6042	----	This eBook was produced by Marjorie Fulton. THE DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY (FRANCES BURNEY.) WITH NOTES BY W. C. WARD, AND PREFACED BY LORD MACAULAY'S ESSAY. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. 2. (1787-1792.) WITH AN ENGRAVING OF GEORGE III., QUEEN CHARLOTTE, AND THEIR FAMILY. LONDON: VIZETELLY & CO., 16, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1891. PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE & COMPANY, LONDON, CITY ROAD. 10. (1787) COURT DUTIES AT ST. JAMES'S AND WINDSOR --9-48 The Queen's Birthday Drawing Room--A Serious Dilemma--Counsels of a Court Official--Mr. Turbulent's Anxiety to Introduce Mr. Wellbred--Colonel Wellbred is received at Tea--Eccentric Mr. Bryant--Mr. Turbulent in a New Character--Bantering a Princess- -Mr. Turbulent meets with a Rebuff--A Surprise at the Play--The King's Birthday--The Equerries: Colonel Manners--The Duchess de Polignac at Windsor--Colonel Manners' Musical Accomplishments- -Mrs. Schwellenberg's "Lump of Leather"--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Frogs--Mr. Turbulent's Antics. 11 (1787-8) COURT DUTIES: SOME VARIATIONS IN THEIR ROUTINE--49-85 Meeting of the two Princes--Bunbury, the Caricaturist--Mrs. Siddons proves disappointing on near acquaintance--Mr. Fairly's Bereavement--Troublesome Mr. Turbulent--A Conceited Parson--Mr. Turbulent becomes a Nuisance--Dr. Herschel and his Sister--Gay and Entertaining Mr. Bunbury--The Prince of Wales at Windsor again--False Rumours of Miss Burney's Resignation--Tyrannical Mrs. Schwellenberg--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Capriciousness--New Year's Day--Chatty Mr. Bryant again--Dr. Johnson's Letters to Mrs. Thrale discussed--A Pair of Paragons--Mr. Turbulent's Self Condemnation--Miss Burney among her Old Friends--Some Trivial Court Incidents. 12 (1788) THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS--86-153 Westminster Hall at the opening of the Hastings Trial--Warren Hastings appears at the Bar--The Lord Chancellor's Speech--The Reading of the Charges commenced--An Old Acquaintance--William Windham, Esq., M.P.--Windham inveighs against Warren Hastings- -Miss Burney Battles for the Accused--A Wearied M.P.--Mr. Crutchley reappears--Mr. Windham discusses the Impeachment- -Windham affects to commiserate Hastings--Miss Burney is again present at Hastings's Trial--Burke's Speech in support of the Charges--Further Conversation with Mr. Windham--Miss Fuzilier likely to become Mrs. Fairly--The Hastings Trial again: Mr. Fox in a Rage--Mrs. Crewe, Mr. Burke and Mr. Windham--Miss Burney's Unbiassed Sentiments--Burke and Sheridan meet with Cold Receptions--At Windsor again--Death of Mrs. Delany--The page vi Hastings Trial and Mr. Windham again--"The Queen is so kind"-- Personal Resemblance between Windham and Hastings--Death of Young Lady Mulgrave--Again at Windsor--Another Meeting with Mr. Crutchley--Mr. Turbulent's troublesome Pleasantries--Colonel Fairly and Second Attachments. 13. (1788) ROYAL VISIT TO CHELTENHAM--154--219 The Royal Party and their Suite--Loyalty not Damped by the Rain- -Arrival at Fauconberg Hall--The Tea-Table Difficulty--A t`ete-`a-t`ete wit" Colonel Fairly--The King's Gentlemen and the Queen's Ladies--Royalty Crowded at Fauconberg Hall--At the wells--Conversation and Flirtation with Colonel Fairly--Miss Burney meets an old Friend--Colonel Fairly again--A Visit to miss Palmer--"Original Love Letters"--The Founder of Sunday Schools criticised--On the Walks--An Unexpected Visitor-- Courts and Court Life--The Vindictive Baretti--speculations upon Colonel Fairly's Re-marrying--Colonel Fairly again presents Himself--The Colonel and the "Original Love Letters"--The Gout and the Love Letters again--A Dinner with Colonel Fairly and Miss Planta--Royal Concern for the Colonel's Gout--young Republicans Converted--The Princes' Animal Spirits--The Duke of York: Royal Visit to the Theatre--An uncourtly visitor--Mr. Fairly reads "Akenside" to Miss Burney--The Doctor's Embarrassment--From Grave to Gay--A Visit to Worcester--The Queen and Mr. Fairly--Mr. Fairly Moralizes--Major Price is tired of Retirement--The Return to Windsor--At Windsor again: The Canon and Mrs. Schwellenberg-- Compliments from a famous Foreign Astronomer--The Prince eyes miss Burney curiously--Colonel manners's Beating--mr. Fairly is Discussed by his Brother Equerries--Baron Trenck: Mr. Turbulent's Raillery--Amiable Mrs. Schwellenberg again--A Royal Joke--Colonel Goldsworthy's Breach of Etiquette--Illness of Mrs. Schwellenberg- -General Grenville's Regiment at Drill. 14. (1788-9) THE KING'S ILLNESS--220-299 Uncertain State of the King's Health--The King complains of Want of Sleep--Distress of the Queen--First Outburst of the King's Delirium--An Anxious Night--The King's Delirious Condition-The King refuses to see Dr. Warren--The Queen's anxiety to hear Dr. Warren's opinion--The Queen removes to more distant Apartments--A Visit from Mr. Fairly--The King's Night Watchers--A Change in Miss Burney's Duties--Mr. Fairly Succeeds in Soothing the King--New Arrangements--The Princess Augusta's Birthday-- Strange Behaviour of the First Gentleman in Europe--Stringent New Regulations--Mrs. Schwellenberg is back again--Public Prayers for the King decided upon--Sir Lucas Pepys On the King's Condition- Further Changes at the Lodge--Mr. Fairly and the Learned Ladies-- Reports on the King's Condition--Mr. Fairly thinks the King Page vii needs Stricter Management--Mr. Fairly wants a Change--Removal of the King to Kew determined upon--A Privy Council held--The Removal to Kew--A Mysterious Visitor--The King's Arrival--The Arrangements at Kew Palace--A Regency hinted at--Mr. Fairly's Kind Offices--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Parlour--A new Physician Summoned--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Opinion of Mr. Fairly--The King's varying Condition--Dr. Willis and his Son--Learning in Women--The Queen and Mr. Fairly's Visits-A Melancholy Birthday--Mr. Fairly on Fans--Mr. Fairly continues his Visits: the Queen again Remarks upon them--The Search for Mr. Fairly--Miss Burney's Alarm on being chased by the King--A Royal Salute and Royal Confidences-- Curiosity regarding Miss Burney's meeting with the King--The Regency Bill--Infinitely Licentious!--Miss Burney is taxed with Visiting Gentlemen--Improvement in the King's Health--Mr. Fairly and Mr. Windham--The King continues to improve--The King's Health is completely Restored. 15. (1789) THE KING'S RECOVERY: ROYAL VISIT TO WEYMOUTH--300-333 The King's Reappearance--An Airing and its Consequences-- Illuminations on the King's Recovery--Mr. Fairly on Miss Burney's Duties--A Visit from Miss Fuzilier--A Command from Her Majesty- -Colonel Manners mystifies Mrs. Schwellenberg--The Sailor Prince--Loyal Reception of the King in the New Forest--The Royal journey to Weymouth--Welcome to Weymouth--The Royal Plunge with Musical honours--"You must Kneel, Sir!"--Royal doings in and about Weymouth--A Patient Audience--A Fatiguing but Pleasant Day--Lulworth Castle--The Royal Party at the Assembly Rooms--A journey to Exeter and Saltram--May "One" come in?--An Excursion to Plymouth Dockyard--A Visit to a Seventy-four--A Day at Mount Edgecumbe--Mr. Fairly on a Court Life--A Brief Sojourn at Longleat--Tottenham Court: Return to Windsor. 16. (1789-90) MR. FAIRLY'S MARRIAGE: THE HASTINGS TRIAL--334-365 Rumours of Mr. Fairly's impending Marriage--A Royal Visit to the Theatre: jammed in the Crowd--In the Manager's Box--Mr. Fairly's Marriage imminent--Court Duties discussed--Mr. Fairly's Strange Wedding--Renewal of the Hastings Trial: A Political Impromptu--An Illbred Earl of Chesterfield--Miss Burney in a New Capacity--The long-forgotten Tragedy: Miss Burnei again as Reader--Colonel Manners in his Senatorial Capacity--A Conversation with Mr. Windham at the Hastings Trial--A Glimpse of Mrs. Piozzi--Captain Burney wants a Ship to go to Court--Captain Burney and Mr. Windham--Mr. Windham speaks on a Legal Point--An Emphatic Peroration-An Aptitude for Logic and for Greek--More Talk with Mr. Windham. Page viii 17. (1790-1) MISS BURNEY RESIGNS HER PLACE AT COURT--366-409 A Melancholy Confession--Captain Burney's Laconic Letter and Interview--Burke's Speech on the French Revolution--An Awkward Meeting--A New Visit from Mrs. Fairly--One Tragedy Finished and Another Commenced--Miss Burney's Resignation Memorial--Mr. Windham Intervenes--An Amusing Interview with Mr. Boswell--Ill, Unsettled, and Unhappy--A Medical Opinion on Miss Burney's Condition--Miss Burney breaks the Matter to the Queen--The Memorial and Explanatory Note--The Keeper of the Robes' Consternation--Leave of Absence is Suggested--A Royal Gift to the Master of the Horse--Conferences with the Queen--Miss Burney determines on Seclusion--The Hastings Trial Resumed: The Accused makes his Defence--Mr. Windham is Congratulated on his Silence-- Miss Burney makes her Report--Prince William insists on the King's Health being Drunk--The Queen's Health--The Procession to the Ball-room: Absence of the Princes--Boswell's Life of johnson--The Close of Miss Burney's Court Duties--Miss Burney's Successor: A Pension from the Queen--Leavetakings--Farewell to Kew--The Final Parting. 18. (1791-2) REGAINED LIBERTY--410-468 Released from Duty--A Western journey: Farnham Castle--A Party of French Fugitives--Winchester Cathedral--Stonehenge, Wilton, and Milton Abbey--Lyme and Sidmouth--Sidmouth Loyalty--Powderham Castle and Collumpton Church--Glastonbury Abbey--Wells Cathedral--Bath Revisited--A Visit from Lady Spencer--Bath Sunday Schools--Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire--Bishop Percy--The Duchess of Devonshire again--Dr. Burney's Conversation with Mr. Burke: Remarks by Miss Burney--Literary Recreation--Sir Joshua Reynoldsls Blindness--Among Old Friends--A Summons from the Queen--Mr. Hastings's Defence--Diverse Views--Mr. Law's Speech Discussed--Mr. Windham on the French National Assembly--"A Barbarous Business!"--Death of Sir Joshua Reynolds--Mr. Windham twitted on his Lack of Compassion--A Point of Ceremonial--Mrs. Schwellenberg and Mlle. Jacobi--A Long Talk with the King and Queen--Madame de Genlis: a Woeful Change--The Weeping Beauty Again--Madame de la Fite and Mrs. Hastings--The Impetuous Orator- -Mimicry of Dr. Johnson--The King's Birthday--Mr. Hastings's Speech--A Well-preserved Beauty--The Burkes--Burke's Conversational Powers--A Wild Irish Girl--Erskine's Egotism-- Caen-wood---An Adventure with Mrs. Crewe--An Invitation from Arthur Young. SECTION 10. (1787) COURT DUTIES AT ST. JAMES'S AND WINDSOR. THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY DRAWING ROOM. January. Go back to the 16th, when I went to town, accompanied only by Mr. de Luc. I saw my dear father the next morning, who gave me a poem on the queen's birthday, to present. It was very pretty; but I felt very awkward in offering it to her, as it was from so near a relation, and without any particular reason or motive. Mr. Smelt came and stayed with me almost all the morning, and soothed and solaced me by his charming converse. The rest of the day was devoted to milliners, mantua-makers, and such artificers, and you may easily conjecture how great must be my fatigue. Nevertheless, when, in the midst of these wasteful toils, the Princess Augusta entered my room, and asked me, from the queen, if I should wish to see the ball the next day, I preferred running the risk of that new fatigue, to declining an honour so offered: especially as the Princess Augusta was herself to open the ball. A chance question this night from the queen, whom I now again attended as usual, fortunately relieved me from my embarrassment about the poem. She inquired of me if my father was still writing? "A little," I answered, and the next morning, Thursday, the 18th, when the birth-day was kept, I found her all sweetness and serenity; mumbled out my own little compliment, which she received as graciously as if she had understood and heard it; and then, Page 10 when she was dressed, I followed her through the great rooms, to get rid of the wardrobe woman, and there taking the poem from my pocket, I said "I told your majesty that my father had written a little!--and here--the little is!" She took it from me with a smile and a curtsey, and I ran off. She never has named it since; but she has spoken of my father with much sweetness and complacency. The modest dignity of the queen, upon all subjects of panegyric, is truly royal and noble. I had now, a second time, the ceremony of being entirely new dressed. I then went to St. James's, where the queen gave a very gracious approbation of my gewgaws, and called upon the king to bestow the same; which his constant goodhumour makes a matter of great ease to him. The queen's dress, being for her own birthday, was extremely simple, the style of dress considered. The king was quite superb, and the Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth were ornamented with much brilliancy. Not only the princess royal was missed at this exhibition, but also the Prince of Wales. He wrote, however, his congratulations to the queen, though the coldness then subsisting between him and his majesty occasioned his absence from Court. I fear it was severely felt by his royal mother, though she appeared composed and content. The two princesses spoke very kind words, also, about my frippery on this festival; and Princess Augusta laid her positive commands upon me that I should change my gown before I went to the lord chamberlain's box, where only my head could be seen. The counsel proved as useful as the consideration was amiable. When the queen was attired, the Duchess of Ancaster was admitted to the dressing room, where she stayed, in conversation with their majesties and the princesses, till it was time to summon the bed-chamber women. During this, I had the office of holding the queen's train. I knew, for me, it was a great honour, yet it made me feel, once more, so like a mute upon the stage, that I could scarce believe myself only performing my own real character. Mrs. Stainforth and I had some time to stand upon the stairs before the opening of the doors. We joined Mrs. Fielding and her daughters, and all entered together, but the crowd parted us - they all ran on, and got in as they could, and I Page 11 remained alone by the door. They soon found me out, and made signs to me, which I saw not, and then they sent me messages that they had kept room for me just by them. I had received orders from the queen to go out at the end of the second country dance ; I thought, therefore, that as I now was seated by the door, I had better be content, and stay where I could make my exit in a moment, and without trouble or disturbance. A queer-looking old lady sat next me, and I spoke to her now and then, by way of seeming to belong to somebody. She did not appear to know whether it were advisable for her to answer me or not, seeing me alone, and with high head ornaments; but as I had no plan but to save appearances to the surrounders, I was perfectly satisfied that my very concise propositions should meet with yet more laconic replies. Before we parted, however, finding me quiet and inoffensive, she became voluntarily sociable, and I felt so much at home, by being still in a part of the palace, that I needed nothing further than just so much notice as not to seem an object to be avoided. The sight which called me to that spot perfectly answered all my expectations: the air, manner, and countenance of the queen, as she goes round the circle, are truly graceful and engaging: I thought I could understand, by the motion of her lips, and the expression of her face, even at the height and distance of the chamberlain's box, the gracious and pleasant speeches she made to all whom she approached. With my glass, you know, I can see just as other people see with the naked eye. The princesses looked extremely lovely, and the whole Court was in the utmost splendour. A SERIOUS DILEMMA. At the appointed moment I slipped through the door, leaving my old lady utterly astonished at my sudden departure, and I passed, alone and quietly, to Mr. Rhamus's apartment, which was appropriated for the company to wait in. Here I desired a servant I met with to call my man: he was not to be found. I went down the stairs, and made them call him aloud, by my name; all to no purpose. Then the chairmen were called, but called also in vain! What to do I knew not ; though I was still in a part of the Page 12 palace, it was separated by many courts, avenues, passages, and alleys, from the queen's or my own apartments- and though I had so lately passed them, I could not remember the way, nor at that late hour could I have walked, dressed as I then was, and the ground wet with recent rain, even if I had had a servant: I had therefore ordered the chair allotted me for these days; but chair and chairmen and footmen were alike out of the way. My fright lest the queen should wait for me was very serious. I believe there are state apartments through which she passes, and therefore I had no chance to know when she retired from the ball-room. Yet could I not stir, and was forced to return to the room whence I came, in order to wait for John, that I might be out of the way of the cold winds which infested the hall. I now found a young clergyman, standing by the fire. I suppose my anxiety was visible, for he instantly inquired if he could assist me. I declined his offer, but walked up and down, making frequent questions about my chair and John. He then very civilly said, "You seem distressed, ma'am; would you permit me the honour to see for your chair, or, if it is not come, as you seem hurried, would you trust me to see you home?" I thanked him, but could not accept his services. He was sorry, he said, that I refused him, but could not wonder, as he was a stranger. I made some apologising answer, and remained in that unpleasant situation till, at length, a hackneychair was procured me. My new acquaintance would take no denial to handing me to the chair. When I got in, I told the men to carry me to the palace. "We are there now!" cried they; "what part of the palace?" I was now in a distress the most extraordinary : I really knew not my own direction! I had always gone to my apartment in a chair, and had been carried by chairmen officially appointed; and, except that it was in St. James's palace, I knew nothing of my own situation. "Near the park," I told them, and saw my new esquire look utterly amazed at me. "Ma'am," said he, " half the palace is in the park." "I don't know how to direct," cried I, in the greatest embarrassment, "but it is somewhere between Pall Mall and the park." Page 13 "I know where the lady lives well enough," cried one of the chairmen, "'tis in St. James's street." "No, no," cried I, "'tis in St. James's palace." "Up with the chair!" cried the other man, "I know best--'tis in South Audley-street; I know the lady well enough." Think what a situation at the moment! I found they had both been drinking the queen's health till they knew not what they said and could with difficulty stand. Yet they lifted me up, and though I called in the most terrible fright to be let out, they carried me down the steps. I now actually screamed for help, believing they would carry me off to South Audley-street; and now my good genius, who had waited patiently in the crowd, forcibly stopped the chairmen, who abused him violently, and opened the door himself, and I ran back to the hall. You may imagine how earnestly I returned my thanks for this most seasonable assistance, without which I should almost have died with terror, for where they might have taken or dropped me, or how or where left me, who could say? He begged me to go again upstairs, but my apprehension about the queen prevented me. I knew she was to have nobody but me, and that her jewels, though few, were to be intrusted back to the queen's house to no other hands. I must, I said, go, be it in what manner it might. All I could devise was to summon Mr. Rhamus, the page. I had never seen him, but my attendance upon the queen would be an apology for the application, and I determined to put myself under his immediate protection. Mr. Rhamus was nowhere to be found ; he was already supposed to be gone to the queen's house, to wait the arrival of his majesty. This news redoubled my fear; and now my new acquaintance desired me to employ him in making inquiries for me as to the direction I wanted. It was almost ridiculous, in the midst of my distress, to be thus at a loss for an address to myself! I felt averse to speaking my name amongst so many listeners, and only told him he would much oblige me by finding out a direction to Mrs. Haggerdorn's rooms. He went upstairs ; and returning, said he could now direct the chairmen, if I did not fear trusting them. I did fear--I even shook with fear; yet my horror of disappointing the queen upon such a night prevailed over all my reluctance, and I ventured once more into the chair, thanking this excellent Samaritan, and begging him to give the direction very particularly. Page 14 Imagine, however, my gratitude and my relief, when, instead of hearing the direction, I heard only these words, " Follow me." And then did this truly benevolent young man himself play the footman, in walking by the side of the chair till we came to an alley, when he bid them turn; but they answered him with an oath, and ran on with me, till the poles ran against a wall, for they had entered a passage in which there was no outlet! I would fain have got out, but they would not hear me; they would only pull the chair back, and go on another way. But my guardian angel told them to follow him, or not, at their peril ; and then walked before the chair. We next came to a court where we were stopped by the sentinels. They said they had orders not to admit any hackney chairs. The chairmen vowed they would make way; I called out aloud to be set down; the sentinels said they would run their bayonets through the first man that attempted to dispute their orders. I then screamed out again to be set down, and my new and good friend peremptorily forced them to stop, and opening the door with violence, offered me his arm, saying, "You had better trust yourself with me, ma'am!" Most thankfully I now accepted what so fruitlessly I had declined, and I held by his arm, and we walked on together, but neither of us knew whither, nor the right way from the wrong 1 It was really a terrible situation. The chairmen followed us, clamorous for money, and full of abuse. They demanded half a crown - my companion refused to listen to such an imposition : my shaking hand could find no purse, and I begged him to pay them what they asked, that they might leave us. He did ; and when they were gone, I shook less, and was able to pay that one part of the debt I was now contracting. We wandered about, heaven knows where, in a way the most alarming and horrible to myself imaginable: for I never knew where I was.--It was midnight. I concluded the queen waiting for me.--It was wet. My head was full dressed. I was under the care of a total stranger; and I knew not which side to take, wherever we came. Inquiries were vain. The sentinels alone were in sight, and they are so continually changed that they knew no more of Mrs. Haggerdorn than if she had never resided here. At length I spied a door open, and I begged to enter it at a venture, for information. Fortunately a person stood in the passage who instantly spoke to me by my name; I never Page 15 heard that sound with more glee: to me he was a stranger, but I suppose he had seen me in some of the apartments. I begged him to direct me straight to the queen's rooms: he did ; and I then took leave of my most humane new friend, with a thousand acknowledgments for his benevolence and services. Was it not a strange business ? I can never say what an agony Of fright it cost me at the time, nor ever be sufficiently grateful for the kind assistance, so providentially afforded me.' COUNSELS OF A COURT OFFICIAL. The general directions and counsel of Mr. Smelt, which I have scrupulously observed ever since, were, in abridgment, these:- That I should see nobody at all but by appointment. This, as he well said, would obviate, not only numerous personal inconveniences to myself, but prevent alike surprises from those I had no leave to admit, and repetitions of visits from others who might inadvertently come too often. He advised me to tell this to my father, and beg it might be spread, as a settled part of my situation, among all who inquired for me. That I should see no fresh person whatsoever without an immediate permission from the queen, nor any party, even amongst those already authorised, without apprising her of such a plan. That I should never go out without an immediate application to her, so that no possible inquiry for me might occasion surprise or disappointment. These, and other similar ties, perhaps, had my spirits been better, I might less readily have acceded to : as it was, I would have bound myself to as many more. At length, however, even then, I was startled when Mr. Smelt, with some earnestness, said, "And, with respect to your parties, such as you may occasionally have here, you have but one rule for keeping all things smooth, and all partisans unoffended, at a distance--which is, to have no men--none! I stared a little, and made no answer. "Yes," cried he, "Mr. Locke may be admitted; but him only. Your father, you know, is of course." Still I was silent: after a pause of some length, he plumply Yet with an evidently affected unmeaningness, said, "Mr. Cambridge-- as to Mr. Cambridge--" I stopped him short at once; I dared not trust to what Page 16 might follow, and eagerly called Out, "Mr. Cambridge, Sir, I cannot exclude! So much friendship and kindness I owe, and have long owed him, that he would go about howling at my ingratitude, could I seem so suddenly to forget it!" My impetuosity in uttering this surprised, but silenced him; he said not a word more, nor did I. MR. TURBULENT's ANXIETY TO INTRODUCE MR. WELLBRED. Windsor, Sunday, Jan. 28.-I was too ill to go to church. I was now, indeed, rarely well enough for anything but absolute and unavoidable duties ; and those were still painfully and forcibly performed. I had only Miss Planta for my guest, and when she went to the princesses I retired for a quiet and solitary evening to my own room. But here, while reading, I was interrupted by a tat-tat at my door. I opened it and saw Mr. Turbulent. . . . He came forward, and began a gay and animated conversation, with a flow of spirits and good humour which I had never observed in him before. His darling colonel(230) was the subject that he still harped upon; but it was only with a civil and amusing raillery, not, as before, with an overpowering vehemence to conquer. Probably, however, the change in myself might be as observable as in him,-- since I now ceased to look upon him with that distance and coldness which hitherto he had uniformly found in me. I must give you a little specimen of him in this new dress. After some general talk, "When, ma'am," he said, "am I to have the honour of introducing Colonel Wellbred to you?" "Indeed, I have not settled that entirely!" "Reflect a little, then, ma'am, and tell me. I only wish to know when." "Indeed to tell you that is somewhat more than I am able to do; I must find it out myself, first." " Well, ma'am, make the inquiry as speedily as possible, I beg. What say you to now? shall I call him up? "No, no,--pray let him alone." "But will you not, at least, tell me your reasons for this conduct?" Page 17 "Why, frankly, then, if you will hear them and be quiet, I will confess them." I then told him, that I had so little time to myself, that to gain even a single evening was to gain a treasure; and that I had no chance but this. "Not," said I, "that I wish to avoid him, but to break the custom of constantly meeting with the equerries." "But it is impossible to break the custom, ma'am; it has been so always: the tea-table has been the time of uniting the company, ever since the king came to Windsor." " Well, but everything now is upon a new construction. I am not positively bound to do everything Mrs. Haggerdorn did, and his having drank tea with her will not make him conclude he must also drink tea with me." No, no, that is true, I allow. Nothing that belonged to her can bring conclusions round to you. But still, why begin with Colonel Wellbred? You did not treat Colonel Goldsworthy so?" "I had not the power of beginning with him. I did what I could, I assure you." "Major Price, ma'am?--I never heard you avoided him." "No; but I knew him before I came, and he knew much of my family, and indeed I am truly sorry that I shall now see no more of him. But Colonel Wellbred and I are mutually strangers." "All people are so at first, every acquaintance must have a beginning." "But this, if you are quiet, we are most willing should have none." "Not he, ma'am--he is not so willing; he wishes to come. He asked me, to-day, if I had spoke about it." I disclaimed believing this; but he persisted in asserting it, adding "For he said if I had spoke he would come." "He is very condescending," cried I, "but I am satisfied he would not think of it at all, if you did not put it in his head." "Upon my honour, You are mistaken; we talk just as much of it down there as up here." "you would much oblige me if you would not talk of it,- neither there nor here." "Let me end it, then, by bringing him at once!" "No, no, leave us both alone: he has his resources and his engagements as much as I have; we both are best as we now are." Page 18 "But what can he say, ma'am? Consider his confusion and disgrace! It is well known, in the world, the private life that the royal family live at Windsor, and who are the attendants that belong to them; and when Colonel Wellbred quits his waiting--three months' waiting and is asked how he likes Miss Burney, he must answer he has never seen her! And what, ma'am, has Colonel Wellbred done to merit such a mortification?" It was impossible not to laugh at such a statement of the case; and again he requested to bring him directly. "One quarter of an hour will content me ; I only wish to introduce him--for the sake of his credit in the world; and when once you have met, you need meet no more; no consequences whatever need be drawn to the detriment of your solitude." I begged him to desist, and let us both rest. "But have you, yourself, ma'am, no curiosity--no desire to see Colonel Wellbred?" "None in the world." "If, then, hereafter you admit any other equerry--" "No, no, I intend to carry the new construction throughout." "Or if you suffer anyone else to bring you Colonel Wellbred." "Depend upon it I have no such intention." "But if any other more eloquent man prevails--" " Be assured there is no danger." "Will you, at least, promise I shall be present at the meet--?" " There will be no meeting." "You are certainly, then, afraid of him?" I denied this, and, hearing the king's supper called, he took his leave ; though not before I very seriously told him that, however amusing all this might be as pure badinage, I Should be very earnestly vexed if he took any steps in the matter without my consent. COLONEL WELLBRED IS RECEIVED AT TEA. Feb. 2.-MISS Planta came to tea, and we went together to the eating-parlour, which we found quite empty. Mr. Turbulent's studious table was all deserted, and his books laid waste; but in a very few minutes he entered again, with his arms spread wide, his face all glee, and his voice all triumph, calling out, Page 19 "Mr. Smelt and Colonel Wellbred desire leave to wait upon miss Burney to tea!" A little provoked at this determined victory over my will and my wish, I remained silent,- but Miss Planta broke forth into open upbraidings: "Upon my word, Mr. Turbulent, this is really abominable it is all your own doing--and if I was Miss Burney I would not bear it!" and much more, till he fairly gave her to understand she had nothing to do with the matter. Then, turning to me, "What am I to say, ma'am? am I to tell Colonel Wellbred you hesitate?" He protested he came upon the embassy fairly employed. "Not fairly, I am sure, Mr. Turbulent The whole is a device and contrivance of your own! Colonel Wellbred would have been as quiet as myself, had you left him alone." "Don't throw it all upon me, ma'am; 'tis Mr. Smelt. But what are they to think of this delay? are they to suppose it requires deliberation whether or not you can admit a gentleman to your tea-table?" I begged him to tell me, at least, how it had passed, and in what manner he had brought his scheme about. But he would give me no satisfaction; he only said "You refuse to receive him, ma'am?-- shall I go and tell him you refuse to receive him?" "O No, This was enough -. he waited no fuller consent, but ran off. Miss Planta began a good-natured repining for me. I determined to fetch some work before they arrived; and in coming for it to my own room, I saw Mr. Turbulent, not yet gone downstairs. I really believe, by the strong marks of laughter on his countenance, that he had stopped to compose himself before he could venture to appear in the equerryroom! I looked at him reproachfully, and passed on; he shook his head at me in return, and hied downstairs. I had but just time to rejoin Miss Planta when he led the way to the two Other gentlemen: entering first, with the most earnest curiosity, to watch the scene. Mr. Smelt followed, introducing the colonel. I could almost have laughed, so ridiculous had the behaviour of Mr. Turbulent, joined to his presence and watchfulness, rendered this meeting; and I saw in Colonel Wellbred the most evident marks of similar sensations: for he coloured Page 20 violently on his entrance, and seemed in an embarrassment that, to any one who knew not the previous tricks of Mr. Turbulent, must have appeared really distressing. And, in truth, Mr. Smelt himself, little imagining what had preceded the interview, was so much struck with his manner and looks, that he conceived him to be afraid of poor little me, and observed, afterwards, with what "blushing diffidence" he had begun the acquaintance! I, who saw the true cause through the effect, felt more provoked than ever with Mr. Turbulent, since I was now quite satisfied he had been as busy with the colonel about me, as with me about the colonel. He is tall, his figure is very elegant, and his face very handsome: he is sensible, well-bred, modest, and intelligent. I had always been told he was very amiable and accomplished, and the whole of his appearance confirmed the report. The discourse was almost all Mr. Smelt's, the colonel was silent and reserved, and Mr. Turbulent had resolved to be a mere watchman. The king entered early and stayed late, and took away with him, on retiring, all the gentlemen. Feb. 3.-As the tea hour approached, to-day, Mr. Turbulent grew very restless. I saw what was passing in his mind, and therefore forbore ordering tea; but presently, and suddenly, as if from some instant impulse, he gravely came up to me, and said "Shall I go and call the colonel, ma'am?" "No, sir!" was my johnsonian reply. "What, ma'am!--won't you give him a little tea?" "No, no, no!--I beg you will be at rest!" He shrugged his shoulders, and walked away; and Mr. Smelt, smiling, said, "Will you give us any?" "O yes, surely cried I, and was going away to ring for the man. I believe I have already mentioned that I had no bell at all, except in my bedroom, and that only for my maid, whom I was obliged to summon first, like Smart's monkey-- "Here, Betty!--Nan!-- Go, call the maid, to call the man!" For Mrs. Haggerdorn had done without, twenty-six years, by always keeping her servant in waiting at the door. I could never endure inflicting such a hardship, and therefore had always to run to my bedroom, and wait the progress of the maid's arrival, and then of her search of the man, ere ever Page 21 I could give him an order. A mighty tiresome and inconvenient ceremony. Mr Turbulent insisted upon saving me this trouble, and went 'out himself to speak to John. But you will believe me a little amazed, when, in a very few minutes, he returned again, accompanied by his colonel! My surprise brought the colour both into my own cheeks and those of my guests. Mr. Smelt looked pleased; and Mr. Turbulent, though I saw he was half afraid of what he was doing, could by no means restrain a most exulting smile, which was constantly in play during the whole evening. Mr. Smelt instantly opened a conversation, with an ease and good breeding which drew every one into sharing it. The colonel was far less reserved and silent, and I found him very pleasing, very unassuming, extremely attentive, and sensible and obliging. The moment, however, that we mutually joined in the discourse, Mr. Turbulent came to my side, and seating himself there, whispered that he begged my pardon for the step he had taken. I made him no answer, but talked on with the colonel and Mr. Smelt. He. then whispered me again, "I am now certain of your forgiveness, since I see your approbation!" And when still I said nothing, he interrupted every speech to the colonel with another little whisper, saying that his end was obtained, and he was now quite happy, since he saw he had obliged me! At length he proceeded so far, with so positive a determination to be answered, that he absolutely compelled me to say I forgave him, lest he should go on till the colonel heard him. ECCENTRIC MR. BRYANT. Feb. 9-This morning, soon after my breakfast, the princess royal came to fetch me to the queen. She talked of Mrs. Delany all the way, and in terms of affection that can never fail to raise her in the minds of all who hear her. The queen was alone; and told me she had been so much struck with the Duke of Suffolk's letter to his son, in the Paston collection,(231) Page 22 that she wished to hear my opinion of it. She then condescended to read it to me. It is indeed both instructive and interesting. She was so gracious, when she dismissed me, as to lend me the book, desiring me to have it sent back to her apartment when I went to dinner. I had invited Mr. Bryant to dinner. He came an hour before, and I could not read "Paston," but rejoiced the more in his living intelligence. We talked upon the "Jew's Letters," which he had lent me. Have I mentioned them? They are a mighty well written defence of the Mosaic law and mission, and as orthodox for Christians as for Jews, with regard to their main tenor, which is to refute the infidel doctrine of Voltaire up to the time of our Saviour. Before our dinner we were joined by 'Mr. Smelt ; and the conversation was then very good. The same subject was continued, except where it was interrupted by Mr. Bryant's speaking of his own works, which was very frequently, and with a droll sort of simplicity that had a mixture of nature and of humour extremely amusing. He told us, very frankly his manner of writing; he confessed that what he first committed to paper seldom could be printed without variation or correction, even to a single line: he copied everything over, he said, himself, and three transcribings were the fewest he could ever make do; but, generally, nothing went from him to the press under seven. Mr. Turbulent and Miss Planta came to dinner, and it was very cheerful. Ere it was over John told me somebody wanted me. I desired they might be shewn to my room till the things were removed; but, as these were some time taking away, I called John to let me know who it was. "The princess royal, ma'am," was his answer, with perfect ease. Up I started, ashamed and eager, and flew to her royal highness instantly : and I found her calmly and quietly waiting, shut up in my room, without any candles, and almost wholly in the dark, except from the light of the fire! I made all possible apologies, and doubled and trebled them upon her Smilingly saying "I would not let them tell you who it was, nor hurry you, for I know 'tis so disagreeable to be called Page 23 away in the middle of dinner." And then, to reconcile me to the little accident, she took hold of both my hands. She came to me from the queen, about the "Paston Letters," which John had not carried to the right page. Very soon after came the king, who entered into a gay disquisition with Mr. Bryant upon his school achievements to which he answered with a readiness and simplicity highly entertaining. "You are an Etonian, Mr. Bryant," said the king, "but pray, for what were you most famous at school?" We all expected, from the celebrity of his scholarship, to hear him answer his Latin Exercises but no such thing. "Cudgelling, Sir. I was most famous for that." While a general laugh followed this speech, he very gravely proceeded to particularize his feats though unless you could see the diminutive figure, the weak, thin, feeble, little frame, whence issued the proclamation of his prowess, you can but very Inadequately judge the comic effect of his big talk. "Your majesty, sir, knows General Conway? I broke his head for him, sir." The shout which ensued did not at all interfere with the steadiness of his further detail. "And there's another man, Sir, a great stout fellow, Sir, as ever you saw--Dr. Gibbon, of the Temple: I broke his head too, sir.--I don't know if he remembers it." The king, afterwards, inquired after his present family, meaning his dogs, which he is famed for breeding and preserving. "Why, sir," he answered, "I have now only twelve. Once, I recollect, when your majesty was so gracious as to ask me about them, I happened to have twenty-two; and so I told you, sir. Upon my word, Sir, it made me very uneasy afterwards when I came to reflect upon it: I was afraid your majesty might think I presumed to joke!" The king then asked him for some account of the Marlborough family, with which he is very particularly connected and desired to know which among the young Lady Spencers was his favourite. "Upon my word, sir, I like them all! Lady Elizabeth is a charming young lady--I believe, Sir, I am most in her favour; I don't know why, Sir. But I happened to write a letter to the duke, sir, that she took a fancy to; I don't know the reason, sir, but she begged it. I don't know what was in the letter, Page 24 sir-I could never find out; but she took a prodigious fancy to it, sir." The king laughed heartily, and supposed there might be some compliments to herself in it. "Upon my word' sir," cried he, "I am afraid your majesty will think I was in love with her! but indeed, sir, I don't know what was in the letter." The converse went on in the same style, and the king was so much entertained by Mr. Bryant, that he stayed almost the whole evening, MR TURBULENT IN A NEW CHARACTER. Friday, Feb. 16.-The instant I was left alone with Mr. Turbulent he demanded to know my "project for his happiness;" and he made his claim in a tone so determined, that I saw it would be fruitless to attempt evasion or delay. "Your captivity, then, sir," cried I-"for such I must call your regarding your attendance to be indispensable is at an end: the equerry-coach is now wholly in your power. I have spoken myself upon the subject to the queen, as you bid--at least, braved me to do; and I have now her consent to discharging you from all necessity of travelling in our coach."(232) He looked extremely provoked, and asked if I really meant to inform him I did not choose his company? I laughed the question off, and used a world of civil argument to persuade him I had only done him a good office: but I was fain to make the whole debate as sportive as possible, as I saw him disposed to be seriously affronted. A long debate ensued. I had been, he protested, excessively ill-natured to him. "What an impression," cried he, "must this make upon the queen! After travelling, with apparent content, six years With that oyster Mrs. Haggerdorn--now--now that travelling is become really agreeable--in that coach --I am to be turned out of it! How must it disgrace me in her opinion!" She was too partial, I said, to "that oyster," to look upon the matter in such a degrading light nor would she think of it Page 25 at all, but as an accidental matter. I then added, that the reason that he had hitherto been destined to the female coach was, that Mrs. Schwellenberg and Mrs. Haggerdorn were always afraid of travelling by themselves; but that as I had more courage, there was no need of such slavery. "Slavery!"--repeated he, with an emphasis that almost startled me,--"Slavery is pleasure--is happiness--when directed by our wishes!" And then, with a sudden motion that made me quite jump, he cast himself at my feet, on both his knees-- "Your slave," he cried, "I am content to be! your slave I am ready to live and die!" I begged him to rise, and be a little less rhapsodic. "I have emancipated you," I cried; "do not, therefore, throw away the freedom you have been six years sighing to obtain. You are now your own agent--a volunteer--" "If I am," cried he, impetuously, "I dedicate myself to you!--A volunteer, ma'am, remember that! I dedicate myself to you, therefore, of my own accord, for every journey! You shall not get rid of me these twenty years." I tried to get myself away-but he would not let me move and he began, with still increasing violence of manner, a most fervent protestation that he would not be set aside, and that he devoted himself to me entirely. And, to say the simple truth, ridiculous as all this was, I really began to grow a little frightened by his vehemence and his posture - till, at last, in the midst of an almost furious vow, in which he dedicated himself to me for ever, he relieved me, by suddenly calling upon Jupiter, Juno, Mars, and Hercules, and every god, and every goddess, to witness his oath. And then, content with his sublimity, he arose. Was it not a curious scene? and have I not a curious fellow traveller for my little journeys? Monday, Feb. 19.-This morning I Proposed to my fellow travellers that we should begin our journey on foot. The wonderment with which they heard a proposal so new was diverting : but they all agreed to it; and though they declared that my predecessor, Mrs. Haggerdorn, would have thought the person fit for Bedlam who should have suggested such plan, no one could find any real objection, and off we set, ordering the coach to proceed slowly after us. The weather was delightful, and the enterprise served to shorten and enliven the expedition, and pleased them all, Page 26 Mr. Turbulent began, almost immediately, an attack about his colonel : upon quite a new ground, yet as restless and earnest as upon the old one. He now reproached my attention to him, protesting I talked to him continually, and spun out into an hour's discourse what might have been said in three minutes. "And was it my spinning?" I could not forbear saying. "Yes, ma'am: for you might have dropped it." "How?--by not answering when spoken to?" "by not talking to him, ma'am, more than to any one else." "And pray, Mr. Turbulent, solve me, then, this difficulty; what choice has a poor female with whom she may converse? Must she not, in company as in dancing, take up with those Who choose to take up with her?" He was staggered by this question, and while he wavered how to answer it, I pursued my little advantage-- "No man, Mr. Turbulent, has any cause to be flattered that a woman talks with him, while it is only in reply; for though he may come, go, address or neglect, and do as he will,-- she, let her think and wish what she may, must only follow as he leads." He protested, with great warmth, he never heard any thing so proudly said in Ins life. But I would not retract. "And now, ma'am," he continued, "how wondrous intimate you are grown! After such averseness to a meeting--such struggles to avoid him; what am I to think of the sincerity of that pretended reluctance?" "You must think the truth," said I, "that it was not the colonel, but the equerry, I wished to avoid; that it was not the individual, but the official necessity of receiving company, that I wished to escape." BANTERING A PRINCESS. March 1.- With all the various humours in which I had already seen Mr. Turbulent, he gave me this evening a surprise, by his behaviour to one of the princesses, nearly the same that I had experienced from him myself. The Princess Augusta came, during coffee, for a knotting shuttle of the queen's. While she was speaking to me, he stood behind and exclaimed, `a demi voix, as if to himself, "Comme elle est jolie ce soir, son Altesse Royale!" And then, seeing her blush extremely, he clasped his hands, in high pretended confusion, Page 27 and hiding his head, called Out, "Que ferai-je? The princess has heard me!" "Pray, Mr. Turbulent," cried she, hastily, "what play are you to read to-night?" "You shall choose, ma'am; either 'La Coquette corrigée,' or--" [he named another I have forgotten.] "O no!" cried she, "that last is shocking! don't let me hear that!" "I understand you, ma'am. You fix, then, upon 'La Coquette?' 'La Coquette' is your royal highness's taste?" "No, indeed, I am sure I did not say that." "Yes, ma'am, by implication. And certainly, therefore, I will read it, to please your royal highness!" "No, pray don't; for I like none of them." "None of them, ma'am?" "No, none;--no French plays at all!" And away she was running, with a droll air, that acknowledged she had said something to provoke him. "This is a declaration, ma'am, I must beg you to explain!" cried he, gliding adroitly between the princess and the door, and shutting it With his back. "No, no, I can't explain it;--so pray, Mr. Turbulent, do open the door." "Not for the world, ma'am, with such a stain uncleared upon your royal highness's taste and feeling!" She told him she positively could not stay, and begged him to let her pass instantly. But he would hear her no more than he has heard me, protesting he was too much shocked for her, to suffer her to depart without clearing her own credit! He conquered at last, and thus forced to speak, she turned round to us and said, "Well--if I must, then--I will appeal to these ladies, who understand such things far better than I do, and ask them if it is not true about these French plays, that they are all so like to one another, that to hear them in this manner every night is enough to tire one?" "Pray, then, madam," cried he, "if French plays have the misfortune to displease you, what national plays have the honour Of your preference?" I saw he meant something that she understood better than me, for she blushed again, and called out "Pray open the door at once! I can stay no longer; do let me go, Mr. Turbulent!" Page 28 "Not till you have answered that question, ma'am' what country has plays to your royal highness's taste?" "Miss Burney," cried she impatiently, yet laughing, "pray do you take him away!--Pull him!" He bowed to me very invitingly for the office but I frankly answered her, "Indeed, ma'am, I dare not undertake him! I cannot manage him at all." "The country! the country! Princess Augusta! name the happy country!" was all she could gain. "Order him away, Miss Burney," cried she. "It is your room: order him away from the door." "Name it, ma'am, name it!" exclaimed he; "name but the chosen nation!" And then, fixing her with the most provoking eyes, "Est-ce la Danemarc?" he cried. She coloured violently, and quite angry with him, called out, "Mr. Turbulent, how can you be such a fool!" And now I found . . . the prince royal of Denmark was in his meaning, and in her understanding! He bowed to the ground, in gratitude for the term "fool," but added with pretended Submission to her will, "Very well, ma'am, s'il ne faut lire que les comédies Danoises." " Do let me go!" cried she, seriously; and then he made way, with a profound bow as she passed, saying, "Very well, ma'am, 'La Coquette,' then? your royal highness chooses 'La Coquette corrigée?'" "Corrigée? That never was done!" cried she, with all her sweet good-humour, the moment she got out - and off she ran, like lightning, to the queen's apartments. What say you to Mr. Turbulent now? For my part, I was greatly surprised. I had not imagined any man, but the king or Prince of Wales, had ever ventured at a badinage of this sort with any of the princesses; nor do I suppose any other man ever did. Mr. Turbulent is so great a favourite with all the royal family that he safely ventures upon whatever he pleases, and doubtless they find, in his courage and his rhodomontading, a novelty extremely amusing to them. MR. TURBULENT MEETS WITH A REBUFF. March--I must now, rather reluctantly I own, come to recite a quarrel, a very serious quarrel, in which I have been involved with my most extraordinary fellow-traveller. One evening at Windsor Miss Planta left the room, while I was Page 29 winding some silk. I was content to stay and finish the skein, though my remaining companion was in a humour too flighty to induce me to continue with him a moment longer. Indeed I had avoided pretty successfully all tête-à-têetes with him since the time when his eccentric genius led to such eccentric conduct in our long conference in the last month. This time, however, when I had done my work, he protested I should stay and chat with him. I pleaded business--letters-- hurry--all in vain: he would listen to nothing, and when I tried to move was so tumultuous in his opposition, that I was obliged to re-seat myself to appease him. A flow of compliments followed, every one of which I liked less and less; but his spirits seemed uncontrollable, and, I suppose, ran away with all that ought to check them. I laughed and rallied as long as I possibly could, and tried to keep him in order, by not seeming to suppose he wanted aid for that purpose: yet still, every time I tried to rise, he stopped me, and uttered at last Such expressions of homage--so like what Shakspeare says of the school-boy, who makes "a sonnet on his mistress' eyebrow," which is always his favourite theme--that I told him his real compliment was all to my temper, in imagining it could brook such mockery. This brought him once more on his knees, with such a volley of asseverations of his sincerity, uttered with such fervour and eloquence, that I really felt uneasy, and used every possible means to get away from him, rallying him however all the time, and disguising the consciousness I felt of my inability to quit him. More and more vehement, however, he grew, till I could be no longer passive, but forcibly rising, protested I would not stay another minute. But you may easily imagine my astonishment and provocation, when, hastily rising himself, he violently seized hold of me, and compelled me to return to my chair, with a force and a freedom that gave me as much surprise as offence. All now became serious. Raillery, good-humour, and even pretended ease and unconcern, were at an end. The positive displeasure I felt I made positively known; and the voice manner, and looks with which I insisted upon an immediate' release were so changed from what he had ever heard or observed in me before, that I saw him quite thunderstruck with the alteration; and all his own violence subsiding, he begged my pardon with the mildest humility. He had made me too angry to grant it, and I only desired Page 30 him to let me instantly go to my room. He ceased all personal opposition, but going to the door, planted himself before it, and said, "Not in wrath! I cannot let you go away in wrath!" "You must, sir," cried I, "for I am in wrath!" He began a thousand apologies, and as many promises of the most submissive behaviour in future; but I stopped them all, with a peremptory declaration that every minute he detained me made me but the more seriously angry. His vehemence now was all changed into strong alarm, and he opened the door, profoundly bowing, but not speaking, as I passed him. I am sure I need not dwell upon the uncomfortable sensations I felt, in a check so rude and violent to the gaiety and entertainment of an acquaintance which had promised me my best amusement during our winter campaigns. I was now to begin upon quite a new system, and instead of encouraging, as hitherto I had done, everything that could lead to vivacity and spirit, I was fain to determine upon the most distant and even forbidding demeanour with the only life of our parties, that he might not again forget himself. This disagreeable conduct I put into immediate practice. I stayed in my own room till I heard every one assembled in the next : I was then obliged to prepare for joining them, but before I opened the door a gentle rap at it made me call out "Who's there?" and Mr. Turbulent looked in. I hastily said I was coming instantly, but he advanced softly into the room, entreating forgiveness at every step. I made no other answer than desiring he would go, and saying I should follow. He went back to the door, and, dropping on one knee, said, "Miss Burney! surely you cannot be seriously angry?-'tis so impossible you should think I meant to offend you!" I said nothing, and did not look near him, but opened the door, from which he retreated to make way for me, rising a little mortified, and exclaiming, "Can you then have such real ill-nature? How little I suspected it in you!" "'Tis you," cried I, as I passed on, "that are ill-natured!" I meant for forcing me into anger; but I left him to make the meaning out, and walked into the next room. He did not immediately follow, and he then appeared so much disconcerted that I saw Miss Planta incessantly eyeing him, to find out what was the matter. I assumed an unconcern I did not Page 31 feel for I was really both provoked and sorry, foreseeing what a breach this folly must make in the comfort of my Windsor expeditions, He sat down a little aloof, and entered into no conversation all the evening; but just as tea was over, the hunt of the next being mentioned he suddenly, asked Miss Planta to request leave for him of the queen to ride out with the party. "I shall not see the queen," cried she; "you had much better ask Miss Burney." This was very awkward. I was in no humour to act for him at this time, nor could he muster courage to desire it; but upon Miss Planta's looking at each of us with some surprise, and repeating her amendment to his proposal, he faintly said, "Would Miss Burney be so good as to take that trouble?" An opportunity offering favourably, I spoke at night to the queen, and she gave leave for his attending the chase. I intended to send this permission to Miss Planta, but I had scarce returned to my own room from her majesty, before a rap at my door was followed by his appearance. He stood quite aloof, looking grave and contrite. I Immediately called out "I have spoken, sir, to the queen, and you have her leave to go." He bowed very profoundly, and thanked me, and was retreating, but came back again, and advancing, assumed an air of less humility, and exclaimed, "Allons donc, Mademoiselle, j'espère que vous n'êtes plus si méchante qu'hier au soir!" I said nothing; he came nearer, and, bowing upon his own hand, held it out for mine, with a look of most respectful Supplication. I had no intention of cutting the matter so short, yet from shame to sustain resentment, I was compelled to hold out a finger: he took it with a look of great gratitude, and very reverently touching the tip of my glove with his lip, instantly let it go, and very solemnly said, "Soyez sûr que je n'ai jamais eu la moindre idée de vous offenser." and then he thanked me again for his licence, and went his way. A SURPRISE AT THE PLAY. I had the pleasure of two or three visits from Mr. Bryant, whose loyal regard for the king and queen makes him eagerly accept every invitation, from the hope of seeing them in my room; and one of the days they both came in to speak to him, and were accompanied by the two eldest princesses, who stood Page 32 chatting with me by the door the whole time, and saying comical things upon royal personages in tragedies, particularly Princess Augusta, who has a great deal of sport in her disposition. She very gravely asserted she thought some of those princes on the stage looked really quite as well as some she knew off it. Once about this time I went to a play myself, which surely I may live long enough and never forget. It was "Seduction," a very clever piece, but containing a dreadful picture of vice and dissipation in high life, written by Mr. Miles Andrews, with an epilogue--O, such an epilogue! I was listening to it with uncommon attention, from a compliment paid in it to Mrs. Montagu, among other female writers; but imagine what became of my attention when I suddenly was struck with these lines, or something like them:-- Let sweet Cecilia gain your just applause, Whose every passion yields to Reason's laws." To hear, wholly unprepared and unsuspicious, such lines in a theatre--seated in a royal box--and with the whole royal family and their suite immediately opposite me--was it not a singular circumstance? To describe my embarrassment would be impossible. My whole head was leaning forward, with my opera glass in my hand, examining Miss Farren, who spoke the epilogue. Instantly I shrank back, so astonished and so ashamed of my public situation, that I was almost ready to take to my heels and run, for it seemed as if I were there purposely in that conspicuous place-- "To list attentive to my own applause." The king immediately raised his opera-glass to look at me, laughing heartily--the queen's presently took the same direction--all the princesses looked up, and all the attendants, and all the maids of honour! I protest I was never more at a loss what to do with myself: nobody was in the front row with me but Miss Goldsworthy, who instantly seeing how I was disconcerted, prudently and good-naturedly forbore taking any notice of me. I sat as far back as I could, and kept my fan against the exposed profile for the rest of the night, never once leaning forward, nor using my glass. None of the royal family spoke to me on this matter till a few days after; but I heard from Mrs. Delany they had all declared Page 33 themselves sorry for the confusion it had caused me. And some time after the queen could not forbear saying, "I hope, Miss Burney, YOU minded the epilogue the other night?" And the king, very comically, said, "I took a peep at you!--I could not help that. I wanted to see how you looked when your father first discovered your writing--and now I think I know!" THE KING's BIRTHDAY. St. James's Palace, June 4-Take a little of the humours of this day, with respect to myself, as they have arisen. I quitted my downy pillow at half-past six o'clock, for bad habits in sickness have lost me half an hour of every morning; and then, according to an etiquette I discovered but on Friday night, I was quite new dressed: for I find that, on the king's birthday, and on the queen's, both real and nominal, two new attires, one half, the other full dressed, are expected from all attendants that come into the royal presence. This first labour was happily achieved in such good time, that I was just seated to my breakfast--a delicate bit of roll half-eaten, and a promising dish of tea well stirred--when I received my summons to attend the queen. She was only with her wardrobe-woman, and accepted most graciously a little murmuring congratulation upon the- day, which I ventured to whisper while she looked another way. Fortunately for me, she is always quick in conceiving what is meant, and never wastes time in demanding what is said. She told me she had bespoke Miss Planta to attend at the grand toilette at St. James's, as she saw my strength still diminished by my late illness. Indeed it still is, though in all other respects I am perfectly well. The queen wore a very beautiful dress, of a new manufacture, of worked muslin, thin, fine, and clear, as the chambery gauze. I attended her from the blue closet, in which she dresses, through the rooms that lead to the breakfast apartment. In One of these while she stopped for her hair-dresser to finish her head-dress, the king joined her. She spoke to him in German, and he kissed her hand. The three elder princesses came in soon after: they all went up, with congratulatory smiles and curtsies, to their royal father, who kissed them very affectionately; they then, as usual every Morning, kissed the queen's hand. The door was thrown open Page 34 to the breakfast-room, which is a noble apartment, fitted up with some of Vandyke's best works; and the instant the king, who led the way, entered, I was surprised by a sudden sound of music, and found that a band of musicians were stationed there to welcome him. The princesses followed, but Princess Elizabeth turned round to me to say she could hardly bear the sound: it was the first morning of her coming down to breakfast for many months, as she had had that repast in her own room ever since her dangerous illness. It overcame her, she said, more than the dressing, more than the early rising, more than the whole of the hurry and fatigue of all the rest of a public birthday. She loves the king most tenderly; and there is a something in receiving any person who is loved, by sudden music, that I can easily conceive to be very trying to the nerves. Princess Augusta came back to cheer and counsel her; she begged her to look out at the window, to divert her thoughts, and said she would place her where the sound might be less affecting to her. A lively "How d'ye do, Miss Burney? I hope you are quite well now?" from the sweet Princess Mary, who was entering the ante-room, made me turn from her two charming sisters; she passed on to the breakfast, soon followed by Princess Sophia, and then a train of their governesses, Miss Goldsworthy, Mademoiselle Montmoulin, and Miss Gomme, all in full dress, with fans. We reciprocated little civilities, and I had then the pleasure to see little Princess Amelia, with Mrs. Cheveley, who brought up the rear. Never, in tale or fable, were there six sister princesses more lovely. As I had been extremely distressed upon the queen's birthday, in January, where to go or how to act, and could obtain no information from my coadjutrix, I now resolved to ask for directions from the queen herself; and she readily gave them, in a manner to make this day far more comfortable to me than the last. She bade me dress as fast as I could, and go to St. James', by eleven o'clock; but first come into the room to her. Then followed my grand toilette. The hair-dresser was waiting for me, and he went to work first, and I second, with all our might and main. When my adorning tasks were accomplished, I went to the blue closet. No one was there, I then hesitated whether to go back or seek the queen. I have a dislike insuperable to entering a royal presence, except by an Page 35 immediate Summons: however, the directions I had had prevailed, and I- went into the adjoining apartment. There stood Madame de la Fite! she was talking in a low voice with M. de Luc. They told me the queen was in the next room, and on I went. She was seated at a glass, and the hair-dresser was putting on her jewels, while a clergyman in his canonicals was standing near and talking to her. I imagined him some bishop unknown to me, and stopped; the queen looked round, and called out "it's Miss Burney!--come in, Miss Burney." in I came, curtseying respectfully to a bow from the canonicals, but I found not out till he answered something said by the queen, that it was no other than Mr. Turbulent. Madame de la Fite then presented herself at the door (which was open for air) of the ante-room. The queen bowed to her, and said she would see her presently: she retired, and her majesty, in a significant low voice, said to me, "Do go to her, and keep her there a little!" I obeyed, and being now in no fright nor hurry, entered into conversation with her sociably and comfortably. I then went to St. James's. The queen was most brilliant in attire; and when she was arrayed, Mr. West(233) was allowed to enter the dressing-room, in order to give his opinion of the disposition -of her jewels, which indeed were arranged with great taste and effect. The three princesses, Princess Royal, Augusta, and Elizabeth, were all very splendidly decorated, and looked beautiful. They are indeed uncommonly handsome, each in their different Way-the princess royal for figure, the Princess Augusta for countenance, and the Princess Elizabeth for face. THE EQUERRIES: COLONEL MANNERS. Friday, June 8-This day we came to Windsor for the Summer, during which we only go to town for a Drawing-room once a fortnight, and to Kew in the way. Mrs. Schwellenberg remained in town, not well enough to move. The house now was quite full, the king having ordered a party to it for the Whitsun holidays. This party was Colonel page 36 Manners, the equerry in waiting; Colonel Ramsden, a good-humoured and well-bred old officer of the king's household; Colonels Wellbred and Goldsworthy, and General Budé. Colonel Ramsden is gentle and pleasing, but very silent; General Budé is always cheerful, but rises not above a second; Colonel Hotham has a shyness that looks haughty, and therefore distances; Colonel Goldsworthy reserves his sport and humour for particular days and particular favourites; and Colonel Wellbred draws back into himself unless the conversation promises either instruction or quiet pleasure; nor would any one of these, during the whole time, speak at all, but to a next neighbour, nor even then, except when that neighbour suited his fancy. You must not, however, imagine we had no public speakers; M. del Campo harangued aloud to whoever was willing to listen, and Colonel Manners did the same, without even waiting for that proviso. Colonel Manners, however, I must introduce to you by a few specimens: he is so often, in common with all the equerries, to appear on the scene, that I wish you to make a particular acquaintance with him. One evening, when we were all, as usual, assembled, he began a discourse upon the conclusion of his waiting, which finishes with the end of June:--"Now I don't think," cried he, "that it's well managed: here we're all in waiting for three months at a time, and then for nine months there's nothing!" "Cry your mercy!" cried Colonel Goldsworthy, "if three months- -three whole months--are not enough for you, pray take a few more from mine to make up your market!" "No, no, I don't mean that;--but why can't we have our waitings month by month?--would not that be better?" "I think not!--we should then have no time unbroken." "Well, but would not that be better than what it is now? Why, we're here so long, that when one goes away nobody knows one!-- one has quite to make a new acquaintance! Why, when I first come out of waiting, I never know where to find anybody!" The Ascot races were held at this time; the royal family were to be at them one or two of the days. Colonel Manners earnestly pressed Miss Port to be there. Colonel Goldsworthy said it was quite immaterial to him who was there, for when he was attending royalty he never presumed to think of any private comfort. "Well, I don't see that!" cried Colonel Manners,--"for if Page 37 I was you, and not in my turn for waiting, I should go about just as I liked;--but now, as for me, as it happens to be my own turn, Why I think it right to be civil to the king." We all looked round;--but Colonel Goldsworthy broke forth aloud-- "Civil, quotha?" cried he; "Ha! ha! civil, forsooth!--You're mighty condescending!--the first equerry I ever heard talk of his civility to the king!--'Duty,' and 'respect,' and 'humble reverence,'--those are words we are used to,--but here come you with Your civility!----Commend me to such affability!" you see he is not spared; but Colonel Goldsworthy is the wag professed of their community, and privileged to say what he pleases. The other, with the most perfect good-humour, accepted the joke, without dreaming of taking offence at the sarcasm. Another evening the king sent for Colonel Ramsden to play at backgammon. "Happy, happy man!" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, exultingly; but scarce had he uttered the words ere he was summoned to follow himself. "What! already!" cried he,--"without even my tea! Why this is worse and worse!--no peace in Israel!--only one half hour allowed for comfort, and now that's swallowed! Well, I must go;--make my complaints aside, and my bows and smiles in full face!" Off he went, but presently, in a great rage, came back, and, while he drank a hot dish of tea which I instantly presented him, kept railing at his stars for ever bringing him under a royal roof. "If it had not been for a puppy," cried he, "I had never got off even to scald my throat in this manner But they've just got a dear little new ugly dog: so one puppy gave Way to t'other, and I just left them to kiss and hug it, while I stole off to drink this tea! But this is too much!---no peace for a moment!-- no peace in Israel!" When this was passed, Colonel Wellbred renewed some of the conversation of the preceding day with me; and, just as he named Dr. Herschel Colonel Manners broke forth with his dissenting opinions. "I don't give up to Dr. Herschel at all," cried he; "he is all system; and so they are all: and if they can but make out their systems, they don't care a pin for anything else. As to Herschel, I liked him well enough till he came to his volcanoes in the moon, and then I gave him up, I saw he was just like the rest. How should he know anything Of the matter? There's no such thing as pretending to measure, at such a distance as that?" Page 38 Colonel Wellbred, to whom I looked for an answer, instead of making any, waited in quiet silence till he had exhausted all he had to say upon the subject, and then, turning to me, made some inquiry about the Terrace, and went on to other general matters. But, some time after, when all were engaged, and this topic seemed quite passed, he calmly began, in general terms, to lament that the wisest and best of people were always so little honoured or understood in their own time, and added that he had no doubt but Sir Isaac Newton had been as much scoffed and laughed at formerly as Herschel was now; but concluded, in return, Herschel, hereafter, would be as highly reverenced as Sir Isaac was at present. . . . We had then some discourse upon dress and fashions. Virtuosos being next named, Colonel Manners inveighed against them quite violently, protesting they all wanted common honour and honesty; and to complete the happy subject, he instanced, in particular, Sir William Hamilton, who, he declared, had absolutely robbed both the king and state of Naples! After this, somebody related that, upon the heat in the air being mentioned to Dr. Heberden, he had answered that he supposed it proceeded from the last eruption in the volcano in the moon: "Ay," cried Colonel Manners, "I suppose he knows as much of the matter as the rest of them: if you put a candle at the end of a telescope, and let him look at it, he'll say, what an eruption there is in the moon! I mean if Dr, Herschel would do it to him; I don't say he would think so from such a person as me." "But Mr. Bryant himself has seen this volcano from the telescope." "Why, I don't mind Mr. Bryant any more than Dr. Heberden: he's just as credulous as t'other." I wanted to ask by what criterion he settled these points in so superior a manner:--but I thought it best to imitate the silence of Colonel Wellbred, who constantly called a new subject, upon every pause, to avoid all argument and discussion while the good-humoured Colonel Manners was just as ready to start forward in the new subject, as he had been in that which had been set aside. One other evening I invited Madame de la Fite: but it did not prove the same thing; they have all a really most undue dislike of her, and shirk her conversation and fly to one another, to discourse on hunting and horses. Page 39 THE DUCHESS DE POLIGNAC AT WINDSOR. The following Sunday, June 17, I was tempted to go on the Terrace, in order to se the celebrated Madame de Polignac,(234) and her daughter, Madame de Guiche. They were to be presented, with the Duke de Polignac, to their majesties, upon the Terrace. Their rank entitled them to this distinction; and the Duchess of Ancaster, to whom they had been extremely courteous abroad, came to Windsor to introduce them. They were accompanied to the Terrace by Mrs. Harcourt and the general 'with whom they were also well acquainted. They went to the place of rendezvous at six o'clock; the royal party followed about seven, and was very brilliant upon the occasion. The king and queen led the way, and the Prince of Wales, who came purposely to honour the interview, appeared at it also, in the king's Windsor uniform. Lady Weymouth was in waiting upon the queen. The Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Charlotte Bertie, and Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, with some other ladies, I think, attended: but the two eldest princesses, to the very great detriment of the scenery, were ill, and remained at home. Princess Elizabeth and Mary were alone in the queen's suite. I went with Miss Port and Mrs. and Miss Heberden. The crowd was so great, it was difficult to move. Their majesties and their train occupied a large space, and their attendants Page 40 had no easy task in keeping them from being incommoded by the pressing of the people. They stopped to converse with these noble travellers for more than an hour. Madame la Duchesse de Polignac is a very well-looking woman, and Madame de Guiche is very pretty. There were other ladies and gentlemen in their party. But I was much amused by their dress, which they meant should be entirely `a l'Angloise--for which purpose they had put on plain undress gowns, with close ordinary black silk bonnets! I am sure they must have been quite confused when they saw the queen and princesses, with their ladies, who were all dressed with uncommon care, and very splendidly. But I was glad, at least, they should all witness, and report, the reconciliation of the king and the Prince of Wales, who frequently spoke together, and were both in good spirits. COLONEL MANNERS' MUSICAL ACCOMPLISHMENTS. Miss Port and myself had, afterwards, an extremely risible evening with Colonels Goldsworthy, Wellbred, and Manners the rest were summoned away to the king, or retired to their own apartments. Colonel Wellbred began the sport, undesignedly, by telling me something new relative to Dr. Herschel's volcanoes. This was enough for Colonel Manners, who declared aloud his utter contempt for such pretended discoveries. He was deaf to all that could be said in answer, and protested he wondered how any man of common sense could ever listen to such a pack of stuff. Mr. de Luc's opinion upon the subject being then mentioned--he exclaimed, very disdainfully, "O, as to Mr. de Luc, he's another man for a system himself, and I'd no more trust him than anybody: if you was only to make a little bonfire, and put it upon a hill a little way off, you might make him take it for a volcano directly!--And Herschel's not a bit better. Those sort of philosophers are the easiest taken in in the world." Our next topic was still more ludicrous. Colonel Manners asked me if I had not heard something, very harmonious at church in the morning? I answered I was too far off, if he meant from himself. "Yes," said he; "I was singing with Colonel Wellbred; and he said he was my second.--How did I do that song?" "Song?--Mercy!" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, "a song at church!--why it was the 104th Psalm!" Page 41 "But how did I do it, Wellbred; for I never tried at it before?" "why--pretty well," answered Colonel Wellbred, very composedly; "Only now and then you run me a little into 'God save the king.'" This dryness discomposed every muscle but of Colonel Manners, who replied, with great simplicity, "Why, that's because that's the tune I know best!" "At least," cried I, "'twas a happy mistake to make so near their majesties." "But: pray, now, Colonel Wellbred, tell me sincerely)--could you really make out what I was singing?" "O yes," answered Colonel Wellbred; "with the words." "Well, but pray, now, what do you call my voice?" "Why--a--a--a counter-tenor." "Well, and is that a good voice?" There was no resisting,-even the quiet Colonel Wellbred could not resist laughing out here. But Colonel Manners, quite at his ease, continued his self-discussion. "I do think, now, if I was to have a person to play over a thing to me again and again, and then let me sing it, and stop me every time I was wrong, I do think I should be able to sing 'God save the king' as well as some ladies do, that have always people to show them." "You have a good chance then here," cried I, "of singing some pieces of Handel, for I am sure you hear them again and again!" "Yes, but that is not the thing for though I hear them do it' so often over, they don't stop for me to sing it after them, and then to set me right. Now I'll try if you'll know what this is." He then began humming aloud, "My soul praise," etc., so very horribly, that I really found all decorum at an end, and laughed, with Miss Port, `a qui mieux mieux. Too much engaged to mind this, he very innocently, when he had done, applied to us all round for our opinions. Miss Port begged him to sing another, and asked for that he had spouted the other day, "Care, thou bane of love and joy." He instantly complied; and went on, in such shocking, discordant and unmeaning sounds, that nothing in a farce could be more risible: in defiance however of all interruptions, he Continued till he had finished one stanza; when Colonel Goldsworthy loudly called out,--"There,--there's enough!--have mercy!" Page 42 "Well, then, now I'll try something else." "O, no!" cried Colonel Goldsworthy, hastily, "thank you, thank you for this,-but I won't trouble you for more--I'll not bear another word." Colonel Wellbred then, with an affected seriousness, begged to know, since he took to singing, what he should do for a shake, which was absolutely indispensable. "A shake?" he repeated, "what do you mean?" "Why--a shake with the voice, such as singers make." "Why, how must I do it?" "O, really, I cannot tell you." "Why, then, I'll try myself--is it so?" And he began such a harsh hoarse noise, that Colonel Goldsworthy exclaimed, between every other sound,--"No, no,--no more!" While Colonel Wellbred professed teaching him, and gave such ridiculous lessons and directions,-now to stop short, now to swell,-now to sink the voice, etc., etc., that, between the master and the scholar, we were almost demolished. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S "LUMP OF LEATHER." Tuesday, June 19.-We were scarcely all arranged at tea when Colonel Manners eagerly said, "Pray, Mrs. Schwellenberg, have you lost anything?" "Me?--no, not I "No?--what, nothing?" "Not I!" "Well, then, that's very odd! for I found something that had your name writ upon it." "My name? and where did you find that?" "Why--it was something I found in my bed." "In your bed?--O, very well! that is reelly comeecal?" "And pray what was it?" cried Miss Port. "Why--a great large, clumsy lump of leather." "Of leadder, sir?--of leadder? What was that for me?" "Why, ma'am, it was so big and so heavy, it was as much as I could do to lift it!" "Well, that was nothing from me! when it was so heavy, you might let it alone!" "But, ma'am, Colonel Wellbred said it was somewhat of yours." Page 43 "Of mine?--O, ver well! Colonel Wellbred might not say such thing! I know nothing, Sir, from your leadder, nor from your bed, sir,--not I!" "Well, ma'am, then your maid does. Colonel Wellbred says he supposes it was she." "Upon my vord! Colonel Wellbred might not say such things from my maid! I won't not have it so!" "O yes, ma'am; Colonel Wellbred says she often does SO. He says she's a very gay lady." She was quite too much amazed to speak: one of her maids, Mrs. Arline, is a poor humble thing, that would not venture to jest, I believe, with the kitchen maid, and the other has never before been at Windsor. "But what was it?" cried Miss Port. "Why, I tell you--a great, large lump of leather, with 'Madame Schwellenberg' wrote upon it. However, I've ordered it to be sold." "To be sold? How will you have it sold, Sir? You might tell me that, when you please." "Why, by auction, ma'am." "By auction, Sir? What, when it had my name upon it? Upon my vord!--how come you to do dat, sir? Will you tell me, once?" "Why, I did it for the benefit of my man, ma'am, that he might have the money." "But for what is your man to have it, when it is mine?" "Because, ma'am, it frightened him so." "O, ver well! Do you rob, sir? Do you take what is not your own, but others', sir, because your man is frightened?" "O yes, ma'am! We military men take all we can get!" "What! in the king's house, Sir!" "Why then, ma'am, what business had it in my bed? My room's my castle: nobody has a right there. My bed must be my treasury; and here they put me a thing into it big enough to be a bed itself."---- "O! vell! (much alarmed) it might be my bed-case, then!" (Whenever Mrs. Schwellenberg travels, she carries her bed in a large black leather case, behind her servants' carriage.) " Very likely, ma'am." "Then, sir," very angrily, "how Come you by it?" "Why, I'll tell you, ma'am. I was just going to bed; so MY servant took one candle, and I had the other. I had just had my hair done, and my curls were just rolled up, and he Page 44 was going away; but I turned about, by accident, and I saw a great lump in my bed; so I thought it was my clothes. 'What do you put them there for?' says I. 'Sir,' says he, 'it looks as if there was a drunken man in the bed.' 'A drunken man?' says I; 'Take the poker, then, and knock him on the head!'" "Knock him on the head?" interrupted Mrs. Schwellenberg, "What! when it might be some innocent person? Fie! Colonel Manners. I thought you had been too good-natured for such thing--to poker the people in the king's house!" "Then what business have they to get into my bed, ma'am? So then my man looked nearer, and he said, 'Sir, why, here's your night-cap and here's the pillow!--and here's a great, large lump of leather!' 'Shovel it all out!' says I. 'Sir,' says he, 'It's Madame Schwellenberg's! here's her name on it.' 'Well, then,' says I, 'sell it, to-morrow, to the saddler.'" "What! when you knew it was mine, sir? Upon my vord, you been ver good!" (bowing very low). "Well, ma'am, it's all Colonel Wellbred, I dare say; so, suppose you and I were to take the law of him?" "Not I, sir!" (Scornfully). "Well, but let's write him a letter, then, and frighten him: let's tell him it's sold, and he must make it good. You and I'll do it together." "No, sir; you might do it yourself. I am not so familiar to write to gentlemens." "Why then, you shall only sign it, and I'll frank it." Here the entrance of some new person stopped the discussion. Happy in his success, he began, the next day, a new device: he made an attack in politics, and said, he did not doubt but Mr. Hastings would come to be hanged; though, he assured us, afterwards, he was firmly his friend, and believed no such thing.(236) Even with this not satisfied, he next told her that he had just heard Mr. Burke was in Windsor. Mr. Burke is the name Page 45 in the world most obnoxious, both for his Reform bill,(237) which deeply affected all the household, and for his prosecution of Mr. Hastings; she therefore declaimed against him very warmly. "Should you like to know him, ma'am?" cried he. "Me?--No; not I." "Because, I dare say, ma'am, I have interest enough with him to procure you his acquaintance. Shall I bring him to the Lodge to see you?" "When you please, sir, you might keep him to yourself!" Well, then, he shall come and dine with me,'and after it drink tea with you." "No, no, not I! You might have him all to yourself." "but if he comes, you must make his tea." "There is no such 'must,' sir! I do it for my pleasure--only when I please, sir!" At night, when we were separating, he whispered Miss Port that he had something else in store for the next meeting, when he intended to introduce magnetising. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG's FROGS. July 2.-What a stare was drawn from our new equerry(238) by Major Price's gravely asking Mrs. Schwellenberg, after the health of her frogs? She answered they were very well, and the major said, " You must know, Colonel Gwynn, Mrs. Schwellenberg keeps a pair of frogs," "Of frogs?--pray what do they feed upon?" "Flies, sir," she answered. "And pray, ma'am, what food have they in winter?" "Nothing other." The stare was now still wider. "But I can make them croak when I will," she added, "when I only go so to my snuff-box, knock, knock, knock, they croak all what I please." Page 46 "Very pretty, indeed!" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy. "I thought to have some spawn," she continued; "but then Maria Carlton, what you call Lady Doncaster, came and frightened them; I was never so angry!" "I am sorry for that," cried the major, very seriously, "for else I should have begged a pair." "So you meant, ma'am, to have had a breed of them," cried Colonel Goldsworthy; "a breed of young frogs? Vastly clever, indeed!; Then followed a formal enumeration of their virtues and endearing little qualities, which made all laugh except the new equerry, who sat in perfect amaze. Then, suddenly, she stopped short, and called out, "There! now I have told you all this, you might tell something to me. I have talked enoff; now you might amuse me." July 19.-In the afternoon, while I was working in Mrs. Schwellenberg's room, Mr. Turbulent entered, to summon Miss Planta to the princesses; and, in the little while of executing that simple commission, he made such use of his very ungovernable and extraordinary eyes, that the moment he was gone, Mrs. Schwellenberg demanded "for what he looked so at me?" I desired to know what she meant. "Why, like when he was so cordial with you? Been you acquainted?" "O, yes!" cried I, "I spent three hours twice a-week upon the road with him and Miss Planta, all the winter; and three or four dinners and afternoons besides." "O that's nothing! that's no acquaintance at all. I have had people to me, to travel and to dine, fourteen and fifteen years, and yet they been never so cordial!" This was too unanswerable for reply; but it determined me to try at some decided measure for restraining or changing looks and behaviour that excited such comments. And I thought my safest way would be fairly and frankly to tell him this very inquiry. It might put him upon his guard from such foolishness, without any more serious effort. July 20.-This evening Mrs. Schwellenberg was not well, and sent to desire I would receive the gentlemen to tea, and make her apologies. I immediately summoned my lively, and lovely young companion, Miss Port, who hastens at every call with good-humoured delight. Page 47 We had really a pleasant evening, though simply from the absence of spleen and jealousy, which seemed to renew and invigorate the spirits of all present: namely, General Budé, Signor del Campo, and Colonel Gwynn. They all stayed very late but when they made their exit, I dismissed my gay assistant and thought it incumbent on me to show myself upstairs; a reception was awaiting me!--so grim! But, what O heaven! how depressing, how cruel, to be fastened thus on an associate so exigeante, so tyrannical, and so ill-disposed! I feared to blame the equerries for having detained me, as they were already so much out of favour. I only, therefore, mentioned M. del Campo, who, as a foreign minister, might be allowed so much civility as not to be left to himself: for I was openly reproached- that I had not quitted them to hasten to her! Nothing, however, availed; and after vainly trying to appease her, I was obliged to go to my own room, to be in attendance for my royal summons. July 21.-I resolved to be very meek and patient, as I do, now and then, when I am good, and to bear this hard trial of causeless offence without resentment; and, therefore, I went this afternoon as soon as I had dined, and sat and worked, and forced conversation, and did my best, but with very indifferent success; when, most perversely, who should be again announced -but Mr. Turbulent. As I believe the visit was not, just after those "cordial" looks, supposed to be solely for the lady of the apartment, his reception was no better than mine had been the preceding days! He did not, however, regard it, but began a talk, in which he made it his business to involve me, by perpetual reference to my opinion. This did not much conciliate matters; and his rebuffs, from time to time, were so little ceremonious, that nothing but the most confirmed contempt could have kept off an angry resentment. I could sometimes scarcely help laughing at his utterly careless returns to an imperious haughtiness, vainly meant to abash and distance him. I took the earliest moment in my power to quit the room and the reproach with which he looked at my exit, for leaving him to such a tête-à-tête, was quite risible. He knew he could not, in decency, run away immediately, to and he seemed ready to commit some desperate act for having drawn himself into such a difficulty. I am always rejoiced when his flights and follies bring their own punishment. Page 48 MR. TURBULENT'S ANTICS. July 25-Mr. Turbulent amused himself this morning with giving me yet another panic. He was ordered to attend the queen during her hair-dressing, as was Mr. de Luc. I remained in the room the queen conversed with us all three, as occasions arose, with the utmost complacency; but this person, instead of fixing there his sole attention, contrived, by standing behind her chair, and facing me, to address a language of signs to me the whole time, casting up his eyes, clasping ],is hands, and placing himself in various fine attitudes, and all with a humour so burlesque, that it was impossible to take it either ill or seriously. Indeed, when I am on the very point of the most alarmed displeasure with him, he always falls upon some such ridiculous devices of affected homage, that I grow ashamed of my anger, and hurry it over, lest he should perceive it, and attribute it to a misunderstanding he might think ridiculous in his turn. How much should I have been discountenanced had her majesty turned about and perceived him! (230) Colonel Greville, called in the "Diary" "Colonel Wellbred," one of the king's equerries, whom M. de Guiffardiere ("Mr. Turbulent") was particularly anxious to introduce to Miss Burney.-ED. (231) I "The Paston Letters" were first published, from the original manuscripts, in 1787. They were chiefly written by or to members of the Paston family in Norfolk during the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., Richard III., and Henry VII. The letter above alluded to is No. 91 in the collection. It is a letter of good Counsel to his young son, written in a very tender and religious strain, by the Duke of Suffolk, on the 30th of April, 1450, the day on which he quitted England to undergo his five years' banishment. The duke had been impeached of high treason, and condemned to this term of banishment, through the king's interposition, to save him from a worse fate. But his fate was not to be eluded. He set sail on the 30th of April, was taken on the sea by his enemies, and beheaded on the 2nd of May following.-ED. (232) Miss Burney had obtained the tacit consent of the queen that M. de Guiffardiere should travel occasionally with the equerries, instead of taking his usual place in the coach assigned to the keepers of the robes. Her real motive in making the application had been a desire to see less of this boisterous gentleman, but she had put it upon his attachment to Colonel Greville-ED. (233) Benjamin -west, R.A., who succeeded Reynolds as President of the Royal Academy, on the death of the latter in 1792. This mediocre painter was a prodigious favourite with George III., for whom many of his works were executed.-ED. (234) The Duchess Jules de Polignac, the celebrated favourite of Marie Antoinette. She and her husband, who had been raised by the queen from a condition of positive poverty, were hated in France, both as Court favourites, and on account of the wealth which, it was believed, they had taken advantage of their position to amass. "Mille 6cus," cried Mirabeau, "A la famille d'Assas pour avoir sauv6 l'etat; un million a la famille Polignac pour l'avoir perdu!" The ostensible object of the duches,'s visit to England was to drink the Bath Waters, but there are good grounds for believing that her real purpose was to make an arrangement with M. de la Motte for the suppression of some scurrilous Memoirs which it was rumoured his wife had written, and in which, among other things, Marie Antoinette was accused of being the principal culprit in the notorious Diamond Necldace fraud. M. de la Motte states in his autobiography that he met the Duchess Jules and her Sister-in-law, the Countess Diane, at the Duchess of Devonshire's (the beautiful Georgiana), at the request of the latter, when certain overtures were made to him, and trustworthy authorities assert that a large sum of money was afterwards paid to the De la Mottes, to suppress the Memoirs which were however eventually published. When the French Revolution broke out the Polignacs were among the first to emigrate. The duchess died at Vienna in December, 1793, a few months after Marie Antoinette had perished on the scaffold.-ED. (235) Mrs. Schwellenberg had returned to Windsor the day before.-ED. (236) The storm had been gathering round Hastings ever since his return to England in June, 1785, within a week of which Burke had given notice in the House of Commons of a motion affecting the conduct of the late Governor-General in India. His impeachment was voted in May, 1787, and preparations for his trial were now going actively forward. We shall find hereafter, in the Diary, some sketches, from Fanny's point of view, of scenes in this famous trial, which commenced in February, 1788.-ED. (237) This was an old grievance. In 1780 Burke had introduced a hill "for the better regulation of his majesty's civil establishments, and of certain public offices; for the limitation of pensions, and the suppression of sundry useless, expensive and inconvenient places; and for applying the monies saved thereby to the public service." The bill was defeated at the time, but was re-introduced with certain alterations, and finally passed both houses by a large majority in 1782.-ED. (238) Colonel Gwynn who had just arrived at Windsor to succeed Colonel Manners in the office of equerry in waiting to the King. Colonel Gwynn was the husband of Mary Horneck, Goldsmith's "Jessamy Bride."-ED. Page 49 SECTION 11. (1787-8.) COURT DUTIES: SOME VARIATIONS IN THEIR ROUTINE. MEETING OF THE TWO PRINCES. To-day, after a seven years' absence, arrived the Duke of York. I saw him alight from his carriage, with an eagerness, a vivacity, that assured me of the affectionate joy with which he returned to his country and family. But the joy of his excellent father!-O, that there is no describing It was the glee of the first youth--nay, of ai ardent and innocent infancy,--so pure it seemed, so warm, so open, so unmixed! Softer joy was the queen's--mild, equal, and touching while all the princesses were in one universal rapture. To have the pleasure of seeing the royal family in this happy assemblage, I accompanied Miss Port on the Terrace. It was indeed an affecting sight to view the general content; but that of the king went to my very heart, so delighted he looked-so proud Of his son--so benevolently pleased that every one should witness his satisfaction. The Terrace was very full; all Windsor and its neighbourhood poured in upon it, to see the prince whose whole demeanour seemed promising to merit his flattering reception--gay yet grateful--modest, yet unembarrassed...... Early the next morning arrived the Prince of Wales, who had travelled all night from Brighthelmstone. The day was a day Of complete happiness to the whole of the royal family; the king was in one transport of delight, unceasing, invariable; Page 50 and though the newly-arrived duke was its source and Support the kindness of his heart extended and expanded to his eldest' born, whom he seemed ready again to take to his paternal breast; indeed, the whole world seemed endeared to him by the happiness he now felt in it. Sunday, Aug. 5.-General Grenville brought in the duke this evening to the tea-room. I was very much pleased with his behaviour, which was modest, dignified, and easy. Might he but escape the contagion of surrounding examples, he seems promising of all his fond father expects and merits. . . . Kew, Aug. 7-The next day the now happy family had the delight of again seeing the two princes in its circle. They dined here; and the Princess Augusta, who came to Mrs. Schwellenberg's room in the evening, on a message, said, "There never had been so happy a dinner since the world was created," The king, In the evening, again drove out the queen and princesses. The Prince of Wales, seeing Mr. Smelt in our room (which, at Kew, is in the front of the house, as well as at Windsor), said he would come in and ask him how he did. Accordingly, in he came, and talked to Mr. Smelt for about a quarter of an hour; his subjects almost wholly his horses and his rides. He gave some account of his expedition to town to meet his brother. He was just preparing, at Brighton, to give a supper entertainment to Madame La Princesse de Lamballe,--when he perceived his courier. "I dare say," he cried, "my brother's come!" set off instantly to excuse himself to the princess, and arrived at Windsor by the time of early prayers, at eight o'clock the next morning. "To-day, again," he said, "I resolved to be in town to meet my brother; we determined to dine somewhere together, but had not settled where; so hither we came. When I went last to Brighton, I rode one hundred and thirty miles, and then danced at the ball,. I am going back directly; but I shall ride to Windsor again for the birthday, and shall stay there till my brother's, and then back on Friday. We are going now over the way: my brother wants to see the old mansion." The Prince of Wales's house is exactly opposite to the Lodge The duke then came in, and bowed to every one present, very attentively; and presently after, they went over the way, arm in arm; and thence returned to town. I had a long and painful discourse afterwards with Mr. Smelt, deeply interested in these young princes , upon the many dangers awaiting the newly-arrived, who seemed alike Page 51 unfitted and unsuspicious for encountering them. Mr. Smelt's heart ached as if he had been their parent, and the regard springing from his early and long care of them seemed all revived in his hopes and fears of what might ensue from this reunion. I rejoiced at the public reconciliation with the Prince of Wales, which had taken place during my illness, and which gave the greater reason for hope that there might not now be a division! BUNBURY, THE CARICATURIST. Windsor, Aug. 14.-General Budé came in, with two strangers, whom he introduced to us by the names of Bunbury and Crawfurd. I was very curious to know if this was the Bunbury;(239) and I conjectured it could be no other. When Colonel Gwynn joined us, he proposed anew the introduction; but nothing passed to ascertain my surmise. The conversation was general And good-humoured, but without anything striking, or bespeaking character or genius. Almost the whole consisted of inquiries what to do, whither to go, and how to proceed; which, though natural and sensible for a new man, were undistinguished by any humour, or keenness of expression or manner. Mr. Crawfurd spoke not a word. He is a very handsome young man, just appointed equerry to the Duke of York. I whispered my inquiry to Colonel Gwynn as soon as I found an opportunity, and heard, "Yes,--'tis Harry Bunbury, sure enough!" So now we may all be caricatured at his leisure! He is made another of the equerries to the Duke. A man with such a turn, and with talents so inimitable in displaying it, was rather a dangerous character to be brought within a Court! Aug. 15.-My sole conversation this evening was with Mr. Bunbury, who drew a chair next mine, and chatted incessantly, with great good humour, and an avidity to discuss the subjects he started, which were all concerning plays and Players. Presently the voice of the Duke of York was heard, calling aloud for Colonel Goldsworthy. Off he ran. Mr. Bunbury laughed, but declared he would not take the hint: "What," cried he, "if I lose the beginning?(240)--I think I know it pretty Page 52 well by heart'-'Why did I marry' '"--And then he began to spout, and act, and rattle away, with all his might,-till the same voice called out "Bunbury !--you'll be too late!"--And off he flew, leaving his tea untasted--so eager had he been in discourse. MRS. SIDDONS PROVES DISAPPOINTING ON NEAR ACQUAINTANCE. Wednesday, Aug. 15.-Mrs. Schwellenberg's illness occasioned my attending the queen alone; and when my official business was ended, she graciously detained me, to read to me a new paper called "Olla Podrida," which is now Publishing periodically. Nothing very bright--nothing very deficient. In the afternoon, while I was drinking coffee with Mrs. Schwellenberg,--or, rather, looking at it, since I rarely, swallow any,--her majesty came Into the room, and soon after a little German discourse with Mrs. Schwellenberg told me Mrs. Siddons had been ordered to the Lodge, to read a play, and desired I would receive her in my room I felt a little queer in the office ; I had only seen her twice or thrice, in large assemblies, at Miss Monckton's, and at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and never had been introduced to her, nor spoken with her. However, in this dead and tame life I now lead, such an interview was by no means undesirable. I had just got to the bottom of the stairs, when she entered the passage gallery. I took her into the tea-room, and endeavoured to make amends for former distance and taciturnity, by an open and cheerful reception. I had heard from sundry people (in old days) that she wished to make the acquaintance; but I thought it then one of too conspicuous a sort for the quietness I had so much difficulty to preserve in my ever increasing connections. Here all was changed; I received her by the queen's commands, and was perfectly well inclined to reap some pleasure from the meeting. But, now that we came so near, I was much disappointed in my expectations. I know not if my dear Fredy has met with her in private, but I fancy approximation is not highly in her favour. I found her the heroine of a tragedy,--sublime, elevated, and solemn. In face and person truly noble and commanding; in manners quiet and stiff; in voice deep and dragging; and in conversation, formal, sententious, calm, and Page 53 dry. I expected her to have been all that is interesting; the delicacy and sweetness with which she seizes every opportunity to strike and to captivate upon the stage had persuaded me that her mind was formed with that peculiar susceptibility which, in different modes, must give equal powers to attract and to delight in common life. But I was very much mistaken. As a stranger I must have admired her noble appearance and beautiful countenance, and have regretted that nothing in her conversation kept pace with their promise and, as a celebrated actress I had still only to do the same. Whether fame and success have spoiled her, or whether she only possesses the skill of representing and embellishing materials with which she is furnished by others, I know not but still I remain disappointed. She was scarcely seated, and a little general discourse begun, before she told me--at once--that "There was no part she had ever so much wished to act as that of Cecilia." I made some little acknowledgment, and hurried to ask when she had seen Sir Joshua Reynolds, Miss Palmer, and others with whom I knew her acquainted. The play she was to read was "The Provoked Husband." She appeared neither alarmed nor elated by her summons, but calmly to look upon it as a thing of course, from her celebrity. I should very much have liked to have heard her read the play, but my dearest Mrs. Delany spent the whole evening with me, and I could therefore take no measures for finding out a convenient adjoining room. Mrs. Schwellenberg, I heard afterwards, was so accommodated, though not well enough for the tea-table. MR. FAIRLY'S BEREAVEMENT. Aug. 23.-At St. James's I read in the newspapers a paragraph that touched me much for the very amiable Mr. Fairly: it was the death of his wife, which happened on the Duke of York's birth-day, the 16th.(242) Mr. Fairly has devoted his whole time, strength, thoughts, and cares solely to nursing and attending her during a long and most painful illness which she sustained. They speak of her here as being amiable, but so Page 54 cold and reserved, that she was little known, and by no means in equal favour with her husband, who stands, upon the whole the highest in general esteem and regard of any individual of the household. I find every mouth open to praise and pity, love and honour him. TROUBLESOME MR. TURBULENT. Upon returning to Kew, I had a scene for which I was little enough, indeed, prepared, though willing, and indeed, earnest to satisfy Mr. Turbulent, I wished him to make an alteration of behaviour. After hastily changing my dress, I went, as usual, to the parlour, to be ready for dinner; but found there no Mrs. Schwellenberg; she was again unwell; Miss Planta was not ready, and Mr. Turbulent was reading by himself. Away he flung his book in a moment, and hastening to shut the door lest I should retreat, he rather charged than desired me to explain my late "chilling demeanour." Almost startled by his apparent entire ignorance of deserving it, I found an awkwardness I had not foreseen in making myself understood. I wished him rather to feel than be told the improprieties I meant to obviate - and I did what was possible by half evasive, half expressive answers, to call back his own recollection and consciousness. In vain, however, was the attempt; he protested himself wholly innocent, and that he would rather make an end of his existence than give me offence. He saw not these very protestations were again doing it, and he grew so vehement in his defence, and so reproachful in his accusation of unjust usage, that I was soon totally in a perplexity how to extricate myself from a difficulty I had regarded simply as his own. The moment he saw I grew embarrassed, he redoubled his challenges to know the cause of my "ill-treatment." I assured him, then, I could never reckon silence ill-treatment. "Yes," he cried, "yes, from you it is ill-treatment, and it has given me the most serious uneasiness." "I am sorry," I said, "for that, and did not mean it." "Not mean it?" cried be. "Could you imagine I should miss your conversation, your ease, your pleasantness, your gaiety, and take no notice of the loss?" Then followed a most violent flow of compliments, ending with a fresh demand for an explanation, made with an energy Page 55 that, to own the truth, once more quite frightened me. I endeavoured to appease him, by general promises of becoming more voluble - and I quite languished to say to him the truth at once; that his sport, his spirit, and his society would all be acceptable to me, would he but divest them of that redundance of -gallantry which rendered them offensive : but I could only think how to say this--I could not bring it out. This promised volubility, though it softened him, he seemed to receive as a sort of acknowledgment that I owed him some reparation for the disturbance I had caused him. I stared enough at such an interpretation, which I could by no means allow; but no sooner did I disclaim it than all his violence was resumed, and he urged me to give in my charge against him with an impetuosity that almost made me tremble. I made as little answer as possible, finding everything I said seemed but the more to inflame his violent spirit; but his emotion was such, and the cause so inadequate, and my uncertainty so unpleasant what to think of him altogether, that I was seized with sensations so nervous, I Could almost have cried. In the full torrent of his offended justification against my displeasure towards him, he perceived my increasing distress how to proceed, and, suddenly stopping, exclaimed in quite another tone, "Now, then, ma'am, I see your justice returning; you feel that you have used me very ill!" To my great relief entered Miss Planta. He contrived to say, "Remember, you promise to explain all this." I made him no sort of answer, and though he frequently, in the course of the evening, repeated, "I depend upon your promise! I build upon a conference," I sent his dependence and his building to Coventry, by not seeming to hear him. I determined, however, to avoid all tête-à-têtes with him whatsoever, as much as was in my power. How very few people are fit for them, nobody living in trios and quartettos can imagine! A CONCEITED PARSON. Windsor.-Who should find me out now but Dr. Shepherd.(243) He is here as canon, and was in residence. He told me he had long wished to come, but had never been able to find the Page 56 way of entrance before. He made me an immense length of visit, and related to me all the exploits of his life,-so far as they were prosperous. In no farce did a man ever more floridly open upon his own perfections. He assured me I should be delighted to know the whole of his life; it was equal to anything; and everything he had was got by his own address and ingenuity. "I could tell the king," cried he, "more than all the chapter. I want to talk to him, but he always gets out of my way; he does not know me; he takes me for a mere common person, like the rest of the canons here, and thinks of me no more than if I were only fit for the cassock;--a mere Scotch priest! Bless 'em!--they know nothing about me. You have no conception what things I have done! And I want to tell 'em all this;--It's fitter for them to hear than what comes to their ears. What I want is for somebody to tell them what I am." They know it already, thought I. Then, when he had exhausted this general panegyric, he descended to some few particulars; especially dilating upon his preaching, and applying to me for attesting its excellence. "I shall make one sermon every year, precisely for you!" he cried; "I think I know what will please you. That on the creation last Sunday was just to your taste. You shall have such another next residence. I think I preach in the right tone--not too slow, like that poor wretch Grape, nor too fast like Davis and the rest of 'em; but yet fast enough never to tire them. That's just my idea of good preaching." Then he told me what excellent apartments he had here and how much he should like my opinion in fitting them up. MR. TURBULENT BECOMES A NUISANCE. Aug.30.-Mrs. Schwellenberg invited Mr. Turbulent to dinner, for she said he had a large correspondence, and might amuse her. He came early; and finding nobody in the eating-parlour, begged to wait in mine till Mrs. Schwellenberg came downstairs. This was the last thing I wished; but he required no answer, and instantly resumed the Kew discussion, entreating me to tell him what he had done. I desired him to desist--in vain, he affirmed I had promised him an explanation, and he had therefore a right to it. "You fully mistook me, then," cried I, "for I meant no Page 57 such thing then; I mean no such thing now; and I never shall mean any such thing in future. Is this explicit? I think it best to tell you so at once, that you may expect nothing more, but give over the subject, and talk of something else. What is the news?" "I'll talk of nothing else!--it distracts me;--pray No, no, tell Me!--I call upon your good-nature!" "I have none--about this! " "Upon your goodness of heart!" "'Tis all hardness here!" "I will cast myself at your feet,--I will kneel to you!" And he was preparing his immense person for prostration, when Goter(244) opened the door. Such an interruption to his heroics made me laugh heartily; nor could he help joining himself; though the moment she was gone he renewed his importunity with unabated earnestness. "I remember," he cried, "it was upon the Terrace you first shewed me this disdain; and there, too, you have shown it me repeatedly since, with public superciliousness. . . . You well know you have treated me ill,--you know and have acknowledged it!" "And when?" cried I, amazed and provoked; "when did I do what could never be done?" "At Kew, ma'am, you were full of concern--full of remorse for the treatment you had given me!--and you owned it!" "Good heaven, Mr. Turbulent, what can induce you to say this?" "Is it not true?" "Not a word of it! You know it is not!" "Indeed," cried he, "I really and truly thought so--hoped so;--I believed you looked as if you felt your own ill-usage,- and it gave to me a delight inexpressible!" This was almost enough to bring back the very same supercilious Distance of which he complained; but, in dread of fresh explanations, I forbore to notice this flight, and only told him he might be perfectly satisfied, since I no longer Persevered in the taciturnity to which he objected. "But how," cried he, "do you give up, without deigning to assign one reason for It"? "The greater the compliment!" cried I, laughing; "I give up to your request." "Yes, ma'am, upon my speaking,-but why did you keep Me so long in that painful suspense?" Page 58 "Nay," cried I, "could I well be quicker? Till you spoke could I know if you heeded it?" "Ah, ma'am--is there no language but of words? Do you pretend to think there is no other?'--Must I teach it you,,--teach it to Miss Burney who speaks, who understands it so well?--who is never silent, and never can b silent?" And then came his heroic old homage to the poor eyebrows vehemently finishing with, "Do you, can you affect to know no language but speech?" " Not," cried I, coolly, " without the trouble of more investigation than I had taken here." He called this "contempt," and, exceedingly irritated, de sired me, once more, to explain, from beginning to end, how he had ever offended me. "Mr. Turbulent," cried I, "will you be satisfied if I tell you it shall all blow over?" "Make me a vow, then, you will never more, never while you live, resume that proud taciturnity." "No, no,--certainly not; I never make vows; it is a rule with me to avoid them." "Give me, then, your promise,--your solemn promise,--at least I may claim that?" "I have the same peculiarity about promises; I never make them." He was again beginning to storm, but again I assured him I would let the acquaintance take its old course, if he would but be appeased, and say no more; and, after difficulties innumerable, he at length gave up the point: but to this he was hastened, if not driven, by a summons to dinner. DR. HERSCHEL AND HIS SISTER. Sept.-Dr. Herschel is a delightful man; so unassuming with his great knowledge, so willing to dispense it to the ignorant, and so cheerful and easy in his general manners, that were he no genius it would be impossible not to remark him as a pleasing and sensible man. I was equally pleased with his sister, whom I had wished to see very much, for her great celebrity in her brother's science. She is very little, very gentle, very modest, and very ingenious; and her manners are those of a person unhackneyed and unawed by the world, yet desirous to meet Page 59 and to return its smiles. I love not the philosophy that braves it. This brother and sister seem gratified with its favour, at the same time that their own pursuit is all-sufficient to them without it. I inquired of Miss Herschel if she was still comet-hunting, or content now with the moon? The brother answered that he had the charge of the moon, but he left to his sister to sweep the heavens for comets. Their manner of working together is most ingenious and curious. While he makes his observations without-doors, he has a method of communicating them to his sister so immediately, that she can instantly commit them to paper, with the precise moment in which they are made. By this means he loses not a minute, when there is anything particularly worth observing, by writing it down, but can still proceed, yet still have his accounts and calculations exact. The methods he has contrived to facilitate this commerce I have not the terms to explain, though his simple manner of showing them made me, fully, at the time, comprehend them. The night, unfortunately, was dark, and I could not see the moon with the famous new telescope. I mean not the great telescope through which I had taken a walk, for that is still incomplete, but another of uncommon powers. I saw Saturn, however, and his satellites, very distinctly, and their appearance was very beautiful. GAY AND ENTERTAINING MR. BUNBURY. Sept.-I saw a great deal of Mr. Bunbury in the course of this month, as he was in waiting upon the Duke of York, who spent great part of it at Windsor, to the inexpressible delight of his almost idolising father. Mr. Bunbury did not open upon me with that mildness and urbanity that might lead me to forget the strokes of his pencil, and power of his caricature: he early avowed a general disposition to laugh at, censure, or despise all around him. He began talking of everybody and everything about us, with the decisive freedom of a confirmed old intimacy. "I am in disgrace here, already!" he cried almost exultingly. "In disgrace?" I repeated. "Yes,--for not riding out this morning!--I was asked--what Could I have better to do?--Ha! ha!" The next time that I saw him after your departure from Page 60 Windsor,(245) he talked a great deal of painting and painters, and then said, "The draftsman of whom I think the most highly of any in the world was in this room the other day, and I did not know it, and was not introduced to him!" I immediately assured him I never held the honours of the room when its right mistress was in it, but that I would certainly have named them to each other had I known he desired it. "O, yes,"' cried he, "of all things I wished to know him. He draws like the old masters. I have seen fragments in the style of many of the very best and first productions of the greatest artists of former times. He could deceive the most critical judge. I wish greatly for a sight of his works, and for the possession of one of them, to add to my collection, as I have something from almost everybody else and a small sketch of his I should esteem a greater curiosity than all the rest put together."(246) Moved by the justness of' this praise, I fetched him the sweet little cadeaux so lately left me by Mr. William's kindness. He was very much pleased, and perhaps thought I might bestow them. O, no--not one stroke of that pencil could I relinquish! Another evening he gave us the history, of his way of life at Brighthelmstone. He spoke highly of the duke, but with much satire of all else, and that incautiously, and evidently with an innate defiance of consequences, from a consciousness of secret powers to overawe their hurting him. Notwithstanding the general reverence I pay to extraordinary talents, which lead me to think it even a species of impertinence to dwell upon small failings in their rare possessors, Mr. Bunbury did not gain my good-will. His serious manner is supercilious and haughty, and his easy conversation wants rectitude in its principles. For the rest, he is entertaining and gay, full of talk, sociable, willing to enjoy what is going forward, and ready to speak his opinion with perfect unreserve. Plays and players seem his darling theme; he can rave about them from morning to night, and yet be ready to rave again when morning returns, He acts as he talks, spouts as Page 61 he recollects, and seems to give his whole soul to dramatic feeling and expression. This is not, however, his only subject Love and romance are equally clear to his discourse, though they cannot be introduced with equal frequency. Upon these topics he loses himself wholly--he runs into rhapsodies that discredit him at once as a father, a husband, and a moral man. He asserts that love Is the first principle of life, and should take place of every other; holds all bonds and obligations as nugatory that would claim a preference; and advances such doctrines of exalted sensations in the tender passion as made me tremble while I heard them. He adores Werter, and would scarce believe I had not read it- -still less that I had begun It and left it off, from distaste at its evident tendency. I saw myself sink instantly in his estimation, though till this little avowal I had appeared to Stand in it very honourably. THE PRINCE OF WALES AT WINDSOR AGAIN. One evening, while I was sitting with Mrs. Delany, and her fair niece, when tea was over, and the gentlemen all withdrawn, the door was Opened, and a star entered, that I perceived presently to be the Prince of Wales. He was here to hunt with his royal father and brother. With great politeness he made me his first bow, and then advancing to Mrs. Delany, insisted, very considerately, on her sitting still, though he stood himself for half an hour--all the time he stayed. He entered into discourse very good-humouredly, and with much vivacity; described to her his villa at Brighthelmstone, told several anecdotes of adventures there, and seemed desirous to entertain both her and myself . . . . . NOV. 8.-At near one o'clock in the morning, while the wardrobe woman was pinning up the queen's hair, there was a sudden rap-tap at the dressing-room door. Extremely surprised, I looked at the queen, to see what should be done; she did not speak. I had never heard such a sound before, for at the royal doors there Is always a peculiar kind of scratch used, instead of tapping. I heard it, however, again,--and the queen called out, "What is that?" I Was really startled, not conceiving who could take so strange a liberty as to come to the queen's apartment without the announcing of a page - and no page, I was very sure, would make such a noise. Page 62 Again the sound was repeated, and more smartly. I grew quite alarmed, imagining some serious evil at hand--either regarding the king or some of the princesses. The queen, however, bid me open the door. I did--but what was MY surprise to see there a large man, in an immense wrapping great coat, buttoned up round his chin, so that he was almost hid between cape and hat! I stood quite motionless for a moment--but he, as if also surprised, drew back; I felt quite sick with sudden terror--I really thought some ruffian had broke into the house, or a madman. "Who is it?" cried the queen. "I do not know, ma'am," I answered. "Who is it?" she called aloud; and then, taking off his hat, entered the Prince of Wales! The queen laughed very much, so did I too, happy in this unexpected explanation. He told her, eagerly, he merely came to inform her there were the most beautiful northern lights to be seen that could possibly be imagined, and begged her to come to the gallery windows. FALSE RUMOURS OF Miss BURNEY'S RESIGNATION. Wednesday, Sept. 14--We went to town for the drawing-room, and I caught a most severe cold, by being oblige to have the glass down on my side, to suit Mrs. Schwellenberg, though the sharpest wind blew in that ever attacked a poor phiz. However, these are the sort of desagremens I can always best bear; and for the rest, I have now pretty constant civility. My dear father drank tea with me - but told me of a paragraph in "The World," that gave me some uneasiness; to this effect:--"We hear that Miss Burney has resigned her place about the queen, and is now promoted to attend the princesses, an office far more suited to her character and abilities, which will now be called forth as they merit."--Or to that purpose. As "The World" is not taken in here, I flattered myself it would not be known; for I knew how little pleasure such a paragraph would give, and was very sorry for it. The next day, at St. James's, Miss Planta desired to speak to me, before the queen arrived. She acquainted me Of the same "news," and said, "Everybody spoke of it;" and the queen might receive twenty letters of recommend, to Page 63 my place before night. Still I could only be sorry. Another paragraph had now appeared, she told me, contradicting the first, and saying, "The resignation of Miss Burney is premature; it only arose from an idea of the service the education of the princesses might reap from her virtues and accomplishments." I was really concerned - conscious how little gratified my royal mistress would be by the whole :-and, presently, Miss Planta came to me again, and told me that the princesses had mentioned it! They never read any newspapers; but they had heard of it from the Duke of York. I observed the queen was most particularly gracious with me, softer, gentler, more complacent than ever; and, while dressing, she dismissed her wardrobe-woman, and, looking at me very steadfastly, said, "Miss Burney, do you ever read newspapers?" "Sometimes," I answered, "but not often: however. I believe I know what your majesty means!" I could say no less; I was so sure of her meaning. "Do you?" she cried. "Yes, ma'am, and I have been very much hurt by it: that is, if your majesty means anything relative to myself?" "I do!" she answered, still looking at me with earnestness. "My father, ma'am," cried I, "told me of it last night, with a good deal of indignation." "I," cried she, "did not see it myself: you know how little I read the newspapers." "Indeed," cried I, "as it was in a paper not taken in here, I hoped it would quite have escaped your majesty." ".So it did: I only heard of it." I looked a little curious, and she kindly explained herself. "When the Duke of York came yesterday to dinner, he said almost immediately, 'Pray, ma'am, what has Miss Burney left You for?' 'Left me?' 'Yes, they say she's gone; pray what's the reason?' 'Gone?' 'Yes, it's at full length in all the newspapers: is not she gone?' 'Not that I know of.'" "All the newspapers" was undoubtedly a little flourish of the duke; but we jointly censured and lamented the unbridled liberty of the press, in thus inventing, contradicting, and bringing on and putting off, whatever they pleased. I saw, however, she had really been staggered: she concluded, I fancy, that the paragraph arose from some latent Muse, which might end in matter of fact; for she talked to me of Mrs. Dickenson, and of all that related to her retreat, and Page 64 dwelt upon the subject with a sort of solicitude that seemed apprehensive--if I may here use such a word-of a similar action. It appeared to me that she rather expected some further assurance on my part that no such view or intention had given rise to this pretended report; and therefore, when I had again the honour of her conversation alone, I renewed the subject, and mentioned that my father had had some thoughts of contradicting the paragraph himself. "And has he done it ? " cried she quite eagerly. "No, ma'am; for, upon further consideration, he feared it might only excite fresh paragraphs, and that the whole would sooner die, if neglected." "So," said she, "I have been told; for, some years ago, there was a paragraph in the papers I wanted myself to have had contradicted, but they acquainted me it was best to be patient, and it would be forgot the sooner." "This, however, ma'am, has been contradicted this morning." "By your father?" cried she, again speaking eagerly. "No, ma'am; I know not by whom." She then asked how it was done. This was very distressing but I was forced to repeat It as well as I could, reddening enough, though omitting, you may believe, the worst. just then there happened an interruption; which was vexatious, as it prevented a concluding speech, disclaiming all thoughts of resignation, which I saw was really now become necessary for the queen's satisfaction; and since it was true--why not say it? And, accordingly, the next day, when she was most excessively kind to me, I seized an opportunity, by attending her through the apartments to the breakfast-room, to beg, permission to speak to her. It was smilingly granted me. "I have now, ma'am, read both the paragraphs." "Well?" with a look of much curiosity. "And indeed I thought them both very impertinent. They say that the idea arose from a notion of my being promoted to a place about the princesses!" "I have not seen either of the paragraphs," she answered, "but the Prince of Wales told me of the second yesterday." "They little know me, ma'am," I cried, "who think I should regard any other place as a promotion that removed me from your majesty." Page 65 "I did not take it ill, I assure you," cried she, gently. "Indeed, ma'am, I am far from having a wish for any such promotion--far from it! your majesty does not bestow a smile upon me that does not secure and confirm my attachment." one of her best smiles followed this, with a very condescending little bow, and the words, "You are very good," uttered in a most gentle Voice; and she went on to her breakfast. I am most glad this complete explanation passed. Indeed it is most true I would not willingly quit a place about the queen for any place; and I was glad to mark that her smiles were to me the whole estimate of its value. This little matter has proved, in the end, very gratifying to me for it has made clear beyond all doubt her desire of retaining me, and a considerably increased degree of attention and complacency have most flatteringly shown a wish I should be retained by attachment. TYRANNICAL MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Nov. 27-I had a terrible journey indeed to town, Mrs. Schwellenberg finding it expedient to have the glass down on my side, whence there blew in a sharp wind, which so painfully attacked my eyes that they were inflamed even before we -arrived in town. Mr. de Luc and Miss Planta both looked uneasy, but no one durst speak; and for me, it was among the evils that I can always best bear yet before the evening I grew so ill that I could not propose going to Chelsea, lest I should be utterly unfitted for Thursday's drawing-room. The next day, however, I received a consolation that has been some ease to my mind ever since. My dear father spent the evening with me, and was so incensed at the state of my eyes, which were now as piteous to behold as to feel, and at the relation of their usage, that he charged me, another time, to draw up my 'glass in defiance of all opposition, and to abide by all consequences, since my place was wholly immaterial when put in competition with my health. I was truly glad of this permission to rebel, and it has given Me an internal hardiness in all similar assaults, that has at least relieved my mind from the terror of giving mortal offence where most I owe implicit obedience, should provocation overpower my capacity of forbearance. When we assembled to return to Windsor, Mr. de Luc was Page 66 in real consternation at sight of my eyes; and I saw an indignant glance at my coadjutrix, that could scarce content itself without being understood. Miss Planta ventured not at such a glance, but a whisper broke out, as we were descending the stairs, expressive of horror against the same poor person--poor person indeed--to exercise a power productive only of abhorrence, to those who view as well as to those who feel it! Some business of Mrs. Schwellenberg's occasioned a delay of the journey, and we all retreated back; and when I returned to my room, Miller, the old head housemaid, came to me, with a little neat tin saucepan in her hand, saying, "Pray, ma'am, use this for your eyes; 'tis milk and butter, much as I used to make for Madame Haggerdorn when she travelled in the winter with Mrs. Schwellenberg." Good heaven! I really shuddered when she added, that all that poor woman's misfortunes with her eyes, which, from inflammation after inflammation, grew nearly blind, were attributed by herself to these journeys, in which she was forced to have the glass down at her side in all weathers, and frequently the glasses behind her also! Upo n my word this account of my predecessor was the least exhilarating intelligence I could receive! Goter told me, afterwards, that all the servants in the house had remarked I was going just the same way! Miss Planta presently ran into my room, to say she had hopes we should travel without this amiable being; and she had left me but a moment when Mrs. Stainforth succeeded her, exclaiming, "O, for heaven's sake, don't leave her behind; for heaven's sake, Miss Burney, take her with you!" 'Twas impossible not to laugh at these opposite' interests, both, from agony of fear, breaking through all restraint. Soon after, however, we all assembled again, and got into the coach. Mr.' de Luc, who was my vis-`a-vis, instantly pulled up the glass. "Put down that glass!" was the immediate order. He affected not to hear her, and began conversing. She enraged quite tremendously, calling aloud to be obeyed without delay. He looked compassionately at me, and shrugged his shoulders, and said, "But, ma'am-" "Do it, Mr. de Luc, when I tell you! I will have it! When you been too cold, you might bear it!" ""It is not for me, ma'am, but poor Miss Burney." "O, poor Miss Burney might bear it the same! put it down, Mr. de Luc! without, I will get out! put it down, when I tell Page 67 you! It is my coach! I will have it selfs! I might go alone in it, or with one, or with what you call nobody, when I please!" Frightened for good Mr. de Luc, and the more for being much obliged to him, I now interfered, and begged him to let down the glass. Very reluctantly he complied, and I leant back in the coach, and held up my muff to my eyes. What a journey ensued! To see that face when lighted up with fury is a sight for horror! I was glad to exclude it by my muff. Miss Planta alone attempted to speak. I did not think it incumbent on me to "make the agreeable," thus used; I was therefore wholly dumb : for not a word, not an apology, not one expression of being sorry for what I suffered, was uttered. The most horrible ill-humour, violence, and rudeness, were all that were shown. Mr. de Luc was too much provoked to take his usual method of passing all off by constant talk and as I had never seen him venture to appear provoked before, I felt a great obligation to his kindness. When we were about half way, we stopped to water the horses. He then again pulled up the glass, as if from absence. A voice of fury exclaimed, "Let it down! without I won't go!" "I am sure," cried he, "all Mrs. de Luc's plants will be killed by this frost For the frost was very severe indeed. Then he proposed my changing places with Miss Planta, who sat opposite Mrs. Schwellenberg, and consequently on the sheltered side. "Yes!" cried Mrs. Schwellenberg, "MISS Burney might sit there, and so she ought!" I told her, briefly, I was always sick in riding backwards. "O, ver well! when you don't like it, don't do it. You might bear it when you like it? what did the poor Haggerdorn bear it! when the blood was all running down from her eyes!" This was too much! "I must take, then," I cried, "the more warning!" After that I spoke not a word. I ruminated all the rest of the way upon my dear father's recent charge and permission. I was upon the point continually of availing myself of both, but alas! I felt the deep disappointment I should give him, and I felt the most cruel repugnance to owe a resignation to a quarrel. These reflections powerfully forbade the rebellion to which this unequalled arrogance and cruelty excited me; and after revolving them again and again, I----accepted a bit of cake which she suddenly offered me as we reached Windsor, and Page 68 determined, since I submitted to my monastic destiny from motives my serious thoughts deemed right, I would not be prompted to oppose it from mere feelings of resentment to one who, strictly, merited only contempt. . . . I gulped as well as I could at dinner; but all civil fits are again over. Not a word was said to me: yet I was really very ill all the afternoon; the cold had seized my elbows, from holding them up so long, and I was stiff and chilled all over. In the evening, however, came my soothing Mrs. Delany. Sweet soul ! she folded me in her arms, and wept over my shoulder! Too angry to stand upon ceremony she told Mrs. Schwellenberg, after our public tea, she must retire to my room, that she might speak with me alone. This was highly resented, and I was threatened, afterwards, that she would come to tea no more, and we might talk our secrets always. Mr. de Luc called upon me next morning, and openly avowed his indignation, protesting it was an oppression he could not bear to see used, and reproving me for checking him when he would have run all risks. I thanked him most cordially; but assured him the worst of all inflammations to me was that of a quarrel, and I entreated him, therefore, not to interfere. But we have been cordial friends from that time forward. Miss Planta also called, kindly bringing me some eye-water, and telling me she had "Never so longed to beat anybody in her life; and yet, I assure you," she added, "everybody remarks that she behaves, altogether, better to you than to any body!" O heavens! MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S CAPRICIOUSNESS. Saturday, Dec. 1.-'Tis strange that two feelings so very opposite as love and resentment should have nearly equal power in inspiring courage for or against the object that excites them yet so it is. In former times I have often, on various occasions, felt it raised to anything possible, by affection, and now I have found it mount to the boldest height, by disdain For, be it known, such gross and harsh usage I experienced at the end of last month, since the inflammation of the eyes which I bore much more composedly than sundry personal indignities that followed, that I resolved upon a new mode of Page 69 conduct--namely, to go out every evening, in Order to show that I by no means considered myself as bound to stay at home after dinner, if treated very ill; and this most courageous plan I flattered myself must needs either procure me a liberty of absence, always so much wished, or occasion a change of behaviour to more decency and endurability. I had received for to-day an invitation to meet Lady Bute and Lady Louisa Stuart at my dearest Mrs. Delany's, and I should have wished it at all times, so much I like them both. I had no opportunity to speak first to my royal mistress, but I went to her at noon, rather more dressed than usual, and when I saw her look a little surprised, I explained my reason. She seemed very well satisfied with it, but my coadjutrix appeared in an astonishment unequalled, and at dinner, when we necessarily met again, new testimonies of conduct quite without example were exhibited: for when Mrs. Thackeray and Miss Planta were helped, she helped herself, and appeared publicly to send me to Coventry--though the sole provocation was intending to forego her society this evening! I sat quiet and unhelped a few minutes, considering what to do: for so little was my appetite, I was almost tempted to go without dinner entirely. However, upon further reflection, I concluded it would but harden her heart still more to have this fresh affront so borne, and so related, as it must have been, through Windsor, and therefore I calmly begged some greens from Miss Planta. The weakness of my eyes, which still would not bear the light, prevented me from tasting animal food all this time. A little ashamed, she then anticipated Miss Planta's assistance, by offering me some French beans. To curb my own displeasure, I obliged myself to accept them. Unfortunately, however, this little softening was presently worn out, by some speeches which it encouraged from Mrs. Thackeray, who seemed to seize the moment of permission to acknowledge that I was in the room, by telling me she had lately met some of my friends in town, among whom Mrs. Chapone and the Burrows family had charged her with a thousand regrets for My Seclusion from their society, and as many kind compliments and good wishes. This again sent me to Coventry for the rest of the dinner. When it was over, and we were all going upstairs to coffee, I spoke to Columb,(247) in passing, to have a chair for me at seven o'clock. Page 70 "For what, then," cried a stern voice behind me, "for What go you upstairs at all, when you don't drink coffee? Did she imagine I should answer "For your society, ma'am"? No--I turned back quick as lightning, and only saying, "Very well, ma'am," moved towards my own room. Again a little ashamed of herself, she added, rather more civilly, "For what should you have that trouble?" I simply repeated my "Very well, ma'am," in a voice of, I believe, rather pique than calm acquiescence, and entered my own apartment, unable to enjoy this little release, however speedy to obtain it, from the various, the grievous emotions of my mind, that this was the person, use me how she might, with whom I must chiefly pass my time! So unpleasant were the sensations that filled me, that I could recover no gaiety, even at the house of my beloved friend, though received there by her dear self, her beautiful niece, and Lady Bute and Lady Louisa, in the most flattering manner. . . . The behaviour of my coadjutrix continued in the same strain-- -really shocking to endure. I always began, at our first meeting, some little small speech, and constantly received so harsh a rebuff at the second word, that I then regularly seated myself by a table, at work, and remained wholly silent the rest of the day. I tried the experiment of making my escape; but I was fairly conquered from pursuing it. The constant black reception depressed me out of powers to exert for flight; and therefore I relinquished this plan, and only got off, as I could, to my own room, or remained dumb in hers. To detail the circumstances of the tyranny and the grossieret`e I experienced at this time would be afflicting to my beloved friends, and oppressive to myself, I am fain, however, to confess they vanquished me. I found the restoration of some degree of decency quite necessary to my quiet, since such open and horrible ill-will from one daily in my sight even affrighted me: it pursued me in shocking visions even when I avoided her presence; and therefore I was content to put upon myself the great and cruel force of seeking to conciliate a person who had no complaint against me, but that she had given me an inflammation of the eyes, which had been witnessed and resented by her favourite Mr. de Luc. I rather believe that latter circumstance was what incensed her so inveterately. Page 71 The next extraordinary step she took was one that promised me amends for all: she told me that there was no occasion we should continue together after coffee, unless by her invitation. I eagerly exclaimed that this seemed a most feasible way of producing some variety in our intercourse, and that I would adopt it most readily. She wanted instantly to call back her words : she had expected I should be alarmed, and solicit her leave to be buried -with her every evening! When she saw me so eager in acceptance, she looked mortified and disappointed ; but I would not suffer her to retract, and I began, at once, to retire to my room the moment coffee was over. This flight of the sublime, which, being her own, she could not resent, brought all round: for as she saw me every evening prepare to depart with the coffee, she constantly began, at that period, some civil discourse to detain me. I always suffered it to succeed, while civil, and when there was a failure, or a pause, I retired. By this means I recovered such portion of quiet as is compatible with a situation like mine: for she soon returned entirely to such behaviour as preceded the offence of my eyes; and I obtained a little leisure at which she could not repine, as a caprice of her own bestowed it. . . . To finish, however, with respect to the présidente, I must now acquaint you that, as my eyes entirely grew -well, her incivility entirely wore off, and I became a far greater favourite than I had ever presumed to think myself till that time! I was obliged to give up my short-lived privilege of retirement, and live on as before, making only my two precious little visits to my beloved comforter and supporter, and to devote the rest of my wearisome time to her presence--better satisfied, however, since I now saw that open war made me wretched, even When a victor, beyond what any subjection could do that had peace for its terms. This was not an unuseful discovery, for it has abated all propensity to experiment in shaking off a yoke which, however hard to bear, is so annexed to my place, that I must take one with the other, and endure them as I can. My favour, now, was beyond the favour of all others; I was "good Miss Berner," at every other word, and no one else was listened to if I would speak, and no one else was Accepted for a partner if I would play! I found no cause to Which I could attribute this change. I believe the whole mere Matter of caprice. Page 72 New YEAR's DAY. Queen's Lodge, Windsor, Tuesday, Jan. 1, 1788-I began the new year, as I ended the old one, by seizing the first moment it presented to my own disposal, for flying to Mrs. Delany, and begging her annual benediction. She bestowed it with the sweetest affection, and I spent, as usual all the time with her I had to spare. . . . In the evening, by long appointment, I was to receive Mr. Fisher and his bride.(248) Mrs. Schwellenberg, of her own accord desired me to have them in my room, and said she would herself make tea for the equerries in the eating-parlour. Mrs. Delany and Miss Port came to meet them. Mrs. Fisher seems good-natured, cheerful, and obliging, neither well nor ill in appearance, and, I fancy, not strongly marked in any way. But she adores Mr. Fisher, and has brought him a large fortune. The Princess Amelia was brought by Mrs. Cheveley, to fetch Mrs. Delany to the queen. Mrs. Fisher was much delighted in seeing her royal highness, who, when in a grave humour, does 'the honours of her rank with a seriousness extremely entertaining. She commands the company to sit down, holds out her little fat hand to be kissed, and makes a distant courtesy, with an air of complacency and encouragement that might suit any princess of five times her age. I had much discourse, while the rest were engaged, with Mr. Fisher, about my ever-valued, ever-regretted Mrs. Thrale. Can I call her by another name, loving that name so long, so well, for her and her sake? He gave me concern by information that she is now publishing, not only the "Letters " of Dr. Johnson, but her own. How strange! Jan. 4.-In the morning, Mrs. Schwellenberg presented me, from the queen, with a new year's gift. It is plate, and very elegant. The queen, I find, makes presents to her whole household every year: more or less, according to some standard of their claims which she sets up, very properly, in her own mind. CHATTY MR. BRYANT AGAIN. Jan. 8.-I met Mr. Bryant, who came, by appointment to give me that pleasure. He was in very high spirits, full Of anecdote and amusement. He has as much good-humoured Page 73 chit-chat and entertaining gossiping as if he had given no time to the classics and his studies, instead of having nearly devoted his life to them. One or two of his little anecdotes I will try to recollect. in the year thirty-three of this century, and in his own memory, there was a cause brought before a judge, between two highwaymen, who had quarrelled about the division of their booty; and these men had the effrontery to bring their dispute to trial. "In the petition of the plaintiff," said Mr. Bryant, "he asserted that he had been extremely ill-used by the defendant: that they had carried on a very advantageous trade together, upon Black-heath, Hounslow-heath, Bagshot-heath, and other places; that their business chiefly consisted in watches, wearing apparel, and trinkets of all sorts, as well as large concerns between them in cash; that they had agreed to an equitable partition of all profits, and that this agreement had been violated. So impudent a thing, the judge said, was never before brought out in a court, and so he refused to pass sentence in favour of either of them, and dismissed them from the court." Then he told us a great number of comic slip-slops, of the first Lord Baltimore, who made a constant misuse of one word for another: for instance, "I have been," says he, "upon a little excoriation to see a ship lanced; and there is not a finer going vessel upon the face of God's earth: you've no idiom how well it sailed." Having given us this elegant specimen of the language of one lord, he proceeded to give us one equally forcible of the understanding of another. The late Lord Plymouth, meeting in a country town with a puppet-show, was induced to see it; and, from the high entertainment he received through Punch, he determined to buy him, and accordingly asked his price, and paid it, and carried the puppet to his country-house, that he might be diverted with him at any odd hour. Mr. Bryant protests he met the same troop Just as the purchase had been made, and went himself to the puppet-show, which was exhibited senza punch! Next he spoke upon the Mysteries, or origin of our theatrical entertainments, and repeated the plan and conduct Of several Of these strange compositions, in particular one he remembered which was called "Noah's Ark," and in which that patriarch and his sons, just previous to the Deluge, made it all their delight to speed themselves into the ark without Mrs. Noah, Page 74 whom they wished to escape; but she surprised them just as they had embarked, and made so prodigious a racket against the door that, after a long and violent contention, she forced them to open it, and gained admission, having first content, them by being kept out till she was thoroughly wet to the skin. These most eccentric and unaccountable dramas filled up the chief of our conversation. DR. JOHNSON's LETTERS To MRS. THRALE DISCUSSED. Wednesday, Jan. 9.-To-day Mrs. Schwellenberg did me a real favour, and with real good nature; for she sent me the "Letters" of my poor lost friends, Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale,(249) which she knew me to be almost pining to procure. The book belongs to the Bishop of Carlisle, who lent it to Mr. Turbulent, from whom it was again lent to the queen, and so passed on to Mrs. Schwellenberg. It is still unpublished.(249) With what a sadness have I been reading!--what scenes in it revived!--what regrets renewed! These letters have not been more improperly published in the whole, than they are injudiciously displayed in their several parts. She has all--every word--and thinks that, perhaps, a justice to Dr. Johnson, which, in fact, is the greatest injury to his memory. The few she has selected of her own do her, indeed, much credit; she has discarded all that were trivial and merely local, and given only such as contain something instructive, amusing, or ingenious. About four of the letters, however, of my ever-revered Dr. Johnson are truly worthy his exalted powers: one is upon death, in considering its approach as we are surrounded, or not by mourners; another, upon the sudden and premature loss of poor Mrs. Thrale's darling and only son.(250) Our name once occurs: how I started at its sight It is to mention the party that planned the first visit to our house: Miss Owen, Mr. Seward, Mrs. and Miss Thrale, and Dr. Johnson. How well shall we ever, my Susan, remember that morning! I have had so many attacks upon her subject, that at last I fairly begged quarter,--and frankly owned to Mrs. Schwellenberg that I could not endure to speak any more upon the matter, endeavouring, at the same time, to explain to her my Page 75 long and intimate connection with the family. Yet nothing I could say put a stop to "How can you defend her in this?--how can you justify her in that?"" etc. Alas! that I cannot defend her is precisely the reason I can so ill bear to speak of her. How differently and how sweetly has the queen conducted herself -upon this occasion! Eager to see the "Letters," she began reading them with the utmost avidity : a natural curiosity arose to be informed of several names and several particulars, which she knew I could satisfy; yet, when she perceived how tender a string she touched, she soon suppressed her inquiries, or only made them with so much gentleness towards the parties mentioned, that I could not be distressed in my answers; and even In a short time I found her questions made so favourable a disposition, that I began secretly to rejoice in them, as the means by which I reaped opportunity of clearing several points that had been darkened by calumny, and of softening others that had been viewed wholly through false lights. Jan. 10.-When we were summoned to the tea-room I met Miss de Luc coming out. I asked if she did not stay tea? "O How can I," cried she, in a voice of distress, "when already, as there is company here without me, Mrs. Schwellenberg has asked me what I came for?" I was quite shocked for her, and could only shrug in dismay and let her pass. When there is no one else she is courted to stay! Mr. and Mrs. Fisher came soon after; and the Princesses Augusta and Amelia fetched away Mrs. Delany. Soon after Colonel Wellbred came, ushering in Mr. Fairly and his young son, who is at Eton school. I had seen Mr. F. but once since his great and heavy loss, though now near half a year had elapsed. So great a personal alteration in a few months I have seldom seen: thin, haggard, worn with care, grief, and watching-- his hair turned grey--white, rather, and some of his front teeth vanished. He seemed to have suffered, through his feelings, the depredations suffered by Others through age and time. His demeanour, upon this trying occasion, filled me with as much admiration as his countenance did with compassion : calm, composed, and gentle, he seemed bent on appearing not only resigned, but cheerful. I might even have supposed him verging on being happy, had not the havoc of grief on his face, and the tone of deep melancholy in his voice, assured me his Solitude was all sacred to his sorrows. Page 76 Mr. Fisher was very sad himself, grieving at the death of Dr. Harley, Dean of Windsor and Bishop of Hereford. He began, however, talking to me of these "Letters," and, with him, I could speak of them, and of their publisher, without reserve: but the moment they were named Mrs. Schwellenberg uttered such hard and harsh things, that I could not keep my seat and the less, because, knowing my strong friendship there in former days, I was sure it was meant I should be hurt, I attempted not to speak, well aware all defence is irritation, where an attack is made from ill-nature, not justice. The gentle Mr. Fisher, sorry for the cause and the effect of this assault, tried vainly to turn it aside: what began with censure soon proceeded to invective; and at last, being really sick from crowding recollections of past scenes, where the person now thus vilified had been dear and precious to my very heart, I was forced, abruptly, to walk out of the room. It was indifferent to me whether or not my retreat was noticed. I have never sought to disguise the warm friendship that once subsisted between Mrs. Thrale and myself, for I always hoped that, where it was known, reproach might be spared to a name I can never hear without a secret pang, even when simply mentioned. Oh, then, how severe a one is added, when its sound is accompanied by the hardest aspersions! I returned when I could, and the subject was over. When all were gone Mrs. Schwellenberg said, "I have told it Mr. Fisher that he drove you out from the room, and he says he won't not do it no more." She told me next--that in the second volume I also was mentioned. Where she may have heard this I cannot gather, but it has given me a sickness at heart inexpressible. It is not that I expect severity: for at the time of that correspondence--at all times, indeed, previous to the marriage with Piozzi, if Mrs. Thrale loved not F. B., where shall we find faith in words, or give credit to actions? But her present resentment, however unjustly incurred, of my constant disapprobation of her conduct, may prompt some note, or other mark, to point out her change of sentiments--but let me try to avoid such painful expectations; at least, not to dwell upon them. O, little does she know how tenderly at this moment I could run again into her arms, so often opened to receive me with a cordiality I believed inalienable. And it was sincere then, I am satisfied: pride, resentment of disapprobation, and consciousness of unjustifiable proceedings --- these have now Page 77 changed her: but if we met, and she saw and believed my faithful regard, how would she again feel all her own return! Well, what a dream am I making! Jan. 11.-Upon this ever-interesting subject, I had to-day a very sweet scene with the queen. While Mrs. Schwellenberg and myself were both in our usual attendance at noon, her majesty inquired of Mrs. Schwellenberg if she had yet read any of the "Letters"? "No," she answered, "I have them not to read." I then said she had been so obliging as to lend them to me, to whom they were undoubtedly of far greater personal value. "That is true," said the queen; "for I think there is but little in them that can be of much consequence or value to the public at large." "Your majesty, you will hurt Miss Burney if you speak about that; poor Miss Burney will be quite hurt by that." The queen looked much surprised, and I hastily exclaimed, "O, no!--not with the gentleness her majesty names it." Mrs. Schwellenberg then spoke in German; and, I fancy, by the names she mentioned, recounted how Mr. Turbulent and Mr. Fisher had "driven me out of the room." The queen seemed extremely astonished, and I was truly vexed at this total misunderstanding; and that the goodness she has exerted upon this occasion should seem so little to have succeeded. But I could not explain, lest it should seem to reproach what was meant as kindness in Mrs. Schwellenberg, who had not yet discovered that it was not the subject, but her own manner of treating it, that was so painful to me. However, the instant Mrs. Schwellenberg left the room, and we remained alone, the queen, approaching me in the softest manner, and looking earnestly in my face, said, "You could not be offended, surely, at what I said." "O no, ma'am," cried I, deeply indeed penetrated by such unexpected condescension. "I have been longing to make a speech to your majesty upon this matter; and it was but yesterday that I entreated Mrs. Delany to make it for me, and to express to your majesty the very deep sense I feel of the lenity with which this Subject has been treated in my hearing." "Indeed," cried she, with eyes strongly expressive of the complacency with which she heard me, "I have always spoke as little as possible upon this affair. I remember but twice that I have named it: once I said to the Bishop of Carlisle, Page 78 that I thought most of these letters had better have been spared the printing; and once to Mr. Langton, at the Drawing-room, I said, 'Your friend Dr. Johnson, sir, has had many friends busy to publish his books, and his memoirs, and his meditations, and his thoughts; but I think he wanted one friend more.' 'What for? ma'am,' cried he; 'A friend to suppress them,' I answered. And, indeed, this is all I ever said about the business." A PAIR OF PARAGONS. .....I was amply recompensed in spending an evening the most to my natural taste of any I have spent officially under the royal roof. How high Colonel Wellbred stands with me you know; Mr. Fairly., with equal gentleness, good breeding, and delicacy, adds a far more general turn for conversation, and seemed not only ready, but pleased, to open upon subjects of such serious import as were suited to his state of mind, and could not but be edifying, from a man of such high moral character, to all who heard him. Life and death were the deep themes to which he .led; and the little space between them, and the little value of that space were the subject of his comments. The unhappiness of man at least after the ardour of his first youth, and the near worthlessness of the world, seemed so deeply impressed on his mind, that no reflection appeared to be consolatory to it, save the necessary shortness of our mortal career. . . . "Indeed," said he, "there is no time--I know of none--in which life is well worth having. The prospect before us is never such as to make it worth preserving, except from religious motives." I felt shocked and sorry. Has he never tasted happiness, who so deeply drinks of sorrow? He surprised me, and filled me, indeed, with equal wonder and pity. At a loss how to make an answer sufficiently general, I made none at all, but referred to Colonel Wellbred: perhaps he felt the same difficulty, for he said nothing; and Mr. Fairly then gathered an answer for himself, by saying, "Yes, it may, indeed, be attainable in the only actual as well as only right way to seek it,--that of doing good!" "If," cried Colonel Wellbred, afterwards, "I lived always in London, I should be as tired of life as you are: I always sicken of it there, if detained beyond a certain time." Page 79 They then joined in a general censure of dissipated life, and a general distaste of dissipated characters, which seemed, however, to comprise almost all their acquaintance; and this presently occasioned Mr. Fairly to say, "It is, however, but fair for you and me to own, Wellbred, that if people in general ,'are bad, we live chiefly amongst those who are the worst." Whether he meant any particular set to which they belong, or whether his reflection went against people in high life, such 'as constitute their own relations and connexions in general, I cannot say, as he did not explain himself. Mr. Fairly, besides the attention due to him from all, in consideration of his late loss, merited from me peculiar deference, in return for a mark I received of his disposition to think favourably of me from our first acquaintance: for not more was I surprised than pleased at his opening frankly upon the character of my coadjutrix, and telling me at once, that when first he saw me here, just before the Oxford expedition, he had sincerely felt for and pitied me. . . . Sunday, Jan. 13.-There is something in Colonel Wellbred so elegant, so equal, and so pleasing, it is impossible not to see him with approbation, and to speak of him with praise. But I found in Mr. Fairly a much greater depth of understanding, and all his sentiments seem formed upon the most perfect basis of religious morality. During the evening, in talking over plays and players, we all three united warmly in panegyric of Mrs. Siddons; but when Mrs. Jordan was named, Mr. Fairly and myself were left to make the best of her. Observing the silence of Colonel Wellbred, we called upon him to explain it. "I have seen her," he answered, quietly, "but in one part." "Whatever it was," cried Mr. Fairly, "it must have been well done." "Yes," answered the colonel, "and so well that it seemed to be her real character: and I disliked her for that very reason, for it was a character that, off the stage or on, is equally distasteful to me--a hoyden." I had had a little of this feeling myself when I saw her in "The Romp,"(251) where she gave me, in the early part, a real disgust; but afterwards she displayed such uncommon humour that it brought me to pardon her assumed vulgarity, in favour of a representation of nature, which, In its particular class, seemed to me quite perfect. Page 80 MR. TURBULENT'S SELF CONDEMNATION. At the usual tea-time I sent Columb, to see if anybody had come upstairs. He brought me word the eating-parlour was empty. I determined to go thither at once, with my work, that there might be no pretence to fetch me when the party assembled; but upon opening the door I saw Mr. Turbulent there, and alone! I entered with readiness into discourse with him, and showed a disposition to placid good-will, for with so irritable a spirit resentment has much less chance to do good than an appearance of not supposing it deserved. Our conversation was in the utmost gravity. He told me he was not happy, though owned he had everything to make him so; but he was firmly persuaded that happiness in this world was a real stranger. I combated this misanthropy in general terms; but he assured me that such was his unconquerable opinion of human life. How differently did I feel when I heard an almost similar sentiment from Mr. Fairly! In him I imputed it to unhappiness of circumstances, and was filled with compassion for his fate: in this person I impute it to something blameable within, and I tried by all the arguments I could devise to give him better notions. For him, however, I soon felt pity, though not of the same composition : for he frankly said he was good enough to be happy-that he thought human frailty incompatible with happiness, and happiness with human frailty, and that he had no wish so strong as to turn monk! I asked him if he thought a life of uselessness and of goodness the same thing? "I need not be useless," he said; "I might assist by my counsels. I might be good in a monastery--in the world I cannot! I am not master of my feelings: I am run away by passions too potent for control!" This was a most unwelcome species of confidence, but I affected to treat it as mere talk, and answered it only slightly, telling him he spoke from the gloom of the moment. "No," he answered, "I have tried in vain to conquer them. I have made vows--resolutions--all in vain! I cannot keep them!" "Is not weakness," cried I, "sometimes fancied, merely to save the pain and trouble of exerting fortitude." "No, it is with me inevitable. I am not formed for success in self-conquest. I resolve--I repent--but I fall! I blame-- Page 81 reproach--I even hate myself--I do everything, in short, yet cannot save myself! Yet do not," he continued, seeing me shrink, "think worse of me than I deserve: nothing of injustice, of ill-nature, of malignancy--I have nothing of these to reproach myself with." "I believe you," I cried, "and surely, therefore, a general circumspection, an immediate watchfulness---" "No, no, no--'twould be all to no purpose." "'Tis that hopelessness which is most your enemy. If you would but exert your better reason--" "No, madam, no!--'tis a fruitless struggle. I know myself too well--I can do nothing so right as to retire--to turn monk-- hermit." "I have no respect," cried I, "for these selfish seclusions. I can never suppose we were created in the midst of society, in order to run away to a useless solitude. I have not a doubt but you may do well, if you will do well." Some time after he suddenly exclaimed, "Have you--tell me--have you, ma'am, never done what you repent?" O "yes!--at times." "You have?" he cried, eagerly. "O yes, alas!--yet not, I think, very often--for it is not very often I have done anything!" "And what is it has saved you?" I really did not know well what to answer him; I could say nothing that would not sound like parade, or implied superiority. I suppose he was afraid himself of the latter ; for, finding me silent, he was pleased to answer for me. "Prejudice, education, accident!--those have saved you." "Perhaps so," cried I. "And one thing more, I acknowledge myself obliged to, on various occasions--fear. I run no risks that I see--I run--but it is always away from all danger that I perceive." "You do not, however, call that virtue, ma'am--you do not call that the rule of right?" "No--I dare not--I must be content that it is certainly not the rule of wrong." He began then an harangue upon the universality of depravity and frailty that I heard with much displeasure; for, it seems to me, those most encourage such general ideas of general worthlessness who most wish to found upon them partial excuses for their own. Page 82 MISS BURNEY AMONG HER OLD FRIENDS. Jan. 31.--And now I must finish my account of this month by my own assembly at my dear Mrs. Ord's. I passed through the friendly hands of Miss Ord to the most cordial ones of Mrs. Garrick,(252) who frankly embraced me, saying, "Do I see you, once more, before I die, my tear little spark? for your father is my flame, all my life, and you are a little spark of that flame!" She added how much she had wished to visit me at the queen's house, when she found I no longer came about the world; but that she was too discreet, and I did not dare say "Do come!" unauthorized. Then came Mr. Pepys, and he spoke to me instantly, of the 'Streatham Letters.' He is in agony as to his own fate, but said there could be no doubt of my faring well. Not, I assured him, to my own content, if named at all. We were interrupted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. I was quite glad to see him; and we began chatting with all our old spirit, and he quite raved against my present life of confinement, an the invisibility it had occasioned, etc., etc. The approach of Mrs. Porteus stopped this. She is always most obliging and courteous, and she came to inquire whether now she saw I really was not wholly immured, there was any chance of a more intimate cultivation of an acquaintance long begun, but stopped in its first progress. I could only make a general answer of acknowledgment to her kindness. Her bishop, whom I had not seen since his preferment from Chester to London, joined us, and most good-naturedly entered into discourse upon my health. I was next called to Mrs. Montagu, who was behind with no one in kind speeches, and who insisted upon making me a visit at the queen's house, and would take no denial to my fixing my own time, whenever I was at leisure, and sending her word; and she promised to put off any and every engagement for that Purpose. I could make no other return to such Page 83 civility, but to desire to postpone it till my dear Mr. and Mrs. Locke came to town, and could meet her. Mrs. Boscawen(253) was my next little t`ete-`a-t`ete, but I had only begun it when Mr. Cambridge came to my side. "I can't get a word!" cried he, with a most forlorn look, "and yet I came on purpose!" I thanked him, and felt such a real pleasure in his sight, from old and never-varying regard, that I began to listen to him with my usual satisfaction. He related to me a long history of Lavant, where the new-married Mrs. Charles Cambridge is now very unwell: and then he told me many good things of his dear and deserving daughter; and I showed him her muff, which she had worked for me, in embroidery, and we were proceeding a little in the old way, when I saw Mrs. Pepys leaning forward to hear us; and then Lady Rothes, who also seemed all attention to Mr. Cambridge and his conversation. The sweet Lady Mulgrave came for only a few words, not to take me, she said, from older claimants; the good and wise Mrs. Carter(254) expressed herself with equal kindness and goodness on our once more meeting; Miss Port, looking beautiful as a little angel, only once advanced to shake hands, and say, "I can see you another time, so I won't be unreasonable now." Mr. Smelt, who came from Kew for this party, made me the same speech, and no more, and I had time for nothing beyond a "how do do " with Mr. Langton, his Lady Rothes,(255) Mr. Batt, Mr. Cholmondoley, Lord Mulgrave, Sir Lucas Pepys, and Lady Herries. Then up came Mrs. Chapone, and, after most cordially shaking hands with me, "But I hope," she cried, "you are not always to appear only as a comet, to be stared at, and then vanish? If you are, let me beg at least to be brushed by your tail, and not hear you have disappeared before my telescope is ready for looking at you!" When at last I was able to sit down, after a short conference with every one, it was next to Mr. Walpole,(256) who had secured Page 84 me a place by his side ; and with him was my longest conversation, for he was in high spirits, polite, ingenious, entertaining, quaint, and original. But all was so short!--so short!--I was forced to return home so soon! 'Twas, however, a very great regale to me, and the sight of so much kindness, preserved so entire after so long an absence, warmed my whole heart with pleasure and satisfaction. My dearest father brought me home. SOME TRIVIAL COURT INCIDENTS. Friday, Feb. 1.-To-day I had a summons in the morning to Mrs. Schwellenberg, who was very ill; so ill as to fill me with compassion. She was extremely low-spirited, and spoke to me with quite unwonted kindness of manner, and desired me to accept a sedan-chair, which had been Mrs. Haggerdorn's, and now devolved to her, saying, I might as well have it while she lived as when she was dead, which would soon happen. I thanked her, and wished her, I am sure very sincerely, better. Nor do I doubt her again recovering, as I have frequently seen her much worse. True, she must die at last, but who must not? Feb. 2.-The king always makes himself much diversion with Colonel Goldsworthy, whose dryness of humour and pretended servility of submission, extremely entertain him. He now attacked him upon the enormous height of his collar, which through some mistake of his tailor, exceeded even the extremity of fashion. And while the king, who was examining and pulling it about, had his back to us, Colonel Wellbred had the malice to whisper me, "Miss Burney, I do assure you it is nothing to what it was; he has had two inches cut off since morning! Fortunately, as Colonel Wellbred stood next me, this was not heard for the king would not easily have forgotten. He soon after went away, but gave no summons to his gentlemen. And now Colonel Wellbred gave me another proof of his extraordinary powers of seeing. You now know, my dear friends, that in the king's presence everybody retreats back, as far as they can go, to leave him the room to himself. In all this, through the disposition of the chairs, I was placed so much behind Colonel Wellbred as to conclude myself out of his sight; but the moment the king retired, he said, as Page 85 we all dropped on Our seats, "Everybody is tired--Miss Burney the most--for she has stood the stillest. Miss Planta has leant on her chair, Colonel Goldsworthy against the wall, myself occasionally on the screen, but Miss Burney has stood perfectly still--I perceived that without looking." 'Tis, indeed, to us standers, an amazing addition to fatigue to keep still. We returned to town next day. In the morning I had had a very disagreeable, though merely foolish, embarrassment. Detained, by the calling in of a poor woman about a subscription, from dressing myself, I was forced to run to the queen, at her summons, without any cap. She smiled, but said nothing. Indeed, she is all indulgence in those points of externals, which rather augments than diminishes my desire of showing apparent as well as my feeling of internal respect but just as I had assisted her with her peignoir, Lady Effingham was admitted, and the moment she sat down, and the hair-dresser began his office, a page announced the Duke of York, who instantly followed his name. I would have given the world to have run away, but the common door of entrance and exit was locked, unfortunately, on account of the coldness of the day; and there was none to pass, but that by which his royal highness entered, and was standing. I was forced. therefore, to remain, and wait for dismission. Yet I was pleased, too, by the sight of his affectionate manner to his royal mother. He flew to take and kiss her hand, but she gave him her cheek; and then he began a conversation with her, so open and so gay, that he seemed talking to the most intimate associate. His subject was Lady Augusta Campbell's elopement from. the masquerade. The Duchess of Ancaster had received masks at her house on Monday, and sent tickets to all the queen's household. I, amongst the rest, had one; but it was impossible I could be spared at such an hour, though the queen told me that she had thought of my going, but could not manage it, as Mrs. Schwellenberg was so ill. Miss Planta went, and I had the entire equipment of her. I started the Project of dressing her at Mrs. Delany's, in all the most antique and old-fashioned things we could borrow; and this was Put very happily in execution, for she was, I have heard, one of the best and most grotesque figures in the room. (239) Henry William Bunbury, the well-known caricaturist. He was connected by marriage with Colonel Gwynn, having married, in 1771, Catherine, the "Little Comedy," sister of the "Jessamy Bride."-ED. (240) i.e., of the Play which was to be read by Mrs. Siddons. See P- 55.-ED. (241) This excellent comedy was completed by Colley Cibber, from an unfinished play of Sir John Vanbrugh's.-ED. (242) See note 210, ante, vol. 1, P. 370.-ED. (243) Mr. Anthony Shepherd, Plumian Professor of Astronomy at Cambridge. We meet with him occasionally in the "Early Diary:" "dullness itself" Fanny once calls him (in 1774).-ED. (244) Fanny's maid.-ED. (245) Susan Phillips and the Lockes had stayed at Windsor from the 10th to the 17th of September.-ED. (246) This magnificent panegyric relates to a young amateur, William Locke, the son of Fanny's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Locke. But there was more than a little of the amateur about Mr. Bunbury himself. His works bear no comparison with those of the great masters of caricatured Rowlandson and Gulray.-ED. (247) Fanny's man-servant, a Swiss.-ED. (248) Mr. Fisher was a canon at Windsor, and an amateur landscape-painter. He had recently married.-ED. (249) "Letters to and from Dr. Johnson," published by Mrs. Piozzi in 1788.-ED. (250) Thrale's only son died, a child, in March, 1776.--ED. (251) A farce, adapted from Bickerstaff's opera, "Love in the City."-ED. (252) Eva Maria Feigel, a Viennese dancer, whom Garrick married in 1749. Fanny writes of her in 1771: "Mrs. Garrick is the most attentively polite and perfectly well-bred woman in the world; her speech is all softness; her manners all elegance; her smiles all sweetness. There is something so peculiarly graceful in her motion, and pleasing in her address, that the most trifling words have weight and power, when spoken by her, to oblige and even delight." ("Early Diary," vol. i. p. 111.) She died in 1822; her husband in 1779.-ED. (253) The Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, widow of Admiral Boscawen.-ED. (254) Elizabeth Carter, the celebrated translator of Epictetus. She was now in her seventieth year, and had been for many years an esteemed friend of Dr. Johnson. She died in 1806.-ED. , ' (255) Mr. Langton's wife was the Countess dowager of Rothes, widow of the eighth earl. Lady Jane Leslie, who married Sir Lucas Pepys, the physician, also enjoyed, in her own right, the title of Countess of Rothes.-ED. (256) Horace Walpole. -E D. Page 86 SECTION 12. (1788.) THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS. [Probably few events in the history of England are more familiar to the general reader than the trial of Warren Hastings. If nowhere else, at least in the best known and, perhaps, most brilliant of Macaulay's essays every one has read of the career of that extraordinary man, and of the long contest in Westminster Hall, from which he came forth acquitted, after an ordeal of seven years' duration. We shall, accordingly, confine our remarks upon this subject within the narrowest limits consistent with intelligibility: Fanny's experiences of the trial, recorded in the following pages, rendering some review of the proceedings which caused it here indispensable. Warren Hastings was a lad of seventeen when, in 1750, he was first sent out to India as a writer in the East India Company's service. His abilities attracted the notice of Clive, and, after the downfall of the Nawab Suraj-u-Dowlah, Hastings was chosen to represent the Company at the Court of Mir Jafir, the new Nawab of Bengal. In 1761 he was appointed Member of Council at Calcutta, and he returned to England in 1765, unknown as yet to fame, but with an excellent reputation both for efficiency and integrity. He left Bengal in a state of anarchy. The actual power was in the possession of a trading company, whose objects were at once to fill their coffers, and to avoid unnecessary political complications. The show of authority was invested in a Nawab who was a mere puppet in the hands of the English company. Disorder was rampant throughout the provinces, and the unhappy Hindoos, unprotected by their native princes, were left a helpless prey to the rapacity of their foreign tyrants. At a time when to enrich himself with the plunder of the natives was the aim of every servant of the East India Company, it is much to the honour of Hastings that he returned home a comparatively poor man. In England he indulged his taste for literary society, busied himself with a scheme for introducing at Page 87 oxford the study of the Persian language and literature, and made the acquaintance of Dr. Johnson. But generosity and imprudence together soon reduced his small means. He applied to the Directors of the Company for employment, was appointed to a seat on the Council at Madras, and made his second voyage to India in 1769. Among his fellow-passengers on board the "Duke of Grafton" was Madame Imhoff, whom he afterwards married. At Madras Hastings managed the export business of the Company with conspicuous success, and so completely to the satisfaction of the Directors, that, two years later, he was promoted to the governorship of Bengal, and sent to exercise his administrative ability and genius for reform -%N here they were then 'greatly needed-at Calcutta. With this appointment his historic career may be said to commence. He found himself at the outset in a situation of extreme difficulty. He was required to establish something- resembling a stable government in place of the prevailing anarchy, and, above all things, with disordered finances, to satisfy the expectations of his' employers by constant remittances of money. Both these tasks he accomplished, but the difficulties in the way of the latter led him to the commission of those acts for which he was afterwards denounced by his enemies as a monster of injustice and barbarity. Hastings's conduct with respect to the Great Mogul has been sketched by Macaulay in words which imply a reprehension in reality undeserved. Little remained at this time of the magnificent empire of Aurungzebe beyond a title and a palace at Delhi. In 1765 Lord Clive had ceded to the titular master of the Mogul empire the districts of Corah and Allahabad, lying to the south of Oude, and westwards of Benares. The cession had been made in pursuance of the same policy which Hastings afterwards followed; that, namely, of sheltering the British possessions behind a barrier of friendly states, which should be sufficiently strong to withstand the incursions of their hostile neighbours, and particularly of the Mahrattas, the most warlike and dreaded of the native powers. But Clive's purpose had been completely frustrated; for the Mogul, far from shielding the English, had not been able to hold his own against the Mahrattas, to whom he had actually ceded the very territories made over to him by the Company. Under these circumstances the English authorities can hardly be blamed for causing their troops to re-occupy the districts in question, nor can it fairly be imputed as a crime to Hastings that in September, 1773, he concluded with the Vizier of Oude the treaty of Benares, by which he sold Allahabad and Corah to that friendly potentate for about half a million sterling. But the next act of foreign policy on the part of the Governor of Bengal--his share in the subjugation of the Rohillas--does not admit of so favourable an interpretation. The Rohillas occupied territory lying under the southern slopes of the Himalayas, to the north-west of Oude. The dominant race in Rohilcund was of Page 88 Afghan origin, although the majority of the population was Hindoo. Of the rulers of Rohilcund Hastings himself wrote, in terms which we may accept as accurate, "They are a tribe of Afghans or Pathans, freebooters who conquered the country about sixty years ago, and have ever since lived upon the fruits of it, without contributing either to its cultivation or manufactures, or even mixing with the native inhabitants."(257) In 1772, the Rohillas, hard pressed by their foes, the Mahrattas, sought the assistance of the Vizier of Oude, Shuja-u-Dowlah, to whom they agreed to pay, in return for his aid, a large sum of money. This agreement was signed in the presence of an English general, and an English brigade accompanied the vizier's army, which co-operated with the Rohilla forces, and obliged the Mahrattas to withdraw. But when Shula-u-Dowlah demanded his promised hire, he received from the Rohillas plenty of excuses but no money. Hereupon he resolved to annex Rohilcund to his own dominions, and, to ensure success, he concerted measures with Hastings, who, willing at once to strengthen a friendly power and to put money into his own exchequer, placed an English brigade at the vizier's disposal for a consideration Of 400,000 pounds. In the spring of 1774 the invasion took place. The desperate bravery of the Rohillas was of no avail against English discipline, and the country was so reduced to submission. Macaulay's stirring account of the barbarities practised by the invaders has been proved to be greatly exaggerated. Disorders, however, there were: the people were plundered, and some of the villages were burnt by the vizier's troops. Many of the Rohilla families were exiled, but the Hindoo inhabitants of Rohilcund were left to till their fields as before, and were probably not greatly affected by their change of master. Hastings's conduct in this affair is, from the most favourable point of view, rather to be excused than applauded. It may have been politic under the circumstances, but it was hardly in accordance with a high standard of morality to let out on hire an English force for the subjugation of a people who, whatever grounds of complaint the Vizier of Oude might have had against them, had certainly given no provocation whatsoever to the English Government. As to the plea which has been put forward in his favour, that the Rohillas were merely the conquerors, and not the original owners of Rohilcund, it is sufficiently answered, by Macaulay's query, "What were the English themselves?" In 1773 Lord North's "Regulating Act" introduced considerable changes in the constitution of the Indian government, and marked the first step in the direction of a transfer of the control over Indian affairs from the Company to the Crown. By this act "the governorship of Bengal, Bahar, and Orissa was vested in the Governor-General, with four Councillors, having authority over Page 89 Madras and Bombay ; and all correspondence relating to civil government or military affairs was to be laid by the Directors of the Company in London before his -Majesty's Ministers, who Could disapprove or cancel any rules or orders. A Supreme Court of judicature, appointed by the Crown, was established in Calcutta."(258) The Governor-General was appointed for a term of five years, and the first Governor-General was Hastings. Of the four councillors with whom he was associated, three were sent out from England to take their places at the board, and landed at Calcutta, together with the judges of the Supreme Court, in October, 1771. Indisputably the ablest, and, as it proved, historically the most noteworthy of these three, was Philip Francis, the supposed author of "Junius's Letters." Even before the council commenced its duties dissensions arose. The newcomers, Francis, Clavering, and Monson, were in constant opposition to the Governor-General. Indeed, the hostility between Hastings and Francis rose by degrees to such a height that, some years later, they met in a duel, in which Francis was severely wounded. For the present, however, the opponents of Hastings formed a majority on the council, and his authority was in eclipse. His ill-wishers in the country began to bestir themselves, and a scandalous and, there is no doubt, utterly untrue charge of accepting bribes was brought against him by an old enemy, the Maharajah Nuncomar. Hastings replied by prosecuting Nuncomar and his allies for conspiracy. The accused were admitted to bail, but a little later Nuncomar was arrested on a charge of having forged a bond some years previously, tried before an English jury, condemned to death, and hanged, August 5, 1775, his application for leave to appeal having been rejected by the Chief justice, Sir Elijah Impey. Hastings solemnly declared his innocence of any share in this transaction, nor is there any evidence directly implicating him. On the other hand, it must he remembered that Nuncomar had preferred a most serious charge against Hastings; that the majority on the council were only too ready to listen to any charge, well or ill founded, against the Governor-General; and that Nuncomar's triumph would, in all probability, have meant Hastings's ruin. Even Mr. Forrest admits that "it is extremely probable, as Francis stated, that if Nuncomar had never stood forth in politics, his other offences would not have hurt him."(259) Macaulay comments upon the scandal of this stringent enforcement Of the English law against forgery under circumstances so peculiar, and in a country where the English law was totally unknown.(260) That Nuncomar was fairly tried and convicted Page 90 in the ordinary course of law is now beyond doubt, but we still hold that it was Impey's clear duty to respite his prisoner. That he did not do so is a fact which, beyond all others, gave colour to the assertion of Hastings's enemies, that the execution of Nuncomar was the result of a secret understanding between the Governor-General of Bengal and the Chief justice of the Supreme Court. But, however brought about, the death of Nuncomar was to the opponents of Hastings a blow from which they never recovered. The death of Monson, in September, 1776, and that of Clavering, a year later, placed him in a majority on the council ; his authority was more undisputed than ever ; and at the expiration of his term he was re-appointed Governor-General. During the years 1780 and 1781 British rule in India passed through the most dangerous crisis that had befallen it since the days of Clive. A formidable confederacy had been formed between the Nizam, the Mahrattas, and the famous Hyder Ali, Sultan of Mysore, with the object of crushing their common enemy, the English. The hostility of these powerful states had been provoked by the blundering and bad faith of the governments of Bombay and Madras, which had made, and broken, treaties with each of them in turn. "As to the Mahrattas," to quote the words of Burke, "they had so many cross treaties with the states general of that nation, and with each of the chiefs, that it was notorious that no one of these agreements could be kept without grossly violating the rest."(261) The war in which the Bombay Government had engaged with the Mahrattas had been as unsuccessful in its prosecution as it was impolitic in its commencement, until, early in 1780, a force under General Goddard was dispatched from Bengal to co-operate with the Bombay troops. Goddard's arrival turned the tide of events. The province of Gujerat was reduced, the Mahratta chiefs, Sindia and Holkar, were defeated, and everything portended a favourable termination of the war, when the whole face of affairs was changed by news from the south. Hyder Ali, the most able and warlike of the native princes, swept down upon the Carnatic in July, 1780, at the head of a disciplined army of nearly 100,000 men. He was now an old man, but age had not broken his vigour. He rapidly overran the country; an English force, under Colonel Baillie, which opposed him, was cut to pieces, and Madras itself was threatened. The prompt measures adopted by Hastings on this occasion saved the colony. Reinforcements were hurried to Madras; the veteran, Sir Eyre Coote, was entrusted with the command of the army; and the triumphant Page 91 career of Hyder Ali was checked by the victory of Porto Novo, July 1st, 1781. The end of the war, however, was yet far off. Peace was concluded with the Mahrattas, on terms honourable to them, in 1782, but in the south the struggle was still maintained by Hyder Ali and his French allies, and after Hyder Ali's death, in December of that year, by his son Tippoo; nor was it brought to a termination until after the general peace Of 1783. To support the financial strain of these wars Hastings had recourse to measures which, with the colouring given to them by his enemies, gave subsequent rise to two of the heaviest charges brought forward by the managers of his impeachment. His first victim was Cheyt Sing, the Rajah of Benares, a tributary of the English Government. Cheyt Sing had been formerly a vassal of the Vizier of Oude, and when, in 1775, the vizier transferred his sovereign rights over Benares to the English, the Bengal Government confirmed the possession of the city and its dependencies to Cheyt Sing and his heirs for ever, stipulating only for the payment of an annual tribute, and undertaking that the regular payment of this tribute should acquit the Rajah of further obligations. It was afterwards contended on behalf of Hastings that this undertaking did not annul the right of the superior power to call upon its vassal for extraordinary aid on extraordinary occasions, and this view was upheld by Pitt. Hastings began operations in 1778 by demanding of the Rajah, in addition to his settled tribute, a large contribution towards the war expenses. The sum was paid, but similar requisitions in the following years were met with procrastination or evasion, and a demand that the Rajah should furnish a contingent of cavalry was not complied with. This conduct on the part of Cheyt Sing appeared to the Governor-General and his Council "to require early punishment, and, as his wealth was great and the Company's exigencies pressing," in 1781 a fine of fifty lakhs, of rupees (500,000 pounds) was laid upon the unlucky Rajah; Hastings himself proceeding to Benares, with a small escort, to enforce payment. Cheyt Sing received his unwelcome visitor with due respect, but with ambiguous answers, and Hastings, most imprudently, gave the order for the Rajah's arrest. The Rajah submitted, but his troops and the population of Benares rose to the rescue : a portion of Hastings's little force was massacred, the Rajah regained his liberty, and the Governor-General found safety only in flight. The insurrection rapidly spread to the country around, and assumed dangerous proportions, but the promptitude and vigour of-Hastings soon restored order. Cheyt Sing was deposed, compelled to flee his country, his estates were confiscated, and a new Rajah of Benares was appointed in his stead. The charge subsequently preferred against Hastings in connection with this affair turned upon the question whether Cheyt Sing Was, as the prosecutors affirmed, a sovereign prince who owed no duty to the Bengal government beyond the payment (which he Page 92 had regularly performed) of a fixed annual tribute; or as Hastings contended, a mere feudal vassal, bound to furnish aid when called upon by his over-lord. Pitt, as we have said, took the latter view, yet he gave his support to the charge on the ground that the fine imposed upon the Rajah of Benares was excessive., Upon the whole, it would appear that Hastings was acting within his rights in demanding an extraordinary subsidy from the Rajah but the enormous amount of the fine, and the harshness and in' dignity with which Cheyt Sing was treated, point to a determination on the part of the Governor-General to ruin a subject prince, with whom, moreover, it was known he had personal grounds of pique. The deposition of Cheyt Sing was followed by an act on which was afterwards founded the most sensational of all the charges brought against Warren Hastings. Shuja-u-Dowlah, the Nawab Vizier of Oude, to whom Hastings had sold the Rohillas, died in 1775, and was succeeded by his son Asaph-u-Dowlah. At the time of his death Shuja-u-Dowlah was deeply in debt, both to his own army and to the Bengal Government. The treasure which he left was estimated at two millions sterling, but this vast sum of money and certain rich estates were appropriated by his mother and widow, the begums, or princesses, of Oude, under the pretence of a will which may possibly have existed, but was certainly never Produced. With this wealth at their disposal the begums enjoyed a practical independence of the new vizier, who was no match in energy and resolution for his mother and grandmother. A small portion, however, of the money was paid over to the vizier, on the understanding, guaranteed by the Bengal Government, that the begums should be left in undisturbed enjoyment of the remainder of their possessions. Hastings believed, and, it would seem, on good grounds, that the younger begum had busied herself actively in fomenting the insurrection which broke out upon the arrest of Cheyt Sing at Benares. He conceived a plan by which he might at once punish the rebellious princesses, and secure for the exchequer at Calcutta the arrears of debt due from the Government of Oude. He withdrew the guarantee, and urged the Vizier to seize upon the estates possessed by the begums. Asaph-u-Dowlah came willingly into the arrangement, but, when it became necessary to act, his heart failed him. Hastings, however, was not to be trifled with. English troops were employed: the begums were closely confined in their palace at Fyzabad; and, to the lasting disgrace of Hastings, their personal attendants were starved and even tortured, until they consented to surrender their money and estates. Hastings's conduct in withdrawing the guarantee was not without justification ; the means which he suffered to be employed in carrying out his purpose, and for the employment of which he must be held primarily responsible, were utterly indefensible. Page 93 Long before his return to England, the Governor-General's proceedings had engaged no little share of public attention in this country. In Parliament the attack was led by Burke and Fox; Hastings's chief defender was one Major Scott, an Indian officer whom he had sent over to England as his agent in 1780, and who maintained his patron's cause by voice and pen, in Parliament and in the press, with far more energy than discretion. In 1784 Mrs. Hastings arrived in England, bringing home with her, says Wraxall, "about 40,000 pounds, acquired without her husband's privity or approval;" and a year later her husband followed her, having resigned his Governor-Generalship. The fortune which he now possessed was moderate, his opportunities considered, and had been honourably acquired; for his motives had never been mercenary, and the money which he had wrung from Indian princes had invariably been applied to the service of the Company or the necessities of his administration. He was received with honour by the Directors and with favour by the Court. There was talk of a peerage for him, and he believed himself not only beyond danger, but in the direct road to reward and distinction. But all this was the calm which preceded the storm. The enemies of Hastings were active and bitterly in earnest, and they were receiving invaluable assistance from his old opponent in council, Francis, who had returned to England in 1781. In April, 1786, the charges, drawn up by Burke, were laid on the table of the House of Commons. The first charge, respecting the Rohilla war, was thrown out by the House, ministers siding with the accused. But on the second charge, relating to the Rajah of Benares, the Prime Minister, Pitt, declared against Hastings on the ground that, although the Governor-General had the right to impose a fine upon his vassal, the amount of the fine was excessive, and the motion was affirmed by a majority of forty votes. Early the next session, in February, 1787, Sheridan moved the third charge, touching the begums of Oude, in a speech which was pronounced the most brilliant ever delivered in the House of Commons. The majority against Hastings was on this occasion increased to one hundred and seven, Pitt, as before, supporting the motion. Other charges of oppression and corruption were then gone into and affirmed, and in May, by order of the House, Burke formally impeached Warren Hastings of high crimes and misdemeanours at the bar of the House of Lords. The accused was admitted to bail, himself in 20,000 pounds, and two sureties in 10,000 pounds each. The Committee of Management, elected by the Commons to conduct the impeachment, included Burke and Fox, Sheridan and Windham, and the trial was opened before the Lords, in Westminster Hall, on the 13th of February, 1788. After two days occupied in reading the charges and the defendant's replies, Burke arose and opened the case for the prosecution in a speech full of eloquent exaggeration and honourable Page 94 zeal in the cause of an oppressed people. He spoke during days, after which the Benares charge was brought forward by Fox and Grey (afterwards Earl Grey), the youngest of the managers, and that relating to the Begums by Adam and Sheridan. The court then adjourned to the next session. But it is unnecessary here to follow the details of this famous trial which "dragged its slow length along" for seven years. In the spring of 1795 Hastings was acquitted, by a large majority, on all counts; and, although his conduct had, in some particulars, been far from faultless, and the sincerity of his principal accusers was beyond question, his acquittal must be owned as just as it was honourable, especially when we remember that his action had been entirely uninfluenced by considerations of private advantage, that he had endured for so many anxious years the burden of an impeachment, that he was ruined in fortune by the expenses of the trial, and that his great services to his country had been left wholly without reward. His poverty, however, was relieved by the Directors of the East India Company, who bestowed upon him a pension of 4,000 a year, and he passed the remainder of his long life in honourable retirement. He died in 1818, his wife, to whom he was always devotedly attached, surviving him by a few Years. The following section contains little besides the account of Fanny's visits to Westminster Hall during the early days of the trial. One other event, however, it relates, of sorrowful significance to the diarist. By the death of Mrs. Delany, on the 11th of April, 17; she lost at once a dear and venerated friend, and her only occasional refuge from the odious tyranny of Court routine.-ED.] Page 95 WESTMINSTER HALL AT THE OPENING OF THE HASTINGS TRIAL. February 13th. O what an interesting transaction does this day open! a day, indeed, of strong emotion to me, though all upon matters foreign to any immediate concern of my own--if anything may be called foreign that deeply interests us, merely because it is not personal. The trial, so long impending, of Mr. Hastings, opened to-day. The queen yesterday asked me if I wished to be present at the beginning, or had rather take another day. I was greatly obliged by her condescension, and preferred the opening. I thought it would give me a general view of the court, and the manner of proceeding, and that I might read hereafter the speeches and evidence. She then told me she had six tickets from Sir Peter Burrell, the grand chamberlain, for every day; that three were for his box, and three for his gallery. She asked me who I would go with, and promised me a box-ticket not only for myself, but my companion. Nor was this consideration all she showed me for she added, that as I might naturally wish for my father, she would have me send him my other ticket. I thanked her very gratefully, and after dinner went to St. Martin's-street; but all there was embarrassing: my father could not go; he was averse to be present at the trial, and he was a little lame from a fall. In the end I sent an express to Hammersmith, to desire Charles(262) to come to me the next morning by eight o'clock. I was very sorry not to have my father, as he had been named by the queen; but I was glad to have Charles. I told her majesty at night the step I had ventured to take, and she was perfectly content with it. "But I must trouble you," she said, "with Miss Gomme, who has no other way to go." This morning the queen dispensed with all attendance from me after her first dressing, that I might haste away. Mrs. Schwellenberg was fortunately well enough to take the whole duty, and the sweet queen not only hurried me off, but sent me some cakes from her own breakfast-table, that I might Page 96 carry them, in my pocket, lest I should have no time for eating before I went. Charles was not in time, but we all did well in the end We got to Westminster Hall between nine and ten O'clock; and, as I know my dear Susan, like my-self, was never at a trial, I will give some account of the place and arrangements'; and whether the description be new to her or old, my partial Fredy will not blame it. The grand chamberlain's box Is in the centre of the upper end of the Hall: there we sat, Miss Gomme and myself, immediately behind the chair placed for Sir Peter Burrell. To the left, on the same level, were the green benches for the House of Commons, which occupied a third of the upper end of the Hall, and the whole of the left side: to the right of us, on the same level, was the grand chamberlain's gallery. The right side of the Hall, opposite to the green benches for the commons, was appropriated to the peeresses and peers' daughters. The bottom of the Hall contained the royal family's box and the lord high steward's, above which was a large gallery appointed for receiving company with peers' tickets. A gallery also was run along the left side of the Hall, above the green benches, which is called the Duke of Newcastle's box, the centre of which was railed off into a separate apartment for the reception of the queen and four eldest princesses, who were then incog., not choosing to appear in state, and in their own box. Along the right side of the Hall ran another gallery, over the seats of the peeresses, and this was divided into boxes for various people--the lord chamberlain, (not the great chamberlain,) the surveyor, architect, etc. So much for all the raised buildings ; now for the disposition of the Hall itself, or ground. In the middle was placed a large table, and at the head of it the seat for the chancellor, and round it seats for the judges, the masters in chancery, the clerks, and all who belonged to the law; the upper end, and the right side of the room, was allotted to the peers in their robes; the left side to the bishops and archbishops. Immediately below the great chamberlain's box was the place allotted for the prisoner. On his right side was a box for his own counsel, on his left the box for the managers, or committee, for the prosecution; and these three most important of all the divisions in the Hall were all directly adjoining to where I was seated. Almost the moment I entered I was spoken to by a lady I Page 97 did not recollect, but found afterwards to be Lady Claremont and this proved very agreeable, for she took Sir Peter's place: and said she would occupy it till he claimed it; and then, when just before me, she named to me all the order of the buildings, and all the company, pointing out every distinguished person, and most obligingly desiring me to ask her any questions I wanted to have solved, as she knew, she said, "all those creatures that filled the green benches, looking so little like gentlemen, and so much like hair-dressers," These were the Commons. In truth, she did the honours of the Hall to me with as much good nature and good breeding as if I had been a foreigner of distinction, to whom she had dedicated her time and attention. My acquaintance with her had been made formerly at Mrs. Vesey's. The business did not begin till near twelve o'clock. The opening to the whole then took place, by the entrance of the managers of the prosecution; all the company were already long in their boxes or galleries. I shuddered, and drew Involuntarily back, when, as the doors were flung open, I saw Mr. Burke, as head of the committee, make his solemn entry. He held a scroll in his hand, and walked alone, his brow knit with corroding care and deep labouring thought,---a brow how different to that which had proved so alluring to my warmest admiration when first I met him! so highly as he had been my favourite, so captivating as I had found his manners; and conversation in our first acquaintance, and so much as I had owed to his zeal and kindness to me and my affairs in its progress! How did I grieve to behold him now the cruel prosecutor (such to me he appeared) of an injured and innocent man! Mr. Fox followed next, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Windham, Messrs. Anstruther, Grey, Adam, Michael Angelo Taylor, Pelham, Colonel North, Mr. Frederick Montagu, Sir Gilbert Elliot, General Burgoyne, Dudley Long, etc. They were all named over to me by Lady Claremont, or I should not have recollected even those of my acquaintance, from the shortness of my sight, When the committee box was filled the House of Commons at large took their seats on their green benches, which stretched, as I have said, along the whole left side of the Hall, and, taking in a third of the upper end, joined to the great Chamberlain's box, from which nothing separated them but a Partition of about two feet in height. Then began the procession, the clerks entering first, then Page 98 the lawyers according to their rank, and the peers, bishops, and officers, all in their coronation robes; concluding with the princes of the blood,--Prince William, son to the Duke of Gloucester, coming first, then the Dukes of Cumberland, Gloucester, and York, then the Prince of Wales; and the whole ending by the chancellor, with his train borne. They then all took their seats. WARREN HASTINGS APPEARS AT THE BAR. A sergeant-at- arms arose, and commanded silence in court, on pain of imprisonment. Then some other officer, in a loud voice, called out, as well as I can recollect, words to this purpose:-- "Warren Hastings, esquire, come forth! Answer to the charges brought against you; save your bail, or forfeit your recognizance." Indeed I trembled at these words, and hardly Could keep my place when I found Mr. Hastings was being brought to the bar. He came forth from some place immediately under the great chamberlain's box, and was preceded by Sir Francis Molyneux, gentleman-usher of the black rod; and at each side of him walked his bail, Messrs. Sulivan and Sumner. The moment he came in sight, which was not for full ten minutes after his awful summons, he made a low bow to the chancellor and court facing him. I saw not his face, as he was directly under me. He moved on slowly, and, I think, supported between his two bails, to the opening of his own box; there, lower still, he bowed again; and then, advancing to the bar, he leant his hands upon it, and dropped on his knees; but a voice in the same minute proclaiming he had leave to rise, he stood up almost instantaneously, and a third time, profoundly bowed to the court. What an awful moment this for such a man!--a man fallen from such height of power to a situation so humiliating--from the almost unlimited command of so large a part of the eastern World to be cast at the feet of his enemies, of the great tribunal of his country, and of the nation at large, assembled thus in a body to try and to judge him! Could even his prosecutors at that moment look on--and not shudder at least, if they did not blush? The crier, I think it was, made, in a loud and hollow voice, a public proclamation, "That Warren Hastings, esquire, late governor-general of Bengal, was now on his trial for high Page 99 crimes and misdemeanours, with which he was charged by the commons of Great Britain; and that all persons whatsoever who had aught to allege against him were now to stand forth." A general silence followed, and the chancellor, Lord Thurlow, now made his speech. I will give it you to the best of my power from memory; the newspapers have printed it far less accurately than I have retained it, though I am by no means exact or secure. THE LORD CHANCELLOR'S SPEECH. Warren Hastings, you are now brought into this court to answer to the charge, brought against you by the knights, esquires, burgesses, and commons of Great Britain--charges now standing only as allegations, by them to be legally proved, or by you to be disproved. Bring forth your answer and defence, with that seriousness, respect, and truth, due to accusers so respectable. Time has been allowed you for preparation, proportioned to the intricacies in which the transactions are involved, and to the remote distances whence your documents may have been searched and required. You will be allowed bail, for the better forwarding your defence, and-whatever you can require will still be yours, of time, witnesses, and all things else you may hold necessary. This is not granted you as any indulgence: it is entirely your due: it is the privilege which every British subject has a right to claim, and which is due to every one who is brought before this high tribunal." This speech, uttered in a calm, equal, solemn manner, and in a voice mellow and penetrating, with eyes keen and black, yet softened into some degree of tenderness while fastened full upon the prisoner--this speech, its occasion, its portent, and its object, had an effect upon every hearer of producing the most respectful attention, and, out of the committee box at least, the strongest emotions in the cause of Mr. Hastings. Again Mr. Hastings made the lowest reverence to the court, and, leaning over the bar answered, with much agitation, through evident efforts to suppress it, "My lords --Impressed--deeply impressed-- I come before your lordships, equally confident in my own integrity, and in the justice of the court before which I am to clear it." "Impressed" and "deeply impressed," too, was my mind, by this short yet comprehensive speech, and all my best wishes Page 100 for his clearance and redress rose warmer than ever in my heart. THE READING OF THE CHARGES COMMENCED. A general silence again ensued, and then one of the lawyers opened the cause. He began by reading from an immense roll of parchment the general charges against Mr. Hastings, but he read in so monotonous a chant that nothing more could I hear or understand than now and then the name of Warren Hastings. During this reading, to which I vainly lent all my attention, Mr. Hastings, finding it, I presume, equally impossible to hear a word, began to cast his eyes around the house, and having taken a survey of all in front and at the sides, he turned about and looked up; pale looked his face--pale, ill, and altered. I was much affected by the sight of that dreadful harass which was written on his countenance. Had I looked at him without restraint, it could not have been without tears. I felt shocked, too, shocked and ashamed, to be seen by him in that place. I had wished to be present from an earnest interest in the business, joined to a firm confidence in his powers of defence; but his eyes were not those I wished to meet in Westminster Hall. I called upon Miss Gomme and Charles to assist me in looking another way, and in conversing with me as I turned aside, and I kept as much aloof as possible till he had taken his survey, and placed himself again in front. >From this time, however, he frequently looked round, and I was soon without a doubt that he must see me. . . . In a few minutes more, while this reading was still continued, I perceived Sir Joshua Reynolds in the midst of the committee. He, at the same moment, saw me also, and not only bowed, but smiled and nodded with his usual good-humour and intimacy, making at the same time a sign to his ear, by which I understood he had no trumpet; whether he had forgotten or lost it I know not. I would rather have answered all this dumb show anywhere else, as my last ambition was that of being noticed from such a box. I again entreated aid in turning away; but Miss Gomme, who is a friend of Sir Gilbert Elliot, one of the managers and an ill-wisher, for his sake, to the opposite cause, would only laugh, and ask why I should not be owned by them. I did not, however, like it, but had no choice from my near Page 101 situation; and in a few seconds I had again a bow, and a profound one, and again very ridiculously I was obliged to inquire of Lady Claremont who my own acquaintance might be. Mr. Richard Burke, senior, she answered. He is a brother of the great--great in defiance of all drawbacks--Edmund Burke. Another lawyer now arose, and read so exactly in the same manner, that it was utterly impossible to discover even whether it was a charge or an answer. Such reading as this, you may well suppose, set every body pretty much at their ease and but for the interest I took in looking from time to time at Mr. Hastings, and watching his countenance, I might as well have been away. He seemed composed after the first half-hour, and calm; but he looked with a species of indignant contempt towards his accusers, that could not, I think, have been worn had his defence been doubtful. Many there are who fear for him; for me, I own myself wholly confident in his acquittal. