, and
devoted herself, with a tenderness rarely equalled even among women, to
the soothing and lightening of her last painful moments. From the letters
written by this lady at the time, some extracts have lately been given by
Miss Lefanu [Footnote: The talents of this young lady are another proof
of the sort of _garet kind_ of genius allotted to the whole race of
Sheridan. I find her very earliest poetical work, "The Sylphid Queen,"
thus spoken of in a letter from the second Mrs. Sheridan to her mother,
Mrs. Lefanu--"I should have acknowledged your very welcome present
immediately, had not Mr. Sheridan, on my telling him what it was, run off
with it, and I have been in vain endeavoring to get it from him ever
since. What little I did read of it, I admired particularly, but it will
be much more gratifying to you and your daughter to hear that _he_
read it with the greatest attention, and thought it showed a great deal
of imagination."] in her interesting Memoirs of her grandmother, Mrs.
Frances Sheridan. But their whole contents are so important to the
characters of the persons concerned, and so delicately draw aside the
veil from a scene of which sorrow and affection were the only witnesses,
that I feel myself justified not only in repeating what has already been
quoted, but in adding a few more valuable particulars, which, by the
kindness of the writer and her correspondent, I am enabled to give from
the same authentic source. The letters are addressed to Mrs. H. Lefanu,
the second sister of Mr. Sheridan.

"_Bristol, June 1, 1792._

* * * * *

"I am happy to have it in my power to give you any information on a
subject so interesting to you, and to all that have the happiness of
knowing dear Mrs. Sheridan; though I am sorry to add, it cannot be such
as will relieve your anxiety, or abate your fears. The truth is, our poor
friend is in a most precarious state of health, and quite given over by
the faculty. Her physician here, who is esteemed very skilful in
consumptive cases, assured me from the first that it was a _lost
case_; but as your brother seemed unwilling to know the truth, he was
not so explicit with him, and only represented her as being in a very
critical situation. Poor man! he cannot bear to think her in danger
himself, or that any one else should; though he is as attentive and
watchful as if he expected every moment to be her last. It is impossible
for any man to behave with greater tenderness, or to feel more on such an
occasion, than he does.

* * * * *

"At times the dear creature suffers a great deal from weakness, and want
of rest. She is very patient under her sufferings, and perfectly
resigned. She is well aware of her danger, and talks of dying with the
greatest composure. I am sure it will give you and Mr. Lefanu pleasure to
know that her mind is well prepared for any change that may happen, and
that she derives every comfort from religion that a sincere Christian can
look for."

On the 28th of the same month Mrs. Sheridan died; and a letter from this
lady, dated July 19th, thus touchingly describes her last moments. As a
companion-picture to the close of Sheridan's own life, it completes a
lesson of the transitoriness of this world, which might sadden the hearts
of the beautiful and gifted, even in their most brilliant and triumphant
hours. Far happier, however, in her death than he was, she had not only
his affectionate voice to soothe her to the last, but she had one devoted
friend, out of the many whom she had charmed and fascinated, to watch
consolingly over her last struggle, and satisfy her as to the fate of the
beloved objects which she left behind.

"_July 19, 1792._

"Our dear departed friend kept her bed only two days, and seemed to
suffer less during that interval than for some time before. She was
perfectly in her senses to the last moment, and talked with the greatest
composure of her approaching dissolution; assuring us all that she had
the most perfect confidence in the mercies of an all-powerful and
merciful Being, from whom alone she could have derived the inward comfort
and support she felt at that awful moment! She said, she had no fear of
death, and that all her concern arose from the thoughts of leaving so
many dear and tender ties, and of what they would suffer from her loss.
Her own family were at Bath, and had spent one day with her, when she was
tolerably well. Your poor brother now thought it proper to send for them,
and to flatter them no longer. They immediately came;--it was the morning
before she died. They were introduced one at a time at her bed-side, and
were prepared as much as possible for this sad scene. The women bore it
very well, but all our feelings were awakened for her poor father. The
interview between him and the dear angel was afflicting and
heart-breaking to the greatest degree imaginable. I was afraid she would
have sunk under the cruel agitation:--she said it was indeed too much for
her. She gave some kind injunction to each of them, and said everything
she could to comfort them under this severe trial. They then parted, in
the hope of seeing her again in the evening, but they never saw her more!
Mr. Sheridan and I sat up all that night with her:--indeed he had done so
for several nights before, and never left her one moment that could be
avoided. About four o'clock in the morning we perceived an alarming
change, and sent for her physician. [Footnote: This physician was Dr.
Bain, then a very young man, whose friendship with Sheridan began by this
mournful duty to his wife, and only ended with the performance of the
same melancholy office for himself. As the writer of the above letters
was not present during the interview which she describes between him and
Mrs. Sheridan, there are a few slight errors in her account of what
passed, the particulars of which, as related by Dr. Bain himself, are as
follows:--On his arrival, she begged of Sheridan and her female friend to
leave the room, and then, desiring him to lock the door after them, said,
"You have never deceived me:--tell me truly, shall I live over this
night." Dr. Bain immediately felt her pulse, and, finding that she was
dying, answered, "I recommend you to take some laudanum;" upon which she
replied, "I understand you:--then give it me."

Dr. Bain fully concurs with the writer of these letters in bearing
testimony to the tenderness and affection that Sheridan evinced on this
occasion:--it was, he says, quite "the devotedness of a lover." The
following note, addressed to him after the sad event was over, does honor
alike to the writer and the receiver:--

"MY DEAR SIR,

"I must request your acceptance of the inclosed for your professional
attendance. For the kind and friendly attentions, which have accompanied
your efforts, I must remain your debtor. The recollection of them will
live in my mind with the memory of the dear lost object, whose sufferings
you soothed, and whose heart was grateful for it.

"Believe me,

"Dear Sir,

"Very sincerely yours,

"_Friday night_.

"R. B. Sheridan."] She said to him, 'If you can relieve me, do it
quickly;--if not do not let me struggle, but give me some laudanum.' His
answer was, 'Then I will give you some laudanum.' She desired to see Tom
and Betty Tickell before she took it, of whom she took a most affecting
leave! Your brother behaved most wonderfully, though his heart was
breaking; and at times his feelings were so violent, that I feared he
would have been quite ungovernable at the last. Yet he summoned up
courage to kneel by the bed-side, till he felt the last pulse of expiring
excellence, and then withdrew. She died at five o'clock in the morning,
28th of June.

"I hope, my dear Mrs. Lefanu, you will excuse my dwelling on this most
agonizing scene. I have a melancholy pleasure in so doing, and fancy it
will not be disagreeable to you to hear all the particulars of an event
so interesting, so afflicting, to all who knew the beloved creature! For
my part, I never beheld such a scene--never suffered such a
conflict--much as I have suffered on my own account. While I live, the
remembrance of it and the dear lost object can never be effaced from my
mind.

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