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. Soon after, a voice just by my side, from the green benches, said, "Will Miss Burney allow me to renew my acquaintance with her?" I turned about and saw Mr. Crutchley. All Streatham rose to my mind at sight of him. I have never beheld him since the Streatham society was abolished. We entered instantly upon the subject of that family, a Subject ever to me the most Interesting. He also had never seen poor Mrs. Thrale since her return to England; but he joined with me very earnestly in agreeing that, since so unhappy a step was now past recall, it became the duty, however painful a one, of the daughters, to support, not cast off and contemn, one who was now as much their mother as when she still bore their own name. "But how," cried he, "do you stand the fiery trial of this Streatham book that is coming upon us?" I acknowledged myself very uneasy about it, and he assured me all who had ever been at Streatham were in fright and consternation. We talked all these matters over more at length, till I was called away by an "How d'ye do, Miss Burney?" from the committee box! And then I saw young Mr. Burke, who had jumped up on the nearest form to speak to me. Pleasant enough! I checked my vexation as well as I was able, since the least shyness on my part to those with whom Page 102 formerly I had been social must instantly have been attributed to Court influence; and therefore, since I could not avoid the notice, I did what I could to talk with him as heretofore. He is besides so amiable a young man that I could not be sorry to see him again, though I regretted it should be Just In that place, and at this time. While we talked together, Mr. Crutchley went back to his more distant seat, and the moment I was able to withdraw from young Mr. Burke, Charles, who sat behind me, leant down and told me a gentleman had just desired to be presented to me. "Who?" quoth I. " Mr. Windham," he answered. I really thought he was laughing, and answered accordingly, but he assured me he was in earnest, and that Mr. Windham had begged him to make the proposition. What could I do? There was no refusing; yet a planned meeting with another of the committee, and one deep in the prosecution, and from whom one of the hardest charges has come(263)--could anything be less pleasant as I was then situated? The great chamberlain's box is the only part of the Hall that has any communication with either the committee box or the House of Commons, and it is also the very nearest to the prisoner. WILLIAM WINDHAM) ESQ., M.P. Mr. Windham I had seen twice before-both times at Miss Monckton's; and anywhere else I should have been much gratified by his desire of a third meeting, as he is one of the most agreeable, spirited, well-bred, and brilliant conversers I have ever spoken with. He is a neighbour, too, now, of Page 103 Charlotte's. He is member for Norwich, and a man of family and fortune, with a very pleasing though not handsome face, a very elegant figure, and an air of fashion and vivacity. The conversations I had had with him at Miss Monckton's had been, wholly- by his own means, extremely spirited and entertaining. I was sorry to see him make one of a set that appeared so inveterate against a man I believe so injuriously treated; and my concern was founded upon the good thoughts I had conceived of him, not merely from his social talents, which are yet very uncommon, but from a reason clearer to my remembrance. He loved Dr. Johnson,-and Dr. Johnson returned his affection. Their political principles and connexions were opposite, but Mr. Windham respected his venerable friend too highly to discuss any points that could offend him ; and showed for him so true a regard, that, during all his late illnesses, for the latter part of his life, his carriage and himself were alike at his service, to air, visit, or go out, whenever he was disposed to accept them. Nor was this all; one tender proof he gave of warm and generous regard, that I can never forget, and that rose instantly to my mind when I heard his name, and gave him a welcome in my eyes when they met his face : it is this: Dr. Johnson, in his last visit to Lichfield, was taken ill, and waited to recover strength for travelling back to town in his usual vehicle, a stage-coach-- as soon as this reached the ears of Mr. Windham, he set off for Lichfield in his own carriage, to offer to bring hint back to town in it, and at his own time. For a young man of fashion, such a trait towards an old, however dignified philosopher, must surely be a mark indisputable of an elevated mind and character; and still the more strongly it marked a noble way of thinking, as it was done in favour of a person in open opposition to his own party, and declared prejudices. Charles soon told me he was it my elbow. He had taken the place Mr. Crutchley had just left. The abord was, oil my , part, very awkward, from the distress I felt lest Mr. Hastings should look up, and from a conviction that I must not name Page 104 that gentleman, of whom alone I could then think, to a person in a committee against him. He, however, was easy, having no embarrassing thoughts, since the conference was of his own seeking. 'Twas so long since I had seen him, that I almost wonder he remembered me. After the first compliments he looked around him, and exclaimed "What an assembly is this! How striking a spectacle! I had not seen half its splendour down there. You have it here to great advantage; you lose some of the lords, but you gain all the ladies. You have a very good place here," "Yes and I may safely say I make a very impartial use of it for since here I have sat, I have never discovered to which side I have been listening!" He laughed, but told me they were then running through the charges. "And is it essential," cried I, "that they should so run them through that nobody can understand them? Is that a form of law?" He agreed to the absurdity - and then, looking still at the spectacle, which indeed is the most splendid I ever saw, arrested his eyes upon the chancellor. "He looks very well from hence," cried he; "and how well he acquits himself on these solemn occasions! With what dignity, what loftiness, what high propriety, he comports himself!" This praise to the chancellor, who is a known friend to Mr. Hastings, though I believe he would be the last to favour him unjustly now he is on trial, was a pleasant sound to my ear, and confirmed my original idea of the liberal disposition of my new associate. i joined heartily in the commendation, and warmly praised his speech. "Even a degree of pompousness," cried I, "in such a court as this, seems a propriety." "Yes," said he "but his speech had one word that might as well have been let alone: 'mere allegations' he called the charges; the word 'mere,' at least, might have been spared, especially as it is already strongly suspected on which side he leans!" I protested, and with truth, I had not heard the word in his speech; but he still affirmed it. "Surely," I said, "he was as fair and impartial as possible: he called the accusers 'so respectable!'" "Yes, but 'mere--mere' was no word for this occasion and it could not be unguarded, for he would never come to Page 105 speak in such a court as this, without some little thinking beforehand. However, he is a fine fellow,--a very fine fellow! and though, in his private life, guilty of so many inaccuracies, in his public capacity I really hold him to be unexceptionable." This fairness, from an oppositionist professed, brought me at once to easy terms with him. I begged him to inform me for what reason, at the end of the chancellor's speech, there had been a cry of "Hear! hear! hear him!" which had led me to expect another speech, when I found no other seemed intended. He laughed very much, and confessed that, as a parliament man, he was so used to that absurdity, that he had ceased to regard it; for that it was merely a mark of approbation to a speech already spoken; "And, in fact, they only," cried he, "say 'Hear!' when there is nothing more to be heard!" Then, still looking at the scene before him, he suddenly laughed, and said, "I must not, to Miss Burney, make this remark, but-it is observable that in the king's box sit the Hawkesbury family, while, next to the Speaker, who is here as a sort of representative of the king, sits Major Scott!" I knew his inference, of Court influence in favour of Mr. Hastings, but I thought it best to let it pass quietly. I knew, else, I should only be supposed under the same influence myself. Looking still on, he next noticed the two archbishops. "And see," cried he, "the Archbishop of York, Markham,--see how he affects to read the articles of impeachment, as if he was still open to either side! My good lord archbishop! your grace might, with perfect safety, spare your eyes, for your mind has been made up upon this subject before ever it was investigated. He holds Hastings to be the greatest man in the world--for Hastings promoted the interest of his son in the East Indies!" WINDHAM INVEIGHS AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS. Somewhat sarcastic, this - but I had as little time as power for answering, since now, and suddenly, his eye dropped down upon poor Mr. Hastings; the expression of his face instantly lost the gaiety and ease with which it had addressed me; he stopped short in his remarks; he fixed his eyes steadfastly on this new, and but too interesting object, and after viewing him 106 some time in a sort of earnest silence, he suddenly exclaimed as if speaking to himself, and from an impulse irresistible "What a sight is that! to see that man, that small portion of human clay, that poor feeble machine of earth, enclosed now in that little space, brought to that bar, a prisoner in a spot six foot square--and to reflect on his late power! Nations at his command! Princes prostrate at his feet!--What a change! how Must he feel it!--" He stopped, and I said not a word. I was glad to see him thus impressed; I hoped it might soften his enmity. I found, by his manner, that he had never, from the committee box, looked at him. He broke forth again, after a pause of Some length,--"Wonderful indeed! almost past credibility, is such a reverse! He that, so lately, had the Eastern world nearly at his beck; he, under whose tyrant power princes and potentates sunk and trembled; he, whose authority was without the reach of responsibility!--" Again he stopped, seeming struck, almost beyond the power of speech, with meditative commiseration ; but then, suddenly rousing himself, as if recollecting his "almost blunted purpose," he passionately exclaimed, "Oh could those--the thousands, the millions, who have groaned and languished under the iron rod of his oppressions- -could they but--whatever region they inhabit-- be permitted one dawn of light to look into this Hall, and see him there! There--where he now stands--It might prove, perhaps, some recompense for their sufferings!" I can hardly tell you, my dearest Susan, how shocked I felt at these words! words so hard, and following sensations so much more pitying and philosophic! I cannot believe Mr. Hastings guilty; I feel in myself a strong internal evidence of his innocence, drawn from all I have seen of him; I can only regard the prosecution as a party affair; but yet, since his adversaries now openly stake their names, fame, and character against him, I did not think it decent to intrude such an opinion. I could only be sorry, and silent. Still he looked at him, earnest in rumination, and as if unable to turn away his eyes; and presently he again exclaimed, "How wonderful an instance of the instability of mortal power is presented ]In that object! From possessions so extensive, from a despotism so uncontrolled. to see him, now there, in that small circumference! In the history Of human nature how memorable will be the records of this day! Page 107 a day that brings to the great tribunal of the nation a man whose power, so short a time since, was of equal magnitude with his crimes!" Good heaven! thought I, and do you really believe all this? Can Mr. Hastings appear to you such a monster? and are you not merely swayed by party? I could not hear him without shuddering, nor see him thus in earnest without alarm. I thought myself no longer bound to silence, since I saw, by the continuance as well as by the freedom of his exclamations, he conceived me of the same sentiments with himself; and therefore I hardily resolved to make known to him that mistake, which, indeed, was a liberty that seemed no longer impertinent, but a mere act of justice and honesty. His very expressive pause, his eyes still steadfastly fixed on Mr. Hastings, gave me ample opportunity for speaking - though I had some little difficulty how to get out what I wished to say. However, in the midst of his reverie, I broke forth, but not without great hesitation, and, very humbly, I said, "Could you pardon me, Mr. Windham, If I should forget, for a moment, that you are a committee man, and speak to you frankly?" He looked surprised, but laughed at the question, and very eagerly called out "Oh yes, yes, pray speak out, I beg it!" "Well, then, may I venture to say to you that I believe it utterly impossible for any one, not particularly engaged on the contrary side, ever to enter a court of justice, and not instantly, and involuntarily, wish well to the prisoner!" His surprise subsided by this general speech, which I had not courage to put in a more pointed way, and he very readily answered, "'Tis natural, certainly, and what must almost unavoidably be the first impulse; yet, where justice--" I stopped him; I saw I was not comprehended, and thought else he might say something to stop me. "May I," I said, " go yet a little farther ? "Yes," cried he, with a very civil smile, "and I feel an assent beforehand." " Supposing then, that even you, if that may be supposed, could be divested of all knowledge of the particulars of this affair, and in the same state of general Ignorance that I confess myself to be, and could then, like me, have seen Mr. Hastings make his entrance into this court, and looked at him when he was brought to that bar; not even you, Mr. Windham, could then have reflected on such a vicissitude for him, on all he has Page 108 left and all he has lost, and not have given him, like me, all your best wishes the moment you beheld him." The promised assent came not, though he was too civil to contradict me ; but still I saw he Understood me only in a general sense. I feared going farther : a weak advocate is apt to be a mischievous one and, as I knew nothing, it was not to a professed enemy I could talk of what I only believed. Recovering, now, from the strong emotion with which the sight of Mr. Hastings had filled him, he looked again around the court, and pointed out several of the principal characters present, with arch and striking remarks upon each of them, all uttered with high spirit, but none with ill-nature. ("Pitt," cried he, "is not here!--a noble stroke that for the annals of his administration! A trial is brought on by the whole House of Commons In a body, and he is absent at the very opening! However," added he, with a very meaning laugh, "I'm glad of it, for 'tis to his eternal disgrace!" Mercy! thought I, what a friend to kindness Is party! "Do you see Scott?" cried he. "No, I never saw him; pray show him to me," "There he is, in green; just now by the Speaker, now moved by the committee; in two minutes more he will be somewhere else, skipping backwards and forwards; what a grasshopper it is!" "I cannot look at him," cried I, "without recollecting a very extraordinary letter from him, that I read last summer in the newspaper, where he answers some attack that he says has been made upon him, because the term is used of 'a very insignificant fellow,' and he printed two or three letters in 'The Public Advertiser,' in following days, to prove, with great care and pains, that he knew it was all meant as an abuse of himself, from those words!" "And what," cried he, laughing, "do you say to that notion now you see him?" "That no one," cried I, examining him with my glass, "can possibly dispute his claim!" What pity that Mr. Hastings should have trusted his cause to so frivolous an agent! I believe, and indeed it is the general belief, both of foes and friends, that to his officious and injudicious zeal the present prosecution is wholly owing. Next, Mr. Windham pointed out Mr. Francis to me. 'TIS a singular circumstance, that the friend who most loves and the enemy Who most hates Mr. Hastings should bear the same Page 109 name!(264) Mr. Windham, with all the bias of party, gave me then the highest character of this Mr. Francis, whom he called one of the most ill-used of men. Want of documents how to answer forced me to be silent, oppositely as I thought. But it was a very unpleasant situation to me, as I saw that Mr. Windham still conceived me to have no other interest than a common, and probably to his mind, a weak compassion for the prisoner--that prisoner who, frequently looking around, saw me, I am certain, and saw with whom I was engaged. The subject of Mr. Francis again drew him back to Mr. Hastings, but with more severity of mind. "A prouder heart," cried he, "an ambition more profound, were never, I suppose, lodged in any mortal mould than in that man! With what a port he entered! did you observe him? his air! I saw not his face, but his air his port!" "Surely there," cried I, "he could not be to blame! He comes upon his defence; ought he to look as if he gave himself up?" "Why no; 'tis true he must look what vindication to himself he can; we must not blame him there." Encouraged by this little concession, I resolved to venture farther, and once more said "May I again, Mr. Windham, forget that you are a committee-man, and say something not fit for a committee man to hear?" "O yes!" cried he, laughing very much, and looking extremely curious. "I must fairly, then, own myself utterly ignorant upon this subject, and--and--may I go on?" "I beg you will!" "Well, then,--and originally prepossessed in favour of the object!" He quite started, and with a look of surprise from which all pleasure was separated, exclaimed--"Indeed!" "Yes!" cried I, "'tis really true, and really out, now!" "For Mr. Hastings, prepossessed!" he repeated, in a tone that seemed to say--do you not mean Mr. Burke? Page 110 "Yes," I said, "for Mr. Hastings! But I should not have presumed to own it just at this time,--so little as I am able to do honour to my prepossession by any materials to defend it,--but that you have given me courage, by appearing so free from all malignity in the business. Tis, therefore, Your own fault!" "But can you speak seriously," cried he, " "when You say you know nothing of this business?" "Very seriously: I never entered into it at all; it was always too intricate to tempt me." "But, surely you must have read the charges?" "No; they are so long, I had never the courage to begin." The conscious look with which he heard this, brought--all too late--to my remembrance, that one of them was drawn up, and delivered in the House, by himself! I was really very sorry to have been so unfortunate; but I had no way to call back the words, so was quiet, perforce. "Come then," cried he, emphatically, "to hear Burke! come and listen to him, and you will be mistress of the whole. Hear Burke, and read the charges of the Begums, and then you will form your judgment without difficulty." I would rather (thought I) hear him upon any other subject: but I made no answer; I only said, "Certainly, I can gain nothing by what is going forward to-day. I meant to come to the opening now, but it seems rather like the shutting up!" He was not to be put off. "You will come, however, to hear Burke? To hear truth, reason, justice, eloquence! You will then see, in other colours, 'That man!' There is more cruelty, more oppression, more tyranny, in that little machine, with an arrogance, a self-confidence, unexampled, unheard of!" MISS BURNEY BATTLES FOR THE ACCUSED. "Indeed, sir!" cried I; "that does not appear, to those who know him and--I--know him a little." "Do you?" cried he earnestly; "personally, do you know him?" "Yes; and from that knowledge arose this prepossession I have confessed." "Indeed, what you have seen of him have you then so much approved?" "Yes, very much! I must own the truth!" "But you have not seen much of him?" Page 111 "No, not lately. My first knowledge of him was almost immediately upon his coming from India; I had heard nothing of all these accusations; I had never been in the way of hearing them, and knew not even that there were any to be heard. I saw him, therefore, quite without prejudice, for or against him ; and indeed, I must own, he soon gave me a strong interest in his favour." The surprise with which he heard me must have silenced me on the subject, had it not been accompanied with an attention so earnest as to encourage me still to proceed. It is evident to me that this committee live so much shut Lip with one another, that they conclude all the world of the same opinions with themselves, and universally imagine that the tyrant they think themselves pursuing is a monster in every part of his life, and held in contempt and abhorrence by all mankind. Could I then be sorry, seeing this, to contribute my small mite towards clearing, at least, so very wide a mistake? On the contrary, when I saw he listened, I was most eager to give him all I could to hear, "I found him," I continued, "so mild, so gentle, so extremely pleasing in his manners--" "Gentle!" cried he, with quickness. "Yes, Indeed; gentle even to humility--" "Humility? Mr. Hastings and humility!" "Indeed it is true; he is perfectly diffident in the whole of his manner, when engaged in conversation; and so much struck was I, at that very time, by seeing him so simple, so unassuming, when just returned from a government that had accustomed him to a power superior to our monarchs here, that it produced an effect upon my mind in his favour which nothing can erase!" "Yes, Yes!" cried he, with great energy, "you will give it up! you must lose it, must give it up! it will be plucked away, rooted wholly out of your mind ." "Indeed, sir," cried I, steadily, "I believe not!" "You believe not?" repeated he, with added animation; "then there will be the more glory in making you a convert!" If "conversion" is the word, thought I, I would rather make than be made. "But --Mr. Windham," cried I, "all my amazement now is at your condescension in speaking to me upon this business at all, when I have confessed to you my total ignorance of the subject, and my original prepossession in favour of the object. Why Page 112 do you not ask me when I was at the play ? and how I liked the last opera?" He laughed; and we talked on a little while in that strain, till again, suddenly fixing his eyes on poor Mr. Hastings, his gaiety once more vanished, and he gravely and severely examined his countenance. "'Tis surely," cried he, "an unpleasant one. He does not know, I suppose, 'tis reckoned like his own!" "How should he," cried I, "look otherwise than unpleasant here?" "True," cried he; "yet still, I think, his features, his look, his whole expression, unfavourable to him. I never saw him but once before; that was at the bar of the House of Commons and there, as Burke admirably said, he looked, when first he glanced an eye against him, like a hungry tiger, ready to howl for his prey!" "Well," cried I, "I am sure he does not look fierce now! Contemptuous, a little, I think he does look!" I was sorry I used this word; yet its truth forced it to escape me. He did not like it; he repeated it; he could not but be sure the contempt could only be levelled at his prosecutors. I feared discussion, and flew off as fast as I could, to softer ground. "It was not," cried I, "with that countenance he gave me my prepossession! Very differently, indeed, he looked then!" "And can he ever look pleasant? can that face ever obtain an expression that is pleasing?" "Yes, indeed and in truth, very pleasant! It was in the country I first saw him, and without any restraint on his part; I saw him, therefore, perfectly natural and easy. And no one, let me say, could so have seen him without being pleased with him--his quietness and serenity, joined to his intelligence and information--" "His information?--in what way?" "In such a way as suited his hearer: not upon committee business--of all that I knew nothing. The only conversation in which I could mix was upon India, considered simply as, a country in which he had travelled; and his communications upon the people, the customs, habits, cities, and whatever I could name, were so instructive as well as entertaining, that I think I never recollect gaining more intelligence, or more pleasantly conveyed, from any conversation in which I ever have been engaged." Page 113 To this he listened with an attention that, but for the secret zeal which warmed me must have silenced and shamed me. I am satisfied this committee have concluded Mr. Hastings a mere man of blood, with slaughter and avarice for his sole ideas! The surprise with which he heard this just testimony to his social abilities was only silent from good-breeding, but his eyes expressed what his tongue withheld; something that satisfied me he concluded I had undesignedly been duped by him. I answered this silence by saying "There was no object for hypocrisy, for it was quite in retirement I met with him : it was not lately ; it is near two years since I have seen him; he had therefore no point to gain with me, nor was there any public character, nor any person whatever, that Could induce him to act a part; yet was he all I have said-informing, Communicative, instructive, and at the same time, gentle and highly pleasing." "Well," said he, very civilly, "I begin the less to wonder, now, that You have adhered to his side; but--" "To see him, then," cried I, stopping his 'but,'--"to see him brought to that bar! and kneeling at it!--indeed, Mr. Windham, I must own to you, I could hardly keep my seat--hardly forbear rising and running out of the Hall." "Why, there," cried he, "I agree with you! 'Tis certainly a humiliation not to be wished or defended: it is, indeed, a mere ceremony, a mere formality; but it is a mortifying one, and so obsolete, so unlike the practices of the times, so repugnant from a gentleman to a gentleman, that I myself looked another way: it hurt me, and I wished it dispensed with." "O, Mr. Windham," cried I, surprised and pleased, "and can you be so liberal?" "Yes," cried he, laughing, "but 'tis only to take you in!" Afterwards he asked what his coat was, whether blue Or purple; and said, "is it not customary for a prisoner to come black?" "Whether or not," quoth I, "I am heartily glad he has not done it; why should he seem so dismal, so shut out from hope?" "Why, I believe he is in the right. I think he has judged that not ill." "O, don't be so candid," cried I, "I beg you not." "Yes, yes, I must; and you know the reason," cried he, gaily; but presently exclaimed, "one unpleasant thing belong- Page 114 ing to being a manager is that I must now go and show myself in the committee." And then he very civilly bowed, and went down to his box, leaving me much persuaded that I had never yet been engaged in a conversation so curious, from its circumstances, in my life. The warm well-wisher myself of the prisoner, though formerly the warmest admirer of his accuser, engaged, even at his trial and in his presence, in so open a discussion with one of his principal prosecutors; and the queen herself in full view, unavoidably beholding me in close and eager conference with an avowed member of the opposition! These circumstances made me at first enter into discourse with Mr. Windham with the utmost reluctance ; but though I wished to shun him, I could not, when once attacked, decline to converse with him. It would but injure the cause of Mr. Hastings to seem to fear hearing the voice of his accusers; and it could but be attributed to undue court-influence had I avoided any intercourse with an acquaintance so long ago established as a member of the opposition. A WEARIED M.P.-MR. CRUTCHLEY REAPPEARS. In the midst of the opening of a trial such as this, so important to the country as well as to the individual who is tried, what will you say to a man--a member of the House of Commons who kept exclaiming almost perpetually, just at my side, "What a bore!- -when will it be over?--Must one come any more?--I had a great mind not to have come at all.--Who's that?--Lady Hawkesbury and the Copes?--Yes.--A pretty girl, Kitty.--Well, when will they have done?--I wish they'd call the question--I should vote it a bore at once! just such exclamations as these were repeated, without intermission, till the gentleman departed: and who should it be that spoke with so much legislative wisdom but Mr. W---! In about two or three hours--this reading still lasting--Mr. Crutchley came to me again. He, too, was so wearied, that he was departing; but he stayed some time to talk over our constant topic--my poor Mrs. Thrale. How little does he suspect the interest I unceasingly take in her--the avidity with which I seize every opportunity to gather the smallest intelligence concerning her! One little trait of Mr. Crutchley, so characteristic of that queerness which distinguishes him, I must mention. He said Page 115 he questioned whether he should comme any more: I told him I had imagined the attendance of every member to be indispensable. "No," cried he, "ten to one if another day they are able to make a house!" "The Lords, however, I suppose, must come?" "Not unless they like it." " But I hear if they do not attend they have no tickets." "Why, then, Miss Primrose and Miss Cowslip must stay away too!" I had the pleasure to find him entirely for Mr. Hastings, and to hear he had constantly voted on his side through every stage of the business. He is a very independent man, and a man of real good character, and, with all his oddity, of real understanding. We compared notes very amicably upon this subject, and both agreed that those who looked for every flaw in the conduct of a man in so high and hazardous a station, ought first to have weighed his merits and his difficulties. MR. WINDHAM DISCUSSES THE IMPEACHMENT. A far more interesting conference, however, was now awaiting me. Towards the close of the day Mr. Windham very unexpectedly came again from the committee-box, and seated himself by my side. I was glad to see by this second visit that my frankness had not offended him. He began, too, in so open and social a manner, that I was satisfied he forgave it. "I have been," cried he, "very busy since I left you.--writing-- reading--making documents." I saw he was much agitated ; the gaiety which seems natural to him was flown, and had left in its place the most evident and unquiet emotion. I looked a little surprised, and rallying himself, in a few moments he inquired if I wished for any refreshment, and proposed fetching me some. But, well as I liked him for a conspirator, I could not break bread with him! I thought now all was over of communication between us, but I was mistaken. He spoke for a minute or two upon the crowd--early hour of coming--hasty breakfasting and such general nothings; and then, as if involuntarily, he returned to the sole subject on his mind. "Our plan," cried he, "is all changing: we have all been busy--we are coming into a new method. I have been making preparations--I did not intend speaking for a considerable time--not till after the circuit, but now, I may be called upon, I know not how soon." Page 116 Then he stopped--ruminating--and I let him ruminate without interruption for some minutes, when he broke forth with these reflections: "How strange, how infatuated a frailty has man with respect to the future! Be our views, our designs, our anticipations what they may, we are never prepared for it!--It always takes us by surprise--always comes before we look for it!" He stopped; but I waited his explanation without speaking, and, after pausing thoughtfully for some time, he went on: "This day--for which we have all been waiting so anxiously, so earnestly--the day for which we have fought, for which we have struggled--a day, indeed, of national glory, in bringing to this great tribunal a delinquent from so high an office--this day, so much wished, has seemed to me, to the last moment, so distant, that now--now that it Is actually arrived, it takes me as if I had never thought of it before--it comes upon me all unexpected, and finds me unready!" Still I said nothing, for I did not fully comprehend him, till he added, "I will not be so affected as to say to you that I have made no preparation--that I have not thought a little upon what I have to do; yet now that the moment is actually come--" Again he broke off. but a generous sentiment was, bursting from him, and would not be withheld. "It has brought me," he resumed, "a feeling of which I am not yet quite the master! What I have said hitherto, when I have spoken in the house, has been urged and stimulated by the idea of pleading for the injured and the absent, and that gave me spirit. Nor do I tell you (with a half-conscious smile) that the ardour of the prosecution went for nothing--a prosecution in favour of oppressed millions! But now,. when I am to speak here, the thought of that man, close to my side--culprit as he is--that man on whom all the odium is to fall--gives me, I own, a sensation that almost disqualifies me beforehand!" . . . "That this day was ever brought about," continued he, "must ever remain a noble memorial of courage and perseverance in the Commons. Every possible obstacle has been thrown in our way-- every art of government has been at work to impede us--nothing has been left untried to obstruct us--every check and clog of power and influence." "Not by him," cried I, looking at poor Mr. Hastings; "he has raised no impediments--he has been wholly careless." Page 117 "Come," cried he, with energy, "come and hear Burke!--Come but and hear him!--'tis an eloquence irresistible!--a torrent that sweeps all before it with the force of a whirlwind! It will Cure You, indeed, of your prepossession, but it will give you truth and right in its place. What discoveries has he not made!--what gulfs has he not dived into! Come and hear him, and your conflict will end!" I could hardly stand this, and, to turn it off', asked him if Mr. Hastings was to make his own defence? "No," he answered, "he will only speak by counsel. But do not regret that, for his own sake, as he is not used to public speaking, and has some impediment in his speech besides. He writes wonderfully--there he shines--and with a facility quite astonishing. Have you ever happened to see any of his writings?" "No: only one short account, which he calls 'Memoirs relative to some India transactions,' and that struck me to be extremely unequal--in some places strong and finely expressed, In others obscure and scarce intelligible." "That is just the case--that ambiguity runs through him in everything. Burke has found an admirable word for it in the Persian tongue, for which we have no translation, but it means an intricacy involved so deep as to be nearly unfathomable--an artificial entanglement." I inquired how it was all to end--whether this reading was to continue incessantly, or any speaking was to follow it? "I have not inquired how that is," he answered, "but I believe you will now soon be released." "And will the chancellor speak to adjourn?" "I cannot tell what the form may be, or how we are to be dissolved. I think myself there is nothing more difficult than how to tell people they may go about their business. I remember, when I was in the militia, it was just what I thought the most awkward, when I had done with my men. Use gives one the habit; and I found, afterwards, there was a regular mode for it: but, at first, I found it very embarrassing how to get rid of them." Nothing excites frankness like frankness ; and I answered him in return with a case of my own. "When first I came to my present residence I was perpetually," I said, "upon the point of making a blunder with the queen; for when, after she had honoured me with any conversation, she used to say 'Now I won't keep you--now I will detain you no longer,' . Page 118 I was always ready to answer, 'Ma'am, I am in no haste,- ma'am, I don't wish to go!' for I was not, at first, aware that it was only her mode of dismissing people from her presence." WINDHAM AFFECTS TO COMMISERATE HASTINGS. Again he was going: but glancing his eyes once more down upon Mr. Hastings, he almost sighed--he fetched, at least, a deep breath, while he exclaimed with strong emotion, "What a place for a man to stand in to hear what he has to hear!--'tis almost too much!" It would not be easy to tell you how touching at such a time was the smallest concession from an avowed opponent, and I could not help exclaiming again, "O, Mr. Windham, you must not be so liberal!" "O!" cried he, smiling, and recovering himself, "'tis all the deeper malice, only to draw you in!" Still, however, he did not go : he kept gazing upon Mr. Hastings till he seemed almost fascinated to the spot; and presently after, growing more and more open in his discourse, he began to talk to me of Sir Elijah Impey. I presume my dearest friends, little as they hear of politics and state business, must yet know that the House of Commons is threatening Sir Elijah with an impeachment, to succeed that of Mr. Hastings, and all upon East India transactions of the same date.(265) When he had given me his sentiments upon this subject, which I had heard with that sort of quietness that results from total ignorance of the matter, joined to total ignorance of the person concerned, he drew a short comparison, which, nearly, from him, and at such a moment, drew the tears from my eyes--nearly do I say?--Indeed more than that! "Sir Elijah," cried he, "knows how to go to work, and by getting the lawyers to side with him professionally, has set Page 119 about his defence in the most artful manner. He is not only wicked, but a very pitiful fellow. Let him but escape fine or imprisonment, and he will pocket all indignity, and hold himself happy in getting off: but Hastings (again looking steadfastly at him)--Hastings has feeling--'tis a proud feeling, an ambitious feeling--but feeling he has! Hastings--come to him what may-- fine, imprisonment, whatsoever is inflicted--all will be nothing. The moment of his punishment--I think it, upon my honour!--was the moment that brought him to that bar!" When he said "I think it, upon my honour," he laid his hand on his breast, as if he implied, "I acquit him henceforward." Poor Mr. Hastings! One generous enemy he has at least, who pursues him with public hate, but without personal malignity! yet sure I feel he can deserve neither! I did not spare to express my sense of this liberality from a foe; for, indeed, the situation I was in, and the sight of Mr. Hastings, made it very affecting to me. He was affected too, himself; but presently, rising, he said with great quickness, "I must shake all. this off; I must have done with it--dismiss it-- forget that he is there." "O, no," cried I, earnestly, "do not forget it!" "Yes, yes; I must." " No, remember it rather," cried I; "I could almost (putting up my hands as if praying) do thus and then, like poor Mr. Hastings just now to the house, drop down on my knees to you, to call out 'Remember it.'" "Yes, Yes," cried he, precipitately, "how else shall I go on? I must forget that he is there, and that you are here." And then he hurried down to his committee. Was it not a most singular scene ? I had afterwards to relate great part of this to the queen herself. She saw me engaged in such close discourse, and with such apparent interest on both sides, with Mr. Windham, that I knew she must else form conjectures innumerable. So candid, so liberal is the mind of the queen, that she not only heard me with the most favourable attention towards Mr. Windham, but was herself touched even to tears by the relation. We stayed but a short time after this last conference ; for nothing more was attempted than reading on the charges and answers, in the same useless manner, 120 MISS BURNEY IS AGAIN PRESENT AT HASTINGS'S TRIAL.. The interest of this trial was so much upon my mind, that I have not kept even a memorandum of what passed from the 13th of February to the day when I went again to Westminster Hall; nor, except renewing the Friday Oratorios with Mrs. Ord, do I recollect one circumstance. The second time that the queen, who saw my wishes, indulged me with one of her tickets, and a permission of absence for the trial, was to hear Mr. Burke, for whom my curiosity and my interest stood the highest. One ticket, however, would not do; I could not go alone, and the queen had bestowed all her other' tickets before she discovered that this was a day in my particular wishes. She entered into my perplexity with a sweetness the most gracious, and when I knew not how to obviate it, commanded me to write to the Duchess of Ancaster, and beg permission to be put under the wing of her grace, or any of her friends that were going to the Hall. The duchess, unluckily, did not go, from indisposition, nor any of her family; but she sent me a very obliging letter, and another ticket from Sir Peter Burrell, to use for a companion. I fixed upon James, who, I knew, wished to hear Mr. Burke for once, and we went together very comfortably. When the managers, who, as before, made the first procession, by entering their box below us, were all arranged, one from among them, whom I knew not, came up into the seats of the House of Commons by our side, and said, "Captain Burney, I am very glad to see you." "How do you do, sir ?" answered James; "here I am, come to see the fine show." Upon this the attacker turned short upon his heel, and abruptly walked away, descending into the box, which he did not quit any more. I inquired who he was; General Burgoyne, James told me. "A manager!" cried I, "and one of the chargers! and you treat the business of the Hall with such contempt to his face!" James laughed heartily at his own uncourtly address, but I would not repent, though he acknowledged he saw the offence his slight and slighting speech had given. Fearful lest he should proceed in the same style with my friend Mr. Windham, I kept as aloof as possible, to avoid his notice, entreating James at the same time to have the complaisance to be silent upon this subject, should he discover me Page 121 and approach. My own sentiments were as opposite to those of the managers as his, and I had not scrupled to avow honestly my dissent; but I well knew Mr. Windham might bear, and even respect, from a female, the same openness of opposition that might be highly offensive to him from a man. But I could obtain no positive promise; he would only compromise with my request, and agree not to speak unless applied to first. This, however, contented me, as Mr. Windham was too far embarked in his undertaking to solicit any opinion upon it from accidentally meeting any common acquaintance. >From young Burke and his uncle Richard I had bows from the committee box. Mr. Windham either saw me not, or was too much engaged in business to ascend. BURKE'.S SPEECH IN SUPPORT OF THE CHARGES. At length the peers' procession closed, the prisoner was brought in, and Mr. Burke began his speech. It was the second day of his harangue;(266) the first I had not been able to attend. All I had heard of his eloquence, and all I had conceived of his great abilities, was more than answered by his performance. Nervous, clear, and striking was almost all that he uttered: the main business, indeed, of his coming forth was frequently neglected, and not seldom wholly lost , but his excursions were so fanciful, so entertaining, and so ingenious, that no miscellaneous hearer, like myself, could blame them. It is true he was unequal, but his inequality produced an effect which, in so long a speech, was perhaps preferable to greater consistency since, though it lost attention in its falling off, it recovered it with additional energy by some ascent unexpected and wonderful. When he narrated, he was easy, flowing, and natural; when he declaimed, energetic, warm, and brilliant. The sentiments he interspersed were as nobly conceived as they were highly coloured; his satire had a poignancy of wit that made it as entertaining as it was penetrating; his allusions and quotations, as far as they were English and within my reach, were apt and ingenious - and the wild and sudden flights of his fancy, bursting forth from his creative imagination in language fluent, forcible, and varied, had a charm for my ear and my attention wholly new and perfectly irresistible. Were talents such as these exercised in the service of truth, Page 122 unbiased by party and prejudice, how could we sufficiently applaud their exalted possessor? But though frequently he made me tremble by his strong and horrible representations, his own violence recovered me, by stigmatizing his assertions with personal ill-will and designing illiberality. Yet, at times I confess, with all that I felt, wished, and thought concerning Mr. Hastings, the whirlwind of his eloquence nearly drew me into its vortex. I give no particulars of the speech, because they will all be printed. The observations and whispers of our keen as well as honest James, during the whole, were highly characteristic and entertaining. "When will he come to the point?"-"These are mere words!"--"This is all sheer detraction!"--"All this is nothing to the purpose!" etc., etc. "Well, ma'am, what say you to all this? how have you been entertained?" cried a voice at my side; and I saw Mr. Crutchley, who came round to speak to me. "Entertained?" cried I, "indeed, not at all, it is quite too serious and too horrible for entertainment: you ask after my amusement as if I were at an opera or a comedy." "A comedy?" repeated he, contemptuously, "no, a farce! It is not high enough for a comedy. To hear a man rant such stuff. But you should have been here the first day he spoke; this is milk and honey to that. He said then, ' His heart was as black--as-- black!' and called him the captain-general of iniquity." "Hush! hush!" cried I, for he spoke very loud; "that young man you see down there, who is looking up, is his son." "I know it," cried he, "and what do I care?" How I knew Mr. Crutchley again, by his ready talent of defiance, and disposition to contempt ! I was called aside from him by James. Mr. Crutchley retired, and Mr. Windham quitted his den, and approached me, with a smile of good-humour and satisfaction that made me instantly exclaim, "No exultation, Mr. Windham, no questions; don't ask me what I think of the speech; I can bear no triumph just now." "No, indeed," cried he, very civilly, "I will not, I promise you, and you may depend upon me." He then spoke to James, regretting with much politeness that he had seen so little of him when he was his neighbour in Norfolk, and attributing it to the load of India business he had carried into the country to study. I believe I have mentioned Page 123 that Felbrig, Mr. Windham's seat, is within a few miles of my brother-in-law, Mr. Francis's house at Aylsham. After this, however, ere we knew where we were, we began commenting upon the speech. It was impossible to refuse applause to its able delivery and skilful eloquence; I, too, who so long had been amongst the warmest personal admirers of Mr. Burke, could least of all withhold from him the mite of common justice. In talking over the speech, therefore, while I kept clear of its purpose, I gave to its execution the amplest praise; and I secretly grieved that I held back more blame than I had commendation to bestow. He had the good breeding to accept it just as I offered it, without claiming more, or endeavouring to entangle me in my approbation. He even checked himself, voluntarily, when he was asking me some question of my conversion, by stopping short, and saying, "But, no, it is not fair to press you; I must not do that." "You cannot," cried I, "press me too much, with respect to my admiration of the ability of the speaker; I never more wished to have written short-hand. I must content myself, however, that I have at least a long memory." He regretted very much that I had missed the first opening of the speech, and gave me some account of it, adding, I might judge what I had lost then by what I had heard now. I frankly confessed that the two stories which Mr. Burke had narrated had nearly overpowered me; they were pictures of cruelty so terrible. "But General Caillot," cried he, smiling, "the hero of one of them, you would be tempted to like: he is as mild, as meek, as gentle in his manners--" I saw he was going to say "As your Mr. Hastings;" but I interrupted him hastily, calling out, "Hush! hush! Mr. Windham; would you wish me in future to take to nothing but lions? FURTHER CONVERSATION WITH MR. WINDHAM. We then went into various other particulars of the speech, till Mr. Windham observed that Mr. Hastings was looking up, and, after examining him some time, said he did not like his countenance. I could have told him that he is generally reckoned extremely like himself but after such an observation I would not venture, and only said, "Indeed, he is cruelly altered: it Page 124 was not so he looked when I conceived for him that prepossession I have owned to you." "Altered, is he?" cried he, biting his lips and looking somewhat shocked. "Yes, and who can wonder? Indeed, it is quite affecting to see him sit there to hear such things." "I did not see him," cried he, eagerly "I did not think it right to look at him during the speech, nor from the committeebox; and, therefore, I constantly kept my eyes another way." I -had a great inclination to beg he would recommend a little of the same decency to some of his colleagues, among whom are three or four that even stand on the benches to examine him, during the severest strictures, with opera-glasses. Looking at him again now, myself, I could not see his pale face and haggard eye without fresh concern, nor forbear to exclaim, "Indeed, Mr. Windham, this is a dreadful business!" He seemed a little struck with this exclamation; and, lest it should offend him, I hastened to add, in apology, "You look so little like a bloody-minded prosecutor, that I forget I ought not to say these things to you." "Oh!" cried he, laughing, "we are only prosecutors there--(pointing to the committee-box), we are at play up here." . . . I wished much to know when he was himself to speak, and made sundry inquiries relative to the progress of the several harangues, but all without being comprehended, till at length I cried, "In short, Mr. Windham, I want to know when everybody speaks." He started, and cried with precipitancy, "Do you mean me?" "Yes." "No, I hope not; I hope you have no wants about my miserable speaking?" I Only laughed, and we talked for some time of other things; and then, suddenly, he burst forth with, "But you have really made me a little uneasy by what you dropped just now." "And what was that?" "Something like an intention of hearing me." "Oh, if that depended wholly on myself, I should certainly do it." "No, I hope not! I would not have you here on any account. If you have formed any expectations, it will give me great concern." "Pray don't be uneasy about that; for whatever expectations Page 125 I may have formed, I had much rather have them disappointed." " Ho! ho!--you come, then," cried he, pointedly, "to hear me, by way of soft ground to rest upon, after the hard course you will have been run with these higher-spirited speakers?" . . . He desired me not to fail to come and hear Fox. My chances, I told him, were very uncertain, and Friday was the earliest of them. "He speaks on Thursday," cried he, "and indeed you should hear him." "Thursday is my worst chance of all," I answered, "for it is the Court-day." "And is there no dispensation ? " cried he ; and then, recollecting himself, and looking very archly at Mr. Fox, who was just below us, he added, "No,--true--not for him!" "Not for any body!" cried I; "on a Court-day my attendance is as necessary, and I am dressed out as fine, and almost as stiff, as those heralds are here." I then told him what were my Windsor days, and begged he would not seize one of them to speak himself. "By no means," cried he, quite seriously, "would I have you here!--stay away, and only let me hope for your good wishes." " I shall be quite sincere," cried I, laughing, "and own to you that stay away I shall not, if I can possibly come; but as to my good wishes, I have not, in this case, one to give you!" He heard this with a start that was almost a jump. "What!" he exclaimed, "would you lay me under your judgment without your mercy?--Why this is heavier than any penal statute." He spoke this with an energy that made Mr. Fox look up, to see to whom he addressed his speech: but before I could answer it, poor James, tired of keeping his promised circumspection, advanced his head to join the conversation; and so much was I alarmed lest he should burst forth into some unguarded expression of his vehement hatred to the cause, which could not but have irritated its prosecutors, that the moment I perceived his motion and intention, I abruptly took my leave of Mr. Windham, and surprised poor James into a necessity of following me. Indeed I was now most eager to depart, from a circumstance that made me feel infinitely awkward. Mr. Burke himself was just come forward, to speak to a lady a little below me; Mr. Windham had instantly turned towards me, with a look of congratulation that seemed rejoicing for me, that the orator Page 126 of the day, and of the cause, was approaching,; but I retreated involuntarily back, and shirked meeting his eyes. He perceived in an instant the mistake he was making, and went on with his discourse as if Mr. Burke was out of the Hall. In a minute, however, Mr. Burke himself saw me, and he bowed with the most marked civility of manner; my courtesy was the most ungrateful, distant, and cold ; I could not do otherwise ; so hurt I felt to see him the head of such a cause, so impossible I found it to titter one word of admiration for a performance whose nobleness was so disgraced by its tenour, and so conscious was I the whole time that at such a moment to say nothing must seem almost an affront, that I hardly knew which way to look, or what to do with myself.(267) ' In coming downstairs I met Lord Walsingham and Sir Lucas Pepys. "Well, Miss Burney," cried the first, "what say you to a governor-general of India now?" "Only this," cried I, "that I do not dwell much upon any question till I have heard its answer!" Sir Lucas then attacked me too. All the world against poor Mr. Hastings, though without yet knowing what his materials may be for clearing away these aspersions! Miss FUZILIER LIKELY TO PECONIE MRS, FAIRLY, February.-Her majesty at this time was a little indisposed, and we missed going to Windsor for a fortnight, during which I received visits of inquiry from divers of her ladies--Mrs. Brudenell, bed-chamber woman; Miss Brudenell, her daughter, and a maid of honour elect, would but one of that class please to marry or die; Miss Tryon and Miss Beauclerk, maids of honour, neither of them in a firm way to oblige Miss Brudenell, being nothing approaching to death, though far advanced from marriage; and various others. Miss Brudenell's only present hope is said to be in Miss Fuzilier,(268) who is reported, with what foundation I know not, Page 127 to be likely to become Mrs. Fairly. She is pretty, learned, and accomplished ; yet, from the very little I have seen of her, I should not think she had heart enough to satisfy Mr. Fairly, in whose character the leading trait is the most acute sensibility, However, I have heard he has disclaimed all such intention, with high indignation at the report, as equally injurious to the delicacy both of Miss Fuzilier and himself, so recently after his loss. THE HASTINGS TRIAL AGAIN: MR. FOX IN A RAGE. And now for my third Westminster Hall, which, by the queen's own indulgent order, was with dear Charlott and Sarah. It was also to hear Mr. Fox, and I was very glad to let Mr. Windham see a "dispensation" was attainable, though the cause was accidental, since the queen's cold prevented the Drawing-room.(269) We went early, yet did not get very good places. The managers at this time were all in great wrath at a decision made the night before by the Lords, upon a dispute between them and the counsel for Mr. Hastings, which turned entirely in favour of the latter.(270) When they entered their committee-box, led on as usual by Mr. Burke, they all appeared in the extremest and most angry emotion. When they had caballed together some time, Mr. Windham came up among the Commons, to bow to some ladies of his acquaintance, and then to speak to me ; but he was so agitated and so disconcerted, he could name nothing but their recent provocation from the Lords. He seemed quite enraged, and broke forth with a vehemence I should not much have liked to have excited. They had experienced, he said, in the late decision, the Most injurious treatment that could be offered them: the Lords had resolved upon saving Mr. Hastings, and the chancellor had taken him under the grossest protection. Page 128 "In short," said he, "the whole business is taken out of our hands, and they have all determined to save him." "Have they indeed?" cried I, with Involuntary eagerness. "Yes," answered he, perceiving how little I was shocked for him, "it is now all going your way." I could not pretend to be sorry, and only inquired if Mr. Fox was to speak. "I know not," cried he, hastily, "what is to be done, who will speak, or what will be resolved. Fox is in a rage! Oh, a rage!" "But yet I hope he will speak. I have never heard him." "No? not the other day?" "No; I was then at Windsor." "Oh yes, I remember you told me you were going. You have lost every thing by it! To-day will be nothing, he is all rage! On Tuesday he was great indeed. You should have heard him then. And Burke, You should have heard the conclusion of Burke's speech; 'twas the noblest ever uttered by man!" "So I have been told." "To-day you will hear nothing--know nothing,--there will be no opportunity,- Fox is all fury." I told him he almost frightened me; for he spoke in a tremor himself that was really unpleasant. "Oh!" cried he, looking at me half reproachfully, half goodhumouredly, "Fox's fury is with the Lords--not there!" pointing to Mr. Hastings. I saw by this he entered into my feelings in the midst of his irritability, and that gave me courage to cry out, "I am glad of that at least!: Mr. Fox spoke five hours, and with a violence that did not make me forget what I had heard of his being in such a fury but I shall never give any account of these speeches, as they will all be printed. I shall only say a word of the speakers as far as relates to my own feelings about them, and that briefly will be to say that I adhere to Mr. Burke, whose oratorical powers appear to me far more gentleman-like, scholar-like, and fraught with true genius than those of Mr. Fox. it may be I am prejudiced by old kindnesses of Mr. Burke, and it may be that the countenance of Mr. Fox may have turned me against him, for it struck me to have a boldness in it quite hard and callous. However, it is little matter how much my judgment in this point may err. With you, my dear friends, I have Page 129 nothing further to do than simply to give it ; and even should it be wrong, it will not very essentially injure you in your politics. MRS. CREWE, MR. BURKE, AND MR. WINDHAM. Again, on the fourth time of my attendance at Westminster Hall, honest James was my esquire. We were so late from divers accidents that we did not enter till the same moment with the prisoner. In descending the steps I heard my name exclaimed with surprise, and looking before me, I saw myself recognised by Mrs. Crewe. "Miss Burney," she cried, "who could have thought of seeing you here!" Very obligingly she made me join her immediately, which, as I was with no lady, was a very desirable circumstance; and though her political principles are well known, and, of course, lead her to side with the enemies of Mr. Hastings, she had the good sense to conclude me on the other side, and the delicacy never once to distress me by any discussion of the prosecution. I was much disappointed to find nothing intended for this day's trial but hearing evidence; no speaker was preparing; all the attention was devoted to the witnesses. Mr. Adam, Mr. Dudley Long, and others that I know not, Came from the committee to chat with Mrs. Crewe; but soon after one came not so unknown to me--Mr. Burke; and Mrs. Crewe, seeing him ascend, named him to me, but was herself a little surprised to see it was his purpose to name himself, for he immediately made up to me, and with an air of such frank kindness that, could I have forgot his errand in that Hall, would have made me receive him as formerly, when I was almost fascinated with him. But far other were my sensations. I trembled as he approached me, with conscious change of sentiments, and with a dread of his pressing from me a disapprobation he might resent, but which I knew not how to disguise. "Near-sighted as I am," cried he, "I knew you immediately. I knew you from our box the moment I looked up; yet how long it is, except for an instant here, since I have seen you!" "Yes," I hesitatingly answered, "I live in a monastery now." He said nothing to this. He felt, perhaps, it was meant to express my inaccessibility. Page 130 I inquired after Mrs. Burke. He recounted to me the particulars of his sudden seizure when he spoke last, from the cramp in his stomach, owing to a draught of cold water which he drank in the midst of the heat of his oration. I could not even wear a semblance of being sorry for him on this occasion; and my cold answers made him soon bend down to speak with Mrs. Crewe. I was seated in the next row to her, just above. Mr. Windham was now talking with her. My whole curiosity and desire being to hear him, which had induced me to make a point of coming this time, I was eager to know if my chance was wholly gone. "You are aware," I cried, when he spoke to me, "what brings me here this morning No;" he protested he knew not. Mrs. Crewe, again a little surprised, I believe, at this second opposition acquaintance, began questioning how often I had attended this trial. Mr. Windham, with much warmth of regret, told her very seldom, and that I had lost Mr. Burke on his best day. I then turned to speak to Mr. Burke, that I might not seem listening, for they interspersed various civilities upon my peculiar right to have heard all the great speeches, but Mr. Burke was in so profound a reverie he did not hear me. I wished Mr. Windham had not either, for he called upon him aloud, "Mr. Burke, Miss Burney speaks to you!" He gave me his immediate attention with an air so full of respect that it quite shamed me. "Indeed," I cried, " I had never meant to speak to Mr. Burke again after hearing him in Westminster Hall. I had meant to keep at least that " geographical timidity." I alluded to an expression in his great speech of "geographical morality" which had struck me very much. He laughed heartily, instantly comprehending me, and assured me it was an idea that had occurred to him on the moment he had uttered it, wholly without study. A little general talk followed; and then, one of the lords rising to question some of the evidence, he said he must return to his committee and business,-very flatteringly saying, in quitting his post, "This is the first time I have played truant from the manager's box." However I might be obliged to him, which sincerely I felt, I was yet glad to have him go. My total ill will to all he was about made his conversation merely a pain to me. Page 131 I did not feel the same With regard to Mr. Windham. He is not the prosecutor, and seems endowed with so much liberality and candour that it not Only encourages me to speak to him what I think, but leads me to believe he will one day or other reflect upon joining a party so violent as a stain to the independence of his character. Almost instantly he came forward, to the place Mr. Burke had vacated. "Are you approaching," I cried, "to hear my upbraidings?" "Why--I don't know," cried he, looking half alarmed. "Oh! I give you warning, if you come you must expect them; so my invitation is almost as pleasant as the man's in 'Measure for Measure,' who calls to Master Barnardine, 'Won't you come down to be hanged?'" "But how," cried he, "have I incurred your upbraidings?" " By bringing me here," I answered, "only to disappoint me." "Did I bring you here?" "Yes, by telling me you were to speak to-day." He protested he could never have made such an assertion. I explained myself, reminding him he had told me he was certainly to speak before the recess; and that, therefore, when I was informed this was to be the last day of trial till after the recess, I concluded I should be right, but found myself so utterly wrong as to hear nothing but such evidence as I Could not even understand, because it was so uninteresting I could not even listen to it. "How strangely," he exclaimed, "are we all moulded, that nothing ever in this mortal life, however pleasant in itself, and however desirable from its circumstances, can come to us without alloy-- not even flattery; for here, at this moment, all the high gratification I should feel, and I am well disposed to feel it thoroughly in supposing you could think it worth your while to come hither in order to hear me, is kept down and subdued by the consciousness how much I must disappoint you." "Not at all," cried I; "the worse you speak, the better for my side of the question." He laughed, but confessed the agitation of his spirits was so great in the thought of that speech, whenever he was to make it, that it haunted him in fiery dreams in his sleep. "Sleep!" cried I; "do you ever sleep?" He stared a little, but I added with pretended dryness, "Do any of you that live down there in that prosecutor's den ever sleep in your beds? I should have imagined that, had you Page 132 even attempted it, the anticipating ghost of Mr. Hastings would have appeared to you in the dead of the night, and have drawn your curtains, and glared ghastly in your eyes. I do heartily wish Mr. Tickell would send You that 'Anticipation' at once!" This idea furnished us with sundry images, till, looking down upon Mr. Hastings, with an air a little moved, he said, "I am afraid the most insulting thing we do by him is coming up hither to show ourselves so easy and disengaged, and to enter into conversation with the ladies." "But I hope," cried I, alarmed, "he does not see that." "Why your caps," cried he, "are much in your favour for concealment; they are excellent screens to all but the first row!" I saw him, however, again look at the poor, and, I sincerely believe, much-injured prisoner, and as I saw also he still bore With my open opposition, I could not but again seize a favourable moment for being more serious With him. "Ah, Mr. Windham," I cried, "I have not forgot what dropped from you on the first day of this trial." He looked a little surprised. "You," I continued, "probably have no remembrance of it, for you have been living ever since down there; but I was more touched with what you said then, than with all I have since heard from all the others, and probably than with all I shall hear even from you again when you mount the rostrum." "You conclude," cried he, looking very sharp, "I shall then be better steeled against that fatal candour?" "In fact," cried I, "Mr. Windham, I do really believe your steeling to he factitious; notwithstanding you took pains to assure me your candour was but the deeper malice; and yet I will own, when once I have heard your speech, I have little expectation of ever having the honour of conversing with you again." "And why?" cried- he, starting back "what am I to say that you denounce such a forfeit beforehand?" I could not explain; I left him to imagine; for, should he prove as violent and as personal as the rest, I had no objection to his previously understanding I could have no future pleasure in discoursing with him. "I think, however," I continued, with a laugh, "that since I have settled this future taciturnity, I have a fair right in the meanwhile to say whatever comes uppermost." Page 133 He agreed to this with great approvance. "Molière, you know, in order to obtain a natural opinion of his plays, applied to an old woman: you upon the same principle, to obtain a natural opinion of political matters, should apply to an ignorant one--for you will never, I am sure, gain it down there." He smiled, whether he would or not, but protested this was the severest stricture upon his committee that had ever yet been uttered. MISS BURNEY'S UNBIASED SENTIMENTS. I told him as it was the last time he was likely to hear unbiased sentiments upon this subject, it was right they should be spoken very intelligibly. " And permit me," I said, " to begin with what strikes me the most. Were Mr. Hastings really the culprit he is represented, he would never stand there." "Certainly," cried he, with a candour he could not suppress, "there seems something favourable in that; it has a Pod look; but assure yourself he never expected to see this day." "But would he, if guilty, have waited its chance? Was not all the world before him? Could he not have chosen any other place of residence ?" "Yes--but the shame, the disgrace of a flight?" "What is it all to the shame and disgrace of convicted guilt?" He made no answer. "And now," I continued, "shall I tell you, just in the same simple style, how I have been struck with the speakers and speeches I have yet heard?" He eagerly begged me to go on. "The whole of this public speaking is quite new to me. I was never in the House of Commons. It is all a new creation to me." "And what a creation it is he exclaimed. "how noble, how elevating! and what an inhabitant for it!" I received his compliment with great courtesy, as an encouragement. for me to proceed. I then began upon Mr. Burke; but I must give you a very brief summary of my speech, as it could only be intelligible at full length from your having heard his. I told him that his opening had struck me with the highest admiration of his powers, from the eloquence, the imagination, the fire, the diversity of expression, and the ready flow of language, with which he seemed gifted, in a most superior manner, for any and every purpose to which rhetoric Page 134 could lead. "And when he came to his two narratives," I continued, "whence he related the particulars of those dreadful murders, he interested, he engaged, he at last overpowered me; I felt my cause lost. I Could hardly keep on my seat. My eyes dreaded a single glance towards a man so accused as Mr. Hastings; I wanted to sink on the floor, that they might be saved so painful a sight. I had no hope he could clear himself; not another wish in his favour remained. But When from this narration Mr. Burke proceeded to his own comments and declamation--when the charges of rapacity, cruelty, tyranny were general, and made with all the violence of personal detestation, and continued and aggravated without any further fact or illustration; then there appeared more of study than of truth, more of invective than of justice; and, in short, so little of proof to so much of passion, that in a very short time I began to lift up my head, my seat was no longer uneasy, my eyes were indifferent which way they looked, or what object caught them; and before I was myself aware of the declension of Mr. Burke's powers over my feelings, I found myself a mere spectator in a public place, and looking all around it, with my opera-glass in my hand." His eyes sought the ground on hearing this, and with no other comment than a rather uncomfortable shrug of the shoulders, he expressively and concisely said--"I comprehend you perfectly!" This was a hearing too favourable to stop me; and Mr. Hastings constantly before me was an animation to my spirits which nothing less could have given me, to a manager of such a committee. I next, therefore, began upon Mr. Fox; and I ran through the general matter of his speech, with such observations as had occurred to me in hearing it. "His violence," I said, "had that sort of monotony that seemed to result from its being factitious, and I felt less pardon for that than for any extravagance in Mr. Burke, whose excesses seemed at least to be unaffected, and, if they spoke against his judgment, spared his probity. Mr. Fox appeared to have no such excuse; he looked all good humour and negligent ease the instant before he began a speech of uninterrupted passion and vehemence, and he wore the same careless and disengaged air the very instant he had finished. A display of talents in which the inward man took so little share could have no powers of persuasion to those who saw them in that light and therefore. Page 135 however their brilliancy might be admired, they were useless to their cause, for they left the mind of the hearer in the same state that they found it." After a short vindication of his friends, he said, "You have never heard Pitt? You would like him beyond any other competitor." And then he made his panegyric in very strong terms, allowing him to be equal, ready, splendid, wonderful!--he was in constant astonishment himself at his powers and success;--his youth and inexperience never seemed against him: though he mounted to his present height after and in opposition to such a vortex of splendid abilities, yet, alone and unsupported, he coped with them all! And then, with conscious generosity, he finished a most noble éloge with these words: "Take--you may take--the testimony of an enemy--a very confirmed enemy of Mr. Pitt's!" Not very confirmed, I hope! A man so liberal can harbour no enmity of that dreadful malignancy that sets mitigation at defiance for ever. He then asked me if I had heard Mr. Grey? " No," I answered ; " I can come but seldom, and therefore I reserved myself for to-day." "You really fill me with compunction," he cried. "But if, indeed, I have drawn you into so cruel a waste of your time, the only compensation I can make you will be carefully to keep from you the day when I shall really speak." "No," I answered, "I must hear you; for that is all I now wait for to make up my final opinion." "And does it all rest with me?--'Dreadful responsibility'--as Mr. Hastings powerfully enough expresses himself in his narrative." "And can you allow an expression of Mr. Hastings's to be powerful?--That is not like Mr. Fox, who, in acknowledging some one small thing to be right, in his speech, checked himself for the acknowledgment by hastily saying 'Though I am no great admirer of the genius and abilities of the gentleman at the bar;'--as if he had pronounced a sentence in a parenthesis, between hooks,--so rapidly he flew off to what he could positively censure." " And hooks they were indeed he cried. "Do not inform against me," I continued, "and I will give you a little more of Molière's old woman." He gave me his parole, and looked very curious, Page 136 "Well then,--amongst the things most striking to an unbiased spectator was that action of the orator that led him to look full at the prisoner upon every hard part of the charge. There was no courage in it, since the accused is so situated he must make no answer; and, not being courage, to Molière's old woman it could only seem cruelty!" He quite gave up this point without a defence, except telling me it was from the habit of the House of Commons, as Fox, who chiefly had done this, was a most good-humoured man, and by nothing but habit would have been betrayed into such an error. "And another thing," I cried, "which strikes those ignorant of senatorial licence, is this,--that those perpetual repetitions, from all the speakers, of inveighing against the power, the rapacity, the tyranny, the despotism of the gentleman at the bar, being uttered now, when we see him without any power, without even liberty-con fined to that spot, and the only person in this large assembly who may not leave it when he will--when we see such a contrast to all we hear we think the simplest relation would be sufficient for all purposes of justice, as all that goes beyond plain narrative, instead of sharpening indignation, only calls to mind the greatness of the fall, and raises involuntary commiseration!" "And you wish," he cried, "to hear me? How you add to my difficulties!--for now, instead of thinking of Lords, Commons, bishops, and judges before me, and of the delinquent and his counsel at my side, I shall have every thought and faculty swallowed up in thinking of who is behind me!" This civil speech put an end to Molière's old woman and her comments; and not to have him wonder at her unnecessarily, I said, "Now, then, Mr. Windham, shall I tell you fairly what it is that induced me to say all this to you?--Dr. Johnson!--what I have heard from him of Mr. Windham has been the cause of all this hazardous openness." "'Twas a noble cause," cried he, well pleased, "and noble has been its effect! I loved him, indeed, sincerely. He has left a chasm in my heart-a chasm in the world ! There was in him what I never saw before, what I never shall find again! I lament every moment as lost, that I might have spent in his society, and yet gave to any other." How it delighted me to hear this just praise, thus warmly uttered!--I could speak from this moment upon no other subject. I told him how much it gratified me; and we agreed Page 137 in comparing notes upon the very few opportunities his real remaining friends could now meet with of a similar indulgence, since so little was his intrinsic worth understood, while so deeply all his foibles had been felt, that in general it was merely a matter of pain to hear him even named. How did we then emulate each other in calling to mind all his excellences! "His abilities," cried Mr. Windham, "were gigantic, and always at hand no matter for the subject, he had information ready for everything. He was fertile,--he was universal." My praise of him was of a still more solid kind,--his principles, his piety, his kind heart under all its rough coating: but I need not repeat what I said,--my dear friends know every word. I reminded him of the airings, in which he gave his time with his carriage for the benefit of Dr. Johnson's health. "What an advantage!" he cried, "was all that to myself! I had not merely an admiration, but a tenderness for him,--the more I knew him, the stronger it became. We never disagreed ; even in politics, I found it rather words than things in which we differed." "And if you could so love him," cried I, "knowing him only in a general way, what would you have felt for him had you known him at Streatham?" I then gave him a little history of his manners and way of life, there,--his good humour, his sport, his kindness, his sociability, and all the many excellent qualities that, in the world at large, were by so many means obscured. He was extremely interested in all I told him, and regrettingly said he had only known him in his worst days, when his health was upon its decline, and infirmities were crowding- fast upon him. "Had he lived longer," he cried, "I am satisfied I should have taken to him almost wholly. I should have taken him to my heart! have looked up to him, applied to him, advised with him in all the most essential occurrences of my life! I am sure, too,-- though it is a proud assertion,--he would have liked me, also, better, had we mingled more. I felt a mixed fondness and reverence growing so strong upon me, that I am satisfied the closest union would have followed his longer life." I then mentioned how kindly he had taken his visit to him at Lichfield during a severe illness, "And he left you," I said, "a book ? " Page 138 "Yes," he answered, "and he gave me one, also, just before he died. 'You will look into this Sometimes,' he said, 'and not refuse to remember whence you had it.' "(271) And then he added he had heard him speak of me,--and with so much kindness, that I was forced not to press a recapitulation: yet now I wish I had heard it. just before we broke up, "There Is nothing," he cried, with energy, "for which I look back upon myself with severer discipline than the time I have thrown away in other pursuits, that might else have been devoted to that wonderful man!" He then said he must be gone,--he was one in a committee of the House, and could keep away no longer. BURKE AND SHERIDAN MEET WITH COLD RECEPTIONS. I then again joined in with Mrs. Crewe, who, meantime, had had managers without end to converse with her. But, very soon after, Mr. Burke mounted to the House of Commons(272) again, and took the place left by Mr. Windham. I inquired very much after Mrs. Burke, and we talked of the spectacle, and its fine effect; and I ventured to mention, allusively, some of the digressive parts of the great speech in which I had heard him: but I saw him anxious for speaking more to the point, and as I could not talk to him--the leading prosecutor--with that frankness of opposing sentiments which I used to Mr. Windham, I was anxious only to avoid talking at all; and so brief was my speech, and so long my silences, that, of course, he was soon wearied into a retreat. Had he not acted such a part, with what pleasure should I have exerted myself to lengthen his stay! Yet he went not in wrath: for, before the close, he came yet a third time, to say "I do not pity you for having to sit there so long, for, with you, sitting can now be no punishment." "No," cried I, "I may take rest for a twelvemonth back." His son also came to speak to me; but, not long after, Page 139 Mrs. Crewe called upon me to say, "Miss Burney, Mr. Sheridan begs me to introduce him to you, for he thinks you have forgot him." I did not feel very comfortable in this; the part he acts would take from me all desire for his notice, even were his talents as singular as they are celebrated. Cold, therefore, was my reception of his salutations, though as civil as I could make it. He talked a little over our former meeting at Mrs. Cholmondeley's, and he reminded me of what he had there urged and persuaded with all his might, namely, that I would write a comedy; and he now reproached me for my total disregard of his counsel and opinion. I made little or no answer, for I am always put out by such sort of discourse, especially when entered upon with such abruptness. Recollecting, then, that "Cecilia" had been published since that time, he began a very florid flourish, saying he was in my debt greatly, not only for reproaches about what I had neglected, but for fine speeches about what I had performed. I hastily interrupted him with a fair retort, exclaiming,--"O if fine speeches may now be made, I ought to begin first---but know not where I should end!" I then asked after Mrs. Sheridan, and he soon after left me. Mrs. Crewe was very obligingly solicitous our renewed acquaintance should not drop here; she asked me to name any day for dining with her, or to send to her at any time when I could arrange a visit: but I was obliged to decline it, on the general score of wanting time. In the conclusion of the day's business there was much speaking, and I heard Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke, and several others; but the whole turned extremely in favour of the gentleman at the bar, to the great consternation of the accusers, whose own witnesses gave testimony, most unexpectedly, on the side of Mr. Hastings. We came away very late; my dear James quite delighted with this happy catastrophe. AT WINDSOR AGAIN. March.-In our first journey to Windsor this month Mrs. Schwellenberg was still unable to go, and the party was Miss Planta, Colonel Wellbred, Mr. Fairly, Sir Joseph Banks, and Mr. Turbulent. Page 140 Sir Joseph was so exceedingly shy that we made no sort of acquaintance. If instead of going round the world he had only fallen from the moon, he could not appear less versed in the usual modes of a tea-drinking party. But what, you will say, has a tea-drinking party to do with a botanist, a man of science, a president of the Royal Society? I left him , however, to the charge of Mr. Turbulent, the two colonels becoming, as usual, my joint supporters. And Mr. Turbulent, in revenge, ceased not one moment to watch Colonel Wellbred, nor permitted him to say a word, or to hear an answer, without some most provoking grimace. Fortunately, upon this subject he cannot confuse me; I have not a sentiment about Colonel Wellbred, for or against, that shrinks from examination. To-night, however, my conversation was almost wholly with him. I would not talk with Mr. Turbulent; I could not talk with Sir Joseph Banks - and Mr. Fairly did not talk with me : he had his little son with him; he was grave and thoughtful, and seemed awake to no other pleasure than discoursing with that sweet boy. I believe I have forgotten to mention that Mrs. Gwynn had called upon me one morning, in London, and left me a remarkably fine impression of Mr. Bunbury's "Propagation of a Lie," which I had mentioned when she was at Windsor, with regret at having never seen it. This I had produced here a month ago, to show to our tea-party, and just as it was in the hands of Colonel Wellbred, his majesty entered the room; and, after looking at it a little while, with much entertainment, he took it away to show it to the queen and princesses. I thought it lost; for Colonel Wellbred said he concluded it would be thrown amidst the general hoard of curiosities, which, when once seen, are commonly ever after forgotten, yet which no one has courage to name and to claim. This evening, however, the colonel was successful, and recovered me my print. It is so extremely humorous that I was very glad to receive it, and in return I fetched my last sketches, which Mr. William Locke had most kindly done for me when here last autumn, and indulged Colonel Wellbred with looking at them, charging him at the same time to guard them from a similar accident. I meant to show them myself to my royal mistress, who is all care, caution, and delicacy, to restore to the right owner whatever she receives with a perfect knowledge who the right owner is, Page 141 The second volume of the "Letters" of my reverenced Dr. Johnson was now lent me by her majesty; I found in them very frequent mention of our name, but nothing to alarm in the reading it. DEATH OF MRS. DELANY. April.-I have scarce a memorandum of this fatal month, in which I was bereft of the most revered of friends, and, perhaps, the most perfect of women.(273) I am yet scarce able to settle whether to glide silently and resignedly--as far as I can--past all this melancholy deprivation, or whether to go back once more to the ever-remembered, ever-sacred scene that closed the earthly pilgrimage of my venerable, my sainted friend. I believe I heard the last words she uttered : I cannot learn that she spoke after my reluctant departure. She finished with that cheerful resignation, that lively hope, which always broke forth when this last--awful--but, to her, most happy change seemed approaching. Poor Miss Port and myself were kneeling by her bedside. She had just given me her soft hand; without power to see either of us, she felt and knew us. O, never can I cease to cherish the remembrance of the sweet, benign, holy voice with which she pronounced a blessing upon us both! We kissed her--and, with a smile all beaming--I thought it so--of heaven, she seemed then to have taken leave of all earthly solicitudes. Yet then, even then, short as was her time on earth, the same soft human sensibility filled her for poor human objects. She would not bid us farewell--would not tell us she should speak with us no more-- she only said, as she turned gently away from us, "And now--I'll go to sleep!"--But, O, in what a voice she said it! I felt what the sleep would be; so did poor Miss Port. Poor, sweet, unfortunate girl! what deluges of tears did she shed over me! I promised her in that solemn moment my eternal regard, and she accepted this, my first protestation of any kind made to her, as some solace to her sufferings. Sacred shall I hold it!--sacred to my last hour. I believe, indeed, that angelic being had no other wish equally fervent. How full of days and full of honours was her exit! I should blush at the affliction of my heart in losing her, could I ever Page 142 believe excellence was given us here to love and to revere, yet gladly to relinquish. No, I cannot think it: the deprivation may be a chastisement, but not a joy. We may submit to it with patience; but we cannot have felt it with warmth where we lose it without pain, Outrageously to murmur, or sullenly to refuse consolation--there, indeed, we are rebels against the dispensations of providence--and rebels yet more weak than wicked; for what and whom is it we resist? what and who are we for such resistance ? She bid me--how often did she bid me not grieve to lose her! Yet she said, in my absence, she knew I must, and sweetly regretted how much I must miss her. I teach myself to think of her felicity; and I never dwell upon that without faithfully feeling I would not desire her return. But, in every other channel in which my thoughts and feelings turn, I miss her with so sad a void! She was all that I dearly loved that remained within my reach; she was become the bosom repository of all the livelong day's transactions, reflections, feelings, and wishes. Her own exalted mind was all expanded when we met. I do not think she concealed from me the most secret thought of her heart; and while every word that fell from her spoke wisdom, piety, and instruction, her manner had an endearment, her spirits a native gaiety, and her smile, to those she loved, a tenderness so animated. Blessed spirit! sweet, fair, and beneficent on earth!--O, gently mayest thou now be at rest in that last home to which fearfully I look forward, yet not hopeless; never that--and sometimes with fullest, fairest, sublimest expectations! If to her it be given to plead for those she left, I shall not be forgotten in her prayer. Rest to her sweet soul! rest and everlasting peace to her gentle spirit! I saw my poor lovely Miss Port twice in every day, when in town, till after the last holy rites had been performed. I had no peace away from her; I thought myself fulfilling a wish of that sweet departed saint, in consigning all the time I had at my own disposal to solacing and advising with her beloved niece, who received this little offering with a sweetness that once again twined her round my heart. . . . Poor Mrs. Astley, the worthy humble friend, rather than servant, of the most excellent departed, was the person whom, next to the niece, I most pitied. She was every way to be lamented: unfit for any other service, but unprovided for in this, by the utter and most regretted inability of her much Page 143 attached mistress, who frequently told me that leaving poor Astley unsettled hung heavy on her mind. My dearest friends know, the success I had in venturing to represent her worth and situation to my royal mistress. In the moment when she came to my room to announce his majesty's gracious intention to pension Mrs. Astley here as housekeeper to the same house, I really could scarce withhold myself from falling prostrate at her feet : I never felt such a burst of gratitude but where I had no ceremonials to repress it. Joseph, too, the faithful footman, I was most anxious to secure in some good service-- and I related my wishes for him to General Cary, who procured for him a place with his daughter, Lady Amherst. I forget if I have ever read you the sweet words that accompanied to me the kind legacies left me by my honoured friend. I believe not. They were ordered to be sent me with the portrait of Sacharissa, and two medallions of their majesties: they were originally written to accompany the legacy to the Bishop of Worcester, Dr. Hurd, as you may perceive by the style, but it was desired they might also be copied:-- "I take this liberty, that my much esteemed and respected friend may sometimes recollect a person who was so sensible of the honour of her friendship and who delighted so much in her conversation and works." Need I--O, I am sure I need not say with what tender, grateful, sorrowing joy I received these sweet pledges of her invaluable regard! To these, by another codicil, was added the choice of one of her mosaic flowers. And verbally, on the night but one before she died, she desired I might have her fine quarto edition of Shakespeare, sweetly saying she had never received so much pleasure from him in any other way as through my reading. THE HASTINGS TRIAL AND MR. WINDHAM AGAIN. The part of this month in which my Susanna was in town I kept no journal at all. And I have now nothing to add but to copy those memorandums I made of the trial on the day I went to Westminster Hall with my two friends,(274) previously to Page 144 the deep calamity on which I have dwelt. They told me they could not hear what Mr. Windham said; and there is a spirit in his discourse more worth their hearing than any other thing I have now to write. You may remember his coming straight from the managers, in their first procession to their box, and beginning at once a most animated attack--scarcely waiting first to say "How do!"--before he exclaimed "I have a great quarrel with you--I am come now purposely to quarrel with you--you have done me mischief irreparable--you have ruined me!" "Have I?" "Yes: and not only with what passed here, even setting that aside, though there was mischief enough here; but you have quite undone me since!" I begged him to let me understand how. "I will," he cried. "When the trial broke up for the recess I went into the country, purposing to give my whole time to study and business; but, most unfortunately, I had just sent for a new set of 'Evelina;' and intending only to look at it, I was so cruelly caught that I could not let it out of my hands, and have been living with nothing but the Branghtons ever since." I could not but laugh, though on this subject 'tis always awkwardly. "There was no parting with it," he continued. "I could not shake it off from me a moment!--see, then, every way, what mischief you have done me!" He ran on to this purpose much longer, with great rapidity, and then, suddenly, stopping, again said, "But I have yet another quarrel with you, and one you must answer. How comes it that the moment you have attached us to the hero and the heroine--the instant you have made us cling to them so that there is no getting disengaged--twined, twisted, twirled them round our very heart-strings--how is it that then you make them undergo such persecutions? There is really no enduring their distresses, their Suspenses, their perplexities. Why are you so cruel to all around--to them and their readers?" I longed to say--Do you object to a persecution?--but I know he spells it prosecution. I could make no answer: I never can. Talking over one's own writings seems to me always ludicrous, because it cannot be impartially, either by author or commentator; one feeling, Page 145 the other fearing, too much for strict truth and unaffected candour. When we found the subject quite hopeless as to discussion, he changed it, and said "I have lately seen some friends of yours, and I assure you I gave you an excellent character to them: I told them you were firm, fixed, and impenetrable to all conviction." An excellent character, indeed! He meant to Mr. Francis and Charlotte. Then he talked a little of the business of the day and he told me that Mr. Anstruther was to speak. "I was sure of it," I cried,, "by his manner when he entered the managers' box. I shall know when you are to speak, Mr. Windham, before I hear you.," He shrugged his shoulders a little uncomfortably. I asked him to name to me the various managers. He did ; adding, "Do you not like to sit here, where you can look down upon the several combatants before the battle?" When he named Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor, I particularly desired he might be pointed out to me, telling him I had long wished to see him, from the companion given to him in one of the "Probationary Odes," where they have coupled him with my dear father, most impertinently and unwarrantably. "That, indeed," he cried, "is a licentiousness in the press quite intolerable--to attack and involve private characters in their public lampoons! To Dr. Burney they could have no right; but Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor is fair game enough, and likes that or any other way whatever of obtaining notice. You know what Johnson said to Boswell of preserving fame?" "No." "There were but two ways," he told him, "of preserving; one was by sugar, the other by salt. 'Now,' says he, 'as the sweet way, Bozzy, you are but little likely to attain, I would have you plunge into vinegar, and get fairly pickled at once.' And such has been the plan of Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor. With the sweet he had, indeed, little chance, so he soused into the other, head over ears." We then united forces in repeating passages from various of the "Probationary Odes," and talking over various of the managers, till Mr. Anstruther was preparing to speak, and Mr. Windham went to his cell. I am sure you will remember that Mr. Burke came also, Page 146 and the panic with which I saw him, doubled by my fear lest he should see that panic. When the speech was over, and evidence was filling up the day's business, Mr. Windham returned. Some time after, but I have forgotten how, we were agreeing in thinking suspense, and all obscurity, in expectation or in opinion, almost the thing's most trying to bear in this mortal life, especially where they lead to some evil construction. "But then," cried he, "on the other hand, there is nothing so pleasant as clearing away a disagreeable prejudice; nothing SO exhilarating as the dispersion of a black mist, and seeing all that had been black and gloomy turn out bright and fair." "That, Sir," cried I, "is precisely what I expect from thence," pointing to the prisoner. What a look he gave me, yet he laughed irresistibly. "However," I continued, "I have been putting my expectations from your speech to a kind of test." "And how, for heaven's sake?" "Why, I have been reading--running over, rather--a set of speeches, in which almost the whole House made a part, upon the India bill ; and in looking over those I saw not one that had not in it something positively and pointedly personal, except Mr. Windham's." "O, that was a mere accident." "But it was just the accident I expected from Mr. Windham. I do not mean that there was invective in all the others, for in some there was panegyric--plenty! but that panegyric was always so directed as to convey more of severe censure to one party than of real praise to the other. Yours was all to the business, and hence I infer you will deal just so by Mr. Hastings." "I believe," cried he, looking at me very sharp, "you only want to praise me down. You know what it is to skate a man down?" "No, indeed." "Why, to skate a man down is a very favourite diversion among a certain race Of wags. It is only to praise, and extol, and stimulate him to double and treble exertion and effort, till, in order to show his desert of such panegyric, the poor dupe makes so many turnings and windings, and describes circle after circle with such hazardous dexterity, that, at last, down he drops in the midst of his flourishes, to his own eternal disgrace, and their entire content." page 147 I gave myself no vindication from this charge but a laugh; and we returned to discuss speeches and speakers, and I expressed again my extreme repugnance against all personality in these public harangues, except in simply stating facts. " What say you, then," cried he, " to Pitt?" He then repeated a warm and animated praise of his powers and his eloquence, but finished with this censure: "He takes not," cried he, "the grand path suited to his post as prime minister, for he is personal beyond all men ; pointed, sarcastic, cutting ; and it is in him peculiarly unbecoming. The minister should be always conciliating; the attack, the probe, the invective, belong to the assailant." Then he instanced Lord North, and said much more on these political matters and maxims than I can possibly write, or could at the time do more than hear; for, as I told him, I not only am no politician, but have no ambition to become one, thinking it by no means a female business. "THE QUEEN IS so KIND." When he went to the managers' box, Mr. Burke again took his place, but he held it a very short time, though he was in high good humour and civility. The involuntary coldness that results from internal disapprobation must, I am sure, have been seen, so thoroughly was it felt. I can only talk on this matter with Mr. Windham, who, knowing my opposite principles, expects to hear them, and gives them the fairest play by his good humour, candour, and politeness. But there is not one other manager with whom I could venture such openness. That Mr. Windham takes it all in good part is certainly amongst the things he makes plainest, for again, after Mr. Burke's return to the den, he came back. "I am happy," cried I, "to find you have not betrayed me." "Oh, no; I would not for the world." "I am quite satisfied you have kept my counsel; for Mr. Burke has been with me twice, and speaking with a good humour I could not else have expected from him. He comes to tell me that he never pities me for sitting here, whatever is going forward, as the sitting must be rest; and, indeed, it seems as if my coming hither was as much to rest my frame as to exercise my mind." Page 148 "That's a very good idea, but I do not like to realize it ; I do not like to think of you and fatigue together. Is it so? Do you really want rest?" "O, no." "O, I am well aware yours is not a mind to turn complainer but yet I fear, and not for your rest only, but your time. How is that; have you it, as you Ought, at your own disposal?" "Why not quite," cried I, laughing. Good heaven! what a question, in a situation like mine! "Well, that is a thing I cannot bear to think of--that you should want time." "But the queen," cried I, is so kind." "That may be," interrupted he, "and I am very glad of it but still, time--and to you!" "Yet, after all, in the whole, I have a good deal, though always Uncertain. for, if sometimes I have not two minutes when I expect two hours, at other times I have two hours where I expected only two minutes." "All that is nothing, if you have them not with certainty. Two hours are of no more value than two minutes, if you have them not at undoubted command." Again I answered, "The queen is so kind;" determined to sound that sentence well and audibly into republican ears. "Well, well," cried he, "that may be some compensation to you, but to us, to all others, what compensation is there for depriving you of time?" "Mrs. Locke, here," cried I, "always wishes time could be bought, because there are so many who have more than they know what to do with, that those who have less might be supplied very reasonably." "'Tis an exceeding good idea," cried he, "and I am sure, if it could be purchased, it ought to be given to YOU by act of parliament, as a public donation and tribute." There was a fine flourish! PERSONAL RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN WINDHAM AND HASTINGS. A little after, while we were observing Mr. Hastings, Mr. Windham exclaimed, "He's looking up; I believe he is looking for you." I turned hastily away, fairly saying, "I hope not." Page 149 "Yes, he is; he seems as if he wanted to bow to you." I shrank back. "No, he looks off; he thinks you in too bad company!" "Ah, Mr. Windham," cried I, "you should not be so hardhearted towards him, whoever else may; and I could tell you, and I will tell you if you please, a very forcible reason." He assented. "You must know, then, that people there are in this world who scruple not to assert that there is a very strong personal resemblance between Mr. Windham and Mr. Hastings; nay, in the profile, I see it myself at this moment and therefore ought not you to be a little softer than the rest, if merely in sympathy?" He laughed very heartily; and owned he had heard of the resemblance before. "I could take him extremely well," I cried, "for your uncle." "No, no; if he looks like my elder brother, I aspire at no more." "No, no; he is more like your uncle; he has just that air; he seems just of that time of life. Can You then be so unnatural as to prosecute him with this eagerness?" And then, once again, I ventured to give him a little touch of Molière's old woman, lest he should forget that good and honest dame; and I told him there was one thing she particularly objected to in all the speeches that had yet been made, and hoped his speech would be exempt from. He inquired what that was. "Why, she says she does not like to hear every orator compliment another; every fresh speaker say, he leaves to the superior ability of his successor the prosecution of the business." "O, no," cried he, very readily, "I detest all that sort of adulation. I hold it in the utmost contempt." "And, indeed, it will be time to avoid it when your turn comes, for I have heard it in no less than four speeches already." And then he offered his assistance about servants and carriages, and we all came away, our different routes; but my Fredy and Susan must remember my meeting with Mr. Hastings in coming out, and his calling after me, and saying, with a very comic sort of politeness, "I must come here to have the pleasure of seeing Miss Burney, for I see her nowhere else." What a strange incident would have been formed had this rencontre happened thus if I had accepted Mr. Windham's offered services ! I am most glad I had not ; I should have felt myself a conspirator, to have been so met by Mr. Hastings. Page 150 DEATH OF YOUNG LADY MULGRAVE. May.-On the 17th of this month Miss Port bade her sad reluctant adieu to London. I gave what time I could command from Miss Port's departure to my excellent and maternal Mrs. Ord, who supported herself with unabating fortitude and resignation. But a new calamity affected her much, and affected me greatly also, though neither she nor I were more than distant spectators in comparison with the nearer mourners; the amiable and lovely Lady Mulgrave gave a child to her lord, and died, in the first dawn of youthful beauty and sweetness, exactly a year after she became his wife. 'Twas, indeed, a tremendous blow. It was all our wonder that Lord Mulgrave kept his senses, as he had not been famed for patience or piety; but I believe he was benignly inspired with both, from his deep admiration of their excellence in his lovely wife. AGAIN AT WINDSOR. I must mention a laughable enough circumstance. Her majesty inquired of me if I had ever met with- Lady Hawke? "Oh yes," I cried, "and Lady Say and Sele too." " She has just desired permission to send me a novel of her own Writing," answered her majesty. "I hope," cried I, "'tis not the 'Mausoleum of Julia!'" But yes, it proved no less ! and this she has now published and sends about. You must remember Lady Say and Sele's quotation from it.(275) Her majesty was so gracious as to lend it me, for I had some curiosity to read it. It is all of a piece: all love, love, love, unmixed and unadulterated with any more worldly materials. I read also the second volume of the "Paston Letters," and found their character the same as in the first, and therefore read them with curiosity and entertainment. The greater part of the month was spent, alas! at Windsor, with what a dreary vacuity of heart and of pleasure I need not say. The only period of it in which my spirits could be commanded to revive was during two of the excursions in which Mr. Fairly was of the party; and the sight of him, calm, mild, nay cheerful, under such superior sorrows-- --struck me with that sort of edifying admiration that led me, perforce, to the best Page 151 exertion in my power for the conquest of my deep depression. If I did this from conscience in private, from a sense of obligation to him in public I reiterated my efforts, as I received from him all the condoling softness and attention he could possibly have bestowed upon me had my affliction been equal or even greater than his own. ANOTHER MEETING WITH MR. CRUTCHLEY. On one of the Egham race days the queen sent Miss Planta and me on the course, in one of the royal coaches, with Lord Templeton and Mr. Charles Fairly,(276) for our beaux. Lady Templeton was then at the Lodge, and I had the honour of two or three conferences with er during her stay. On the course, we were espied by Mr. Crutchley, who instantly devoted himself to my service for the morning--taking care of our places, naming jockeys, horses, bets, plates, etc., and talking between times of Streatham and all the Streathamites. We were both, I believe, very glad of this discourse. He pointed out to me where his house stood, in a fine park, within sight of the race-ground, and proposed introducing me to his sister, who was his housekeeper, and asking me if, through her invitation, I would come to Sunning Hill park. I assured him I lived so completely in a monastery that I could make no new acquaintance. He then said he expected soon Susan and Sophy Thrale on a visit to his sister, and he presumed I would not refuse coming to see them. I truly answered I should rejoice to do it if in my power, but that most probably I must content myself with meeting them on the Terrace. He promised to bring them there with his sister, though he had given up that walk these five years. It will give me indeed great pleasure to see them again. MR. TURBULENT'S TROUBLESOME PLEASANTRIES. My two young beaux Stayed dinner with us, and I afterwards strolled upon the lawn with them till tea-time. I could not go on the Terrace, nor persuade them to go on by themselves. We backed as the royal party returned home; and when they had all entered the house, Colonel Wellbred, who had stood aloof, quitted the train to join our little society. "Miss Page 152 Burney," he cried, "I think I know which horse you betted upon! Cordelia!" "For the name's sake you think it," I cried; and he began some questions and comments upon the races, when suddenly the window of the tea-room opened, and the voice of Mr. Turbulent, with a most sarcastic tone, called out, "I hope Miss Burney and Colonel Wellbred are well!" We could neither Of us keep a profound gravity, though really he deserved it from us both. I turned from the Colonel, and said I was coming directly to the tea-room. Colonel Wellbred would have detained me to finish Our race discourse, for he had shut the window when he had made his speech, but I said it was time to go in. "Oh no," cried he, laughing a little, "Mr. Turbulent only wants his own tea, and he does not deserve it for this!" In, however, I went, and Colonel Manners took the famous chair the instant I was seated. We all began race talk, but Mr. Turbulent, approaching very significantly, said, "Do you want a chair On the other side, ma'am? Shall I tell the colonel-to bring one?" "No, indeed cried I, half seriously, lest he should do it. . . . Colonel Wellbred, not knowing what had passed, came to that same other side, and renewed his conversation. In the midst of all this Mr. Turbulent hastily advanced with a chair, saying, "Colonel Wellbred, I cannot bear to see you standing so long." I found it impossible not to laugh under My hat, though I really wished to bid him stand in a corner for a naughty boy. The colonel, I suppose, laughed too, whether he would or not, for I heard no answer. However, he took the chair, and finding me wholly unembarrassed by this polissonnerie, though not wholly unprovoked by it, he renewed his discourse, and kept his seat till the party, very late, broke up; but Colonel Manners, who knew not what to make of all this, exclaimed, "Why, ma'am, you cannot keep Mr. Turbulent in much order." June.-Mrs. Schwellenberg came to Windsor with us after the birthday, for the rest of the summer. Mr. Turbulent took a formal leave of me at the same time, as his wife now came to settle at Windsor, and he ceased to belong to our party. He only comes to the princesses at stated hours, and then returns to his own home. He gave me many serious thanks for the time passed with me, spoke in flourishing Page 153 terms of its contrast to former times, and vowed no compensation could ever be made him for the hours he had thrown away by compulsion on "The Oyster."(277) His behaviour altogether was very well--here and there a little eccentric, but, in the main, merely good-humoured and high-spirited. COLONEL FAIRLY AND SECOND ATTACHMENTS. I am persuaded there is no manner of truth in the report relative to Mr. Fairly and Miss Fuzilier, for he led me into a long conversation with him one evening when the party was large, and all were otherwise engaged, upon subjects of this nature, in the course of which he asked me if I thought any second attachment could either be as strong or as happy as a first. I was extremely surprised by the question, and quite unprepared how to answer it, as I knew not with what feelings or intentions I might war by any unwary opinions. I did little, therefore, but evade and listen, though he kept up the discourse in a very animated manner, till the party all broke up. Had I spoken without any consideration but what was general and genuine, I should have told him that my idea was simply this, that where a first blessing was withdrawn by providence, not lost by misconduct, it seemed to me most consonant to reason, nature, and mortal life, to accept what could come second, in this as in all other deprivations. Is it not a species of submission to the divine will to make ourselves as happy as we can in what is left us to obtain, where bereft of what we had sought? My own conflict for content in a life totally adverse to my own inclinations, is all built on this principle, and when it succeeds, to this owes its success. I presumed not, however, to talk in this way to Mr. Fairly, for I am wholly ignorant in what manner or to what degree his first attachment may have rivetted his affections; but by the whole of what passed it seemed to me very evident that he was not merely entirely without any engagement, but entirely at this time without any plan or scheme of forming any; and probably he never may. (257) "Selections from the State Papers preserved in the Foreign Department of the Government of India, 1772-1785," Edited by G. W. Forrest, VOL i. P, 178. (258) "Warren Hastings," by Sir Alfred Lyall, p. 54. (259) Selections from State Papers," vol. i. p. xlviii. (260) In his defence at the bar of the House of Commons, (Feb. 4th, 1788) Sir Elijah Impey attempted to justify his conduct by precedent, but the single precedent on which he relied does not prove much in his favour. A Hindoo, named Radachund Metre, was condemned to death for forgery in 1765, but was pardoned on this very ground, that capital punishment for such a crime was unheard of in India. (261) Speech on Mr. Fox's East India Bill, Dec. 1st, 1783, (262) Fanny's brother, the scholar. He was, at this time, master of a school at Hammersmith-ED. (263) Windham had introduced and carried through the House of Commons the charge respecting Fyzoolla Khan, the Nawab of Rampore; but this charge, with many others of the original articles of impeachment, was not proceeded upon at the trial. Fyzoolla Khan was one of the Rohilla chiefs, who, more fortunate than the rest, had been permitted by treaty, after the conquest of Rohilcund in 17 74, to retain possession of Rampore as a vassal of the Vizier of Oude. By this treaty the Nawab of Rampore was empowered to maintain an army of 5,000 horse and foot in all and in return he bound himself to place from 2,000 to 3,000 troops at the disposal of the Vizier whenever that assistance might be required. In November, 1780, the Vizier, or rather, Hastings, speaking by the mouth of the Vizier, called upon Fyzoolla Khan to furnish forthwith a contingent of 5,000 horse. The unhappy Nawab offered all the assistance in his power, but not only Was the demand unwarranted by the terms of the treaty, but the number of horse required was far greater than he had the means to furnish. Thereupon Mr. Hastings gave permission to the Vizier to dispossess his vassal of his dominions. This iniquitous scheme, however, was never carried out, and in 1782, Fyzoolla Khan made his peace with the Governor-General, and procured his own future exemption from military service, by payment of a large sum of money.-ED. (264) Mr. Hastings's enemy was Mr. afterwards Sir Philip Francis, by some people supposed to have been the author of "Junius's Letters." The best friend of Mr. Hastings here alluded to was Clement Francis, Esq. of Aylsham, in Norfolk, who married Charlotte, fourth daughter of Dr. Burney. [Francis, though an active supporter of the impeachment, was not one of the "managers." He had been nominated to the committee by Burke, but rejected by the House, on the ground of his well-known animosity to Hastings.-ED.) (265) After all, Impey escaped impeachment. In December, 1787, Sir Gilbert Elliot, one of the managers of Hastings' impeachment, brought before the House of Commons six charges against Impey, of which the first, and most serious, related to the death of Nuncomar. The charges were referred to a committee, before which Impey made his defence, February 4, 1788. On May 9, a division was taken on the first charge, and showed a majority of eighteen in favour of Impey. The subject was resumed, May 27, and finally disposed of by the rejection of sir Gilbert Elliot's motion without a division-ED. (266) Saturday, February 16, 1788.-ED. (267) Macaulay attributes perhaps too exclusively to Court influence Fanny's prepossession in favour of Hastings. It should be remembered that her family and many of her friends were, equally with herself, partisans of Hastings, to whom, moreover, she had been first introduced by a much valued friend, Mr. Cambridge (see ante, vol. i., P. 326).-ED. (268) "Miss Fuzilier" is the name given in the "Diary" to Miss Charlotte Margaret Gunning, daughter of Sir Robert Gunning. She married Colonel Digby ("Mr. Fairly") in 1790.-ED. (269) This would seem to fix the date as Thursday, February 21, Thursday being mentioned by Fanny as the Court-day (see ante, p. 125). According, however, to Debrett's "History of the Trial," Fox spoke on the charge relating to Cheyt Sing on Friday, February 22, the first day of the Court's sitting since the preceding Tuesday.-ED. ' (270) The managers had desired that each charge should be taken separately, and replied to, before proceeding to the next. Hastings's counsel, on the other hand, demanded that all the charges should be presented before the defence was opened. The Lords, by a large majority, decided against the managers.-ED. (271) Windham relates that when he called upon Dr. Johnson, six days before his death, Johnson put into his hands a copy of the New Testament, saying "Extremum hoc mumus morientis habeto." See the extracts from Windham's journal in Croker's "Boswell," v., 326. In a codicil to Johnson's will, dated Dec. 9, 1784, we find, among other bequests of books, "to Mr. Windham, Poete Greci Henrici per Henriculum Stephanum."-ED. (272) i.e. to the benches assigned to the Commons in Westminster Hall. These immediately adjoined the chamberlain's box in which Miss Burney was seated.-ED. (273) Mrs. Delany died on the 15th of April, 1788.-ED. (274) Her sister Susan and Mrs. Locke. The day referred to must have been Friday, April 11th, on which day Mr. Anstruther spoke on the charge relating to Cheyt Sing.-ED. (275) See ante, vol. 1, p. 220.-ED. (276) The young son of Colonel Digby.-ED. (277) Mrs. Haggerdorn, Fanny's predecessor in office. See ante, p. 26.-ED. Page 154 SECTION 13 (1788.) ROYAL VISIT TO CHELTENHAM. (Since her establishment at Court we have not yet found Fanny so content with her surroundings as she shows herself in the following section of the " Diary." The comparative quiet of country life at Cheltenham was far more to her taste than the tiresome splendours of Windsor and St. James's. She had still, it is true, her official duties to perform : it was Court life still, but Court life en déshabille. But her time was otherwise more at her own disposal, and, above all things, the absence of "Cerbera," as she nicknamed the amiable Mrs. Schwellenberg and the presence of Colonel Digby, contributed to restore to her harassed mind that tranquillity which is so pleasantly apparent in the following pages. In the frequent society of Colonel Digby Fanny seems to have found an enjoyment peculiarly adapted to her reserved and sensitive disposition. The colonel was almost equally retiring and sensitive with herself, and his natural seriousness was deepened by sorrow for the recent loss of his wife. A similarity of tastes, as well as (in some respects) of disposition, drew him continually to Fanny's tea-table, and the gentleness of his manners, the refined and intellectual character of his conversation, so unlike the Court gossip to which she was usually condemned to remain a patient listener, caused her more and more to welcome his visits and to regret his departure. "How unexpected an indulgence," she writes, "a luxury, I may say, to me, are these evenings now becoming!" The colonel reads to her- -poetry, love-letters, even sermons, and while she listens to such reading, and such a reader, her work goes on with an alacrity that renders it all pleasure. The friendship which grew up between them was evidently, at least on the part of Fanny, of a more than ordinarily tender description. Whether, had circumstances permitted, it might have ripened into a feeling yet more tender, must remain a matter of speculation. Circumstances did not permit, and in after years both married elsewhere.-ED.] Page 155 THE ROYAL PARTY AND THEIR SUITE. July.-Early in this month the king's indisposition occasioned the plan of his going to Cheltenham, to try the effect of the waters drank upon the spot. It was settled that the party should be the smallest that was possible, as his majesty was to inhabit the house of Lord Fauconberg, vacated for that purpose, which was very small. He resolved upon only taking his equerry in waiting and pages, etc. Lord Courtown, his treasurer of the household, was already at Cheltenham, and therefore at hand to attend. The queen agreed to carry her lady of the bedchamber in waiting, with Miss Planta and F. B., and none others but wardrobe-women for herself and the princesses. Mr. Fairly was here almost all the month previously to our departure. At first it was concluded he and Colonel Gwynn, the equerry in waiting, were to belong wholly to the same table with Miss Planta and me, and Mr. Fairly threatened repeatedly how well we should all know one another, and how well he would study and know us all au fond. But before we set out the plan was all changed, for the king determined to throw aside all state, and make the two gentlemen dine at his own table. "We shall have, therefore," said Mr. Fairly, with a very civil regret, "no tea-meetings at Cheltenham." This, however, was an opening- to me of time and leisure such as I had never yet enjoyed. Now, my dearest friends, I open an account which promises at least all the charms of novelty, and which, if it fulfils its promise, will make this month rather an episode than a continuation of my prosaic performance. So now for yesterday, Saturday, July 12. We were all up at five o'clock; and the noise and confusion reigning through the house, and resounding all around it, from the quantities of people stirring, boxes nailing, horses neighing, and dogs barking, was tremendous. I must now tell you the party:--Their majesties; the princesses Royal, Augusta, and Elizabeth; Lady Weymouth, Mr. Fairly, Colonel Gwynn, Miss Planta, and a person you have sometimes met; pages for king, queen, and princesses, ward- Page 156 robe-women for ditto, and footmen for all. A smaller party for a royal excursion cannot well be imagined. How we shall all manage heaven knows. Miss Planta and myself are allowed no maid; the house would not hold one. The royal party set off first, to stop and breakfast at Lord Harcourt's at Nuneham. You will easily believe Miss Planta and myself were not much discomfited in having orders to proceed straight forward. You know we have been at Nuneham! Mrs. Sandys, the queen's wardrobe-woman, and Miss Macentomb, the princesses', accompanied us. At Henley-on-Thames, at an inn beautifully situated, we stopped to breakfast, and at Oxford to take a sort of half dinner. LOYALTY NOT DAMPED BY THE RAIN. The crowd gathered together upon the road, waiting for the king and queen to pass, was immense, and almost unbroken from Oxford to Cheltenham. Every town and village within twenty miles seemed to have been deserted, to supply all the pathways with groups of anxious spectators. Yet, though so numerus, so quiet were they, and so new to the practices of a hackneyed mob, that their curiosity never induced them to venture within some yards of the royal carriage, and their satisfaction never broke forth into tumult and acclamation. In truth, I believe they never were aware of the moment in which their eagerness met its gratification. Their majesties travelled wholly without guards or state; and I am convinced, from the time we advanced beyond Oxford, they were taken only for their own attendants. All the towns through which we passed were filled with people, as closely fastened one to another as they appear in the pit of the playhouse. Every town seemed all face; and all the way upon the road we rarely proceeded five miles without encountering a band of most horrid fiddlers, scraping "God save the king" with all their might, out of tune, out of time, and all in the rain; for, most unfortunately, there were continual showers falling all the day. This was really a subject for serious regret, such numbers of men, women, and children being severely sufferers; yet standing it all through with such patient loyalty, that I am persuaded not even a hail or thunder storm would have dispersed them. The country, for the most part, that we traversed, was ex- Page 157 tremely pretty; and, as we advanced nearer to our place Of destination, it became quite beautiful. ARRIVAL AT FAUCONBERG HALL. When we arrived at Cheltenham, which is almost all one street, extremely long, clean and well paved, we had to turn out of the public way about a quarter of a mile, to proceed to Fauconberg Hall, which my Lord Fauconberg has lent for the king's use during his stay at this place. it is, indeed, situated on a most sweet spot, surrounded with lofty hills beautifully variegated, and bounded, for the principal object, with the hills of Malvern, Which, here barren, and there cultivated, here all chalk, and there all verdure, reminded me of How hill, and gave Me an immediate sensation of reflected as well as of visual pleasure, from giving to my new habitation some resemblance of NorbUry park. When we had mounted the gradual ascent on which the house stands, the crowd all around it was as one head! We stopped within twenty yards of the door, uncertain how to proceed. All the royals were at the windows; and to pass this multitude--to wade through it, rather,--was a most disagreeable operation. However, we had no choice: we therefore got out, and, leaving the wardrobe-women to find the way to the back-door, Miss Planta and I glided on to the front one, where we saw the two gentlemen and where, as soon as we got up the steps, we encountered the king. He inquired most graciously concerning our journey; and Lady Weymouth came down-stairs to summon me to the queen, who was in excellent spirits, and said she would show me her room. "This, ma'am!" cried I, as I entered it--"is this little room for your majesty?" "O stay," cried she, laughing, "till you see your own before you call it 'little'." Soon after, she sent me upstairs for that purpose ; and then, to be sure, I began to think less diminutively of that I had just quitted. Mine, with one window, has just space to crowd in a bed, a chest of drawers, and three small chairs. The prospect from the window, is extremely pretty, and all IS new and clean. So I doubt not being very comfortable, as I am senza Cerbera,(278)--though having no maid is a real evil to Page 158 one so little her own mistress as myself. I little wanted the fagging of my own clothes and dressing, to add to my daily fatigues. I began a little unpacking and was called to dinner. Columb, happily, is allowed me, and he will be very useful, I am sure. Miss alone dined with me, and we are to be companions constant at all meals, and t`ete-`a-t`ete, during this sejour. She is friendly and well disposed, and I am perfectly content; and the more, as I know she will not take up my leisure Unnecessarily, for she finds sauntering in the open air very serviceable to her health, and she has determined to make that her chief occupation. Here, therefore, whenever I am not in attendance, or at meals, I expect the singular comfort of having my time wholly unmolested, and at my own disposal. THE TEA-TABLE DIFFICULTY. A little parlour, which formerly had belonged to Lord Fauconberg's housekeeper, is now called mine, and here Miss Planta and myself are to breakfast and dine. But for tea we formed a new plan: as Mr. Fairly had himself told me he understood there would be no tea-table at Cheltenham, I determined to stand upon no ceremony with Colonel Gwynn, but fairly and at once take and appropriate my afternoons to my own inclinations. To prevent, therefore, any surprise or alteration, we settled to have our tea upstairs. But then a difficulty arose as to where ? We had each equally small bed-rooms, and no dressing-room; but, at length, we fixed on the passage, near a window looking over Malvern hills and much beautiful country. This being arranged, we went mutually on with our unpackings, till we were both too thirsty to work longer. Having no maid to send, and no bell to ring for my man, I then made out my way downstairs, to give Columb directions for our teaequipage. After two or three mistakes, of peering into royal rooms, I at length got safe to my little parlour, but still was at a loss where to find Columb; and while parading in and out, in hopes of meeting with some assistant, I heard my name inquired for from the front door. I looked out, and saw Mrs. Tracy, senior bedchamber-woman to the queen. She is at Cheltenham for her health, and came to pay her duty in inquiries, and so forth. Page 159 I conducted her to my little store-room, for such it looks, from its cupboards and short checked window curtains; and we chatted upon the place and the expedition, till Columb came to tell me that Mr. Fairly desired to speak with me. I waited upon him immediately, in the passage leading to the kitchen stairs, for that was my salle d'audience. He was with Lord Courtown; they apologised for disturbing me, but Mr. Fairly said he came to solicit leave that they might join my tea-table for this night only, as they would give orders to be supplied in their own apartments the next day, and not intrude upon me any more, nor break into my time and retirement. This is literally the first instance I have met, for now two whole years, of being understood as to my own retiring inclinations; and it is singular I should first meet with it from the only person who makes them waver. I begged them to come in, and ordered tea. They are well acquainted with Mrs. Tracy, and I was very glad she happened to stay. Poor Miss Planta, meanwhile, I was forced to leave in the lurch; for I could not propose the bed-room passage to my present company, and she was undressed and unpacking. Very soon the king, searching for his gentlemen, found out my room, and entered. He admired It prodigiously, and inquired concerning all our accommodations. He then gave Mr. Fairly a commission to answer an address, or petition, or some such thing to the master of the ceremonies, and, after half an hour's chat, retired. Colonel Gwynn found us out also, but was eager to find out more company, and soon left us to go and look over the books at the rooms, for the list of the company here. A TETE-A-TETE WITH COLONEL FAIRLY. After tea Mrs. Tracy went, and the king sent for Lord Courtown. Mr. Fairly was going too, and I was preparing to return upstairs to my toils; but he presently changed his design, and asked leave to stay a little longer, if I was at leisure. At leisure I certainly was not but I was most content to work double tides for the pleasure of his company, especially where given thus voluntarily, and not accepted officially. Page 160 What creatures are we all for liberty and freedom! Rebels partout! "Soon as the life-blood warms the heart, The love of liberty awakes!" Ah, my dear friends! I wrote that with a sigh that might have pierced through royal walls! >From this circumstance we entered into discourse with no little spirit. I felt flattered, and he knew he had given me de quoi: so we were both in mighty good humour. Our sociability, however, had very soon an interruption. The king re-entered ; he started back at sight of our diminished party, and exclaimed, with a sort of arch surprise, "What! only You two?" Mr. Fairly laughed a little, and Ismiled ditto! But I had rather his majesty had made such a comment on any other of his establishment, if make it he must; since I am sure Mr. Fairly's aversion to that species of raillery is equal to my Own. The king gave some fresh orders about the letter, and instantly went away. As soon as he was gone, Mr. Fairly,--perhaps to show himself superior to that little sally,--asked me whether he might write his letter in my room? "O yes," cried I, with all the alacrity of the same superiority. He then went in search of a page, for pen and ink, and told me, on returning, that the king had just given orders for writing implements for himself and Colonel Gwynn to be placed in the dining-parlour, of which they were, henceforth, to have the use as soon as the dinner-party had separated; and after to-night, therefore, he should intrude himself upon me no more. I had half a mind to say I was very sorry for it! I assure you I felt so. He pretended to require my assistance in his letter, and consulted and read over all that he writ. So I gave my opinion as he went on, though I think it really possible he might have done without me! Away then he went with it, to dispatch it by a royal footman; and I thought him gone, and was again going myself, when he returned,--surprising me not a little by saying. as he held the door in his hand, "Will there be any--impropriety--in my staying here a little logger?" I must have said no, if I had thought yes; but it would not have been so plump and ready a no! and I should not, with Page 161 quite so courteous a grace, have added that his stay could do me nothing but honour. On, therefore, we sat, discoursing on various subjects, till the twilight made him rise to take leave. He was in much better spirits than I have yet seen him, and I know not when I have spent an hour more socially to my taste. Highly cultivated by books, and uncommonly fertile in stores of internal resource, he left me nothing to wish, for the time I spent with him, but that "the Fates, the Sisters Three, and suchlike branches of learning," would interfere against the mode of future separation planned for the remainder of our expedition. Need I more strongly than this mark the very rare pleasure I received from his conversation? Not a little did poor Miss Planta marvel what had become of me; and scarce less was her marvel when she had heard my adventures. She had told me how gladly the gentlemen would seize the opportunity of a new situation, to disengage themselves from the joint tea-table, and we had mutually agreed to use all means possible for seconding this partition; but I had been too well satisfied this night, to make any further efforts about the matter, and I therefore inwardly resolved to let the future take care of itself--certain it could not be inimical to me, since either it must give me Mr. Fairly in a party, or time for my own disposal in solitude. This pleasant beginning has given a spirit to all my expectations and my fatigues in this place; and though it cost me near two hours from my downy pillow to recover lost time, I stole them without repining, and arose--dead asleep--this morning, without a murmur. THE KING's GENTLEMEN AND THE QUEEN's LADIES. Sunday, July 13--I was obliged to rise before six o'clock, that I might play the part of dresser to myself, before I played it to the queen; so that did not much recruit the fatigues of yesterday's rising and journey! Not a little was I surprised to be told, this morning, by her majesty, that the gentlemen were to breakfast with Miss Planta and me, every morning, by the king's orders. When I left the queen, I found them already in my little parlour. Mr. Fairly came to the door to meet me, and hand me into the room, telling me of the new arrangement of the king, with an air of very civil satisfaction. Colonel Gwynn Page 162 appeared precisely as I believe he felt,-perfectly indifferent to the matter. Miss Planta joined us, and Columb was hurried to get ready, lest the king should summon his esquires before they had broken their fast. Mr. Fairly undertook to settle our seats, and all the etiquette of the tea-table; and I was very well content, for when he had placed me where he conceived I should be most commodiously situated, he fixed upon the place next me for himself, and desired we might all keep to our posts. It was next agreed, that whoever came first to the room should order and make the tea; for I must often be detained by my waiting, and the king is so rapid in his meals, that whoever attends him must be rapid also, or follow fasting. Mr. Fairly said he should already have hastened Columb, had he not apprehended it might be too great a liberty ; for they had waited near half an hour, and expected a call every half minute. I set him perfectly at his ease upon this subject, assuring him I should be very little at mine if he had ever the same scruple again. He had been in waiting, he said, himself, ever since a quarter after five o'clock in the morning, at which time he showed himself under the king's window, and walked before the house till six! I was beginning to express my compassion for this harass, but he interrupted me with shrewdly saying, " "O, this will save future fatigue, for it will establish me such a character for early rising and punctuality, that I may now do as I will: 'tis amazing what privileges a man obtains for taking liberties, when once his character is established for taking none." Neither Miss Planta nor myself could attempt going to church, we had both so much actual business to do for ourselves, in unpacking, and fitting up our rooms, etc. The rest of the day was all fasting, till the evening, and then--who should enter my little parlour, after all the speechifying Of only one night," made yesterday, but Mr. Fairly, Colonel Gwynn, and Lord Courtown! Whether this, again, is by the king's command, or in consequence of the morning arrangement, I know not: but not a word more has dropped of "no evening tea-table;" so, whether we are to unite, or to separate, in future, I know not, and, which is far more extraordinary, I care not! Nobody but you could imagine what a compliment that is, from me! I had made Miss Planta promise, in case such a thing should happen, to come down; and she was very ready, and Page 163 we had a very cheerful evening. Great difficulties, however, arose about our tea-equipage, So few things are brought, or at least are yet arrived, that Columb is forced to be summoned every other moment, and I have no bell, and dare not, for this short time, beg for one, as my man herds with the King's men; besides, I have no disposition to make a fuss here, where every body takes up with every thing that they get. In lamenting, however, the incessant trouble I was obliged to give the gentlemen, of running after Columb, I told Mr. Fairly my obligation, at Windsor, to Colonel Wellbred, for my bell there. "O yes," cried he, laughing, "I am not surprised; Colonel Wellbred is quite the man for a 'belle!'" "Yes," cried I, "that he is indeed, and for a 'beau' too." "O ho! you think him so, do you?" quoth he: to which my prompt assent followed. ROYALTY CROWDED AT FAUCONBERG HALL. The royal family had all been upon the walks. I have agreed with myself not to go thither till they have gone through the news- mongers' drawing up of them and their troop. I had rather avoid all mention and after a few days, I may walk there as if not belonging to them, as I am not of place or rank to follow in their train. But let me give you, now, an account of the house and accommodation. On the ground-floor there is one large and very pleasant room, which is made the dining-parlour. The king and royal family also breakfast in it, by themselves, except the lady-in-waiting, Lady Weymouth. They sup there also, in the same manner. The gentlemen only dine with them, I find. They are to breakfast with us, to drink tea where they will, and to sup--where they can; and I rather fancy, from what I have yet seen, it will be commonly with good Duke Humphrey. A small, but very neat dressing-room for his majesty is on the other side of the hall, and my little parlour is the third and only other room on the ground-floor: so you will not think our monarch, his consort and offspring, take up too much of the land called their own ! Over this eating- parlour, on the first floor, is the queen's drawing-room, in which she is also obliged to dress and to un- Page 164 dress for she has no toilette apartment! Who, after that, can repine at any inconvenience here for the household? Here, after breakfast, she sits, with her daughters and her lady and Lady Courtown, who, with her lord, is lodged in the town of Cheltenham. And here they drink tea, and live till suppertime. Over the king's dressing-room is his bed-room, and over my store-room is the bed-room of the princess-royal. And here ends the first floor. The second is divided and sub-divided into bed-rooms, which are thus occupied:--Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth sleep in two beds, in the largest room. Lady Weymouth occupies that next in size. Miss Planta and myself have two little rooms, built over the king's bed-room and Mrs. Sandys and Miss Macentomb, and Lady Weymouth's maid, have the rest. This is the whole house! Not a man but the king sleeps In it. A house is taken in the town for Mr. Fairly and Colonel Gwynn, and there lodge several of the servants, and among them Columb. The pages sleep in outhouses. Even the house-maids lodge in the town, a quarter of a mile or more from the house! Lord Courtown, as comptroller of the household, acts here for the king, in distributing his royal bounty to the Wells, rooms, library, and elsewhere. He has sent around very magnificently. We are surrounded by pleasant meadows, in which I mean to walk a great deal. They are so quiet and so safe, I can go quite alone; and when I have not a first-rate companion, my second best is- -none at all! But I expect, very soon, my poor Miss Port, and I shall have her with me almost constantly. AT THE WELLS. Monday, July 14-This morning I was again up at five o'clock, Miss Planta having asked me to accompany her to the wells. The queen herself went this morning, at six o'clock, with his majesty. It is distant about a quarter of a mile from Lord Fauconberg's. I tasted the water, for once; I shall spare myself any such future regale, for it is not prescribed to me, and I think it very unpleasant. This place and air seem very healthy; but the very early Page 165 hours, and no maid! I almost doubt how this will do. The fatigue is very great indeed. We were too soon for the company, except the royals. We met them all, and were spoken to most graciously by every one. We all came back to breakfast much at the same time, and it was very cheerful. I spent all the rest of the day in hard fagging, at work and business, and attendance; but the evening amply recompensed it all. Lord Courtown, Mr. Fairly, Colonel Gwynn, and Miss Planta, came to tea. My Lord and Colonel Gwynn retired after it, to go to the rooms; Mr. Fairly said he Would wait to make his bow to his majesty, and see if there were any commands for him. CONVERSATION AND FLIRTATION WITH COLONEL FAIRLY. And then we had another very long conversation, and if I did not write in so much haste, my dear friends would like to read it. Our subject to-night--his subject, rather--was, the necessity of participation, to every species of happiness. "His" subject, you may easily believe; for to him should I never have dared touch on one so near and so tender to him. Fredy, however, could join With him more feelingly--though he kept perfectly clear of all that was personal, to which I Would not have led for a thousand worlds. He seems born with the tenderest social affections; and, though religiously resigned to his loss--which, I have been told, the hopeless sufferings of Lady - rendered, at last, even a release to be desired--he thinks life itself, single and unshared, a mere melancholy burthen, and the wish to have done with it appears the only wish he indulges. I could not perceive this without the deepest commiseration, but I did what was possible to conceal it; as it is much more easy, both to the hearer and the speaker, to lead the discourse to matters more lively, under an appearance of being ignorant of the state of a sad heart, than with a betrayed consciousness. We talked of books, and not a little I astonished him by the discovery I was fain to make, of the number of authors I have never yet read. Particularly he instanced Akenside, and quoted from him some passages I have heard selected by Mr, Locke. Page 166 Then we talked of the country, of landscapes, of walking, and then, again, came back the favourite proposition,--participation! That, he said, could make an interest in anything,--everything; and O, how did I agree with him! There is sympathy enough, heaven knows, in our opinions on this subject But not in what followed. I am neither good nor yet miserable enough to join with him in what he added, -that life, taken all in all, was of so little worth and value, it could afford its thinking possessor but one steady wish,--that its duration might be short! Alas! thought I, that a man so good should be so unhappy! We then came back again to books, and he asked us if we had read a little poem called the "Shipwreck"?(279) Neither of us had even heard of it. He said it was somewhat too long, and somewhat too technical, but that it contained many beautiful passages. He had it with him, he said, and proposed sending Columb for it, to his house, if we should like to read it. We thanked him, and off marched Columb. It is in a very small duodecimo volume, and he said he would leave it with me. Soon after, Miss Planta said she would stroll round the house for a little exercise. When she was gone, he took up the book, and said, "Shall I read some passages to you? I most gladly assented, and got my work,--of which I have no small store, believe me!-- morning caps, robins, etc., all to prepare from day to day; which, with my three constant and long attendances, and other official company ceremonies, is no small matter. The passages he selected were really beautiful: they were chiefly from an episode, of Palemon and Anna, excessively delicate, yet tender in the extreme, and most touchingly melancholy. One line he came to, that he read with an emotion extremely affecting-- 'tis a sweet line-- "He felt the chastity of silent woe." He stopped upon it, and sighed so deeply that his sadness quite infected me. Then he read various characters of the ship's company, Page 167 which are given with much energy and discrimination. I could not but admire every passage he chose, and I was sensible each of them owed much obligation to his reading, which was full of feeling and effect. How unwillingly did I interrupt him, to go upstairs and wait my night's summons! But the queen has no bell for me, except to my bed-room. He hastily took the hint, and rose to go. "Shall I leave the poem," he cried, "or take it with me, in case there should be any leisure to go on with it to-morrow?" "Which you please," cried I, a little stupidly, for I did not, at the moment, comprehend his meaning which, however, he immediately explained by answering, "Let me take it, then;--let me make a little interest in it to myself, by reading it with you." And then he put it in his pocket, and went to his home in the town, and up stairs went I to my little cell, not a little internally simpering to see a trait so like what so often I have done myself,--carrying off a favourite book, when I have begun it with my Susanna, that we might finish it together, without leaving her the temptation to peep beforehand, MISS BURNEY MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. Tuesday, July 15--While the royals were upon the walks, Miss Planta and I strolled in the meadows, and who should I meet there--but Mr. Seward! This was a great pleasure to me. I had never seen him since the first day of my coming to St. jades's, when he handed me into my father's coach, in my sacque and long ruffles. You may think how much we had to talk over. He had a gentleman with him, fortunately, who was acquainted with Miss Planta's brother, so that we formed two parties, without difficulty. All my aim was to inquire about Mrs. Piozzi,--I must, at last, call her by her now real name!--and of her we conversed incessantly. He told me Mr. Baretti's late attack upon her, which I heard with great concern.(280) It seems he has broken off all intercourse with her, and Page 168 not from his own desire, but by her evident wish to drop him. This is very surprising ; but many others of her former friends, once highest in her favour, make the same complaint. We strolled so long, talking over this ever- interesting subject, that the royals were returned before us, and we found Mr. Fairly waiting in my parlour. The rest soon joined. Mr. Seward had expected to be invited; but it is impossible for me to invite any body while at Cheltenham, as there is neither exit nor entrance but by passing the king's rooms, and as I have no place but this little common parlour in which I can sit, except my own room. Neither could I see Mr. Seward anywhere else, as my dear friends will easily imagine, when they recollect all that has passed, on the subject of my visitors, with her majesty and with Mr. Smelt. He told me he had strolled in those meadows every day, to watch if I were of the party. COLONEL FAIRLY AGAIN. Mr. Fairly again out-stayed them all. Lord Courtown generally is summoned to the royal party after tea, and Colonel Gwynn goes to the town in quest of acquaintance and amusement. Mr. Fairly has not spirit for such researches ; I question, indeed, if he ever had taste for them. When Miss Planta, went off for her exercise, he again proposed a little reading, which again I thankfully accepted. He took out the little poem, and read on the mournful tale of Anna, with a sensibility that gave pathos to every word. How unexpected an indulgence--a luxury, I may say, to me, are these evenings now becoming! While I listen to such reading and such a reader, all my work goes on with an alacrity that renders it all pleasure to me. I have had no regale like this for many and many a grievous long evening ! never since I left Norbury park,-never since my dear Fredy there read Madame de S6vign6. And how little could I expect, in a royal residence, a relief of this sort! Indeed, I much question if there is one other person, in the whole establishment, that, in an equal degree, could afford it. Miss Planta, though extremely friendly, is almost wholly absorbed in the cares of her royal duties, and the solicitude Page 169 of her ill-health : she takes little interest in anything else, whether for conversation or action. We do together perfectly well, for she is good, and sensible, and prudent, and ready for any kind office: but the powers of giving pleasure are not widely bestowed: we have no right to repine that they are wanting where the character that misses them has intrinsic worth but, also, we have no remedy against weariness, where that worth is united with nothing attractive. I was forced again, before ten o'clock, to interrupt his interesting narrative, that I might go to my room. He now said he would leave me the book to look over and finish at my leisure, upon one condition, which he begged me to observe: this was, that I would read with a pen or pencil In my hand, and mark the passages that pleased me most as I went on. I readily promised this. He then gave it me, but desired I would keep it to myself, frankly acknowledging that he did not wish to have it seen by any other, at least not as belonging to him. There was nothing, he said of which he had less ambition than a character for bookism and pedantry, and he knew if it was spread that he was guilty of carrying a book from one house to another, it would be a circumstance sufficient for branding him with these epithets. I could not possibly help laughing a little at this caution, but again gave him my ready promise. A VISIT TO MISS PALMER. Wednesday, July 16.-This morning we had the usual breakfast, and just as it was over I received a note from Miss Palmer, saying she was uncertain whether or not I was at Cheltenham, by not meeting me on the walks or at the play, but wrote to mention that she was with Lady D'Oyley, and hoped, if I was one of the royal suite, my friends might have some chance to see me here, though wholly denied it in town. I sent for answer that I would call upon her; and as no objection was made by her majesty, I went to Sir John D'Oyley's as soon as the royal party rode out. I found Miss Palmer quite thoroughly enraged. We had never met since I left the paternal home, though I am always much indebted to her warm zeal. Sir John and Lady D'Oyley are a mighty gentle pair. Miss Palmer could make them no better present than a little of her vivacity. Miss Elizabeth Page 170 Johnson, her cousin, is of their party : She is pretty, soft, and pleasing; but, unhappily, as deaf as her uncle, Sir Joshua which, in a young female, is a real misfortune. To quiet Miss Palmer as much as I was able, I agreed tonight that I would join her on the walks. Accordingly, at the usual time I set out with Miss Planta, whom I was to introduce to the D'Oyleys. Just as we set out we perceived the king and his three gentlemen, for Lord Courtown is a constant attendant every evening. We were backing on as well as we Could, but his majesty perceived us, and called to ask whither we were going. We met Mr. Seward, who joined us. There is nothing to describe in the walks : they are straight, clay, and sided by common trees, without any rich foliage, or one beautiful opening. The meadows, and all the country around, are far preferable: yet here everybody meets. All the D'Oyley party came, and Miss Planta slipped away. The king and queen walked in the same state as on the Terrace at Windsor, followed by the three princesses and their attendants. Everybody stopped and stood up as they passed, or as they stopped themselves to speak to any of the company. In one of these stoppings, Lord Courtown backed a little from the suite to talk with us, and he said he saw what benefit I reaped from the waters! I told him I Supposed I might be the better for the excursion, according to the definition of a water-drinking person by Mr. Walpole, who says people go to those places well, and then return cured! Mr. Fairly afterwards also joined us a little while, and Miss Palmer said she longed to know him more, there was something so fine in his countenance. They invited me much to go home with them to tea, but I was engaged. We left the walks soon after the royal family, and they carried me near the house in Sir John D'Oyley's coach. I walked, however, quietly in by myself; and in my little parlour I found Mr. Fairly. The others were gone off to the play without tea, and the moment it was over Miss Planta hurried to her own stroll. "ORIGINAL LOVE LETTERS." This whole evening I spent t`ete-`a-t`ete with Mr. Fairly. There is something singular in the perfect trust he seems to have in my discretion, for he speaks to me when we are alone with a frankness unequalled and something very flattering in the Page 171 apparent relief he seems to find in dedicating what time he has to dispose of to my little parlour. In the long conference of this evening I found him gifted with the justest way of thinking and the most classical taste. I speak that word only as I may presume 'to judge it by English literature. "I have another little book," he said, "here, which I am sure you would like, but it has a title so very silly that nobody reads or names it: 'Original Love-Letters;(281)--from which you might expect mere nonsense and romance, though, on the contrary, you would find in them nothing but good sense, moral reflections, and refined ideas, clothed in the most expressive and elegant language." How I longed to read a book that had such a character!--yet, laughable and prudish as it may seem to you, I could not bring myself to accept the half-offer, or make any other reply than to exclaim against the injudiciousness of the title-page. Yet, whatever were our subjects, books, life, or persons, all concluded with the same melancholy burthen--speed to his existence here, and welcome to that he is awaiting! I fear he has been unfortunate from his first setting out.' THE FOUNDER OF SUNDAY SCHOOLS CRITICIZED. July 19.--The breakfast missed its best regale Mr. Fairly was ill, and confined to his room all day. The royal party went to Lord Bathurst's, at Cirencester, and the queen commanded Miss Planta and me to take an airing to Gloucester, and amuse ourselves as well as we could. Miss Planta had a previous slight acquaintance with Mr. Raikes and to his house, therefore, we drove. Mr. Raikes(282) was the original founder of the Sunday-school, an institution so admirable, so fraught, I hope, with future good and mercy to generations yet unborn, that I saw almost with reverence the man who had first suggested it. He lives at Page 172 Gloucester with his wife and a large family. They all received us with open arms. I was quite amazed, but soon found some of the pages had been with them already, and announced our design; and as we followed the pages, perhaps they concluded we also were messengers, or avant-courieres, of what else might be expected. Mr. Raikes is not a man that, without a previous disposition towards approbation, I should greatly have admired. He is somewhat too flourishing, somewhat too forward, somewhat too voluble ; but he is worthy, benevolent, good-natured, and good-hearted, and therefore the overflowing of successful spirits and delighted vanity must meet with some allowance. His wife is a quiet and unpretending woman: his daughters common sort of country misses. They seem to live with great hospitality, plenty, and good cheer. They gave us a grand breakfast, and then did the honours of their city to us with great patriotism. They carried us to their fine old cathedral, where we saw the tomb of poor Edward II., and many more ancient. Several of the Saxon princes were buried in the original cathedral, and their monuments are preserved. Various of the ancient nobility, whose names and families were extinct from the Wars of the Roses, have here left their worldly honours and deposited their last remains. It was all interesting to see, though I will not detail it, for any "Gloucester guide" would beat me hollow at that work. Next they carried us to the jail, to show in how small a space, I suppose, human beings can live, as well as die or be dead. This jail is admirably constructed for its proper purposes-- confinement and punishment. Every culprit is to have a separate cell; every cell is clean, neat, and small, looking towards a wide expanse of country, and, far more fitted to his speculation, a wide expanse of the heavens. Air, cleanliness, and health seem all considered, but no other indulgence. A total seclusion of all commerce from accident, and an absolute impossibility of all intercourse between themselves, must needs render the captivity secure from all temptation to further guilt, and all Stimulus to hardihood in past crimes, and makes the solitude become so desperate that it not only seems to leave no opening, for any comfort save in repentance, but to make that almost unavoidable. After this they carried us to the Infirmary, where I was yet more pleased, for the sick and the destitute awaken an interest far less painful than the wicked and contemned. We went Page 173 entirely over the house, and then over the city, which has little else to catch notice. The pin manufactory we did not see, as they discouraged us by an account of its dirt. Mr. Raikes is a very principal man in all these benevolent institutions; and while I poured forth my satisfaction in them very copiously and warmly, he hinted a question whether I could name them to the queen. "Beyond doubt," I answered; "for these were precisely the things which most interested her majesty's humanity." The joy with which he heard this was nothing short of rapture. ON THE WALKS. Sunday, July 20-Colonel Gwynn again brought but a bad account of his companion, who was now under the care of the Cheltenham apothecary, Mr. Clerke. I had appointed in the evening to go on the walks with Miss Palmer. I scarce ever passed so prodigious a crowd as was assembled before the house when I went out. The people of the whole county seemed gathered together to see their majesties; and so quiet, so decent, so silent, that it was only by the eye they could be discovered, though so immense a multitude. How unlike a London mob! The king, kindly to gratify their zealous and respectful curiosity, came to his window, and seeing me go out, he called me to speak to him, and give an account of my intentions. The people, observing this graciousness, made way for me on every side, so that I passed through them with as much facility as if the meadows had been empty. The D'Oyleys and Miss Johnson and Miss Palmer made the walking party, and Mr. Seward joined us. Mr. Raikes and all his family were come from Gloucester to see the royal family on the walks, which were very much crowded, but with the same respectful multitude, who never came forward, but gazed and admired at the most humble distance, Mr. Raikes introduced me to the Bishop of Gloucester, Dr. Halifax, and afterwards, much more to my satisfaction, to the Dean of Gloucester, Dr. Tucker, the famous author of "Cui bono."(283) I was very glad to see him: he is past eighty, and has a most shrewd and keen old face. Page 174 I went afterwards to tea with the D'Oyleys and Miss Palmer, and Mr. Seward again accompanied us. Miss Palmer brought me home in Sir John's carriage, making it drive as near as possible to the house. But just before we quitted the walks I was run after by a quick female step :--"Miss Burney, don't you know me? have you forgot Spotty?"--and I saw Miss Ogle. She told me she had longed to come and see me, but did not know if she might. She is here with her mother and two younger sisters. I promised to wait on them. Mrs. Oake was daughter to the late Bishop of Winchester, who was a preceptor of the king's: I knew, therefore, I might promise with approbation. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. Monday, July 21.-I was very much disappointed this morning to see Colonel Gwynn come again alone to breakfast, and to hear from him that his poor colleague was still confined. The royal party all went at ten o'clock to Tewkesbury. About noon, while I was writing a folio letter to my dear father, of our proceedings, Mr. Alberts, the queen's page, came into my little parlour, and said "If you are at leisure, ma'am, Mr. Fairly begs leave to ask you how you do." I was all amazement, for I had concluded his confinement irremediable for the present. I was quite happy to receive him; he looked very ill, and his face is still violently swelled. He had a handkerchief held to it, and was muffled up in a great coat; and indeed he seemed unfit enough for coming out. He apologised for interrupting me. I assured him I should have ample time for my letter. "What a letter!" cried he, looking at its size, "it is just such a one as I should like to receive, and not--" "Read," cried I. "No, no !--and not answer!" He then sat down, and I saw by his manner he came with design to make a sociable visit to me. He was serious almost to sadness, but with a gentleness that could not but raise in whomsoever he had addressed an implicit sympathy. He led almost immediately to those subjects on which he loves to Page 175 dwell--Death and Immortality, and the assured misery of all stations and all seasons in this vain and restless world. I ventured not to contradict him with my happier sentiments, lest I should awaken some fresh pain. I heard him, therefore, in quiet and meditative silence, or made but such general answers as could hazard no allusions. Yet, should I ever see him in better spirits, I shall not scruple to discuss, in such a way as I can, this point, and to vindicate as well as I am able my opposite opinion. He told me he had heard a fifth week was to be now added to this excursion, and he confessed a most anxious solicitude to be gone before that time. He dropped something, unexplained, yet very striking, of a peculiar wish to be away ere some approaching period. I felt his meaning, though I had no key to it; I felt that he coveted to spend in quiet the anniversary of the day on which he lost his lady. You may believe I could say nothing to it; the idea was too tender for discussion; nor can I divine whether or not he wishes to open more on this subject, or is better pleased by my constant silence to his own allusions. I know not, indeed, whether he thinks I even understand them. COURTS AND COURT LIFE. We then talked over Cheltenham and our way of life, and then ran into discourse upon Courts and Court life in general. I frankly said I liked them not, and that, if I had the direction of any young person's destination, I would never risk them into such a mode of living; for, though Vices may be as well avoided there as anywhere 'and in this Court particularly, there were mischiefs of a smaller kind, extremely pernicious to all nobleness of character, to which this Court, with all its really bright examples, was as liable as any other,--the mischiefs of jealousy, narrowness, and selfishness. He did not see, he said, when there was a place of settled income and appropriated business why it might not be filled both with integrity and content in a Court as well as elsewhere. Ambition, the desire of rising, those, he said, were the motives that envy which set such little passions in motion. One situation, however, there was, he said, which he looked upon as truly dangerous, and as almost certain to pervert the fairest disposition- it was one in which he would not place any person for whom he had the smallest regard, as he looked upon it to Page 176 be the greatest hazard a character could run. This was, being maid of honour. THE VINDICTIVE BARETTI. Tuesday, July 22-To-day, at noon, I had a surprise with which I was very well pleased. His majesty opened the door of my little parlour, called out, "Come, Come in -," and was followed by Major Price. He was just arrived from his little farm in Herefordshire, and will stay here some days. It is particularly fortunate just now, when another gentleman was really required to assist in attendance upon the royal party. Mr. Seward, with a good-humoured note, sent me the magazine with Baretti's strictures on Mrs. Thrale. Good heaven, how abusive! It can hardly hurt her--it is so palpably meant to do it. I could not have suspected him, with all his violence, of a bitterness of invective so cruel, so ferocious! I well remember his saying to me, when first I saw him after the discovery of "Evelina"...... I see what it is you can do, you little witch--it is, that you can hang us all up for laughing- stocks; but hear me this one thing--don't meddle with me. I see what they are, your powers; but remember, when you provoke an Italian you run a dagger into your own breast!" I half shuddered at the fearful caution from him, because the dagger was a word of unfortunate recollection:(284) but, good heaven! it could only be a half Shudder when the caution was against an offence I could sooner die than commit, and which, I may truly say, if personal attack was what he meant, never even in sport entered my mind, and was ever, in earnest, a thing I have held in the deepest abhorrence. I must do, however, the justice to his candour to add, that upon a newer acquaintance with me, which immediately followed, he never repeated his admonition; and when "Cecilia" came out, and he hastened to me with every species of extravagant encomium, he never hinted at any similar idea, and it seemed evident he concluded me, by that time, incapable Page 177 meriting such a suspicion; though, to judge by his own conduct, a proceeding of this sort may to him appear in a very different light. He thinks, at least, a spirit of revenge may authorize any attack, any insult. How unhappy and how strange! to join to so much real good nature as this man possesses when pleased, a disposition so savagely vindictive when offended. SPECULATIONS UPON COLONEL FAIRLY'S RE-MARRYING. Thursday, July 24--"Pray, Miss Burney," cried Colonel Gwynn, "do you think Mr. Fairly will ever marry again?" "I think it very doubtful," I answered, "but I hope he will, for, whether he is happy or not in marrying, I am sure he will be wretched in singleness; the whole turn of his mind is so social and domestic. He is by no means formed for going always abroad for the relief of society; he requires it more at hand." "And what do you think of Miss Fuzilier?" "That he is wholly disengaged with her and with everybody." "Well, I think it will be, for I know they correspond ; and what should he correspond with her for else?" "Because, I suppose, he has done it long before this could be suggested as the motive. And, indeed, the very quickness of the report makes me discredit it; 'tis so utterly impossible for a man whose feelings are so delicate to have taken any steps towards a second connexion at so early a period." "Why, I know he's very romantic,--but I should like to know your opinion." "I have given it you," cried I, "very exactly." COLONEL FAIRLY AGAIN PRESENTS HIMSELF. Not long after, when all the party was broke up from my little parlour, though not yet set out for Gloucester, who should again surprise me by entering but Mr. Fairly! I was quite rejoiced by his sight. He was better, though not well. His face is almost reduced to its natural size. He had a letter for her majesty from Lord Aylesbury, and had determined to venture bringing it himself. He said he would carry it in to the queen, and then return to my parlour, if I would give him some breakfast. You may suppose I answered "No!" But, afterwards, fearing he might Page 178 be detained and fatigued, he asked me to present it for him, and only say he was waiting in my room for commands. I was forced to say "Yes," though I had rather not. Her majesty was much surprised to hear he was again out so unexpectedly, and asked if he thought of going to Gloucester? "No," I said, "I believed he was not equal to that." She bid me tell him she would see him before she went. I returned with this message, and would then have ordered him fresh breakfast; but he declared if I was fidgety he should have no comfort, and insisted on my sitting quietly down, while he drew a chair by my side, and made his own cold tea, and drank it weak and vapid, and eat up all the miserable scraps, without suffering me to call for plate, knife, bread, butter, or anything for replenishment. And when he had done, and I would have made some apology, he affected me for him a good deal by gravely saying, "Believe me, this is the pleasantest breakfast I have made these six days." He then went on speaking of his late confinement, and its comfortless circumstances, in very strong terms, dwelling on its solitude and its uselessness, as if those only formed its disagreeability, and the pain went for nothing. Social and kind is his heart, and finely touched to the most exquisite sensations of sympathy; and, as I told Colonel Gwynn, I must needs wish he may yet find some second gentle partner fitted to alleviate his sorrows, by giving to him an object whose happiness would become his first study. He brought me back the few books I had procured him but I had no fresh supply. He spoke again of the favourite "Letters," and said he felt so sure I should be pleased with them, that he was desirous I should look at them, adding There is no person into whose hands I would not put them not even my daughter's." It was now impossible to avoid saying I should be glad to see them: it would seem else to doubt either his taste or his delicacy, while I have the highest opinion of both. In talking them over he told me he believed them to be genuine; "But the woman," he said, "throughout the whole correspondence, is too much the superior. She leaves the man far behind. She is so collected, so composed, so constantly mistress of herself, so unbiased by her passions, so rational, and so dignified, that I would even recommend her as an example to any young woman in similar circumstances to follow." Page 179 He was summoned to her majesty, in the dining-parlour. But when they were all set out on the Gloucester expedition, he returned to my little parlour, and stayed with me a considerable time. Grave he came back--grave quite to solemnity, and almost wholly immersed in deep and sad reflections, He spoke little, and that little with a voice so melancholy, yet so gentle, that it filled me with commiseration. At length, after much silence and many pauses, which I never attempted to interrupt or to dissipate, continuing my work as if not heeding him, he led himself distantly, yet intelligibly--to open upon the immediate state of his mind. I now found that the king's staying on at Cheltenham a fifth week was scarcely supportable to him; that the 16th of next month was the mournful anniversary of his loss, and that he had planned to dedicate it in some peculiar manner to her memory, with his four children. Nothing of this was positively said; for "He feels the chastity of silent woe." But all of it was indubitably comprised in the various short but pointed sentences which fell from him. THE COLONEL AND THE "ORIGINAL LOVE LETTERS." Friday, July 25.-Again, to a very late breakfast came Mr. Fairly, which again he made for himself, when the rest were dispersed, of all the odd remnants, eatable and drinkable. He was much better, and less melancholy. He said he should be well enough to join the royal party to-morrow, who were to dine and spend the whole day at Lord Coventry's at Coombe. . . . In the afternoon, while Miss Planta and myself were Sitting over our dessert, a gentle rap at the parlour-door preceded Mr. Fairly. How we both started! He was muffled up in a great coat, and said he came quite incog., as he was not well enough to dine anywhere but in his private apartment, nor to attend the royals to the walks, whither they go every evening. He had only strolled out for a walk by himself. I could not persuade him to sit down; he said he must be gone immediately, lest he should be seen, and the king, not aware of his unfitness, should order his attendance. Miss Planta, presently, was obliged to go to the princesses, Page 180 and wait with them till the promenade took place. Quietly, then, he drew a chair to the table, and I saw he had something to say; but, after a little general talk he rose and was going : when, hearing by the dogs the royal family were just in motion, he pulled off his great coat and seated himself again. And then, he took from his pocket a small volume, which he said he had taken this opportunity to bring me. You Will be sure it was the "Original Letters.;" I took them, and thanked him: he charged me with a very grave air to keep them safe, and I put them into my work-box--my dear Fredy's work-box--which here is my universal repository of small goods and chattels, and useful past all thanks. By the time they Were set off, however, we were entered into conversation, and he said he would venture to stay tea; "though, as I tell you," he added, "what I do not tell everybody, I must confess I have upon me some certain symptoms that make me a little suspect these Cheltenham waters are going to bring me to a fit of the gout." And then he told me that that dreadful disorder had been frequently and dangerously in his family, though he had himself never had it but once, which was after a very bad fall from his horse when hunting with the king. Miss Planta now joined us, looking not a little surprised to find Mr. Fairly still here, and I ordered tea. After it was over, she went to take her usual evening exercise; and then Mr. Fairly, pointing to my work-box, said, "Shall I read a little to you?" Certainly, I said, if it would not too much fatigue him; and then, with the greatest pleasure in renewing again a mode in which I had taken so much delight, I got my work and gave him his book. Unluckily, however, it was the second volume; the first, having read, he had left in town. "It is quite, however," he said, "immaterial whether You begin with the first volume or the second; the story is nothing; the language and the sentiments are all you can care for." I did not quite agree in this, but would not say so, lest he should think of me as Colonel Gwynn does of him, "that I am very romantic which, however, I am not, though I never like to anticipate an end ere I know a beginning. Indeed, he had not praised them too highly, nor raised my expectations beyond what could answer them, They are full Page 181 of beauties-moral, elegant, feeling, and rational. He seemed most unusually gratified by seeing me so much pleased with them. I am so glad," he cried, "You like them, for I thought you would!" But we began so late that he could only, get through two letters, when the time of my retiring arrived. I was sorry also to have him out so late after his long confinement; but he wrapped himself up in his great coat, and did not seem to think he should suffer from it. Miss Planta came to my room upstairs, to Inquire how long Mr. Fairly had stayed, and I was quite happy to appease her astonishment that he should come without sending in to the king, by assuring her he was only nursing for the next day, when he meant to attend the Coombe party. I thought it so absolutely right to mention his visit to the queen, lest, hearing of it from the princesses through Miss Planta, she Should wonder yet more, that I put aside the disagreeable feel of exciting that wonder myself, and told her he had drank tea here, when I attended her at night. She seemed much more surprised than pleased, till I added that he was preparing and hardening himself for the Coombe expedition the next day, and then she was quite satisfied.(285) THE GOUT AND THE LOVE LETTERS, AGAIN. Saturday, July 26.-The royal party were to be Out the whole day, and I had her majesty's permission to go to the play at night with Miss Port and her friends, and to introduce MISS Planta to them for the same purpose. The breakfast was at seven o'clock ; we were all up at half after five. How sorry was I to see Colonel Gwynn enter alone, and to hear that Mr. Fairly was again ill Soon after the king came into the room and said, "So, no Mr. Fairly again?" "No, sir; he's very bad this morning." "What's the matter? His face?" "No, sir; he has got the gout. These waters., he thinks, have brought it on." "What, in his foot?" "Yes, sir; he is quite lame, his foot is swelled prodigiously." Page 182 "So he's quite knocked up! Can't he come out?" "No, sir; he's obliged to order a gouty shoe and stay at home and nurse." The king declared the Cheltenham waters were admirable friends to the constitution, by bringing disorders out of the habit. Mr. Fairly, he said, had not been well some time, and a smart fit of the gout might set him all to rights again. Alas, thought I, a smart fit of the gout in a lonely lodging at a water-drinking place! They all presently set off; and so fatigued was my poor little frame, I was glad to go and lie down; but I never can sleep when I try for it in the daytime; the moment I cease all employment, my thoughts take such an ascendance over my morphetic faculty, that the attempt always ends in a deep and most Wakeful meditation. About twelve o'clock I was reading In my private loan book, when, hearing the step of Miss Planta on the stairs, I put it back in my work-box, and Was just taking thence some other employment, when her voice struck my ear almost in a scream "Is it possible? Mr. Fairly!" My own with difficulty refrained echoing it when I heard his voice answer her, and in a few minutes they parted, and he rapped at the door and entered my little parlour. He came in hobbling, leaning on a stick, and with a large cloth shoe over one of his feet, which was double the size of the other. We sat down together, and he soon inquired what I had done with his little book. I had only, I answered, read two more letters. "Have you read two?" he cried, in a voice rather disappointed; and I found he was actually come to devote the morning, which he knew to be unappropriated on my part, to reading it on to me himself. Then he took up the book and read on from the fifth letter. But he read at first with evident uneasiness, throwing down the book at every noise, and stopping to listen at every sound. At last he asked me if anybody was likely to come? Not a soul, I said, that I knew or expected. He laughed a little at his question and apparent anxiety but with an openness that singularly marks his character, he frankly added, I must put the book away, pure as it is, if any one comes or, without knowing a word of the contents, they will run away with the title alone, exclaiming, 'Mr. Fairly Page 183 reading love letters to Miss Burney!' A fine story that would make!" 'Pon honour, thought I, I would not hear such a tale for the world. However, he now pursued his reading more at his ease. I will not tell you what we said of them in talking them over. Our praise I have chiefly given--our criticism must wait till you have read them yourselves. They are well worth your seeking. I am greatly mistaken if you do not read them with delight. in the course of the discussion he glided, I know not how, upon the writings of another person, saying he never yet had talked them over with me. "It is much kinder not," cried I hastily. . . . "Well, but," cried he laughing, "may I find a fault? Will you hear a criticism, if nothing of another sort?" I was forced to accede to this. He told me, then, there was one thing he wholly disallowed and wished to dispute, which was, Cecilia's refusing to be married on account of the anonymous prohibition to the ceremony. He could not, he said, think such an implied distrust of Delvile, after consenting to be his, was fair or generous. "To that," cried I, "I cannot judge what a man may think, but I will own it is what most precisely and indubitably I could not have resisted doing myself. An interruption so mysterious and so shocking I could never have had the courage to pass over." This answer rather silenced him from politeness than convinced him from reason, for I found he thought the woman who had given her promise was already married, and ought to run every risk rather than show the smallest want of confidence in the man of her choice. Columb now soon came in to inquire what time I should dine, but a ghost could not have made him stare more than Mr. Fairly, whose confinement with the gout had been spread all over the house by Colonel Gwynn. I ordered an early dinner on account of the play." "Will you invite me," cried Mr. Fairly, laughing, "to dine with you?" "Oh yes!" I cried, "with the greatest pleasure." and he said he would go to his home and dress, and return to my hour. Page 184 A DINNER WITH COLONEL FAIRLY AND MISS PLANTA, As he was at leisure, I had bespoke the queen's hairdresser, on account of the play; but Miss Planta came to inform me that she could not be of that party, as she had received a letter from Lady Charlotte Finch, concerning Princess Mary, that she must stay to deliver herself. I told her she would have a beau at dinner. "Well," she exclaimed, "'tis the oddest thing in the world He should come so when the king and queen are away! I am sure, if I was you, I would not mention it." "Oh yes, I shall," cried I; "I receive no visitors in private; and I am sure if I did, Mr. Fairly is the last who would condescend to make one of them." Such was my proud, but true speech, for him and for myself. At dinner we all three met; Mr. Fairly in much better spirits than I have yet seen him at Cheltenham. He attacks Miss Planta upon all her little prejudices, and rallies her into a defence of them, in a manner so sportive 'tis impossible to hurt her, yet so nearly sarcastic that she is frequently perplexed whether to take it in good or ill part. But his intentions are so decidedly averse to giving pain, that even when she is most alarmed at finding the laugh raised against her, some suddenly good-humoured or obliging turn sets all to rights, and secures any sting from remaining, even where the bee has been most menacing to fix itself. I believe Mr. Fairly to possess from nature high animal spirits, though now curbed by misfortune - and a fine vein of satire, though constantly kept in order by genuine benevolence. He is still, in mixed company, gay, shrewd, and arch ; foremost in badinage, and readiest for whatever may promote general entertainment. But in chosen society his spirits do not rise above cheerfulness; he delights in moral discourse, on grave and instructive subjects, and though always ready to be led to the politics or business of the day, in which he is constantly well versed and informing I never observe him to lead but to themes of religion, literature, or moral life. When dinner and a very sociable dessert were over, we proposed going to the king's dining-parlour, while the servants removed the things, etc., against tea. But the weather was so very fine we were tempted by the open door to go out into the air. Miss Planta said she would take a walk; Mr. Fairly could not, but all without was so beautiful he would not go into the Page 185 parlour, and rather risked the fatigue of standing, as he leant against the porch, to losing the lovely prospect of sweet air. And here, for near two hours, on the steps of Fauconberg Hall, we remained; and they were two hours of such pure serenity, without and within, as I think, except in Norbury park, with its loved inhabitants and my Susan, I scarce ever remember to have spent. Higher gaiety and greater happiness many and many periods of my life have at different times afforded me; but a tranquillity more perfect has only, I think, been lent to me in Norbury park, where, added to all else that could soothe and attract, every affection of my heart could be expanded and indulged. But what have I to do with a comparison no longer cherished but by memory The time I have mentioned being past, Miss Planta returned from her walk, and we adjourned to the little parlour, where I made tea, and then I equipped myself for the play. The sweet Miss Port received me with her usual kind joy, and introduced me to her friends, who are Mr. Delabere, the master of the house, and chief magistrate of Cheltenham, and his family. We all proceeded to the play-house, which is a very pretty little theatre. Mrs. Jordan played the "Country Girl," most admirably; but the play is so disagreeable in Its whole plot and tendency, that all the merit of her performance was insufficient to ward off disgust.(286) My principal end, however, was wholly answered, in spending the evening with my poor M-----. . . . Lady Harcourt is come to take the place of Lady Weymouth, whose waiting is over; and Lord Harcourt will lodge in the town of Cheltenham. We have no room here for double accommodations. ROYAL CONCERN FOR THE COLONEL's GOUT. Sunday, July 27.-This morning in my first attendance I seized a moment to tell her majesty of yesterday's dinner. Page 186 "So I hear!" she cried; and I was sorry any one had anticipated my information, nor can I imagine who it might be. "But pray, ma'am," very gravely, how did it happen ? I understood Mr. Fairly was confined by the gout." "He grew better, ma'am, and hoped by exercise to prevent a serious fit." She said no more, but did not seem pleased. The fatigues of a Court attendance are so little comprehended, that persons known to be able to quit their room and their bed are Instantly concluded to be qualified for all the duties of their office. We were again very early, as their majesties meant to go to the cathedral at Gloucester, where the Bishop of Gloucester, Dr. Halifax, was to Preach to them. But I -was particularly glad, before our breakfast, was over, to see Mr. Fairly enter my little parlour. He was Still In his gouty Shoe, and assisted by a stick, but he had not suffered from his yesterday's exertion. Before the things were removed, a page opened the door, and all the royal family--king, queen, and three princesses--came into the room to see Mr. Fairly and Inquire how he did. I hardly know with which of the five he is most in favour, or by which most respected, and they all expressed their concern for this second attack, in the kindest terms. The king, however, who has a flow of spirits at this time quite unequalled, would fain have turned the whole into ridicule, and have persuaded him he was only fanciful. "Fanciful, Sir?" he repeated, a little displeased; and the good king perceiving it, graciously and good-humouredly drew back his words, by saying "Why I should wonder indeed if you were to be that!" When they all decamped I prepared for church. I had appointed to go with Miss Port, and to meet her on the road. Mr. Fairly said, if I would give him leave, he would stay and write letters in my little parlour. I supplied him with materials, and emptied my queen's writing-box for a desk, as we possess nothing here but a low dining-table. So away went journals, letters, memorandums, etc., into the red portfolio given me by my dear father. page 187 As soon as I presented him with this, not at all aware of the goods and chattels removed for the occasion, he said it was so very comfortable he should now write all his letters here, for at his lodgings he had such a miserable low table he had been forced to prop it up by brick-bats! Mr. Fairly sealed and made up his dispatches, and then said he would stroll a little out to put his foot in motion. "And what," he asked, "shall you do?" I had a great mind to say, Why, stroll with you; for that, I think, was the meaning OF his question; but I feared it might prevent my being dressed against the return Of the queen, and I do not think she would have thought it an adequate excuse. YOUNG REPUBLICANS CONVERTED. Monday, July 28.--Miss Ogle acquainted me that this was the last day of her remaining at Cheltenham, and I promised to drink tea with her in the afternoon; and the queen honoured me with a commission to bring Mrs. Ogle on the walks, as his majesty wished again to see her. . . . I found Mrs. Ogle and her daughters all civility and good humour. Poor Mrs. Ogle has lately (by what means I do not know) wholly lost her eye-sight; but she is perfectly resigned to this calamity, and from motives just such as suit a bishop's daughter. When I told her who desired her to be on the walks, she was extremely gratified. Spotty is a complete rebel, according to the principles of her republican father, and protested it would only be a folly and fuss to go, for their notice. The younger sisters are bred rebels too; but the thought of guiding their mother, when such royal distinction was intended her, flattered and fluctuated them. There was another lady with them, who told me that Dr. Warton, of Winchester, had desired her to make acquaintance with me; but I have forgotten her name, and have no time to refresh my memory with it. To the walks we went, the good and pious Mrs. Ogle between her two young daughters, and Spotty and I together. Spotty begged me to go to the ball with her, but I had neither licence nor inclination. The queen immediately espied Mrs. Ogle, by seeing me, as I heard her say to the king; and they approached the spot where we stood, in the most gracious manner. The king spoke with such kindness to Mrs. Ogle, and with such great regard Page 188 of her late father, that the good lady was most deeply affected with pleasure. I believe they stayed half an hour with her, talking over old scenes and circumstances. Spotty kept pulling me all the time, to decamp; but I kept "invincible,"--not quite like Mr. Pitt, yet "invincible." At last the king spoke to her: this confused her so much, between the pleasure of the notice, and the shame of feeling that pleasure, that she knew not what she either did or said, answered everything wrong, and got out of the line, and stood with her back to the queen, and turned about she knew not why, and behaved like one who had lost her wits. When they left us, Mrs. Ogle expressed her grateful sense of the honour done her, almost with tears ; the two young ones said, they had never conceived the king and queen could be such sweet people and poor Spotty was so affected and so constrained in denying them praise, and persisting that she thought it "all a bore," that I saw the republican heart was gone, though the tongue held its ground. A second time, after a few more turns, the same gracious party approached, with fresh recollections and fresh questions concerning interesting family matters. This was more than could be withstood; Mrs. Ogle was almost overpowered by their condescension; the young ones protested they should never bear to hear anything but praise of them all their lives to come and poor Spotty was quite dumb! She could not, for shame, join the chorus of praise, and to resist it she had no longer any power. We did not, however, stop here; for still a third time they advanced, and another conference ensued, in which Mrs. Ogle's sons were inquired for, and their way of life, and designs and characters. This ended and completed the whole; Mrs. Ogle no longer restrained the tears of pleasure from flowing; her little daughters declared, aloud, the king and queen were the two most sweet persons in the whole world, and they would say so as long as they lived; and poor Spotty, colouring and conscious, said-- "But I hope I did not behave so bad this time as the first?" Nay, so wholly was she conquered, that, losing her stubbornness more and more by reflection, she would not let me take leave till she obliged me to promise I would either call the next morning, before their departure, or write her a little note, to say if they found out or mentioned her ungraciousness. I was too well pleased in the convert to refuse her this satis- page 189 action; and so full was her mind of her new loyalty, that when she found me steady in declining to go with her to the ball, she gave it up herself, and said she would go home with her mother and sisters, to talk matters over. THE PRINCES' ANIMAL SPIRITS. July 31.---Miss Planta said the Duke of York was expected the next day. This led to much discourse on the princes, in which Mr. Fairly, with his usual but Most uncommon openness, protested there was something in the violence of their animal spirits that Would make him accept no post and no pay to live with them. Their very voices, he said, had a loudness and force that wore him. Immediately after he made a little attack--a gentle one, Indeed-- upon me, for the contrary extreme, of hardly speaking, among strangers at least, so as to be heard. "And why," cried he, "do you speak so low? I used formerly not to catch above a word in a sentence from you." In talking about the princes, he asked me how I managed with them. Not at all, I said, for since I had resided under the royal roof they were rarely there, and I had merely seen them two or three times. He congratulated me that I had not been in the family in earlier days, when they all lived together; and Miss Planta enumerated various of their riots, and the distresses and difficulties they caused in the household. I was very glad, I said, to be out of the way, though I did not doubt but I might have kept clear of them had I been even then a resident. "O no, no," cried Mr. Fairly; "they would have come to you, I promise you; and what could you have done--what would have become of you?--with Prince William in particular? Do you not think, Miss Planta, the Prince of Wales and Prince William would have been quite enough for Miss Burney? Why she would have been quite subdued." I assured him I had not a fear but I might always have avoided them. "Impossible! They would have come to your tea-room." "I would have given up tea." "Then they would have followed you--called for you--sent for you--the Prince of Wales would have called about him, 'Here ! where's Miss Burney?"' Page 190 "O, no, no, no!" cried I; "I would have kept wholly out of the way, and then they would never have thought about me." "O, ho!" cried he, laughing, "never think of seeing Miss Burney Prince William, too! what say you to that, Miss Planta? She agreed there was no probability of such escape. I was only the more glad to have arrived in later times. Here a page came to call Mr. Fairly to backgammon with his majesty. THE DUKE OF YORK: ROYAL VISIT TO THE THEATRE. Friday, Aug. 1.-This was a very busy day; the Duke of York was expected, and his fond father had caused a portable wooden house to be moved from the further end of Cheltenham town up to join to Fauconber, Hall. The task had employed twenty or thirty men almost ever since our arrival, and so laborious, slow, difficult, and all but impracticable had it proved, that it was barely accomplished before it was wanted. There was no room, however, in the king's actual dwelling, and he could not endure not to accommodate his son immediately next himself. His joy upon his arrival was such joy as I have only seen here when he arrived first from Germany; I do not mean it was equally violent, or, alas! equally unmixed, but yet it was next and nearest to that which had been most perfect. Mr. Bunbury attended his royal highness. We had all dispersed from breakfast, but the king came in, and desired me to make him some. Mr. Fairly had brought him to my little parlour, and, having called Columb, and assisted in arranging a new breakfast, he left us, glad, I suppose, of a morning to himself, for his majesty was wholly engrossed by the duke. We talked over his usual theme--plays and players--and he languished to go to the theatre and see Mrs. Jordan. Nor did he languish in vain: his royal master, the duke, imbibed his wishes, and conveyed them to the king; and no sooner were they known than an order was hastily sent to the play-house, to prepare a royal box. The queen was so gracious as to order Miss Planta and myself to have the same entertainment. The delight of the people that their king and queen should visit this country theatre was the most disinterested I ever witnessed; for though they had not even a glance of their royal countenances, they shouted, huzzaed, and clapped, for Page 191 many minutes. The managers had prepared the front boxes for their reception, and therefore the galleries were over them. They made a very full and respectable appearance in this village theatre. The king, queen, Duke of York, and three princesses, were all accommodated with front seats ; Lord Harcourt stood behind the king, Lady Harcourt and Mr. Fairly behind the queen; Lord and Lady Courtown and Lady Pembroke behind the princesses; and at the back, Colonel Gwynn and Mr. Bunbury; Mr. Boulby and Lady Mary were also in the back group. I was somewhat taken up in observing a lady who sat opposite to me, Miss W---. My Susanna will remember that extraordinary young lady at Bath, whose conduct and conversation I have either written or repeated to her.(287) I could not see her again without being much struck by another recollection, of more recent and vexatious date. Mrs. Thrale, in one of the letters she has published, and which was written just after I had communicated to her my singular rencontre with this lady, says to Dr. Johnson, "Burney has picked up an infidel, and recommended to her to read 'Rasselas.' This has a strange sound, but when its circumstances are known, its strangeness ceases; it meant Miss W--- and I greatly fear, from the date and the book, she cannot but know the "infidel" and herself are one. I was truly Concerned in reading it, and I now felt almost ashamed as well as concerned in facing her, though her infidelity at that time, was of her own public avowal. Mr. Bunbury is particularly intimate with her, and admires her beyond all women. AN UN-COURTLY VISITOR. Miss Planta and myself, by the queen's direction, went in a chaise to see Tewkesbury. We were carried to several very beautiful points of view, all terminating with the noble hills of Malvern; and we visited the cathedral. . . . The pews seem the most unsafe, strange, and irregular that were ever constructed; they are mounted up, story after story, without any order, now large, now small, now projecting out wide, now almost indented in back, nearly to the very roof of the building. They look as if, ready-made, they had been thrown up, and stuck wherever they could, entirely by chance. We returned home just in time to be hastily dressed before Page 192 the royals came back. I was a little, however, distressed on being told, as I descended to dinner, that Mr. Richard Burney(288) was in my parlour. The strict discipline observed here, in receiving no visits, made this a very awkward circumstance, for I as much feared hurting him by such a hint, as concurring in an impropriety by detaining him. Miss Planta suffers not a soul to approach her to this house ; and Lady Harcourt has herself told me she thinks it would be wrong to receive even her sisters, Miss Vernons, so much all-together is now the house and household! My difficulty was still increased, when, upon entering the parlour, I found him in boots, a riding dress, and hair wholly without curl or dressing. Innocently, and very naturally, he had called upon me in his travelling garb, never suspecting that in visiting me he was at all in danger of seeing or being seen by any one else. Had that indeed been the case, I should have been very glad to see him; but I knew, now, his appearance must prove every way to his disadvantage, and I felt an added anxiety to acquaint him with my situation. Miss Planta looked all amazement; but he was himself all ease and sprightly unconsciousness. We were obliged to sit down to dinner; he had dined. I was quite in a panic the whole time, lest any of the royals should come in before I could speak - but, after he had partaken of our dessert, as much en badinage as I could, I asked him if he felt stout enough to meet the king? and then explained to him, as concisely as I had power, that I had here no room whatsoever at my own disposal, in such a manner as to enable my having the happiness to receive any of my private friends even Miss Port, though known to all the royal family,, I could never venture to invite, except when they were abroad: such being, at present, the universal practice and forbearance of all the attendants in this tour. He heard me with much surprise, and much laughter at his own elegant equipment for such encounters as those to which he now found himself liable; but he immediately proposed decamping, and I could not object, Yet, to soften this disagreeable explanation, I kept him a few minutes longer, settling concerning our further meeting at the concerts- at Worcester, and, in this little interval, we were startled by a rap at my door. He laughed, and started back; and I, alarmed, Page 193 also retreated. Miss Planta opened the door, and called out "'Tis Mr. Fairly." I saw him in amaze at sight of a gentleman; and he was himself immediately retiring, concluding, I suppose, that nothing less than business very urgent could have induced me to break through rules so rigidly observed by himself and all others. I would not, however, let him go . but as I continued talking with Richard about the music meeting and my cousins, he walked up to the window with Miss Planta. I now kept Richard as long as I well could, to help off his own embarrassment at this interruption; at length he went. MR. FAIRLY READS "AKENSIDE" TO MISS BURNEY. Hearing now the barking of the dogs, I knew the royals must be going forth to their promenade; but I found Mr. Fairly either did not hear or did not heed them. While I expected him every moment to recollect himself, and hasten to the walks, he quietly said, "They are all gone but me. I shall venture, to-night, to shirk;--though the king will soon miss me. But what will follow? He will say--'Fairly is tired! How shabby!' Well! let him say so; I am tired!" Miss Planta went off, soon after, to her walk. He then said, "Have you done with my little book?" "O yes!" I cried, "and this morning I have sent home the map of Gloucester you were so good as to send us. Though, I believe, I have kept both so long, You will not again be in any haste to lend me either a map of the land, or a poem of the sea." I then gave him back "The Shipwreck." "Shall I tell you," cried I, "a design I have been forming upon you?" "A design upon me?" "Yes; and I may as well own it, for I shall be quite as near success as if I disguise it." I then went to my little drawer and took out Akenside." "Here," I cried, "I intended to have had this fall in your way, by pure accident, on the evening you were called to the conjurer, and I have planned the same ingenious project every evening since, but it has never taken, and so now I produce it fairly!" "That," cried he, taking it, with a very pleased smile, "is the only way in all things!" Page 194 He then began reading "The Pleasures of the Imagination," and I took some work, for which I was much in haste, and my imagination was amply gratified. He only looked out for favourite passages, as he has the poem almost by heart, and he read them with a feeling and energy that showed his whole soul penetrated with their force and merit. After the first hour, however, he grew uneasy'; he asked me when I expected the king and queen from their walk, and whether they were likely to come into my room? "All," I said, "was uncertain." "Can nobody," he cried, "let you know when they are coming?" "Nobody," I answered, "would know till they were actually arrived." "But," cried he, "can you not bid somebody watch?" 'Twas rather an awkward commission, but I felt it would be an awkwardness still less pleasant to me to decline it, and therefore I called Columb, and desired he would let me know when the queen returned. He was then easier, and laughed a little, while he explained himself, "Should they come in and find me reading here before I could put away my book, they would say we were two blue stockings!" At tea Miss Planta again joined us, and instantly behind him went the book. He was very right; for nobody would have thought it more odd--or more blue. During this repast they returned home, but all went straight upstairs, the duke wholly occupying the king - and Mr. Bunbury went to the play. When Miss Planta, therefore, took her evening stroll, "Akenside" again came forth, and with more security. "There is one ode here," he cried, "that I wish to read to you, and now I think I can." I told him I did not in general like Akenside's odes, at least what I had chanced to read, for I thought they were too inflated, and filled with "liberty cant." "But this, however," cried he, "I must read to you, it is so pretty, though it is upon love!" 'Tis addressed to Olympia: I dare say my dearest Fredy recollects it.(289) It is, indeed, most feelingly written; but we Page 195 had only got through the first stanza when the door Suddenly opened, and enter Mr. Bunbury. After all the precautions taken, to have him thus appear at the very worst moment! Vexed as I was, I could really have laughed; but Mr. Fairly was ill disposed to take it so merrily. He started, threw the book forcibly behind him, and instantly took up his hat, as if decamping. I really believe he was afraid Mr. Bunbury would caricature us "The sentimental readers!" or what would he have called us? Luckily this confusion passed unnoticed. Mr. Bunbury had run away from the play to see after the horses, etc., for his duke, and was fearful of coming too late. plays and players now took up all the discourse, with Miss W--, till the duke was ready to go. They then left me together, Mr. Fairly smiling drolly enough in departing, and looking at "Akenside" with a very arch shrug, as who should say "What a scrape you had nearly drawn me into, Mr. Akenside!" THE DOCTOR's EMBARRASSMENT. Sunday, Aug. 3.-This morning I was so violently oppressed by a cold, which turns out to be the influenza, it was with the utmost difficulty I could dress myself. I did indeed now want some assistant most wofully. The princess royal has already been some days disturbed with this influenza. When the queen perceived it in me she told his majesty, who came into the room just as she was going to breakfast. Without making any answer, he himself went immediately to call Mr. Clerk, the apothecary, who was then with the princess royal. "Now, Mr. Clerk," cried he, "here's another patient for you." Mr. Clerk, a modest, sensible man, concluded, by the king himself having called him, that it was the queen he had Page 196 now to attend, and he stood bowing profoundly before her but soon observing she did not notice him, he turned in some confusion to the Princess Augusta, who was now in the group. "No, no! it's not me, Mr. Clerk, thank God!" cried the gay Princess Augusta. Still more confused, the poor man advanced to Princess Elizabeth. "No, no; it's not her!" cried the king. I had held back, having scarce power to open my eyes, from a vehement head-ache, and not, indeed, wishing to go through my examination till there were fewer witnesses. But his majesty now drew me out. "Here, Mr. Clerk," he cried, "this is your new patient!" He then came bowing up to me, the king standing close by, and the rest pretty near. "You--you are not well, ma'am?" he cried in the greatest embarrassment, "No, sir, not quite," I answered in ditto. "O, Mr. Clerk will cure you!" cried the king. "Are-are you feverish, ma'am?" "Yes, sir, a little." "I--I will send you a saline draught, ma'am." "If you please." And then he bowed and decamped. Did you ever hear a more perfectly satisfactory examination? The poor modest man was overpowered by such royal listeners and spectators, and I could not possibly relieve him, for I was little better myself. I went down to breakfast, but was so exceedingly oppressed I could not hold up my head, and as soon as I could escape I went to my own room, and laid down till my noon attendance, which I performed with so much difficulty I was obliged to return to the same indulgence the moment I was at liberty. FROM GRAVE TO GAY. Down at last I went, slow and wrapped up. I found Mr. Fairly alone in the parlour, reading letters with such intentness that he did not raise his head, and with an air of the deepest dejection. I remained wholly unnoticed a considerable time; but at last he looked up, and with some surprise, but a voice OF Page 197 of extreme sadness, he said, "Is that Miss Burney? I thought it had been Miss Planta." I begged him to read on, and not mind me; and I called for tea. When we had done tea, "See, ma'am," he cried, "I have brought You 'Carr,' and here is a sermon upon the text I mean, when I preach, to choose 'Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right; for that will bring a man peace at the last.'" Sincerely I commended his choice ; and we had a most solemn discussion of happiness, not such as coincides with gaiety here, but hope of salvation hereafter. His mind has so religious a propensity, that it seems to me, whenever he leaves it to its natural bent, to incline immediately and instinctively to subjects of that holy nature. Humility, he said, in conclusion, humility was all in all for tranquillity of mind; with that, little was expected and much was borne, and the smallest good was a call for gratitude and content. How could this man be a soldier? Might one not think he was bred in the cloisters? "Well," cried he, again taking up the volume of "Carr," "I will just sit and read this sermon, and then quietly go home." He did so, feelingly, forcibly, solemnly; it is an excellent sermon; yet so read--he so sad, and myself so ill--it was almost too much for me, and I had some difficulty to behave with proper propriety. To him subjects of this sort, ill or well, bring nothing, I believe, but strength as well as comfort. The voice of dejection with which he began changed to one of firmness ere he had read three pages. Something he saw of unusual sinking, notwithstanding what I hid; and, with a very kind concern, when he had finished the sermon, he said, "Is there anything upon your spirits?" "No," I assured him, "but I was not well; and mind and body seemed to go together sometimes, when they did not." "But they do go together," cried he, "and will." However, he took no further- notice: he is like me, for myself, in that--that whatever he thinks only bodily is little worth attention; and I did not care to risk explaining to his strong and virtuous mind the many fears and mixed sensations of mine, when brought to a close disquisition of awaiting eternity. I never, but with Mrs. Delany and Dr. Johnson, have entered so fully and so frequently upon this awful subject as Page 198 with Mr. Fairly. My dear and most revered Mrs. Delany dwelt upon it continually, with joy, and pure, yet humble hope. My ever-honoured Dr. Johnson recurred to it perpetually, with a veneration compounded of diffidence and terror, and an incessant, yet unavailing plan, of amending all errors, and rising into perfection. Mr. Fairly leans upon it as the staff of his strength--the trust, the hope, the rest of his soul--too big for satisfaction in aught this world has given, or can reserve for him. ' He did not, however, "go quietly home," when he had finished the sermon; on the contrary, he revived in his spirits, and animated in his discourse, and stayed on. In speaking of the king he suddenly recollected some very fine lines of Churchill, made on his accession to the throne. I wish I could transcribe them, they are so applicable to that good king, from that moment of promise to the present of performance. But I know not in what part of Churchill's works they may be found. Finding me unacquainted with his poems he then repeated several passages, all admirably chosen ; but among them his memory called forth some that were written upon Lord H--, which were of the bitterest severity I ever heard:--whether deserved or not, Heaven knows; but Mr. Fairly said he would repeat them, for the merit of the composition. There was no examining his opinion of their veracity, and he made no comments; but this: Lord H-- was the famous man so often in the House of Commons accused of expending, or retaining, unaccounted millions Having run through all he could immediately recollect, he said, with a very droll smile, "Come, now I'll finish our ode," and went to my drawer for "Akenside." His fears of surprise, however, again came upon him so strongly while reading it, that he flung away the book in the utmost commotion at every sound, lest any one was entering, always saying in excuse, "We must not be called two blue stockings;" and, "They are so glad to laugh; the world is so always on the watch for ridicule." . . . I know not by what means, but after this we talked over Mr. Hastings's trial. I find he is very much acquainted with Mr. Windham, and I surprised him not a little, I saw, by what I told him of part Of My conferences with that gentleman. This matter having led us from our serious subjects, he took Page 199) up "Akenside" once more, and read to me the first book throughout, What a very, very charming poem is the "Pleasures of the Imagination!" He stayed to the last moment, and left me all the better for the time he thus rescued from feverish lassitude and suffering. A VISIT TO WORCESTER. Tuesday, Aug. 5-The journey to Worcester was very pleasant, and the country through which we passed extremely luxuriant and pretty. We did not go in by the Barborne road ; but all the road, and all avenues leading to it, were lined with people, and when we arrived at the city we could see nothing but faces ; they lined the windows from top to bottom, and the pavement from end to end. We drove all through the city to come to the palace of Bishop Hurd, at which we were to reside. Upon stopping there, the king had an huzza that seemed to vibrate through the whole town ; the princess royal's carriage had a second, and the equerries a third; the mob then, as ours drew on in succession, seemed to deliberate whether or not we also should have a cheer: but one of them soon decided the matter by calling out, "These are the maids of honour!" and immediately they gave us an huzza that made us quite ashamed, considering its vicinity. Mr. Fairly and Colonel Goldsworthy having performed the royal attendance, waited to hand us out of the carriage ; and then the former said he believed he should not be wanted, and would go and make a visit in the town. I should have much liked walking off also, and going to my cousins at Barborne Lodge; but I was no free agent, and obliged to wait for commands. The house is old and large; part of it looks to the Severn but the celebrated "Fair Sabrina" was so thick and muddy, that at this time her vicinity added but little to the beauty of the situation. My bed-room is pleasant, with a view of the distant country and the Severn beneath it; but it is through that of the princess royal; which is an inconvenience her royal highness submits to with a grace that would make me ashamed to call it one to myself. The parlour for our eating is large and dark, and old-fashioned. I made tea in it to-night for Lord Courtown and the two colonels, and Miss Planta, and was so much the Page 200 better for my journey, that I felt the influenza nearly conquered. Wednesday, Aug. 6.-I had the pleasure to arrange going to the music meeting with my own family. Notes were immediately interchanged from and to Barborne Lodge, and the queen was very well pleased that I should have this opportunity of joining my friends. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy called for me at the bishop's. I was heartily glad to see Betsy and Mrs. Hawkins I introduced Miss Planta to them, who was of our party. We sat in what are called the steward's places, immediately under their majesties. The performance was very long, and tolerably tedious, consisting of Handel's gravest pieces and fullest choruses, and concluding with a sermon concerning the institution of the charity, preached by Dr. Langhorne. I was, however, so glad to be with my cousins, that the morning was very comfortable and pleasant to me. Richard and James joined us occasionally.; the rest of the family are at Shrewsbury. It was over very late, and we then went about the church, to see King John's tomb, etc, They were very earnest with me to go to Barborne but it was impossible. I promised, however, to accompany them to the concert at night, and be of their party to all the morning meetings at the cathedral. ' My parlour at the bishop's afforded me a good deal of entertainment, from observing the prodigious concourse of people from all the tops of houses, and looking over the walls to watch his majesty's entrance into the court-yard. Poor Lord Courtown, on account of his star, was continually taken for the king, and received so many huzzas and shouts, that he hardly dared show himself except when in attendance. THE QUEEN AND MR. FAIRLY. Saturday, Aug. 9.-Her majesty this morning a little surprised me by gravely asking me what were Mr. Fairly's designs with regard to his going away ? I could not tell her I did not know what I was really acquainted with; yet I feared it might seem odd to her that I should be better informed than herself, and it was truly unpleasant to me to relate anything he had told me without his leave. Her question, therefore, gave me a painful sensation; but it was spoken with an air so strongly denoting a belief that I had power to answer it, that I felt no choice in making a plain reply. Simply, then, "I understand, Page 201 ma'am," I said, "that he means to go to-morrow morning early." "Will he stay on to-night, then, at Worcester?" "N-o, ma'am, I believe not." "I thought he meant to leave us to-day? He said so." "He intended it, ma'am,--he would else not have said it." "I know I understood so, though he has not spoke to me of his designs this great while." I saw an air bordering upon displeasure as this was said and how sorry I felt!--and how ashamed of being concluded the person better informed! Yet, as he had really related to me his plan, and I knew it to be what he had thought most respectful to herself, I concluded it best, thus catechised, to speak it all, and therefore, after some hesitation uninterrupted by her, I said, "I believe, ma'am, Mr. Fairly had intended fully to begin his journey to-day, but, as Your majesty is to go to the play to-night, he thinks it his duty to defer setting out till to-morrow, that he may have the honour to attend your majesty as usual." This, which was the exact truth, evidently pleased her. Here the inquiry dropped; but I was very uneasy to relate it to Mr. Fairly, that the sacrifice I knew he meant to make of another day might not lose all its grace by wanting to be properly revealed. MR. FAIRLY MORALIZES. Our journey back to Cheltenham was much more quiet than it had been to Worcester, for the royal party too], another route to see Malvern hills, and we went straight forward. Miss Planta having now caught the influenza, suffered very much all the way, and I persuaded her immediately to lie down when we got to Fauconberg Hall. She could not come down to dinner, which I had alone. The Princess Elizabeth came to me after it, with her majesty's permission that I might go to the play with my usual party ; but I declined it, that I might make some tea for poor Miss Planta, as she had no maid, nor any creature to help her. The princess told me they were all going first upon the walks, to promener till the play time. I sat down to make my solitary tea, and had just sent up a basin to Miss Planta, when, to my equal surprise and pleasure, Mr. Fairly entered the room. "I come now," he said, "to take my leave." They were all, he added, gone to the walks, whither he must Page 202 in a few minutes follow them, and thence attend to the play, and the next morning, by five o'clock, be ready for his post-chaise. Seeing me, however, already making tea, with his Usual and invariable sociability he said he would venture to stay and partake, though he was only come, he gravely repeated, to take his leave. "And I must not say," cried I, "that I am sorry you are going, because I know so well you wish to be gone that it makes me wish it for you myself." "No," answered he, "you must not be sorry; when our friends are going to any joy. We must think of them, and be glad to part with them." Readily entering the same tone, with similar plainness of truth I answered, No, I will not be sorry you go, though miss you at Cheltenham I certainly must." "Yes," was his unreserved assent, "you will miss me here, because I have spent my evenings with you; but You Will not long remain at Cheltenham." Oim`e!" thought I, you little think how much Worse will be the quitting it. He owned that the bustle and fatigue of this life was too much both for his health and his spirits. I told him I Wished it might be a gratification to him, in his toils, to hear how the queen always spoke of him; With what evident and constant complacency and distinction. "And you may credit her sincerity," I added, "Since it is to so little a person as me she does this, and when no one else is present." He was not insensible to this, though he passed it over without much answer. He showed me a letter from his second son, very affectionate and natural. I congratulated him, most sincerely, on his approaching happiness in collecting them all together. "Yes he answered, "my group will increase, like a snow-ball, as I roll along, and they will soon all four be as happy as four little things know how to be." This drew him on into some reflections upon affection and upon happiness. "There is no happiness," he said, "without participation; no participation without affection. There is, indeed, in affection a charm that leaves all things behind it, and renders even every calamity that does not interfere with it inconsequential and there is no difficulty, no toil, no labour, no exertion, that will not be endured where there is a view of reaping it." He ruminated some time, and then told me of a sermon he had heard preached some months ago, sensibly demonstrating Page 203 the total vanity and insufficiency, even for this world, of all our best affections, and proving their fallibility from our most infirm humanity. My concurrence did not here continue: I cannot hold this doctrine to be right, and I am most sure it is not desirable. our best affections, I must and do believe, were given us for the best purposes, for every stimulation to good, and every solace in evil. But this was not a time for argument. I said nothing, while he, melancholy and moralizing, continued in this style as long as he could venture to stay. He then rose and took his hat, saying, " Well, so much for the day; what may come to-morrow I know not; but, be it what it may, I stand prepared." I hoped, I told him, that his little snowball would be all he could wish it, and I was heartily glad he would so soon collect it. "We will say," cried he, "nothing of any regrets," and bowed, and was hastening off. The "we," however, had an openness and simplicity that drew from me an equally open and simple reply. "No," I cried, "but I will say-for that you will have pleasure in hearing that you have lightened my time here in a manner that no one else could have done, of this party." To be sure this was rather a circumscribed compliment, those he left considered - but it was strict and exact truth, and therefore like his own dealing. He said not a word of answer, but bowed, and went away, leaving me firmly impressed with a belief that I shall find in him a true, an honourable, and even an affectionate friend, for life. MAJOR PRICE IS TIRED OF RETIREMENT. Sunday, Aug. 10.-Major Price was of the breakfast party this morning, to my great contentment. I heartily wish he was again in the king's household, he is so truly attached to his majesty, and he so earnestly himself wishes for a restoration, not to the equerryship, which is too laborious an office, but to any attendance upon the king's person of less fatigue. He opened to me very much upon his situation and wishes. he has settled himself in a small farm near the house of his eldest brother, but I could see too plainly he has not found there the contentment that satisfies him. He sighs for society ; he owns books are insufficient for everything, and his evenings Page 204 begin already to grow wearisome. He does not wish it to be talked of publicly, but he is solicitous to return to the king, in any place attached to his person, of but mild duty. Not only the king, he said, he loved, but all his society, and the way of life in general; and he had no tie whatsoever to Herefordshire that would make him hesitate a moment in quitting it, if another place could be made adequate to his fortune. His income was quite too small for any absence from his home of more than a few weeks, in its present plight; and therefore it could alone be by some post under government that he must flatter himself with ever returning to the scenes he had left. How rarely does a plan of retirement answer the expectations upon which it is raised! He fears having this suspected, and therefore keeps the matter to himself; but I believe he so much opened it to me, in the hope I might have an opportunity to make it known where it might be efficacious; for he told me, at the same time, he apprehended his majesty had a notion his fondness for Herefordshire, not his inability to continue equerry, had occasioned his resignation. I shall certainly make it my business to hint this to the queen. So faithful and attached a servant ought not to be thrown aside, and, after nine years' service, left unrewarded, and seem considered as if superannuated. MR. FAIRLY'S LITTLE NOTE. When I came from her majesty, just before she went down to dinner, I was met by a servant who delivered me a letter, which he told me was just come by express. I took it in some alarm, fearing that ill news alone could bring it by such haste, but, before I could open it, he said, "'Tis from Mr. Fairly, ma'am." I hastened to read, and will now copy it:- "Northleach, Aug. 10, 1788. "Her majesty may possibly not have heard that Mr. Edmund Waller died on Thursday night. He was master of St. Catherine's, which is in her majesty's gift. It may be useful to her to have this early intelligence of this circumstance, and you will have the goodness to mention it to her. Mr. W. was at a house upon his own estate within a mile and a half of this place, Very truly and sincerely yours, "S. Fairly." "Miss Burney, Fauconberg Hall." Page 205 How to communicate this news, however, was a real distress to me. I know her majesty is rather scrupulous that all messages immediately to herself should be conveyed by the highest channels, and I feared she would think this ought to have been sent through her lady then in waiting, Lady Harcourt. Mr. Fairly, too, however superior to such small matters for himself, is most punctiliously attentive to them for her. I could attribute this only to haste. But my difficulty was not alone to have received the intelligence-the conclusion of the note I was sure would surprise her. The rest, as a message to herself, being without any beginning, would not strike her; but the words "very truly and sincerely yours," come out with such an abrupt plainness, and to her, who knows not with what intimacy of intercourse we have lived together so much during this last month, I felt quite ashamed to show them. While wavering how to manage, a fortunate circumstance seemed to come to my relief; the Princess Elizabeth ran up hastily to her room, which is just opposite to mine, before she followed the queen down to dinner; I flew after her, and told her I had just heard of the death of Mr. Waller, the Master of St. Catherine's, and I begged her to communicate it to her majesty. She undertook it, with her usual readiness to oblige, and I was quite delighted to have been so speedy without producing my note, which I determined now not even to mention unless called upon, and even then not to produce; for now, as I should not have the first telling, it might easily be evaded by not having it in my pocket. The moment, however, that the dinner was over, Princess Elizabeth came to summon me to the queen. This was very unexpected, as I thought I should not see her till night; but I locked up my note and followed. She was only with the princesses. I found the place was of importance, by the interest she took about it. She asked me several questions relative to Mr. Waller. I answered her all I could collect from my note, for further never did I hear; but the moment I was obliged to stop she said, "Pray have you known him long?" "I never knew him at all, ma'am." "No? Why, then, how came you to receive the news about his death?" Was not this agreeable? I was forced to say, "I heard of it only from Mr. Fairly, ma'am." Page 206 Nothing Could exceed the surprise with which she now lifted up her eyes to look at me. "From Mr. Fairly?--Why did he not tell it me?" O, worse and worse! I was now compelled to answer, "He did not know It when he was here, ma'am; he heard it at Northleach, and, thinking it might be of use to your majesty to have the account immediately, he sent it over express." A dead silence so uncomfortable ensued, that I thought it best presently to go on further, though unasked. "Mr. Fairly, ma'am, wrote the news to me, on such small paper, and in such haste, that it is hardly fit to he shown to your majesty; but I have the note upstairs." No answer; again all silent; and then Princess Augusta said, "Mamma, Miss Burney says she has the note upstairs." "If your majesty pleases to see it"-- She looked up again, much more pleasantly, and said, "I shall be glad to see it," with a little bow. Out I went for it, half regretting I had not burned it, to make the producing it impossible. When I brought it to her, she received it with the most gracious smile, and immediately read it aloud, with great complacency, till she came to the end and then, with a lowered and somewhat altered tone, the "very truly and sincerely yours," which she seemed to look at for a moment with some doubt if it were not a mistake, but in returning it she bowed again, and simply said, "I am very much obliged to Mr. Fairly." You will be sure how much I was pleased during this last week to hear that the place of the Master of St. Catherine's was given by her majesty to Mr. Fairly. It is reckoned the best in her gift, as a sinecure. What is the income I know not: reports differ from 400 to 500 per annum. THE RETURN TO WINDSOR. Saturday, Aug. 16.-We left Cheltenham early this morning. Major Price breakfasted with us, and was so melancholy at the king's departure he could hardly speak a word. All Cheltenham was drawn out into the High-street, the gentles on one side and the commons on the other, and a band, and "God save the king," playing and singing. My dear Port, with all her friends, was there for a last look, and a sorrowful one we interchanged; Mr. Seward also, whom again I am not likely to meet for another two years at least. Page 207 The journey was quite without accident or adventure. And thus ends the Cheltenham episode. May I not justly call it so, different as it is to all the mode of life I have hitherto lived here, or alas I am in a way to live henceforward? melancholy--most melancholy-was the return to Windsor destitute of all that could solace, compose, or delight ; replete with whatever could fatigue, harass, and depress! Ease, leisure, elegant society, and interesting communication, were now to give place to arrogant manners, contentious disputation, and arbitrary ignorance! Oh, heaven! my dearest friends, what scales could have held and have weighed the heart of your F.B. as she drove past the door of her revered, lost comforter, to enter the apartment inhabited by such qualities! But before I quit this journey let me tell one very pleasant anecdote. When we stopped to change horses at Burford I alighted and went into the inn, to meet Mrs. Gast, to whom I had sent by Mrs. Frodsham a request to be there as we passed through the town. I rejoiced indeed to see again the sister of our first and wisest friend. My Susanna, who knows her too enthusiastic character, will easily suppose my reception. I was folded in her arms, and bathed in her tears all my little stay, and my own, from reflected tenderness for her ever-honoured, loved, and lamented brother, would not be kept quite back; 'twas a species of sorrowful joy--painful, yet pleasing--that seemed like a fresh tribute to his memory and my affection, and made the meeting excite an emotion that occupied my mind and reflections almost all the rest of my journey. She inquired most kindly after my dear father and my Susanna, and separately and with interest of all the rest of the family; but her surprise to see me now, by this most un expected journey, when she had concluded me inevitably shut up from her sight for the remainder of her life, joined to the natural warmth of her disposition, seemed almost to suffocate her. I was very sorry to leave her, but my time was unavoidably short and hurried. I inquired after Chesington, and heard very good accounts. AT WINDSOR AGAIN THE CANON AND MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Windsor, Sunday, Aug. 17.-This day, after our arrival, began precisely the same as every day preceding our journey. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood could not awake more completely to the same scene; yet I neither have been asleep, nor Page 208 am quite a beauty! O! I wish I were as near to the latter as the former at this minute! We had all the set assembled to congratulate his majesty on his return--generals and colonels without end. I was very glad while the large party lasted, its diminution into a solitary pair ending in worse than piquet--a tête-à-tête!--and such a one, too! after being so spoiled! Monday, Aug. 18.-Well, now I have a new personage to introduce to you, and no small one; ask else the stars, moon and planets! While I was surrounded with bandboxes, and unpacking, Dr. Shepherd was announced. Eager to make his compliments on the safe return, he forced a passage through the back avenues and stairs, for he told me he did not like being seen coming to me at the front door, as it might create some jealousies amongst the other canons! A very commendable circumspection! but whether for my sake or his own he did not particularize. M. de Lalande, he said, the famous astronomer,(290) was just arrived in England, and now at Windsor, and he had expressed a desire to be introduced to me. Well, while he was talking this over, and I was wondering and evading, entered Mr. Turbulent. What a surprise at sight of the reverend canon! The reverend canon, also, was interrupted and confused, fearing, possibly, the high honour he did me might now transpire amongst his brethren, notwithstanding his generous efforts to spare them its knowledge. Mr. Turbulent, who looked big with heroics, was quite provoked to see he had no chance of giving them vent. They each outstayed the patience of the other, and at last both went off together. Some hours after, however, while I was dressing, the canon returned. I could not admit him, and bid Goter tell him at the door I was not visible. He desired he might wait till I was ready, as he had business of importance. I would not let him into the next room, but said he might stay in the eating-parlour. When I was dressed I sent Goter to bring him in. She came back, grinning and colouring,; she had not found him, she said, but only Mrs. Schwellenberg, who was there alone, and had Page 209 called her in to know what she wanted. She answered she came to seek for a gentleman. "There's no gentleman," she cried, "to come into my parlour. it is not permit. When he comes I will have it locked up." O, ho, my poor careful canon! thought I. However, soon after a tap again at my door introduced him. He said he had been waiting below in the passage, as he saw Madame Schwellenberg in the parlour, and did not care to have her know him; but his business was to settle bringing M. de Lalande to see me in the evening. I told him I was much honoured, and so forth, but that I received no evening company, as I was officially engaged. He had made the appointment, he said, and could not break it without affronting him; besides, he gave me to understand it would be an honour to me for ever to be visited by so great an astronomer. I agreed as to that, and was forced, moreover, to agree to all the rest, no resource remaining I mentioned to her majesty the state of the case. She thought the canon very officious, and disapproved the arrangement, but saw it was unavoidable. But when the dinner came I was asked by the présidente, "What for send you gentlemen to my parlour?" " I was dressing, ma'am, and could not possibly receive company in mine, and thought the other empty." "Empty or full is the same! I won't have it. I will lock up the room when it is done so. No, no, I won't have no gentlemen here; it is not permit, perticklere when they Nvon't not speak to me!" I then heard that "a large man, what you call," had entered that sacred domain, and seeing there a lady, had quitted it "bob short!" I immediately explained all that had passed, for I had no other way to save myself from an imputation of favouring the visits and indiscretion of this most gallant canon. "Vell, when he comes so often he might like you. For what won't you not marry him?" This was coming to the point, and so seriously, I found myself obliged to be serious in answer, to avoid misconstruction, and to assure her, that were he Archbishop of Canterbury, and actually at my feet, I would not become archbishopess. "Vell, you been right when you don't not like him; I don't not like the men neither: not one from them!" Page 210 So this settled us very amicably till tea-time, and in the midst of that, with a room full of people, I was called out by Westerhaults to Dr. Shepherd! Mrs. Schwellenberg herself actually te-he'd at this, and I could not possibly help laughing myself, but I hurried into the next room, where I found him with his friend, M. de Lalande. What a reception awaited me! how unexpected a one from a famed and great astronomer. COMPLIMENTS FROM A FAMOUS FOREIGN ASTRONOMER. M. de Lalande advanced to meet me---I will not be quite positive it was on tiptoe, but certainly with a mixture of jerk and strut that could not be quite flat-footed. He kissed my hand with the air of a petit-maître, and then broke forth into such an harangue of éloges, so solemn with regard to its own weight and importance, and so fade(291) with respect to the little personage addressed, that I could not help thinking it lucky for the planets, stars, and sun, they were not bound to hear his comments, though obliged to undergo his calculations. On my part sundry profound reverences, with now and then an "O, monsieur!" or "c'est trop d'honneur," acquitted me so well, that the first harangue being finished, on the score of general and grand reputation, éloge the second began, on the excellency with which "cette célèbre demoiselle" spoke French! This may surprise you, my dear friends; but You must consider M. de Lalande is a great discoverer. Well, but had you seen Dr. Shepherd! he looked lost in sleek delight and wonder, that a person to whom he had introduced M. de Lalande should be an object for such fine speeches. This gentleman's figure, meanwhile, corresponds no better with his discourse than his scientific profession, for he is an ugly little wrinkled old man, with a fine showy waistcoat, rich lace ruffles, and the grimaces of a dentist. I believe he chose to display that a Frenchman of science could be also a man of gallantry. I was seated between them, but the good doctor made no greater interruption to the florid professor than I did myself; he only grinned applause, with placid, but ineffable satisfaction. Nothing therefore intervening, éloge the third followed, after a pause no longer than might be necessary for due admiration Page 211 of éloge the second. This had for sujet the fair female sex; how the ladies were now all improved; how they could write, and read, and spell; how a man now-a-days might talk with them and be understood, and how delightful it was to see such pretty creatures turned rational! And all this, of course, interspersed with particular observations and most pointed applications; nor was there in the whole string of compliments which made up the three bouquets, one single one amongst them that might have disgraced any petit maître to utter, or any petite maîtresse to hear. The third being ended, a rather longer pause ensued. I believe he was dry, but I offered him no tea. I would not voluntarily be accessory to detaining such great personages from higher avocations. I wished him next to go and study the stars: from the moon he seemed so lately arrived there was little occasion for another journey. I flatter myself he was of the same opinion, for the fourth éloge was all upon his unhappiness in tearing himself away from so much merit, and ended in as many bows as had accompanied his entrance. I suppose, in going, he said, with a shrug, to the canon, "M. le docteur, c'est bien gênant, mais il faut dire des jolies choses aux dames!"(293) He was going the next day to see Dr. Maskelyne's observatory. Well! I have had him first in mine! I was obliged on my return to the tea-room to undergo much dull raillery from my fair companion, and Much of wonder that "since the canon had such good preferment" I did not "marry him at once," for he "would not come so often if he did not want it." THE PRINCE EYES MISS BURNEY CURIOUSLY. Tuesday, Aug. 18.--The Duke of York's birthday was kept this day, instead of Saturday, that Sunday morning might not interfere with the ball. The Prince of Wales arrived early, while I was yet with the queen. He kissed her hand, and she sent for the princesses. Only Princess Elizabeth and Princess Sophia were dressed. Her majesty went into the next room with Mrs. Sandys, to have her shoes put on, with which she always finishes. The prince and princesses then chatted away most fluently. Page 212 Princess Elizabeth frequently addressed me with great sweetness but the prince only with curious eyes. Do not, however, understand that his looks were either haughty or impertinent far from it ; they were curious, however, in the extreme. COLONEL MANNERS'S BEATING. Colonel Manners made me laugh as If I had been at a farce, by his history of the late Westminster election, in which Lord John Townshend conquered Lord Hood. Colonel Manners is a most eager and active partisan on the side of the government, but so indiscreet, that he almost regularly gets his head broke at every contested election; and he relates it as a thing of course. I inquired if he pursued his musical studies, so happily begun with Colonel Wellbred? "Why," answered he, "not much, because of the election; but the thing is, to get an ear: however, I think I have got one, because I know a tune when I hear it, if it's one that I've heard before a good many times so I think that's a proof. but I can never get asked to a concert, and that keeps me a little behind." "Perhaps," cried I, "your friends conclude you have music enough in your three months' waiting to satisfy you for all the year?" "O, ma'am, as to that, I'd just as lief hear so many pots and pans rattled together; one noise is just as well as another to me." I asked him whether his electioneering with so much activity did not make his mother, Lady Robert, a little uneasy?--N.B. She is a methodist. "O, it does her a great deal of good," cried he;"for I could never get her to meddle before ; but when I'd had my head broke, it provoked her so, she went about herself canvassing among the good people,--and she got us twenty votes." "So then," cried Colonel Goldsworthy, "there are twenty good people in the world? That's your calculation, is it?" Mr. Fisher, who just then came in, and knew nothing of what had passed, starting the election, said to Colonel Manners, "So, sir, you have been beat, I hear!" He meant only his party ; but his person having shared the same fate, occasioned a violent shout among the rest at this innocent speech, and its innocent answer - for Colonel Man- Page 213 ners, looking only a little surprised, simply said, "Yes, I was beat, a little." "A little, sir?" exclaimed Mr. Fisher, "no, a great deal you were shamefully beat--thrashed thoroughly." In the midst of a violent second shout, Colonel Manners only said, "Well, I always hated all that party, and now I hate them worse than ever." "Ay, that I'll be bound for you," cried Colonel Goldsworthy. "Yes for having been so drubbed by them," cried Mr. Fisher. As I now, through all his good humour, saw Colonel Manners colour a little, I said in a low voice to Mr. Fisher, "Pray is it in innocence, or in malice, that you use these terms." I saw his innocence by his surprise, and I whispered him the literal state of all he said; he was quite shocked, and coloured in his turn, apologising instantly to Colonel Manners, and protesting he had never heard of his personal ill usage, but only meant the defeat of his party. MR. FAIRLY IS DISCUSSED BY HIS BROTHER EQUERRIES. Everybody was full of Mr. Fairly's appointment, and spoke of it with pleasure. General Budé had seen him in town, where he had remained some days, to take the oaths, I believe, necessary for his place. General Budé has long been intimate with him, and spoke of his character exactly as it has appeared to me; and Colonel Goldsworthy, who was at Westminster with him, declared he believed a better man did not exist. "This, in particular," cried General Budé, "I must say of Fairly: whatever he thinks right he pursues straightforward and I believe there is not a sacrifice upon earth that he would not make, rather than turn a moment out of the path that he had an opinion it was his duty to keep in." They talked a good deal of his late lady; none of them knew her but very slightly, as she was remarkably reserved. "More than reserved," cried General Budé, "she was quite cold. Yet she loved London and public life, and Fairly never had any taste for them; in that they were very mal assortis, but in all other things very happy." "Yes," cried Colonel Goldsworthy, "and how shall we give praise enough to a man that would be happy himself, and make Page 214 his wife so too, for all that difference of opinion ? for it was all his management, and good address, and good temper. I hardly know such another man." General Budé then related many circumstances of his most exemplary conduct during the illness of his poor suffering wife, and after her loss; everybody, indeed, upon the occasion of this new appointment, has broke forth to do justice to his deserving it. Mrs. Ariana Egerton, who came twice to drink tea with me on my being sensa Cerbera, told me that her brother-in-law, Colonel Masters, who had served with him at Gibraltar, protested there was not an officer in the army of a nobler and higher character, both professional and personal. She asked me a thousand questions of what I thought about Miss Fuzilier? She dislikes her so very much, she cannot bear to think of her becoming Mrs. Fairly. She has met with some marks of contempt from her in their official meetings at St. James's, that cannot be pardoned. Miss Fuziller, indeed, seemed to me formerly, when I used to meet her in company, to have an uncertainty of disposition that made her like two persons; now haughty, silent, and supercilious--and then gentle, composed, and interesting. She Is, however, very little liked, the worst being always what most spreads abroad. BARON TRENCK: MR. TURBULENT"S RAILLERY. Sept. 1.-Peace to the manes of the poor slaughtered partridges! I finished this morning the "Memoirs of Baron Trenck," which have given me a great deal of entertainment; I mean in the first volume, the second containing not more matter than might fill four pages. But the singular hardiness, gallantry, ferocity, and ingenuity of this copy of the knights of ancient times, who has happened to be born since his proper epoch, have wonderfully drawn me on, and I could not rest without finishing his adventures. They are reported to be chiefly of his own invention; but I really find an air of self-belief in his relations, that inclines me to think he has but narrated what he had persuaded himself was true. His ill-usage is such as to raise the utmost indignation in every reader and if it really affected his memory and imagination, and became thence the parent of some few embellishments and episodes, I can neither wonder nor feel the interest of his narrative diminished. Sept. 2.-Mr. Turbulent was in high rage that I was utterly Page 215 invisible since my return from Cheltenham; he protested he had called seven times at my door without gaining admission, and never was able to get in but when " Dr. Shepherd had led the way. He next began a mysterious attack upon the proceedings of Cheltenham. He had heard, he said, strange stories of flirtations there. I could not doubt what he meant, but I would not seem to understand him: first, because I know not from whom he has been picking up this food for his busy spirit, since no one there appeared collecting it for him ; and secondly, because I would not degrade an acquaintance which I must hope will prove as permanent as it is honourable, by conceiving the word flirtation to be possibly connected with it. By every opportunity, in the course of the day, he renewed this obscure raillery; but I never would second it, either by question or retort, and therefore it cannot but die away unmeaningly as it was born. Some effect, however, it seems to have had upon him, who has withdrawn all his own heroics, while endeavouring to develop what I have received elsewhere. AMIABLE MRS. SCHWELLENBERG AGAIN. Sept. 4.-To-day there was a Drawing-room, and I had the blessing of my dearest father while it lasted; but not solus; he was accompanied by my mother; and my dear Esther and her little innocent Sophy spent part of the time with us. I am to be god-mother to the two little ones, Esther's and James's. Heaven bless them! We returned to Kew to a late dinner; and, indeed, I had one of the severest evenings I ever passed, where my heart took no share in unkindness and injustice. I was wearied in the extreme, as I always am on these drawing-room days, which begin with full hair-dressing at six o'clock in the morning, and hardly ever allow any breakfast time, and certainly only standing, except while frizzing, till the drawing-room commences; and then two journeys in that decked condition--and then another dressing, with three dressing attendances--and a dinner at near seven o'clock. Yet, not having power to be very amusing after all this, I was sternly asked by Mrs. Schwellenberg, "For what I did not talk?" I answered simply, "Because I was tired." "You tired!--what have you done? when I used to do so much more- -you tired! what have you to do but to be happy: Page 216 --have you the laces to buy? have you the wardrobe to part? have you--you tired? Vell, what will become next, when you have every happiness!--you might not be tired. No, I can't bear It." This, and so much more than it would be possible to write, all uttered with a haughtiness and contempt that the lowest servant could not have brooked receiving, awoke me pretty completely, though before I was scarce able to keep my eyelids a moment open; but so sick I turned, that indeed it was neither patience nor effort that enabled me to hear her; I had literally hardly strength, mental or bodily, to have answered her. Every happiness mine!--O gracious heaven! thought I, and is this the companion of my leisure--the associate of my life! Ah, my dear friends, I will not now go on--I turn sick again. A ROYAL JOKE. Sept. 29.-The birth-day of our lovely eldest princess. It happens to be also the birth-day of Miss Goldsworthy; and her majesty, in a sportive humour, bid me, as soon as she was dressed, go and bring down the two "Michaelmas geese." I told the message to the Princess Augusta, who repeated It in its proper words. I attended them to the queen's dressing- room, and there had the pleasure to see the cadeaux presentations. The birth-days in this house are made extremely interesting at the moment, by the reciprocations of presents and congratulations in this affectionate family. Were they but attended with less of toil (I hate to add ette, for I am sure it is not little toil), I should like them amazingly. COLONEL GOLDSWORTHY'S BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. Mrs. Schwellenberg has become both colder and fiercer. I cannot now even meet her eyes-they are almost terrifying. Nothing upon earth having passed between us, nor the most remote subject of offence having occurred, I have only one thing on which to rest my conjectures, for the cause of this newly-awakened evil spirit, and this is from the gentlemen. They had all of late been so wearied that they could not submit even for a quarter of an hour to her society : they had swallowed a dish of tea and quitted the room all in five minutes, and Colonel Goldsworthy in particular, when without any companion in his waiting, had actually always fallen asleep, Page 217 even during that short interval, or at least shut his eyes, to save himself the toil of speaking. This she brooked very ill, but I was esteemed innocent, and therefore made, occasionally, the confidant of her complaints. But lately, that she has been ill, and kept upstairs every night, she has always desired me to come to her as soon as tea was over, which, she observed, "need not keep me five minutes." On the contrary, however, the tea is now at least an hour, and often more. I have been constantly received with reproaches for not coming sooner, and compelled to declare I had not been sooner at liberty. This has occasioned a deep and visible resentment, all against them, yet vented upon me, not in acknowledged displeasure--pride there interfered--but in constant ill-humour, ill-breeding, and ill-will. At length, however, she has broken out into one inquiry, which, if favourably answered, might have appeased all; but truth was too strongly in the way. A few evenings after her confinement she very gravely said, "Colonel Goldsworthy always sleeps with me! sleeps he with you the same?" In the midst of all my irksome discomfort, it was with difficulty I could keep my countenance at this question, which I was forced to negative. The next evening she repeated it. "Vell, sleeps he yet with you- -Colonel Goldsworthy?" "Not yet, ma'am," I hesitatingly answered. "O! ver vell! he will sleep with nobody but me! O, i von't come down." And a little after she added, "I believe he vill marry you." "I believe not, ma'am," I answered. And then, very gravely,, she proposed him to me, saying he only wanted a little encouragement, for he was always declaring he wished for a wife, and yet wanted no fortune-" so for what won't you not have him?" I assured her we were both perfectly well satisfied apart, and equally free from any thoughts of each other. "Then for what," she cried, "won't you have Dr. Shepherd?" She Is now in the utmost haste to dispose of me! And then she added she had been told that Dr. Shepherd would marry me! She is an amazing woman ! Alas, I might have told her I knew too well what it was to be tied to a companion ill-assorted and unbeloved, where I could not help myself, to Page 218 make any such experiment as a volunteer! If she asks me any more about Colonel Goldsworthy and his sleeping, I think I will answer I am too near-sighted to be sure if he is awake or not! However, I cannot but take this stroke concerning the table extremely ill; for though amongst things of the very least consequence in itself, it is more openly designed as an affront than any step that has been taken with me yet. I have given the colonel a hint, however,-that he may keep awake in future. . . . ILLNESS OF MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Oct. 2.-Mrs. Schwellenberg, very ill indeed, took leave of the queen at St. James's, to set off for Weymouth, in company with Mrs. Hastings. I was really very sorry for her; she was truly in a situation Of suffering, from bodily pain, the most pitiable. I thought, as I looked at her, that if the ill-humours I so often experience could relieve her, I would consent to bear them unrepining, in preference to seeing or knowing her so ill. But it is just the contrary; spleen and ill-temper only aggravate disease, and while they involve others in temporary participation of their misery, twine it around themselves in bandages almost stationary. She was civil, too, poor woman. I suppose when absent she could not well tell why she had ever been otherwise. GENERAL GRENVILLE'S REGIMENT AT DRILL. Oct. 9.-I go on now pretty well; and I am so much acquainted with my party, that when no strangers are added, I begin to mind nothing but the first entree of my male visitants. My royal mistress is all sweetness to me; Miss Planta is most kind and friendly; General Budé is ever the same, and ever what I do not wish to alter; Colonel Goldsworthy seems coming round to good-humour; and even General Grenville begins to grow sociable. He has quitted the corner into which he used to cast his long figure, merely to yawn and lounge ; and though yawn and lounge he does still, and must, I believe, to the end of the chapter, he yet does it in society, and mixes between it loud sudden laughter at what is occasionally said, and even here and there a question relative to what is going forward. Nay-yesterday he even seated himself at the tea Page 219 table, and amused himself by playing with my work-box, and making sundry inquiries about its contents. Oct. 10.-This evening, most unwittingly, I put my new neighbour's good-humour somewhat to the test. He asked me whether I had walked out in the morning? Yes, I answered, I always walked. "And in the Little park?" cried he. Yes, I said, and to Old Windsor, and round the park wall, and along the banks of the Thames, and almost to Beaumont Lodge, and in the avenue of the Great park, and in short, in all the vicinage of Windsor. "But in the Little park?" he cried. Still I did not understand him, but plainly answered, "Yes, this morning,; and indeed many mornings." "But did you see nothing--remark nothing there? No, not that I recollect, except some soldiers drilling." You never heard such a laugh as now broke forth from all for, alas for my poor eyes, there had been in the Little park General Grenville's whole regiment, with all his officers, and himself at their head! Fortunately it is reckoned one of the finest in the king's service : this I mentioned, adding that else I could never again appear before him. He affected to be vehemently affronted, but hardly knew how, even in joke, to appear so ; and all the rest helped the matter on, by saying that they should know now how to distinguish his regiment, which henceforth must always be called " the drill." The truth is, as soon as I perceived a few red-coats I had turned another way, to avoid being marched at, and therefore their number and splendour had all been thrown away upon me. (278) "Cerbera" was Fanny's not inappropriate name for Mrs. Schwellenberg.-ED. (279) By William Falconer, born at Edinburgh in 1730. His poem, "The Shipwreck," was suggested by his own experience at sea, and was first published in 1762. Falconer sailed for Bengal in 1769, the vessel touched at the Cape in December, and was never heard of more.-ED. (280) In the "European Magazine" for May 1788, appeared an article from the pen of Baretti, headed "On Signora Piozzi's publication of Dr. Johnson's Letters, Stricture the First." It is filled with coarse, personal abuse of the lady, whom the author terms "the frontless female, who goes now by the mean appellation of Piozzi." "Stricture the Second," in the same tone, appeared the following month, and the "Third," which closed the series, in August of the same year. In the last number Baretti comments, with excessive bitterness, on Mrs. Piozzi's second marriage.-ED. (281) "Original Love-letters between a Lady of Quality and a Person of Inferior Station." Dublin, 1784. Though by no means devoid of "nonsense and romance," the little book is not altogether undeserving of Colonel Digby's encomium. The story is very slight, and concludes, quite unnecessarily and rather unexpectedly, with the death of the gentleman, just as his good fortune seems assured.-ED. (282) Robert Raikes, who was born at Gloucester in 1735, was a printer and the son of a printer. His father was proprietor of the "Gloucester journal." In conjunction with the Rev. Mr. Stocks, Raikes founded the institution of Sunday Schools in 1781. He died at Gloucester in 1811.-ED. (283) "Cui Bono? or, an Inquiry what Benefits can arise either to the English or the Americans, the French, Spaniards, or Dutch, from the greatest victories, or successes, in the present War, being a Series of Letters, addressed to Monsieur Necker, late Controller- General of the Finances of France," By Josiah Tucker, D.D., published at Gloucester, 1781. The pamphlet was written in the advocacy of a general peace, and attracted much attention. The third edition appeared in 1782.-ED, (284) Fanny alludes to an old adventure of Baretti's. He was accosted in the Haymarket by a prostitute, October 6, 1769. The woman was importunate, and the irritable Italian struck her on the hand; upon which three men came up and attacked him. He then drew a dagger in self defence, and mortally wounded one of his assailants. Baretti was tried at the Old Bailey for murder, October 20, and acquitted; Johnson, Burke, and Garrick appearing as witnesses to his character.-ED. (285) With all Fanny's partiality for the "sweet queen," the evidences of that sweet creature's selfishness keep turning up in a very disagreeable manner-ED. (286)) "The Country Girl," Which is still occasionally performed, is an adaptation by Garrick of one of the most brilliant, and most indecent, of Restoration comedies--Wycherley's "Country Wife." Mrs. Jordan played the part of "Peggy," the "Margery Punchwife" of Wycherley's play. It was in this part that she made her first appearance in London, at Drury Lane, October 18, 1785. She was one of the most admired actresses of her time. Genest, who saw her, writes of her, "As an actress she never had a superior in her proper line Mrs. Jordan's Country Girl, Romp, Miss Hoyden, and all characters of that description were exquisite--in breeches parts no actress can be put in competition with her but Mrs. Woffington, and to Mrs. Woffington she was as superior in point of voice as Mrs. Woffington was superior to her in beauty" (viii. p. 430). Mrs. Jordan died at St. Cloud, July 5, 1816, aged fifty. There is an admirable portrait of her by Romney in the character of the "Country Girl."-ED. (287) See ante, vol. i., p. 151.-ED. (288) Fanny's cousin, the son of Dr. Burney's brother, Richard Burney of Worcester.-ED. (289) The poem in question is the "Ode to the Evening Star," the fifteenth of the first hook of Odes. Mr. Akenside, having paid his tear on fair Olympia's virgin tomb, roams in quest of Philomela's bower, and desires the evening star to send its golden ray to guide him. it is pretty, however. The first stanza runs as follows:-- "To night retired, the queen of heaven With young Endymion strays; And now to Hesper it is given Awhile to rule the vacant sky, Till she shall to her lamp supply A stream of lighter rays."-ED. (290) Joseph jérome le Français de Lalande, one of the most distinguished of French astronomers. He was born in 1732, and died in 1807.-ED. (291) Silly: insipid. (292) 'Tis too much honour." (293) "'Tis very troublesome, but one must say pretty things to ladies." Page 220 SECTION 14 (1788-9.) THE KING'S ILLNESS. [Fanny's vivid account of the king's illness, from the autumn of 1788 to the spring of 1789, needs no recommendation to the reader. It requires only to be supplemented by a very brief sketch of the consequent proceedings in Parliament, which excited so much foolish indignation in the royal household, and in Fanny herself. That she should display more feeling than judgment under circumstances so affecting, was, perhaps, only to be expected, but it is none the less evident, from certain passages in the " Diary, that the tainted Court atmosphere had already clouded, to some extent, her naturally clear understanding. The insanity of a sovereign is, to her, a purely private and personal matter, with respect to which the only business of the public is to offer up prayers for his majesty's speedy recovery. That ministers should take steps to provide for the performance of the royal functions in government, during the period of the king's incapacity, is an act of effrontery at which she wants words to express her indignation. Mrs. Schwellenberg, who thought it treason to say that the King was ever at all indisposed, was scarcely more unreasonable in this particular than Miss Fanny Burney, who shuddered, with sentimental horror, at the mention of a Regency Bill. About the commencement of November, 1788, there was no longer any doubt as to the serious nature of the king's malady. At the meeting of Parliament the prime minister, Mr. Pitt, Moved that a committee be appointed to examine the physicians attendant upon his majesty. This motion was agreed to, and on the 10th of December the report of the committee was laid upon the table of the House. The physicians agreed that his Majesty was then totally incapable of attending to public business. They agreed also in holding Out strong hopes of his ultimate recovery, but none of them would venture to give any opinion as to the probable duration of his derangement. Upon this, Mr. Pitt Page 221 moved for a committee to examine and report upon such precedents as might be found of proceedings in cases of the interruption, from any cause, of the personal exercise of the royal authority. The motion was strenuously resisted by the opposition, headed by Mr. Fox, who argued that whenever the sovereign was incapacitated from performing the functions of his office, the heir-apparent, if of full age and capacity, had an inalienable right to act as his substitute. This doctrine seems certainly inconsistent with the liberal principles professed by the opposition, but it will be remembered that at this time the Prince of Wales was politically in alliance with that party, and that he was on terms of friendship with Mr. Fox himself. On the other hand, Pitt protested that in such circumstances the heir-apparent had no more claim to exercise, as a matter of right, the royal functions, than any other Subject of the crown ; and that it belonged only to the two Houses of Parliament to make such provision for supplying the deficiency in the government as they should think proper. As to the person of the Regent there was no dispute ; the question was, simply, whether the Prince of Wales should assume the Regency in his own right, or by the authority of Parliament. Pitt's motion being carried, the committee was accordingly appointed, and proceeded at once to make their examination and report. The prime minister then (December 16) moved two resolutions, declaring, firstly, that the king was incapable of performing the functions of his office, and, secondly, that it was the duty of Parliament to provide for the exercise of those functions. In spite of Fox's opposition both resolutions were carried, and a third resolution was moved by Pitt, and passed (December 23), empowering the lord chancellor to affix the great seal to the intended Regency Bill. Early in January, 1789, a fresh examination of the physicians Was voted, but gave no more definite hopes of an early recovery. Pitt now wrote to the Prince of Wales, informing him of the plan intended to be pursued : that the prince should be invested with the authority of Regent, under certain restrictions, regarding especially the granting of peerages, offices, or pensions ; and that the care of the king's person and the control of the royal household should remain with the queen. The prince, in reply, expressed his readiness to accept the Regency, while protesting strongly against the proposed limitations of his authority ; and on the 16th of January, a bill, in which the prime ministers scheme was embodied, was introduced into the House. The question was actively debated in both Houses, until, in the latter part of February, the king's recovery put a stop to further proceedings.-ED.] Page 222 UNCERTAIN STATE OF THE KING's HEALTH. Kew, Friday, Oct. 17.-Our return to Windsor is postponed till to- morrow. The king is not well; he has not been quite well some time, yet nothing I hope alarming, though there is an uncertainty as to his complaint not very satisfactory; so precious, too, is his health. Oct. 18.-The king was this morning better. My royal mistress told me Sir George Baker(294) was to settle whether we returned to Windsor to-day or to-morrow. Sunday, Oct. 19.-The Windsor journey is again postponed, and the king is but very indifferent. Heaven preserve him! there is something unspeakably alarming in his smallest indisposition. I am very much with the queen, who, I see, is very uneasy, but she talks not of it. We are to stay here some time longer, and so unprepared were we for more than a day or two, that our distresses are prodigious, even for clothes to wear; and as to books, there are not three amongst us; and for company only Mr. de Luc and Miss Planta; and so, in mere desperation for employment, I have just begun a tragedy.(295) We are now in so spiritless a situation that my mind would bend to nothing less sad, even in fiction. But I am very glad something of this kind has occurred to me; it may while away the tediousness of this unsettled, unoccupied, unpleasant period. Oct. 20.-The king was taken very ill in the night, and we have all been cruelly frightened - but it went off, and, thank heaven! he is now better. I had all my morning devoted to receiving inquiring visits. Lady Effingham, Sir George Howard, Lady Frances Howard, all came from Stoke to obtain news of the king; his least illness spreads in a moment. Lady Frances Douglas came also. She is wife of the Archibald Douglas who caused the famous Hamilton trial in the House of Peers, for his claim to the Douglas name.(296) She is fat, and dunch, and heavy, and ugly; otherwise, they say, agreeable enough. Page 223 Mr. Turbulent has been sent for, and he enlivens the scene somewhat. He is now all he should be, and so altered ! scarce a flight left. Oct. 21.-The good and excellent king is again better, and we expect to remove to Windsor in a day or two. Oct. 23.-The king continues to mend, thank God! Saturday we hope to return to Windsor. Had not this composition fit seized me, societyless, and bookless, and viewless as I am, I know not how I could have whiled away my being; but my tragedy goes on, and fills up all vacancies. Oct. 25.-Yesterday was so much the same, I have not marked it; not so to-day. The king was so much better that our Windsor journey at length took place, with permission of Sir George Baker, the only physician his majesty will admit. Miss Cambridge was with me to the last moment. I have been hanging up a darling remembrance of my revered, incomparable Mrs. Delany. Her "Sacharissa" is now over my chimney. I could not at first bear it, but now I look at it, and call her back to my eye's mind perpetually. This, like the tragedy I have set about, suits the turn of things in this habitation. I had a sort of conference with his Majesty, or rather I was the object to whom he spoke, with a manner so uncommon, that a high fever alone could account for it, a rapidity, a hoarseness of voice, a volubility, an earnestness--a vehemence, rather--it startled me inexpressibly; yet with a graciousness exceeding even all I ever met with before--it was almost kindness! Heaven--Heaven preserve him! The queen grows more Page 224 and more uneasy. She alarms me sometimes for herself, at other times she has a sedateness that wonders me still more. Sunday, Oct. 26-The king was prevailed upon not to go to chapel this morning. I met him in the passage from the queen's room; he stopped me, and conversed upon his health near half-an-hour, still with that extreme quickness of Speech and manner that belongs to fever; and he hardly sleeps, he tells me, one minute all night; indeed, if he recovers not his rest, a most delirious fever seems to threaten him. He is all agitation, all emotion, yet all benevolence and goodness, even to a degree that makes it touching to hear him speak. He assures everybody of his health; he seems only fearful to give uneasiness to others, yet certainly he is better than last night. Nobody speaks of his illness, nor what they think of it. Oct. 29.-The dear and good king again gains ground, and the queen becomes easier. To-day Miss Planta told me she heard Mr. Fairly was confined at Sir R- F--'s, and therefore she would now lay any wager he was to marry Miss F--.(297) In the evening I inquired what news of him of General Bude: he told me he was still confined at a friend's house, but avoided naming where--probably from suggesting that, however little truth there may yet have been in the report, more may belong to it from this particular intercourse. THE KING COMPLAINS OF WANT OF SLEEP. Nov. 1.-Our king does not advance in amendment; he grows so weak that he walks like a gouty man, yet has such spirits that he has talked away his voice, and is so hoarse it is painful to hear him. The queen is evidently in great uneasiness. God send him better! She read to me to-day a lecture of Hunter's. During the reading, twice, at pathetic passages, my poor queen shed tears. "How nervous I am?" she cried; "I am quite a fool! Don't you think so?" No, ma'am," was all I dared answer. She revived, however, finished the lecture, and went upstairs and played upon the Princess Augusta's harpsichord. The king was hunting. Her anxiety for his return was Page 225 greater than ever. The moment he arrived he sent a page to desire to have coffee and take his bark in the queen's dressing- room. She said she would pour it out herself, and sent to inquire how he drank it. The king is very sensible of the great change there is in himself, and of her disturbance at it. It seems, but heaven avert it! a threat of a total breaking up of the constitution. This, too, seems his own idea. I was present at his first seeing Lady Effingham on his return to Windsor this last time. "My dear Effy," he cried, "you see me, all at once, an old man." I was so much affected by this exclamation, that I wished to run out of the room. Yet I could not but recover when Lady Effingham, in her well-meaning but literal way, composedly answered, "We must all grow old, sir,- -I am sure I do." He then produced a walking-stick which he had just ordered. "He could not," he said, "get on without it; his strength seemed diminishing hourly." He took the bark, he said But the queen," he cried, "is my physician, and no man need have a better; she is my friend, and no Man can have a better." How the queen commanded herself I cannot conceive; but there was something so touching in this speech, from his hoarse voice and altered countenance, that it overset me very much. Nor can I ever forget him in what passed this night. When I came to the queen's dressing-room he was still with her. He constantly conducts her to it before he retires to his own. He was begging her not to speak to him when he got to his room, that he might fall asleep, as he felt great want of that refreshment. He repeated this desire, I believe, at least a hundred times, though, far enough from need Ing it, the poor queen never uttered one syllable! He then applied to me, saying he was really very well, except in that one particular, that he could not sleep. The kindness and benevolence of his manner all this time was most penetrating: he seemed to have no anxiety but to set the queen at rest, and no wish but to quiet and give pleasure to all around him, To me, he never yet spoke with such excess of benignity: he appeared even solicitous to satisfy me that he should do well, and to spare all alarm; but there was a hurry in his manner and voice that indicated sleep to be page 226 indeed wanted. Nor could I, all night, forbear foreseeing "He sleeps now, or to-morrow he will be surely delirious!" Sunday, Nov. 2.-The king was better, and prevailed upon to give up going to the early prayers. The queen and princesses went. After they were gone, and I was following towards my room, the king called after me, and he kept me in discourse a full half hour nearly all the time they were away. It was all to the same purport; that he was well, but wanted more rest ; yet he said he had slept the last night like a child. But his manner, still, was so touchingly kind, so softly gracious, that it doubled my concern to see him so far from well. DISTRESS OF THE QUEEN. Nov. 3.--We are all here in a most uneasy state. The king is better and worse so frequently, and changes so, daily, backwards and forwards, that everything is to be apprehended, if his nerves are not some way quieted. I dreadfully fear he is on the eve of some severe fever. The queen is almost overpowered with some secret terror. I am affected beyond all expression in her presence, to see what struggles she makes to support serenity. To-day she gave up the conflict when I was alone with her, and burst into a violent fit of tears. It was very, very terrible to see! How did I wish her a Susan or a Fredy! To unburthen her loaded mind would be to relieve it from all but inevitable affliction. O, may heaven in its mercy never, never drive me to that solitary anguish more!- I have tried what it would do; I speak from bitter recollection of past melancholy experience. Sometimes she walks up and down the room without uttering a word, but shaking her head frequently, and in evident distress and irresolution. She is often closeted with Miss Goldsworthy, of whom, I believe, she makes inquiry how her brother has found the king, from time to time. The princes both came to Kew, in several visits to the king. The Duke of York has also been here, and his fond father could hardly bear the pleasure of thinking him anxious for his health. "So good," he says "is Frederick!" To-night, indeed, at tea-time, I felt a great shock, in hearing, from General Budé, that Dr, Heberden had been called in. It is true more assistance seemed much wanting, yet the king's rooted aversion to physicians makes any new-comer tremen- Page 227 dous. They said, too, it was merely for counsel, not that his majesty was worse. Nov. 4.-Passed much the same as the days preceding it, the queen in deep distress, the king in a state almost incomprehensible, and all the house uneasy and alarmed. The Drawing-room was again put off, and a steady residence seemed fixed at Windsor. Nov. 5.-I found my poor royal mistress, in the morning, sad and sadder still; something horrible seemed impending, and I saw her whole resource was in religion. We had talked lately much upon solemn Subjects, and she appeared already preparing herself to be resigned for whatever might happen. I was still wholly unsuspicious of the greatness of the cause she had for dread. Illness, a breaking up of the constitution, the payment of sudden infirmity and premature old age for the waste of unguarded health and strength,--these seemed to me the threats awaiting her; and great and grievous enough, yet how short of the fact! I had given up my walks some days; I was too uneasy to quit the house while the queen remained at home, and she now never left it. Even Lady Effingham, the last two days, could not obtain admission; She Could only hear from a page how the royal family went on. At noon the king went out in his chaise, with the princess royal, for an airing. I looked from my window to see him; he was all smiling benignity, but gave so many orders to the postilions, and got in and out of the carriage twice, with such agitation, that again my fear of a great fever hanging over him grew more and more powerful. Alas! how little did I imagine I should see him no more for so long--so black a period! When I went to my poor queen, still worse and worse I found her spirits. She had been greatly offended by some anecdote in a newspaper--the "Morning Herald"--relative to the king's indisposition. She declared the printer should be called to account. She bid me burn the paper, and ruminated upon who could be employed to represent to the editor that he must answer at his peril any further such treasonable paragraphs. I named to her Mr. Fairly, her own servant, and one so peculiarly fitted for any office requiring honour and discretion. "Is he here, then?" she cried. "No," I answered, but he was expected in a few days. I saw her concurrence with this proposal. The princess royal soon returned. She came in cheerfully, and gave, in Page 228 German, a history of the airing, and one that seemed Comforting. Soon after, suddenly arrived the Prince of Wales. He came into the room.- He had just quitted Brighthelmstone. Something passing within seemed to render this meeting awfully distant on both sides. She asked if he should not return to Brighthelmstone? He answered yes, the next day, He desired to speak with her they retired together. FIRST OUTBURST OF THE KING's DELIRIUM. I had but just reached my own room, deeply musing on the state of' things, when a chaise stopped at the rails; and I saw Mr. Fairly and his son Charles alight, and enter the house. He walked lamely, and seemed not yet recovered from his late attack. Though most happy to see him at this alarming time, when I knew he could be most useful, as there is no one to whom the queen opens so confidentially upon her affairs, I had yet a fresh stair to see, by his anticipated arrival, though still lame, that he must have been sent for, and hurried hither. Only Miss Planta dined with me. We were both nearly silent: I was shocked at I scarcely knew what, and she seemed to know too much for speech. She stayed with me till six o'clock, but nothing passed, beyond general solicitude that the king might get better. Meanwhile, a stillness the most uncommon reigned over the whole house. Nobody stirred ; not a voice was heard - not a step, not a motion. I could do nothing but watch, without knowing for what : there seemed a strangeness in the house most extraordinary. At seven o'clock Columb came to tell me that the music was all forbid, and the musicians ordered away ! This was the last step to be expected, so fond as his majesty is -of his concert, and I thought it might have rather soothed him: I could not understand the prohibition; all seemed stranger and stranger. Very late came General Budé. He looked extremely uncomfortable. Later still came Colonel Goldsworthy: his countenance all gloom, and his voice scarce articulating no or yes. General Grenville was gone to town. General Bud asked me if I had seen Mr. Fairly; and last Of all, at length, he also entered. How grave he looked, how shut up in himself! A silent bow was his only salutation Page 229 how changed I thought it,--and how fearful a meeting, SO long expected as a solace! Colonel Goldsworthy was called away: I heard his voice whispering some time in the passage, but he did not return. Various small speeches now dropped, by which I found the house was all in disturbance, and the king in some strange way worse, and the queen taken ill! At length, General Budé said he would go and see if any one was in the music-room. Mr. Fairly said he thought he had better not accompany him, for as he had not yet been seen, his appearance might excite fresh emotion. The general agreed, and went. We were now alone. But I could not speak: neither did Mr. Fairly. I worked---I had begun a hassock for my Fredy. A long and serious pause made me almost turn sick with anxious wonder and fear, and an inward trembling totally disabled me from asking the actual situation of things; if I had not had my work, to employ my eyes and hands, I must have left the room to quiet myself. I fancy he penetrated into all this, though, at first, he had concluded me informed of everything; but he now, finding me silent, began an inquiry whether I was yet acquainted how bad all was become, and how ill the king? I really had no utterance for very alarm, but my look was probably sufficient; he kindly saved me any questions, and related to me the whole of the mysterious horror! O my dear friends, what a history! The king, at dinner, had broken forth into positive delirium, which long had been menacing all who saw him most closely; and the queen was so overpowered as to fall into violent hysterics. All the princesses were in misery, and the Prince of Wales had burst into tears. No one knew what was to follow-- no one could conjecture the event. He spoke of the poor queen, in terms of the most tender compassion; he pitied her, he said, from the bottom of his soul; and all her sweet daughters, the lovely princesses--there was no knowing to what we might look forward for them all! I was an almost silent listener ; but, having expressed himself very warmly for all the principal sufferers, he kindly, and with interest, examined me. "How," he cried, "are You? Are you strong? are you stout? can you go through such scenes as these? you do not look much fitted for them." Page 230 "I shall do very well," I cried, "for, at a time such as this, I shall surely forget myself utterly. The queen will be all to me. I shall hardly, I think, feel myself at liberty to be unhappy!" . . . AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. Mr. Fairly stayed with me all the evening, during which we heard no voice, no sound! all was deadly still! At ten o'clock I said, " I must go to my own room, to be in waiting." He determined upon remaining downstairs, in the equerries' apartment, there to wait some intelligence. We parted in mutual expectation of dreadful tidings. In separating, he took my hand, and earnestly recommended me to keep myself stout and firm. If this beginning of the night was affecting, what did it not grow afterwards Two long hours I waited-alone, in silence, in ignorance, in dread! I thought they would never be over; at twelve o'clock I seemed to have spent two whole days in waiting. I then opened my door, to listen, in the passage, if anything seemed stirring. Not a sound could I hear. My apartment seemed wholly separated from life and motion. Whoever was in the house kept at the other end, and not even a servant crossed the stairs or passage by my rooms. I would fain have crept on myself, anywhere in the world, for some inquiry, or to see but a face, and hear a voice, but I did not dare risk losing a sudden summons. I re-entered my room and there passed another endless hour, in conjectures too horrible to relate. A little after one, I heard a step--my door opened--and a page said I must come to the queen. I could hardly get along--hardly force myself into the room. dizzy I felt, almost to falling. But, the first shock passed, I became more collected. Useful, indeed, proved the previous lesson of the evening : it had stilled, If not fortified my mind, which had else, in a scene Such is this, been all tumult and emotion. My poor royal mistress! never can I forget her countenance--pale, ghastly pale she looked; she was seated to be undressed, and attended by Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave and Miss Goldsworthy ; her whole frame was disordered, yet she was still and quiet. These two ladies assisted me to undress her, or rather I assisted them, for they were firmer, from being Page 231 longer present; my shaking hands and blinded eyes could scarce be of any use. I gave her some camphor julep, which had been ordered her by Sir George Baker. "How cold I am!" she cried, and put her hand on mine; marble it felt! and went to my heart's core! The king, at the instance of Sir George Baker, had consented to sleep in the next apartment, as the queen was ill. For himself, he would listen to nothing. Accordingly, a bed was put up for him, by his own order, in the queen's second dressing-room, immediately adjoining to the bed-room. He would not be further removed. Miss Goldsworthy was to sit up with her, by the king's direction. I would fain have remained in the little dressing-room, on the other side the bed-room, but she would not permit it. She ordered Sandys, her wardrobe-woman, in the place of Mrs. Thielky, to sit up there. Lady Elizabeth also pressed to stay; but we were desired to go to our own rooms. How reluctantly did I come away ! how hardly to myself leave her! Yet I went to bed, determined to preserve my strength to the utmost of my ability, for the service of my unhappy mistress. I could not, however, sleep. I do not suppose an eye was closed in the house all night. Nov. 6.-I rose at six, dressed in haste by candle-light, and unable to wait for my summons in a suspense so awful, I stole along the passage in the dark, a thick fog intercepting all faint light, to see if I could meet with Sandys, or any one, to tell me how the night had passed. When I came to the little dressing-room, I stopped, irresolute what to do. I heard men's voices; I was seized with the most cruel alarm at such a sound in her majesty's dressing-room. I waited some time, and then the door opened, and I saw Colonel Goldsworthy and Mr. Batterscomb.(298) I was relieved from my first apprehension, yet shocked enough to see them there at this early hour. They had both sat up there all night, as well as Sandys. Every page, both of the king and queen, had also sat up, dispersed in the passages and ante-rooms! and O what horror in every face I met! I waited here, amongst them, till Sandys was ordered by the queen to carry her a pair of gloves. I could not resist Page 232 the opportunity to venture myself before her. I glided into the room, but stopped at the door: she was in bed, sitting up; Miss Goldsworthy was on a stool by her side! I feared approaching without permission, yet could not prevail with myself to retreat. She was looking down, and did not see me. Miss Goldsworthy, turning round, said, "'Tis Miss Burney, ma'am." She leaned her head forward, and in a most soft manner, said, "Miss Burney, how are you?" Deeply affected, I hastened up to her, but, in trying to speak, burst into an irresistible torrent of tears. My dearest friends, I do it at this moment again, and can hardly write for them; yet I wish you to know all this piercing history right. She looked like death--colourless and wan; but nature is infectious; the tears gushed from her own eyes, and a perfect agony of weeping ensued, which, once begun, she could not stop; she did not, indeed, try; for when it subsided, and she wiped her eyes, she said, "I thank you, Miss Burney--you have made me cry-- it is a great relief to me--I had not been able to cry before, all this night long." O, what a scene followed! what a scene was related! The king, in the middle of the night, had insisted upon seeing if his queen was not removed from the house and he had come into her room, with a candle in his hand, opened the bed- curtains, and satisfied himself she was there, and Miss Goldsworthy by her side. This observance of his directions had much soothed him; but he stayed a full half hour, and the depth of terror during that time no words can paint. The fear of such another entrance was now so strongly upon the nerves of the poor queen, that she could hardly support herself. THE KING'S DELIRIOUS CONDITION. The king-the royal sufferer-was still in the next room, attended by Sir George Baker and Dr. Heberden, and his pages, with Colonel Goldsworthy occasionally, and as he called for him. He kept talking unceasingly; his voice was so lost in hoarseness and weakness, it was rendered almost inarticulate; but its tone was still all benevolence--all kindness--all touching graciousness. It was thought advisable the queen should not rise, lest the king should be offended that she did not go to him; at present Page 233 he was content, because he conceived her to be nursing for her illness. But what a situation for her! She would not let me leave her now; she made me remain In the room, and ordered me to sit down. I was too trembling to refuse. Lady Elizabeth soon joined us. We all three stayed with her; she frequently bid me listen, to hear what the king was saying or doing. I did, and carried the best accounts I could manage, without deviating from truth, except by some omissions. Nothing could be so afflicting as this task; even now, it brings fresh to my ear his poor exhausted voice. "I am nervous," he cried; "I am not ill, but I am nervous: if you would know what is the matter with me, I am nervous. But I love you both very well; if you would tell me truth: I love Dr. Heberden best, for he has not told me a lie: Sir George has told me a lie--a white lie, he says, but I hate a white lie. If you will tell me a lie, let it be a black lie!" This was what he kept saying almost constantly, mixed in with other matter, but always returning, and in a voice that truly will never cease vibrating in my recollection. The queen permitted me to make her breakfast and attend her, and was so affectingly kind and gentle in her distress, that I felt a tenderness of sorrow for her that almost devoted my whole mind to her alone! Miss Goldsworthy was a fixture at her side; I, therefore, provided her breakfast also. Lady Elizabeth was sent out on inquiries of Colonel Goldsworthy, and Mr. Batterscomb, and the pages, every ten minutes; while I, at the same intervals, was ordered to listen to what passed in the room, and give warning if anything seemed to threaten another entrance. . . . The queen bid me bring the prayer book and read the morning service to her. I could hardly do it, the poor voice from the next room was so perpetually in my ears. When I came to my room, about twelve o'clock, for some breakfast, I found a letter from Lady Carmarthen. It was an answer to my congratulation upon her marriage, and written with honest happiness and delight. She frankly calls herself the luckiest of all God's creatures ; and this, if not elegant, is sincere, and I hope will be permanently her opinion. While swallowing my breakfast, standing and in haste, and the door ajar, I heard Mr. Fairly's voice, saying, "Is Miss Burney there? is she alone?" and then he sent in Columb, to inquire if he might come and ask me how I did. Page 234 I received him with as much gladness as I could then feel, but it was a melancholy reception. I consulted with him upon many points in which I wanted counsel : he is quick and deep at once in expedients where anything, is to be done, and simple and clear in explaining himself where he thinks it is best to do nothing. Miss Goldsworthy herself had once stolen out to Consult with him. He became, indeed, for all who belonged to the queen, from this moment the oracle. THE KING REFUSES TO SEE DR. WARREN. Dr. Warren(299) had been sent for express, in the middle of the night, at the desire of Sir George Baker, because he had been taken ill himself, and felt unequal to the whole toll. I returned speedily to the room of woe. The arrival of the physicians was there grievously awaited, for Dr. Heberden and Sir George would now decide upon nothing till Dr. Warren came. The poor queen wanted something very positive to pass, relative to her keeping away, which seemed thought essential at this time, though the courage to assert it was wanting In everybody. The princesses sent to ask leave to come to their mother. She burst into tears, and declared she could neither see them, nor pray, while in this dreadful situation, expecting every moment to be broken in upon, and quite uncertain in what manner, yet determined not to desert her apartment, except by express direction from the physicians. Who could tell to what height the delirium might rise? There was no constraint, no power: all feared the worst, yet none dared take any measures for security. The princes also sent word they were at her majesty's command, but she shrunk still more from this Interview: it filled her with a thousand dreadful sensations, too obvious to be wholly hid. At length news was brought that Dr. Warren was arrived. I never felt so rejoiced: I could have run out to welcome him with rapture. With what cruel impatience did we then wait to hear his sentence! An impatience how fruitless! It ended in information that he had not seen the king, who refused him admittance. Page 235 This was terrible. But the king was never so despotic; no one dared oppose him. He would not listen to a word, though, when unopposed, he was still all gentleness and benignity to every one around him. Dr. Warren was then planted where he could hear his voice, and all that passed, and receive Intelligence concerning his pulse, etc., from Sir George Baker. THE QUEEN'S ANXIETY TO HEAR DR. WARREN'S OPINION. We now expected every moment Dr. Warren would bring her majesty his opinion ; but he neither came nor sent. She waited in dread incessant. She sent for Sir George--he would not speak alone: she sent for Mr. Hawkins, the household surgeon; but all referred to Dr. Warren. Lady Elizabeth and Miss Goldsworthy earnestly pressed her to remove to a more distant apartment, where he might not hear the unceasing voice of the unhappy king ; but she would only rise and go to the 'little dressing-room, there to wait in her night-clothes Dr. Warren's determination what step she should take. At length Lady Elizabeth learnt among the pages that Dr. Warren had quitted his post of watching. The poor queen now, in a torrent of tears, prepared herself for seeing him. He came not. All astonished and impatient, Lady Elizabeth was sent out on inquiries. She returned, and said Dr. Warren was gone. "Run! stop him!" was the queen's next order. "Let him but let me know what I am to do." Poor, poor queen! how I wept to hear those words! Abashed and distressed, poor Lady Elizabeth returned. She had seen Colonel Goldsworthy, and heard Dr. Warren, -with the other two physicians, had left the house too far to be recalled they were gone over to the Castle, to the Prince of Wales. I think a deeper blow I have never witnessed. Already to become but second, even for the king! The tears were now wiped; indignation arose, with pain, the severest pain, of every species. THE QUEEN REMOVES TO MORE DISTANT APARTMENTS. In about a quarter of an hour Colonel Goldsworthy sent in to beg an audience. It was granted, a long cloak only being thrown over the queen. He now brought the opinion of all the physicians in consultation, " That her majesty would re- Page 236 move to a more distant apartment, since the king would undoubtedly be worse from the agitation of seeing her, and there Could be no possibility to prevent it while she remained so near." She instantly agreed, but with what bitter anguish! Lady Elizabeth, Miss Goldsworthy, and myself attended her; she went to an apartment in the same row, but to which there Was no entrance except by its own door. It consisted of only two rooms, a bed-chamber and a dressing-room. They are appropriated to the lady-in-waiting, when she is here. At the entrance into this new habitation the poor wretched queen once more gave way to a perfect agony of grief and affliction; while the words "What will become of me! What will become of me ! " uttered with the most piercing lamentation, struck deep and hard into all our hearts. Never can I forget their desponding sound ; they implied such complicated apprehensions. Instantly now the princesses were sent for. The three elder hastened down. O, what a meeting! They all, from a habit that has become a second nature, struggling to repress all outward grief, though the queen herself, wholly overcome, wept even aloud. They all went into the bedroom, and the queen made a slight dressing, but only wore a close gauze cap, and her long dressing gown, which is a dimity chemise. I was then sent back to the little dressing-room, for something that was left; as I opened the door, I almost ran against a gentleman close to it in the passage. "Is the queen here?" he cried, and I then saw the Prince of Wales. "Yes," I answered, shuddering at this new scene for her "should I tell her majesty your royal highness is here?" This I said lest he should surprise her. But he did not intend that: he was profoundly respectful, and consented to wait at the door while I went in, but called me back, as I turned away, to add, "You will be so good to say I am come by her orders." She wept a deluge of tears when I delivered my commission, but instantly admitted him. I then retreated. The other two ladies went to Lady Elizabeth's room, which is next the queen's new apartments. In the passage I was again stopped; it was by Mr. Fairly. I would have hurried on, scarce able to speak, but he desired to know how the queen did. "Very bad," was all I could say, Page 237 and on I hastened to my own room, which, the next minute, I would as eagerly have hastened to quit, from its distance from all that was going forward ; but now once the prince had entered the queen's rooms, I could go thither no more unsummoned. Miserable, lonely, and filled with dreadful conjectures, I remained here till a very late dinner brought Miss Planta to the dining-parlour, where I joined her. After a short and dismal meal we immediately parted : she to wait in the apartments of the princesses above-stairs, in case of being wanted; I to my own solitary parlour. The Prince of Wales and Duke of York stayed here all the day, and were so often in and out of the queen's rooms that no one could enter them but by order. The same etiquette is observed when the princes are with the queen as when the king is there-no interruption whatever is made. I now, therefore, lost my only consolation at this calamitous time, that of attending my poor royal mistress. A VISIT FROM MR. FAIRLY. Alone wholly, without seeing a human being, or gathering any, the smallest intelligence of what was going forwards, I remained till tea-time. Impatient then for information, I planted myself in the eating-parlour; but no one came. Every minute seemed an hour. I grew as anxious for the tea society as heretofore I had been anxious to escape it; but so late it grew, and so hopeless, that Columb came to propose bringing in the water. No; for I could swallow nothing voluntarily. In a few minutes he came again, and with the compliments of Mr. Fairly, who desired him to tell me he would wait Upon me to tea whenever I pleased. A little surprised at this single message, but most truly rejoiced, I returned my compliments, with an assurance that all time was the same to me. He came directly, and indeed his very sight, at this season of still horror and silent suspense, was a repose to my poor aching eyes. "You will see," he said, "nobody else. The physicians being now here, Colonel Goldsworthy thought it right to order tea for the whole party in the music-room, which we have now agreed to make the general waiting-room for us all. It is near the king, and we ought always to be at hand." Page 238 Our tea was very sad. He gave me no hope Of a short seizure ; he saw it, in perspective, as long as it was dreadful : perhaps even worse than long, he thought it--but that he said not. He related to me the whole of the day's transactions, but my most dear and most honourable friends will be the first to forgive me when I promise that I shall commit nothing to paper on this terrible event that is told me in confidence. He did not stay long--he did not think it right to leave his waiting friends for any time, nor could I wish it, valued as I know he is by them all, and much as they need his able counsel. He left me plunged in a deep gloom, yet he was not gloomy himself; he sees evils as things of course, and bears them, therefore, as things expected. But he was tenderly touched for the poor queen and the princesses. THE KING'S NIGHT WATCHERS. Not till one in the morning did I see another face, and then I attended my poor unhappy queen. She was now fixed in her new apartments, bed-room and dressing-room, and stirred not a step but from one to the other. Fortunately all are upon the ground-floor, both for king and queen; so are the two Lady Waldegraves' and mine; the princesses and Miss Planta, as usual, are upstairs, and the gentlemen lodge above them. Miss Goldsworthy had now a bed put up in the queen's new bed-room. She had by no means health to go on sitting up, and it had been the poor king's own direction that she should remain with the queen. It was settled that Mrs. Sandys and Mrs. Macenton should alternately sit up in the dressing-room. The queen would not permit me to take that office, though most gladly I would have taken any that would have kept me about her. But she does; not think my strength sufficient. She allowed me however to stay with her till she was in bed, which I had never done till now; I never, indeed, had even seen her in her bed-room till the day before. She has always had the kindness and delicacy, to dismiss me from her dressing-room as soon as I have assisted her with her night-clothes; the wardrobe-woman then was summoned, and I regularly made my courtesy. it was a satisfaction to me, however, now to leave her the last, and to come to her the first. Her present dressing-room is also her dining-room, her Page 239 drawing-room, her sitting-room; she has nothing else but her bed-room! I left her with my fervent prayers for better times, and saw her nearer to composure than I had believed possible in such a calamity. She called to her aid her religion, and without it what, indeed, must have become of her? It was near two in the morning when I quitted her. In passing through the dressing-room to come away, I found Miss Goldsworthy in some distress how to execute a commission of the queen's: it was to her brother, who was to sit up in a room adjoining to the king's ; and she was undressed, and knew not how to go to him, as the princes were to and fro everywhere. I offered to call him to her she thankfully accepted the proposal. I cared not, just then, whom I encountered, so I could make myself of any use. When I gently opened the door of the apartment to which I was directed, I found it was quite filled with gentlemen and attendants, arranged round it on chairs and sofas in dead silence. It was a dreadful start, with which I retreated; for anything more alarming and shocking could not be conceived! the poor king within another door, unconscious any one was near him, and thus watched, by dread necessity, at such an hour of the night! I pronounced the words "Colonel Goldsworthy," however, before I drew back, though I could not distinguish one gentleman from another, except the two princes, by their stars. I waited in the next room; but instead of Colonel Goldsworthy, my call was answered by Mr. Fairly. I acquainted him with my errand. He told me he had himself insisted that Colonel Goldsworthy should go to bed, as he had sat up all the preceding night and he had undertaken to supply his place. I went back to Miss Goldsworthy with this account. She begged me to entreat Mr. Fairly would come to her, as she must now make the commission devolve on him, and could less than ever appear, herself, as they were all assembled in such a party. Mr. Fairly, most considerately, had remained in this quiet room to see if anything more might be wanted, which spared me the distress of again intruding into the public room. I begged him to follow, and we were proceeding to the dressing-room, when I was stopped by a gentleman, who said, "Does the queen want anybody?" Page 240 It was the Prince of Wales. "Not the queen, sir," I answered, " but Miss Goldsworthy, has desired to see Mr. Fairly." He let me pass, but stopped Mr. Fairly; and, as he seemed inclined to detain him some time, I only told Miss Goldsworthy what had retarded him, and made off to my own room, and soon after two o'clock, I believe, I was in bed. A CHANGE IN MISS BURNEYs DUTIES. Friday, Nov. 7.-I was now arrived at a sort of settled regularity of life more melancholy than can possibly be described. I rose at six, dressed, and hastened to the queen's apartments, uncalled, and there waited in silence and in the dark till I heard her move or speak with Miss Goldsworthy, and then presented myself to the sad bedside of the unhappy queen. She sent Miss Goldsworthy early every morning, to make inquiry what sort of night his majesty had passed; and in the middle of the night she commonly Also sent for news by the wardrobe-woman, or Miss Macenton, whichever sat up. She dismissed Miss Goldsworthy, on my arrival, to dress herself. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave accommodated her with her own room for that purpose. I had then a long conference with this most patient sufferer - and equal forbearance and quietness during a period of suspensive unhappiness never have I seen, never could I have imagined. At noon now I never saw her, which I greatly regretted but she kept on her dressing-gown all day, and the princes were continually about the passages, so that no one unsummoned dared approach the queen's apartments. It was only therefore at night and morning I could see her - but my heart was with her the livelong day. And how long, good heaven! how long that day became! Endless I used to think it, for nothing could I do--to wait and to watch--starting at every sound, yet revived by every noise. MR. FAIRLY SUCCEEDS IN SOOTHING THE KING. While I was yet with my poor royal sufferer this morning the Prince of Wales came hastily into the room. He apologized for his intrusion, and then gave a very energetic history of the preceding night. It had been indeed most affectingly dreadful ! The king had risen in the middle of the night, and Page 241 would take no denial to walking into the next room. There he saw the large congress I have mentioned : amazed and in consternation, he demanded what they did there--Much followed that I have heard since, particularly the warmest éloge on his dear son Frederick--his favourite, his friend. "Yes," he cried, "Frederick is my friend!" and this son was then present amongst the rest, but not seen! Sir George Baker was there, and was privately exhorted by the gentlemen to lead the king back to his room; but he had not courage: he attempted only to speak, and the king penned him in a corner, told him he was a mere old woman--that he wondered he had ever followed his advice, for he knew nothing of his complaint, which was only nervous! The Prince of Wales, by signs and whispers, would have urged others to have drawn him away, but no one dared approach him, and he remained there a considerable time. "Nor do I know when he would have been got back," continued the prince, "if at last Mr. Fairly had not undertaken him. I am extremely obliged to Mr. Fairly indeed. He came boldly up to him, and took him by the arm, and begged him to go to bed, and then drew him along, and said he must go. Then he said he would not, and cried 'Who are you?' 'I am Mr. Fairly, sir,' he answered, 'and your majesty has been very good to me often, and now I am going to be very good to you, for you must come to bed, sir: it is necessary to your life.' And then he was so surprised, that he let himself be drawn along just like a child; and so they got him to bed. I believe else he would have stayed all night. Mr. Fairly has had some melancholy experience in a case of this sort, with a very near connexion of his own. How fortunate he was present! NEW ARRANGEMENTS. At noon I had the most sad pleasure of receiving Mr. and Mrs. Smelt. They had heard in York of the illness of the king, and had travelled -post to Windsor. Poor worthy, excellent couple!--Ill and infirm, what did they not suffer from an attack like this--so wonderfully unexpected upon a patron so adored! They wished the queen to be acquainted with their arrival, yet would not let me risk meeting the princes in carrying the news. Mr. Smelt I saw languished to see his king: he was Page 242 persuaded he might now repay a part of former benefits, and he wished to be made his page during his illness, that he might watch and attend him hourly. I had had a message in the morning by Mr. Gorton, the clerk of the kitchen, to tell me the Prince of Wales wished our dining-parlour to be appropriated to the physicians, both for their dinner and their consultations. I was therefore obliged to order dinner for Miss Planta, and myself in my own Sitting-parlour, which was now unmaterial, as the equerries did not come to tea, but continued +altogether in the music-room. In the evening, of course, came Mr. Fairly, but then it was only to let me know it would be of course no longer. He then rang the bell for my tea-urn, finding I had waited, though he 0 declined drinking tea with me; but he sat down, and staved half an hour, telling me the long story he had promised which Was a full detail of the terrible preceding night. The transactions of the day also he related to me, and the designs for the future. How alarming were they all! yet many particulars, he said, he omitted, merely because they were yet more affecting, and could be dwelt upon to no purpose. THE PRINCESS AUGUSTA'S BIRTHDAY. Saturday, Nov. 8-This was, if possible, the saddest day yet passed: it was the birthday of Princess Augusta, and Mrs. Siddons had been invited to read a play, and a large party of company to form the audience. What a contrast from such an intention was the event! When I went, before seven o'clock in the morning, to my most unhappy royal mistress, the princes were both in the room. I retreated to the next apartment till they had finished their conference. The Prince of Wales upon these occasions has always been extremely well-bred and condescending in his manner, which, in a situation such as mine, is no immaterial circumstance. The poor queen then spoke to me of the birthday present she had designed for her most amiable daughter. She hesitated a little whether or not to produce it, but at length meekly said, "Yes, go to Miss Planta and bring it. Do you think there can be any harm in giving it now?" "O, no!" I said, happy to encourage whatever was a little less gloomy, and upstairs I flew. I was met by all the poor princesses and the Duke of York, who inquired if he might go Page 243 again to the queen. I begged leave first to execute my commission. I did; but so engrossed was my mind with the whole of this living tragedy, that I so little noticed what it was I carried as to be now unable to recollect it. I gave it, however, to the queen, who then sent for the princesses, and carried her gift to her daughter, weeping, who received it with a silent courtesy, kissing and wetting with her gentle tears the hand of her afflicted mother. STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF THE FIRST GENTLEMAN IN EUROPE. During my mournful breakfast poor Mr. Smelt arrived from Kew, where he had now settled himself. Mr. de Luc also joined us, and they could neither prevail upon themselves to go away all the morning. Mr. Smelt had some thoughts of taking up his abode in Windsor till the state of things should be more decisive. The accounts of the preceding night had been most cruel, and to quit the spot was scarce supportable to him. Yet he feared the princes might disapprove his stay, and he well knew his influence and welcome at Court was all confined to the sick-room: thence, there could now issue no mandate. Yet I encouraged him to stay; so did Mr. de Luc; and while he was still wavering he saw Dr. Warren in the courtyard, and again hastened to speak with him. Before he returned the Prince of Wales went out and met him; and you may imagine how much I was pleased to observe from the window that he took him by the arm, and walked up and down with him. When he came to us he said the prince had told him he had better stay, that he might see the queen. He determined, therefore, to send off an express to Mrs. Smelt, and go and secure an apartment at the inn. This was very soothing to me, who so much needed just such consolation as he could bestow - and I begged he would come back to dinner, and spend the whole day in my room, during his stay. What, however, was my concern and amaze, when, soon after, hastily returning, he desired to speak to me alone, and, as Mr. de Luc moved off, told me he was going back immediately to Kew! He spoke with a tremor that alarmed me. I entreated to know why such a change? He then informed me that the porter, Mr. Humphreys, had refused him re-entrance, and sent him his great coat ! He had resented this Page 244 impertinence, and was told it was by the express order of the prince! In utter astonishment he then only desired admittance for one moment to my room, and having acquainted me with this circumstance, he hurried off, in a state of distress, and indignation that left me penetrated with both. >From this time, as the poor king grew worse, general hope seemed universally to abate; and the Prince of Wales now took the government of the house into his own hands. Nothing was done but by his orders, and he was applied to in every difficulty. The queen interfered not in anything - she lived entirely in her two new rooms, and spent the whole day in patient sorrow and retirement with her daughters. STRINGENT NEW REGULATIONS. The next news that reached me, through Mr. de Luc, was, that the prince had sent his commands to the porter, to admit only four persons into the house on any pretence whatever these were Mr. Majendie, Mr. Turbulent, General Harcourt, and Mr. de Luc himself; and these were ordered to repair immediately to the equerry-room below stairs, while no one whatsoever was to be allowed to go to any other apartment. >From this time commenced a total banishment from all intercourse out of the house, and an unremitting confinement within its walls. Poor Mr. de Luc, however, could not forego coming to my room. He determined to risk that, since he was upon the list of those who might enter the house. I was glad, because he is a truly good man, and our sentiments upon this whole melancholy business were the same. But otherwise, the weariness of a great length of visit daily from a person so slow and methodical in discourse, so explanatory of everything and of nothing, at this agitating period, was truly painful to endure. He has often talked to me till my poor burthened head has seemed lost to all understanding. I had now, all tea-meetings being over, no means of gaining any particulars of what was passing, which added so much to the horror of the situation, that by the evening I was almost petrified. Imagine, then, alike my surprise and satisfaction at a visit from Mr. Fairly. He had never come to me so unexpectedly. I eagerly begged an account of what was going on, and, with his usual readiness and accuracy, he gave it me in full detail. And nothing could be more tragic than all the Page 245 particulars every species of evil seemed now hanging over this unhappy family. He had had his son with him in his room upstairs; "And I had a good mind," he said, "to have brought him to visit YOU." I assured him he would have been a very welcome guest; and when he added that he could no longer have him at the Equerry table to dinner, as the Prince of Wales now presided there, I invited him for the next day to mine. He not only instantly accepted the proposal, but cried, with great vivacity, "I wish you would invite me too." I thought he was laughing, but said, "Certainly, if such a thing might be allowed;" and then, to my almost speechless surprise, he declared, If I would give him permission, he would dine with me next day. He then proceeded to say that the hurry, and fatigue, and violent animal spirits of the other table quite overpowered him, and a respite of such a quiet sort would be of essential service to him. Yet he paused a little afterwards, upon the propriety of leaving the Prince of Wales's table, and said "He would first consult with General Budé, and hear his opinion." Sunday, Nov. 9.-No one went to church - not a creature now quits the house: but I believe devotion never less required the aid and influence of public worship. For me, I know, I spent almost my whole time between prayer and watching. Even my melancholy resource, my tragedy, was now thrown aside ; misery so actual, living, and present, was knit too closely around me to allow my depressed imagination to fancy any woe beyond what my heart felt. In coming early from the queen's apartment this morning I was addressed by a gentleman who inquired how I did, by my name; but my bewilderment made him obliged to tell his own before I could recollect him. It was Dr. Warren. I eagerly expressed my hopes and satisfaction in his attendance upon the poor king, but he would not enter upon that subject. I suppose he feared, from my zeal, some indiscreet questions concerning his opinion of the case; for he passed by all I could start, to answer only with speeches relative to myself-of his disappointment in never meeting me, though residing under the same roof, his surprise in not dining with me when told he was to dine in my room, and the strangeness of never seeing me when so frequently he heard my name. I could not bring myself to ask him to my apartment, when Page 246 I saw, by his whole manner, e held it imprudent to speak with me about the only subject on which I wished to talk--the king; and just then seeing the Duke of York advancing, I hastily retreated. While I was dressing, Mr. Fairly rapped at my door. I sent out Goter, who brought me his compliments, and, if it would not be inconvenient to me, he and his son would have the pleasure of dining with me. I answered, I should be very glad of their company, as would Miss Planta. Miss Goldsworthy had now arranged herself with the Lady Waldegraves. Our dinner was as pleasant as a dinner at such a season could be. Mr. Fairly holds cheerfulness as a duty in the midst of every affliction that can admit it; and, therefore,, whenever his animal spirits have a tendency to rise, he encourages and sustains them, So fond, too, is he of his son, that his very sight is a cordial to him - and that mild, feeling, amiable boy quite idolizes his father, looking up to him, hanging on his arm, and watching his eye to smile and be smiled upon, with a fondness like that of an infant to its maternal nurse. Repeatedly Mr. Fairly exclaimed, "What a relief is this, to dine thus quietly!" What a relief should I, too, have found it, but for a little circumstance, which I will soon relate, MRS. SCHWELLENBERG IS BACK AGAIN. We were still at table, with the dessert, when Columb entered and announced the sudden return from Weymouth of Mrs. Schwellenberg. Up we all started; Miss Planta flew out to receive her, and state the situation of the house; Mr. Fairly, expecting, I believe, she was coming into my room, hastily made his exit without a word; his son eagerly scampered after him, and I followed Miss Planta upstairs. My reception, however, was such as to make me deem it most proper to again return to my room. What an addition this to the gloom of all ! and to begin at once with harshness and rudeness! I could hardly tell how to bear it. Nov. 10.-This was a most dismal day. The dear and most suffering king was extremely ill, the queen very wretched, poor Mrs. Schwellenberg all spasm and horror, Miss Planta all restlessness, the house all mystery, and my only informant and Page 247 comforter distanced. Not a word, the whole day through, did I hear of what was passing or intending. Our dinner was worse than an almost famished fasting; we parted after it, and met no more. Mrs. Schwellenberg, who never drinks tea herself, hearing the general party was given up, and never surmising there had ever been any particular one, neither desired me to come to her, nor proposed returning to me. She took possession of the poor queen's former dressing-room, and between that and the adjoining apartments she spent all the day, except during dinner. Nov. 11.-This day passed like the preceding; I only saw her majesty in the morning, and not another human being from that hour till Mrs. Schwellenberg and Miss Planta came to dinner. Nor could I then gather any information of the present state of things, as Mrs. Schwellenberg announced that nothing must be talked of. To give any idea of the dismal horror of passing so many hours in utter ignorance, where every interest of the mind was sighing for intelligence, would not be easy: the experiment alone could give it its full force; and from that, Heaven ever guard my loved readers! Nov. 12.-To-day a little brightened upon us some change appeared in the loved royal sufferer, and though it was not actually for the better in itself, yet any change was pronounced to be salutary, as, for some days pas'' there had been a monotonous continuation of the same bad symptoms, that had doubly depressed us all. My spirits rose immediately ; indeed, I thank God, I never desponded, though many times I stood nearly alone in my hopes. In the passage, in the morning, I encountered Colonel Gwynn. I had but just time to inform him I yet thought all would do well, ere the princes appeared. All the equerries are now here except Major Garth, who is ill; and they have all ample employment in watching and waiting. From time to time they have all interviews; but it is only because the poor king will not be denied seeing them: it is not thought light. But I must enter into nothing of this sort-it is all too closely connected with private domestic concerns for paper. After dinner, my chief guest, la Présidente, told me, " If my room was not so warm, she would stay a little with me." I felt this would be rather too superlative an obligation; and therefore I simply answered that "I was too chilly to sit in a Page 248 cold room;" and I confess I took no pains to temper it according to this hint. PUBLIC PRAYERS FOR THE KING DECIDED UPON. Finding there was now no danger Of disagreeable interviews, Mr. Fairly renewed his visits as usual. He came early this evening, and narrated the state of things; and then, with a laugh, he Inquired What I had done With my head companion, and how I got rid of her? I fairly told him my malice about the temperature. He could not help laughing, though he instantly remonstrated against an expedient that might prove prejudicial to my health. "You had better not," he cried, "try any experiments of this sort: if you hurt Your nerves, it may prove a permanent evil; this other can only be temporary." He took up the "Task" again; but he opened, by ill luck, upon nothing striking or good; and soon, with distaste, flung the book down, and committed himself wholly to conversation. He told me he wished much he had been able to consult with me on the preceding morning, when he had the queen's orders to write, in her majesty's name, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, to issue out public prayers for the poor king, for all the churches. I assured him I fancied it might do very well without my aid. There was to be a privy council summoned, in consequence of the letter, to settle the mode of compliance. How right a step in my ever-right royal mistress is this! If you hear less of her now, my dearest friends, and of the internal transactions, it is only because I now rarely saw her but alone, and all that passed, therefore, was in promised confidence. And, for the rest, the whole of my information concerning the princes, and the plans and the proceedings of the house, was told me in perfect reliance on my secrecy and honour. I know this is saying enough to the most honourable of all confidants and friends to whom I am writing. All that passes with regard to myself is laid completely before them. Nov. 13- This was the fairest day we have passed since the first seizure of the most beloved of monarchs. He was considerably better. O what a ray of joy lightened us, and how mildly did my poor queen receive it Page 249 Nov. 14--Still all was greatly amended, and better spirits reigned throughout the house. Mr. Fairly--I can write of no one else, for no one else did I see--called early, to tell me he had received an answer relative to the prayer for his majesty's recovery, in consequence of which he had the queen's commands for going to town the next day, to see the archbishop. This was an employment so suited to the religious cast of his character, that I rejoiced to see it fall into his hands. He came again in the evening, and said he had now got the prayer. He did not entirely approve it, nor think it sufficiently warm and animated. I petitioned to hear it, and he readily complied, and read it with great reverence, but very unaffectedly and quietly. I was very, very much touched by It ; yet not, I own, quite so much as once before by another, which was read to me by Mr. Cambridge, and composed by his son, for the sufferings of his excellent daughter Catherine. It was at once so devout, yet so concise--so fervent, yet so simple, and the many tender relations concerned in it--father, brother, sister,--so powerfully affected me, that I had no command over the feelings then excited, even though Mr. Cambridge almost reproved me for want of fortitude; but there was something so tender in a prayer of a brother for a sister. Here, however, I was under better control - for though my whole heart was filled with the calamitous state of this unhappy monarch, and with deepest affliction for all his family, I yet knew so well my reader was one to severely censure all failure in calmness and firmness, that I struggled, and not ineffectually, to hear him with a steadiness like his own. But, fortunately for the relief of this force, he left the room for a few minutes to see if he was wanted, and I made use of his absence to give a little vent to those tears which I had painfully restrained in his presence. When he returned we had one of the best (on his part) conversations in which I have ever been engaged, upon the highest and most solemn of all subjects, prayers and supplications to heaven. He asked my opinion with earnestness, and gave his own with unbounded openness. Nov. 15-This morning my poor royal mistress herself presented me with one of the prayers for the king. I shall always keep it -- how--how fervently did I use it! Whilst I was at breakfast Mr. Fairly once more called before he set off for town and he brought me also a copy of the Page 250 prayer. He had received a large packet of them from the archbishop, Dr. Moore, to distribute in the house. The whole day the king continued amended. Sunday, Nov. 16.-This morning I ventured out to church. I did not like to appear abroad, but yet I had a most irresistible earnestness to join the public congregation in the prayer for the king. Indeed nothing could be more deeply moving: the very sound of the cathedral service, performed in his own chapel, overset me at once; and every prayer in the service in which he was mentioned brought torrents of tears from all the suppliants that joined in them. I could scarcely keep my place, scarce command my voice from audible sobs. To come to the House of prayer from such a house of woe! I ran away when the service was over, to avoid inquiries. Mrs. Kennedy ran after me, with swollen eyes; I could not refuse her a hasty answer, but I ran the faster after it, to avoid any more. The king was worse. His night had been very bad ; all the fair promise of amendment was shaken; he had now some symptoms even dangerous to his life. O good heaven, what a day did this prove! I saw not a human face, save at dinner and then, what faces! gloom and despair in all, and silence to every species of intelligence. . . . It was melancholy to see the crowds of former welcome visitors who were now denied access. The prince reiterated his former orders; and I perceived from my window those who had ventured to the door returning back in deluges of tears. Amongst them to-day I perceived poor Lady Effingham, the Duchess of Ancaster, and Mr. Bryant ; the last sent me In, afterwards, a mournful little letter, to which he desired no answer. Indeed I was not at liberty to write a word. SIR LuCAS PEPYS ON THE KING's CONDITION. Nov. 19.-The account of the dear king this morning was rather better. Sir Lucas Pepys was now called in, and added to Dr. Warren, Dr. Heberden, and Sir George Baker. I earnestly wished to see him, and I found my poor royal mistress was secretly anxious to know his opinion. I sent to beg to speak with him, as soon as the consultation was over; determined, however, to make that request no more if he was as shy of giving information as Dr. Warren, Page 251 poor Mr. de Luc was with me wen he came ; but it was necessary I should see Sir Lucas alone, that I might have a better claim upon his discretion : nevertheless I feared he would have left me, without the smallest intelligence, before I was able to make my worthy, but most slow companion comprehend the necessity of his absence. The moment we were alone, Sir Lucas opened upon the subject in the most comfortable manner. He assured me there was nothing desponding in the case, and that his royal patient would certainly recover, though not immediately. Whilst I was in the midst of the almost speechless joy with which I heard this said, and ready to kiss the very feet of Sir Lucas for words of such delight, a rap at my door made me open it to Mr. Fairly, who entered, saying, "I must come to ask you how you do, though I have no good news to bring you; but--" He then, with the utmost amaze, perceived Sir Lucas. In so very many visits he had constantly found me alone, that I really believe he had hardly thought it possible he should see me in any other way. They then talked over the poor king's situation, and Sir Lucas was very open and comforting. How many sad meetings have I had with him heretofore ; first in the alarming attacks of poor Mr. Thrale, and next in the agonizing fluctuations of his unhappy widow! Sir Lucas wished to speak with me alone, as he had something he wanted, through me, to communicate to the queen; but as he saw Mr. Fairly not disposed to retire first, by his manner of saying "Sir Lucas, you will find all the breakfast ready below stairs," he made his bow, and said he would see me again. Mr. Fairly then informed me he was quite uneasy at the recluse life led by the queen and the princesses, and that he was anxious to prevail with them to take a little air, which must be absolutely necessary to their health. He was projecting a scheme for this purpose, which required the assistance of the Duke of York, and he left me, to confer upon it with his royal highness, promising to return and tell its success. Sir Lucas soon came back, and then gave me such unequivocal assurances of the king's recovery, that the moment he left me I flew to demand a private audience of the queen, that I might relate such delightful prognostics. The Duke of York was with her, I waited in the passage, Page 252 where I met Lady Charlotte Finch, and tried what I could to instil into her mind the hopes I entertained: this, however, was not possible; a general despondency prevailed throughout the house, and Lady Charlotte was infected by it very deeply. At length I gained admission and gave my account, which was most meekly received by the most patient of sorrowers. At night came Mr. Fairly again; but, before he entered into any narrations he asked "DO you expect Sir Lucas?" "No," I said, "he had been already." "I saw him rise early from table," he added, "and I thought he was coming to YOU." He has taken no fancy to poor Sir Lucas, and would rather, apparently, avoid meeting him. However, it is to me so essential a comfort to hear his opinions, that I have earnestly entreated to see him by every opportunity. FURTHER CHANGES AT THE LODGE. The equerries now had their own table as usual, to which the physicians were regularly invited, downstairs, and our eating-party was restored. The princes established a table of their own at the Castle, to which they gave daily invitations to such as they chose, from time to time, to select from the Lodge. The noise of so large a party just under the apartment of the queen occasioned this new regulation, which took place by her majesty's own direction. Nov. 20.-Poor Miss Goldsworthy was now quite ill, and forced to retire and nurse. No wonder, for she had suffered the worst sort of fatigue, that of fearing to sleep, from the apprehension the queen might speak, and want her. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave now took her place Of sleeping in the queen's room, but the office of going for early intelligence how his majesty had passed the night devolved upon me. Exactly at seven o'clock I now went to the queen's apartment - Lady Elizabeth then rose and went to her own room to dress, and I received the queen's commands for my inquiries. I could not, however, go myself into the room where they assembled, which Miss Goldsworthy, who always applied to her brother, had very properly done : I sent in a message to beg to speak with General Bud, or whoever could bring an account. Mr. Charles Hawkins came; he had sat up. O, how terrible a narrative did he drily give of the night!--short, abrupt, Page 253 peremptorily bad, and indubitably hopeless! I did not dare alter, but I greatly softened this relation, in giving it to my poor queen. I had been, indeed, too much shocked by the hard way in which I had been told it, to deliver it in the same manner; neither did I, in my own heart, despair. I saw Sir Lucas afterwards, who encouraged all my more sanguine opinions. He told me many new regulations had been made. His majesty was to be kept as quiet as possible, and see only physicians, except for a short and stated period in every day, during which he might summon such among his gentlemen as he pleased. Mr. Fairly came also early, and wrote and read letters of great consequence relative to the situation of affairs ; and he told me he was then to go to the king, who had refused his assent to the new plan, and insisted upon seeing him when he came in from his ride, which, to keep him a little longer quiet, they had made him believe he was then taking. The gentlemen had agreed to be within call alternately, and he meant to have his own turn always in the forenoon, that his evenings might have some chance for quiet, The rest of the day was comfortless; my coadjutrix was now grown so fretful and affronting that, though we only met at dinner, it was hard to support her most unprovoked harshness. MR. FAIRLY AND THE LEARNED LADIES. At night, while I was just sealing a short note to my dear Miss Cambridge, who had an anxiety like that of my own Susan and Fredy lest I should suffer from my present fatigues, I heard the softest tap at my door, which, before I could either put down my letter or speak, was suddenly but most gently opened. I turned about and saw a figure wrapped up in a great, coat, with boots and a hat on, who cautiously entered, and instantly closed the door. I stared, and looked very hard, but the face was much hid by the muffling of the high collar to the great coat. I wondered, and could not conceive who it could be. The figure then took off his hat and bowed, but he did not advance, and the light was away from him. I courtsied, and wondered more, and then a surprised voice exclaimed, "Don't you know me?" and I found it was Mr. Fairly. "I cannot," he said, "stop now, but I will come again; however, you know it, perhaps, already? Page 254 "Know what?" "Why--the--news." "What news?" "Why--that the king is much better, and--" "Yes, Sir Lucas said so, but I have seen nobody since." "No? And have you heard nothing more?" "Nothing at all; I cannot guess what you mean." "What, then, have not you heard--how Much the king has talked? And--and have not you heard the charge." "No; I have heard not a word of any charge." "Why, then, I'll tell you." A long preamble, uttered very rapidly, of "how much the king had been talking," seemed less necessary to introduce his intelligence than to give him time to arrange it; and I was so much struck with this, that I could not even listen to him, from impatience to have him proceed. Suddenly, however, breaking off, evidently from not knowing how to go on, he exclaimed, "Well, I shall tell it you all by and by; you come in for your share!" Almost breathless now with amaze, I could hardly cry, "Do I?" "Yes, I'll tell you," cried he; but again he stopped, and, hesitatingly, said, "You--you won't be angry?" "No," I answered, still more amazed, and even almost terrified, at what I had now to expect. "Well, then," cried he, instantly resuming his first gay and rapid manner, "the king has been calling them all to order for staying so long away from him. 'All the equerries and gentlemen here,' he said, 'lost their whole time at the table, by drinking so much wine and sitting so long over their bottle, which constantly made them all so slow in returning to their waiting, that when he wanted them in the afternoon they were never ready; and-and-and Mr. Fairly,' says he, 'is as bad as any of them; not that he stays so long at table, or is so fond of wine, but he's just as late as the rest; for he's so fond of the company of learned ladies, that he gets to the tea-table with Miss Burney, and there he stays and spends his whole time.'" He spoke all this like the velocity of lightning- but, had it been with the most prosing slowness, I had surely never interrupted him, so vexed I was, so surprised, so completely disconcerted. Finding me silent, he began again, and as rapidly as ever; "I know exactly," he cried, "what it all means--what Page 255 the king has in his head--exactly what has given rise to the idea--'tis Miss Fuzilier." Now, indeed, I stared afresh, little expecting to hear her named by him. He went on in too much hurry for me to recollect his precise words, but he spoke of her very highly, and mentioned her learning, her education, and her acquirements, with great praise, yet with that sort of general commendation that disclaims all peculiar interest; and then, with some degree of displeasure mixed in his voice, mentioned the report that had been spread concerning- them, and its having reached the ears of the king before his Illness. He then lightly added something I could not completely hear, of its utter falsehood, in a way that seemed to hold even a disavowal too important for it, and then concluded with saying, "And this in the present confused state of his mind is altogether, I know, what he means by the learned ladies." When he had done he looked earnestly for my answer, but finding I made none, he said, with some concern, "You won't think any more of it?" "No," I answered, rather faintly. In a lighter manner then, as if to treat the whole as too light for a thought, he said, as he was leaving the room to change his dress, "Well, since I have now got the character of being so fond of such company, I shall certainly"--he stopped short, evidently at a loss how to go on; but quickly after, with a laugh, he hastily added, "come and drink tea with you very often;" and then, with another laugh, which he had all to himself, he hurried away. He left me, however, enough to think upon and the predominant thought was an immediate doubt whether or not, since his visits had reached the king, his majesty's observation upon them ought to stop their continuance? Upon the whole, however, when I summed up all, I found not cause sufficient for any change of system. No raillery had passed upon me; and, for him, he had stoutly evinced a determined contempt of it. Nothing of flirtation had been mentioned for either; I had merely been called a learned lady, and he had merely been accused Of liking such company. I had no other social comfort left me but Mr. Fairly, and I had discomforts past all description or suggestion. Should I drive him from me, what would pay me, and how had he deserved it? and which way could it be worth while? His friendship offered me a solace without hazard; it was held out to me Page 256 when all else was denied me; banished from every friend, confined almost to a state of captivity, harrowed to the very soul with surrounding afflictions, and without a glimpse of light as to when or how all might terminate, it seemed to me, in this situation, that providence had benignly sent in my way a character of so much worth and excellence, to soften the rigour of my condition, by kind sympathy and most honourable confidence. This idea was sufficient; and I thence determined to follow as he led, in disdaining any further notice, or even remembrance, if possible, of this learned accusation. Nov. 21.-All went better and better to-day, and I received from the king's room a more cheering account to carry to my poor queen. We had now hopes of a speedy restoration : the king held long conferences with all his gentlemen, and, though far from composed, was so frequently rational as to- make any resistance to his will nearly impossible. Innumerable difficulties attended this state, but the general promise it gave of a complete recovery recompensed them all. Sir Lucas Pepys came to me in the morning and acquainted me with the rising hopes of amendment. But he disapproved the admission of so many gentlemen, and would have limited the license to only the equerry in waiting, Colonel Goldsworthy, and Mr. Fairly, who was now principal throughout the house, in universal trust for his superior judgment. The king, Sir Lucas said, now talked of everybody and everything he could recollect or suggest. So I have heard, thought I. And, presently after, he added, "No one escapes; you will have your turn." Frightened lest he knew I had had it, I eagerly exclaimed, "O, no; I hope not." "And why?" cried he, good-humouredly; "what need you care? He can say no harm of you." I ventured then to ask if yet I had been named? He believed not yet. This doubled my curiosity to know to whom the "learned ladies" had been mentioned, and whether to Mr. Fairly himself, or to someone who related it; I think the latter, but there is no way to inquire. Very early in the evening I heard a rap at my door. I was in my inner room, and called out, "Who's there?" The door opened and Mr, Fairly appeared. Page 257 He had been so long in attendance this morning with our poor sick monarch, that he was too much fatigued to join the dinner-party. He had stood five hours running, besides the concomitant circumstances of attention. He had instantly laid down when he procured his dismission, and had only risen to eat some cold chicken before he came to my room. During that repast he had again been demanded, but he charged the gentleman to make his excuse, as he could go through nothing further. I hope the king did not conclude him again with the learned; This was the most serene, and even cheerful evening,, I had passed since the poor king's first seizure. REPORTS ON THE KING'S CONDITION. Nov. 22.-When I went for my morning inquiries, Colonel Manners came out to me. He could give me no precise account, as the sitters-up had not yet left the king, but he feared the night had been bad. We mutually bewailed the mournful state of the house. He is a very good creature at heart, though as unformed as if he had just left Eton or Westminster. But he loves his master with a true and faithful heart, and is almost as ready to die as to live for him, if any service of that risk was proposed to him. While the queen's hair was dressing, though only for a close cap, I was sent again. Colonel Manners came out to me, and begged I would enter the music-room, as Mr. Keate, the surgeon, had now just left the king, and was waiting to give me an account before he laid down. I found him in his night-cap: he took me up to a window, and gave me but a dismal history : the night had been very unfavourable, and the late amendment very transient. I heard nothing further till the evening, when my constant companion came to me. All, he said, was bad: he had been summoned and detained nearly all the morning, and had then rode to St. Leonard's to get a little rest, as he would not return till after dinner. He had but just begun his tea when his name was called aloud in the passage: up he started, seized his hat, and with a hasty bow, decamped. I fancy it was one of the princes; and the more, as he did not come back. Sunday, Nov. 23.-A sad day this! I was sent as usual for Page 258 the night account, which I had given to me by Mr. Fairly, and a very dismal one indeed. Yet I never, upon this point, yield implicitly to his opinion, as I see him frequently of the despairing side, and as for myself, I thank God, my hopes never wholly fall. A certain faith in his final recovery has uniformly supported my spirits from the beginning. . . In the evening, a small tap at my door, with, "Here I am again," ushered in Mr. Fairly. He seemcd much hurried and disturbed, and innately uncomfortable; and very soon he entered into a detail of the situation of affairs that saddened me in the extreme. The poor king was very ill indeed, and so little aware of his own condition, that he would submit to no rule, and chose to have company with him from morning till night, sending out for the gentlemen one after another without intermission, and chiefly for Mr. Fairly, who, conscious it was hurtful to his majesty, and nearly worn out himself, had now no chance of respite or escape but by leaving the house and riding out. . . . I have never seen him so wearied, or so vexed, I know not which. "How shall I rejoice," he cried, "when all this is over, and I can turn my back to this scene!" I should rejoice, I said, for him when he could make his escape; but his use here, in the whole round, is infinite; almost nothing is done without consulting him. "I wish," he cried, while he was making some memorandums, "I could live without sleep; I know not now how to spare my night." He then explained to me various miscellaneous matters of occupation, and confessed himself forced to break from the confused scene of action as much as possible, where the tumult and bustle were as overpowering, as the affliction, in the more quiet apartments, was dejecting. Then, by implication, what credit did he not give to my Poor still room, which he made me understand was his only refuge and consolation in this miserable house! MR. FAIRLY THINKS THE KING NEEDS STRICTER MANAGEMENT. Nov. 24.-Very bad again was the night's account, which I received at seven o'clock this morning from Mr. DUndas. I returned with it to my Poor royal mistress, who heard it with her usual patience. Page 259 While I was still with her, Lady Elizabeth came with a request from Mr. Fairly, for an audience before her majesty's breakfast. As soon as she was ready she ordered me to tell Lady Elizabeth to bring him. . . . Soon after,--with a hasty rap, came Mr. Fairly. He brought his writing to my table, where I was trying to take off impressions of plants. I Saw he meant to read me his letter; but before he had finished it Lady Charlotte Finch came in search of him. It was not for the queen, but herself; she wished to speak and consult with him upon the king's seeing his children, which was now his vehement demand. He was writing for one of the king's messengers, and could not stop till he had done. Poor Lady Charlotte, overcome with tenderness and compassion, wept the whole time he was at his pen; and when he had put it down, earnestly remonstrated on the cruelty of the present regulations, which debarred his majesty the sight of the princesses. I joined with her, though more firmly, believe me; my tears I suppress for my solitude. I have enough of that to give them vent, and, with all my suppression, my poor aching eyes can frequently scarce see one object from another. When Mr. Fairly left off writing he entered very deeply into argument with Lady Charlotte. He was averse to her request; he explained the absolute necessity of strong measures, and of the denial of dangerous indulgences, while the poor king was in this wretched state. The disease, he said, was augmented by every agitation, and the discipline of forced quiet was necessary till he was capable of some reflection. At present he spoke everything that occurred to him, and in a manner so wild, unreasonable, and dangerous, with regard to future constructions, that there could be no kindness so great to him as to suffer him only to see those who were his requisite attendants. He then enumerated many instances very forcibly, in which he showed how much more properly his majesty might have been treated, by greater strength of steadiness in his management. He told various facts which neither of us had heard, and, at last, in speaking of the most recent occurrences, he fell into a narrative relating to himself. The king, he said, had almost continually demanded him of late, and with the most extreme agitation; he had been as much with him as it was possible for his health to bear. "Five hours,,, continued he, "I spent with him on Friday, and four Page 260 on Saturday, and three and a half yesterday; yet the moment I went to him last night, he accused me of never coming near him. He said I gave him up entirely; that I was always going out, always dining out, always going to Mrs. Harcourt's--riding to St. Leonard's; but he knew why--'twas to meet Miss Fuzilier." . . . Poor Lady Charlotte was answered, and, looking extremely sorry, went away. He then read me his messenger's letter. 'Twas upon a very delicate affair, relative to the Prince of Wales, in whose service, he told me, he first began his Court preferment. When he had made up his packet he returned to the subject of the king's rage, with still greater openness. He had attacked him, he said, more violently than ever about Miss Fuzilier which, certainly, as there had been such a report, was very unpleasant. "And when I seriously assured him," he added, "that there was nothing in it, he said 'I had made him the happiest of men."' Nov. 25.---My morning account was from General Bud, and a very despairing one. He has not a ray of hope for better days. My poor queen was so much pleased with a sort of hymn for the king, which she had been reading In the newspapers, that I scrupled not to tell her of one in manuscript, which, of course, she desired to read; but I stipulated for its return, though I could not possibly stay in the room while she looked at it. MR. FAIRLY WANTS A CHANGE. In the evening Mr. Fairly came, entering with a most gently civil exclamation of "How long it is since I have seen you!" I could not answer, it was only one evening missed; for, in truth, a day at this time seems liberally a week, and a very slow one too. He had been to town, suddenly sent by the queen last night, and had returned only at noon. he gave me a full account of all that was passing and projecting; and awfully critical everything seemed. "He should now soon," he said, "quit the tragic scene, and go to relax and recruit, with his children, in the country. He regarded his service here as nearly over, since an entirely new regulation was planning, in which the poor king was no longer to be allowed the sight of any of his gentlemen. His continual long conversations with them were judged utterly improper, and Page 261 he was only to be attended by the medical people and his pages." He then gave into my hands the office of hinting to the queen his intention, if he could be dispensed with by her majesty, to go into the Country on the 12th of next month (December), with his boy Charles, who then left Eton for the Christmas holidays. I knew this would be unwelcome intelligence, but I wished to forward his departure, and would not refuse the commission. When this was settled he said he would go and take a circuit, and see how matters stood; and then, if he could get away after showing himself, return--if I would give him leave to drink his tea with me. He had not been gone ten minutes before Lady Charlotte came in search of him. She had been told, she said, that he was with me. I laughed, but could not forbear asking if I passed for his keeper, since whenever he was missing I was always called to account for him. Again, however, he came and drank his tea, and stayed an hour, in most confidential discourse. When the new regulation is established, only one gentleman is to remain--which will be the equerry in waiting. This is now Colonel Goldsworthy. The rest will disperse. REMOVAL OF THE KING To KEW DETERMINED UPON. Nov. 26.-I found we were all speedily to remove to Kew. This was to be kept profoundly secret till almost the moment of departure. The king will never consent to quit Windsor and to allure him away by some stratagem occupies all the physicians, who have proposed and enforced this measure. Mr. Fairly is averse to it: the king's repugnance he thinks insurmountable, and that it ought not to be opposed. But the princes take part with the physicians. He left me to ride out, but more cordial and with greater simplicity of kindness than ever, he smilingly said in going, "Well, good bye, and God bless you." "Amen," quoth I, after he had shut the door. Nov. 27.-This morning and whole day were dreadful My early account was given me by Mr. Charles Hawkins, and with such determined decision of incurability, that I left him quite in horror. All that I dared, I softened to my poor queen, who was now harassed to death with state affairs, and impending storms of state dissensions, I would have given Page 262 the world to have spent the whole day by her side, and poured in what balm of hope I could, since it appeared but too Visibly she scarce received a ray from any other. Universal despondence now pervaded the whole house. Sir Lucas, indeed, sustained his original good opinion, but he was nearly overpowered by standing alone, and was forced to let the stream take its course with but little opposition. Even poor Mr. de Luc was silenced ; Miss Planta easily yields to fear; and Mrs. Schwellenberg--who thinks it treason to say the king is ever at all indisposed--not being able to say all was quite well, forbade a single word being uttered upon the subject The dinners, therefore, became a time of extremest pain; all was ignorance, mystery, and trembling expectation of evil. In the evening, thank heaven! came again my sole relief, Mr. Fairly. He brought his son. and they entered with such serene aspects, that I soon shook off a little of my gloom; and I heard there was no new cause, for though all was bad, nothing was worse. We talked over everything; and that always opens the mind, and softens the bitterness of sorrow. The prospect before us, with respect to Kew, is indeed terrible. There is to be a total seclusion from all but those within the walls, and those are to be contracted to merely necessary attendants. Mr. Fairly disapproved the scheme, though a gainer by it of leisure and liberty. Only the equerry in waiting Is to have a room in the house; the rest of the gentlemen are to take their leave. He meant, therefore, himself, to go into the country with all speed. Nov. 28.-How woful-how bitter a day, in every part, was this! My early account was from the king's page, Mr. Stillingfleet, and the night had been extremely bad. I dared not sink the truth to my poor queen, though I mixed in it whatever I Could devise of cheer and hope; and she bore it with the most wonderful calmness. Dr. Addington was now called in: a very old physician, but peculiarly experienced in disorders such as afflicted our poor king, though not professedly a practitioner in them. Sir Lucas made me a visit, and informed me of all the medical proceedings; and told me, in confidence, we were to go to Kew to-morrow, though the queen herself had not yet concurred in the measure; but the physicians joined to desire Page 263 it, and they were supported by the princes. The difficulty how to get the king away from his favourite abode was all that rested. If they even attempted force, they had not a doubt but his smallest resistance would call up the whole country to his fancied rescue! Yet how, at such a time, prevail by persuasion? He moved me even to tears, by telling me that none of their own lives would be safe if the king did not recover so Prodigiously high ran the tide of affection and loyalty. All the physicians received threatening letters daily to answer for the safety of their monarch with their lives! Sir George Baker had already been Stopped in his carriage by the mob to give an account of the king; and when he said it Was a bad one, they had furiously exclaimed, "The more shame for you!" A PRIVY COUNCIL HELD. After he left me, a privy council was held at the Castle, with the Prince of Wales; the chancellor,(300) Mr. Pitt, and all the officers of state were summoned, to sign a Permission for the king's removal. The poor queen gave an audience to the chancellor--it was necessary to sanctify their proceedings. The princess royal and Lady Courtown attended her. It was a tragedy the most dismal! The queen's knowledge of the king's aversion to Kew made her consent to this measure with the extremest reluctance yet it was not to be opposed: It Was stated as much the best for him, on account of the garden: as here there is none but what Is Public to spectators from the terrace or tops of houses. I believe they were perfectly right though the removal was so tremendous. The physicians were summoned to the privy Council, to give their Opinions, upon oath, that this step was necessary. Inexpressible was the alarm of everyone, lest the king, if he recovered, should bear a lasting resentment against the authors and promoters of this Journey. To give it, therefore, every possible sanction it was decreed that he should be seen, both by the chancellor and Mr. Pitt. The chancellor went in to his presence with a tremor such as, before, he had been only accustomed to inspire; and when he came out, he was so extremely affected by the state in which he Page 264 saw his royal master and patron that the tears ran down his cheeks, and his feet had difficulty to support him. Mr. Pitt was more composed, but expressed his grief with so much respect and attachment, that it added new weight to the universal admiration with which he is here beheld. All these circumstances, with various others, of equal sadness which I must not relate, came to my knowledge from Sir Lucas, Mr. de Luc, and my noon attendance upon her majesty, who was compelled to dress for her audience of the chancellor. And, altogether, with the horror of the next day's removal, an([ the gloom of the ensuing Kew residence, I was so powerfully depressed, that when Mr. Fairly came in the evening, not all my earnestness to support my firmness could re-animate me, and I gave him a most solemn reception, and made the tea directly, and almost in silence. He endeavoured, at first, to revive me by enlivening discourse, but finding that fail, he had recourse to more serious means. He began his former favourite topic-the miseries of life-the inherent miseries, he thinks them, to which we are so universally born and bred, that it was as much consonant with our reason to expect as with our duty to support them. I heard him with that respect his subject and his character alike merited; but I could not answer--my heart was sunk--my spirits were all exhausted: I knew not what to expect next, nor how I might be enabled to wade through the dreadful winter. . . . He had not, I saw, one ray of hope to offer me of better times, yet he recommended me to cheer myself; but not by more sanguine expectations--simply and solely by religion. To submit, he said, to pray and to submit, were all we had to do. . . . The voice of the Prince of Wales, in the passage, carried him away. They remained together, in deep conference, all the rest of the evening, consulting upon measures for facilitating the king's removal, and obtaining his consent. I went very late to the queen, and found her in deep sorrow but nothing confidential passed: I found her not alone, nor alone did I leave her. But I knew what was passing in her mind--the removing the king!-Its difficulty and danger at present, and the dread of his permanent indignation hereafter. Page 265 THE REMOVAL To KEW. Nov. 29.-Shall I ever forget the varied emotions of this dreadful day! I rose with the heaviest of hearts, and found my poor royal mistress in the deepest dejection: she told me now of our intended expedition to Kew. Lady Elizabeth hastened away to dress, and I was alone with her for some time. Her mind, she said, quite misgave her about Kew: the king's dislike was terrible to think of, and she could not foresee in what it might end. She would have resisted the measure herself, hut that she had determined not to have upon her own mind any opposition to the opinion of the physicians. The account of the night was still more and more discouraging: it was related to me by one of the pages, Mr. Brawan; and though a little I softened or omitted particulars, I yet most sorrowfully conveyed it to the queen. Terrible was the morning!--uninterruptedly terrible! all spent in hasty packing up, preparing for we knew not what, nor for how long, nor with what circumstances, nor scarcely with what view! We seemed preparing for captivity, without having committed any offence; and for banishment, without the least conjecture when we might be recalled from it. The poor queen was to get off in private: the plan settled, between the princes and the physicians, was, that her majesty and the princesses should go away quietly, and then that the king should be told that they were gone, which was the sole method they could devise to prevail with him to follow. He was then to be allured by a promise of seeing them at Kew again, as they knew he would doubt their assertion, he was to go through the rooms and examine the house himself. I believe it was about ten o'clock when her majesty departed drowned in tears, she glided along the passage, and got softly into her carriage, with two weeping princesses, and Lady Courtown, who was to be her lady-in-waiting during this dreadful residence. Then followed the third princess, With Lady Charlotte Finch. They went off without any state or parade, and a more melancholy Scene cannot be imagined. There was not a dry eye in the house. The footmen, the house-maids, the porter, the sentinels--all cried even bitterly as they looked on. The three younger princesses were to wait till the event was known. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave and Miss Goldsworthy had their royal highnesses in charge, Page 266 It was settled the king was to be attended by three of his gentlemen, in the carriage, and to be followed by the physicians, and preceded by his pages. But all were to depart on his arrival at Kew, except his own equerry-in-waiting. It Was not very pleasant to these gentlemen to attend his majesty at such a time, and upon such a plan, so adverse to his inclination, without any power of assistance : however, they would rather have died than refused, and it was certain the king would no other way travel but by compulsion, which no human being dared even mention. Miss Planta and I were to go as soon as the packages could be ready, with some of the queen's things. Mrs. Schwellenberg was to remain behind, for one day, in order to make arrangements about the jewels. In what a confusion was the house! Princes, equerries, physicians, pages--all conferring, whispering, plotting, and caballing, how to induce the king to set off! At length we found an opportunity to glide through the passage to the coach; Miss Planta and myself, with her maid and Goter. But the heaviness of heart with which we began this journey, and the dreadful prognostics of the duration of misery to which it led us--who can tell? We were almost wholly silent all the way. When we arrived at Kew, we found the suspense with which the king was awaited truly terrible. Her majesty had determined to return to Windsor at night, if he came not. We were all to forbear unpacking in the mean while. The house was all now regulated by express order of the Prince of Wales, who rode over first, and arranged all the apartments, and writ, with chalk, the names of the destined inhabitants on each door. My own room he had given to Lady Courtown ; and for me, he had fixed on one immediately adjoining to Mrs. Schwellenberg's; a very pleasant room, looking into the garden, but by everybody avoided, because the partition is so thin of the next apartment, that not a word can be spoken in either that is not heard in both. A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. While I was surveying this new habitation, the princess royal came into it, and, with a cheered countenance, told me that the queen had just received intelligence that the king was rather better, and would come directly, and therefore I was Page 267, commissioned to issue orders to Columb to keep out of sight, and to see that none of the servants were in the way when the king passed. Eagerly, and enlivened, downstairs I hastened, to speak to Columb. I flew to the parlour to ring the bell for him, as In my new room I had no bell for either man or maid; but judge my surprise, when, upon opening the door, and almost rushing in, I perceived a Windsor uniform! I was retreating with equal haste, when the figure before me started, in so theatric an attitude of astonishment, that it forced me to look again. The arms were then wide opened, while the figure fell back, in tragic paces. Much at a loss, and unable to distinguish the face, I was again retiring, when the figure advanced, but in such measured steps as might have suited a march upon a stage. I now suspected it was Mr. Fairly; yet so unlikely I thought it, I could not believe it without speech. "Surely," I cried, " it is not--it is not--" I stopped, afraid to make a mistake. With arms yet more sublimed, he only advanced, in silence and dumb heroics. I now ventured to look more steadily at the face, and then to exclaim-" "Is it Mr. Fairly?" The laugh now betrayed him: he could hardly believe I had really not known him. I explained that my very little expectation of seeing him at Kew had assisted my near-sightedness to perplex me. But I was glad to see him so sportive, which I found was Owing to the good spirits of bringing good news; he had mounted his horse as soon as he had heard the king had consented to the journey, and he had galloped to Kew, to acquaint her majesty with the welcome tidings. I rang and gave my orders to Columb and he then begged me not to hurry away, and to give him leave to wait, in this parlour, the king's arrival. He then explained to me the whole of the intended proceedings and arrangements, with details innumerable and most interesting. He meant to go almost immediately into the country--all was settled with the queen. I told him I was most cordially glad his recruit was so near at hand. "I shall, however," he said, "be in town a few days longer, and come hither constantly to pay you all a little visit." Miss Planta then appeared. A more general conversation now took place, though in its course Mr. Fairly had the malice to give me a start I little expected from him. We were talk- Page 268 ing of our poor king, and wondering at the delay of his arrival, when Mr. Fairly said, "The king now, Miss Planta, mentions everybody and everything that he knows or has heard mentioned in his whole life. Pray does he know any Of your secrets? he'll surely tell them if he does!" "So I hear," cried she, "but I'm sure he can't tell anything of Me! But I wonder what he says of everybody?" "Why, everything," cried he. "Have you not heard of yourself?" "Dear, no! Dear me, Mr. Fairly!" "And, dear Miss Planta! why should not you have your share? Have you not heard he spares nobody?" "Yes, I have; but I can't think what he says of them!" Fearful of anything more, I arose and looked at the Window to see if any sign of approach appeared, but he dropped the subject without coming any nearer, and Miss Planta dropped it too. I believe he wished to discover if she had heard of his learned ladies! THE KING's ARRIVAL. Dinner went on, and still no king. We now began to grow very anxious, when Miss Planta exclaimed that she thought she heard a carriage. We all listened. "I hope!" I cried. "I see you do!" cried he, "you have a very face of hope at this moment!"--and it was not disappointed. The sound came nearer, and presently a carriage drove into the front court. I could see nothing, it was so dark; but I presently heard the much-respected voice of the dear unhappy king, speaking rapidly to the porter, as he alighted from the coach. Mr. Fairly flew instantly upstairs, to acquaint the queen with the welcome tidings. The poor king had been prevailed upon to quit Windsor with the utmost difficulty: he was accompanied by General Harcourt, his aide-de-camp, and Colonels Goldsworthy and Wellbred--no one else! He had passed all the rest with apparent composure, to come to his carriage, for they lined the passage, eager to see him once more! and almost all Windsor was collected round the rails, etc. to witness the mournful spectacle of his departure, which left them in the deepest despondence, with scarce a ray of hope ever to see him again. Page 269 The bribery, however, which brought, was denied him!--he was by no means to see the queen When I went to her at night, she was all graciousness, and kept me till very late. I had not seen her alone so long, except for a few minutes in the morning, that I had a thousand things I wished to say to her. You may be sure they were all, as far as they went, consolatory. Princess Augusta had a small tent-bed put up in the queen's bed-chamber: I called her royal highness when the queen dismissed me. She undressed in an adjoining apartment. THE ARRANGEMENTS AT KEW PALACE. I must now tell you how the house is disposed. The whole of the ground-floor that looks towards the 'garden is appropriated to the king, though he is not indulged with its range. In the side wing is a room for the physicians, destined to their consultations; adjoining to that is the equerry's dining-room. Mrs. Schwellenberg's parlours, which are in the front of the house, one for dining, the other for coffee and tea, are still allowed us. The other front rooms below are for the pages to dine, and the rest of the more detached buildings are for the servants of various sorts. All the rooms immediately over those which are actually occupied by the king are locked up; her majesty relinquishes them, that he may never be tantalized by footsteps overhead. She has retained only the bed-room, the drawing-room, which joins to it, and the gallery, in which she eats. Beyond this gallery are the apartments of the three elder princesses, in one .of which rooms Miss Planta sleeps. There is nothing more on the first floor. On the second a very large room for Mrs. Schwellenberg, and a very pleasant one for myself, are over the queen's rooms. Farther on are three bed-rooms, one for the surgeon or apothecary in waiting, the next for the equerry, and the third, lately mine, for the queen's lady--all written thus with chalk by the prince. Then follows a very long dark passage, with little bed-rooms on each side, for the maids, and one of the pages. These look like so many little cells of a convent. Mrs. Sandys has a room nearer the queen's, and Goter has one nearer to mine. At the end of this passage there is a larger room, formerly appropriated to Mr. de Luc, but now Page 270 chalked "The physicians'." One physician, one equerry, and one surgeon or apothecary, are regularly to sleep in the house. This is the general arrangement. The prince very properly has also ordered that one of his majesty's grooms of' the bedchamber should be in constant waiting; he is to reside in the prince's house, over the way, which is also fitting up for some others. This gentleman is to receive all inquiries about the king's health. The same regulation had taken place at Windsor, in the Castle, where the gentlemen waited in turn. Though, as the physicians send their account to St. James's, this is now become an almost useless ceremony, for everybody goes thither to read the bulletin. The three young princesses are to be in a house belonging to the king on Kew green, commonly called Princess Elizabeth's, as her royal highness has long inhabited it in her illness. There will lodge Miss Goldsworthy, Mlle. Montmoulin, and Miss Gomme. Lady Charlotte Finch is to be at the Prince of Wales's. I could not sleep all night----I thought I heard the poor king. He was under the same range of apartments, though far distant, but his indignant disappointment haunted me. The queen, too, was very angry at having promises made in her name which could not be kept. What a day altogether was this! A REGENCY HINTED AT. Sunday, Nov. 30.-Here, in all its dread colours, dark as its darkest prognostics, began the Kew campaign. I went to my poor queen at seven o'clock: the Princess Augusta arose and went away to dress, and I received her majesty's commands to go down for inquiries. She had herself passed a wretched night, and already lamented leaving Windsor. I waited very long in the cold dark passages below, before I could find any one of whom to ask intelligence. The parlours were without fires, and washing. I gave directions afterwards, to have a fire in one of them by seven o'clock every morning. At length I procured the speech of one of the pages, and heard that the night had been the most violently bad of any yet passed!--and no wonder! I hardly knew how to creep upstairs, frozen both within and without, to tell such news; but it was not received as if unexpected, and I omitted whatever was not essential to be known. Page 271 Afterwards arrived Mrs: Schwellenberg, so oppressed between her spasms and the house's horrors, that the oppression she inflicted ought perhaps to be pardoned. It was, however, difficult enough to bear! Harshness, tyranny, dissension, and even insult, seemed personified. I cut short details upon this subject-they would but make you sick. . . . My dear Miss Cambridge sent to me immediately. I saw she had a secret hope she might come and sit with me now and then in this confinement. It would have been my greatest possible solace in this dreary abode: but I hastened to acquaint her of the absolute seclusion, and even to beg she would not send her servant to the house - for I found it was much desired to keep off all who might carry away any intelligence. She is ever most reasonable, and never thenceforward hinted upon the subject. But she wrote continually long letters, and filled with news and anecdotes of much interest, relating to anything she could gather of "out-house proceedings," which now became very important--the length of the malady threatening a regency!-- a Word which I have not yet been able to articulate. MR. FAIRLY'S KIND OFFICES. Kew, Monday, Dec. 1.-Mournful was the opening of the month! My account of the night from Gezewell, the page, was very alarming, and my poor royal mistress began to sink more than I had ever yet seen. No wonder; the length of the malady so uncertain, the steps which seemed now requisite so shocking: for new advice, and such as suited only disorders that physicians in general relinquish, was now proposed, and compliance or refusal were almost equally tremendous. In sadness I returned from her, and, moping and unoccupied, I was walking up and down my room, when Columb came to say Mr. Fairly desired to know if I could see him. Certainly, I said, I would come to him in the parlour. He was not at all well, nor did he seem at all comfortable. He had undertaken, by his own desire, to purchase small carpets for the princesses, for the house is in a state of cold and discomfort past all imagination. It has never been a winter residence, and there was nothing prepared for its becoming one. He could not, he told me, look at the rooms of their royal highnesses without shuddering for them; and he longed, he said, to cover all the naked, cold boards, to render them Page 272 more habitable. He had obtained permission to execute this as a commission: for so miserable is the house at present that no general orders to the proper people are either given Or thought about; and every one is so absorbed in the general calamity, that they would individually sooner perish than offer up complaint or petition. I Should never end were I to explain the reasons there are for both. What he must next, he said, effect, was supplying them with sand-bags for windows and doors, which he intended to fill and to place himself. The wind which blew in upon those lovely princesses, he declared, was enough to destroy them. When he had informed me of these kind offices, he began an inquiry into how I was lodged. Well enough, I said; but he would not accept so general an answer. He insisted upon knowing what was my furniture, and in particular if I had any carpet; and when I owned I had none, he smiled, and said he would bring six, though his commission only extended to three. He did not at all like the parlour, which, indeed, is wretchedly cold and miserable: he wished to bring it a carpet, and new fit it up with warm winter accommodations. He reminded me of my dearest Fredy, when she brought me a decanter of barley-water and a bright tin saucepan, under her hoop. I Could not tell him that history in detail, but I rewarded his good-nature by hinting at the resemblance it bore, in its active zeal, to my sweet Mrs. Locke. . . . The queen afterwards presented me with a very pretty little new carpet; only a bed-side slip, but very warm. She knew not how much I was acquainted with its history, but I found she had settled for them all six. She gave another to Mrs. Schwellenberg. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S PARLOUR. Dec. 3.-Worse again to-day was the poor king: the little fair gleam, how soon did it pass away! I was beginning to grow ill myself, from the added fatigue of disturbance in the night, unavoidably occasioned by the neighbourhood to an invalid who summoned her maids at all hours; and my royal mistress issued orders for a removal to take place. My new apartment is at the end of the long dark passage mentioned, with bed-room cells on each side it. It is a Page 273 very comfortable room, carpeted all over, with one window looking- to the front of the house and two into a court-yard. It is the most distant from the queen, but in all other respects is very desirable. I must now relate briefly a new piece of cruelty. I happened to mention to la première présidente my waiting for a page to bring the morning accounts. "And where do you wait?" "In the parlour, ma'am." "In my parlour? Oh, ver well! I will see to that!" "There is no other place, ma'am, but the cold passages, which, at that time in the morning, are commonly wet as well as dark." "O, ver well! When everybody goes to my room I might keep an inn--what you call hotel." All good humour now again vanished; and this morning, when I made my seven o'clock inquiry, I found the parlour doors both locked! I returned so shivering to my queen, that she demanded the cause, which I simply related; foreseeing inevitable destruction from continuing to run such a hazard. She instantly protested there should be a new arrangement. Dec. 4.-No opportunity offered yesterday for my better security, and therefore I was again exposed this morning to the cold dark damp of the miserable passage. The account was tolerable, but a threat of sore-throat accelerated the reform. It was now settled that the dining-parlour should be made over for the officers of state who came upon business to the house, and who hitherto had waited in the hall; and the room which was next to Mrs. Schwellenberg's, and which had first been mine, was now made our salle à manger. By this means, the parlour being taken away for other people, and by command relinquished, I obtained once again the freedom of entering it, to 'gather my account for her majesty. But the excess of ill-will awakened by my obtaining this little privilege, which was actually necessary to my very life, was so great, that more of personal offence and harshness could not have been shown to the most guilty of culprits. One of the pages acquainted me his majesty was not worse, and the night had been as usual. As usual, too, was my day sad and solitary all the morning--not solitary but worse during dinner and coffee. just after it, however, came the good and sweet Mr. Smelt. Page 274 The Prince of Wales sent for him, and condescended to apologise for the Windsor transaction, and to order he might regain admission. How this was brought about I am not clear: I only know it is agreed by all parties that the prince has the faculty of making his peace, where he wishes it, with the most captivating grace In the world. A NEW PHYSICIAN SUMMONED. Mr. Fairly told me this evening that Dr. Willis, a physician of Lincoln, of peculiar skill and practice in intellectual maladies, had been sent for by express. The poor queen had most painfully concurred in a measure which seemed to fix the nature of the king's attack in the face of the world; but the necessity and strong advice had prevailed over her repugnance. Dec. 6.-Mr. Fairly came to me, to borrow pen and ink for a few memorandums. Notwithstanding much haste. he could not, he said, go till he had acquainted me with the opening of Dr. Willis with his royal patient. I told him there was nothing I more anxiously wished to hear. He then gave me the full narration, interesting, curious, extraordinary; full of promise and hope. He is extremely pleased both with the doctor and his son, Dr. John, he says they are fine, lively, natural, independent characters. Sunday, Dec. 7.-Very bad Was this morning's account. Lady Charlotte Finch read prayers to the queen and princess, and Lady Courtown, and the rest for themselves. M r. Fairly wishes her majesty would summon a chaplain, and let the house join in congregation. I think he is right, as far as the house extends to those who are still admitted into her majesty's presence. Dec. 8.-The accounts began mending considerably, and hope broke in upon all. Dec. 9.---All gets now into a better channel, and the dear royal invalid gives every symptom of amendment. God be praised! Dec. 11.-To-day We have had the fairest hopes: the king took his first walk in Kew garden! There have been impediments to this trial hitherto, that have been thought insurmountable, though, in fact, they were most frivolous. The walk seemed to do him good, and we are all in better Page 275 spirits about him than for this many and many a long day past. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S OPINION OF MR. FAIRLY. Dec. 12.-This day passed in much the same manner. Late in the evening, after Mr. Smelt was gone, Mrs. Schwellenberg began talking about Mr. Fairly, and giving free vent to all her strong innate aversion to him. She went back to the old history of the "newseepaper," and gave to his naming it every unheard motive of spite, disloyalty, and calumny! three qualities which I believe equally and utterly unknown to him. He was also, she said, "very onfeeling, for she had heard him laugh prodigious with the Lady Waldegraves, Perticleer with lady Carlisle, what you call Lady Elizabeth her sister, and this in the king's illness." And, in fine, she could not bear him. Such gross injustice I could not hear quietly. I began a warm defence, protesting I knew no one whose heart was more feelingly devoted to the royal family, except, perhaps, Mr. Smelt; and that as to his laughing, it must have been at something of passing and accidental amusement, since he was grave even to melancholy, except when he exerted his spirits for the relief or entertainment of others. Equally amazed and provoked, she disdainfully asked me what I knew of him? I made no answer. I was not quite prepared for the interrogatory, and feared she might next inquire when and where I had seen him? My silence was regarded as self-conviction of error, and she added, "I know you can't not know him; I know he had never seen you two year and half ago; when you came here he had not heard your name." "Two years and a half," I answered coolly, "I did not regard as a short time for forming a judgment of any one's character." "When you don't not see them ? You have never seen him, I am sure, but once, or what you call twice." I did not dare let this pass, it was so very wide from the truth; but calmly said I had seen him much oftener than once or twice. "And where? when have you seen him?" "Many times; and at Cheltenham constantly; but never to observe in him anything but honour and goodness." "O ver well! you don't not know him like me, you can't Page 276 not know him; he is not from your acquaintance--I know that ver well!" She presently went on by herself. "You could not know such a person--he told me the same himself: he told me he had not never seen you when you first came. You might see him at Cheltenham, that is true; but nothing others, I am sure. At Windsor there was no tea, not wonce, so you can't not have seen him, only at Cheltenham." I hardly knew whether to laugh or be frightened at this width of error; nor, indeed, whether it was not all some artifice to draw me out, from pique, into some recital: at all events I thought it best to say nothing, for she was too affronting to deserve to be set right. She went on to the same purpose some time, more than insinuating that a person such as Mr. Fairly could never let him self down to be acquainted with me; till finding me too much offended to think her assertions worth answering, she started, at last, another subject. I then forced myself to talk much as usual. But how did I rejoice when the clock struck ten--how wish it had been twelve! THE KING'S VARYING CONDITION. Dec. 15.-This whole day was passed in great internal agitation throughout the house, as the great and important business of the Regency was to be discussed to-morrow in Parliament. All is now too painful and intricate for writing a word. I begin to confine my memorandums almost wholly to my own personal proceedings. Dec. 16.-Whatsoever might pass in the House on this momentous subject, it sat so late that no news could arrive. Sweeter and better news, however, was immediately at hand than any the whole senate could transmit; the account from the pages was truly cheering. With what joy did I hasten with it to the queen, who immediately ordered me to be its welcome messenger to the three princesses. And when Mr. Smelt came to my breakfast, with what rapture did he receive it! seizing and kissing my hand, while his eyes ran over, and joy seemed quite to bewitch him. He flew away in a very few minutes, to share his happiness with his faithful partner. After breakfast I had a long conference in the parlour with Sir Lucas Pepys, who justly gloried in the advancement of his original prediction; but there had been much dissension Page 277 amongst the physicians, concerning the bulletin to go to St. James's, no two agreeing in the degree of better to be announced to the world. Dr. Willis came in while we were conversing, but instantly retreated, to leave us undisturbed. He looks a very fine old man. I wish to be introduced to him. Mr. Smelt and Mr. Fairly are both quite enchanted with all the family; for another son now, a clergyman, Mr. Thomas Willis, has joined their forces. Dec. 17.-MY account this morning was most afflictive once more: it was given by Mr. Hawkins, and was cruelly subversive of all our rising hopes. I carried it to the queen in trembling but she bore it most mildly. What resignation is hers! Dec. 22.-With what joy did I carry, this morning, an exceeding good account of the king to my royal mistress! It was trebly welcome., as much might depend upon it in the resolutions of the House concerning the Regency, which was of to-day's discussion. Mr. Fairly took leave, for a week, he said, wishing me my health, while I expressed my own wishes for his good journey But, in looking forward to a friendship the most permanent, saw the eligibility of rendering it the most open. I therefore went back to Mrs. Schwellenberg; and the moment I received a reproach for staying so long, I calmly answered, "Mr. Fairly had made me a visit, to take leave before he went into the country." Amazement was perhaps never more indignant. Mr. Fairly to take leave of me! while not once he even called upon her! This offence swallowed up all other comments upon the communication. I seemed not to understand it; but we had a terrible two hours and a-half. Yet to such, now, I may look forward without any mixture, any alleviation, for evening after evening in this sad abode. N.B. My own separate adventures for this month, and year, concluded upon this day. The king went on now better, now worse, in a most fearful manner; but Sir Lucas Pepys never lost sight of hope, and the management of Dr. Willis and his two sons was most wonderfully acute and successful. Yet so much were they perplexed and tormented by the interruptions given to their plans and methods, that they were frequently almost tempted to resign the undertaking from anger and confusion. Page 278 DR. WILLIS AND His SON. Kew Palace, Thursday, Jan. 1, 1789.-The year opened with an account the most promising of our beloved king. I saw Dr, Willis, and he told me the night had been very tranquil and he sent for his son, Dr. John Willis, to give me a history of the morning. Dr. John's narration was in many parts very affecting: the dear and excellent king had been praying for his own restoration! Both the doctors told me that such strong symptoms of true piety had scarce ever been discernible through so dreadful a malady. How I hastened to my queen!--and with what alacrity I besought permission to run next to the princesses! It was so sweet, so soothing, to open a new year with the solace of anticipated good! Jan. 3.-I have the great pleasure, now, of a change in my morning's historiographers; I have made acquaintance with Dr. Willis and his son, and they have desired me to summon one of them constantly for my information. I am extremely struck with both these physicians. Dr. Willis is a man of ten thousand; open, holiest, dauntless, lighthearted, innocent, and high minded: I see him impressed with the most animated reverence and affection for his royal patient; but it is wholly for his character,--not a whit for his rank. Dr. John, his eldest son, is extremely handsome, and inherits, in a milder degree, all the qualities of his father; but living more in the general world, and having his fame and fortune still to settle, he has not yet acquired the same courage, nor is he, by nature, quite so sanguine in his opinions. The manners of both are extremely pleasing, and they both proceed completely their own way, not merely unacquainted with court etiquette, but wholly, and most artlessly, unambitious to form any such acquaintance. Jan. 11.-This morning Dr. John gave me but a bad account of the poor king. His amendment is not progressive; it fails, and goes back, and disappoints most grievously; yet it would be nothing were the case and its circumstances less discussed, and were expectation more reasonable. Jan. 12.-A melancholy day: news bad both at home and abroad. At home the dear unhappy king still worse--abroad new examinations voted of the physicians! Good heaven! what an insult does this seem from parliamentary power, to investigate and bring forth to the world every circumstance Of Page 279 such a malady as is ever held sacred to secrecy in the most private families! How indignant we all feel here no words can say. LEARNING IN WOMEN. Jan. 13.-The two younger Willises, Dr. John and Mr. Thomas, came upstairs in the afternoon, to make a visit to Mrs. Schwellenberg. I took the opportunity to decamp to my own room, where I found Mr. Fairly in waiting. In the course of conversation that followed, Mrs. Carter was named: Mr. Smelt is seriously of opinion her ode is the best in our language.(301) I spoke of her very highly, for indeed I reverence her. Learning in women was then Our theme. I rather wished to hear than to declaim upon this subject, yet I never seek to disguise that I think it has no recommendation of sufficient value to compensate its evil excitement of envy and satire. He spoke with very uncommon liberality on the female powers and intellects, and protested he had never, in his commerce with the world, been able to discern any other inferiority in their parts than what resulted from their Pursuits -and yet, with all this, he doubted much whether he had ever seen any woman who might not have been rather better without than with the learned languages, one only excepted. He was some time silent, and I could not but suppose he meant his correspondent, Miss Fuzilier; but, with a very tender sigh, he said, "And she was my mother,--who neglected nothing else, while she cultivated Latin, and who knew it very well, and would have known it very superiorly, but that her brother disliked her studying, and one day burnt all her books!" This anecdote led to one in return, from myself. I told him, briefly the history of Dr. Johnson's most kind condescension, in desiring to make me his pupil, and beginning to give me regular lessons of the Latin language, and i proceeded to the speedy conclusion--my great apprehension,-- conviction rather,--that what I learnt of so great a man could never be private, and that he himself would contemn concealment, if any Page 280 progress should be made; which to Me was sufficient motive for relinquishing the scheme, and declining the honour, highly as I valued it, of obtaining Such a master--"and this," I added, "though difficult to be done without offending, was yet the better effected, as my father himself likes and approves all accomplishments for women better than the dead languages." THE QUEEN AND MR. FAIRLY'S VISITS. Jan. 14.-I must now mention a rather singular conversation. I had no opportunity last night to name, as usual, my visitor; but I have done it so often, so constantly indeed, that I was not uneasy In the omission. But this morning, while her hair was dressing, my royal Mistress suddenly said, "Did you see any body yesterday?" I could not but be sure of her meaning, and though vexed to be anticipated in my avowal, which had but waited the departure of the wardrobe-woman, Sandys, I instantly answered, "Yes, ma'am; Mr, Smelt in the morning and Mr. Fairly in the evening." "O! Mr. Fairly was here, then?" I was now doubly sorry she should know this only from me! He had Mentioned being just come from town, but I had concluded Lady Charlotte Finch, as usual, knew of his arrival, and had made it known to her Majesty. A little while after,--"Did he go away from you early?" she said. "No, ma'am," I Immediately answered, "not early: he drank tea with Me, as he generally does, I believe, when he is here for the night." "Perhaps," cried she after a pause, "the gentlemen below do not drink tea." "I cannot tell, ma'am, I never heard him say; I only know he asked me if I would give him some, and I told him yes, with great pleasure." Never did I feel so happy in unblushing consciousness of internal liberty as in this little catechism! However, I soon found I had Mistaken the Motive of the catechism: it was not on account of Mr. Fairly and his visit; it was all for Mrs. Schwellenberg and her no visits; for she soon dropped something of "poor Mrs. Schwellenberg" and her Miserable state, that opened her whole meaning. Page 281 A MELANCHOLY BIRTHDAY. Sunday, Jan. 18.-The public birthday of my poor royal mistress. How sadly did she pass it; and how was I filled With sorrow for her reflections upon this its first anniversary for these last twenty-eight years in which the king and the nation have not united in its celebration! All now was passed over in silence and obscurity; all observance of the day was prohibited, both abroad and at home. The poor king whose attention to times and dates is unremittingly exact, knew the day, and insisted upon seeing the queen and three of the princesses; but--it was not a good day. MR. FAIRLY ON FANS. Jan. 21.-I came to my room; and there, in my own corner, sat poor Mr. Fairly, looking a little forlorn, and telling me he had been there near an hour. I made every apology that could mark in the strongest manner how little I thought his patience worth such exertion. . . . He was going to spend the next day at St. Leonard's, where he was to meet his son; and he portrayed to me the character of Mrs. Harcourt so fairly and favourably, that her flightiness sunk away on the rise of her good qualities. He spoke of his chapel of St. Catherine's, its emoluments, chaplain, brothers, sisters, and full establishment. Finding I entered into nothing, he took up a fan which lay on my table, and began playing off various imitative airs with it, exclaiming, "How thoroughly useless a toy!" "No," I said; "on the contrary, taken as an ornament, it was the most useful ornament of any belonging to full dress, occupying the hands, giving the eyes something to look at, and taking away stiffness and formality from the figure and deportment." "Men have no fans," cried he, "and how do they do?" "Worse," quoth I, plumply. He laughed quite out, saying, "That's ingenuous, however; and, indeed, I must confess they are reduced, from time to time, to shift their hands from one pocket to another." "Not, to speak of lounging about in their chairs from one side to another." "But the real use of a fan," cried he, "if there is any, is it not--to hide a particular blush that ought not to appear?" Page 282 "O, no; it Would rather make it the sooner noticed." "Not at all; it may be done under pretence of absence--rubbing the cheek, or nose--putting it up accidentally to the eye--in a thousand ways." He went through all these evolutions comically enough, and then, putting aside his toy, came back to graver matters. MR. FAIRLY CONTINUES HIS VISITS: THE QUEEN AGAIN REMARKS UPON THEM. Jan. 26.-In the evening Mr. Fairly came to tea. He was grave, and my reception did not make him gayer. General discourse took place till Mrs. Dickenson happened to be named. He knew her very well as Miss Hamilton. Her conjugal conduct, in displaying her Superior power over her husband, was our particular theme, till in the midst of it he exclaimed, "How well you will be trained in by Mrs. Schwellenberg--if you come to trial!" Ah! thought I, the more I suffer through her, the less and less do I feel disposed to run any new and more lasting risk, But I said not this. I only protested I was much less her humble servant than might be supposed. "How can that be," cried he, "when you never contest any one point with her?" Not, I said, in positive wrangling, which could never answer its horrible pain; but still I refused undue obedience when exacted with indignity, and always hastened to retire when offended and affronted. He took up Mrs. Smith's "Emmeline,"(302) which is just lent me by the queen; but he found it not piquant and putting it down, begged me to choose him a Rambler." I had a good deal of difficulty In my decision, as he had already seen almost all I could particularly wish to recommend; and, when he saw me turn over leaf after leaf with some hesitation, he began a serious reproach to me of inflexible reserve. And then away he went. I hastened immediately to Mrs. Schwellenberg; and found all in a tumult. She had been, she said, alone all the evening, and was going to have sent for me, but found I had my company. She sent for Mlle. Montmoulin but she had a cold; for Miss Gomme, but she could not come because of the snow; Page 283 for Miss Planta but she was ill with a fever, "what you call head-ache:" she had then "sent to princess royal, who had been to her, and pitied her ver moch, for princess royal was really sensible." And all this was communicated with a look of accusation, and a tone of menace, that might have suited an attack upon some hardened felon. . . . I made no sort of apology nor any other answer than that I had had the honour of Mr. Fairly's company to tea, which was always a pleasure to me. I believe something like consciousness whispered her here, that it might really be possible his society was as pleasant as I had found hers, for she then dropped her lamentation, and said she thanked God she wanted nobody, not one; she could always amuse herself, and was glad enough to be alone. Were it but true! I offered cards: she refused, because it was too late, though we yet remained together near two hours. If this a little disordered me, You will not think what followed was matter of composure. While the queen's hair was rolling up, by the wardrobe woman, at night, Mrs. Schwellenberg happened to leave the room, and almost instantly her majesty, in a rather abrupt manner, said "Is Mr. Fairly here to-night?" "Yes, ma'am." "When did he come back?" I could not recollect. "I did not know he was here." This thunderstruck me; that he should come again, or stay, at least, without apprising his royal mistress, startled me inwardly, and distressed me outwardly. "I knew, indeed," she then added, "he was here in the morning, but I understood he went away afterwards." The idea of connivance now struck me with a real disdain, that brought back my courage and recollection in full force, and I answered, "I remember, ma'am, he told me he had rode over to Richmond park at noon, and returned here to dinner with Colonel Wellbred, and in the evening he drank tea with me, and said he should sup with General Harcourt." All this, spoken with an openness that rather invited than shunned further investigation, seemed to give an immediate satisfaction ; the tone of voice_ changed to its usual com- Page 284 placency, and she inquired various things concerning the Stuart family, and then spoke upon more common topics. I concluded it now all over; but soon after Mrs. Sandys went away, and then, very unexpectedly, the queen renewed the subject. "The reason," she said, "that I asked about Mr. Fairly was that the Schwellenberg sent to ask Miss Planta to come to her, because Mr. Fairly was--no, not with her--he never goes to her." She stopped; but I was wholly silent. I felt instantly with how little propriety I could undertake either to defend or to excuse Mr. Fairly, whom I determined to consider as a visitor,, over whom, having no particular influence, I could be charged with no particular responsibility. After waiting a few minutes,-"With you," she said, "Mr. Fairly was and the Schwellenberg was alone." My spirits quite panted at this moment to make a full Confession of the usage I had endured from the person thus compassionated; but I had so frequently resolved, in moments Of cool deliberation, not even to risk doing mischief to a favourite old servant, that I withstood the impulse ; but the inward conflict silenced me from saying anything else. I believe she was surprised but she added, after a long pause, "I believe--he comes to you every evening when here." "I do not know, ma'am, always, when he is here or away; but I am always very glad to see him, for indeed his visits make all the little variety that--" I hastily stopped, lest she should think me discontented with this strict confinement during this dreadful season ; and that I can never be, when it is not accompanied by tyranny and injustice. She immediately took up the word, but without the slightest displeasure. "Why here there might be more variety than anywhere, from the nearness to town, except for--" " The present situation of things." I eagerly interrupted her to say, and went on: "Indeed, ma'am, I have scarce a wish to break into the present arrangement, by seeing anybody while the house is in this state; nor have I, from last October, seen one human being that does not live here, except Mr. Smelt, Mr. Fairly, and Sir Lucas Pepys; and they all come upon their own calls, and not for me." "The only objection," she gently answered, "to seeing anybody, is that every one who comes carries some sort of information away with them." Page 285 I assured her I was perfectly content to wait for better times, Here the matter dropped ; she appeared satisfied with what I said, and became soft and serene as before the little attack. Jan. 27.-The intelligence this morning was not very pleasant. I had a conference afterwards with Sir Lucas Pepys, who keeps up undiminished hope. We held our council in the physicians' room, which chanced to be empty; but before it broke up Colonel Wellbred entered. It was a pleasure to me to see him, though somewhat an embarrassment to hear him immediately lament that we never met, and add that he knew not in what manner to procure himself that pleasure. I joined in the lamentation, and its cause, which confined us all to our cells. Sir Lucas declared my confinement menaced my health, and charged me to walk out, and take air and exercise very sedulously, if I would avoid an illness. Colonel Wellbred instantly offered me a key of Richmond gardens, which opened into them by a nearer door than what was used in common. I accepted his kindness, and took an hour's walk,-for the first time since last October; ten minutes in Kew gardens are all I have spent without doors since the middle of that month. THE SEARCH FOR MR. FAIRLY. Jan. 30.-To-day my poor royal mistress received the address of the Lords and Commons, of condolence, etc., upon his majesty's illness. What a painful, but necessary ceremony! It was most properly presented by but few members, and those almost all chosen from the household: a great propriety. Not long after came Mr. Fairly, looking harassed. "May I," he cried, "come in?--and-for an hour? Can you allow me entrance and room for that time?" Much Surprised, for already it was three o'clock, I assented: he then told me he had something to copy for her majesty, which was of the highest importance, and said he could find no quiet room in the house but mine for such a business. I gave him every accommodation in my power. When he had written a few lines, he asked if I was very busy, or could help him ? Most readily I offered my services, and then I read to him the original, sentence by sentence, to facilitate his copying; receiving his assurances of my "great assistance" every two lines. In the midst of this occupation, Page 286 a tap at my door made me precipitately put down the paper to receive-lady Charlotte Finch! "Can you," she cried, "have the goodness to tell me any thing of Mr. Fairly?" The screen had hidden him; but, gently,--though, I believe ill enough pleased,--he called out himself, "Here is Mr. Fairly." She flew up to him, crying, "O, Mr. Fairly, what a search has there been for you, by the queen's orders ! She has wanted you extremely, and no one knew where to find you. They have been to the waiting-room, to the equerries', all over the garden, to the prince's house, in your own room, and could find you nowhere, and at last they thought you were gone back to town." He calmly answered, while he still wrote on, he was sorry they had had so much trouble, for he had only been executing her majesty's commands. She then hesitated a little, almost to stammering, in adding "So--at last--I said--that perhaps--you might be here!" He now raised his head from the paper, and bowing it towards me, "Yes," he cried, "Miss Burney is so good as to give me leave, and there is no other room in the house in Which I can be at rest." "So I told her majesty," answered Lady Charlotte, "though she said she was sure you could not be here ; but I said there was really no room of quiet here for any business, and so then I came to see." "Miss Burney," he rejoined, "has the goodness also to help me-- she has taken the trouble to read as I go on, which forwards me very much." Lady Charlotte stared, and I felt sorry at this confession of a confidence she could not but think too much, and I believe he half repented it, for he added, "This, however, you need not perhaps mention, though I know where I trust!" He proceeded again with his writing, and she then recollected her errand. She told him that what he was copying was to be carried to town by Lord Aylesbury, but the queen desired to see it first. She then returned to her majesty. She soon, however, returned again. She brought the queen's seal, and leave that he might make up the packet, and give it to Lord Aylesbury, without showing it first to her majesty, who was just gone to dinner. With her customary good-humour Page 287 and good-breeding, she then chatted with me some time, and again departed. We then went to work with all our might, reading and copying. The original was extremely curious--I am sorry I must make it equally secret. Miss BURNEY's ALARM ON BEING CHASED BY THE KING. Kew Palace, Monday, Feb. 2.-What an adventure had I this morning! one that has occasioned me the severest personal terror I ever experienced in my life. Sir Lucas Pepys still persisting that exercise and air were absolutely necessary to save me from illness, I have continued my walks, varying my gardens from Richmond to Kew, according to the accounts I received of the movements of the king. For this I had her majesty's permission, on the representation of Sir Lucas. This morning, when I received my intelligence of the king from Dr. John Willis, I begged to know where I might walk in safety? "In Kew gardens," he said, "as the king would be in Richmond." "Should any unfortunate circumstance," I cried, "at any time, occasion my being seen by his majesty, do not mention my name, but let me run off without call or notice." This he promised. Everybody, indeed, is ordered to keep out of sight. Taking, therefore, the time I had most at command, I strolled into the gardens. I had proceeded, in my quick way, nearly half the round, when I suddenly perceived, through some trees, two or three figures. Relying on the instructions of Dr. John, I concluded them to be workmen and gardeners; yet tried to look sharp, and in so doing, as they were less shaded, I thought I saw the person of his majesty! Alarmed past all possible expression, I waited not to know more, but turning back, ran off with all my might. But what was my terror to hear myself pursued!--to hear the voice of the king himself loudly and hoarsely calling after me, "MISS Burney! Miss Burney! I protest I was ready to die. I knew not in what state he might be at the time; I only knew the orders to keep out of his way were universal; that the queen would highly disapprove any unauthorized meeting, and that the very action of my running away might deeply, in his present irritable state, offend him. Nevertheless, on I ran, too terrified to stop, and Page 288 In search Of some short passage, for the g)arden is full of labyrinths, by which I might escape. The steps still pursued me, and Still the poor hoarse and altered voice rang in my ears:--more and more footsteps sounded frightfully behind me,--the attendants all running to catch their eager master, and the voices of the two Doctor Willises loudly exhorting him not to heat himself so unmercifully. Heavens, how I ran! I do not think I should have felt the hot lava from Vesuvius--at least not the hot cinders--hadd I so run during its eruption. My feet were not sensible that they even touched the ground. Soon after, I heard other voices, shriller, though less nervous, call out "Stop! stop! stop!" I could by no means consent: I knew not what was purposed, but I recollected fully my agreement with Dr. John that very morning, that I should decamp if Surprised, and not b named. My own fears and repugnance, also, after a flight and disobedience like this, were doubled in the thought of not escaping; I knew not to what I might be exposed, should the malady be then high, and take the turn of resentment. Still, therefore, on I flew; and such was my speed, so almost incredible to relate or recollect, that I fairly believe no one of the whole party could have overtaken me, if these words, from one of the attendants, had not reached me, "Doctor Willis begs you to stop!" "I cannot! I cannot!" I answered, still flying on, when he called out, "You must, ma'am; it hurts the king to run." Then, indeed, I stopped--in a state of fear really amounting to agony. I turned round, I saw the two doctors had got the king between them, and three attendants of Dr. Willis's were hovering about. They all slackened their pace, as they saw me stand still; but such was the excess of my alarm, that I was wholly insensible to the effects of a race which, at any other time, would have required an hour's recruit. As they approached, some little presence of mind happily came to my command it occurred to me that, to appease the wrath of my flight, I must now show some confidence: I therefore faced them as undauntedly as I was able, only charging the nearest of the attendants to stand by my side. When they were within a few yards of me, the king called out, "Why did you run away?" Shocked at a question impossible to answer, yet a little Page 289 assured by the mild tone of his voice, I instantly forced myself forward, to meet him, though the internal sensation which satisfied me this was a step the most proper, to appease his suspicions and displeasure, was so violently combated by the tremor of my nerves, that I fairly think I may reckon it the greatest effort of personal courage-I have ever made. A ROYAL SALUTE AND ROYAL CONFIDENCES. The effort answered : I looked up, and met all his wonted benignity of countenance, though something still of wildness in his eyes. Think, however, of my surprise, to feel him put both his hands round my two shoulders, and then kiss my cheek ! * I wonder I did not really sink, so exquisite was my affright when I saw him spread out his arms! Involuntarily, I concluded he meant to crush me: but the Willises, who have never seen him till this fatal illness, not knowing how very extraordinary an action this was from him, simply smiled and looked pleased, supposing, perhaps, it was his customary salutation! I believe, however, it was but the joy of a heart unbridled, now, by the forms and proprieties of established custom and sober reason. To see any of his household thus by accident, seemed such a near approach to liberty and recovery, that who can wonder it should serve rather to elate than lessen what yet remains of his disorder! He now spoke in such terms of his pleasure in seeing me, that I soon lost the whole of my terror; astonishment to find him so nearly well, and gratification to see him so pleased, removed every uneasy feeling, and the joy that succeeded, in my conviction of his recovery, made me ready to throw myself at his feet to express it. What conversation followed! When he saw me fearless, he grew more and more alive, and made me walk close by his side, away from the attendants, and even the Willises themselves, who, to indulge him, retreated. I own myself not completely composed, but alarm I could entertain no more. Everything that came uppermost in his mind he mentioned; he seemed to have just such remains of his flightiness as heated his imagination without deranging his reason, and robbed him of all control over his speech, though nearly in his perfect state Of mind as to his opinions. What did he not say !--He opened Page 290 his whole heart to me,--expounded all his sentiments, and acquainted me with all his intentions. The heads of his discourse I must give you briefly, as I am sure you will be highly curious to hear them, and as no accident can render of much consequence what a man says in such a state of physical intoxication. He assured me he was quite well--as well as he had ever been in his life ; and then inquired how I did, and how I went on? and whether I was more comfortable? If these questions, in their implications, surprised me, imagine how that surprise must increase when he proceeded to explain them! He asked after the coadjutrix, laughing, and saying "Never mind her!--don't be oppressed--I am your friend! don't let her cast you down!--I know you have a hard time of it--but don't mind her!" Almost thunderstruck with astonishment, I merely curtsied to his kind "I am your friend," and said nothing. Then presently he added, "Stick to your father--stick to your own family--let them be your objects." How readily I assented! Again he repeated all I have just written, nearly in the same words, but ended it more seriously: He suddenly stopped, and held me to stop too, and putting his hand on his breast. in the most solemn manner, he gravely and slowly said, "I will protect you!-- I promise you that--and therefore depend upon me!" I thanked him ; and the Willises, thinking him rather too elevated, came to propose my walking on. "No, no, no!" he cried, a hundred times in a breath and their good humour prevailed, and they let him again walk on with his new Companion. He then gave me a history of his pages, animating almost into a rage, as he related his subjects of displeasure with them, particularly with Mr. Ernst, who he told me had been brought up by himself. I hope his ideas upon these men are the result of the mistakes of his malady. Then he asked me some questions that very greatly &stressed me, relating to information given him in his illness, from various motives, but which he suspected to be false, and which I knew he had reason to suspect: yet was It most dangerous to set anything right, as I was not aware what might be the views of their having been stated wrong. I was as discreet as I knew how to be, and I hope I did no mischief; but this was the worst part of the dialogue. Page 291 He next talked to me a great deal of my dear father, and made a thousand inquiries concerning his "History of Music." This brought him to his favourite theme, Handel; and he told me innumerable anecdotes of him, and particularly that celebrated tale of Handel's saying of himself, when a boy, "While that boy lives, my music will never want a protector." And this, he said, I might relate to my father. Then he ran over most of his oratorios, attempting to sing the subjects of several airs and choruses, but so dreadfully hoarse that the sound was terrible. Dr. Willis, quite alarmed at this exertion, feared he would do himself harm, and again proposed a separation. " "No! no! no!" he exclaimed, "not yet; I have something I must just mention first." Dr. Willis, delighted to comply, even when uneasy at compliance, again gave way. The good king then greatly affected me. He began upon my revered old friend, Mrs. Delany and he spoke of her with such warmth--such kindness! "She was my friend!" he cried, "and I loved her as a friend! I have made a memorandum when I lost her--I will show it YOU." He pulled out a pocket-book, and rummaged some time, but to no purpose. The tears stood in his eyes--he wiped them, and Dr. Willis again became very anxious. "Come, sir," he cried, "now do you come in and let the lady go on her walk,-come, now you have talked a long while,-so we'll go in,--if your majesty pleases." "No, no!" he cried, "I want to ask her a few questions ; --I have lived so long out of the world, I know nothing!" This touched me to the heart. We walked on together, and he inquired after various persons, particularly Mrs. Boscawen, because she was Mrs. Delany's friend! Then, for the same reason, after Mr. Frederick Montagu,(303) of whom he kindly said, "I know he has a great regard for me, for all he joined the opposition." Lord Grey de Wilton, Sir Watkin Wynn, the Duke of Beaufort, and various others, followed. He then told me he was very much dissatisfied with several of his state officers, and meant to form an entire new establishment. He took a paper out of his pocket-book, and showed me his new list. Page 292 This was the wildest thing that passed ; and Dr. John Willis now seriously urged our separating; but he would not consent he had only three more words to say, he declared, and again he conquered. He now spoke of my father, with still more kindness, and told me he ought to have had the post of master of the band, and not that little poor musician Parsons, who was not fit for it: "But Lord Salisbury," he cried, "used your father vary ill in that business, and so he did me! However, I have dashed out his name, and I shall put your father's in,--as soon as I get loose again!" This again--how affecting was this! "And what," cried he,"has your father got, at last? nothing but that poor thing at Chelsea?(304) O fie! fie! fie! But never mind! I will take care of him. I will do it myself!" Then presently he added, "As to Lord Salisbury, he is out already, as this memorandum will Show you, and so are many more. I shall be much better served and when once I get away, I shall rule with a rod of iron!" This was very unlike himself, and startled the two good doctors, who could not bear to cross him, and were exulting at seeing his great amendment, but yet grew quite uneasy at his earnestness and volubility. Finding we now must part, he stopped to take leave, and renewed again his charges about the coadjutrix. "Never mind her!" he cried, "depend upon me! I will be your friend as long as I live--I here pledge myself to be your friend!" And then he saluted me again just as at the meeting, and suffered me to go on. What a scene! how variously was I affected by it! but, upon the whole, how inexpressibly thankful to see him so nearly himself-- so little removed from recovery! CURIOSITY REGARDING Miss BURNEY'S MEETING WITH THE KING. I went very soon after to the queen to whom I was most eager to avow the meeting, and how little I could help it. Her astonishment, and her earnestness to hear every particular, were very great. I told her almost all. Some few things relating to the distressing questions I could not repeat nor Page 293 many things said of Mrs. Schwellenberg, which would much, very needlessly, have hurt her. This interview, and the circumstances belonging to it, excited general curiosity, and all the house watched for opportunities to beg a relation of it. How delighted was I to tell them all my happy prognostics! But the first to hasten to hear of it was Mr. Smelt; eager and enchanted was the countenance and attention of that truly loyal and most affectionate adherent to his old master. He wished me to see Lady Harcourt and the general, and to make them a brief relation of this extraordinary rencounter but for that I had not effort enough left. I did what I Could, however, to gratify the curiosity of Colonel Wellbred, which I never saw equally excited. I was passing him on the stairs, and he followed me, to say he had heard what had happened--I imagine from the Willises. I told him, with the highest satisfaction, the general effect produced upon my mind by the accident, that the king seemed so nearly, himself, that patience itself could have but little longer trial. He wanted to hear more particulars: I fancy the Willises had vaguely related some: "Did he not," he cried, "promise to do something for you?" I only laughed, and answered, "O yes! if you want any thing, apply to me;--now is my time!" Feb. 3.--I had the great happiness to be assured this morning, by both the Dr. Willises, that his majesty was by no means the worse for our long conference. Those good men are inexpressibly happy themselves in the delightful conviction given me, and by me spread about, of the near recovery of their royal patient. While I was dressing came Mr. Fairly: I could not admit him, but he said he would try again in the evening. I heard by the tone of his voice a peculiar eagerness, and doubted not he was apprized of my adventure. He came early, before I could leave my fair companion, and sent on Goter. I found him reading a new pamphlet of Horne Tooke: "How long," he cried, "it is since I have been here!" I was not flippantly disposed, or I would have said I had thought the time he spent away always short, by his avowed eagerness to decamp. He made so many inquiries of how I had gone on and what I had done since I saw him, that I was soon satisfied he was Page 294 not uninformed of yesterday's transaction. I told him so; he could not deny it, but wished to hear the whole from myself. I most readily complied. He listened with the most eager, nay, anxious attention, scarce breathing: he repeatedly ex_ claimed, when I had finished, "How I wish I had been there! how I should have liked to have seen you!" I assured him he would not wish that, if he knew the terror I had suffered. He was quite elated with the charges against Cerberic tyranny, and expressed himself gratified by the promises of favour and protection. THE REGENCY BILL. Feb. 6.-These last three days have been spent very unpleasantly indeed: all goes hardly and difficultly with my poor royal mistress. Yet his majesty is now, thank heaven, so much better, that he generally sees his gentlemen in some part of the evening; and Mr. Fairly, having no particular taste for being kept in waiting whole hours for this satisfaction of a few minutes, yet finding himself, if in the house, indispensably required to attend with the rest, has changed his Kew visits from nights to mornings. He brought me the "Regency Bill!"--I shuddered to hear it named. It was just printed, and he read it to me, with comments and explanations, which took up all our time, and in a manner, at present, the most deeply interesting in which it could be occupied. 'Tis indeed a dread event!--and how it may terminate who can say? My poor royal mistress is much disturbed. Her daughters behave like angels - they seem content to reside in this gloomy solitude for ever, if it prove of comfort to their mother, or mark their duteous affection for their father. INFINITELY LICENTIOUS! Feb. 9.-I now walk on the road-side, along the park-wall, every fair morning, as I shall venture no more into either of the gardens. In returning this morning, I was overtaken by Mr. Fairly, who rode up to me, and, dismounting, gave his horse to his groom, to walk on with me. About two hours after I was, however, surprised by a visit from him in my own room, He came, he said, only to ask Page 295 me a second time how I did, as he should be here now less and less, the king's amendment rendering his services of smaller and smaller importance. He brought me a new political parody of Pope's "Eloisa to Abelard," from Mr. Eden to Lord Hawkesbury. It is a most daring, though very clever imitation. It introduces many of the present household. Mrs. Schwellenberg is now in eternal abuse from all these scribblers; Lady Harcourt, and many others, less notorious to their attacks, are here brought forward. How infinitely licentious! MISS BURNEY IS TAXED WITH VISITING GENTLEMEN. Feb. 10.-The amendment of the king is progressive, and without any reasonable fear, though not without some few drawbacks. The Willis family were surely sent by heaven to restore peace, and health, and prosperity to this miserable house Lady Charlotte Finch called upon me two days ago, almost purposely, to inquire concerning the report of my young friend's marriage; and she made me promise to acquaint her when I received any further news: at noon, therefore, I went to her apartment at the Prince of Wales's, with this information. Mr. Fairly, I knew, was with the equerries in our lodge. Lady Charlotte had the Duchess of Beaufort and all the Fieldings with her, and therefore I only left a message, by no means, feeling spirits for encountering any stranger. At noon, when I attended her majesty, she inquired if I had walked?--Yes.--Where?--In Richmond gardens.--And nowhere else?-- No. She looked thoughtful,--and presently I recollected my intended visit to Lady Charlotte, and mentioned it. She cleared up, and said, "O!--you. went to Lady Charlotte?" "Yes, ma'am," I answered, thinking her very absent,--which I thought with sorrow, as that is so small a part of her character, that I know not I ever saw any symptom of it before. Nor, in fact, as I found afterwards, did I see it now. It was soon explained. Miss Gomme, Mlle. Montmoulin, and Miss Planta, all dined with Mrs. Schwellenberg to-day. The moment I joined them, Mrs. Schwellenberg called out,--"Pray, Miss Berner, for what visit you the gentlemen?" "Me?" "Yes, you,--and for what, I say?" Page 296 Amazed, I declared I did not know what she meant. "O," cried she, scoffingly, "that won't not do!--we all saw you,--princess royal the same,--so don't not say that." I stared,-and Miss Gomme burst out in laughter, and then Mrs. Schwellenberg added,--"For what go you over to the Prince of Wales his house?--nobody lives there but the gentlemen,--nobody others." I laughed too, now, and told her the fact. "O," cried she, "Lady Charlotte!--ver true. I had forgot Lady Charlotte!" "O, very well, imagine," cried I,--"so only the gentlemen were remembered!" I then found this had been related to the queen; and Mlle. Montmoulin said she supposed the visit had been to General Gordon!--He is the groom now in waiting. Then followed an open raillery from Mlle. Montmoulin of Mr. Fairly's visits; but I stood it very well, assuring her I should never seek to get rid of my two prison-visitors, Mr. Smelt and Mr. Fairly, till I Could replace them by better, or go abroad for others IMPROVEMENT IN THE KING'S, HEALTH. Feb. 14.-The king is infinitely better. O that there were patience in the land ! and this Regency Bill postponed Two of the princesses regularly, and in turn, attend their royal mother in her evening visits to the king. Some of those who stay behind now and then spend the time in Mrs. Schwellenberg's room. They all long for their turn of going to the king, and count the hours till it returns. Their dutiful affection is truly beautiful to behold. This evening the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary came into Mrs. Schwellenberg's room while I was yet there. They sang songs in two parts all the evening, and vary prettily in point of voice. Their good humour, however, and inherent condescension and sweetness of manners, would make a much worse performance pleasing. Feb. 16-All well, and the king is preparing for an interview with the chancellor Dr. Willis now confides in me all his schemes and notions; we are growing the best of friends and his son Dr. John is nearly as trusty. Excellent people! how I love and honour them all! I had a visit at noon from Mr. Fairly. He hastened to tell Page 297 me the joyful news that the king and queen were just gone out, to walk in Richmond gardens, arm in arm.--what a delight to all the house! When I came to tea, I found Mr. Fairly waiting in my room. He had left Kew for Richmond park, but only dined there. We had much discussion of state business. The king is SO much himself, that he is soon to be informed of the general situation of the kingdom. O what an information!--how we all tremble in looking forward to it., Mr. Fairly thinks Mr. Smelt the fittest man for this office; Mr. Smelt thinks the same of Mr. Fairly: both have told me this. MR. FAIRLY AND MR. WINDHAM. Mr. Fairly began soon to look at his watch, complaining very much of the new ceremony imposed, of this attendance of handing the Queen, which, he said, broke into his whole evening. Yet he does as little as possible. "The rest of them," he said, " think it necessary to wait in an adjoining apartment during the whole interview, to be ready to show themselves when it is over! He now sat with his watch in his hand, dreading to pass his time, but determined not to anticipate its occupation, till half past nine o'clock, when he drew on his white gloves, ready for action. But then, stopping short, he desired me to guess whom, amongst my acquaintance, he had met in London this last time of his going thither. I could not guess whom he meant--but I saw it was no common person, by his manner. He then continued--"A tall, thin, meagre, sallow, black-eyed, penetrating, keen-looking figure." I could still not guess,-and he named Mr. Windham. "Mr. Windham!" I exclaimed, "no, indeed,--you do not describe him fairly,-he merits better colouring." He accuses me of being very partial to him: however, I am angry enough with him just now, though firmly persuaded still, that whatever has fallen from him, that is wrong and unfeeling on the subject of the Regency, has been the effect of his enthusiastic friendship for Mr. Burke: for he has never risen, on this cruel business, but in Support of that most misguided of Vehement and wild orators. This I have observed in the debates, and felt that Mr. Burke was not more run away with by violence of temper, and passion, than Mr. Windham by excess of friendship and admiration. Page 298 Mr. Fairly has, I fancy, been very intimate with him, for he told me he observed he was passing him, in Queen Anne Street, and stopped his horse, to call out, "O ho, Windham! so I see you will not know me with this servant!" He was on business of the queen's, and had one of the royal grooms with him. Mr. Windham laughed, and said he was very glad to see who it was, for, on looking at the royal servant, he had just been going to make his lowest bow. "O, I thank you!" returned Mr. Fairly, "you took me, then, for the Duke of Cumberland," THE KING CONTINUES TO IMPROVE. Feb. 17.-The times are now most interesting and critical. Dr. Willis confided to me this morning that to-day the king is to see the chancellor. How important will be the result of his appearance!--the whole national fate depends upon it! Feb. 18.-I had this morning the highest gratification, the purest feelings of delight, I have been regaled with for many months: I saw, from the road, the king and queen, accompanied by Dr. Willis, walking in Richmond gardens, near the farm, arm in arm!-- It was a pleasure that quite melted me, after a separation so bitter, scenes so distressful-to witness such harmony and security! Heaven bless and preserve them was all I could incessantly say while I kept in their sight. I was in the carriage with Mrs. Schwellenberg at the time. They saw us also, as I heard afterwards from the queen. In the evening Mrs. Arline, Mrs. Schwellenberg's maid, came into Mrs. Schwellenberg's room, after coffee, and said to me, "If you please, ma'am, somebody wants you." I concluded this somebody my shoemaker, or the like; but in my room I saw Mr. Fairly. He was in high spirits. He had seen his majesty; Dr. Willis had carried him in. He was received with open arms, and embraced; he found nothing now remaining of the disorder, but too in much hurry of spirits. When he had related the particulars of the interview, he suddenly exclaimed, "How amazingly well you have borne all this!" I made some short answers, and would have taken-refuge in some other topic: but he seemed bent upon pursuing his own, and started various questions and surmises, to draw me on, In vain, however; I gave but general, or evasive answers, Page 299 THE KING'S HEALTH IS COMPLETELY RESTORED. This was a sweet, and will prove a most memorable day: Regency was put off, in the House of Lords, by a motion from the chancellor!--huzza! huzza! And this evening, for the first time, the king came upstairs, to drink tea with the queen and princesses in the drawing-room! My heart was so full of joy and thankfulness, I could hardly breathe! Heaven--heaven be praised! What a different house is this house become!--sadness and terror, that wholly occupied it so lately, are now flown away, or rather are now driven out ; and though anxiety still forcibly prevails, 'tis in so small a proportion to joy and thankfulness, that it is borne as if scarce an ill! Feb. 23.-This morning opened wofully to me, though gaily to the house; for as my news of his majesty was perfectly comfortable, I ventured, in direct words, to ask leave to receive my dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Locke, who were now in town:--in understood sentences, and open looks, I had already failed again and again. My answer was-" I have no particular objection, only you'll keep them to your room." Heavens!--did they ever, unsummoned, quit it? or have they any wish to enlarge their range of visit? I was silent, and then heard a history of some imprudence in Lady Effingham, who had received some of her friends. My resolution, upon this, I need not mention: I preferred the most lengthened absence to such a permission. But I felt it acutely! and I hoped, at least, that by taking no steps, something more favourable might soon pass. . . . The king I have seen again in the queen's dressing-room. On opening the door, there he stood! He smiled at my start, and saying he had waited on purpose to see me, added, "I am quite well now,--I was nearly so when I saw you before, but I could overtake you better now." And then he left the room. I was quite melted with joy and thankfulness at this so entire restoration. End of February, 1789. Dieu merci! (294) Physician-in-ordinary to the king-ED. (295) Her tragedy of "Edwy and Elgiva," which was produced at Drury Lane in 1795. See note ante, vol. i., p. xlv.--ED. (296) The "Douglas cause" was one of the causes celebres of its tine. Its history is briefly as follows. In 1746 Lady Jane Douglas married Sir John Stewart. At Paris, in July, 1748, she gave birth to twins, Archibald and Sholto, of whom the latter died an infant. Lady Jane herself died in 1753. The surviving child, Archibald, was always recognized as their son by Lady Jane and Sir John. In 1760 the Duke of Douglas, the brother of Lady Jane, being childless, recognised his sister's son as his heir, and bequeathed to him by will the whole of the Douglas estates, revoking, for that purpose, a previous testament which he had made in favour of the Hamilton family. The Duke died in 1761, and Archibald, who had assumed his mother's, name of Douglas, duly succeeded to the estates. His right, however, Was disputed at law by the Duke of Hamilton, on the pretence, which he sought to establish, that Archibald Douglas was not in fact the son of his reputed mother. The Lords of Session in Scotland decided in favour of the Duke of Hamilton, whereupon Mr. Douglas appealed to the House of Lords, which reversed the decision of the Scottish court (February 2-, 1769), 1, "thereby confirming to Mr. Douglas his Filiation and his Fortune."-ED. (297) "Miss Fuzilier," the Diary-name for Miss Gunning, whom Colonel Digby did subsequently marry. "Sir R- F-" is her father, Sir Robert Gunning.-ED, (298) One of the apothecaries to the royal household.-ED. (299) Dr. Richard Warren, one of the physicians in ordinary to the king and the Prince of Wales.-ED. (300) The Lord chancellor Thurlow.-ED. (301) Mrs. Elizabeth Carter's "Ode to Wisdom," printed in "Clarissa Harlowe" (vol. ii., letter x.), with a musical setting, given as the composition of Clarisa herself. The Ode is by no means without merit of a modest kind, but can scarcely be ranked the production of a genuine poet.-ED. (302) "Emmeline, the Orphan of the Castle," a novel in four volumes, by Charlotte Smith. Published 1788.-ED. (303) Mr. Frederick Montagu was not only a member of the opposition but One of the managers of the impeachment of Warren Hastings.-ED. (304) Burke's last act before quitting office at the close of 1783, had been to procure for Dr. Burney the post of organist to Chelsea hospital, to which was attached a salary of fifty pounds a year.-ED. Page 300 SECTION 15. (1789-) THE KING'S RECOVERY: ROYAL VISIT To WEYMOUTH. THE KING'S REAPPEARANCE. Kew Palace, Sunday, March 1.-What a pleasure was mine this morning! how solemn, but how grateful! The queen gave me the "Prayer of Thanksgiving" upon the king's recovery. It was this morning read in all the churches throughout the metropolis, and by this day week it will reach every church in the kingdom. It kept me in tears all the morning,--that such a moment should actually arrive! after fears so dreadful, scenes so terrible. The queen gave me a dozen to distribute among the female servants: but I reserved one of them for dear Mr. Smelt, who took it from me in speechless extacy--his fine and feeling eyes swimming in tears of joy. There is no describing--and I will not attempt it--the fullness, the almost overwhelming fullness of this morning's thankful feelings! I had the great gratification to see the honoured object of this joy, for a few minutes, in the queen's dressing-room. He was all calmness and benevolent graciousness. I fancied my strong emotion had disfigured me; or perhaps the whole of this long confinement and most affecting winter may have somewhat marked my countenance; for the king presently said to me, "Pray, are you quite well to-day?" " I think not quite, sir," I answered, Page 301 "She does not look well," said he to the queen; "she looks a little yellow, I think." How kind, to think of anybody and their looks, at this first moment of reappearance! AN AIRING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. Wednesday, March 4.-A message from Mrs. Schwellenberg this morning, to ask me to air with her, received my most reluctant acquiescence; for the frost is so severe that any air, without exercise, is terrible to me; though, were her atmosphere milder, the rigour of the season I might not regard. When we came to the passage the carriage was not ready. She murmured most vehemently; and so bitterly cold was I, I could heartily have joined, had it answered any purpose. In this cold passage we waited in this miserable manner a full quarter of an hour; Mrs. Schwellenberg all the time scolding the servants, threatening them With exile, sending message after message, repining, thwarting, and contentious. Now we were to go, and wait in the king's rooms--now in the gentlemen's--now in Dr. Willis's--her own--and this, in the end, took place. In our way we encountered Mr. Fairly. He asked where we were going. "To my own parlour!" she answered. He accompanied us in; and, to cheer the gloom, seized some of the stores of Dr. Willis,--sandwiches, wine and water, and other refreshments,--and brought them to us, one after another in a sportive manner, recommending to us to break through common rules, on such an occasion, and eat and drink to warm ourselves. Mrs. Schwellenberg stood in stately silence, and bolt upright, scarce deigning to speak even a refusal; till, upon his saying, while he held a glass of wine in his hand, "Come, ma'am, do something eccentric for once--it will warm you," she angrily answered, "You been reely--what you call--too much hospital!" Neither of us could help laughing. "Yes," cried he, "with the goods of others;--that makes a wide difference in hospitality!" Then he rattled away upon the honours the room had lately received, of having had Mr. Pitt, the Chancellor, Archbishop of Canterbury, etc., to wait in it. This she resented highly, as seeming to think it more honoured in her absence than presence. Page 302 At length we took our miserable airing, in which I was treated with as much fierce harshness as if I was being conveyed to some place of confinement for the punishment Of some dreadful offence! She would have the glass down on my side; the piercing wind cut my face; I put my muff up to it: this incensed her so much, that she vehemently declared "she never, no never would trobble any won to air with her again but go always selfs."--And who will repine at that? thought I. Yet by night I had caught a violent cold, which flew to my face, and occasioned me dreadful pain. March 10.-I have been in too much pain to write these last five days; and I became very feverish, and universally ill, affected with the fury of the cold. My royal mistress, who could not but observe me very unwell, though I have never omitted my daily three attendances, which I have performed with a difficulty all but insurmountable, concluded I had been guilty of some imprudence: I told the simple fact of the glass,--but quite simply, and without one circumstance. She instantly said she was surprised I could catch cold in an airing, as it never appeared that it disagreed with me when I took it with Mrs. Delany. "No, ma'am," I immediately answered, "nor with Mrs, Locke; nor formerly with Mrs. Thrale:--but they left me the regulation of the glass on my own side to myself; or, if they interfered, it was to draw it up for me." This I could not resist. I can be silent; but when challenged to speak at all, it must be plain truth. I had no answer. Illness here--till of late--has been so unknown, that it is commonly supposed it must be wilful, and therefore meets little notice, till accompanied by danger, or incapacity of duty. This is by no means from hardness of heart-far otherwise ; there is no hardness of heart in any one of them ; but it is prejudice and want of personal experience. ILLUMINATIONS ON THE KING's RECOVERY. March 10.-This was a day of happiness indeed!---a day of such heartfelt public delight as Could not but suppress all private disturbance. The general illumination of all London proved the universal joy of a thankful and most affectionate people, who have shown so largely, on this trying occasion, how well they merited the monarch thus benignantly preserved. Page 303 The queen, from the privy purse, gave private orders for a Splendid illumination at this palace.(305) The King-- Providence--Health--and Britannia, were displayed with elegant devices; the queen and princesses, all but the youngest, went to town to see the illumination there; and Mr. Smelt was to conduct the surprise.--It was magnificently beautiful. When it was lighted and prepared, the Princess Amelia went to lead her papa to the front window: but first she dropped on -her knees, and presented him a paper with these lines-which, at the queen's desire, I had scribbled in her name, for the happy occasion:-- TO THE KING. Amid a rapt'rous nation's praise That sees Thee to their prayers restor'd, Turn gently from the gen'ral blaze,-- Thy Charlotte woos her bosom's lord. Turn and behold where, bright and clear, Depictur'd with transparent art, The emblems of her thoughts appear, The tribute of a grateful heart. O! small the tribute, were it weigh'd With all she feels--or half she owes! But noble minds are best repaid >From the pure spring whence bounty flows. PS. The little bearer begs a kiss >From dear papa for bringing this. I need not, I think, tell you, the little bearer begged not in vain. The king was extremely pleased. He came into a room belonging to the princesses, in which we had a party to look at the illuminations, and there he stayed above an hour; cheerful, composed, and gracious! all that could merit the great national testimony to his worth this day paid him. MR FAIRLY ON MISS BURNEY's DUTIES. Windsor, March 18.-A little rap announced Mr. Fairly, who came in, saying, "I am escaped for a little while, to have some quiet conversation with you, before the general assemblage and storm of company." He then gravely said, "Tomorrow I shall take leave of you--for a long time Page 304 He intended setting off to-morrow morning for town, by the opportunity of the equerries' coach, which would convey him to Kew, where his majesty was to receive an address. He told me, with a good deal of humour, that he suspected me of being rather absent in my official occupation, from little natural care about toilettes and such things. I could not possibly deny this,--on the contrary, I owned I had, at first, found my attention unattainable, partly from flutter and embarrassment, and partly from the reasons he so discerningly assigned. "I have even," I added, "and not seldom, handed her fan before her gown, and her gloves before her cap but I am better in all that now!" "I should think all that very likely," cried he, smiling; "yet it is not very trifling with her majesty, who is so exact and precise, such things seem to her of moment." This is truth itself. I said, "No,--she is more gracious, more kind, indeed, to me than ever: she scarce speaks, scarce turns to me without a smile." " Well," cried he, extremely pleased, "this must much soften your employment and confinement. And, indeed, it was most natural to expect this time of distress should prove a cement." A VISIT FROM MISS FUZILIER. I think I need not mention meeting my beloved Fredy in town, on our delightful excursion thither for the grand restoration Drawing-room, in which the queen received the compliments and congratulations of almost all the Court part of the nation. Miss Cambridge worked me, upon this occasion, a suit, in silks upon tiffany, most excessively delicate and pretty, and much admired by her majesty. All I shall mention of this town visit is, that, the day after the great Drawing-room, Miss Fuzilier, for the first time since I have been in office, called upon me to inquire after the queen. Miss Tryon, and Mrs. Tracey, and Mrs. Fielding were with her. She looked serious, sensible, interesting. I thought instantly of the report concerning Mr. Fairly, and of his disavowal : but it was singular that the only time she opened her mouth to speak was to name him! Miss Tryon, who chatted incessantly, had spoken of the great confusion at the Drawing-room, from the crowd: "It was intended to be better regulated," said Miss Page 305 F., "Mr. Fairly told me." She dropped her eye the moment she had spoken his name. After this, as before it, she said nothing. . . . Mr. George Villiers, a younger brother of Lord Clarendon, was now here as groom of the bedchamber. He is very clever, somewhat caustigue, but so loyal and vehement in the king's cause, that he has the appellation, from his party, of "The Tiger." He would not obtain it for his person, which is remarkably slim, slight, and delicate. A COMMAND FROM HER MAJESTY. Kew, April, 1789. My dearest friends, - I have her majesty's commands to inquire--whether you have any of a certain breed of poultry? N.B. What breed I do not remember. And to say she has just received a small group of the same herself. N.B. The quantity I have forgotten. And to add, she is assured they are something very rare and scarce, and extraordinary and curious. N.B. By whom she was assured I have not heard. And to subjoin, that you must send word if you have any of the same sort. N.B. How you are to find that out, I cannot tell. And to mention, as a corollary, that, if you have none of them, and should like to have some, she has a cock and a hen she can spare, and will appropriate them to Mr. Locke and my dearest Fredy. This conclusive stroke so pleased and exhilarated me, that forthwith I said you would both be enchanted, and so forgot all the preceding particulars. And I said, moreover, that I knew you would rear them, and cheer them, and fondle them like your children. So now-pray write a very fair answer fairly, in fair hand, and to her fair purpose. COLONEL MANNERS MYSTIFIES MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Queen's Lodge, Windsor, April.-Mrs. Schwellenberg is softened into nothing but civility and courtesy to me. To what the change is owing I cannot conjecture; but I do all that in me lies Page 306 to support it, preferring the entire sacrifice of every moment, from our dinner to twelve at night, to her harshness and horrors. Nevertheless, a lassitude of existence creeps sensibly upon me. Colonel Manners, however, for the short half-hour of tea-time, is irresistibly diverting. He continues my constant friend and neighbour, and, while he affects to play off the coadjutrix to advantage, he nods at me, to draw forth my laughter or approbation, with the most alarming undisguise. I often fear her being affronted ; but naturally she admires him very much for his uncommon share of beauty, and makes much allowance for his levity. However, the never-quite-comprehended affair of the leather bed-cover,(306) has in some degree intimidated her ever since, as she constantly apprehends that, if he were provoked, he would play her some trick. He had been at White's ball, given in town upon his majesty's recovery. We begged some account of it: he ranted away with great fluency, uttering little queer sarcasms at Mrs, Schwellenberg by every opportunity, and colouring when he had done, with private fear of enraging her. This, however, she suspected not, or all his aim had been lost; for to alarm her is his delight. "I liked it all," he said, in summing up his relation, "very well, except the music, and I like any caw-caw-caw, better than that sort of noise,--only you must not tell the king I say that, ma'am, because the king likes it." She objected to the words " must not," and protested she would not be directed by no one, and would tell it, if she pleased. Upon this, he began a most boisterous threatening of the evil consequences which would accrue to herself, though in so ludicrous a manner, that how she could suppose him serious was my wonder. "Take care of yourself, ma'am," he cried, holding up his finger as if menacing a child; "take care of yourself! I am not to be provoked twice!" This, after a proud resistance, conquered her - and, really frightened at she knew not what, she fretfully exclaimed, "Ver well, sir!--I wish I had not come down! I won't no more! you might have your tea when you can get It." Returning to his account, he owned he had been rather a little musical himself for once, which was when they all sang "God save the king," after the supper; for then he joined in Page 307 the chorus, as well and as loud as any of them, "though some of the company," he added, "took the liberty to ask me not to be so loud, because they pretended I was out of tune; but it was In such a good cause that I did not mind that." She was no sooner recovered than the attack became personal again; and so it has continued ever since: he seems bent upon "playing her off" in all manners; he braves her, then compliments her, assents to her opinion, and the next moment contradicts her; pretends uncommon friendship for her, and then laughs in her face. But his worst manoeuvre is a perpetual application to me, by looks and sly glances, which fill me with terror of passing for an accomplice; and the more, as I find it utterly impossible to keep grave during these absurdities. And yet, the most extraordinary part of the story is that she really likes him! though at times she is so angry, she makes vows to keep to her own room. Mr. George Villiers, with far deeper aim, sneers out his own more artful satire, but is never understood ; while Colonel Manners domineers with so high a hand, he carries all before him; and whenever Mrs. Schwellenberg, to lessen her mortification, draws me into the question, he instantly turns off whatever she begins into some high-flown compliment, so worded also as to convey some comparative reproach. This offends more than all. When she complains to me of him, in his absence, I answer he is a mere schoolboy, for mischief, without serious design of displeasing: but she tells me she sees he means to do her some harm, and she will let the king know, if he goes on at that rate, for she does not choose such sort of familiarness. Once she apologised suddenly for her English, and Colonel Manners said, "O, don't mind that, ma'am, for I take no particular notice as to your language." "But," says she, "Miss Berner might tell me, when I speak it sometimes not quite right, what you call." "O dear no, ma'am!" exclaimed he; "Miss Burney is of too mild a disposition for that: she could not correct you strong enough to do you good." "Oh!-ver well, sir!" she cried, confounded by his effrontery. One day she lamented she had been absent when there was so much agreeable company in the house; "And now," she Page 308 added, "now that I am comm back, here is nobody.--not one!--no society!" . He protested this was not to be endured, and told her that to reckon all us nobody was so bad, he should resent it. "What will you do, my good colonel?" she cried. "O ma'am, do?--I will tell Dr. Davis." "And who bin he?" "Why, he's the master of Eton school, ma'am," with a thundering bawl in her ears, that made her stop them. "No, sir!" she cried, indignantly, "I thank you for that, I won't have no Dr. schoolmaster, what you call! I bin too old for that." "But, ma'am, he shall bring you a Latin oration upon this subject, and you must hear it!" "O, 'tis all the same! I shan't not understand it, so I won't not hear it." "But you must, ma'am. If I write it, I shan't let you off so:-- you must hear it!" "No, I won't!--Miss Berner might,--give it her." "Does Miss Burney know Latin?" cried Mr. G. Villiers. "Not one word," quoth I. "I believe that cried she "but she might hear it the sam!" THE SAILOR PRINCE. On the 2nd of May I met Colonel Manners, waiting at the corner of a passage leading towards the queen's apartments. "Is the king, ma'am," he cried, "there? because Prince William(307) is come." I had heard he was arrived in town,-and with much concern, since it was without leave of the king. It was in the illness, indeed, of the king he sailed to England, and when he had probably all the excuse of believing his royal father incapable of further governance. How did I grieve for the feelings of that royal father, in this idea! yet it certainly offers for Prince William his best apology. In the evening, while Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mrs. Zachary and myself were sitting in the eating parlour, the door was suddenly opened by Mr. Alberts, the queen's page, and "prince William" was announced. He came to see Mrs. Schwellenberg. He is handsome, as Page 309 are all the royal family, though he is not of a height to be called a good figure. He looked very hard at the two strangers, but made us all sit, very civilly, and drew a chair for himself, and began to discourse with the most unbounded openness and careless ease, of everything that Occurred to him. Mrs. Schwellenberg said she had pitied him for the grief he must have felt at the news of the king's illness : "Yes," cried he, "I was very sorry, for his majesty, very sorry indeed, -no man loves the king better ; of that be assured. but all sailors love their king. And I felt for the queen, too,--I did, faith. I was horridly agitated when I saw the king first. I could hardly stand." Then Mrs. Schwellenberg suddenly said, "Miss Berner, now you might see his royal highness; you wanted it so moch, and now you might do it. Your royal highness, that is Miss Berner." He rose very civilly, and bowed, to this strange freak of an introduction; and, of course, I rose and Curtsied low, and waited his commands to sit again; which were given instantly, with great courtesy. "Ma'am," cried he, "you have a brother in the service?" "Yes, sir," I answered, much pleased with this professional attention. He had not, he civilly said, the pleasure to know him, but he had heard of him. Then, turning suddenly to Mrs. Schwellenberg, "Pray," cried he, " what is become of Mrs.--Mrs.--Mrs. Hogentot?" "O, your royal highness!" cried she, stifling much offence, "do you mean the poor Haggerdorn?--O your royal highness! have you forgot her?" "i have, upon my word!" cried he, plumply "upon my soul, I have!" Then turning again to me, "I am very happy, ma'am," he cried, "to see you here; it gives me great pleasure the queen should appoint the sister of a sea-officer to so eligible a situation. As long as she has a brother in the service, ma'am,, cried he to Mrs. Schwellenberg, "I look upon her as one of us. O, faith I do! I do indeed! she is one of the corps." Then he said he had been making acquaintance with a new princess, one he did not know nor remember-Princess Amelia. "Mary, too,"-- he said, "I had quite forgot; and they did not tell me who she was; so I went up to her, and, without in the least recollecting her, she's so monstrously grown, I said, 'Pray, ma'am, are you one of the attendants?'" Princess Sophia is his professed favourite. "I have had the Page 310 honour," he cried, "of about an hour's conversation with that young lady, in the old style; though I have given up my mad frolics now. To be sure, I had a few in that style formerly; upon my word I am almost ashamed;--Ha! ha! ha!" Then, recollecting particulars, he laughed vehemently; but Mrs. Schwellenberg eagerly interrupted his communications. I fancy some of them might have related to our own sacred person! "Augusta," he said "looks very well,--a good face and countenance,--she looks interesting,--she looks as if she knew more than she Would say; and I like that character." He stayed a full hour, chatting in this good-humoured and familiar manner. LOYAL RECEPTION OF THE KING IN THE NEW FOREST. Thursday, June 25.-This morning I was called before five o'clock, though various packages and business had kept me up till near three. The day was rainy, but the road was beautiful; Windsor great park, in particular, is charming. The crowds increased as we advanced, and at Winchester the town was one head. I saw Dr. Warton, but could not stop the carriage. The king was everywhere received with acclamation. His popularity is greater than ever. Compassion for his late sufferings seems to have endeared him now to all conditions of men. At Romsey, on the steps of the town-hall, an orchestra was formed, and a band of musicians, in common brown coarse cloth and red neckcloths, and even in carters' loose gowns, made a chorus of "God save the king," In which the countless multitude joined, in such loud acclamation, that their loyalty and heartiness, and natural joy, almost surprised me into a sob before I knew myself at all affected by them. The New Forest Is all beauty, and when we approached Lyndhurst the crowds wore as picturesque an appearance as the landscapes ; They were all in decent attire, and, the great space giving them full room, the cool beauty of the verdure between the groups took away all idea of inconvenience, and made their live gaiety a scene to joy beholders. Carriages of all sorts lined the road-side :-chariots, chaises, landaus, carts, waggons, whiskies, gigs, phatons--mixed and intermixed, filled Within and surrounded without by faces all glee and delight. Page 311 Such was the scenery for miles before we reached Lyndhurst. The old law of the forest, that his majesty must be presented with two milk-white greyhounds, peculiarly decorated, upon his entrance into the New Forest, gathered together multitudes to see the show. A party, also, of foresters, habited in green, and each with a bugle-horn, met his majesty at the same time. Arrived at Lyndhurst, we drove to the Duke of Gloucester's. The royal family were just before us, but the two colonels came and handed us through the crowd. The house, intended for a mere hunting-seat, was built by Charles II., and seems quite unimproved and unrepaired from its first foundation. It is the king's, but lent to the Duke of Gloucester. It is a straggling, inconvenient, old house, but delightfully situated, in a village,--looking, indeed, at present, like a populous town, from the amazing concourse of people that have crowded into it. The bow-men and archers and bugle-horns are to attend the king while he stays here, in all his rides. The Duke of Gloucester was ready to receive the royal family, who are all in the highest spirits and delight. I have a small old bed-chamber, but a large and commodious parlour, in which the gentlemen join Miss Planta and me to breakfast and to drink tea. They dine at the royal table. We are to remain here some days. During the king's dinner, which was in a parlour looking into the garden, he permitted the people to come to the window; and their delight and rapture in seeing their monarch at table, with the evident hungry feeling it occasioned, made a contrast of admiration and deprivation, truly comic. They crowded, however, so excessively, that this can be permitted them no more. They broke down all the paling, and much of the hedges, and some of the windows, and all by eagerness and multitude, for they were perfectly civil and well-behaved. In the afternoon the royal party came into my parlour; and the moment the people saw the star, they set up such a shout as made a ring all around the village; for my parlour has the same view with the royal rooms into the garden, where this crowd was assembled, and the new rapture was simply at seeing the king in a new apartment! They all walked out, about and around the village, in the evening, and the delighted mob accompanied them. The Page 312 moment they stepped out of the house, the people, With voice, struck up "God save the king!" I assure you I cried like a child twenty times in the day, at the honest and rapturous effusions of such artless and disinterested loyalty. The king's illness and recovery make me tender, as Count Mannuccia said, upon every recollection. These good villagers continued singing this loyal song during the whole walk, without any intermission, except to shout "huzza!" at the end of every stanza. They returned so hoarse, that I longed to give them all some lemonade. Probably they longed for something they would have called better! 'Twas well the king could walk no longer; I think, if he had, they would have died singing around him. June 30.-We continued at Lyndhurst five days and the tranquillity of the life, and the beauty of the country, would have made it very regaling to me indeed, but for the fatigue of having no maid, yet being always in readiness to play the part of an attendant myself. I went twice to see the house of Sir Phillip Jennings Clerke, my old acquaintance at Streatham. I regretted he was no more; he would so much have prided and rejoiced in shewing his place. His opposition principles would not have interfered with that private act of duty from a subject to a sovereign. How did I call to mind Mrs. Thrale, upon this spot! not that I had seen it with her, or ever before; but that its late owner was one of her sincerest admirers. Miss Planta and myself drove also to Southampton, by the queen's direction. It is a pretty clean town, and the views from the Southampton water are highly picturesque : but all this I had seen to far greater advantage, with Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Thrale. Ah, Mrs. Thrale!--In thinking her over, as I saw again the same spot, how much did I wish to see with it the same--once so dear-- companion! On the Sunday we all went to the parish church ; and after the service, instead of a psalm, imagine our surprise to hear the whole congregation join in "God save the king!" Misplaced as this was in a church, its intent was so kind, loyal, and affectionate, that I believe there was not a dry eye amongst either singers or hearers. The king's late dreadful illness has rendered this song quite melting to me. This day we quitted Lyndhurst; not without regret, for so private is its situation, I could stroll about in its beautiful neighbourhood quite alone. Page 313 THE ROYAL JOURNEY TO WEYMOUTH. The journey to Weymouth was one scene of festivity and rejoicing. The people were everywhere collected, and everywhere delighted. We passed through Salisbury, where a magnificent arch was erected, of festoons of flowers, for the king's carriage to pass under, and mottoed with "The king restored," and "Long live the king," in three divisions. The green bowmen accompanied the train thus far; and the clothiers and manufacturers here met it, dressed out in white loose frocks, flowers, and ribbons, with sticks or caps emblematically decorated from their several manufactories. And the acclamations with which the king was received amongst them--it was a rapture past description. At Blandford there was nearly the same ceremony. At every gentleman's seat which we passed, the owners and their families stood at the gate, and their guests Or neighbours were in carriages all round. At Dorchester the crowd seemed still increased. The city had so antique an air, I longed to investigate its old buildings. The houses have the most ancient appearance of any that are inhabited that I have happened to see: and inhabited they were indeed! every window-sash was removed, for face above face to peep Out, and every old balcony and all the leads of the houses seemed turned into booths for fairs. It seems, also, the most populous town I have seen; I judge by the concourse of the young and middle-aged--those we saw everywhere alike, as they may gather together from all quarters-but from the amazing quantity of indigenous residers; old women and young children. There seemed families of ten or twelve of the latter in every house; and the old women were so numerous, that they gave the whole scene the air of a rural masquerade. Girls, with chaplets, beautiful young creatures, strewed the entrance of various villages with flowers. WELCOME TO WEYMOUTH. Gloucester House, which we now inhabit, at Weymouth, is Situated in front of the sea, and the sands of the bay before it are perfectly smooth and soft. The whole town, and Melcomb Regis, and half the county of Dorset, seemed assembled to welcome their majesties. I have here a very good parlour, but dull, from its aspect. Page 314 Nothing but the sea at Weymouth affords any life Or Spirit. My bed-room is in the attics. Nothing like living at a Court for exaltation. Yet even with this gratification, which extends to Miss Planta, the house will only hold the females of the party. The two adjoining houses are added, for the gentlemen, an(] the pages, and some other of the suite, cooks, etc.--but the footmen are obliged to lodge still farther off. The bay is very beautiful, after its kind; a peninsula shuts out Portland island and the broad ocean. The king, and queen, and princesses, and their suite, walked out in the evening; an immense crowd attended them--sailors bargemen, mechanics, countrymen; and all united with so vociferous a volley of "God save the king," that the noise was stunning. At near ten o'clock Lord Courtown came into my parlour, as it is called, and said the town was all illuminated, and invited Miss Planta and me to a walk upon the sands. Their majesties were come in to supper. We took a stroll under his escort, and found it singularly beautiful, the night being very fine, and several boats and small vessels lighted up, and in motion upon the sea. The illumination extended through Melcomb Regis and Weymouth. Gloucester-row, in which we live, is properly in Melcomb Regis; but the two towns join each other, and are often confounded. The preparations of festive loyalty were universal. Not a child could we meet that had not a bandeau round its head, cap, or hat, of "God save the king;" all the bargemen wore it in cockades and even the bathing-women had it in large coarse girdles round their waists. It is printed in golden letters upon most of the bathing-machines, and in various scrolls and devices it adorns every shop and almost every house in the two towns. THE ROYAL PLUNGE WITH MUSICAL HONOURS. "YOU MUST KNEEL, SIR!" Gloucester House, Weymouth, Wednesday, July 9.-We are settled here comfortably enough. Miss Planta and I breakfast as well as dine together alone; the gentlemen have a breakfast parlour in the adjoining house, and we meet only at tea, and seldom then. They have all acquaintance here, in this Gloucester-row, and stroll from the terrace or the sands, to visit them during the tea vacation time. Page 315.' I like this much: I see them just enough to keep up sociability, without any necessary constraint; for I attend the tea-table only at my own hour, and they come, or not, according to chance or their convenience. The king bathes, and with great success; a machine follows the royal one into the sea, filled with fiddlers, who play "God save the king," as his majesty takes his plunge! I am delighted with the soft air and soft footing upon the sands, and stroll up and down them morning, noon, and night. As they are close before the house, I can get to and from them in a moment. Her majesty has graciously hired a little maid between Miss Planta and me, who comes for the day. We have no accommodation for her sleeping here; but it is an unspeakable relief to our personal fatigues. Dr. Gisburne is here, to attend his majesty; and the queen has ordered me to invite him to dine at my table. He comes regularly. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Gloucester Rowe, Weymouth, July 13, 1789. My dearest padre's kind letter was most truly welcome to me. When I am so distant, the term of absence or of silence seems always doubly long to me. The bay here is most beautiful; the sea never rough, generally calm and gentle, and the sands perfectly smooth and pleasant. I have not bathed, for I have had a cold in my head, which I caught at Lyndhurst, and which makes me fear beginning; but I have hopes to be well enough to-morrow, and thenceforward to ail nothing more. It is my intention to cast away all superfluous complaints into the main ocean, which I think quite sufficiently capacious to hold them ; and really my little frame will find enough to carry and manage without them. . . . His majesty is in delightful health, and much-improved spirits. All agree he never looked better. The loyalty of all this place is excessive; they have dressed out every street with labels of "God save the king:" all the shops have it over the doors: all the children wear it in their caps, all the labourers in their hats, and all the sailors in their voices, for they never approach the house without shouting it aloud, nor see the king, or his shadow, without beginning to huzza, and going on to three cheers. Page 316 The bathing-machines make it their motto over the windows; and those bathers that belong to the royal dippers wear it in bandeaus on their bonnets, to go into the sea; and have it again, in large letters, round their waists, to encounter the waves. Flannel dresses, tucked up, and no shoes nor stockings, with bandeaus and girdles, have a most singular appearance, and when first I surveyed these loyal nymphs it was with some difficulty I kept my features in order. Nor is this all. Think but Of the Surprise of his majesty when, the first time of his bathing, he had no sooner popped his royal head under water than a band of music, concealed in a neighbouring machine, struck up "God save great George our king." One thing, however, was a little unlucky ,--when the mayor and burgesses came with the address, they requested leave to kiss hands: this was graciously accorded; but, the mayor advancing, in a common way, to take the queen's hand, as he might that of any lady mayoress, Colonel Gwynn, who stood by, whispered, "You must kneel, sir!" He found, however, that he took no notice of this hint, but kissed the queen's hand erect. As he passed him, in his way back, the colonel Said, "You should have knelt, Sir!" "Sir," answered the poor mayor, "I cannot." "Everybody does, sir." "Sir,--I have a wooden leg!" Poor man! 'twas such a surprise! and such an excuse as no one could dispute. But the absurdity of the matter followed--all the rest did the same; taking the same privilege, by the example, without the same or any cause! ROYAL DOINGS IN AND ABOUT WEYMOUTH. July 15.-The Magnificent, a man-of-war Of 74 guns, commanded by an old captain of James's (Onslow), is now stationed at the entrance of the bay, for the security at once and pleasure of the king; and a fine frigate, the Southampton, Captain Douglas, is nearer in, and brought for the king to cruise about. Captain Douglas is nephew to Sir Andrew Snape Hammond, who married a cousin of our Mr. Crisp. The king and royal party have been to visit the frigate. Miss Planta and myself went to see the ceremony from a place called the Look-out,--a beautiful spot. But I have not much taste for sea receptions and honours: the firing a salute is SO strange a mode of hospitality and politeness. . . . Page 317 Mrs. Gwynn(308) is arrived, and means to spend the royal season here. She lodges at the hotel just by, and we have met several times. She is very soft and pleasing, and still as beautiful as an angel. We have had two or three long tête-Š- têtes and talked over, with great pleasure, anecdotes Of Our former mutual acquaintances--Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mrs. Thrale, Baretti, Miss Reynolds, Miss Palmer, and her old admirer, Dr. Goldsmith, of whom she relates--as who does not?--a thousand ridiculous traits. The queen is reading Mrs. Piozzi's tour(309) to me, instead of my reading it to her. She loves reading aloud, and in this work finds me an able commentator. How like herself, how characteristic is every line--Wild, entertaining, flighty, inconsistent, and clever! July 16.-Yesterday we all wen to the theatre. The king has taken the centre front box for himself, family, and attendants. The side boxes are too small. The queen ordered places for Miss Planta and me, which are in the front row of a box next but one to the royals. Thus, in this case, Our want of rank to be in their public suite gives us better seats than those high enough to stand behind them, Lady Sydney, Lady Courtown's sister, and Miss Townshend, her daughter, are in the intermediate box, and were very sociable. I have met them here occasionally, and like them very well. 'Tis a pretty little theatre: but its entertainment was quite in the barn style a mere medley,--songs, dances, imitations,- and all very bad. But Lord Chesterfield, who is here, and who seems chief director, promises all will be better. This morning the royal party went to Dorchester, and I strolled upon the sands with Mrs. Gwynn. We overtook a lady, of a very majestic port and demeanour, who solemnly returned Mrs. Gwynn's salutation, and then addressed herself to me with similar gravity. I saw a face I knew, and of very uncommon beauty; but did not immediately recollect it was Mrs. Siddons. She is come here, she says, solely for her health : she has spent some days with Mrs. Gwynn, at General Harcourt's. Her husband was with her, and a sweet child. I wished to have tried if her solemnity would have worn away Page 318 by length of conversation ; but I was obliged to hasten home. But my dearest Fredy's opinion, joined to that of my Sister Esther, satisfies me I was a loser by this necessary forbearance. Sunday, July 26.-Yesterday we wen again to the play, and saw "The Midnight Hour" and "The Commissary." The latter from the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme," is comic to convulsion and the burlesque of Quick and Mrs. Wells united made ne laugh quite immoderately.(310) July 29.-We went to the play, and saw Mrs. Siddons in Rosalind. She looked beautifully, but too large for that shepherd's dress; and her gaiety sits not naturally upon her,--it seems more like disguised gravity. I must own my admiration for her confined to her tragic powers; and there it is raised so high that I feel mortified, in a degree, to see her so much fainter attempts and success in comedy. A PATIENT AUDIENCE. Monday, Aug. 3.-The whole royal party went to see Lulworth Castle, intending to be back to dinner, and go to the play at night, which their majesties had ordered, with Mrs. Siddons to play Lady Townly.(311) Dinner-time, however, came and passed, and they arrived not. They went by sea, and the wind proved contrary; and about seven o'clock a hobby groom was despatched thither by land, with intelligence that they had only reached Lulworth Castle at five o'clock. They meant to be certainly back by eight ; but sent their commands that the farce might be performed first, and the play wait them. The manager repeated this to the audience,--already waiting and wearied but a loud applause testified their agreeability to whatever could be proposed. The farce, however, was much sooner over than the passage from Lulworth Castle. It was ten o'clock when they landed! And all this time the audience--spectators rather--quietly waited! They landed, just by the theatre, and went to the house of Lady Pembroke, who is now here in attendance upon the queen : and there they Sent home for the king's page, with Page 319 a wig, etc.; and the queen's wardrobe woman, with similar decorations; and a message to Miss Planta and me, that we might go at once to the theatre. We obeyed; and soon after they appeared, and were received with the most violent gusts of joy and huzzas, even from the galleries over their heads, whose patience had not the reward of seeing them at last. Is not this a charming trait of provincial popularity? Mrs. Siddons, in her looks, and the tragic part, was exquisite. A FATIGUING BUT PLEASANT DAY. Aug. 4.-To-day all the royals went to Sherborne Castle. My day being perfectly at liberty, Mrs. Gwynn stayed and spent it with me. The weather was beautiful; the sea-breezes here keep off intense heat in the warmest season. We walked first to see the shrubbery and plantation of a lady, Mrs. B--, who has a very pretty house about a mile and a half out of the town. Here we rested, and regaled ourselves with sweet flowers, and then proceeded to the old castle,-its ruins rather,- which we most completely examined, not leaving one stone' untrod, except such as must have precipitated us into the sea. This castle is built almost in the sea, upon a perpendicular rock, and its situation, therefore, is nobly bold and striking. It is little more now than walls, and a few little winding staircases at its four corners. I had not imagined my beautiful companion could have taken so much pleasure from an excursion so romantic and ,lonely ; but she enjoyed it very much, clambered about as unaffectedly as if she had lived in rural scenes all her life, and left nothing unexamined. We then prowled along the sands at the foot of the adjoining rocks, and picked up sea-weeds and shells - but I do not think they were such as to drive Sir Ashton Lever,(312) or the Museum keepers, to despair! We had the queen's two little dogs, Badine and Phillis, for our guards and associates. We returned home to a very late tea, thoroughly tired, but very much pleased. To me it was the only rural excursion I had taken for more than three years. Page 320 The royal party came not home till past eleven o'clock. The queen was much delighted with Sherborne Castle, which abounds with regal curiosities, honourably acquired by the family. LULWORTH CASTLE. Aug. 8.--To-day we went to Lulworth Castle; but not with Mrs. Gwynn. Her majesty ordered our royal coach and four, and directed me to take the two De Lucs. Lulworth Castle is beautifully situated, with a near and noble view of the sea, It has a spacious and very fine park, and commands a great extent of prospect. It is the property of Mr. Weld, a Roman Catholic, whose eldest brother was first husband of Mrs. Fitzherbert.(313) A singular circumstance, that their majesties should visit a house in which, so few years ago, she might have received them. There is in it a Roman Catholic chapel that is truly elegant,--a Pantheon in miniature,--and ornamented with immense expense and richness. The altar is all of finest variegated marbles, and precious stones are glittering from every angle. The priests' vestments, which are very superb, and all the sacerdotal array, were shown us as particular favours: and Colonel Goldsworthy comically said he doubted not they had incense and oblations for a week to come, by way of purification for our heretical curiosity. The castle is built with four turrets. It is not very ancient, and the inside is completely modern, and fitted up with great elegance. It abounds in pictures of priests, saints, monks, and nuns, and is decorated with crosses and Roman Catholic devices without end. They show one room in which two of our kings have slept; Charles II. and poor James II. We returned home to dinner, and in the evening went to the Page 321 play. Mrs. Siddons performed Mrs. Oakley.(313) What pity thus to throw away her talents ! but the queen dislikes tragedy, and the honour to play before the royal family blinds her to the little credit acquired by playing comedy. THE ROYAL PARTY AT THE ASSEMBLY Rooms. Sunday, Aug 9.-The king had a council yesterday, which brought most of the great officers of state to Weymouth. In the evening, her majesty desired Miss Planta and me to go to the rooms, whither they commonly go themselves on Sunday evenings, and, after looking round them, and speaking where they choose, they retire to tea in an inner apartment with their own party, but leave the door wide open, both to see and be seen. The rooms are convenient and spacious : we found them very full. As soon as the royal party came, a circle was formed, and they moved round it, just as before the ball at St. James's, the king one way with his chamberlain, the new-made Marquis of Salisbury, and the queen the other with the princesses, Lady Courtown, etc. The rest of the attendants planted themselves round in the circle. I had now the pleasure, for the first time, to see Mr. Pitt but his appearance is his least recommendation ; it is neither noble nor expressive. Lord Chatham, the Duke of Richmond, Mr. Villiers, Lord Delawarr, etc., were in the circle, and spoken to a long time each. A JOURNEY To EXETER AND SALTRAM. Thursday, Aug. 13.-We began our Western tour. We all went in the same order as we set out from Windsor. We arrived at Exeter to a very late dinner. We were lodged at the Deanery; and Dr. Buller, the dean, desired a conference with me, for we came first, leaving the royals at Sir George Young's. He was very civil, and in highest glee: I had never seen him before; but he told me he introduced himself, by this opportunity, at the express desire of Mrs. Chapone and Mrs. Castle, who were both his relations, as well as of Dr. Warton. I was glad to hear myself yet remembered by them. The crowds, the rejoicings, the hallooing, and singing, and garlanding, and decorating of all the inhabitants of this old Page 322 city, and of all the country through which we passed, made the journey quite charming : such happy loyalty as beamed from all ranks and descriptions of men carried close to the heart in sympathetic joy. We passed all the next day at the Deanery, which was insufficient to our party, that not only the gentlemen, one an(l all, lodged at the hotel, but even Lady Courtown and the two Lady Waldegraves. I saw nothing of any of them while we stayed at Exeter. I strolled with Miss Planta about the town, which is populous and busy enough, but close and ugly. The principal parade for company, however, takes in a fine view of the country; and the cathedral is old and curious. The next morning, Saturday the 15th, we quitted Exeter, in which there had been one constant mob surrounding the Deanery from the moment of our entrance. We proceeded through a country the most fertile, varied, rural, and delightful, in England, till we came to the end of our aim, Saltram. We passed through such beautiful villages, and so animated a concourse of people, that the whole journey proved truly delectable. Arches of flowers were-erected for the royal family to pass under at almost every town, with various loyal devices, expressive of their satisfaction in this circuit. How happy must have been the king!-how deservedly ! The greatest conqueror could never pass through his dominions with fuller acclamations of joy from his devoted subjects than George III. experienced, simply from having won their love by the even tenor of an unspotted life, which, at length, has vanquished all the hearts of all his subjects. Our entrance at Saltram was, personally to Miss Planta and me, very disagreeable: we followed immediately after the royals and equerries and so many of the neighbouring gentry, the officers, etc., were assembled to receive them, that we had to make our way through a crowd of starers the most tremendous, while the royals all stood at the windows, and the other attendants in the hall. The house is one of the most magnificent in the kingdom. It accommodated us all, even to every footman, without by any means filling the whole. The state apartments on the ground floor are superb, hung with crimson damask, and ornamented with pictures, some few of the Spanish school, the rest by Sir Joshua Reynolds, Angelica, and some few by other artists. Its view is noble; it extends to Plymouth, Mount-Edge- Page 323 cumbe, and the neighbouring fine country. The sea at times fills up a part of the domain almost close to the house, and then its prospect is Complete. MAY "ONE" COME IN? Sunday, Aug. 16.-Lord Courtown brought me a very obliging message from Lady Mount-Edgecumbe, who had been here at noon to kiss hands, on becoming a countess from a baroness. She sent to invite me to see her place, and contrive to dine and spend the day there. Her majesty approves the Mount-Edgecumbe invitation. Aug. 18.-This morning the royals were all at a grand naval review. I spent the time very serenely in my favourite wood, which abounds in seats of all sorts - and then I took a fountain Pen, and wrote my rough journal for copying to my dear Sorelle.(314) In the evening, Lord Courtown, opening my parlour door, called out, "May one come in?" "May one?" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy; "may two, may three,--may four?--I like your one, indeed!" And in they all entered, and remained in sociable conversation till they were all called, late, to cards. AN EXCURSION To PLYMOUTH DOCKYARD. Aug. 19.-Again this morning was spent by the royals at Plymouth dock--by me in strolls round the house. The wood here is truly enchanting--the paths on the slant down to the water resemble those of sweet Norbury park. The tea, also, was too much the same to be worth detailing. I will only mention a speech which could not but divert me, of Mr. Alberts, the queen's page. He said nobody dared represent to the king the danger of his present continual exertion in this hot weather,--"unless it is Mr. Fairly," he added, "who can say anything, in his genteel roundabout way." Aug. 21.-To-day the royals went to Mount-Edgecumbe, and her majesty had commissioned Lady Courtown to arrange a plan for Miss Planta and me to see Plymouth Dock. According, therefore, to her ladyship's directions, we set off for that place, and, after a dull drive of about five miles, arrived at the house of the commissioner, Admiral La Forey. Here Page 324 Mrs. La Forey and her daughters were prepared to expect us, and take the trouble of entertaining us for the day. Three large and populous towns, Plymouth, Stockton, and Dock,(315) nearly join each other. Plymouth is long, dirty, ill built, and wholly unornamented with any edifice worth notice. Stockton is rather neater,-nothing more. Dock runs higher and Is newer, and looks far cleaner and more habitable. The commissioner's is the best-situated house in Dock: it is opposite a handsome quay, on an arm of the sea, with a pretty paved walk, or terrace, before the house, which seems used as a mall by the inhabitants, and is stored with naval offices innumerable. The two ladies received us very pleasantly. Mrs. La Forey Is well bred, in the formal way ; but her eldest daughter, Mrs. Molloy, is quite free from stiffness, yet perfectly obliging, very easy, very modest, and very engaging, and, when dressed for a ball in the evening, very handsome. She does not become a déshabille, but cannot look otherwise than pleasing and agreeable, from her manners and countenance. Captain Molloy, her husband, was gone to attend in the naval procession that conducted the royals to Mount-Edgecumbe, where he expected to dine ; but he had left a younger officer, Lieutenant Gregory, to do the honours of the naval show to us. The commissioner himself is yet more formal than his lady, but equally civil. An unmarried daughter appeared next, who seems sensible and good humoured, but very plain. We sallied forth to the dockyard, with these two daughters, and Lieutenant Gregory, a very pleasing and well-bred young officer. How often I wished my dear James had happened to be here, in any employment, at this time! The dockyard you will dispense with my describing. It is a noble and tremendous sight, and we were shown it with every advantage of explanation. It was a sort of sighing satisfaction to see such numerous stores of war's alarms !-ropes, sails, masts, anchors,--and all in the finest symmetry, divided and subdivided, as if placed only for show, The neatness and exactness of all the arrangement of those stores for tempest, filled me with admiration; so did the whole scene--though not with pleasure. All assurances, however well to be depended upon, of safety, are but so many indications of danger. Page 325 While we were seeing the anchor business,--which seemed performed by Vulcanic demons, so black they looked, so savage was their howl in striking the red-hot iron, and so coarse and slight their attire,--we were saluted with three cheers, from the accidental entrance of Lord Stopford, Lord Courtown's son, and Mr. Townshend, his nephew, a son of Lord Sydney, just made a lord of the Admiralty. And the sound, in those black regions, where all the light was red-hot fire, had a Very fine demoniac effect. In beating the anchor they all strike at the same instant, giving about three quick strokes to one slow stroke; and were they not to time them with the most perfect conformity, they must inevitably knock out one another's brains. The sight of this apparently continual danger gave to the whole the appearance of some wild rite performed from motives of superstition in some uncivilised country. While we were yet ]it the dockyard we were joined by two sea-captains, Captain Molloy and Captain Duckworth. Captain Molloy is a sensible and agreeable man, but somewhat haughty, and of conscious consequence. Captain Duckworth is both sensible and amiable in his style of conversation, and has a most perfect and kind openness of manner and countenance; but he greatly amused me by letting me see how much I amused him. I never surprised him looking near me, without seeing on his face so irresistible a simper, that I expected him every moment to break forth; never even trying to keep a grave face, except when I looked at him in full front. I found he knew "Burney, of the Bristol," as he called our James, and I named and conversed about him by every opportunity. . A VISIT TO A SEVENTY-FOUR. Captain Molloy invited us, when we had exhausted the show on land, to see his ship. I dislike going anywhere beyond the reach of the Humane society, but could not be left without breaking up the party: this was my first water-excursion, though two had been proposed to me at Weymouth, which I had begged leave to decline. All, however, was smooth and calm, and we had the best possible navigators. We went to the ship in Captain Molloy's large boat, which was very trim and neat, and had all its rowers new dressed and smart for royal attendance, as it followed the king in all his water-excursions. Page 326 The Ship is the Bombay Castle, of seventy-four guns. It had the Admiralty flag hoisted, as Lord Chatham had held a board there in the morning. It is a very fine ship, and I was truly edified by the sight of all its accommodations, ingenuity, utility, cleanliness, and contrivances. A man-of-war, fitted out and manned,- is a glorious and a fearful sight! In going over the ship we came to the midshipmen's mess, and those young officers were at dinner, but we were taken in: they were lighted by a few candles fastened to the wall in sockets. Involuntarily I exclaimed, "Dining by candle-light at noon-day!" A midshipman, starting forward, said, "Yes', ma'am, and Admiral Lord Hood did the same for seven years following!" I liked his spirit so much that I turned to him, and said I was very glad they looked forward to such an example, for I had a brother in the service, which gave me a warm interest in its prosperity. This made the midshipman so much my friend, that we entered into a detailed discourse upon the accommodations of their cabin, mess, etc., and various other matters. I liked him much, though I know not his name; but my constant Captain Duckworth kept me again wholly to his own cicerone-ing, when I turned out of the cabin. A little, however, he was mortified to find me a coward upon the water. I assured him he should cure me if he could convince me there was no reason for fear. He would not allow of any, but could not disprove it. "Tell me," I said, "and honestly,--should we be overturned in the boat while out at sea, what would prevent our being drowned?" He would not suppose such an accident possible. I pressed him, however, upon the possibility it might happen once in a century, and he could not help laughing, and answered, "O, we should pick you all up!" --I desired to know by what means. "Instruments," he said. I forced him, after a long and comic resistance, to show me them. Good heaven! they were three-pronged iron forks,--very tridents of Neptune! I exclaimed with great horror, "These!---why, they would tear the body to pieces!" "O," answered he calmly, "one must not think of legs and arms when life is in danger." I would not, however, under such protection, refuse sailing round Mount-Edgecumbe, which we did in Captain Molloy's boat, and just at the time when the royals, in sundry garden- Page 327 chairs, were driving about the place. It was a beautiful view the situation is delightful. But Captain Molloy was not in the best harmony with its owners, as they had disappointed his expectations of an Invitation to dinner. A DAY AT MOUNT-EDGECUMBE. Aug. 24.-To-day the royals went to Marystow, Colonel Heywood's, and Miss Planta and myself to Mount-Edgecumbe. The queen had desired me to take Miss Planta, and I had written to prepare Lady Mount-Edgecumbe for a companion. We went in a chaise to the ferry, and thence in a boat. I did not like this part of the business, for we had no pilot we knew, nor any one to direct us. They would hardly believe, at Mount-Edgecumbe, we had adventured in so unguarded a manner: but our superior is too high to discover difficulties, or know common precautions ; and we fare, therefore, considerably worse in all these excursions, from belonging to crowned heads, than we should do in our own private stations, if visiting at any part of the kingdom. Safe, however, though not pleasantly, we arrived on the opposite shore ; when we found a gardener and a very commodious garden-chair waiting for us. We drove through a sweet park to the house, at the gate of which stood Lord and Lady Mount-Edgecumbe, who told us that they had just heard an intention of their majesties to sail the next day up the River Tamer, and therefore they thought it their duty to hasten off to a seat they have near its banks, Coteil, with refreshments and accommodations, in case they should be honoured with a visit to see the place, which was very ancient and curious. They should leave Lord Valletort to do the honours, and expressed much civil regret in the circumstance: but the distance was too great to admit of the journey, over bad roads, if they deferred it till after dinner. We then proceeded, in the chair, to see the place: it is truly noble; but I shall enter into no description from want of time: take a list simply of its particular points. The sea, in some places, shows itself in its whole vast and unlimited expanse; at others, the jutting land renders it merely a beautiful basin or canal: the borders down to the sea are in some parts flourishing with the finest evergreens and most vivid verdure, and in others are barren, rocky, and perilous. In one moment you might suppose yourself cast on a desert island, Page 328 and the next find yourself in the most fertile and luxurious country. In different views we were shown Cawsand bay, the Hamoaze, the rocks called "the Maker," etc.,--Dartmoor hills, Plymouth, the dockyard, Saltram, and St. George's channel. Several noble ships, manned and commissioned -were in the Hamoaze amongst them our Weymouth friends' the Magnificent and Southampton. A very beautiful flower-garden is enclosed in one part of the grounds ; and huts, seats, and ornaments in general, were well adapted to the scenery of the place. A seat is consecrated to Mrs. Damer,(316) with an acrostic on her name by Lord Valletort. It is surprising to see the state of vegetation at this place, so close to the main. Myrtles, pomegranates, everg.reens, and flowering shrubs, all thrive, and stand the cold blast, when planted in a southern aspect, as safely as in an inland country. As it is a peninsula, it has all aspects, and the plantations and dispositions of the ground are admirably and skilfully assorted to them. The great open view, however, disappointed me : the towns it shows have no prominent features, the country is as flat as it is extensive, and the various branches of the sea which run into it give, upon their retreat, a marshy, muddy, unpleasant appearance. There is, besides, a want of some one striking object to arrest the eye, and fix the attention, which wearies from the general glare. Points, however, there are, both of the sublime and beautiful, that merit all the fame which this noble place has acquired. In our tour around it we met Lord Stopford, Mr. Townshend, and Captain Douglas ; and heard a tremendous account of the rage of the sea-captains, on being disappointed of a dinner at the royal visit to Mount-Edgecumbe. We did not quit these fine grounds till near dinner-time. The housekeeper then showed us the house, and a set of apartments newly fitted up for the royals, had they chosen to sleep at Mount-Edgecumbe. The house is old, and seems pleasant and convenient. Page 329 In a very pretty circular parlour, which had the appearance of being the chief living room, I saw amongst a small collection of books, "Cecilia." I immediately laid a wager with myself the first volume would open upon Pacchierotti; and I won it very honestly, though I never expect to be paid it. The chapter, "An Opera Rehearsal," was so well read, the leaves always flew apart to display it. The library is an exceeding good room, and seems charmingly furnished. Here Lord Valletort received us. His lady was confined to her room by indisposition. He is a most neat little beau, and his face has the roses and lilies as finely blended as that of his pretty young wife. He was extremely civil and attentive, and appears to be really amiable in his disposition. Mr. Brett, a plain, sensible, conversible man, who has an estate in the neighbourhood, dined with us; and a young Frenchman. The dinner was very cheerful: my lord, at the head of the table, looked only like his lady in a riding-dress. However, he received one mortifying trial of his temper - he had sent to request sailing up the Tamer next day with Sir Richard Bickerton; and he had a blunt refusal, in a note, during our repast. Not an officer in the fleet would accommodate him; their resentment of the dinner slight is quite vehement. We returned home the same way we came; the good-natured little lord, and Mr. Brett also, quite shocked we had no better guard or care taken of us. MR. FAIRLY ON A COURT LIFE. Weymouth, Sunday, Sept. 6.-This evening, the royals and their train all went again to the rooms to drink their tea. Miss Planta and myself were taking ours quietly together, and I was finishing a charming sermon of Blair while she was running over some old newspapers, when, suddenly, but very gently, the room-door was opened, and then I heard, "Will Miss Burney permit me to come in, and give me a dish of tea?" 'Twas Mr. Fairly. He said we were to go on Monday se'nnight to Lord Bath's, on Wednesday to Lord Aylesbury's, and on Friday to return to Windsor. He was himself to be discharged some days sooner, as he should not be wanted on the road. He said many things relative - to Court lives and situations: with respect, deference, and regard invariable, mentioned the leading individuals ; but said nothing could be so weak as to Page 330 look there, in such stations, for such impossibilities as sympathy, friendship, or cordiality ! And he finished with saying, "People forget themselves who look for them!" Such, however, is not my feeling ; and I am satisfied he has met with some unexpected coldness. Miss Planta being present, he explained only in generals. A BRIEF SOJOURN AT LONGLEAT. Monday, Sept. 14.-We all left Weymouth. All possible honours were paid the king on his departure; lords, ladies, and sea- officers, lined the way that he passed, the guns of the Magnificent and Southampton fired the parting salute, and the ships were under sail. We all set out as before, but parted on the road. The royals went to breakfast at Redlinch, the seat of Lord Ilchester, where Mr, Fairly(317) was in waiting for them, and thence proceeded to a collation at Sherborne Castle, whither he was to accompany them, and then resign his present attendance, which has been long and troublesome and irksome, I am sure. Miss Planta and myself proceeded to Longleat, the seat of the Marquis of Bath, late Lord Weymouth; where we were all to dine, sleep, and spend the following day and night. Longleat was formerly the dwelling of the Earl of Lansdowne, uncle to Mrs. Delany; and here, at this seat, that heartless uncle, to promote some political views, sacrificed his incomparable niece, at the age of seventeen, marrying her to an unwieldly, uncultivated, country esquire, near sixty years of age, and scarce ever sober-- his name Pendarves. With how sad an awe, in recollecting her submissive unhappiness, did I enter these doors!--and with what indignant hatred did I look at the portrait of the unfeeling earl, to whom her gentle repugnance, shown by almost incessant tears, was thrown away, as if she, her person, and her existence were nothing in the scale, where the disposition of a few boroughs opposed them! Yet was this the famous Granville--the poet, the fine gentleman, the statesman, the friend and patron of Pope, of whom he wrote-- "What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing?" Mine, I am sure, for one. Page 331 Lady Bath showed us our rooms, to which we repaired immediately, to dress before the arrival of the royals. We dined with the gentlemen, all but the marquis, who was admitted, in his own house, to dine with the king and queen, as were all the ladies of his family. Lord Weymouth, the eldest son, was our president; and two of his brothers, Lords George and John, with Lord Courtown and the two colonels, made the party. The Weymouths, Thynnes rather, are silent, and we had but little talk or entertainment. The house is very magnificent, and of in immense magnitude. It seems much out of repair, and by no means cheerful or comfortable. Gloomy grandeur seems the proper epithet for the building and its fitting-up. It had been designed for a monastery, and as such was nearly completed when Henry VIII. dissolved those seminaries. It was finished as a- dwelling-house in the reign of his son, by one of the Thynnes, who was knighted in a field of battle by the protector Somerset.(318) Many things in the house, and many queer old portraits, afforded me matter of Speculation, and would have filled up more time than I had to bestow. There are portraits of Jane Shore and Fair Rosamond, which have some marks of originality, being miserable daubs, yet from evidently beautiful subjects. Arabella Stuart is also at full length, and King Charleses and Jameses in abundance, with their queens, brethren, and cousins. There are galleries in this house of the dimensions of college halls. The state rooms on the ground floor are very handsome but the queer antique little old corners, cells, recesses, "passages that lead to nothing," unexpected openings, and abrupt stoppages, with the quaint devices of various old-fashioned ornaments, amused me the most. Page 332 My bed-room was furnished with crimson velvet, bed included, yet so high, though only the second story, that it made me giddy to look into the park, and tired to wind up the flight of stairs. It was formerly the favourite room, the housekeeper told me, of Bishop Ken, who put on his shroud in it before he died. Had I fancied I had seen his ghost, I might have screamed my voice away, unheard by any assistant to lay it; for so far was I from the rest of the habitable part of the mansion, that not the lungs of Mr. Bruce could have availed me.(319) The park is noble and spacious. It was filled with country folks, permitted to enter that they might see their sovereigns, and it looked as gay without as it seemed gloomy within. The people were dressed in their best, as if they came to a fair ; and such shouts and hallooings ensued, whenever the king appeared at a window, that the whole building rang again with the vibration. Nothing upon earth can be more gratifying than the sight of this dear and excellent king thus loved and received by all descriptions of his subjects. TOTTENHAM COURT: RETURN TO WINDSOR. Sept. 16.-We set out, amidst the acclamations of a multitude, from Longleat for Tottenham park, the seat of Lord Aylesbury. The park is of great extent and moderate beauty. The house is very well. We had only our own party, the three gentlemen, at dinner and breakfast. These gentlemen only dine with the king when he keeps house, and keeps it incog. himself. At Tottenham park, only my Lord Aylesbury, as master of the house, was admitted. He and his lady were both extremely desirous to make all their guests comfortable ; and Lady Aylesbury very politely offered me the use of her own collection of books. But I found, at the top of the house, a very large old library, in which there were sundry uncommon and curious old English tracts, that afforded me much entertainment. 'Tis a library of long standing. Here are many original portraits also, that offer enough for speculation. A "Bloody Mary," by Sir Anthony More, which I saw with much curiosity, and liked better than I expected. The beautiful Duchesses of Cleveland and Portsmouth, I fancy Page 333 by Kneller; but we had no cicerone. A very fine picture of a lady in black, that I can credit to be Vandyke, but who else can I know not. Several portraits by Sir Peter Lely, extremely soft and pleasing, and of subjects uncommonly beautiful; many by Sir Godfrey Kneller, well enough; and many more by Sir Something Thornhill,(320) very thick and heavy. The good lord of the mansion put up a new bed for the king and queen that cost him nine hundred pounds. Two things I heard here with concern-that my godmother, Mrs. Greville, was dead; and that poor Sir Joshua Reynolds had lost the sight of one of his eyes.(321) Sept. 18.-We left Tottenham Court, and returned to Windsor. The royals hastened to the younger princesses, and I to Mrs. Schwellenberg. I was civilly received, however. But deadly dead sunk my heart as I entered her apartment. The next day I had a visit from my dear brother Charles full of business, letters, etc. I rejoiced to see him, and to confab over all his affairs, plans, and visions, more at full length than for a long time past. I was forced to introduce him to Mrs. Schwellenberg, and he flourished away successfully enough; but it was very vexatious, as he had matters innumerable for discussion. (305) The palace of Kew.-ED. (306) See ante, p. 44.-ED. (307) The Duke of Clarence, third son of George III.; afterwards William IV.-ED. (308) The Jessamy Bride." See ante, vol. i, p. 111.-ED. (309) "Observations and Reflections made in the course of a Journey through France, Italy, and Germany," by published in 1789. (310) "The Midnight Hour," a comedy by Mrs. Inchbald, well known as the authoress of "A Simple Story," and "Nature and Art," was originally produced at Covent Garden, May 22, 1787. "The Commissary," a comedy by Samuel Foote, partly taken from "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme," was first performed at the Haymarket in June, 1765. Mr. Quick and Mrs. Wells were popular comedians of the time.-ED. (311) In "The Provoked Husband," by Vanbrugh and Cibber.-ED. (312) Sir Ashton Lever was noted for his extensive and valuable collection of objects of natural history. In 1775 he opened a museum in Leicester Square, in which his collection was shown to the public; but ten years later he was compelled to dispose of it. The new proprietor exhibited the collection for some years, but it was finally sold and dispersed.-ED. (312) Maria Anne Smythe was born in 1756, and married, in 1775, Edward Weld of Lulworth Castle. He died within a year, and she married, in 1778, Thomas Fitzherbert of Swinnerton, Staffordshire, who died in 1781. In December, 1785, Mrs. Fitzherbert was privately married to the Prince of Wales. The marriage was never publicly recognised, and its legality was perhaps disputable: for by the Act of 1772 the marriage of any member of the Royal family under the age of twenty-five without the king's consent, was declared invalid, and at the date of his marriage with the beautiful Mrs Fitzherbert, the Prince was but twenty-three years of age. he always treated her as his wife, however, and she was received in society. She continued to live with him even after his marriage with the Princess Caroline, and finally parted from him in 1803, retiring with an allowance of 6,000 pounds a year to Brighton, where she died in 1837.-ED. (313) A character in Colman's comedy of "The Jealous Wife."-ED. (314) Sisters--the Italian word.-ED. (315) Dock is now called Devonport.-ED. (316) The lady-sculptor, the Hon. Mrs. Damer, daughter of General Conway and kinswoman of Horace Walpole, who bequeathed to her, for the term of her life, his villa at Strawberry Hill. Her performances in sculpture were of no great merit, but were prodigiously admired by Horace Walpole, who had a notorious weakness for the works of persons of quality. Mrs. Damer was a staunch whig, and canvassed Westminster on behalf of Charles Fox at the election of 1784, in company with the Duchess of Devonshire and Mrs. Crewe.-ED. (317) His late wife, it will be remembered, was a daughter of Lord Ilchester.-ED. (318) Longleat, in Wiltshire, was never intended for a monastery, but Was built from a design, it is said, by John of Padua, for Sir John Thynne, who was knighted by Somerset on the field, after the battle of Pinkie. Sir John's descendant, Thomas Thynne, Esq., of Longleat, the wealthy friend of Monmouth, and the "wise Issachar" of Dryden's "Absalom and Achitophel," was murdered in his coach in Pall-Mall (February 12, 1682), by the contrivance of Count Koenigsmark, who was tried for the murder and acquitted, although his confederates, the actual perpetrators of the crime, were hanged for it. Thomas Thynne was succeeded in his estates by his cousin, Sir Thomas Thynne, who was the same year created Baron Thynne and Viscount Weymouth, titles which have descended in the family, and to which that of Marquis of Bath has since been added." (See "Count Koenigsmark and Tom of Ten Thousand," by H. Vizetelly, London, 1890.)-ED. (319) James Bruce, the famous African traveller, made the acquaintance of the Burney family in 1775. He was about seven feet in height. In her early letters to Mr. Crisp, Fanny calls him the "man-mountain."-ED. (320) Sir James Thornhill, the father-in-law of Hogarth.-ED. (321) "One day, in the month of July, 1789, while finishing the portrait of the Marchioness of Hereford, he felt a sudden decay of sight in his left eye. He laid down the pencil, sat a little while in mute consideration, and never lifted it more. His sight gradually darkened, and within ten weeks of the first attack his left eye was wholly blind." (Allan Cunningham.) For some time after this he attended to his duties as President of the Royal Academy, and he delivered his last address to the students in 1790. Sir Joshua died in his sixty-ninth year, February 23, 1792-ED. Page 334 SECTION 16. (1789-90.) MR. FAIRLY'S'MARRIAGE: THE HASTINGS TRIAL, RUMOURS OF MR. FAIRLY'S IMPENDING MARRIAGE. Colonel Gwynn told us, at tea-time, of the wonderful recovery of Colonel Goldsworthy, who has had an almost desperate illness; and then added that he had dined the preceding day with him, and met Mr. Fairly, who was coming to Windsor, and all prepared, when he was suddenly stopped, on the very preceding evening, by a fresh attack of the gout. I heard this with much concern, and made many inquiries, which were presently interrupted by an exclamation of Major Garth, who was now in waiting: "The gout?" he cried: "nay, then, it is time he should get a nurse; and, indeed, I hear he has one in view." Colonel Gwynn instantly turned short, with a very significant smile of triumph, towards me, that seemed to confirm this assertion, while it exulted in his own prediction at Cheltenham. The following morning, while I was alone with my royal mistress, she mentioned Mr. Fairly for the first time since we left Weymouth. It was to express much displeasure against him: e had misled Lord Aylesbury about the ensuing Drawing-room, by affirming there would be none this month. After saying how wrong this was, and hearing me venture to answer I could not doubt but he must have had some reason, which, if known, might account for his mistake, she suddenly, and with some severity of accent, said, "He will not come Page 335 here! For some reason or other he does not choose it! He cannot bear to come!" How was I amazed! and silenced pretty effectually She then added, "He has set his head against coming. I know he has been in town some considerable time, but he has desired it may not be told here. I know, too, that when he has been met in the streets, he has called out, 'For heaven's sake, if you are going to Windsor, do not say you have seen me.'" Nov. 18.-We were to go to town: but while I was taking my hasty breakfast Miss Planta flew into the room, eagerly exclaiming, "Have you heard the news?" I saw, instantly, by her eyes and manner, what she meant and therefore answered, "I believe so." "Mr. Fairly is going to be married! I resolved I would tell you." I heard the rumour," I replied, "the other day, from Colonel Gwynn." "O, it's true!" she cried; "he has written to ask leave; but for heaven's sake don't say so!" I gave her my ready promise, for I believed not a syllable of the matter; but I would not tell her that. A ROYAL VISIT TO THE THEATRE: JAMMED IN THE CROWD. We went to town not only for the Drawing-room on the next day, but also for the play on this Wednesday night,(322) and the party appointed to sit in the queen's private box, as, on these occasions, the balcony-box opposite to the royals is called, dined with Mrs. Schwellenberg,--namely, Mrs. Stainforth, Miss Planta, Mr. de Luc, and Mr. Thomas Willis, When we arrived at the playhouse(323) we found the lobby and all the avenues so crowded, that it was with the utmost difficulty we forced our way up the stairs. It was the first appearance of the good king at the theatre since his illness. When we got up stairs, we were stopped effectually: there was not room for a fly ; and though our box was not only taken and kept, but partitioned off, to get to it was wholly impracticable. Mr. Willis and Miss Planta protested they would go down Page 336 again, and remonstrate with Mr. Harris, the manager; and I must own the scene that followed was not unentertaining. Mrs. Stainforth and myself were fast fixed in an angle at the corner of the stairs, and Mr. de Luc stood in the midst of the crowd, where he began offering so many grave arguments, with such deliberation and precision, every now and then going back in his reasoning to correct his own English, representing our right to proceed, and the wrong of not making way for us, that it was irresistibly comic to see the people stare, as they pushed On, and to see his unconscious content in their passing him, so long as he completed his expostulations on their indecorum. Meanwhile, poor Mrs. Stainforth lost her cloak, and in her loud lamentations, and calls upon all present to witness her distress (to which, for enhancing its importance, she continually added, "Whoever has found it should bring it to the Queen's house"), she occupied the attention of all upon the stairs as completely as it was occupied by Mr. de Luc for all in 'the passages : but, alas! neither the philosophic harangue of the one, nor the royal dignity of the other, prevailed; and while there we stood, expecting an avenue to be formed, either for our eloquence or our consequence, not an inch of ground did we gain, and those who had neither made their way, and got on in multitudes. Offended, at length, as well as tired, Mrs. Stainforth proposed our going down, and waiting in the lobby, till Mr. Harris arrived. Here we were joined by a gentleman, whose manner of fixing me showed a half-recollection of my face, which I precisely returned him, without being able to recollect where I had seen him before. He spoke to Mrs. Stainforth, who answered as if she knew him, and then he came to me and offered to assist in getting me to my box. I told him the manager had already been sent to. He did not, however, go off, but entered into conversation upon the crowd, play, etc., with the ease of an old acquaintance. I took the first opportunity to inquire of Mrs. Stainforth who he was, and heard--Lord Mountmorres, whom you may remember I met with at the theatre at Cheltenham. What, however, was ridiculous though was, that, after a considerable length of time, he asked me who Mrs. Stainforth was, and I afterwards heard he had made the same inquiry of herself about me! The difference of a dressed and undressed head had occasioned, I suppose, the doubt. The moment, Page 337 however, he had completely satisfied himself in this, he fairly joined me, as if he had naturally belonged to our party. And it turned out very acceptable, for we were involved in all such sort of difficulties as our philosopher was the least adapted to remove. We now went about, in and out, up and down, but without any power to make way, the crowd every instant thickening. We then were fain to return to our quiet post, behind the side-boxes in the lobby, where we remained till the arrival of the king, and then were somewhat recompensed for missing the sight of his entrance, by hearing the sound of his reception: for so violent an huzzaing commenced, such thundering clapping, knocking with sticks, and shouting, and so universal a chorus of "God save the king," that not all the inconveniences of my situation could keep my heart from beating with joy, nor my eyes from running over with gratitude for its occasion. Lord Mountmorres, who joined in the stick part of the general plaudit, exclaimed frequently, "What popularity is this! how fine to a man's feelings! yet he Must find it embarrassing." Indeed I should suppose he could with difficulty bear it, 'Twas almost adoration! How much I lament that I lost the sight of his benign countenance, during such glorious moments as the most favoured monarchs can scarce enjoy twice in the longest life! Miss Planta and Mr. Willis now returned: they had had no success; Mr. Harris said they might as well stem the tide of the ocean as oppose or rule such a crowd. The play now began ; and Lord Mountmorres went away to reconnoitre, but, presently returning, said, "If you will trust yourselves with me I will show you your chance." And then he conducted me to the foot of the stairs leading to our box, which exhibited such a mass of living creatures, that the insects of an ant-hill could scarce be more compact. We were passed by Lord Stopford, Captain Douglas, and some other of our acquaintance, who told us of similar distresses; and in this manner passed the first act! The boxkeeper came and told Lord Mountmorres he could now give his lordship one seat: but the humours of the lobby he now preferred, and refused the place: though I repeatedly begged that we might not detain him. But he was determined to see us safe landed before he left us. Page 338 Mr. Harris now came again, and proposed taking us another way, to try to get up some back-stairs. We then went behind the scenes for this purpose : but here Mr. Harris was called away, and we were left upon the stage. Lord Mountmorres led me to various peep-holes, where I could at least have the satisfaction of seeing the king and royal family, as well as the people, and the whole was a sight most grateful to my eyes. So civil, however, and so attentive he was, that a new perplexity now occurred to me : he had given up his place, and had taken so much trouble, that I thought, if we at last got to our box, he would certainly expect to be accommodated. in it. And to take any one, without previous permission, into the queen's private box, and immediately facing their majesties, was a liberty I knew not how to risk ; and, in truth, I knew not enough of his present politics to be at all sure if they might not be even peculiarly obnoxious. This consideration, therefore, began now so much to reconcile me to this emigrant evening, that I ceased even to wish for recovering our box. IN THE MANAGER's Box. When Mr. Harris came back, he said he had nothing to propose but his own box, which was readily accepted. To this our access was easy, as it was over the king and queen, and consequently not desirable to those who came to see them. I too now preferred it, as it was out of their sight, and enabled me to tell Lord Mountmorres, who led me to it through the crowd with unceasing trouble and attention, that till he could get better accommodated a place was at his service. He closed instantly with the offer, placing himself behind me ; but said he saw some of his relations in the opposite stage-box, Lady Mornington and her beautiful daughter Lady Ann Wellesley, and, as soon as the act was over, he would go down and persuade them to make room for him. I was shocked, however, after all this, to hear him own himself glad to sit down, as he was still rather lame, from a dreadful overturn in a carriage, in which his leg had been nearly crushed by being caught within the coach-door, which beat down upon it, and almost demolished it. This anecdote, however, led to another more pleasant; for it brought on a conversation which showed me his present principles, at least, were all on the government side. The accident had happened during a Journey to Chester, in his way to Page 339 Ireland, whither he was hastening upon the Regency business, last winter: and he went to the Irish House of Peers the first time he quitted his room, after a confinement of three weeks from this terrible bruise. "But how," cried I, "could you stand?" "I did not stand," he answered; "they indulged me with leave to speak sitting." "What a useful opening, then, my lord," cried I, "did you lose for every new paragraph!" I meant, the cant of "Now I am upon my legs." He understood it instantly, and laughed heartily, protesting it was no small detriment to his oratory. The play was the "Dramatist,"(324) written with that species of humour in caricature that resembles O'Keefe's performances; full of absurdities, yet laughable in the extreme. We heard very ill, and, missing the beginning, we understood still worse: so that, in fact, I was indebted to my new associate for all the entertainment I received the whole evening. When the act was over, the place on which he had cast his eye, near Lady Mornington, was seized; he laughed, put down his hat, and composed himself quietly for remaining where he was. He must be a man of a singular character, though of what sort I know not: but in his conversation he showed much information, and a spirited desire of interchanging ideas with those who came in his way. We talked a great deal of France, and he related to me a variety of anecdotes just fresh imported thence. He was there at the first assembling of the Notables, and he saw, he said impending great events from that assemblage. The two most remarkable things that had struck him, he told me, in this wonderful revolution, were--first, that the French guards should ever give up their king; and secondly, that the chief spirit and capacity hither-to shown amongst individuals had come from the ecclesiastics. He is very much of the opinion the spirit of the times will come round to this island. In what, I asked, could be its pretence?-- The game-laws, he answered, and the tithes. He told me, also, a great deal of Ireland, and enlarged my political knowledge abundantly,--but I shall not be so generous, my dear friends, as to let you into all these state matters. But I must tell you a good sort of quirk of Mr. Wilkes, who, when the power of the mob and their cruelty were first reciting, Page 340 quarrelled with a gentleman for saying the French government was become a democracy and asserted it was rather a mobocracy. The pit, he said, reminded him of a sight he once saw in Westminster Hall,--a floor of faces. He was a candidate for Westminster at that time, with Charles Fox!--thus do we veer about. At the end of the farce, "God save the king" was most vociferously called for from all parts of the theatre, and all the singers of the theatre came on the stage to sing it, joined by the whole audience, who kept it up till the sovereign of his people's hearts left the house. It was noble and heart-melting at once to hear and see such loyal rapture, and to feel and know it so deserved. MR. FAIRLY'S MARRIAGE IMMINENT. NOV. 20.-Some business sent me to speak with Miss Planta before our journey back to Windsor. When it was executed and I was coming away, she called out, "O! Špropos--it's all declared, and the princesses wished Miss Fuzilier joy yesterday in the Drawing-room. She looked remarkably well ; but said Mr. Fairly had still a little gout, and could not appear." Now first my belief followed assertion;--but it was only because it was inevitable, since the princesses could not have proceeded so far without certainty. . . . . . We returned to Windsor as usual, and there I was, just as usual, obliged to finish every evening with picquet !--and to pass all and every afternoon, from dinner to midnight, in picquet company. Nov. 28.-The queen, after a very long airing, came * in to dress, and summoned me immediately; and in two minutes the princess royal entered, and said something in German, and then added, "And Mr. Fairly, ma'am, begs he may see you a moment, now, if possible." This is his first coming to the house since her royal highness's birthday, just two months ago. "I am very sorry," was answered coolly, "but I am going to dress." "He won't keep you a moment, mamma, only he wants to get on to St. Leonards to dinner," Miss Fuzilier is now there." "Well, then," she answered, "I'll slip on my powdering-gown, and see him." Page 341 I found, however, they had already met, probably in the passage, for the queen added, "How melancholy he looks, does not he, princess royal?" "Yes, indeed, mamma!"--They then again talked ' German. The princess then went to call him ; and I hastened into the next room, with some caps just then inspecting. Mr. Turbulent again dined with us, and said, "I find Mr. Fairly is here to-day? when is he to be married?" Mrs. Schwellenberg reproved him for talking of "soch things:" she holds it petty treason to speak of it, as they are both in office about the Court; though she confessed it would be in a fortnight. At tea, when the gentlemen--General Budé, Majors Price and Garth, and Mr. Willis--appeared, she said, "Where be Mr. Fairly?" They all exclaimed, "Is he here?" "O, certain, if he ben't gone!" I then said he had gone on to St. Leonards. They all expressed the utmost surprise that he should come, and go, and see none of them. When they retired, Mrs. Schwellenberg exclaimed, "For what not stay one night? For what not go to the gentlemen? It looks like when he been ashamed.--O fie! I don't not like soch ting. And for what always say contrarie?--always say to everybody he won't not have her!--There might be something wrong in all that--it looks not well." I saw a strong desire to have me enter into the merits of the case; but I constantly answer to these exclamations, that these sort of situations are regarded in the world as licensing denials first, and truancy from all others afterwards. COURT DUTIES DISCUSSED. December.-Let me now, to enliven you a little, introduce to you a new acquaintance, self-made, that I meet at the chapel, and who always sits next me when there is room,-- Mrs. J--, wife to the Bishop of K--: and before the service begins, she enters into small talk, with a pretty tolerable degree of frankness, not much repressed by scruples of delicacy. Take a specimen. She opened, the other morning, upon my situation and occupation, and made the most plump inquiries into its particulars, with a sort of hearty good humour Page 342 that removed all impertinence, whatever it left of inelegance and then began her comments. "Well; the queen, to be sure, is a great deal better dressed than she used to be; but for all that, I really think it is but an odd thing for you!--Dear! I think it's something so out of the way for you!--I can't think how you set about it. It must have been very droll to you at first. A great deal of honour, to be sure, to serve a queen, and all that: but I dare say a lady's-maid could do it better,--though to be called about a queen, as I say, is a great deal of honour: but, for my part, I should not like it; because to be always obliged to go to a person, whether one was in the humour or not, and to get up in a morning, if one was never so sleepy!--dear! it must be a mighty hurry-skurry life! you don't look at all fit for it, to judge by appearances, for all its great honour, and all that." Is not this a fit bishop's wife? is not here primitive candour and veracity? I laughed most heartily,--and we have now commenced acquaintance for these occasional meetings. If this honest dame does not think me fit for this part of my business, there is another person, Mlle. Montmoulin, who, with equal simplicity, expresses her idea of my unfitness for another part.-- How you bear it," she cries, "living with Mrs. Schwellenberg!--I like it better living in prison!--'pon m'honneur, I prefer it bread and water; I think her so cross never was. If I you, I won't bear it--poor Miss Burney!--I so sorry!--'pon m'honneur, I think to you oftens!--you so confined, you won't have no pleasures!--" Miss Gomme, less plaintive, but more solemn, declared the other day, "I am sure you must go to heaven for living this life!"---So, at least, you see, though in a court, I am not an object of envy. MR. FAIRLY'S STRANGE WEDDING. January, 1790.-Mr. Fairly was married the 6th--I must wish happiness to smile on that day, and all its anniversaries, it gave a happiness to me unequalled, for it was the birthday of my Susanna! One evening, about this time, Mr. Fisher, now Doctor, drank tea with us at Windsor, and gave me an account of Mr. Fairly's marriage that much amazed me. He had been called upon to perform the ceremony. It was by special licence, and at the house of Sir R- G-.(325) @ Page 343 So religious, so strict in all ceremonies, even, of religion, as he always appeared, his marrying out of a church was to me very unexpected. Dr. Fisher was himself surprised, when called upon, and said he supposed it must be to please the lady. Nothing, he owned, could be less formal or solemn than the whole. Lady C., Mrs. and Miss S., and her father and brother and sister, were present. They all dined together at the usual hour,'and then the ladies, as usual, retired. Some time after, the clerk was sent for, and then, with the gentlemen, joined the ladies, who were in the drawing-room, seated on sofas, just as at any other time, Dr. Fisher says he is not sure they were working, but the air of common employment was such, that he rather thinks it, and everything of that sort was spread about as on any common day--workboxes, netting-cases, etc. Mr. Fairly then asked Dr. Fisher what they were to do? He answered, he could not tell; for he had never married anybody in a room before. Upon this, they agreed to move a table to the upper end of the room, the ladies still sitting quietly, and then Put on it candles and a prayer-book. Dr. Fisher says he hopes it was not a card-table, and rather believes it was only a Pembroke work-table. The lady and Sir R. then came forward, and Dr. Fisher read the service. So this, methinks, seems the way to make all things easy! Yet--with so little solemnity-without even a room prepared and empty--to go through a business of such portentous seriousness!-- 'Tis truly amazing from a man who seemed to delight so much in religious regulations and observances. Dr. Fisher himself was dissatisfied, and wondered at his compliance, though he attributed the plan to the lady. The bride behaved extremely well, he said, and was all smile and complacency. He had never seen her to such advantage, or in such soft looks, before; and perfectly serene, though her sister was so much moved as to go into hysterics. Afterwards, at seven o'clock, the bride and bride-groom set off for a friend's house in Hertfordshire by themselves, attended by servants with white favours. The rest of the party, father, sister, and priest included, went to the play, which happened to be Benedict. Page 344 A VISIT FROM THE BRIDE. I shall say nothing of the queen's birthday, but that I had a most beautiful trimming worked me for it by Miss Cambridge, who half fatigued herself to death, for the kind pleasure that I should have my decorations from her hands. If in some points my lot has been unenviable, what a constant solace, what sweet and soft amends, do I find and feel in the almost unexampled union of kindness and excellence in my chosen friends! The day after the birthday produced a curious scene. To soften off, by the air, a violent headache, I determined upon walking to Chelsea to see my dear father. I knew I should thus avoid numerous visitors of the household, who might pay their devoirs to Mrs. Schwellenberg. I missed my errand, and speedily returned, and found many cards from bed-chamber women and maids of honour; and, while still reading them, I was honoured with a call from the Bishop of Salisbury; and in two minutes my dear father came himself. A pleasant conversation was commencing, when Columb opened the door, and said, "Colonel Fairly begs leave to ask you how you do." He had been married but a week before he came into the midst of all the Court bustle, which he had regularly attended ever since! It was a good while before the door opened again - and I heard a buzz of voices in the passage: but when it was thrown open, there appeared--the bride herself--and alone! She looked quite brilliant in smiles and spirits. I never saw a countenance so enlivened. I really believe she has long cherished a passionate regard for Mr. Fairly, and brightens now from its prosperity. I received her with all' the attention in my power, immediately wishing her joy: she accepted it with a thousand dimples, and I seated her on the sofa, and myself by her side. Nobody followed; and I left the bishop to my father, while we entered into conversation, upon the birthday, her new situation in being exempt from its fatigues, and other matters of the time being. I apologised to Mrs. Fairly for my inability to return the honour of her visit, but readily undertook to inform her majesty of her inquiries, which she earnestly begged from me, Page 345 RENEWAL OF THE HASTINGS TRIAL: A POETICAL IMPROMPTU. Feb. 16-Mr. Hastings's trial re-commenced; and her majesty graciously presented me with tickets for Mr. Francis, Charlotte, and myself. She acknowledged a very great curiosity to know whether my old friends amongst the managers would renew their intercourse with a Court friend, or include me in the distaste conceived against herself, and drop their visits. I had not once been to the trial the preceding year, nor seen any of the set since the king's illness. We were there hours before they entered, all spent in a harmony of converse and communication I never for three hours following can have elsewhere: no summons impending--no fear of accidental delay drawing off attention to official solicitude. At the stated time they entered in the usual form, Mr. Burke first. I felt so grieved a resentment of his late conduct,(326) that I was glad to turn away from his countenance. I looked elsewhere during the whole procession, and their subsequent arrangement, that I might leave totally to themselves and their consciences whether to notice a friend from Court or not. Their consciences said not. No one came; I only heard through Charlotte that Mr. Windham was of the set. Mr. Anstruther spoke, and all others took gentle naps! I don't believe he found it out. When all was concluded, I saw one of them ascending towards our seats : and presently heard the voice of Mr. Burke. I wished myself many miles off! 'tis so painful to see with utter disapprobation those faces we have met, with joy and pleasure! He came to speak to some relations of Mr. Anstruther. I was next them, and, when recovered from my first repugnance, I thought it better to turn round, not to seem leading the way myself to any breach. I met his eyes immediately, and curtsied. He only said, "O! is it you?" then asked how I did, said something in praise of Mr. Anstruther, partly to his friends and partly to me--heard from me no reply--and hurried away, coldly, and with a look dissatisfied and uncordial. I was much concerned; and we came away soon after. Here is an impromptu, said to have been written by Mr. Page 346 Hastings during Mr. Grey's speech, which was a panegyric on Mr, Philip Francis:-- "It hurts me not, that Grey,, as Burke's assessor, Proclaims me Tyrant, Robber, and Oppressor, Tho' for abuse alone meant: For when he call'd himself the bosom friend, The Friend of Philip Francis,--I con'end He made me full atonement." I was called upon, on my return, to relate the day's business. Heavy and lame was the relation - but their majesties were curious, and nothing better suited truth. AN ILLBRED EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. Our tea-party was suddenly enlarged by the entrance of the Lords Chesterfield, Bulkley, and Fortescue. Lord Chesterfield brought in the two latter without any ceremony, and never introduced nor named them, but chatted off with them apart, as if they were in a room to themselves: and Colonel Wellbred, to whom all gentlemen here belong, was out of the room ]if search of a curious snuff-box that he had promised to show to us. Major Price, who by great chance was seated next me, jumped up as if so many wild beasts had entered, and escaped to the other side of the room, and Mr. Willis was only a sharp looker-on. This was awkward enough for a thing so immaterial, as I could not even ask them to have any tea, from uncertainty how to address them; and I believe they were entirely ignorant whither Lord Chesterfield was bringing them, as they came In only to wait for a royal summons. How would that quintessence of high ton, the late Lord Chesterfield, blush to behold his successor! who, with much share of humour, and of good humour also, has as little good breeding as any mail I ever met with. Take an instance.-Lord Bulkley, who is a handsome man, is immensely tall; the major, who is middle-sized, was standing by his chair, in close conference with him--"Why, Bulkley," cried Lord Chesterfield, "you are just the height sitting that Price is standing." Disconcerted a little, they slightly laughed; but Lord Bulkley rose, and they walked off to a greater distance. Lord Chesterfield, looking after them, exclaimed, "What a Page 347 walking steeple he is!--why, Bulkley, you ought to cut off your legs to be on a level with society!" When they were all summoned away, except Mr. Willis, who has never that honour but in private, he lifted up his hands and eyes, and called out, "I shall pity those men when the book comes out!--I would not be in their skins!" I understood him perfectly,--and answered, truly, that I was never affronted more than a minute with those by whom I could never longer be pleased. Miss BURNEY IN A NEW CAPACITY. March 2.- In one of our Windsor excursions at this time, while I was in her majesty's dressing-room, with only Mr. de Luc present, she suddenly said, "Prepare yourself, Miss Burney, with all your spirits, for to-night you must be reader." She then added that she recollected what she had been told by my honoured Mrs. Delany, of my reading- Shakspeare to her, and was desirous that I should read a play to herself and the princesses; and she had lately heard, from Mrs. Schwellenberg, "nobody could do it better, when I would." I assured her majesty it was rather when I could, as any reading Mrs. Schwellenberg had heard must wholly have been better or worse according to my spirits, as she had justly seemed to suggest. The moment coffee was over the Princess Elizabeth came for me. I found her majesty knotting, the princess royal drawing, Princess Augusta spinning, and Lady Courtown I believe in the same employment, but I saw none of them perfectly well. "Come, Miss Burney," cried the queen, " how are your spirits?-- How is your voice?" ' "She says, ma'am," cried the kind Princess Elizabeth, "she shall do her best!" This had been said in attending her royal highness back. I could only confirm it, and that cheerfully-to hide fearfully. I had not the advantage of choosing my play, nor do I know what would have been my decision had it fallen to my lot. Her majesty, had just begun Colman's works, and "Polly Honeycomb" was to open my campaign. "I think," cried the queen most graciously, "Miss Burney will read the better for drawing a chair and sitting down,". Page 348 " yes, mamma! I dare say so!" cried Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth, both in a moment. The queen then told me to draw my chair close to her side. I made no scruples. Heaven knows I needed not the addition of standing! but most glad I felt in being placed thus near, as it saved a constant painful effort of loud reading. "Lady Courtown," cried the queen, "you had better draw nearer, for Miss Burney has the misfortune of reading rather low at first." Nothing could be more amiable than this opening. Accordingly, I did, as I had promised, my best; and, indifferent as that was, it would rather have surprised you, all things considered, that it was not yet worse. But I exerted all the courage I possess, and, having often read to the queen, I felt how much it behoved me not to let her surmise I had any greater awe to surmount. It is but a vulgar performance; and I was obliged to omit, as well as I could at sight, several circumstances very unpleasant for reading, and ill enough fitted for such hearers. it went off pretty flat. Nobody is to comment, nobody is to interrupt; and even between one act and another not a moment's pause is expected to be made. I had been already informed of this etiquette by Mr. Turbulent and Miss Planta; nevertheless, it is not only oppressive to the reader, but loses to the hearers so much spirit and satisfaction, that I determined to endeavour, should I again be called upon, to introduce a little break into this tiresome and unnatural profundity of respectful solemnity. My own embarrassment, however, made it agree with me for the present uncommonly well. Lady Courtown never uttered one single word the whole time; yet is she one of the most loquacious of our establishment. But such is the settled etiquette. The queen has a taste for conversation, and the princesses a good-humoured love for it, that doubles the regret of such an annihilation of all nature and all pleasantry. But what will not prejudice and education inculcate? They have been brought up to annex silence to respect and decorum: to talk, therefore, unbid, or to differ from any given opinion even when called upon, are regarded as high improprieties, if not presumptions. They none of them do justice to their own minds, while they enforce this subjection upon the minds of others. I had not Page 349 experienced it before ; for when reading alone with the queen, or listening to her reading to me, I have always frankly spoken almost whatever has occurred to me. But there I had no other examples before me, and therefore I might inoffensively be guided by myself; and her majesty's continuance of the same honour has shown no disapprobation of my proceeding. But here it was not easy to make any decision for myself: to have done what Lady Courtown forbore doing would have been undoubtedly a liberty. So we all behaved alike - and easily can I now conceive the disappointment and mortification of poor Mr. Garrick when he read "Lethe" to a royal audience. Its tameness must have tamed even him, and I doubt not he never acquitted himself so ill. THE LONG-FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY: MISS BURNEY AGAIN AS READER. On Easter Sunday, the 4th of April, when I left my beloved Susan at St. James's, I left with her all spirit for any voluntary employment, and it occurred to me I could best while away the leisure allowed me by returning to my long-forgotten tragedy. This I have done, in those moments as yet given to my journal, and it is well I had so sad a resource, since any merrier I must have aimed at in vain. It was a year and four months since I had looked at or thought of it. I found nothing but unconnected speeches, and hints, and ideas, though enough in quantity, perhaps, for a whole play. I have now begun planning and methodising, and have written three or four regular scenes. I mention all these particulars of my progress, in answer to certain queries in the comments of my Susan and Fredy, both of old date. Well (for that is my hack, as "however" is my dear Susanna's), we set off rather late for Windsor,-Mr. de Luc, Miss Planta, and myself; Mrs. Schwellenberg stayed in town. . . . I invited my old beau, as her majesty calls Mr. Bryant, to dinner, and he made me my best day out of the ten days of our Windsor sojourn. He has insisted upon lending me some more books, all concerning the most distant parts of the earth, or on subjects the most abstruse. His singular simplicity in constantly conceiving that, because to him such books alone are new, they must have the same recommendation to me, is Page 350 extremely amusing; and though I do all that is possible to clear up the distinction, he never remembers it. The king, for which I was very sorry, did not come Into the room. He made it but one visit, indeed, during this week. He then conversed almost wholly with General Grenville upon the affairs of France; and in a manner so unaffected, open and manly, so highly superior to all despotic principles, even while most condemning the unlicensed fury of the Parisian mob, that I wished all the nations of the world to have heard him, that they might have known the real existence of a patriot king. Another reading took place, and much more comfortably; it was to the queen and princesses, without any lady-in-waiting. The queen, as before, condescended to order me to sit close to her side; and as I had no model before me, I scrupled much less to follow the bent of my own ideas by small occasional comments. And these were of use both to body and mind; they rested the lungs from one invariable exertion, as much as they saved the mind from one strain of attention. Our play was "The Man of Business," a very good comedy, but too local for long life. And another of Colman's which I read afterwards has the same defect. Half the follies and peculiarities it satirises are wholly at an end and forgotten. Humour springing from mere dress, or habits, or phraseology, is quickly obsolete; when it sinks deeper, and dives into character, it may live for ever. I dedicated my Wednesday evening to a very comfortable visit to our dear James, whose very good and deserving wife, and fine little fat children, with our Esther and her fair Marianne and Fanny, all cordially conspired to make me happy. We read a good deal of Captain Bligh's interesting narrative,(327) Page 351 every word Of which James has taken as much to heart as if it were his own production. I go on, occasionally, with my tragedy. It does not much enliven, but it soothes me. COLONEL MANNERS IN HIS SENATORIAL CAPACITY. April 23.--I shall add nothing at present to my Journal but the summary of a conversation I have had with Colonel Manners, who, at our last excursion, was here without any other gentleman. Knowing he likes to be considered as a senator, I thought the best subject for our discussion would be the House of Commons; I therefore made sundry political inquiries, so foreign to My Usual mode, that you would not a little have smiled to have heard them. I had been informed he had once made an attempt to speak, during the Regency business, last winter ; I begged to know how the matter stood, and he made a most frank display of its whole circumstances. "Why, they were speaking away," he cried, "upon the Regency, and so,---and they were saying if the king could not reign, and recover; and Burke was making some of his eloquence, and talking; and, says he, 'hurled from his throne,'---and so I put out my finger in this manner, as if I was in a great passion, for I felt myself very red, and I was in a monstrous passion I suppose, but I was only going to say 'Hear! Hear!' but I happened to lean one hand down upon my knee, in this way, just as Mr. Pitt does when he wants to speak.- and I stooped forward, just as if I was going to rise up and begin but just then I caught Mr. Pitt's eye, looking at me so pitifully; he thought I was going to speak, and he was frightened to death, for he thought--for the thing was, he got up himself, and he said over all I wanted to say; and the thing is, he almost always does; for just as I have something particular to say, Mr. Pitt begins, and goes through it all, so that he don't leave anything more to be said about it; and so, I suppose, as he looked at me so pitifully, he thought I should say it first, or else that I Page 352 should get into some scrape, because I was so warm and looking so red." Any comment would disgrace this; I will therefore only tell you his opinion, in his own words, of one of our late taxes. "There's only one tax, ma'am, that ever I voted for against my conscience, for I've always been very particular about that; but that is the bacheldor's tax, and that I hold to be very unconstitutional, and I am very sorry I voted for it, because it's very unfair; for how can a man help being a bacheldor, if nobody will have him? and besides, it's not any fault to be taxed for, because We did not make ourselves bacheldors, for we were made so by God, for nobody was born married, and so I think it's a very unconstitutional tax." A CONVERSATION WITH MR. WINDHAM AT THE HASTINGS TRIAL. April 27.-I had the happiness of my dearest Fredy's society in Westminster Hall--if happiness and that place may be named together. The day was mixed: Evidence and Mr. Anstruther weighing it down, and Mr. Burke speaking from time to time, and lighting it up. O, were his purpose worthy his talents, what an effect would his oratory produce! I always hear him with so much concern, I can scarce rejoice even in being kept awake by him. The day was nearly passed, and I was eating a biscuit to prevent an absolute doze while Mr. Anstruther was talking, when, raising myself from a listening bend, I turned to the left, and perceived Mr. Windham, who had quietly placed himself by my side without speaking. My surprise was so great, and so totally had I given up all idea of renewing our conferences, that I could scarce refrain expressing it. Probably it was visible enough, for he said, as if apologising for coming up, that so to do was the only regale their toils allowed them. He then regretted that it was a stupid day, and, with all his old civility about me and my time, declared he was always sorry to see me there when nothing worth attention was going forward. This soon brought us round to our former intimacy of converse ; and, the moment I was able, I ventured at my usual inquiry about his own speaking, and if it would soon take place. Page 353 "No," he answered, with a look of great pleasure, "I shall now not speak at all.--I have cleared myself from that task, and never with such satisfaction did I get rid of any!" Amazed, yet internally glad, I hazarded some further inquiry into the reason of this change of plan. They were drawing, he said, to a conclusion, and the particular charge which he had engaged himself to open was relinquished.(328) "I have therefore," he cried, "washed my hands of making a speech, yet satisfied my conscience, my honour, my promises, and my intentions; for I have declined undertaking anything new, and no claim therefore remains upon me." "Well," quoth I, "I am at a loss whether to be glad or sorry." He comprehended instantly,--glad for Mr. Hastings, or sorry for not hearing him. He laughed, but said something a little reproachful, upon my continued interest for that gentleman. I would not pretend it was diminished; I determined he should find me as frank as heretofore, and abscond, or abide, as his nerves stood the firmness. "You are never, then" (I said afterwards), "to speak here?" "Once," he answered, "I said a few words--" "O when?" I cried; "I am very sorry I did not know it, and hear you,--as you did speak!" "O," cried he, laughing, "I do not fear this flattery now, as I shall speak no more." "But what," cried I, "was the occasion that drew you forth?" "Nothing very material but I saw Burke run hard, and I wished to help him." "That was just," cried I, "what I should have expected from you-- and just what I have not been able not to honour, on some other occasions, even where I have most blamed the matter that has drawn forth the assistance." This was going pretty far:--he could not but instantly feel I meant the Regency discussions. He neither made me any answer, nor turned his head, even obliquely, my way. I was not sorry, however. 'Tis always best to be sincere. Finding him quite silent, to soften matters as well as I could with honesty, I began an éloge of Mr. Burke, both warm and true, as far as regards his wonderful abilities. But he soon Page 354 distinguished the rigorous precision with which, Involuntarily, I praised the powers without adverting to their Use. Suddenly then, and with a look of extreme keenness, he turned his eyes upon me, and exclaimed, "Yes,--and he has very highly, also the faculty of being right!" I would the friendship that dictated this assertion were as unwarped as it is animated. I could not help saying rather faintly, "Has he?" Not faintly he answered, "He has!--but not the world alone, even his friends, are apt to misjudge him. What he enters upon, however with earnestness, YOU will commonly find turn out as he represents it." His genius, his mental faculties, and the natural goodness of his heart, I then praised as warmly as Mr. Windham could have praised them himself; but the subject ran me aground a second time, as, quite undesignedly, I concluded my panegyric with declaring that I found it impossible not to admire,--nay, love him, through all his wrong. Ending another total silence and averted head, I started something more general upon the trial. His openness then returned, with all its customary vivacity, and he expressed himself extremely irritated upon various matters which had been carried against the managers by the judges. "But, Mr. Windham!" exclaimed I, "the judges!--is it possible you can enter into such a notion as to suppose Mr. Hastings capable of bribing them?" "O, for capable," cried he, "I don't know--" "Well, leave that word out, and suppose him even willing--can you imagine all the judges and all the lords--for they must concur-- disposed to be bribed?" "No; but I see them all determined to acquit Mr. Hastings." "Determined?--nay, that indeed is doing him very little honour." "O, for honour!--if he is acquitted--" He stopped,--as if that were sufficient. I ventured to ask why the judges and the lords-should make such a determination. "From the general knavery and villainy of mankind." was his hard answer, "which always wishes to abet successful guilt." "Well!" cried I, shaking my head, "you have not, Page 355 relinquished your speech from having nothing to say. But I am glad you have relinquished it, for I have always been most afraid of you ; and the reason is, those who know how to hold back will not for nothing come forward. There is one down there, who, if he knew how ever to hold back, would be great indeed!" He could not deny this, but would not affirm it. Poor Mr. Burke!--so near to being wholly right, while yet wholly wrong! When Mr. Burke mounted the rostrum, Mr. Windham stopped short, saying, "I won't interrupt you-" and, in a moment, glided back to the managers' box; where he stood behind Mr. Burke, evidently at hand to assist in any difficulty. His affection for him seems to amount to fondness. This is not for me to wonder at. Who was so captivated as myself by that extraordinary man, till he would no longer suffer me to reverence the talents I must still ever admire? A GLIMPSE OF MRS. PIOZZI. Sunday, May 2.-This morning, in my way to church, just as I arrived at the iron gate of our courtyard, a well-known voice called out, "Ah, there's Miss Burney!" I started, and looked round--and saw--Mrs. Piozzi! I hastened up to her; she met my held-out hand with both hers: Mr. Piozzi an Cecilia(329) were with her--all smiling and good-humoured. "You are going," she cried, "to church?--so, am I. I must run first to the inn: I suppose one--may sit--anywhere one pleases?" "Yes," I cried, "but you must be quick, or you will sit nowhere, there will be such a throng." This was all;--she hurried on,--so did I. I received exceeding great satisfaction in this little and unexpected meeting. She had been upon the Terrace, and was going to change her hat, and haste on both sides prevented awkwardness on either. Yet I saw she had taken in good part my concluding hand- presentation at my dear Mr. Locke's:(330) she met me no more 356 with that fiert`e of defiance: it was not-nor can it ever be with her old cordiality, but it was with some degree of pleasure, and that species of readiness which evinces a consciousness of meeting with a good reception. CAPTAIN BURNEY WANTS A SHIP AND TO GO TO COURT. May 6.-This being the last Pantheon, I put in my long intended claim; and it was greatly facilitated by the circumstance of a new singer, Madame Benda, making her first appearance. My dearest father fetched me from the Queen's house. Esther and Marianne kept me places between them. Marianne never looked so pretty; I saw not a face there I thought equally lovely. And, oh, how Pacchierotti sung!--How -with what exquisite feeling, what penetrating pathos! I could almost have cried the whole time, that this one short song was all I should be able to hear ! At the beginning of the second act I was obliged to decamp. James, who had just found me out, was my esquire. "Well," he cried, in our way to the chair, "will there be war with Spain?" I assured him I thought not. "So I am afraid!" answered the true English tar. " "However, if there is, I should be glad of a frigate of thirty-two guns. Now, if you ask for it, don't say a frigate, and get me one of twenty-eight!" Good heaven!--poor innocent James!-- And just as I reached the chair--"But how shall you feel," he cried, "when I ask you to desire a guard-ship for me, in about two years' time?" I could make no precise answer to that! He then added that he intended coming to Court! Very much frightened, I besought him first to come and drink tea with me--which he promised. In my way home, as I went ruminating upon this apparently but just, though really impracticable demand, I weighed well certain thoughts long revolving, and of late nearly bursting forth and the result was this--to try all, while yet there is time. Reproach else may aver, when too late, greater courage Would have had greater success. This idea settled my resolutions, and they all bent to one point, risking all risks. Page 357 May 10.-This evening, by appointment came our good James and his wife, and soon afterwards, to my great pleasure, Captain Phillips joined us. I take it, therefore, for granted, he will have told all that passed in the business way. I was very anxious to gather more intelligibly the wishes and requests of poor James, and to put a stop to his coming to Court without taking such previous steps as are customary. I prevailed, and promised, in return, to make known his pretensions. You may believe, my dear friends, this promise was the result of the same wish of experiment, and sense of claim upon me of my family to make it while I may, that I have mentioned. I did-- this very evening. I did it gaily, and in relating such anecdotes as were amusingly characteristic of a sailor's honest but singular notions of things: yet I have done it completely; his wishes and his claims are now laid open--Heaven knows to what effect! The Court scheme I have also told; and my royal mistress very graciously informed me, that if presented by some superior officer there could be no objection; but otherwise, unless he had some promotion, it was not quite usual. CAPTAIN BURNEY AND MR. WINDHAM. May 11.-This morning my royal mistress had previously arranged for me that I should go to the trial, and had given me a ticket for my little Sarah(331) to accompany me; and late last night, I believe after twelve o'clock, she most graciously gave me another for James. just at this time she could not more have gratified me than by a condescension to my dear brother. Poor Columb was sent with the intelligence, and directions for our meeting at seven o'clock this morning, to Norton-street. Sarah came early; but James was so late we were obliged to leave word for him to follow us. He did,--two hours afterwards! by way of being our esquire; and then told me he knew it would be in good time, and so he had stopped to breakfast at Sir Joseph Banks's. I suppose the truth is, it saved him a fresh puff of powder for some other day. We talked over all affairs, naval and national, very comfortably. The trial is my only place for long dialogues! I gave him a new and earnest charge that he would not speak home concerning the prosecution to Mr. Winndham, should he join 358 us. He made me a less reluctant promise than heretofore, for when last with Charlotte at Aylsham he had frequently visited Mr. Windham, and had several battles at draughts or backgammon with him; and there is no Such good security against giving offence as seeing ourselves that our opponents are worth pleasing. Here, too, as I told James, however we might think all the managers in the wrong, they were at least open enemies, and acting a public part, and therefore they must fight it Out, as he would do with the Spaniards, if, after all negotiation, they came to battle. He allowed this; and promised to leave him to the attacks of the little privateer, without falling foul of him with a broadside. Soon after the trial began Mr. Windham came up to us, and after a few minutes' chat with me addressed himself to James about the approaching war. "Are you preparing," he cried, "for a campaign?" "Not such one," cried James, "as we had last summer at Aylsham!" "But what officers you are!" he cried, "you men of Captain Cook; you rise upon us in every trial! This Captain Bligh,--what feats, what wonders he has performed! What difficulties got through! What dangers defied! And with such cool, manly skill!" They talked the narrative over as far as Mr. Windham had in Manuscript seen its sketch; but as I had not read it, I could not enter into its detail. MR. WINDHAM SPEAKS ON A LEGAL POINT. Mr. Windham took his seat by my elbow, and renewed one of his old style of conversations about the trial ; each of us firmly maintaining our original ground. I believe he has now relinquished his expectation of making me a convert. He surprised me soon by saying, "I begin to fear, after all, that what you have been talking about to me will come to pass." I found he meant his own speaking upon a new charge, which, when I last saw him, he exultingly told me was given up. He explained the apparent inconsistency by telling me that some new change of plan had taken place, and that Mr. Burke was extremely urgent with him to open the next charge: "And I cannot," he cried emphatically, "leave Burke in the lurch!" I both believed and applauded him so far; but why )Page 59 are either of them engaged in a prosecution so uncoloured by necessity? One chance he had still of escaping this tremendous task, he told me, which was that it might devolve upon Grey but Burke, he did not disavow, wished it to be himself. "However," he laughingly added, "I think we may toss up In that case, how I wish he may lose! not only from believing him the abler enemy, but to reserve his name from amongst the active list in such a cause. He bewailed,---with an arch look that showed his consciousness I should like the lamentation,--that he was now all unprepared,-- all fresh to begin in documents and materials, the charge being wholly new and unexpected, and that which he had considered relinquished. "I am glad, however," cried I, "your original charge is given up; for I well remember what you said of it." "I might be flattered," cried he, "and enough, that you should remember anything I say--did I not know it was only for the sake of its subject,"--looking down upon Mr. Hastings. I could not possibly deny this but added that I recollected he had acknowledged his charge was to prove Mr. Hastings mean, pitiful, little, and fraudulent." The trial this day consisted almost wholly in dispute upon evidence - the managers offered such as the counsel held improper, and the judges and lords at last adjourned to debate the matter in their own chamber. Mr. Burke made a very fine speech upon the rights of the prosecutor to bring forward his accusation, for the benefit of justice, in such mode as appeared most consonant to his own reason and the nature of things, according to their varying appearances as fresh and fresh matter Occurred. The counsel justly alleged the hardship to the client, if thus liable to new allegations and suggestions, for which he came unprepared, from a reliance that those publicly given were all against which he need arm himself, and that, if those were disproved, he was cleared; while the desultory and shifting charges of the managers put him out in every method of defence, by making it impossible to him to discern where he might be attacked. In the course of this debate I observed Mr. Windham so agitated and so deeply attentive, that it prepared me for what soon followed : he mounted the rostrum-for the third time only since this trial commenced. Page 360 His speech was only to a point Of law respecting evidence he kept close to his subject, with a clearness and perspicuity very uncommon indeed amongst these orators. His voice, however, is greatly in his disfavour ; for he forces it so violently, either from earnestness or a fear of not being heard, that, though it answered the purpose of giving the most perfect distinctness to what he uttered, its sound had an unpleasing and crude quality that amazed and disappointed me. The command of his language and fluency of his delivery, joined to the compact style of his reasoning and conciseness of his arguments, were all that could answer my expectations: but his manner--whether from energy or secret terror--lost all its grace, and by no means seemed to belong to the elegant and high-bred character that had just quitted me. In brief,--how it may happen I know not,--but he certainly does not do justice to his own powers and talents in public. He was excessively agitated: when he had done and dismounted, I saw his pale face of the most fiery red. Yet he had uttered nothing in a passion. It must have been simply from internal effort. The counsel answered him, and he mounted to reply. Here, indeed, he did himself honour; his readiness of answer, the vivacity of his objections, and the instantaneous command of all his reasoning faculties, were truly striking. Had what he said not fallen in reply to a speech but that moment made, I must have concluded it the result Of Study, and all harangue learnt by heart. He was heard with the most marked attention. The second speech, like the first, was wholly upon the laws of evidence, and Mr. Hastings was not named in either. He is certainly practising against his great day. And, in truth, I hold still to my fear of it; for, however little his manner in public speaking may keep pace with its promise in private conversation, his matter was tremendously pointed and severe. The trial of the day concluded by an adjournment to consult upon the evidence in debate, with the judges, in the House of Lords. Mr. Windham came up to the seats of the Commons in my neighbourhood, but not to me; he spoke to the Misses Francis,--daughters of Mr. Hastings's worst foe,--and hurried down. On my return I was called upon to give an account of the Page 361 trial to their majesties and the princesses, and a formidable business, I assure you, to perform. AN EMPHATIC PERORATION. May 18.-This morning I again went to the trial of poor Mr. Hastings. Heavens! who can see him sit there unmoved? not even those who think him guilty,--if they are human. I took with me Mrs. Bogle. She had long since begged a ticket for her husband, which I could never before Procure. We now went all three. And, indeed, her original speeches and remarks made a great part of my entertainment. Mr. Hastings and his counsel were this day most victorious. I never saw the prosecutors so dismayed. Yet both Mr. Burke and Mr. Fox spoke, and before the conclusion so did Mr. Windham. They were all in evident embarrassment. Mr. Hastings's counsel finished the day, with a most noble appeal to justice and innocence, protesting that, if his client did not fairly claim the one, by proving the other, he wished himself that the prosecutors-that the lords--that the nation at large--that the hand of God--might fall heavy upon him! This had a great and sudden effect,-- not a word was uttered. The prosecutors looked dismayed and astonished ; and the day closed. Mr. Windham came up to speak to Misses Francis about a dinner: but he only, bowed to me, and with a look so conscious---so much saying, "'TiS your turn to triumph now!: that I had not the spite to attack him. But when the counsel had uttered this animated speech, Mrs. Bogle was so much struck, she hastily arose, and, clapping her hands, called out audibly, in a broad Scotch accent, "O, charming!" I could hardly, quiet her till I assured her we should make a paragraph for the newspapers. I had the pleasure to deliver this myself to their majesties, and the princesses--and as I was called upon while it was fresh in my memory, I believe but little of the general energy was forgotten. It gave me great pleasure to repeat so striking an affirmation of the innocence of so high, so injured I believe, a character. The queen eagerly declared I should go again the next sitting. Wednesday, May 19.--The real birthday of my royal mistress, to whom may Heaven grant many, many and prosperous! Dressing, and so forth, filled up all the morning Page 362 and at night I had a t`ete-`a-t`ete with Charles, till twelve. I got to bed about five in the morning. The sweet princesses had a ball, and I could not lament my fatigue. AN APTITUDE FOR LOGIC AND FOR GREEK. May 20.-To-day again to the trial, to which I took MISS Young, her majesty having given me two tickets very late overnight. Miss Young is singularly, as far as I can see, the reverse of her eccentric parents she is moderation personified. Mr. Windham again spoke in the course of this morning's business, which was chiefly occupied in debating on the admissibility of the evidence brought forward by the prosecutors. The quickness and aptness of his arguments, with the admirable facility and address with which he seized upon those of his opponents, the counsel, were strong marks of that high and penetrating capacity so strikingly his characteristic. The only defect in his speaking is the tone of his voice, which, from exertion, loses all its powers of modulation, and has a crude accent and expression very disagreeable. During the examination of Mr. Anderson, one of Mr. Hastings's best friends,--a sensible, well-bred, and gentlemanlike man,--Mr. Windham came up to my elbow. "And can this man," cried he, presently, "this man--so gentle---be guilty?" I accused him of making a point to destroy all admiration of gentleness in my opinion. "But you are grown very good now!" I added, "No, very bad I mean!" He knew I meant for speaking ; and I then gave him burlesqued, various definitions of good, which had fallen from Mr. Fox in my hearing, the most contradictory, and, taken out of their place, the most ridiculous imaginable. He laughed very much, but seriously confessed that technical terms and explanations had better have been wholly avoided by them all, as the counsel were sure to out-technicalise them, and they were then exposed to greater embarrassments than by steering clear of the attempt, and resting only upon their common forces. "There is one praise," I cried, "which I am always sure to meet in the newspapers whenever I meet with your name; and I begin to quite tire of seeing it for you,-your skill in logic!" Page 363 "O, I thank you," he cried, earnestly "I am indeed quite ashamed of the incessant misappropriation of that word." "No, no," cried I; "I only tire of it because they seem to think, when once the word logic and your name are combined, they have completely stated all. However, in what little I have heard, I could have suspected you to have been prepared with a speech ready written, had I not myself heard just before all the arguments which it answered." I then added that I was the less surprise(! at this facility of language, from having heard my brother declare he knew no man who read Greek with that extraordinary rapidity--no, not Dr. Parr, nor any of the professed Grecians, whose peculiar study it had been through life. This could be nothing, he said, but partiality. "Not mine, at least," cried I, laughing, "for Greek excellence is rather Out Of my sphere of panegyric!" " Well," cried he, laughing too at my disclaiming, "'Tis' your brother's partiality. However, 'tis one I must try not to lose. I must take to my Greek exercises again." They will do you a world of good, thought I, if they take you but from your prosecution-exercises. MORE TALK WITH MR. WINDHAM. We then talked of Mr. Burke. "How finely," I cried, "he has spoken! with what fullness of intelligence, and what fervour!" He agreed, with delighted concurrence. "Yet,--so much so long!" I added. "True!" cried he, ingenuously, yet concerned. "What pity he can never stop!" And then I enumerated some of the diffuse and unnecessary paragraphs which had weakened his cause, as well as his speech. He was perfectly candid, though always with some reluctance. "But a man who speaks in public," he said, "should never forget what will do for his auditors: for himself alone, it is not enough to think ; but for what is fitted, and likely to be interesting to them." "He wants nothing," cried I, "but a flapper." "Yes, and he takes flapping inimitably." "You, then," I cried, "should be his flapper." "And sometimes," said he, smiling, "I am." "O, I often see," said I, "of what use you are to him. I Page 364 see you watching him,--reminding, checking him in turn,--at least, I fancy all this as I look into the managers' box, which is no small amusement to me,--when there is any commotion there!" He bowed; but I never diminished from the frank unfriendliness to the cause with which I began. But I assured him I saw but too well how important and useful he was to them, even without speaking. "Perhaps," cried he, laughing, "more than with speaking." "I am not meaning to talk Of that now," said I, "but yet, one thing I will tell you: I hear you more distinctly than any one; the rest I as often miss as catch, except when they turn this way,--a favour Which you never did me!" "No, no, indeed!" cried he; "to abstract myself from all, is all that enables me to get on." And then, with his native candour, he cast aside prejudice, and very liberally praised several points in this poor persecuted great man. I had seen, I said, an initiation from Horace, which had manifested, I presumed, his scholarship." "O, ay," cried he, "an Ode to Mr. Shore, who is one of the next witnesses. Burke was going to allude to it, but I begged him not. I do not like to make their lordships smile in this grave business." "That is so right!: cried I: "Ah, you know it IS you and your attack I have feared most all along!" "This flattery"--cried he. "Do not use that word any more, Mr. Windham," interrupted I; "if you do, I shall be tempted to make a very shocking speech to you--the very reverse of flattery, I assure you." He stared,-- and I went on. "I shall say,--that those who think themselves flattered--flatter themselves.!" "What?--hey?--How?" cried he. "Nay, they cannot conclude themselves flattered, without concluding they have de quoi to make it worth while!" "Why, there--there may be something In that but not here!--no, here it must flow simply front general benevolence,--from a wish to give comfort or pleasure." I disclaimed all and turned his attention again to Mr. Hastings. "See!" I cried, "see but how thin--how ill--looks that poor little uncle of yours!"(332) Again I upbraided him with being unnatural; and lamented Mr. Hastings's Page 365 change since I had known him in former days. "And shall I tell you," I added, "something in which you had nearly been involved with him?" "Me?--with Mr. Hastings?" "Yes ! and I regret it did not happen ! You may recollect my mentioning my original acquaintance with him, before I lived where I now do." ' "Yes, but where you now....I understand you,--expect ere long you may see him!" He meant from his acquittal, and reception at the Queen's house. And I would not contradict him. But, however," I continued, "my acquaintance and regard began very fairly while I lived at home at my father's and indeed I regret you could not then and so have known him, as I am satisfied you would have been pleased with him, which now you cannot judge. He is so gentle-mannered, so intelligent, so unassuming, yet so full-minded." I have Understood that," he answered; "yet 'tis amazing how little unison there may be between mariners and characters, and how softly gentle a man may appear without, whose nature within is all ferocity and cruelty. This is a part of mankind of which you cannot judge--of which, indeed, you can scarce form an idea." After a few comments I continued what I had to say, which, in fact, was nothing but another malice of my own against him. I reminded him of one day in a former year of this trial, when I had the happiness of sitting at it with my dearest Mrs. Locke, in which he had been so obliging, with reiterated offers, as to propose seeing for my servant, etc.-" "Well," I continued, "I was afterwards extremely sorry I had not accepted your kindness; for just as we were going away, who should be passing, and turn back to speak to me, but Mr. Hastings!" 'O!' he cried, 'I must come here to see you, I find!' Now, had you but been with me at that moment! I own it would have been the greatest pleasure to me to have brought you together though I am quite at a loss to know whether I ought, in that case, to have presented you to each other." He laughed most heartily,-half, probably, with joy at his escape; but he had all his wits about him in his answer. "If you," he cried, "had been between US, we might, for once, have coalesced-- in both bowing to the same shrine!" (322) Wednesday, November 18.-ED. (323) Covent Garden.-ED. (324) A comedy by Reynolds, originally produced at Covent Garden, May 15, 1789.-ED. (325) Sir Robert Gunning, the bride's father.-ED. (326) Fanny refers to Burke's attitude during the Regency debates, in which, as a member of the opposition, he had supported Mr. Fox.-ED, (327) "A Narrative of the mutiny on board his majesty's ship Bounty; and the subsequent Voyage of part of the Crew, in the ship's boat, from Tofoa, one of the Friendly Islands, to Timor, a Dutch settlement in the East Indies. Written by Lieutenant William Bligh." London, 1790. Lieutenant (afterwards Admiral) Bligh was appointed to the command of the Bounty in August, 1787. He sailed from England in December, and arrived at Otaheite, October 26, 1788, the object of his voyage being to transplant the bread fruit tree from the South Sea Islands to the British colonies in the West Indies, with a view to its acclimatisation there. A delay of more than five months at Otaheite demoralized the crew, to whom the dolce far mente of life in a Pacific island, and the Charms of the Otaheitan women, offered greater attractions than the toils of sea-faring under a somewhat tyrannical captain. The Bounty left Otaheite April 4, 1789, and on the 28th of the same month a mutiny broke out under the leadership of the mater's mate, Fletcher Christian. Captain Bligh and eighteen of his men were set adrift in the ship's boat, in which they sailed for nearly three months, undergoing terrible privations, and reaching the Dutch settlement at Timor, an island off the east coast of Java, June 14. Bligh arrived in England, March 14, 1790. The mutineers finally settled in Pitcairn's island, where their descendants are still living.-ED. (328) See note ante 263, p. 102.-ED. (329) Mrs. Piozzi's youngest daughter, who had accompanied her mother and step-father abroad.-ED. 2 It appears from a note in (330) It appears from a note in the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney" (vol. iii. p. 199), that Fanny had once before met Mrs Piozzi since her marriage, at an assembly at Mrs. Locke's. This meeting must have taken place Soon after the marriage, as Mrs. Piozzi went abroad with her husband shortly afterwards.-ED. (331) Fanny's half-sister.-ED. (332) An allusion to the personal resemblance between Windham and Hastings. See ante, p. 149.-ED. Page 366 SECTION 17. (1790-1) MISS BURNEY RESIGNS HER PLACE AT COURT. [The following section concludes the story of Fanny's life at Court. Her entire unfitness for the position which she there occupied had been, from the commencement, no secret to herself; but her tenderness for her father had determined her to endure to the utmost before resigning a place to which her appointment had been to him, in his short-sighted folly, a source of such extreme gratification. But now she could endure no longer. The occasional relief which she had found in the society of Mrs. Delany and Colonel Digby had been brought to an end by the death of the one and the marriage of the other ; her spirits were broken, her state of health was becoming daily more alarming and she at last summoned up courage to consult her father on the subject, and to make known to him her desire of resigning. Blind as he had shown himself to the true interests of his daughter, Dr. Burney was still the most affectionate of parents. He heard Fanny's complaint with grief and disappointment, but with instant acquiescence in her wishes. His consent to her plan being obtained, Fanny for some months took no further steps in the matter. She was willing to remain at her post so long as she was capable, with whatever difficulty, of supporting its fatigues. But her health failed more and more, and the memorial was at last (December, 1790) presented to the queen. Even yet the day of release was far distant. The "sweet queen" was in no hurry to part with so faithful a servant, and although she had accepted the resignation, she did not conceal her displeasure at being reminded of it. Meanwhile the unfortunate victim of royal selfishness was growing daily weaker. Her friends were seriously alarmed: even her fellow-slaves at Court commiserated her, and urged her retirement. A successor was at length appointed, and on the 7th of July, 1791, Fanny found herself once more free. Page 367 During the interval which elapsed between the consultation with Dr. Burney and the presentation of the memorial, an incident occurred which occasioned to Fanny much distress and not a little annoyance. Her own narrative of the affair we have not thought it necessary to include in our selection from the "Diary," but here a few words on the subject may be not unacceptable. Fanny's man-servant, a Swiss named Jacob Columb, had fallen dangerously ill in the summer of 1790, and was sent, in August, to St. George's Hospital. He was much attached to his mistress, who, he said, had treated him with greater kindness than father, mother, or any of his relatives, and on leaving Windsor he begged her to hold in trust for him the little money in his possession, amounting to ten guineas. She offered him a receipt for the money, but he refused it, and when she insisted, exclaimed, "No, ma'am, I won't take it! You know what it is, and I know what it is; and if I live I'm sure you won't wrong me: and if I don't, nobody else sha'n't have it!" Moved to tears by the poor fellow's earnestness, Fanny complied with his request. In the following month he died at the hospital, desiring, in his last moments, to leave everything to his sisters in Switzerland. "He certainly meant," writes Fanny, "everything of his wearing apparel, watches, etc., for what money he had left in my hands he would never tell anybody." She was preparing, accordingly, to transmit Columb's effects, including, of course, the ten guineas, to Switzerland, when a claimant appeared in the person of Peter Bayond, a countryman of the deceased. This man produced a will, purporting to be Columb's, by which the property was left to be divided between Bayond himself and James Columb, a cousin of the pretended testator, then in service with Horace Walpole. Fanny's instant conviction was that the will was a forgery, and the appearance and behaviour of Bayond confirmed her in this belief. James Columb, moreover, concurred in her opinion, and she had decided to ignore this new claim, when she received an attorney's letter, desiring her to pay to Bayond the sum in her hands of the late Jacob Columb. She then wrote to Walpole, who offered her his assistance, with many expressions of warm regard. But finally, after much trouble, and threats of a lawsuit, she was advised that her best plan would be to let the will take its course, and to pay over to the claimant the sum in question ; and thus the matter was settled, "in a manner," she writes, "the most mortifying to Mr. Walpole and myself."-ED.) Page 368 A MELANCHOLY CONFESSION. May 25.-The Princess Augusta condescended to bring me a most gracious message from the king, desiring to know if I wished to go to Handel's Commemoration, and if I should like the "Messiah," or prefer any other day? With my humble acknowledgments for his goodness, I fixed instantly on the "Messiah" and the very amiable princess came smiling back to me, bringing me my ticket from the king. This would not, indeed, much have availed me, but that I fortunately knew my dear father meant to go to the Abbey. I despatched Columb to Chelsea, and he promised to call for me the next morning. My "Visions" I had meant to produce in a few days; and to know their chance before I left town for the summer.(333) But I thought the present opportunity not to be slighted, for some little opening, that might lighten the task of the exordium upon the day of attempt. He was all himself--all his native self- -kind, gay, open, and full fraught with converse. Chance favoured me: we found so little room, that we were fain to accept two vacant places at once, though they separated us from my uncle, Mr. Burney, and his brother James, who were all there, and all meant to be of the same party. I might not, at another time, have rejoiced in this disunion, but it was now most opportune: it gave me three hours' conference with my dearest father--the only conference of that length I have had in four years. Fortune again was kind ; for my father began relating various anecdotes of attacks made upon him for procuring to sundry strangers some acquaintance with his daughter,(334) particularly with the Duchesse de Biron, and the Mesdames de Boufflers(335) to whom he answered, he had no power; but was somewhat Page 369 struck by the question of Madame de B. in return, who exclaimed, "Mais, monsieur, est-ce possible! Mademoiselle votre fille n'a-t- elle point de vacance?"(336) This led to much interesting discussion, and to many confessions and explanations on my part, never made before; which induced him to enter more fully into the whole of the situation, and its circumstances, than he had ever yet had the leisure or the spirits to do; and he repeated sundry speeches of discontent at my seclusion from the world. All this encouraged me to much detail: I spoke my high and constant veneration for my royal mistress, her merits, her virtues, her condescension, and her even peculiar kindness towards me. But I owned the species of life distasteful to me; I was lost to all private comfort, dead to all domestic endearment; I was worn with want of rest, and fatigued with laborious watchfulness and attendance. My time was devoted to official duties; and all that in life was dearest to me--my friends, my chosen society, my best affections--lived now in my mind only by recollection, and rested upon that with nothing but bitter regret. With relations the most deservedly dear, with friends of almost unequalled goodness, I lived like an orphan-like one who had no natural ties, and must make her way as she could by those that were factitious. Melancholy was the existence where happiness was excluded, though not a complaint could be made! where the illustrious personages who were served possessed almost all human excellence, yet where those who were their servants, though treated with the most benevolent condescension, could never, in any part of the live-long day, command liberty, or social intercourse, or repose. The silence of my dearest father now silencing myself, I turned to look at him; but how was I struck to see his honoured head bowed down almost into his bosom with dejection and discomfort!-- we were both perfectly still a few moments; but when he raised his head I could hardly keep my seat, to see his eyes filled with tears!--"I have long," he cried, "been uneasy, though I have not spoken; but if you wish to resign, my house, my purse, my arms, shall be open to receive you, back;" Page 370 The emotion of my whole heart at this speech-this sweet, this generous speech--O my dear friends, I need not say it We were mutually forced to break up Our conference. I could only instantly accept his paternal offer, and tell him it was my guardian angel, it was Providence in its own benignity, that inspired him with such goodness. I begged him to love the day in which he had given me such comfort, and assured him it would rest upon my heart with grateful pleasure till it ceased to beat. He promised to drink tea with me before I left town, and settle all our proceedings. I acknowledged my intention to have ventured to solicit this very permission of resigning.- "But I," cried he, smiling with the sweetest kindness, "have spoken first myself." What a joy to me, what a relief, this very circumstance! it will always lighten any evil that may, unhappily, follow this proposed step. CAPTAIN BURNEY's LACONIC LETTER AND INTERVIEW. June.-I went again to the trial of poor Mr. Hastings : Mrs. Ord received from me my companion ticket, kindly giving up the Duke of Newcastle's box to indulge me with her company. But I must mention an extraordinary circumstance that happened in the last week. I received in a parcel--No, I will recite it you as I told it to Mr. Windham, who, fortunately, saw and came up to me--fortunately, I say, as the business of the day was very unedifying, and as Mrs. Ord much wished to hear some of his conversation. He inquired kindly about James and his affairs, and if he had yet a ship; and, to let him see a person might reside in a Court, and yet have no undue influence, I related his proceedings with Lord Chatham, and his laconic letter and interview. The first running thus:-- "My Lord,--I should be glad of an audience; if your Lordship will be so good to appoint a time, I will wait upon you. I am, my Lord, your humble servant, "James Burney." "And pray," quoth I to James, when he told me this, "did you not say the honour of an audience?" Page 371 "No," answered he, "I was civil enough without that; I said, If you will be so good--that was very civil--and honour is quite left off now." How comic! to run away proudly from forms and etiquettes, and then pretend it was only to be more in the last mode. Mr. Windham enjoyed this characteristic trait very much; and he likes James so well that he deserved it, as well as the interview which ensued. "How do you do, Captain Burney?" "My lord, I should be glad to be employed." " You must be sensible, Captain Burney, we have many claimants just now, and more than it is possible to satisfy immediately." "I am very sensible of that, my lord; but, at the same time, I wish to let your lordship know what I should like to have--a frigate of thirty-two guns." "I am very glad to know what you wish, sir." He took out his pocket-book, made a memorandum, and wished James a good morning. Whether or not it occurred to Mr. Windham, while I told this, that there seemed a shorter way to Lord Chatham, and one more in his own style, I know not: he was too delicate to let such a hint escape, and I would not for the world intrust him with my applications and disappointments. BURKE'S SPEECH ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. But I have found," cried I afterwards, "another newspaper praise for you now, 'Mr. Windham, with his usual vein of irony."' "O, yes," cried he, "I saw that! But what can it mean?--I use no 'vein of irony;'--I dislike it, except for peculiar purposes, keenly handled, and soon passed over." " Yet this is the favourite panegyric you receive continually,-- this, or logic, always attends your name in the newspapers." "But do I use it?" "Nay, not to me, I own. As a manner, I never found it out, at least. However, I am less averse now than formerly to the other panegyric--close logic,--for I own the more frequently I come hither the more convinced I find myself that that is no character of commendation to be given universally." He could say nothing to this; and really the dilatory, Page 372 desultory style of these prosecutors in general deserved a much deeper censure. "If a little closeness of logic and reasoning were observed by one I look at now, what a man would he be, and who could compare with him!" Mr. Burke you are sure was here my object; and his entire, though silent and unwilling, assent was obvious. "What a speech," I continued, "has he lately made!(337) how noble, how energetic, how enlarged throughout!" "O," cried he, very unaffectedly, "upon the French Revolution?" "Yes; and any party might have been proud of it, for liberality, for feeling, for all in one--genius. I, who am only a reader of detached speeches, have read none I have thought its equal." "Yet, such as you have seen it, it does not do him justice. I was not in the House that day ; but I am assured the actual speech, as he spoke it at the moment, was highly superior to what has since been printed. There was in it a force--there were shades of reflection so fine--allusions so quick and so happy-- and strokes of satire and observation so pointed and so apt,-- that it had ten times more brilliancy when absolutely extempore than when transmitted to paper." "Wonderful, wonderful! He is a truly wonderful creature!" And, alas, thought I, as wonderful in inconsistency as in greatness! In the course of a discussion more detailed upon faculties, I ventured to tell him what impression they had made upon James, who was with me during one of the early long speeches. "I was listening," I said, " with the most fer- Page 373 vent attention to such strokes of eloquence as, while I heard them, carried all before them, when my brother pulled me by the sleeve to exclaim, 'When will he come to the point?"' The justness, notwithstanding his characteristic conciseness, of this criticism, I was glad thus to convey. Mr. Windham however, would not subscribe to it; but, with a significant smile, coolly said, "Yes, 'tis curious to hear a man of war's ideas of rhetoric." "Well," quoth I, to make a little amends, "shall I tell you a compliment he paid you?" "Me?" "Yes. 'He speaks to the purpose,' he cried." AN AWKWARD MEETING. Some time after, with a sudden recollection, he eagerly exclaimed, "O, I knew I had something I wished to tell you! I was the other day at a place to see Stuart's Athenian architecture, and whom do you think I met in the room?" I could not guess. "Nay, 'tis precisely what you will like--Mr. Hastings!" "Indeed!" cried I, laughing; "I must own I am extremely glad to hear it. I only wish you could both meet without either knowing the other." "Well, we behaved extremely well, I assure you ; and looked each as if we had never seen one another before. I determined to let you know it." . . . A NEW VISIT FROM MRS. FAIRLY. The day after the birthday I had again a visit from Mrs. Fairly. I was in the midst of packing, and breakfasting, and confusion - for we left town immediately, to return no more till next year, except to St. James's for the Drawing-room. However, I made her as welcome as I was able, and she was more soft and ingratiating in her manners than I ever before observed her. I apologised two or three times for not waiting upon her, representing my confined abilities for visiting. ONE TRAGEDY FINISHED AND ANOTHER COMMENCED. August.-As I have only my almanac memorandums for this month, I shall hasten immediately to what I think my dear partial lecturers will find most to their taste in the course of it. Page 374 Know then, fair ladies, about the middle of this August, 17 90, the author finished the rough first draft and copy of her first tragedy. What species of a composition it may prove she is very unable to tell; she only knows it was an almost spontaneous work, and soothed the melancholy of imagination for a while, though afterwards it impressed it with a secret sensation of horror, so like real woe, that she believes it contributed to the injury her sleep received about this period. Nevertheless, whether well or ill, she is pleased to have done something at last, she had so long lived in all ways as nothing. You will smile, however, at my next trust; but scarce was this completed,-as to design and scenery I mean, for the whole is in its first rough state, and legible only to herself,- scarce, however, had this done with imagination, to be consigned over to correction, when imagination seized upon another subject for another tragedy. The first therefore I have deposited in my strong-box, in all its imperfections, to attend to the other; I well know correction may always be summoned, Imagination never will come but by choice. I received her, therefore, a welcome guest,--the best adapted for softening weary solitude, where only coveted to avoid irksome exertion. MISS BURNEY's RESIGNATION MEMORIAL. October.-I now drew up my memorial, or rather, showed it to my dearest father. He so much approved it, that he told me he would not have a comma of it altered. I will copy it for you. It is as respectful and as grateful as I had words at command to make it, and expressive of strong devotion and attachment; but it fairly and firmly states that my strength is inadequate to the duties of my charge, and, therefore, that I humbly crave permission to resign it and retire into domestic life. It was written in my father's name and my own. I had now that dear father's desire to present it upon the first auspicious moment: and O! with what a mixture of impatience and dread unspeakable did I look forward to such an opportunity! The war was still undecided : still I inclined to wait its issue, as I perpetually brought in my wishes for poor James, though without avail. Major Garth, our last equerry, was raised to a high post in the West Indies, and the rank of colonel, I recommended James to his notice and regard if Page 375 they met; and a promise most readily and pleasantly made to seek him out and present him to his brother, the general, if they ever served in the same district, was all, I think, that my Court residence obtained for my marine department of interest! Meanwhile, one morning at Kew, Miss Cambridge was so much alarmed at my declining state of health that she would take no denial to my seeing and consulting Mr. Dundas. He ordered me the bark, and it strengthened me so much for awhile, that I was too much recruited for presenting my sick memorial, which I therefore cast aside. Mrs. Ord spent near a week at Windsor in the beginning of this month. I was ill, however, the whole time, and suffered so much from my official duties, that my good Mrs. Ord, day after day, evidently lost something more and more of her partiality to my station, from witnessing fatigues of which she had formed no idea, and difficulties and disagreeabilities in carrying on a week's intercourse, even with so respectable a friend, which I believe she had thought impossible. Two or three times she burst forth into ejaculations strongly expressive of fears for my health and sorrow at its exhausting calls. I could not but be relieved in my own mind that this much-valued, most maternal friend should thus receive a conviction beyond all powers of representation, that my place was of a sort to require a strength foreign to my make. She left me in great and visible uneasiness, and wrote to me continually for bills of health, I never yet so much loved her, for, kind as I have always found her, I never yet saw in her so much true tenderness. MR. WINDHAM INTERVENES. In this month, also, I first heard of the zealous exertions and chivalrous intentions of Mr. Windham. Charles told me they never met without his demounting the whole thunders of his oratory against the confinement by which he thought my health injured; with his opinion that it must be counteracted speedily by elopement, no other way seeming effectual. But with Charlotte he came more home to the point. Their vicinity in Norfolk occasions their meeting, though very seldom at the house of Mr. Francis, who resents his prosecution of Mr. Hastings, and never returns his visits; but at assemblies at Aylsham and at Lord Buckingham's dinners they are certain of now and then encountering. Page 376 This summer, when Mr. Windham went to Felbrig, his Norfolk seat, they soon met at an assembly, and he immediately opened upon his disapprobation of her sister's monastic life, adding, "I do not venture to speak thus freely upon this subject to everybody, but to you I think I may; at least, I hope it." Poor dear Charlotte was too full-hearted for disguise, and they presently entered into a confidential cabal, that made her quite disturbed and provoked when hurried away. From this time, whenever they met, they were pretty much of a mind. "I cannot see you," he always cried, "without recurring to that painful subject--your sister's situation." He then broke forth in an animated offer of his own services to induce Dr. Burney to finish such a captivity, if he could flatter himself he might have any influence. Charlotte eagerly promised him the greatest, and he gave her his promise to go to work. O What a noble Quixote! How much I feel obliged to him! How happy, when I may thank him! He then pondered upon ways and means. He had already sounded my father: "but it is resolution," he added, "not inclination, Dr. Burney wants." After some further reflection, he then fixed upon a plan : "I will set the Literary Club(338) upon him!" he cried: "Miss Burney has some very true admirers there, and I am sure they will all eagerly assist. We will present him a petition--an address." Much more passed: Mr. Windham expressed a degree of interest and kindness so cordial, that Charlotte says she quite longed to shake hands with him; and if any success ever accrues, she certainly must do it. Frightened, however, after she returned home, she feared our dearest father might unfairly be overpowered, and frankly wrote him a recital of the whole, counselling him to see Mr. Windham in private before a meeting at the club should take place. AN AMUSING INTERVIEW WITH MR. BOSWELL. And now for a scene a little surprising. The beautiful chapel of St. George, repaired and finished by the best artists at an immense expense, which was now opened after a very long shutting up for its preparations, brought in- Page 377 numerable strangers to Windsor, and, among others, Mr. Boswell. This I heard, in my way to the chapel, from Mr. Turbulent, who overtook me, and mentioned having met Mr. Boswell at the Bishop of Carlisle's the evening, before. He proposed bringing him to call upon me; but this I declined, certain how little satisfaction would be given here by the entrance of a man so famous for compiling anecdotes. But yet I really wished to see him again, for old acquaintance sake, and unavoidable amusement from his oddity and good humour, as well as respect for the object of his constant admiration, my revered Dr. Johnson. I therefore told Mr. Turbulent I should be extremely glad to speak with him after the service was over. Accordingly, at the gate of the choir, Mr. Turbulent brought him to me. We saluted With mutual glee: his comic-serious face and manner have lost nothing of their wonted singularity nor yet have his mind and language, as you will soon confess. "I am extremely glad to see you indeed," he cried, "but very sorry to see you here. My dear ma'am, why do you stay ?--it won't do, ma'am! You must resign!--we can put up with it no longer. I told my good host the bishop so last night; we are all grown quite outrageous!" Whether I laughed the most, or stared the most, I am at a loss to say, but i hurried away from the cathedral, not to have such treasonable declarations overheard, for We Were surrounded by a multitude. He accompanied me, however, not losing one moment in continuing his exhortations: "If you do not quit, ma'am, very soon, some violent measures, I assure you, will be taken. We shall address Dr. Burney in a body; I am ready to make the harangue myself. We shall fall upon him all at once." I stopped him to inquire about Sir Joshua; he said he saw him very often, and that his spirits were very good. I asked about Mr. Burke's book.(339) "O," cried he "it Will come Out next week: 'tis the first book in the World, except my own, and that's coming out also very soon; only I want your help." "My help?" "Yes, madam,--you must give me some of your choice little notes of the doctor's; we have seen him long enough upon Page 378 stilts; I want to show him in a new light. Grave Sam, and great Sam, and solemn Sam, and learned Sam,--all these he has appeared over and over. Now I want to entwine a wreath of the graces across his brow; I want to show him as gay Sam, agreeable Sam, pleasant Sam; so you must help me with some of his beautiful billets to yourself." I evaded this by declaring I had not any stores at hand. He proposed a thousand curious expedients to get at them, but I was invincible. Then I was hurrying on, lest I should be too late. He followed eagerly, and again exclaimed, "But, ma'am, as I tell you, this won't do; you must resign off hand! Why, I would farm you out myself for double, treble the money! I wish I had the regulation of such a farm,--yet I am no farmer-general. But I should like to farm you, and so I will tell Dr. Burney. I mean to address him; I have a speech ready for the first opportunity." He then told me his " Life of Dr. Johnson " was nearly printed, and took a proof-sheet out of his pocket to show me; with crowds passing and repassing, knowing me well, and staring well at him: for we were now at the iron rails of the Queen's lodge. I stopped; I could not ask him in : I saw he expected it, and was reduced to apologise, and tell him I must attend the queen immediately. He uttered again stronger and stronger exhortations for my retreat, accompanied by expressions which I was obliged to check in their bud. But finding he had no chance for entering, he stopped me again at the gate, and said he would read me a part of his work. There was no refusing this: and he began with a letter of Dr. Johnson's to himself. He read it in strong imitation of the doctor's manner, very well, and not caricature. But Mrs. Schwellenberg was at her window, a crowd was gathering to stand round the rails, and the king and queen and royal family now approached from the Terrace. I made a rather quick apology, and, with a step as quick as my now weakened limbs have left in my power, I hurried to my apartment. You may suppose I had inquiries enough, from all around, of "Who was the gentleman I was talking to at the rails? And an injunction rather frank not to admit him beyond those limits. However, I saw him again the next morning, in coming Page 379 from early prayers, and he again renewed his remonstrances, and his petition for my letters of Dr. Johnson. I cannot consent to print private letters, even of a man so justly celebrated, when addressed to myself: no, I shall hold sacred those revered and but too scarce testimonies of the high honour his kindness conferred upon me. One letter I have from him that is a masterpiece of elegance and kindness united. 'Twas his last, ILL, UNSETTLED, AND UNHAPPY. November.-This month will be very brief of annals; I was so ill, so unsettled, so unhappy during every day, that I kept not a memorandum. All the short benefit I had received from the bark was now at an end : languor, feverish nights, and restless days were incessant. My memorial was always in my mind ; my courage never rose to bringing it from my letter-case. Yet the war was over, the hope of a ship for my brother demolished, and my health required a change of life equally with my spirits and my happiness. The queen was all graciousness; and her favour and confidence and smiles redoubled my difficulties. I saw she had no suspicion but that I was hers for life ; and, unimportant as I felt myself to her, in any comparison with those for whom I quitted her, I yet knew not how to give her the unpleasant surprise of a resignation for which I saw her wholly unprepared. . It is true, my depression of spirits and extreme alteration of person might have operated as a preface; for I saw no one, except my royal mistress and Mrs. Schwellenberg, who noticed not the change, or who failed to pity and question me upon my health and my fatigues; but as they alone saw it not, or mentioned it not, that afforded me no resource. And thus, with daily intention to present my petition and conclude this struggle, night always returned with the effort unmade, and the watchful morning arose fresh to new purposes that seemed only formed for demolition. And the month expired as it began, with a desire the most strenuous of liberty and peace, combated by reluctance unconquerable to give pain, displeasure, or distress to my very gracious royal mistress. December.-My loss of health was now so notorious, that no part of the house could wholly avoid acknowledging it; yet was the terrible picquet the catastrophe of every evening, Page 380 though frequent pains in my side forced me, three or four times in a game, to creep to my own room for hartshorn and for rest. And so weak and faint I was become, that I was compelled to put my head out into the air, at all hours, and in all weathers, from time to time, to recover the power of breathing, which seemed not seldom almost withdrawn. Her majesty was very kind during this time, and the princesses interested themselves about me with a sweetness very grateful to me; indeed, the whole household showed compassion and regard, and a general opinion that I was falling into a decline ran through the establishment. . . . Thus there seemed about my little person a universal commotion ; and it spread much farther, amongst those I have never or slightly mentioned. There seemed, indeed, but one opinion, that resignation of place or of life was the only remaining alternative. There seemed now no time to be lost - when I saw my dear father he recommended to me to be speedy,, and my mother was very kind in urgency for immediate measures. I could not, however, summon courage to present my memorial; my heart always failed me, from seeing the queen's entire freedom from such an expectation: for though I was frequently so ill in her presence that I could hardly stand, I saw she concluded me, while life remained, inevitably hers. A MEDICAL OPINION ON MISS BURNEY'S CONDITION. Finding my inability unconquerable, I at length determined upon consulting Mr. Francis. I wrote to Charlotte a faithful and Minute account of myself', with all my attacks--cough, pain In the side, weakness, sleeplessness, etc.,--at full length, and begged Mr. Francis's opinion how I must proceed. Very kindly he wrote directly to my father, exhorting instantaneous resignation, as all that stood before me to avert some dangerous malady. The dear Charlotte at the same time wrote to me conjuring my prompt retreat with the most affecting earnestness. The uneasiness that preyed upon my spirits in a task so difficult to perform for myself, joined to my daily declension in health, was now so apparent, that, though I could go no farther, I paved the way for an opening, by owning to the queen that Mr. Francis had been consulted upon my health. The queen now frequently inquired concerning his answer; Page 381 but as I knew he had written to my father, I deferred giving the result till I had had a final conference with that dear parent. I told her majesty my father Would show me the letter when I saw him. This I saw raised for the first time a surmise that something was in agitation, though I am certain the suspicion did not exceed an expectation that leave would be requested for a short absence to recruit. My dearest father, all kindness and goodness, yet all alarm, thought time could never be more favourable; and when next I saw him at Chelsea, I wrote a second memorial to enclose the original one. With a beating heart, and every pulse throbbing, I returned thus armed to the Queen's house. Mrs. Schwellenberg sent for me to her room. I could hardly articulate a word to her. My agitation was so great that I was compelled to acknowledge something very awful was impending in my affairs, and to beg she would make no present inquiries. I had not meant to employ her in the business, nor to name it to her, but I was too much disturbed for concealment or evasion. She seemed really sorry, and behaved with a humanity I had not had much reason to expect. I spent a terrible time till I went to the queen at night, spiriting myself up for my task, and yet finding apprehension gain ground every moment. Mrs. Schwellenberg had already been some time with her majesty when I was summoned. I am sure she had already mentioned the little she had gathered. I could hardly perform my customary offices from excess of trepidation. The queen looked at me with the most inquisitive solicitude. When left with her a moment I tried vainly to make an opening: I could not. She was too much impressed herself by my manner to wait long. She soon inquired what answer had arrived from Mr. Francis? That he could not, I said, prescribe at a distance. I hoped this would be understood, and said no more. The queen looked much perplexed, but made no answer. MISS BURNEY BREAKS THE MATTER TO THE QUEEN. The next morning I was half dead with real illness, excessive nervousness, and the struggle of what I had to force myself to perform. The queen again was struck with my appearance, which I believe indeed to have been shocking. When I was alone with her, she began upon Mr. Francis with more inquiry. I then tried to articulate that I had something of Page 382 deep consequence to myself to lay before her majesty; but that I was so unequal in my weakened state to speak it, that I had ventured to commit it to Writing, and entreated Permission to produce it. She could hardly hear me, yet understood enough to give immediate consent. I then begged to know if I might present it -myself, or whether I should give it to Mrs. Schwellenberg. "O, to me! to me!" she cried, with kind eagerness. She added, however, not then; as she was going to breakfast. This done was already some relief, terrible as was all that remained; but I now knew I must go on, and that all my fears and horrors were powerless to stop me. This was a Drawing-room day. I saw the king at St. James's, and he made the most gracious inquiries about my health: so did each of the princesses. I found they were now all aware of its failure. The queen proposed to me to see Dr. Gisburne: the king seconded the proposition. There was no refusing; yet, just now, it was distressing to comply. The next morning, Friday, when again I was alone with the queen, she named the subject, and told me she would rather I should give the paper to the Schwellenberg, who had been lamenting to her my want of confidence in her, and saying I confided and told everything to the queen. "I answered," continued her majesty, "that you were always very good; but that, with regard to confiding, you seemed so happy with all your family, and to live so well together, that there was nothing to say." I now perceived Mrs. Schwellenberg suspected some dissension at home was the cause of my depression. I was sorry not to deliver my memorial to the Principal person, and yet glad to have it to do where I felt so much less compunction in giving pain. THE MEMORIAL AND EXPLANATORY NOTE. I now desired an audience of Mrs. Schwellenberg. With what trembling agitation did I deliver her my paper, requesting her to have the goodness to lay it at the feet of the queen before her majesty left town ! We were then to set out for Windsor before twelve o'clock. Mrs. Schwellenberg herself remained in town. Here let me copy the memorial. Page 383 Most humbly presented to Her Majesty. "Madam, "With the deepest sense of your Majesty's goodness and condescension, amounting even to sweetness--to kindness who can wonder I should never have been able to say what I know not how to write--that I find my strength and health unequal to my duty? "Satisfied that I have regularly been spared and favoured by your Majesty's humane consideration to the utmost, I could never bring myself to the painful confession of my secret disquietude ; but I have long felt creeping upon me a languor, a feebleness, that makes, at times, the most common attendance a degree of capital pain to me, and an exertion that I could scarce have made, but for the revived alacrity with which your Majesty's constant graciousness has inspired me, and would still, I believe, inspire me, even to my latest hour, while in your Majesty's immediate presence. I kept this to myself while I thought it might wear away,-or, at least, I only communicated it to obtain some medical advice: but the weakness, though it comes only in fits, has of late so much Increased, that I have hardly known how, many days, to keep myself about--or to rise up in the morning, or to stay up at night. "At length, however, as my constitution itself seems slowly, yet surely, giving way, my father became alarmed. "I must not enter, here, upon his mortification and disappointment: the health and preservation of his daughter could alone be more precious to him than your Majesty's protection. "With my own feelings upon the subject it would ill become me to detain your Majesty, and the less, as I am fully sensible my place, in point of its real business, may easily he far better supplied;--In point of sincere devotion to your majesty, I do not so readily yield. I can only, therefore, most humbly entreat that your Majesty will deign to accept from my father and myself the most dutiful acknowledgments for the uniform benignity so graciously shown to me during the whole of my attendance. My father had originally been apprehensive of my inability, with regard to strength, for sustaining any but the indulgence of a domestic life : but your Majesty's justice and liberality will make every allowance for the flattered feelings of a parent's heart, which could not endure, untried, to relinquish for his daughter so high an honour as a personal office about your Majesty. Page 384 I dare not, Madam, presume to hope that Your Majesty's condescension will reach to the smallest degree of concern at parting with me; but permit me, Madam, humbly, earnestly, and fervently, to solicit that I may not be deprived of the mental benevolence of your Majesty, which so thankfully I have experienced, and so gratefully must for ever remember. That every blessing, every good, may light upon your Majesties here, and await a future and happier period hereafter, will be always amongst the first prayers of, "Madam, your Majesty's ever devoted, ever grateful, most attached, and most dutiful subject and servant, "Frances Burney." With this, though written so long ago, I only wrote an explanatory note to accompany it, which I will also copy:-- "Madam, "May I yet humbly presume to entreat your Majesty's patience for a few added lines, to say that the address which I now most respectfully lay at your Majesty's feet was drawn up two months ago, when first I felt so extreme a weakness as to render the smallest exertion a fatigue? While I waited, however, for firmness to present it, I took the bark, and found myself, for some time, so much amended, that I put it aside, and my father, perceiving me better, lost his anxious uneasiness for my trying a new mode of life. But the good effect has, of late, so wholly failed, that an entire change of air and manner of living are strongly recommended as the best chance for restoring my shattered health. We hold it, therefore, a point of that grateful duty we owe to your Majesty's goodness and graciousness, to make this melancholy statement at once, rather than to stay till absolute incapacity might disable me from offering one small but sincere tribute of profound respect to your Majesty,--the only one in my power--that of continuing the high honour of attending your Majesty, till your Majesty's own choice, time, and convenience nominate a successor." THE KEEPER OF THE ROBES' CONSTERNATION. Mrs. Schwellenberg took the memorial, and promised me her services, but desired to know its contents. I begged vainly to be excused speaking them. She persisted, and I then was compelled to own they contained my resignation. How aghast she looked!--how inflamed with wrath!--how Page 385 Petrified with astonishment! It was truly a dreadful moment to me. She expostulated on such a step, as if it led to destruction : she offered to save me from it, as if the peace of my life depended on averting it and she menaced me with its bad consequences, as it life itself, removed from these walls, would become an evil. I plainly recapitulated the suffering state in which I had lived for the last three months; the difficulty with which I had waded through even the most common fatigues of the day; the constraint of attendance, however honourable, to an invalid; and the impracticability of pursuing such a life, when thus enfeebled, with the smallest chance of ever recovering the health and strength which it had demolished. To all this she began a vehement eulogium on the superior happiness and blessing of my lot, while under such a protection ; and angrily exhorted me not to forfeit what I could never regain. I then frankly begged her to forbear SO painful a discussion, and told her that the memorial was from my father as well as myself--that I had no right or authority to hesitate in delivering it--that the queen herself was prepared to expect it -and that I had promised my father not to go again to Windsor till it was presented. I entreated her, therefore, to have the goodness to show it at once. This was unanswerable, and she left me with the paper in her hand, slowly conveying it to its place of destination. just as she was gone, I was called to Dr. Gisburne or, rather, without being called, I found him in my room, as I returned to it. Think If my mind, now, wanted not medicine the most I told him, however, my corporeal complaints and he ordered me opium and three glasses of wine in the day, and recommended rest to me, and an application to retire to my friends for some weeks, as freedom from anxiety was as necessary to my restoration as freedom from attendance. LEAVE OF ABSENCE IS SUGGESTED. During this consultation I was called to Mrs. Schwellenberg. Do you think I breathed as I went along?--No! She received me, nevertheless, with complacency and smiles; she began a laboured panegyric of her own friendly zeal and goodness, and then said she had a proposal to make to me, which she con- Page 386 sidered as the most fortunate turn my affairs could take, and a,, a proof that I should find her the best friend I had in the world. She then premised that she had shown the paper,--that the queen had read it, and said it was very modest, and nothing improper. Her proposal was, that I should have leave of absence for six weeks, to go about and change the air, to Chelsea, and Norbury Park, and Capitan Phillips, and Mr. Francis, and Mr. Cambrick, which would get me quite well; and, during that time, she would engage Mlle. Montmoulin to perform my office. I was much disturbed at this; and though rejoiced and relieved to understand that the queen had read my memorial without displeasure, I was grieved to see it was not regarded as final. I only replied I would communicate her plan to my father. Soon after this we set out for Windsor. Here the first presenting myself before the queen was a task the heaviest, if possible, of any. Yet I was ill enough, heaven knows, to carry the apology of my retreat in my countenance. However, it was a terrible effort. I could hardly enter her room. She spoke at once, and with infinite softness, asking me how I did after my journey ? "Not well, indeed," I simply answered. "But better?" she cried; "are you not a little better?" I only shook my head; I believe the rest of my frame shook without my aid. "What! not a little?--not a little bit better?" she cried, in the most soothing voice. "To-day, ma'am," I said, "I did indeed not expect to be better." I then muttered something indistinctly enough, of the pain I had suffered in what I had done: she opened, however, upon another subject immediately, and no more was said upon this. But she was kind, and sweet, and gentle, and all consideration with respect to my attendance. I wrote the proposal to my poor father, I received by return of post, the most truly tender letter he ever wrote me. He returns thanks for the clemency With which my melancholy memorial has been received, and is truly sensible of the high honour shown me In the new proposition; but he sees my health so impaired, my strength so decayed, my whole frame so nearly demolished, that he apprehends anything short of a permanent resignation, that would ensure lasting rest and recruit, might prove fatal. He quotes a letter from Mr. Francis, Page 387 containing his opinion that I must even be speedy in my retiring or risk the utmost danger - and he finishes a letter filled with gratitude towards the queen and affection to his daughter, with his decisive opinion that I cannot go on, and his prayers and blessings on my retreat. The term "speedy," in Mr. Francis's opinion, deterred me from producing this letter, as it seemed indelicate and unfair to hurry the queen, after offering her the fullest time. I therefore waited till Mrs. Schwellenberg came to Windsor before I made any report of my answer. A scene almost horrible ensued, when I told Cerbera the offer was declined. She was too much enraged for disguise, and uttered the most furious expressions of indignant contempt at our proceedings. I am sure she would gladly have confined us both in the Bastille, had England such a misery, as a fit place to bring us to ourselves, from a daring so outrageous against imperial wishes. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney) January, 1791-......I thank heaven, there was much softness in the manner of naming you this morning. I see no ill-will mixed with the reluctance, which much consoles me. I do what is possible to avoid all discussion; I see its danger still so glaring. How could I resist, should the queen condescend to desire, to ask, that I would yet try another year?--and another year would but be uselessly demolishing me; for never could I explain to her that a situation which unavoidably casts all my leisure into the presence of Mrs. Schwellenberg must necessarily be subversive of my health, because incompatible with my peace, my ease, my freedom, my spirits, and my affections. The queen is probably kept from any suspicion Of the true nature of the case, by the praises of Mrs. Schwellenberg, who, with all her asperity and persecution, is uncommonly partial to my society; because, in order to relieve myself from sullen gloom, or apparent dependency, I generally make my best exertions to appear gay and chatty; for when I can do this, she forbears both rudeness and imperiousness. She then, I have reason to believe, says to the queen, as I know She does to some others, "The Bernan bin reely agribble"; and the queen, not knowing the incitement that forces my elaborate and painful efforts, may suppose I am lively at heart, when she hears I am so in discourse. And there is no developing this without giving the queen the severest embarrassment as well as chagrin. Page 388 I would not turn Informer for the world. Mrs. Schwellenberg too, with all her faults, is heart and soul devoted to her roil mistress, with the truest faith and loyalty. I hold, therefore, silence on this subject to be a sacred duty. To return to you, my dearest padre, is the only road that has open for my return to strength and comfort, bodily and mental. I m inexpressibly grateful to the queen, but I burn to be delivered from Mrs. Schwellenberg, and I pine to be again in the arms of my padre. A ROYAL GIFT TO THE MASTER OF THE HORSE. What will you give me, fair ladies, for a copy of verse, written between the Queen of Great Britain and your most small little journalist? The morning of the ball the queen sent for me, and said she had a fine pair of old-fashioned gloves, white, with stiff tops and a deep gold fringe, which she meant to send to her new master of the horse, Lord Harcourt, who was to be at the dance, She wished to convey them in a copy of verses, of which she had composed three lines, but could not get on. She told me her ideas, and I had the honour to help her in the metre and now I have the honour to copy them from her own royal hand:-- "TO THE EARL OF HARCOURT. "Go, happy gloves, bedeck Earl Harcourt's hand, And let him know they come from fairy-land, Where ancient customs still retain their reign; To modernize them all attempts were vain. Go, cries Queen Mab, some noble owner seek, Who has a proper taste for the antique." Now, no criticising, fair ladies !-the assistant was neither allowed a pen nor a moment, but called upon to help finish, as she might have been to hand a fan. The earl, you may suppose, was sufficiently enchanted. CONFERENCES WITH THE QUEEN. April.-In the course of this month I had two conferences with my royal mistress upon my resignation, in which I spoke with all possible openness upon its necessity. She condescended to speak very honourably of my dear father to me,--and, in a long discourse upon my altered health with Mrs. de Page 389 Luc, she still further condescended to speak most graciously of his daughter, saying in particular, these strong words, in answer to something kind uttered by that good friend in my favour. "O, as to character, she is what we call in German 'true as gold' and, in point of heart, there is not, all the world over, one better"--and added something further upon sincerity very forcibly. This makes me very happy. She deigned, also, in one of these conferences, to consult with me openly upon my successor, stating her difficulties, and making me enumerate various requisites. It would be dangerous, she said, to build upon meeting in England with one who would be discreet in point of keeping off friends and acquaintances from frequenting the palace; and she graciously implied much commendation of my discretion, in her statement of what she feared from a new person. May.-As no notice whatever was taken, all this time, of my successor, or my retirement, after very great harass of suspense, and sundry attempts to conquer it, I had at length again a conference with my royal mistress. She was evidently displeased at again being called upon, but I took the courage to openly remind her that the birthday was her majesty's own time, and that my father conceived it to be the period of my attendance by her especial appointment. And this was a truth which flashed its own conviction on her recollection. She paused, and then, assentingly, said, "Certainly." I then added, that as, after the birthday, their majesties went to Windsor, and the early prayers began immediately, I must needs confess I felt myself wholly unequal to encountering the fatigue of rising for them in my present weakened state. She was now very gracious again, conscious all this was fair and true. She told me her own embarrassments concerning the successor, spoke confidentially of her reasons for not engaging an Englishwoman, and acknowledged a person was fixed upon, though something yet remained unarranged. She gave me, however, to understand that all would be expedited: and foreign letters were despatched, I know, immediately. MISS BURNEY DETERMINES ON SECLUSION. >From Sunday, May 15 to May 22.-The trial of the poor persecuted Mr. Hastings being now again debating and arranging for continuance, all our house, I found, expected me now to come forth, and my royal mistress and Mrs. Schwellenberg Page 390 thought I should find it irresistible. indeed it nearly was so, from my anxious interest in the approaching defence; but when I considered the rumours likely to be raised after my retreat, by those terrifying watchers of Court transactions who inform the public of their conjectures, I dreaded the probable assertion that I must needs be disgusted or discontented, for health could not be the true motive of my resignation, since I was in public just before it took place. I feared, too, that even those who promoted the enterprise might reproach me with my ability to do what I wished. These considerations determined me to run no voluntary risks - especially as I should so ill know how to parry Mr. Windham, should he now attack me upon a subject concerning which he merits thanks so nobly, that I am satisfied my next interview with him must draw them forth from me. Justice, satisfaction in his exertions, and gratitude for their spirited willingness, all call upon me to give him that poor return. The danger of it, however, now, is too great to be tried, if avoidable : and I had far rather avoid seeing him, than either gratify myself by expressing my sense of his kindness, or unjustly withhold from him what I think of it. These considerations determined me upon relinquishing all public places, and all private visits, for the present. The trial, however, was delayed, and the Handelian Commemoration came on. My beloved Mr. and Mrs. Locke will have told my Susan my difficulties in this business, and I will now tell all three how they ended. The queen, unexpectedly, having given me a ticket, and enjoined me to go the first day, that I might have longer time to recruit against the king's birthday, I became, as you will have heard, much distressed what course to pursue. I took the first moment I was alone with her majesty to express my father's obligation to her for not suffering me to sit up on her own birthday, in this week, and I besought her permission to lay before her my father's motives for hitherto wishing me to keep quiet this spring, as well as my own, adding I was sure her majesty would benignly wish this business to be done as peaceably and unobserved as possible. She looked extremely earnest, and bid me proceed. I then briefly stated that whoever had the high honour of belonging to their majesties were liable to comments upon all their actions, that, if the comment was only founded in truth, we had nothing to fear, but that, as the world was much less Page 391 addicted to veracity, than to mischief, my father and myself had an equal apprehension that, if I should now be seen in public so quickly before the impending change, reports might be spread, as soon as I went home, that it could not be for health I resigned. She listened very attentively and graciously, and instantly, acquiesced. When the trial actually recommenced, the queen grew anxious for my going to it : she condescended to intimate that my accounts of it were the most faithful and satisfactory she received, and to express much Ill-will to giving them up. The motives I had mentioned, however, were not merely personal she could not but see any comments must involve more than myself, and therefore I abided steadily by her first agreement to my absenting myself from all public places, and only gently joined in her regret, which I forcibly enough felt in this instance, Without venturing any offer of relinquishing the prudential plan previously arranged. She gave me tickets for Charles for every day that the hall was opened, and I collected what I could of information from him for her satisfaction. THE HASTINGS TRIAL RESUMED: 'THE ACCUSED MAKES HIS DEFENCE. Queen's House, London, June.-the opening of this month her majesty told me that the next day Mr. Hastings was to make his defence, and warmly added, "I would give the world you could go to it!" This was an expression so unusual in animation, that I instantly told her I would write to my father, who could not possibly, in that case, hesitate. "Surely," she cried, "you may wrap up, so as not to catch cold that once?" I told her majesty that, as my father had never thought going out would be really prejudicial to my health, he had only wished to have his motive laid fairly before her majesty, and then to leave it to her own command. Her majesty accepted this mode of consent, and gave me tickets for Charles and Sarah to accompany me, and gave leave and another ticket for Mr. de Luc to be of the party. Thursday, June 2.-I went once more to Westminster Hall. Charles and Sarah came not to their time, and I left directions and tickets, and set off with only Mr. de Luc, to secure our Page 392 own, and keep places for them. The Hall was more crowded than on any day since the trial commenced, except the first. Peers, commoners, and counsel, peeresses, commoneresses, and the numerous indefinites crowded every part, with a just and fair curiosity to hear one day's defence, after seventy-three of accusation. Unfortunately I sat too high up to hear the opening, and when, afterwards, the departure of some of my obstacles removed me lower, I was just behind some of those unfeeling enemies who have not even the decorum due to themselves, of appearing to listen to what is offered against their own side. I could only make out that this great and persecuted man upon a plan all his own, and at a risk impossible to ascertain) was formally making his own defence, not with retaliating declamation, but by a simple, concise, and most interesting statement of facts, and of the necessities accompanying them in the situation to which the House then impeaching had five times called him. He spoke with most gentlemanly temper of his accusers, his provocation considered, yet with a firmness of disdain of the injustice with which he had been treated in return for his services, that was striking and affecting, though unadorned and manly. His spirit, however, and the injuries which raised it, rested not quietly upon his particular accusers: he arraigned the late minister, Lord North, of ingratitude and double-dealing, and the present minister, Mr. Pitt, of unjustifiably and unworthily forbearing to Sustain him. Here Mr. Fox, artfully enough, interrupted to say the king's ministers were not to be arraigned for what passed in the House of Parliament. Mr. Burke arose also' to enter his protest. But Mr. Hastings then lost his patience and his temper: he would not suffer the interruption; he had never, he said, interrupted their long speeches; and when Mr. Burke again attempted to speak, Mr. Hastings, in an impassioned but affecting manner, extended his arms, and called out loudly, "I throw myself Upon the protection of your lordships:--I am not used to public speaking, and cannot answer them. what I wish to submit to your lordships I have committed to paper; but, if I am punished for what I say, I must insist upon being heard--I call upon you, my lords, to protect me from this violence!" This animated appeal prevailed; the managers were silenced by an almost universal cry of "Hear, hear, hear!" from the Page 393 lords; and by Lord Kenyon, who represented the chancellor, and said, "Mr. Hastings, proceed." The angry orators, though with a very ill grace, were then silenced. They were little aware what a compliment this intemperate eagerness was paying to Mr. Hastings, who for so many long days manifested that fortitude against attack, and that patience against abuse, which they could not muster, Without any parallel in provocation, even for three short hours. I rejoiced with all my heart to find Mr. Windham was not in their box. He did not enter with them in procession, nor appear as a manager or party concerned, further than as a member of the House of Commons. I could not distinguish him in so large a group, and he either saw not, or knew not, me. The conclusion of the defence I heard better, as Mr. Hastings spoke considerably louder from this time; the spirit of indignation animated his manner and gave strength to his voice. You will have seen the chief parts of his discourse In the newspapers and you cannot, I think, but grow more and more his friend as you peruse it. He called pathetically and solemnly for instant judgment; but the Lords, after an adjournment decided to hear his defence by evidence, and order, the next sessions. How grievous such continual delay to a man past sixty, and sighing for such a length of time for redress from a prosecution as yet unparalleled in our annals. When it was over, Colonel Manners came round to speak to -me and talk over the defence. He is warmly for Mr. Hastings. He inquired about Windsor; I should have made him stare a little had I told him I never expected to see him there again. MR. WINDHAM IS CONGRATULATED ON HIS SILENCE. When he came down-stairs into the large waiting-hall, Mr. de Luc went in search of William and chairs. Sally then immediately discerned Mr. Windham with some ladies. He looked at me without at first knowing me. . . . Sarah whispered me Mr. Windham was looking harder and harder; and presently he came up to me, and in a tone of very deep concern, and with a look that fully concurred with 'it, he said, "Do I see Miss Burney?" I could not but feel the extent of the interrogation, and my assent acknowledged my comprehension. "Indeed," he cried, "I was going to make a speech--not Very gallant!" Page 394 , "But it is what I should like better," I cried, " for it is kind if you were going to say I look miserably ill, as that is but a necessary consequence of feeling so,--and miserably ill enough I have felt this long time past." He would not allow quite that, he said; but I flew from the subject, to tell him I had been made very happy by him. HE gave me one of his starts,--but immediately concluded it was by no good, and therefore would not speak in inquiry. "Why, I did not see you in the box," I cried, "and I had been very much afraid I should have seen you there. But now my fears are completely over, and you have made me completely happy!" He protested, with a comic but reproachful smile, he knew not how to be glad, if it was still only in the support of a bad cause, and if still I really supported it. And then he added he had gone amongst the House of Commons instead of joining the managers, because that enabled him to give his place to a friend, who was not a member. "You must be sure," said I, "you would see me here to-day." I had always threatened him with giving fairest play to the defence, and always owned I had been most afraid Of his harangue; therefore to find the charges end without his making it saved me certainly a shake,--either for Mr. Hastings or himself,--for one of them must thenceforth have fallen in my estimation. I believe, however, this was a rather delicate point, as he made me no answer, but a grave smile; but I am sure he instantly understood his relinquishing his intended charge was my subject of exultation. And, to make it plainer, I then added, "I am really very generous to be thus made happy, considering how great has been my curiosity." "But, to have gratified that curiosity," cried he, "would have been no very particular inducement with me; though I have no right to take it for a compliment, as there are two species of curiosity,--yours, therefore, you leave wholly ambiguous." "O, I am content with that," cried I so long as I am gratified, I give you leave to take it which way you please." He murmured something I could not distinctly hear, of concern at my continued opinion upon this subject; but I do not think, by his manner, it much surprised him. "You know," cried I, "why, as well as what, I feared--that fatal candour, of which so long ago you warned me to beware. Page 395 to the very last moment And, indeed, I was kept n alarm for at every figure I saw start up, just now,--Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke, Mr. Grey,--I concluded yours would be the next." "You were prepared, then," cried he, with no little malice, "for a voice issuing from a distant pew."(340) Miss BURNEY MAKES HER REPORT. When we came home I was immediately summoned to her majesty, to whom I gave a full and fair account of all I had heard of the defence; and it drew tears from her expressive eyes as I repeated Mr. Hastings's own words, upon the hardship and injustice of the treatment he had sustained. Afterwards, at night, the king called upon me to repeat my account and I was equally faithful, sparing nothing of what had dropped from the persecuted defendant relative to his majesty's ministers. I thought official accounts might be less detailed there than against the managers, who, as open enemies, excite not so much my "high displeasure" as the friends of government, who so insidiously elected and panegyrised him while they wanted his assistance, and betrayed and deserted him when he was no longer in a capacity to serve them. Such, at least, is the light in which the defence places them. The king listened with much earnestness and a marked compassion. He had already read the account sent him officially, but he was as eager to hear all I could recollect, as if still uninformed of what had passed. The words may be given to the eye, but the impression they make can only be conveyed by the ear; and I came back so eagerly interested, that my memory was not more stored with the very words than my voice with the intonations of all that had passed. With regard to My bearing this sole unofficial exertion since my illness, I can only say the fatigue I felt bore not any parallel with that of every Drawing--room day, because I was seated. PRINCE WILLIAM INSISTS ON THE KING'S HEALTH BEING DRUNK. June 4.-Let me now come to the 4th, the last birthday of the good, gracious, benevolent king I shall ever, in all human probability, pass under his royal roof. Page 396 The thought was affecting to me, in defiance of MY volunteer conduct, and I could scarce speak to the queen when I first went to her, and wished to say something upon a day So interesting. The king was most gracious and kind when he came into the state dressing-room at St. James's, and particularly inquired about my health and strength, and if they would befriend me for the day. I longed again to tell him how hard I would work them, rather than let them, on such a day, drive me from my office; but I found it better suited me to be quiet; It was safer not to trust to any expression of loyalty, with a mind so full, and on a day so critical. At dinner Mrs. Schwellenberg presided, attired magnificently. Miss Goldsworthy, Mrs. Stainforth, Messrs. de Luc and Stanhope dined with us; and, while we were still eating fruit, the Duke of Clarence entered. He was just risen from the king's table, and waiting for his equipage to go home and prepare for the ball. To give you an idea of the energy of his royal highness's language, I ought to set apart a "general objection to writing, or rather intimating, certain forcible words, and beg leave to show you, in genuine colours, a royal sailor. We all rose, of course, upon his entrance, and the two gentlemen placed themselves behind their chairs while the footmen left the room ; but he ordered us all to sit down, and called the men back to hand about some wine. He was in exceeding high spirits and in the utmost good humour. He placed himself at the head of the table, next Mrs. Schwellenberg, and looked remarkably well, gay, and full of sport and mischief, yet clever withal as well as comical. "Well, this is the first day I have ever dined with the king at St. James's on his birthday. Pray, have you all drunk his majesty's health?" "No, your roy'l highness: your roy'l highness might make dem do dat," said Mrs. Schwellenberg. "O, by --- will I! Here, you (to the footman), bring champagne! I'll drink the king's health again, if I die for it Yet, I have done pretty well already: so has the king, I promise you! I believe his majesty was never taken such good care of before. We have kept his spirits up, I promise you: we have enabled him to go through his fatigues; and I should have done more still, but for the ball and Mary--I have promised to dance with Mary!" Princess Mary made her first appearance at Court to-day She looked most interesting and unaffectedly lovely - she is a Page 397, Sweet creature, and perhaps, in point of beauty, the first of this truly beautiful race, of which Princess Mary may be called pendant to the Prince of Wales. Champagne being now brought for the duke, he ordered it all round. When it came to me I whispered to Westerhaults to carry it on: the duke slapped his hand violently on the table, and called out, "O, by ----, you shall drink it!" There was no resisting this. We all stood up, and the duke sonorously gave the royal toast. "And now," cried he, making us all sit down again, "where are my rascals of servants? I sha'n't be in time for the ball; besides, I've got a deuced tailor waiting to fix on my epaulette! Here, you, go and see for my servants! d'ye hear? Scamper off!" Off ran William. "Come, let's have the king's health again. De Luc, drink it. Here, champagne to De Luc!" I wish you could have seen Mr. de Luc's mixed simper half pleased, half alarmed. However, the wine came and he drank it, the duke taking a bumper for himself at the same time." Poor Stanhope!" cried he; "Stanhope shall have a glass too. Here, champagne! what are you all about? Why don't YOU give champagne to poor Stanhope?" Mr. Stanhope, with great pleasure, complied, and the duke again accompanied him. "Come hither, do you hear?" cried the duke to the servants; and on the approach, slow and submissive, of Mrs. Stainforth's man, he hit him a violent slap on the back, calling out, "Hang you! why don't you see for my rascals?" Away flew the man, and then he called out to Westerhaults, "Hark'ee! bring another glass of champagne to Mr. de Luc!" Mr. de Luc knows these royal youths too well to venture at so vain an experiment as disputing with them, so he only shrugged his shoulders and drank the wine. The duke did the same. "And now, poor Stanhope," cried the duke, "give another glass to poor Stanhope, d'ye hear?" "Is not your royal highness afraid," cried Mr. Stanhope, displaying the full circle of his borrowed teeth, "I shall be apt to be rather up in the world, as the folks say, if I tope on at this rate?" "Not at all! you can't get drunk in a better cause, I'd get Page 398 drunk myself' if it was not for the ball. Here, champagne! another glass for the philosopher! I keep sober for Mary." "O, your royal highness cried Mr. de Luc, gaining courage as he drank, "you will make me quite droll Of it if you make me go on,--quite droll!" "So much the better! so much the better! it will do you a monstrous deal of good. Here, another glass of- champagne for the queen's philosopher!" Mr. de Luc obeyed, and the duke then addressed Mrs. Schwellenberg's George. "Here! you! you! why, where is my carriage? run and see, do you hear?" Off hurried George, grinning irrepressibly. "If it was not for that deuced tailor, I would not stir. I shall dine at the Queen's house on Monday, Miss Goldsworthy; I shall come to dine with the princess royal. I find she does not go to Windsor with the queen." The queen meant to spend one day at Windsor, on account of a review which carried the king that way. Some talk then ensued upon the duke's new carriage, which they all agreed to be the most beautiful that day, at court. I had not seen it, which, to me, was some impediment against praising it. THE QUEEN's HEALTH. He then said it was necessary to drink the queens health. The gentlemen here made no demur, though Mr. de Luc arched his eyebrows in expressive fear of consequences. "A bumper," cried the duke, "to the queen's gentleman-usher." They all stood up and drank the queen's health. "Here are three of us," cried the duke, "all belonging to the queen: the queen's philosopher, the queen's gentlemanusher, and the queen's son; but, thank heaven, I'm the nearest!" "Sir," cried Mr. Stanhope, a little affronted, "I am not now the queen's gentleman-usher; I am the queen's equerry, sir." "A glass more of champagne here! What are you all so slow for? Where are all my rascals gone? They've put me in one passion already this morning. Come, a glass of champagne for the queen's gentleman-usher!" laughing heartily. "No, sir," repeated Mr. Stanhope; "I am equerry, sir." "And another glass to the queen's philosopher!" Neither gentleman objected; but Mrs. Schwellenberg, who Page 399 had sat laughing and happy all this time, now grew alarmed, and said, "Your royal highness, I am afraid for the ball!" "Hold your potato-jaw, my dear," cried the duke, patting her - but, recollecting himself, he took her hand and pretty abruptly kissed it, and then, flinging it away hastily, laughed aloud, and called out, "There, that will make amends for anything, so now I may say what I will. So here! a glass of champagne for the queen's philosopher and the queen's gentleman-usher! Hang me if it will not do them a monstrous deal of good!" Here news was brought that the equipage was in order. He started up, calling out, "Now, then, for my deuced tailor." "O, your royal highness," cried Mr. de Luc, in a tone of expostulation, "now you have made us droll, you go!" Off! however, he went. And is it not a curious scene? All my amaze is, how any of their heads bore such libations. THE PROCESSION TO THE BALL-ROOM: ABSENCE OF THE PRINCES. In the evening I had by no means strength to encounter the ball-room. I gave my tickets to Mrs. and Miss Douglas. Mrs. Stainforth was dying to see the Princess Mary in her Court dress. Mr. Stanhope offered to conduct her to a place of prospect. She went with him. I thought this preferable to an unbroken evening with my fair companion, and Mr. de Luc, thinking the same, we both left Mrs. Schwellenberg to unattire, and followed. But we were rather in a scrape by trusting to Mr. Stanhope after all this champagne: he had carried Mrs. Stainforth to the very door of the ball-room, and there fixed her--in a place which the king, queen, and suite must brush past in order to enter the ball-room. I had followed, however, and the crowds of beef-eaters, officers, and guards that lined all the state-rooms through which we exhibited ourselves, prevented my retreating alone. I stood, therefore, next to Mrs. Stainforth, and saw the ceremony. The passage was made so narrow by attendants, that they were all forced to go one by one. First, all the king's great state-officers, amongst whom I recognised Lord Courtown, a treasurer of the household; Lord Salisbury carried a candle!-- 'tis an odd etiquette.--These being passed, came the king--he saw us and laughed; then the queen's master of the horse, Lord Harcourt, who did ditto; then some more. Page 400 The vice-chamberlain carries the queen's candle, that she may have the arm of the lord chamberlain to lean on; accordingly, Lord Aylesbury, receiving that honour, now preceded the queen: she looked amazed at sight of us. The kind princesses one by one acknowledged us. I spoke to sweet Princess Mary, wishing her royal highness joy: she looked in a delight and an alarm nearly equal. She was to dance her first minuet. Then followed the ladies of the bedchamber, and Lady Harcourt was particularly civil. Then the maids of honour, every one of whom knew and spoke to us. I peered vainly for the Duke of Clarence, but none of the princes passed us.(341) What a crowd brought up the rear! I was vexed not to see the Prince of Wales. Well, God bless the king! and many and many such days may he know! I was now so tired as to be eager to go back; but the queen's philosopher, the good and most sober and temperate of men, was really a little giddy with all his bumpers, and his eyes, which were quite lustrous, could not fix any object steadily; while the poor gentleman-usher--equerry, I mean--kept his Mouth so wide open with one continued grin,-I suppose from the sparkling beverage,--that I was every minute afraid its pearly ornaments, which never fit their case, would have fallen at our feet. Mrs. Stainforth gave me a significant look of making the same observation, and, catching me fast by the arm, said, "Come, Miss Burney, let's you and I take care of one another"; and then she safely toddled me back to Mrs. Schwellenberg, who greeted us with saying, "Vell! bin you Much amused? Dat Prince Villiam--oders de Duke de Clarrence--bin raelly ver merry--oders vat you call tipsy!" BOSWELL's LIFE OF JOHNSON. Mr, Turbulent had been reading, like all the rest of the world, Boswell's "Life of Dr. Johnson," and the preference there expressed of Mrs. Lenox to all other females had filled Page 401 him with astonishment, as he had never even heard her name.(342) These occasional sallies of Dr. Johnson, uttered from local causes and circumstances, but all retailed verbatim by Mr. Boswell, are filling all sort of readers with amaze, except the small part to whom Dr. Johnson was known, and who, by acquaintance with the power of the moment over his unguarded conversation, know how little of his solid opinion was- to be gathered from his accidental assertions. The king, who was now also reading this work, applied to me for explanations without end. Every night at his period he entered the queen's dressing-room, and detained her majesty's proceedings by a length of discourse with me upon this subject. All that flowed from himself was constantly full of the goodness and benevolence of his character - and I was never so happy as in the opportunity thus graciously given me of vindicating, in instances almost innumerable, the serious principles and various excellences of my revered Dr. Johnson from the clouds so frequently involving and darkening them, in narrations so little calculated for any readers who were strangers to his intrinsic worth, and therefore worked upon and struck by what was faulty in his temper and manners. I regretted not having strength to read this work to her majesty myself. It was an honour I should else have certainly received _; for so much wanted clearing! so little was understood! However, the queen frequently condescended to read over passages and anecdotes which perplexed or offended her; and there were none I had not a fair power to soften or to justify. THE CLOSE OF MISS BURNEY'S COURT DUTIES. Her majesty, the day before we left Windsor, gave me to understand my attendance Would be yet one more fortnight Page 402 requisite, though no longer. I heard this with a fearful presentiment I should surely never go through another fortnight in so weak and languishing and painful a state of health. However, I could but accede, though I fear with no very Courtly grace. So melancholy indeed was the state of my mind, from the weakness of my frame, that I was never alone but to form scenes of "foreign woe," where my own disturbance did not occupy me wholly. I began--almost whether I would or not--another tragedy! The other three all unfinished! not one read! and one of them, indeed, only generally sketched as to plan and character. But I could go on With nothing; I could only suggest and invent. The power of composition has to me indeed proved a blessing! When incapable of all else, that, unsolicited, unthought of, has presented itself to my solitary leisure, and beguiled me of myself, though it has not of late regaled me with gayer associates. July.-I come now to write the last week of my royal residence. The queen honoured me with the most uniform graciousness, and though, as the time of separation approached, her cordiality rather diminished, and traces of internal displeasure appeared sometimes, arising from an opinion I ought rather to have struggled on, live or die, than to quit her, yet I am sure she saw how poor was my own chance, except by a change in the mode of life, and at least ceased to wonder, though she could not approve. The king was more Courteous, more communicative, more amiable, at very meeting: and he condescended to hold me in conversation with him by every opportunity, and with an air of such benevolence and goodness, that I never felt such ease and pleasure in his notice before. He talked over all Mr. Boswell's book, and I related to him sundry anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, all highly to his honour, and such as I was eager to make known, He always heard me with the utmost complacency and encouraged me to proceed in my accounts by every mark of attention and interest. He told me once, laughing heartily, that, having seen my name in the index, he was eager to come to what was said of me, but which he found so little, he was surprised and disappointed. I ventured to assure him how much I had myself been rejoiced at this very circumstance, and with what satisfaction had reflected upon having very seldom met Mr. Boswell, as I Page 403 new there was no other security against all manner of risks in his relations. About this time Mr. Turbulent made me a visit at tea-time when the gentlemen were at the Castle and the moment William left the room he eagerly said, "Is this true, Miss Burney, that I hear? Are we going to lose you?" I was much surprised, but Could not deny the charge. He, very good-naturedly, declared himself much pleased at a release which he protested he thought necessary to my life's preservation. I made him tell me the channel through which a business I had guarded SO scrupulously Myself had reached him; but it Is too full of windings for writing. With Mr. de Luc I was already in confidence upon my resignation, and with the knowledge of the queen, as he had received the intelligence from Germany, whence my successor was now arriving. I then also begged the indulgence of writing to Mr. Smelt upon the subject, which was accorded me. My next attack was from Miss Planta. She expressed herself in the deepest concern at my retiring, though she not only acknowledged its necessity, but confessed she had not thought I could have performed my official duty even one year! She broke from me while we talked, leaving me abruptly in a violent passion of tears. MISS BURNEY'S SUCCESSOR. A PENSION FROM THE QUEEN. I had soon the pleasure to receive Mlle. jacobi.(343) She brought with her a young German, as her maid, who proved to be her niece, but so poor she could not live when her aunt left Germany! Mr. Best, a messenger of the king's, brought her to Windsor, and Mrs. Best, his wife, accompanied him. I was extremely pleased with Mlle. Jacobi, who is tall, well made, and nearly handsome, and of a humour so gay, an understanding so lively, and manners so frank and ingenuous, that I felt an immediate regard for her, and we grew mutual good friends. She is the daughter of a dignified clergyman of Hanover, high in theological fame. They all dined with me, - and, indeed, Mlle. Jacobi, wanting a thousand informations in her new situation, which I was most happy to give her, seldom quitted me an instant. Tuesday morning I had a conversation, very long and very affecting to me, with her majesty. I cannot pretend to detail Page 404 it. I will only tell you she began by speaking of Mlle. Jacobi, whom I had the satisfaction to praise, as far as had appeared, very warmly and then she led me to talk at large upon the nature and requisites and circumstances of the situation I was leaving. I said whatever I could suggest that would tend to render my Successor more comfortable, and had the great happiness to represent with success the consolation and very innocent pleasure she might reap from the society of the young relation she had brought over, if she might be permitted to treat her at once as a companion, and not as a servant. This was heard with the most humane complacency, and I had leave given me to forward the plan in various ways. She then conversed upon sundry Subjects, all of them confidential in their nature, for near an hour; and then, after a pause, said, "Do I owe you anything, my dear Miss Burney?" I acquainted her with a debt or two amounting to near seventy pounds. She said she would settle it in the afternoon, and then paused again, after which, with a look full of benignity, she very expressively said, "As I don't know your plan, or what you propose, I cannot tell what Would make you comfortable, but you know the size of my family." I comprehended her, and was immediately interrupting her with assurances of my freedom from all expectation or claim; but she stopped me, saying, "You know what you now have from me:--the half of that I mean to continue." Amazed and almost overpowered by a munificence I had so little expected or thought of, I poured forth the most earnest disclaimings of such a mark of her graciousness, declaring I knew too well her innumerable calls to be easy in receiving it and much more I uttered to this purpose, with the unaffected warmth that animated me at the moment. She heard me almost silently; but, in conclusion, Simply, yet strongly, said, "I shall certainly do that" with a stress on the that that seemed to kindly mean she would rather have done more. The conference was in this stage when the Princess Elizabeth came into the room. The queen then retired to the antechamber. My eyes being full, and my heart not very empty, I could not then forbear saying to her royal highness how much the goodness of the queen had penetrated me. The sweet princess spoke feelings I could not expect, by the immediate glistening of her soft eyes. She condescended to express her concern At my retiring; but most kindly added, "However, Page 405 Miss Burney, go when you will, that you have this to comfort you, your behaviour has been most perfectly honourable." LEAVE-TAKINGS. This, my last day at Windsor, was filled with nothing but packing, leave-taking, bills-paying, and lessoning to Mlle. Jacobi, who adhered to my side through everything, and always with an interest that made its own way for her. All the people I had to Settle With poured forth for my better health good wishes without end; but amongst the most unwilling for my retreat stood poor Mrs. Astley.(344) Indeed she quite saddened me by her sadness, and by the recollections of that sweet and angelic being her mistress, who had so solaced my early days at that place. Mr. Bryant, too, came this same morning; he had an audience of the queen: he knew nothing previously of my design. He seemed thunderstruck. "Bless me!" he cried, in his short and simple but expressive manner, "so I shall never see you again, never have the honour to dine in that apartment with you more!" etc. I would have kept him to dinner this last day, but he was not well, and would not be persuaded. He would not, however, bid me adieu, but promised to endeavour to see me some time at Chelsea. I had then a little note from Miss Gomme, desiring to see me in the garden. She had just gathered the news. I do not believe any one Was more disposed to be sorry, if the Sight and sense of my illness had not checked her concern. She highly approved the step I was taking, and was most cordial and kind. Miss Planta came to tell me she must decline dining with me, as she felt she should cry all dinner-time, in reflecting upon its being our last meal together at Windsor, and this might affront Mlle. Jacobi. The queen deigned to come once more to my apartment this afternoon. She brought me the debt. It was a most mixed feeling with which I now saw her. In the evening came Madame de la Fite, I need not tell you, I imagine, that her expressions were of "la plus vife douleur,"; yet she owned she could not wonder my father should try what another life would do for me. My dear Mrs. de Luc came next; She, alone, knew of this while impending. She rejoiced the time of deliverance was arrived, for she had Page 406 often feared I should outstay my strength, and sink while the matter was arranging. She rejoiced, however, with tears in her kind eyes; and, indeed, I took leave of her With true regret. It was nine o'clock before I could manage to go down the garden to the lower Lodge, to pay my duty to the younger princesses, whom I Could not else see at all, as they never go to town for the Court-days. I went first up-stairs to Gomme, and had the mortification to learn that the sweet Princess Amelia was already gone to bed. This extremely grieved me. When or how I may see her lovely little highness more, Heaven only knows! Miss Gomme kindly accompanied me to Miss Goldsworthy's apartment, and promised me a few more words before I set out the next morning. I found Mrs. Cheveley, at whose door, and at Miss Neven, her sister's, I had tapped and left my name, with Miss Goldsworthy and Dr. Fisher: that pleasing and worthy man has just taken a doctor's degree. I waited with Miss Goldsworthy till the princesses Mary and Sophia came from the upper Lodge, which is when the king and queen go to supper. Their royal highnesses, were gracious even to kindness; they shook my hand again and again, and wished me better health, and all happiness, with the sweetest earnestness. Princess Mary repeatedly desired to see me whenever I came to the Queen's house, and condescended to make me as repeatedly promise that I would not fail. I was deeply touched by their goodness, and by leaving them. Wednesday.-In the morning Mrs. Evans, the housekeeper, came to take leave of me; and the housemaid of my apartment, who, poor girl, cried bitterly that I was going to give place to a foreigner, for Mrs. Schwellenberg's severity with servants has made all Germans feared in the house. O, but let me first mention that, when I came from the lower Lodge, late as it was, I determined to see my old friends the equerries, and not quit the place without bidding them adieu. I had never seen them since I had dared mention my designed retreat. I told William, therefore, to watch their return from the castle, and to give my compliments to either Colonel Gwynn or Colonel Goldsworthy, and an invitation to my apartment. Colonel Goldsworthy came instantly. I told him I could not think of leaving Windsor without offering first my good Page 407 wishes to all the household. He said that, when my intended departure had been published, he and all the gentlemen then with him had declared it ought to have taken place six months ago. He was extremely courteous, and I begged him to bring to me, the rest of his companions that were known to me. He immediately fetched Colonel Gwynn, General Grenville, Colonel Ramsden, and Colonel Manners. This was the then party. I told him I sent to beg their blessing upon my departure. They were all much pleased, apparently, that I had not made my exit without seeing them: they all agreed on the Urgency of the measure, and we exchanged good wishes most cordially. My Wednesday morning's attendance upon the queen was a melancholy office. Miss Goldsworthy as well as Miss Gomme came early to take another farewell. I had not time to make any visits in the town, but left commissions with Mrs. de Luc and Madame de la Fite. Even Lady Charlotte Finch I could not Call upon, though she had made me many kind visits since my illness. I wrote to her, however, by Miss Gomme, to thank her, and bid her adieu. FAREWELL TO KEW. Thursday, July 7.-This, my last day of office, was big and busy,- -joyful, yet affecting to me in a high degree. In the morning, before I left Kew, I had my last interview with Mrs. Schwellenberg. She was very kind in it, desiring to see me whenever I could in town, during her residence at the Queen's house, and to hear from me by letter meanwhile. She then much Surprised me by an offer of succeeding to her own place,--when it was vacated either by her retiring or her death. This was, indeed, a mark of favour and confidence I had not expected. I declined, however, to enter upon the subject, as the manner in which she opened it made it very solemn, and, to her, very affecting. She would take no leave of me, but wished me better hastily, and saying we should soon meet, she hurried suddenly out of the room. Poor woman! If her temper were not so irascible, I really believe her heart would be by no means wanting in kindness. I then took leave of Mrs. Sandys, giving her a token of remembrance in return for her constant good behaviour, and Page 408 she showed marks of regard, and of even grief, I was sorry to receive, as I could so little return. But the tragedy of tragedies was parting with Goter;(345) that poor girl did nothing but cry incessantly from the time she knew of our separation. I was very sorry to have no place to recommend her to, though I believe she may rather benefit by a vacation that carries her to her excellent father and Mother, who teach her nothing but good. I did what I could to soften the blow, by every exertion in my power in all ways; for it was impossible to be unmoved at her violence of sorrow. I then took leave of Kew Palace--the same party again accompanying me, for the last time, in a royal vehicle going by the name of Miss Burney's coach. THE FINAL PARTING. I come now near the close of my Court career. At St. James's all was graciousness; and my royal mistress gave me to understand she would have me stay to assist at her toilet after the Drawing-room; and much delighted me by desiring my attendance on the Thursday fortnight, when she came again to town. This lightened the parting in the pleasantest manner possible. When the queen commanded me to follow her to her closet I was, indeed, in much emotion; but I told her that, as what had passed from Mrs. Schwellenberg in the morning had given me to understand her majesty was fixed in her munificent intention, notwithstanding- what I had most unaffectedly urged against it-- "Certainly," she interrupted, "I shall certainly do it." "Yet so little," I continued, "had I thought it right to dwell upon such an expectation, that, in the belief your majesty would yet take it into further consideration, I had not even written It to my father." "Your father," she again interrupted me, "has nothing to do with it; it is solely from me to you." "Let me then humbly entreat," I cried, "still in some measure to be considered as a servant of your majesty, either as reader, or to assist occasionally if Mlle. Jacobi should be ill." She looked most graciously pleased, and Immediately closed in with the proposal, saying, "When your health is restored,-- perhaps sometimes." Page 409 I then fervently poured forth my thanks for all her goodness, and my prayers for her felicity. She had her handkerchief in her hand or at her eyes the whole time. I was so much moved by her condescending kindness, that as soon as I got out of the closet I nearly sobbed. I went to help Mlle. Jacobi to put up the jewels, that my emotion might the less be observed. The king then came into the room. He immediately advanced to the window, where I stood, to speak to me. I was not then able to comport myself steadily. I was forced to turn my head away from him. He stood still and silent for some minutes, waiting to see if I should turn about; but I could not recover myself sufficiently to face him, strange as it was to do otherwise; and Perceiving me quite overcome he walked away, and I saw him no more. His kindness, his goodness, his benignity, never shall I forget--never think of but with fresh gratitude and reverential affection. They were now all going--I took, for the last time, the cloak of the queen, and, putting It over her shoulders, slightly ventured to press them, earnestly, though in a low voice, saying, "God Almighty bless your majesty!" She turned round, and, putting her hand upon my ungloved arm, pressed it with the greatest kindness, and said, "May you be happy!" She left me overwhelmed with tender gratitude. The three eldest princesses were in the next room: they ran in to me the moment the queen went onward. Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth each took a hand, and the princess royal put hers over them. I could speak to none of them; but they repeated, "I wish you happy!--I wish you health!" again and again, with the Sweetest eagerness. They then set off for Kew. Here, therefore, end my Court annals; after having lived in the service of her majesty five years within ten days--from July 17, 1786, to July 7, 1791. (333) By her "Visions" Fanny apparently means her desire of resigning her place at Court, and her hope of her father's concurrence.-ED. (334) i.e., Attempts to induce him to procure for sundry strangers some acquaintance with his daughter.-ED. (335) The Comtesse de Bouflers-Rouvrel and, probably, her daughter-in-law, the Comtesse Amélie de Bouflers. Madame de Bouflers-Rouvrel was distinguished in Parisian society as a bel-esbrit, and corresponded for many years with Rousseau. Left a widow in 1764, she became the mistress of the Prince de Conti. Her first visit to England was in 1763, when she was taken by Topham Beauclerk to see Dr. Johnson. She revisited this country at the time of the emigration, but returning to France, was imprisoned by the Revolutionists. The fall of Robespierre (July, 1794) restored her to liberty. Am6lie de Bouflers, less fortunate than her mother-in-law, perished by the guillotine, June 27, 1794.-ED. (336) But is it possible, sir, that your daughter has no holidays? (337) Burke's speech, delivered February 9, in a debate on the army estimates, in which he took occasion to denounce, with great vehemence, the principles and conduct of the French Revolution, which he contrasted, much to its disadvantage, with the English Revolution of 1688. "The French," he said, "had shown themselves the ablest architects of ruin that had hitherto appeared in the world." The sentiments uttered by Burke on this occasion delighted the ministerialists and friends of the Court as much as they dismayed his own party. As the debate proceeded he found himself in the strange position of a chief of opposition enduring the compliments of the prime minister and the attacks of Fox and Sheridan, who took a broader and juster view of the great events in France, though condemning equally with Burke the Excesses of the Revolutionists. Fox declared His grief at hearing, "from the lips of a man whom he loved and revered," Sentiments "so hostile to the general principles of liberty." This speech of Burke's may be said to mark the commencement of that disagreement between himself and Fox, which culminated in the total breach of their friendship.-ED. (338) Dr. Burney was a member of this famous club, having been elected in 1784. Mr. Windham had been a member since 1778.-ED. (339) "Reflections on the Revolution in France," published November 1, 1790. it was received by the public with avidity, and went through eleven editions within a year-ED. (340) An allusion to the imperious interruption of the marriage of Cecilia, and young Delvile. See "Cecilia," book vii., ch. 7.-ED. (341) Some weeks later Fanny has the following allusion to the ball: "The Princess Mary chatted with me over her own adventures on the queen's birthday, when she first appeared at Court. The history of her dancing at the ball, and the situation of her partner and brother, the Duke of Clarence, she spoke of with a sweet ingenuousness and artless openness which makes her very amiable character. And not a little did I divert her when I related the duke's visit to our party! 'O,' cried she, 'he told me of it himself the next morning, and said, "You may think how far I was gone, for I kissed the Schwellenberg's hand!"'"-ED. (342) "On the evening of Saturday May 15 [1784), he [Dr. Johnson] was in fine spirits at our Essex Head Club. He told us, 'I dined yesterday at Patrick's with Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah More, and Fanny Burney. Three such women are not to be found: I know not where I could find a fourth, except Mrs. Lennox, who is superior to them all.' " (Boswell.) This "occasional sally" cannot, of course, be taken as expressing Johnson's deliberate opinion of the relative merits of Fanny Burney and Mrs. Lenox. He was an old friend of Charlotte Lenox, and had written in 1752 the dedication for her "Female Quixote," a novel of singular charm and humour, though scarcely to be placed on a par with "Evelina" or "Cecilia."-ED. (343) Fanny's successor in office.-ED. 344) The old servant of Mrs. Delany.-ED. (345) Fanny's maid.-ED. Page 410 ' SECTION 18. (1791-2.) REGAINED LIBERTY. [Fanny's rambling journey to the west with Mrs. Ord was a pleasant restorative, to mind and body, and bore good fruit hereafter in the pages, of " The Wanderer." At Bath, in the course of this journey, she formed an acquaintance equally interesting and unlooked-for. It was certainly singular, to use her own words, "that the first visit I should make after leaving the queen should be to meet the head of the opposition public, the Duchess of Devonshire!" The famous Whig duchess was then in her thirty-fifth year. Fanny's description of her personal charms tallies exactly with the impression which we derive from her portraits by Reynolds and Gainsborough: that their celebrity was due rather to expressiveness and animation than to a countenance regularly beautiful. But the charming duchess, like most other people, had a skeleton in her closet. Notwithstanding her high spirits, and "native. cheerfulness," "she appeared to me not happy," writes our penetrating Diarist. What was the skeleton? Not gambling debts, although the duchess followed the fashion of the day, and Sheridan declared that he had handed her into her carriage when she was literally sobbing at her losses. Fanny gives us a hint, slight but unmistakeable. At their first meeting the duchess was accompanied by another lady--a beautiful, alluring woman, with keen dark eyes, who smiled, some one said, "like Circe." Lady Spencer introduced her daughter to Miss Burney with warm pleasure, and then, "slightly and as if unavoidably," named the beautiful enchantress--Lady Elizabeth Foster. It is only necessary to add that in 1809, some three years after the death of his first wife, the Duchess Georgiana, the Duke of Devonshire married again, and his second wife was Lady Elizabeth Foster.-ED.] Page 411 RELEASED FROM DUTY. Chelsea College, July.-My dear father was waiting for me in my apartment at St. James's when their majesties and their fair royal daughters were gone. He brought me home, and welcomed me most sweetly. My heart was a little sad, in spite of its contentment. My joy in quitting my place extended not to quitting the king and queen; and the final marks of their benign favour had deeply impressed me. My mother received me according to my wishes, and Sarah Most cordially. My dear James and Charles speedily came to see me; and one precious half-day I was indulged with my kind Mr. Locke and his Fredy. If i had been stouter and stronger in health, I should then have been almost flightily happy; but the Weakness of the frame still kept the rest in order. My ever-kind Miss Cambridge was also amongst the foremost to hasten with congratulations on my return to my old ways and to make me promise to visit Twickenham after my projected tour with Mrs. Ord. I could myself undertake no visiting at this time; rest and quiet being quite essential to my recovery. But my father did the honours for me amongst those who had been most interested in my resignation. He called instantly upon Sir Joshua Reynolds and Miss Palmer, and Mr. Burke; and he wrote to Mr. Walpole, Mr. Seward, Mrs. Crewe, Mr. Windham, and my Worcester uncle. Mr. Walpole wrote the most charming of answers, In the gallantry of the old Court, and with all its wit, concluding with a warm invitation to Strawberry Hill. Sir Joshua and Miss Palmer Sent me every species of kind exultation. Mr. Burke was not in town. Mr. Seward wrote very heartily and cordially, and came also when my Susanna was here. Mrs. Crewe immediately pressed me to come and recruit at Crewe Hall in Cheshire, where she promised me repose, and good air, and good society. A WESTERN JOURNEY: FARNHAM CASTLE. Sidmouth, Devonshire, Monday, Aug. 1.-I have now been a week out upon my travels, but have not had the means or the time, till this moment, to attempt their brief recital. Page 412 Mrs. Ord called for me about ten in the morning. I left my dearest father with the less regret, as his own journey to Mrs. crewe was very soon to take place. It was a terribly rainy morning, but I was eager not to postpone the excursion. As we travelled on towards Staines, I could scarcely divest myself of the idea that I was but making again my usual journey to Windsor; and I could with difficulty forbear calling Mrs. Ord Miss Planta during the whole of that well-known road. I did not, indeed, take her maid, who was our third in the coach, for Mr. de Luc, or Mr. Turbulent; but the place she occupied made me think much more of those I so long had had for my vis-`a-vis than of herself. We went on no farther than to Bagshot: thirty miles was the extremity of our powers; but I bore them very tolerably, though variably. We put up at the best inn, very early, and then inquired what we could see In the town and neighbourhood. "Nothing!" was the concise answer of a staring maid. We determined, therefore, to prowl to the churchyard, and read the tombstone inscriptions: but when we asked the way, the same woman, staring still more wonderingly, exclaimed, "Church! There's no church nigh here!--There's the Prince Of Wales'S, just past the turning. You may go and see that, if you will." So on we walked towards this hunting Villa: but after toiling up a long unweeded avenue, we had no sooner opened the gate to the parks than a few score of dogs, which were lying in ambush, Set Up so prodigious a variety of magnificent barkings, springing forward at the same time, that, content with having caught a brief view of the seat, we left them to lord it over the domain they regarded as their own, and, with all due Submission, pretty hastily shut the gate, without troubling them to give us another salute. We returned to the inn, and read B---'s "Lives of the Family of the Boyles." Aug. 2.-We proceeded to Farnham to breakfast, and thence walked to the castle. The Bishop of Winchester, Mrs. North. and the whole family are gone abroad. The castle is a good old building, with as much of modern elegance and fashion intermixed in its alterations and fitting up as Mrs. North could possibly contrive to weave into its ancient grandeur. . . . I wished I could have climbed to the top of an old tower, much out of repair, but so high, that I fancied I could thence have espied the hills of Norrbury. However, I was ready to fall already, from only ascending the slope to reach the castle. Page 413 A PARTY OF FRENCH FUGITIVES. We arrived early at Winchester; but the town was so full, as the judges were expected next morning, that we could only get one bed-chamber, in which Mrs. Ord, her maid, and myself reposed. just after we had been obliged to content ourselves with this scanty accommodation, we saw a very handsome coach and four horses, followed by a chaise and outriders, stop at the gate, and heard the mistress of the house declare she- could not receive the company; and the postilions, at the same time, protested the horses could go no farther. They inquired for fresh horses; there were none to be had in the whole city; and the party were all forced to remain in their carriages, without horses, at the inn-gate, for the chance of what might pass on the road. We asked who they were, and our pity was doubled in finding them foreigners. We strolled about the upper part of the city, leaving the cathedral for the next morning. We saw a large, uniform, handsome palace, which is called by the inhabitants "The king's house," and which was begun by Charles II. We did not, therefore, expect the elegant architecture of his father's days. One part, they particularly told us, was designed for Nell Gwynn. It was never finished, and neglect has taken place of time in rendering it a most ruined structure, though, as it bears no marks of antiquity, it has rather the appearance of owing its destruction to a fire than to the natural decay of age. It is so spacious, however, and stands so magnificently to overlook the city, that I wish it to be completed for an hospital or infirmary. I have written Mrs. Schwellenberg an account of its appearance and state, which I am sure will be read by her majesty. When we returned to the Inn, still the poor travellers were in the same situation: they looked so desolate, and could so indifferently make themselves understood, that Mrs. Ord good- naturedly invited them to drink tea with us. They most thankfully accepted the offer, and two ladies and two gentlemen ascended the stairs with us to our dining-room. The chaise had the female servants. The elder lady was so truly French--so vive and so triste in turn--that she seemed formed from the written character of a Frenchwoman, such, at least, as we English write them. She was very forlorn in her air, and very sorrowful in her counte- Page 414 nance; yet all action and gesture, and of an animation when speaking nearly fiery in its vivacity: neither pretty nor young, but neither ugly nor old; and her smile, which was rare, had a finesse very engaging; while her whole demeanour announced a person Of consequence, and all her discourse told that she was well-informed, well-educated, and well-bred. The other lady, whom they called mademoiselle, as the first madame, was young, dark but clear and bright in her eyes and complexion, though without good features, or a manner of equal interest with the lady she accompanied. She proved, however, sensible, and seemed happy in the general novelty around her. She spoke English pretty well, and was admired without mercy by the rest of the party, as a perfect mistress of the language. The madame spoke it very ill indeed, but pleasantly. Of the two gentlemen, one they called only monsieur, and the other the madame addressed as her brother. The monsieur was handsome, rather tonnish, and of the high haughty ton, and seemed the devoted attendant or protector of the madame, who sometimes spoke to him almost with asperity, from eagerness, and a tinge of wretchedness and impatience, which coloured all she said; and, at other times, softened off her vehemence with a smile the most expressive, and which made its way to the mind immediately, by coming with sense and meaning, and not merely from good humour and good spirits as the more frequent smiles of happier persons. The brother seemed lively and obliging, and entirely at the devotion of his sister, who gave him her commands with an authority that would not have brooked dispute. They told us they were just come from Southampton, which they had visited in their way from viewing the fleet at the Isle of Wight and Portsmouth, and they meant to go on now to Bath. We soon found they were aristocrats, which did better for them with Mrs. Ord and me than it would have done with you republicans of Norbury and Mickleham; yet I wish you had all met the madame, and heard her Indignant unhappiness. They had been in England but two months. They all evidently belonged to madame, who appeared to me a fugitive just before the flight of the French king,(346) or in consequence of his having been taken. Page 415 She entered upon her wretched situation very soon, lamenting that he was, in fact, no king, and bewailing his want of courage for his trials. the queen she never mentioned. She spoke once or twice of son mari, but did not say who or what he was, nor where. "They say," she cried, "In France they have now liberty! Who has liberty, le peuple, or the mob? Not les honn`etes gens; for those whose principles are known to be aristocratic must fly, or endure every danger and indignity. Ah! est-ce l`a la libert`e?" The monsieur said he had always been the friend of liberty, such as it was in England; but in France it was general tyranny. "In England," he cried, "he was a true democrat, though bien aristocrate in France." "At least," said the poor madame, "formerly, in all the sorrows of life, we had nos terres to which we could retire, and there forget them, and dance, and sing, and laugh, and fling them all aside, till forced back to Paris. But now our villas are no protection: we may be safe, but the first offence conceived by le peuple is certain destruction; and, without a moment's warning, we may be forced to fly our own roofs, and see them and all we are worth burnt before our eyes in horrible triumph." This was all said in French. But the anguish of her Countenance filled me with compassion, though it was scarcely possible to restrain a smile when, the moment after, she" said she Might be very wrong, but she hoped I would forgive her if she owned she preferred Paris incomparably to London and pitied me very unreservedly for never having seen that first of cities. Her sole hope, she said, for the overthrow of that anarchy in which the Unguarded laxity of the king had plunged the first Country in the world,--vous me pardonnec, Mademoiselle,--was now from the German princes, who, she flattered herself, Would rise In their own defence. She told me, the next moment, of les spectacles I should find at Southampton, and asked me what she might expect at Bath of public amusement and buildings. I was travelling I said, for my health, and Should visit no theatres, ball-rooms, etc., and could recommend none. She did not seem to comprehend me; yet, in the midst of Page 416 naming these places, she sighed as deeply from the bottom of her heart as if she had been forswearing the world for ever in despair. But it was necessary, , she said, when unhappy, to go abroad the more, pour se distraire. In parting, they desired much to renew acquaintance with us when we returned to London. Mrs. Ord gave her direction to the monsieur, who in return, wrote theirs--"The French ladies, NO. 30, Gerrard-street, Soho." They stayed till our early hour Of retiring made Mrs. Ord suffer them to go. I was uneasy to know what would become of them. I inquired of a waiter: he unfeelingly laughed, and said, "O! they do well enough; they've got a room." I asked if he could yet let them have beds to stay, or horses to proceed? "No," answered he, sneeringly: "but it don't matter for, now they've got a room, they are as merry and capering as if they were going to dance." just after this, Mrs. Stephenson, Mrs. Ord's maid, came running in. "La! ma'am," she cried, "I've been so frightened, you can't think: the French folks sent for me on purpose, to ask t'other lady's name, they said, and they had asked William before, so they knew it; but they said I must write it down, and where she lived; so I was forced to write, 'Miss Burney, Chelsea,' and they fell a smiling so at one another." 'Twas impossible to help laughing; but we desired her, in return, to send for one of their maids and ask their names also. She came back, and said she could not understand the maids, and so they had called one of the gentlemen, and he had written down "Madame la Comtesse de Menage, et Mlle. de Beaufort." We found, afterwards, they had sat up till two in the morning, and then procured horses and journeyed towards Oxford. WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL. Aug. 3.-We walked to the cathedral, and saw it completely. Part of it remains from the original Saxon building, though neglected, except by travellers, as the rest of the church is ample for all uses, and alone kept in repair. The bones of eleven Saxon kings are lodged in seven curious old chests, in which they were deposited after being dug up and disturbed in the civil wars and ensuing confusions. The small number of chests is owing to the small proportion remaining of some of the skeletons, which occasioned their being united with others. Page 417 The Saxon characters are in many inscriptions preserved, though in none entire. They were washing a plaster from the walls, to discern some curious old painting, very miserable, but very entertaining, of old legends, which some antiquaries are now endeavouring to discover. William of Wykham, by whom the cathedral was built in its present form, lies buried, with his effigy and whole monument in very fine alabaster, and probably very like, as it was done, they aver, before he died. Its companion, equally superb, is Cardinal Beaufort, uncle of Harry VI. William Rufus, slain in the neighbouring forest, is buried in the old choir: his monument is of plain stone, without any inscription or ornament, and only shaped like a coffin. Hardyknute had a much more splendid monument preserved for him; but Harry I. had other business to attend, I presume, than to decorate the tomb of one brother while despoiling of his kingdom another. An extremely curious old chapel and monument remain of Archbishop Langton, of valuable gothic workmanship. The altar, which is highly adorned with gold, was protected in Cromwell's time by the address and skill of the Winton inhabitants, who ran up a slight wall before it, and deceived the reformists, soi-disants. I could hardly quit this poor dear old building, so much I was interested with its Saxon chiefs, its little queer niches, quaint images, damp cells, mouldering walls, and mildewed pillars. One chest contains the bones entire of Egbert, our first king. Edred, also. I distinguished. The screen was given to this church by King Charles, and is the work of Inigo Jones. It is very simple in point of ornament, very complete in taste and elegance; nevertheless, a screen of Grecian architecture in a cathedral of gothic workmanship was ill, I think, imagined. STONEHENGE, WILTON, AND MILTON ABBEY. Aug. 5.-We went to Stonehenge. Here I was prodigiously disappointed, at first, by the huge masses of stone so unaccountably piled at the summit of Salisbury Plain. However, we alighted, and the longer I surveyed and considered them, the more augmented my wonder and diminished my disappointment. We then went on to Wilton, where I renewed my delight over the exquisite Vandykes, and with the statues, busts, and pictures, which again I sighingly quitted, with a longing wish Page 418 I might ever pass under that roof time enough to see them more deliberately. We stopped in the Hans Holbein Porch, and upon the Inigo Jones bridge, as long as we Could stand, after standing and staring and straining our eyes till our guide was quite fatigued. 'Tis a noble collection; and how might it be enjoyed if, as an arch rustic Old labouring man told u, fine folks lived as they ought to do! Sunday, Aug. 7.-After an early dinner we set off for Milton Abbey, the seat of Lord Milton, partly constructed from the old abbey and partly new. There is a magnificent gothic hall in excellent preservation, of evident Saxon workmanship, and extremely handsome, though not of the airy beauty of the chapel. The situation of this abbey is truly delicious: it is in a vale of extreme fertility and richness, surrounded by hills of the most exquisite form, and mostly covered with hanging woods, but so varied in their growth and groups, that the eye is perpetually fresh caught with objects of admiration. 'Tis truly a lovely place. LYME AND SIDMOUTH. Aug. 8.-We proceeded to Bridport, a remarkably clean town, with the air so clear and pure, it seemed a new climate. Hence we set out, after dinner, for Lyme, and the road through which we travelled is the most beautiful to which my wandering destinies have yet sent me. It is diversified with all that can compose luxuriant scenery, and with just as much of the approach to sublime as is in the province of unterrific beauty. The hills are the highest, I fancy, in the south of this county--the boldest and noblest; the vales of the finest verdure, wooded and watered as if only to give ideas of finished landscapes; while the whole, from time to time, rises into still superior grandeur, by openings between the heights that terminate the View With the Splendour of the British channel. There was no going on in the carriage through such enchanting scenes; we got out upon the hills, and walked till we could walk no longer. The descent down to Lyme is uncommonly steep; and indeed is very striking, from the magnificence of the ocean that washes its borders. Chidiock and Charmouth, two villages between Bridport and Lyme, are the very prettiest I have ever seen. During the whole of this post I was fairly taken away, not only from the world but from myself, and completely wrapped up and engrossed by the Page 419 pleasures, wonders, and charms of animated nature, thus seen in fair perfection. Lyme. however, brought me to myself; for the part by the sea, where we fixed our abode, was so dirty and fishy that I rejoiced when we left it. Aug. 9.- We travelled to Sidmouth. And here we have taken up our abode for a week. It was all devoted to rest and sea-air. Sidmouth is built in a vale by the sea-coast, and the terrace for company is nearer to the ocean than any I have elsewhere seen, and therefore both more pleasant and more commodious. The little bay is of a most peaceful kind, and the sea was as calm and gentle as the Thames. I longed to bathe, but I am in no state now to take liberties with myself, and, having no advice at hand, I ran no risk. SIDMOUTH LOYALTY. Nothing has given me so much pleasure since I came to this place as our landlady's account of her own and her town's loyalty. She is a baker, a poor widow woman, she told us, who lost her husband by his fright in thinking he saw a ghost, just after her mother was drowned. She carries on the business, with the help of her daughter, a girl about fifteen. I inquired of her if she had seen the royal family when they visited Devonshire? "Yes, sure, ma'am!" she cried; there was ne'er a soul left in all this place for going Out to See 'em. My daughter and I rode a double horse, and we went to Sir George Young's, and got into the park, for we knew the housekeeper, and she gave my daughter a bit to taste of the king's dinner when they had all done, and she said she might talk on it when she was a old woman." I asked another good woman, who came in for some flour, if she had been of the party? "No," she said, "she was ill, but she had had holiday enough upon the king's recovery, for there was such a holiday then as the like was not in all England." "Yes, sure, ma'am," cried the poor baker-woman, "we all did our best then for there was ne'er a town in all England like Sidmouth for rejoicing. Why, I baked a hundred and ten penny loaves for the poor, and so did every baker in town, and there's three, and the gentry subscribed for it. And the gentry roasted a bullock and cut it all up, and we all eat it, in the midst of the rejoicing. And then we had such a fine page 420 sermon, it made us all cry; there was a more tears shed than ever was known, all for over-joy. And they had the king drawed, and dressed up all in gold and laurels, and they put un in a coach and eight horses, and carried un about; and all the grand gentlemen in the town, and all abouts, come in their own carriages to join. And they had the finest band of music in all England singing 'God save the king,' and every Soul joined in the chorus, and all not so much because he was a king, but because they said a was such a worthy gentleman, and that the like of him was never known in this nation before: so we all subscribed for the illuminations for that reason, some a shilling, some a guinea, and some a penny,--for no one begrudged it, as a was such a worthy person." This good Mrs. Dare has purchased images of all the royal family, in her great zeal, and I had them in my apartment--King, Queen, Prince of Wales, Dukes of York, Clarence, Kent, Sussex, Cumberland, and Cambridge; Princess Royal, and Princesses Augusta, Eliza, Mary, Sophia, and Amelia, God bless them all! POWDERHAM CASTLE AND COLLUMPTON CHURCH. Aug. 16.-We quitted Sidmouth, and proceeded through the finest country possible to Exmouth, to see that celebrated spot of beauty. The next morning we crossed the Ex and visited Powderham Castle. Its appearance, noble and antique without, loses all that character from French finery and minute elegance and gay trappings within. The present owner, Lord Courtney, has fitted it up in the true Gallic taste, and every room has the air of being ornamented for a gala. The housekeeper did not let us see half the castle; she only took us to those rooms which the present lord has modernized and fitted up in the sumptuous French taste ; the old part of the castle she doubtless thought would disgrace him; forgetting or rather never knowing--that the old part alone was worth a traveller's curiosity, since the rest might be anticipated by a visit to any celebrated cabinet-maker. Thence we proceeded to Star Cross to dine; and saw on the opposite coast the house Of Sir Francis Drake, which was built by his famous ancestor. Here we saw a sight that reminded me of the drawings of Webber from the South Sea Isles; women scarce clothed at all, with feet and legs entirely naked, straw bonnets of uncouth Shapes tied on their heads, a Page 421 sort of man's jacket on their bodies, and their short coats pinned up in the form of concise trousers, very succinct! and a basket on each arm, strolling along with wide mannish strides to the borders of the river, gathering cockles. They looked, indeed, miserable and savage. Hence we went, through very beautiful roads, to Exeter. That great old city is too narrow, too populous, too dirty, and too ill-paved, to meet with my applause. Next morning we breakfasted at Collumpton, and visited its church. Here we saw the remains of a once extremely rich gothic structure, though never large. There is all the appearance of its having been the church of an abbey before the Reformation. It is situated in a deep but most fertile vale; its ornaments still retain so much of gilding, painting, and antique splendour, as could never have belonged to a mere country church. The wood carving, too, though in ruins, is most laboriously well done; the roof worked in blue and gold, lighter, but in the style of the royal chapel at St. James's.We were quite surprised to find such a structure in a town so little known or named. One aisle was added by a clothier of the town in the reign of Edward VI.; probably upon its first being used as a protestant and public place of worship. This is still perfect, but very clumsy and inelegant compared with the ancient part. The man, to show he gloried in the honest profession whence he derived wealth for this good purpose, has his arms at one corner, with his name, J. Lane, in gothic characters, and on the opposite corner his image, terribly worked in the wall, with a pair of shears in one hand, so large as to cut across the figure downwards almost obscuring all but his feet. Till the cicerone explained this, I took the idea for a design of Death, placed where most conspicuously he might show himself, ready to cut in two the poor objects that entered the church. GLASTONBURY ABBEY. Aug. 19.-To vary the scenery we breakfasted at Bridgewater, in as much dirt and noise, from the judges filling the town, as at Taunton we had enjoyed neatness and quiet. We walked beside the river, which is navigable from the Bristol channel ; and a stream more muddy, and a quay more dirty and tarry and pitchy, I would not covet to visit again. It is here called the Perrot. Thence, however, we proceeded to what made amends Page 422 all--the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. These are the most elegant remains of monkish grandeur I have ever chanced to see,--the forms, designs, ornaments,---all that is left is in the highest perfection of gothic beauty. Five hundred souls, the people told us, were supported in this abbey and its cloisters. A chapel of Joseph of Arimathea has the outworks nearly entire, and I was quite bewitched with their antique beauty. But the entrance into the main front of the abbey is stupendous; its height is such that the eye aches to look up at it, though it is now curtailed, by no part of its arch remaining except the first inclination towards that form, which shows it to have been the entrance. Not a bit of roof remains in any part. All the monuments that Were not utterly decayed or destroyed have been removed to Wells. Mere walls alone are left here, except the monks' kitchen. This is truly curious: it is a circular building, with a dome as high--higher I fancy--than the Pantheon's; four immense fireplaces divide it Into four parts at the bottom, and an oven still is visible. One statue is left in one niche, which the people about said was of the abbot's chief cook! If this monastery was built by the famous old cruel hypocrite abbot, Dunstan, I shall grieve so much taste was bestowed on such a wretch.(347) We had only labourers for our informants. But one boy was worth hearing: he told me there was a well of prodigious depth, which he showed me, and this well had long been dried up, and so covered over as to be forgotten, till his grandfather dreamed a dream that the water of this well would restore him from a bad state of health to good; so he dug, and the well was found, and he drank the water and was cured! And since then the poor came from all parts who were afflicted with diseases, and drank the water and were cured. One woman was now at Glastonbury to try it, and already almost well! What strange inventions and superstitions even the ruins of what had belonged to St. Dunstan can yet engender! The Glastonbury thorn we forgot to ask for. WELLS CATHEDRAL. Hence we proceeded to Wells. Here we waited, as usual, upon the cathedral, which received our compliments with but Page 423 small return of civility. There was little to be seen without, except old monuments of old abbots removed from Glastonbury, so inferior in workmanship and design to the abbey once containing them, that I was rather displeased than gratified by the sight. They have also a famous clock, brought from the abbey at Its general demolition. This exhibits a set of horses with riders, who curvet a dance round a bell by the pulling a string, with an agility comic enough, and fitted to serve for a puppet-show; which, in all probability, was its design, in order to recreate the poor monks at their hours of play. There is also a figure of St. Dunstan, who regularly strikes the quarters of every hour by clock-work, and who holds in his hand a pair of tongs--the same I suppose as those with which he was wont to pull the devil by the nose, in their nocturnal interviews. The old castle of Wells is now the palace for the bishop. It is moated still, and looks dreary, Secluded, and in the bad old style. At night, upon a deeply deliberate investigation in the medical way, it was suddenly resolved that we should proceed to Bath instead of Bristol, and that I should try there first the stream of King BladUd. So now, at this moment, here we are. BATH REVISITED. Queen Square, Bath, Aug. 20.--Bath is extremely altered since I last visited it. Its circumference is perhaps trebled but its buildings are so unfinished, so spread, so everywhere beginning and nowhere ending, that it looks rather like a space of ground lately fixed upon for erecting a town, than a town itself, of so many years' duration. It is beautiful and wonderful throughout. The hills are built up and down, and the vales so stocked with streets and houses, that, in some places, from the ground-floor on one side a street, you cross over to the attic of your opposite neighbour. The white stone, where clean, has a beautiful effect, and, even where worn, a grand one. But I must not write a literal Bath guide, and a figurative one Anstey (348) has all to himself. I will only tell you in brief, yet in truth, it looks a city of palaces, a town of hills, and a hill of towns. Page 424 O how have I thought, in patrolling it, Of my poor Mrs, Thrale! I went to look (and sigh at the sight) at the house on the North parade where we dwelt, and almost every Old place brings to my mind some scene in which we were engaged. Besides the constant sadness of all recollections that bring fresh to my thoughts a breach with a friend once so loved, how are most of the families altered and dispersed in these absent ten Years! From Mrs. Montagu's, Miss Gregory by a marriage disapproved, is removed for ever; from Mrs. Cholmley's, by the severer blow of death, Lady Mulgrave is separated; Mrs. Lambart, by the same blow, has lost the brother, Sir Philip Clerke, who brought us to her acquaintance; Mr. Bowdler and his excellent eldest daughter have yielded to the same stroke; Mrs. Byron has followed. Miss Leigh has been married and widowed; Lord Mulgrave has had the same hard lot; and, besides these, Mrs. Cotton, Mrs. Thrale's aunt, Lady Miller, and Mr. Thrale himself, are no more. A VISIT FROM LADY SPENCER. Aug. 31.-I found I had no acquaintance here, except Mr. Harrington, who is ill, Mrs. Hartley, who is too lame for visiting, and the Vanbrughs; and though Mrs. Ord, from her frequent residence here, knows many of the settled inhabitants, she has kindly complied with my request of being dispensed from making new visits. Soon after we came, while I was finishing some letters, and quite alone, Mrs. Ord's servant brought me word Lady Spencer would ask me how I did, if I was well enough to receive her. Of course I begged she might come up-stairs. I have met her two or three times at my dearest Mrs. Delany's, where I met, also, with marked civilities from her. I knew she was here, with her unhappy daughter,--Lady Duncannon,(349) whom she assiduously nurses, aided by her more celebrated other daughter, the Duchess of Devonshire. She made a very flattering apology for coming, and then began to converse upon my beloved Mrs. Delany, and thence to subjects more general. She is a sensible and sagacious character, intelligent, polite, and agreeable, and she spends her life in such exercises of active charity and zeal, that she Page 425 would be one of the most exemplary women of rank of the age, had she less of show in her exertions, and more of forbearance in publishing them. My dear oracle, however, once said, vainglory must not be despised or discouraged, when it operated but as a human engine for great or good deeds. She spoke of Lady Duncannon's situation with much sorrow, and expatiated upon her resignation to her fate, her prepared state for death, and the excellence of her principles, with an eagerness and feeling that quite overwhelmed me with surprise and embarrassment. Her other daughter she did not mention; but her grand-daughter, Lady Georgiana Cavendish, she spoke of with rapture. Miss Trimmer, also, the eldest daughter of the exceeding worthy Mrs. Trimmer, she named with a regard that seemed quite affectionate. She told me she had the care of the young Lady Cavendishes, but was in every respect treated as if one of themselves. BATH SUNDAY SCHOOLS. The name of Mrs. Trimmer led us to talk of the Sunday schools and Schools of Industry. They are both in a very flourishing state at Bath, and Lady Spencer has taken one school under her own immediate patronage. The next day, of course, I waited on her - she was out. But the following day, which was Sunday,, she sent me a message up-stairs to say she would take me to see the Sunday-school, if I felt well enough to desire it. She waited below for my answer, which, of course, I carried down in my proper person, ready hatted and cloaked. It was a most interesting sight. Such a number of poor innocent children, all put into a way of right, most taken immediately from every way of wrong, lifting Up their little hands, and joining in those prayers and supplications for mercy and grace, which, even if they understand not, must at least impress them with a general idea of religion, a dread of evil, and a love of good ; it was, indeed, a sight to expand the best hopes of the heart. I felt very much obliged to my noble conductress, with whom I had much talk upon the subject in our walk back. Her own little school, of course, engaged us the most. She told me that the next day six of her little girls were to be new clothed, by herself, in honour of the birthday of the Duke of Devonshire's second daughter, Lady Harriot Cavendish, who Page 426 was to come to her grandmamma's house to see the ceremony. To this sight she also Invited me, and I accepted her kindness with pleasure. The following day, therefore, Monday, I obeyed Lady Spencer's time, and at six o'clock was at her house in Gay-street. Lady Spencer had Mrs. Mary Pointz and Miss Trimmer with her; and the six children, just prepared for Lady Harriot, in their new gowns, were dismissed from their examination, upon my arrival, and sent down-stairs to Wait the coming of her little ladyship, who, having dined with her mamma, was later than her appointment. Lady Georgiana is just eight Years old. She has a fine, animated, sweet, and handsome countenance, and the form and figure of a girl of ten or twelve years of age. Lady Harriot, who this day was six Years old, is by no means so handsome, but has an open and pleasing countenance, and a look of the most happy disposition. Lady Spencer brought her to me immediately. I inquired after the young Marquis of Hartington. Lady Spencer told me they never trusted him from the Upper walks, near his house, in Marlborough-buildings. He has a house of his own near the duke's, and a carriage entirely to himself; but YOU will see the necessity of these appropriations, when I remind You he is now fourteen months old. Lady Spencer had now a lottery--without blanks, you Will suppose- -of playthings and toys for the children. She distributed the prizes, and Lady Duncannon held the tickets. During this entered Lord Spencer, the son of Lady Spencer, who was here only for three days, to see his sister Duncannon. They had all dined with the little Lady Harriot. The duke is now at Chatsworth, in Derbyshire. I thought of Lord Spencer's kindness to Charles, and I recollected he was a favourite of Mr. Windham. I saw him, therefore, with very different ideas to those raised by the sight of his poor sister Duncannon, to whom he made up with every mark of pitying affection; she, meanwhile, receiving him with the most expressive pleasure, though nearly silent. I could not help feeling touched, in defiance of all obstacles. Presently followed two ladies. Lady Spencer, with a look and manner warmly announcing pleasure in what she was doing, then introduced me to the first of them, saying, "Duchess of Devonshire, Miss Burney." She made me a very civil compliment upon hoping my Page 427- health was recovering, and Lady Spencer then, shortly, and as if unavoidably, said, "Lady Elizabeth Foster." I have neglected to mention, in its place, that the six poor little girls had a repast in the garden, and Lady Georgiana earnestly begged leave to go down and see and speak with them. She applied to Lady Spencer. "O grandmamma," she cried, "pray let me go! Mamma says it all depends upon you." The duchess expressed some fear lest there might be any illness or disorder among the poor things: Lady Spencer answered for them; and Lady Georgiana, with a sweet delight, flew down into the garden, all the rest accompanying, and Lady Spencer and the duchess soon following. It was a beautiful sight, taken in all its dependencies, from the windows. Lord Spencer presently joined them, GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE To return to the duchess. I did not find so much beauty in her as I expected, notwithstanding the variations of accounts; but I found far more of manner, politeness, and gentle quiet. She seems by nature to possess the highest animal spirits, but she appeared to me not happy. I thought she looked oppressed within, though there is a native cheerfulness about her which I fancy scarce ever deserts her. There is in her face, especially when she speaks, a sweetness of good-humour and obligingness, that seem to be the natural and instinctive qualities of her disposition; joined to an openness of countenance that announces her endowed, by nature, with a character intended wholly for honesty, fairness, and good purposes. She now conversed with me wholly, and in so soberly sensible and quiet a manner, as I had imagined incompatible with her powers. Too much and too little credit have variously been given her. About me and my health she was more civil than I can well tell you; not from prudery--I have none, in these records, methinks!- -but from its being mixed into all that passed. We talked over my late tour, Bath waters, and the king's illness. This, which was led to by accident, was here a tender Subject, considering her heading the Regency squadron; however, I have only one line to pursue, and from that I can never vary. I spoke of my own deep distress from his sufferings without reserve, and of the distress of the queen with the most avowed compassion and respect. She was extremely well-bred in all she said herself, and seemed willing Page 428 to keep up the subject. I fancy no one has just in the same way treated it with her grace before; however, she took all in good part, though to have found me retired in discontent had perhaps been more congenial to her. But I have been sedulous to make them all know the contrary. Nevertheless, as I am eager to be considered apart from all party, I was much pleased, after all this, to have her express herself very desirous to keep up Our acquaintance, ask many questions as to the chance of my remaining in Bath, most politely hope to profit from it, and, finally, inquire my direction. Lady Elizabeth (Foster] has the character of being so alluring that Mrs. Holroyd told me it was the opinion Of Mr. Gibbon no man could withstand her, and that, if she chose to beckon the lord chancellor from his woolsack, in full sight of the world, he could not resist obedience!(350) BISHOP PERCY. Not long after our settling at Bath, I found, upon returning from the Pump-room, cards left for me of the Bishop of Dromore (Dr. Percy), Mrs. and the Miss Percys. I had met them formerly once at Miss Reynolds's, and once Visited them when Dr. Percy was Dean of Carlisle. The collector and editor of the beautiful reliques of ancient English poetry, I could not but be happy to again see. I returned the visit: they were out; but the bishop soon after came when I was at home. I had a pleasant little chat with him. The bishop is perfectly easy and unassuming, very communicative, and, though not very entertaining because too prolix, he is otherwise intelligent and of good commerce. Mrs. Percy is ill, and cannot make visits, though she sends her name and receives company at home. She is very uncultivated and ordinary in manners and conversation, but a good creature and much delighted to talk over the royal family, to one of whom she was formerly a nurse. THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE AGAIN. Three days before we left Bath, as I was coming with Mrs. Ord from the Pump-room, we encountered a chair from Page 429 which a lady repeatedly kissed her hand and bowed to me. I was too nearsighted to distinguish who she was, till, coming close, and a little stopped by more people, she put her face to the glass, and said "How d'ye do? How d'ye do?" and I recollected the Duchess of Devonshire. About an hour after I had again the honour of a visit from her, and with Lady dowager Spencer. I was luckily at home alone, Mrs Ord having dedicated the rest of the morning to her own visits. I received them, therefore, with great pleasure. I now saw the duchess far more easy and lively in her spirits, and, consequently, far more lovely in her person. Vivacity is so much her characteristic, that her style of beauty requires it indispensably; the beauty, indeed, dies away without it. I now saw how her fame for personal charms had been obtained; the expression of her smiles is so very sweet, and has an ingenuousness and openness so singular, that, taken in those moments, not the most rigid critic could deny the justice of her personal celebrity. She was quite gay, easy, and charming: indeed, that last epithet might have been coined for her. This has certainly been a singular acquaintance for me that the first visit I should make after leaving the queen should be to meet the head of the opposition public, the Duchess of Devonshire! DR. BURNEY'S CONVERSATION WITH MR. BURKE: REMARKS BY Miss BURNEY. "I [Dr. Burney] dined with Sir Joshua last week, and met Mr. Burke, his brother, Mr. Malone, the venerable Bishop of St. Pol de L`eonn, and a French abb`e or chevalier. I found Mr. Burke in the room on my arrival, and after the first very cordial civilities were over, he asked me, with great eagerness, whether I thought he might go in his present dress to pay his respects to Miss Burney, and was taking up his hat, till I told him you were out of town. He imagined, I Suppose, you were in St. Martin's-street, where he used to call upon you. In talking over your health, the recovery of your liberty and of society, he said, if Johnson had been alive, your history would Page 430 have furnished him with an additional and interesting article to his 'Vanity of Human Wishes.' He said he had never been more mistaken in his life. He thought the queen had never behaved more amiably, or shown more good sense, than in appropriating you to her service; but what a service had it turned out!--a confinement to such a companion as Mrs. Schwellenberg!--Here exclamations of severity and kindness in turn lasted a considerable time." If ever I see Mr. Burke where he speaks to me upon the subject, I will openly confide to him how impossible it was that the queen should conceive the subserviency expected, unjustly and unwarrantably, by Mrs. Schwellenberg: to whom I ought only to have belonged officially, and at official hours, unless the desire of further intercourse had been reciprocal. The queen had imagined that a younger and more lively colleague would have made her faithful old servant happier and that idea was merely amiable in her majesty, who could not Suspect the misery inflicted on that poor new colleague, LITERARY RECREATION. Chelsea College, October-.-I have never been so pleasantly situated at home since I lost the sister of my heart and my most affectionate Charlotte. My father is almost constantly Within. Indeed, I now live with him wholly ; he has himself appropriated me a place, a seat, a desk, a table, and every convenience and comfort, and he never seemed yet so earnest to keep me about him. We read together, write together,- chat, compare notes, communicate projects, and diversify each other's employments. He is all goodness, gaiety, and affection; and his society and kindness are more precious to Me than ever. Fortunately, in this season of leisure and comfort, the spirit of composition proves active. The day is never long enough, and I Could employ two pens almost incessantly, in my scribbling what will not be repressed. This is a delight to my dear father inexpressibly great and though I have gone no further than to let him know, from time to time, the species of matter that occupies me, he is perfectly contented, and patiently waits till something is quite finished, before he insists upon reading a word. This "suits my humour well," as my own industry is all gone when once its intent is produced. For the rest I have been going on with my third tragedy. Page 431 I have two written, but never yet have had opportunity to read them; which, of course, prevents their being corrected to the best of my power, and fitted for the perusal of less indulgent eyes; or rather of eyes less prejudiced. Believe me, my dear friends, in the present composed and happy state of my mind, I Could never have suggested these tales; but, having only to correct, combine, contract, and finish, I will not leave them undone. Not, however, to sadden myself to the same point in which I began them, I read more than I write, and call for happier themes from others, to enliven my mind from the dolorous sketches I now draw of my Own. The library or study, in which we constantly sit, supplies such delightful variety of food, that I have nothing to wish. Thus, my beloved sisters and friends, you see me, at length, enjoying all that peace, ease, and chosen recreation and employment, for which so long I sighed in vain, and which, till very lately, I had reason to believe, even since attained, had been allowed me too late. I am more and more thankful every night, every morning, for the change in my destiny, and present blessings of my lot ; and you, my beloved Susan and Fredy, for whose prayers I have so often applied in my sadness, suffering, and despondence, afford me now the same community of thanks and acknowledgments. SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDs's BLINDNESS. November.-Another evening my father took me to Sir Joshua Reynolds. I had long languished to see that kindly zealous friend, but his ill health had intimidated me rom making the attempt; and now my dear father went up stairs alone, and inquired of Miss Palmer if her uncle was well enough to admit me. He returned for me immediately. I felt the utmost pleasure in again mounting his staircase. Miss Palmer hastened forward and embraced me most cordially. I then shook hands with Sir Joshua. He had a bandage over one eye, and the other shaded with a green halfbonnet. He seemed serious even to sadness, though extremely kind. "I am very glad," he said, in a meek voice and dejected accent, "to see you again, and I wish I could see you better! but I have only one eye now,--and hardly that." I was really quite touched. The expectation of total blind- Page 432 ness depresses him inexpressibly; not, however, inconceivably I hardly knew how to express either my concern for his altered situation since our meeting, or my joy in again being with him: but my difficulty was short; Miss Palmer eagerly drew me to herself, and recommended to Sir Joshua to go on with his cards. He had no spirit to oppose; probably, indeed, no inclination. One other time we called again, in a morning. Sir Joshua and his niece were alone, and that invaluable man was even more dejected than before. How grievous to me It is to see him thus changed!(352) AMONG OLD FRIENDS. December.-I most gladly accepted an invitation to my good Mrs. Ord, to meet a circle of old friends. The day proved extremely pleasant. We went to dinner, my father and I, and met Mrs. Montagu, in good spirits, and very unaffectedly agreeable. No one was there to awaken ostentation, no new acquaintance to require any surprise from her powers; she was therefore natural and easy, as well as informing and entertaining. Mrs. Garrick embraced me again and again, to express a satisfaction in meeting me once more in this social way, that she would have thought it indecorous to express by words. I thanked her exactly in the same language ; and, without a syllable being uttered, she said, "I rejoice you are no longer a courtier!" and I answered, "I love you dearly for preferring me in my old state!" In the evening we were joined by Lady Rothes,(353) with whom I had my peace to make for a long-neglected letter upon my Page 433 "restoration to society," as she termed it, and who was very lively and pleasant. . . . Mr. Pepys, who came just at that instant from Twickenham, which he advanced eagerly to tell me, talked of Mr. Cambridge, and his admirable wit and spirits, and Miss Cambridge, and her fervent friendship for me, and the charm and agreeability of the whole house, with an ardour so rapid, there scarce needed any reply. Mr. Batt gave me a most kindly congratulatory bow upon his entrance. I knew his opinion of my retreat, and understood it: but I was encircled till the concluding part of the evening by the Pepys and Lady Rothes, etc.; and then Mr. Batt seated himself by my elbow, and began. "How I rejoice," he cried, "to see you at length out of thraldom!" "Thraldom?" quoth I, "that's rather a strong word! I assure you 'tis the first time I have heard it pronounced full and plumply." "O, but," cried he, laughing, "I may be allowed to say so, because you know my principles. You know me to be loyal; you could not stand it from an opposition-man--but saints may do much!" He is a professed personal friend of Mr. Pitt. I then began some exculpation of my late fatigues, assuring him they were the effect of a situation not understood, and not of any hardness of heart. "Very probably," cried he; "but I am glad you have ended them: I applaud--I honour the step you have taken. Those who suffer, yet still continue in fetters, I never pity;--there is a want of integrity, as well as spirit, in such submission." "Those they serve," cried I, "are not the persons to blame; they are commonly uninformed there is anything to endure, and believe all is repaid by the smiles so universally solicited." "I know it," cried he; "and it is that general base subservience that makes me struck with your opposite conduct." "My conduct," quoth I, "was very simple; though I believe it did not the less surprise; but it all consisted in not pretending, when I found myself sinking, to be swimming." He said many other equally good-natured things, and finished them with "But what a pleasure it is to me to see you here in this manner, dressed no more than other people! I have not seen you these five years past but looking dressed out for the Drawing-room, or something as bad!" Page 434 A SUMMONS FROM THE QUEEN. January.-I had a very civil note from Mrs. Schwellenberg telling me that Miss Goldsworthy was ill, which made Miss Gomme necessary to the princesses, and therefore, as Mlle. Jacobi was still lame, her majesty wished for my attendance On Wednesday noon. I received this little summons with very sincere pleasure, and sent a warm acknowledgment for its honour. I was engaged for the evening to Mr. Walpole, now Lord Orford, by my father, who promised to call for me at the Queen's house. At noon I went thither, and saw, by the carriages, their majesties were just arrived from Windsor. In my way upstairs I encountered the Princess Sophia. I really felt a pleasure at her sight, so great that I believe I saluted her ; I hardly know ; but she came forward, with her hands held out, so good humoured and so sweetly, I was not much on my guard. How do I wish I had gone that moment to my royal mistress, while my mind was fully and honestly occupied with the most warm satisfaction in being called again into her presence! The Princess Sophia desired me to send her Miss Gomme, whom she said I should find in my own room. Thither I went, and we embraced very cordially; but she a little made me stare by saying, "Do you sleep in your old bed?" "No," I answered, "I go home after dinner," and she said no more, but told me she must have two hours conference alone with me, from the multiplicity of things she had to discuss with me. We parted then, and I proceeded to Mrs. Schwellenberg. There I was most courteously received, and told I was to go at night to the play. I replied I was extremely sorry, but I was engaged. She looked deeply displeased, and I was forced to offer to send an excuse. Nothing, however, was settled; she went to the queen, whither I was most eager to follow, but I depended upon her arrangement, and could not go uncalled. I returned to my own room, as they still call it, and Miss Gomme and Miss Planta both came to me. We had a long discourse upon matters and things. By and by Miss Gomme was called out to Princesses Mary and Amelia; she told them who was in the old apartment, and they instantly entered it. Princess Mary took my hand, and said repeatedly, "My dear Miss Burney, how glad I am to see you again!" and the lovely little Princess Amelia kissed me twice, with the sweetest air of Page 435 affection. This was a very charming meeting to me, and I expressed my real delight in being thus allowed to come amongst them again, in the strongest and truest terms. I had been but a short time alone, when Westerhaults came to ask me if I had ordered my father's carriage to bring me from the play. I told him I was engaged but would give up that engagement, and endeavour to secure being fetched home after the play. Mrs. Schwellenberg then desired to see me. "What you mean by going home?" cried she, somewhat deridingly: "know you not you might sleep here?" I was really thunderstruck; so weak still, and so unequal as I feel to undertake night and morning attendance, which I now saw expected. I was obliged, however, to comply; and I wrote a note to Sarah, and another note to be given to my father, when he called to take me to Lord Orford. But I desired we might go in chairs, and not trouble him for the carriage. This arrangement, and my dread of an old attendance I was so little fitted for renewing, had so much disturbed me before I was summoned to the queen, that I appeared before her without any of the glee and spirits with which I had originally obeyed her commands. I am still grieved at this circumstance, as it must have made me seem cold and insensible to herself, when I was merely chagrined at the peremptory mismanagement of her agent. Mr. de Luc was with her. She was gracious, but by no means lively or cordial. She was offended, probably,--and there was no reason to wonder, and yet no means to clear away the cause. This gave me much vexation, and the more I felt it the less I must have appeared to merit her condescension. Nevertheless, after she was dressed she honoured me with a summons to the White closet, where I presently felt as much at home as if I had never quitted the royal residence. She inquired into my proceedings, and I began a little history of my south-west tour,- which she listened to till word was brought the king was come from the levee: dinner was then ordered, and I was dismissed. At our dinner, the party, in the old style, was -Mr. de Luc, Miss Planta, Mrs. Stainforth, and Miss Gomme; Mrs. Schwellenberg was not well enough to leave her own apartment, except to attend the queen. We were gay enough, I own my spirits were not very low in finding myself a guest at that table, where Page 436 I was so totally unfit to be at home, and whence, nevertheless,; I should have been very much and deeply concerned to have found myself excluded, since the displeasure of the queen could alone have procured such a banishment. Besides, to visit, I like the whole establishment, however inadequate I found them for supplying the place of all I quitted to live among them. O, who could succeed there? During the dessert the Princess Elizabeth came into the T room. I was very glad, by this means, to see all this lovely female tribe. As soon as she was gone I made off to prepare for the play, with fan, cloak-, and gloves. At the door of my new old room who should I encounter but Mr. Stanhope? He was all rapture, in his old way, at the meeting, and concluded me, I believe, reinstated. I got off as fast as Possible, and had just shut myself in, and him out, when I heard the voice of the king, who passed my door to go to the dining-room. I was quite chagrined to have left it so unseasonably, as my whole heart yearned to see him. He stayed but a minute, and I heard him stop close to my door, and speak with Mr. de Luc. The loudness of his voice assuring me he was saying nothing he meant to be unheard, I could not resist softly opening my door. I fancy he expected this, for he came up to me immediately, and with a look of goodness almost amounting to pleasure--I believe I may say quite--he inquired after my health, and its restoration, and said he was very glad to see me again. Then turning gaily to Mr. de Luc, "And you, Mr. de Luc," he cried, "are not you, too, very glad to see Miss Beurni again?" I told him, very truly, the pleasure with which I had reentered his roof.--He made me stand near a lamp, to examine me, and pronounced upon my amended looks with great benevolence: and, when he was walking away, said aloud to Mr. de Luc, who attended him, "I dare say she was very willing to come!" Our party in the box for the queen's attendants consisted of Lady Catherine Stanhope, Miss Planta, Major Price, Greville Upton, and Mr. Frank Upton. The king and queen and six princesses sat opposite. It was to me a lovely and most charming sight. The Prince of Wales, and the Duke of York and his bride, with the Duke of Clarence, sat immediately under us. I saw the duchess now and then, and saw that she has a very sensible and marked countenance, but no beauty. Page 437 She was extremely well received by the people, and smiled at in the most pleasing manner by her opposite new relations. At night I once more attended the queen, and it seemed as strange to me as if I had never done it before. The next day, Thursday, the queen gave up the Drawing-room, on account of a hurt on her foot. I had the honour of another very long conference in the White closet, in which I finished the account of my late travels, and during which, though she was very gracious, she was far less communicative than heretofore, saying little herself, and making me talk almost all. When I attended the queen again to-night, the strangeness was so entirely worn away, that it seemed to me as if I had never left my office! And so again on Friday morning At noon the royal family set off for Windsor. The queen graciously sent for me before she went, to bid me good- bye, and condescended to thank me for my little services. I would have offered repetition with all my heart, but I felt my frame unequal to such business. Indeed I was half dead with only two days' and nights' exertion. 'Tis amazing how I ever went through all that is passed. MR. HASTINGS'S DEFENCE. Feb. 13.-I found a note from Mrs. Schwellenberg, with an offer of a ticket for Mr. Hastings's trial, the next day, if I wished to go to it. I did wish it exceedingly, no public subject having ever so deeply interested me; but I could not recollect any party I could join, and therefore I proposed to Captain Phillips to call on his Court friend, and lay before her my difficulty. He readily declared he would do more, for he would frankly ask her for a ticket for himself, and stay another day, merely to accompany me. You know well the kind pleasure and zeal with which he is always ready to discover and propose expedients in distress. His visit prospered, and we went to Westminster Hall together. All the managers attended at the opening, but the attendance of all others was cruelly slack. To hear the attack, the people came in crowds; to hear the defence, they scarcely came in t`ete- `a-t`etes! 'Tis barbarous there should be so much more pleasure given by the recital of guilt than by the vindication of innocence! Mr. Law(354) spoke the whole time; he made a general harangue Page 438 in answer to the opening general harangue of Mr. Burke, and he spoke many things that brought forward conviction in favour of Mr. Hastings; but he was terrified exceedingly, and this timidity Induced him to so frequently beg quarter from his antagonists, both for any blunders and any deficiencies, that I felt angry with even modest egotism, when I considered that it was rather his place to come forward with the shield and armour of truth, undaunted, and to have defied, rather than deprecated, the force of talents when without such support. None of the managers quitted their box, and I am uncertain whether or not any of them saw me. Mr. Windham, in particular, I feel satisfied either saw me not, or was so circumstanced, as manager, that he could not come to speak with me; for else, this my first appearance from the parental roof under which he has so largely contributed to replace me would have been the last time for his dropping my acquaintance. Mr. Sheridan I have no longer any ambition to be noticed by; and Mr. Burke, at this place, I am afraid I have already displeased, so unavoidably cold and frigid did I feel myself when he came here to me formerly. Anywhere else, I should bound forward to meet him, with respect, and affection, and gratitude. In the evening I went to the queen's house. I found Mrs, Schwellenberg, who instantly admitted me, at cards with Mr. de Luc. Her reception was perfectly kind; and when I would have given up the tickets, she told me they were the queen's, who desired, if I wished it, I would keep them for the season. This was a pleasant hearing upon every account, and I came away in high satisfaction. A few days after, I went again to the trial, and took another captain for my esquire--my good and ever-affectionate James. The Hall was still more empty, both of Lords and Commons, and of ladies too, than the first day of this session. I am quite shocked at the little desire there appears to hear Mr. Hastings's defence. DIVERSE VIEWS. When the managers entered, James presently said, "Here's Mr. Windham coming to speak to you." And he broke from the procession, as it was descending to its cell, to give me that pleasure. His inquiries about my health were not, as he said, merely common inquiries, but, without any other answer to them than a bow, I interrupted their course by quickly saying, "You Page 439 have been excursioning and travelling all the world o'er since I saw you last." He paid me in my own coin with only a bow, hastily going back to myself: "But your tour," he cried, "to the west, after all that-" I saw what was following, and, again abruptly stopping him, "But here you are returned," I cried, "to all your old labours and toils again." "No, no," cried he, half laughing, "not labours and toils always; they are growing into pleasures now." "That's being very good, very liberal, indeed," quoth I, supposing him to mean hearing the defence made the pleasure but he stared at me with so little concurrence, that, soon understanding he only meant bringing their charges home to the confusion of the culprit, I stared again a little while, and then said, "You sometimes accuse me of being ambiguous; I think you seem so yourself, now!" "To nobody but you," cried he, with a rather reproachful accent. "O, now," cried I, "you are not ambiguous, and I am all the less pleased." "People," cried James, bonnement, "don't like to be convinced." "Mr. Hastings," said Mr. Windham, "does not convince, he does not bring conviction home." "Not to you," quoth I, returning his accent pretty fully, "Why, true," answered he very candidly; "there may be something in that." "How is it all to be?" cried James. "Is the defence to go on long, and are they to have any evidence; or how?" "We don't know this part of the business," said Mr. Windham, smiling a little at such an upright downright question "it is Mr. Hastings's affair now to settle it: however, I understand he means to answer charge after charge as they were brought against him, first by speeches, then by evidence: however, this is all conjecture." MR. LAW'S SPEECH DISCUSSED. We then spoke of Mr. Law, Mr. Hastings's first counsel, and I expressed some dissatisfaction that such attackers should not have had abler and more equal opponents. Page 440 "But do you not think Mr. Law spoke well?" cried he, "clear, forcible? " "Not forcible," cried I. I would not say not clear. "He was frightened," said Mr. Windham, "he might not do himself justice. I have heard him elsewhere, and been very well satisfied with him; but he looked pale and alarmed, and his voice trembled." "I was very well content with his materials," quoth I, "which I thought much better than the use he made of them; and once or twice, he made an opening that, with a very little skill, might most adroitly and admirably have raised a laugh against you all." He looked a little askew, I must own, but he could not help smiling. . . I gave him an instance in point, which -was the reverse given by Mr. Law to the picture drawn by Mr. Burke of Tamerlane, in which he said those virtues and noble qualities bestowed upon him by the honourable manager were nowhere to be found but on the British stage. Now this, seriously, with a very little ingenuity, might have placed Mr. Burke at the head of a company of comedians. This last notion I did not speak, however; but enough was understood, and Mr. Windham looked straight away from me, without answering; nevertheless, his profile, which he left me, showed much more disposition to laugh than to be incensed. Therefore I proceeded ; pointing out another lost opportunity that, well saved, might have proved happily ridiculous against them; and this was Mr. Law's description of the real state of India, even from its first discovery by Alexander, opposed to Mr. Burke's flourishing representation, of its golden age, its lambs and tigers associating, etc. Still he looked askew ; but I believe he is truth itself, for he offered no defence, though, of course, he would not enter into the attack. And surely at this critical period I must not spare pointing out all he will submit to hear, on the side of a man of whose innocence I am so fully persuaded. "I must own, however," continued I, finding him still attentive, though silent, "Mr. Law provoked me in one point--his apologies for his own demerits. Why should he contribute his humble mite to your triumphs? and how little was it his place to extol your superior talents, as if you were not self-sufficient enough already, without his aid." 'Unless you had heard the speech of Mr. Law, you can hardly Page 441 imagine with what timid flattery he mixed every exertion he ventured to make in behalf of his client ; and I could not forbear this little observation, because I had taken notice with what haughty derision the managers had perceived the fears of their importance, which were felt even by the very counsel of their prisoner. Mr. Windham, too, who himself never looks either insolent or deriding, must be sure what I meant for his associates could not include himself. He did not, however, perfectly welcome the remark; he still only gave me his profile, and said not a word,-so I went on. Mr. Hastings little thinks what a pleader I am become in his cause, against one of his most powerful adversaries. "There was still another thing," quoth I, "in which I felt vexed with Mr. Law: how could he be so weak as to beg quarter from you, and to humbly hope that, if any mistake, any blunder, any improvident word escaped him, you would have the indulgence to spare your ridicule? O yes, to be sure! when I took notice at the moment of his supplication, and before any error committed, that every muscle of every face, amongst you was at work from the bare suggestion." He could not even pretend to look grave now, but, turning frankly towards me, said, "Why, Mr. Fox most justly observed upon that petition, that, if any man makes a blunder, a mistake, 'tis very well to apologize: but it was singular to hear a man gravely preparing for his blunders and mistakes, and wanting to make terms for them beforehand." "I like him for this," cried James again bonnement, "that he seems so much interested for his client." "Will you give me leave to inquire," quoth I, "one thing? You know my old knack of asking strange questions." He only bowed--archly enough, I assure you. " Did I fancy, or was it fact, that you were a flapper to Mr. Burke, when Mr. Law charged him with disingenuity, in not having recanted the accusation concerning Devy Sing? He appeared to me in much perturbation, and I thought by his see-saw he was going to interrupt the speech: did you prevent him?" "No, no," he answered, "I did not: I did not think him in any danger." He rubbed his cheek, though, as he spoke, as if he did not much like that circumstance. O that Mr. Burke--so great, so noble a creature--can in this point thus have been warped. Page 442 MR. WINDHAM ON THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. I ran off to another scene, and inquired how he had been amused abroad, and, in particular, at the National Assembly? "Indeed," he answered, "it was extremely curious for a short time; but there is little variety in it, and therefore it will not do long." I was in a humour to be just as sincere here, as about the trial; so you democrats must expect no better. "I understand," quoth I, "there is a great dearth of abilities in this new Assembly; how then should there be any variety?" "No, I cannot say that: they do not want abilities; but they have no opportunity to make their way." "O!" quoth I, shaking my wise head, "abilities, real abilities, make their own way." "Why, that's true; but, in that Assembly, the noise, the tumult-- " "Abilities," again quoth I, " "have power to quell noise and tumult." "Certainly, in general; but not in France. These new legislative members are so solicitous to speak, so anxious to be heard, that they prefer uttering any tautology to listening to others; and when once they have begun, they go on with what speed they may, and without selection, rather than stop. They see so many ready to seize their first pause, they know they have so little chance of a second hearing, that I never entered the Assembly without being reminded of the famous old story of the man who patiently bore hearing a tedious harangue, by saying the whole time to himself, 'Well, well, 'tis his turn now; but let him beware how he sneezes."' "A BARBAROUS BUSINESS!" James now again asked some question of their intentions with regard to the progress of the trial. He answered, "We have nothing to do with its present state. We leave Mr. Hastings now to himself, and his own set. Let him keep to his cause, and he may say what he will. We do not mean to interfere, nor avail ourselves of our privileges." Mr. Hastings was just entered; I looked down at him, and saw his half-motion to kneel; I could not bear it, and, turning suddenly to my neighbour, "O, Mr. Windham," I cried, "after Page 443 all, 'tis, indeed, a barbarous business!" This was rather further than I meant to go, for I said it with serious earnestness; but it was surprised from me by the emotion always excited at sight of that unmerited humiliation. He looked full at me upon this solemn attack, and with a look of chagrin amounting to displeasure, saying, "It is a barbarous business we have had to go through." I did not attempt to answer this, for, except through the medium of sport and raillery, I have certainly no claim upon his patience. But, in another moment, in a tone very flattering, he said, "I do not understand, nor can any way imagine, how you can have been thus perverted!" "No, no!" quoth I, "it is you who are perverted!" Here Mr. Law began his second oration, and Mr. Windham ran down to his cell. I fancy this was not exactly the conversation he expected upon my first enlargement. However, though it would very seriously grieve me to hurt or offend him, I cannot refuse my own veracity, nor Mr. Hastings's injuries, the utterance of what I think truth. Mr. Law was far more animated and less frightened, and acquitted himself so as to merit almost as much `eloge as, in my opinion, he had merited censure at the opening. It was all in answer to Mr. Burke's general exordium and attack. DEATH OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Upon the day of Sir Joshua Reynolds's death(355) I was in my bed, with two blisters, and I did not hear of it till two days after. I shall enter nothing upon this Subject here; our current letters mentioned the particulars, and I am not desirous to retrace them. His loss is as universally felt as his merit is universally acknowledged, and, joined to all public motives, I had myself private ones of regret that cannot subside. He was always peculiarly kind to me, and he had worked at my deliverance from a life he conceived too laborious for me as if I had been his own daughter; yet, from the time of my coming forth, I only twice saw him. I had not recovered strength for visiting before he was past receiving me. I grieve inexpressibly never to have been able to make him the small tribute of thanks for his most kind exertions in my cause. I little thought the second time I saw him would be my last opportunity, and my intention was to wait some favourable opening. Page 444 Miss Palmer is left heiress,(356) and her unabating attendance upon her inestimable uncle in his sickroom makes everybody content with her great acquisition. I am sure she loved and admired him with all the warmth of her warm heart. I wrote her a few lines of condolence, and she has sent me a very kind answer. She went immediately to the Burkes, with whom she will chiefly, I fancy, associate. March.-Sad for the loss of Sir Joshua, and all of us ill ourselves, we began this month. Upon its 3rd day was his funeral.(357) My dear father could not attend; but Charles was invited and went. All the Royal Academy, professors and students, and all the Literary club, attended as family, mourners. Mr. Burke, Mr. Malone, and Mr. Metcalf, are executors. Miss Palmer has spared nothing, either in thought or expense, that could render the last honours splendid and grateful. It was a very melancholy day to us; though it had the alleviation and softening of a letter from our dear Charlotte, promising to arrive the next day. MR. WINDHAM TWITTED ON His LACK OF COMPASSION. April 23.--I thought myself equal to again going to the trial, which recommenced, after six or seven weeks' cessation, on account of the judges going the circuit. Sarah went with me: I am now so known in the chamberlain's box that the door-keepers and attendants make way for me without looking at my ticket. And to be sure, the managers on one side, and Mr. Hastings's friends and counsel on the other, must pretty well have my face by heart. I have the faces of all them, most certainly, in full mental possession; and the figures of many whose names I know not are so familiar to my eyes, that should I chance hereafter to meet them, I shall be apt to take them for old acquaintances. There was again a full appearance of managers to accompany Page 445 Mr. Burke in his entry; and again Mr. Windham quitted the procession, as it descended to the box, and filed off to speak with me. He made the most earnest inquiries after the health of my dearest father, as well as after my own. He has all the semblance of real regard and friendship for us, and I am given to believe he wears no semblance that has not a real and sympathetic substance couched beneath. His manner instantly revived in my mind my intent not to risk, with him, the loss of making those poor acknowledgments for his kindness, that I so much regret omitting to Sir Joshua Reynolds. In return to his inquiries about my renovating health, I answered that I had again been very ill since I saw him last, and added, "Indeed, I believe I did not come away too soon." " And now," cried I, "I cannot resist giving myself the pleasure of making my acknowledgments for what I owe to you upon this subject. I have been, indeed, very much obliged, by various things that have come round to me, both to you and Sir Joshua.--O what a loss is that!" "What a wretched loss!" cried he: and we then united our warmest suffrages in his favour, with our deepest regret for our deprivation. Here I observed poor Mr. Hastings was brought in. I saw he was fixing him. "And can you," I cried, fixing him, "can you have so much compassion for one captive, and still have none for another?" "Have you, then, still," cried he, "the same sentiments?" "Have you," cried I, "heard all thus far of the defence, and are you still unmoved?" "Unmoved?" cried he, emphatically; "shall I be moved by a lion? You see him there in a cage, and pity him; look back to when you might have seen him with a lamb in his claws!" I could only look dismayed for a moment. "But, at least," I said, "I hope what I hear is not true, though I now grow afraid to ask?" "If it is anything about me," he answered, "it is certainly not true." "I am extremely glad, indeed," cried I, "for it has been buzzed about in the world that you were to draw up the final charge. This I thought most cruel of all; You, who have held back all this time--" "Yes! pretty completely," interrupted he, laughing. Page 446 "No, not completely," I continued; "but Yet YOU have made no direct formal speech, nor have come forward in any positive and formidable manner; therefore, as we have now heard all the others, and--almost enough--" I was obliged to stop a moment, to see how this adventurous plainness was taken; and he really, though my manner showed me only rallying, looked I don't know how, at such unexampled disrespect towards his brother orators. But I soon went quietly on: "To come forth now, after all that has passed, with the eclat of novelty, and,-for the most cruel part of all,--that which cannot be answered." "You think," cried he, "'tis bringing a fresh courser into the field of battle, just as every other is completely jaded?" "I think," cried I, "that I am very generous to wish against what I should so much wish for, but for other considerations." "O, what a flattering way," cried he, "of stating it! however, I can bear to allow you a little waste of compliments, which you know so well how to make; but I cannot bear to have you waste your compassion." A POINT OF CEREMONIAL. May.-The 1st of this month I went again to Westminster Hall, with our cousin Elizabeth. Evidence was brought forward by the counsel for Mr. Hastings, and Lord Stormont was called upon as a witness. This produced some curious debating among the Lords, and with the chancellor. They spoke only for the ears of one another, as it was merely to settle some ceremonial, whether he was to be summoned to the common place where the witnesses stood, or had the claim of a peer to speak in his place, robed. This latter prevailed: and then we expected his speech; but no, a new debate ensued, which, as we gathered from the rumour about us, was that his lordship should have the prayer book, for his oath, belonging to the House of Peers. Here, also, his dignity was triumphant, though it cost the whole assembly a full quarter of an hour; while another prayer book was officially at hand, in the general post for plebeian witnesses. Well! aristocrat as I am, compared with you, I laughed heartily at all this mummery, and yet it was possibly wise, at this period of pulling down all law and order, all privilege and subordination, however frivolous was its appearance. Page 447 His testimony was highly favourable to Mr. Hastings, with regard to authenticating the intelligence he had received of an opening war with France, upon which hung much justification of the measures Mr. Hastings had pursued for raising supplies. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG AND MLLE. JACOBI. Thence I went to the Queen's house, where -I have a most cordial general invitation from Mrs. Schwellenberg to go by all opportunities; and there is none so good as after the trial, that late hour exactly according With her dinner-time. She is just as she Was with respect to health; but in all other respects, how amended! all civility, all obligingness, all courtesy! and so desirous to have me visit her, that she presses me to come incessantly. During coffee, the princess royal came into the room. She condescended to profess herself quite glad to see me; and she had not left the room five minutes before, again returning, she said, "Mrs. Schwellenberg, I am come to plague you, for I am come to take away Miss Burney." I give you leave to guess whether this plagued me. May 2.-The following week I again went to Westminster Hall. Mlle. Jacobi had made a point of accompanying me, that she might see the show, as James called it to General Burgoyne, and I had great pleasure in taking her, for she is a most ingenuous and good creature, though--alas!--by no means the same undaunted, gay, open character as she appeared at first. Sickness, confinement, absence from her friends, submission to her coadjutrix, and laborious watching have much altered her. The trial of this day was all written evidence in favour of Mr. Hastings, and violent quarrelling as to its admissibility on the part of Mr. Burke. Mr. Windham took his place, during some part of the controversy, and spoke ably and clearly as to the given point in dispute, but with the most palpable tremor and internal struggle. A LONG TALK WITH THE KING AND QUEEN. I attended Mlle. Jacobi to the Queen's house, where I dined ; and great indeed was my pleasure, during coffee, to see the Princess Elizabeth, who, In the most Pleasing manner Page 448 and the highest spirits, came to summon me to the queen. I found her majesty again with all her sweet daughters but the youngest. She was gracious and disposed to converse. We had a great deal of talk upon public concerns, and she told me a friend Of mine had spoken very well the day before, and so had Mr. Burke. She meant Mr. Windham. It was against the new associates, and in favour of the proclamation.(358) Mr. Burke, of course, would here come forth in defence of his own predictions and opinions; but Mr. Windham, who had rather abided hitherto with Charles Fox, in thinking Mr. Burke too extreme, well as he loves him personally, was a new convert highly acceptable. He does not, however, go all lengths with Mr. Burke; he is only averse to an unconstitutional mode of reform, and to sanctioning club powers, so as to enable them, as in France, to overawe the state and senate.(359) Soon after, to my infinite joy, the king entered. O, he spoke to me so kindly!--he congratulated me on the better looks which his own presence and goodness gave me, repeatedly declaring he had never seen me in such health. He asked me after my father, and listened with interest when I mentioned his depression, and told him that all he had done of late to soothe his retirement and pain had been making canons to solemn words, and with such difficulties of composition as, in better health and spirits, would have rather proved oppressive and perplexing than a relief to his feelings. "I, too," said the king, after a very serious pause, "have myself sometimes found, when ill or disturbed, that some grave and even difficult employment for my thoughts has tended more to compose me than any of the supposed usual relaxations." He also condescended to ask after little Norbury, taking off the eager little fellow while he spoke, and his earnest manner of delivery. He then Inquired about my friends Mr. and Mrs. Locke, and their expectations of the return of Page 449 William. He inquired how I live, whom I saw, what sort of neighbours I had in the college, and many other particulars, that seemed to desire to know how I went on, and whether I was comfortable. His looks, I am sure, said so, and most sweetly and kindly. They kept me till they went to the Japan room, where they meet the officers and ladies who attend them in public. They were going to the Ancient Music. This dear king, nobly unsuspicious where left to himself, and where he has met no doubleness, spoke also very freely of some political matters before me--of the new association in particular. It gratified me highly. MADAME DE GENLIS: A WOEFUL CHANGE. I got home to dinner to meet Mrs. and Miss Mary Young,(360) who are in town for a few weeks. Miss Mary is sensible, and quick, and agreeable. They give a very unpleasant account of Madame de Genlis, or de Sillery, or Brulard, as she is now called.(361) They say she has established herself at Bury, in their neighbourhood, with Mlle. la Princesse d'Orleans and Pamela, and a Circe, and another Page 450 young girl under her care. They have taken a house, the master of which always dines with them, though Mrs. Young says he is such a low man he should not dine with her daughter. They form twenty with themselves and household. They keep a botanist, a chemist, and a natural historian always with them. These are supposed to have been common servants of the Duke of Orleans in former days, as they always walk behind the ladies when abroad; but, to make amends in the new equalising style, they all dine together at home. They visit at no house but Sir Thomas Gage's, where they carry their harps, and frequently have music. They have been to Bury ball, and danced all night Mlle. d'Orl`eans with anybody, known or unknown to Madame Brulard. What a woeful change from that elegant, amiable, high-bred Madame de Genlis I knew six years ago! the apparent pattern of female perfection in manners, conversation, and delicacy. There are innumerable democrats assembled in Suffolk; among them the famous Tom Paine, who herds with all the farmers that will receive him, and there propagates his pernicious doctrines. THE WEEPING BEAUTY AGAIN. May 25.-This morning I went to a very fine public breakfast, given by Mrs. Montagu. . . . The crowd of company was such that we could only slowly make way, in any part. There could not be fewer than four or five hundred people. It was like a full Ranelagh by daylight. We now met Mrs. Porteus, and who should be with her but the poor pretty S.S., whom so long I had not seen, and who has now lately been finally given up by her long-sought and very injurious lover, Dr. Vyse? She is sadly faded, and looked disturbed and unhappy; but still beautiful, though no longer blooming; and still affectionate, though absent and evidently absorbed. We had a little chat together about the Thrales. In mentioning our former intimacy with them, "Ah, those," she cried, "were happy times!" and her eyes glistened. poor thing! hers has been a lamentable story!---Imprudence and vanity have rarely been mixed with so much sweetness, and good-humour, and candour, and followed with more reproach and ill success. We agreed to renew acquaintance next winter; at present she will be little more in town. Page 451 MADAME DE LA FITE AND MRS. HASTINGS. We went then round the rooms, which were well worth examination and admiration ; and we met friends and acquaintance every other step. . . . While we were examining the noble pillars in the new room, I heard an exclamation of "Est-ce possible? suis-je si heureuse?--Est-ce ma ch`ere Mlle. Beurni que je vois?"(362) Need I say this was Madame de la, Fite ? or Mrs. Fitt, as, since the French Revolution, of which she is a favourer, she is called by some of the household to which I belonged. I spoke so as to moderate this rapture into something less calling for attention, which her voice and manner were engaging, not unwillingly. I had not seen her since my retreat, and, if she had been less pompous, I should have been glad of the meeting. She kept my hand close grasped between both her own, (though her fan nipped one of my fingers till I was ready to make faces,) with a most resolute empressement, to the great inconvenience of those who wanted to pass, for we were at one of the entrances into the great new room; and how long she might have continued this fond detention I know not, if a lady, whose appearance vied for show and parade with Madame de la Fite's manner and words, had not called out aloud, "I am extremely happy indeed to see Miss Burney!" This was Mrs. Hastings; and to answer her I was let loose. I have always been very sorry that Mrs. Hastings, who is a pleasing, lively, and well-bred woman, with attractive manners and attentions to those she wishes to oblige, should have an indiscretion so peculiarly unsuited to her situation, as to aim always at being the most conspicuous figure wherever she appears. Her dress now was like that of an Indian princess, according to our ideas of such ladies, and so much the most splendid, from its ornaments, and style, and fashion, though chiefly of muslin, that everybody else looked under-dressed in her presence. It is for Mr. Hastings I am sorry when I see this inconsiderate vanity, in a woman who would so much better manifest her sensibility of his present hard disgrace, by a modest and quiet appearance and demeanour. Page 452 THE IMPETUOUS ORATOR. Wednesday, May 30.-To-day I went to Westminster Hall again, to hear the evidence of Mr. Markham, which is so pleasantly in favour of Mr. Hastings, that all the friends of that persecuted man are gratified by all he deposes. Miss Ord accompanied me. When the impetuous and ungovernable Mr. Burke was Interrupting the chancellor, in order to browbeat Mr. Hastings's evidence, Mr. Windham involuntarily exclaimed, "Hist!" just as if he had been at his elbow, and playing the kind part of a flapper. I could not help laughing, and half joining him: he echoed back my laugh, and with a good humour that took in all its meaning and acknowledged its sympathy with regard to Mr. Burke, nevertheless, he spoke not a word. Afterwards, however, he spoke when I had far rather he had been silent, for he went to the assistance of Mr. Burke. Michael Angelo Taylor spoke also; but I observed with pleasure a distinction the chancellor made to Mr. Windham; for, when he answered their arguments, he singled him out as the person who had said what alone he meant upon that question to notice, by saying, "The honourable manager who spoke second." But I am sure--I think so, at least--Mr. Windham as little approves the violence of Mr. Burke in this trial as I do myself. I see him evidently and frequently suffer great pain and mortification when he is so obstreperous. BOSWELL'S MIMICRY OF DR. JOHNSON. June 1.-This day had been long engaged for breakfasting with Mrs. Dickenson and dining with Mrs. Ord. The breakfast guests were Mr. Langton, Mr. Foote, Mr. Dickenson, jun., a cousin, and a very agreeable and pleasing man; Lady Herries, Miss Dickenson, another cousin, and Mr. Boswell. This last was the object of the morning. I felt a strong sensation of that displeasure which his loquacious communications of every weakness and infirmity of the first and greatest good man of these times has awakened in me, at his first sight; and, though his address to me was courteous in the extreme, and he made a point of sitting next me, I felt an indignant disposition to a nearly forbidding reserve and silence. How Page 453 many starts of passion and prejudice has he blackened into record, that else might have sunk, for ever forgotten, under the preponderance of weightier virtues and excellences! Angry, however, as I have long been with him, he soon insensibly conquered, though he did not soften me: there is so little of ill-design or ill-nature in him, he is so open and forgiving for all that is said in return, that he soon forced me to consider him in a less serious light, and change my resentment against his treachery into something like commiseration of his levity ; and before we parted we became good friends. There is no resisting great good humour, be what will in the opposite scale. He entertained us all as if hired for that purpose, telling stories of Dr. Johnson, and acting them with incessant buffoonery. I told him frankly that, if he turned him into ridicule by caricature, I should fly the premises: he assured me he would not, and indeed his imitations, though comic to excess, were so far from caricature that he omitted a thousand gesticulations which I distinctly remember. Mr. Langton told some stories himself in imitation of Dr. johnson; but they became him less than Mr. Boswell, and only reminded me of what Dr. Johnson himself once said to me--"Every man has, some time in his life, an ambition to be a wag." If Mr. Langton had repeated anything from his truly great friend quietly, it would far better have accorded with his own serious and respectable character. THE KING'S BIRTHDAY. June 4.-The birthday of our truly good king. As his majesty had himself given me, when I saw him after the queen's birthday, an implied reproach for not presenting myself at the palace that day, I determined not to incur a similar censure on this, especially as I hold my admission on such a national festival as a real happiness, as well as honour, when it is to see themselves. How different was my attire from every other such occasion the five preceding years! It was a mere simple dressed undress, without feathers, flowers, hoop, or furbelows. When I alighted at the porter's lodge I was stopped from crossing the court-yard by seeing the king with his three sons, the Prince of Wales, Duke of York, and Duke of Clarence, who were standing there after alighting from their horses, to Page 454 gratify the people who encircled the iron rails. It was a pleasant and goodly sight, and I rejoiced in such a detention. I had a terrible difficulty to find a friend who would make known to her majesty that I was come to pay my devoirs. At length, while watching in the passages to and fro, I heard a step upon the princesses' stairs, and, venturing forward, I encountered the Princess Elizabeth. I paid my respectful congratulations on the day, which she most pleasantly received, and I intimated my great desire to see her majesty. I am Sure the amiable princess communicated my petition, for Mr, de Luc came out in a few minutes and ushered me into the royal presence. The queen was in her state dressing-room, her head attired for the Drawing-room superbly; but her Court-dress, as usual, remaining to be put on at St. James's. She had already received all her early complimenters, and was prepared to go to St. James's: the princess royal was seated by her side, and all the other princesses, except the Princess Amelia, were in the room, with the Duchess of York. Mr. de Luc, Mrs. Schwellenberg, Madame de la Fite, and Miss Goldsworthy were in the background. The queen smiled upon me most graciously, and every princess came up separately to speak with me. I thanked her majesty warmly for admitting me upon such an occasion, "O!" cried she, "I resolved to see you the moment I knew you were here." She then inquired when I went into Norfolk, and conversed upon my summer plans, etc., with more of her original sweetness of manner than I have seen since my resignation. What pleasure this gave me ! and what pleasure did I feel in being kept by her till the further door opened, and the king entered, accompanied by the Dukes of York and Clarence. I motioned to retreat, but calling out, "What, Miss Burney," the king came up to me and inquired how I did,- and began talking to me so pleasantly, so gaily, so kindly even, that I had the satisfaction of remaining and of gathering courage to utter my good wishes and warm fervent prayers for this day. He deigned to hear me very benignly; or make believe he did, for I did not make my harangue very audibly; but he must be sure of its purport. He said I was grown "quite fat" since he had seen me, and appealed to the Duke of York: he protested my arm was half as big again as heretofore, and then he measured it with his Page 455 spread thumbs and forefingers; and the whole of his manner showed his perfect approbation of the step I had taken, of presenting myself in the royal presence on this auspicious day. The queen soon after walked up to me, and asked if I should like to see the ball at night. I certainly should much like to have seen them "in all their glory," after seeing them thus in all their kindness, as well as to have been present at the first public appearance at Court of the Princess Sophia : but I had no means to get from and to Chelsea so late at night, and was, therefore, forced to excuse myself, and decline her gracious proposition of giving me tickets. MR. HASTINGS'S SPEECH. Two days after, I went again to Westminster Hall with Miss Ord. Her good mother has a ticket for the Duke of Newcastle's box, in which she was seated. This -day's business consisted of examining witnesses: it was meant for the last meeting. during this session - but when it was over, Mr. Hastings arose and addressed the Lords in a most noble and pathetic speech, praying them to continue their attendance till his defence was heard throughout, or, at least, not to deny him the finishing his answer to the first charge. He spoke, I believe, to the hearts of everybody, except his prosecutors : the whole assembly seemed evidently affected by what he urged, upon the unexampled delay of justice In his trial: silence was never more profound than that which his voice instantly commanded. Poor unhappy, injured gentleman! How, how can such men practise cruelty so glaring as is manifested in the whole conduct of this trial! >From hence, as usual, I went to dine at the Queen's house. Mrs. Schwellenberg took me to the queen after coffee. She was writing to Lady Cremorne: she talked with me while she finished her letter, and then read it to me, exactly as in old times. She writes with admirable facility, and peculiar elegance of expression, as well as of handwriting. She asked me, somewhat curiously, if I had seen any of my old friends? I found she meant oppositionists. I told her only at the trial. She kept me in converse till the dear king came into the room: he had a grandson of Lord Howe's with him, a little boy in petticoats, with whom he was playing, and whom he thought remembered me, I had seen him frequently Page 456 at Weymouth, and the innocent little fellow insisted upon Making me his bows and reverences, when told to Make them to the queen. The king asked me what had been doing at Westminster Hall? I repeated poor Mr. Hastings's remonstrance, particularly a part of it in which he had mentioned that he had already "appealed to his majesty, whose justice he could not doubt." The king looked a little queer, but I was glad of the opportunity of putting in a word for poor Mr. Hastings. I went on regularly to the trial till it finished for this year. Mr. Dallas closed his answer to the first charge, with great spirit and effect, and seemed to make numerous Proselytes for Mr. Hastings. A WELL-PRESERVED BEAUTY. Thursday, June 18.-After many invitations and regulations, it was settled I was to accompany my father on a visit of three days to Mrs. Crewe at Hampstead. The villa at Hampstead is small, but commodious. We were received by Mrs. Crewe with much kindness. The room was rather dark, and she had a veil to her bonnet, half down, and with this aid she looked still in a full blaze of beauty. I was wholly astonished. Her bloom, perfectly natural, is as high as that of Augusta Locke when in her best looks, and the form of her face is so exquisitely perfect that my eye never Met it without fresh admiration. She is certainly, in my eyes, the most completely a beauty of any woman I ever saw. I know not, even now, any female in her first youth who could bear the comparison. She uglifies everything near her. Her son was with her. He is just of age, and looks like her elder brother! He is a heavy old-looking young Man. He is going to China with Lord Macartney.(363) THE BURKES. My former friend, young Burke, was also there. I was glad to renew acquaintance with him though I could see some little strangeness in him: this, however, completely wore off. Page 457 before the day was over. Soon after entered Mrs. Burke, Miss F.,(364) a niece, and Mr. Richard Burke, the comic, humorous, bold, queer brother of the Mr. Burke, who, they said, was soon coming, with Mr. Elliot. The Burke family were invited by Mrs. Crewe to meet us. Mrs. Burke was just what I have always seen her, soft, gentle, reasonable, and obliging; and we met, I think, upon as good terms as if so many years had not parted us. At length Mr. Burke appeared, accompanied by Mr. Elliot. He shook hands with my father as soon as he had paid his devoirs to Mrs. Crewe, but he returned my curtsey with so distant a bow, that I Concluded myself quite lost with him, from my evident solicitude in poor Mr. Hastings's cause. I could not wish that less obvious, thinking as I think of it; but I felt infinitely grieved to lose the favour of a man whom in all other articles, I so much venerate, and whom, Indeed, I esteem and admire as the very first man of true genius now living in this Country. Mrs. Crewe introduced me to Mr. Elliot: I am Sure we were already personally known to each other, for I have seen him perpetually in the managers' box, whence, as often, he must have seen me in the great chamberlain's. He is a tall, thin young man, plain in face, dress, and manner, but sensible, and possibly much besides; he was reserved, however, and little else appeared. The moment I was named, to my great joy I found Mr. Burke had not recollected me. He is more near-sighted, considerably,- than myself. "Miss Burney!" he now exclaimed, coming forward, and quite kindly taking my hand, "I did not see you;" and then he spoke very sweet words of the meeting, and of my looking far better than "while I was a courtier," and of how he rejoiced to see that I so little suited that station. "You look," cried he, "quite renewed, revived, disengaged; you seemed, when I conversed with you last, at the trial, quite altered; I never saw such a change for the better as quitting a Court has brought about!" Ah! thought I, this is simply a mistake, from reasoning according to your own feelings. I only seemed altered for the worse at the trial, because I there looked coldly and distantly, from distaste and disaffection to your proceedings; and I here Page 458 . look changed for the better, only because I here meet You without the chill of disapprobation, and with the glow of my first admiration of you and your talents! BURKE'S CONVERSATIONAL POWERS. Mrs. Crewe gave him her place, and he sat by me, and entered into a most animated conversation upon Lord Macartney and his Chinese expedition, and the two Chinese youths who were to accompany it. These last he described minutely and spoke of the extent of the undertaking in high, and perhaps fanciful, terms, but with allusions and anecdotes intermixed, so full of general information and brilliant ideas, that I soon felt the whole of my first enthusiasm return, and with it a sensation of pleasure that made the day delicious to me. After this my father joined us, and politics took- the lead. He spoke then with an eagerness and a vehemence that instantly banished the graces, though it redoubled the energies, of his discourse. "The French Revolution," he said, "which began by authorising and legalising Injustice, and which by rapid steps had proceeded to every species of despotism except owning a despot, was now menacing all the universe and all mankind with the most violent concussion of principle and order." My father heartily joined, and I tacitly assented to his doctrines, though I feared not with his fears. One Speech I Must repeat, for it is explanatory of his conduct, and nobly explanatory. When lie had expatiated upon the present dangers, even to English liberty and property, from the contagion of havoc and novelty, he earnestly exclaimed, "This it is that has made ME an abettor and supporter of kings! Kings are necessary, and if we would preserve peace and prosperity, we must preserve THEM we must all put our shoulders to the work! Ay, and stoutly, too!" This subject lasted till dinner. At dinner Mr. Burke sat next Mrs. Crewe, and I had the happiness to be seated next Mr. Burke, and my other neighbour was his amiable son. The dinner, and the dessert when the servants were removed, were delightful. How I wish my dear Susanna and Fredy could meet this wonderful man when he is easy, happy, and with people he cordially likes! But politics, even on his own Page 459 side, must always be excluded; his irritability Is so terrible on that theme that it gives immediately to his face the expression of a man who is going to defend himself from murderers. I can give you only a few little detached traits of what passed, as detail would be endless. Charles Fox being mentioned, Mrs. Crewe told us that he had lately said, upon being shown some passage in Mr. Burke's book which he had warmly opposed, but which had, in the event, made its own justification, very candidly, "Well! Burke is right--but Burke is often right, only he is right too soon." "Had Fox seen some things in that book," answered Mr. Burke, "as soon, he would at this moment, in all probability, be first minister of this country." "What!" cried Mrs. Crewe, "with Pitt?--No!--no!--Pitt won't go out, and Charles Fox will never make a coalition with Pitt." "And why not?" said Mr. Burke, dryly; "why not this coalition as well as other coalitions?" Nobody tried to answer this. "Charles Fox, however," said Mr. Burke afterwards, "can never internally like the French Revolution. He is entangled; but, in himself, if he should find no other objection to it, he has at least too much taste for such a revolution." Mr. Elliot related that he had lately been in a company of some of the first and most distinguished men of the French nation, now fugitives here, and had asked them some questions about the new French ministry; they had answered that they knew them not even by name till now! "Think," cried he, "what a ministry that must be! Suppose a new administration formed here of Englishmen of whom we had never before heard the names! what statesmen they must be! how prepared and fitted for government! To begin by being at the helm!" Mr. Richard Burke related, very comically, various censures cast upon his brother, accusing him of being the friend of despots, and the abettor of slavery, because he had been shocked at the imprisonment of the king of France, and was anxious to preserve our own limited monarchy in the same state in which it so long had flourished. Mr. Burke looked half alarmed at his brother's opening, but, Page 460 when he had finished, he very good-humouredly poured out a glass of wine, and, turning to me, said, "Come then--here's slavery for ever!" This was well understood, and echoed round the table with hearty laughter. "This would do for you completely, Mr. Burke," said Mrs. Crewe, "if it could get into a newspaper! Mr. Burke, they would say, has now spoken out; the truth has come to light unguardedly, and his real defection from the cause Of true liberty is acknowledged. I should like to draw up the paragraph!" "And add," said Mr. Burke, "the toast was addressed to Miss Burney, in order to pay court to the queen!" This sport went on till, upon Mr. Elliot's again mentioning France and the rising jacobins, Mr. Richard Burke loudly gave a new toast--"Come!" cried he, "here's confusion to Confusion!" Mr. Windham, who Was gone into Norfolk for the summer, was frequently mentioned, and always with praise. Mr. Burke, upon Mr. Elliot's saying something of his being very thin, warmly exclaimed, "He is just as he should be! If I were Windham this minute, I Should not wish to be thinner, nor fatter, nor taller, nor shorter, nor any way, nor in anything, altered." Some time after, speaking of former days, you may believe I was struck enough to hear Mr. Burke say to Mrs. Crewe, "I wish you had known Mrs. Delany! She was a pattern of a perfect fine lady, a real fine lady, of other days! Her manners were faultless; her deportment was all elegance, her speech was all sweetness, and her air and address all dignity. I always looked up to her as the model of an accomplished woman of former times." Do you think I heard such a testimony to my most revered and beloved departed friend unmoved? Afterwards, still to Mrs. Crewe, he proceeded to say, she had been married to Mr. Wycherley, the author.(365) There I ventured to interrupt him, and tell him I fancied that must he some Page 461 great mistake, as I had been well acquainted with her history from her own mouth. He seemed to have heard it from some good authority; but I could by no means accede my belief, as her real life and memoirs had been so long in my hands, written by herself to a certain period, and, for some way, continued by me. This, however, I did not mention. A WILD IRISH GIRL. When we left the dining-parlour to the gentlemen, Miss F- seized my arm, without the smallest previous speech, and, with a prodigious Irish brogue, said "Miss Burney, I am so glad you can't think to have this favourable opportunity of making an intimacy with you! I have longed to know you ever since I became rational!" I was glad, too, that nobody heard her! She made me walk off with her in the garden, whither we had adjourned for a stroll, at a full gallop, leaning upon my arm, and putting her face close to mine, and sputtering at every word from excessive eagerness. "I have the honour to know some of your relations in Ireland," she continued; "that is, if they an't yours, which they are very sorry for, they are your sister's, which is almost the same thing. Mr. Shirley first lent me 'Cecilia,' and he was so delighted to hear my remarks! Mrs. Shirley's a most beautiful creature; she's grown so large and so big! and all her daughters are beautiful; so is all the family. I never saw Captain Phillips, but I dare say he's beautiful." She is quite a wild Irish girl. Presently she talked of Miss Palmer. "O, she loves you!" she cried; "she says she saw you last Sunday, and she never was so happy in her life. She said you looked sadly." This Miss F- is a handsome girl, and seems very good humoured. I imagine her but just imported, and I doubt not but the soft-mannercd, and well-bred, and quiet Mrs. Burke will soon subdue this exuberance of loquacity. I gathered afterwards from Mrs. Crewe, that my curious new acquaintance made innumerable inquiries concerning my employment and office under the queen. I find many people much disturbed to know whether I had the place of the Duchess of Ancastor, on one side, or of a chamber-maid, on the other. Truth is apt to lie between conjectures. Page 462 ERSKINE's EGOTISM. The party returned with two very singular additions to its number--Lord Loughborough,(366) and Mr. and Mrs. Erskine.(367) They have villas at Hampstead, and were met in the walk; Mr. Erskine else would not, probably, have desired to meet Mr. Burke, who openly in the House of Commons asked him if he knew what friendship meant, when he pretended to call him, Mr. Burke, his friend? There was an evident disunion of the cordiality of the party from this time. My father, Mr. Richard Burke, his nephew, and Mr. Elliot entered into some general discourse; Mr. Page 463 Burke took up a volume Of Boileau, and read aloud, though to himself, and with a pleasure that soon made him seem to forget all intruders; Lord Loughborough joined Mrs. Burke and Mr. Erskine, seating himself next to Mrs. Crewe, engrossed her entirely, yet talked loud enough for all to hear who were not engaged themselves. For me, I sat next Mrs. Erskine, who seems much a woman of the world, for she spoke with me just as freely, and readily, and easily as if we had been old friends. Mr. Erskine enumerated all his avocations to Mrs. Crewe, and, amongst others, mentioned, very calmly, having to plead against Mr. Crewe upon a manor business in Cheshire. Mrs. Crewe hastily and alarmed interrupted him, to inquire what he meant, and what might ensue to Mr. Crewe? O, nothing but the loss of the lordship upon that spot," he coolly answered; "but I don't know that it will be given against him: I only know I shall have three hundred Pounds for it." Mrs. Crewe looked thoughtful; and Mr. Erskine then began to speak of the new Association for Reform, by the friends of the people, headed by Messrs. Grey and Sheridan, and sustained by Mr. Fox, and openly opposed by Mr. Windham, as well as Mr. Burke. He said much of the use they had made of his name, though he had never yet been to the society; and I began to understand that he meant to disavow it; but presently he added, "I don't know whether I shall ever attend--I have so much to do--so little time: however, the people must be supported."(368) "PRAY, will you tell me," said Mrs. Crewe, drily, "what you mean by the people? I never knew." He looked surprised, but evaded any answer and soon after took his leave, with his wife, who seems by no means to admire him as much as he admires himself, if I may judge by short odd speeches which dropped from her. The eminence of Mr. Erskine seems all for public life; in private, his excessive egotisms undo him. Lord Loughborough instantly took his seat next to Mrs. Crewe; and presently related a speech which Mr. Erskine has lately made at some public meeting, and which he opened to this effect:--"As to me, gentlemen, I have some title to give my opinions freely. Would you know what my title is derived from? I challenge any man to inquire! If he ask my Page 464 birth,--its genealogy may dispute with kings! If my wealth, it is all for which I have time to hold out my hand! If my talents,--No! of those, gentlemen, I leave you to judge for yourselves."(369) CAEN-WOOD. June 22.-Mrs. Crewe took my father and myself to see the Hampstead lions. We went to Caen-wood, to see the house and pictures. Poor Lord Mansfield(370) has not been downstairs, the housekeeper told us, for the last four years; yet she asserts he is by no means superannuated, and frequently sees his very intimate friends, and seldom refuses to be consulted by any lawyers. He was particularly connected with my revered Mrs. Delany, and I felt melancholy upon entering his house to recollect how often that beloved lady had planned carrying thither Miss Port and myself, and how often we had been invited by Miss Murrays, my lord's nieces. I asked after those ladies, and left them my respects. I heard they were up-stairs with Lord Mansfield, whom they never left. Many things in this house were interesting, because historical but I fancy the pictures, at least, not to have much other recommendation. A portrait Of Pope, by himself, I thought extremely curious. It is very much in the style of most of jervas's own paintings. They told us that, after the burning of Lord Mansfield's house in town, at the time of Lord G. Gordon's riots, thousands came to inquire, if this original portrait was preserved. Luckily it was at Caen-wood. We spent a good deal of time in the library,--and saw first editions of almost all Queen Anne's classics; and lists of subscribers to Pope's "Iliad," and many such matters, all enlivening to some corner or other of the memory. AN ADVENTURE WITH MRS. CREWE. We next proceeded to the Shakspeare gallery,(371) which I had Page 465 never seen. And here we met with an adventure that finished our morning's excursions. There was a lady in the first room, dressed rather singularly, quite alone, and extremely handsome, who was parading about with a nosegay in her hand, which she frequently held to her nose, in a manner that was evidently calculated to attract notice. We therefore passed on to the inner room, to avoid her. Here we had but just all taken our stand opposite different pictures, when she also entered, and, coming pretty close to my father, sniffed at her flowers with a sort of extatic eagerness, and then let them fall. My father picked them up, and gravely presented them to her. She curtsied to the ground in receiving them, and presently crossed over the room, and,, brushing past Mrs. Crewe, seated herself immediately by her elbow. Mrs. Crewe, not admiring this familiarity, moved away, giving her at the same time a look of dignified distance that was almost petrifying. It did not prove so to this lady, who presently followed her to the next picture, and, sitting as close as she could to where Mrs. Crewe stood, began singing various quick passages, without words or connexion. I saw Mrs. Crewe much alarmed, and advanced to stand by her, meaning to whisper her that we had better leave the room; and this idea was not checked by seeing that the flowers were artificial. By the looks we interchanged we soon mutually said, "This is a mad woman." We feared irritating her by a sudden flight, but gently retreated, and soon got quietly into the large room when she bounced up with a great noise, and, throwing the veil of her bonnet violently back, as if fighting it, she looked after us, pointing at Mrs. Crewe. Seriously frightened, Mrs. Crewe seized my father's arm, and hurried up two or three steps into a small apartment. Here Mrs. Crewe, addressing herself to an elderly gentleman, asked if he could inform the people below that a mad woman was terrifying the company ; and while he was receiving her commission with the most profound respect, and with an evident air of admiring astonishment at her beauty, we heard a rustling, and, looking round, saw the same figure hastily striding after us, and in an instant at our elbows. Mrs. Crewe turned quite pale ; it was palpable she was the object pursued, and she most civilly and meekly articulated, "I beg your pardon, ma'am," as she hastily passed her, and hurried down the steps. We were going to run for our lives, Page 466 when Miss Townshend whispered Mrs. Crewe it was Only Mrs. Wells the actress, and said she was certainly Only performing vagaries to try effect, which she was quite famous for doing. It would have been food for a painter to have seen Mrs. Crewe during this explanation. All her terror instantly gave way to indignation; and scarcely any pencil could equal the high vivid glow of her cheeks. To find herself made the object of game to the burlesque humour of a bold player, was an indignity she could not brook, and her mind was immediately at work how to assist herself against such unprovoked and unauthorized effrontery. The elderly gentleman who, with great eagerness, had followed Mrs. Crewe, accompanied by a young man who was of his party, requested more particularly her commands ; but before Mrs. Crewe's astonishment and resentment found words, Mrs. Wells, singing, and throwing herself into extravagant attitudes, again rushed down the steps, and fixed her eyes on Mrs. Crewe. This, however, no longer served her purpose. Mrs. Crewe fixed her in return, and with a firm, composed, commanding air and look that, though it did not make this strange creature retreat, somewhat disconcerted her for a few minutes. She then presently affected a violent coughing such a one as almost shook the room; though such a forced and unnatural noise as rather resembled howling than a cold. This over, and perceiving Mrs, Crewe still steadily keeping her ground, she had the courage to come up to us, and, with a flippant air, said to the elderly gentleman, "Pray, sir, will you tell me what it is o'clock?" He looked vexed to be called a moment from looking at Mrs. Crewe, and, with a forbidding gravity, answered her, "About two." "No offence, I hope, sir?" cried she, seeing him turn eagerly from her. He bowed without looking at her, and she strutted away, still, however, keeping in sight, and playing various tricks, her eyes perpetually turned towards Mrs. Crewe, who as regularly, met them, with an expression such as might have turned a softer culprit to stone. Our cabal was again renewed, and Mrs. Crewe again told this gentleman to make known to the proprietors of the gallery that this person was a nuisance to the company, when, suddenly re-approaching as, she called out, "Sir! sir!" to the younger of our new protectors. He coloured, and looked much alarmed, but only bowed. Page 467 "Pray, sir," cried she, "what's o'clock?" He looked at his watch, and answered. "You don't take it ill, I hope, sir?" she cried. He only bowed. "I do no harm, sir," said she; "I never bite." The poor young man looked aghast, and bowed lower; but Mrs. Crewe, addressing herself to the elder, said aloud, "I beg you, sir, to go to Mr. Boydell; you may name me to him--Mrs. Crewe." Mrs. Wells at this walked away, yet still in sight. "You may tell him what has happened, sir, in all our names. You may tell him Miss Burney--" "O no!" cried I, in a horrid fright, "I beseech I may not be named! And, indeed, ma'am, it may be better to let it all alone. It will do no good; and it may all get into the newspapers." "And if it does," cried Mrs. Crewe, "what is it to us? We have done nothing; we have given no offence, and made no disturbance. This person has frightened us all wilfully, and Utterly without provocation; and now she can frighten us no longer, she would brave us. Let her tell her own story, and how will it harm us?" "Still," cried I, "I must always fear being brought into any newspaper cabals. Let the fact be ever so much against her, she will think the circumstances all to her honour if a paragraph comes out beginning 'Mrs. Crewe and Mrs. Wells.'" Mrs. Crewe liked this sound as little as I should have liked it in placing my own name where I put hers. She hesitated a little what to do, and we all walked down-stairs, where instantly this bold woman followed us, paraded Up and down the long shop with a dramatic air while our group was in conference, and then, sitting down at the clerk's desk, and calling in a footman, she desired him to wait while she wrote a note. She scribbled a few lines, and read aloud her direction, "To Mr. Topham;" and giving the note to the man, said, "Tell your master that is something to make him laugh. Bid him not send to the press till I see him." Now as Mr. Topham is the editor of "The World," and notoriously her protector, as her having his footman acknowledged, this looked rather serious, and Mrs. Crewe began to partake of my alarm. She therefore, to my infinite satisfaction, told her new friend that she desired he would name no names, but merely mention that some ladies had been frightened. . . . Page 468 We then got into Mrs. Crewe's carriage, and not till then would this facetious Mrs. Wells quit the shop. And she walked in sight, dodging us, and playing antics of a tragic sort of gesture, till we drove out of her power to keep up with us. What a strange creature! AN INVITATION FROM ARTHUR YOUNG. (Mr. Arthur Young to Fanny Burney.) Bradfield Farm, June 18, 1792. WHAT a plaguy business 'tis to take up one's pen to write to a person who is constantly moving in a vortex of pleasure, brilliancy, and wit,--whose movements and connections are, as it were, in another world! One knows not how to manage the matter with such folks, till you find by a little approximation and friction of tempers and things that they are mortal, and no more than good sort of people in the main, only garnished with something we do not possess ourselves. Now then, the consequence. Only three pages to write, and one lost in introduction! To the matter at last. It seemeth that you make a journey to Norfolk. Now do ye see, if you do not give a call on the farmer, and examine his ram (an old acquaintance), his bull, his lambs, calves, and crops, he will say but one thing of you--that you are fit for a court, but not for a farm; and there is more happiness to be found among my rooks than in the midst of all the princes and princesses of Golconda. I would give an hundred pound to see you married to a farmer that never saw London, with plenty of poultry ranging in a few green fields, and flowers and shrubs disposed where they should be, around a cottage, and not around a breakfast-room in Portman-square, fading in eyes that know not to admire them. In honest truth now, let me request your company here. It will give us all infinite pleasure. You are habituated to admiration, but you shall have here what is much better--the friendship of those who loved you long before the world admired you. Come, and make old friends happy! (346) The flight of the king and his family from Paris, on the night of June 20-21. They reached Varennes in safety the following night, but were there recognised and stopped, and the next day escorted back to Paris.-ED. (347) The reader will find in Green's "History of the English People," a widely different view of' the character of Dunstan. But Fanny knew only the old stories, and had, moreover, written a tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," in which Dunstan, in accordance with those old stories, appears as the villain.-ED. (348) Author of the "New Bath Guide."-ED. (349) Henrietta Frances, second daughter of John, first Earl Spencer, and younger sister of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, married Viscount Duncannon in 1780. She died in 1821.-ED. (350) Gibbon had good reason for his opinion of the power of Lady Elizabeth's charms. In 1787, he met her at Lausanne, a young widow of twenty-eight, and found her allurements so irresistible that he proposed marriage to her, and was rejected.-ED. (351) Mrs. Ord was a yet more violent Tory than Fanny herself, and would believe no good of the Duchess of Devonshire, the queen of the Whigs.-ED. (352) In the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," Fanny writes in more detail of this her last visit to Sir Joshua. "He was still more deeply depressed; though Miss Palmer good-humouredly drew a smile from him, by gaily exclaiming, 'Do, pray, now, uncle, ask Miss Burney to write another book directly! for we have almost finished Cecilia again--and this is our sixth reading of it!'" "The little occupation, Miss Palmer said, of which Sir joshua was then capable, was carefully dusting the paintings in his picture gallery, and placing them in different points of view. "This passed at the conclusion Of 1791; on the February of the following year, this friend, equally amiable and eminent, was no more! (Memoirs, vol. iii. P. 144).-ED. (353) The wife of Sir Lucas Pepys.-ED. (354) Afterwards Lord Ellenborough: the leading counsel for Hastings.-ED. (355) February 23, 1792.-ED. (356) The greater part of Sir joshua's large fortune was left to his unmarried niece, Mary Palmer. Considerable legacies were left to his niece, Mrs. Gwatkin (Offy Palmer), and to his friend Edmund Burke. In addition to these legacies, his will provided for a number of small bequests, including one of a thousand pounds to his old servant, Ralph Kirkley. In the following summer Mary Palmer married the Earl of Inchiquin, afterwards Marquis of Thomond. "He is sixty-nine," Fanny writes about that time of Lord Inchiquin; "but they say he is remarkably pleasing in his manners, and soft and amiable in his disposition."-ED. (357) He was buried in the crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral, near the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren.-ED. (358) The recent proclamation by the Government against the publication and sale of seditious writings. The "new associates" were members of the societies of sympathisers with the principles of the French Revolution, which, under such titles as "Friends of the People." "Corresponding Society," etc., were now spreading all over England.-ED. (359) The revolutionary clubs of Paris, the Jacobins' Club in particular, gradually acquired such power as enabled them to overawe the Legislative Assembly, and even, at a later date, the Convention itself. Their influence only ceased with the overthrow and death of their leader, Robespièrre, in 1794.-ED. (360) The wife and eldest daughter of Arthur Young, the well-known writer on agriculture. Mrs. Young was the sister of Dr. Burney's second Wife.-ED. (361) "Madame de Genlis's husband, the Count de Genlis, had become Marquis of Sillery by the death of his elder brother. He was a Revolutionist and member of the Girondin party: one of the twenty-two Girondins who perished by the guillotine, October 31, 1793. Madame de Genlis (or Brulard) had come to England in October, 1791, with her young pupil, Mlle. d'Orléans (Egalité), the daughter of Philippe Egalité, Duke of Orleans, whose physicians had ordered her to take the waters at Bath. They remained in England until November, 1792, when they were recalled to Paris by Egalité. Arriving there, they found themselves proscribed as emigrants, and obliged to quit Paris within eight-and-forty hours. They then took refuge in Flanders, and settled at Tournay where Pamela was married to Lord Edward Fitzgerald, subsequently one of the leaders in the Irish Rebellion of 1798. In Flanders Madame de Genlis enjoyed the protection of General Dumontiez, but when he became suspected, with too good reason, by the Convention, she was obliged again to take flight, and found safety at last with Mlle. d'Orléans, in Switzerland. Pamela was the adopted daughter of Madame de Genlis; some said her actual daughter by the Duke of Orleans; but this is at least doubtful. "Circe," or "Henrietta Circe," as Fanny afterwards calls her, was Madame de Genlis's niece, Henriette de Sercey (!), who subsequently married a rich merchant of Hamburg.-ED. VOL. 11. (362) "Is it possible? Am I so happy? Do I see my dear Miss Burney?" (363) Earl Macartney was sent as ambassador to China in 1793, for the purpose of concluding a commercial treaty with that power. He was unsuccessful, however, and, after spending some months in China, the embassy returned to England.-ED. (364) "Miss French, a lively niece of Mr. Burke's." (.Memoirs of Dr. Burney, vol. iii, p. 157.)-ED. (365) Burke was, of course, mistaken. When Wycherley died, at seventy-five (December, 1715), Mary Granville (afterwards Mrs. Delany) was in her sixteenth year. Wycherley, it is true, married a young wife on his deathbed, but it is certain that this was not Mary Granville; indeed, if Pope's account, given in Spence's "Anecdotes," may be trusted, it was a woman of very different character.-ED. (366) Alexander Wedderburn, afterwards Lord Loughborough, was born in or near Edinburgh in 1733. He attained distinction at the bar, and entered Parliament early in the reign of George III. As a politician he was equally notorious for his skill in debate and his want of public principle. Previously a member of the opposition, he ratted to the Government in 1771, and was rewarded by Lord North with the Solicitor-Generalship. He defended Lord Clive in 1773. When Thurlow became Lord Chancellor (in 1778), Wedderburn succeeded him in the office of Attorney-General. In 1786 he was made Chief justice of the Court of Common Pleas, and called to the House of Peers by the title of Baron Loughborough. After this we find him acting as a follower of Charles Fox, and leader of the Whig party in the House of Lords. He supported Fox's views on the Regency question in 1788-9, but when the split in the Whig party on the subject of the French Revolution took place, Loughborough, like Burke, gave his support to the government. In January, 1793, he obtained the long coveted post of Lord Chancellor. He died January 1, 1805. A story goes that when the news of Loughborough's death was brought to George III., "his majesty was graciously pleased to exclaim, 'Then he has not left a greater knave behind him in my dominions.'" (Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors," vol. vi., p. 334.)-ED. (367) Thomas Erskine (born 1750, died 1823), "If less eminent in the law, was a far more respectable politician than Loughborough, although his parliamentary career was by no means so brilliant. He was a consistent Whig, with the courage of his convictions. He lost his post of Attorney-General to the Prince of Wales through his defence of Thomas Paine, author of the famous "Rights of Man," in December, 1792. Fired by the example of the French Revolutionists, the friends of liberty in England were, about this time, everywhere forming themselves into political associations, for the purpose of promoting Parliamentary reform, and generally "spreading the principles of freedom." By the government these societies were regarded as seditious. Erskine was a member of one or more of these associations, and one of his most brilliant triumphs at the bar was connected with the prosecution by government (October, 1794), of Hardy Thelwall and Horne Tooke for high treason, as members of one of these supposed seditious societies. The prisoners were defended by Erskine and acquitted. Erskine became Lord Chancellor in 1806 after the death of Pitt.-ED. (368) On his own admission Erskine was a member of the Society of Friends of the People about the end of 1792-ED. (369) With all his talents Erskine was always noted for his inordinate vanity.-ED. (370) The famous Lord Chief justice. He died in 1793, aged eighty-eight years.-ED. (371) Alderman Boydell's celebrated "Shakspeare Gallery" in Pall Mall, contained paintings illustrative of Shakspeare by Reynolds, Romney, Fuseli, and many others of the most distinguished painters of the day. The entire collection, comprising one hundred and seventy works, was sold by auction by Christie, in May, 1805.-ED. (372) For Arthur Young, see postea, vol. iii., p. 17. Bradfield Farm, his home was in Suffolk, in the neighbourhood of Bury St. Edmunds.-ED. 
6457	----	This eBook was produced by Marjorie Fulton. THE DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY (FRANCES BURNEY.) WITH NOTES BY W. C. WARD, AND PREFACED BY LORD MACAULAY'S ESSAY. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. (1792-1840.) WITH A PORTRAIT OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. LONDON AND NEW YORK: FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 1892. 19. (1792-3) THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS: MISS BURNEY MARRIES M. D'ARBLAY--11-70 Arrival of French Emigrants at juniper Hall--The Doctor's five Daughters--A Visit to Arthur Young--The Duke de Liancourt's abortive Efforts at Rouen--The Duke's Escape to England: "Pot Portere"--Madame de Genlis's hasty Retreat--A Nobleman of the Ancien Regime--Ducal Vivacity and Sadness--Graceful offers of Hospitality--The Emigrants at juniper Hall described--Monsieur d'Arblay--M. de Jaucourt: Madame de Stael--Severe Decrees against the Emigrants--Monsieur Girardin--The Phillipses at juniper Hall--Mystery attending M. de Narbonne's Birth--Revolutionary Societies in Norfolk: Death of Mr. Francis--Departure of Madame de la Chatre--Arrival of M. de la Chatre--English Feeling at the Revolutionary Excesses--Louis XVI's Execution--A Gloomy Club Meeting--Madame de Stael at juniper Hall--Miss Burney's Admiration of Madame de Stael--Failing Resources--The Beginning of the End--"This Enchanting Monsieur d'Arblay"--Talleyrand is found charming--A Proposed Visit to Madame de Stael disapproved of--M. de Lally Tolendal and his Tragedy--Contemplated Dispersion of the French Colony--Madame de Stael's Words of Farewell: M. d'Arblay--Regrets respecting Madame do Stael--M. d'Arblay's Visit to Chesington--The Matrimonial Project is Discussed--Dr. Burney's Objections to the Match--The Marriage takes place--Announcement of the Marriage to a Friend. 20. (1793-6) LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR-- 71-121 The French Clergy Fund: The Toulon Expedition--Madame d'Arblay on her Marriage--Mr. Canning--Talleyrand's Letters of Adieu--M. d'Arblay's Horticultural Pursuits--Mrs. Piozzi--M. d'Arblay as a Gardener--A Novel and a Tragedy-- page vi Hastings's Acquittal: Dr. Burney's Metastasio--Baby d'Arblay--The withdrawn Tragedy--"Camilla"--An Invitation to the Hermitage-- Presentation of "Camilla" at Windsor--A Conversation with the Queen--With the Princess Royal and Princess Augusta--A Present from the King and Queen--Curiosity regarding M. d'Arblay--The King approves the Dedication of "Camilla"--A delicious Chat with the Princesses--The King notices M. d'Arblay--The King and Queen on "Camilla"--Anecdote of the Duchess of York--A Visit to Mrs. Boscawen--The Relative Success of Madame d'Arblay's Novels--A Contemplated Cottage--The Princess Royal's first Interview with her Fianc`e--Opinions of the Reviews on "Camilla"--Death of Madame d'Arblay's Stepmother--The French Emigr`es at Norbury--Dr. Burney's depressed state--Covetous of Personal Distinction--Baby d'Arblay again and other Matters. 21. (1797-8) "CAMILLA" COTTAGE: SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL FAMILY--122-169 A Disagreeable journey Home--Burke's Funeral at Beaconsfield-- Death of M. d'Arblay's Brother--From Crewe Hall to Chelsea--At Dr. Herschel's--Hospitality under Difficulties--War Taxes: "Camilla" Cottage--Visitors arrive inopportunely-Another Visit to the Royal Family--Interview with the Queen--The King and his Infant Grand-daughter--Admiral Duncan's Victory--The Prince and Princess of Orange--Some Notable Actresses--The Duke of Clarence--Princess Sophia of Gloucester--Indignation against Talleyrand--The d'Arblay Maisonnette--Interview with the Queen and the Princesses--Royal Contributions towards the War-- Invitation to the Play--Mrs Schwellenberg's Successor--Madame d'Arblay's Little Boy at Court--His Presentation to the Queen-- Mlle. Bachmeister produces a Favourable Impression. 22. (1798-1802) VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WEST HANIBLE: DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS: SOJOURN IN FRANCE--170-247 A Visit to Mrs. Chapone--Mrs. Boscawen, Lady Strange, and Mr. Seward--A Mysterious Bank-Note--The new Brother-in-law: a Cordial Professor--Precocious Master Alex--The Page vii Barbaulds--Princess Amelia at juniper Hall--Death of Mr. Seward-- Dr. Burney again visits Dr. Herschel--Dr. Burney and the King-- Overwhelmed with the Royal Graciousness--War Rumours--Illness and Death of Mrs. Phillips--A Princess's Condescension--Horticultural Misfortunes--A Withdrawn Comedy--M. d'Arblay's French Property-- Home Matters--Contemplated journey to France--M. d'Arblay's Rough Sea Passage--Suggested Abandonment of Camilla Cottage--M. d'Arblay's Proposed Retirement from Military Service--M. d'Arblay's Disappointment--On the eve of Madame d'Arblay's journey to France--In France during the Peace and subsequently-- Arrival at Calais--"God save the King!" on French Soil--A Ramble through the Town--Sunday on the Road to Paris--Engagements, Occupations, and Fatigues--Aristocratic Visitors--Anxiety to see the first Consul--At the Opera-bouffe--Difficulties respecting Madame de Stael--Madame de Lafayette--Sight-seeing at the Tuileries--A Good Place is Secured--M. d'Arblay's Military Comrades--Arrival of the Troops--An Important New Acquaintance-- Madame c'est mon Mari--Advent of the first Consul--The Parade of Troops--A Scene--With M. d'Arblay's Relatives at joigny--Some joigny Acquaintances--The Influenza in Paris--Rumours of War-- "Our little Cell at Passy"--The Prince of Wales eulogized--Dr. Burney at Bath--Affectionate Greetings to Dr. Burney--Dr. Burney's Diploma. 23. (1812-14) MADAME D'ARBLAY AND HER SON IN ENGLAND--248-291 Narrative of Madame d'Arblay's journey to London--Anxiety to see Father and Friends--A Mild Minister of Police--Embarkation Interdicted--A Change of Plan--A New Passport obtained-- Commissions for London--Delay at Dunkirk--The MS. of "The Wanderer"--Spanish Prisoners at Dunkirk--Surprised by an Officer of Police--Interrogated at the Police Office--The "Mary Ann" captured off Deal--joy on arriving in England--Young d'Arblay secures a Scholarship--The Queen alarmed by a Mad Woman--Weather Complaints: Proposed Meeting with Lord Lansdowne--A Young Girl's entry to London Society: Madame de Sta`el--Rogers the Poet-- Interview with Mr. Wilberforce--Intended Publication of "The Wanderer"--General d'Arblay's wounded Comrades Page viii --Death of Dr. Burney--Favourable News of M. d'Arblay--"The Wanderer"--Madame d'Arblay's Presentation to Louis XVIII.--At Grillon's Hotel--Grattan the Orator--A Demonstrative Irish Lady- -Inquiries after the Duchess d'Angouleme--Preparations for the Presentations--Arrival of Louis XVIII.--The Presentations to the King--A Flattering Royal Reception--An important Letter Delayed-- M. d'Arblay arrives in England--A Brilliant Assemblage--M. d'Arblay enters Louis XVIII.'s Bodyguard. 24. (1815) MADAME D'ARBLAY AGAIN IN FRANCE: BONAPARTE'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA--292-333 An Interview with the Duchess of Angouleme--Arrival at the Tuileries--A Mis-apprehension--A Discovery and a Rectification-- Conversation on Madame d'Arblay's Escape and M. d'Arblay's Loyalty--The Prince Regent the Duchess's Favourite--Narrative of Madame d'Arblay's Flight from Paris to Brussels--Prevailing Inertia on Bonaparte's return from Elba--Bonaparte's Advance: Contemplated Migration from Paris--General d'Arblay's Military Preparations--Preparations for Flight: Leave-takings--Aristocratic Irritability--The Countess d'Auch's Composure--Rumours of Bonaparte's near approach--Departure from Paris at Night Time--A Halt at Le Bourget--The journey Resumed--A Supper at Amiens with the Prefect--Reception at the Prefecture at Arras--A Cheerful D6jeuner somewhat ruffled--A Loyal Prefect-- Emblems of Loyalty at Douay--State of Uncertainty at Orchies--A Mishap on the Road--A kindly offer of Shelter--Alarmed by Polish Lancers--Arrival at Tournay--Futile Efforts to Communicate with M. d'Arblay--Interviews with M. de Chateaubriand. 25. (1815) AT BRUSSELS: WATERLOO: REJOINS M. D'ARBLAY--334--383 Sojourn at Brussels--Letters from General d'Arblay--Arrival of General d'Arblay--A Mission entrusted to General d'Arblay--"Rule Britannia!" in the All`ee Verte--General d'Arblay leaves for Luxembourg--An Exchange of visits--The Fete Dieu--The Eccentric Lady Caroline Lamb--A Proposed Royal Corps--Painful Suspense-- Inquietude at Brussels--The Black Page ix Brunswickers--The Opening of the Campaign--News from the Field of Battle--Project for quitting Brussels--Calmly awaiting the Result--Flight to Antwerp determined on--A Check met with--A Captured French General--The Dearth of News--Rumours of the French coming--French Prisoners brought in--News of Waterloo--The Victory declared to be complete--The Wounded and the Prisoners-- Hostilities at an end: Te Deum for the Victory--Maternal Advice-- About the Great Battle--An Accident befalls General d'Arblay-- Madame d'Arblay's Difficulties in rejoining her Husband--A Friendly Reception at Cologne--From Cologne to Coblenz and Treves--Meeting with General d'Arblay--Waiting for Leave to return to France--Departure for Paris--A Chance View of the Emperor of Russia--English Troops in Occupation--Leavetaking: M. de Talleyrand. 26. (1815-8) AT BATH AND ILFRACOMBE: GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILLNESS AND DEATH--384--431 Arrival in England--Alexander d'Arblay: Some old Bath Friends-- French Affairs: General d'Arblay's Health--The Escape of Lavalette: The Streatham Portraits--Regarding Husband and Son-- Maternal Anxieties--Advantages of Bath: Young d'Arblay's Degree-- Playful Reproaches and Sober Counsel--Preparations for leaving Bath--Installed at Ilfracombe--A Captured Spanish Ship--The Spanish Captain's Cook--Ships in Distress--Young d'Arblay's Tutor--General d'Arblay's Ill-health--Particulars of Ilfracombe-- Young d'Arblay's Aversion to Study--A Visit from the first Chess Player in England--A Coast Ramble in search of Curiosities-- Caught, by the Rising Tide--Efforts to reach a place of safety--A Signal of Distress--Little Diane--Increasing Danger--The Last Wave of the Rising Tide--Arrival of Succour--Meeting between Mother and Son--General d'Arblay's return to England--The Princess Charlotte's Death--The Queen and Princesses at Bath-- News arrives of the Princess Charlotte's Death--An old Acquaintance: Serious Illness of General d'Arblay--The General's First Attack: Delusive Hopes--General d'Arblay presented to the Queen--Gloomy Forebodings--Presents from the Queen and Princess Elizabeth--The General receives the Visit of a Priest--The Last Sacrament Administered--Farewell Words of Counsel--The End Arrives. Page x 27. (1818-40) YEARS OF WIDOWHOOD: DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON: HER OWN DEATH--435--458 Mournful Reflections--Visits received and Letters penned--Removal from Bath to London--Death of the Queen: Sketch of her Character- -Madame d'Arblay's Son is Ordained--With some Royal Highnesses-- Queen Caroline--Gossip from an Old Friend, and the Reply--More Gossip--Ill-health of the Rev. A. d'Arblay: Dr. Burney's MSS.--A last Gossiping Letter--Death of Mrs. Piozzi--Mrs. Piozzi compared with Madame de Stael--Sister Hetty--Official Duties Temporarily Resumed--The Rev. A. d'Arblay named Lent Preacher--Madame d'Arblay's Health and Occupation--Destroyed Correspondence--The Princess and the Rev. A. d'Arblay--A Visit from Sir Walter Scott--Memoirs of Dr. Burney--Deaths of Hester Burney and Mrs. Locke--Death of the Rev. A. d'Arblay--Death of Madame d'Arblay's sister Charlotte--Illness and Death of Madame d'Arblay. INDEX--459-480Page 11 SECTION 19. (1792-3) THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS: MISS BURNEY MARRIES M. D'ARBLAY. [The following section must be pronounced, from the historical point of view, one of the most valuable in the " Diary." It gives us authentic glimpses of some of the actors in that great Revolution, "the Death-Birth of a new order," which was getting itself transacted, with such terrible accompaniments, across the channel. The refugees with whom Fanny grew acquainted, and who formed the little colony at juniper Hall, near Dorking, were not the men of the first emigration--princes and nobles who fled their country, like cowards, as soon as they found themselves in danger, and reentered it like traitors, in the van of a foreign invasion. Not such were the inmates of Juniper Hall. These were constitutional monarchists, men who had taken part with the people in the early stage of the Revolution, who had been instrumental in making the Constitution, and who had sought safety in flight only when the Constitution was crushed and the monarchy abolished by the triumph of the extreme party. To the grands seigneurs of the first emigration, these constitutional royalists, were scarcely less detestable than the jacobins themselves. A few leading facts and dates will perhaps assist the reader to a clearer understanding of the situation. September 1791, the French Assembly, having finished its work of Constitution-making, and the said [Constitution being accepted by the king, retires gracefully, and the new Assembly, constitutionally elected, meets, October 1. But the Constitution, ushered in with such rejoicings, proves a failure. The king has the right to veto the acts of the Assembly, and he exerts that right with a vengeance :--vetoes their most urgent decrees: decree against the emigrant noblesse, plotting, there at Coblenz, the downfall of their country; decree against nonjuring priests, intriguing endlessly against the Constitution. Patriot-Minister Roland remonstrates with his majesty, and the patriotic ministry is forthwith dismissed. Meanwhile distress and Page 12 disorder are everywhere, and emigration is on the increase Abroad, Austria and Prussia are threatening invasion, and the emigrants at Coblenz are clamorous for war. War with Austria is declared, April 20, 1792; war with Prussia follows three months later; England remaining still neutral. One of our friends of juniper Hall, Madame de Staél's friend, Count Louis de Narbonne, has been constitutional minister of war, but had to retire in March, when the popular ministry--Roland's--came into office. It is evident that the king and the Assembly cannot act together; nay, the king himself feels the impossibility of it, and is already setting his hopes on foreign interference, secretly corresponding with Austria and Prussia. The people of Paris, too, feel the impossibility, and are setting their hopes on something very different. The monarchy must go; jacobins' club(1) and men of the Gironde, afterwards at death- grapple with one another, are now united on this point; they, and not a constitutional government, are the true representatives of Paris and of France. A year ago, July 1791, the people of Paris, demanding the deposition of the king, were dispersed by General Lafayette with volleys of musketry. But Lafayette's popularity and power are now gone. "The hero of two worlds," as he was called, was little more than a boy when he fought under Washington, in the cause of American independence. Animated by the same love of liberty which had carried him to America, Lafayette took part in the early movements of the French Revolution. In 1789, after the fall of the Bastille, he was commander of the national guard, and one of the most popular men in France. A high-minded man, full of sincerity, of enthusiasm: "Cromwell Grandison," Mirabeau nicknamed him. Devoted to the Constitution, Lafayette was no friend to the extreme party, to the jacobins, with their Danton, their Robespierre. He had striven for liberty, but for liberty and monarchy combined; and the two things were fast becoming irreconcilable. And now, in July 1792, distrusted alike by the Court and the people, Lafayette sits sad at Sedan, in the midst of his army. War has already commenced, with a desultory and unsuccessful attack by the French upon the Austrian Netherlands. But the real struggle is now approaching. Heralded by an insolent proclamation, the Duke of Brunswick is marching from Coblenz with more than a hundred thousand Prussians, Austrians, and emigrants ; and General Lafayette, alas ! appears more bent upon denouncing jacobinism than upon defending the frontier. The country is indeed in danger. With open hostility advancing from without, doubt and suspicion fermenting within, Paris at last rises in good earnest, August 10, 1792. This is the answer to Brunswick's insolent proclamation. Paris attacks the Tuileries, King Louis and his family taking refuge in the Assembly; captures the Tuileries, not without terrible loss, the brave Swiss guard Page 13 standing steadfast to their posts, and getting, the greater part of them, massacred. Yielding to the demands of the people, the Assembly passes decrees suspending the king, dismissing the ministers, and convoking a National Convention. This was the work of the famous 10th of August, the birthday of the French Republic. on the 13th August the royal family is sent to the prison of the Temple from whence the king and the queen, unhappy Marie Antoinette, will come forth only to trial and execution. A new patriotic ministry is formed--Rolan again minister of the interior, Danton, the soul of the insurrection, minister of justice; a tribunal is appointed) and the prisons of Paris are filled with persons suspect. Executions follow; but the tribunal makes not quick enough work. Austrians and Prussians are advancing towards Paris; in Paris itself thousands of aristocrats, enemies to their country, are lying hid, ready to join the foreign foes. In these desperate straits, Paris, at least sansculotte Paris, frenzied and wild for vengeance, falls upon the mad expedient of massacring the prisoners: more than a thousand suspected royalists are slaughtered, after brief improvised Trial or pretence of trial; or even without trial at all. This butchery is known as the "September massacres" (Sept. 2-6, 1792), infamous in history, heartily approved by few, perhaps, even of the more violent Republicans; indignantly denounced by Rowland and the less violent, powerless, nevertheless, to interfere, Paris being "in death-panic, the enemy and gibbets at its door."(2) Sept. 22, the Legislative Assembly having Dissolved, the National Convention holds its first meeting and proclaims the Republic: royalty for ever abolished in France. Among the feelings, with which the news of these events are received in England, horror predominates. Still the Government takes no decisive step. The English ambassador in Paris, Lord Gower, is indeed recalled, in consequence of the events of August 10, but the French ambassador, Chauvelin, yet remains in London, although unrecognised in an official capacity after the deposition of Louis. War is in the wind, and, although Fox and many members of the opposition earnestly deprecate any hostile interference in the affairs of the Republic, a strong contingent of the Whig party, headed by Burke, is not less earnest in their efforts to make peace with France impossible. Pitt, indeed, is in favour of neutrality, but Pitt is forced to give way at last. Meanwhile, the popular feeling in favour of the royalists is being heightened and extended by the constant influx of French refugees. Thousands of the recalcitrant clergy, especially, with no king's veto now to protect them, are seeking safety, in England. Many adherents of the Constitution, too, ex-members of the Assembly and others, are fleeing hither from a country intolerant of monarchists, even constitutional; establishing themselves at juniper Hall and elsewhere. Among them we note the Duke de Liancourt, whose escape the reader will find related in the following pages; Count de Lally- Page 14 Tollendal and M. de jaucourt, saved, both, by - good fortune, from the September massacres ; Vicomte de Montmorency, or call him citoyen, who voted for the abolition of titles; ex-minister of war Narbonne, concealed after August 10 by Madame de Stael, and escaping disguised as a servant; and presently, too, Madame de Stael herself; and last, but not least interesting to readers of the Diary, General Alexandre dArblay, whom Fanny will before long fall in love with and marry. One person, too, there is, more noteworthy, or at least more prominent in history, than any of these, whom Fanny meets at Mickleham, whom she dislikes instinctively at first sight, but whose plausible speech and ingratiating manners soon make a convert of her. This is citizen Talleyrand--Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-P�rigord, Bishop of Autun. He, too, is now an emigrant, although he came to England in a far different character, as secret ambassador from the Constitutional Government of France ; citizen Chauvelin being the nominal ambassador. On the whole, Talleyrand's diplomacy has not been productive of much good, to himself or others. Back in Paris before the 10th of August, he returned to London in September with a passport from Danton. A questionable man; some think him a jacobin, others a royalist in disguise. And now, while he is in London, there is talk of him in the Convention : citizen Talleyrand, it seems, has professed himself " disposed to serve the king ;" whereupon (December 5, 1792) citizen Talleyrand is decreed accused, and his name is inscribed on the list of emigrants. We must turn once again to France. At Sedan, in a white heat of indignation on the news of that 10th of August, constitutional (sic) Lafayette emits a proclamation : the Constitution is destroyed, the king a prisoner: let us march for Paris and restore them! There is hope at first, that the army will follow Lafayette, but hope tells a flattering tale : the soldiers, it seems, care more for their country than for the Constitution. Lafayette sees that all is lost ; rides (August 18) for Holland with a few friends, of whom General d'Arblay is one; intends to take passage thence for America, but falls, instead, into the hands of the Austrians, and spends the next few years imprisoned in an Austrian fortress. General d'Arblay, after a few days, is allowed to proceed to England. Lafayette gone, the command of the army falls to General Dumouriez. Brunswick with his Prussians and emigrants, Clairfait with his Austrians, are now in France; advancing upon Paris. They take Longwy and Verdun; try to take Thonville and Lille, but cannot; and find Dumouriez and his sansculottes, there in the passes of Argonne, the "Thermopylae of France," an unexpectedly hard nut to crack. In fact, the nut is not to be cracked at all: Dumouriez, " more successful than Leonidas," flings back the invasion; compels the invaders to evacuate France; and in November, assuming the offensive, conquers the whole Austrian Netherlands. Meantime, in the south-east, the war in Page 15 which the Republic is engaged with the King of Sardinia progresses also favourably, and Savoy and Nice are added to the French territory. Europe may arm, but a people fighting for an ideal is not to be crushed. France has faith in her ideal of liberty and fraternity, questionable or worse though some of the methods are by which she endeavours to realise it. But Danton is right: "il nous faut de l'audace, et encore de l'audace, et toujours de l'audace;" and with superb audacity the Republic defies the armed powers of Europe, decrees (November 19) assistance to every nation that will strike a blow for freedom, and cast off its tyrants. A yet more daring act of defiance follows--tragic to all men, unspeakably horrible to Fanny Burney and all friends of monarchy, constitutional or other. In December 1792, poor King Louis is tried before the National Convention, found guilty of "conspiring against liberty;" condemned to death by a majority of votes; in January, executed January 21. It is even as Danton said in one of his all-too gigantic figures 'the coalesced kings threaten us; we hurl at their feet, as gage of battle, the Head of a King."' (3) Louis's kinsman, profligate Philippe Egalit�, ci-devant Duc d'Orl�ans, votes for death; before another year has passed he himself will have perished by the guillotine. In England, war is resolved upon; even Pitt sees not how it can be avoided. January 24, ambassador Chauvelin is ordered to quit England within eight days; Talleyrand remaining yet another year. Spain, too, is arming, and Holland is England's ally. War being inevitable, the Republic determines to be first in the field; declares war on England and Holland, February 1, 1793, and on Spain, March 7.-ED.] ARRIVAL OF FRENCH EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL. August 1792. Our ambassador is recalled from France Russia has declared war against that wretched kingdom. But it may defy all outward enemies to prove in any degree destructive in comparison with its lawless and barbarous inmates. We shall soon have no authentic accounts from Paris, as no English are expected to remain after the ambassador, and no French will dare to write, in such times of pillage, what may carry them à la lanterne.(4) Page 16 (Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney.) Mickleham, September 1792. We shall shortly, I believe, have a little colony of unfortunate (or rather) fortunate, since here they are safe) French noblesse in our neighbourhood. Sunday evening Ravely informed Mr. Locke that two or three families had joined to take Jenkinson's house, juniper Hall, and that another family had taken a small house at Westhamble, which the people very reluctantly let, upon the Christian-like supposition that, being nothing but French papishes, they would never pay. Our dear Mr. Locke, while this was agitating, sent word to the landlord that he would be answerable for the rent ; however, before this message arrived, the family were admitted. The man said they had pleaded very hard indeed, and said, if he did but know the distress they had been in, he would not hesitate. This house is taken by Madame de Broglie, daughter of the mareschal, who is in the army with the French princes;(5) or, rather, wife to his son, Victor Broglie, till very lately general of one of the French armies, and at present disgraced, and fled nobody knows where. This poor lady came over in an open boat, with a son younger than my Norbury, and was fourteen hours at sea. She has other ladies with her, and gentlemen, and two little girls, who had been sent to England some weeks ago; they are all to lodge in a sort of cottage, containing only a kitchen and parlour on the ground floor. I long to offer them my house, 'and have been much gratified by finding Mr. Locke immediately determined to visit them; his taking this step will secure them the civilities, at least, of the other neighbours. At Jenkinson's are-la Marquise de la Ch�tre, whose husband is with the emigrants; her son; M. de Narbonne, lately ministre de la guerre;(6) M. de Montmorency; Charles or Theodore Lameth; Jaucourt; and one or two more, whose names I have forgotten, are either arrived to-day, or expected. I feel infinitely interested for all these persecuted persons. Pray tell me whatever you hear of M. de Liancourt, etc. Heaven bless you! Page 17 THE DOCTOR'S FIVE DAUGHTERS. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Halstead, October 2, '92. My dearest padre,-I have just got your direction, in a letter from my mother, and an account that you seem to be in health and spirits; so now I think it high time to let you know a little about some of your daughters, lest you should forget you have any such incumbrances. In the first place, two of them, Esther and F. B., had a safe and commodious journey hither, in the midst of pattering showers and cloudy skies, making up as well as they could for the deficiencies of the elements by the dulcet recreation of the concord of sweet sounds ; not from tabrets and harps, but from the harmony of hearts with tongues. In the second place, a third of them, Charlotte F., writes word her caro sposo has continued very tolerably well this last fortnight, and that she still desires to receive my visit according to the first appointment. In the third place, a fourth of them, Sarah, is living upon French politics and with French fugitives, at Bradfield,(7) where she seems perfectly satisfied with foreign forage. In the fourth place, Susanna, another of them, sends cheering histories of herself and her tribe, though she concludes them with a sighing ejaculation of "I wish I did not know there was such a country as France !" A VISIT To ARTHUR YOUNG.(8) Oct. 5.-I left Halstead, and set off, alone, for Bradfield Hall, which was but one stage of nineteen miles distant. Sarah,(9) who was staying with her aunt, Mrs. Young, expected Page 18 me, and came running out before the chaise stopped at the door, and Mr. Young following, with both hands full of French newspapers. He welcomed me with all his old spirit and impetuosity, exclaiming his house never had been so honoured since its foundation, nor ever could be again, unless I re-visited it in my way back, even though all England came in the meantime! Do you not know him well, my Susan, by this opening rodomontade? "But where," cried he, "is Hetty? O that Hetty! Why did you not bring her with you? That wonderful creature! I have half a mind to mount horse, and gallop to Halstead to claim her! What is there there to merit her? What kind of animals have you left her with? Anything capable of understanding her?" During this we mounted up-stairs, into the dining-room. Here all looked cold and comfortless, and no Mrs. Young appeared. I inquired for her, and heard that her youngest daughter, Miss Patty, had just had a fall from her horse, which had bruised her face, and occasioned much alarm. The rest of the day we spoke only of French politics. Mr. Young is a severe penitent of his democratic principles, and has lost even all pity for the constituants r�volutionnaires, who had "taken him in" by their doctrines, but cured him by their practice, and who "ought better to have known what they were about before they presumed to enter into action." Even the Duc de Liancourt,(11) who was then in a small house at Bury, merited, he said, all the personal misfortunes that had befallen him. "I have real obligations to him," he added, "and therefore I am anxious to show him respect, and do him any service, in his present reverse of fortune; but he has brought it all on himself, and, what is worse; on his country." He wrote him, however, a note to invite him to dinner the next day. The duke wrote an answer, that lamented excessively being engaged to meet Lord Euston, And dine with the Bury aldermen. Page 19 THE DUKE DE LIANCOURT'S ABORTIVE EFFORTS AT ROUEN. I must now tell you the history of this poor duke's arriving in England, for it involves a revival of loyalty-an effort to make some amends to his unhappy sovereign for the misery into which he had largely contributed to plunge him; which, with me, has made his peace for ever. But first I should tell, he was the man who almost compelled the every-way- deluded Louis to sanction the National Assembly by his presence when first it resisted his orders. The queen and all her party were strongly against the measure, and prophesied it would be the ruin of his authority; but the duke, highly ambitious of fame, as Mr. Young describes him, and willing to sacrifice everything to the new systems then pervading all France, suddenly rushed into his closet, upon the privilege of being one of the five or seven pairs de France(12) who have that licence, and, with a strong and forcible eloquence, declared nothing but his concession would save the nation from a civil war; while his entering, unarmed, into the National Assembly, would make him regarded for ever as the father and saviour of his people, and secure him the powerful sovereignty of the grateful hearts of all his subjects. He succeeded, and the rest is public. This incident has set all the Coblenz(13) party utterly and for ever against the duke. He had been some time in extreme anguish for the unhappy king, whose ill-treatment on the 20th of June 1792,(14) reached him while commandant at Rouen. He then first began to see, that the monarch or the jacobins must inevitably fall, and he could scarce support the prospect of ultimate danger threatening the former. When the news reached him of the bloody 10th of August, a plan which for some time he had been forming, of gaining over his regiment to the service of the king, was rendered abortive. Yet all his officers except One had promised to join in any enterprise for their insulted master. He had hoped to get the king to Page 20 Rouen under this protection, as I gather, though this matter has never wholly transpired, But the king could not be persuaded to trust any one. How should he?--especially a revolutionnaire? No time now was to be lost, and, in his first impetuosity of rage and despair, he instantly summoned his officers and his troops ; and, in the midst of them all, upon the parade or place of assembling, he took off his hat, and called out aloud, "Vive le roi!" His officers echoed the sound, all but one!--yet not a soldier joined. Again be waved his hat, and louder and louder called out, "Vive le roi!" And then every soldier repeated it after him. Enchanted with hope, he felt one exulting moment, when this single dissentient officer called out aloud, as soon as the loyal cry was over, "As an officer of the nation I forbid this!--Vive la nation!" The duke instantly had the man arrested, and retired to his apartment to compose his excess agitation, and consider how to turn this promise of loyalty to the service of his now imprisoned king; but, in a short time, an officer strongly attached to him entered the room hastily, and cried, "Sauvez vous, M. de Liancourt!(15)--be speedy! the jacobin party of Rouen have heard of your indiscretion and a price is this moment set upon your head!" The duke knew too well with whom he had to act for a moment's hesitation. To serve the king was now impossible, as he had but to appear in order to be massacred. He could only save his own life by flight. THE DUKE'S ESCAPE To ENGLAND: "POT PORTERE." In what manner he effected his escape out of Rouen he has never mentioned. I believe he was assisted by those who, remaining behind, could only be named to be torn in pieces for their humanity. M. Jamard, a French priest, tells me no human being knows when or how he got away, and none suspected him to be gone for two days. He went first to Abbeville there, for two days, he appeared everywhere, walking about in his regimentals, and assuming an air of having nothing to apprehend. This succeeded, as his indiscretion had not yet spread at Abbeville; but, meanwhile, a Page 21 youth whom he had brought up from a child, and on whose fond regard and respect he could rely, was employed in seeking him the means of passing over to England. This was infinitely difficult, as he was to leave France without any passport. How he quitted Abbeville I know not; but he was in another town, near the coast, three days, still waiting for a safe conveyance; and here, finding his danger increased greatly by delay, he went to some common house, without dress or equipage or servants that could betray him, and spent his whole time in bed, under pretence of indisposition, to avoid being seen. At length his faithful young groom succeeded; and he got, at midnight, into a small boat, with only two men. He had been taken for the King of France by one, who had refused to convey him ; and some friend, who assisted his escape, was forced to get him off, at last, by holding a pistol to the head of his conductor, and protesting he would shoot him through and through, if he made further demur, or spoke aloud. It was dark, and midnight. Both he and his groom planted themselves in the bottom of the boat, and were covered with fagots, lest any pursuit should ensue : and thus wretchedly they were suffocated till they thought themselves at a safe distance from France. The poor youth then, first looking up, exclaimed, "Ah! nous sommes perdus!(16) they are carrying us back to our own country!" The duke started up; he had the same opinion, but thought opposition vain; he charged him to keep silent and quiet; and after about another league, they found this, at least, a false alarm, owing merely to a thick fog or mist. At length they landed--at Hastings, I think. The boatman had his money, and they walked on to the nearest public-house. The duke, to seem English, called for "pot portere." It was brought him, and he drank it off in two draughts, his drought being extreme ; and he called for another instantly. That also, without any suspicion or recollection of consequences, was as hastily swallowed; and what ensued he knows not. He was intoxicated, and fell into a profound sleep. His groom helped the people of the house to carry him upstairs and put him to bed. How long he slept he knows not, but he woke in the middle of the night without the smallest consciousness of where he was, or what had happened. ' Page 22 France alone was in his head-France and its horrors, which nothing-not even English porter and intoxication and sleep - could drive away. He looked round the room with amaze at first, and soon after with consternation. It was so unfurnished, so miserable, so lighted with only one small bit of a candle, that it occurred to him he was in a maison de force(17) '- thither conveyed in his sleep. The stillness of everything confirmed this dreadful idea. He arose, slipped on his clothes, and listened at the door. He heard no sound. He was scarce, yet, I suppose, quite awake, for he took the candle, and determined to make an attempt to escape. Down-stairs he crept, neither hearing nor making any noise and he found himself in a kitchen ' he looked round, and the brightness of a shelf of pewter plates struck his eye under them were pots and kettles shining and polished. "Ah! "? cried he to himself, "je suis en Angleterre."(18) The recollection came all at once at sight of a cleanliness which, in these articles, he says, is never met with in France. He did not escape too soon, for his first cousin, the good Duc de la Rochefoucault, another of the first r�volutionnaires, was massacred the next month.(19) The character he has given of this murdered relation is the most affecting, in praise and virtues, that can possibly be heard. k Sarah has heard him till she could not keep the tears from her eyes. They had been �l�ves(20) together, and loved each other as the tenderest brothers. MADAME DE GENLIS'S HASTY RETREAT. You will all be as sorry as I was myself to hear that every ill story of la Comtesse de Genlis was confirmed by the duke. Page 23 She was resident at Bury, when he arrived, with Mlle. Egalit�, Pamela, Henrietta Circe, and several others, who appeared in various ways, as artists, gentlemen, domestics, and equals, on various occasions. The history of their way of life is extraordinary, and not very comprehensible, probably owing to the many necessary difficulties which the new 'system of equality produces.(21) A lady of Bury, a sister of Sir Thomas Gage, had been very much caught by Madame Brulard,(22) who had almost lived at the house of Sir Thomas. Upon the arrival of the duke he was invited to Sir Thomas Gage's immediately; and Miss G, calling upon Madame Brulard, mentioned him, and asked if she knew him?--No, she answered; but she had seen him. This was innocently repeated to the duke, who then, in a transport of rage, broke out with "Elle M'a vu!(23) and is that all?--Does she forget that she has spoke to me? that she has heard me too? " And then he related, that when all was wearing the menacing aspect of anarchy, before it broke out, and before he was ordered to his regiment at Rouen, he had desired an audience of Madame Brulard, for the first time, having been always a friend of Madame d'Orl�ans, and consequently her enemy. She was unwilling to see him, but he would not be refused. He then told her that France was upon the point of ruin, and that the Duc d'Orl�ans, who had been its destruction, and "the disgrace of the Revolution," could alone now prevent the impending havoc. He charged her therefore, forcibly and peremptorily, to take in charge a change of measures, and left her with an exhortation which he then flattered himself would have some chance of averting the coming dangers. But quickly -after she quitted France voluntarily, and settled in England. "And can she have forgot all this ?" cried he. I know not if this was repeated to Madame de Brulard but certain it is she quitted Bury with the utmost expedition, She did not even wait to pay her debts, and left the poor Henrietta Circe behind, as a sort of hostage, to prevent alarm. The creditors, however, finding her actually gone, entered the house, and poor Henrietta was terrified into hysterics. Probably she knew not but they were jacobins, or would act upon jacobin principles. Madame Brulard then Page 24 sent for her, and remitted money, and proclaimed her intention of returning to Suffolk no more. A NOBLEMAN OF THE ANCIEN R�GIEM. The duke accepted the invitation for to-day, and came early, on horseback. He had just been able to get over some two or three of his horses from France. He has since, I hear, been forced to sell them. Mrs. Young was not able to appear; Mr. Young came to my room door to beg I would waste no time; Sarah and I, therefore, proceeded to the drawing-room. The duke was playing with a favourite dog-the thing probably the most dear to him in England; for it was just brought him over by his faithful groom, whom he had sent back upon business to his son. He is very tall, and, were his figure less, would be too fat, but all is in proportion. His face, which is very handsome, though not critically so, has rather a haughty expression when left to itself, but becomes soft and spirited in turn, according to whom he speaks, and has great play and variety. His deportment is quite noble, and in a style to announce conscious rank even to the most sedulous equaliser. His carriage is peculiarly upright, and his person uncommonly well made. His manners are such as only admit of comparison with what We have read, not what we have seen; for he has all the air of a man who would wish to lord over men, but to cast himself at the feet of women. He was in mourning for his barbarously murdered cousin the Duc de la Rochefoucault. His first address was of the highest style. I shall not attempt to recollect his words, but they were most elegantly expressive of his satisfaction in a meeting he had long, he said, desired. With Sarah he then shook hands. She had been his interpretess here on his arrival, and he seems to have conceived a real kindness for her; an honour of which she is extremely sensible, and with reason. A little general talk ensued, and he made a point of curing Sarah of being afraid of his dog. He made no secret of thinking it affectation, and never rested till he had conquered it completely. I saw here, in the midst of all that at first so powerfully struck me of dignity, importance, and high-breeding, a true French Polisson; for he called the dog round her, made it jump on her shoulder, and amused himself as, Page 25 in England, only a schoolboy or a professed fox-hunter would have dreamt of doing. This, however, recovered me to a little ease, which his compliment had rather overset. Mr. Young hung back, nearly quite silent. Sarah was quiet when reconciled to the dog, or, rather, subdued by the duke; and then, when I thought it completely out of his head, he tranquilly drew a chair next mine, and began a sort of separate conversation, which he suffered nothing to interrupt till we were summoned to dinner. His subject was 'Cecilia;' and he seemed not to have the smallest idea I could object to discussing it, any more than if it had been the work of another person. I answered all his demands and interrogatories with a degree of openness I have never answered any other upon this topic; but the least hope of beguiling the misery of an �migr� tames me. Mr. Young listened with amaze, and all his ears, to the many particulars and elucidations which the duke drew from me; he repeatedly called out he had heard nothing of them before, and rejoiced he was at least present when they were communicated. This proved, at length, an explanation to the duke himself, that, the moment he understood, made him draw back, saying, "Peut-�tre que je suis indiscret?"(24) However, he soon returned to the charge - and when Mr. Young made any more exclamations, he heeded them not: he smiled, indeed, when Sarah also affirmed he had procured accounts she had never heard before; but he has all the air of a man not new to any mark of more than common favour. At length we were called to dinner, during which he spoke of general things. DUCAL VIVACITY AND SADNESS. The French of Mr. Young, at table, was very comic ; he never hesitates for a word, but puts English wherever he is at a loss, with a mock French pronunciation. "Monsieur Duc," as he calls him, laughed once or twice, but clapped him on the back, called him "un brave homme," and gave him instruction as well as encouragement in all his blunders. When the servants were gone, the duke asked me if anybody might write a letter to the king? I fancy he had some per- Page 26 sonal idea of this kind. I told him yes, but through the hands of a lord of the bedchamber, or some state officer, or a minister. He seemed pensive, but said no more. He inquired, however, if I had not read to the queen and seemed to wish to understand my office; but here he was far more circumspect than about 'Cecilia.' He has lived so much in a Court, that he knew exactly how far he might inquire with the most scrupulous punctilio. I found, however, he had imbibed the jacobin notion that our beloved king was still disordered; for, after some talk upon his illness, and very grave and proper expressions concerning the affliction and terror it produced in the kingdom, he looked at me very fixedly,, and, with an arching brow, said, "Mais, mademoiselle--apr�s tout--le roi--est il bien gu�ri?"(25) I gave him such assurances as he could not doubt, from their simplicity, which resulted from their truth. Mr. Young would hardly let Sarah and me retreat; however, we promised to meet soon to coffee. I went away full of concern for his injuries, and fuller of amazement at the vivacity with which he bore them. When at last we met in the drawing-room, I found the duc all altered. Mr. Young had been forced away by business, and was but just returned, and he had therefore been left a few minutes by himself; the effect was visible, and extremely touching. Recollections and sorrow had retaken possession of his mind; and his spirit, his vivacity, his power of rallying were all at an end. He was strolling about the room with an air the most gloomy, and a face that looked enveloped in clouds of sadness and moroseness. There was a fiert� almost even fierce in his air and look, as, wrapped in himself, he continued his walk. I felt now an increasing compassion:--what must he not suffer when he ceases to fight with his calamities! Not to disturb him we talked with one another; but he soon shook himself and joined us; though he could not bear to sit down, or stand a moment in a place. "CETTE COQUINE DE BRULARD." Sarah spoke of Madame Brulard, and, in a little malice, to draw him out, said her sister knew her very well. The duc " Page 27 with eyes of fire at the sound, came up to me: "Comment, mademoiselle! vous avez connu cette coquine de Brulard?"(26) And then he asked me what I had thought of her. I frankly answered that I had thought her charming; gay, intelligent, well-bred, well-informed, and amiable. He instantly drew back, as if sorry he had named her so roughly, and looked at Sally for thus surprising him; but I immediately continued that I could now no longer think the same of her, as I could no longer esteem her; but I confessed my surprise had been inexpressible at her duplicity. 'He allowed that, some years ago, she might have a better chance than now of captivation - for the deeper she had immersed in politics, the more she had forfeited of feminine attraction. "Ah!" he cried, " with her talents-her knowledge-her parts-had she been modest, reserved, gentle, what a blessing might she have proved to her country! but she is devoted to intrigue and cabal, and proves its curse." He then spoke with great asperity against all the femmes de lettres now known; he said they were commonly the most disgusting of their sex, in France, by their arrogance, boldness, and mauvais moeurs. GRACEFUL OFFERS OF HOSPITALITY. I inquired if Mr. Young had shown him a letter from the Duke of Grafton, which he had let me read in the morning. It was to desire Mr. Young would acquaint him if the Duc de Liancourt was still in Bury, and, if so, to wait upon him, in the Duke of Grafton's name, to solicit him to make Euston his abode while in England, and to tell him that he should have his apartments wholly unmolested, and his time wholly unbroken; that he was sensible, in such a situation of mind, he must covet much quiet and freedom from interruption and impertinence; and he therefore promised that, if he would honour his house with his residence, it should be upon the same terms as if he were in an hotel-that he would never know if he were at home or abroad, or even in town or in the country - and he hoped the Duc de Liancourt would make no more scruple of accepting such an asylum and retreat at his house than he would himself have done of accepting a similar Page 28 one from the duke in France, if the misfortunes of his own country had driven him to exile. I was quite in love with the Duke of Grafton for this kindness. The Duc de Liancourt bowed to my question, and seemed much gratified with the invitation; but I see he cannot brook obligation; he would rather live in a garret, and call it his own. He told me, however, with an air of some little pleasure, that he had received just such another letter from Lord Sheffield. I believe both these noblemen had been entertained at Liancourt some years ago. I inquired after Madame la duchesse, and I had the satisfaction to hear she was safe in Switzerland. The duke told me she had purchased an estate there. He inquired very particularly after your juniper colony, and M. de Narbonne, but said he most wished to meet with M. d'Arblay, who was a friend and favourite of his eldest son. THE EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL DESCRIBED. [It is hoped that some pages from Mrs. Phillips's journalizing letters to her sister, written at this period, may not be unacceptable , since they give particulars concerning several distinguished actors and sufferers in the French Revolution, and also contain the earliest description of M. d'Arblay.(27)) (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.) Mickleham, November, 1792. It gratifies me very much that I have been able to interest you for our amiable and charming neighbours. Mrs. Locke had been so kind as to pave the way for my introduction to Madame de la Ch�tre, and carried me on Friday to juniper Hall, where we found M. de Montmorency, a ci-devant duc,(28) and one who gave some of the first great examples of sacrificing personal interest to what was then considered the public good. I know not whether you will like him the better when I tell you that from him proceeded the motion for the abolition of titles in France; but if you do Page 29 not, let me, in his excuse, tell you he was scarcely one-and- twenty when an enthusiastic spirit impelled him to this, I believe, ill-judged and mischievous act. My curiosity was greatest to see M. de Jaucourt, because I remembered many lively and spirited speeches made by him during the time of the Assembl�e L�gislalive, and that he was a warm defender of my favourite hero, M. Lafayette. Of M. de Narbonne's abilities we could have no doubt from his speeches and letters whilst ministre de la guerre, which post he did not quit till last May.(29) By his own desire, he then joined Lafayette's army, and acted under him; but on the 10th of August, he was involved, with perhaps nearly all the most honourable and worthy of the French nobility, accused as a traitor by the jacobins, and obliged to fly from his country M. d'Argenson was already returned to France, and Madame de Broglie had set out the same day, November 2nd, hoping to escape the decree against the emigrants.(30) Madame de la Ch�tre received us with great politeness. She is about thirty-three; an elegant figure, not pretty, but with an animated and expressive countenance; very well read, pleine d'esprit, and, I think, very lively and charming. A gentleman was with her whom Mrs. Locke had not yet seen, M. d'Arblay. She introduced him, and when he had quitted the room, told us he was adjutant-general to M. Lafayette, mar�chal de camp, and in short the first in military rank of those who had accompanied that general when he so unfortunately fell into the hands of the Prussians; but, not having been one of the Assembl�e Constituante, he was allowed, with four others, to proceed into Holland, and there M. de Narbonne wrote to him. "Et comme il l'aime infiniment," said Madame de la Chàtre, "il l'a pri� de venir vivre avec lui."(31 He had arrived only two days before. He is tall, and a good figure, with an open and manly countenance; about forty, I imagine. It was past twelve. However, Madame de la Chàtre owned Page 30 she had not breakfasted--ces messieurs were not yet ready. A little man, who looked very triste indeed, in an old- fashioned suit of clothes, with long flaps to a waistcoat embroidered in silks no longer very brilliant, sat in a corner of the room. I could not imagine who he was, but when he spoke was immediately convinced he was no Frenchman. I afterwards heard he had been engaged by M. de Narbonne for a year, to teach him and all the party English. He had had a place in some college in France at the beginning of the Revolution, but was now driven out and destitute. His name is Clarke. He speaks English with an accent tant soit Peu Scotch. Madame de la Chàtre, with great franchise entered into details of her situation and embarrassment, whether she might venture, like Madame de Broglie, to go over to France, in which case she was dans le cas oû elle pouvoit toucher sa fortune(32) immediately. She said she could then settle in England, and settle comfortably. M. de la Chàtre, it seems, previous to his joining the king's brothers, had settled upon her her whole fortune. She and all her family were great favourers of the original Revolution and even at this moment she declares herself unable to wish the restoration of the old r�gime, with its tyranny and corruptions--persecuted and ruined as she and thousands more have been by the unhappy consequences of the Revolution, M. de Narbonne now came in. He seems forty, rather fat, but would be handsome were it not for a slight cast of one eye. He was this morning in great spirits. Poor man! It was the only time I have ever seen him so. He came up very courteously to me, and begged leave de me faire Sa Cour(33) at Mickleham, to which I graciously assented. Then came M. de jaucourt, whom I instantly knew by Mr. Locke's description. He is far from handsome, but has a very intelligent countenance, fine teeth, and expressive eyes. I scarce heard a word from him, but liked his appearance exceedingly, and not the less for perceiving his respectful and affectionate manner of attending to Mr. Locke but when Mr. Locke reminded us that Madame de la Chàtre had not breakfasted, we took leave, after spending an hour in a manners so pleasant and so interesting that it scarcely appeared ten minutes. Page 31 MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY. NOV. 7.- --Phillips was at work in the parlour, and I had just stepped into the next room for some papers I wanted, when I heard a man's voice, and presently distinguished these words: "Je ne parle pas trop bien l'Anglois, monsieur."(34) I came forth immediately to relieve Phillips, and then found it was M. d'Arblay. I received him de bien bon coeur, as courteously as I could. The adjutant of M. Lafayette, and one of those who proved faithful to that excellent general, could not but be interesting to me. I was extremely pleased at ]its coming, and more and more pleased with himself every moment that passed. He seems to me a true militaire, franc et loyal--open as the day; warmly affectionate to his friends; intelligent, ready, and amusing in conversation, with a great share of gai�t� de coeur, and, at the same time, of na�vet� and bonne foi. He was no less flattering to little Fanny than M. de Narbonne had been. We went up into the drawing-room with him, and met Willy on the stairs, and Norbury capered before us. "Ah, madame," cried M. d'Arblay, "la jolie petite maison que vous avez, et les jolis petits hôtes!"(35) looking at the children, the drawings, etc. He took Norbury on his lap and played with -him. I asked him if he was not proud of being so kindly noticed by the adjutant-general of M. Lafayette? "Est-ce qu'il sait le nom de M. Lafayette?"(36) said he, smiling. I said he was our hero, and that I was thankful to see at least one of his faithful friends here. I asked if M. Lafayette was allowed to write and receive letters. He said yes, but they were always given to him open. - Norbury now (still seated on his lap) took courage to whisper him, "Were you, sir, put in prison with M. Lafayette?" "Oui, mon ami," "And--was it quite dark?" I was obliged, laughing, to translate this curious question. M. d'Arblay laughed too: "Non, mon ami," said he, "on nous amis abord dans une assez jolie chambre."(37) i lamented the hard fate of M. Lafayette, and the rapid and wonderful reverse he had met with, after having been, as he Page 32 well merited to be, the most popular man in France. This led M. d'Arblay to speak of M. de Narbonne, to whom I found him passionately attached. Upon my mentioning the sacrifices made by the French nobility, and by a great number of them voluntarily, he said no one had made more than M. de Narbonne; that, previous to the Revolution, he had more wealth and more power than almost any except the princes of the blood. For himself, he mentioned his fortune and his income from his appointments as something immense, but 1 never remember the number of hundred thousand livres, nor can tell what their amount is without some consideration. . . . The next day Madame de la Ch�tre was so kind as to send me the French papers, by her son, who made a silent visit of about five minutes. M. DE JAUCOURT. MADAME DE STAEL. Friday morning.-I sent Norbury with the French papers, desiring him to give them to M. d'Arblay. He stayed a prodigious while, and at last came back attended by M. de Narbonne, M. de Jaucourt, and M. d'Arblay. M. de Jaucourt is a delightful man--as comic, entertaining, unaffected, unpretending, and good-humoured as dear Mr Twining, only younger, and not quite so black. He is a man likewise of first-rate abilities--M. de Narbonne says, perhaps superior to Vaublanc(38) and of very uncommon firmness and integrity of character. The account Mr. Batt gave of the National Assembly last summer agrees perfectly with that of M. de Jaucourt, who had the misfortune to be one of the deputies, and who, upon some great occasion in support of the king and constitution, found only twenty-four members who had courage to support him, though a far more considerable number gave him secretly their good wishes and prayers. It was on this that he regarded all hope of justice and order as lost, and that he gave in sa d�mission(39) from the Assembly. In a few days he was seized, and sans forme de proces(40) having lost his inviolability as a Page 33 member, thrown into the prison of the Abbaye, where, had it not been for the very extraordinary and admirable exertions of Madame de Stael (M. Necker's daughter, and the Swedish ambassador's wife), he would infallibly have been massacred. I must here tell you that this lady, who was at that time seven months gone with child, was indefatigable in her efforts to save every one she knew from this dreadful massacre. She walked daily (for carriages were not allowed to pass in the streets) to the H6tel de Ville, and was frequently shut up for five hours together with the horrible wretches that composed the Comit� de Surveillance, by whom these murders were directed; and by her eloquence, and the consideration demanded by her rank and her talents, she obtained the deliverance of above twenty unfortunate prisoners, some of whom she knew but slightly. . . . Madame de la Ch�tre and M. de Jaucourt have since told me that M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay had been treated with singular ingratitude by the king, whom they nevertheless still loved as well as forgave. They likewise say he wished to get rid of M. de Narbonne from the ministry, because he could not trust him with his projects of contre revolution. M. d'Arblay was the officer on guard at the Tuileries the night on which the king, etc., escaped to Varennes,(41) and ran great risk of being denounced, and perhaps massacred, though he had been kept in the most perfect ignorance of the king's intention. SEVERE DECREES AGAINST THE EMIGRANTS. The next Sunday, November 18th, Augusta and Amelia came to me after church, very much grieved at the inhuman decrees just passed in the Convention, including as emigrants, with those who have taken arms against their country, all who have quitted it since last July; and adjudging their estates to confiscation, and their persons to death should they return to France. " Ma'am," said Mr. Clarke, " it reduces this family to nothing : all they can hope is, by the help of their parents and friends, to get together wherewithal to purchase a cottage in America, and live as they can." Page 34 I was more shocked and affected by this account than I could very easily tell you. To complete the tragedy, M. de Narbonne had determined to write an offer--a request rather--to be allowed to appear as a witness in behalf of the king, upon his trial ; and M. d'Arblay had declared he would do the same, and share the fate of his friend, whatever it might be. MONSIEUR GIRARDIN. On Tuesday, the 20th, I called to condole with our friends on these new misfortunes. Madame de la Ch�tre received me with politeness, and even cordiality: she told me she was a little recovered from the first shock--that she should hope to gather together a small d�bris of her fortune, but never enough to settle in England--that, in short, her parti �tait pris(42)--that she must go to America. It went to my heart to hear her say so. Presently came in M. Girardin. He is son to the Marquis de Girardin d'Ermenonville, the friend of Rousseau, whose last days were passed, and whose remains are deposited, in his domain. This M. Girardin was a pupil of Rousseau; he was a member of the Legislative Assembly, and an able opponent of the jacobins. It was to him that M. Merlin, apr�s bien de gestes mena�ans,(43) had held a pistol, in the midst of the Assembly. His father was a mad republican, and never satisfied with the rational spirit of patriotism that animated M. Girardin; who, witnessing the distress of all the friends he most esteemed and honoured, and being himself in personal danger from the enmity of the jacobins, had, as soon as the Assembl�e L�gislative broke up, quitted Paris, I believe, firmly determined never to re-enter it under the present r�gime. I was prepossessed very much in favour of this gentleman, from his conduct in the late Assembly and all we had heard of him. I confess I had not represented him to myself as a great, fat, heavy-looking man, with the manners of a somewhat hard and morose Englishman: he is between thirty and forty, I imagine; he had been riding as far as to the cottage Mr. Malthouse had mentioned to him--l'asile de jean Jacques(44)--and said it was very near this place (it is at the foot of Leith Hill, Mr. Locke has since told me). They then talked over the newspapers which were come Page 35 that morning. M. de St. just,(45) who made a most fierce speech for the trial and condemnation of the king, they said had before only been known by little madrigals, romances, and heures tendres, published in the 'Almanac des Muses.' "A cette heure," said M. de jaucourt, laughing, "c'est un fier republicain."(46) THE PHILLIPSES AT JUNIPER HALL. Nov. 27.-Phillips and I determined at about half-past one to walk to "junipre" together. M. d'Arblay received us at the door, and showed the most flattering degree of pleasure at our arrival. We found with Madame de la Ch�tre another French gentleman, M. Sicard, who was also an officer of M. de Lafayette's. M. de Narbonne said he hoped we would be sociable, and dine with them now and then. Madame de la Ch�tre made a speech to the same effect, "Et quel jour, par exemple," said M. de Narbonne, "feroit wieux qu'aujourd'hui?"(47) Madame de la Ch�tre took my hand instantly, to press in the most pleasing and gratifying manner imaginable this proposal; and before I had time to answer, M. d'Arblay, snatching up his hat, declared he would run and fetch the children. I was obliged to entreat Phillips to bring him back, and entreated him to entendre raison.(48) . . . I pleaded their late hour of dinner, our having no carriage, and my disuse to the night air at this time of the year; but M. de Narbonne said their cabriolet (they have no other carriage) should take us home, and that there was a top to it, and Madame de la Ch�tre declared she would cover me well with shawls, etc. . . . M. d'Arblay scampered off for the little ones, whom all insisted upon having, and Phillips accompanied him, as it wanted I believe almost four hours to their dinner time. . . . Page 36 Then my dress: Oh, it was parfaite, and would give them all the courage to remain as they were, sans toilette: in short, nothing was omitted to render us comfortable and at our ease, and I have seldom passed a more pleasant day--never, I may fairly say, with such new acquaintance. I was only sorry M. de jaucourt did not make one of the party. MYSTERY ATTENDING M. DE NARBONNE'S BIRTH. Whilst M. d'Arblay and Phillips were gone, Madame de la Ch�tre told me they had that morning received M. Necker's "D�fense du Roi," and if I liked it that M. de Narbonne would read it out to us.(49) You may conceive my answer. It is a most eloquent production, and was read by M. de Narbonne with beaucoup d'�me. Towards the end it is excessively touching, and his emotion was very evident, and would have struck and interested me had I felt no respect for his character before. I must now tell you the secret of his birth, which, however, is, I conceive, no great secret even in London, as Phillips heard it at Sir Joseph Banks's. Madame Victoire, daughter of Louis XV., was in her youth known to be attached to the Comte de Narbonne, father of our M. de Narbonne. The consequence of this attachment was such as to oblige her to a temporary retirement, under the pretence of indisposition during which time la Comtesse de Narbonne, who was one of her attendants, not only concealed her own chagrin, but was the means of preserving her husband from a dangerous situation, and the princess from disgrace. She declared herself with child, and, in short, arranged all so well as to seem the mother of her husband's son ; though the truth was immediately suspected, and rumoured about the Court, and Madame de la Ch�tre told me, was known and familiarly spoken of by all her friends, except in the presence of Page 37 Narbonne, to whom no one would certainly venture to hint it. His father is dead, but la Comtesse de Narbonne, his reputed mother, lives, and is still an attendant on Madame Victoire, at Rome. M. de Narbonne's wife is likewise with her, and he himself was the person fixed on by Mesdames to accompany them when they quitted France for Italy. An infant daughter was left by him at Paris, who is still there with some of his family, and whom he expressed an earnest wish to. bring over, though the late decree may perhaps render his doing so impossible. He has another daughter, of six years old, who is with her mother at Rome, and whom he told me the pope had condescended to embrace. He mentioned his mother once (meaning la Comtesse de Narbonne) with great respect and affection. REVOLUTIONARY SOCIETIES IN NORFOLK. DEATH OF MR. FRANCIS. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Philips.) Aylsham, Norfolk, November 27, '92. My dearest Susanna's details of the French colony at juniper are truly interesting. I hope I may gather from them that M. de Narbonne, at least, has been able to realise some property here. I wish much to hear that poor Madame de Broglie has been permitted to join her husband. Who is this M. Malouet(50) who has the singular courage and feeling to offer to plead the cause of a fallen monarch in the midst of his ferocious accusers? And how ventures M. de Chauvelin to transmit such a proposal? I wish your French neighbours could give some account of this. I hear that the son for whom the Duc de Liancourt has been trembling, has been reduced to subscribe to all jacobin lengths, to save his life, and retain a little property. What seasons are these for dissolving all delicacy of internal honour! I am truly amazed, and half alarmed, to find this county with little revolution societies, which transmit their notions of Page 38 things to the larger committee at Norwich, which communicates the whole to the reformists of London. I am told there is scarce a village in Norfolk free from these meetings. . . . My good and brilliant champion in days of old, Mr. Windham, has never been in Norfolk since I have entered it. He had a call to Bulstrode, to the installation of the Duke of Portland, just as I arrived, and he has been engaged there and at Oxford ever since. I regret missing him at Holkham: I bad no chance of him anywhere else, as I have been so situated, from the melancholy circumstances of poor Mr. Francis's illness, that I have been unable to make acquaintance where he visits. (Miss Burney's second visit at Aylsham proved a very mournful one. Soon after her arrival, Mr. Francis, her brother-in-law, was seized with an apoplectic fit, which terminated in his death; and Miss Burney remained with her widowed sister, soothing and assisting her, till the close of the year, when she accompanied the bereaved family to London.] DEPARTURE OF MADAME DE LA CHATRE. (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.) December 16, '92. . . .. Everything that is most shocking may, I fear, be expected for the unfortunate King of France, his queen, and perhaps all that belong to him. M. d'Arblay said it would indeed scarce have been possible to hope that M. de Narbonne could have escaped with life, had the sauf-conduit requested been granted him, for attending as a witness at the king's trial. . . . M. de Narbonne had heard nothing new from France, but mentioned, with great concern, the indiscretion of the king, in having kept all his letters since the Revolution; that the papers lately discovered in the Tuileries would bring ruin and death on hundreds of his friends ; and that almost every one in that number "s'y trouvoient compliqu�s"(51) some way or other. A decree of accusation had been lanc� against M. Talleyrand, not for anything found from himself, but because M. de Laporte, long since executed, and from whom, of course, no renseignemens or explanations of any kind could Page 39 be gained, had written to the king that l'Eveque d'Autun(52) was well disposed to serve him. Can there be injustice more flagrant? M. Talleyrand, it seems, had proposed returning, and hoped to settle his affairs in France in person, but now he must be content with life ; and as for his property (save what he may chance to have in other countries), he must certainly lose all. Monday, December 17, In the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Locke called, and with them came Madame de la Ch�tre, to take leave. She now told us, perfectly in confidence, that Madame de Broglie had found a friend in the Mayor of Boulogne, that she was lodged at his house, and that she could answer for her (Madame de la Ch�tre) being received by him as well as she could desire (all this must be secret, as this good mayor, if accused of harbouring or befriending des �migr�s, would no doubt pay for it with his life). Madame de la Ch�tre said, all her friends who had ventured upon writing to her entreated her not to lose the present moment to return, as, the three months allowed for the return of those excepted in the decree once past, all hope would be lost for ever. Madame de Broglie, who is her cousin, was most excessively urgent to her to lose not an instant in returning, and had declared there would be no danger. Madame de la Ch�tre was put in spirits by this account, and the hope of becoming not destitute of everything; and I tried to hope without fearing for her, and, indeed, most sincerely offer up my petitions for her safety. Heaven prosper her! Her courage and spirits are wonderful. M. de Narbonne seemed, however, full of apprehensions for her. M. de Jaucourt seemed to have better hopes ; he, even he, has now thoughts of returning, or rather his generosity compels him to think of it. His father has represented to him that his sister's fortune must suffer unless he appears in France again - and although he had resisted every other consideration, on this he has given way. ARRIVAL OF M. DE LA CHATRE. Friday, December 21st, we dined at Norbury Park, and met our French friends: M. d'Arblay came in to coffee before the other gentlemen. We had been talking of Madame de la Page 40 Chattre, and conjecturing conjectures about her sposo: we were all curious, and all inclined to imagine him old, ugly, proud, aristocratic, -a kind of ancient and formal courtier ; so we questioned M. d'Arblay, acknowledging our curiosity, and that we wished to know, enfin, if M. de la Ch�tre was "digne d'etre �poux d'une personne si aimable et si charmante que Madame de la Ch�tre."(53) He looked very drolly, scarce able to meet our eyes; but at last, as he is la franchise m�me, he answered, "M. de la Ch�tre est un bon homme--parfaitement bon homme: au reste, il est brusque comme un cheval de carrosse."(54) We were in the midst of our coffee when St. jean came forward to M. de Narbonne, and said somebody wanted to speak to him. He went out of the room; in two minutes he returned, followed by a gentleman in a great-coat, whom we had never seen, and whom he introduced immediately to Mrs. Locke by the name of M. de la Ch�tre. The appearance of M. de la Ch�tre was something like a coup de th�atre; for, despite our curiosity, I had no idea we should ever see him, thinking that nothing could detach him from the service of the French princes. His abord and behaviour answered extremely well the idea M. d'Arblay had given us of him, who in the word brusque rather meant unpolished in manners than harsh in character. He is quite old enough to be father to Madame de la Ch�tre, and, had he been presented to us as such, all our wonder would have been to see so little elegance in the parent of such a woman. After the first introduction was over, he turned his back to the fire, and began sans fa�on, a most confidential discourse with M. de Narbonne. They had not met since the beginning of the Revolution, and, having been of very different parties, it was curious and pleasant to see them now, in their mutual misfortunes, meet en bons amis. They rallied each other sur leurs disgraces very good-humouredly and comically; and though poor M. de la Ch�tre had missed his wife by only one day, and his son by a few hours, nothing seemed to give him de phumeur.(55) He gave the account of his disastrous journey since he had quitted. the princes, who are themselves reduced Page 41 to great distress, and were unable to pay him his arrears: he said he could not get a sou from France, nor had done for two years. All the money he had, with his papers and clothes, were contained in a little box, with which he had embarked in a small boat--I could not hear whence : but the weather was tempestuous, and he, with nearly all the passengers, landed, and walked to the nearest town, leaving his box and two faithful servants (who had never, he said, quitted him since he had left France) in the boat: he had scarce been an hour at the auberge (56) when news was brought that the boat had sunk, At this, M. de Narbonne threw himself back on his seat, exclaiming against the hard fate which pursued all ses malheureux amis!(57) "Mais attendez donc," cried the good humoured M. de la Ch�tre, "Je n'ai pas encore fini: on nous a assur� que personne n'a p�ri et que m�me tout ce qu'il y avait sur le b�teau a �t� sauv�!'(58) He said, however, that being now in danger of falling into the hands of the French, he dared not stop for his box or servants; but, leaving a note of directions behind him, he proceeded incognito, and at length got on board a packet-boat for England, in which though he found several of his countrymen and old acquaintance, he dared not discover himself till they were en pleine mer.(59) He went on gaily enough, laughing at ses amis les constitutionnaires,(60) and M. de Narbonne, with much more wit, and not less good humour, retorting back his raillery on the parti de Brunswick.. . . M. de la Ch�tre mentioned the quinzaine(61) in which the princes' army had been paid up, as the most wretched he had ever known. Of 22,000 men who formed the army of the emigrants, 16,000 were gentlemen,-men of family and fortune: all of whom were now, with their families, destitute. He mentioned two of these who had engaged themselves lately in some orchestra, where they played first and second flute. The princes, he said, had been twice arrested for debt in different places--that they were now so reduced that they dined, themselves, the Comte d'Artois, children, tutors, etc.--eight or nine persons in all--upon one single dish. Page 42 ENGLISH FEELING AT THE REVOLUTIONARY EXCESSES. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.) Chelsea, December 20, '92. ..... God keep us all safe and quiet! All now wears a fair aspect; but I am told Mr. Windham says we are not yet out of the wood though we see the path through it. There must be no relaxation. The Pretended friends of the people, pretended or misguided, wait but the stilling of the present ferment of loyalty to come forth. Mr. Grey has said so in the House. Mr. Fox attended the St. George's meeting, after keeping back to the last, and was nobody there! The accounts from France are thrilling. Poor M. d'Arblay's speech should be translated, and read to all English imitators of French reformers. What a picture of the now reformed! Mr. Burke's description of the martyred Duc de la Rochefoucault should be read also by all the few really pure promoters of new systems. New systems, I fear, in states, are always dangerous, if not wicked. Grievance by grievance, wrong by wrong, must only be assailed, and breathing time allowed to old prejudices, and old habits, between all that is done. . . . I had fancied the letters brought for the King of France's trial were forgeries. One of them, certainly, to M. Bouill�, had its answer dated before it was written. If any have been found, others will be added, to serve any evil purposes. Still, however, I hope the king and his family will be saved. I cannot but believe it, from all I can put together. If the worst of the jacobins hear that Fox has called him an "unfortunate monarch,"- -that Sheridan has said "his execution would be an act of injustice,"--and Grey, "that we ought to have spared that one blast to their glories by earlier negotiation and an ambassador,"--surely the worst of these wretches will not risk losing their only abettors and palliators in this kingdom? I mean publicly; they have privately and individually their abettors and palliators in abundance still, wonderful as that is. I am glad M. d'Arblay has joined the set at "Junipre." What miserable work is this duelling, which I hear of among the emigrants, after such hair-breadth 'scapes for life and existence!--to attack one another on the very spot they seek for refuge from attacks! It seems a sort of profanation of safety. Page 43 LOUIS XVI.'S EXECUTION. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Norbury Park, January 28, '93. My dearest padre,-I have been wholly without spirit for writing, reading, working, or even walking or conversing, ever since the first day of my arrival. The dreadful tragedy(62) acted in France has entirely absorbed me. Except the period of the illness of our own inestimable king, 1 have never been so overcome with grief and dismay, for any but personal and family calamities. O what a tragedy! how implacable its villainy, and how severe its sorrows! You know, my dearest father, how little I had believed such a catastrophe possible: with all the guilt and all the daring already shown, I had still thought this a height of enormity impracticable. And, indeed, without military law throughout the wretched city, it had still not been perpetrated. Good heaven!- -what must have been the sufferings of the few unhardened in crimes who inhabit that city of horrors!--if I, an English person, have been so deeply afflicted, that even this sweet house and society--even my Susan and her lovely children--have been incapable to give me any species of pleasure, or keep me from a desponding low-spiritedness, what must be the feelings of all but the culprits in France? M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay have been almost annihilated : they are for ever repining that they are French, and, though two of the most accomplished and elegant men I ever saw, they break our hearts with the humiliation they feel for their guiltless birth in that guilty country! We are all here expecting war every day. This dear family has deferred its town journey till next Wednesday. I have not been at all at Mickleham, nor yet settled whether to return to town with the Lockes, or to pay my promised visit there first, All has been so dismal, so wretched, that I have scarce ceased to regret our living at such times, and not either Sooner or later. These immediate French sufferers here interest us, and these alone have been able to interest me at all. We hear of a very bad tumult in Ireland, and near Captain Phillips's property: Mr. Brabazon writes word it is very serious. Page 44 Heaven guard us from insurrections! What must be the feelings at the queen's house? how acute, and how indignant! A GLOOMY CLUB MEETING. (-Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney and Mrs. Phillips.) Chelsea College, January 31, 1793. . . . At the Club,(63) on Tuesday, the fullest I ever knew, consisting of fifteen members, fourteen seemed all of one mind, and full of reflections on the late transaction in France ; but, when about half the company was assembled, who should come in but Charles Fox! There were already three or four bishops arrived, hardly one of whom could look at him, I believe, without horror, After the first bow and cold salutation, the conversation stood still for several minutes. During dinner Mr Windham, and Burke, jun., came in, who were obliged to sit at a side table. All were boutonn�s,(64) and not a word of the martyred king or politics of any kind was mentioned; and though the company was chiefly composed of the most eloquent and loquacious men in the kingdom, the conversation was the dullest and most uninteresting I ever remember at this or any such large meeting. Mr Windham and Fox, civil-young Burke and he never spoke. The Bishop of Peterborough as sulky as the d--l; the Bishop of Salisbury, more a man of the world, very cheerful; the Bishop of Dromore(65) frightened as much as a barn-door fowl at the sight of a fox; Bishop Marlow preserved his usual pleasant countenance. Steevens in the chair; the Duke of Leeds on his right, and Fox on his left, said not a word. Lords Ossory and Lucan, formerly much attached, seemed silent and sulky. MADAME DE STAEL AT JUNIPER HALL. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Norbury Park, Monday, February 4, '93. . . . Madame de Stael, daughter of M. Necker, is now at the head of the colony of French noblesse, established near Page 45 Mickleham. She is one of the first women I have ever met with for abilities and extraordinary intellect. She has just received, by a private letter, many particulars not yet made public, and which the Commune and Commissaries of the Temple had ordered should be suppressed. It has been exacted by those cautious men of blood that nothing should be printed that could attendrir le peuple.(66) Among other circumstances, this letter relates that the poor little dauphin supplicated the monsters who came with the decree of death to his unhappy father, that they would carry him to the Convention, and the forty-eight Sections of Paris, and suffer him to beg his father's life. This touching request was probably suggested to him by his miserable mother or aunt.... M. de Narbonne has been quite ill with the grief of this last enormity: and M. d'Arblay is now indisposed. This latter is one of the most delightful characters I have ever met, for openness, probity, intellectual knowledge, and unhackneyed manners. (Madame de Stael to Fanny BUrney.(67)) Written from juniper Hall, Dorking, Surrey, 1793. When I learned to read English I begun by milton, to know all or renounce at all in once. I follow the same system in writing my first English letter to Miss burney; after such an enterprize nothing can affright me. I feel for her so tender a friendship that it melts my admiration, inspires my heart with hope of her indulgence, and impresses me with the idea that in a tongue even unknown I could express sentiments so deeply felt. my servant will return for a french answer. I intreat miss burney to correct the words but to preserve the sense of that card. best compliments to my dear protectress, Madame Phillipe. (Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.) Your card in french, my dear, has already something of Your grace in writing English : it is cecilia translated. my !. ' Page 46 only correction is to fill the interruptions of some sentences, and I put in them kindnesses for me. I do not consult my master to write to you; a fault more or less is nothing in such an occasion. What may be the perfect grammar of Mr. Clarke, it cannot establish any sort of equality between you and I. then I will trust with my heart alone to supply the deficiency. let us speak upon a grave subject: do I see you that morning? What news from Captain phillip? when do you come spend a large week in that house? every question requires an exact answer; a good, also. my happiness depends on it, and I have for pledge your honour. good morrow and farewell. pray madame phillips, recollecting all her knowledge in french, to explain that card to you. (Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.) January, 1793. tell me, my dear, if this day is a charming one, if it must be a sweet epoch in my life?--do you come to dine here with your lovely sister, and do you stay night and day till our sad separation? I rejoice me with that hope during this week do not deceive my heart. I hope that card very clear, mais, pour plus de certitude, je vous dis en françois que votre chambre, la maison, les habitants de juniper, tout est prêt á recevoir la première femme d'angleterre.(68) Janvier. MISS BURNEY'S ADMIRATION OF MADAME DE STAEL. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Mickleham, February 29, 1793 Have you not begun, dearest sir, to give me up as a lost sheep? Susanna's temporary widowhood, however, has tempted me on, and spelled me with a spell I know not how to break. It is long, long since we have passed any time so completely together; her three lovely children only knit us the closer. The widowhood, however, we expect now quickly to expire, and I had projected my return to my dearest father Page 47 for Wednesday next, which would complete my fortnight here but some circumstances are intervening that incline me to postpone it another week. Madame de Stal, daughter of M. Necker, and wife of the Swedish ambassador to France, is now head of the little French colony in this neighbourhood. M. de Stael, her husband, is at present suspended in his embassy, but not recalled and it is yet uncertain whether the regent Duke of Sudermania will send him to Paris, during the present horrible Convention, or order him home. He is now in Holland, waiting for commands. Madame de Stal, however, was unsafe in Paris, though an ambassadress, from the resentment owed her by the commune, for having received and protected in her house various destined victims of the 10th August and of the 2nd September. She was even once stopped in her carriage, which they called aristocratic, because of its arms and ornaments, and threatened to be murdered, and only saved by one of the worst wretches of the Convention, Tallien, who feared provoking a war with Sweden, from such an offence to the wife of its ambassador. She was obliged to have this same Tallien to accompany her, to save her from massacre, for some miles from Paris, when compelled to quit it. She is a woman of the first abilities, I think, I have ever seen; she is more in the style of Mrs. Thrale than of any other celebrated character, but she has infinitely more depth, and seems an even profound politician and metaphysician. She has suffered us to hear some of her works in MS., which are truly wonderful, for powers both of thinking and expression. She adores her father, but is much alarmed at having had no news from him since he has heard of the massacre of the martyred Louis; and who can wonder it should have overpowered him? Ever since her arrival she has been pressing me to spend some time with her before I return to town. She wanted Susan and me to pass a month with her, but, finding that impossible, she bestowed all her entreaties upon me alone, and they are grown so urgent, upon my preparation for departing, and acquainting her my furlough of absence was over, that she not only insisted upon my writing to you, and telling why I deferred my return, but declares she will also write herself, to ask your permission for the visit. She exactly resembles Mrs. Thrale in the ardour and warmth of her temper and partialities. I find her impossible to resist, and therefore, if your answer to Page 48 her is such as I conclude it must be, I shall wait upon her for a week. She is only a short walk from hence, at juniper Hall. FAILING RESOURCES. There can be nothing imagined more charming, more fascinating, than this colony ; between their sufferings and their argr�mens they occupy us almost wholly. M. de Narbonne, alas, has no thousand pounds a year! he got over only four thousand pounds at the beginning, from a most splendid fortune; and, little foreseeing how all has turned out, he has lived, we fear, upon the principal ; for he says, if all remittance is withdrawn, on account of the war, he shall soon be as ruined as those companions of his misfortunes with whom as yet he has shared his little all. He bears the highest character for goodness, parts, sweetness of manners, and ready wit. You could not keep your heart from him if you saw him only for . half an hour. He has not yet recovered from the black blow of the king's death, but he is better, and less jaundiced ; and he has had a letter which, I hear, has comforted him, though at first it was almost heart-breaking, informing him of the unabated regard for him of the truly saint-like Louis. This is communicated in a letter from M. de Malesherbes.(69) THE BEGINNING OF THE END. M. d'Arblay is one of the most singularly interesting characters that can ever have been formed. He has a sincerity, a frankness, an ingenuous openness of nature, that I had been unjust enough to think could not belong to a Frenchman. With all this, which is his military portion, he is passionately fond of literature, a most delicate critic in his own language, welt versed in both Italian and German, and a very elegant Page 49 poet. He has just undertaken to become my French master for pronunciation, and he gives me long daily lessons in reading. Pray expect wonderful improvements! In return, I hear him in English; and for his theme, this evening he has been writing an English address " Mr. Burney," (ie. M. le Docteur), joining in Madame de Stael's request. I hope your last club was more congenial? M. de Talleyrand insists on conveying this letter for you. He has been on a visit here, and returns again on Wednesday. He is a man of admirable conversation, quick, terse, fin, and yet deep, to the extreme of those four words. They are a marvellous set for excess of agreeability. "THIS ENCHANTING MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY." (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.) Mickleham. Your kind letter, my beloved Fredy, was most thankfully received, and we rejoice the house and situation promise so much local comfort; but I quite fear with you that even the bas bleu will not recompense the loss of the "Junipre" society. It is, indeed, of incontestable superiority. But you must burn this confession, or my poor effigy will blaze for it. I must tell you a little of our proceedings, as they all relate to these people of a thousand. M. d'Arblay came from the melancholy sight of departing Norbury to Mickleham, and with an air the most triste, and a sound of voice quite dejected, as I learn from Susanna for I was in my heroics, and could not appear till the last half hour. A headache prevented my waiting upon Madame de Stal that day, and obliged me to retreat soon after nine o'clock in the evening, and my douce compagne would not let me retreat alone. We had only robed ourselves in looser drapery, when a violent ringing at the door startled us; we listened, and heard the voice of M. d'Arblay, and Jerry answering, "They're gone to bed." "Comment? What?" cried he: "C'est impossible! what you say?" Jerry then, to show his new education in this new colony, said "All�e couch�e!" It rained furiously, and we were quite grieved, but there was no help. He left a book for "Mlle. Burnet," and word that Madame de Stael could not come on account of the bad weather. M. Ferdinand was with him and has bewailed the disaster Page 50 and M. Sicard says he accompanied them till he was quite wet through his redingote; but this enchanting M. d'Arblay will murmur at nothing. The next day they all came, just as we had dined, for a morning visit,--Madame de Stael, M. Talleyrand, M. Sicard, and M. d'Arblay; the latter then made "insistance" upon commencing my "master of the language," and I think he will be almost as good a one as the little don.(70) M. de Talleyrand opened, at last, with infinite wit and capacity. Madame de Stael whispered me, "How do you like him?" "Not very much," I answered, "but I do not know him." "Oh, I assure you," cried she, "he is the best of the men." I was happy not to agree ; but I have no time for such minute detail till we meet. She read the noble tragedy of "Tancr�de,"(71) till she blinded us all round. She is the most charming person, to use her own phrase, "that never I saw." . . We called yesterday upon Madame de Stael, and sat with her until three o'clock, only the little don being present. She was delightful; yet I see much uneasiness hanging over the whole party, from the terror that the war may stop all remittances. Heaven forbid! TALLEYRAND IS FOUND CHARMING. (Fanny Burney to Mrs locke.) Thursday, Mickleham. I have no heart not to write, and no time to write. I have been scholaring all day, and mastering too : for our lessons are mutual, and more entertaining than can easily be conceived. My master of the language says he dreams of how much more solemnly he shall write to charming Mrs. Locke after a little more practice. Madame de Stael has written me two English notes, quite beautiful in ideas, and not very reprehensible in idiom. But English has nothing to do with elegance such as theirs--at least, little and rarely. I am always exposing myself to the wrath of John Bull, when this c�terie come in competition; It is inconceivable what a convert M. de Talleyrand has made of me; I think him now one of the first members, and one of the most charming, of this exquisite set: Susanna is as completely a proselyte, Page 51 His powers of entertainment are astonishing, both in information and in raillery. We know nothing of how the rest of the world goes on. They are all coming to-night. I have yet avoided, but with extreme difficulty, the change of abode. Madame de Stael, however, will not easily be parried, and how I may finally arrange I know not. Certainly I will not offend or hurt her, but otherwise I had rather be a visitor than a guest Pray tell Mr. Locke that " the best of the men " grows upon us at every meeting. We dined and stayed till midnight at "junipre" on Tuesday, and I would I could recollect but the twentieth part of the excellent things that were said. Madame de Stael read us the opening of her work "Sur le Bonheur:" it seems to me admirable. M. de Talleyrand avowed he had met with nothing better thought or more ably expressed; it contains the most touching allusions to their country's calamities. A PROPOSED VISIT TO MADAME DE STAEL DISAPPROVED OF. (Doctor Burney to Fanny Burney.) Chelsea College, February 19, 1793. Why, Fanny, what are you about, and where are you? I shall write at you, not knowing how to write to you, as Swift did to the flying and romantic Lord Peterborough. I had written the above, after a yesterday's glimmering and a feverish night as usual, when behold! a letter of requisition for a further furlough! I had long histories ready for narration de vive voix, but my time is too short and my eyes and head too -weak for much writing this morning. I am not at all surprised at your account of the captivating powers of Madame de Stael. It corresponds with all I had heard about her, and with the opinion I formed of her intellectual and literary powers, in reading her charming little "Apologie de Rousseau." But as nothing human is allowed to be perfect, she has not escaped censure. Her house was the centre of revolutionists Previous to the 10th of August, after her father's departure, and she has been accused of partiality to M. de N.(72) But Perhaps all may be jacobinical malignity. However, unfavourable stories of her have been brought hither, and the Page 52 Burkes and Mrs. Ord have repeated them to me. But you know that M. Necker's administration, and the conduct of the nobles who first joined in the violent measures that subverted the ancient establishments by the abolition of nobility and the ruin of the church, during the first National Assembly, are held in greater horror by aristocrats than even the members of the present Convention. I know this will make you feel uncomfortable, but it seemed to me right to hint it to You. If you are not absolutely in the house of Madame do Stael when this arrives, it would perhaps be possible for you to waive the visit to her, by a compromise, of having something to do for Susy, and so make the addendum to your stay under her roof. . . (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Mickleham, February 22, '03, What a kind letter is my dearest father's, and how kindly speedy ! yet it is too true it has given me very uncomfortable feelings. I am both hurt and astonished at the acrimony of malice; indeed, I believe all this Party to merit nothing but honour, compassion, and praise. Madame de Stael, the daughter of M. Necker--the idolising daughter--of course, and even from the best principles, those of filial reverence, entered into the opening of the Revolution just as her father entered into it; but as to her house having become the centre of revolutionists before the 10th of August, it was so only for the constitutionalists, who, at that period, were not only members of the then established government, but the decided friends of the king. The aristocrats were then already banished, or wanderers from fear, or concealed and silent from cowardice; and the jacobins --I need not, after what I have already related, mention how utterly abhorrent to her must be that fiend-like set. The aristocrats, however, as you well observe, and as she has herself told me, hold the constitutionalists in greater horror than the Convention itself. This, however, is a violence against justice which cannot, I hope, be lasting ; and the malignant assertions which persecute her, all of which she has lamented to us, she imputes equally to the bad and virulent of both these parties. The intimation concerning M. de N. was, however, wholly Page 53 new to us, and I do firmly believe it a gross calumny. M. de N. was of her society, which contained ten or twelve of the first people in Paris, and, occasionally, almost all Paris ! she loves him even tenderly, but so openly, so simply, so unaffectedly, and with such utter freedom from all coquetry, that, if they were two men, or two women, the affection could not, I think, be more obviously undesi,gning. She is very plain, he is very handsome ; her intellectual endowments must be with him her sole attraction. M. de Talleyrand was another of her society, and she seems equally attached to him. M. le Viscomte de Montmorenci she loves, she says, as her brother: he is another of this bright constellation, and esteemed of excellent capacity. She says, if she continues in England he will certainly come, for he loves her too well to stay away. In short, her whole coterie live together as brethren. Madame la Marquise de la Ch�tre, who has lately returned to France, to endeavour to obtain de quoi vivre en Angleterre,(73) and who had been of this colony for two or three months since the 10th of August, Is a bosom friend of Madame de Stael and of all this circle : she is reckoned a very estimable as well as fashionable woman ; and a daughter of the unhappy Montmorin, who was killed on the 1st of September(74) is another of this set. Indeed, I think you could not spend a day with them and not see that their commerce is that of pure, but exalted and most elegant, friendship. I would, nevertheless, give the world to avoid being a guest under their roof, now I have heard even the shadow of such a rumour; and I will, if it be possible without hurting or of-fending them. I have waived and waived acceptance almost from the moment of Madame de Stael's arrival. I prevailed with her to let my letter go alone to you, and I have told her, with regard to your answer, that you were sensible of the honour her kindness did me, and could not refuse to her request the week's furlough ; and then followed reasons for the Compromise you pointed out, too diffuse for writing. As Yet they have succeeded, though she is surprised and disappointed. She wants us to study French and English together, and nothing could to me be more desirable, but for this invidious report. M. d'Arblay as well as M. de Narbonne, sent over a declaration in favour of the poor king. M. d'A. had been the Page 54 commandant at Longwy, and had been named to that post by the king himself In the accusation of the infernals, as Mr. Young justly calls them, the king is accused of leaving Longwy undefended, and a prey to the Prussians. M. d'Arblay, who before that period had been promoted into the regiment of M. de Narbonne, and thence summoned to be adjutant-general of Lafayette, wrote therefore, on this charge, to M. de Malesherbes, and told him that the charge was utterly false . that the king had taken every precaution for the proper preservation of Longwy, and that M. d'Arblay, the king's commandant, had himself received a letter of thanks and approbation from Duniouriez, who said, nothing would have been lost had every commandant taken equal pains, and exerted equal bravery. This original letter M. d'Arblay sent to M. Malesherbes, not as a vindication of himself, for he had been summoned from Longwy before the Prussians assailed it, but as a vindication of the officer appointed by the king, while he had yet the command. M. de Malesherbes wrote an answer of thanks, and said he should certainly make use of this information in the defence, However, the fear of Dumouriez, I suppose, prevented his being named. M. d'Arblay, in quitting France with Lafayette, upon the deposition of the king, had only a little ready money in his pocket, and he has been d�cr�(75) I since, and all he was worth in the world is sold and seized by the Convention. M. de Narbonne loves him as the tenderest of brothers, and, while one has a guinea in the world, the other will have half. "Ah!" cried M. d'Arblay, upon the murder of the king, which almost annihilated him, "I know not how those can exist who have any feelings of remorse, when I scarce can endure my life, from the simple feeling of regret that ever I pronounced the word liberty in France!" M. DE LALLY TOLENDAL AND HIS TRAGEDY. (Mrs. Phillips to Mrs. Locke.) Mickleham, April 2, 1793. ....I must, however, say something of juniper, whence I had an irresistible invitation to dine, etc., yesterday, and Page 55 M. de Lally Tolendal(76) read his "Mort de Strafford," which he had already recited once, and which Madame do Stael requested him to repeat for my sake. I had a great curiosity to see M. de Lally. I cannot say that feeling was gratified by the sight of him, though it was satisfied, insomuch that it has left me without any great anxiety to see him again. He is the very reverse of all that my imagination had led me to expect in him: large, fat, with a great head, small nose, immense cheeks, nothing distingu� in his manner and en fait d'esprit, and of talents in conversation, so far, so very far, distant from our juniperians, and from M. de Talleyrand, who was there, as I could not have conceived, his abilities as a writer and his general reputation considered. He seems un bon gar�on, un tr�s honn�te gar�on, as M. Talleyrand says of him, et non de plus.(77) He is extremely absorbed by his tragedy, which he recites by heart, acting as well as declaiming with great energy, though seated, as Le Texier is. He seemed, previous to the performance, occupied completely by It, except while the dinner lasted, which he did not neglect; but he was continually reciting to himself till we sat down to table, and afterwards between the courses. M. Talleyrand seemed much struck with his piece, which appears to me to have very fine lines and passages in it, but which, altogether, interested me but little. I confess, indeed, the violence of ses gestes, and the alternate howling and thundering of his voice in declaiming, fatigued me excessively. If our Fanny had been present, I am afraid I should many times have been affected as one does not expect to be at a tragedy. We sat down at seven to dinner, and had half finished before M. d'Arblay appeared, though repeatedly sent for; he was profoundly grave and silent, and disappeared after the dinner, which was very gay. He was sent for, after coffee and Norbury were gone, several times, that the tragedy might be begun; and . at last Madame de S. impatiently proposed beginning without him. "Mais cela lui fera de la peine,"(78) said M. d'Autun (Talleyrand), good-naturedly; and, as she Page 56 persisted, he rose up and limped out of the room to fetch him he succeeded in bringing him. M Malouet has left them. La Princesse d'Henin is a very pleasing, well-bred woman: she left juniper the next morning with M. de Lally. CONTEMPLATED DisPERSION OF THE FRENCH COLONY. (Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney) Mickleham, April 3. After I had sent off my letter to you on Monday I walked on to juniper, and entered at the same moment with Mr. jenkinson(79) and his attorney--a man whose figure strongly resembles some of Hogarth's most ill-looking, personages, and who appeared to me to be brought as a kind of spy, or witness of all that was passing. I would have retreated, fearing to interrupt business, but I was surrounded, and pressed to stay, by Madame de Stael with great empressement, and with much kindness by M. d'Arblay and all the rest. Mr. Clarke was the spokesman, and acquitted himself with great dignity and moderation; Madame de S. now and then came forth with a little coquetterie pour adoucir ce sauvage jenkinson.(80) "What will you, Mr. jenkinson? tell to me, what will you?" M. de Narbonne, somewhat indign� de la mauvaise foi, and exc�d� des longueurs de son adversaire, (81) was not quite so gentle with him, and I was glad to perceive that he meant to resist, in some degree at least, the exorbitant demands of his landlord. Madame de Stael was very gay, and M. de Talleyrand very comique, this evening ; he criticised, amongst other things, her reading of prose, with great sang froid. . . . They talked over a number of their friends and acquaintances with the utmost unreserve, and sometimes with the most comic humour imaginable,--M. de Lally, M. de Lafayette, la Princesse d'Henin, la Princesse de Poix, a M. Guibert, an author. and one who was, Madame de Stael told me, passionately in love with her before she married; and innumerable others. M. d'Arblay had been employed almost night and day since Page 57 he came from London in Writing a m�moire, which Mr Villiers had wished to have, upon the 'Artillerie Cheval,' and he had not concluded it till this morning. (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.) Tuesday, May 14. Trusting to the kindness of chance, I begin in at the top of my paper. Our Juniperians went to see Paine's hill yesterday, and had the good-nature to take my little happy Norbury. In the evening came Miss F- to show me a circular letter, sent by the Archbishop of Canterbury to all the parishes in England, authorising the ministers of those parishes to raise a subscription for the unfortunate French clergy. She talked of our neighbours, and very shortly and abruptly said, "So, Mrs. Phillips, we hear you are to have Mr. Norbone and the other French company to live with you--Pray is it so?" I was, I confess, a little startled at this plain inquiry, but answered as composedly as I could, setting out with informing this b�te personnage that Madame de Stael was going to Switzerland to join her husband and family in a few days, and that of all the French company none would remain but M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay, for whom the captain and myself entertained a real friendship and esteem, and whom he had begged to make our house their own for a short time, as the impositions they had had to support from their servants, etc., and the failure of their remittances from abroad, had obliged them to resolve on breaking up housekeeping. I had scarcely said thus much when our party arrived from Paine's hill; the young lady, though she had drunk tea, was so obliging as to give us her company for near two hours, and made a curious attack on M. de N., upon the first pause, in wretched French, though we had before, all of us, talked no other language than English:--"Je vous prie, M. Gnawbone, comment se porte la reine?"(82) Her pronunciation was such that I thought his understanding her miraculous : however, he did guess her meaning, and answered, with all his accustomed douceur and politeness, that he hoped well, but had no means but general ones of information. "I believe," said she afterwards, "nobody was so hurt at Page 58 the king's death as my papa! he couldn't ride on horseback next day!" She then told M. de Narbonne some anecdotes (very new to him, no doubt), which she had read in the newspapers, of the Convention; and then spoke of M. Egalit�. "I hope," said she, flinging her arms out with great violence, "he'll come to be gullytined. He showed the king how he liked to be gullytined, so now I hope he'll be gullytined himself!--So shocking! to give his vote against his own nephew!" If the subject of her vehemence and blunders had been less just or less melancholy, I know not how I should have kept my face in order. Our evening was very pleasant when she was gone, Madame de Stael is, with all her wildness and blemishes, a delightful companion, and M. de N. rises upon me in esteem and affection every time I see him: their minds in some points ought to be exchanged, for he is as delicate as a really feminine woman, and evidently suffers when he sees her setting les biens�ances(83) aside, as it often enough befalls her to do. Poor Madame de Stael has been greatly disappointed and hurt by the failure of the friendship and intercourse she had wished to maintain with you,--of that I am sure; I fear, too, she is on the point of being offended. I am not likely to be her confidant if she is so, and only judge from the nature of things, and from her character, and a kind of d�pit(84) in her manner once or twice in speaking of you. She asked me If you would accompany Mrs. Locke back into the country? I answered that my father would not wish to lose you for so long a time at once, as you had been absent from him as a nurse so many days. After a little pause, "Mais est-ce qu'une femme est en tutelle pour la vie dans ce pays?" she said. "Il me paroit que votre soeur est comme une demoiselle de quatorze ans."(85) I did not oppose this idea, but enlarged rather on the constraints laid upon females, some very unnecessarily, in England,--hoping to lessen her d�pit; it continued, however, visible in her countenance, though she did not express it in words. Page 59 [The frequency and intimacy with which Miss Burney and M. d'Arblay now met, ripened into attachment the high esteem which each felt for the other; and, after many struggles and scruples, occasioned by his reduced circumstances and clouded prospects, M. d'Arblay wrote her an offer of his hand ; candidly acknowledging, however, the slight hope he entertained of ever recovering the fortune he had lost by the Revolution. At this time Miss Burney went to Chesington for a short period; probably hoping that the extreme quiet of that place would assist her deliberations, and tranquillise her mind during her present perplexities.] MADAME DE STAEL'S WORDS OF FAREWELL. M. D'ARBLAY. (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney at Chesington.) Sunday, after church, I walked up to Norbury; there unexpectedly I met all our juniperians, and listened to one of the best conversations I ever heard : it was on literary topics, and the chief speakers Madame de Stael, M. de Talleyrand, Mr. Locke, and M. Dumont, a gentleman on a visit of two days at juniper, a Genevois, homme d'esprit et de lettres. I had not a word beyond the first " how d'yes " with any one, being obliged to run home to my abominable dinner in the midst of the discourse. On Monday I went, by invitation, to juniper to dine, and before I came away at night a letter arrived express to Madame de Stael. On reading it, the change in her countenance made me guess the contents, It was from the Swedish gentleman who had been appointed by her husband to meet her at Ostend; he wrote from that place that he was awaiting her arrival. She had designed walking home with us by moonlight, but her spirits were too much oppressed to enable her to keep this intention. M. d'Arblay walked home with Phillips and me. Every moment of his time has been given of late to transcribing a MS. work of Madame de Stael, on 'L'Influence des Passions.' It is a work of considerable length, and written in a hand the most difficult possible to decipher. On Tuesday we all met again at Norbury, where we spent the day. Madame de Stael could not rally her spirits at all, Page 60 and seemed like one torn from all that was dear to her. I was truly concerned. After giving me a variety of charges, or rather entreaties, to watch and attend to the health, spirits, and affairs of the friends she was leaving, she said to me, "Et d�tes Mlle. Burney que je ne lui en veux pas du tout--que je quitte le pays l'aimant bien sinc�rement et sans rancune."(86) I assured her earnestly, and with more words than I have room to insert, not only of your admiration, but affection, and sensibility of her worth and chagrin at seeing no more of her. I hope I exceeded not your wishes; mais il n'y avoit pas moyen de resister.(87) She seemed pleased, and said, "Vous �tes bien bonne de me dire cela,"(88) but in a low and faint voice, and dropped the subject. Before we took leave, M. d'Arblay was already gone, meaning to finish transcribing her MS. I came home with Madame de Stael and M. de Narbonne. The former actually sobbed in saying farewell to Mrs. Locke, and half way down the hill; her parting from me was likewise very tender and flattering. I determined, however, to see her again, and met her near the school, on Wednesday morning with a short note and a little offering which I was irresistibly tempted to make her. She could not speak to me, but kissed her hand with a very speaking and touching expression of countenance. it was this morning, and just as I was setting out to meet her, that Skilton arrived from Chesington. I wrote a little, walked out, and returned to finish as I could. At dinner came our Tio--(89) very bad indeed. After it we walked together with the children to Norbury; but little Fanny was so well pleased with his society that it was impossible to get a word on any particular subject. I, however, upon his venturing to question me whereabouts was the Page 61 campagne o� se trouvoit Mlle. Burney,(90) ventured de mon c�t�(91) to speak the name of Chesington, and give a little account of its inhabitants, the early love we had for the spot, our excellent Mr. Crisp, and your good and kind hostesses. He listened with much interest and pleasure, and said, "Mais, ne pourroit-on pas faire ce petit voyage-l ?"(92) I ventured to say nothing encouraging, at least, decisively, in a great measure upon the children's account, lest they should repeat; and, moreover, your little namesake seemed to me surprisingly attentive and �veill�e, as if elle se doutoit de quelque chose.(93) When we came home I gave our Tio so paper to write to you; it was not possible for me to add more than the address, much as I wished it. REGRETS RESPECTING MADAME DE STAEL. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. -Locke.) Chesington, 1793. I have been quite enchanted to-day by my dear Susan's intelligence that my three convalescents walked to the wood. Would I had been there to meet and receive them. I have regretted excessively the finishing so miserably an acquaintance begun with so much spirit and pleasure, and the d�pit I fear Madame de Stael must have experienced. I wish the world would take more care of itself, and less of its neighbours. I should have heen very safe, I trust, without such flights, and distances, and breaches. But there seemed an absolute resolution formed to crush this acquaintance, and compel me to appear its wilful renouncer. All I did also to clear the matter, and soften to Madame de Stael any pique or displeasure, unfortunately served only to increase them. Had I understood her disposition better, I should certainly have attempted no palliation, for I rather offended her pride than mollified her wrath. Yet I followed the golden rule, for how much should I prefer any acknowledgment of regret at such an apparent change, from any one I esteemed, to a seeming Page 62 unconscious complacency in an unexplained caprice! I am vexed, however, very much vexed, at the whole business. I hope she left Norbury Park with full satisfaction in its steady and more comfortable connection. I fear mine will pass for only a fashionable one. Miss Kitty Cooke still amuses me very much by her incomparable dialect; and by her kindness and friendliness. I am taken the best care of imaginable. My poor brother, who will carry this to Mickleham, is grievously altered by the loss of his little girl. It has affected his spirits and his health, and he is grown so thin and meagre, that he looks ten years older than when I saw him last. I hope he will now revive, since the blow is over; but it has been a very, very hard one, after such earnest pains to escape it. .. Did the wood look very beautiful? I have figured it to myself with the three dear convalescents wandering in its winding paths, and inhaling its freshness and salubrity, ever since I heard of this walk. I wanted prodigiously to have issued forth from some little green recess, to have hailed your return. I hope Mr. Locke had the pleasure of this sight. Is jenny capable of such a mounting journey? Do you know anything of a certain young lady, who eludes all my inquiries, famous for having eight sisters, all of uncommon talents? I had formerly some intercourse with her, and she used to promise she would renew it whenever I pleased but whether she is offended that I have slighted her offers so long, or whether she is fickle, or only whimsical, I know not all that is quite undoubted is that she has concealed herself so effectually from my researches, that I might as well look for justice and clemency in the French Convention, as for this former friend in the plains and lanes of Chesington where, erst, she met me whether I would or no. M. D'ARBLAY'S VISIT TO CHESINGTON. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.) Chesington, 1793. How sweet to me was my dearest Fredy's assurance that my gratification and prudence went at last hand in hand! I had longed for the sight of her writing, and not dared wish it. Page 63 I shall now long Impatiently till I can have the pleasure of saying "Ma'am, I desire no more of your letters." I have heard to-day all I can most covet of all my dear late malades. I take it for granted this little visit was made known to my dearest sister confidant. I had prepared for it from the time of my own expectation, and I have had much amusement in what the preparation produced. Mrs Hamilton ordered half a ham to be boiled ready; and Miss Kitty trimmed up her best cap, and tried it on, on Saturday, to get it in shape to her face. She made chocolate also, which we drank up on Monday and Tuesday, because it was spoiling. "I have never seen none of the French quality," she says, "and I have a purdigious curosity; though as to dukes and dukes' sons, and these high top captains, I know they'll think me a mere country bumpkin. Howsever, they can't call me worse than 'Fat Kit Square,' and that's the worst name I ever got from any of our English petite bears, which I suppose these petite French quality never heard the like of." Unfortunately, however, when all was prepared above, the French top captain entered while poor Miss Kitty was in dishabill, and Mrs. Hamilton finishing washing up her china from breakfast. A maid who was out at the pump, and first saw the arrival, ran in to give Miss Kitty time to escape, for she was in her round dress night-cap, and without her roll and curls. However, he followed too quick, and Mrs. Hamilton was seen in her linen gown and mob, though she had put on a silk one in expectation for every noon these four or five days past; and Miss Kitty was in such confusion, she hurried out of the room. She soon, however, returned with the roll and curls, and the forehead and throat fashionably lost, in a silk gown. And though she had not intended to speak a word, the gentle quietness of her guest so surprised and pleased her, that she never quitted his side while he stayed, and has sung his praises ever since. Mrs. Hamilton, good soul ! in talking and inquiring since of his history and conduct, shed tears at the recital. She says now she, has really seen one of the French gentry that has been drove out of their country by the villains she has heard Of, she shall begin to believe there really has been a Revolution! and Miss Kitty says, "I purtest I did not know before but it was all a sham." Page 64 THE MATRIMONIAL PROJECT IS DISCUSSED. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Phillips.) Friday, May 31, Chesington. My heart so smites me this morning with making no answer to all I have been requested to weigh and decide, that I feel I cannot with any ease return to town without at least complying with one demand, which first, at parting yesterday, brought me to write fully to you, my Susan, if I could not elsewhere to my satisfaction. in the course of last night and this morning Much indeed has occurred to me, that now renders my longer silence as to prospects and proceedings unjustifiable to myself. I will therefore now address myself to both my beloved confidants, and open to them all my thoughts, and entreat their own with equal plainness in return. M. d'Arblay's last three letters convince me he is desperately dejected when alone, and when perfectly natural. It is not that he wants patience, but he wants rational expectation of better times, expectation founded on something more than mere aerial hope, that builds one day upon what the next blasts; and then has to build again, and again to be blasted. What affects me the most in this situation is, that his time may as completely be lost as another's peace, by waiting for the effects of distant events, vague, bewildering, and remote, and quite as likely to lead to ill as to good. The very waiting, indeed, with the mind in such a state, is in itself an evil scarce to be recompensed. . . . My dearest Fredy, in the beginning of her knowledge of this transaction, told me that Mr. Locke was of opinion that one hundred pounds per annum(94) might do, as it does for many a curate. M. d'A. also most solemnly and affectingly declares that le simple n�cessaire is all he requires and here, In your vicinity, would unhesitatingly be preferred by him to the most brilliant fortune in another s�jour. If he can say that, what must I be not to echo it? I, who in the bosom of my own most chosen, most darling friends--- I need not enter more upon this; you all must know to me a crust of bread, with a little roof for shelter, and a fire Page 65 for warmth, near you, would bring me to peace, to happiness, to all that My heart holds dear, or even in any situation could prize. I cannot picture such a fate with dry eyes ; all else but kindness and society has to me so always been nothing. With regard to my dear father, he has always left me to myself; I will not therefore speak to him while thus uncertain what to decide. it is certain, however, that, with peace of mind and retirement, I have resources that I could bring forward to amend the little situation ; as well as that, once thus undoubtedly established and naturalised, M. d'A. would have claims for employment. These reflections, with a mutual freedom from ambition might lead to a quiet road, unbroken by the tortures of applications, expectations, attendance, disappointment, and time-wasting hopes and fears; if there were not apprehensions the one hundred pounds might be withdrawn. I do not think it likely, but it is a risk too serious in its consequences to be run. M. d'A. protests he could not answer to himself the hazard. How to ascertain this, to clear the doubt, or to know the fatal certainty before it should be too late, exceeds my powers of suggestion. His own idea, to write to the queen, much as it has startled me, and wild as it seemed to me, is certainly less wild than to take the chance of such a blow in the dark. Yet such a letter could not even reach her. His very name is probably only known to her through myself. In short, my dearest friends, you will think for me, and let me know what occurs to you, and I will defer any answer till I hear your opinions. Heaven ever bless you! And pray for me at this moment. DR. BURNEY'S OBJECTIONS TO THE MATCH. (Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney.) May, 1793, Dear Fanny,-I have for some time seen very plainly that you are �prise, and have been extremely uneasy at the discovery. YOU must have observed my silent gravity, surpassing that of mere illness and its consequent low spirits. I had some thoughts of writing to Susan about it, and intended begging her to do what I must now do for myself--that is, beg and admonish you not to entangle yourself in a wild and Page 66 romantic attachment, which offers nothing in prospect but poverty and distress, with future inconvenience and unhappiness. M. d'Arblay is certainly a very amiable and accomplished man, and of great military abilities I take for granted ; but what employment has he for them of which the success is not extremely hazardous? His property, whatever it was, has been confiscated--d�cr�--by the Convention - and if a counter-revolution takes place, unless it be exactly such a one as suits the particular political sect in which he enlisted, it does not seem likely to secure to him an establishment in France. And as to an establishment in England, I know the difficulty which very deserving natives find in procuring one, with every appearance of interest, friends, and probability; and, to a foreigner, I fear the difficulty will be more than doubled. As M. d'Arblay is at present circumstanced, an alliance with anything but a fortune sufficient for the support of himself and partner would be very imprudent. He is a mere soldier of fortune, under great disadvantages. Your income, if it was as certain as a freehold estate, is insufficient for the purpose ; and if the queen should be displeased and withdraw her allowance, what could you do? I own that, if M. d'Arblay had an establishment in France sufficient for him to marry a wife with little or no fortune, much as I am inclined to honour and esteem him, I should wish to prevent you from fixing your residence there; not merely from selfishness, but for your own sake, I know your love for your family, and know that it is reciprocal; I therefore cannot help thinking that you would mutually be lost to each other. The friends, too, which you have here, are of the highest and most desirable class. To quit them, in order to make new friendships in a strange land, in which the generality of its inhabitants at present seem incapable of such virtues as friendship is built upon, seems wild and visionary. If M. d'Arblay had a sufficient establishment here for the purposes of credit and comfort, and determined to settle here for life, I should certainly think ourselves honoured by his alliance ; but his situation is at present so very remote from all that can satisfy prudence, or reconcile to an affectionate father the idea of a serious attachment, that I tremble for your heart and future happiness. M. d'Arblay must have lived too long in the great world to accommodate himself Page 67 contentedly to the little. his fate seems so intimately connected with that of his miserable country, and that country seems at a greater distance from peace, order, and tranquillity now than it has done at any time since the Revolution. These considerations, and the uncertainty Of what party will finally prevail, make me tremble for you both. You see, by what I have said, that my objections are not personal, but wholly prudential. For heaven's sake, my dear Fanny, do not part with your heart too rapidly, or involve yourself in deep engagements which it will be difficult to dissolve; and to the last degree imprudent, as things are at present circumstanced, to fulfil. As far as character, merit, and misfortune demand esteem and regard, you may be sure that M. d'Arblay will be always received by me with the utmost attention and respect - but, in the present situation of things, I can by no means think I ought to encourage (blind and ignorant as I am of all but his misfortunes) a serious and solemn union with one whose unhappiness would be a reproach to the facility and inconsiderateness of a most affectionate father. THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE. Memorandum, this 7th May, 1825. In answer to these apparently most just, and, undoubtedly, most parental and tender apprehensions, Susanna, the darling child of Dr. Burney, as well as first chosen friend of M, d'Arblay, wrote a statement of the plans, and means, and purposes of M. d'A. and F. B.--so clearly demonstrating their power of happiness, with willing economy, congenial tastes, and mutual love of the country, that Dr. B. gave way, and sent, though reluctantly, a consent - by which the union took place the 31st Of July, 1793, in Mickleham church, In presence of Mr. and Mrs. Locke, Captain and Mrs. Phillips, M. de Narbonne, and Captain Burney, who was father to his sister, as Mr. Locke was to M. d'A. ; and on the 1st of August the ceremony was re-performed in the Sardinian chapel, according to the rites of the Romish Church; and never, never was union more blessed and felicitous; though after the first eight years of unmingled happiness, it was assailed by many calamities, chiefly of separation or illness, yet still mentally unbroken. F. D'ARBLAY. Page 68 ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE MARRIAGE TO A FRIEND. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.) August 2, 1793. How in the world shall I begin this letter to my dearest M--! how save her from a surprise almost too strong for her weak nerves and tender heart! After such an opening, perhaps any communication may be a relief but it is surprise only I would guard against; my present communication has nothing else to fear; it has nothing in it sad, melancholy, unhappy, but it has everything that is marvellous and unexpected. Do you recollect at all, when you were last in town, my warm interest for the loyal part of the French exiles?-=do you remember my �loge of a French officer, in particular, a certain M. d'Arblay? Ah, my dear M--, you are quick as lightning; your sensitive apprehension will tell my tale for me now, without more aid than some details of circumstance. The �loge I then made, was with design to prepare you for an event I had reason to expect: such, however, was the uncertainty of my situation, from prudential obstacles, that I dared venture at no confidence, though my heart prompted it strongly, to a friend so sweetly sympathising in all my feelings and all my affairs--so constantly affectionate- so tenderly alive to all that interests and concerns me. My dearest M-, you will give me, I am sure, your heart-felt wishes--your most fervent prayers. The choice I have made appears to me all you could yourself wish to fall to my lot--all you could yourself have formed to have accorded best with your kind partiality. I had some hope you would have seen him that evening when we went together from Mrs. M. Montagu to Mrs. Locke's, for he was then a guest in Portland Place; but some miserable circumstances, of which I knew nothing till after had just fallen out, and he had shut himself up in his room. He did not know we were there. Many, indeed, have been the miserable circumstances that have, from time to time, alarmed and afflicted in turn, and seemed to render a renunciation indispensable. The difficulties, however, have been conquered; and last Sunday Page 69 Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister and Captain Phillips, and my brother Captain Burney, accompanied us to the altar, in Mickleham church ; since which the ceremony has been repeated in the chapel of the Sardinian ambassador, that if, by a counter-revolution in France, M. d'Arblay recovers any f his rights, his wife may not be excluded from their participation. You may be amazed not to see the name of my dear father upon this solemn occasion - but his apprehensions from the smallness of our income have made him cold and averse and though he granted his consent, I could not even solicit his presence. I feel satisfied, however, that time will convince him I have not been so imprudent as he now thinks me. Happiness is the great end of all our worldly views and proceedings, and no one can judge for another in what will produce it, To me, wealth and ambition would always be unavailing ; I have lived in their most centrical possessions, and I have always seen that the happiness of the richest and the greatest has been the moment of retiring from riches and from power. Domestic comfort and social affection have invariably been the sole as well as ultimate objects of my choice, and I have always been a stranger to any other species of felicity. M. d'Arblay has a taste for literature, and a passion for reading and writing, as marked as my own ; this is a sympathy to rob retirement of all superfluous leisure, and insure to us both occupation constantly edifying or entertaining. He has seen so much of life, and has suffered so severely from its disappointments, that retreat, with a chosen companion, is become his final desire. Mr. Locke has given M. d'Arblay a piece of ground in his beautiful park-, upon which we shall build a little neat and plain habitation. We shall continue, meanwhile, in his neighbourhood, to superintend the little edifice, and enjoy the Society of his exquisite house, and that of my beloved sister Phillips. We are now within two miles of both, at a farm-house, where we have what apartments we require, and no more, in a most beautiful and healthy situation, a mile and a half from any town. The nearest is Bookham; but I beg that MY letters may be directed to me at Captain Phillips's, Mickleham, as the post does not come this way, and I may else miss them for a week. AS I do not correspond with Mrs Montagu, and it would Page 70 be awkward to begin upon such a theme, I beg that when you write you will say something for me. One of my first pleasures, in our little intended home, will be, finding a place of honour for the legacy of Mrs. Delany. Whatever may be the general wonder, and perhaps blame, of general people, at this connexion, equally indiscreet in pecuniary points for us both, I feel sure that the truly liberal and truly intellectual judgment of that most venerated character would have accorded its sanction, when acquainted with the worthiness of the object who would wish it. Adieu, my sweet friend. Give my best compliments to Mr. ---, and give me your kind wishes, your kind prayers, my ever dear M--. (1) So called from the convent where their meetings were held. (2) Carlyle. (3) Carlyle. (4 "To the lamp;" the street lamp-irons being found, by the - French sansculottes, a handy substitute for the gallows.-ED. (5) The old Marshal Duke de Broglie was one of the early emigrants. He quitted France in July 1789, after the fall of the Bastille.-ED. (6) "Minister of War." (7) Bradfield Hall, near Bury St. Edmund's, Suffolk, the house of Arthur Young, See infra.-ED. (8) " Arthur Young, the well-known writer of works on agriculture, still in high repute. He was a very old friend of the Burneys ; connected with them also, by marriage, Mrs. Young being a sister of Dr. Burney's second wife. His " Travels in France " (from 1769 to 1790), published in 1794, gives a most valuable and interesting account of the state of that country just before the Revolution. Arthur Young was appointed Secretary to the Board of Agriculture, established by Act of Parliament in 1793. He died in 1820, in his seventy-ninth year, having been blind for some years previous to his death.-ED. (9) Fanny's half-sister, Sarah Harriet Burney, -ED. (10) " Minister of war." (11) One memorable saying is recorded of the Duke de Liancourt. He brought the news to the king of the capture of the Bastille by the people of Paris, July 14, 1789. "Late at night, the Duke de Liancourt, having official right of entrance, gains access to the royal apartments unfolds, with earnest clearness, in his constitutional way, the Job's- news. 'Mais,' said poor Louis, 'c'est une r�volte, Why, that is a revolt!'�'Sire,' answered Liancourt, 'it is not a revolt,--it is a revolution.'"-(Carlyle.)-ED. (12) "Peers of France." (13) Coblenz was the rallying-place of the emigrant noblesse.-ED. (14) On the 20th of June 1792, sansculotte Paris, assembling in its thousands, broke into the Tuileries, and called upon the king to remove his veto upon the decree against the priests, and to recall the ministry--Roland's--which he had just dismissed. For three hours the king stood face to face with the angry crowd, refusing to comply. In the evening, the Mayor of Paris, P�tion, arrived, with other popular leaders from the Assembly, and persuaded the people to disperse.-ED. (15) "Save Yourself, M. de Liancourt!" (16) "Ah! we are lost!" (17) "prison." (18) " I am in England. (19) The Duke de la Rochefoucault, "journeying, by quick stages, with his mother and wife, towards the Waters of Forges, or some quieter country, was arrested at Gisors; conducted along the streets, amid effervescing multitudes, and killed dead ' by the stroke of a paving-stone hurled through the coach-window.' Killed as a once Liberal, now Aristocrat; Protector of Priests, Suspender of virtuous P�tions, and most unfortunate Hot-grown-cold, detestable to Patriotism. He dies lamented of Europe; his blood spattering the cheeks of his old mother, ninety-three years old." -(Carlyle, Erench Aevolulion, Part III., Book I., ch. vi.)- ED. (20) School-boys. (21) See note 361 ante, vol. ii. p. 449.-ED. (22) The name under which Madame de Genlis was now passing. (23) " She has seen me!" (24) "Perhaps I am indiscreet?" (25) "But, mademoiselle--after all--the king--is he quite cured? " (26) "What, mademoiselle! you knew that infamous woman?" (27) These "journalizing letters " of Mrs. Phillips continue without interruption from the present page to page 37.-ED. (28) Not yet duke, but viscount. He was created duke by Louis XVIII., in 1822.-ED. (29) It should be March. "The portfolio of war was withdrawn from him, by a very laconic letter from the king, March 10, 1792; he had held it three months and three days." (Nouvelle Biographie G�n�rale: art. Narbonne.)-ED. (30) Severe decrees against the emigrants were passed in the Convention shortly afterwards. See infra, P. 33.-ED. (31) "And as he is extremely attached to him, he has begged him to come and live with him." (32) In a position to realise her fortune." (33) "To pay his respects to me." (34) "I do not speak English very well." (35) "*What a pretty little house you have, and what pretty little hosts. " (36) "Does he know the name of M. Lafayette ?" (37) "They put us at first into a pretty enough room." (38) A constitutionalist and member of the Legislative Assembly, who narrowly escaped with his life on the 10th of August. He lived thenceforward in retirement until after the fall of Robespierre and the jacobins, and came again to the fore under Napoleon.-ED. (39) "His resignation." (40) "Without form of law." (41) The night of June 20-21, 1791, King Louis fled disguised from Paris, with his family; got safely as far as Varennes, but was there discovered, and obliged to return.-ED. (42) "Resolution was taken." (43) "After many threatening gestures." (44) The asylum of Jean jacques (Rousseau). (45) St. just was one of the most notable members of the National Convention. "Young Saint-just is coming, deputed by Aisne in the North; more like a Student than a Senator; not four-and-twenty yet (Sept. 1792); who has written Books; a youth of slight stature, with mild mellow voice, enthusiast olive-complexion and long black hair." (Carlyle.) He held with Robespierre, and was guillotined with him, July 28, 1794.-ED. (46) ' "And now he is a proud republican." (47) "What day better than the present?" (48) "Listen to reason." (49) M. de Necker was father of Madame de Stael, and at one time the most popular minister of France. Controller-general of finances from 1776 to 1781, and again in 1788. In July 1789, he was dismissed, to the anger of indignant Paris; had to he recalled before many days, and returned in triumph, to be, it was hoped, "Saviour of France." But his popularity gradually declined, and at last "'Adored Minister' Necker sees good on the 3rd of September, 1790, to withdraw softly, almost privily--with an eye to the 'recovery of his health.' Home to native Switzerland; not as he last came; lucky to reach it alive!" (Carlyle)-ED. (50) Malouet was a member of the Assembly, and one of the constitutional royalists who took refuge in England in September, 1792. Hearing of the intended trial of the king, 'Malouet wrote to the Convention, requesting a passport, that he might go to Paris to defend him. He got no passport, however ; only his name put on the list of emigrants for an answer. ED. (51) "Were mixed up in it." (52) The Bishop of Autun:--Talleyrand.-ED. (53) "Worthy to be the husband of so amiable and charming a person as Madame de la Ch�tre." (54) "M. de la Ch�tre is a capital fellow; but as rough as a cart-horse." (55) The spleen. (56) Inn. (57) "His unfortunate friends." (58) "But wait a bit ; I have not yet finished : we were assured that no one was lost, and even that everything on the vessel was saved." (59) "Out at sea." (60) "His friends the constitutionalists." (61) Fortnight. (62) The execution of Louis XVI. (63) The Literary Club. (64) Guarded: circumspect. (65) Dr. Percy, editor of the "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry."-ED. (66) "Move the people to compassion." (67) As literary curiosities, the subjoined notes from Madame de Stael , have been printed verbatim et literatim: they are probably her earliest attempts at English writing. (68) "But, to make more sure, I tell you in French that your room, the house, the inmates of Juniper, everything is ready to receive the first woman in England." (69) Malesherbes was one of the counsel who defended Louis at his trial. The Convention, after debate, has granted him Legal Counsel, of his own choosing. Advocate Target feels himself 'too old,' being turned of fifty-four - and declines. . . . Advocate Tronchet, some ten years older, does not decline. Nay behold, good old Malesherbes steps forward voluntarily; to the last of his fields , the good old hero! He is gray with seventy years; he says, 'I was twice called to the Council of him who was my Master, When all the world coveted that honour; and I owe him the same service now, when it has become one which many reckon dangerous!"--(Carlyle). Malesherbes was guillotined in 1794, during "the Reign of Terror."-ED. (70) Mr. Clarke. (71) Voltaire's.--ED. (72) Narbonne.-ED. (73) "Something to live on in England." (74) September 2, it should be.-ED. (75) i.e., D�cr�t� d'accusation, accused.-ED. (76) Lally Tolendal was the son of the brave Lally, Governor of Pondicherry, whose great services in India were rewarded by the French government with four years' imprisonment, repeated torture, and finally ignominious death, in 1760. The infliction of torture on criminals was not put a stop to in France until the Revolution.-ED. (77) "A very good fellow, and nothing more." (78) "But he will be hurt at that." (79) The owner of Juniper Hall.-ED. (80) "Coquetry to soften that barbarous jenkinson." (81) "Indignant at the bad faith, and tired with the tediousness of his opponent." (82) "Pray, Mr. Gnawbone, how is the queen?" (83) Punctiliousness: propriety. (84) Pet: Vexation. (85) "Is a woman in leading strings all her life in this country? It seems to me that your sister is like a child of fourteen." (86) "And tell Miss Burney that I don't desire it of her-that I leave the Country loving her sincerely, and bearing her no grudge." (87) "There was no way out of it." (88) "You are very good to say SO." (89) M. d'Arblay. "When Lieutenant [James] Burney accompanied captain Cook to otaheite, each of the English sailors was adopted as a brother by some one of the natives. The ceremony consisted in rubbing noses together, and exchanging the appellation Tyo or Toio, which signified 'chosen friend.' This title was sometimes playfully given to Miss Burney by Mrs. Thrale." note to the original edition of the "Diary", vol. ii. page 38.-ED. (90) "Country place where Miss Burney was." (91) "On my part." (92) "Could not one make that little journey?" (93) "Wide awake, as if she suspected something." (94) The amount of Fanny's pension from the queen.-ED. SECTION 20. (1793-6) LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR. [Never, probably, did Fanny enjoy greater happiness than during the first few years of her married life, "Love in a cottage" on an income Of One hundred pounds a year, was exactly suited to her retiring and affectionate nature. The cottage, too, was within easy walking distance of Mickleham, where resided her favourite sister, Susanna, and of Norbury Park, the home of her dearest friends, the Lockes. Here, then, in this beautiful part of Surrey, with a devoted husband by her side, and, in due time, a little son (her only child) to share with him her tenderness and care ' did Fanny lead, for some.time, a tranquil and, in the main, a happy life. Her chief excursions were occasional visits to the queen and princesses-delightful visits now that she was out of harness. Towards the end, however, of the period of which the following 'Section contains the history, two melancholy events, happening in quick succession, brought sorrow to the little household at Book'ham. The departure for Ireland of Susan Phillips left a grievous gap in the circle of Fanny's best-loved friends. We gather from the "Diary" that Captain (now Major) Phillips had gone to Ireland, with his little son, Norbury, to superintend the management of his estate at Belcotton, some months before his wife left Mickleham. In the autumn of 1796 he returned to fetch his wife and the rest of his family. An absence of three years was intended, The parting was rendered doubly distressing by the evidently declining state of Susan's health. Shortly afterwards, in October 1796, died Fanny's step-mother, who had been, for many years, more Or less an invalid. Fanny hastened to Chelsea on receiving the news, and spent some time there with her father and his Youngest daughter. The following extract from a memorandum of Dr. Burney's will be read, we think, not without Interest. "On the 26th of October, she [his second wife) was interred in the burying-ground of Chelsea College. On the 27th, I returned to my melancholy home, disconsolate and stupified, Though long Page 72 expected, this calamity was very severely felt; I missed her counsel, converse, and family regulations; and a companion of thirty years, whose mind was cultivated, whose intellects were above the general level of her sex, and whose curiosity after knowledge was insatiable to the last. These were losses that caused a vacuum in my habitation and in my mind, that has never been filled up. "My four eldest daughters, all dutiful, intelligent, and affectionate, were married, and had families of their own to superintend, or they might have administered comfort. My youngest daughter ' Sarah Harriet, by my second marriage, had quick intellects, and distinguished talents ; but she had no experience in household affairs. However, though she had native spirits of the highest gaiety, she became a steady and prudent character, and a kind and good girl. There is, I think, considerable merit in her novel, 'Geraldine,' particularly in the conversations; and I think the scene at the emigrant cottage really touching. At least it drew tears from me, when I was not so prone to shed them as I am at present."(95) During these years Fanny did not suffer her pen to lie idle. Her tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," was produced, though without success, at Drury Lane. On the other hand, the success of her third novel, "Camilla, or a Picture of Youth, " published by subscription in 1796, was, at least from a financial point of view, conspicuous and immediate. Out of an edition of four thousand, three thousand five hundred copies were sold within three months. Were we to attempt to rank Madame d'Arblay's novels in order of merit, we should perhaps feel compelled to place "Camilla" at the bottom of the list, yet without intending to imply any considerable inferiority. But it is full of charm and animation the characters--the female characters especially-are drawn with a sure hand, the humour is as diverting, the satire as spirited as ever. Fanny"s fops and men of the ton are always excellent in their kind, and "Camilla" contains, perhaps, her greatest triumph in this direction, in the character of Sir Sedley Clarendal. Lovel. in "Evelina," and Meadows, in "Cecilia," are mere blockheads, whose distinction is wholly due to the ludicrousness of their affectations; but in Sir Sedley she has attempted, and succeeded in the much more difficult task of portraying a man of naturally good parts and feelings, who, through idleness and vanity, has allowed himself to sink into the position of a mere leader of the ton, whose better nature rises at times, in spite of himself, above the flood of affectation and folly beneath which he endeavours to drown it. Camilla herself, the light-hearted, unsuspicious Camilla, however she may differ, in some points of character, from Fanny's other heroines, possesses one quality which is common to them all, the power of fascinating the reader. Perhaps the least satisfactory character in the book is that of the hero, Edgar Mandlebert, whose extreme caution in the choice of a wife betrays him into ungenerous suspicions, as irritating to the impatient reader as they are dis- Page 73 tressing to pool- Camilla. In fine, whatever faults, as occasionally of style, the book may have the interest never for One moment flags from the first page to the last of the entire five volumes. The subscriPtion-price of " Camilla " was fixed at one guinea. Fanny's friends, Mrs. Crewe, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Locke, exerted themselves with the utmost zeal and success in procuring subscribers, and the printed lists prefixed to the first volume contains nearly eleven hundred names. Among wthem we notice the name of Edmund Burke, whose great career was closing in a cloud of domestic trouble'. Early in 1794 he lost his brother, Richard, and in August of the same year a far heavier blow fell upon him in the death, at the age of thirty-six, of his only and promising son, "the pride and ornament of my existence," as he called him in a touching letter to Mrs. Crewe. The desolate father, already worn with the thankless toils of statesmanship, in which his very errors had been the outcome of a noble and enthusiastic temperament, never recovered from this blow. But when Mrs. Crewe sent him, in 1795, the proposals for publishing "Camilla," Burke roused himself to do a new kindness to an old friend. He forwarded to Mrs. Crewe a note for twenty pounds, desiring in return one copy of the book, and justified his generous donation in a letter of the most delicate Courtesy. "As to Miss Burney," he wrote, "the subscription ought to be, for certain persons, five guineas; and to take but a single copy each. The rest as it is. I am sure that it is a disgrace to the age and nation, if this be not a great thing for her. if every person in England who has received pleasure'and instruction from 'Cecilia,' were to rate its value at the hundredth part of their satisfaction, Madame d'Arblay would be one of the richest women in the kingdom. "Her scheme was known before she lost two of her most respectful admirers from this house; and this, with Mrs. BUrke's' subscription and mine, make the paper I send you. One book is as good as a thousand: one of hers is certainly as good as a thousand others." The book, on its Publication 'was sent to Bath, where Burke was lying ill-too ill to read it. To Mrs. Crewe, who visited him at the time, he said : "How ill I am you will easily believe, when a new work of Madame d'Arblay's lies on my table, unread!"(96) Meanwhile the retirement of the "hermits" at Bookham was now and again disturbed by echoes of the tumult without. The war was progressing, and the Republic was holding its own against the combined powers of Europe. Dr. Burney refers to the "sad news" from Dunkirk. In August, 1793, an English army, commanded by the Duke of York, had invested that important stronghold: on the night of September 8, thanks to the exertions of the garrison and the advance of General Houchard to its relief, the siege was urriedly abandoned and his royal highness had to beat a retreat, leaving behind him' his siege-artillery and a large quantity of aggage and ammunition. Another siege--that of Page 74 Toulon-seemed likely to prove a matter of nearer concern to Fanny. The inhabitants of Toulon, having royalist, or at least anti-jacobin, sympathies, and stirred by the fate of Marseilles, had determined, in an unhappy hour, to defy the Convention and to proclaim the dauphin by the title of Louis XVII. They invoked the protection of the English fleet under Admiral Hood, who accordingly took possession of the harbour and of the French ships of war stationed therein, while a force of English and Spanish soldiers was sent on shore to garrison the forts. In the course of these proceedings the admiral issued to the townspeople two proclamations, by the second of which, dated August 28, 1793, after noticing the declaration of the inhabitants in favour of monarchy, and Their desire to re-establish the constitution as it was accepted by the late king, he explicitly declared that he took possession of Toulon and should keep it solely as a deposit for Louis XXIII., and that only until the restoration of peace. This hopeful intelligence did not escape General d'Arblay, busied among his cabbages at Bookham. A blow to be struck for Louis XVII. and the constitution! The general straightway flung aside the "Gardener's Dictionary," and wrote an offer to Mr. Pitt of his services as volunteer at Toulon, in the sacred cause of the Bourbons. Happily for Fanny, his offer was not accepted, for some reason unexplained.(97) In the meantime, General Dugommier and the republicans, a young artillery-officer named Napoleon Buonaparte among them, were using their best endeavours to reduce Toulon, with what result we shall presently see.-ED.] THE FRENCH CLERGY FUND. THE TOULON ExPEDITION. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) September 12, 1793. Dear Fanny--In this season of leisure I am as fully occupied as ever your friend Mr. DelVile(98) was. So many people to attend, so many complaints to hear, and so many grievances to redress, that it has been impossible for me to write to you sooner. I have been out of town but one Single day, I believe, since you were here: that was spent at Richmond with my sisters. But every day Page 75 produces business for other people, which occupies me as much as ever I found myself in days of hurry about my own affairs. I have had a negotiation and correspondence to carry on for and with Charlotte Smith,(99) of which I believe I told you the beginning, and I do not see the end myself. Her second son had his foot shot off before Dunkirk, and has undergone a very dangerous amputation, which, it is much feared, will be fatal. Mrs. Crewe, having seen at Eastbourne a great number of venerable and amiable French clergy suffering all the evils of banishment and beggary with silent resignation, has for some time had in meditation a plan for procuring some addition to the small allowance the committee at Freemasons' hall is able to allow, from the residue of the subscriptions and briefs in their favour. Susan will show you the plan. . . . You say that M. d'Arblay is not only his own architect, but intends being his own gardener. I suppose the ground allotted to the garden of your maisonnette is marked out, and probably will be enclosed and broken up before the foundation of your mansion is laid ; therefore, to encourage M. d'Arblay in the study of horticulture, I have the honour to send him Miller's 'Gardeners' Dictionary,'--an excellent book, at least for the rudiments of the art. I send you, my dear Fanny, an edition of Milton, which I can well spare, and which you ought not to live without ; and I send you both our dear friend Dr. Johnson's 'Rasselas.' This is sad news from Dunkirk, at which our own jacobins will insolently triumph. Everything in France seems to move in a regular progression from bad to worse. After near five years' struggle and anarchy, no man alive, with a grain of modesty, would venture to predict how or when the evils of that country will be terminated. In the meantime the peace and comfort of every civilised part of the globe is threatened with similar calamities. (Madame dArblay to Dr. Burney) Bookham, September 29, 1793. When I received the last letter of my dearest father, and for some hours after, I was the happiest of all human beings. I make no exception, for I think none possible : not a wish remained to me; not a thought of forming one. Page 76 This was just the period--is it not always so?--for a blow of sorrow to reverse the whole scene : accordingly, that evening M. d'Arblay communicated to me his desire of going to Toulon. He had intended retiring from public life; his services and his sufferings in his severe and long career, repaid by exile and confiscation, and for ever embittered to his memory by the murder of his sovereign, had justly satisfied the claims of his conscience and honour; and led him, without a single self-reproach, to seek a quiet retreat in domestic society : but the second declaration of Lord Hood no sooner reached this little obscure dwelling,-no sooner had he read the words Louis XVII. and the constitution to which he had sworn united, than his military ardour rekindled, his loyalty was all up in arms, and every sense of duty carried him back to wars and dangers. I dare not speak of myself, except to say that I have forborne to oppose him with a single solicitation; all the felicity of this our chosen and loved retirement would effectually be annulled by the smallest suspicion that it was enjoyed at the expense of any duty - and therefore, since he is persuaded it is right to go, I acquiesce. He is now writing an offer of his services, which I am to convey to Windsor, and which he means to convey himself to Mr. Pitt. As I am sure it will interest my dear father, I will copy it for him. . . . My dearest father, before this tremendous project broke into our domestic economy, M, d'Arblay had been employed in a little composition, which, being all in his power, he destined to lay at your feet, as a mark of his pleasure in your attention to his horticultural pursuit. He has just finished copying it for you, and to-morrow it goes by the stage. Your hint of a book from time to time enchanted him: it seems to me the only present he accepts entirely without pain. He has just requested me to return to Mrs. Locke herself a cadeau she had brought us. If it had been an old Courtcalendar, or an almanac, or anything in the shape of a brochure, he would have received it with his best bow and smile. This Toulon business finally determines our deferring the maisonnette till the spring. Heaven grant it may be deferred no longer!(100) Mr Locke says it will be nearly as soon ready as if begun in the autumn, for it will be better to have it Page 77 aired and inhabited before the winter seizes it, If the memoire which M. d'Arblay is now writing is finished in time, it shall accompany the little packet; if not, we will send it by the first opportunity. Meanwhile, M. d'Arblay makes a point of our indulging ourselves with the gratification of subscribing one guinea to your fund,(101) and Mrs. Locke begs you will trust her and insert her subscription in your list, and Miss Locke and Miss Amelia Locke. Mr. Locke is charmed with your plan. M. d'Arblay means to obtain you Lady Burrel and Mrs. Berm. If you think I can write to any purpose, tell me a little hint how and of what, dearest sir; for I am in the dark as to what may remain yet unsaid. Otherwise, heavy as is my heart just now, I could work for them and Your plan.(102) (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) October 4, 1793. Dear Fanny,--This is a terrible coup, so soon after your union; but I honour M, d'Arblay for offering his service on so great an occasion, and you for giving way to what seems an indispensable duty. Common-place reflections on the vicissitudes of human affairs would afford you little consolation. The stroke is new to your situation, and so will be the fortitude necessary on the occasion. However, to military men, who, like M. d'Arblay, have been but just united to the object of their choice, and begun to domesticate, it is no uncommon tbing for their tranquillity to be disturbed by " the trumpet's loud clangor." Whether the offer is accepted or not, the having made it will endear him to those embarked in the same cause among his countrymen, and elevate him in the general opinion of the English public. This consideration I am sure will afford you a satisfaction the most likely to enable you to support the anxiety and pain of absence. I have no doubt of the offer being taken well at Windsor, and of its conciliating effects. If his majesty and the ministry Page 78 have any settled plan for accepting or rejecting similar offers I know not; but it seems very likely that Toulon will be regarded as the rallying point for French royalists of all sects and denominations. . . . I shall be very anxious to know how the proposition of M. d'Arblay has been received; and, if accepted, on what conditions, and when and how the voyage is to be performed , I should hope in a stout man of war ; and that M. de Narbonne will be of the party, being so united in friendship and political principles. Has M. d'Arblay ever been at Toulon ? It is supposed to be so well fortified, both by art and nature, on the land side, that; if not impregnable, the taking it by the regicides will require so much time that it is hoped an army of counterrevolutionists will be assembled from the side of Savoy, sufficient to raise the siege, if unity of measures and action prevail between the Toulonnais and their external friends. But even if the assailants should make such approaches as to render it necessary to retreat, with such a powerful fleet as that of England and Spain united, it will not only be easy to carry off the garrison and inhabitants in time, but to destroy such ships as cannot be brought away, and ruin the harbour and arsenal for many years to come.' I have written to Mrs. Crewe all you have said on the subject of writing something to stimulate benevolence and commiseration in favour of the poor French ecclesiastics, amounting to six thousand now in England, besides four hundred laity here and eight hundred at Jersey, in utter want. The fund for the laity was totally exhausted the 27th of last month, and the beginning of the next that raised by former subscriptions and briefs will be wholly expended! The expense, in only allowing the clergy 8 shillings a-week, amounts Page 79 to about 7500 pounds a-month, which cannot be supported long by private subscriptions, and must at last be taken up by Parliament; but to save the national disgrace of suffering these excellent people to die of hunger, before the Parliament meets and agrees to do something for them, the ladies must work hard. You and M. d'Arblay are very good in wishing to contribute your mite ; but I did not intend leading you into this scrape. If you subscribe your pen, and he his sword, it will best answer Mr. Burke's idea, who says, "There are two ways by which people may be charitable-the one by their money, the other by their exertions." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Sunday noon, October 21, 1793. My dearest father will think I have been very long in doing the little I have done; but my mind is so anxiously discom-fited by the continued suspense with regard to M. d'Arblay's proposition and wish, that it has not been easy to me to weigh completely all I could say, and the fear of repeating what had already been offered upon the subject has much restrained me, for I have seen none of the tracts that may have appeared. However, it is a matter truly near my heart ; and though I have not done it rapidly, I have done it with my whole mind, and, to own the truth, with a species of emotion that has greatly affected me, for I could not deeply consider the situation of these venerable men without feeling for them to the quick. If what I have written should have power to procure them one more guinea, I shall be paid. If you think what I have drawn up worth printing, I should suppose it might make a little sixpenny paper, and be sold for the same purpose it is written. Or will it only do to be printed at the expense of the acting ladies, and given gratis? You must judge of this. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, October 27, 1793. My most dear father,--The terrible confirmation of this last act of savage hardness of heart(104) has wholly overset us again. M. d'Arblay had entirely discredited its probability, Page 80 and, to the last moment, disbelieved the report not from milder thoughts of the barbarous rulers of his unhappy country, but from seeing that the death of the queen could answer no purpose, helpless as she was to injure them, while her life might answer some as a hostage with the emperor. Cruelty, however, such as theirs, seems to require no incitement whatever; its own horrible exercise appears sufficient both to prompt and to repay it. Good heaven! that that wretched princess should so finish sufferings so unexampled! With difficulties almost incredible, Madame de Stael has contrived, a second time, to save the lives of M. de Jaucourt and M, de Montmorenci, who are just arrived in Switzerland. We know as yet none of the particulars; simply that they are saved is all: but they write in a style the most melancholy to M. de Narbonne, of the dreadful fanaticism of licence, which they dare call liberty, that still reigns unsubdued in France, And they have preserved nothing but their persons ! of their vast properties they could secure no more than pocket-money, for travelling in the most penurious manner. They are therefore in a state the most deplorable. Switzerland is filled with gentlemen and ladies of the very first families and rank, who are all starving, but those who have had the good fortune to procure, by disguising their quality, some menial office! No answer comes from Mr. Pitt ; and we now expect none till Sir Gilbert Elliot makes his report of the state of Toulon and of the Toulonnese till which, probably, no decision will be formed whether the constitutionals in England will be employed or not. [M. d'Arblay's offer of serving in the expedition to Toulon was not accepted, and the reasons for which it was declined do not appear.] MADAME D'ARBLAY ON HER MARRIAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to mrs.----.) The account of your surprise, my sweet friend, was the last thing to create mine: I was well aware of the general astonishment, and of yours in particular. My own, however, at my very extraordinary fate, is singly greater than that of all my friends united. I had never made any vow against marriage, but I had long, long been firmly persuaded it was for me a state of too much hazard and too little promise to draw me from my Page 81 individual plans and purposes. I remember, in playing -at questions and commands, when I was thirteen, being asked when I intended to marry? and surprising my playmates by solemnly replying) "When I think I shall be happier than I am in being single." It is true, I imagined that time would never arrive - and I have pertinaciously adhered to trying no experiment upon any other hope - for, many and mixed as are the ingredients which form what is generally considered as happiness, I was always fully convinced [hat social sympathy of character and taste could alone have any chance with me; all else I always thought, and now know, to be immaterial. I have only this peculiar,--that what many contentedly assert or adopt in theory, I have had the courage to be guided by in practice. We are now removed to a very small house in the suburbs of a very small village called Bookham. We found it rather inconvenient to reside in another person's dwelling, though our own apartments were to ourselves. Our views are not so beautiful as from Phenice farm, but our situation is totally free from neighbours and intrusion. We are about a mile and a half from Norbury Park, and two miles from Mickleham. I am become already so stout a walker, by use, and with the help of a very able supporter, that I go to those places and return home on foot without fatigue, when the weather is kind. At other times I condescend to accept a carriage from Mr. Locke ; but it is always reluctantly, I so much prefer walking where, as here, the country and prospects are inviting. I thank you for your caution about building: we shall certainly undertake nothing but by contract - however, it would be truly mortifying to give up a house in Norbury Park we defer the structure till the spring, as it is to be so very slight, that Mr. Locke says it will be best to have it hardened in its first stage by the summer's sun. It will be very small, merely an habitation for three people, but in a situation truly beautiful, and within five minutes of either Mr. Locke or my sister Phillips: it is to be placed just between those two loved houses. My dearest father, whose fears and drawbacks have been my Sole subject of regret, begins now to see I have not judged rashly, or with romance, in seeing my own road to my own felicity. And his restored cheerful concurrence in my constant principles, though new station, leaves me, for myself, Page 82 without a wish. L'ennui, which could alone infest our retreat, I have ever been a stranger to, except in tiresome company, and my companion has every possible resource against either feeling or inspiring it. As my partner is a Frenchman, I conclude the wonder raised by the connexion may spread beyond my own private circle; but no wonder upon earth can ever arrive near my own in having found such a character from that nation. This is a prejudice certainly, impertinent and very John Bullish, and very arrogant but I only share it with all my countrymen, and therefore must needs forgive both them and myself. I am convinced, however, from your tender solicitude for me in all ways, that you will be glad to hear that the queen and all the royal family have deigned to send me wishes for my happiness through Mrs. Schwellenberg, who has written me what you call a very kind congratulation. [In the year 1794, the happiness of the "Hermitage" was increased by the birth of a son,(105) who was christened Alexander Charles Louis Piochard d'Arblay; receiving the names of his father, with those of his two godfathers, the Comte de Narbonne and Dr. Charles Burney.] MR. CANNING. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney) Bookham, February 8, 1794. The times are indeed, as my dearest father says, tremendous, and reconcile this retirement daily more and more to my chevalier- -chevalier every way, by birth, by his order, and by his character; for to-day he has been making his first use of a restoration to his garden in gathering snowdrops for his fair Dulcinea--you know I must say fair to finish the phrase with any effect. I am very sorry for the sorrow I am sure Mr. Burke will feel for the loss of his brother, announced in Mr. Coolie's paper yesterday. Besides, he was a comic, good-humoured, entertaining man, though not bashful.(106) Page 83 What an excellent opening Mr. Canning has made at last! Entre nous soit dit, I remember, when at Windsor, that I Was told Mr. Fox came to Eton purposely to engage to himself that young man, from the already great promise of his rising abilities - and he made dinners for him and his nephew, Lord Holland, to teach them political lessons. It must have had an odd effect upon him, I think, to hear such a speech from his disciple.(107) Mr. Locke now sends us the papers for the debates every two or three days ; he cannot quicker, as his own household readers are so numerous. I see almost nothing of Mr. Windham in them ; which vexes me: but I see Mr. Windham in Mr. Canning. TALLEYRAND's LETTERS OF ADIEU.(108) (M. de Talleyrand to Mrs. Philips.) Londres, 1794. Madame,--Il faut qu'il y ait eu de l'impossibilit� pour que ce matin je n'aie pas eu l'honneur de vous voir; mais l'im- Page 84 possibilit� la plus forte m'a priv� du dernier plaisir que je pouvois avoir en Europe. Permettez moi, madame, de vous remercier encore une fois do toutes vos bont�s, de vous demander un peu de part dans votre souvenir, et laissez moi vous dire que mes voeux se porteront dans tous les terns de ma vie vers vous, vers le capitaine, vers vos enfans. Vous allez avoir en Am�rique un serviteur bien z�l�; je ne reviendrai pas en Europe sans arriver dans le Surrey: tout ce qui, pour mon esprit et pour mon coeur, a quelque valeur, est l . Voulez-vous bien pr�senter tous mes complimens au capitaine?(109) (M. de Talleyrand to M. and Madame d'Arblay.) Londres, 2 Mars, 1794. Adieu, mon cher D'Arblay: je quitte votre pays jusqu'au moment o� il n'appartiendra plus aux petites passions des hommes. Alors j'y reviendrai; non, en v�rit�, pour m'occuper d'affaires, car il y a long tems que je les ai abandonn�es pour jamais; mais pour voir les excellens habitans du Surrey, J'esp�re savoir assez d'Anglais pour entendre Madame d'Arblay; d'ici quatre mois je ne vais faire autre chose que l'�tudier: et pour apprendre le beau et bon langage, c'est "Evelina" et "Cecilia" qui sont mes livres d'�tude et de plaisir. Je vous souhaite, mon cher ami, toute esp�ce de bonheur, et vous �tes on position de remplir tous mes souhaits. je ne sais combien de tems je resterai en Am�rique: s'il se r�f�roit quelque chose de raisonnable et de stable pour notre malheureux pays, je reviendrois; si l'Europe s'ab�me dans la campagne prochaine, je pr�parerai en Am�rique des asyles tous nos amis. Page 85 Adieu: mes hommages Madame d'Arblay et Madame phillips, je vous en prie: je vous demande et vous promets amiti� pour la vie.(110) M. D'ARBLAY's HORTICULTURAL PURSUITS. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) Bookham, March 22, 1794. My dear father.--I am this Moment returned from reading your most welcome and kind letter at our Susanna's. The account of your better health gives me a pleasure beyond all words; and it is the more essential to my perfect contentment on account of your opinion of our retreat. I doubt not, my dearest father, but you judge completely right, and I may nearly say we are both equally disposed to pay the most implicit respect to your counsel. We give up, therefore, all thoughts of our London excursion for the present, and I shall write to that effect to our good intended hostess very speedily. I can easily conceive far more than you enlarge upon in this counsel: and, indeed, I have not myself been wholly free from apprehension of possible embarras, should we, at this period, visit London; for though M. d'Arblay not only could stand, but would court, all personal scrutiny, whether retrospective or actual, I see daily the extreme susceptibility which attends his very nice notions of honour, and how quickly and deeply his spirit is wounded by whatever he regards as injustice. Incapable, too, of the least trimming or Page 86 disguise, he could not, at a time such as this, be in London without suffering or risking perhaps hourly, something unpleasant. Here we are tranquil, undisturbed and undisturbing. Can life, he often says, he more innocent than ours, or happiness more inoffensive? He works in his garden, or studies English and mathematics, while I write. When I work at my needle, he reads to me; and we enjoy the beautiful country around us in long and romantic strolls, during which he carries under his arm a portable garden chair, lent us by Mrs. Locke, that I may rest as I proceed. He is extremely fond, too, of writing, and makes, from time to time, memorandums of such memoirs, poems, and anecdotes as he recollects, and I wish to have preserved. These resources for sedentary life are certainly the first blessings that can be given to man, for they enable him to be happy in the extremest obscurity, even after tasting the dangerous draughts of glory and ambition. The business of M. de Lafayette(111) has been indeed extremely bitter to him. It required the utmost force he could put upon himself not to take some public part in it. He drew up a short but most energetic defence of that unfortunate general, in a letter, which he meant to print and send to the editors of a newspaper which had traduced him, with his name at full length. But after two nights' sleepless deliberation, the hopelessness of serving his friend, with a horror and disdain of being mistaken as one who would lend any arms to weaken government at this crisis, made him consent to repress it. I was dreadfully uneasy during the conflict, knowing, far better than I can make him conceive, the mischiefs that might follow any interference at this moment, in matters brought before the nation, from a foreigner. But, conscious of his own integrity, I plainly see he must either wholly retire, or come forward to encounter whatever he thinks wrong. Ah--better let him accept your motto, and cultiver son jardin! He is now in it, notwithstanding our long walk to Mickleham, and working hard and fast to finish some selfset task that to-morrow, Sunday, must else impede. page 87 M. d'Arblay, to my infinite satisfaction, gives up all thoughts of building, in the present awful state of public affairs. To show you, however, how much he is " of your advice " as to son jardin, he has been drawing a plan for it, which I intend to beg, borrow, or steal (all one), to give you some idea how seriously he studies to make his manual labours of some real utility. This sort of work, however, is so totally new to him, that he receives every now and then some of poor Merlin's "disagreeable compliments;" for, when Mr. Locke's or the captain's gardeners favour our grounds with a visit, they commonly make known that all has been done wrong. Seeds are sowing in some parts when plants ought to be reaping, and plants are running to seed while they are thought not yet at maturity. Our garden, therefore, is not yet quite the most profitable thing in the world; but M. d'A. assures me it is to be the staff of our table and existence. A little, too, he has been unfortunate ; for, after immense toil in planting and transplanting strawberries round our hedge, here at Bookham, he has just been informed they will bear no fruit the first year, and the second we may be "over the hills and far away!" Another time, too, with great labour, he cleared a considerable compartment of weeds, and, when it looked clean and well, and he showed his work to the gardener, the man said he had demolished an asparagus-bed! M. d'A. protested, however, nothing could look more like des mauvaises herbes. His greatest passion is for transplanting. Everything we possess he moves from one end of the garden to another, to produce better effects. Roses take place of jessamines, jessamines of honeysuckles, and honeysuckles of lilacs, till they have all danced round as far as the space allows; but whether the effect may not be a general mortality, summer only can determine. Such is our horticultural history. But I must not omit that we have had for one week cabbages from our own cultivation every day! O, you have no idea how sweet they tasted! We agreed they had a freshness and a go�t we had never met with before. We had them for too short a time to grow tired of them, because, as I have already hinted, they were beginning to run to seed before we knew they were eatable. . . April. Think of our horticultural shock last week, when Mrs. Bailey, our landlady, "entreated M. d'Arblay not to Spoil Page 88 her fruit-trees!"--trees he had been pruning with his utmost skill and strength. However, he has consulted your "Millar" thereupon, and finds out she is very ignorant, which he has gently intimated to her. MRS. PIOZZI. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, April, 1794. What a charming letter was your last, my dearest father How full of interesting anecdote and enlivening detail! The meeting with Mrs. Thrale, so surrounded by her family, made me breathless; and while you were conversing with the Signor, and left me in doubt whether you advanced to her or not, I almost gasped with impatience and revived old feelings, which, presently, you reanimated to almost all their original energy How like my dearest father to find all his kindness rekindled when her ready hand once more invited it! I heard her voice in, "Why here's Dr. Burney, as young as ever!" and my dear father in his parrying answers.(112) No scene could have been related to me more interesting or more welcome. My heart and hand, I am sure, would have met her in the same manner. The friendship was too pleasant in its first stage, and too strong in its texture, to be ever obliterated, though it has been tarnished and clouded. I wish few things more earnestly than again to meet her. M. D'ARDLAY AS A GARDENER. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)(113) Bookham, August, '94. It is just a week since I had the greatest gratification of its kind I ever, I think, experienced :---so kind a thought, so Page 89 sweet a surprise as was my dearest father's visit! How softly and soothingly it has rested upon my mind ever since! "Abdolomine"(114) has no regret but that his garden was not in better order; he was a little piqu�, he confesses, that you said it was not very neat--and, to be shor!-0-but his passion is to do great works: he undertakes with pleasure, pursues with energy, and finishes with spirit; but, then, all is over! He thinks the business once done always done; and to repair, and amend, and weed, and cleanse--O, these are drudgeries insupportable to him! However, you should have seen the place before he began his operations, to do him justice ; there was then nothing else but mauvaises herbes; now, you must at least allow there is a mixture of flowers and grain! I wish you had seen him yesterday, mowing down our hedge--with his sabre, and with an air and attitudes so military, that, if he had been hewing down other legions than those he encountered--ie., of spiders--he could scarcely have had a mien more tremendous, or have demanded an arm more mighty. Heaven knows, I am "the most contente personne in the world" to see his sabre so employed! A NOVEL AND A TRAGEDY. You spirited me on in all ways; for this week past I have taken tightly to the grand ouvrage.(115) If I go on so a little longer, I doubt not but M. d'Arblay will begin settling where to have a new shelf for arranging it! which is already in his rumination for Metastasio;(116) I imagine you now .,Seriously resuming that work; I hope to see further sample ere long. We think with very great pleasure of accepting my mother's and your kind invitation for a few days. I hope and mean, if possible, to bring with me also a little sample of something less in the dolorous style than what always causes your poor shoulders a little Shrug.(117) . . . How truly grieved was I to hear from Mr. Locke of the death of young Mr. Burke!(118) What a dreadful blow upon his Page 90 father and mother ! to come at the instant of the son's highest and most honourable advancement, and of the father's retreat to the bosom of his family from public life ! His brother, too, gone so lately! I am most sincerely sorry, indeed, and quite shocked, as there seemed so little suspicion of such an event's approach, by your account of the joy caused by Lord Fitzwilliam's kindness. Pray tell me if you hear how poor Mr. Burke and his most amiable wife endure this calamity, and how they are. . . . (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.) Bookham, April 15, 1795. So dry a reproof from so dear a friend! And do you, then, measure my regard of heart by my remissness of hand? Let me give you the short history of my tragedy,(119) fairly and frankly. I wrote it not, as your acquaintance imagined, for the stage, nor yet for the press. I began it at Kew palace, and, at odd moments, I finished it at Windsor; without the least idea of any species of publication. Since I left the royal household, I ventured to let it be read by my father, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister Phillips, and, of course, M. d'Arblay, and not another human being. Their opinions led to what followed, and my brother, Dr. Charles, showed it to Mr. Kemble while I was on my visit to my father last October. He instantly and warmly pronounced for its acceptance, but I knew not when Mr. Sheridan would see it, and had not the smallest expectation of its appearing this year. However, just three days before my beloved little infant came into the world, an express arrived from my brother, that Mr. Kemble wanted the tragedy immediately, in order to show it to Mr. Sheridan, who had just heard of it, and had spoken in the most flattering terms of his good will for its reception. Still, however, I was in doubt of its actual acceptance till three weeks after my confinement, when I had a visit from my brother, who told me he was, the next morning, to read the piece in the green-room. This was a precipitance for which I was every way unprepared, as I had never made but one copy of the play, and had intended divers corrections and alterations. Absorbed, however, by my new charge and then Page 91 growing ill, I had a sort of indifference about the matter, which, in fact, has lasted ever since. The moment I was then able to hold a pen I wrote two short letters, to acknowledge the state of the affair to my sisters - and to one of these epistles I had an immediate laughing answer, informing me my confidence was somewhat of the latest, as the subject of it was already in all the newspapers! I was extremely chagrined at this intelligence; but, from that time, thought it all too late to be the herald of my own designs. And this, added to my natural and incurable dislike to enter upon these egotistical details unasked, has caused my silence to my dear M- -, and to every friend I possess. Indeed, speedily after, I had an illness so severe and so dangerous, that for full seven weeks the tragedy was neither named nor thought of by M. d'Arblay or myself. The piece was represented to the utmost disadvantage, save only Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Kemble - for it was not written with any idea of the stage, and my illness and weakness, and constant absorbment, at the time of its preparation, occasioned it to appear with so many undramatic effects, from my inexperience of theatrical requisites and demands, that, when I saw it, I myself perceived a thousand things I wished to change. The performers, too, were cruelly imperfect, and made blunders I blush to have pass for mine,-added to what belong to me. The most important character after the hero and heroine had but two lines of his part by heart ! He made all the rest at random, and such nonsense as put all the other actors out as much as himself; so that a more wretched Performance, except Mrs. Siddons, Mr. Kemble, and Mr. Bensley, could not be exhibited in a barn. All this concurred to make it very desirable to withdraw the piece for alterations, which I have done. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) May 7, 1795. One of my dinners, since my going out, was at Charlotte's, with the good Hooles. After dinner Mr. Cumberland came in, and was extremely courteous, and seemingly friendly, about you and your piece. He took me aside from Mrs. Paradise, who had fastened on me and held me tight by an account of her own and Mr. paradise's complaints, so Page 92 circumstantially narrated, that not a stop so short as a comma occurred in more than an hour, while I was civilly waiting for a full period. Mr. Cumberland expressed his sorrow at what had happened at Drury-lane, and said that, if he had had the honour of knowing you sufficiently, he would have told you d'avance what would happen, by what he had heard behind the scenes. The players seem to have given the play an ill name. But, he says, if you would go to work again, by reforming this, or work with your best powers at a new plan, and would submit it to his inspection, he would, from the experience he has had, risk his life on its success. This conversation I thought too curious not to be mentioned. . . . HASTINGs' ACQUITTAL. DR. BURNEY'S METASTASIO. Well, but how does your Petit and pretty monsieur do? 'Tis pity you and M. d'Arblay don't like him, poor thing! And how does horticulture thrive ? This is a delightful time of the year for your Floras and your Linnaei: I envy the life of a gardener in spring, particularly in fine weather. And so dear Mr. Hastings is honourably acquitted!(120) and I visited him the next morning, and we cordially shook hands. I had luckily left my name at his door as soon as I was able to go out, and before it was generally expected that he would be acquitted. . . . The young Lady Spencer and I are become very thick , I have dined with her at Lady Lucan's, and met her at the blue parties there. She has invited me to her box at the opera, to her house in St James's Place, and at the Admiralty, whither the family removed last Saturday, and she says I must come to her the 15th, 22nd, and 29th of this month, when I shall see a huge assembly. Mrs. Crewe says all London will be there. She is a pleasant, lively, and comical creature, with more talents and discernment than are expected from a character si fol�tre. My lord is not only the handsomest and the best intentioned man in the kingdom, but at present the most useful and truly patriotic. And then, he has written to Vienna for Metastasio's three inedited volumes, which I so much want ere I advance too far in the press for them to be of any use. I am halooed on prodigiously in my Metastasio mania. All the critics--Warton, Twining, Nares, and Dr. Charles--say that his "Estratto dell' Arte Poetica d'Aristotile," which I am Page 93 now translating, is the best piece of dramatic criticism that has ever been written. "Bless my heart!" says Warton, "I, that have been all my life defending the three unities, am overset." "Ay," quoth I, "has not he made you all ashamed of 'em? You learned folks are only theorists in theatrical matters, but Metastasio had sixty years' successful practice. There!--Go to." My dear Fanny, before you write another play, you must read Aristotle and Horace, as expounded by my dear Metastasio. But, basta. You know when I take up a favourite author, as a Johnson, a Haydn, or a Metastasio, I do not soon lay him down or let him be run down. . . . Here it strikes three o'clock: the post knell, not bell, tolls here, and I must send off my scrib: but I will tell you, though I need not, that, now I have taken up Metastasio again, I work at him in every uninterrupted moment. I have this morning attempted his charming pastoral, in "il Re Pastore." I'll give you the translation, because the last stanza is a portrait:-- To meadows, woods, and fountains Our tender flocks I'll lead; In meads beneath the mountains My love shall see them feed. Our simple narrow mansion Will suit our station well; There's room for heart expansion And peace and joy to dwell. BABY D'ARBLAY. THE WITHDRAWN TRAGEDY. (From Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney) Hermitage, Bookham, May 13, 1795. As you say, 'tis pity M. d'A. and his rib should have conceived such an antipathy to the petit monsieur! O if you could see him now! My mother would be satisfied, for his little cheeks are beginning to favour of the trumpeter's, and Esther would be satisfied, for he eats like an embryo alderman. He enters into all we think, say, mean, and wish ! His eyes are sure to sympathise in all our affairs and all our feelings. We find some kind reason for every smile he bestows upon us, and some generous and disinterested Motive for every grave look. Page 94 If he wants to be danced, we see he has discovered that his gaiety is exhilarating to us ; if he refuses to be moved, we take notice that he fears to fatigue us. If he will not be quieted without singing, we delight in his early go�t for les beaux arts. If he is immovable to all we can devise to divert him, we are edified by the grand sirieux of his dignity and philosophy: if he makes the house ring with loud acclaim because his food, at first call, does not come ready warm into his mouth, we hold up our hands with admiration at his vivacity. Your conversation with Mr. Cumberland astonished me. I certainly think his experience of stage effect, and his interest with players, so important, as almost instantly to wish putting his sincerity to the proof. How has he got these two characters- -one, of Sir Fretful Plagiary, detesting all works but those he owns, and all authors but himself--the other, of a man too perfect even to know or conceive the vices of the world, such as he is painted by Goldsmith in "Retaliation?" And which of these characters is true?(121) I am not at all without thoughts of a future revise of "Edwy and Elgiva," for which I formed a plan on the first night, from what occurred by the representation. And let me own to you, when you commend my "bearing so well a theatrical drubbing," I am by no means enabled to boast I bear it with conviction of my utter failure. The piece was certainly not Page 95 heard, and therefore not really judged. The audience finished with an unmixed applause on hearing it was withdrawn for alterations, and I have considered myself in the publicly accepted situation of having at my own option to let the piece die, or attempt its resuscitation,-its reform, as Mr. Cumberland calls it. However, I have not given one moment to the matter since my return to the Hermitage. F. D'A. PS-I should he very glad to hear good news of the revival of Mr. Burke. Have you ever seen him since this fatality in his family? I am glad, nevertheless with all my heart, of Mr. Hastings's honourable acquittal. "CAMILLA." (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.--.) Bookham, June 15, '95, Let me hasten to tell you something of myself that I shall be very sorry you should hear from any other, as your too susceptible mind would be hurt again, and that would grieve me quite to the heart. I have a long work, which a long time has been in hand, that I mean to publish soon--in about a year. Should it succeed, like 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' it may be a little portion to our Bambino. We wish, therefore, to print it for ourselves in this hope; but the expenses of the press are so enormous, so raised by these late Acts, that it is out of all question for us to afford it. We have, therefore, been led by degrees to listen to counsel of some friends, and to print it by subscription. This is in many--many ways unpleasant and unpalatable to us both; but the real chance of real use and benefit to Our little darling overcomes all scruples, and therefore, to work we go! You will feel, I dare believe, all I could write on this Subject; I once rejected such a plan, formed for me by Mr. Burke, where books were to be kept by ladies, not booksellers,--the Duchess of Devonshire, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Crewe; but I was an individual then, and had no cares of times to come: now, thank heaven! this is not the case;--and when I look at my little boy's dear, innocent, yet intelligent face, I defy any pursuit to be painful that may lead to his good. Page 96 (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, June 18, '95. All our deliberations made, even after your discouraging calculations, we still mean to hazard the publishing by subscription. And, indeed, I had previously determined, when I. changed my state, to set aside all my innate and original abhorrences, and to regard and use as resources, myself, what had always been considered as such by others. Without this idea, and this resolution, our hermitage must have been madness. . . . I like well the idea of giving no name at all,-why should not I have my mystery as well as "Udolpho?"(122)--but, " now, don't fly, Dr. Burney! I own I do not like calling it a novel; it gives so simply the notion of a mere love-story, that I recoil a little from it. I mean this work to be sketches of characters and morals put in action,-not a romance. I remember the word " novel " was long in the way of 'Cecilia,' as I was told at the queen's house; and it was not permitted to be read by the princesses till sanctioned by a bishop's recommendation,--the late Dr. Ross of Exeter. Will you then suffer mon amour Propre to be saved by the proposals running thus?--Proposals for printing by subscription, in six volumes duodecimo, a new work by the author of "Evelina" and "Cecilia." How grieved I am you do not like my heroine's name!(123) the prettiest in nature! I remember how many people did not like that of "Evelina," and called it "affected" and "missish," till they read the book, and then they got accustomed in a few pages, and afterwards it was much approved. I must leave this for the present untouched ; for the force of the name attached by the idea of the character, in the author's mind, is such, that I should not know how to sustain it by any other for a long while. In "Cecilia" and "Evelina" 'twas the same: the names of all the personages annexed, with me, all the ideas I put in motion with them. The work is so far advanced, that the personages are all, to me, as so many actual acquaintances, whose memoirs and Page 97 opinions I am committing to paper. I will make it the best I can, my dearest father. I will neither be indolent, nor negligent, nor avaricious. I can never half answer the expectations that seem excited. I must try to forget them, or I shall be in a continual quivering. Mrs. Cooke, my excellent neighbour, came in Just now to read me a paragraph of a letter from Mrs. Leigh, of Oxfordshire, her sister. . . . After much of civility about the new work and its author, it finishes thus:--"Mr. Hastings I saw just now: I told him what was going forward; he gave a great jump, and exclaimed, 'Well, then, now I can serve her, thank Heaven, and I will! I will write to Anderson to engage Scotland, and I will attack the East Indies myself!'" F. D'A. P.S.-The Bambino is half a year old this day. N.B.-I have not heard the Park or Tower guns. I imagine the wind did not set right. AN INVITATION TO THE HERMITAGE. (Madame d"Arblay to the Comte de Narbonne.(124)] Bookham, 26th December, 1795. What a letter, to terminate so long and painful a silence! It has penetrated us with sorrowing and indignant feelings. Unknown to M. d'Arblay whose grief and horror are upon point of making him quite ill, I venture this address to his most beloved friend; and before I seal it I will give him the option to burn or underwrite it. I shall be brief in what I have to propose: sincerity need not be loquacious, and M. de Narbonne is too kind to demand phrases for ceremony. Should your present laudable but melancholy plan fail, and should nothing better offer, or till something can be arranged, will you dear Sir, condescend to share the poverty of our hermitage? Will you take a little cell under our rustic roof, and fare as we fare? What to us two hermits is cheerful and happy, will to you, indeed, be miserable but it will be some solace to the goodness of your heart to witness our contentment;--to dig with M. d'A. in the garden will be of service to Page 98 your health; to muse sometimes with me in the parlour will be a relaxation to your mind. You will not blush to own your little godson. Come, then, and give him your blessing; relieve the wounded feelings of his father--oblige his mother--and turn hermit at Bookham, till brighter suns invite you elsewhere. F. D'ARPLAY. You will have terrible dinners, alas !--but your godson comes in for the dessert.(125) PRESENTATION OF "CAMILLA" AT WINDSOR. [During the years 1794 and 1795, Madame d'Arblay finished and prepared for the press her third novel, "Camilla," which was published partly by subscription in 1796 the dowager Duchess of Leinster, the Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Crewe, and Mrs. Locke, kindly keeping lists, and receiving the names of subscribers. This work having been dedicated by permission to the queen, the authoress was desirous of presenting the first copy to her majesty, and made a journey to Windsor for that honour.) (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, July 10, 1796. If I had as much of time as of matter, my dear father, what an immense letter should I write you ! But I have still so many book oddments of accounts, examinations, directions, and little household affairs to arrange, that, with baby-kissing, included, I expect I can give you to-day only part the first of an excursion which I mean to comprise in four parts: so here begins. The books were ready at eleven or twelve, but not so the tailor! The three Miss Thrales came to a short but cordial hand-shaking at the last minute, by appointment; and at about half-past three we set forward. I had written the day before to my worthy old friend Mrs. Agnew, the housekeeper, erst, of my revered Mrs. Delany, to secure us rooms for one page 99, day and night, and to Miss Planta to make known I could not set out till late. When we came into Windsor at seven o'clock, the way to Mrs. Agnew's was so intricate that we could not find it, till one of the king's footmen recollecting me, I imagined, came forward, a volunteer, and walked by the side of the chaise to show the postilion the house.--N.B. No bad omen to worldly augurers. Arrived, Mrs. Agnew came forth with faithful attachment, to conduct us to our destined lodgings. I wrote hastily to Miss Planta, to announce to the queen that I was waiting the honour of her majesty's commands ; and then began preparing for my appearance the next morning, when I expected a summons - but Miss Planta came instantly herself from the queen, with orders of immediate attendance, as her majesty would see me directly! The king was just gone upon the Terrace, but her majesty did not walk that evening. Mrs. Agnew was my maid, Miss Planta my arranger; my landlord, who was a hairdresser, came to my head, and M. d'Arblay was general superintendent. The haste and the joy went hand in hand, and I was soon equipped, though shocked at my own precipitance in sending before I was already visible. Who, however, could have expected such prompt admission? and in an evening? M. d'Arblay helped to carry the books as far as to the gates. My lodgings were as near to them as possible. At our first entry towards the Queen's lodge we encountered Dr. Fisher and his lady: the sight of me there, in a dress announcing indisputably whither I was hieing, was such an Astonishment, that they looked at me rather as a recollected spectre than a renewed acquaintance. When we came to the iron rails poor Miss Planta, in much fidget, begged to take the books from M. d'Arblay, terrified, I imagine, lest French feet should contaminate the gravel within!--while he, innocent of her fears, was insisting upon carrying them as far as to the house, till he saw I took part with Miss Planta, and he was then compelled to let us lug in ten volumes as we could. The king was already returned from the Terrace, the page told us." O, then," said Miss Planta, "you are too late!" However, I went into my old dining-parlour; while she said she would see if any one could obtain the queen's commands for another time. I did not stay five minutes Page 100 ruminating upon the dinners, "gone where the chickens," etc., when Miss Planta return and told me the queen would see me instantly. The queen was In her dressing-room, and with only the Princess Elizabeth. Her reception was the Most gracious. yet, when she saw my emotion in thus meeting her again; she herself was by no means quite unmoved. I presented my little--yet not small-- offering, upon one knee placing them, as she directed, upon a table by her side, and expressing, as well as I could, my devoted gratitude for her invariable goodness to me. She then began a conversation, in her old style, upon various things and people, with all her former graciousness of manner, which soon, as she perceived my strong sense of her indulgence, grew into even all its former kindness. Particulars I have now no room for ; but when in about half an hour, she said, "How long do you intend to stay here, Madame d'Arblay?" and I answered, "We have no intentions, ma'am," she repeated, laughing, "You have no intentions!--Well, then, if you can come again to-morrow Morning, you shall see the princesses." She then said she would not detain me at present; encouraged by all that had passed, I asked if I might presume to put at the door of the king's apartment a copy of MY little work. She hesitated, but with smiles the most propitious;. then told me to fetch the books - and whispered something to the Princess Elizabeth, who left the room by another door at the same moment that I retired for the other set. Almost immediately upon my return to the queen and the Princess Elizabeth, the king entered the apartment, and entered it to receive himself my little offering. "Madame d'Arblay," said her majesty, "tells me that Mrs. Boscawen is to have the third set; but the first--Your majesty will excuse me--is mine." This was not, you will believe, thrown away upon me. The king, smiling, said, "Mrs Boscawen, I hear, has been very zealous." I confirmed this. and the Princess Elizabeth eagerly called out, "Yes, sir! and while Mrs. Boscawen kept a copy for Madame d'Arblay, the Duchess of Beaufort kept one for Mrs. Boscawen." This led to a little discourse upon the business, in which the king's countenance seemed to speak a benign interest; and the queen then said, Page 101 "This book was begun here, sir." Which already I had mentioned. "And what did you write Of it here?" cried he. "How far did You go?--Did You finish any part? or only form the skeleton?" "Just that, sir," I answered; "the skeleton was formed here, but nothing was completed. I worked it up in my little cottage." "And about what time did You give to it?" "All my time, sir; from the Period I planned publishing it, I devoted myself to it wholly. I had no episode but a little baby. My subject grew Upon me, and increased my materials to a bulk that I am afraid will be more laborious to wade through for the reader than for the writer." "Are you much frightened cried he, smiling, "as much frightened as you were before?" "I have hardly had time to know yet, sir. I received the fair sheets Of the last volume only last night. I have, therefore, had no leisure for fear. And sure I am, happen what May to the book from the critics, it can never cause me pain in any proportion with the pleasure and happiness I owe to it." I /am sure I spoke most sincerely and he looked kindly to believe me. He asked if Mr. Locke had seen it; and when I said no, he seemed comically pleased, as if desirous to have it in its first state. He asked next if Dr. Burney had overlooked it; and, upon the same answer, looked with the same satisfaction. He did not imagine how it would have passed Current with my dearest father: he appeared Only to be glad it would be a genuine work: but, laughingly, said, "So you kept it quite snug?" "Not intentionally, sir, but from my situation and my haste; I should else have been very happy to have consulted my father and Mr. Locke; but I had so much, to the last moment, to write, that I literally had not a moment to hear what could be said. The work is longer by the whole fifth Volume than I had first planned; and I am almost ashamed to look at its size, and afraid my readers would have been more obliged to me if I had left so much out than for putting So much in." He laughed and inquired who corrected my proofs? 'Only myself," I answered. "Why, some authors have told me," cried he, "that they Page 102 are the last to do that work for themselves. They know so well by heart what ought to be, that they run on without seeing what is. They have told me, besides, that a mere plodding head is best and surest for that work ; and that the livelier the imagination, the less it should be trusted to." I must not go on thus minutely, or my four parts will be forty. But a full half-hour of graciousness, I could almost call kindness, was accorded me, though the king came from the concert to grant it ; and it broke up by the queen saying, "I have told Madame d'Arblay that, if she can come again to-morrow, she shall see the princesses." The king bowed gently to my grateful obeisance for this offer, and told me I should not know the Princess Amelia, she was so much grown, adding, "She is taller than you!" I expressed warmly my delight in the permission of Seeing their royal highnesses, and their majesties returned to the concert-room. The Princess Elizabeth stayed, -and flew up to me, crying, "How glad I am to see you here again, my dear Miss Burney!--I beg your pardon,--Madame d'Arblay I mean -but I always call all my friends by their maiden names when I first see them after they are married." I warmly now opened upon my happiness in this return to all their sights, and the condescension and sweetness with which it was granted me - and confessed I could hardly behave prettily and properly at my first entrance after so long an absence. "O, I assure you I felt for you!" cried she; "I thought you must be agitated ; it was so natural to you to come here-to mamma!" You will believe, my dearest father, how light-hearted and full of glee I went back to my expecting companion: Miss Planta accompanied me, and stayed the greatest part of the little remaining evening, promising to let me know at what hour I should wait upon their royal highnesses. A CONVERSATION WITH THE QUEEN. The next morning, at eight or nine o'clock, my old footman, Moss, came with Mlle, Jacobi's compliments to M. and Madame d'Arblay, and an invitation to dine at the Queen's lodge. Miss Planta arrived at ten, with her majesty's commands that I should be at the Queen's lodge at twelve. I stayed meanwhile, with good Mrs. Agnew, and M. d'Arblay made Page 103 acquaintance with her worthy husband, who is a skilful and famous botanist, and lately made gardener to the queen for Frogmore - so M. d'Arblay consulted him about our cabbages! and so, if they have not now a high flavour, we are hopeless. At eleven M. d'Arblay again ventured to esquire me to the rails round the lodge, whence I showed him my ci-devant apartment, which he languished to view nearer. I made a visit to Mlle. Jacobi, who is a very good creature, and with whom I remained very comfortably till her majesty and the princesses returned from Frogmore, where they had passed two or three hours. Almost immediately I was summoned to the queen by one of the pages. She was just seated to her hair-dresser. She conversed upon various public and general topics till the friseur was dismissed, and then I was honoured with an audience, quite alone, for a full hour and a half. During this, nothing could be more gracious than her whole manner, and The particulars, as there was no pause, would fill a duodecimo volume at least. Among them was Mr. Windham, whom she named with great favour; and gave me the opportunity of expressing my delight upon his belonging to the government. We had so often conversed about him during the accounts I had related of Mr. Hastings's trial, that there was much to say upon the acquisition to the administration, and my former round assertions of his goodness of heart and honour. She inquired how you did, my dearest father, with an air of great kindness and, when I said well, looked pleased, as she answered, "I was afraid he was ill, for I saw him but twice last year at our music." She then gave me an account of the removal of the concert to the Haymarket since the time I was admitted to it. She then talked of some books and authors, but found me wholly in the Clouds as to all that is new. She then said, "What a very pretty book Dr. Burney has brought out upon Metastasio! I am very much pleased with it. Pray (smiling) what will he bring out next?" "As yet, madam, I don't know of any new plan." "But he will bring out something else?" "Most probably, but he will rest a little first, I fancy." "Has he nothing in hand?" "Not that I now know of, madam." "O but he soon will!" cried she, again smiling. Page 104 "He has so active a mind, ma'am, that I believe it quite impossible to him to be utterly idle , but, indeed, I know of no present design being positively formed." We had then some discourse upon the new connexion at Norbury park--the Fitzgeralds, etc.; and from this she led to various topics of our former conferences, both in persons and things, and gave me a full description of her new house at Frogmore, its fitting up, and the share of each princess in its decoration. She spoke with delight of its quiet and ease, and her enjoyment of its complete retirement. "I spend," she cried, "there almost constantly all my mornings. I rarely come home but just before dinner, merely to dress, but to-day I came sooner." This was said in a manner so flattering, I could scarce forbear the air of thanking her , however, I checked the expression, though I could not the inference which urged it. WITH THE PRINCESs ROYAL AND PRINCESS AUGUSTA. At two o'clock the Princess Elizabeth appeared. "Is the princess royal ready?" said the queen. She answered, "Yes:" and her majesty then told me I might go to her, adding, "You know the way, Madame d'Arblay." And, thus licensed, I went to the apartment of her royal highness up stairs. She was just quitting it, She received me most graciously, and told me she was going to sit for her picture, if I would come and stay with her while she sat. Miss Bab Planta was in attendance, to read during this period. The princess royal ordered me a chair facing her; and another for Miss Bab and her book, which, however, was never opened. The painter was Mr. Dupont.(1266) She was very gay and very charming, full of lively discourse and amiable condescension. In about an hour the Princess Augusta came in : she addressed me with her usual sweetness, and, when she had looked at her sister's portrait, said, "Madame d'Arblay, when the princess royal can spare you, I hope you will come to me," as she left the room. I did not flout her; and when I had been an hour with the princess royal, she told me she would Page 105 keep me no longer from Augusta, and Miss Planta came to conduct me to the latter. This lovely princess received me quite alone ; Miss Planta only shut me in - and she then made me sit by her, and kept me in most bewitching discourse more than an hour. She has a gaiety, a charm about her, that is quite resistless: and much of true, genuine, and very original humour. She related to me the history of all the feats, and exploits, and dangers, and escapes of her brothers during last year; rejoicing in their safety, yet softly adding, "Though these trials and difficulties did them a great deal of good." We talked a little of France, and she inquired of me what I knew of the late unhappy queen, through M. d'Arblay ; and spoke of her with the most virtuous discrimination between her foibles and her really great qualities, with her most barbarous end. .She then dwelt upon Madame Royale, saying, in her unaffected manner, " It's very odd one never hears what sort of girl she is." I told her all I had gathered from M. d'Arblay. She next spoke of my Bambino, indulging me in recounting his faits et gestes; and never moved till the princess royal came to summon her. They were all to return to Frogmore to dinner. "We have detained Madame d'Arblay between us the whole morning," said the princess royal, with a gracious smile. "Yes," cried Princess Augusta, "and I am afraid I have bored her to death; but when once I begin upon my poor brothers, I can never stop without telling all my little bits of glory." She then outstayed the princess royal to tell me that, when she was at Plymouth, at church, she saw so many officers' wives, and sisters, and mothers, helping their maimed husbands, or brothers, or sons, that she could not forbear whispering to the queen, "Mamma, how lucky it is Ernest is just come so seasonably with that wound in his face! I should have been quite shocked, else, not to have had one little bit of glory among ourselves!" When forced away from this sweet creature, I went to Mlle. Jacobi, who said, "But where is M. d'Arblay?" Finding it too late for me to go to my lodging to dress before dinner I wrote him a word, which immediately brought him to the Queen's lodge : and there I shall leave my dear father the pleasure of seeing us, mentally, at dinner, at my ancient table,-both invited by the queen's commands. Miss Gomme was asked to meet me, and the repast was extremely pleasant. page 106 A PRESENT FROM THE KING AND QUEEN. just before we assembled to dinner Mlle. Jacobi desired to speak with me alone, and, taking me to another room, presented me with a folded little packet, saying, "The queen ordered me to put this into your hands, and said, 'Tell Madame d'Arblay it is from us both."' It was a hundred guineas. I was confounded, and nearly sorry, so little was such a mark of their goodness in my thoughts. She added that the king, as soon as he came from the chapel in the morning, went to the queen's dressing-room just before he set out for the levee, and put into her hands fifty guineas, saying, "This is for my set!" The queen answered, "I shall do exactly the same for mine," and made up the packet herself. "'Tis only,' she said, 'for the paper, tell Madame d'Arblay, nothing for the trouble!'" meaning she accepted that. The manner of this was so more than gracious, so kind, in the words us both, that indeed the money at the time was quite nothing in the scale of my gratification ; it was even less, for it almost pained me. However, a delightful thought that in a few minutes occurred made all light and blithesome. "We will come, then," I cried, "once a year to Windsor, to walk the Terrace, and see the king, queen, and sweet princesses. This will enable us, and I shall never again look forward to so long a deprivation of their sight." This, with my gratitude for their great goodness, was what I could not refrain commissioning her to report. CURIOSITY REGARDING M. D'ARBLAY. Our dinner was extremely cheerful; all my old friends were highly curious to see M. d'Arblay, who was in spirits, and, as he could address them in French, and at his ease, did not seem much disapproved of by them. I went to my lodging afterwards to dress, where I told my monsieur this last and unexpected stroke, which gave him exactly my sensations, and we returned to tea. We had hopes of the Terrace, as my monsieur was quite eager to see all this beloved royal House. The weather, however, was very unpromising. The king came from the lodge during our absence; but soon after we were in the levee three royal coaches arrived from Frogmore: in the first was the queen, the Princesses Royal and Augusta, and some lady in waiting. M. d'Arblay stood beside me Page 107 at a window to see them; her majesty looked up and bowed to me, and, upon her alighting, she looked up again. This, I am sure, was to see M. d'Arblay, who could not be doubted, as he wore his croix the whole time he was at Windsor. The princesses bowed also, and the four younger, who followed, all severally kissed their hands to me, and fixed their eyes on my companion with an equal expression of kindness and curiosity ; he therefore saw them perfectly. THE KING APPROVES THE DEDICATION OF "CAMILLA." In a few minutes a page came to say, "The princesses desire to see Madame d'Arblay," and he conducted me to the apartment of the Princess Elizabeth, which is the most elegantly and fancifully ornamented of any in the lodge, as she has most delight and most taste in producing good effects. Here the fair owner of the chamber received me, encircled with the Princesses Mary and Amelia, and no attendant. They were exactly as I had left them--kind, condescending, open, and delightful; and the goodness of the queen, in sparing them all to me thus, without any allay of ceremony, or g�ne of listening Mutes, I felt most deeply. They were all very gay, and I not very sad, so we enjoyed A perfectly easy and even merry half-hour in divers discourses, in which they recounted to me who had been most anxious about "the book," and doubted not its great success, as everybody was so eager about it. "And I must tell you one thing," Cried the Princess Elizabeth; "the king is very much pleased with the dedication." This was, you will be sure, a very touching hearing to me; And Princess Mary exclaimed, "And he is very difficult!" "O, yes, he's hardly ever pleased with a dedication," cried one of the princesses. "He almost always thinks them so fulsome." "I was resolved I would tell it you," cried Princess Elizabeth. Can you imagine anything more amiable than this pleasure in giving pleasure? A DELICIOUS CHAT WITH THE PRINCESSES. Soon after the Princess Augusta came in, smiling and lovely. Princess royal next appeared Princess Augusta sat down, and charged me to take a chair next her. Princess Page 108 royal did not stay long, and soon returned to summon her sister Augusta downstairs, as the concert was begun : but she replied she could not come yet : and the princess royal went alone. We had really a most delicious chat then. They made a thousand inquiries about my book, and when and where it was written, etc., and how I stood as to fright and fidget. I answered all with openness, and frankly related my motives for the publication. Everything of housekeeping, I told them, was nearly doubled in price at the end of the first year and half of our marriage, and we found it impossible to continue so near our friends and the capital with our limited income, though M. d'A. had accommodated himself completely, and even happily, to every species of economy, and though my dearest father had capitally assisted us ; I then, therefore, determined upon adopting a plan I had formerly rejected, of publishing by subscription. I told them the former history of that plan, as Mr. Burke's, and many particulars that seemed extremely to interest them. My garden, our way of life, our house, our Bambino,-all were inquired after and related. I repeatedly told them the strong desire M. d'Arblay had to be regaled with a sight of all their House -a House to which I stood so every way indebted,-,and they looked kindly concerned that the weather admitted no prospect of the Terrace. I mentioned to the Princess Augusta my recent new obligation to their majesties, and my amaze and even shame at their goodness. "O, I am sure," cried she, "they were very happy to have it in their power." "Yes, and we were so glad!" "So glad!" echoed each of the others. "How enchanted should I have been," cried I, "to have presented my little book to each of your royal highnesses if I had dared! or if, after her majesty has looked it over, I might hope for such a permission, how proud and how happy it would make me!" "O, I daresay you may," cried the Princess Augusta, eagerly. I then intimated how deeply I should feel such an honour, if it might be asked, after her majesty had read it - and the Princess Elizabeth gracefully undertook the office. She related to me, in a most pleasant manner, the whole of her own recent transaction, its rise and cause and progress, in "The Page 109 Birth of Love:"(127) but I must here abridge, or never have done. I told them all my scheme for coming again next July, which they sweetly seconded. Princess Amelia assured me she had not forgotten me ; and when another summons came for the concert, Princess Augusta, comically sitting still and holding me by her side, called out, "Do you little ones go!" But they loitered also, and we went on, on, on, with our chat,- -they as unwilling as myself to break it up,-till staying longer was impossible ; and then, in parting, they all expressed the kindest pleasure in our newly-adopted plan of a yearly visit. "And pray," cried Princess Elizabeth, "write again immediately!" "O, no," cried Princess Augusta, "wait half a year--to rest; and then--increase your family--all ways!" "The queen," said Princess Elizabeth, "consulted me which way she should read 'Camilla-' whether quick, at once, or comfortably at Weymouth: so I answered, 'Why, mamma, I think, as you will be so much interested in the book, Madame d'Arblay would be most pleased you should read it now at once, quick, that nobody may be mentioning the events before You come to them - and then again at Weymouth, slow and comfortably.'" In going, the sweet Princess Augusta loitered last but her youngest sister, Amelia, who came to take my hand when the rest were departed, and assure me she should never forget Me. We spent the remnant of Wednesday evening with my old friends, determining to quit Windsor the next day, if the weather did not promise a view of the royal family upon the Terrace for M. d'Arblay. THE KING NOTICES M. D'ARBLAY. Thursday morning was lowering, and we determined upon departing, after only visiting some of my former acquaintances. 'We met Miss Planta in our way to the lodge, and took leave; but when we arrived at Mlle. Jacobi's we found that the queen expected we should stay for the chance of the Terrace, and had told Mlle. Jacobi to again invite us to dinner. . . . We left the friendly Miss Goldsworthy for other visits;--first to good old Mrs. Planta; next to the very respectable Page 110 Dr. Fisher and his wife. The former insisted upon doing the honours himself of St. George's cathedral to M. d'Arblay which occasioned his seeing that beautiful antique building to the utmost advantage. Dr. Fisher then accompanied us to a spot to show M. d'Arblay Eton in the best view. Dinner passed as before, but the evening lowered, and hopes of the Terrace were weak, when the Duke and Duchess of York arrived. This seemed to determine against us, as they told us the duchess never went upon the Terrace but in the finest weather, and the royal family did not choose to leave her. We were hesitating therefore whether to set off for Rose Dale, when Mlle. Jacobi gave an intimation to me that the king, herself, and the Princess Amelia, would walk on the Terrace. Thither instantly we hastened, and were joined by Dr. and Mrs. Fisher. The evening was so raw and cold that there was very little company, and scarce any expectation of the royal family - and when we had been there about half an hour the musicians retreated, and everybody was preparing to follow, when a messenger suddenly came forward, helter skelter, running after the horns and clarionets, and hallooing to them to return. This brought back the straggling parties, and the king, Duke of York, and six princesses soon appeared. I have never yet seen M. d'Arblay agitated as at this moment ; he could scarce keep his steadiness, or even his ground. The recollections, he has since told me, that rushed upon his mind of his own king and royal House were so violent and so painful as almost to disorder him. His majesty was accompanied by the duke, and Lord Beaulieu, Lord Walsingham, and General Manners; the princesses were attended by Lady Charlotte Bruce, some other lady, and Miss Goldsworthy: The king stopped to speak to the Bishop of Norwich and some others at the entrance, and then walked on towards us, who were at the further end. As he approached, the princess royal said, loud enough to be heard by Mrs. Fisher, "Madame d'Arblay, sir;" and instantly he came on a step, and then stopped and addressed me, and, after a word or two of the weather, he said, "Is that M. d'Arblay?" and most graciously bowed to him and entered into a little conversation; demanding how long he had been in England, how long in the country, etc., and with a sweetness, an air of wishing us well, that will never, never be erased from our hearts. Page 111 M. d'Arblay recovered himself immediately Upon this address, and answered with as much firmness as respect. Upon the king's bowing and leaving US, the commander-in- chief(128) most courteously bowed also to M. d'Arblay, and the princesses all came up to speak to me, and to curtsy to him ; and the Princess Elizabeth cried, "I've got leave! and mamma says she won't wait to read it first!" After this the king and duke never passed without taking off their hats, and the princesses gave me a smile and a curtsy at every turn: Lord Walsingbam came to speak to me, and Mr. Fairly, and General Manners, who regretted that more of our old tea-party were not there to meet me once more. THE KING AND QUEEN ON "CAMILLA." As soon as they all re-entered the lodge we followed to take leave of Mlle. Jacobi; but, Upon moving towards the passage, the princess royal appeared, saying, "Madame d'Arblay, I come to waylay you!" and made me follow her to the dressing-room, whence the voice of the queen, as the door opened, called out, in mild accents, "Come in, Madame d'Arblay!" Her majesty was seated at the upper end of the room, with the Duchess of York (129) on her right, and the Princesses Sophia and Amelia on her left. She made me advance, and said, "I have just been telling the Duchess of York that I find her royal highness's name the first Upon this list,"--producing "Camilla." "Indeed," said the duchess, bowing to me, "I was so very impatient to read it, I could not but try to get it as early as possible. I am very eager for it, indeed!" "I have read," said the queen, "but fifty pages yet; but I am in great uneasiness for that Poor little girl that I am afraid will get the small-pox! and I am sadly afraid that sweet little other girl will not keep her fortune! but I won't Peep! I read quite fair. But I must tell Madame d'Arblay I know a country gentleman, in Mecklenburg, exactly the very character of that good old man the Uncle!" She seemed to speak as if delighted to meet him upon paper. The king now came in, and I could not forbear making up Page 112 to him, to pour forth some part of my full heart for his goodness! He tried to turn away, but it was smilingly; and I had courage to pursue him, for I could not help it. He then slightly bowed it off, and asked the queen to repeat what she had said upon the book. "O, your majesty," she cried, "I must not anticipate!" yet told him of her pleasure in finding an old acquaintance. "Well!" cried the king archly, " and what other characters have you seized?" "None," I protested, "from life." "O!" cried he, shaking his head, "you must have some!" "Indeed your majesty will find none!" I cried. "But they may be a little better, or a little worse," he answered, "but still, if they are not like somebody, how can they play their parts?" "O, yes, sir," I cried, "as far as general nature goes, or as characters belong to classes, I have certainly tried to take them. But no individuals!" My account must be endless if I do not now curtail. The Duke of York, the other princesses, General Manners, and all the rest of the group, made way to the room soon after, upon hearing the cheerfulness of the voice of the king, whose .graciousness raised me into spirits that set me quite at my ease. He talked much upon the book, and then of Mrs. Delany, and then of various others that my sight brought to his recollection, and all with a freedom and goodness that enabled me to answer without difficulty or embarrassment, and that produced two or three hearty laughs from the Duke of York. ANECDOTE OF THE DUCHESS OF YORK. After various other topics, the queen said, "Duchess, Madame d'Arblay is aunt of the pretty little boy (130) you were so good to." The duchess understood her so immediately that I fancy this was not new to her. She bowed to me again, very smilingly, upon the acknowledgments this encouraged me to offer; and the king asked an explanation. "Sir," said the duchess, "I was upon the road near Dorking, and I saw a little gig overturned, and a little boy was taken out, and sat down upon the road. I told them to Page 113 stop and ask if the little boy was hurt, and they said yes .- and I asked where he was to go, and they said to a village just a few miles off; so I took him into my coach, Sir, and carried him home." "And the benedictions, madam," cried I, "of all his family have followed you ever since!" "And he said your royal highness called him a very pretty boy," cried the queen, laughing, to whom I had related it. "Indeed, what he said is very true," answered she, nodding. "Yes; he said," quoth I, again to the queen, "that he saw the duchess liked him." This again the queen repeated and the duchess again nodded, and pointedly repeated, "It is very true." "He was a very fine boy-a very fine boy indeed!" cried the king; "what is become of him?" I was a little distressed in answering, "He is in Ireland, sir." "In Ireland ! What does he do in Ireland? what does he go there for?" "His father took him, Sir," I was forced to answer. "And what does his father take him to Ireland for?" "Because-he is an Irishman, Sir!" I answered, half laughing. When at length, every one deigning me a bow of leavetaking, their majesties, and sons and daughters, retired to the adjoining room, the Princess Amelia loitered to shake hands, and the Princess Augusta returned for the same condescension, reminding me of my purpose for next year. While this was passing, the princess royal had repaired to the apartment of Mlle. Jacobi, where she had held a little Conversation with M. d'Arblay. A VISIT TO MRS. BOSCAWEN. We finished the evening very cheerfully with Mlle. Jacobi and Mlle. Montmoulin, whom she invited to meet us, and the next morning left Windsor and visited Rose Dale.(131) Mrs. Boscawen received us very sweetly, and the little offering as if not at all her due, Mrs. Levison Gower was with her, and showed us Thomson's temple. Mrs. Boscawen spoke of my Page 114 dearest father with her Usual true sense Of how to Speak of him. She invited us to dinner, but we were anxious to return to our Bambino, and M. d'Arblay had, all this time, only fought off being ill with his remnant of cold. Nevertheless, when we came to Twickenham, my good old friend Mr. Cambridge was so cordial and so earnest that we could not resist him, and were pressed in to staying dinner. . . . At a little before eleven we arrived at our dear cottage, and to our sleeping Bambino. THE RELATIVE SUCCESS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S NOVELS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, Friday, October, 1796. I meant to have begun with our thanks for my dear kind father's indulgence of our extreme curiosity and interest in the sight of the reviews. I am quite happy in what I have escaped of greater severity, though my mate cannot bear that the palm should be contested by "Evelina" and "Cecilia;" his partiality rates the last as so much the highest; so does the newspaper I have mentioned, of which I long to send you a copy. But those immense men, whose single praise was fame and security--who established, by a word, the two elder sisters-are now silent, Johnson and Sir Joshua are no more, and Mr. Burke is ill, or otherwise engrossed; yet, even without their powerful influence, to which I owe such unspeakable obligation, the essential success of "Camilla" exceeds that of the elders. The sale is truly astonishing. Charles has just sent to me that five hundred only remain of four thousand, and it has appeared scarcely three months. The first edition of "Evelina" was of eight hundred, the second of five hundred, and the third of a thousand. What the following have been I have never heard, The sale from that period became more flourishing than the publisher cared to announce. Of "Cecilia" the first edition was reckoned enormous at two thousand and as a part of payment Was reserved for it, I remember our dear Daddy Crisp thought it very unfair. It was printed, like this, in July, and sold in October, to every one's wonder. Here, however, the sale's increased in rapidity more than a third. Charles says,-- "Now heed no more what critics thought 'em, Since this you know, all people bought 'em." Page 115 A CONTEMPLATED COTTAGE. We have resumed our original plan, and are going immediately to build a little cottage for ourselves. We shall make it as small and as cheap as will accord with its being warm and comfortable. We have relinquished, however, the very kind offer of Mr. Locke, which he has renewed, for his park. We mean to make this a property saleable or letable for our Alex, and in Mr. Locke's park we could not encroach any tenant, if the Youth's circumstances, profession, or inclination .should make him not choose the spot for his own residence. M. dArblay, therefore, has fixed upon a field of Mr. Locke's, which he will rent, and of which Mr. Locke will grant him a lease of ninety years. By this means, we shall leave the little Alex a little property, besides what will be in the funds, and a property likely to rise in value, as the situation of the field is remarkably beautiful. It is in the valley, between Mr. Locke's park and Dorking, and where land is so scarce, that there is not another possessor within many miles who would part, upon any terms, with half-an-acre. My kindest father will come and give it, I trust, his benediction. I am now almost jealous of Bookham for having received it. Imagine but the ecstasy of M. d'Arblay in training, all his own way, an entire new garden. He dreams now of cabbage-walks, potato-beds, bean-perfumes, and peas-blossoms. My mother should send him a little sketch to help his flower-garden, which will be his second favourite object. THE PRINCESS ROYAL'S FIRST INTERVIEW WITH HER FIANCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) 1796. A private letter from Windsor tells me the Prince of Wurtemberg has much pleased in the royal House, by his manner and address upon his interview, but that the poor Princess royal was almost dead with terror, and agitation, and affright, at the first meeting.(132) She could not utter a word, The queen was obliged to speak her answers. The prince said he hoped this first would be the last disturbance his page 116 presence would ever occasion her. She then tried to recover, and so far conquered her tumult as to attempt joining In a general discourse from time to time. He paid his court successfully, I am told, to the sisters, who all determine to like him; and the princess royal is quite revived in her spirits again, now this tremendous opening sight is over. You will be pleased, and my dearest Mr. Locke, at the style of my summons: 'tis so openly from the queen herself, Indeed, she has behaved like an angel to me, from the trying time to her of my marriage with a Frenchman. "So odd, you know," as Lady Inchiquin said. OPINIONS OF THE REVIEWS ON "CAMILLA." (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) November, 1796. . . .The "Monthly Review" has come in to-day, and it does not satisfy me, or raise my spirits, or anything but my indignation. James has read the remarks in it on "Camilla," and we are all dissatisfied. Perhaps a few of the verbal criticisms may be worth your attention in the second edition; but these have been picked out and displayed with no friendly view, and without necessity, in a work of such length and intrinsic sterling worth. J'enrage! Morbleu! (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, November, 1796. I had intended writing to my dearest father by a return of goods, but I find it impossible to defer the overflowings of my heart at his most kind and generous indignation with the reviewer. What censure can ever so much hurt as such compensation can heal? And, in fact, the praise is so strong that, were it neatly put together, the writer might challenge my best enthusiasts to find it insufficient. The truth, however, is, that the criticisms come forward, and the panegyric is entangled, and so blended with blame as to lose almost all effect, The reviews, however, as they have not made, will not, I trust, mar me. "Evelina" made its way all by itself; it was well spoken of, indeed, in all the reviews, compared with general novels, but it was undistinguished by any quotation, and only put in the Monthly Catalogue, and only allowed Page 117 short single paragraph. It was circulated only by the general public till it reached, through that unbiassed medium, Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke, and thence it wanted no patron. Nov. 14.-Upon a second reading of the Monthly Review upon "Camilla," I am in far better humour with it, and willing to confess to the criticisms, if I may claim by that concession any right to the eulogies. They are stronger and more important, upon re-perusal, than I had imagined, in the panic of a first survey and an unprepared-for disappointment in anything like severity from so friendly an editor. The recommendation, at the conclusion, of the book as a warning guide to youth, would recompense me, upon the least reflection, for whatever strictures Might precede it. I hope my kind father has not suffered his generous--and to me most cordial--indignation against the reviewer to interfere with his intended answer to the affectionate letter of Dr. Griffiths.(133 DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S STEPMOTHER. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Bookham, November 7, 1796. Yes, -my beloved Susan safe landed at Dublin was indeed all-sufficient for some time; nor, indeed, could I even read any more for many minutes. That, and the single sentence at the end, "My Norbury is with me"--completely overset ne, though only with joy. After your actual safety, nothing could so much touch me as the picture I Instantly viewed of Norbury in Your arms. Yet I shall hope for more detail hereafter. The last letter I had from you addressed to myself shows me your own sentiment of the fatal event(134) which so speedily followed your departure, and which my dear father has himself announced to you, though probably the newspapers will anticipate his letter. I am very sorry, now, I did not write sooner; but while you were still in England, and travelling so slowly, I had always lurking ideas that disqualified me from writing to Ireland. The minute I received, from Sally, by our dearest father's desire the last tidings I set out for Chelsea. I was much Shocked by the news, long as it has been but natural to look Page 118 forward to it. My better part spoke even before myself upon the propriety of my instant journey, and promised me a faithful nursing attendance during my absence. I went in a chaise, to lose no time - but the uncertainty how I might find my poor father made me arrive with a nervous seizure upon my voice that rendered it as husky as Mr. Rishton's. While I settled with the postilion, Sally, James, Charlotte, and Marianne, came to me. Esther and Charles had been there the preceding day ; they were sent to as soon as the event had happened. My dearest father received me with extreme kindness, but though far, far more calm and quiet than I could expect, he was much shaken, and often very faint. However, in the course of the evening, he suffered me to read to him various passages from various books, such as conversation introduced; and as his nature is as pure from affectation as from falsehood, encouraged in himself, as well as permitted in us, whatever could lead to cheerfulness. Let me not forget to record one thing that was truly generous in my poor mother's last voluntary exertions. She charged Sally and her maid both not to call my father when she appeared to be dying; and not disturb him if her death should happen in the night, nor to let him hear it till he arose at his usual time. I feel sensibly the kindness of this sparing consideration. Yet not so would I be used! O never should I forgive the misjudged prudence that should rob me of one little instant of remaining life in one who was truly dear to me'; Nevertheless, I shall not be surprised to have his first shock succeeded by a sorrow it did not excite, and I fear he will require much watching and vigilance to be kept as well as I have quitted him. THE FRENCH EMIGRES AT NORBURY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Bookham, December 25, 1796. You will have heard that the Princesse d'Henin and M. de Lally have spent a few days at Norbury Park. We went every evening regularly to meet them, and they yet contrive to grow higher and higher in our best opinions and affections; they force that last word; none other is adequate to such regard as they excite. Page 119 M. de Lally read us a pleading for �migr�s of all descriptions, to the people and government of France, for their re-instalment in their native land, that exceeds in eloquence, argument, taste, feeling, and every power of oratory and truth united, anything I ever remember to have read. It is so affecting in many places, that I was almost ill from restraining My nearly convulsive emotions. My dear and honoured partner gives me, perhaps, an interest in such a subject beyond what is mere natural due and effect, therefore I cannot be sure such will be its universal success; yet I shall be nothing less than Surprised to live to see his statue erected in his own country, at the expense of his own restored exiles. 'Tis, indeed, a wonderful performance. And he was so easy, So gay, so unassuming, yet free from condescension, that I almost worshipped him. M. d'Arblay cut me off a bit of the coat in which he read his pleading, and I shall preserve it, labelled! The princess was all that was amiable and attractive, and she loves my Susanna so tenderly, that her voice was always caressing when she named her. She would go to Ireland, she repeatedly said, on purpose to see you, were her fortune less miserably cramped. The journey, voyage, time, difficulties, and ,sea-sickness, would be nothing for obstacles. You have made, there, that rare and exquisite acquisition-an ardent friend for life. DR. BURNEY'S DEPRESSED STATE. I have not heard very lately of my dearest father; all accounts speak of his being very much lower in spirits than When I left him. I sometimes am ready to return to him, for my whole heart yearns to devote itself to him - but the babe, and the babe's father--and there is no going en famille uninvited--and my dear father does not feel equal to making the invitation. One of the Tichfield dear girls seems to be constantly with Sally, to aid the passing hours, but Our poor father wants something more than cheerfulness and affection, though nothing without them could do; he wants some one to find out pursuits--to entice him into reading, by bringing books, or starting subjects; some one to lead him to talk of what he thinks, or to forget what he thinks of, by adroitly talking of what may catch other attention. Even where deep sorrow is impossible, a gloomy void must rest in the total breaking up such a long and such a fast connexion. Page 120 I must always grieve at your absence at such a period. our Esther has SO much to do in her own family, and fears so much the cold of Chelsea, that she can be only of day and occasional use, and it is nights and mornings that call for the confidential companion that might best revive him, He is more amiable, more himself, if possible, than ever. God long preserve him to bless us all! COVETOUS OF PERSONAL DISTINCTION. Your old acquaintance, Miss --, has been passing ten days in this neighbourhood. She is become very pleasingly formed in manners, wherever she wishes to oblige, and all her roughnesses and ruggednesses are worn off. I believe the mischief done by her education, and its wants, not cured, if curable au fond; but much amended to all, and apparently done away completely to many. What really rests is a habit of exclusively consulting just what she likes best, not what would be or prove best for others. She thinks, indeed, but little of anything except with reference to herself, and what gives her an air, and will give her a character, for inconstancy, that is in fact the mere result of seeking her own gratification alike in meeting or avoiding her connexions. If she saw this, she has understanding sufficient to work it out of her; but she weighs nothing sufficiently to dive into her own self. She knows she is a very clever girl, and she is neither well contented with others, nor happy in herself, but where this is evidently acknowledged. We spent an evening together at Norbury Park ; she was shown all Mr. William's pictures and drawings. I knew her expectations of an attention she had no chance of exciting and therefore devoted myself to looking them over with her yet, though Mr. Locke himself led the way to see them, and explained several, and though Amelia addressed her with the utmost sweetness, and Mrs. Locke with perfect good breeding, I could not draw from her one word relative to the evening, or the family, except that she did not think she had heard Mr. William's voice once. A person so young, and with such good parts, that can take no pleasure but in personal distinction, which is all her visit can have wanted, will soon cut all real improvement short, by confining herself to such society alone as elevates herself. There she will always make a capital figure, for her conversation is sprightly and enter- Page 121 taining, and her heart and principles are both good : she has many excellent qualities, and various resources in herself; but she is good enough to make me lament that she is not modest enough to be yet better. BABY D'ARBLAY AGAIN ; AND OTHER MATTERS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, NOV. 29, 1796. My little man waits for your lessons to get on in elocution: he has made no further advance but that of calling out, as he saw our two watches hung on two opposite hooks over the chamber chimney-piece, "Watch, papa,--watch, mamma;" so, though his first speech is English, the idiom is French. We agree this is to avoid any heartburning in his parents. He is at this moment so exquisitely enchanted with a little penny trumpet, and finding he can produce such harmony his own self, that he is blowing and laughing till he can hardly stand. If you could see his little swelling cheeks you would not accuse yourself of a misnomer in calling him cherub. I try to impress him with an idea of pleasure in going to see grandpapa, but the short visit to Bookham is forgotten, and the permanent engraving remains, and all his concurrence consists in pointing up to the print over the chimney-piece, and giving it one of his concise little bows. Are not people a little revived in the political world by this unexampled honour paid to Mr. Pitt?(135) Mr. Locke has subscribed 3000 pounds. How you rejoiced me by what you say of poor Mr. Burke for I had seen the paragraph of his death with most exceeding great concern. The Irish reports, are, I trust, exaggerated; few things come quite plainly from Hibernia: yet what a time, in all respects, to transport thither, as you too well term it, our beloved Susan! She writes serenely, and Norbury seems to Page 122 repay a world of sufferings : it is delightful to see her SO satisfied there, at least; but they have all, she says, got the brogue. Our building is to be resumed the 1st of March; it will then soon be done, as it is only of lath and plaster, and the roof and wood-work are already prepared.' My indefatigable superintendent goes every morning for two, three, or four hours to his field, to work at a sunk fence that 'IS to protect his garden from our cow. I have sent Mrs. Boscawen, through Miss Cambridge, a history of our plan. The dwelling is destined by M. d'Arblay to be called the Camilla cottage. (95) "Memoires of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. pp. 224-5. (96) "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii., pp. 210-11. (97) In the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney" Madame d'Arblay writes that "Before the answer of Mr. Pitt to the memorial could be returned, the attempt upon Toulon proved abortive." Mr, Pitt must certainly have been in no hurry to reply; for the memorial was sent to him about the commencement of October, and Toulon was not evacuated by the English until the 18th of December.-ED. (98) A character in "Cecilia."-ED. (99) The well-known novelist.-ED. (100) The cottage which Fanny and her husband contemplated building, was not actually commenced until after the publication of "Camilla," in 1796.-ED. (101) The fund which Mrs. Crewe was exerting herself to raise for the benefit of the French emigrant clergy.-ED. (102) Mrs. Crewe had been urging Dr. Burney to engage his daughter to contribute, by her pen, to the relief of the emigrant clergy. Fanny accordingly wrote an "Address to the Ladies of Great Britain," in the form of a short pamphlet, which was published by Cadell, and which appears to have had the desired effect.-ED. (103) Alas for Dr. Burney's hopes! Toulon was successfully defended until the middle of December, when the vigorous measures of the besiegers, inspired by the genius Of Young Buonaparte, resulted in the complete triumph of the Republicans. On the 17th of December they carried by storm Fort Eguillette and the heights of Faron. From these positions their artillery commanded the harbour, and, further defence of the town being thereby rendered impracticable, its instant evacuation was resolved upon by the allies. An attempt to burn the French war-ships in the harbour, before abandoning the place, was only partially successful. On the 18th and 19th the troops embarked. Vast numbers of fugitives were taken on board the retreating fleet, but a large proportion of the unfortunate Toulonnais remained, to experience the cruel vengeance of the Republicans-ED. (104) The execution of Marie Antoinette, October 16, 1793.-ED. (105) He was born on the 18th of December 1794.-ED. (106) Goldsmith has drawn the character of Richard Burke in "Retaliation," as follows:-- "Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must Sigh at; Alaq, that such frolic should now be so quiet! What spirits were his! what wit and what whim! Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb; Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball; Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all. In short, so provoking a devil was Dick, That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old Nick, But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein, As often we wish'd to have Dick back again."-ED. (107) George Canning, who was not yet twenty-four years of age, had just entered Parliament as member for Newport. He had formerly been a Whig and an associate of Fox and Sheridan, but the excesses of the French ,Revolution appear to have driven him, as they had driven Burke and Windham, over to the opposite camp. He took his seat as a Tory and a supporter of Mr. Pitt, and a Tory he remained to the end of his days. Canning's maiden speech, to which Fanny refers, was delivered January 31, in a debate on the treaty between Great Britain and the King of Sardinia. By this treaty, which was signed April 25, 1793, it was agreed that the two contracting parties should make common cause in the war against the French Republic; that England should pay to the King of Sardinia an annual subsidy of 200,000 pounds, to enable him to maintain the war; and that England should not conclude peace without providing for the restoration to Sardinia of the territories which had been torn from it by the Republic. In the debate of January 31, 1794, Fox vigorously attacked the treaty, while Canning, who spoke later, defended it in an able and well-received maiden speech.-ED. (108) Talleyrand's intrigues had made him an object of suspicion to both parties. He was detested by the royalists of the first emigration, had been d�cr�t� d'accusation by the Convention, and was regarded by the English government as a dangerous person. In January 1794, he received an order from the government to quit England within five days, and he embarked in consequence, for the United States, February 3.-ED. (109) "London, 1794.-Madame,--Had it been possible I would have had the honour of seeing you this morning , but the utter impossibility of doing so has deprived me of the last pleasure that I might have had in Europe. Permit me, madame, to thank you again for all your kindness, and to ask a little place in your memory, and let me tell you, I shall never cease, while I live, to offer my vows for your welfare, and for that of the captain and your children. You will have a very zealous servant in America; I shall not return to Europe without coming to Surrey: everything of value to my intellect or my heart is there. "Kindly present my compliments to the captain." (110) "London, March 2, 1794. Farewell, my dear d'Arblay: I leave your country till the time when it will no longer be governed by the petty passions of men. Then I will return; not, indeed, to busy myself with public affairs, for I have long since abandoned them for ever; but to see the excellent inhabitants of Surrey. I hope to know enough English to understand Madame d'Arblay; for the next four months, I shall do nothing but study it: and, to acquaint myself with the beauties of the language, I take 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' both for study and pleasure. I wish You, my dear friend, all kinds of happiness, and you are in the way to fulfil all my wishes. "I do not know how long I shall remain in America. If there were a prospect of the re-establishment of reason and stability in our unhappy country, I should return; if Europe goes to pieces in the coming campaign, I will prepare a refuge in America for all our friends. "Farewell. My respects to Madame d'Arblay and Mrs. Phillips. I ask of you and I promise you a lifelong friendship." (The date at the head Of this letter Is evidently incorrect-- probably a slip of the writer's. Talleyrand embarked February 3.-ED. (111) Lafayette's brilliant services in the cause of liberty had not secured him from the usual fate of moderate revolutionists at this period. In the early days of the Revolution, he was the hero of the French people; in 1792, denounced by Robespi�rre and the jacobins, he was compelled to seek safety in flying from France. He escaped the guillotine, indeed, but fell into the hands of the Austrians, was cast into prison, and did not gain his liberty till September, 1797.-ED. (112) This was Dr. Burney's first meeting with Mrs. Piozzi since her marriage. It occurred at one of Salomon's celebrated concerts, where the doctor, with surprise, perceived Piozzi among the audience, not knowing that he had returned from Italy. He entered into a cordial conversation with the Signor, and inquired after his wife. "Piozzi, turning round, pointed to a sofa, on which, to his infinite joy, Dr. Burney beheld Mrs. Thrale Piozzi, seated in the midst of her daughters, the four Miss Thrales," those young ladies (at least, the three elder, for Cecilia had been abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Piozzi) having made up their minds by this time to accept the inevitable, and to be reconciled to their mother." See "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. p. 198.-ED. (113) Written after the Doctor's first visit to Bookham. (114) Name of a gardener in a drama of Fontenelle's. (115) The novel of "Camilla," then lately begun. (116) "Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Metastasio," a work which Dr. Burney was then engaged upon, and which was published in three Volumes, 8vo in 1796.-ED. (117) "Edwy and Elgiva," a tragedy by Madame d'Arblay. (118) Edmund Burke's only son, Richard, died August 2, 1794.-ED (119) "Edwy and Elgiva," produced by Sheridan at Drury-lane, March 21, 1795; it was acted but once, and never printed.-ED. (120) Warren Hastings was acquitted of all the charges, April 23, 1795. (121) Both characters, to some extent, were true. Goldsmith's portrait of Cumberland, though flattering, is not, we fancy, without a slight undercurrent of irony. Here are the lines from "Retaliation." "Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, And Comedy wonders at being so fine: Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out, Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout. His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd Of virtues and feelings, that Folly grows proud And coxcombs, alike in their failings atone: Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own, Say, where has our poet this malady caught? Or wherefore his characters thus without fault? Say, was it that, mainly directing his view To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?"-ED. (122) The novels of Mrs. Radcliffe were now at the height of their popularity. "The Mysteries of Udolpho," perhaps the most powerful of her works, had recently been published, to the intense delight of all lovers of the thrilling and romantic.-ED. (123) The name was then "Ariella," changed afterwards to "Camilla." (124) Written during his embarrassments from the French Revolution, and answer to a letter expressing bitter disappointment from repeated losses. (125) M. de Narbonne, in reply, expressed, in lively terms, his gratitude for Madame d'Arblay's invitation, and his pleasure in receiving it. But he declined the proposal. He was not, he said, wholly without resources, or without hopes for the future, and circumstances made it desirable that he should reside at present near the French frontier.-ED. (126) Gainsborough Dupont, a nephew of the great Gainsborough. He was a portrait-painter of some merit, and an excellent mezzo- tint engraver. some of his best plates were engraved after paintings by Gainsborough. Mr Dupont died in 1797.-ED. (127) " The Birth of Love;" a poem: with engravings, from designs by her royal highness the Princess Elizabeth. (128) i.e., the Duke of York, second son of the king. He had been appointed field-marshal and commander-in-chief early in 1795.-ED. (129) The Duchess of York was daughter to the King of Prussia.- ED. (130) Susan's little son, Norbury Phillips.-ED. (131) Rose Dale, Richmond, Surrey. This place was formerly the residence of the poet Thomson, and afterwards became the property of the Honourable Mrs. Boscawen. (132) The princess royal was married, May 18, 1797, to Frederick William, hereditary prince of Wurtemberg.-ED. (133) Editor and proprietor of the "Monthly Review." (134) The death of Dr. Burney's second wife. (135) Fanny alludes to the so-called "loyalty loan," proposed and carried by Mr Pitt, to meet the expenses of the war. "Pitt evinced his own Public spirit, when he relied on and appealed to the public spirit of the People. He announced a loan of 18,000,000 pounds, at five per cent., to be taken at 112 pounds , 10 shillings, for every 100 pounds stock, and with an option to the proprietors to he paid off at par within two years after a treaty of peace."-(Stanhope's "Life of Pitt," vol. ii., P. 389.) The loan was taken up by the Public with extraordinary eagerness, 5,000,000 pounds being subscribed on the first day of issue (December 1, 1796).-ED. .' (136) They had commenced building the cottage in October. Fanny writes, November 29: "Our cottage building stops now, from the shortness of the days, till the beginning of March. The foundation is laid, and it will then be run up with great speed. The well, at length, is finished, and it is a hundred and odd feet deep. The water is said to be excellent, but M. d'Arblay has had it now stopped to prevent accidents from hazardous boys, who, when the field is empty of owners, will be amusing themselves there. He has just completed his grand plantations; part of which are in evergreens, part in firewood for future time, and part in an orchard."-ED. Page 123 SECTION 21. (1797-8) "CAMILLA" COTTAGE. SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL FAMILY. [Fanny's pen portraits of the princesses are as fascinating as Gainsborough's paintings of them. Their truly amiable characters and sweet dispositions are nowhere more pleasantly illustrated than in the following section of the "Diary." A list of their names, with the dates of their births and deaths, may be useful to the reader. 1. Charlotte, princess royal. born 1767: Queen of Wirtemburg: died 1828. 2. Augusta, Fanny's favourite, as she well deserved to be. Born 1768 : never married : died 1840. 3. Elizabeth, the artist of the family. Born 1770 : married the hereditary prince (afterwards, in 1820, Landgrave) of Hesse- Homburg in 18 18, and settled in Germany: died 1840. 4. Mary. Born 1776 : married her cousin, William Frederick, Duke of Gloucester, in 1816: died 1857. 5. Sophia, born 1777: died 1848. 6. Amelia, born 1783. Her health first gave way in 1798 (see p. 180): she died, unmarried, at Windsor, in 1810. A few days before her death she gave her poor blind, old father, a ring containing a scrap of her hair ; saying only, as she pressed it into his hand, "Remember me!" The poor king's anguish brought on a fresh attack of insanity, from which he never recovered.-ED.] A DISAGREEABLE JOURNEY HoME. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, January 3, '97. WAS extremely vexed at missing our uncertain post yesterday, and losing, unavoidably, another to-day, before I return my dearest father our united thanks for the kind and sweet fortnight passed under his roof. Our adventures in coming back were better adapted to our departure than our Page 124 arrival, for they were rather rueful. One of the horses did not like his business, and wanted to be off, and we were stopped by his gambols continually , and, if I had not been a soldier's wife, I should have been terribly alarmed; but my soldier does not like to see himself disgraced in his other half, and so I was fain to keep up my courage, till, at length, after we had passed Fetcham, the frisky animal plunged till he fastened the shaft against a hedge, and then, little Betty beginning to scream, I inquired of the postilion if we had not better alight. If it were not, he said, for the dirt, yes. The dirt then was defied, and I prevailed, though with difficulty, upon my chieftain to consent to a general dismounting. And he then found it was not too soon, for the horse became inexorable to all menace, caress, chastisement, or harangue, and was obliged to be loosened. Meanwhile, Betty, Bab, and I trudged on, vainly looking back for our vehicle, till we reached our little home--a mile and a half. Here we found good fires, though not a morsel of food; this however, was soon procured, and our walking apparel changed for drier raiment; and I sent forth our nearest cottager, and a young butcher, and a boy, towards Fetcham, to aid the vehicle, or its contents, for my chevalier had stayed on account of our chattels: and about two hours after the chaise arrived, with one horse, and pushed by its hirer, while it was half dragged by its driver. But all came safe; and we drank a dish of tea, and ate a mutton chop, and kissed our little darling, and forgot all else of our journey hut the pleasure we had had at Chelsea with my dearest father and dear Sally. And just now I received a letter from our Susanna, which tells me the invasion(137) has been made in a part of Ireland Page 125 . where all is so loyal there can be no apprehension from any such attempt ; but she adds, that if it had happened in the north everything might have been feared. Heaven send the invaders far from all the points of the Irish compass! and that's an Irish wish for expression, though not for meaning. All the intelligence she gathers is encouraging, with regard to the spirit and loyalty of all that surround her. But Mr. Brabazon is in much uneasiness for his wife, whose situation is critical, and he hesitates whether or not to convey her to Dublin, as a place of more security than her own habitation. What a period this for the usual journey of our invaluable Susan! BURKE's FUNERAL AT BEACONSFIELD. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Saturday Night, July 22, 1797. I was invited to poor Mr. Burke's funeral,(138) by Mrs. Crewe and two notes from Beaconsfield. Malone and I went to Bulstrode together in my car, this day sevennight, with two horses added to mine. Mrs. Crewe had invited me thither when she went down first. We found the Duke of Portland there; and the Duke of Devonshire and Windham came to dinner. The chancellor and speaker of the House of Commons could not leave London till four o'clock, but arrived a little after seven. We all set off together for Beaconsfield, where we found the rest of the pall-bearers--Lord Fitzwilliam, Lord Inchiquin, and Sir Gilbert Eliot, with Drs. King and Lawrence, Lord North, Dudley North, and many of the deceased's private friends, though by his repeated injunction the funeral was to be very private. We had all hatbands, scarfs, and gloves; and he left a list to whom rings of remembrance are to be sent, among whom my name occurred, and a jeweller has been here for my measure. I went back to Bulstrode, by invitation, with the two dukes, the chancellor, and speaker, Windham, Malone, and Secretary King. I ,stayed there till Sunday evening, and got home just before the dreadful storm. The duke was extremely civil and hospitable,-- Page 126 pressed me much to stay longer and go with them, the chancellor, speaker, Windham, and Mrs. Crewe, to Pinn, to see the school, founded by Mr. Burke, for the male children of French emigrant nobles; but I could not with prudence stay, having a couple of ladies waiting for me in London, and two extra horses with me. So much for poor Mr. Burke, certainly one of the greatest men of the present century; and I think I might say the best orator and statesman of modern times. He had his passions and prejudices to which I did not subscribe - but I always admired his great abilities, friendship, and urbanity - and it would be ungrateful in you and me, to whom he was certainly partial, not to feel and lament his loss. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, July 27, '97. I was surprised, and almost frightened, though at the same time gratified, to find you assisted in paying the last honours to Mr. Burke. How sincerely I sympathise in all you say of that truly great man! That his enemies say he was not perfect is nothing compared with his immense superiority over almost all those who are merely exempted from his peculiar defects. That he was upright in heart, even where he acted wrong, I do truly believe; and that he asserted nothing he had not persuaded himself to be true, from Mr. Hastings's being the most rapacious of villains, to the king's being incurably insane. He was as generous as kind, and as liberal in his sentiments as he was luminous in intellect and extraordinary in abilities and eloquence. Though free from all little vanity, high above envy, and glowing with zeal to exalt talents and merit in others, he had, I believe a consciousness of his own greatness, that shut out those occasional and useful self-doubts which keep our judgment in order, by calling our motives and our passions to account. DEATH OF M. D'ARBLAY'S BROTHER. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, August 10, '97. You know, I believe, with what cruel impatience and uncertainty my dear companion has waited for some news Of his family ; no tidings, however, could be procure, nor has Page 127 ever heard from any part of it till last Saturday morning, when two letters arrived by the same post, with information of the death of his only brother. impossible as it has long been to look back to France without fears amounting even to expectation of horrors, he had never ceased cherishing hopes some favourable turn would, in the end, unite him with this last branch of his house; the shock, therefore, has been terribly severe, and has cast a gloom upon his mind and spirits which nothing but his kind anxiety to avoid involving mine can at present suppress. He is now the last of a family of seventeen, and not one relation of his own name now remains but his own little English son. His father was the only son of an only son, which drives all affinity on the paternal side into fourth and fifth kinsmen. On the maternal side, however, he has the happiness to hear that an uncle, who is inexpressibly dear to him, who was his guardian and best friend through life, still lives, and has been permitted to remain unmolested in his own house, at Joigny, where he is now in perfect health, save from rheumatic .attacks, which though painful are not dangerous. A son, too, of this gentleman, who was placed as a commissaire-de-guerre by M. d'Arblay during the period of his belonging to the war committee, still holds the same situation, which is very lucrative, and which M. d'A. had concluded would have been withdrawn as soon as his own flight from France was known. The little property of which the late Chevalier d'Arblay died possessed, this same letter says, has been "vendu pour la nation,"(139) because his next heir was an �migr�; though there is a little niece, Mlle. Girardin, daughter of an only sister, who is in France, and upon whom the succession was settled, if her uncles died without immediate heirs. Some little matter, however, what we know not, has been reserved by being bought in by this respectable uncle, who sends M. d'Arblay word he has saved him what he may yet live upon, if he can find means to return without personal risk, and who solicits to again see him with urgent fondness, in which he is joined by his aunt with as much warmth as if she, also, was his relation by blood, not alliance. The late chevalier, my M. d'A. says, was a man of the softest manners and most exalted honour ; and he was so tall and so thin, he was often nicknamed Don Quixote, but he was so completely aristocratic with regard to the Revolution, Page 128 at its very commencement, that M. d'A. has heard nothing yet with such unspeakable astonishment as the news that he died, near Spain, of his wounds from a battle in which he had fought for the Republic. "How strange," says M. d'A., "is our destiny! that that Republic which I quitted, determined to be rather an hewer of wood and drawer of water all my life than serve, he should die for." The secret history of this may some day come out, but it is now inexplicable, for the mere fact, without the smallest comment, is all that has reached us, In the period, indeed, in which M. d'A. left France, there were but three steps possible for those who had been bred to arms-flight, the guillotine, or fighting for the Republic, "The former this brother," M. d'A. says, "had not energy of character to undertake in the desperate manner in which he risked it himself, friendless and fortuneless, to live in exile as he could. The guillotine no one could elect; and the continuing in the service, though in a cause he detested, was, probably, his hard compulsion." . . . Our new habitation will very considerably indeed exceed our first intentions and expectations. I suppose it has ever been so, and so ever must be ; for we sought as well as determined to keep within bounds, and M. d'A. still thinks he has done it - however, I am more aware of our tricks upon travellers than to enter into the same delusion. The pleasure, however, he has taken in this edifice is my first joy, for it has constantly shown me his heart has invariably held to those first feelings which, before our union, determined him upon settling in England. O! if you knew how he has been assailed, by temptations of every sort that either ambition, or interest, or friendship could dictate, to change his plan,-and how his heart sometimes yearns towards those he yet can love in his native soil, while his firmness still remains unshaken,-- you would not wonder I make light of even extravagance in a point that shows him thus fixed to make this object a part of the whole system of his future life. FROM CREWE HALL TO CHELSEA. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Friday Night, September 13, 1797. My dear Fanny,-Where did I leave off?--hang me if I know!--I believe I told you, or all when with YOU, Of the Chester and Liverpool journey and voyage. On Saturday Page 129 26th August, the day month from leaving London, M. le pr�sident de Frondeville and I left Crewe Hall on our way back. The dear Mrs. Crewe kindly set us in our way as far as Etruria. We visited Trentham Hall, in Staffordshire, the famous seat of the Marquis of Stafford,--a very fine place--fine piece of water--fine hanging woods,--the valley of Tempe--and the river Trent running through the garden. Mrs C. introduced us to the marchioness, who did us the honour of showing us the house herself; it has lately been improved and enlarged by Wyatt:--fine pictures, library, etc. After a luncheon here, we went to Etruria, which I had never seen. Old Mr. Wedgwood is dead, and his son and successor not at home ; but we went to the pottery manufacture, and saw the whole process of forming the beautiful things which are dispersed all over the universe from this place. Mrs. C. offered to send you a little hand churn for your breakfast butter ; but I should have broke it to pieces, and durst not accept of it. But if it would be of any use, when you have a cow, I will get you one at the Wedgwood ware-house in London. Here we parted. The president and I got to Lichfield by about ten o'clock that night. In the morning, before my companion was up, I strolled about the city with one of the waiters, in search of Frank Barber,' who I had been told lived there; but on ,inquiry I was told his residence was in a village three or four miles off. I however soon found the house where dear Dr. Johnson was born, and his father's shop. The house is stuccoed, has five sash-windows in front, and pillars before it. It is the best house thereabouts, near St. Mary's Church, in a broad street, and is now a grocer's shop. I went next to the Garrick house, which has been lately repaired, stuccoed, enlarged, and sashed. Peter Garrick, David's eldest brother, died about two years ago, leaving all his Possessions to the apothecary that had attended him. But the will was disputed and set aside not long since, it having appeared at a trial that the testator was insane at the time the will was made; so that Mrs. Doxie, Garrick's sister, a widow with a numerous family, recovered the house and -_30,000, She now lives in it with her family, and has been able to set up a carriage. The inhabitants of Lichfield were so pleased Page 130 with the decision of the court on the trial, that they illuminated the streets, and had public rejoicings on the occasion. After examining this house well, I tried to find the residence of Dr. James, inventor of the admirable fever powders, which have so often saved the life of our dear Susey, and others without number. But the ungrateful inhabitants knew nothing about him. . . . The cathedral, which has been lately thoroughly repaired internally, is the most complete and beautiful Gothic building I ever saw. The outside was tr�s mal trait� by the fanatics of the last century; but there are three beautiful spires still standing, and more than fifty whole-length figures of saints in their original niches. The choir is exquisitely beautiful. A fine new organ is erected, and was well played, and I never heard the cathedral service so well performed to that instrument only before. The services and anthems were middle-aged music, neither too old and dry, nor too modern and light ; the voices subdued, and exquisitely softened and sweetened by the building, While the lessons were reading, which I could not hear, I looked for monuments, and found a beautiful one to Garrick, and another just by it to Johnson; the former erected by Mrs. Garrick, who has been daily abused for not erecting one to her husband in Westminster Abbey ; but sure that was a debt due to him from the public, and that due from his widow best paid here.(141) Johnson's has been erected by his friends:--both are beautiful, and alike in every particular. There is a monument here to Johnson's first patron, Mr. Walmsley, whose amplitude of learning and copiousness of communication were such, that our revered friend said, "it might be doubted whether a day passed in which he had not some advantage from his friendship." There is a monument likewise to Lady M. W. Montagu, and to the father of Mr. Addison, etc. We left Lichfield about two o'clock, and reached Daventry that night, stopping a little at Coventry to look at the great church and Peeping Tom. Next day got to St. Albans time enough to look 'It the church and neighbouring ruins. Next morning breakfasted at Barnet, where my car met me, and got to Chelsea by three o'clock, leaving my agreeable compagnon de voyage, M. le pr�sident, at his apartments in town. . . . Page 131 AT DR. HERSCHEL'S. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Chelsea College, Thursday, September 28. My dear Fanny,--I read your letter pen in hand, and shall try to answer it by to-day's post. But first let me tell you that it was very unlikely to find me at home, for on Tuesday I went to Lord Chesterfield's at Bailie's, and arrived there in very good time for a four o'clock dinner - when, behold ! I was informed by the porter that " both my lord and lady were in town, and did not return till Saturday ! " Lord Chesterfield had unexpectedly been obliged to go to town by indisposition. Though I was asked to alight and take refreshment, I departed immediately, intending to dine and lie at Windsor, to be near Dr. Herschel, with whom a visit had been arranged by letter. But as I was now at liberty to make that visit at any time of the day I pleased, I drove through Slough in my way to Windsor, in order to ask at Dr. Herschel's door when my visit would be least inconvenient to him--that night or next morning. The good soul was at dinner, but came to the door himself, to press me to alight immediately and partake of his family repast - and this he did so heartily that I could not resist. I was introduced to the family at table, four ladies, and a little boy about the age and size of Martin.(142) I was quite shocked at seeing so many females: I expected (not knowing Herschel was married) only to have found Miss Herschel. . . . I expressed my concern and shame at disturbing them at this time of the day ; told my story, at which they were so cruel as to rejoice, and went so far as to say they rejoiced at the accident which had brought me there, and hoped I would send my carriage away, and take a bed with them. They were sorry they had no stables for my horses. I thought it necessary, You may, be sure, to faire la petite bouche, ,but in spite of my blushes I was obliged to submit to my trunk being taken in and the car sent to the inn just by. . . . Your health was drunk after dinner (put that int.) your pocket); and after much social conversation and a few hearty laughs, the ladies proposed to take a walk, in order, I believe, to leave Herschel and me together. We walked and talked Page 132 round his great telescopes till it grew damp and dusk, then retreated into his study to philosophise. I had a string of questions ready to ask, and astronomical difficulties to solve, which, with looking at curious books and instruments, filled up the time charmingly till tea, which being drank with the ladies, we two retired again to the starry. Now having paved the way, we began to talk of my poetical plan, and he pressed me to read what I had done.(143) Heaven help his head! my eight books, of from four hundred to eight hundred and twenty lines, would require two or three days to read. He made me unpack my trunk for my MS., from which I read him the titles of the chapters, and begged he would choose any book or character of a great astronomer he pleased. "Oh, let us have the beginning." I read him the first eighteen or twenty lines of the exordium, and then said I rather wished to come to modern times - I was more certain of my ground in high antiquity than after the time of Copernicus, and began my eighth chapter, entirely on Newton and his system. He gave me the greatest encouragement said repeatedly that I perfectly understood what I was writing' about - and only stopped me at two places: one was at a word too strong for what I had to describe, and the other at one too weak. The doctrine he allowed to be quite orthodox, concerning gravitation, refraction, reflection, optics, comets, magnitudes, distances, revolutions, etc., but made a discovery to me which, had I known sooner, would have overset me, and prevented my reading any part of my work: he said he had almost always had an aversion to poetry, which he regarded as the arrangement of fine words, without any useful meaning or adherence to truth; but that, when truth and science were united to these fine words, he liked poetry very well; and next morning, after breakfast, he made me read as much of another chapter on Descartes, etc., as the time would allow, as I had ordered my carriage at twelve. I read, talked, asked questions, and looked at books and instruments, till near one, when I set off for Chelsea. Page 133 HOSPITALITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Francis.) Westhamble, November 16, 1797. Your letter was most welcome to me, my dearest Charlotte, and I am delighted Mr. Broome(144) and my dear father will so speedily meet. If they steer clear of politics, there can be no doubt of their immediate exchange of regard and esteem. At all events, I depend upon Mr. B.'s forbearance of such subjects, if their opinions clash. Pray let me hear how the interview went off. I need not say how I shall rejoice to see you again, nor how charmed we shall both be to make a nearer acquaintance with Mr. Broome; but, for heaven's sake, my dear girl, how are we to give him a dinner?--unless he will bring with him his poultry, for ours are not yet arrived from Bookham; and his fish, for ours are still at the bottom of some pond we know not where, and his spit, for our jack is yet without clue; and his kitchen grate, for ours waits for Count Rumford's(145) next pamphlet;--not to mention his table-linen;--and not to speak Page 134 of his knives and forks, some ten of our poor original twelve having been massacred in M. d'Arblay's first essays in the art of carpentering ;-and to say nothing of his large spoons, the silver of our plated ones having feloniously made off under cover of the whitening-brush--and not to talk of his cook, ours being not yet hired ;-and not to start the subject of wine, ours, by some odd accident, still remaining at the wine-merchant's! With all these impediments, however, to convivial hilarity, if he will eat a quarter of a joint of meat (his share, I mean), tied up by a packthread, and roasted by a log of wood on the bricks,--and declare no potatoes so good as those dug by M. d'Arblay out of our garden,--and protest our small beer gives the spirits of champagne,--and make no inquiries where we have deposited the hops he will conclude we have emptied out of our table-cloth,-- and pronounce that bare walls are superior to tapestry,--and promise us the first sight of his epistle upon visiting a new-built cottage,--we shall be sincerely happy to receive him in our hermitage; where I hope to learn, for my dearest Charlotte's sake, to love him as much as, for his own I have very long admired him. WAR TAXES. "CAMILLA" COTTAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Westhamble, December, '97. The new threefold assessment of taxes has terrified us rather seriously ; though the necessity, and therefore justice, of them, we mutually feel. My father thinks his own share will amount to eighty pounds a year ! We have, this very morning, decided upon parting with four of our new windows, --a great abatement of agr�mens to ourselves, and of ornament to our appearance; and a still greater sacrifice to the amour Propre of my architect, who, indeed,--his fondness for his edifice considered,--does not ill deserve praise that the scheme had not his mere consent, but his own free proposition. . . . We quitted Bookham with one single regret--that of leaving our excellent neighbours the Cookes. . . . we languished for the moment of removal with almost infantine fretfulness at every delay that distanced it; and when at last the grand day came, our final packings, with all their toil Page 135 and difficulties and labour and expense, were mere acts of pleasantry; so bewitched were we with the impending change, that, though from six o'clock to three we were hard at work, without a kettle to boil the breakfast, or a knife to cut bread for a luncheon, we missed nothing, wanted nothing, and were as insensible to fatigue as to hunger. M. d'Arblay set out on foot, loaded with remaining relics of things, to us precious, and Betty afterwards with a remnant of glass or two; the other maid had been sent two days before. I was forced to have a chaise for my Alex and me, and a few looking-glasses, a few folios, and not a few other oddments and then, with dearest Mr. Locke, our founder's portrait, and my little boy, off I set, and I would my dearest Susan could relate to me as delicious a journey. My mate, striding over hedge and ditch, arrived first, though he set out after' to welcome me to our new dwelling; and we entered our new best room, in which I found a glorious fire of wood, and a little bench, borrowed of one of the departing carpenters : nothing else. We contrived to make room for each other, and Alex disdained all rest. His spirits were so high upon finding two or three rooms totally free for his horse (alias any stick he can pick up) and himself, unencumbered by chairs and tables and such-like lumber, that he was as merry as a little Andrew and as wild as twenty colts. Here we unpacked a small basket containing three or four loaves, and, with a garden-knife, fell to work; some eggs had been procured from a neighbouring farm, and one saucepan had been brought. We dined, therefore, exquisitely, and drank to our new possession from a glass of clear water out of our new well. At about eight o'clock our goods arrived. We had our bed put up in the middle of our room, to avoid risk of damp walls, and our Alex had his dear Willy's crib at our feet. We none of us caught cold. We had fire night and day in the maids' room, as well as Our own -or rather in my Susan's room; for we lent them that, their own having a little inconvenience against a fire, because it is built without a chimney. We Continued making fires all around us the first fortnight, and then found wood would be as bad as an apothecary's bill, so desisted; but we did not stop short so soon as to want the latter to succeed the former, or put our calculation to the proof. Our first week was devoted to unpacking, and exulting in Our completed plan. To have no one thing at hand, nothing Page 136 to eat, nowhere to sit--all were trifles, rather, I think, amusing than incommodious. The house looked so clean, the distribution of the rooms and closets is so convenient, the prospect everywhere around is so gay and so lovely, and the park of dear Norbury is so close at hand, that we hardly knew how to require anything else for existence than the enjoyment of our own situation. At this period I received my summons. I believe I have already explained that I had applied to Miss Planta for advice whether my best chance of admission would be at Windsor, Kew, or London. I had a most kind letter of answer, importing my letter had been seen, and that her majesty would herself fix the time when she could admit me. This was a great happiness to me, and the fixture was for the Queen's house in town. VISITORS ARRIVE INOPPORTUNELY. The only drawback to the extreme satisfaction of such graciousness as allowing an appointment to secure me from a fruitless journey, as well as from impropriety and all fear of intrusion, was, that exactly at this period the Princess d'Henin and M. de Lally were expected at Norbury. I hardly could have regretted anything else, I was so delighted by my summons; but this I indeed lamented. They arrived to dinner on Thursday: I was involved in preparations, and unable to meet them, and my mate would not be persuaded to relinquish aiding me. The next morning, through mud, through mire, they came to our cottage. The poor princess was forced to change shoes and stockings. M. de Lally is more accustomed to such expeditions. Nothing could be more sweet than they both were, nor indeed, more grateful than I felt for my share in their kind exertion. The house was re-viewed all over, even the little pot au feu was opened by the princess, excessively curious to see our manner of living in its minute detail. I have not heard if your letter has been received by M. de Lally; but I knew not then you had written, and therefore did not inquire. The princess talked of nothing so much as you, and with a softness of regard that quite melted me. I always tell her warmly how you feel about her. M. de Lally was most melancholy about France; the last new and most alas! barbarous revolution(146) has disheartened all his hopes--alas! Page 137 whose can withstand it? They made a long and kind visit, and in the afternoon we went to Norbury Park, where we remained till near eleven o'clock, and thought the time very short. Madame d'Henin related some of her adventures in this second flight from her terrible country, and told them with a spirit and a power of observation that would have made them interesting if a tale of old times ; but now, all that gives account of those events awakens the whole mind to attention. M. de Lally after tea read us a beginning of a new tragedy, composed upon an Irish story, but bearing allusion so palpable to the virtues and misfortunes of Louis XVI. that it had almost as strong an effect upon our passions and faculties as if it had borne the name of that good and unhappy prince. It is written with great pathos, noble sentiment, and most eloquent language. I parted from them with extreme reluctance-nay, vexation. ANOTHER VISIT TO THE ROYAL FAMILY. I set off for town early the next day, Saturday. My time was not yet fixed for my royal interview, but I had various preparations impossible to make in this dear, quiet, obscure cottage. Mon ami could not accompany me, as we had still two men constantly at work, the house without being quite unfinished but I could not bear to leave his little representative, who, with Betty, was my companion to Chelsea. There I was expected, and Our dearest father came forth with open arms to welcome us. He was in delightful spirits, the sweetest humour, and perfectly good looks and good health. My little rogue soon engaged him in a romp, which conquered his rustic shyness, and they became the best friends in the world. Thursday morning I had a letter from Miss Planta, written with extreme warmth of kindness, and fixing the next day at eleven o'clock for my royal admission. Page 138 I went up-stairs to Miss Planta's room, where, while I waited for her to be called, the charming Princess Mary passed by, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. She recollected me and turned back, and came up to me with a fair hand graciously held out to me. "How do you do, Madame d'Arblay?" she cried: "I am vastly glad to see you again and how does your little boy do?" I gave her a little account of the rogue, and she proceeded to inquire about my new cottage, and its actual state. I entered into a long detail of its bare walls, and unfurnished sides, and the gambols of the little man unencumbered by cares of fractures from useless ornaments, that amused her good-humoured interest in my affairs very much , and she did not leave me till Miss Planta came to usher me to Princess Augusta. That kind princess received me with a smile so gay, and a look so pleased at my pleasure in again seeing her, that I quite regretted the etiquette which prevented a chaste embrace. She was sitting at her toilette having her hair dressed. The royal family were all going at night to the play. She turned instantly from the glass to face me, and insisted upon my being seated immediately. She then wholly forgot her attire and ornaments and appearance, and consigned herself wholly to conversation, with that intelligent animation which marks her character. She inquired immediately how my little boy did, and then with great sweetness after his father, and after my father. My first subject was the princess royal, and I accounted for not having left my hermitage in the hope of once more seeing her royal highness before her departure. It would have been, I told her, so melancholy a pleasure to have come merely for a last view, that I could not bear to take my annual indulgence at a period which would make it leave a mournful impression upon my mind for a twelvemonth to come. The princess said she could enter into that, but said it as if she had been surprised I had not appeared. She then gave ne some account of the ceremony ;(147) and when I told her I had heard that her royal highness the bride had never looked so lovely, she confirmed the praise warmly, but laughingly added, "'Twas the queen dressed her! You know what a figure she used to make of herself, with her odd manner Of Page 139 dressing herself; but mamma said, 'Now really, princess royal, this one time is the last, and I cannot suffer you to make such a quiz of yourself; so I will really have you dressed such a quiz of yourself, properly.' And indeed the queen was quite in the right, for everybody said she had never looked so well in her life." The word "quiz," you may depend, was never the queen's. I had great comfort, however, in gathering, from all that passed on that subject, that the royal family is persuaded this estimable princess is happy. From what I know of her disposition I am led to believe the situation may make her so. She is born to preside, and that with equal softness and dignity; but she was here in utter subjection, for which she had neither spirits nor inclination. She adored the king, honoured the queen, and loved her sisters, and had much kindness for her brothers ; but her style of life was not adapted to the royalty of her nature, any more than of her birth; and though she only wished for power to do good and to confer favours, she thought herself out of her place in not possessing it. I was particularly happy to learn from the Princess Augusta that she has already a favourite friend in her new Court, in one of the princesses of Wurtemberg, wife of a younger brother of the hereditary prince, and who is almost as a widow, from the prince, her husband, being constantly with the army. This is a delightful circumstance, as her turn of mind, and taste, and ,employments, accord singularly with those of our princess. I have no recollection of the order of our conversation, but will give you what morsels occur to me as they arise in my memory. The terrible mutiny occupied us some time.(148) She told me Page 140 many anecdotes that she had learnt in favour Of various sailors, declaring, with great animation, her security In their good hearts, however drawn aside by harder and more cunning heads, The sweetness with which she delights to get out of all that is forbidding in her rank is truly adorable. In speaking of a sailor on board the St. Fiorenzo, when the royal family made their excursion by sea from Weymouth, she said, "You must know this man was a great favourite of mine, for he had the most honest countenance you can conceive, and I have often talked with him, every time we have been at Weymouth, so that we were good friends; but I wanted now in particular to ask him concerning the mutiny, but I knew I should not get him to speak out while the king and queen and my sisters were by ; so I told Lady Charlotte Bellasyse to watch an opportunity when he was upon deck, and the rest were in the cabin, and then we went up to him and questioned him; and he quite answered my expectations, for, instead of taking any merit to himself from belonging to the St. Fiorenso, which was never in the mutiny, the good creature said he was sure there was not a sailor in the navy that was not sorry to have belonged to it, and would not have got out of it as readily as himself, if he had known but how." The Princess Elizabeth now entered, but she did not stay. She came to ask something of her sister relative to a little f�te she was preparing, by way of a collation, in honour of the Princess Sophia, who was twenty this day. She made kind inquiries after my health, etc., and, being mistress of the birthday f�te, hurried off, and I had not the pleasure to see her any more. I must be less minute, or I shall never have done. My charming Princess Augusta renewed the conversation. Admiral Duncan's noble victory(149) became the theme, but it was interrupted by the appearance of the lovely Princess Amelia, now become a model of grace, beauty and sweetness, Page 141 in their bud. She gave me her hand with the softest expression of kindness, and almost immediately began questioning me concerning my little boy and with an air of interest the most captivating. But again Princess Augusta declined any interruptors: "You shall have Madame d'Arblay all to yourself, my dear, soon," she cried, laughingly; and, with a smile a little serious, the sweet Princess Amelia retreated. It would have been truly edifying to young ladies living in the great and public world to have assisted in my place at the toilette of this exquisite Princess Augusta. Her ease, amounting even to indifference, as to her ornaments and decoration, showed a mind so disengaged from vanity, so superior to personal appearance, that I could with difficulty forbear manifesting my admiration. She let the hair-dresser proceed upon her head without comment and without examination, just as if it was solely his affair ; and when the man, Robinson, humbly begged to know what ornaments he was to prepare the hair for, she said, "O, there are my feathers, and my gown is blue, so take what you think right." And when he begged she would say whether she would have any ribbons or other things mixed with the feathers and jewels, she said, "You understand all that best, Mr. Robinson, I'm sure; there are the things, so take just what you please." And after this she left him wholly to himself, never a moment interrupting her discourse or her attention with a single direction. INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN. Princess Augusta had just begun a very interesting account of an officer that had conducted himself singularly well in the mutiny, when Miss Planta came to summon me to the queen. I begged permission to return afterwards for my unfinished narrative, and then proceeded to the white closet. The queen was alone, seated at a table, and working. Miss Planta opened the door and retired without entering. I felt a good deal affected by the sight of her Majesty again, so graciously accorded to my request ; but my first and instinctive feeling was nothing to what I experienced when, after my profoundly respectful reverence, I raised my eyes, and saw in hers a look of sensibility so expressive of regard, and so examining, so penetrating into mine, as to seem to convey, involuntarily, a regret I had quitted her. This, at least, was the idea that struck me, from the species of look which met Page 142 me; and it touched me to the heart, and brought instantly, in defiance of all struggle, a flood of tears into my eyes. I was some minutes recovering; and when I then entreated her forgiveness, and cleared up, the voice with which she Spoke, in hoping I was well, told me she had caught a little of my sensation, for it was by no means steady. Indeed, at that moment, I longed to kneel and beseech her pardon for the displeasure I had felt in her long resistance of my resignation, for I think, now, it was from a real and truly honourable wish to attach me to her for ever. But I then suffered too much from a situation so ill adapted to my choice and disposition, to do justice to her opposition, or to enjoy its honour to myself. Now that I am so singularly, alas! nearly singularly happy, though wholly from my perseverance in that resignation, I feel all I owe her, and I feel more and more grateful for every mark of her condescension, either recollected or renewed. She looked ill, pale, and harassed. The king was but just returned from his abortive visit to the Nore, and the inquietude she had sustained during that short separation, circumstanced many ways alarmingly, had evidently shaken her: I saw with much, with deep concern, her sunk eyes and spirits. I believe the sight of me raised not the latter. Mrs. Schwellenberg had not long been dead, and I have some reason to think she would not have been sorry to have had me supply the vacancy; for I had immediate notice sent me of her death by Miss Planta, so written as to persuade me it was a letter by command. But not all my duty, all my gratitude, could urge me, even one short fleeting moment, to weigh any interest against the soothing serenity, the unfading felicity, of a hermitage such as mine. We spoke of poor Mrs. Schwelly,--and of her successor, Mlle. Backmeister,--and of mine, Mrs. Bremyere; and I could not but express my concern that her majesty had again been so unfortunate, for Mlle. Jacobi had just retired to Germany, ill and dissatisfied with everything in England. The Princess Augusta had recounted to me the whole narrative of her retirement, and its circumstances. The queen told me that the king had very handsomely taken care of her. But such frequent retirements are heavy weights upon the royal bounty. I felt almost guilty when the subject was started; but not from any reproach, any allusion,-not a word was dropped that had not kindness and goodness for its basis and its superstructure at once. Page 143 "How is your little boy?" was one of the earliest questions. "is he here?" she added. "O yes," I answered, misunderstanding her, "he is my shadow; I go nowhere without him." "But here, I mean?" "O no! ma'am, I did not dare presume--" I stopped, for her look said it would be no presumption. And Miss Planta had already desired me to bring him to her next time; which I suspect was by higher order than her own suggestion. She then inquired after my dear father, and so graciously, that I told her not only of his good health, but his occupations, his new work, a "Poetical History of Astronomy," and his consultations with Herschel. She permitted me to speak a good deal of the Princess of Wurtemberg, whom they still all call princess royal. She told me she had worked her wedding garment, and entirely, and the real labour it had proved, from her steadiness to have no help, well knowing that three stitches done by any other would make it immediately said it was none of it by herself. "As the bride of a widower," she continued, "I know she ought to be in white and gold ; but as the king's eldest daughter she had a right to white and silver, which she preferred." A little then we talked of the late great naval victory, and she said it was singularly encouraging to us that the three great victories at sea had been "against our three great enemies, successively : Lord Howe against the French, Lord St. Vincent against the Spaniards, and Lord Duncan against the Dutch."(150) She spoke very feelingly of the difficult situation of the Orange family, now in England, upon this battle; and she repeated me the contents of' a letter from the Princess of Orange, whose character she much extolled, upon the occasion, page 144 to the Princess Elizabeth, saying she could not bear to be the only person in England to withhold her congratulations to the king upon such an occasion, when no one owed him such obligations; but all she had to regret was that the Dutch had not fought with, not against, the English, and that the defeat had not fallen upon those who ought to be their joint enemies. She admired and pitied, inexpressibly, this poor fugitive princess. I told her of a note my father had received from Lady Mary Duncan, in answer to his wishing her joy of her relation's prowess and success, in which he says, "Lady Mary has been, for some days past, like the rest of the nation drunk for joy." This led to more talk of this singular lady: and reciprocal stories of her oddities. She then deigned to inquire very particularly about our new cottage,-its size, its number of rooms, and its grounds. I told her, honestly, it was excessively comfortable, though unfinished and unfitted up, for that it had innumerable little contrivances and conveniences, just adapted to our particular use and taste, as M. d'Arblay had been its sole architect and surveyor. "Then I dare say," she answered, "it is very commodious, for there are no people understand enjoyable accommodations more than French gentleman, when they have the arranging them themselves." This was very kind, and encouraged me to talk a good deal of my partner, in his various works and employments ; and her manner of attention was even touchingly condescending, all circumstances considered. And she then related to me the works of two French priests, to whom she has herself been so good as to commit the fitting up of one of her apartments at Frogmore. And afterwards she gave me a description of what another French gentleman-- elegantly and feelingly avoiding to say emigrant--had done in a room belonging to Mrs. Harcourt, at Sophia farm, where he had the sole superintendence of it, and has made it beautiful. When she asked about our field, I told her we hoped in time to buy it, as Mr. Locke had the extreme kindness to consent to part with it to us, when it should suit our convenience to purchase instead of renting it. I thought I saw a look of peculiar satisfaction at this, that seemed to convey pleasure in the implication thence to be drawn, that England was our decided, not forced or eventual residence. And she led me on to many minute particulars of our situation and way of living, with a sweetness of interest I can never forget. Page 145 Nor even here stopped the sensations of gratitude and pleasure she thus awoke. She spoke then of my beloved Susan ; asked if she were still in Ireland, and how the " pretty Norbury " did. She then a little embarrassed me by an inquiry "why Major Phillips went to Ireland?" for my answer, that he was persuaded he should improve his estate by superintending the agriculture of it himself, seemed dissatisfactory; however, she pressed it no further. But I cannot judge by what passed whether she concludes he is employed in a military way there, or whether she has heard that he has retired. She seemed kindly pleased at all I had to relate of my dear Norbury, and I delighted to call him back to her remembrance. She talked a good deal of the Duchess of York, who continues the first favourite of the whole royal family. She told me of her beautiful works, lamented her indifferent health, and expatiated upon her admirable distribution of her time and plan of life, and charming qualities and character. But what chiefly dwells upon me with pleasure is, that she spoke to me upon some subjects and persons that I know she would not for the world should be repeated, with just the same confidence, the same reliance upon my grateful discretion for her openness, that she honoured me with while she thought me established in her service for life. I need not tell my Susan how this binds me more than ever to her. Very short to me seemed the time, though the whole conversation was serious, and her air thoughtful almost to sadness, when a page touched the door, and said something in German. The queen, who was then standing by the window, turned round to answer him, and then, with a sort of Congratulatory smile to me, said, "Now you will see what you don't expect--the king!" I could indeed not expect it, for he was at Blackheath at a review, and he was returned only to dress for the levee. . . THE KING AND HIS INFANT GRAND-DAUGHTER. The king related very pleasantly- a little anecdote of Lady --. "She brought the little Princess Charlotte,"(151) he said "to me just before the review. 'She hoped,' she said, 'I should not take it ill, for, having mentioned it to the child, Page 146 she built so upon it that she had thought of nothing else.' Now this," cried he, laughing heartily, "was pretty strong! How can she know what a child is thinking of before it can speak?" I was very happy at the fondness they both expressed for the little princess, "A sweet little creature," the king called her; "A most lovely child," the queen turned to me to add and the king said he had taken her upon his horse, and given her a little ride, before the regiment rode up to him. "'TIS very odd," he added, "but she always knows me on horseback, and never else." "Yes," said the queen, "when his majesty comes to her on horseback, she claps her little bands, and endeavours to say 'Gampa!' immediately." I was much pleased that she is brought up to such simple and affectionate acknowledgment of relationship. The king then inquired about my father, and with a look of interest and kindness that regularly accompanies his mention of that most dear person. He asked after his health, his spirits, and his occupations, waiting for long answers to each inquiry, The queen anticipated my relation of his astronomic work, and he seemed much pleased with the design, as well as at hearing that his prot�g� Dr. Herschel, had been consulted. I was then a little surprised by finding he had heard of "Clarentine."(152) He asked me, smilingly, some questions about it, and if it were true, what he suspected, that my young sister had a mind to do as I had done, and bring out a work in secret? I was very much pleased then when the queen said, "I have seen it, sir, and it is very pretty." . . . ADMIRAL DUNCAN'S VICTORY. THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF ORANGE. I then, by her majesty's kind appointment, returned to my lovely and loved Princess Augusta. Her hairdresser was just gone, and she was proceeding in equipping herself "If you can bear to see all this work," cried she, "pray come and sit with me, my dear Madame d'Arblay." Nothing could be more expeditious than her attiring herself, nothing more careless than her examination how it succeeded. But judge my confusion and embarrassment, when, upon my saying I came to petition for the rest of the Story, Page 147 she had just begun, and her answering by inquiring what it was about, I could not tell! It had entirely escaped my memory; and though I sought every way I could suggest to recall it, I so entirely failed, that after her repeated demands, I was compelled honestly to own that the commotion I had been put in by my interview with their majesties had really driven it from my mind. She bore this with the true good humour of good sense but I was most excessively ashamed. She then resumed the reigning subject of the day, Admiral Duncan's victory and this led to speak again of the Orange family; but she checked what seemed occurring to her about them, till her wardrobe-woman had done and was -dismissed ; then, hurrying her away, while she sat down by me, putting on her long and superb diamond earrings herself, and without even turning towards a glass, she said, "I don't like much to talk of that family before the servants, for I am told they already think the king too good to them." The Princess of Orange is, I find, a great favourite with them all ; the Prince Frederick also, I believe, they like very much; but the prince himself, she said, " has never, in fact, had his education finished. He was married quite a ',-,'boy - but, being married, concluded himself a man, and not only turned off all his instructors, but thought it unnecessary to ask, or hear, counsel or advice of any one. He is like a fallow field,-that is, not of a soil that can't be improved ;:but one that has been left quite to itself, and therefore has no materials put in it for improvement." She then told me that she had hindered him, with great faculty, from going to a great dinner, given at the Mansion House. upon the victory of Admiral Duncan. It was not, she said, that he did not feel for his country in that defeat, but that he never weighed the impropriety of his public appearance upon an occasion of rejoicing at it, nor the Ill effect the history of his so doing would produce in Holland. She had the kindness of heart to take upon herself preventing him "for no one," says she, "that is about him dares ever speak to him, to give him any hint of advice; which is a great "Misfortune: to him, poor man, for it makes him never know what is said or thought of him." She related with a great deal of humour her arguments to dissuade him, and his na�ve manner of combating them. But though she conquered at last, she did not convince, Page 148 The Princess of Orange, she told me, had a most superior understanding and might guide him sensibly and honourably, but he was so jealous of being thought led by her counsel' that he never listened to it at all. She gave me to understand that this unhappy princess had had a life of uninterrupted indulgence and prosperity till the late revolution - and that the suddenness of such adversity had rather soured her mind, which, had it met sorrow and evil by any gradations, would have been equal to bearing them even nobly - but so quick a transition from affluence, and power, and wealth, and grandeur, to a fugitive and dependent state, had almost overpowered her. A door was now opened from an inner apartment, where, I believe, was the grand collation for the Princess Sophia's birthday, and a tall thin young man appeared at it, peeping and staring, but not entering. "O! How do you do, Ernest?" cried the princess; "I hope you are well; only pray do shut the door." He did not obey, nor move, either forwards or backwards, but kept peering and peeping. She called to him again, beseeching him to shut the door- but he was determined to first gratify his curiosity, and, when he had looked as long as he thought pleasant, he entered the apartment; but Princess Augusta, instead of receiving and welcoming him, only said, "Good-bye, my dear Ernest; I shall see you again at the play." He then marched on, finding himself so little desired, and only saying, "No, you won't; I hate the play." I had risen when I found it one of the princes, and with a motion of readiness to depart - but my dear princess would not let me. When we were alone again, "Ernest," she said, "has a very good heart; only he speaks without taking time to think." She then gave me an instance. The Orange family by some chance were all assembled with our royal family when the news of the great victory at sea arrived; or at least upon the same day. "We were all," said she, " distressed for them upon SO trying an occasion and at supper we talked, of' course, Of every other subject; but Ernest, quite uneasy at the forbearance, said to me, 'You don't think I won't drink Duncan's health to-night?' 'Hush!' cried I. 'That's very hard indeed!' said he, quite loud. I saw the princess of Page 149 orange looking at him, and was sure she had heard him; I trod upon his foot, and made him turn to her. She looked so disturbed, that he saw she had understood him, and he coloured very high. The Princess of Orange then said, 'I hope my being here will be no restraint upon anybody: I know what must be the subject of everybody's thoughts, and I beg I may not prevent its being so of their discourse.' Poor Ernest now was so sorry, he was ready to die, and the tears started into his eyes; and he would not have given his toast after this for all the world." SOME NOTABLE ACTRESSES. The play they were going to was "The Merchant of Venice," to see a new actress, just now much talked of--Miss Betterton; and the king, hearing she was extremely frightened at the thoughts of appearing before him, desired she might choose her own part for the first exhibition in his presence. She fixed upon Portia. In speaking of Miss Farren's marriage with the Earl of Derby, she displayed that sweet mind which her state and station has so wholly escaped sullying; for, far from expressing either horror, or resentment, or derision at an actress being elevated to the rank of second countess of England, she told me, with an air of satisfaction, that she was informed she had behaved extremely well since her marriage, and done many generous and charitable actions. She spoke with pleasure, too, of the high marriage made by another actress, Miss Wallis, who has preserved a spotless character, and is now the wife of a man of fortune and family Mr Campbell. In mentioning Mrs. Siddons, and her great and affecting powers, she much surprised me by intelligence that she had bought the proprietorship of Sadler's-wells. I could not hear it without some amusement it seemed, I said, so extraordinary a combination--so degrading a one, indeed,-that of the first tragic actress, the living Melpomene, and something so burlesque as Sadler's-wells. She laughed, and said it offered her a very ludicrous image, for Mrs. Siddons and Sadler's-wells," said she, " seems to me as ill-fitted as the dish they call a toad in a hole which I never saw, but always think of with anger, - -putting a noble sirloin of beef into .1 ,'poor, Paltry batter-pudding! Page 150 THE DUKE OF CLARENCE. The door now again opened, and another royal personage put in his head - and upon the princess saying, "How d'ye do, William?" I recollected the Duke of Clarence. I rose, of course, and he made a civil bow to my curtsey The princess asked him about the House of Lords the preceding evening, where I found he had spoken very handsomely and generously in eulogium of Admiral Duncan. Finding he was inclined to stay, the princess said to me, "Madame d'Arblay, I beg you will sit down." "Pray, madam," said the duke, with a formal motion of his hand, "let me beg you to be seated." "You know--you recollect Madame d'Arblay, don't you, William ?" said the princess. He bowed civilly an affirmative, and then began talking to me of Chesington. How I grieved poor dear Kitty was gone! How great would have been her gratification to have heard that he mentioned her, and with an air of kindness, as if he had really entered into the solid goodness of her character. I was much Surprised and much pleased, yet not without some perplexity and some embarrassment, as his knowledge of the excellent Kitty was from her being the dupe of the mistress of his aide-de-camp. The princess, however, saved me any confusion beyond apprehension, for she asked not one question. He moved on towards the next apartment, and we were again alone. She then talked to me a great deal of him, and gave me, admirably, his character. She is very partial to him, but by no means blindly. He had very good parts, she said, but seldom did them justice. "If he has something of high importance to do," she continued, "he will exert himself to the utmost, and do it really well; but otherwise, he is so fond of his ease, he lets everything take its course. He can just do a great deal or nothing. However, I really think, if he takes pains, he may make something of a speaker by and by in the House." She related a visit he had made at Lady Mary Duncan's, at Hampton Court, upon hearing Admiral Duncan was there and told me the whole and most minute particulars of the battle, as they were repeated by his royal highness from the admiral's own account. But You will dispense with the martial detail from me. "Lady Mary," cried she, "is much Page 151 enchanted with her gallant nephew. 'I used to look,' says she, 'for honour and glory from my other side, the T--s ; but I receive it only from the Duncans ! As to the T-s, what good do they do their country?--why, they play all day at tennis, and learn with vast skill to notch and scotch and go one! And that's what their country gets from them!"' I thought now I should certainly be dismissed, for a page came to the door to announce that the Duke of York was arrived : but she only said, "Very well; pray shut the door," which seemed her gentle manner of having it understood she would not be disturbed, as she used the same words when messages were brought her from the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary. She spoke again of the Duchess of York with the same fondness as at Windsor. "I told you before," she said, "I loved her like one of my own sisters, and I can tell you no more: and she knows it; for one day she was taken ill, and fainted, and we put her upon one of our beds, and got her everything we could think of ourselves, and let nobody else wait upon her ; and when she revived she said to my brother, 'These are my sisters--I am sure they are! they must be my own!" PRINCESS SOPHIA OF GLOUCESTER. Our next and last interruption, I think, was from a very gentle tap at the door, and a "May I come in?" from a soft voice, while the lock was turned, and a youthful and very lovely female put in her head. The princess immediately rose, and said, " "O yes," and held out her two hands to her; turning at the same time to me, and saying, "Princess Sophia." I found it was the Duke of Gloucester's(154) daughter. She is very fat, with very fine eyes, a bright, even dazzling bloom, fine teeth, a beautiful skin, and a look of extreme modesty and sweetness. She curtseyed to me so distinguishingly, that I was almost confused by her condescension, fearing she 'Might imagine, from finding me seated with the Princess 'Augusta, and in such close conference, I was somebody. "You look so fine and so grand," cried she, examining the princess's attire, which was very superb in silver and diamonds, "that I am almost afraid to come near you!" Her own dress was perfectly simple, though remarkably elegant. Page 152 O!--I hate myself when so fine cried Princess Augusta; "I cannot bear it but there is no help--the people at the play always expect it." They then conversed a little while, both standing ; and then Princess Augusta said, "Give my love to the duke (meaning of Gloucester), "and I hope I shall see him bye and bye; and to William."(155) (meaning the duke's son). And this, which was not a positive request that she would prolong her visit, was understood; and the lovely cousin made her curtsey and retired. To me, again, she made another, so gravely low and civil, that I really blushed to receive it, from added fear of being mistaken. I accompanied her to the door, and shut it for her; and the moment she was out of the room, and out of sight of the Princess Augusta, she turned round to me, and with a smile of extreme Civility, and a voice very soft, said, "I am so happy to see you!--I have longed for it a great, great while--for I have read you with such delight and instruction, so often." I was very much surprised indeed; I expressed my sense of her goodness as well as I could; and she curtseyed again, and glided away. "How infinitely gracious is all your royal highness's House to me!" cried I, as I returned to my charming princess; who again made me take my seat next her own, and again renewed her discourse. I stayed on with this delightful princess till near four o'clock, when she descended to dinner. I then accompanied her to the head of the stairs, saying, "I feel quite low that this is over! How I wish it might be repeated in half a year instead of a year!" "I'm sure, and so do I!" were the last kind words she condescendingly uttered. I then made a little visit to Miss Planta, who was extremely friendly, and asked me why I should wait another year before I came. I told her I had leave for an annual visit, and could not presume to encroach beyond such a permission. However, as she proposed my calling upon her when I happened to be in town, I begged her to take some opportunity to hint my wish of admission, if possible, more frequently. Very soon afterwards I had a letter from Miss Planta, saying she had mentioned to her majesty my regret of the Page 153 long intervals of annual admissions; and that her majesty had most graciously answered, "She should be very glad to see me whenever I came to town." DIARY RESUMED: (Addressed to Mrs. Phillips.) INDIGNATION AGAINST TALLEYRAND. Westhamble, Jan. 18, 1798-I am very impatient to know if the invasion threat affects your part of Ireland. Our 'Oracle' is of opinion the French soldiers will not go to Ireland, though there flattered with much help, because they can expect but little advantage, after all the accounts spread by the Opposition of its starving condition ; but that they will come to England, though sure of contest, at least, because there they expect the very road to be paved with gold. Nevertheless, how I wish my heart's beloved here! to share with us at least the same fears, instead of the division of apprehension we must now mutually be tormented with. I own I am sometimes affrighted enough. These sanguine and sanguinary wretches will risk all for the smallest hope of plunder ; and Barras assures them they have only to enter England to be lords of wealth unbounded. But Talleyrand!--how like myself must you have felt at his conduct! indignant--amazed--ashamed! Our first prepossession against him was instinct--he conquered it by pains indefatigable to win us, and he succeeded astonishingly, for we became partial to him almost to fondness. The part he now acts against England may be justified, perhaps, by the spirit of revenge ; but the part he submits to perform of coadjutor with the worst of villains--with Barras--Rewbel--Merlin--marks some internal atrocity of character that disgusts as much as disappoints me. And now, a last stroke, which appears in yesterday's paper, gives the finishing hand to his portrait in my eyes. He has sent (and written) the letter which exhorts the King of Prussia to order the Duke of Brunswick to banish and drive from his dominions all the emigrants there in asylum --and among these are the Archbishop of Rennes (his uncle) and--his own mother! Poor M. de Narbonne! how will he be shocked and let down! where he now is we cannot conjecture: all emigrants are exiled from the Canton of Berne, where he resided; I feel extremely disturbed about him. If that wretch Talleyrand has Page 154 not given him some private Intimation to escape, and where to be safe, he must be a monster. THE D'ARBLAY MAISONNETTE. This very day, I thank God ! we paid the last of our work men. Our house now is our own fairly --that it is our own madly too you will all think, when I tell you the small remnant of our income that has outlived this payment. However, if the Carmagnols do not seize our walls, we despair not of enjoying, in defiance of all straitness and strictness, our dear dwelling to our hearts' content. But we are reducing our expenses and way of life, in order to go on, in a manner you would laugh to see, though almost cry to hear. But I never forget Dr. Johnson's words. When somebody said that a certain person "had no turn for economy," he answered, "Sir, you might as well say that he has no turn for honesty." We know nothing yet of our taxes-nothing- of our assessments; but we are of good courage, and so pleased with our maisonnette, we think nothing too dear for it, provided we can but exist in it. I should like much to know how you stand affected about the assessment, and about the invasion. O that all these public troubles would accelerate Your return! private blessings they would then, at least, prove. Ah, my Susan, how do I yearn for some little ray upon this subject! Charles and his family are at Bath, and Charlotte is gone to them for a fortnight. All accounts that reach me of all the house and race are well. Mr. Locke gives us very-frequent peeps indeed, and looks with such benevolent pleasure at our dear cottage and its environs! and seems to say, "I brought all this to bear," and to feel happy in the noble trust he placed in our self-belief that he might venture to show that kind courage without which we could never have been united. All this retrospection is expressed by his penetrating eyes it every visit. He rarely alights ; but I frequently enter the phaeton, and take a conversation in an airing. And when he comes without his precious Amelia, he indulges my Alex in being our third. INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN AND THE PRINCESSES. And now I have to prepare another Court relation for MY dearest Susanna. I received on Wednesday morn a letter from our dearest Page 155 father, telling me he feared he should be forced to quit his Chelsea apartments, from a new arrangement among the officers, and wishing me to represent his difficulties, his books, health, time of life, and other circumstances, through Miss Planta, to the queen. M. d'Arblay and I both thought that, if I had any chance of being of the smallest use, it would be by endeavouring to obtain an audience-not by letter; and as the most remote hope of success was sufficient to urge -every exertion, we settled that I should set out instantly for Chelsea ; and a chaise, therefore, we sent for from Dorking, and I set off at noon. M. d'A. would not go, as we knew not what accommodation I might find ; and I could not, uninvited and unexpected, take my little darling boy; so I went not merrily, though never more willingly. My dear father was at home, and, I could see, by no means surprised by my appearance, though he had not hinted at desiring it. Of course he was not very angry nor sorry, and we communed together upon his apprehensions, and settled our plan. I was to endeavour to represent his case to the queen, in hopes it might reach his majesty, and procure some order in his favour. I wrote to Miss Planta, merely to say I was come to pass three days at Chelsea, and, presuming upon the gracious permission of her majesty, I ventured to make known my arrival, ,in the hope it might possibly procure me the honour of admittance. The next morning, Thursday, I had a note from Miss Planta, to say that she had the pleasure to acquaint ',.",me her majesty desired I would be at the Queen's house next day at ten o'clock. Miss Planta conducted me immediately, by order, to the Princess Elizabeth, who received me alone, and kept me t�te- -t�te till I was summoned to the queen, which was near ,.an hour. She was all condescension and openness, and inquired into my way of life and plans, with a sort of kindness that I am sure belonged to a real wish to find them happy and prosperous. When I mentioned how much of our time was mutually given to books and writing, M. d'Arblay being as great a scribbler as myself, she good-naturedly exclaimed, "How fortunate he should have so much the same taste!" "It was that, in fact," I answered, "which united us for our acquaintance began, in intimacy, by reading French together, and writing themes, both French and English, for each other's correction." Page 156 "Pray," cried she, " if it is not impertinent, may I ask to what religion you shall bring up your son?" "The Protestant," I replied; telling her it was M. d'Arblay's own wish, since he was an Englishman born, he should be an Englishman bred,--with much more upon the subject that my Susan knows untold. She then inquired why M. d'Arblay was not naturalised. This was truly kind, for it looked like wishing our permanently fixing in this his adopted country. I answered that he found he could not be naturalised as a catholic, which had made him relinquish the plan; for though he was firmly persuaded the real difference between the two religions was trifling, and such as even appeared to him, in the little he had had opportunity to examine, to be in favour of Protestantism, he could not bring himself to study the matter with a view of changing that seemed actuated by interest ; nor could I wish it, earnest as I was for his naturalisation. But he hoped, ere long, to be able to be naturalised as an Irishman, that clause of religion not being there insisted upon , or else to become a denizen, which was next best, and which did not meddle with religion at all. She made me talk to her a great deal of my little boy, and my father, and M. d'Arblay; and when Miss Planta came to fetch me to her majesty, she desired to see me again before my departure. The queen was in her White closet, working at a round table, with the four remaining princesses, Augusta, Mary, Sophia, and Amelia. She received me most sweetly, and with a look of far better spirits than upon my last admission. She permitted me, in the most gracious manner, to inquire about the princess royal, now Duchess of WUrtemberg, and gave me an account of her that I hope is not flattered ; for it seemed happy, and such as reconciled them all to the separation. When she deigned to inquire,- herself, after my dear father, you may be sure of the eagerness With which I seized the moment for relating his embarrassment and difficulties. She heard me with a benevolence that assured me, though she made no speech, my history would not be forgotten, nor remembered vainly. I was highly satisfied with her look and manner. The Princesses Mary and Amelia had a little opening between them , and when the queen was conversing with some lady who was teaching the Princess Sophia some work, they began a whispering conversation with me about my little Page 157 boy. How tall is he?--how old is he?--Is he fat or thin?--is he like you or M. d'Arblay? etc.--with sweet vivacity of interest,- -the lovely Princess Amelia finishing her listening to my every answer with a "dear little thing!" that made me long to embrace her as I have done in her childhood. She is now full as tall as princess royal, and as much formed ; she looks seventeen, though only fourteen, but has an innocence, an Hebe blush, an air of modest candour, and a gentleness so caressingly inviting, of voice and eye, that I have seldom seen a more captivating young creature. Then they talked of my new house, and inquired about every room it contained; and then of our grounds, and they were mightily diverted with the mixtures of roses and cabbages, sweet briars, and potatoes, etc. The queen, catching the domestic theme, presently made inquiries herself, both as to the building and the child, asking, with respect to the latter, "Is he here?" as if she meant in the palace. I told her I had come so unexpectedly myself upon my father's difficulties, that I had not this time brought my little shadow. I believed, however, I should fetch him, as, if I lengthened my stay, M. d'Arblay would come also. "To be sure!" she said, as if feeling the trio's full objections to separating. She asked if I had seen a play just come out, called "He's much to Blame;" and, on my negative, began to relate to me its plot and characters, and the representation and its effect ; and, warming herself by her own account and my attention, she presently entered into a very minute history of each act, and a criticism upon some incidents, with a spirit and judiciousness that were charming. She is delightful in discourse when animated by her subject, and speaking to auditors with whom, neither from circumstance nor suspicion, she has restraint. But when, as occasionally she deigned to ask my opinion of the several actors she brought in review, I answered I had never seen them,--neither Mrs. Pope, Miss Betterton, Mr. Murray, etc.,--she really looked almost concerned. She knows my fondness for the theatre, and I did not fear to say my inability to indulge it was almost my only regret in my hermit life. "I, too," she graciously said, "prefer plays to all other amusements." By degrees all the princesses retired, except the Princess Augusta. She then spoke more openly upon less public matters,-in particular upon the affair, then just recent, of the Page 158 Duke of Norfolk, who, you may have heard, had drunk, at the Whig Club, "To the majesty of the people," in consequence of which the king had erased his name from the privy council. His grace had been caricatured drinking from a silver tankard with the burnt bread still in flames touching his mouth, and exclaiming, "Pshaw! my toast has burnt my mouth." This led me to speak of his great brick house, which is our immediate vis- -vis. And much then ensued upon Lady ---- concerning whom she opened to me very completely, allowing all I said of her uncommon excellence as a mother, but adding, "Though she is certainly very clever, she thinks herself so a little too much, and instructs others at every word. I was so tired with her beginning everything with 'I think,' that, at last, just as she said so, I stopped her, and cried., 'O, I know what you think, Lady ----!' Really, one is obliged to be quite sharp with her to keep her In her place." . . . Lady C--, she had been informed, had a considerable sum in the French funds, which she endeavoured from time to time to recover, but upon her last effort, she had the following query put to her agent by order of the Directory: how much she would have deducted from the principal, as a contribution towards the loan raising for the army of England? If Lady C-- were not mother-in-law to a minister who sees the king almost daily, I should think this a made story. When, after about an hour and a half's audience, *she dismissed me, she most graciously asked my stay at Chelsea, and desired I would inform Miss Planta before I returned home. This gave me the most gratifying feeling, and much hope for my dearest father. ROYAL CONTRIBUTIONS TOWARDS THE WAR. Returning then, according to my permission, to Princess Elizabeth, she again took up her netting, and made me sit by her. We talked a good deal of the new-married daughter of Lady Templetown, and she was happy, she said, to hear from me that the ceremony was performed by her own favourite Bishop of Durham, for she was sure a blessing would attend his joining their hands. She asked me much of my little man, and told me several things of the Princess Charlotte, her niece, and our future queen; she seems very fond of her, and says 'tis a lovely child, and extremely like the Prince Of Page 159 Wales. "She is just two years old," said she, "and speaks very prettily, though not plainly. I flatter myself Aunt Liby, as she calls me, is a great favourite with her." My dearest Princess Augusta soon after came in, and, after staying a few minutes, and giving some message to her sister, said, "And when you leave Elizabeth, my dear Madame d'Arblay, I hope you'll come to me." This happened almost immediately, and I found her hurrying over the duty of her toilette, which she presently despatched, though she was going to a public concert of Ancient Music, and without scarcely once looking in the glass, from haste to have done, and from a freedom from vanity I never saw quite equalled in any young woman of any class. She then dismissed her hairdresser and wardrobe-woman, and made me sit by her. Almost immediately we began upon the voluntary contributions to the support of the war; and when I mentioned the queen's munificent donation of five thousand pounds a-year for its support, and my admiration of it, from my peculiar knowledge, through my long residence under the royal roof, of the many claims which her majesty's benevolence, as well as state, had raised upon her powers, she seemed much gratified by the justice I did her royal mother, and exclaimed eagerly "I do assure you, my dear Madame d'Arblay, people ought to know more how good the queen is, for they don't know it half." And then she told me that she only by accident had learnt almost all that she knew of the queen's bounties. "And the most I gathered," she continued, laughing, "was, to tell you the real truth, by my own impertinence - for when we were at Cheltenham, Lady Courtown (the queen's lady-in-waiting for the country) put her pocket-book down on the table, when I was alone with her, by some chance open at a page where mamma's name was written : so, not guessing at any secret commission, I took it up, and read-Given by her majesty's commands--so much, and so much, and so much. And I was quite surprised. However, Lady Courtown made me promise never to mention it to the queen ; so I never have. But I long it should be known, for all that; though I would not take such a liberty as to spread it of my own judgment." I then mentioned my own difficulties formerly, when her Majesty, upon my ill state of health's urging my resigning the honour of belonging to the royal household, so graciously Page 160 settled upon me a pension, that I had been forbidden to name it. I had been quite distressed in not avowing what I so gratefully felt, and hearing questions and surmises and remarks I had no power to answer. She seemed instantly to comprehend that my silence might do wrong, on such an occasion, to the queen, for she smiled, and with great quickness cried, "O, I dare say you felt quite guilty in holding your tongue." And she was quite pleased with the permission afterwards granted me to be explicit. When I spoke of her own and her royal sisters' contributions, one hundred pounds per annum, she blushed, bat seemed ready to enter upon the subject, even confidentially, and related its whole history. No one ever advised or named it to them, as they have none of them any separate establishment, but all hang upon the queen, from whose pin-money they are provided for till they marry, or have an household of their own granted by Parliament. "Yet we all longed to subscribe," cried she, "and thought it quite right, if other young ladies did, not to be left out. But the difficulty was, how to do what would not be improper for us, and yet not to be generous at mamma's expense, for that would only have been unjust. So we consulted some of our friends, and then fixed upon one hundred pounds a-piece; and when we asked the queen's leave, she was so good as to approve it. So then we spoke to the king, and he said it was but little, but he wished particularly nobody should subscribe what would really distress them ; and that, if that was all we could conveniently do, and regularly continue, he approved it more than to have us make a greater exertion, and either bring ourselves into difficulties or not go on. But he was not at all angry." She then gave me the history of the contribution of her brothers. The Prince of Wales could not give in his name without the leave of his creditors. "But Ernest," cried she, "gives three hundred pounds a-year, and that's a tenth of his income, for the king allows him three thousand pounds." All this leading to discourse upon loyalty, and then its contrast, democracy, she narrated to me at full length a lecture of Therwall's, which had been repeated to her by M. de Guiffardi�re. It was very curious from her mouth. But she is candour in its whitest purity, wherever it is possible to display it, in discriminating between good and bad, and abstracting rays of light even from the darkest shades. So she did even from Therwall. Page 161 She made me, as usual, talk of my little boy, and was much amused by hearing that, imitating what he heard from me, he called his father "mon ami," and tutoyed him, drinking his health at dinner, as his father does to me--"� la sant�." When at length the Princess Augusta gave me the bow of cong� she spoke of seeing me again soon: I said I should therefore lengthen my stay in town, and induce M. d'Arblay to come and bring my boy. "We shall see you then certainly," said she, smiling, "and do pray, my dear Madame d'Arblay, bring your little boy with you. And don't say anything to him," cried she, as I was departing; "let us see him quite natural." I understood her gracious, and let me say rational, desire, that the child should not be impressed with any awe of the royal presence. I assured her I must obey, for he was so young, so wild, and so unused to present himself, except as a plaything, that it would not be even in my power to make him orderly. . . . My dear father was extremely pleased with what I had to tell him, and hurried me back to Westhamble, to provide myself with baggage for sojourning with him. My two Alexanders, you will believe, were now warmly invited to Chelsea, and we all returned thither together, accompanied by Betty Nurse. INVITATION TO THE PLAY. MRS SCHWELLENBERG'S SUCCESSOR. I shall Complete my next Court visit before I enter upon aught else. I received, very soon, a note from Madame Bremyere, who is my successor. [I have told you poor Mlle. Jacobi is returned to Germany, I think; and that her niece, La Bettina, is to marry a rich English merchant and settle in London.] This note says Mrs Bremyere has received the queen's commands to invite Madame d'Arblay to the play tomorrow night "-with her own desire I would drink coffee in her apartment before we went to the theatre. Could anything More sweetly mark the real kindness of the queen than this remembrance of my fondness for plays ? My dear father lent me his carriage, and I was now introduced to the successor of Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mlle. Bachmeister, a German, brought over by M. de Luc, who travelled to Germany to accompany her hither. I found she was the lady I had seen with the queen and princesses, Page 162 ing some work. Not having been to the so-long-known apartments since the death of Mrs. Schwellenberg, I knew not how they were arranged, and had concluded Madame Bremyere possessed those of Mrs. Schwellenberg. Thither, therefore, I went, and was received, to my great surprise, by this lady, who was equally surprised by my entrance, though without any doubt who I might be, from having seen me with the queen, and from knowing I was to join the play-party to my ci-devant box. I inquired if I had made any mistake, but though she could not say no, she would not suffer Me to rectify it, but sent to ask Madame Bremyere to meet me in her room. Mlle. Bachmeister is extremely genteel in her figure, though extremely plain in her face; her voice is gentle and penetrating; her manners are soft, yet dignified, and she appears to be both a feeling and a cultivated character. I could not but lament such had not been the former possessor of an apartment I had so often entered with the most cruel antipathy. I liked her exceedingly; she is a marked gentlewoman in her whole deportment, though whether so from birth, education, or only mind, I am ignorant. Since she gave me so pleasant a prejudice in her favour, you will be sure our acquaintance began with some spirit. We talked much of the situation she filled; and I thought it my duty to cast the whole of my resignation of one so similar upon ill health. Mrs. Bremyere soon joined us, and we took up Miss Barbara Planta in our way to the theatre. When the king entered, followed by the queen and his lovely daughters, and the orchestra struck up " God save the king," and the people all called for the singers, who filled the stage to sing it, the emotion I was suddenly filled with so powerfully possessed me, that I wished I could, for a minute or two, have flown from the box, to have sobbed; I was so gratefully delighted at the sight before me, and so enraptured at the continued enthusiasm of the no longer volatile people for their worthy, revered sovereign, that I really suffered from the restraint I felt of being forced to behave decorously. The play was the "Heir at Law," by Colman the younger. I liked it extremely. It has a good deal of character, a happy plot, much interest in the under parts, and is combined, I think, by real genius, though open to innumerable partial criticisms. I heard a gentleman's voice from the next box call softly to Miss Barbara Planta, "Who is that lady?" and Page 163 heard her answer my name, and him rejoin, "I thought so." I found it was Lord Aylesbury, who also has resigned, and was at the play only for the pleasure of sitting opposite his late royal mistress. . . . MADAME D'ARBLAY's LITTLE BOY AT COURT. About a week after this theatrical regale, I went to the Queen's house, to make known I had only a few more days to remain at Chelsea. I arrived just as the royal family had set out for Windsor; but Miss Bacbmeister, fortunately, had only ascended her coach to follow. I alighted, and went to tell my errand. Mrs. Bremyere, Mrs. Cheveley, and Miss Planta were her party. The latter promised to speak for me to the queen; but, gathering I had my little boy, in my father's carriage, she made me send for him. They took him in, and loaded him with bonbons and admiration, and would have loaded him with caresses to boot, but the little wretch resisted that part of the entertainment. Upon their return from Windsor, you will not suppose me made very unhappy to receive the following billet:-- March 8th, 1798. My dear friend,-The queen has commanded me to acquaint you that she desires you will be at the Queen's house on Thursday morning at ten o'clock, with your lovely boy. You are desired to come upstairs in Princess Elizabeth's apartments, and her majesty will send for you as soon as she can see you. Adieu! Yours most affectionately, M. Planta. A little before ten, you will easily believe, we were at the ,Queen's house, and were immediately ushered into the apartment of the Princess Elizabeth, who, to show she expected my little man, had some playthings upon one of her many tables; for her royal highness has at least twenty in her principal room. The child, in a new muslin frock, sash, etc.' did not look to much disadvantage, and she examined him with the most good-humoured pleasure, and, finding him too shy to be seized, had the graciousness, as well as sense, to play round and court him by sportive wiles, instead of being offended at his insensibility to her royal notice. She ran about the room, peeped at him through chairs, clapped her hands, half caught without touching him, and showed a skill Page 164 and a sweetness that made one almost sigh she should have no call for her maternal propensities. There came in presently Miss D-, a young lady about thirteen, who seems in some measure under the protection of her royal highness, who had rescued her poor injured and amiable mother, Lady D-, from extreme distress, into which she had been involved by her unworthy husband's connexion with the infamous Lady W-, who, more hardhearted than even bailiffs, had forced certain of those gentry, in an execution she had ordered in Sir H. D-'s house, to seize even all the children's playthings ! as well as their clothes, and that when Lady D-- had but just lain in, and was nearly dying! This charming princess, who had been particularly acquainted with Lady D- during her own illness at Kew Palace, where the queen permitted the intercourse, came forward upon this distress, and gave her a small independent house in the neighbourhood of Kew, with every advantage she could annex to it. But she is now lately no more, and, by the sort of reception given to her daughter, I fancy the princess transfers to her that kind benevolence the mother no longer wants. just then, Miss Planta came to summon us to the Princess Augusta. She received me with her customary sweetness, and called the little boy to her. He went fearfully and cautiously, yet with a look of curiosity at the state of her head, and the operations of her friseur, that seemed to draw him on more powerfully than her commands. He would not, however, be touched, always flying to my side at the least attempt to take his hand. This would much have vexed me, if I had not seen the ready allowance she made for his retired life, and total want of use to the sight of anybody out of our family, except the Lockes, amongst whom I told her his peculiar preference for Amelia. "Come then," cried she, "come hither, my dear, and tell me all about her,--is she very good to you?--do you like her very much?" He was now examining her fine carpet, and no answer was to be procured. I would have apologised, but she would not let me. "'Tis so natural," she cried, '"that he should be more amused with those shapes and colours than with my stupid questions." Princess Mary now came in, and, earnestly looking at him, exclaimed, "He's beautiful!--what eyes!--do look at his eyes!" Page 165 "Come hither, my dear," again cried Princess Augusta, "come hither;" and, catching him to her for a Moment, and, holding up his hair. to lift up his face and made him look at her, she smiled very archly, and cried, "O ! horrid eyes! shocking eyes!--take them away!" Princess Elizabeth then entered, attended by a page, who was loaded With playthings which she had been sending for. You may suppose him caught now! He seized upon dogs, horses, chaise, a cobbler, a watchman, and all he could grasp but would not give his little person or cheeks, to my great confusion, for any of them. I was fain to call him a little savage, a wild deer, a creature just caught from the woods, and whatever could indicate his rustic life, and apprehension of new faces,--to prevent their being hurt ; and their excessive good nature helped all my excuses, nay, made them needless, except to myself. . Princess Elizabeth now began playing upon an organ she had brought him, which he flew to seize. "Ay, do! that's right, my dear," cried Princess Augusta, stopping her ears at some discordant sounds; "take it to mon ami, to frighten the cats out of his garden." And now, last of all, came in Princess Amelia, and, strange to relate ! the child was instantly delighted with her! She came first up to me, and, to my inexpressible surprise and enchantment, she gave me her sweet beautiful face to kiss!--an honour I had thought now for ever over, though she had so frequently gratified me with it formerly. Still more touched, however, than astonished, I would have kissed her hand, but, withdrawing it, saying, "No, no,--you know I hate that!" she again presented me her ruby lips, and with an expression of -such ingenuous sweetness and innocence as was truly captivating. She is and will be another Princess Augusta. She then turned to the child, and his eyes met hers with a look of the same pleasure that they were sought. She stooped down to take his unresisting hands, and, exclaiming "Dear little thing!" took him in her arms, to his own as obvious content as hers. "He likes her!" cried Princess Augusta, "a little rogue! see how he likes her!" "Dear little thing!" with double the emphasis, repeated the young princess, now sitting down and taking him upon her knee; "and how does M. d'Arblay do?" The child now left all his new playthings, his admired Page 166 carpet, and his privilege of jumping from room to room, for the gentle pleasure of sitting in her lap and receiving her caresses. I could not be very angry, you will believe, yet I would have given the world I could have made him equally grateful to the Princess Augusta. This last charming personage, I now found, was going to Sit for her picture--I fancy to send to the Duchess of Wurtemberg. She gave me leave to attend her with my bantling. The other princesses retired to dress for Court. It was with great difficulty I could part my little love from his grand collection of new playthings, all of which he had dragged into the painting-room, and wanted now to pull them down-stairs to the queen's apartment. I persuaded him, however, to relinquish the design without a quarrel, by promising we would return for them. HIS PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. I was not a little anxious, you will believe, in this presentation of my unconsciously honoured rogue, who entered the White closet totally unimpressed with any awe, and only with a sensation of disappointment in not meeting again the gay young party, and variety of playthings, he had left above. The queen, nevertheless, was all condescending indulgence, and had a Noah's ark ready displayed upon the table for him. But her look was serious and full of care, and, though perfectly gracious, none of her winning smiles brightened her countenance, and her voice was never cheerful. I have since known that the Irish conspiracy with France was just then discovered, and O'Connor that very morning taken.(156) No wonder she should have felt a shock that pervaded her whole mind and manners! If we all are struck with horror at such developments of treason, danger, and guilt, what must they prove to the royal family, at whom they are Page 167 regularly aimed ? How my heart has ached for them in that horrible business! "And how does your papa do?" said the queen. "He's at Telsea," answered the child. "And how does grandDapa do?" "He's in the toach," he replied. "And what a pretty frock you've got on! who made it you, mamma, or little aunty?" The little boy now grew restless, and pulled me about, with a desire to change his situation. I was a good deal embarrassed, as I saw the queen meant to enter into conversation as usual; which I knew to be impossible, unless he had some entertainment to occupy him. She perceived this soon, and had the goodness immediately to open Noah's ark herself, which she had meant he should take away with him to examine and possess at once. But he was now soon in raptures : and, as the various animals were produced, looked with a delight that danced in all his features; and when any appeared of which he knew the name, he capered with joy; such as, "O! a tow [cow]!" But at the dog, he clapped his little hands, and running close to her Majesty; leant upon her lap, exclaiming, "O, it's bow wow!" "And do you know this, little man?" said the queen, showing him a cat. "Yes," cried he, again jumping as he leant upon her, "its name is talled pussey!" And at the appearance of Noah, in a green mantle, and leaning on a stick, he said, "At's (that's] the shepherd's boy!" The queen now inquired about my dear father, and heard all I had to say relative to his apartments, with an air of interest, yet not as if it was new to her. I have great reason to believe the accommodation then arranging, and since settled, as to his continuance in the College, has been deeply influenced by some royal hint. . . . I imagined she had just heard of the marriage of Charlotte, for she inquired after my sister Frances, whom she never had mentioned before since I quitted my post. I was obliged briefly to relate the transaction, seeking to adorn it by stating Mr. Broome's being the author of "Simkin's Letters." She agreed in their uncommon wit and humour. My little rebel, meanwhile, finding his animals were not given into his own hands, but removed from their mischief, was struggling all this time to get at the Tunbridge-ware of Page 168 the queen's work-box, and, in defiance of all my efforts to prevent him, he seized one piece, which he called a hammer, and began violently knocking the table with it. I would fain have taken it away silently - but he resisted such grave authority, and so continually took it back, that the queen, to my great confusion, now gave it him. Soon, however, tired also of this, he ran away from me into the next room, which was their majesties' bedroom, and in which were all the jewels ready to take to St. James's, for the Court attire. I was excessively ashamed, and obliged to fetch him back in my arms, and there to keep him. " "Get down, little man," said the queen; "you are too heavy for your mamma." He took not the smallest notice of this admonition. The queen, accustomed to more implicit obedience, repeated it but he only nestled his little head in my neck, and worked' about his whole person, so that I with difficulty held him. The queen now imagined he did not know whom she meant, and said, " What does he call you? Has he any particular name for you?" He now lifted up his head, and, before I could answer, called out, in a fondling manner, "Mamma, mamma!" "O!" said she, smiling, "he knows who I mean!" His restlessness still interrupting all attention, in defiance of my earnest whispers for quietness, she now said, "Perhaps he is hungry?" and rang her bell, and ordered a page to bring some cakes. He took one with great pleasure, and was content to stand down to eat it. I asked him if he had nothing to say for it; he nodded his little head, and composedly answered, "Sanky, queen!" This could not help amusing her, nor me, neither, for I had no expectation of quite so succinct an answer. The carriages were now come for St. James's, and the Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth came into the apartment. The little monkey, in a fit of renewed lassitude after his cake, had flung himself on the floor, to repose at his ease. He rose, however, upon their appearance, and the sweet Princess Augusta said to the queen, "He has been so good, up-stairs, mamma, that nothing could be better behaved." I could have kissed her for this instinctive kindness, excited by a momentary view of my embarrassment at his little airs and liberties. The queen heard her with an air of approving, as well as understanding, her motive, and spoke to me with the utmost Page 169 condescension of him, though I cannot recollect how, for I was a good deal fidgeted lest he should come to some disgrace, by any actual mischief or positive rebellion. I escaped pretty well, however, and they all left us with smiles and graciousness. . . . You will not be much surprised to hear that papa came to help us out of the coach, at* our return to Chelsea, eager to know how our little rebel had conducted himself, and how he had been received. The sight of his playthings, you will believe, was not very disagreeable. The ark, watchman, and cobbler, I shall keep for him till he may himself judge their worth beyond their price. MLLE. BACHMEISTER PRODUCES A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION. I returned to the Queen's house in the afternoon to drink coffee with Mlle. Bachmeister, whom I found alone, and spent a half-hour with very pleasantly, though very seriously, for her character is grave and feeling, and I fear she is not happy. Afterwards we were joined by Madame Bremyere, who is far more cheerful. The play was called "Secrets Worth Knowing;" a new piece. In the next box to ours sat Mrs. Ariana Egerton, the bed-chamber-woman to her majesty, who used so frequently to visit me at Windsor. She soon recollected me, though she protested I looked so considerably in better health, she took me for my own Younger sister - and we had a great deal of chat together, very amicable and cordial. I so much respect her warm exertions for the emigrant ladies, that I addressed her with real pleasure, in pouring forth my praises for her kindness and benevolence. When we returned to the Queen's house my father's carriage was not arrived, and I was obliged to detain Mlle. Bachmeister in conversation for full half an hour, while I waited ; but it served to increase my good disposition to her. She is really an interesting woman. Had she been in that place while I belonged to the queen, heaven knows if I had so struggled for deliverance , for poor Mrs. Schwellenberg so wore, wasted, and tortured all my little leisure, that my time for repose was, in fact, my time of greatest labour. So all is for the best! I have escaped offending lastingly the royal mistress I love and honour, and-I live at Westhamble with my two precious Alexanders. (137) The most interesting account of the unfortunate expedition to Bantry Bay is to be found in Wolfe Tone's " Memoirs." Wolfe Tone, one of the leading members of the Irish Revolutionary party, had been for some time resident in Paris, engaged in negotiations with the Directory, with the view of obtaining French support for the Irish in their intended attempt to throw off the yoke of England. About the middle of December, 1796, a large French fleet, under the Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse, sailed from Brest, having on board an army of f twenty-five thousand men, commanded by General Hoche, one of the ablest officers of the Republic. Wolfe Tone accompanied the troops in the capacity of adjutant to the general, But the fleet was dispersed by storms. The vessel which had General Hoche on board was obliged to put into the harbour of Rochelle, and comparatively few of the ships, with about six thousand troops on board, actually cast anchor in Bantry Bay. Even there, the wind was so 'Violent as to render landing impossible, and after a few days' delay the expedition returned to France.-ED. (138) Edmund Burke died, at his house at Beaconsfield, half an hour after midnight on the morning Of Sunday, July 9, 1797. He was buried, July 15, in the parish church of Beaconsfield.-ED. (139) Sold for the benefit of the nation. (140) Dr. Johnson's negro servant. Johnson left him a comfortable annuity, on which he retired to Lichfield. He died in the infirmary at Stafford, February 13, 1801.-ED. (141) The Garrick family resided in Lichfield. David Garrick was born in Hereford, but educated at Lichfield.-ED. (142) Dr. Burney's little grandson, and the son of Captain James BAR Burney. after years, as readers of "Elia" will remember, Martin Burney was the friend of Charles Lamb.-ED. (143) Since the death of his second wife, Dr. Burney had been engaged upon a "historical and didactic poem on astronomy." He had been urged to the undertaking by Fanny, who hoped that the interest of this new occupation might prove a relief to his sorrow. Astronomy Was a favourite subject with Dr. Burney, and he made great progress with the poem, which was for years his favourite recreation. At a later period, however, for some reason which his daughter never discovered, he relinquished the task and destroyed the manuscript.-ED. (144) Ralph Broome, who married Charlotte Francis in 1798, wasthe author of "The Letters of Simpkin the Second, poetic recorder of all the proceedings upon the trial of Warren Hastings, Esq., in Westminster Hall," published by Stockdale, 1789. These letters, which had already appeared separately in "The World," form, as the title implies, a burlesque report of the trial, in rhymed verse. The author is very severe upon the managers, and proportionately favourable to Mr. Hastings. The letters are amusing and not without Wit, although in these respects "Simpkin the Second" falls decidedly short of "Simpkin the First," who is, of course, the Simple Simkin of Anstey's "New Bath Guide." upon which clever satire Broome had modelled his performance.-ED. (145) Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, was a very singular character--- a compound of experimental philosopher, practical philanthropist, soldier and statesman. He was born at Woburn, Massachusetts, in 1753. A Tory during the struggle for American independence, he embarked for England before the close of the war. There he was well received by the government, but shortly afterwards he went to Bavaria, where he entered into the service of the Elector. He soon attained a high reputation by the reforms which he introduced in various departments, and was created a Count of the Holy Roman Empire, by the title of Count Rumford. Among his principal achievements in Bavaria were the reforms which he brought about in the army, and the measures which he instituted for the relief of the poor and the suppression of beggary. To Fanny, at present, Count Rumford was more interesting as the inventor of an improved Cooking range, by which the consumption of fuel was greatly reduced. See his "Life" by James Renwick, in Sparks'.s "Library of American Biography," Boston, 1845.-ED. (146) The insurrection of the 18th of Fructidor (September 4, 1797). In 1795, on the dissolution of the Convention, the government of France was entrusted to a Directory of five persons, assisted by two councils--the Council of Ancients, and the Council of Five hundred. In course of time, the reactionary, or anti-revolutionary, party obtained a large majority in the councils, which were thus involved in continual disputes with the Directory. The army supported the Directory, and on the 4th Of September a large body of troops surrounded the Tuileries, and arrested a number of the most obnoxious members of the councils; many of these Were afterwards--not guillotined, but transported to South America.-ED. (147) The marriage of the princess royal and the hereditary prince of Wurtemberg, May 18, 1797.-ED. (148) In April, 797, a serious mutiny broke out in the fleet at Spithead. The sailors demanded increased pay and better food. Their demands were finally conceded, and they returned to their duty, May 14. A few days later, a still more alarming mutiny broke out in the fleet at the Nore. The mutineers hoisted the red flag, May 23, and, being joined by vessels from other squadrons, found themselves presently masters of eleven ships of the line, and thirteen frigates. With this powerful fleet they blocked the Thames, and put a stop to the river trade of London. Their demands were more extensive than those of the Spithead Mutineers, but government firmly refused further concessions, and in June the want of union and resolution among the men brought about the collapse of the mutiny. Ship after ship deserted the red flag, until the last vessel was steered into Sheerness harbour, and given up to the authorities. Several of the leaders were tried by court-martial and hanged ; the rest of the mutineers were pardoned.-ED. (149) The decisive victory gained by Admiral Duncan over the Dutch fleet, off Camperdown, October 11, 1797. in January, 1795, the French army under General Pichegru had conquered Holland with little difficulty, meeting, indeed, with much sympathy from the inhabitants. The Prince of Orange and his family were forced to take refuge in England and the representatives of the Dutch people immediately assembling, proclaimed Holland a republic, under the protection of France. From that time Holland had been in alliance with France, and at war with England. Duncan was rewarded for his victory with a pension and a peerage--Viscount Duncan of Camperdown henceforward.-ED. (150) Duncan's victory we have already noted. Lord Howe's was the great victory of June 1, 1794, over the French fleet commanded by Admiral Villaret-joyeuse. It was in this battle that the Vengeur went down, out Of which incident Barrere manufactured, for the benefit of the French people, that rousing story of the disabled ship refusing to strike its colours, and sinking while every man of the crew, With his last breath, shouted "Vive la Republique!" Magnificent, had it not been pure fiction! Lord St. Vincent (then Admiral Jervis) gained a complete victory over the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent, February 14, 1797. Spain, as well as Holland, was now in alliance with France: had made peace with France in 1795, and declared war against England in the following year. ,K Admiral Jervis received the title of Earl St. Vincent and a pension in consequence of his victory.-ED. (151) Only child of the Prince and Princess of Wales, born January 7, 1796.-ED. (152) A novel by Sarah Harriet Burney.-ED. (153) The Duke of Cumberland, afterward, King of Hanover; fifth son of George III.; born 1771, died 1851.-ED. (154) William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and brother of George III.-ED. (155) William Frederick, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, and husband of the Princess Mary. He was born in 1776, and died in 1836.-ED. (156) Arthur O'Connor, nephew and heir of Lord Longueville, was one of the Irish leaders, who took part in the negotiations between the Revolutionary party in Ireland and the French Directory. He and two or three of his associates were arrested at Margate (February 28, 1798), where they were attempting to hire a boat to take them to France. They were tried at Maidstone (May 21), and one of the party, on whom were found some compromising papers, including an address to the Directory, was convicted and hanged. O'Connor was acquitted, but immediately rearrested and detained in custody during the rising in Ireland.- ED. Page 170 SECTION 22. (1798-1802.) VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WESTHAMBLE: DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS: SOJOURN IN FRANCE. [From the " Memoirs of Dr. Burney " we extract the following details respecting the death of Fanny's favourite sister, Susan Phillips. "Winter now was nearly at hand, and travelling seemed deeply dangerous, in her sickly state, for the enfeebled Susanna. Yet she herself, panting to receive again the blessing of her beloved father, concentrated every idea of recovery in her return. She declined, therefore, though with exquisite sensibility, the supplicating desire of this Editor [Madame d'Arblay] to join and to nurse her at Belcotton, her own cottage ; and persevered through every impediment in her efforts to reach the parental home. . . . Every obstacle, at length, being finally vanquished, the journey was resolved upon, and its preparations were made;-- when a fearful new illness suddenly confined the helpless invalid to her bed. There she remained some weeks - after which, with the utmost difficulty, and by two long days' travelling, though for a distance of only twenty-six miles, she reached Dublin where, exhausted, emaciated, she was again forced to her bed ; there again to remain for nearly as long a new delay! " Every hour of separation became now to the Doctor Dr. Burney] an hour of grief, from the certainty that, the expedition once begun, it could be caused only by suffering malady, or expiring strength. "It was not till the very close of the year 1799, amidst deep snow, fierce frost, blighting winds, and darksome days, that, scarcely alive, his sinking Susanna was landed at Park Gate. There she was joined by her affectionate brother, Dr. Charles, who hastened to hail her arrival, that he might convey her in his own warm carriage to her heart-yearning father, her fondly impatient brethren, and the tenderest of friends. But he found her in no state to travel: further feeble, Page 171 drooping, wasted away, scarcely to be known, shrunk, nearly withered!--yet still with her fair mind in full possession of its clearest powers; still with all the native sweetness of her looks, manners, voice, and smiles; still with all her desire to please; her affecting patience of endurance; her touching sensibility for every species of attention; and all her unalterable loveliness of disposition, that sought to console for her own afflictions, to give comfort for her own sufferings! "During the space of a doubtful week, her kind brother Dr. Charles, awaited the happy moment when she might be able to move on. But on--save as a corpse,---she moved no more! * Gentle was her end! gentle as the whole tenor of her life but as sudden in its conclusion as it had been lingering in its approach." * She died at Park Gate, January 6, 1800, and was buried in Neston Churchyard, near Park Gate.-ED. The latter portion of the following section introduces the reader to new scenes and new acquaintances. During the summer of 1801 negotiations for peace between France and England were carried on in London, between lord Hawkesbury, on the part of the English government, and M. Otto, the French plenipotentiary. The preliminary treaty was signed in London, October 1, 1801, and ratified a few days later on the part of Napoleon Bonaparte, then First Consul, and de facto ruler of France, by a special envoy from Paris--General Lauriston. The definitive treaty, by which the details of mutual concessions, etc., were finally arranged, was signed at Amiens, March 25, 1802. In England the peace was received with rapture: General Lauriston was drawn in triumph in his carriage through the streets of London by the people. The "mutual concessions," however, showed a large balance in favour of France. As Sheridan observed, it was a peace of which every one was glad, but no one proud. The establishment of peace determined M. d'Arblay to revisit France, and to endeavour to obtain from the First Consul the half-pay pension to which his former services in the army had entitled him. In this project he was warmly encouraged by his old friend and comrade, General Lauriston, whom he had called upon in London, and who had received him with open arms. The result of his journey may be read in the following pages. His wife and son joined him in France, in April, 1802, with the intention of returning to England after a year's absence. But their return was prevented by the renewal of the war between the two countries in the following year, and ten years elapsed before Fanny saw again her father and her native country. Her first impressions of France are recorded in the " Diary" with very pleasant minuteness, but of her life during the greater part of these years of exile a few letters, Written at long intervals, give us all the information which we possess. -ED.) Page 172 A VISIT TO MRS. CHAFONE. March 1798.I have not told you of my renewed intercourse with Mrs. Chapone, who had repeatedly sent me kind wishes and messages, of her desire to see me again. She was unfortunately ill, and I was sent from her door without being named; but she sent me a kind note to Chelsea, which gave me very great pleasure. Indeed, she had always behaved towards me with affection as well as kindness, and I owe to her the blessing of my first acquaintance with my dear Mrs., Delany. It was Mrs. Chapone who took me to her first, whose kind account had made her desire to know me, and who always expressed the most generous pleasure in the intimacy she had brought about, though it soon took place of all that had preceded it with herself. I wrote a very long answer, with a little history of our way of life, and traits of-M. d'Arblay, by which her quick discernment might judge both of that and my state of mind. When we came again to Chelsea at this period, our Esther desired, or was desired by Mrs. Chapone, to arrange a meeting. I was really sorry I could not call upon her with my urchin; but I could only get conveyed to her one evening, when I went with our Esther, but was disappointed of M. d'Arblay, who had been obliged to go to Westhamble. This really mortified me, and vexed Mrs. Chapone. We found her alone, and she received me with the most open affection. Mrs. Chapone knew the day I could be with her too late to make any party, and would have been profuse in apologies if I had not truly declared I rejoiced in seeing her alone, Indeed, it would have been better If we had been so completely, for our dearest Esther knew but few of the old connexions concerning whom I wished to inquire and to talk, and she knew too much of all about myself and my situation of which Mrs. Chapone wished to ask and to hear. I fear, therefore, she was tired, though she would not: say so, and though she looked and conducted herself with great sweetness.. Mrs. Chapone spoke warmly of "Camilla," especially of Sir Hugh, but told me she had detected me in some Gallicisms, Page 173 and pointed some out. She pressed me in a very flattering manner to write again ; and dear Hetty, forgetting our relationship's decency, seconded her so heartily you must have laughed to hear her hoping we could never furnish our house till I went again to the press. When Mrs. Chapone heard of my father's difficulties about Chelsea, and fears of removal, on account of his twenty thousand volumes,--"Twenty thousand volumes!" she repeated; "bless me! why, how can he so encumber himself? Why does he not burn half? for how much must be to spare that never can be worth his looking at from such a store! And can he want to keep them all? I should not have suspected Dr. Burney, of all men, of being such a Dr. Orkborne!"(157)...... MRS. BOSCAWEN, LADY STRANGE, AND MR. SEWARD. The few other visits which opportunity and inclination united for my making during our short and full fortnight were-- To Mrs. Boscawen, whither we went all three, for I knew she wished to see our little one, whom I had in the coach with Betty, ready for a summons. Mrs. Boscawen was all herself,---that is, all elegance and good-breeding. Do you remember the verses on the blues which we attributed to Mr. Pepys?-- Each art of conversation knowing, High-bred, elegant boscawen. To Miss Thrale's, where I also carried my little Alex. To Lady Strange(158) whom I had not seen for more years than I know how to count. She was at home, and alone, except for her young grandchild, another Bell Strange, daughter of James, who is lately returned from India, with a large fortune, is become member of Parliament, and has married, for his second wife, a niece of Secretary Dundas's. Lady Strange received me with great kindness, and, to my great surprise, knew me instantly. I found her more serious and grave than formerly; I had not seen her since Sir Page 174 Robert's death, and many events of no enlivening nature; but I found, with great pleasure, that all her native fire and wit and intelligence were still within, though less voluntary and quick in flashing out, for every instant I stayed she grew brighter and nearer her true self. Her little grandchild is a delightful little creature, the very reverse of the other Bell(159) in appearance and disposition, for she is handsome and open and gay; but I hope, at the same time, her resemblance in character, as Bell is strictly principled and upright. Lady Strange inquired if I had any family, and, when she gathered I had a little one down-stairs in the carriage, desired to see it, for little Bell was wild in the request. "But have nae mair!" cried she; "the times are bad and hard;--ha' nae mair! if you take my advice, you'll ha' nae mair! you've been vary discreet, and, faith, I commend you!" Little Bell had run down-stairs to hasten Betty and the child, and now, having seized him in her arms, she sprang into the room with him. His surprise, her courage, her fondling, her little form, and her prettiness, had astonished him into consenting to her seizure ; but he sprang from her to me the moment they entered the drawing-room. I begged Lady Strange to give him her blessing. She looked at him with a strong and earnest expression of examining interest and pleasure, and then, with an arch smile, turning suddenly about to me, exclaimed, "Ah! faith and troth, you mun ha' some mair! if you can make 'em so pratty as this, you mun ha' some mair! sweet bairn! I gi' you my benediction! be a comfort to your papa and mamma! Ah, madam!" (with one of her deep sighs) "I must gi' my consent to your having some mair ! if you can make 'em so pratty as this, faith and troth, I mun let you have a girl!" I write all this without scruple to my dearest Susan, for prattiness like this little urchin's is not likely to spoil either him or ourselves by lasting. 'Tis a juvenile flower, yet one my Susan will again, I hope, view while still in its first bloom. . . . I was extremely pleased in having an interview again with my old, and I believe very faithful, friend Mr. Seward, whom I had not seen since my marriage, but Whom I had heard, through the Lockes, was indefatigable in inquiries and Page 175 expressions of good-will upon every occasion. He had sent me his compilation of anecdotes of distinguished characters, and two little letters have passed between us upon them. I was unluckily engaged the morning he was at Chelsea, and obliged to quit him before we had quite overcome a little awkwardness which our long absence and my changed name had involuntarily produced at our first meeting; and I was really sorry, as I have always retained a true esteem for him, though his singularities and affectation of affectation always struck me. But both those and his spirit of satire are mere quizziness 3 his mind is all solid benevolence and worth. A MYSTERIOUS BANK-NOTE. And now I must finish this Chelsea narrative, with its most singular, though brief, adventure. One morning at breakfast, my father received a letter, which he opened, and found to be only a blank cover with a letter enclosed, directed "A Madame, Madame d'Arblay." This, upon opening, produced a little bank-note of five pounds, and these words:-- "Madame d'Arblay need not have any scruple in accepting the enclosed trifle, as it is considered only as a small tribute of gratitude and kindness, so small, indeed, that every precaution has been taken to prevent the least chance of discovery ; and the person who sends it even will never know whether it was received or not. Dr. Burney is quite ignorant of it." This is written evidently in a feigned hand, and I have not the most remote idea whence it can come. But for the word gratitude I might have suggested many ; but, upon the whole, I am utterly unable to suggest any one creature upon earth likely to do such a thing. I might have thought of my adorable princess, but that it is so little a sum. Be it as it may, it is certainly done in great kindness, by some one who knows five pounds is not so small a matter to us as to most others ; and after vainly striving to find out or conjecture whence it came, we determined to devote it to our country. There's patriotism! we gave it in voluntary subscription for the war and it was very seasonable to us for this purpose. This magnificent patriotic donation was presented to the Bank of England by Mr. Angerstein, through Mr. Locke, and we have had thanks from the committee which made us blush. Many reasons have prevented my naming this anecdote, the principal of which were fears that, if it should Page 176 be known such a thing was made use of, and, as it chanced when we should otherwise have really been distressed how to come forward or hold back, any other friend might adopt the same method, which, gratefully as I feel the kindness that alone could have instigated it, has yet a depressing effect, and I would not have it become current. Could I, or should I ever trace it, I must, in some mode or other, attempt retaliation. THE NEW BROTHER-IN-LAW: A CORDIAL PROFESSOR. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) After sundry abortive proposals of our new brother-in-law, Mr. Broome, for our meeting, he and Charlotte finally came, with little Charlotte, to breakfast and spend a day with us. He has by no means the wit and humour and hilarity his "Simkin's Letters" prepare for; but the pen and the tongue are often unequally gifted. He is said to be very learned, deeply skilled in languages, and general erudition and he is full of information upon most subjects that can be mentioned. We talked of India, and he permitted me to ask what questions I pleased upon points and things of which I was glad to gather accounts from so able a traveller. Another family visit which took place this Summer gave us pleasure of a far more easy nature, because unmixed with watchful anxiety; this was from Charles and his son, who, by an appointment for which he begged our consent, brought with him also Mr. Professor Young, of Glasgow, a man whose learning sits upon him far lighter than Mr. Broome's ! Mr. Young has the bonhonlie of M. de Lally, with as much native humour as he has acquired erudition: he has a face that looks all honesty and kindness, and manners gentle and humble ; an enthusiasm for whatever he thinks excellent, whether in talents or character, in art or in nature; and is altogether a man it seems impossible to know, even for a day, and not to love and wish well. This latter is probably the effect of his own cordial disposition to amity. He took to us, all three, so evidently and so warmly, and was so smitten with our little dwelling, its situation and simplicity, and so much struck with what he learned and saw of M. d'Arblay's cultivating literally his own grounds, and literally being his own gardener, after finding by conversation, what a use he had made of his earlier days In literary Page 177 attainments, that he seemed as if he thought himself brought to a vision of the golden age,---such was the appearance of his own sincere and upright mind in rejoicing to see happiness where there was palpably no luxury, no wealth. It was a most agreeable surprise to me to find such a man in Mr. Professor Young, as I had expected a sharp though amusing satirist, from his very comic but sarcastic imitation of Dr. Johnson's "Lives," in a criticism upon Gray's "Elegy." Charles was all kind affection, and delighted at our approbation of his friend, for the professor has been such many years, and very essentially formerly,-a circumstance Charles is now gratefully and warmly returning. It is an excellent part of Charles's character that he never forgets any kind office he has received. I learned from them that Mr. Rogers, author of the "Pleasures of Memory," that most sweet poem, had ridden round the lanes about our domain to view it, and stood--or made his horse stand,--at our gate a considerable time, to examine our Camilla cottage,--a name I am sorry to find Charles, or some one, had spread to him; and he honoured all with his good word. I should like to meet with him. PRECOCIOUS MASTER ALEX. Lady Rothes(160) constant in every manifestation of regard, came hither the first week of our establishment, and came three times to denials, when my gratitude forced open my doors. Her daughter, Lady Harriet, was with her: she is a pretty and pleasing young woman. Sir Lucas came another morning, bringing my old friend Mr. Pepys. Alex was in high spirits and amused them singularly. He had just taken to spelling; and every word he heard, of which he either knew or could guess the orthography, he instantly, in a little concise and steady manner, pronounced all the letters of, with a look of great but very grave satisfaction at his own performances, and a familiar nod at every word so conquered, as thus :-- Mr. Pepys. You are a fine boy, indeed! Alex. B, o, y; boy. (Every letter articulated with strong, almost heroic emphasis.) Mr. P. And do you run about here in this pleasant place all day long? Page 178 Alex. D, a, y; day. Mr. P. And can you read your book, You Sweet little fellow? Alex. R, e, a, d; read. Etc. He was in such good looks that all this nonsense won nothing but admiration, and Mr. Pepys could attend to nothing else, but only charged me to let him alone. "For mercy's sake, don't make him study," cried Sir Lucas also; "he is so well disposed that you must rather repress than advance him, or his health may pay the forfeit of his application." "O, leave him alone! cried Mr. Pepys: "take care only of his health and strength; never fear such a boy as that wanting learning." THE BARBAULDS. I was extremely surprised to be told by the maid a gentleman and lady had called at the door, who sent in a card and begged to know if I could admit them; and to see the names on the card were Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld.(161) I had never seen them more than twice; the first time, by their own desire, Mrs. Chapone carried me to meet them at Mr. Burrows's: the other time, I think, was at Mrs. Chapone's. You must be sure I could not hesitate to receive, and receive with thankfulness, this civility from the authoress of the most useful books, next to Mrs. Trimmer's, that have been yet written for dear little children; though this with the world is probably her very secondary merit, her many pretty Poems, and particularly songs, being generally esteemed. But many more have written those as well, and not a few better; for children's books she began the new walk, which has since been so well cultivated, to the great information as well as utility of parents. Mr. Barbauld is a dissenting minister--an author also, but I am unacquainted with his works. They were in our little dining-parlour-the only one that has any chairs in it--and began apologies for their visit; but I interrupted and finished them with my thanks. She is much altered, but not for the worse to me, though she is for herself, since the flight of her youth, which is evident, has taken also with it a great portion of an almost set smile, which had an air of determined complacence and prepared acquiescence that seemed to result Page 179 from a sweetness which never risked being off guard. I remember Mrs. Chapone's saying to me, after our interview, "She is a very good young woman, as well as replete with talents; but why must one always smile so? It makes my poor jaws ache to look at her." We talked, of course, of that excellent lady ; and you will believe I did not quote her notions of smiling. The Burrows family, she told me,. was quite broken up; old Mrs. Amy alone remaining alive. Her brother, Dr. Aiken,(162) with his family, were passing the summer at Dorking, on account of his ill-health, the air of that town having been recommended for his complaints. The Barbaulds were come to spend some time with him, and would not be so near without renewing their acquaintance. They had been walking in Norbury Park, which they admired very much; and Mrs. Barbauld very elegantly said, "If there was such a public officer as a legislator of taste, Mr. Locke ought to be chosen for it." They inquired much about M. d'Arblay, who was working in his garden, and would not be at the trouble of dressing to appear. They desired to see Alex, and I produced him ; and his orthographical feats were very well-timed here, for as soon as Mrs. Barbauld said, "What is your name, you pretty creature?" he sturdily answered "B, o, y; boy." Almost all our discourse was upon the Irish rebellion. Mr. Barbauld is a very little, diminutive figure, but well-bred and sensible. I borrowed her poems, afterwards, of Mr. Daniel, who chanced to have them, and have read them with much esteem of the piety and worth they exhibit, and real admiration of the last amongst them, which is an epistle to Mr. Wilberforce in favour of the demolition of the slave-trade, 1 'n which her energy seems to spring from the real spirit of virtue, suffering at the luxurious depravity which can tolerate, in a free land, so unjust, cruel, and abominable a traffic. We returned their visit together in a few days, at Dr. Aiken's lodgings, at Dorking, where, as she permitted M. d'Arblay to speak French, they had a very animated discourse upon buildings, French and English, each supporting those of their own country with great spirit, but my monsieur, Page 180 to own the truth, having greatly the advantage both in manner and argument. He was in spirits, and came forth with his best exertions. Dr. Aiken looks very sickly, but is said to be better: he has a good countenance. PRINCESS AMELIA AT JUNIPER HALL. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Westhamble, 1798. And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last Court history of this year. The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill since My last royal admittance, of some complaint in her knee which caused spasms the most dreadfully painful, was now returning from her sea-bathing at Worthing, and I heard from all around the neighbourhood that her royal highness was to rest and stop one night at juniper Hall, whither she was to be attended by Mr. Keate the surgeon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician at Worthing. I could not hear of her approaching so near our habitation, and sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort to see her; yet I would not distress Lady Rothes by an application she would not know how either to refuse or grant, from the established etiquette of bringing no one into the presence of their royal highnesses but by the queen's permission. So infinitely sweet, however, that young love of a princess always is to me, that I gathered courage to address a petition to her majesty herself, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave to pay my homage.-I will copy my answer, sent by return of post. .. "My dear friend,-I have infinite pleasure in acquainting you that the queen has ordered me to say that you have her leave to see dear Princess Amelia, provided Sir Lucas Pepys and Dr. Keate permit it, etc." With so complete and honourable a credential, I now scrupled not to address a few lines to Lady Rothes, telling her My authority, to prevent any embarrassment, for entreating her leave to pay my devoirs to the young princess on Saturday morning,--the Friday I imagined she would arrive too fatigued to be seen. I intimated also my wish to bring my boy, not to be presented unless demanded, but to be Put into some closet where he might be at hand in case of that Page 181 honour. The sweet princess's excessive graciousness to him gave me courage for this request. Lady Rothes sent me a kind note which made me perfectly comfortable. It was the 1st of December, but a beautifully clear and fine day. I borrowed Mr. Locke's carriage. Sir Lucas came to us immediately, and ushered us to the breakfast-parlour, giving me the most cheering accounts of the recovery of the princess. Here I was received by Lady Rothes, who presented me to Lady Albinia Cumberland, widow of Cumberland the author's only son, and one of the ladies of the princesses. I found her a peculiarly pleasing woman, in voice, manner, look, and behaviour. This introduction over, I had the pleasure to shake hands with Miss Goldsworthy, whom I was very glad to see, and who was very cordial and kind; but who is become, alas! so dreadfully deaf, there is no conversing with her, but by talking for a whole house to hear every word ! With this infirmity, however, she is still in her first youth and brightness, compared with her brother, who, though I knew him of the party, is so dreadfully altered, that I with difficulty could venture to speak to him by the name of General Goldsworthy. He has had three or four more strokes of apoplexy since I saw him. I fancy he had a strong consciousness of his alteration, for he seemed embarrassed and shy, and only bowed to me, at first, without speaking. but I wore that off afterwards, by chatting over old stories with him. The princess breakfasted alone, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. When this general breakfast was over, Lady Albinia retired. But in a very few minutes she returned, and said, "Her royal highness desires to see Madame d'Arblay and her little boy." The princess was seated on a sofa, in a French gray riding-dress, with pink lapels, her beautiful and richly flowing and shining fair locks unornamented. Her breakfast was still before her, and Mrs. Cheveley in waiting. Lady Albinia announced me, and she received me with the brightest smile, calling me up to her, and stopping my profound reverence, by pouting out her sweet ruby lips for me to kiss. She desired me to come and sit by her; but, ashamed of so much indulgence, I seemed not to hear her, and drew a chair at a little distance. "No, no," she cried, nodding, "come here; come and sit by me here, my dear Madame d'Arblay." I had then only to say 'twas my duty to obey her, and I seated myself on her sofa. Lady Albinia, whom she motioned Page 182 to sit, took an opposite chair, and Mrs. Cheveley, after we had spoken a few words together, retired. Her attention now was bestowed upon my Alex, who required not quite so much solicitation to take his part of the sofa. He came jumping and skipping up to her royal highness, with such gay and merry antics, that it was impossible not to be diverted with so sudden a change from his composed and quiet behaviour in the other room. He seemed enchanted to see her again, and I was only alarmed lest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing agility. I bid him, in vain, however, repeat Ariel's "Come unto these yellow sands," which he can say very prettily; he began, and the princess, who knew it, prompted him to go on --but a fit of shame came suddenly across him-or of capriciousness-and he would not continue. Lady Albinia soon after left the room - and the princess, then, turning hastily and eagerly to me, said, "Now we are alone, do let me ask you one question, Madame d'Arblay. Are you--are you--[looking with strong expression to discover her answer] writing anything?" I could not help laughing, but replied in the negative. "Upon your honour?" she cried earnestly, and looking disappointed. This was too hard an interrogatory for evasion; and I was forced to say--the truth--that I was about nothing I had yet fixed if or not I should ever finish, but that I was rarely without some project. This seemed to satisfy and please her. I told her of my having seen the Duke of Clarence at Leatherhead fair. "What, William?" she cried, surprised. This unaffected, natural way of naming her brothers and sisters is infinitely pleasing. She took a miniature from her pocket, and said, "I must show you Meney's picture," meaning Princess Mary, whom she still calls Meney, because it was the name she gave her when unable to pronounce Mary--a time she knew I well remembered. It was a very sweet miniature, and extremely like. "Ah! what happiness," I cried, "your royal highness will feel, and give, upon returning to their majesties and their royal highnesses, after such an absence, and such sufferings!" "O! yes!--I shall be SO glad!" she cried, and then Lady Albinia came in and whispered her it was time to admit Lady Rothes, who then entered with Lady Harriet and the Miss Leslies. When she was removing, painfully lifted from her seat Page 183 between Sir Lucas and Mr. Keate, she stopped to pay her compliments and thanks to Lady Rothes with a dignity and self- command extremely striking. . DEATH OF MR. SEWARD. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Westhamble, May 2, 1799. Poor Mr. Seward! I am indeed exceedingly concerned--nay, grieved--for his loss to us: to us I trust I may say; for I believe he was so substantially good a creature, that he has left no fear or regret merely for himself. He fully expected his end was quickly approaching. I saw him at my father's at Chelsea, and he spent almost a whole morning with me in chatting of other times, as he called it ; for we travelled back to Streatham, Dr. Johnson, and the Thrales. But he told me he knew his disease incurable. Indeed he had passed a quarter of an hour in recovering breath, in a room with the servants, before he let me know he had mounted the college stairs. My father was not at home. He had thought himself immediately dying, he said, four days before, by certain sensations that he believed to be fatal, but he mentioned it with cheerfulness ; and though active in trying all means to lengthen life, declared himself perfectly calm in suspecting they would fail. TO give me a proof, he said he had been anxious to serve Mr. Wesley, the methodist musician, and he had recommended him to the patronage of the Hammersleys, and begged my father to meet him there to dinner; but as this was arranged, he was seized himself with a dangerous attack, which he believed to be mortal. And during this belief, "willing to have the business go on," said he, laughing, "and not miss me, I wrote a letter to a young lady, to tell her all I wished to be done upon the occasion, to serve Wesley, and to show him to advantage. I gave every direction I should have given in person, in a complete persuasion at the moment I should never hold a pen in my hand again." This letter, I found, was to Miss Hammersley. I had afterwards the pleasure of introducing M. d'Arblay to him, and it seemed a gratification to him to make the acquaintance. I knew he had been curious to see him, and he wrote my father word afterwards he had been much pleased. My father says he sat with him an hour the Saturday before he died - and though he thought him very ill, he was so little Page 184 aware his end was so rapidly approaching, that, like my dearest friend, he laments his loss as if by sudden death. I was sorry, too, to see in the newspapers, the expulsion of Mr. Barry from the Royal Academy. I suppose it is from some furious harangue.(163) His passions have no restraint though I think extremely well of his heart, as well as of his understanding. DR. BURNEY AGAIN VISITS DR. HERSCHEL. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Slough, Monday morning, July 22, 1799, in bed at Dr. Herschel's, half-past five, where I can neither sleep nor lie idle. My dear Fanny,-I believe I told you on Friday that I was going to finish the perusal of my astronomical verses to the great astronomer on Saturday. Here I arrived at three o'clock,- -neither Dr. nor Mrs. H. at home. This was rather discouraging, but all was set to rights by the appearance of Miss Baldwin, a sweet, timid, amiable girl, Mrs. Herschel's niece. ....When we had conversed about ten minutes, in came two other sweet girls, the daughters of Dr. Parry of Bath, on a visit here. More natural, obliging, charming girls I have seldom seen; and, moreover, very pretty. We soon got acquainted. I found they were musical, and in other respects very well educated. It being a quarter past four, and the lord and lady of the mansion not returned, Miss Baldwin would have dinner served, according to order, and an excellent dinner it was, and our chattation no disagreeable sauce. After an admirable dessert, I made the Misses Parry sing and play, and sang and played with them so delightfully, "you can't think!" Mr. and Mrs. H. did not return till between seven and eight ; but when they came, apologies for being out on pressing business, cordiality and kindness, could not be more liberally bestowed. After tea Dr. H. proposed that we two should retire into a quiet room, in order to resume the perusal of my work, in Page 185 which no progress had been made since last December. The evening was finished very cheerfully; and we went to our bowers not much out of humour with each other, or with the world. DR. BURNEY AND THE KING. We had settled a plan to go to the chapel at Windsor in' the morning, the king and royal family being there, and the town very full. Dr. H. and Mrs. H. stayed at home, and I was accompanied by the three Graces. Dr. Goodenough, the successor of Dr. Shepherd, as canon, preached. I had dined with him at Dr. Duval's. He is a very agreeable man, and passionately fond of music, with whom, as a professor, a critic, and an historian of the art; I seem to stand very high; but I could not hear a single sentence of his sermon, on account of the distance. After the service I got a glimpse of the good king, in his light-grey farmer-like morning Windsor uniform, in a great crowd, but could not even obtain that glance of the queen and princesses. The day was charming. The chapel is admirably repaired, beautified, and a new west window painted on glass. All was cheerfulness, gaiety, and good humour, such as the subjects of no other monarch, I believe, i on earth enjoy at present; and except return of creepings now and then, and a cough, I was as happy as the best. At dinner we all agreed to go to the Terrace,--Mr., Mrs., and Miss H., with their nice little boy, and the three young ladies. This plan we put in execution, and arrived on the Terrace a little after seven. I never saw it more crowded or gay. The park was almost full of happy people--farmers, servants, and tradespeople,--alt In Elysium. Deer in the distance, and dears unnumbered near. Here I met with everybody I wished and expected to see previous to the king's arrival in the part of the Terrace where I and my party were planted. ..... Chelsea, Tuesday, three o'clock. Not a moment could I get to write till now; and I am afraid of forgetting some part of my history, but I ought not, for the events of this visit are very memorable. When the king and queen, arm in arm, were approaching the place where the Herschel family and I had planted ourselves, one of the Misses Parry heard the queen say to his majesty, "There's Dr. Burney," when they instantly came to me, so smiling and gracious that I longed to throw myself at Page 186 their feet. "How do you, Dr. Burney?" said the king, "Why, you are grown fat and young." "Yes, indeed," said the queen; "I was very glad to hear from Madame d'Arblay how well you looked." "Why, you used to be as thin as Dr. Lind," says the king. Lind was then in sight--a mere lath; but these few words were accompanied with such Very gracious smiles, and seemingly affectionate good-humour--the whole royal family, except the Prince of Wales, standing by in the midst of a crowd of the first people in the kingdom for rank and office--that I was afterwards looked at as a sight. After this the king and queen hardly ever passed by me without a smile and a nod. The weather was charming; the park as full as the Terrace, the king having given permission to the farmers, tradesmen, and even livery servants, to be there during the time of his walking. Now I must tell you that Herschel proposed to me to go with him to the king's concert at night, he having permission to go when he chooses, his five nephews (Griesbachs) making a principal part of the band. "And," says he, "I know you will be welcome." But I should not have presumed to believe this if his majesty had not formerly taken me into his concert-room himself from your apartments. This circumstance, and the gracious notice with which I had been just honoured, emboldened me. A fine music-room in the Castle, next the Terrace, is now fitted up for his majesty's evening concerts, and an organ erected. Part of the first act had been performed previous to our arrival. There were none but the performers in the room, except the Duchesses of Kent and cumberland, with two or three general officers backwards. The king seldom goes into the music-room after the first act; and the second and part of the third were over before we saw anything of him, though we heard his majesty, the queen, and princesses talking in the next room. At length he came directly up to me and Herschel, and the first question his majesty asked me was,--"How does Astronomy go on?" I, pretending to suppose he knew nothing of my poem, said, "Dr. Herschel will better inform your majesty than I can." "Ay, ay," says the king, "but you are going to tell us something with your pen;" and moved his hand in a writing manner. "What--what--progress have you made?" "Sir, it is all finished, and all but the last of twelve books have been read to my friend Dr. Herschel." The king, then, looking at Herschel, as who would say, "How is it?" "It Page 187 is a very capital work, sir," says H. "I wonder how you find time?" said the king. "I make time, Sir." "How, how?" "I take it out of my sleep, sir." When the considerate good king, "But you'll hurt your health. How long," he adds, "have you been at it?" "Two or three years, at odd and stolen moments, Sir." "Well," said the king (as he had said to you before), "whatever you write, I am sure will be entertaining." I bowed most humbly, as ashamed of not deserving so flattering a speech. "I don't say it to flatter you," says the king; "if I did not think it, I would not say it." OVERWHELMED WITH THE ROYAL GRACIOUSNESS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) "Fore George, a more excellent song than t'other!" Westhamble, July 25, '99. Why, my dearest padre, your subjects rise and rise,-till subjects, in fact, are no longer in question. I do not wonder you felt melted by the king's goodness. I am sure I did in its perusal. And the queen!-her naming me so immediately went to my heart. Her speeches about me to Mrs. Locke in the drawing-room, her interest in my welfare, her deigning to say she had "never been amongst those who had blamed my marriage," though she lost by it my occasional attendances, and her remarking "I looked the picture of happiness," had warmed me to the most fervent gratitude, and the more because her saying she had never been amongst those who had blamed me shows there were people who had not failed to do me ill offices in her hearing; though probably, and I firmly believe, without any personal enmity, as I am unconscious of my having any owed me; but merely from a cruel malice with which many seize every opportunity, almost involuntarily, to do mischief and most especially to undermine at Court any one presumed to be in any favour. And, still further, I thought her words conveyed a confirmation of what her conduct towards me in my new capacity always led me to conjecture, namely, that my guardian star had ordained it so that the real character and principles of my honoured and honourable mate had, by some happy chance, reached the royal ear "before the news of our union. The dear king's graciousness :to M. d'Arblay upon the Terrace, when the commander-in-chief, just then returned from the Continent, was by his side, made it impossible not to suggest this : and now, the queen's Page 188 again naming me so in, public puts it, in my conception, beyond doubt. My kindest father will be glad, I am sure, to have added to the great delight of his recital a strength to a notion I so much love to cherish. WAR RUMOURS. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Aug. 14, '99. People here are very sanguine that Ireland is quiet, and will remain so; and that the combined fleets can never reach it. How are your own politics upon that point? Mine will take their colour, be it what it may. Our dear father is Visiting about, from Mr. Cox's to Mrs. Crewe, with whom be is now at Dover, where Mr. Crewe has some command. We are all in extreme disturbance here about the secret expedition. Nothing authentic is arrived from the first armament; and the second is all prepared for sailing. . . . Both officers and men are gathered from all quarters. - Heaven grant them speedy safety, and ultimate peace ! God bless my own dearest Susan, and strengthen and restore her. Amen! Amen. ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, October 1, '99. Whether gaily or sadly to usher what I have to say I know not, but your sensations, like mine, will I am sure be mixed. The major has now written to Mrs. Locke that he is anxious to have Susan return to England. She is "in an ill state of health," he says, and he wishes her to try her native air; but the revival of coming to you and among us all, and the tender care that will be taken of her, is likely to do much for her; therefore, if we get her but to this side the channel, the blessing is comparatively so great, that I shall feel truly thankful to heaven. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Westhamble, December 10, '99. O my Susan, my heart's dear sister! with what bitter sorrow have I read this last account! With us, with yourself, your children,-all,-you have trifled in respect to health, though in all things else you are honour and veracity personified; Page 189 but nothing had prepared me to think you in such a grave state as I now find you. Would to God I could get to you! If Mr. Keirnan thinks you had best pass the winter in Dublin, stay, and let me come to you. Venture nothing against his opinion, for mercy's sake! Fears for your health take place of all impatience to expedite your return; only go not back to Belcotton, where you cannot be under his direction, and are away from the physician he thinks of so highly. I shall write immediately to Charles about the carriage. I am sure of his answer beforehand,--so must you be. Act, therefore, with regard to the carriage, as if already it were arranged. But I am well aware it must not set out till you Are well enough to nearly fix your day of sailing. I say nearly, for we must always allow for accidents. I shall write to our dear father, and Etty, and James, and send to Norbury Park - but I shall wait till to-morrow, not to infect them with what I am infected.. . . O my Susan! that I could come to you! But all must depend on Mr. Keirnan's decision. If you can come to us with perfect safety, however slowly, I shall not dare add to your embarrassment of persons and package. Else Charles's carriage--O, what a temptation to air it for you all the way! Take no more large paper, that you may write with less fatigue, and, if possible, oftener;--to any one will suffice for all. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) 9th January, 1800. My most dear padre,-My mate will say all,-so I can only offer up my earnest prayers I may soon be allowed the blessing--the only one I sigh for--of embracing my dearest Susan in your arms and under your roof. Amen. F. D'A. These were the last written lines of the last period--unsuspected as such--of my perfect happiness on earth; for they were stopped on the road by news that my heart's beloved sister, Susanna Elizabeth Phillips, had ceased to breathe. The tenderest of husbands--the most feeling of human beings--had only reached Norbury Park, on his way to a believed meeting with that angel, when the fatal blow was struck; and he came back to West Hamble-- to the dreadful task of revealing the irreparable loss which his own goodness, sweetness, patience, and sympathy could alone have made supported. Page 190 (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) 9th January, 1800. "As a guardian angel!"--Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in every interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to see her, but my eyes cannot pierce through the thick atmosphere, and I can only represent her to me seated on a chair of sickness, her soft hand held partly out to me as I approach her; her softer eyes so greeting me as never welcome was expressed before; and a smile of heavenly expression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful soul that God at length should grant our re-union. From our earliest moments, my Fredy, when no misfortune happened to our dear family, we wanted nothing but each other. Joyfully as others were received by us--loved by us--all that was necessary to our happiness was fulfilled by our simple junction. This I remember with my first remembrance; nor do I recollect a single instance of being affected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment, if its result was leaving us together. She was the soul of my soul !-and 'tis wonderful to me, my dearest Fredy, that the first shock did not join them immediately by the flight of mine-but that over-that dreadful, harrowing, never-to be-forgotten moment of horror that made me wish to be mad--the ties that after that first endearing period have shared with her my heart, come to my aid. Yet I was long incredulous; and still sometimes I think it is not--and that she will come-- and I paint her by my side--by my father's--in every room of these apartments, destined to have chequered the woes of her life with rays of comfort, joy, and affection. O, my Fredy ! not selfish is the affliction that repines her earthly course of sorrow was allowed no shade!--that at the instant soft peace and consolation awaited her she should breathe her last! You would understand all the hardship of resignation for me were you to read the joyful opening of her letter, on her landing, to my poor father, and her prayer at the end to be restored to him. O, my Fredy! could you indeed think of me--be alarmed for me on that dreadful day?---I can hardly make that enter my comprehension; but I thank you from my soul; for that is beyond any love I had thought possible, even from Your tender heart. Tell me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction. I write so fast I fear you can hardly read; but you will See Page 191 I am conversing with you, and that will show you how I turn to you for the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, you have all a loss, indeed! A PRINCESS'S CONDESCENSION. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke). Greenwich, Friday, February, 1800. Here we are, my beloved friend. We came yesterday. All places to me are now less awful than my own so dear habitation. My royal interview took place on Wednesday. I was five hours with the royal family, three of them alone with the queen, whose graciousness and kind goodness I cannot express. And each of the princesses saw me with a sort of concern and interest I can never forget. I did tolerably well, though not quite as steadily as I expected but with my own Princess Augusta I lost all command. She is still wrapt up, and just recovering from a fever herself- and she spoke to me in a tone--a voice so commiserating--I could not stand it--I was forced to stop short in my approach, and hide my face with my muff. She came up to me immediately, put her arm upon my shoulder, and kissed me--I shall never forget it.--How much more than thousands of words did a condescension so tender tell me her kind feelings!--She is one of the few beings in this world that can be, in the words of M. de Narbonne, "all that is douce and all that is sbirituelle,"--his words upon my lost darling! It is impossible more of comfort or gratification could be given than I received from them all. HORTICULTURAL MISFORTUNES. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney). Westhamble, March 22, 1800. Day after day I have meant to write to my dearest father 'but I have been unwell ever since our return, and that has not added to my being sprightly. I have not once crossed 'the threshold since I re-entered the house till to-day, when Mr. and Mrs. Locke almost insisted upon taking me an airing. I am glad of it, for it has done me good, and broken a kind of spell that made me unwilling to stir. Page 192 M. d'Arblay has worked most laboriously in his garden but his misfortunes there, during our absence, might melt a heart of stone. The horses of our next neighbouring farmer broke through our hedges, and have made a kind of bog of our mead ow, by scampering in it during the wet; the sheep followed, who have eaten up all our greens, every sprout and cabbage and lettuce, destined for the winter ; while the horses dug up our turnips and carrots; and the swine, pursuing such examples, have trod down all the young plants besides devouring whatever the others left of vegetables. Our potatoes, left, from our abrupt departure, in the ground, are all rotten or frostbitten, and utterly spoilt; and not a single thing has our whole ground produced us since we came home. A few dried carrots, which remain from the in-doors collection, are all we have to temper our viands.. What think you of this for people who make it a rule to owe a third of their sustenance to the garden? Poor M, d'A.'s renewal of toil, to supply future times, is exemplary to behold, after such discouragement. But he works as if nothing had failed; such is his patience as well as industry. My Alex, I am sure you will be kindly glad to hear, is entirely well; and looks so blooming--no rose can be fresher. I am encouraging back his spouting propensity, to fit him for his royal interview with the sweet and gay young princess who has demanded him, who will, I know, be diverted with his speeches and gestures. We must present ourselves before Easter, as the Court then adjourns to Windsor for ten days. My gardener will not again leave his grounds to the fourfooted marauders; and our stay, therefore, will be the very shortest we can possibly make it ; for though we love retirement, we do not like solitude. I long for some further account of you, dearest: sir, and how you bear the mixture of business and company, of "fag and frolic," as Charlotte used to phrase it. Westhamble, April 27, 1800. My Alex improves in all that I can teach, and my gardener is laboriously recovering from his winter misfortunes. He is now raising a hillock by the gate, for a view of NorbUry Park from our grounds, and he has planted potatoes upon almost every spot where they can grow. The dreadful price of provisions makes this our first attention. The poor people about us complain they are nearly starved, and the children of the Page 193 journeymen of the tradesmen at Dorking come to our door to beg halfpence for a little bread. What the occasion of such universal dearth can be we can form no notion, and have no information. The price of bread we can conceive from the bad harvest; but meat, butter, and shoes!---nay, all sorts of nourriture or clothing seem to rise in the same proportion, and without any adequate cause. The imputed one of the war does not appear to me sufficient, though the drawback from all by the income-tax is severely an underminer of comfort. What is become of the campaign? are both parties incapacitated from beginning? or is each waiting a happy moment to strike some definitive stroke? We are strangely in the dark about all that is going on, and unless you will have the compassion to write us some news, we may be kept so till Mr. Locke returns. A WITHDRAWN COMEDY. [Towards the close of the preceding year Dr. Charles Burney had placed in the hands of Mr. Harris, the manager of Covent Garden-theatre, a comedy by Madame d'Arblay, called "Love and Fashion." Mr. Harris highly approved the piece, and early in the spring put it into rehearsal ; but Dr. Burney was seized with a panic concerning its success, and, to oblige him, his daughter and her husband withdrew it. The following letter announced their generous compliance with his wishes.] (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) Monday. I hasten to tell you, dearest sir, Mr. H. has at length listened to our petitions, and has returned me my poor ill-fated ---, wholly relinquishing all claim to it for this season. He has promised also to do his utmost, as far as his influence extends, to keep the newspapers totally silent in future. We demand, therefore, no contradictory paragraph, as the report must needs die when the reality no more exists. Nobody has believed it from the beginning, on account of the premature moment when it was advertised. This release gives me present repose, which, indeed, I much wanted; for to combat your, to me, unaccountable but most afflicting displeasure, in the midst of my own panics and disturbance, would have been ample punishment to me had I been guilty of a crime, in doing what I have all my life been Page 194 urged to, and all my life intended, --writing a comedy. Your goodness, your kindness, your regard for my fame, I know have caused both your trepidation, which doomed me to certain failure, and your displeasure that I ran, what you thought, a wanton risk. But it is not wanton, my dearest father. My imagination is not at my own control, or I would always have continued in the walk YOU approved. The combinations for another long work did not occur to me; incidents and effects for a drama did. I 'thought the field more than open--inviting to me. The chance held out golden dreams.--The risk could be only our own; for, permit me to say, appear when it will, you will find nothing in the principles, the moral, or the language that will make you blush for me. A failure upon those points only, can bring disgrace; Upon mere cabal or want of dramatic powers, it can only cause disappointment. I hope, therefore, my dearest father, in thinking this over you will cease to nourish such terrors and disgust at an essay so natural, and rather say to yourself, with an internal smile, "After all, 'tis but like father like child; for to what walk do I confine myself? She took my example in writing--she takes it in ranging. Why then, after all, should I lock her up in one paddock, well as she has fed there, if she says she finds nothing more to nibble; while I find all the earth unequal to my ambition, and mount the skies to content it? Come on, then, poor Fan! the world has acknowledged you my offspring, and I will disencourage you no more. Leap the pales of your paddock--let us pursue our career; and, while you frisk from novel to comedy, I, quitting music and prose, will try a race with poetry and the stars." I am sure my dear father will not infer, from this appeal, I mean to parallel our works. No one more truly measures her own inferiority, which, with respect to yours, has always been my pride. I only mean to show, that if my muse loves a little variety, she has an hereditary claim to try it. M. D'ARBLAY's FRENCH PROPERTY. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) Westhamble, November 7, 1800. I think it very long not to hear at least of YOU, my dearest padre. My tranquil and happy security, alas! has been Page 195 broken in upon by severe conflicts since I wrote to My dearest father last, which I would not communicate while yet pending, but must now briefly narrate. My partner, the truest of partners, has been erased from the list of emigrants nearly a year; and in that period has been much pressed and much blamed by his remaining friends in France, by every opportunity through which they could send to him, for not immediately returning, and seeing if anything could be yet saved from the wreck of his own and family's fortune ; but he held steady to his original purpose never to revisit his own country till it was at peace with this ; till a letter came from his beloved uncle himself, conveyed to him through Hambro', which shook all the firmness of his resolution, and has kept him, since its receipt, in a state of fermentation, from doubts and difficulties, and crossing wishes and interests, that has much affected his health as well as tranquillity. All, however, now, is at least decided; for a few days since he received a letter from M. Lajard, who is returned to Paris, with information from his uncle's eldest son, that some of his small property is yet unsold, to about the amount of 1000 pounds, and can still be saved from sequestration if he will immediately go over and claim it; or, if that is impossible, if he will send his procuration to his uncle, from some country not at war with France. This ended all his internal contest; and he is gone this very morning to town to procure a passport and a passage in some vessel bound to Holland. So unused are we to part, never yet for a week having been separated during the eight years of our union, that our first idea was going together, and taking our Alex; and certain I am nothing would do me such material and mental good as so complete a change of scene; but the great expense of the voyage and journey, and the inclement season for our little boy, at length finally settled us to pray only for a speedy meeting. But I did not give it up till late last night, and am far from quite reconciled to relinquishing it even now. He has no intention to go to France, or he would make an effort to pass by Calais, which would delightfully shorten the passage; but he merely means to remain at the Hague while he sends over his procuration, and learns how soon he may hope to reap its fruits. page 196 Westhamble, 16th December, 1800. He is returned, my dearest father, already! MY joy and surprise are so great I seem in a dream. I have just this moment a letter from him, written at Gravesend. What he has been able to arrange as to his affairs, I know not ; and just now cannot care, so great is my thankfulness for his safety and return. He waits in the river for his passport, and will, when he obtains it, hasten, I need not say, to Westhamble. HOME MATTERS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, September i, 1801. A carpet we have-though not yet spread, as the chimney is unfinished, and room incomplete. Charles brought us the tapis-so that, in fact, we have yet bought nothing for our best room--and meant,--for our own share--to buy a table . . . and if my dearest father will be so good--and so naughty at once, as to crown our salle d'audience with a gift we shall prize beyond all others, we can think only of a table. Not a dining one, but a sort of table for a little work and a few books,--en ala--without which, a room looks always forlorn. I need not say how we shall love it ; and I must not say how we shall blush at it; and I cannot say how we feel obliged at it--for the room will then be complete in love-offerings. Mr. Locke finished glazing or polishing his impression border for the chimney on Saturday. It will be, I fear, his last work of that sort, his eyes, which are very longsighted, now beginning to fail and weaken at near objects. My Alex intends very soon, he says, to marry-and, not long since, with the gravest simplicity, he went up to Mr William Locke, who was here with his fair bride, and said, "How did you get that wife, William? because I want to get such a one--and I don't know which is the way." And he is now actually employed in fixing sticks and stones at convenient distances, upon a spot very near our own, where he means to raise a suitable structure for his residence, after his nuptials. You will not think he has suffered much time to be wasted before he has begun deliberating upon his conjugal establishment. We spent the greatest part of last week in visits at Norbury Park, to meet M. de Lally, whom I am very sorry you missed. Page 197 He is delightful in the country full of resources, of gaiety, of intelligence, of good humour and mingling powers of instruction. with entertainment. He has read us several fragments of works of his own, admirable in eloquence, sense, and feeling - chiefly parts of tragedies, and all referring to subjects next his heart, and clearest in his head ; namely, the French Revolution and its calamities, and filial reverence and enthusiasm for injured parents. CONTEMPLATED JOURNEY To FRANCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, October 3, 1801. God avert mischief from this peace, my dearest father! For in our hermitage you may imagine, more readily than I can express, the hopes and happiness it excites. M. d'Arblay now feels paid for his long forbearance, his kind patience, and compliance with my earnest wishes not to revisit his native land while we were at war with it. He can now go with honour as well as propriety - for every body, even the highest personages, will rather expect he should make the journey as a thing of course, than hear of it as a proposition for deliberation. He will now have his heart's desire granted, in again seeing his loved and respectable uncle,-and many relations, and more friends, and his own native town, as well as soil ; and he will have the delight of presenting to that uncle, and those friends, his little pet Alex. With all this gratification to one whose endurance of such a length of suspense, and repetition of disappointment, I have observed with gratitude, and felt with sympathy-must not I, too, find pleasure ? Though, on my side, many are the drawbacks - but I ought not, and must not, listen to them. We shall arrange our affairs with all the speed in our power, after the ratification is arrived, for saving the cold and windy weather; but the approach of winter is unlucky, as it will lengthen our stay, to avoid travelling and voyaging during its severity - unless, indeed, any internal movement, or the menace of any, should make frost and snow secondary fears, and induce us to scamper off. But the present is a season less liable in all appearance to storms, than the seasons that may follow. Fates, joy, and pleasure, will probably for some months occupy the public in France - and it will not be till Page 198 those rejoicings are past, that they will set about weighing causes of new commotion, the rights of their governors, or the means, or desirability of changing them. I would far rather go immediately, than six months hence. [The projected journey of Madame d'Arblay with her husband did not take place this year; the season being already advanced, and their little boy not strong enough to bear the fatigue of such an expedition. Monsieur d'Arblay went alone to France.] M. D'ARBLAY's ROUGH SEA PASSAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, November 11, 1801. I did not purpose writing to my dearest father till my suspense and inquietude were happily removed by a letter from France; but as I find he is already anxious himself, I will now relate all I yet know of my dearest traveller's history. On Wednesday the 28th of October, he set off for Gravesend. A vessel, he was told, was ready for sailing,- and would set off the following day. He secured his passage, and took up his abode at an inn, whence he wrote me a very long letter, in full hope his next would be from his own country. But Thursday came, and no sailing--though the wind was fair, and the weather then calm: he amused his disappointment as well as he could by visiting divers gardeners, and taking sundry lessons for rearing and managing asparagus. Friday, also, came-and still no sailing ! He was more and more vexed ; but had recourse then to a chemist, with whom he revised much of his early knowledge. Saturday followed--no sailing! and he found the people waited on and on, in hopes of more passengers, though never avowing their purpose, His patience was now nearly exhausted, and he went and made such vifs remonstrances that he almost startled the managers. They pretended the ballast was all they stayed for : he offered to aid that himself; and actually went to work, and never rested till the vessel was absolutely ready: orders, enfin, were given for sailing next morning, though he fears, with all his skill, and all his eloquence, and all his aiding, they were more owing to the arrival of four passengers than to his exertions. That night, October the 31st, he went on board; and November the 1st he set sail at five o'clock in the morning. Page 199 You know how high a wind arose on Sunday the 1st, and how dreadful a storm succeeded, lasting all night, all Monday, and all night again. How thankful, how grateful am I to have heard of his safety since so terrifying a period. They got on, with infinite difficulty and danger, as far as Margate; they there took anchor, and my kind voyager got a letter for me sent on shore, "moyennant un schelling ."(164) To tell you my gratitude in knowing him safe after that tempest--no I cannot! Your warm affections, my dearest father, will easily paint to you my thankfulness. Next, they got on to Deal, and here anchored again, for the winds, though they abated on shore, kept violent and dangerous near the coast. Some of the passengers went on shore, and put two letters for me in the post, assuring me all was safe. These two passengers, who merely meant to dine on shore, and see the town, were left behind. The sea rose so high, no boat could put off to bring them back; and, though the captain hoisted a flag to announce he was sailing, there was no redress. They had not proceeded a league before the sea grew yet more rough and perilous, and the captain was forced to hoist a flag of distress. Everything in the vessel was overset; my poor M. d'Arblay's provision-basket flung down, and its contents demolished; his bottle of wine broken by another toss, and violent fall, and he was nearly famished. The water now began to get into the ship, all hands were at work that could work, and he, my poor voyager, gave his whole noble strength to the pump, till he was so exhausted, so fatigued, so weakened, that with difficulty he could hold a pen to repeat that still--I might be tranquille, for all danger was again over. A pilot came out to them from Dover, for seven guineas, which the higher of the passengers subscribed for (and here poor M. d'A. was reckoned of that class], and the vessel was got into the port at Dover, and the pilot, moyennant un autre schelling, put me again a letter, with all these particulars, into the post. This was Thursday the 5th. The sea still so boisterous, the vessel was unable to cross the water. The magistrates at Dover permitted the poor passengers all to land ; and M. d'Arblay wrote to me again, from the inn, after being regaled with an excellent dinner, of which he had been much in want. Here they met again the two passengers lost at Deal, who, in hopes of this circumstance, had travelled post Page 200 from thence to Dover. Here, too, M. d'A. met the Duke de Duras, an hereditary officer of the crown, but who told him, since peace was made, and all hope seemed chased of a proper return to his country, he was going, incognito, to visit a beloved old mother, whom he had not seen for eleven years. "I have no passport," he said, "for France , but I mean to avow myself to the commissary at Calais, and tell him I know I am not erased, nor do I demand to be so. I only solicit an interview with a venerable parent. Send to Paris, to beg leave for it. You may put me in Prison till the answer arrives; but, for mercy, for humanity's sake, suffer me to wait in France till then! guarded as you please!" This is his Purposed address--which my M. d'A. says he heard, avec les larmes aux yeux.(165) I shall long to hear the event. On Friday, November 6th, M. d'A. wrote me two lines:"Nov. 6, 1801.--,Je pars! the wind is excellent--au revoir." This is dated ten o'clock in the morning. I have not had a word since. [in the original edition here follow three letters, in French, from M. d'Arblay to his wife. From these letters we translate the following extracts.-ED. "Paris. "I do not yet know positively when it will be possible for me to go to see my uncle. The settlement of my claim of half-pay is anything but advanced. . . . To-morrow morning I have an appointment with Du Taillis, aide-de-camp to Berthler (the French minister of war). When I leave him, I hope to see Talleyrand; but what I most particularly desire is, not to depart without having at least a glimpse of the first Consul (Napoleon), that man so justly celebrated. . . . In reference to the obligation which we, formerly on the list of emigrants, have to him, Narbonne said to me to-day, 'He has set all our heads on our shoulders.' I like this expression." " Paris, November 16, 1801. "La Tour Maubourg, one of the companions of General Lafayette, wished to marry his daughter to an emigrant whose name was not yet struck off the list. He obtained an interview with the first Consul, at which he entered into details on the matter, without attempting to conceal the objections which might be taken to the requested erasement of the young man's Page 201 name from the list of emigrants. Bonaparte interrupted him and said, 'Is the young man agreeable to your daughter?' 'Yes, General.'-' 'Is he agreeable to you, M. de Maubourg?' 'Very much so, General.'--'Well then, the man whom you judge worthy to enter into such a family as yours, is surely worthy also to be a French citizen.'" "15th Frimaire (December 6), 1801. "According to all appearance, my dearest, I shall not obtain the settlement I ask for. Everybody says that nothing could be more just than my demand, but so many persons who have served all through the war are at present on half-pay, that I am desperately afraid it will be the same with my past services as with my property, and for the same reason-the impossibility of satisfying all demands, however well founded. Meanwhile, my dearest, it is impossible to conceal from ourselves that we have been living, for some years, with all our economy, on resources which are now either exhausted, or very nearly so. The greater part of our income [Fanny's pension] is anything but certain, yet what should we do if that were to fail us ? The moral of this discourse is, that while I am fit for something, it is my duty, as a husband and a father, to try what can be done to secure for us, if possible, an old age of absolute independence ; and for our little one a position which may prevent his being a burden to us. . . . ". . . The consuls in England have not yet been nominated. The consulship in London will be well worth having, and perhaps, although there will be plenty of candidates, it might not be impossible for me to obtain it. It is at least probable that I could get appointed to one of the sea-ports. . . . ". . . Answer me at once, I beg of you. Think if this plan is opposed to any of your tastes; for you know there is only one possible happiness for me. Need I say more?") SUGGESTED ABANDONMENT' OF CAMILLA COTTAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.) Westhamble, December 15, 1801. The relief, the consolation of your frequent letters I can never express, nor my grateful sense of your finding time for them, situated as you now are-, and yet that I have this moment read, of the 15 Frimaire, has made my heart ache Page 202 heavily. Our hermitage is so dear to me-our book-room, 'so precious, and in its retirement, its beauty of prospect, form, convenience, and comforts, so impossible to replace, that I sigh, and deeply, in thinking of relinquishing it. Your happiness, however, is now all mine ; if deliberately therefore, you wish to try a new system, I will surely try it, with you, be it what it may. I will try any thing but what I try now--absence ! Think, however, well, mon tr s cher ami, before you decide upon any occupation that robs you of being master of your own time, leisure, hours, gardening, scribbling, and reading. In the happiness you are now enjoying, while it Is SO new to you, you are perhaps unable to appreciate your own value of those six articles, which, except in moments of your bitter regret at the privation of your first friends and beloved country, have made your life so desirable. Weigh, weigh it well in the detail. I cannot write. Should you find the sum total preponderate in favour of your new scheme, I will say no more. All schemes will to me be preferable to seeing you again here, without the same fondness for the place, and way of life, that has made it to me what it has been. With regard to the necessity or urgency of the measure, I could say much that I cannot write. You know now I can live with you, and you know I am not without views, as well as hopes, of ameliorating our condition. I will fully discuss the subject with our oracle.(166) His kindness, his affection for you! Yesterday, when I produced your letter, and the extracts from M. Necker, and was going to read some, he said, in that voice that is so penetratingly sweet, when he speaks from his heart--"I had rather hear one line of d'Arblay's than a volume of M. Necker's,"--yet at the same time begging to peruse the MS. when I could spare it. I wish you could have heard the tone in which he pronounced those words: it vibrated on my ears all day. I have spent near two hours upon this theme with our dearest oracle and his other half He is much affected by the idea of any change that may remove us from his daily sight; but, with his unvarying disinterestedness, says he thinks such a place would be fully acquitted by you. If it is of consul here, in London, he is sure you would fill up all its functions even Page 203 admirably. I put the whole consideration into your own hands , what, upon mature deliberation, you judge to be best, I will abide by. Heaven guide and speed your determination! M. D'ARBLAY'S PROPOSED RETIREMENT FROM MILITARY SERVICE. 1802. [The beginning of this year was attended with much anxiety to Madame d'Arblay. Her husband, disappointed in the hopes suggested by his friends, of his receiving employment as French commercial consul in London, directed his efforts to obtaining his half-pay on the retired list of French officers. This was promised, on condition that he should previously serve at St. Domingo, where General Leclerc was then endeavouring to put down Toussaint's insurrection. He accepted the appointment conditionally on his being allowed to retire as soon as that expedition should be ended. This, he was told, was impossible, and he therefore hastened back to his family towards the end of January. In February, a despatch followed him from General Berthier, then minister at war, announcing that his appointment was made out, and on his own terms. 'To this M. d'Arblay wrote his acceptance, but repeated a stipulation he had before made, that while he was ready to fight against the enemies of the Republic, yet, should future events disturb the peace lately established between France and England, it was his unalterable determination never to take up arms against the British government. As this determination had already been signified by M. d'Arblay, he waited not to hear the result of its repetition, but set off again for Paris to receive orders, and proceed thence to St. Domingo. After a short time he was informed that his stipulation of never taking up arms against England could not be accepted, and that his military appointment was in consequence annulled. Having been required at the Alien office, on quitting England, to engage that he would not return for the space of one year, he now proposed that Madame d'Arblay, with her little boy, should join him in France:-and among the following letters will be found several in which she describes her first impressions on reaching that country, and the society to which she was introduced.] Page 204 (Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta.) Camilla Cottage, Westhamble, February 11, 1802. A most unexpected, and, to me, severe event, draws from me now an account I had hoped to have reserved for a far happier communication, but which I must beg you to endeavour to seek some leisure moment for making known, with the utmost humility, to my royal mistress. . . . Upon the total failure of every effort M. d'Arblay could make to recover any part of his natural inheritance, he was advised by his friends to apply to the French government for half pay, upon the claims of his former military services. He drew up a memoir, openly stating his attachment and loyalty to his late king, and appealing for this justice after undeserved proscription. His right was admitted, but he was informed it could only be made good by his re-entering the army; and a proposal to that effect was sent him by Berthier, the minister of war. The disturbance of his mind at an offer which so many existing circumstances forbade his foreseeing, was indescribable. He had purposed faithfully retiring to his hermitage, with his fellow-hermit, for the remainder of his life: and nothing upon earth could ever induce him to bear arms against the country which had given him asylum, as well as birth to his wife and child;--and yet a military spirit of honour, born and bred in him, made it repugnant to all his feelings to demand even retribution from the government of his own country, yet refuse to serve it. Finally, therefore, he resolved to accept the offer conditionally--to accompany the expedition to St. Domingo, for the restoration of order in the French colonies, and then, restored thus to his rank in the army, to claim his retraite. This he declared to the minister of war, annexing a further clause of receiving his instructions immediately from the government. The minister's answer to this was, that these conditions were impossible. Relieved rather than resigned-though dejected to find himself thus thrown out of every promise of prosperity, M. d'Arblay hastened back to his cottage, to the inexpressible satisfaction of the- recluse he had left there. short, however, has been its duration ! A packet has just followed him, containing a letter from Berthier, to tell him that his appointment was made out according to his own demands ! and Page 205 enclosing another letter to the commander-in-chief, Leclerc, with the orders of government for employing him, delivered in terms, the most distinguished, of his professional character. All hesitation, therefore, now necessarily ends, and nothing remains for M. d'Arblay but acquiescence and despatch,-- while his best consolation is in the assurance he has universally received, that this expedition has the good wishes and sanction of England. And, to avert any misconception or misrepresentation, he has this day delivered to M. Otto(167) a letter, addressed immediately to the first Consul, acknowledging the flattering manner in which he has been called forth, but decidedly and clearly repeating what he had already declared to the war minister, that though he would faithfully fulfil the engagement into which he was entering, it was his unalterable resolution never to take up arms against the British government. I presume to hope this little detail may, at some convenient moment, meet her majesty's eyes-with every expression of my profoundest devotion. M. D'ARBLAY's DISAPPOINTMENT. (Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.) Westhamble, March 14, 1802. O my dearest friend,- Can the intelligence I have most desired come to me in a form that forbids my joy at it? What tumultuous sensations your letter of the 8th has raised!(168) Alas! that to relinquish this purpose should to you be as great unhappiness as to me was its suggestion! I know not how to enter upon the subject--how to express a single feeling. I fear to seem ungrateful to providence, or to you ungenerous. I will only, therefore, say, that as all your motives have been the most strictly honourable, it is not possible they should not, ultimately, have justice done them by all. That I feel for your disappointment I need not tell you, when you find it has power to shake to its foundation what would else be the purest satisfaction of my soul. Let us--let us hope fairer days will ensue and do not let the courage Page 206 which was so prompt to support you to St. Domingo fail you in remaining at Paris. What you say of the year's probation I knew not before. Would you have me make any inquiry if it be irreversible?' I should think not ; and am most ready and eager to try by every means in my power, if you will authorize me. If not, to follow you, whithersoever you will, is much less my duty than my delight ! You have only to dictate whither, and how, and every doubt, every fear, every difficulty, will give way to my eager desire to bring your little boy to you. Would I not have left even Kin to have followed you and your fate even to St. Domingo? 'Tis well, however, you did not listen to me, for that poor little susceptible soul could not, as yet lose us both at once, and be preserved himself He has lived' so singularly alone with us, and for us, that he does not dream of any possible existence in which we should be both separated from him. But of him--our retreat--our books--our scribbling--our garden--our unique mode of life--I must not talk to you now, now that your mind, thoughts, views, and wishes are all distorted from themes of peace, domestic life, and literary pursuits; yet time, I hope, reflection, your natural philosophy of accommodating yourself to your fate, and your kindness for those who are wholly devoted to you, will bring you back to the love of those scenes, modes, and sentiments, which for upwards of eight years have sufficed for our mutual happiness. I had been negotiating for apartments at Twickenham, opposite Richmond, ever since you went, and on Friday I wrote to close with the engagement. This very morning I have two letters, full of delight at our approaching neighbourhood. Miss C.(169) herself writes in tears, she says, of joy, that I should be so near her, and that you should have wished it, and blesses you for your confidence in her warm friendship. It is quite impossible to read of such affection and zeal and goodness with dry eyes. I am confounded how to disenchant her--- yet so generous and disinterested she is, that, however disappointed, she will be sure to rejoice for me in our re-union; for you, my dearest friend! ah! who can rejoice? Your mind was all made up to the return of its professional pursuits, and I am frightened out of all my own satisfaction by MY dread of the weight of this chagrin upon your spirits. What Page 207 you can do to avert depression,, that cruel underminer of every faculty that makes life worth sustaining, I beseech you to call forth. Think how I have worked for fortitude since Feb. 11th. Alas! vainly I have tried what most I wished--my poor pen!--but now "occupe-toi pour r�aliser l'esp�rance." Those words will operate like magic, I trust; and I will not close my eyes this night till I have committed to paper some opening to a new essay. Be good, then, and don't let me be as unhappy this way as I have been the other. Direct always to me, Norbury Park, Dorking. Heaven bless--bless you [Here follows, in the original edition, another letter in French, from M. d'Arblay to his wife. We translate the following passage.-ED. "At Ventose, year 10, (March 12, 1802). "You have doubtless communicated to our friends at Norbury Park, the letters which I have sent you. Did I tell you that I sent a copy of those letters to M. de Lafayette?(170) M. de Lafayette came at once to Paris, and requested an interview with Bonaparte, who granted it immediately. Addressing him, M. de Lafayette said, ' I have come to speak to you of one of my friends and companions--d'Arblay.' 'I know that business,' said the first Consul, in a tone which expressed more good-will than I ventured to hope for, at least, more than I had been given reason to expect. 'I assure you,' said M. de Lafayette to me, the next day, 'you have some good friends with the first Consul, who had already spoken to him on your business. He seemed to me, from the first instant, rather disposed in your favour than angry with you. . . . When I told him of your fear lest this business should have excited his displeasure, he replied positively, that it should do you no injury whatever, and that he would regard, in the step you had taken, only the husband of Cecilia.' "I hope you will not be very displeased at the way this business, which has caused me much vexation, has terminated. I think I may even add, in confidence, that I am, perhaps, not without a near prospect of getting my retiring pension. Come to me, then, my dearest. Page 208 ON THE EVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S JOURNEY To FRANCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) March 30, 1802. Now, indeed, my dearest father, I am in an excess of hurry not to be exceeded by even any of yours. I have a letter from M. d'Arblay, to tell me he has already taken us an apartment, and he dates from the 5th of April, in Paris, where he has reasons for remaining some time, before we go to his good uncle, at Joigny. I am to take the little sweet child with me you saw here one day, Mlle. de Chavagnac, whose father, le Comte de Chavagnac, has desired her restoration. My kind Mrs: Locke is almost in affliction at parting with her though glad of an opportunity of sending her with friends the poor thing knows and loves. I fear, I have so very much to do here, that I shall have a very, very short enjoyment of my beloved father at Chelsea but I shall get there as soon as possible, and stay there to my last moment. I have a thousand things, and very curious ones, to tell you; but I must defer them for vive voix. I am really bewildered and almost trembling with hurry, and with what I am going to undertake! Yet through all, i bless God every moment of my life that M. d'Arblay went not to that pestilential climate I do all-- all I can to keep up my courage--or rather to make up; and when I feel faltering, I think of St Domingo! Every body that knows St Domingo now owns that he had hardly a chance for safety, independent of tempests in the voyage, and massacres in the mountains. May I but be able to console him for all he has sacrificed to my peace and happiness ! and no privation will be severe, so that at our stated period, Michaelmas twelvemonth, we return to my country, and to my dearest father, whom heaven bless and preserve, prays his dutiful, affectionate and grateful, and devoted daughter, F. d'A. DIARY: (Addressed to Dr. Burney). IN FRANCE DURING THE PEACE AND SUBSEQUENTLY. April, 1802-I seize, at length, upon the largest paper I can procure, to begin to my beloved father some account of our journey, and if I am able, I mean to keep him a brief Page 209 journal of my proceedings during this destined year or eighteen months' separation,-secure of his kindest interest in all that I may have to relate, and certain he will be anxious to know how I go on in a strange land : 'tis my only way now of communicating with him, and I must draw from it one of my dearest worldly comforts, the hopes of seeing his loved hand with some return. April 15.-William and John conducted my little boy and me in excellent time to the inn in Piccadilly, where we met my kind Mrs. Locke and dear little Adrienne de Chavagnac. The parting there was brief and hurried; and I set off on my grand expedition, with my two dear young charges, exactly at five o'clock. . . . Paris, April 15, 1802.-The book-keeper came to me eagerly, crying "vite, vite, madame, prenez votre place dans la diligence, car voici un Monsieur Anglais, qui surement va prendre la meileure!" En effet, ce Monsieur Anglais did not disappoint his expectations, or much raise mine - for he not only took the best place, but contrived to ameliorate it by the little scruple with which he made every other worse, from the unbridled expansion in which he indulged his dear person, by putting out his elbows against his next, and his knees and feet against his opposite neighbour. He seemed prepared to look upon all around-him with a sort of sulky haughtiness, pompously announcing himself as a commander of distinction who had long served at Gibraltar and various places, who had travelled thence through France, and from France to Italy, who was a native of Scotland, and -of proud, though unnamed genealogy '; and was now going to Paris purposely to behold the first Consul, to whom he meant to claim an introduction through Mr. Jackson. His burnt complexion, Scotch accent, large bony face and figure, and high and distant demeanour, made me easily conceive and believe him a highland chief. I never heard his name, but I think him a gentleman born, though not gently bred. Page 210 The next to mention is a Madame Raymond or Grammont, for I heard not distinctly which, who seemed very much a gentlewoman, and who was returning to France, too uncertain of the state of her affairs to know whether she might rest there or not. She had only one defect to prevent my taking much interest in her ; this was, not merely an avoidance, but a horror of being touched by either of my children ; who, poor little souls, restless and fatigued by the confinement they endured, both tried to fling themselves upon every passenger in turn ; and though by every one they were sent back to their sole prop, they were by no one repulsed with such hasty displeasure as by this old lady, who seemed as fearful of having the petticoat of her gown, which was stiff, round, and bulging, as if lined with parchment, deranged, as if she had been attired in a hoop for Court. The third person was a Madame Blaizeau, who seemed an exceeding good sort of a woman, gay, voluble, good humoured, and merry. All we had of amusement sprung from her sallies, which were uttered less from a desire of pleasing others, her very natural character having none of the high polish bestowed by the Graces, than from a jovial spirit of enjoyment which made them produce pleasure to herself. She soon and frankly acquainted us she had left France to be a governess to some young ladies before the Revolution, and under the patronage, as I think, of the Duke of Dorset - she had been courted, she told us, by an English gentleman farmer, but he would not change his religion for her, nor she for him, and so, when every thing was bought for her wedding, they broke off the connexion ; and she afterwards married a Frenchman. She had seen a portrait, set richly in diamonds, of the king, prepared for a present to the first Consul ; and described its superb ornaments and magnificence, in a way to leave no doubt of the fact. She meant to stop at St. Denis, to inquire if her mother yet lived, having received no intelligence from or of her, these last ten eventful years ! At Canterbury, while the horses were changed, my little ones and I went to the cathedral; but dared merely seize sufficient time to view the outside and enter the principal aisle. I was glad even of that much, as its antique grandeur gave me a pleasure which I always love to cherish in the view of fine old cathedrals, those most permanent monuments Of what our ancestors thought reverence to God, as manifested in munificence to the place dedicated to his worship. Page 211 At Dover we had a kind of dinner-supper in one, and my little boy and girl and I retired immediately after it, took some tea in our chamber, and went to rest. April 16.-As we were not to sail till twelve, I had hoped to have seen the castle and Shakspeare's cliff, but most unfortunately it rained all the morning, and we were confined to the inn, except for the interlude of the custom-house, where, however, the examination was so slight, and made with such civility, that we had no other trouble with it than a wet walk and a few shillings. Our passports were examined; and we then ' went to the port, and, the sea being perfectly smooth, were lifted from the quay to the deck of our vessel with as little difficulty as we could have descended from a common chair to the ground. ARRIVAL AT CALAIS. The calm which caused our slow passage and our sickness, was now favourable, for it took us into the port of Calais so close and even with the quay, that we scarcely accepted even a hand to aid us from the vessel to the shore. The quay was lined with crowds of people, men, women, and children, and certain amphibious females, who might have passed for either sex, or anything else in the world, except what they really were, European women! Their men's hats, men's jackets, and men's shoes - their burnt skins, and most savage-looking petticoats, hardly reaching, nay, not reaching their knees, would have made me instantly believe any account I could have heard of their being just imported from the wilds of America. The vessel was presently filled with men, who, though dirty and mean, were so civil and gentle, that they could not displease, and who entered it so softly and quietly, that, neither hearing nor seeing their approach, it seemed as if they had availed themselves of some secret trap-doors through which they had mounted to fill the ship, without sound or bustle, in a single moment. When we were quitting it, however, this tranquillity as abruptly finished, for in an instant a part of them rushed round me, one demanding to carry Alex, another Adrienne, another seizing my �critoire, another my arm, and some one, I fear, my parasol, as I have never been able to find it since. We were informed we must not leave the ship till Monsieur Page 212 le commissaire arrived to carry us, I think, to the Municipality of Calais to show our passports. Monsieur le commisSaire in white with some red trappings, soon arrived, civilly hastening himself quite out of breath to save us from waiting' We then mounted the quay, and I followed the rest of the passengers, who all followed the commissary, accompanied by two men carrying the two children, and two more carrying one my �critoire, and the other insisting on conducting its owner. The quantity of people that surrounded and walked with us, surprised me ; and their decency, their silence their quietness astonished me. To fear them was impossible: even in entering France with all the formed fears hanging upon its recent though past horrors. But on coming to the municipality, I was, I own, extremely ill at ease, when upon our gouvernante's desiring me to give the commissary my passport, as the rest of the passengers had done, and my answering it was in my �critoire, she exclaimed, "Vite! Vite! cherchez-le, ou vous serez arr�t�e!"(172) You may be sure I was quick enough, or at least tried to be so, for my fingers presently trembled, and I could hardly put in the key. In the hall to which we now repaired, our passports were taken and deposited, and we had new ones drawn up and given us in their stead. On quitting this place we were accosted by a new crowd, all however as gentle, though not as silent, as our first friends, who recommended various hotels to us, one begging we would go to Grandsire, another to Duroc, another to Meurice--and this last prevailed with the gouvernante, whom I regularly followed, not from preference, but from the singular horror my otherwise worthy and wellbred old lady manifested, when, by being approached by the children, her full round coats risked the danger of being modernised into the flimsy, falling drapery of the present day. At Meurice's our goods were entered, and we heard that they would be examined at the custom-house in the afternoon. We breakfasted, and the crowd of fees which were claimed by the captain, steward, sailors, carriers, and heaven knows who, besides, are inconceivable. I gave whatever they asked, from ignorance of what was due, and from fear of offending those of whose extent, still less of whose use, of power I could form no judgment. I was the only one in this predicament; the rest refusing or disputing every demand. They all, but us Page 213 Went out to walk - but I stayed to write to my dearest father, to Mrs. Locke, and my expecting mate. "GOD SAVE THE KING!" ON FRENCH SOIL. We were all three too much awake by the new scene to try for any repose, and the hotel windows sufficed for our amusement till dinner; and imagine, my dearest sir, how my repast was seasoned, when I tell you that, as soon as it began, a band "of music came to the window and struck up "God save the king." I can never tell you what a pleased emotion was excited in my breast by this sound on a shore so lately hostile, and on which I have so many, so heartfelt motives for wishing peace and amity perpetual! A RAMBLE THROUGH THE TOWN. This over, we ventured out of the hotel to look at the street. The day was fine, the street was clean, two or three people who passed us, made way for the children as they skipped out of' my hands, and I saw such an unexpected appearance of quiet, order and civility, that, almost without knowing it, we strolled from the gate, and presently found ourselves in the market-place, which was completely full of sellers, and buyers, ,and booths, looking like a large English fair. The queer, gaudy jackets, always of a different colour from the petticoats of the women, and their immense wing-caps, which seemed made to double over their noses, but which all flew back so as to discover their ears, in which 1 regularly saw -large and generally drop gold ear-rings, were quite as diverting ...to myself as to Alex and Adrienne. Many of them, also, had gold necklaces chains, and crosses; but ear-rings all: even maids who were scrubbing or sweeping, ragged wretches bearing burdens on their heads or shoulders, old women selling fruit or other eatables, gipsy-looking creatures with children tied to their backs--all wore these long, broad, large, shining ear-rings. Beggars we saw not--no, not one, all the time we stayed or sauntered; and for civility and gentleness, the poorest and most ordinary persons we met or passed might be compared with the best dressed and best looking walkers in the streets of our metropolis, and still to the disadvantage of the latter. I cannot say how much this surprised me, as I had conceived a horrific idea of the populace of this country, imagining em all transformed into bloody monsters. Page 214 Another astonishment I experienced equally pleasing, though not equally important to my ease; I saw innumerable pretty women and lovely children, almost all of them extremely fair. I had been taught to expect nothing but mahogany complexions and hideous features instantly on crossing the strait of Dover. When this, however, was mentioned in our party afterwards, the Highlander exclaimed, "But Calais was in the hands of the English so many years, that the English -race there is not yet extinct." The perfect security in which I now saw we might wander about, induced us to walk over the whole town, and even extend our excursions to the ramparts surrounding it. It is now a very clean and pretty town, and so orderly that there was no more tumult or even noise in the market-place, where the people were so close together as to form a continual crowd, than in the by-streets leading to the country, where scarcely a passenger was to be seen. This is certainly a remark which, I believe, could never be made in England. When we returned to the hotel, I found all my fellow travellers had been to the custom house! I had quite forgotten, or rather neglected to inquire the hour for this formality, and was beginning to alarm myself lest I was out of rule, when a young man, a commissary, I heard, of the hotel, came to me and asked if I had anything contraband to the laws of the Republic. I answered as I had done before, and he readily undertook to go through the ceremony for me without my appearing. I was so much frightened, and so happy not to be called upon personally, that I thought myself very cheaply off in his after-demand of a guinea and a half. I had two and a half to pay afterwards for additional luggage.. We found reigning through Calais a general joy and satisfaction at the restoration of Dimanche and abolition of d�cade.(173) I had a good deal of conversation with the maid of the inn, a tall, fair, extremely pretty woman, and she talked much upon this subject, and the delight it occasioned, and the obligation all France was under to the premier Consul for restoring religion and worship. Page 215 SUNDAY ON THE ROAD TO PARIS. Sunday, April 18. --We set off for Paris at five o'clock in the morning. The country broad, flat, or' barrenly steep --Without trees, without buildings, and scarcely inhabited-- exhibited a change from the fertile fields, and beautiful woods ,band gardens, and civilisation of Kent, so sudden and unpleasant that I only lamented the fatigue of my position, which regularly impeded my making use of this chasm of 'pleasure and observation for repose. This part of France must certainly be the least frequented, for we rarely met a single carriage, and the villages, few and distant, seemed to have no intercourse with each other. Dimanche, indeed, might occasion this stiffness, for we saw, at almost all the villages, neat and clean peasants going to or coming from mass, and seeming indescribably elated and happy by the public permission of divine worship on its originally appointed day. I was struck with the change in Madame Raymond, who joined us in the morning from another hotel. Her hoop was no more visible; her petticoats were as lank, or more so, than her neighbours'; and her distancing the children was not only at an end, but she prevented me from renewing any of my cautions to them, of not incommoding her - and when we were together a few moments, before we were joined by the rest, she told me, with a significant smile, not to tutor the children about her any more, as she only avoided them from having something of consequence to take care of, which was removed. I then saw she meant some English lace or muslin, which she had carried in a petticoat, and, since the customhouse examination was over, had now packed in her trunk. Poor lady! I fear this little merchandise was all her hope of succour on her arrival! She is amongst the emigrants who have twice or thrice returned, but not yet been able to rest in their own country. What most in the course of this journey struck me, was the satisfaction of all the country people, with whom I could converse at the restoration of the Dimanche; and the boasts they now ventured to make of having never kept the d�cade, except during the dreadful reign of Robespierre, when not to oppose any of his severest decrees was insufficient for safety, ,"it was essential even to existence to observe them with every parade of the warmest approval. Page 216 The horrible stories from every one of that period of wanton as well as political cruelty, I must have judged exaggerated, either through the mist of fear or the heats of resentment but that, though the details had innumerable modifications' there was but one voice for the excess of barbarity. At a little hamlet near Clermont, where we rested some time, two good old women told us that this was the happiest day (twas Sunday) of their lives; that they had lost le bon Dieu for these last ten years, but that Bonaparte had now found him! In another cottage we were told the villagers had kept their own cur� all this time concealed, and though privately and with fright, they had thereby saved their souls through the whole of the bad times! And in another, some poor creatures said they were now content with their destiny, be it what it might, since they should be happy, at least, in the world to come - but that while denied going to mass, they had all their sufferings aggravated by knowing that they must lose their souls hereafter, besides all that they had to endure here! O my dearest father! that there can have existed wretches of such diabolical wickedness as to have snatched, torn, from the toiling indigent every ray even of future hope! Various of these little conversations extremely touched me nor was I unmoved, though not with such painful emotion, on the sight of the Sunday night dance, in a little village through which we passed, where there seemed two or three hundred peasants engaged in that pastime all clean and very gaily dressed, yet all so decent and well behaved, that, but for the poor old fiddlers, we might have driven on, and not have perceived the rustic ball. Here ends the account of my journey, and if it has amused my dearest father, it will be a true delight to me to have scribbled it. My next letter brings me to the capital, and to the only person who can console me for my always lamented absence from himself. ENGAGEMENTS, OCCUPATIONS, AND FATIGUE (Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta.) Paris, April 27, 1802. A week have I been here, my dear Miss Planta, so astonishingly engaged, so indispensably occupied, or so suffering from fatigue, that I have not been able till now to take up Page 217 pen, except to satisfy my dear father of our safe arrival. To give you some idea of these engagements, occupations, and fatigues, I must begin with the last. We were a whole long, languid day, a whole restless, painful night, upon the sea; my little Alex sick as death, suffering if possible yet more than myself, though I had not a moment of ease and comfort. My little Adrienne de Chavagnac was perfectly well all the time, singing and skipping about the cabin, and amusing every one by her innocent enjoyment of the novelty of the scene. . . . As to my occupations;-my little apartment to arrange, my trunks and baggage to unpack and place, my poor Adrienne to consign to her friends, my Alex to nurse from a threatening malady; letters to deliver, necessaries to buy; a femme de chambre to engage; and, most important of all! my own sumptuous wardrobe to refit, and my own poor exterior to reorganise! I see you smile, methinks, at this hint; but what smiles would brighten the countenance of a certain young lady called Miss Rose, who amused herself by anticipation, when I had last the honour of seeing her, with the changes I might have to undergo, could she have heard the exclamations which followed the examination of my attire: "This won't do! That YOU can never wear! This you can never be seen in! That would make you stared at as a curiosity!-- Three petticoats! no one wears more than one!-- Stays? everybody has left off even corsets!--Shift sleeves? not a soul now wears even a chemise!" etc. In short, I found all I possessed seemed so hideously old fashioned, or so comically rustic, that as soon as it was decreed I must make appearance in the grand monde, hopeless of success in exhibiting myself in the' costume Fran�ais, I gave over the attempt, and ventured to come forth as a gothic Anglaise, who never heard of, or never heeded the reigning metamorphosis. As to my engagements;--when should I finish, should I tell all that have been made or proposed, even in the short space of a single week? The civilities I have met with, contrary to all my expectations, have not more amazed me for myself, than gratified me for M. d'Arblay, who is keenly alive to the kind, I might say distinguished, reception I have been favoured with by those to whom my arrival is known. Your favourite hero is excessively popular at this moment from three successive grand events, all occurring within the Page 218 short time of my arrival,--the ratification of the treaty of peace--the restoration of Sunday, and Catholic worship--and the amnesty of the emigrants. At the Opera buffa, the loge in which I sat was exactly opposite to that of the first Consul but he and his family are all at Malmaison. DIARY RESUMED: (Addressed to Dr. Burney.) ARISTOCRATIC VISITORS. Paris, April 1, 1802.(174)-Almost immediately after my arrival in Paris, I was much surprised by a visit from the ci-devant Prince de Beauvau, madame his wife, and Mademoiselle de Mortemar her sister, all brought by Madame d'Henin. if gratified in the first instance by a politeness of attention so little my due and so completely beyond my expectations, how was my pleasure enhanced when I found they all three spoke English with the utmost ease and fluency, and how pleased also at the pleasure I was able to give them in reward of their civility, by a letter I had brought from Mrs. Harcourt, which was received with the warmest delight by Mademoiselle de Mortemar and a message from a young lady named Elizabeth, with the profoundest gratitude. April 24-This morning Madame d'Henin was so kind as to accompany us, in making our visit to Madame de Beauvau her niece, and Mademoiselle de Mortemar. We found them at home with M. de Beauvau, and they indulged me with the sight of their children, who are the most flourishing and healthy possible, and dressed and brought up with English plainness and simplicity. The visit was very pleasant, and Madame d'Henin made a party for us all to meet again the next day, and go to the Opera buffa. ANXIETY TO SEE THE FIRST CONSUL. I have heard much of the visit of Mrs. Damer and the Miss Berrys to Paris, and their difficulty to get introduced to the first Consul.(175) A lady here told us she had been called upon Page 219 by Miss Berry, who had complained with much energy upon this subject, saying, "We have been everywhere--seen everything--heard every body--beheld such sights! listened to such discourse! joined such society! and all to obtain his notice! Don't you think it very extraordinary that he should not himself desire to see Mrs. Damer? "Madame," replied the lady, "perhaps if you had done but half this, the first Consul might have desired to see you both." "But you don't imagine," answered she, laughing, "we came over from England to see you ci-devants ? We can see such as you at home!" She was gone before our arrival ; and, as I understand, succeeded at last in obtaining an introduction. They were both, Mrs. Damer and Miss Berry, as I am told, very gay and agreeable, as well as enterprising, and extremely well r�pandues. AT THE OPERA-BOUFFE. April 25.-I was not much better in the evening, but the party for the Opera buffa being formed by Madame d'Henin on my account, my going was indispensable. She had borrowed the loge of M. de Choiseul, which, being entailed upon the family perp�tuit�, has in a most extraordinary manner continued unalienated through the whole course of massacres and proscriptions to the present day, when the right owner possesses it. It is the largest and best box, except that which is opposite to it, in the theatre. . . . The opera was "Le Nozze di Dorina," by Sarti, and extremely pretty; though I wished it had been as new to M. C-- de P-- as to myself, for then he would not have divided my attention by obligingly singing every note with every performer. In truth, I was still so far from recovered from the fatigue of my journey, that I was lulled to a drowsiness the most distressing before the end of the second act, ' page 220 which being but too obvious, Madame d'Henin and M. d'Arblay took me away before I risked a downright nap by waiting for the third. DIFFICULTIES RESPECTING MADAME DE STAEL. April 26-The assembly at Madame d'Henin's was one of the most select and agreeable at which I was ever present. Assembly, however, I ought not to call a meeting within the number of twenty. But I was uneasy for my poor Alex, and therefore stole away as soon as possible; not, however, till Madame de Tess� made a party for us for the following Thursday at her house, nor till I had held a private discourse with Mademoiselle de -- upon my embarrassment as to Madame de Stael, from the character she held in England; which embarrassment was not much lightened by her telling me it was not held more fair in France ! Yet, that everywhere the real evil is highly exaggerated by report, envy, and party-spirit, all allow. She gives, however, great assemblies at which all Paris assist, and though not solicited or esteemed by her early friends and acquaintance, she is admired, and pitied, and received by them. I would she were gone to Copet!(176) What most perplexed me at this period was the following note from Madame de Stael. "je voudrois vous t�moigner mon empressement, madame, et je crains d'�tre indiscrette. j'esp�re que vous aurez la bont� de me faire dire quand vous serez assez remise des fatigues de votre voyage pour que je puisse avoir l'honneur de vous voir sans vous importuner. "Ce 4 florial. (177) "Necker Stael de H."(178) How is it possible, when even the common civility of a card for her card is yet unreturned, that she can have brought herself thus to descend from her proud heights to solicit the Page 221 renewal of an acquaintance broken so abruptly in England, and so palpably shunned in France ? Is it that the regard she appeared to conceive for me in England was not only sincere but constant? If so, I must very much indeed regret a waste of kindness her character and conduct make it impossible for me to repay, even though, on this spot, I am assured all her misfortunes are aggravated, nay caricatured, by report, and that she exerts her utmost influence, and calls forth her best talents, upon every occasion which presents itself for serving those who have been her friends ; and that, notwithstanding circumstances and disunion, either in politics or morals, may have made them become her enemies. Her generosity is cited as truly singular upon this head, and I have heard histories of her returning, personally, good for evil that would do honour to any character living. After much deliberation and discussion, my French master composed the following answer:-- \"Madame d'Arblay ne peut qu'�tre infiniment flatt�e de l'extr�me bont� de Madame la Comtesse de Stael. Elle aura tr�s certainement l'honneur de se pr�senter chez Madame de Stael aussit�t que possible."(179) Cooler than this it was not easy to write, and the ne peut qu'�tre is a tournure that is far enough from flattering. I hope, however, it will prepare her for the frozen kind of intercourse which alone can have place between us. MADAME DE LAFAYETTE. As I wished much to see the parade, or review, which was to take place on the 5th, and is only once a month, we were forced to devote the preceding day to visits, as it was decreed in our council of etiquette that I could not appear in a place where I might be seen by those who had shown me the civility of beginning an acquaintance, till I had acknowledged my debt to them. . . . I was so thoroughly tired when I returned from all these visits, that I was forced to rest upon a bed for the remainder of the day, to my no small discomposure before the evening was closed; for, in a close cap, my feet in their native, undraperied state, hidden by a large, long, wrapping morning Page 222 gown, your daughter, my dearest sir, lay reclined on a bed when, rather late in the evening, I was told Madame d'Henin was in the salon. I was going to send in my excuses, while I rose to get ready for waiting upon her - but Alex flung open the door, and seeing where I was, and how fatigued, she insisted on my keeping still, and came to my bedside, and sat in friendly converse, listening to the history of my morning excursion, till a ring at the bell of our ante-room made me desire to have nobody admitted. Alex again, however, frisking about, prevented Pauline, my little femme de chambre, from hearing me, and she announced Madame de Lafayette! You may easily believe this name, and my present situation, put me into no small commotion. I was beseeching Madame d'Henin to go to the saloon with my apologies, when Alex, whose illness, though it has diminished his strength and his flesh, has left his spirits as wild as ever, called out to proclaim where I was, and while Madame Lafayette was gently moving on, flung the bedroom door wide open, saying, "Mamma is here! " Madame Lafayette, concluding, I suppose, that I received du monde in the French manner, immediately presented herself at the door, where I had no resource but to entreat Madame d'Henin, who is her intimate friend, to receive her, for I was wholly powerless, with my unsandaled feet, from rising. Madame d'Henin now brought her to my bedside, where nothing could have been more awkward than my situation : but that the real reverence I had conceived for her character and her virtues made the sight of so singular a person, her condescension in the visit, and her goodness, though lame, in mounting three pair of stairs, give me a sensation of pleasure, that by animating my spirits, endowed me with a courage that overcame all difficulties both of language and position, and enabled me to express my gratitude for her kindness and my respect for her person, with something far nearer to fluency and clearness than anything in speech I have yet attempted. My mind instantly presented her to me, torn from her beloved family, and thrown into the death-impending prison of Robespierre ; and then saved by his timely destruction from the scaffold, and then using her hardly-recovered liberty only by voluntarily sacrificing it to be immured with her husband in the dungeon of Olm�tz.(180) Various as may be the opinions of Page 223 the politics of M. de Lafayette, all Europe, I believe,'concur in admiration of the character and conduct of his virtuous and heroic wife. Indeed, nothing since my arrival has so sensibly gratified me, from without, as this visit. Madame Lafayette is the daughter of the ci-devant Duc d'Ayen, and consequently niece of Madame de Tess�, the duke's sister. She was married to M. de Lafayette when she was only seventeen years of age. By some cold or mismanagement, and total want of exercise in the prison of Olm�tz, some humour has fallen into one of her ankles, that, though it does not make her absolutely lame, causes walking to be so painful and difficult to her that she moves as little as possible, and is always obliged to have a stool for her foot. She now resides with M. de Lafayette and their three children entirely in the country, at a chateau which has descended to her since the revolutionary horrors and therefore has not been confiscated, called "La Grange." They never come to Paris but upon business of positive necessity. She had arrived only this morning on a visit to her aunt, Madame de Tess�, to make some preparations for the approaching marriage of her only son. Her youngest daughter, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, accompanied her. She is a blooming young creature of English fairness-as we English choose to say-with a bright native colour, and beautiful light hair ; otherwise with but indifferent features, and not handsome : yet her air, though modest even to the extreme that borders upon bashfulness, is distinguished, and speaks her to be both sensible and well brought up. Madame de Lafayette, also, is by no means handsome; but has eyes so expressive, so large, and so speaking, that it is not easy to criticise her other features, for it is almost impossible to look at them. Her manner is calm and mild, yet noble. She is respected even by surrounding infidels for her genuine piety, which, in the true character of true religion, is severe only for herself, lenient and cheerful for all others. I do not say this from what I could see in the hour she was so good as to pass with me, but from all I have heard. She warmly invited me to La Grange, and requested me to name an early day for passing some time there. I proposed Page 224 that it might be after the marriage had taken place,"as till then all foreign people or subjects might be obtrusive. She paused a moment, and then said, "Apr�s?--c'est vrai we could then more completely enjoy Madame d'Arblay' society; for we must now have continual interruptions, surrounded as we are by workmen, goods, chattels, and preparations; so that there would be a nail to hammer between almost every word; and yet, as we are going to Auvergne, after the ceremony, it will be so long before a meeting may be arranged, that I believe the less time lost the better." I know M. d'Arblay desired this acquaintance for me too earnestly to offer any opposition; and I was too much charmed with its opening to make any myself: it was therefore determined we should go the following week to La Grange. SIGHT-SEEING AT THE TuILERIES. May 5-Again a full day. M. d'Arblay had procured us three tickets for entering the apartments at the Tuileries to see the parade of General Hulin, now high in actual rank and service, but who had been a sous-officier under M. d'Arblay's command; our third ticket was for Madame d'Henin, who had never been to this sight-- nor, indeed, more than twice to any spectacle since her return to France--till my arrival; but she is so obliging and good as to accept, nay to seek, every thing that can amuse, of which I can profit. We breakfasted with her early, and were appointed to join the party of M. le Prince de Beauvau, who had a general in his carriage, through whose aid and instructions we hoped to escape all difficulties. Accordingly the coach in which they went was desired to stop at Madame d'Henin's door, so as to let us get into our fiacre, and follow it straight. This was done, and our precursor stopped at the gate leading to the garden of the Tuileries. The De Beauvaus, Mademoiselle de Mortemar, and their attending general, alighted, and we followed their example and joined them, which was no sooner done than their general, at the sight of M. d'Arblay, suddenly drew back from conducting Madame de Beauvau, and flew up to him. They had been ancient camarades, but had not met since M. d'A.'s emigration. The crowd was great, but civil and well -dressed ; and we met with no impediment till we came to the great entrance. Alas, I had sad recollections of sad readings in mounting the Page 225 steps! We had great difficulty, notwithstanding our tickets, in making our way--I mean Madame d'Henin and ourselves, for Madame de Beauvau and Mademoiselle de Mortemar having an officer in the existing military to aid them, were admitted and helped by all the attendants; and so forwarded that we wholly lost sight of them, till we arrived, long after, in the apartment destined for the exhibition. This, however, was so crowded that every place at the windows for seeing the parade was taken, and the row formed opposite to see the first Consul as he passes through the room to take horse, was so thick and threefold filled, that not a possibility existed of even a passing peep. Madame d'Henin would have retired, but as the whole scene was new and curious to me, I prevailed with her to stay, that I might view a little of the costume of the company; though I was sorry I detained her, when I saw her perturbed spirits from the recollections which, I am sure, pressed upon her on re-entering this palace : and that her sorrows were only subdued by her personal indignation, which was unconscious, but yet very prominent, to find herself included in the mass of the crowd in being refused all place and distinction, where, heretofore, she was amongst the first for every sort of courtesy. Nothing of this, however, was said and you may believe my pity for her was equally unuttered. We seated ourselves now, hopeless of any other amusement than seeing the uniforms of the passing officers, and the light drapery of the stationary ladies, which, by the way, is not by any means so notorious nor so common as has been represented ; on the contrary, there are far more who are decent enough to attract no attention, than who are fashionable enough to call for it. During this interval M. d'Arblay found means, by a ticket lent him by M. de Narbonne, to enter the next apartment, and there to state our distress, not in vain, to General Hulin; and presently he returned, accompanied by this officer, who is, I fancy, at least seven feet high, and was dressed in one of the most showy uniforms I ever saw. M. d'Arblay introduced me to him. He expressed his pleasure in seeing the wife of his old comrade, and taking my hand, caused all the crowd to make way, and conducted me into the apartment adjoining to that where the first Consul receives the ambassadors, with a flourish of manners so fully displaying power as well as courtesy, that I felt as if in the hands of one of the seven champions who meant to mow down all before him, should Page 226 any impious elf dare dispute his right to give me liberty, or to show me honour. A GOOD PLACE IS SECURED, He put me into the first place in the apartment which was sacred to general officers, and as many ladies as could be accommodated in two rows only at the windows. M. d'Arblay, under the sanction of his big friend, followed with Madame d'Henin , and we had the pleasure of rejoining Madame de Beauvau and Mademoiselle de Mortemar, who were at the same windows, through the exertions of General Songis. The scene now, with regard to all that was present, was splendidly gay and highly animating. The room was full, but not crowded, with officers of rank in sumptuous rather than rich uniforms, and exhibiting a martial air that became their attire, which, however, generally speaking, was too gorgeous to be noble. Our window was that next to the consular apartment, in which Bonaparte was holding a levee, and it was close to the steps ascending to it; by which means we saw all the forms of the various exits and entrances, and had opportunity to examine every dress and every countenance that passed and repassed. This was highly amusing, I might say historic, where the past history and the present office were known. Sundry footmen of the first Consul, in very fine liveries, were attending to bring or arrange chairs for whoever required them ; various peace-officers, superbly begilt, paraded occasionally up and down the chamber, to keep the ladies to their windows and the gentlemen to their ranks, so as to preserve the passage or lane through which the first Consul was to walk upon his entrance, clear and open; and several gentlemanlike looking persons, whom in former times I should have supposed pages of the back stairs, dressed in black, with gold chains hanging round their necks, and medallions pending from them, seemed to have the charge of the door itself, leading immediately to the audience chamber of the first Consul. M. D'ARPLAY'S MILITARY COMRADES. But what was most prominent in commanding notice, was the array of the aides-de-camp of Bonaparte, which was so Page 227 almost furiously striking, that all other vestments, even the most gaudy, appeared suddenly under a gloomy cloud when contrasted with its brightness. We were long viewing them before we could discover what they were to represent, my three lady companions being as new to this scene as myself; but afterwards M. d'Arblay starting forward to speak to one of them, brought him across the lane to me, and said "General Lauriston," His kind and faithful friendship to M. d'Arblay, so amiably manifested upon his late splendid embassy to England, made me see him with great pleasure. It was of course but for a moment, as he was amongst those who had most business upon their hands. General d'Hennezel also came to me for a few minutes, and three or four others, whom M. d'Arblay named, but whom I have forgotten. Indeed, I was amazed at the number of old friends by whom he was recognised, and touched far more than I can express, to see him in his old coat and complete undress, accosted by his fine (former) brethren, in all their new and beautiful costume, with an eagerness of regard that, resulting from first impulse, proved their judgment, or rather knowledge of his merits, more forcibly than any professions, however warm, could have done. He was indeed, after the aides-de-camp, the most striking figure in the apartment, from contrasting as much with the general herd by being the plainest and worst dressed, as they did by being the gayest and most showy. General Lauriston is a very handsome man, and of a very pleasing and amiable countenance; and his manly air carried off the frippery of his trappings, so as to make them appear almost to advantage. ARRIVAL OF THE TROOPS. While this variety of attire, of carriage, and of physiognomy amused us in facing the passage prepared for the first Consul, we were occupied, whenever we turned round, by seeing from the window the garden of the Tuileries filling 'with troops. In the first row of females at the window where we stood, were three ladies who, by my speaking English with Mademoiselle de Mortemar and Madame de Beauvau, discovered .my country, and, as I have since heard, gathered my name; and here I blush to own how unlike was the result to what "One of this nation might have experienced from a similar Page 228 discovery in England; for the moment it was buzzed "C'est Une �trang�re, c'est une Anglaise," (181) every one tried to Place, to oblige, and to assist me, and yet no one looked curious, or stared at me. Ah, my dear padre, do you not a little fear, in a contrasted situation, no one would have tried to place oblige, or assist, yet every one would have looked curious, and stared? Well, there are virtues as well as defects of all classes, and John Bull can fight so good a battle for his share of the former, that he need not be utterly cast down in acknowledging now and then a few of the latter. AN IMPORTANT NEW ACQUAINTANCE. The best view from the window to see the marching forwards of the troops was now bestowed upon me, and I vainly offered it to the ladies of my own party, to whom the whole of the sight was as new as to myself. The three unknown ladies began conversing with me, and, after a little general-talk, one of them with sudden importance of manner, in a tone slow but energetic, said, "Avez-vous vu, madame, le premier Consul?" "Pas encore, madame." "C'est sans doute ce que vous souhaitez le plus, madame?" "Oui, madame." "Voulez-vous le voir parfaitement bien, et tout fait votre aise?" "je le d�sire beaucoup, madame."(182) She then told me to keep my eyes constantly upon her, and not an instant lose sight of her movements; and to suffer no head, in the press that would ensue when the first Consul appeared, to intervene between us. "Faites comme cela, madame," continued she; "et vous le verrez bien, bien; car," added she, solemnly, and putting her hand on her breast,--"moi--je vais lui parler!"(183) I thanked her very much, but it was difficult to express as Page 229 much satisfaction as she displayed herself. You may suppose, however, how curious I felt for such a conversation, and how scrupulously I followed her injunctions of watching her motions. A little squat good-humoured lady, with yellow flowers over a mob cap upon her hair - who had little sunken eyes, concise nose, and a mouth so extended by perpetual smiling, that, hardly leaving an inch for the cheek, it ran nearly into the ear, on my other side now demanded my attention also, and told me she came regularly every month to the great review, that she might always bring some friend who wanted to see it. I found by this she was a person of some power, some influence, at least, and not entirely averse to having it known. She was extremely civil to me - but as my other friend had promised me so singular a regale, I had not much voluntary time to spare for her , this, however, appeared to be no impediment to that she was so obliging as to determine to bestow upon me, and she talked satisfied with my acquiescence to her civility, till a sort of bustle just before us making me look a little sharp, she cried-- "Vous le voyez, madame!" "Qui?" exclaimed I, "le premier Consul?" "Mais non!--pas encore--mais--ce--ce monsieur l !"(184) MADAME, C'EST MON MArI. I looked at her to see whom I was to remark, and her eyes led me to a tall, large figure, with a broad gold-laced hat, who was clearing the lane which some of the company had infringed, with a stentorian voice, and an air and manner of such authority as a chief constable might exert in an English riot. "Oui, madame," I answered, not conceiving why I was to look at him; "je le vois, ce monsieur; il est bien grand."(185) "Oui, madame," replied she, with a yet widened smile, and a look of lively satisfaction; "il est bien grand! Vous le voyez bien?" "O, fort bien!" cried I, quite at a loss what she meant me to understand, till at last, fixing first him, and then me, she expressively said-- page 230 "Madame, c'est mon mari!"(186) The grin now was distended to the very utmost limits of the stretched lips, and the complacency of her countenance forcibly said,. "What do you think of me now?" My countenance, however, was far more clever than my head, if it made her any answer. But, in the plenitude of her own admiration of a gentleman who seemed privileged to speak roughly, and push violently whoever, by a single inch, passed a given barrier, she imagined, I believe, that to belong to him entitled her to be considered as sharing his prowess ; she seemed even to be participating in the merits of his height and breadth, though be could easily have put her into his pocket. Not perceiving, as I imagine, all the delight of felicitation in my countenance that she had expected, her own fell, in a disappointed pause, into as much of length as its circular form would admit of; it recovered, however, in another minute its full merry rotundity, by conjecturing, as I have reason to think, that the niggardliness of my admiration was occasioned by my doubt of her assertions; for, looking at me with an expression that demanded my attention, she poked her head under the arm of a tall grenadier, stationed to guard our window, and trying to catch the eye of the object of her devotion, called out in an accent of tenderness, "M'ami! M'ami!" The surprise she required was now gratified in full, though what she concluded to be excited by her happiness, was simply the effect of so caressing a public address from so diminutive a little creature to so gigantic a big one. Three or four times the soft sound was repeated ere it reached the destined ear, through the hubbub created by his own loud and rough manner of calling to order; but, when at last he caught the gentle appellation, and looked down upon her, it was with an eyebrow so scowling, a mouth so pouting, and an air that so rudely said, "What the d-- do you want?" that I was almost afraid he would have taken her between his thumb and finger, and given her a shake. However, be only grumbled out, "Qu'est-ce que c'est, donc?"(187) A little at a loss what to say, she gently stammered, "M'ami,--le--le premier Consul, ne vient-il pas?"(188) "Oui! oui!" was blustered in reply, with a look that completed the phrase by "you fool you!" though the voice left it unfinished. Page 231 Not disconcerted even yet, though rather abashed,, she turned to me with a pleased grin that showed her proud of his noble ferociousness, and said, "C'est mon mari, madame!" as if still fearful I was not fully convinced of the grandeur of her connexion. "M'ami" having now cleared the passage by ranging all the company in two direct lines, the officers of highest rank were assembled, and went in a sort of procession into the inner apartment to the audience of the first Consul. During the time this lasted, some relaxation of discipline ensued, and the gentlemen from the opposite row ventured to approach and peep at the windows with the ladies; but as soon as the generals descended from the steps they had mounted, their short conference being over, "M'ami" again appeared,. to the inexpressible gratification of his loving little mate, again furiously hustled every one to his post; and the flags, next, as I think, were carried in procession to the inner apartment, but soon after brought back. ADVENT OF THE FIRST CONSUL. The Prince of Orange then passed us to enter the audience chamber, with a look so serious, an air so depressed, that I have not been at all surprised to hear he was that very night taken very ill. The last object for whom the way was cleared was the second Consul, Cambac�r�s, who advanced with a stately and solemn pace, slow, regular, and consequential; dressed richly in scarlet and gold, and never looking to the right or left, but wearing a mien of fixed gravity and importance. He had several persons in his suite, who, I think, but am not sure, were ministers of state. At length the two human hedges were finally formed, the door of the audience chamber was thrown wide open with a commanding crash, and a vivacious officer-sentinel-or I know not what, nimbly descended the three steps into our apartment, and placing himself at the side of the door, with one hand spread as high as possible above his head, and the other extended horizontally, called out in a loud and authoritative voice, "Le premier Consul!" You will easily believe nothing more was necessary to obtain attention; not a soul either spoke or stirred as he and his suite passed along, which was so quickly that, had I not been placed so near the door, and had not all about Page 232 me facilitated my standing foremost, and being least crowd obstructed, I could hardly have seen him. As it was, I had a view so near, though so brief, of his face, as to be very much struck by it. It is of a deeply impressive cast, pale even to sallowness, while not only in the eye but in every feature--care, thought, melancholy, and meditation are strongly marked, with so much of character, nay, genius, and so penetrating a seriousness, or rather sadness, as powerfully to sink into an observer's mind. Yet, though the busts and medallions I have seen are, in general, such good resemblances that I think I should have known him untold, he has by no means the look to be expected from Bonaparte, but rather that of a profoundly studious and contemplative man, who "o'er books consumes" not only the "midnight oil" but his own daily strength, "and wastes the puny body to decay" by abstruse speculation and theoretic plans or rather visions, ingenious but not practicable. But the look of the commander who heads his own army, who fights his own battles, who conquers every difficulty by personal exertion, who executes all he plans, who performs even all he suggests; whose ambition is of the most enterprising, and whose bravery is of the most daring cast:--this, which is the look to be expected from his situation, and the exploits which have led to it, the spectator watches for in vain. The plainness, also, of his dress, so conspicuously contrasted by the finery of all around him, conspires forcibly with his countenance, so "sicklied o'er with the pale hue of thought," to give him far more the air of a student than a warrior. The intense attention with which I fixed him in this short but complete view made me entirely forget the lady who had promised me to hold him in conference. When he had passed, however, she told me it was upon his return she should address him, as he was too much hurried to be talked with at the moment of going to the parade. I was glad to find my chance not over, and infinitely curious to know what was to follow. THE PARADE OF TROOPS. The review I shall attempt no description of. I have no knowledge of the subject, and no fondness for its object. It was far more superb than anything I had ever beheld: but while all the pomp and circumstance of war animated others, Page 233 it only saddened me ; and all of past reflection, all of future dread, made the whole grandeur of the martial scene, and all the delusive seduction of martial music, fill my eyes frequently with tears, but not regale my poor muscles with one single smile. Bonaparte, mounting a beautiful and spirited white horse, closely encircled by his glittering aides-de-camp, and accompanied by his generals, rode round the ranks, holding his bridle indifferently in- either hand, and seeming utterly careless of the prancing, rearing, or other freaks of his horse, insomuch as to strike some who were near me with a notion of his being a bad horseman. I am the last to be a judge upon this subject, but as a remarker, he only appeared to me a man who knew so well he could manage the animal when he pleased, that he did not deem it worth his while to keep constantly in order what he knew, if urged or provoked, he could subdue in a moment. Precisely opposite to the window at which I was placed, the chief Consul stationed himself after making his round and thence he presented some swords of honour, spreading out one arm with an air and mien which changed his look from that of scholastic severity to one that was highly military and commanding. . . . A SCENE. The review over, the chief Consul returned to the palace. The lines were again formed, and he re-entered our apartment with his suite. As soon as he approached our window, I observed my first acquaintance start a little forward. I was now all attention to her performance of her promise; and just as he reached us she stretched out her hand to present him a petition! The enigma of the conference was now solved, and I laughed at my own wasted expectation. Lui parler, however, the lady certainly did; so far she kept her word; for when he had taken the scroll, and was passing on, she rushed out of the line, and planting herself immediately before him so as to prevent his walking on, screamed, rather than spoke, for her voice was shrill with impetuosity to be heard and terror of failure, "C'est pour mon fils! vous me l'avez promis!"(189) The first Consul stopped and spoke; but not loud enough for me to hear his voice: while his aides-de-camp and the attending generals surrounding him more closely, all in a Page 234 breath rapidly said to the lady, "Votre nom, madame, votre nom!"(190) trying to disengage the Consul from her importunity, in which they succeeded, but not with much ease, as she seemed purposing to cling to him till she got his personal answer. He faintly smiled as he passed on, but looked harassed and worn; while she, turning to me, with an exulting face and voice, exclaimed, "Je l'aurai! je l'aurai!" meaning what she had petitioned for--"car . . . tous ces g�n�raux m'ont demand�s mon nom!" (191) Could any inference be clearer? The moment the chief Consul had ascended the steps leading to the inner apartment, the gentlemen in black with ,gold chains gave a general hint that all the company must depart, as the ambassadors and the ministers were now summoned to their monthly public audience with the chief Consul. The crowd, however, was so great, and Madame d'Henin was so much incommoded, and half ill, I fear, by internal suffering, that M. d'Arblay procured a pass for us by a private door down to a terrace leading to a quiet exit from the palace into the Tuileries garden. WITH M. D'ARBLAY'S RELATIVES AT JOIGNY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.)(192) Paris, 1802. .....With the nearest relatives now existing of M. d'Arblay I am myself more pleased than I can tell you. We have spent a fortnight at joigny,(193) and found them all awaiting us with the most enthusiastic determination to receive with open arms and open heart the choice and the offspring of their returned exile. Their kindness has truly penetrated me; and the heads of the family, the uncle and the aunt, are so charming as well as so worthy, that I could have remained with them for months had not the way of life which their residence in a country town has forced them to adopt, been utterly at war with all that, to me, makes peace, and happiness, and cheerfulness, namely, the real domestic life of living with my own small but all-sufficient family. I have never loved a dissipated Page 235 life, which it is no virtue in me, therefore, to relinquish; but I now far less than ever can relish it, and know not how to enjoy anything away from home, except by distant intervals; and then with that real moderation, I am so far from being a misanthrope or sick of the world, that I have real pleasure in mixed society. It is difficult, however, in the extreme, to be able to keep to such terms. M. d'Arblay has so many friends, and an acquaintance so extensive, that the mere common decencies of established etiquettes demand, as yet, nearly all my time; and this has been a true fatigue both to my body and my spirits. M. d'Arblay is related, though very distantly, to a quarter of the town, and the other three-quarters are his friends or acquaintance; and all of them came, first, to see me; next, to know how I did after the journey; next, were all to be waited upon in return ; next, came to thank me for my visit; next, to know how the air of Joigny agreed with me - next, to make a little further acquaintance ; and, finally, to make a visit of cong�. And yet all were so civil, so pleasant, and so pleased with my monsieur's return, that could I have lived three lives, so as to have had some respite, I could not have found fault for it was scarcely ever with the individual intruder, but with the continuance or repetition of interruption. SOME JOIGNY ACQUAINTANCES. (Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta, for the queen and princesses.) Passy, December 19, 1802. .....Rarely, indeed, my dear Miss Planta, I have received more pleasure than from your last most truly welcome letter, with assurances so unspeakably seasonable. I had it here at Passy the 5th day after its date. I thank you again and again, but oh! how I thank God! Permit me now to go back to Joigny, for the purpose of giving some account of two very interesting acquaintances we made there. The first was Colonel Louis Bonaparte,(194) youngest brother but one, (Jerome) of the first Consul. His Page 236 regiment was quartered at joigny, where he happened to be upon our last arrival at that town, and where the first visit he made was to M. MBazille, the worthy maternal uncle of M. d'Arblay. He is a young man of the most serious demeanour, a grave yet pleasing countenance, and the most reserved yet gentlest manners. His conduct in the small town (for France) of joigny was not merely respectable, but exemplary; he would accept no distinction in consequence of his powerful connexions, but presented himself everywhere with the unassuming modesty of a young man who had no claims beyond what he might make by his own efforts and merits. He discouraged all gaming, to which the inhabitants are extremely prone, by always playing low himself; and he discountenanced parade, by never suffering his own servant to wait behind his chair where he dined. He broke up early both from table and from play - was rigid in his attentions to his military duties, strict in the discipline of is officers as well as men, -and the first to lead the way in every decency and regularity. When to this I add that his conversation is sensible, and well bred, yet uncommonly diffident, and that but twenty-three summers have yet rolled over his head, so much good sense, forbearance, and propriety, in a situation so open to flattery, ambition, or vanity, obtained, as they merited, high consideration and perfect good will. I had a good deal of conversation with him, for he came to sit by me both before and after his card-party wherever I had the pleasure to meet him ; and his quiet and amiable manners, and rational style of discourse, made him a great loss to our society, when he was summoned to Paris, upon the near approach of the event which gave him a son and heir. He was very kind to my little Alex, whom he never saw without embracing, and he treated M. d'Arblay with a marked distinction extremely gratifying to me. The second acquaintance to which I have alluded is a lady, Madame de Souza.(195) She soon found the road to my good will and regard, for she told me that she, with another lady, had been fixed upon by M. del Campo, my old sea-visitor, for the high honour of aiding him in his reception of the first lady of our land and her lovely daughters, upon the grand f�te which he gave upon the dearest and most memorable of occasions(196) and she spoke with such pleasure and gratitude of Page 237 the sweet condescension she then experienced, that she charmed and delighted me, and we struck up an intimacy without further delay. Our theme was always ready, and I only regretted that I could see her but seldom, as she lived two or three miles out of Joigny, at Cesy, in the small ch�teau of la ci-devant Princesse de Beaufremont, a lady with whom I had had the honour of making acquaintance in Paris, and who is one of those who suffered most during the horrors of the Revolution. At the dreadful period when all the rage was to burn the property and title-deeds of the rich and high-born, her noble ch�teau, one of the most considerable in France, was. utterly consumed, and all her papers; that no record of her genealogy might remain, were committed, with barbarous triumph, to the flames : yet was this, such is her unhappy fate, the least of her misfortunes ; her eldest daughter, a beautiful young creature, upon whom she doted, was in the ch�teau at this horrible period, and forced to make her escape with such alarm and precipitance, that she never recovered from the excess of her terror, which robbed her of her life before she was quite seventeen years of age ! Around the small and modest ch�teau de Cesy, in which Madame de Beaufremont and her youngest and now only daughter, Madame de Listenois, at present reside, the grounds have been cultivated in the English style; and the walks, now shady, now open, now rising, now descending, with water, bridges, cascades, and groves, and occasional fine picturesque views from the banks of the Yonne, are all laid out with taste and pretty effects. We strolled over them with a large party, till we came to a little recess. Madame de Beaufremont then took me by the arm, and we separated from the company to enter it together, and she showed me an urn surrounded with cypress trees and weeping willows, watered by a clear, small, running rivulet, and dedicated to the memory of her first-born and early-lost lamented daughter. Poor lady! she seems entirely resigned to all the rest of her deprivations, but here the wound is incurable ! yet, this subject apart, she is cheerful, loves society, or rather social discourse, with a chosen few, and not only accepts with Pleasure whatever may enliven her, but exerts herself to contribute all that is in her power to the entertainment of others. She has still preserved enough from the wreck of her Possessions to live elegantly, though not splendidly; and her table is remarkably well served. She has a son-in-law, M. Page 238 de Listenois, whom I did not see; but her remaining daughter Madame de Listenois, is a very fine young woman. Madame de Souza has spent the whole summer with these ladies. She told me she liked England so very much, and was so happy during the six weeks she passed there, that she wept bitterly on quitting it. She was received, she says, at Court in the most bewitching manner, and she delights in retracing her honours, and her sense of them. She is still so very handsome, though sickly and suffering, that I imagine she must then have been exquisitely beautiful. I am told, by a French officer who has served in Spain, M. de Meulan, that when she left that country she was reckoned the most celebrated beauty of Madrid. I had another new acquaintance at Joigny, also, in a lady who came from Auxerre, as she was pleased to say, to see me, Madame La Villheurnois, widow of M. La Villheurnois, who was amongst the unhappy objects d�port�s, by the order of the Directory, la Guiane.(197) As soon as the first civilities were over, she said, "Permettez, madame! connaisseZ-vous Sidney?"(198) I could not doubt who she meant, though there is no avoiding a smile at this drolly concise way of naming a man by his nom de bapt�me.(199) She was extremely surprised when I answered no; telling me she had concluded "que tout le monde en Angleterre"(200) must know Sidney! Yes, I said, by character certainly ; but personally I had never the gratification of meeting with him. She told me she was intimately acquainted with him herself, from seeing him continually when he was confined in the Temple, as she attended there her "malheureux �poux,"(201) and she saw also, she said, "son valet et son jockey,"(202) whom she never suspected to be disguised emigrants, watching to aid his escape. "Surtout," she added, "comme le jockey avait des trous aux bas terribles,")203) which Page 239 induced her daughter to buy him a new pair of stockings for charity. A gentleman who accompanied her to Joigny, her secretary, told me he had played at ball with Sidney every day for six months, while he also attended upon poor M. La Vilheurnois...... THE INFLUENZA IN PARIS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Passy, March 23, 1803. I have been anxious to write since I received your last kind inquiries, my dearest padre; but so tedious has been my seizure, that I have not yet got from its wraps or confinements. I feel, however, as if this were their last day, and that to-morrow would have the honour to see me abroad. I have had no fever, and no physician, and no important malady; but cold has fastened upon cold, so as utterly to imprison me. La gripe,(204) however, I escaped, so has Alex, and our maid and helpers--and M. d'Arblay, who caught it latterly in his excursions to Paris, had it so slightly that but for the fright attached to the seizure (which I thought would almost have demolished me at first, from the terror hanging on its very name at that fatal period) I should have deemed it a mere common cold. It is now universally over, but the mischief it has done is grievously irreparable. . . . It was a disastrous and frightful time. The streets of Paris were said to be as full of funerals as of cabriolets. For my own part, I have not once been able to enter that capital since I left it at the end of October. But I cannot help attributing much of the mortality which prevailed in consequence of this slight disease, to the unwholesome air occasioned by the dreadful want of cleanliness in that city, which, but for the healthiness of the beautiful and delicious walks around it, i.e., the Boulevards, must surely have proved pestilential. The air of our house at Passy is perfectly pure and sweet. M. d'Arblay is now making a last effort with respect to his retraite,(205) which has languished in adjournment above a year. He has put it into the hands of a faithful and most amiable friend, now in high esteem with the premier Consul, General Lauriston, who so kindly renewed an ancient friendship with his former camarade when he was on his splendid short embassy in England. If through him it should fail, I shall never think of it more. Page 240 RUMOURS OF WAR. (Madame dArblay to Mrs. Locke) NO- 54, Rue Basse, Passy, near Paris, April 30, 1803. How to write I know not, at a period so tremendous-nor yet how to be silent. My dearest, dearest friends ! if the war indeed prove inevitable, what a heart-breaking position is ours!-to explain it fully would demand folios, and yet be never so well done as you, with a little consideration, can do it for us. Who better than Mr. Locke and his Fredy-who so well can comprehend, that, where one must be sacrificed, the other will be yet more to be pitied ?-I will not go on-I will talk only of you, till our fate must be determined. And M. d'Arblay, who only in the wide world loves his paternal uncle as well (we always except ourselves at Westminster! how tenderly does he join in my every feeling! and how faithfully keep unimpaired all our best and happiest sympathies! May 2.--Better appearances in the political horizon now somewhat recruit my spirits, which have been quite indescribably tortured, rather than sunk, by the impossibility of any private arrangement for our mutual happiness in the dread event of war. God Almighty yet avert it! And should it fall to the lot of Lauriston to confirm the peace, what a guardian angel upon earth I shall deem him! How I wish he could meet with you! he is so elegant in his manners he would immediately give you pleasure; and his countenance is so true in announcing him amiable, that you might look at him with trust as well as satisfaction. . . . May 13--Ah, my dearest friends--what a melancholy end to my hopes and my letter. I have just heard that Lord Whitworth(206) set off for Chantilly last night; war therefore seems inevitable; and my grief, I, who feel myself now of two countries, is far greater than I can wish to express. While posts are yet open, write to me, my beloved friend, and by Hamburg. I trust we may still and regularly correspond, long as the letters may be in travelling. As our letters never Page 241 treat but of our private concerns, health and welfare neither country can object to our intercourse. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney). Passy, May 6, 1803. if my dearest father has the smallest idea of the suspense and terror in which I have spent this last fortnight, from the daily menace of war, he will be glad, I am sure, of the respite allowed me-if no more--from a visit I have just received from Mrs. Huber, who assures me the Ambassador has postponed his setting off, and consented to send another courier.(207) To say how I pray for his success would indeed be needless. I have hardly closed my eyes many nights past. My dearest father will easily conceive the varying conflicts of our minds, and how mutual are our sufferings. . . . We were buoyed up here for some days with the hope that General Lauriston was gone to England as plenipo, to end the dread contest without new effusion of blood: but Paris, like London, teems with hourly false reports, and this intelligence, unhappily, was of the number. The continued kindness and friendship of that gentleman for M. d'Arblay make me take a warm interest in whatever belongs to him. About ten days ago, when M. d'Arblay called upon him, relative to the affair so long impending of his retraite, he took his hand, and said "Fais-moi ton compliment!"(208) You are sure how heartily M. d'Arblay would be ready to comply-"but "what," he demanded, "can be new to you of honours?" "I have succeeded," he answered, "for you!--the first Consul has signed your m�moire." When such delicacy is joined to warm attachment, my dearest father will not wonder I should be touched by it. . . . M. d'Arblay has now something in his native country, where all other claims are vain, and all other expectations completely destroyed. He had been flattered with recovering some portion, at least, of his landed property near Joigny; but those who have purchased it during his exile add such enormous and unaccountable charges to what they paid for it at that period, that it is become, to us, wholly unattainable. Page 242 " OUR LITTLE CELL AT PASSY." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Passy, April 11, 1804. We live in the most quiet, and, I think, enviable retired merit. Our house is larger than we require, but not a quarter furnished. Our view is extremely pretty from it, and always cheerful; we rarely go out, yet always are pleased to return. We have our books, our prate, and our boy--how, with all this, can we, or ought we to suffer ourselves to complain of our narrowed and narrowing income? If we are still able to continue at Passy, endeared to me now beyond any other residence away from you all, by a friendship I have formed here with one of the sweetest women I have ever known, Madame de Maisonneuve, and to M. d'Arblay by similar sentiments for all her family, our philosophy will not be put to severer trials than it can sustain. And this engages us to bear a thousand small privations which we might, perhaps, escape, by shutting ourselves up in some spot more remote from the capital. But as my deprivation of the society of my friends is what I most lament, so something that approaches nearest to what I have lost affords me the best reparation. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Passy, May 29, 1808. Before I expected it, my promised opportunity for again writing to my most dear father is arrived. I entirely forget whether, before the breaking out of the war stopt our correspondence, M. d'Arblay had already obtained his retraite: and, consequently, whether that is an event I have mentioned or not. Be that as it may, he now has it--it is 1500 livres, or 62 pounds, 10 shillings. per annum. But all our resources from England ceasing with the peace, we had so little left from what we had brought over, and M. d'Arblay has found so nearly nothing remaining of his natural and hereditary claims in his own province, that he determined upon applying for some employment that might enable him to live with independence, how ever parsimoniously. This he has, with infinite difficulty, etc., at length obtained, and he is now a r�dacteur in the civil department of les B�timens, etc.(209) This is no sinecure. He Page 243 attends at his bureau from half-past nine to half-past four o'clock every day; and as we live so far off as Passy he is obliged to set off for his office between eight and nine, and does not return to his hermitage till past five. However, what necessity has urged us to desire, and made him solicit, we must not, now acquired, name or think of with murmuring or regret. He has the happiness to be placed amongst extremely worthy people; and those who are his chefs in office treat him with every possible mark of consideration and feeling. We continue steady to our little cell at Passy, which is retired, quiet, and quite to ourselves, with a magnificent view of Paris from one side, and a beautiful one of the country on the other. It is unfurnished-indeed, unpapered, and every way unfinished; for our workmen, in the indispensable repairs which preceded our entering it, ran us up bills that compelled us to turn them adrift, and leave every thing at a stand, when three rooms only were made just habitable. THE PRINCE OF WALES EULOGIZED. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) July 12, 1805. . . . Your brother, Dr. Charles, and I have had the honour last Tuesday of dining with the Prince of Wales at Lord Melbourne's at the particular desire of H.R.H. He is so good-humoured and gracious to those against whom he has no party prejudice, that it is impossible not to be flattered by this politeness and condescension. I was astonished to find him, amidst such constant dissipation, possessed of so much learning, wit, knowledge of books in general, discrimination of Character, as well as original humour. He quoted Homer to my son as readily as if the beauties of Dryden or Pope were under consideration. And as to music, he is an excellent critic; has an enlarged taste-- admiring whatever is excellent in its kind, of whatever age or country the composers or performers may be; without, however, being insensible to the superior genius and learning necessary to some kinds of music more than others. The conversation was general and lively, in which several of the company, consisting of eighteen or twenty, took a share, till towards the heel of the evening, or rather the toe of the morning; for we did not rise from table till one Page 244 o'clock, when Lady Melbourne being returned from the opera with her daughters, coffee was ordered; during which H.R.H. took me outside and talked exclusively about music near half an hour, and as long with your brother concerning Greek literature. He is a most excellent mimic of well-known characters: had we been in the dark any one would have sworn that Dr. Parr and Kemble were in the room. Besides being possessed of a great fund of original humour, and good humour, he may with truth be said to have as much wit as Charles II., with much more learning--for his merry majesty could spell no better than the bourgeois gentilhomme. DR. BURNEY AT BATH. (Dr. Burney to Madame dArblay.) June 12, 1808. . . . Last autumn I had an alarming seizure In my left hand and, mine being pronounced a Bath case, on Christmas Eve I set out for that city, extremely weak and dispirited-put myself under the care of Dr. Parry, and after remaining there three months, I found my hand much more alive, and my general health considerably amended. During my invalidity at Bath I had an unexpected visit from your Streatham friend,(210) of whom I had lost sight for more than ten years. I saw very few people, but none of an evening nor of a morning, on the days my hand was pumped on. When her name was sent in I was much surprised, but desired she might be admitted; and I received her as an old friend with whom I had spent much time very happily, and never wished to quarrel. She still looks well, but is grave, and candour itself; though still she says good things, and writes admirable notes and letters, I am told, to my granddaughters C. and M., of whom she is very fond. We shook hands very cordially, and avoided any allusion to our long separation and its cause; the Caro Sposo still lives, but is such an object from the gout that the account of his sufferings made me pity him sincerely; he wished, she told me, "to see his old and worthy friend," and, un beau matin, I could not refuse compliance with his wish. She nurses him with great affection and tenderness, never goes out or has company when he is in pain. Page 245 AFFECTIONATE GREETINGS To DR. BURNEY. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) September, 1808. After being so long robbed of all means of writing to my beloved father, I seize, with nearly as much surprise as gratitude, a second opportunity of addressing him almost before the first can have brought my hand to his sight. When will some occasion offer to bring me back-not my revenge, but my first and most coveted satisfaction ? With how much more spirit, also, should I write, if I knew what were received of what already I have scrawled ! Volumes, however, must have been told you, of what in other times I should have written, by Maria. For myself, when once a reunion takes place, I can scarcely conceive which will be hardest worked, my talking faculties or my listening ones. O what millions of things I want to inquire and to know! The rising generation, me thinks, at least, might keep me some letters and packets ready for occasional conveyances. I should be grateful beyond measure. M. d'Arblay writes--"how desired is, how happy shall be, the day, in which we shall receive your dearest blessing and embrace! Pray be so kind not to forget the mate always remembering your kindness for him and his. A thousand thousand loves to all." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, Paris, May 2, 1810. A happy May-day to my dearest father! Sweet-scented be the cowslips which approach his nostrils! lovely and rosy the milkmaids that greet his eyes, and animating as they are noisy the marrow-bones and cleavers that salute his ears! Dear, and even touching, are these anniversary recollections where distance and absence give them existence only in the memory! and, at this moment, to hear and see them I Would exchange all the Raphaels in our Museum, and the new and beautiful composition of Paesiello in the chapel. Could you but send me a little food for the hope now in private circulation that the new alliance of the Emperor(211) may perhaps extend to a general alliance of all Europe, Oh, Page 246 heaven! how would that brighten my faculties of enjoyment! I should run about to see all I have hitherto omitted to seek, with the ardent curiosity of a traveller newly arrived ; and I should hasten to review and consider all I have already beheld, with an alertness of vivacity that would draw information from every object I have as yet looked at with undiscerning tameness. Oh, such a gleam of light would new-model or re-model me, and I should make you present to all my sights, and partake of all the wonders that surround me ! Were not this cruel obscurity so darkening to my views, and so depressing to my spirits, I could tell my dearest father many things that might amuse him, and detail to him, in particular, my great and rare happiness in a point the most essential, after domestic comforts, to peace of mind and cheerfulness, namely, my good fortune in my adopted friends in this my adopted country. The society in which I mix, when I can prevail with myself to quit my yet dearer fireside, is all that can be wished, whether for wit, wisdom, intelligence, gaiety, or politeness. The individuals with whom I chiefly mix, from being admired at first for their talents or amiability, are now sincerely loved for their kindness and goodness. Could I write more frequently, or with more security that I write not to the winds and the waves, I would characterize the whole set to you, and try to make us yet shake hands in the same Party. . . . (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, Paris, ce 16 Sept. 1810. Can I tell you, my dearest father!-oh, no! I can never tell you-the pleasure, the rapture with which I received your letter by Madame Solvyns. It had been so cruelly long since I had heard from you, so anxious and suffering a space since I had seen your handwriting, that, when at last it came, I might have seemed, to one who did not know me, rather penetrated by sudden affliction than by joy. But how different was all within to what appeared without! My partner-in-all received it at his bureau, and felt an impatience so unconquerable to communicate so extreme a pleasure that he quitted everything to hasten home; for he was incapable of going on with his business. How satisfactory, also, is all the intelligence ! how gaily, with what spirit written ! . . . I do nothing of late but dream of seeing you, my most dear Page 247 father. I think I dream it wide awake, too; the desire is so strong that it pursues me night and day, and almost persuades me it has something in it of reality : and I do not choose to discourage even ideal happiness. DR. BURNEY's DIPLOMA. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, 14th April, 1811. .....Have you received the letter in which I related that your diploma has been brought to me by the perpetual secretary of the class of the Fine Arts of the Institute of France?(212) I shall not have it conveyed but by some very certain hand, and that, now, is most difficult to find. M. Le Breton has given me, also, a book of the list of your camarades, in which he has written your name. He says it will be printed in next year's register. He has delivered to me, moreover, a medal, which is a mark of distinction reserved for peculiar honour to peculiar select personages. Do you suppose I do not often--often--often think who would like, and be fittest to be the bearer to you of these honours? . . . How kind was the collection of letters you made more precious by endorsing! I beseech you to thank all my dear correspondents, and to bespeak their patience for answers, which shall arrive by every wind that I can make blow their way; but yet more, beseech their generous attention to my impatience for more, should the wind blow fair for me before it will let me hail them in return. Difficultly can they figure to themselves my joy--my emotion at receiving letters from such dates as they can give me! [During this year Madame d'Arblay's correspondence with her English connexions was interrupted not only by the difficulty of conveying letters, but also by a dangerous illness and the menace of a cancer, from which she could only be relieved by submitting to a painful and hazardous operation. The fortitude with which she bore this suffering, and her generous solicitude for Monsieur d'Arblay and those around her, excited the warmest sympathy in all who heard of her trial, and her French friends universally gave her the name of l'ange,(213) so touched were they by her tenderness and Magnanimity.] (157) " Dr. Orkborne" is the name of one of the characters in "Camilla," a pedantic scholar, who lives only in his books.-ED. (158) Widow of Sir Robert Strange, the celebrated engraver, and a very old friend of the Burney family. She was a Scotchwoman (her maiden name, Isabel Lumisden), and in her younger days an enthusiastic Jacobite. She obliged her lover, Strange, to join the young Pretender in 1745, and afterwards married him against her father's wish.-ED. (159) "The other Bell" was the daughter of Sir Robert and Lady Strange.-ED. (160) Wife of Sir Lucas Pepys, the physician.-ED. (161) Anna Letitia Barbauld, the well-known author, and editor of Richardson's Correspondence, etc.-ED. (162) John Aiken, M.D., brother to Mrs. Barbauld, and, like his sister, an author and editor. His "Evenings at Home" is still a well-known book: many of our readers will probably have pleasant reminiscences of it, connected with their childhood.-ED. (163) Barry had published a furious attack upon his fellow-Academicians in a "Letter to the Dilettanti Society." He was already, owing chiefly to his own violent temper, on ill terms with nearly all of them, and the "Letter" prove(I to be the last straw. Various charges were drawn up against the Professor of Painting, and he was expelled forthwith from the Academy, without being permitted to speak in his own defence. (164) "By the help of a shilling." (165) "With tears in his eyes." (166) i.e., Mr. Locke.-ED. (167) The French minister in England.-ED. (168) A letter in which M. d'Arblay had acquainted his wife with the withdrawal of his commission in the French army, in consequence of his refusal, under any circumstances, to bear arms against England.-ED. (169) Miss Cambridge.-ED. (170) Lafayette was then living in retirement, with his wife and family, at is chateau of La Grange. -ED. (171) "Quick, quick, madam, take your seat in the diligence, for here is an English gentleman who is sure to take the best place!"--There is evidently some mistake here, in making the book-keeper in Piccadilly speak French and talk about the diligence. That the paragraph relates to Fanny's departure from London is evident from several passages in the text: the mention, later, of changing horses at Canterbury, the references to her fellow-travellers at Calais. The date to the above paragraph is also clearly wrong, as it will be seen that on the 18th of April they were still on the road to Paris.-ED. (172) "Quick! quick! look for it, or you will be arrested!" (173) in the new calendar adopted by the Republic in 1793, a division of the month into decades, or periods of ten days, was substituted for the old division into weeks. Every tenth day (d�cadi) was a day of rest, instead of every seventh day, (Sunday, Dimanche). The months were of thirty days each, with five odd festival days (Sansculottades) in the year, and a sixth (Festival of the Revolution) in Leap Year. Napoleon restored the Sunday in place of d�cadi. The new calendar was discontinued altogether, January 1, 1806.-ED. (174) The date is again wrong--probably a misprint for April 21.-ED. (175) Mrs. Damer, the sculptor, as an ardent Whig and supporter of Charles Fox, professed herself at this time an enthusiastic admirer of the first Consul. She had known jos�phine de Beauharnais before her marriage with Napoleon, and, after the peace of Amiens, visited Paris on Jos�phine's invitation. She was there introduced to Napoleon, to whom she afterwards presented a bust of Charles Fox, executed by herself. Mrs. Damer's companions on this excursion were Mary Berry, the author (born 1763-died 1852), and her younger sister, Agnes Berry. These two ladies were prodigious favourites with Horace Walpole, who called them his "twin wives," and was, it is said, even desirous, in his old age, Of marrying the elder Miss Berry. One of his valued possessions was a marble bust of Mary Berry, the work of his kinswoman, Mrs. Damer. At his death in 1797 he bequeathed to the Miss Berrys a house for their joint lives, besides a legacy Of 4000 pounds to each sister. Mary Berry published an edition of her old admirer's works the year after his death.-ED. (176) The Swiss home of her father, 'M. Necker, on the shore of the lake, and some ten miles north of the town of Geneva. Necker retired thither after his fall in 1790, and spent there, in retirement, the remaining years of his life. He died at Geneva, in April, 1804.-ED. (177) Madame de Stael's orthography is here preserved. " I should like to prove to you my zeal, madam, and I am afraid of being indiscreet. I hope you will have the goodness to let me know when you are sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of your journey, that I might have the honour of seeing you without being tiresome to you." (178) The 4th Floria (April 23). (179) "Madame d'Arblay can only be infinitely flattered by the extreme goodness of Madame the Countess de Stael. She will very certainly have the honour of calling upon Madame de Stael as soon as possible." (180) Madame de Lafayette was thrown into prison after the flight of her husband; released in February, 1795, more than six months after the death of Robespierre. She then journeyed to Austria, and obtained leave to share, with her two daughters, her husband's captivity at Olm�tz. Lafayette was released in September, 1797; returned to France in 1800, Napoleon not forbidding, though not quite approving. Madame de Lafayette's constitution was permanently impaired by the confinement which she suffered at Olm�tz. She died December 24, 1807.-ED. (181) "It's a foreigner, it's an Englishwoman." (182) "Have you seen the first Consul, madam?" "Not yet, madam." "It is doubtless what you most wish for, madam?" "Yes, madam." "Do you wish to have an excellent view of him, and to see him quite at your ease?" "I am particularly desirous of it, madam." (183) "Do thus, madam, and you will see him well, well; for I-am going to speak to him ! " (184) "You see him, madam!" "Whom?" exclaimed I, "the first Consul?" "Oh no!--not yet;--but--that--that gentleman!" (185) "yes, madam, I see that gentleman; he is very tall!" (186) "Madam, it is my husband!" (187) "What is the matter?" (188) "M'ami, the--the first Consul, is he not coming?" (189) "'Tis for my son ! you promised it me!" (190) "Your name, madam, your name!" (191) "I shall have it! I shall have it! for all those generals asked my name!" (192) Fanny's eldest sister, Esther, who married (1770) her cousin, Charles Rousseau Burney.-ED. (193) joigny was the birth-place of M. d'Arblay.-ED. (194) Louis Bonaparte was born in 1778, and, young as he was, had already served with distinction in the campaign in Italy. He was subsequently king of Holland from 1806 to 1810, when that country was annexed by Napoleon to the French Empire. He married Hortense de Beauharnais, daughter, by her first marriage, of Napoleon's wife, Josephine, and was the father of the Emperor Napoleon III.-ED. (195) Authoress of "Ad�le de Senange," etc. (196) On the king's recovery, in the spring of 1789.-ED. (197) Many of the leading members of the Councils of "Ancients" and of "Five Hundred " had been transported to Guiana after the coup d'�tat of September 4, 1797. See note (146) ante, p. 136.-ED. (198) "Excuse me, madam ! do you know Sidney? Sidney " is Sir Sidney Smith, whose gallant and successful defence of Acre against the French,, in the spring of 1799, obliged Napoleon to relinquish the invasion of Syria.-ED. (199) Christian name. (200) "Every one in England." (201) "Unfortunate husband." (202) "His valet and his jockey, (groom)." (203) "Especially as the jockey had terrible holes in his stockings." (204) The influenza. (205) Retiring pension. (206) The English ambassador in Paris. All hopes of a satisfactory termination to the dispute between the English and French governments being now at an end, Lord Whitworth was ordered to return to England, and left Paris May 12, 1803. His return was followed by the recall of the French minister in London, and the declaration of war between the two countries.-ED. (207) The reader will have noticed that the date of this letter is earlier than that of the paragraph in the preceding letter, in which Fanny alludes to the departure of the Ambassador from Paris.-ED. (208) "Make me your compliments." (209) "Or, as we might say, a clerk in the department of works."- ED. (210) Mrs. Piozzi.-ED. (211) Napoleon was crowned Emperor of the French, November 19, 1804. His "new alliance" was his marriage, in the spring Of 1810, with the archduchess Maria Louisa, daughter of the Emperor of Austria. With this alliance in view he had been divorced from Jos�phine at the close of the preceding year.-ED (212) Dr. Burney had been elected a corresponding member of this section of the Institute.-ED. (213) The angel. Page 248 SECTION 23. (1812-14.) MADAME D'ARBLAY AND HER SON IN ENGLAND, [At the commencement of the year 1814 was published "The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties," the fourth and last novel by the author of "Evelina," "Cecilia," and "Camilla." The five volumes were sold for two guineas-double the price of "Camilla,"--and we gather from Madame d'Arblay's own statement that she received at least fifteen hundred pounds for the work. She informs us also that three thousand six hundred copies were sold during the first six months. This pecuniary profit, however, was the only advantage which she derived from the book. It was severely treated by the critics ; its popularity,-- if it ever had any, for its large sale was probably due to the author's high reputation,--speedily declined; and the almost total oblivion into which it passed has remained unbroken to the present day. Yet "The Wanderer" was deserving of a better fate. In many respects it is not inferior to any of Madame d'Arblay's earlier works. Its principal defect is one of literary style, and its style, though faulty and unequal, is by no means devoid of charm and impressiveness. The artless simplicity and freshness of "Evelina" render that work, her first novel, the most successful of all in point of style. In "Cecilia" the style shows more of conscious art, and is more laboured. In "Camilla" and "The Wanderer" it is at once more careless and more affected than in the earlier novels ; her English is at times slipshod, at times disfigured by attempts at fine writing. But, admitting all this, we must admit also that Fanny, even in "The Wanderer," proves herself mistress of what we may surely regard as the most essential part of style-its power of affecting the reader agreeably with the intentions of the author. She plays upon her reader's emotions with a sure touch; she excites or soothes him at her will; she arouses by turns his compassion, his mirth, his resentment, according as she strikes the keys of pathos, of humour, or of irony. A style which is capable of producing such effects is not rashly to be condemned on the score of occasional affectations and irregularities. Page 249 The question of style apart, we do not feel that "The Wanderer" shows the slightest decline in its author's powers. The plot is as ingeniously complicated as ever, the suspense as skilfully maintained; the characters seem to us as real as those in "Evelina," or "Cecilia," or in the "Diary" itself; the alternate pathos and satire of the book keep our attention ever on the alert. That it failed to win the suffrages of the public was certainly due to no demerit in the work. Many causes may have conspired against it. The public taste had long been debauched by novels of that nightmare school in which Mrs Radcliffe and "Monk" Lewis were the leaders. Moreover, in the very year in which "The Wanderer" was published, appeared the first of a series of works of fiction which, by their power and novelty, were to monopolise, for a time, the public attention and applause, and which were thereafter to secure for their author a high rank among the immortals of English literature. At the end of the fifth volume of "The Wanderer" were inserted a few leaves, containing a list of books recently published or "in the press;" and last on the list of the latter stands "Waverley, or 'Tis Sixty Years since." Like " Evelina," "The Wanderer" is inscribed in a touching dedication (this time, however, in prose, and with his name prefixed) to Fanny's beloved father. The dedication is dated March 14, 1814 : on the 12th of the following month Dr. Burney died at Chelsea College, in his eighty-seventh year.-ED.] NARRATIVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S JOURNEY TO LONDON. ANXIETY TO SEE FATHER AND FRIENDS. Dunkirk, 1812. There are few events of my life that I more regret not having committed to paper while they were fresher in my memory, than my police adventure at Dunkirk, the most fearful that I have ever experienced, though not, alas, the most afflicting, for terror, and even horror, are short of deep affliction; while they last they are, nevertheless, absorbers; but once past, whether ill or well, they are over, and from them, as from bodily pain, the animal spirits can rise uninjured: not so from that grief which has its source in irreInediable calamity; from that there is no rising, no relief, save in hopes of eternity: for here on earth all buoyancy of mind that Might produce the return of peace, is sunk for ever. I will Page 250 now, however, put down all that recurs to me of my first return home. In the year 1810, when I had been separated from my dear father, and country, and native friends, for eight years, my desire to again see them became so anxiously impatient that my tender companion proposed my passing over to England alone, to spend a month or two at Chelsea. Many females at that period, and amongst them the young Duchesse de Duras, had contrived to procure passports for a short similar excursion ; though no male was permitted, under any pretence, to quit France, save with the army. Reluctantly--with all my wishes in favour of the scheme,--yet most reluctantly, I accepted the generous offer; for never did I know happiness away from that companion, no, not even out of his sight! but still, I was consuming with solicitude to see my revered father--to be again in his kind arms, and receive his kind benediction. A MILD MINISTER OF POLICE. For this all was settled, and I had obtained my passport, which was brought to me without my even going to the police office, by the especial favour of M. Le Breton, the Secretaire Perp�tuel l'Institut. The ever active services of M. de Narbonne aided this peculiar grant ; though, had not Bonaparte been abroad with his army at the time, neither the one nor the other would have ventured at so hardy a measure of assistance. But whenever Bonaparte left Paris, there was always an immediate abatement of severity in the police; and Fouch�, though he had borne a character dreadful beyond description in the earlier and most horrible times of the Revolution, was,'at this period, when minister of police, a man of the mildest manners, the most conciliatory conduct, and of the easiest access in Paris. He had least the glare of the new imperial court of any one of its administration; he affected, indeed, all the simplicity of a plain Republican. I have often seen him strolling in the most shady and unfrequented parts of the "Elysian Fields," muffled up in a plain brown rocolo, and giving le bras to his wife, without suite or servant, merely taking the air, with the evident design of enjoying also an unmolested t�te- -t�te. On these occasions, though he was universally known, nobody approached him; and he seemed, himself, not to observe that any other person Page 251 was in the walks. He was said to be remarkably agreeable in conversation, and his person was the best fashioned and most gentlemanly of any man I have happened to see, belonging to the government. Yet, such was the impression made upon me by the dreadful reports that were spread of his cruelty and ferocity at Lyons,(214) that I never saw him but I thrilled with horror. How great, therefore, was my obligation to M. de Narbonne and to M. Le Breton, for procuring me a passport, without my personal application to a man from whom I shrunk as from a monster. EMBARKATION INTERDICTED. I forget now for what spot the passport was nominated, perhaps for Canada, but certainly not for England and M. Le Breton, who brought it to me himself, assured me that no difficulty would be made for me either to go or to return, as I was known to have lived a life the most inoffensive to government, and perfectly free from all species of political intrigue, and as I should leave behind me such sacred hostages as my husband and my son. Thus armed, and thus authorized, I prepared, quietly and secretly, for my expedition, while my generous mate employed all his little leisure in discovering where and how I might embark - when, one morning, when I was bending over my trunk to press in its contents, I was abruptly broken in upon by M. de Boinville, who was in my secret, and who called upon me to stop! He had received certain, he said, though as yet unpublished information, that a universal embargo was laid upon every vessel, and that not a fishing-boat was permitted to quit the coast. Confounded, affrighted, disappointed, and yet relieved, I submitted to the blow, and obeyed the injunction. M. de Boinville then revealed to me the new political changes that occasioned this measure, which he had learned from some confiding friends in office; but which I do not touch upon, as they are now in every history of those times. Page 252 I pass on to my second attempt, in the year 1812. Disastrous was that interval ! All correspondence with England was prohibited under pain of death ! One letter only reached me, most unhappily, written with unreflecting abruptness, announcing, without preface, the death of the Princess Amelia, the new and total derangement of the king, and the death of Mr. Locke. Three such calamities overwhelmed me, overwhelmed us both, for Mr. Locke, my revered Mr. Locke, was as dear to my beloved partner as to myself. Poor Mrs. C concluded these tidings must have already arrived, but her fatal letter gave the first intelligence, and no other letter, at that period, found its way to me. She sent hers, I think, by some trusty returned prisoner. She little knew my then terrible situation ; hovering over my head was the stiletto of a surgeon for a menace of cancer yet, till that moment, hope of escape had always been held out to me by the Baron de Larrey-- hope which, from the reading of that fatal letter, became extinct. A CHANGE OF PLAN. When I was sufficiently recovered for travelling, after a dreadful operation, my plan was resumed, but with an alteration which added infinitely to its interest, as well as to its importance. Bonaparte was now engaging in a new war, of which the aim and intention was no less than-the conquest of the world. This menaced a severity of conscription to which Alexander, who had now spent ten years in France, and was seventeen years of age, would soon become liable. His noble father had relinquished all his own hopes and emoluments in the military career, from the epoch that his king was separated from his country; though that career had been his peculiar choice, and was suited peculiarly to the energy of his character, the vigour of his constitution, his activity, his address, his bravery, his spirit of resource, never overset by difficulty nor wearied by fatigue---all which combination of military requisites-- "The eye could in a moment reach, And read depicted in his martial air," But his high honour, superior to his interest, superior to his inclination, and ruling his whole conduct with unremitting, unalienable constancy, impelled him to prefer the hard labour and obscure drudgery of working at a bureau of the minister Page 253 of the interior, to any and every advantage or promotion that could be offered him in his own immediate and favourite line of life, when no longer compatible with his allegiance and loyalty. To see, therefore, his son bear arms in the very cause that had been his ruin--bear arms against the country which had given himself as well as his mother, birth, would indeed have been heart-breaking. We agreed, therefore, that Alexander should accompany me to England, where, I flattered myself, I might safely deposit him, while I returned to await, by the side of my husband, the issue of the war, in the fervent hope that it would prove our restoration to liberty and reunion. A NEW PASSPORT OBTAINED. My second passport was procured with much less facility than the first. Fouch� was no longer minister of police, and, strange to tell, Fouch�, who, till he became that minister, had been held in horror by all France-all Europe, conducted himself with such conciliatory mildness to all ranks of people .while in that office, evinced such an appearance of humanity, and exhibited such an undaunted spirit of justice in its execution, that at his dismission all Paris was in affliction and dismay ! Was this from the real merit he had shown in his police capacity? Or was it from a yet greater fear of malignant cruelty awakened by the very name of his successor, Savary, Duke of Rovigo?(215) Now, as before, the critical moment was seized by my friends to act for me when Bonaparte had left Paris to proceed towards the scene of his next destined enterprise;(216) and he was, I believe, already at Dresden when my application was ,made. My kind friend Madame de T-- here took the agency which M. de Narbonne could no longer sustain, as he was now attending the emperor, to whom he had been made aide-de-camp, and through her means, after many difficulties and delays, I obtained a licence of departure for myself and Page 254 for Alexander. For what place, nominally, my passport was assigned, I do not recollect; I think, for Newfoundland, but certainly for some part of the coast of America. Yet everybody at the police office saw and knew that England was my object. They connived, nevertheless, at the accomplishment of my wishes, with significant though taciturn consciousness. COMMISSIONS FOR LONDON. >From all the friends whom I dared trust with my secret expedition, I had commissions for London; though merely verbal, as I was cautioned to take no letters. No one at that time could send any to England by the post. I was charged by sundry persons to write for them, and in their names, upon my arrival. Madame de Tracy begged me to discover the address of her sister-in-law, Madame de Civrac, who had emigrated into the wilds of Scotland, and of whom she anxiously wished for some intelligence. This occasioned my having a little correspondence with her, which I now remark because she is named as one of the principal dames de la soci�t� by Madame de Genlis. Madame d'Astorre desired me to find out her father, M. le Comte de Cely, and to give him news of her and her children. This I did, and received from the old gentleman some visits, and many letters. Madame la Princesse de Chimay entrusted me with a petition--a verbal one, to the Prince of Wales, in favour of the Duc de Fitzjames, who, in losing his wife, had lost an English pension. This I was to transmit to his royal highness by means of the Duchess dowager of Buccleugh - who was also entreated to make known the duke's situation to M. d'Escars, who was in the immediate service of Louis XVIII.; for M. d'Escars I had a sort of cipher from Madame de Chimay, to authenticate my account. DELAY AT DUNKIRK. Our journey--Alexander's and mine--from Paris to Dunkirk was sad, from the cruel separation which it exacted, and the fearful uncertainty of impending events ; though I was animated at times into the liveliest sensations, in the prospect of again beholding my father, my friends, and my country. General d'Arblay, through his assiduous researches, aided by those of M. de Boinville and some others, found that a vessel was preparing to sail from Dunkirk to Dover, under Page 255 American colours, and with American passports and licence and, after privately landing such of its passengers as meant but to cross the channel, to proceed to the western continents. M. d'Arblay found, at the same time, six or seven persons of his acquaintance who were to embark in this vessel. We all met, and severally visited at Dunkirk, where I was compelled, through the mismanagement and misconduct of the captain of the vessel, to spend the most painfully wearisome six weeks of my life, for they kept me alike from all that was dearest to me, either in France or in England, save my Alexander. I was twenty times on the point of returning to Paris; but whenever I made known that design, the captain promised to sail the next morning. The truth is, he postponed the voyage from day to day and from week to week, in the hope of obtaining more passengers ; and, as the clandestine visit he meant to make. to Dover, in his way to America, was whispered about, reinforcements very frequently encouraged his cupidity. The ennui of having no positive occupation was now, for the first time, known to me; for though the first object of my active cares was with me, it was not as if that object had been a daughter, and always at my side ; it was a youth of seventeen, who, with my free consent, sought whatever entertainment the place could afford, to while away fatigue. He ran, therefore, wildly about at his pleasure, to the quay, the dockyard, the sea, the suburbs, the surrounding country - but chiefly, his time was spent in skipping to the " Mary Ann," our destined vessel, and seeing its preparations for departure. To stroll about the town, to call upon my fellow-sufferers, to visit the principal shops, and to talk with the good Dutch people while I made slight purchases, was all I could devise to do that required action. THE MS. OF "THE WANDERER." When I found our stay indefinitely protracted, it occurred to me that if I had the papers of a work which I had then in hand, they might afford me an occupation to while away my truly vapid and uninteresting leisure. I wrote this idea to my partner in all-- as M. de Talleyrand had called M. d'Arblay; and, with a spirit that was always in its first youth where any service was to be performed, he waited on M. de Saulnier at the police office, and made a request that my manuscripts Page 256 might be sent after me, with a permission that I might also be allowed to carry them with me on board the ship. He durst not say to England, whither no vessel was supposed to sail; but he would not, to M. de Saulnier, who palpably connived at my plan and purpose, say America. M. de Saulnier made many inquiries relative to these papers; but on being assured, upon honour, that the work had nothing in it political, nor even national, nor possibly offensive to the government, he took the single word of M. d'Arblay, whose noble countenance and dauntless openness of manner were guarantees of sincerity that wanted neither seals nor bonds, and invested him with the power to send me what papers be pleased, without demanding to examine, or even to see them -a trust so confiding and so generous, that I have regretted a thousand times the want of means to acknowledge it according to its merit. This work was "The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties," of which nearly three volumes were finished. They arrived, nevertheless, vainly for any purpose at Dunkirk; the disturbance of my suspensive -state incapacitating me for any composition, save of letters to my best friend, to whom I wrote, or dictated by Alexander, every day; and every day was only supported by the same kind diurnal return. But when, at length, we were summoned to the vessel, and our goods and chattels were conveyed to the custom-house, and when the little portmanteau was produced, and found to be filled with manuscripts, the police officer who opened it began a rant of indignation and amazement at a sight so unexpected and prohibited, that made him incapable to inquire or to hear the meaning of such a freight. He sputtered at the mouth, and stamped with his feet, so forcibly and vociferously, that no endeavours of mine could induce him to stop his accusations of traitorous designs, till, tired of the attempt, I ceased both explanation and entreaty, and stood before him with calm taciturnity. Wanting, then, the fresh fuel of interruption or opposition, his fire and fury evaporated into curiosity to know what I could offer. Yet even then, though my account staggered his violence into some degree of civility, he evidently deemed it, from its very nature, incredible ; and this fourth child of my brain had undoubtedly been destroyed ere it was born, had I not had recourse to an English merchant, Mr. Gregory, long settled at Dunkirk, to whom, Page 257 happily, I had been recommended, as to a person capable, in any emergence, to afford me assistance; he undertook the responsibility ; and the letter of M. d'Arblay, containing the licence of M. de Saulnier, was then all-sufficient for my manuscripts and their embarkation. SPANISH PRISONERS AT DUNKIRK. The second event I have to relate I never even yet recollect without an inward shuddering. In our walks out of the town, on the borders of the ocean, after passing beyond the dockyard or wharf, we frequently met a large party of Spanish prisoners, well escorted by gendarmes, and either going to their hard destined labour, or returning from it for repast or repose. I felt deeply interested by them, knowing they were men with and for whom our own English and the immortal Wellington were then fighting : and this interest induced me to walk on the bank by which they were paraded to and fro, as often as I could engage Alexander, from his other pursuits, to accompany me. Their appearance was highly in their favour, as well as their situation ; they had a look calmly intrepid, of concentrated resentment, yet unalterable patience, They were mostly strong-built and vigorous; of solemn, almost stately deportment, and with fine dark eyes, full of meaning, rolling around them as if in watchful expectation of insult; and in a short time they certainly caught from my countenance an air of sympathy, for they gave me, in return, as we passed one another, a glance that spoke grateful consciousness. I followed them to the place of their labour ; though my short-sightedness would not let me distinguish what they were about, whether mending fortifications, dykes, banks, parapets, or what not: and I durst not use my glass, lest I should be suspected as a spy. We only strolled about in their vicinity, as if merely visiting and viewing the sea. The weather -it was now August-was so intensely hot, the place was so completely without shade, and their work was so violent, that they changed hands every two hours, and those who were sent off to recruit were allowed to cast themselves upon the burnt and straw-like grass, to await their alternate summons. This they did in small groups, but without venturing to solace their rest by any species of social intercourse. They were as taciturn with one another as with their keepers and taskmasters. Page 258 One among them there was who wore an air of superiority, ,grave and composed, yet decided, to which they all appeared to bow down with willing subserviency, though the distinction was only demonstrated by an air of profound respect whenever they approached or passed him, for discourse held they none. One morning, when I observed him seated at a greater distance than usual from his overseers, during his hour of release, I turned suddenly from my walk as if with a view to bend my way homewards, but contrived, while talking with Alexander and looking another way, to slant my steps close to where he sat surrounded by his mute adherents, and to drop a handful of small coin nearly under the elbow upon which, wearily, lie was reclining. We proceeded with alertness, and talking together aloud; but Alexander perceived this apparent chief evidently moved by what I had done, though forbearing to touch the little offering, which, however, his companions immediately secured. After this I never met him that he did not make me a slight but expressive bow. This encouraged me to repeat the poor little tribute of compassion, which I soon found he distributed, as far as it would go, to the whole set, by the kindly looks with which every one thenceforward greeted me upon every meeting. Yet he whom we supposed to be some chief, and who palpably discovered it was himself I meant to distinguish, never touched the money, nor examined what was taken up by the others, who, on their part, nevertheless seemed but to take charge of it in trust. We were now such good friends, that this became more than ever my favourite walk and these poor unhappy captives never saw me without brightening up into a vivacity of pleasure that was to me a real exhilaration. We had been at Dunkirk above five weeks, when one evening, having a letter of consequence to send to Paris, I begged Alexander to carry it to the post himself, and to deposit me upon the quay, and there to join me. As the weather was very fine I stood near the sea, wistfully regarding the element on which depended all my present hopes and views. But presently my meditations were interrupted, and my thoughts diverted from mere self by the sudden entrance, in a large body, of my friends the Spanish prisoners, who all bore down to the very place where I was stationed, evidently recognising me, and eagerly showing that it was not without extreme satisfaction. I saw their approach, in return, with lively Page 259 pleasure, for, the quay being, I suppose, a place of certain security, they were unencumbered by their usual turnkeys, the gendarmes, and this freedom, joined to their surprise at my sight, put them also off their guard, and they flocked round though not near me, and hailed me with smiles, bows, and hands put upon their breasts. I now took courage to speak to them, partly in French, partly in English, for I found they understood a little of both those languages. I inquired whence they came, and whether they knew General Wellington. They smiled and nodded at his name, and expressed infinite delight in finding I was English ; but though they all, by their head movements, entered into discourse, my friend the chief was the only one who attempted to answer me. When I first went to France, being continually embarrassed for terms, I used constantly to apply to M. d'Arblay for aid, till Madame de Tess� charged him to be quiet, saying that my looks filled up what my words left short, "de sorte que," she added, "nous la devinons;"(217) this was the case between my Spaniards and myself, and we -devin-d one another so much to our mutual satisfaction, that while this was the converse the most to my taste of any I had had at Dunkirk, it was also, probably, most to theirs of any that had fallen to their lot since they had been torn from their native country. SURPRISED BY AN OFFICER OF POLICE. While this was going on I was privately drawing from my purse all that it contained of small money to distribute to my new friends - but at this same moment a sudden change in the countenance of the chief from looks of grateful feeling, to an expression of austerity, checked my purpose, and, sorry and alarmed lest he had taken offence, I hastily drew my empty hand from my reticule. I then saw that the change of expression was not simply to austerity from pleasure, but to consternation from serenity - and I perceived that it was not to me the altered visage was directed; the eye pointed beyond me, and over my head startled, I turned round, and what, then, was my own consternation when I beheld an officer of the police, in full gold trappings, furiously darting forward from a small house at the entrance upon the quay, which I afterwards learnt was his official dwelling. When he came within two yards of us he stood still, mute and erect ; but with an air of menace, his eyes scowling first upon the chief, Page 260 then upon me, then upon the whole group, and then upon me again, with looks that seemed diving into some conspiracy. My alarm was extreme - my imprudence in conversing with these unhappy captives struck me at once with foreboding terror of ill consequences. I had, however, sufficient presence of mind to meet the eyes of my antagonist with a look that showed surprise, rather than apprehension at his wrath. This was not without some effect. Accustomed, probably, to scrutinize and to penetrate into secret plots, he might be an adept in distinguishing the fear of ill-treatment from the fear of detection. The latter I could certainly not manifest, as my compassion had shown no outward mark beyond a little charity - but the former I tried, vainly, perhaps, to subdue : for I well knew that pity towards a Spaniard would be deemed suspicious, at least, if not culpable. We were all silent, and all motionless ; but when the man, having fixed upon me his eyes with intention to petrify me, saw that I fixed him in return with an open though probably not very composed face, he-spoke, and with a voice of thunder, vociferating reproach, accusation, and condemnation all in one. His words I could not distinguish; they were so confused and rapid from rage. This violence, though it secretly affrighted me, I tried to meet with simple astonishment, making no sort of answer or interruption to his invectives. When he observed my steadiness, and that he excited none of the humiliation of discovered guilt, he stopped short and, after a pause, gruffly said,-- "Qui �tes-vous?" "Je me nomme d'Arblay." "Etes-vous mari�e?" "Oui." "O� est votre mari?" "A Paris." "Qui est-il?" "Il travaille aux Bureaux de l'Int�rieur." "Pourquoi le quittez-vous?"(218) Page 261 I was here sensibly embarrassed. I durst not avow I was going to England ; I could not assert I was really going to America. I hesitated, and the sight of his eyes brightening up with the hope of mischief, abated my firmness ; and, while he seemed to be staring me through, I gave an account, very imperfect, indeed, and far from clear, though true, that I came to Dunkirk to embark on board the "Mary Ann" vessel. "Ah ha!" exclaimed he, "vous �tes Anglaise?"(219) Then, tossing back his head with an air of triumphant victory, "suivez-moi!"(220) he added, and walked away, fast and fierce, but looking back every minute to see that I followed. INTERROGATED AT THE POLICE OFFICE. Never can I forget the terror with which I was seized at this command; it could only be equalled by the evident consternation and sorrow that struck me, as I turned my head around to see where I was, in my poor chief and his group. Follow I did, though not less per force than if I had been dragged by chains. When I saw him arrive at the gate of the little dwelling I have mentioned, which I now perceived to belong to him officially, I impulsively, involuntarily stopped. To enter a police office, to be probably charged with planning some conspiracy with the enemies of the state, my poor Alexander away, and not knowing what must have become of me; my breath was gone; my power of movement ceased; my head, or understanding, seemed a chaos, bereft of every distinct or discriminating idea; and my feet, as if those of a statue, felt riveted to the ground, from a vague but overwhelming belief I was destined to incarceration in some dungeon, where I might sink ere I could make known my situation to my friends, while Alex, thus unaccountably abandoned, might be driven to despair, or become the prey to nameless mischiefs. Again the tiger vociferated a "suivez-moi!" but finding it no longer obeyed, he turned full round as he stood upon ]its threshold, and perceiving my motionless and speechless dismay, looked at me for two or three seconds in scornful, but investigating taciturnity. Then, putting his arms a-kimbo, he said, in lower, but more, taunting accents, "Vous ne le jugez donc pas propos de me suivre?" (221) Page 262 This was followed by a sneering, sardonic grin that seemed anticipating the enjoyment of using compulsion. On, therefore, I again forced myself, and with tolerable composure I said, "Je n'ai rien, monsieur, je crois, faire ici?"(222) "Nous verrons!"(223) he answered, bluffly, and led the way into a small hovel rather than parlour - and then haughtily seated himself at a table, on which were pen, ink, and paper, and, while I stood before him, began an interrogation, with the decided asperity of examining a detected criminal, of whom he was to draw up the proces verbal. When I perceived this, my every fear, feeling, nay, thought, concentrated in Alexander, to whom I had determined not to allude, while I had any hope of self-escape, to avoid for us both the greatest of all perils, that of an accusation of intending to evade the ensuing conscription, for which, though Alex was yet too young, he was fast advancing to be amenable. But now that I was enclosed from his sight, and there was danger every moment of his suddenly missing me, I felt that our only chance of safety must lie in my naming him before he should return. With all the composure, therefore, that I could assume, I said that I was come to Dunkirk with my son to embark in the "Mary Ann," an American vessel, with a passport from M. de Saulnier, secretary to the Duke de Rovigo, minister of police. And what had I done with this son? I had sent him to the post-office with a letter for his father. At that instant I perceived Alexander wildly running past the window. This moment was critical. I instantly cried, "Sir, there is my son!" The man rose, and went to the door, calling Out, "Jeune homme!"(224) Alex approached, and was questioned, and though much amazed, gave answers perfectly agreeing with mine. I now recovered my poor affrighted faculties, and calmly said that if he had any doubt of our veracity, I begged he would send for Mr. Gregory, who knew us well. This, a second time, was a most happy reference. Mr. Gregory was of the highest respectability, and he was near at hand. There could be no doubt of the authenticity f such an appeal. Page 263 The brow of my ferocious assailant was presently unbent. I seized the favourable omen to assure him, with apparent indifference, that I had no objection to being accompanied or preceded to the Hotel Sauvage, where I resided, nor to giving him the key of my portmanteau and portfolio, if it were possible I had excited any suspicion by merely speaking, from curiosity, to the Spanish prisoners. No, he answered, he would not disturb me; and then, having entered the name of Alexander by the side of mine, he let us depart. Speechless was my joy, and speechless was the surprise of Alexander, and we walked home in utter silence. Happily, this incident occurred but just before we set sail, for with it terminated my greatest solace at Dunkirk, the seeing and consoling those unhappy prisoners, and the regale of wandering by the sea-coast. THE "MARY ANN" CAPTURED OFF DEAL. Six weeks completely we consumed in wasteful weariness at Dunkirk; and our passage, when at last we set sail, was equally, in its proportion, toilsome and tedious. Involved in a sickening calm, we could make no way, but lingered two days and two nights in this long-short passage. The second night, indeed, might have been spared me, as it was spared to all my fellow voyagers. But when we cast anchor, I was so exhausted by the unremitting sufferings I had endured, that I was literally unable to rise from my hammock. Yet was there a circumstance capable to have aroused me from any torpidity, save the demolishing ravage of sea-sickness for scarcely were we at anchor, when Alex, capering up to the deck, descended with yet more velocity than he had mounted to exclaim, "Oh, maman! there are two British officers now upon deck." But, finding that even this could not make me recover speech or motion, he ran back again to this new and delighting sight, and again returning 'cried out in a tone of rapture, "Maman, we are taken by the British! We are all captured by British officers!" Even in my immovable, and nearly insensible state, this juvenile ardour, excited by so new and strange an adventure, afforded me some amusement. It did not, however, afford me strength, for I could not rise, though I heard that every other passenger was removed. With difficulty, even next morning, I crawled upon the deck, and there I had been but a short time, Page 264 when Lieutenant Harford came on board to take possession of the vessel, not as French, but American booty, war having been declared against America the preceding week. Mr. Harford, hearing my name, most courteously addressed me, with congratulations upon my safe arrival in England. These were words to rewaken all the happiest purposes of my expedition, and they recovered me from the nerveless, sinking state into which my exhaustion had cast me, as if by a miracle. My father, my brothers, my sisters, and all my heart-dear friends, seemed rising to my view and springing to my embraces, with all the joy of renovating reunion. I thankfully accepted his obliging offer to carry me on shore in his own boat; but when I turned round, and called upon Alexander to follow us, Mr. Harford, assuming a commanding air, said, "No, madam, I cannot take that young man. No French person can come into my boat without a passport and permission from government." My air now a little corresponded with his own, as I answered, "He was born, Sir, in England!" "Oh!" cried he, " "that's quite another matter; come along, Sir! we'll all go together." I now found we were rowing to Deal, not Dover, to which town we had been destined by our engagement: but we had been captured, it seems, chemin fuisant, though so gently, and with such utter helplessness of opposition, that I had become a prisoner without any suspicion of my captivity. JOY ON ARRIVING IN ENGLAND. We had anchored about half a mile, I imagine, from the shore ; which I no sooner touched than, drawing away my arm from Mr. Harford, I took up on one knee, with irrepressible transport, the nearest bright pebble, to press to my lips in grateful joy at touching again the land of my nativity, after an absence, nearly hopeless, of more than twelve years. Of the happiness that ensued--my being again in the arms of my dearly loved father-in those of my dear surviving sisters--my brothers--my friends, some faint details yet remain in a few letters to my heart's confidant that he preserved: but they are truly faint, for my satisfaction was always damped in recording it to him who SO fondly wished to partake of it, and whose absence from that participation always rendered it incomplete. And, on one great source of renovated felicity, I did not Page 265 dare touch even by inference, even by allusion--that of finding my gracious royal mistress and her august daughters as cordial in their welcome, as trustingly confidential, and as amiably condescending, I had almost said affectionate, as if I had never departed from the royal roof under which, for five years, I had enjoyed their favour. To have spoken of the royal family in letters sent to France under the reign of Bonaparte, might have brought destruction on him for whom I would a thousand times sooner have suffered it myself. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.)(225) Aug. 15, 1812. In a flutter of joy such as my tender Charlotte will feel in reading this, I write to her from England! I can hardly believe it; I look around me in constant inquiry and doubt I speak French to every soul, and I whisper still if I utter a word that breathes private opinion. . . . We set off for Canterbury, where we slept, and on the 20th(226) proceeded towards Chelsea. While, upon some common, we stopped to water the horses, a gentleman on horseback passed us twice, and then, looking in, pronounced my name - and I saw it was Charles, dear Charles! who had been watching for us several hours and three nights following, through a mistake. Thence we proceeded to Chelsea, where we arrived at nine o'clock at night. I was in a state almost breathless. I could only demand to see my dear father alone: fortunately, he had had the same feeling, and had charged all the family to stay away, and all the world to be denied. I found him, therefore, in his library, by himself-but oh! my dearest, very much altered indeed--weak, weak and changed- -his head almost always hanging down, and his hearing most cruelly impaired. I was terribly affected, but most grateful to God for my arrival. Our meeting, you may be sure, was very tender, though I roused myself as quickly as possible to be gay and cheering. He was extremely kind to Alex, and said, in a tone the most impressive, "I should have been very glad to have seen M. d'Arblay!" In discourse, however, he reanimated, and was, at times, all himself. But he now admits scarcely a creature but of his family, and will only see for a short time even his children. He likes quietly reading, and lies Page 266 almost constantly upon the sofa, and will never eat but alone. What a change! YOUNG D'ARBLAY SECURES A SCHOLARSHIP. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) March 16, 1813. How will my kindest father rejoice for me! for my dear partner-- for my boy! The election is gained, and Alexander has obtained the Tancred scholarship. He had all the votes: the opponent retired. Sir D-- behaved handsomely, came forward, and speechified for us. Sir Francis Milman, who was chairman, led the way in the harangue. Dr. Davy, our supporter, leader, inspirer, director, heart and head, patron and guide, spoke also. Mr H-- spoke, too; but nothing, they tell me, to our purpose, nor yet against it. He gave a very long and elaborate history of a cause which he is to plead in the House of Lords, and which has not the smallest reference whatsoever to the case in point. Dr. Davy told me, in recounting it, that he is convinced the good and wary lawyer thought this an opportunity not to be lost for rehearsing his cause, which would prevent loss of time to himself, or hindrance of business, except to his hearers : however, he gave us his vote. 'Tis a most glorious affair. THE QUEEN ALARMED BY A MAD WOMAN. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) May 11, 1813. My own inclination and intention kept in mind your charge, , my dearest sir, that as soon as I was able I would wait upon Lady Crewe;(227) fortunately, I found her at home, and in her best style, cordial as well as good-humoured, and abounding in acute and odd remarks. I had also the good fortune to see my lord, who seems always pleasing, unaffected, and sensible, and to possess a share of innate modesty that no intercourse with the world, nor addition of years, can rob him of. I was much satisfied with my visit - but what I shall do for time, now once I have been launched from my couch, or sick chamber, I wot not. Page 267 What a terrible alarm is this which the poor tormented queen has again received!(228) I wrote my concern as soon as I heard of it, though I have not yet seen the printed account, my packet of papers reaching only to the very day before that event. My answer has been a most gracious summons to the Queen's house for to-morrow. Her majesty and two of the princesses come to town for four days. This robs me of my Chelsea visit for this week, as I keep always within call during the town residences, when I have royal notice of them, and, indeed, there is nothing I desire more than to see her majesty at this moment, and to be allowed to express what I have felt for her. My letter from Madame Beckersdorff says that such an alarm would have been frightful for anybody, but how much more peculiarly so for the queen, who has experienced such poignant horror from the effects of disordered intellects! who is always suffering from them, and so nearly a victim to the unremitting exercise of her duties upon that subject and these calls. I have had a visit this morning from Mrs. Piozzi, who is in town only for a few days upon business. She came while I was out - but I must undoubtedly make a second tour, after my royal four days are passed, in order to wait upon and thank her. I have been received more graciously than ever, if that be possible, by my dear and honoured queen and sweet Princesses Eliza and Mary. The queen has borne this alarm astonishingly, considering how great was the shock at the moment; but she has so high a character, that she will not suffer anything personal to sink her spirits, which she saves wholly for the calls upon them of others, and great and terrible have been those calls. The beloved king is in the best state possible for his present melancholy situation; that is, wholly free from real bodily suffering, or imaginary mental misery, for he is persuaded that he is always conversing with angels. WEATHER COMPLAINTS. PROPOSED MEETING WITH LORD LANSDOWNE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Chenies-street, Alfred-place, May 23, 1813. Oh, how teased I am, my dearest padre, by this eternal unwalkable weather! Every morning rises so fairly, that at every noon I am preparing to quit my conjuring, and repair, Page 268 by your kind invitation, to prelude my promised chat by a repast with Sarah - when mizzling falls the rain, or hard raps the hail, and the day, for me, is involved in damps and dangers that fix me again to my dry, but solitary conjurations. I am so tired now of disappointments, that I must talk a little with my padre in their defiance, and in a manner now, thank God! out of their reach. Ah, how long will letters be any safer than meetings! The little world I see all give me hope and comfort from the posture of affairs but I am too deeply interested to dare be sanguine while in such suspense. Lady Crewe invited me to her party that she calls Noah's ark; but I cannot yet risk an evening, and a dressed one too. She then said she would make me a small party with the Miss Berrys, and for a morning; and now she has written to Charles to make interest with me to admit Lord Lansdowne, at his own earnest request! I am quite non compos to know how I shall make my way through these honours, to my strength and re-establishment, for they clash with my private plan and adopted system of quiet. However, she says the meeting shall be in the country, at Brompton, and without fuss or ceremony. Her kindness is inexpressible, therefore I have not courage to refuse her. She has offered me her little residence at Brompton for my dwelling for a week or so, to restore me from all my influenzas : she may truly be called a faithful family friend. I hope dear Sarah and Fanny Raper will be of the party. If they are, charge them, dear sir, to let me hear their voices, for I shall never find out their faces. What weather! what weather! when shall I get to Chelsea, and embrace again my beloved father? This free-born weather of our sea-girt isle of liberty is very incommodious to those who have neither carriages for wet feet, nor health for damp shoulders. If the farmers, however, are contented, I must be patient. We may quarrel with all our wishes better than with our corn. Adieu, my most dear father, till the sun shines drier. A YOUNG GIRL'S ENTRY TO LONDON SOCIETY. MADAME DE STAEL. (Madame d'Arblay to a friend.) London, August 20, 1813- . . .Your charming girl, by what I can gather, has seen, upon the whole, a great deal of this vast town and its Page 269 splendours,--a little more might, perhaps, have been better, in making her, with a mind such as hers, regret it a little less. Merit of her sort can here be known with difficulty. Dissipation is so hurried, so always in a bustle, that even amusement must be prominent, to be enjoyed. There is no time for development; nothing, therefore, is seen but what is conspicuous; and not much is heard but what is obstreperous. They who, in a short time, can make themselves known and admired now in London, must have their cupids, in Earl Dorset's phrase-- Like blackguard boys, Who thrust their links full in your face. I had very much matter that I meant and wished to say to you upon this subject; but in brief--I do not myself think it a misfortune that your dear girl cannot move in a London round, away from your own wing: you have brought her up so well, and she seems so good, gentle, and contented, as well as accomplished, that I cannot wish her drawn into a vortex where she may be imbued with other ideas, views, and wishes than those that now constitute her happiness--and happiness! what ought to be held more sacred where it is innocent--what ought so little to risk any unnecessary or premature concussion? With all the deficiencies and imperfections of her present situation, which you bewail but which she does not find out, it is, alas! a million to one whether, even in attaining the advantages and society you wish for her, she will ever again, after any change, be as happy as she is at this moment. A mother whom she looks up to and doats upon--a sister whom she so fondly loves--how shall they be replaced? The chances are all against her (though the world has, I know, such replacers), from their rarity. I am truly glad you had a gratification you so earnestly coveted, that of seeing Madame de Stael: your account of her was extremely interesting to me. As to myself, I have not seen her at all. Various causes have kept me in utter retirement; and, in truth, with respect to Madame de Stael, my situation is really embarrassing. It is too long and difficult to write upon, nor do I recollect whether I ever communicated to you our original acquaintance, which, at first, was intimate. I shall always, internally, be grateful for the partiality with which she sought me out upon her arrival in this country before my- marriage: and still, and far more, if she can forgive my dropping her, which I could not help Page 270 for none of my friends, at that time, would suffer me to keep up the intercourse! I had messages, remonstrances, entreaties, representations, letters, and conferences, till I could resist no longer; though I had found her so charming, that I fought the hardest battle I dared fight against almost all my best connections. She is now received by all mankind;--but that, indeed, she always was--all womankind, I should say--with distinction and pleasure. I wish much to see her "Essay on Suicide;" but it has not yet fallen in my way. When will the work come out for which she was, she says, chass�e de la France?(229) Where did --- hear her a whole evening? She is, indeed, most uncommonly entertaining, and animating as well as animated, almost beyond anybody, "Les M�moires de Madame de Stael" I have read long ago, and with singular interest and eagerness. They are so attaching, so evidently original and natural, that they stand very high, indeed, in reading that has given me most pleasure. My boy has just left me for Greenwich.(230) He goes in October to Cambridge; I wish to install him there myself. My last letter from Paris gives me to the end of October to stay in England. ROGERS THE POET. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) August 24, 1813. .....I was delighted by meeting Lady Wellington, not long since, at Lady Templetown's. Her very name electrified me with emotion. I dined at Mr. Rogers's, at his beautiful mansion in the Green Park, to meet Lady Crewe; and Mrs. Barbauld was also there, whom I had not seen many, many years, and alas, should not have known! Mr. Rogers was so considerate to my sauvagerie as to have no party, though Mr. Sheridan, he said, had expressed his great desire to meet again his old friend Madame d'Arblay! Lady Crewe told me she certainly would not leave town without seeking Page 271 another chattery with her old friend, Dr. Burney, whom she always saw with fresh pleasure. INTERVIEW WITH MR. WILBERFORCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Sandgate, Sept., 1813. Let me steal a moment to relate a singular gratification, and, in truth, a real and great honour I have had to rejoice in. You know, my padre, probably, that Marianne Francis was commissioned by Mr. Wilberforce(231) to bring about an acquaintance with your F. d'A., and that, though highly susceptible to such a desire, my usual shyness, or rather consciousness of inability to meet the expectations that must have made him seek me, induced my declining an interview. Eh bien--at church at Sandgate, the day after my arrival, I saw this justly celebrated man, and was introduced to him in the churchyard, after the service, by Charles. The ramparts and martellos around us became naturally our theme, and Mr. Wilberforce proposed showing them to me. I readily accepted the offer, and Charles and Sarah, and Mrs. Wilberforce and Mrs. Barrett, went away in their several carriages, while Mr. Barrett alone remained, and Mr. Wilberforce gave me his arm, and, in short, we walked the round from one to five o'clock! Four hours' of the best conversation I have, nearly, ever enjoyed. He was anxious for a full and true account of Paris, and particularly of religion and infidelity, and of Bonaparte and the wars, and of all and everything that had occurred during my ten years' seclusion in France; and I had so much to communicate, and his drawing out and comments and episodes were all so judicious, so spirited, so full of information yet so unassuming, that my shyness all flew away and I felt to be his confidential friend, opening to him upon every occurrence and every sentiment, with the frankness that is usually won by years of intercourse. I was really and truly delighted and enlightened by him; I desire nothing more Page 272 than to renew the acquaintance, and cultivate it to intimacy. But, alas! he was going away next morning. INTENDED PUBLICATION OF "THE WANDERER." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Richmond Hill, Oct. 12, 1813. My most dear padre will, I am sure, congratulate me that I have just had the heartfelt delight of a few lines from M. d'Arblay, dated September 5th. I had not had any news since the 17th of August, and I had the melancholy apprehension upon my spirits that no more letters would be allowed to pass till the campaign was over. It has been therefore one of the most welcome surprises I ever experienced. He tells me, also, that he is perfectly well, and quite acabl� with business. This, for the instant, gives me nothing but joy; for, were he not essentially necessary in some department of civil labour and use, he would surely be included in some lev�e en masse. Every way, therefore, this letter gives me relief and pleasure. I have had, also, this morning, the great comfort to hear that my Alexander is " stout and well at Cambridge, where his kind uncle Charles still remains. I am indescribably occupied, and have been so ever since my return from Ramsgate, in giving more and more last touches to my work, about which I begin to grow very, anxious. I am to receive merely 500 pounds upon delivery of the MS. the two following 500 by instalments from nine months to nine months, that is, in a year and a half from the day of publication. If all goes well, the whole will be 3000, but only at the end of the sale of eight thousand copies. Oh, my padre, if you approve the work, I shall have good hope. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S WOUNDED COMRADES. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Dec. 16, 1813. Ah, my dearest friend, how is my poor cottage-how are my proofs-- how is everything forced from my mind, except what necessity drives there, by this cruel stroke to my suffering partner! The world had power only in two instances to have given him quite so deadly a blow, dear to his heart of love as Page 273 are some, nay, many others; but here--for M. de Narbonne, it was a passion of admiration, joined to a fondness of friendship, that were a part of himself.(232) How he will bear it, and in our absence, perpetually occupies my thoughts. And I have no means to hear from, or to write to him!--none, absolutely none! just before this wound was inflicted, I was already overwhelmed with grief for my poor Madame de Maisonneuve, A for M. d'Arblay himself, and for my own personal loss, in the death--premature and dreadful, nay, inhuman--of the noble, perfect brother of that Madame de Maisonneuve; General Latour Maubourg, a man who, like my own best friend was--is signalized among his comrades by the term of a vrai Chevalier Fran�ais. He was without a blot; and his life has been thrown away merely to prevent his being made a prisoner! He had received a horrible wound on the first of the tremendous battles of Leipzic, and on the second he suffered amputation; and immediately after was carried away to follow the retreating army! In such a condition, who can wonder to hear that, a very few miles from Leipzic, he expired?(233) DEATH OF DR. BURNEY. [In the beginning of the year 1814, Madame d'Arblay published her fourth work, "The Wanderer," and nearly at the same time peace was declared between France and England. Her satisfaction at an event so long wished for, was deeply saddened by the death of her father, Dr. Burney; whom she nursed and attended to the last moment with dutiful tenderness. Soon after the Restoration of the French royal family, Monsieur d'Arblay was placed by the Duke de Luxembourg in the French " gardes du corps." He obtained leave of absence towards the close of the year, and came to England Page 274 for a few weeks ; after which Madame d'Arblay returned with him to Paris, leaving their son to pursue his studies at Cambridge.] (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. ----) March(234) 19, 1814. Be not uneasy for me, nay tender friend: my affliction is heavy, but not acute - my beloved father had been spared to us something beyond the verge of the prayer for his preservation, which you must have read, for already his sufferings had far surpassed his enjoyments. I could not have wished him so to linger, though I indulged almost to the last hour a hope he might yet recover, and be restored to comfort. I last of all gave him up, but never wished his duration such as I saw him on the last few days. Dear blessed parent! how blest am I that I came over to him while he was yet susceptible of pleasure--of happiness! My best comfort in my grief, in his loss, is that I watched by his side the last night, and hovered over him two hours after he breathed no more; for though much suffering had preceded the last hours, they were so quiet, and the final exit was so soft, that I had not perceived it though I was sitting by his bedside, and would not believe when all around announced it. I forced them to let me stay by him, and his revered form became stiff before I could persuade myself that he was gone hence for ever. Yet neither then nor now has there been any violence, anything to fear from my grief; his loss was too indubitably to be expected, he had been granted too long to our indulgence to allow any species of repining to mingle with my sorrow; and it is repining that makes sorrow too hard to bear with resignation. Oh, I have known it! FAVOURABLE NEWS OF M. D'ARBLAY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) April 3, 1814. I hasten to impart to my kind and sympathising friend that I received-last night good tidings of my best friend of friends; they have been communicated to me, oddly enough, through the Alien office! Mr. Reeves wrote them to my Page 275 reverend brother,(235) by the desire of an English lady now resident in Paris-Madame Solvyns (wife of a Frenchman), at the request of M. d'Arblay; they assure me of his perfect health... Nothing could be so well timed as this intelligence, for my inquietude was beginning to be doubly restless from the accession of time that has fallen to me by having got rid of all my proofs, etc. it is only real and indispensable business that can force away attention from suspensive uneasiness. Another comfort of the very first magnitude, my sweet friend will truly, I know, participate in--my Alexander begins to listen to reason. He assures me he is now going on with very tolerable regularity; and I have given him, for this term, to soberize and methodize him a little, a private tutor ; and this tutor has won his heart by indulging him in his problem passion. They work together, he says, with a rapidity and eagerness that makes the hour of his lesson by far the most delightful portion of his day. And this tutor, he tells me, most generously gives him problems to work at in his absence: a favour for which every pupil, perchance, would not be equally grateful, but which Alexander, who loves problems algebraic as another boy loves a play or an opera, regards as the height of indulgence. "THE WANDERER." [Soon after the publication of " The Wanderer," Madame d'Arblay wrote as follows to a friend:--] I beseech you not to let your too ardent friendship disturb you about the reviews and critiques, and I quite supplicate you to leave their authors to their own severities or indulgence. I have ever steadily refused all interference with public opinion or private criticism. I am told I have been very harshly treated ; but I attribute it not to what alone would affect me, but which I trust I have not excited, personal enmity. I attribute it to the false expectation, universally spread, that the book would be a picture of France, as well as to the astonishing �clat of a work in five volumes being all bespoken before it was published. The booksellers, erroneously and injudiciously concluding the sale would so go on, fixed the rapacious price of two guineas, which again damped the sale. But why say damped, when it is only their unreasonable expectations that are disappointed ? for they acknowledge that 3600 copies are positively sold and paid for in the first half year. What must I be, if not far more than Page 276 contented? I have not read or heard one of the criticisms; my mind has been wholly occupied by grief for the loss of my dearest father, or the inspection of his MSS., and my harassing situation relative to my own proceedings. Why, then, make myself black bile to disturb me further? No; I will not look at a word till my spirits and time are calmed and quiet, and I can set about preparing a corrected edition. I will then carefully read all - and then, the blow to immediate feelings being over, I can examine as well as read, impartially and with profit, both to my future surveyors and myself. MADAME D'ARBLAY'S PRESENTATION TO LOUIS XVIII AT GRILLON's HOTEL. 1814.-While I was still under the almost first impression of grief for the loss of my dear and honoured father I received a letter from Windsor Castle, written by Madame Beckersdorff, at the command of her majesty, to desire I would take the necessary measures for being presented to son altesse royale Madame Duchesse d'Angoul�me,l who was to have a Drawing-room in London, both for French and English, on the day preceding her departure for France. The letter added, that I must waive all objections relative to my recent loss, as it would be improper, in the present state of things, that the wife of a general officer should not be presented; and, moreover, that I should be personally expected and well received, as I had been named to son altesse royale by the queen herself. In conclusion, I was charged not to mention this circumstance, from the applications or jealousies it might excite. To hesitate was out of the question - and to do honour to my noble absent partner, and in his name to receive honour, were precisely the two distinctions my kind father would most have enjoyed for me. Page 277 I had but two or three days for preparation. Lady Crewe most amiably came to me herself, and missing me in person, wrote me word she would lend me her carriage, to convey me from Chelsea to her house in Lower Grosvenor-street, and thence accompany me herself to the audience. When the morning arrived I set off with tolerable courage. Arrived, however, at Lady Crewe's, when I entered the room in which this dear and attached friend of my father received me, the heaviness of his loss proved quite overpowering to my spirits ; and in meeting the two hands of my hostess, I burst into tears and could not, for some time, listen to the remonstrances against unavailing grief with which she rather chid than soothed me. But I could not contest the justice of what she uttered, though my grief was too fresh for its observance. Sorrow, as my dearest father was wont to say, requires time, as well as wisdom and religion, to digest itself , and till that time is both accorded and well employed, the sense of its uselessness serves but to augment, not mitigate, its severity. Lady Crewe purposed taking this opportunity of paying her own respects, with her congratulations, to Madame la Duchesse d'Angoul�me. She had sent me a note from Madame de Gouvello, relative to the time, for presentation, which was to take place it Grillon's hotel in Albemarle-street. We went very early, to avoid a crowd. But Albemarle-street was already quite full, though quiet. We entered the hotel without difficulty, Lady Crewe having previously demanded a private room of Grillon, who had once been cook to her lord. This private room was at the back of the house, with a mere yard or common garden for its prospect. , Lady Crewe declared this was quite too stupid, and rang the bell for waiter after waiter, till she made M. Grillon come himself. She then, in her singularly open and easy manner, told him to be so good as to order us a front room, where we might watch for the arrival of the royals, and be amused ourselves at the same time by seeing the entrances of the mayor, aldermen, and common councilmen, and other odd characters, who would be coming to pay their court to these French princes and princesses. M. Grillon gave a nod of acquiescence, and we were instantly shown to a front apartment just over the street door, which was fortunately supplied with a balcony. I should have been much entertained by all this, and Page 278 particularly with the originality, good humour, and intrepid yet intelligent odd fearlessness of all remark, or even consequence, which led Lady Crewe to both say and do exactly what she pleased, had my heart been lighter - but it was too heavy for pleasure; and the depth of my mourning, and the little, but sad time that was yet passed since it had become my gloomy garb, made me hold it a matter even of decency, as well as of feeling, to keep out of sight. I left Lady Crewe, therefore, to the full enjoyment of her odd figures, while I seated myself, solitarily, at the further end of the room. GRATTAN THE ORATOR. In an instant, however, she saw from the window some acquaintance, and beckoned them up. A gentleman, middle-aged, of a most pleasing appearance and address, immediately obeyed her summons, accompanied by a young man with a sensible look; and a young lady, pretty, gentle, and engaging, with languishing, soft eyes; though with a smile and an expression of countenance that showed an innate disposition to archness and sport. This uncommon trio I soon found to consist of the celebrated Irish orator, Mr. Grattan,(237) and his son and daughter. Lady Crewe welcomed them with all the alertness belonging to her thirst for amusement, and her delight in sharing it with those she thought capable of its participation. This she had sought, but wholly missed in me; and could neither be angry nor disappointed, though she was a little vexed. She suffered me not, however, to remain long in my seclusion, but called me to the balcony, to witness the jolting out of their carriages of the aldermen and common councilmen, exhibiting, as she said, "Their fair round bodies with fat capon lined;" and wearing an air of proudly hospitable satisfaction, in visiting a king of France who had found an asylum in a street of the city of Westminster. The crowd, however, for they deserve a better name than Page 279 mob, interested my observation still more. John Bull has seldom appeared to me to greater advantage. I never saw him en masse behave with such impulsive propriety. Enchanted to behold a king of France in his capital; conscious that le grand monarque was fully in his power; yet honestly enraptured to see that "The king would enjoy his own again," and enjoy it through the generous efforts of his rival, brave, noble old England; he yet seemed aware that it was fitting to subdue all exuberance of pleasure, which, else, might annoy, if not alarm, his regal guest. He took care, therefore, that his delight should not amount to exultation; it was quiet and placid, though pleased and curious : I had almost said it was gentlemanlike. And nearly of the same colour, though from so inferior an incitement, were the looks and attention of the Grattans, particularly of the father, to the black mourner whom Lady Crewe called amongst them. My garb, or the newspapers, or both, explained the dejection I attempted not to repress, though I carefully forbade it any vent - and the finely speaking face of Mr. Grattan seemed investigating the physiognomy, while it commiserated the situation of the person brought thus before him. His air had something foreign in it, from the vivacity that accompanied his politeness ; I should have taken him for a well-bred man of fashion of France. Good breeding, in England, amongst the men, is ordinarily stiff, reserved, or cold. Among the exceptions to this stricture, how high stood Mr. Windham! and how high in gaiety with vivacity stood my own honoured father! Mr. Locke, who was elegance personified in his manners, was lively only in his own domestic or chosen circle. A DEMONSTRATIVE IRISH LADY, A new scene now both astonished and discomposed me. A lady, accompanied humbly by a gentleman, burst into the room with a noise, a self-sufficiency, and an assuming confidence of superiority, that would have proved highly offensive, had it not been egregiously ridiculous. Her attire was as flaunting as her air and her manner; she was rouged and beribboned. But English she was not - she was Irish, in its most flaunting and untamed nature, and possessed of so boisterous a spirit, that she appeared to be just caught from the woods---the bogs, I might rather say. Page 280 When she had poured forth a volley of words, with a fluency and loudness that stunned me, Lady Crewe, with a. smile that seemed to denote she intended to give her pleasure, presented me by name to Madame la Baronne de M-- She made me a very haughty curtsey, and then, turning rudely away, looked reproachfully at Lady Crewe, and screamed out, " Oh, fie! fie, fie, fie!" Lady Crewe, astonished and shocked, seemed struck speechless, and I stood still with my eyes wide open, and my mouth probably so also, from a sort of stupor, for I could annex no meaning nor even any idea to such behaviour. She made not, however, any scruple to develop her motives, for she vehemently inveighed against being introduced to such an acquaintance, squalling out, "She has writ against the �migr�s!- -she has writ against the Great Cause! O fie! fie! fie!" When she had made these exclamations, and uttered these accusations, till the indulged vent to her rage began to cool it, she stopped of her own accord, and, finding no one spoke, looked as if she felt rather silly; while M. le Baron de M--, her very humble sposo, shrugged his shoulders. The pause was succeeded by an opening harangue from Lady Crewe, begun in a low and gentle voice, that seemed desirous to spare me what might appear an undue condescension, in taking any pains to clear me from so gross an attack. She gave, therefore, nearly in a whisper, a short character of me and of my conduct, of which I heard just enough to know that such was her theme; and then, more audibly, she proceeded to state, that far from writing against the emigrants, I had addressed an exhortation to all the ladies of Great Britain in their favour. "Oh, then," cried Madame de M--, "it was somebody else--it was somebody else!" And then she screamed out delightedly, "I'm so glad I spoke out, because of this explanation!--I'm so glad! never was so glad!" She now jumped about the room, quite crazily, protesting she never rejoiced so much at anything she had ever done in her life. But when she found her joy, like her assault, was all her own, she stopped short, astonished, I suppose, at my insensibility; and said to me, "How lucky I spoke out! the luckiest thing in the world! I'm so glad! A'n't you? Because of this �claircissement." "If I had required any �claircissement," I drily began. "O, if it was not you, then," cried she, "'twas Charlotte Smith." Page 281 Lady Crewe seemed quite ashamed that such a scene should pass where she presided, and Mr. Grattan quietly stole away. Not quietly, nor yet by stealth, but with evident disappointment that her energies were not more admired, Madame la Baronne now called upon her attendant sposo, and strode off herself. I found she was a great heiress of Irish extraction and education, and that she had bestowed all her wealth upon this emigrant baron, who might easily merit it, when, besides his title, he gave her his patience and obsequiousness. INQUIRIES AFTER THE DUCHESS D'ANGOULEME. Some other friends of Lady Crewe now found her out, and she made eager inquiries amongst them relative to Madame la Duchesse d'Angoul�me, but could gather no tidings. She heard, however, that there were great expectations of some arrivals down stairs, where two or three rooms were filled with company. She desired Mr. Grattan, junior, to descend into this crowd, and to find out where the duchess was to be seen, and when, and how. He obeyed. But, when he returned, what was the provocation of Lady Crewe, what my own disappointment, to hear that the duchess was not arrived, and was not expected ! She was at the house of Monsieur le Comte d'Artois, her father-in-law. "Then what are we come hither for?" exclaimed her ladyship: "expressly to be tired to death for no purpose! Do pray, at least, Mr. Grattan, be so good as to see for my carriage, that we may go to the right house." Mr. Grattan was all compliance, and with a readiness so obliging and so well bred that I am sure he is his father's true son in manners, though there was no opportunity to discover whether the resemblance extended also to genius. He was not, however, cheered when he brought word that neither carriage nor footman were to be found. Lady Crewe then said he must positively go down, and make the Duc de Duras tell us what to do. In a few minutes he was with us again, shrugging his shoulders at his ill success. The king, Louis XVIII.,(238) he said, Page 282 was expected, and M. le Duc was preparing to receive him, and not able to speak or listen to any one. Lady Crewe declared herself delighted by this information, because there would be an opportunity for having me presented to his majesty. "Go to M. de Duras," she cried, "and tell him Madame d'Arblay wishes it." "For heaven's sake!" exclaimed I, "do no such thing! I have not the most distant thought of the kind! It is Madame la Duchesse d'Angoul�me alone that I--" "O, pho, pho!--it is still more essential to be done to the king--it is really important: so go, and tell the duke, Mr. Grattan, that Madame d'Arblay is here, and desires to be presented. Tell him 'tis a thing quite indispensable." I stopped him again, and quite entreated that no such step might be taken, as I had no authority for presentation but to the duchess. However, Lady Crewe was only provoked at my backwardness, and charged Mr. Grattan not to heed me. "Tell the duke," she cried, "that Madame d'Arblay is our Madame de Stael! tell him we are as proud of our Madame d'Arblay as he can be of his Madame de Stael." Off she sent him, and off I flew again to follow him and whether he was most amused or most teased by our opposing petitions, I know not - but he took the discreet side of not venturing again to return among us. PREPARATIONS FOR THE PRESENTATIONS. Poor Lady Crewe seemed to think I lost a place at Court, or perhaps a peerage, by my untamable shyness, and was quite vexed. Others came to her now, who said several rooms below were filled with expectant courtiers. Miss Grattan then earnestly requested me to descend with her, as a chaperon, that she might see something of what was going forwards. I could not refuse so natural a request, and down we went, seeking one of the common] crowded rooms, that we might not intrude where there was preparation or expectation relative to the king. And here, sauntering or grouping, meditating in silence or congratulating each other in coteries, or waiting with curiosity, or self-preparing for presentation with timidity, we found a multitude of folks in an almost unfurnished and quite unadorned apartment. The personages seemed fairly divided between the nation at home and the nation from abroad ; Page 283 the English and the French; each equally, though variously, occupied in expecting the extraordinary sight of a monarch thus wonderfully restored to his rank and his throne, after misfortunes that had seemed irremediable, and an exile that had appeared hopeless. Miss Grattan was saluted, en passant, by several acquaintances, and amongst them by the son-in-law of her dear country's viceroy Lord Whitworth, the young Duke of Dorset; and Lady Crewe herself, too tired to abide any longer in her appropriated apartment, now descended. We patrolled about, zig-zag, as we could; the crowd, though of very good company, having no chief or regulator, and therefore making no sort of avenue or arrangement for avoiding inconvenience. There was neither going up nor coming down; we were all hustled together, without direction and without object, for nothing whatsoever was present to look at or to create any interest, and our expectations were merely kept awake by a belief that we should know in time when and where something or somebody was to be seen. For myself, however, I was much tormented during this interval from being named incessantly by Lady Crewe. My deep mourning, my recent heavy loss, and the absence and distance of my dear husband made me peculiarly wish to be unobserved. Peculiarly, I say; for never yet had the moment arrived in which to be marked had not been embarrassing and disconcerting to me, even when most flattering. A little hubbub soon after announced something new, and presently a whisper was buzzed around the room of the "Prince de Cond�." His serene highness looked very much pleased--as no wonder--at the arrival of such a day; but he was so surrounded by all his countrymen who were of rank to claim his attention, that I could merely see that he was little and old, but very unassuming and polite. Amongst his courtiers were sundry of the French noblesse that were known to Lady Crewe and I heard her uniformly say to them, one after another, Here is Madame d'Arblay, who must be presented to the king. Quite frightened by an assertion so wide from my intentions, so unauthorised by any preparatory ceremonies, unknown to my husband, and not, like a presentation to the Duchesse d'Angoul�me, encouraged by my queen, I felt as if guilty of taking liberty the most presumptuous, and with a forwardness and assurance the most foreign to my character. Yet to Page 284 control the zeal of Lady Crewe was painful from her earnestness, and appeared to be ungrateful to her kindness ; I therefore shrunk back, and presently suffered the crowd to press between us so as to find myself wholly separated from my party. This would have been ridiculous had I been more happy - but in my then state of affliction, it was necessary to my peace. ARRIVAL OF Louis XVIII. Quite to myself, how I smiled inwardly at my adroit cowardice, and was contemplating the surrounding masses of people, when a new and more mighty hubbub startled me, and presently I heard a buzzing whisper spread throughout the apartment of "The king!--le roi!" Alarmed at my strange situation, I now sought to decamp, meaning to wait for Lady Crewe up stairs : but to even approach the door was impossible. I turned back, therefore, to take a place by the window, that I might see his majesty alight from his carriage, but how great was my surprise when, just as I reached the top of the room, the king himself entered it at the bottom! I had not the smallest idea that this was the chamber of audience ; it was so utterly unornamented. But I now saw that a large fauteuil was being conveyed to the upper part, exactly where I stood, ready for his reception and repose. Placed thus singularly, by mere accident, and freed from my fears of being brought forward by Lady Crewe, I felt rejoiced in so fair an opportunity of beholding the king of my honoured husband, and planted myself immediately behind, though not near to his prepared seat ; and, as I was utterly unknown and must be utterly unsuspected, I indulged myself with a full examination. An avenue had instantly been cleared from the door to the chair, and the king moved along It slowly, slowly, slowly, rather dragging his large and weak limbs than walking; but his face was truly engaging; benignity was in every feature, and a smile beamed over them that showed thankfulness to providence in the happiness to which he was so suddenly arrived; with a courtesy, at the same time, to the spectators, who came to see and congratulate it, the most pleasing and cheering. The scene was replete with motives to grand reflections and to me, the devoted subject of another monarch, whose melancholy alienation of mind was a constant source to me of Page 285 sorrow, it was a scene for conflicting feelings and profound meditation. THE PRESENTATIONS TO THE KING. His majesty took his seat, with an air of mingled sweetness and dignity. I then, being immediately behind him, lost sight of his countenance, but saw that of every individual who approached to be presented. The Duc de Duras stood at his left hand, and was le grand maitre des c�r�monies; Madame de Gouvello stood at his right side; though whether in any capacity, or simply as a French lady known to him, I cannot tell. In a whisper, from that lady, I learned more fully the mistake of the hotel, the Duchesse d'Angoul�me never having meant to quit that of her beaup�re, Monsieur le Comte d'Artois, in South Audley-street. The presentations were short, and without much mark or likelihood. The men bowed low, and passed on; the ladies curtsied, and did the same. Those who were not known gave a card, I think, to the Duc de Duras, who named them; those of former acquaintance with his majesty simply made their obeisance. M. de Duras, who knew how much fatigue the king had to go through, hurried every one on, not only with speed but almost with ill-breeding, to my extreme astonishment. Yet the English, by express command of his majesty, had always the preference and always took place of the French ; which was an attention of the king in return for the asylum he had here found, that he seemed delighted to display, Early in this ceremony came forward Lady Crewe, who being known to the king from sundry previous meetings, was not named ; and only, after curtseying, reciprocated smiles with his majesty, and passed on. But instead of then moving off, though the duke, who did not know her, waved his hand to hasten her away, she whispered, but loud enough for me to hear, "Voici Madame d'Arblay; il faut qu'elle soit pr�sent�e."(239) She then went gaily off, without heeding me. The duke only bowed, but by a quick glance recognised me, and by another showed a pleased acquiescence in the demand. Retreat' now, was out of the question; but I so feared my position was wrong, that I was terribly disturbed, and felt hot and cold, and cold and hot, alternately, with excess of Page 286 embarrassment. I was roused, however, after hearing for so long a time nothing but French, by the sudden sound of English. An address, in that language, was read to his majesty, which was presented by the noblemen and gentlemen of the county of Buckingham, congratulatory upon his happy restoration, and filled with cordial thanks for the graciousness of his manners, and the benignity of his conduct, during his long residence amongst them; warmly proclaiming their participation in his joy, and their admiration of his virtues. The reader was colonel Nugent, a near relation of the present Duke of Buckingham. But, if the unexpected sound of these felicitations delivered in English, roused and struck me, how much greater arose my astonishment and delight when the French monarch, in an accent of the most condescending familiarity and pleasure, uttered his acknowledgments in English also-expressing his gratitude for all their attentions, his sense of their kind interest in his favour, and his eternal remembrance of the obligations he owed to the whole county of Buckinghamshire, for the asylum and consolations he had found in it during his trials and calamities! I wonder not that Colonel Nugent was so touched by this reply, as to be led to bend the knee, as to his own sovereign, when the king held out his hand - for I myself, though a mere outside auditress, was so moved, and so transported with surprise by the dear English language from his mouth, that I forgot at once all my fears, and dubitations, and, indeed, all myself, my poor little self, in my pride and exultation at such a moment for my noble country.(240) A FLATTERING ROYAL RECEPTION. Fortunately for me, the Duc de Duras made this the moment for my presentation, and, seizing my hand and drawing me suddenly from behind the chair to the royal presence, he said, " Sire, Madame d'Arblay." How singular a change, that what, but the instant before, would have overwhelmed me with diffidence and embarrassment, Page 287 now found me all courage and animation ! and when his majesty took my hand--or, rather, took hold of my fist--and said, in very pretty English, "I am very happy to see you," I felt such a glow of satisfaction, that involuntarily, I burst forth with its expression, incoherently, but delightedly and irresistibly, though I cannot remember how. He certainly was not displeased, for his smile was brightened and his manner was most flattering, as he repeated that he was very glad to see me, and added that he had known me, "though without sight, very long: for I have read you--and been charmed with your books--charmed and entertained. I have read them often, I know them very well indeed; and I have long wanted to know you!" I was extremely surprised,-and not only at these unexpected compliments, but equally that my presentation, far from seeming, as I had apprehended, strange, was met by a reception of the utmost encouragement. When he stopped, and let go my hand, I curtsied respectfully, and was moving on ; but he again caught my fist, and, fixing me, with looks of strong though smiling investigation, he appeared archly desirous to read the lines of my face, as if to deduce from them the qualities of my mind. His manner, however, was so polite and so gentle that he did not at all discountenance me : and though he resumed the praise of my little works, he uttered the panegyric with a benignity so gay as well as flattering, that I felt enlivened, nay, elevated, with a joy that overcame mauvaise honte. The Duc de Duras, who had hurried on all others, seeing he had no chance to dismiss me with the same sans c�r�monie speed, now joined his voice to exalt my satisfaction, by saying, at the next pause, "et M. d'Arblay, sire, bon et brave, est un des plus devou�s et fid�les serviteurs de votre majest�."(241) The king with a gracious little motion of his head, and with eyes of the most pleased benevolence, expressively said, "Je le Crois."(242) And a third time he stopped my retiring curtsey, to take my hand. This last stroke gave me such delight, for my absent best ami, that I could not again attempt to speak. The king pressed my hand--wrist I should say, for it was that he grasped, and then saying, "Bon jour, madame la comtesse," let me go. Page 288 My eyes were suffused with tears, from mingled emotions I glided nimbly through the crowd to a corner at the other end of the room, where Lady Crewe joined me almost instantly, and with felicitations the most amiably cordial and lively. We then repaired to a side-board on which we contrived to seat ourselves, and Lady Crewe named to me the numerous personages of rank who passed on before us for presentation. But every time any one espied her and approached,, she named me also; an honour to which I was very averse. This I intimated, but to no purpose; she went on her own way. The curious stares this produced, in my embarrassed state of spirits, from recent grief, were really painful to sustain ; but when the seriousness of my representation forced her to see that I was truly in earnest in my desire to remain unnoticed, she was so much vexed, and even provoked, that she very gravely begged that, if such were the case, I would move a little farther from her; saying, "If one must be so ill-natured to people as not to name you, I had rather not seem to know who you are myself." AN IMPORTANT LETTER DELAYED. When, at length, her ladyship's chariot was announced, we drove to Great Cumberland-place, Lady Crewe being so kind as to convey me to Mrs. Angerstein. As Lady Crewe was too much in haste to alight, the sweet Amelia Angerstein came to the carriage to speak to her, and to make known that a letter had arrived from M. de la Ch�tre relative to my presentation, which, by a mistake of address, had not come in time for my reception.(244) This note dispelled all of astonishment that had enveloped with something like incredulity my own feelings and perceptions in my unexpected presentation and reception. The king himself had personally desired to bestow upon me this mark of royal favour. What difficulty, what embarrassment, what confusion should I have escaped, had not that provoking mistake which kept back my letter occurred Page 289 M. D'ARBLAY ARRIVES IN ENGLAND. Madame d"Arblay to Mrs. locke.) April 30, 1814. My own dearest friend must be the first, as she will be among the warmest, to participate in my happiness--M. d'Arblay is arrived. He came yesterday, quite unexpectedly as to the day, but not very much quicker than my secret hopes. He is extremely fatigued with all that has passed, yet well ; and all himself, i.e., all that is calculated to fill my heart with gratitude for my lot in life. How would my beloved father have rejoiced in his sight, and in these glorious new events!(245) A BRILLIANT ASSEMBLAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay) June 18, 1814. Ah, mon ami! you are really, then, well?--really in Paris?-- really without hurt or injury? What I have suffered from a suspense that has no name from its misery shall now be buried in restored peace, and hope, and happiness. With the most fervent thanks to providence that my terrors are removed, and that I have been tortured by only false apprehensions, I will try to banish from my mind all but the joy, and gratitude to heaven, that your safety and health inspire. Yet still, it is difficult to me to feel assured that all is well ! I have so long been the victim to fear and anguish, that my spirits cannot at once get back their equilibrium. . . . Hier j'ai quitt� ma retraite, tr�s volontiers, pour(246) indulge myself with the sight of the Emperor of Russia. How was I charmed with his pleasing, gentle, and so perfectly unassuming air, manner, and demeanour! I was extremely gratified, also, by seeing the King of Prussia, who interests us all here, by a look that still indicates his tender regret for the partner of his hopes, toils, and sufferings, but not of his victories and enjoyments. It was at the queen's palace I saw them by especial and most gracious permission. The Prussian princes, six in number, and the young prince of Mecklenburg, and the Duchess of Oldenbourg, were of the party. All our royal Page 290 dukes assisted, and the Princesses Augusta and Mary. The Princess Charlotte looked quite beautiful. She is wonderfully improved. It was impossible not to be struck with her personal attractions, her youth, and splendour. The Duchess of York looked amongst the happiest; the King of Prussia is her brother. M. D'ARBLAY ENTERS Louis XVIII.'S BODY-GUARD. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. locke.) London, July, 1814. After a most painful suspense I have been at length relieved by a letter from Paris. It is dated the 18th of June, and has been a fortnight on the road. It is, he says, his fourth letter, and he had not then received one of the uneasy tribe of my own. The consul-generalship is, alas, entirely relinquished, and that by M. d'Arblay himself, who has been invited into the garde du corps by the Duc de Luxembourg, for his own company an invitation he deemed it wrong to resist at such a moment ; and he has since been named one of the officers of the garde du corps by the king, Louis XVIII., to whom he had taken the customary oath that very day--the 18th. The season, however, of danger over, and the throne and order steadily re-established, he will still, I trust and believe, retire to civil domestic life. May it be speedily! After twenty years' lying by, I cannot wish to see him re-enter a military career at sixty years of age, though still young in all his faculties and feelings, and in his capacity of being as useful to others as to himself. There is a time, however, when the poor machine, though still perfect in a calm, is unequal to a storm. Private life, then, should be sought while it yet may be enjoyed; and M. d'Arblay has resources for retirement the most delightful, both for himself and his friends. He is dreadfully worn and fatigued by the last year; and he began his active services at thirteen years of age. He is now past sixty. Every propriety, therefore, will abet my wishes, when the king no longer requires around him his tried and faithful adherents. And, indeed, I am by no means myself insensible to what is so highly gratifying to his feelings as this mark of distinction bien plus honorable, cependant,(247) as he adds, than lucrative. . . . . . Page 291 (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) August 9, 1814. The friends of M. d'A. in Paris are now preparing to claim for him his rank in the army, as he held it under Louis XVI., of mar�chal de Camp; and as the Duc de Luxembourg will present, in person, the demand au roi, there is much reason to expect it will be granted. M. de Thuisy, who brought your letter from Adrienne, has given a flourishing account of M. d'A. in his new uniform, though the uniform itself, he says, is very ugly. But so sought is the company of the garde du corps du roi that the very privates, M. de T. says, are gentlemen. M. d'A. himself has only the place of sous-lieutenant; but it is of consequence sufficient, in that company, to be signed by the king, who had rejected two officers that had been named to him just before he gave his signature for M. d'A. August 24, 1814. M. d'Arblay has obtained his rank, and the kind king has dated it from the aera when the original brevet was signed by poor Louis XVI. in 1792. [Here follows, in the original edition, a long letter in French from M. d'Arblay to his wife, dated " Paris, August 3 0, 1814. " He records the enthusiasm manifested by the people of Paris on the arrival of the king and the Duchess of Angoul�me, and the flattering reception given by the king to the Duke of Wellington. "After having testified his satisfaction at the sentiments which the duke had just expressed to him on the part of the prince regent, and told him that he infinitely desired to see the peace which had been so happily concluded, established on solid foundations, his majesty added, 'For that I shall have need of the powerful co-operation of his royal highness. The choice which he has made of you, sir, gives me hope of it. He honours me. . . . I am proud to see that the first ambassador sent to me by England is the justly celebrated Duke of Wellington."' M. d'Arblay counts with certainty upon his wife's joining him in November, and ventures upon the unlucky assertion that " the least doubt of the stability of the paternal government, which has been so miraculously restored to us, is no longer admissible."-ED.] (214) Lyons rebelled against the Republic in the summer of 1793: against Jacobinism, in the first instance, and guillotined its jacobin leader, Chalier; later it declared for the king. After a long siege and a heroic defence, Lyons surrendered to the Republicans, October 9, 1793, and Fouch� was one of the commissioners sent down by the Convention to execute vengeance on the unfortunate town. A terrible vengeance was taken. "The Republic must march to liberty over corpses," said Fouch�; and thousands of the inhabitants were shot or guillotined. -ED. (215) The reputed assassin of the Duc d'Enghien. ["Assassin" is surely an unnecessarily strong term. The seizure of the Duke d'Enghien on neutral soil was illegal and indefensible: but he was certainly guilty of conspiring against the government of his country. He was arrested, by Napoleon's orders, in the electorate of Baden, in March, 1804; carried across the frontier, conveyed to Vincennes, tried by court-martial, condemned, and shot forthwith.-ED.] (216) The disastrous campaign in Russia. Napoleon left Paris on the 9th Of May, 1812.-ED. (217) "So that we divine her meaning." (218) "Who are you? "My name is d'Arblay." "Are you married?" "Yes." "Where is your husband?" "At Paris." "Who is he?" "He works in the Home Office." "Why are you leaving him?" (219) "You are English?" (220) "Follow me!" (221) "You do not think proper to follow me, then?" (222) "I have nothing to do here, sir, I believe." (223) "We shall see!" " (224) "Young Man!" (225) Her sister Charlotte, formerly Mrs. Francis.-ED. (226) The 20th of August.-ED. (227) Mrs Crewe's husband, John Crewe of Crewe Hall, cheshire, had been created a peer by the title of Baron Crewe of Crewe, in 1806.-ED. (228) An attempt to enter her apartment by a crazy woman. (229) " Hunted out of France." The work in question was Madame de Stael's book on Germany (De l'Allemagne), which had been printed at Paris, and of which the entire edition had been seized by the police before its publication, on the plea that it contained passages offensive to the government. The authoress, moreover, was ordered to quit France, and joined her father at Coppet in Switzerland-ED. (230) No doubt, for his uncle's school. Dr Charles Burney had left Hammersmith and established his school at Greenwich in 1793.-ED. (231) William Wilberforce, the celebrated philanthropist, was born at Htill in 1759. He devoted his life to the cause of the negro slaves; and to his exertions in Parliament were chiefly due the abolition of the slave trade in 1807, and the total abolition of slavery in the English colonies in 1833. He died in the latter year, thanking God that he "had seen the day in which England was willing to give twenty millions sterling for the abolition of slavery."-ED. (232) Narbonne was appointed by Napoleon, during the campaign of 1813, governor of the fortress of Torgau, on the Elbe. He defended the place with great resolution, even after the emperor had been obliged to retreat beyond the Rhine, but unhappily took the fever, and died there, November 17, 1813.-ED. (233) This proved to be a false report. General Victor de Latour Maubourg suffered the amputation of a leg at Leipzic, where he fought bravely in the service of the Emperor Napoleon. But he did not die of his wound, and we find him, in 1815, engaged in raising volunteers for the service of Louis XVIII.-ED. (234) Here is evidently a mistake as to the month: the date, no doubt, should be April 19. Dr. Burney died on the 12th of April, 1814.-ED. (235) Dr. Charles Burney.-ED. (236) Marie Th�r�se Charlotte, Duchess of Angoul�me, was the daughter of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. She was born in 1778, and, after the execution of her father and mother she was detained in captivity in Paris until December, 1795, when she was delivered up to the Austrians in exchange for certain French prisoners of war. in 1799 she married her cousin, the Duke of Angoul�me, son of Louis XVI's brother, the Count d'Artois, (afterwards Charles X. of France). On the return of Napoleon from Elba, the Duchess of Angoul�me so distinguished herself by her exertions and the spirit which she displayed in the king's cause, that Napoleon said of her " she was the only man in her family."-ED. (237) Henry Grattan, the Irish statesman, orator, and patriot. Already one of the most distinguished members of the Irish Parliament, he vigorously opposed the legislative union of Great Britain and Ireland in 1800. He sat in the Imperial Parliament as member for Dublin from 1806 until his death in 1820, in his seventy-fourth year. As an orator, Mr. Lecky writes of him, "He was almost unrivalled in crushing invective, in delineations of character, and in brief, keen arguments; carrying on a train of sustained reason he was not so happy."-ED. (238) Louis XVIII., formerly known as the Count of Provence, was the brother of the unfortunate Louis XVI. "Louis XVII" was the title given by the royalists to the young son of Louis XVI., who died, a prisoner, in June, 1795, some two years after the execution of his father.-ED. (239) "There is Madame d'Arblay; she must be presented." (240) What a moment for her noble country, and what a subject for pride and exultation! Were we not very sure of Fanny's sincerity, it were scarcely possible to read with patience such passages as this and others similarly extravagant. Her common sense seems to take flight in the presence of royalty.-ED. (242) "And M. d'Arblay, Sire, good and brave, is one of your majesty's most devoted and faithful servants." (243) "I believe it." (244) This letter, addressed to Mrs. Angerstein, was to the effect that the Duchess of Angoul�me would be very pleased to receive Madame d'Arblay, at 72 South Audley-street, between three and half-past three ; and that the king (Louis XVIII.) also desired to see her, and would receive between four and five.-ED. (245) M. d'Arblay returned to France in the following June. -ED. (246) Yesterday I left my retreat, very willingly, to-" (247) "Far more honorable, nevertheless---" Page 292 SECTION 24. (1815) MADAME D'ARBLAY AGAIN IN FRANCE: BONAPARTE'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA. (The two following sections contain Fanny's account of her adventures during the " Hundred Days " which elapsed between the return of Napoleon from Elba and his final downfall and abdication. This narrative may be recommended to the reader as an interesting supplement to the history of that period. The great events of the time, the triumphal progress of the emperor, the battles which decided his destiny and the fate of Europe, we hear of only at a distance, by rumour or chance intelligence ; but our author brings vividly before us, and with the authenticity of personal observation, the disturbed state of the country, the suspense, the alarms, the distress occasioned by the war. To refresh our readers' memories, we give an epitome, as brief as possible, of the events to which Madame d'Arblay's narrative forms, as it were, a background. When Napoleon abdicated the imperial throne, in April, 1814, the allied powers consented by treaty to confer upon him the sovereignty of the island of Elba, with a revenue of two million francs. To Elba he was accordingly banished, but the revenue was never paid. This disgraceful infringement of the treaty of Fontainebleau, joined to the accounts which he received of the state of public feeling in France, determined him to make the attempt to regain his lost empire. March 1, 1815, he landed at Cannes, with a few hundred men. He was everywhere received with the utmost enthusiasm. The troops sent to oppose him joined his standard with shouts of "Vive l'empereur!" March 20, he entered Paris in triumph, Louis XVIII having taken his departure the preceding evening, "amidst the tears and lamentations of several courtiers."(248) The congress of the allied powers at Vienna proclaimed the emperor an outlaw, not choosing to remember that the treaty which they accused him of breaking, had been first violated by themselves. To his offers of negotiation they replied not. The Page 293 English army under the Duke of Wellington, the Prussian under Prince Bl�cher occupied Belgium; the Austrians and Russians were advancing in immense force towards the Rhine. Anxious to strike a blow before the arrival of the latter Napoleon left Paris for Belgium, June 12. His army amounted to about one hundred and twenty thousand men. On the 15th the fighting commenced, h and the advanced guard of the Prussians was driven back. On the 16th, Bl�cher was attacked at Ligny, and defeated with terrible loss; but Marshal Ney was unsuccessful in an attack upon the combined English and Belgian army at Quatre Bras. Sunday, June 18, was the day of the decisive battle of Waterloo. After the destruction of his army, Napoleon hastened to Paris, but all hope was at an end. He abdicated the throne for the second time, proceeded to Rochefort, and voluntarily surrendered himself to Captain Maitland, of the English seventy-four, Bellerophon. He was conveyed to England, but was not permitted to land, and passed the few remaining years of his life a prisoner in the island of St. Helena.-ED.] AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. I come now to my audience with Madame, Duchesse d'Angoul�me.(249) As I had missed, through a vexatious mistake, the honour she had herself intended me, of presentation in England, my own condescending royal mistress, Queen Charlotte, recommended my claiming its performance on my return to Paris. M. d'Arblay then consulted with the Vicomte d'Agoult, his intimate early friend, how to repair in France my English deprivation. M. d'Agoult was �cuyer to her royal highness, and high in her confidence and favour. He advised me simply to faire ma cour as the wife of a superior officer in the garde du corps du roi, at a public drawing-room; but the great exertion and publicity, joined to the expense Of such a presentation, made me averse, in all ways, to this proposal; and when M. d'Arblay protested I had not anything in view but to pay my respectful devoirs to her royal highness, M. d'Agoult undertook to make known my wish. It soon proved that this alone was necessary for its success, for madame la duchesse Page 294 instantly recollected what had passed in England, and said she would name, with pleasure, the first moment in her power - expressing an impatience on her own part that an interview should not be delayed which had been desired by her majesty Queen Charlotte of England. . . . I have omitted to mention that on the Sunday preceding, the Duchess d'Angoul�me, at Court, had deigned to tell my best friend that she was reading, and with great pleasure, Madame d'Arblay's last work. He expressed his gratification, and added that he hoped it was in English, as her altesse royale so well knew that language. No, she answered, it was the translation she read; the original she had not been able to procure. On this M. d'Arblay advised me to send a copy. I had none bound, but the set which had come back to me from my dear father. This, however, M. d'A. carried to the Vicomte d'Agoult, with a note from me in which, through the medium of M. d'Agoult, I supplicated leave from her royal highness to lay at her feet this only English set I possessed. In the most gracious manner possible, as the Vicomte told M. d'Arblay, her royal highness accepted the work, and deigned also to keep the billet. She had already, unfortunately, finished the translation, but she declared her intention to read the original. Previously to my presentation, M. d'Arblay took me to the salon of the exhibition of pictures, to view a portrait of Madame d'Angoul�me, that I might make some acquaintance with her face before the audience. This portrait was deeply interesting, but deeply melancholy. ARRIVAL AT THE TUILERIES. All these precautions taken, I went, at the appointed hour and morning, about the end of February, 1815, to the palace of the Tuileries, escorted by the most indulgent of husbands we repaired instantly to the apartment of the Duchesse de Serrent, who received us with the utmost politeness; she gave us our lesson how to proceed, and then delivered us over to some page of her royal highness. We were next shown into a very large apartment. I communicated to the page a request that he would endeavour to make known to M. de Montmorency that I was arrived, and how much I wished to see him. In a minute or two came forth a tall, sturdy dame, who Page 295 immediately addressed me by my name, and spoke with an air, that demanded my returning her compliment. I could not, however, recollect her till she said she had formerly met me at the Princess d'Henin's. I then recognised the dowager Duchesse de Duras, whom, in fact, I had seen last at the Princesse de Chimay's, in the year 1812, just before my first return to England; and had received from her a commission to acquaint the royal family of France that her son, the duke, had kept aloof from all service under Bonaparte, though he had been named in the gazettes as having accepted the place of chamberlain to the then emperor. Yet such was the subjection, at that time, of all the old nobility to the despotic power of that mighty ruler, that M. de Duras had not dared to contradict the paragraph. She then said that her altesse royale was expecting me; and made a motion that I should pursue my way into the next room, M. d'Arblay no longer accompanying me. But before I disappeared she assured me that I should meet with a most gracious reception, for her altesse royale had declared she would see me with marked favour, if she saw no other English whatsoever; because Madame d'Arblay, she said, was the only English person who had been peculiarly recommended to her notice by the Queen of England. In the next, which was another very large apartment, I was received by a lady much younger and more agreeable than Madame de Duras, gaily and becomingly dressed, and wearing a smiling air with a sensible face. I afterwards heard it was Madame de Choisy, who, a few years later, married the Vicomte d'Agoult. Madame de Choisy instantly began some compliments, but finding she only disconcerted me, she soon said she must not keep me back, and curtsied me on to another room, into which she shut me. A MISAPPREHENSION. I here imagined I was to find M. de Montmorency, but I saw only a lady, who stood at the upper end of the apartment, and slightly curtsied, but without moving or speaking. Concluding this to be another dame de la cour, from my internal persuasion that ultimately I was to be presented by M. de Montmorency, I approached her composedly, with a mere common inclination of the head, and looked wistfully forward to the further door. She inquired politely after my Page 296 health, expressing good-natured concern to hear it had been deranged, and adding that she was bien aise de me voir.](250) I thanked her, with some expression of obligation to her civility, but almost without looking at her, from perturbation lest some mistake had intervened to prevent my introduction, as I still saw nothing of M. de Montmorency. She then asked me if I would not sit down, taking a seat at the same time herself. I readily complied; but was too much occupied with the ceremony I was awaiting to discourse, though she immediately began what was meant for a conversation. I hardly heard, or answered, so exclusively was my attention engaged in watching the door through which I was expecting a summons; till, at length, the following words rather surprised me (I must write them in English, for my greater ease, though they were spoken in French)--"I am quite sorry to have read your last charming work in French." My eyes now changed their direction from the door to her face, to which I hastily turned my head, as she added,--"Puis-je le garder le livre que vous m'avez envoy�?"(251) A DISCOVERY AND A RECTIFICATION. Startled, as if awakened from a dream, I fixed her and perceived the same figure that I had seen at the salon. I now felt sure I was already in the royal presence of the Duchesse d'Angoul�me, with whom I had seated myself almost cheek by jowl, without the smallest suspicion of my situation. I really seemed thunderstruck. I had approached her with so little formality, I had received all her graciousness with so little apparent sense of her condescension, I had taken my seat, nearly unasked, so completely at my ease, and I had pronounced so unceremoniously the plain "vous," without softening it off with one single "altesse royale," that I had given her reason to think me either the most forward person in my nature, or the worst bred ]In my education, existing. I was in a consternation and a confusion that robbed me of breath; and my first impulse was to abruptly arise, confess my error, and offer every respectful apology I could devise; but as my silence and strangeness produced silence, a pause ensued that gave me a moment for reflection, which represented Page 297 to me that son altesse royale might be seriously hurt, that nothing in her demeanour had announced her, rank; and such a discovery might lead to increased distance and reserve in her future conduct upon other extra audiences, that could not but be prejudicial to her popularity, which already was injured by an opinion extremely unjust, but very generally spread, of her haughtiness. It was better, therefore, to be quiet, and to let her suppose that embarrassment, and English awkwardness and mauvaise honte, had occasioned my unaccountable manners. I preserved, therefore, my taciturnity, till, tired of her own, she gently repeated, "Puis-je le garder, cette copie que vous m'avez envoy�?" civilly adding that she should be happy to read it again when she had a little forgotten it, and had a little more time. I seized this fortunate moment to express my grateful acknowledgments for her goodness, with the most unaffected sincerity, yet scrupulously accompanied with all the due forms of profound respect. What she thought of so sudden a change of dialect I have no means of knowing ; hut I could not, for a long time afterwards, think of it myself with a grave countenance. From that time, however, I failed not to address her with appropriate reverence, though, as it was too late now to assume the distant homage pertaining, of course, to her very high rank, I insensibly suffered one irregularity to lead to, nay to excuse another; for I passed over all the etiquette d'usage, of never speaking but en r�ponse; and animated myself to attempt to catch her attention, by conversing with fullness and spirit upon every subject she began, or led to ; and even by starting subjects myself, when she was silent. This gave me an opportunity of mentioning many things that had happened in Paris during my long ten years' uninterrupted residence, which were evidently very interesting to her. Had she become grave, or inattentive, I should have drawn back _; but, on the contrary, she grew more and more �veill�e, and her countenance was lighted up with the most encouraging approval. CONVERSATION ON MADAME D'ARBLAY's ESCAPE AND M. D'ARBLAY'S LOYALTY. She was curious, she said, to know how I got over to England in the year 1812, having been told that I had effected my escape by an extraordinary disguise. I assured her that Page 298 I had not escaped at all; as so to have done must have endangered the generous husband and father, who permitted mine and his son's departure. I had procured a passport for us both, which was registered in the ordinary manner, chez le ministre de police for foreign affairs; ches- one, I added, whose name I could not pronounce in her royal highness's hearing; but to whom I had not myself applied. She well knew I meant Savary, Duc de Rovigo, whose history with respect to the murdered Due d'Enghien has, since that period, been so variously related. I was then embarrassed, for I had owed my passport to the request of Madame d'A., who was distantly connected with Savary, and who had obtained it to oblige a mutual friend ; I found, however, to my great relief, that the duchess possessed the same noble delicacy that renders all private intercourse with my own exemplary princesses as safe for others as it is honourable to myself; for she suffered me to pass by the names of my assistants, when I said they were friends who exerted themselves for me in consideration of my heavy grief, in an absence of ten years from a father whom I had left at the advanced age of seventy-five; joined to my terror lest my son should remain till he attained the period of the conscription, and be necessarily drawn into the military service of Bonaparte. And, indeed, these two points could alone, with all my eagerness to revisit my native land, have induced me to make the journey by a separation from my best friend. This led me to assume courage to recount some of the prominent parts of the conduct of M. d'Arblay during our ten years' confinement, rather than residence, in France ; I thought this necessary, lest our sojourn during the usurpation should be misunderstood. I told her, in particular, of three high military appointments which he had declined. The first was to be head of l'�tat major of a regiment under a general whose name I cannot spell--in the army of Poland, a post of which the offer was procured for him by M. de Narbonne, then aide-de-camp to Bonaparte. The second was an offer, through General Gassendi, of being Commander of Palma Nuova, whither M. d'A. might carry his wife and son, as he was to have the castle for his residence, and there was no war with Italy at that time. The third offer was a very high one: it was no less than the command of Cherbourg, as successor to M. le Comte de la Tour Maubourg, who was sent elsewhere, by still higher promotion. Steady, however, Page 299 invariably steady was M. d'Arblay never to serve against his liege sovereign, General Gassendi, one of the most zealous of his friends, contrived to cover up this dangerous rejection and M. d'Arblay continued In his humbler but far more' meritorious Office Of sous Chef to one of the bureaux de l,int�rieur. I had now the pleasure to hear the princess say, "Il a aqi bien noblement."(252) "For though he would take no part," I added, la guerre, nor yet in the diplomatie, he could have no objection to making plans, arrangements, buildings, and so forth, of monuments, hospitals, and palaces; for at that period, palaces, like princes, were �lev�s tous les jours."(253) She could not forbear smiling; and her smile, which is rare, is so peculiarly becoming, that it brightens her countenance into a look of youth and beauty. "But why," I cried, recollecting myself, "should I speak French, when your royal highness knows English so well?" "O, no!" cried she, shaking her head, "very bad!" >From that time, however, I spoke in my own tongue, and saw myself perfectly understood, though those two little words were the only English ones she uttered herself, replying always in French. "Le roi," she said, "se rapelle tr s bien de vous avoir vu Londres."(254) "O, je n'en doute nullement,"(255) I replied, rather na�vely, "for there passed a scene that cannot be forgotten, and that surprised me into courage to come forward, after I had spent the whole morning in endeavouring to shrink backward. And I could not be sorry--for I felt that his majesty could not he offended at a vivacity which his own courtesy to England excited." The princess smiled, with a graciousness that assured me I had not mistaken the king's benevolence, of which she evidently partook. THE PRINCE REGENT THE DUCHEss's FAVOURITE. The conversation then turned upon the royal family of England, and it was inexpressibly gratifying to me to hear her just appreciation of the virtues, the intellectual endowments, the ' Page 300 sweetness of manner, and the striking grace of every one, according to their different character, that was mentioned. The prince regent, however, was evidently her favourite. The noble style in which he had treated her and all her family at his Carlton House f�te, in the midst of their misfortunes, and while so much doubt hung against every chance of those misfortunes being ever reversed, did so much honour to his heart and proved so solacing to their woes and humiliation, that she could never revert to that public testimony of his esteem and goodwill without the most glowing gratitude. "O!" she cried, "il a �t� parfait!"(256) The Princesse Elise,(257) with whom she was in correspondence, seemed to stand next. "C'est elle," she said, "qui fait les honneurs de la famille royale,(258) and with a charm the most enlivening and delightful." The conference was only broken up by a summons to the king's dinner. My audience, however, instead of a few minutes, for which the Duchesse de Duras had prepared me, was extended to three-quarters of an hour, by the watch of my kind husband, who waited, with some of his old friends whom he had joined in the palace, to take me home. The princess, as she left me to go down a long corridor to the dining apartment, took leave of me in a manner the most gracious, honouring me with a message to her majesty the queen of England, of her most respectful homage, and with her kind and affectionate remembrance to all the princesses, with warm assurances of her eternal attachment. She then moved on, but again stopped when going, to utter some sentences most grateful to my ears, of her high devotion to the queen and deep sense of all her virtues. I little thought that this, my first, would prove also my last, meeting with this exemplary princess, whose worth, courage, fortitude, and piety are universally acknowledged, but whose powers of pleasing seem little known. After an opening such as this, how little could I foresee that this interview was to be a final one! . . . Alas! in a day or two after it had taken place, son altesse royale set out for Bordeaux. . . . And then followed the return of Bonaparte from Elba, and then the Hundred Days. Page 301 NARRATIVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S FLIGHT FROM PARIS TO BRUSSELS [The following Narrative was written some time after the events described took place. It is judged better to print it in a connected form : a few of the letters written on the spot being subsequently given.] PREVAILING INERTIA ON BONAPARTE'S RETURN FROM ELBA. I have no remembrance how I first heard of the return of Bonaparte from Elba. Wonder at his temerity was the impression made by the news, but wonder unmixed with apprehension. This inactivity of foresight was universal. A torpor indescribable, a species of stupor utterly indefinable, seemed to have enveloped the capital with a mist that was impervious. Everybody went about their affairs, made or received visits, met, and parted, without speaking, or, I suppose , thinking of this event as of a matter of any importance. My own participation in this improvident blindness is to myself incomprehensible. Ten years I had lived under the dominion of Bonaparte; I had been in habits of intimacy with many friends of those who most closely surrounded him; I was generously trusted, as one with whom information, while interesting and precious, would be inviolably safe-as one, in fact, whose honour was the honour of her spotless husband, and therefore invulnerable : well, therefore, by narrations the most authentic, and by documents the most indisputable, I knew the character of Bonaparte ; and marvellous beyond the reach of my comprehension is my participation in this inertia. . . . Thus familiar to his practices, thus initiated in his resources, thus aware of his gigantic ideas of his own destiny, how could I for a moment suppose he would re-visit France without a consciousness of success, founded upon some secret conviction that it was infallible, through measures previously arranged ? I can only conclude that my understanding, such as it is, was utterly tired out by a long harass of perpetual alarm and sleepless apprehension. Unmoved, therefore, I remained in the general apparent repose which, if it were as real in those with whom I mixed as in myself, I now deem a species of infatuation. Whether or not M. d'Arblay was involved in the general failure of foresight I have mentioned, I never now can ascertain. To spare me any evil tidings, and save me from Page 302 even the shadow of any unnecessary alarm, was the first and constant solicitude of his indulgent goodness. At this period he returned to Paris to settle various matters for our Senlis residence. We both now knew the event that so soon was to monopolize all thought and all interest throughout Europe: but we knew it without any change in our way of life; on the contrary, we even resumed our delightful airings in the Bois de Boulogne, whither the general drove me every morning in a light cal�che, of which he had possessed himself upon his entrance into the king's body-guard the preceding year. Brief, however, was this illusion, and fearful was the light by which its darkness was dispersed. In a few days we hear that Bonaparte, whom we had concluded to be, of course, either stopped at landing and taken prisoner, or forced to save himself by flight, was, on the contrary, pursuing unimpeded his route to Lyons. >From this moment disguise, if any there had been, was over with the most open and frank of human beings, who never even transitorily practised it but to keep off evil, or its apprehension, from others. He communicated to me now his strong view of danger ; not alone that measures might be taken to secure my safety, but to spare me any sudden agitation. Alas! none was spared to himself! More clearly than any one he anticipated the impending tempest, and foreboded its devastating effects. He spoke aloud and strenuously, with prophetic energy, to all with whom he was then officially associated but the greater part either despaired of resisting the torrent, or disbelieved its approach. What deeply interesting scenes crowd upon my remembrance, of his noble, his daring, but successless exertions! The king's body-guard immediately de service,(259) at that time, was the compagnie of the Prince de Poix, a man of the most heartfelt loyalty, but who had never served, and who was incapable of so great a command at so critical a juncture, from utter inexperience. BONAPARTE'S ADVANCE: CONTEMPLATED MIGRATION FROM PARIS. At this opening of the famous Hundred Days it seemed to occur to no one that Bonaparte would make any attempt upon Paris. It was calmly taken for granted he would Page 303 speedily escape back to Elba, or remain in the south a prisoner - and it was only amongst deep or restless politicians that any inquietude was manifested with respect to either of these results. Madame la Princesse d'Henin, indeed, whom I was in the habit of frequently meeting, had an air and Manner that announced perturbation ; but her impetuous spirit in politics kept her mind always in a state of energy upon public affairs. But when Bonaparte actually arrived at Lyons the face of affairs changed. Expectation was then awakened--consternation began to spread; and report went rapidly to her usual work, of now exciting nameless terror, and now allaying even reasonable apprehension. To me, every moment became more anxious. I saw General d'Arblay imposing upon himself a severity of service for which he had no longer health or strength, and imposing it only the more rigidly from the fear that his then beginning weakness and infirmities should seem to plead for indulgence. it was thus that he insisted upon going through the double duty of artillery officer at the barracks, and of officier sup�rieur in the king's body-guards at the Tuileries, The smallest representation to M. le Duc de Luxembourg, who had a true value for him, would have procured a substitute: but he would not hear me upon such a proposition; he would sooner, far, have died at his post, He now almost lived either at the Tuileries or at the barracks. I only saw him when business or military arrangements brought him home; but he kindly sent me billets to appease my suspense every two or three hours. The project upon Paris became at length obvious, yet its success was little feared, though the horrors of a civil war seemed inevitable. M. d'Arblay began to wish me away; he made various propositions for ensuring my safety; he even pressed me to depart for England to rejoin Alexander and my family: but I knew them to be in security, whilst my first earthly tie was exposed to every species of danger, and I besought him not to force me away. He was greatly distressed, but could not oppose my urgency. He procured me, however, a passport from M. le Comte de Jaucourt, his long attached friend, who was minister aux affaires �trang�res(260) ad interim, while Talleyrand Perigord was with the Congress at Vienna. Page 304 I received it most unwillingly: I could not endure to absent myself from the seat of government,-for I little divined how soon that government was to change its master. Nevertheless, the prudence of this preparatory measure soon became conspicuous, for the very following day I heard of nothing but purposed emigrations from Paris-retirement, concealment, embarrassments, and difficulties. My sole personal joy was that my younger Alexander was far away, and safely lodged in the only country of safety. But, on the 17th, hope again revived. I received these words from my best friend, written on a scrap of paper torn from a parcel, and brought to me by his groom from the palace of the Tuileries, where their writer had passed the night mounting guard:-- "Nous avons de meilleures nouvelles. Je ne puis entrer dans aucun d�tail; mais sois tranquille, et aime bien qui t'aime uniquement.(261) God bless you." This news hung upon the departure of Marshal Ney to meet Bonaparte and stop his progress, with the memorable words uttered publicly to the king, that he would bring him to Paris in an iron cage. The king at this time positively announced and protested that he would never abandon his throne nor quit his capital, Paris. Various of my friends called upon me this day, all believing the storm was blowing over. Madame Chastel and her two daughters were calm, but, nevertheless, resolved to visit a small terre(262) which they possessed, till the metropolis was free from all contradictory rumours. Madame de Cadignan preserved her imperturbable gaiety and carelessness, and said she should stay, happen what might ; for what mischief could befall a poor widow ? Her sportive smiles and laughing eyes displayed her security in the power of her charms. Madame de Maisonneuve was filled with apprehensions for her brothers, who were all in highly responsible situations, and determined to remain in Paris to be in the midst of them. The Princesse d'Henin came to me daily to communicate all the intelligence she gathered from the numerous friends and connections through whom she was furnished with supplies. Her own plans were incessantly changing, but her friendship knew no Page 305 alteration; and in every various modification of her intentions she always offered to include me in their execution, should my affairs reduce me, finally, to flight. Flight, however, was intolerable to my thoughts. I weighed it not as saving me from Bonaparte - I could consider it only as separating me from all to which my heart most dearly clung. Madame d'Henin was undecided whether to go to the north or to the south-to Bordeaux or to Brussels ; I could not, therefore, even give a direction to M. d'Arblay where I could receive any intelligence, and the body-guard of the king was held in utter suspense as to its destination. This, also, was unavoidable, since the king himself could only be guided by events. The next day, the 18th of March, all hope disappeared. From north, from south, from east, from west, alarm took the field, danger flashed its lightnings, and contention growled its thunders: yet in Paris there was no rising, no disturbance, no confusion--all was taciturn suspense, dark dismay, or sullen passiveness. The dread necessity which had reduced the king, Louis XVIII., to be placed on his throne by foreigners, would have annihilated all enthusiasm of loyalty, if any had been left by the long underminings of revolutionary principles. What a day was *this of gloomy solitude! Not a soul approached me, save, for a few moments, my active Madame d'Henin, who came to tell me she was preparing to depart, unless a successful battle should secure the capital from the conqueror. I now promised that if I should ultimately be compelled to fly my home, I would thankfully be of her party; and she grasped at this engagement with an eagerness that gave proof of her sincere and animated friendship. This intimation was balm to the heart of my dearest partner, and he wished the measure to be executed and expedited; but I besought him, as he valued my existence, not to force me away till every other resource was hopeless. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S MILITARY PREPARATIONS. He passed the day almost wholly at the barracks. When he entered his dwelling, in the Rue de Miromenil, it was only upon military business, and from that he could spare me scarcely a second. He was shut up in his library with continual comers and goers; and though I durst not follow Page 306 him, I could not avoid gathering, from various circumstances, that he was now preparing to take the field, in full expectation of being sent out with his comrades of the guard, to check the rapid progress of the invader. I knew this to be his earnest wish, as the only chance of saving the king and the throne; but he well knew it was my greatest dread, though I was always silent upon the subject, well aware that while his honour was dearer to him than his life, my own sense of duty was dearer to me also than mine. While he sought, therefore, to spare me the view of his arms and warlike equipage and habiliments, I felt his wisdom as well as his kindness, and tried to appear as if I had no suspicion of his proceedings, remaining almost wholly in my own room, to avoid any accidental surprise, and to avoid paining him with the sight of my anguish. I masked it as well as I could for the little instant he had from time to time to spare me; but before dinner he left me entirely, having to pass the night cheval at the barracks, as he had done the preceding night at the Tuileries. The length of this afternoon, evening, and night was scarcely supportable : his broken health, his altered looks, his frequent sufferings, and diminished strength, all haunted me with terror, in the now advancing prospect of his taking the field. And where? And how? No one knew! Yet he was uncertain whether he could even see me once more the next day! . . . I come now to the detail of one of the most dreadful days of my existence, the 19th of March, 1815, the last which preceded the triumphant return of Bonaparte to the capital of France. Little, on its opening, did I imagine that return so near, or believe it would be brought about without even any attempted resistance. General d'Arblay, more in the way of immediate intelligence, and more able to judge of its result, was deeply affected by the most gloomy prognostics. He came home at about six in the morning, harassed, worn, almost wasted with fatigue, and yet more with a baleful view of all around him, and with a sense of wounded military honour in the inertia which seemed to paralyze all effort to save the king and his cause. He had spent two nights following armed on guard, one at the Tuileries, in his duty of garde du corps to the king; the other on duty as artillery captain at the barracks. He went to bed for a few hours ; and then, after a wretched breakfast in which he Page 307 briefly narrated the state of things he had witnessed and his apprehensions, be conjured me, in the most solemn and earnest manner, to yield to the necessity of the times, and consent to quit Paris with Madame d'Henin, should she ultimately decide to depart. I could not, when I saw his sufferings, endure to augment them by any further opposition; but never was acquiescence so painful! To lose even the knowledge whither he went, or the means of acquainting him whither I might go myself--to be deprived of the power to join him, should he be made prisoner--or to attend him, should he be wounded. . . . I could not pronounce my consent; but he accepted it so decidedly in my silence, that he treated it as arranged, and hastened its confirmation by assuring me I had relieved his mind from a weight of care and distress nearly intolerable. As the wife of an officer in the king's body-guard, in actual service, I might be seized, he thought, as a kind of hostage, and might probably fare all the worse for being also an Englishwoman. He then wrote a most touching note to the Princesse d'Henin, supplicating her generous friendship to take the charge not only of my safety, but of supporting and consoling me. After this, he hurried back to the Tuileries for orders, apparently more composed; and that alone enabled me to sustain my so nearly compulsory and so repugnant agreement. His return was speedy: he came, as he had departed, tolerably composed, for he had secured me a refuge, and he had received orders to prepare to march--to Melun, he concluded, to encounter Bonaparte, and to battle; for certain news had arrived of the invader's rapid approach. . . . at half-past two; at noon it was expected that the body-guard would be put in motion. Having told me this history, he could not spare me another moment till that which preceded his leaving home to join the Due de Luxembourg's company. He then came to me, with an air of assumed serenity, and again, in the most kindly, soothing terms, called upon me to give him an example of courage. I obeyed his injunction with my best ability-yet how dreadful was our parting! We knelt together in short but fervent prayer to heaven for each other's preservation, and then separated. At the door he turned back, and with a smile which, though forced, had inexpressible sweetness, he half gaily exclaimed, "Vive le roi!" I instantly caught his wise Page 308 wish that we should part with apparent cheerfulness, and reechoed his words-and then he darted from my sight. This had passed in an ante-room ; but I then retired to my bedchamber, where, all effort over, I remained for some minutes abandoned to an affliction nearly allied to despair, though rescued from it by fervent devotion. But an idea then started into my mind that yet again I might behold him. I ran to a window which looked upon the inward court-yard. There, indeed, behold him I did, but oh, with what anguish ! just mounting his war-horse, a noble animal, of which he was singularly fond, but which at this moment I viewed with acutest terror, for it seemed loaded with pistols, and equipped completely for immediate service on the field of battle; while Deprez, the groom, prepared to mount another, and our cabriolet was filled with baggage and implements of war. I could not be surprised, since I knew the destination of the general ; but so carefully had he spared me the progress of his preparations, which he thought would be killing me by inches, that I had not the most distant idea he was thus armed and encircled with instruments of death-bayonets, lances, pistols, guns, sabres, daggers !-what horror assailed me at the sight! I had only so much sense and self-control left as to crawl softly and silently away, that I might not inflict upon him the suffering of beholding my distress - but when he had passed the windows, I opened them to look after him. The street was empty - the gay constant gala of a Parisian Sunday was changed into fearful solitude : no sound was heard, but that of here and there some hurried footstep, on one hand hastening for a passport to secure safety by flight ; on the other, rushing abruptly from or to some concealment, to devise means of accelerating and hailing the entrance of the conqueror. Well in tune with this air of an impending crisis, was my miserable mind, which from grief little short of torture sunk, at its view, into a state of morbid quiet, that seemed the produce of feelings totally exhausted. PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT: LEAVE-TAKINGS. Thus I continued, inert, helpless, motionless, till the Princesse d'Henin came into my apartment. Her first news was, that Bonaparte had already reached Compi�gne, and that to-morrow, the 20th of March, he might arrive in Paris, if the Page 309 army of the king stopped not his progress. It was now necessary to make a prompt decision; my word was given, and I agreed to accompany her whithersoever she fixed to go. She was STILL hesitating; but it was settled I should join her in the evening, bag and baggage, and partake of her destination. . . . I was now sufficiently roused for action, and my first return to conscious understanding was a desire to call in and pay every bill that might be owing, as well as the rent of our apartments up to the present moment, that no pretence might be assumed from our absence for disposing of our goods, books, or property of any description. As we never had any avoidable debts, this was soon settled ; but the proprietor of the house was thunderstruck by the measure, saying, the king had reiterated his proclamation that he would not desert his capital. I could only reply that the general was at his majesty's orders, and that my absence Would be short. I then began collecting our small portion of plate, etc.; but while thus occupied, I received a message from Madame d'Henin, to tell me I must bring nothing but a small change of linen, and one band-box, as by the news she had just heard, she was convinced we should be back again in two or three days, and she charged me to be with her in an hour from that time. I did what she directed, and put what I most valued, that was not too large, into a hand-basket, made by some French prisoners in England, that had been given me by my beloved friend Mrs. Locke. I then swallowed, standing, my neglected dinner, and, with Madame Deprez, and my small allowance of baggage, I got into a fiacre, and drove to General Victor de la Tour Maubourg, to bid adieu to my dearest Madame de Maisonneuve, and her family. It was about nine o'clock at night, and very dark. I sent on Madame Deprez to the princess, and charged her not to return to summon me till the last moment. The distance was small. I found the -house of the Marquis Victor de la Tour Maubourg in a state of the most gloomy dismay. No portier was in the way, but the door of the porte CocH�re was ajar, and I entered on foot, no fiacre being ever admitted into les cours des h�Tels. Officers and strangers were passing to and fro, some to receive, others to resign commissions, but all with quick steps, though in dead silence. Not a servant was in the way, and hardly any light; all seemed in disorder. Page 310 groped along till I came to the drawing-room, in which were several people, waiting for orders, or for an audience ; but in no communication with each other, for here, also, a dismal taciturnity prevailed, From my own disturbance, joined to my short-sightedness, I was some time ere I distinguished Madame Victor de la Tour Maubourg, and when at last I saw her, I ventured not to address or to approach her. She was at a table, endeavouring to make some arrangement, or package, or examination, with papers and boxes before her, but deluged in tears, which flowed so fast that she appeared to have relinquished all effort to restrain them, And this was the more affecting to witness, as she is eminently equal and cheerful in her disposition. I kept aloof, and am not certain that she even perceived me. The general was in his own apartment, transacting military business of moment. But no sooner was I espied by my dearest Madame de Maisonneuve, than I was in her kind arms. She took me apart to reveal to me that the advance of the late emperor was still more rapid than its report. All were quitting Paris, or resigning themselves to passive submission. For herself, she meant to abide by whatever should be the destination of her darling brother Victor, who was now finishing a commission that no longer could be continued, of raising volunteers-for there was no longer any royal army for them to join ! Whether the king would make a stand at the Tuileries, as he had unhappily promised, or whether he would fly, was yet unknown ; but General Victor de Maubourg was now going to equip himself in full uniform, that he might wait upon his majesty in person, decidedly fixed to take his orders, be they what they might. With danger thus before him, in his mutilated state, having undergone an amputation of the leg and thigh on the field of battle, who can wonder at the desolation of Madame Victor when he resolved to sustain the risk of such an offer? Presently, what was my emotion at the sudden and abrupt entrance into the room of an officer of the king's garde du corps! in the self-same uniform as that from which I had parted with such anguish in the morning! A transitory hope glanced like lightning upon my brain, with an idea that the body-guard was all at hand; but as evanescent as bright was the flash! The concentrated and mournful look of the officer assured me nothing genial was awaiting me - and when the next minute we recognized each other, I saw it was the Count Charles de la Tour Maubourg, the youngest brother of Madame de Page 311 Maisonneuve; and he then told me he had a note for me from M. d'Arblay. Did I breathe then? i think not! I grasped the paper in my hand, but a mist was before my eyes, and I could not read a word. Madame de Maisonneuve held a hurried conference with her brother, and then informed me that the body-guard was all. called out) the whole four companies, with their servants, equipage, arms and horses, to accompany and protect the king in his flight from Paris! But whither he would go, or with what intent, whether of battle or of escape, had not been announced. The Count Charles had obtained leave of absence for one hour to see his wife (Mademoiselle de Lafayette) and his children; but M. d'Arblay, who belonged to the artillery company, could not be spared even a moment. He had therefore seized a cover of a letter of M. de Bethizy, the commandant, to write me a few words. I now read them, and found-- "Ma ch�re amie--Tout est perdu! je ne puis entrer dans aucun d�tail--de gr�ce, partez! le plut�t sera le mieux. A la vie et la mort, A. D'A."(263) Scarcely had I read these lines, when I was told that Madame d'Henin had sent me a summons. I now could but embrace my Madame de Maisonneuve in silence, and depart. . . . ARISTOCRATIC IRRITABILITY. Arrived at Madame la Princesse d'Henin's, all was in a perturbation yet greater than what I had left, though not equally afflicting. Madame d'Henin was so little herself, that every moment presented a new view of things, and urged her impatiently, nay imperiously, to differ from whatever was offered. Now she saw instantly impending danger, and was for precipitate flight; now she saw fearless security, and determined not to move a step ; the next moment all was alarm again, and she wanted wings for speed - and the next, the smallest apprehension awakened derision and contempt. I, who had never yet seen her but all that was elegant, rational, and kind, was thunderstruck by this effect of threatening Page 312 evil upon her high and susceptible spirit. From manners of dignified serenity, she so lost all self-possession as to answer nearly with fury whatever was not acquiescent concurrence in her opinion: from sentiments of the most elevated nobleness she was urged, by every report that opposed her expectations, to the utterance of wishes and of assertions that owed their impulse to passion, and their foundation to prejudice ; and from having sought, with the most flattering partiality, to attach me to her party, she gave me the severe shock of intimating that my joining her confused all er measures. To change my plan now was impossible ; my husband and my best friends knew me to be with her, and could seek me, or bestow information upon me, in no other direction; I had given up my own home, and to return thither, or to stay any where in Paris, was to constitute myself a prisoner: nevertheless, it was equally a sorrow and a violence to my feelings to remain with her another moment after so astonishing a reproach. Displeasure at it, however, subsided, when I found that it proceeded neither from weakened regard, nor a wanton abuse of power, but from a mind absolutely disorganized. M. le Comte de Lally Tolendal, the Cicero of France, and most eloquent man of his day, and one of the most honourable, as well as most highly gifted, was, I now found, to be of our fugitive party. He was her admiring and truly devoted friend, and by many believed to be privately married to her. I am myself of that opinion, and that the union, on account of prior and unhappy circumstances, was forborne to be avowed. Certainly their mutual conduct warranted this conclusion. Nevertheless, his whole demeanour towards her announced the most profound respect as well as attachment ; and hers to him the deepest consideration, with a delight in his talents amounting to an adoration that met his for her noble mind and winning qualities. She wanted, however, despotically to sway him ; and little as he might like the submission she required, he commonly yielded, to avoid, as I conceive, the dangerous conjectures to which dissension might make them liable. But at this moment, revolutionary terrors and conflicting sensations robbed each of them of that self-command which till now had regulated their public intercourse. She, off all guard, let loose alike the anxious sensibility and the arbitrary impetuosity of her nature: he, occupied with too mighty a trouble to have time or care for his wonted watchful Page 313 attentions, heard alike her admonitions or lamentations with an air of angry, but silent displeasure ; or, when urged too pointedly for maintaining his taciturnity, retorted her reproaches or remarks with a vehemence that seemed the echo of her own. Yet in the midst of this unguarded contention, which had its secret incitement, I doubt not, from some cruelly opposing difference of feelings--of ideas upon the present momentous crisis, nothing could be more clear than that their attachment to each other, though it could not subdue their violent tempers, was, nevertheless, the predominant passion of their souls. THE COUNTESS D'AUCH'S COMPOSURE. The turbulence of these two animated characters upon this trying occasion was strongly contrasted by the placid suffering and feminine endurance of Madame la Comtesse d'Auch, the daughter and sole heiress and descendant of M. de Lally. Her husband, like mine, was in the body-guard of Louis XVIII., and going, or gone, no one knew whither, nor with what intent; her estate and property were all near Bordeaux, and her little children were with her at Paris. The difficult task, in the great uncertainty of events, was now hers to decide, whether to seek the same refuge that her father and Madame Henin should resolve upon seeking, or whether to run every personal risk in trying to save her lands and fortune from confiscation, by traversing, with only her babies and servants, two or three hundred miles, to reach her chateau at Auch ere it might be seized by the conquering party. Quietly, and in total silence, she communed with herself, not mixing in the discourse, nor seeming to heed the disturbance around her; but, when at length applied to, her resolution, from her Own concentrated meditations, was fixedly taken, to preserve, if possible, by her exertions and courage, the property of her absent and beloved husband, for his hoped return and for her children. This steadiness and composure called not forth any imitation. M. de Lally breathed hard with absolute agony of internal debate; and Madame d'Henin now declared she was sure all would blow over in a false alarm, and that she would not hesitate any longer between Brussels and Bordeaux, but remain quietly in Paris, and merely sit up all night to be on the watch. Page 314 RUMOURS OF BONAPARTE'S NEAR APPROACH. M. de Lally determined to go now in person to the Tuileries, to procure such information as might decide his shattered and irresolute friend. When he was gone, a total silence ensued. Madame d'Auch was absorbed in her fearful enterprise, and Madame d'Henin, finding no one opposed her (for my thoughts were with no one present), walked up and down the room, with hasty movement, as if performing some task. Various persons came and went, messengers, friends, or people upon business. She seized upon them all, impatiently demanding their news, and their opinions, but so volubly, at the same time, uttering her own, as to give them no time to reply, though as they left her, too much hurried themselves to wait her leisure for listening, she indignantly exclaimed against their stupidity and insensibility. But what a new and terrible commotion was raised in her mind, in that of Madame d'Auch, and in mine, upon receiving a pencil billet from M. de Lally, brought by a confidential servant, to announce that Bonaparte was within a few hours' march of Paris! He begged her to hasten off, and said he would follow in his cabriolet when he had made certain arrangements, and could gain some information as to the motions of the king. She now instantly ordered horses to her berlin,(264) which had long been loaded, and calling up all her people and dependants, was giving her orders with the utmost vivacity, when intelligence was brought her that no horses could now be had, the government having put them all in requisition. I was struck with horror. To be detained in Paris, the seat of impending conquest, and the destined capital of the conqueror--detained a helpless prisoner, where all would be darkly unknown to me, where Truth could find no entrance, Falsehood no detection--where no news could reach me, except news that was fatal--oh! what dire feelings were mine at this period! Madame d'Auch, who had taken her precautions, instantly though sadly, went away, to secure her own carriage, and preserve her little babies. DEPARTURE FROM PARIS AT NIGHT TIME. Madame d'Henin was now almost distracted, but this dreadful prospect of indefinite detention, with all the horrors Page 315 of captivity, lasted not long: Le Roy, her faithful domestic from his childhood, prevailed upon some stable friend to grant the use of his horses for one stage from Paris, and the berlin and four was at the porte coch�re in another moment, The servants and dependants of Madame d'Henin accompanied her to the carriage in tears ; and all her fine qualities were now unmixed, as she took an affectionate leave of them, with a sweetness the most engaging, suffering the women to kiss her cheek, and smiling kindly on the men, who kissed her robe. Vivacity like hers creates alarm, but, in France, breeds no resentment ; and where, like hers, the character is eminently noble and generous, it is but considered as a mark of conscious rank, and augments rather than diminishes personal devotion. We now rushed into the carriage, averse, yet eager, between ten and eleven o'clock at night, 19th March, 1815. As Madame d'Henin had a passport for herself, et sa famille, we resolved to keep mine in reserve, in case of accidents or separation, and only to produce hers, while I should be included in its privileges. The decision for our route was for Brussels ; the femme de chambre of Madame d'Henin-within, and the valet, Le Roy, outside the carriage, alone accompanied us, with two postilions for the four horses. Madame d'Henin, greatly agitated, spoke from time to time, though rather in ejaculations upon our flight, its uncertainties and alarms, than with any view to conversation; but if she had any answer, it was of simple acquiescence from her good and gentle femme de chambre; as to me . . . I could not utter a word--my husband on his war-horse--his shattered state of health--his long disuse to military service, yet high-wrought sense of military honour--all these were before me. I saw, heard, and was conscious of nothing else, till we arrived at Le Bourget,(265) a long, straggling, small town. And here, Madame d'Henin meant to stop, or at least change horses. A HALT AT LE BOURGET. But all was still, and dark, and shut up. It was the dead of night, and no sort of alarm seemed to disturb the inhabitants Page 316 of the place. We knocked at the first inn: but after waiting a quarter of an hour, some stable-man came Out to say there was not a room vacant. The same reply was with the same delay given us at two other inns; but, finally, we were more successful, though even then we could obtain only a single apartment, with three beds. These we appropriated for Madame d'Henin, myself, and her maid; and the men-servants were obliged to content themselves with mattresses in the kitchen. The town, probably, was filled with fugitives from Paris. A supper was directly provided, but Madame d'Henin, who now again repented having hurried off, resolved upon sending her faithful Le Roy back to the metropolis, to discover whether it were positively true that the king had quitted it, He hired a horse, and we then endeavoured to repose . . . but oh, how far from me was all possibility of obtaining it! About three in the morning M. de Lally overtook us. His information was immediately conveyed to the Princesse d'Henin. It was gloomily affrighting. The approach of Bonaparte was wholly unresisted; all bowed before, that did not spring forward to meet him. Le Roy returned about six in the morning. The king, and his guards, and his family, had all suddenly left Paris, but whither had not transpired. He was preceded, encircled, and followed by his four companies of body-guards. Horror and distress at such a flight and such uncertainty were not mine only, though circumstances rendered mine the most poignant; but M. de Lally had a thousand fears for the excellent and loved husband of his daughter, M. le Comte d'Auch; and Madame d'Henin trembled, for herself and all her family, at the danger of the young Hombert La Tour du Pin. THE JOURNEY RESUMED. No longer easy to be so near Paris, we hastily prepared to get on for Brussels, our destined harbour. M. de Lally now accompanied us, followed by his valet in a cabriolet. Our journey commenced in almost total silence on all parts: the greatness of the change of government thus marvellously effecting, the impenetrable uncertainty of coming events, and our dreadful ignorance of the fate of those most precious to us, who were involved in the deeds and the consequences Page 317 of immediate action, filled every mind too awfully for speech and our sole apparent attention was to the passengers we overtook, or by whom we were overtaken. These were so few, that I think we could not count half a dozen on our way to Senlis, and those seemed absorbed in deadly thought and silence, neither looking at us, nor caring to encounter our looks. The road, the fields, the hamlets, all appeared deserted. Desolate and lone was the universal air. I have since concluded that the people of these parts had separated into two divisions; one of which had hastily escaped, to save their lives and loyalty, while the other had hurried to the capital to greet the conqueror - for this was Sunday,(266) the 20th of March. Oh, what were my sensations on passing through Senlis Senlis, so lately fixed for my three months' abode with my general, during his being de service. When we stopped at a nearly empty inn, during the change of horses, I inquired after Madame Le Quint, and some other ladies who had been prepared to kindly receive me--but they were all gone! hastily they had quitted the town, which, like its environs, had an air of being generally abandoned. The desire of obtaining intelligence made Madame d'Henin most unwilling to continue a straightforward journey, that must separate her more and more from the scene of action. M. de Lally wished to see his friend the young Duc d'Orl�ans,(267) who was at Peronne, with his sister and part of his family; and he was preparing to gratify this desire, when a discussion relative to the danger of some political misconstruction, the duke being at that time upon ill terms with Monsieur, Comte d'Artois,(268) made him relinquish his purpose. We wandered about, however, I hardly know where, save that we stopped from time to time at small hovels in which resided tenants of the Prince or of the Princess de Poix, who received Madame d'Henin with as much devotion of attachment as they could have done in the fullest splendour of her power to reward their kindness ; though with an entire familiarity of discourse that, had I been new to French Customs, would have seemed to me marks of total loss of respect. But after a ten years' unbroken residence in France, Page 318 I was too well initiated in the ways of the dependants Upon the great belonging to their own tenantry, to make a mistake so unjust to their characters. We touched, as I think, at Noailles, at St. just, at Mouchy, and at Poix--but I am only sure we finished the day by arriving at Roy, where still the news of that day was unknown. What made it travel so slowly I cannot tell; but from utter dearth of all the intelligence by which we meant to be guided, we remained, languidly and helplessly, at Roy till the middle of the following Monday,(269) the 21st March. About that time some military entered the town and our inn. We durst not ask a single question, in our uncertainty to which side they belonged ; but the four horses were hastily ordered, since to decamp seemed what was most necessary. But Brussels was no longer the indisputable spot, as the servants Overheard some words that implied a belief that Louis XVIII. was quitting France to return to his old asylum, England. It was determined, therefore, though not till after a tumultuous debate between the princess and M. de Lally, to go straight to Amiens, where the prefect, M. Lameth, was a former friend, if not connection, of the princess. We had now to travel by a cross-road, and a very bad one, and it was not till night that we arrived at the suburbs. It was here first we met with those difficulties that announced, by vigilance with disturbance, a kind of suspended government; for the officers of the police who demanded our passports were evidently at a loss whether to regard them as valid or not. Their interrogatories, meanwhile, were endless; and, finally, they desired us, as it was so late and dark, to find ourselves a lodging in the suburbs, and not enter the city of Amiens till the next morning. Clouded as were alike our perceptions and our information, we could not but be aware of the danger of to-morrow, when our entrance might be of a sort to make our exit prohibited. Again followed a tumultuous debate, which ended in the hazardous resolve of appealing to the prefect and casting ourselves upon his protection. This appeal ended all inquisition : we were treated with deference, and accommodated in a decent room, while the passports of Madame d'Henin and of M. de Lally were forwarded to the prefecture. We remained here some time in the utmost stillness, no one pronouncing a word. We knew not who might listen, nor Page 319 with what ears ! But far from still was all within, because far from confident how the prefect might judge necessary to arrest, or to suffer our proceeding further. The answer was, at length, an order to the police officers to let us enter the city and be conducted to an hotel named by M. Lameth. A SUPPER AT AmIENS WITH THE PREFECT. We had an immensely long drive through the city of Amiens ere we came to the indicated hotel. But here Madame d'Henin found a note that was delivered to her by the secretary of the prefecture, announcing the intention of the prefect to have the honour of waiting upon her; and when M. Lameth was announced, M. de Lally and I retired to our several chambers. Her t�te- -t�te with him was very long, and ended in a summons to M. de Lally to make it a trio. This interview was longer still, and my anxiety for the news with which it might terminate relative to the king, the body-guard, and our detention or progression, was acute. At length I also was summoned. Madame d'Henin came out to me upon the landing-place, hastily and confusedly, to say that the prefect did not judge proper to receive her at the prefecture, but that he would stay and sup with her, and that I was to pass for her premi�re femme de chambre, as it would not be prudent to give in my name, though it had been made known to M. Lameth; but the wife of an officer so immediately in the service of the king must not be specified as the host of a prefect, if that prefect meant , to yield to the tide of a new government. Tide? Nay, torrent it was at this moment ; and any resistance that had not been previously organized, and with military force, must have been vain. I made, however, no inquiry. I was simply acquiescent; and, distantly following Madame d'Henin, remained at the end of the room while the servants and the waiters adjusted matters for supper. In a situation of such embarrassment I never before was placed. I knew not which way to look, nor what to do. Discovery at such a crisis might have been fatal, as far as might hang upon detention; and detention, which would rob me of all means of hearing of M. d'Arblay, should I gather what was his route, and be able to write to him, was death to my peace. I regretted I had not demanded to stay in Page 320 another room; but, in such heart-piercing moments, to be in the way of intelligence is the involuntary first movement. When all was arranged, and Madame d'Henin was seated M. de Lally set a chair for me, slightly bowing to me to take it. I complied, and supper began. I was helped, of course the last, and not once spoken to by any body. The repast' was not very gay, yet by no means dejected. The conversation was upon general topics, and M. de Lameth was entirely master of himself, seeming wholly without emotion. I was afterwards informed that news had just reached him, but not officially, that Bonaparte had returned to Paris. Having heard, therefore, nothing from the new government he was able to act as if there were none such, and he kindly obliged Madame d'Henin by giving her new passports, which should the conquest be confirmed, would be safer than passports from the ministers of Louis XVIII. at Paris. . . . M. Lameth could not, however, answer for retaining his powers, nor for what might be their modification even from hour to hour: he advised us, therefore, by no means to risk his being either replaced or restrained, but to get on as fast as possible with his passports while certain they were efficient. He thought it safer, also, to make a circuit than to go back again to the high-road we had quitted. Our design of following the king, whom we imagined gaining the sea-coast to embark for England, was rendered abortive from the number of contradictory accounts which had reached M. Lameth as to the route he had taken. Brussels, therefore, became again our point of desire; but M. Lameth counselled us to proceed for the moment to Arras, where M. --- (I forget his name) would aid us either to proceed, or to change, according to circumstances, our destination. Not an instant, however, was to be lost, lest M. Lameth should be forced himself to detain us. Horses, therefore, he ordered for us, and a guide across the country for Arras. I learnt nothing of this till we re-entered our carriage. The servants and waiters never quitted the room, and the prefect had as much his own safety to guard from ill construction or report as ours. Madame d'Henin, though rouged the whole time with confusion, never ventured to address a word to me. It was, indeed, more easy to be silent than to speak to me either with a tone of condescension or of command, and any other must have been suspicious. M. de Page 321 Lally was equally dumb, but active in holding out every plat to me, though always looking another way. M. Lameth eyed me with curiosity, but had no resource against surmise save that adopted by Madame d'Henin. However, he had the skill and the politeness to name, in the course of the repast, M. d'Arblay, as if accidentally, yet with an expression of respect and distinction, carefully, as he spoke, turning his eyes from mine, though it was the only time that, voluntarily, he would have met them. The horses being ready, M. Lameth took leave. RECEPTION AT THE PREFECTURE AT ARRAS. It was now about eleven at night. The road was of the roughest sort, and we were jerked up and down the ruts so as with difficulty to keep our seats : it was also very dark, and the drivers could not help frequently going out of their way, though the guide, groping on upon such occasions on foot, soon set them right. It was every way a frightful night. Misery, both public and private, oppressed us all, and the fear of pursuit and captivity had the gloomy effect of causing general taciturnity ; so that no kind voice, nor social suggestion, diverted the sense of danger, or excited one of hope. At what hour we arrived at Arras on Wednesday, the 22nd March, I cannot tell; but we drove straight to the prefecture, a very considerable mansion, surrounded with spacious grounds and gardens, which to me, nevertheless, had a bleak, flat, and desolate air, though the sun was brightly shining. We stopped at the furthest of many gates on the high road, while madame sent in to M. -- (I forget his name) the note with which we had been favoured by M. Lameth. The answer was a most courteous invitation of entrance, and the moment the carriage stopped at the great door of the portico, the prefect, M. -, hastened out to give Madame d'Henin le bras. He was an old soldier and in full uniform, and he came to us from a battalion drawn out in array on one side the park. Tall, and with still a goodly port, though with a face worn and weather-beaten, he had the air of a gentleman as well as of a general officer - and the open and hospitable smile with which he received the princess, while bareheaded and baldheaded he led her into his palace, diffused a welcome around that gave an involuntary cheeriness even to poor dejected me. How indescribably gifted is the human face Y Page 322 divine," in those who are invested with power, to transmit Or to blight comfort even by a glance! As Madame d'Henin demanded a private audience, I know not what passed; but I have reason to believe we were the first who brought news to Arras that approached to the truth of the actual position of Paris. M. Lameth, for Political reasons, had as studiously avoided naming M. de Lally as myself in his note .- but M. de Lally was treated by the mistress of the house with the distinction due to a gentleman travelling with the princess ; and as to me, some of the younger branches of the family took me under their protection, and very kind they were, showing me the garden, library, and views of the surrounding country. A CHEERFUL DEJEUNER SOMEWHAT RUFFLED. Meanwhile, an elegant breakfast was prepared for a large company, a review having been ordered for that morning, and several general officers being invited by the prefect. This repast had a cheerfulness that to me, an Englishwoman, was unaccountable and is indefinable. The king had been compelled to fly his capital , no one knew where he was seeking shelter; no one knew whether he meant to resign his crown in hopeless inaction, or whether to contest it in sanguinary civil war. Every family, therefore, with its every connection in the whole empire of the French, was involved in scenes upon which hung prosperity or adversity, reputation or disgrace, honour or captivity ; yet at such a crisis the large assembled family met with cheerfulness, the many guests were attended to with politeness, and the goodly fare of that medley of refreshments called a d�jeuner in France was met with appetites as goodly as its incitements. This could not be from insensibility; the French are anything rather than insensible : it could not be from attachment to Bonaparte, the prefect loudly declaring his devotion to Louis XVIII. I can only, therefore, attribute it to the long revolutionary state of the French mind, as well as nation, which had made it so familiar to insurrection, change, and incertitude, that they met it as a man meets some unpleasant business which he must unavoidably transact, and which, since he has no choice to get rid of, he resolves to get through to the best of his ability. We were still, however, smelling sweet flowers and regaled Page 323 with fine fruits, when this serenity was somewhat ruffled by the arrival of the commander of the forces which had been reviewed, or destined for review, I know not which. He took the prefect aside, and they were some time together. He then, only bowing to the ladies of the house, hastened off. The prefect told us the news that imperfectly arrived was very bad, but he hoped a stand would be made against any obstinate revolt ; and he resolved to assemble every officer and soldier belonging to his government, and to call upon each separately to take again, and solemnly, his oath of allegiance. . While preparing for this ceremony the commander again returned, and told him he had positive information that the. defection was spreading, and that whole troops and' companies were either sturdily waiting in inaction, or boldly marching on to meet the conqueror. A LOYAL PREFECT. Our table was now broken up, and we were wishing to depart ere official intimation from the capital might arrest our further progress - but our horses were still too tired, and no others were to be procured. We became again very uneasy, and uneasiness began to steal upon all around us. The prefect was engaged in perpetual little groups of consultation, chiefly with general officers, who came and went with incessant bustle, and occasionally and anxiously were joined by persons of consequence of the vicinity. The greater the danger appeared, the more intrepidly the brave old prefect declared his loyalty ; yet he was advised by all parties to give up his scheme till he knew whether the king himself 'made a stand in his own cause. $ He yielded reluctantly; and when Madame d'Henin found his steady adhesion to his king, she came up to him and said, that, finding the firmness of his devotion to Louis XVIII., she was sure it would give him pleasure to know he had at that moment under his roof the wife of a general officer in the actual escort of his majesty. He instantly came to me with a benevolent smile, and we had a conversation of deep Interest upon the present state of things. I had the heartfelt satisfaction to find that my honoured husband was known to him, not alone by reputation, but personally; and to find that, and to hear his praise, has always been one and the same thing. Alas! those sounds on these sad ears vibrate no Page 324 more!.....At length, however, about noon, we set off, accompanied by the prefect and all his family to our carriage. EMBLEMS OF LOYALTY AT DOUAY. At Douay, we had the satisfaction to see still stronger outward marks of attachment to the king and his cause, for in every street through which we passed, the windows were decked with emblems of faithfulness to the Bourbon dynasty, white flags, or ribands, or, handkerchiefs. All, however, without commotion, all was a simple manifestation of respect, No insurrection was checked, for none had been excited - no mob was dispersed, for scarcely any one seemed to venture from his house. Our intention was to quit the French territory that night, and sleep in more security at Tournay ; but the roads became so bad, and our horses grew so tired, that it was already dark before we reached Orchies. M. de Lally went on from Douay in his cabriolet, to lighten our weight, as Madame d'Henin had a good deal of baggage. We were less at our ease, while thus perforce travelling slower, to find the roads, as we proceeded from Douay, become more peopled. Hitherto they had seemed nearly a blank. We now began, also, to be met, or to be overtaken, by small parties of troops. We naturally looked out with earnestness on each side, to discover to whom or to what they belonged : but the compliment of a similar curiosity on their part was all we gained. Sometimes they called out a "Vive--" but without finishing their wish; and we repeated--that is, we bowed to--the same hailing exclamation, without knowing or daring to inquire its purport. STATE OF UNCERTAINTY AT ORCHIES. At Orchies, where we arrived rather late in the evening, we first found decided marks of a revolutionary state of things. No orders were sent by either party. The king and his government were too imminently in personal danger to assert their rights, or retain their authority for directing the provinces; Bonaparte and his followers and supporters were too much engrossed by taking possession of the capital, and too uncertain of their success, to try a power which had as yet no basis, or risk a disobedience which they had no means to resent. The people, as far as we could see or learn Page 325 seemed passively waiting the event ; and the constituted authorities appeared to be self-suspended from their functions till the droit des plus fort(270) should ascertain who were their masters. Nevertheless, while we waited at Orchies for horses, news arrived by straggling parties which, though only whispered, created evidently some disturbance - a sort of wondering expectation soon stared from face to face, asking by the eye what no one durst pronounce by the voice; what does all this portend? and for what ought we to prepare? A MISHAP ON THE ROAD. it was past eleven o'clock, and the night was dark and damp, ere we could get again into our carriages - but the increasing bustle warned us off, and a nocturnal journey had nothing to appal us equally with the danger of remaining. We eagerly, therefore, set off, but we were still in the suburbs of Orchies, when a call for help struck our ears, and the berlin stopped. It was so dark, we could not at first discern what was the matter, but we soon found that the carriage of M. de Lally had broken down. Madame d'Henin darted out of the berlin with the activity of fifteen. Her maid accompanied her, and I eagerly followed. Neither M. de Lally nor his man had received any injury, but the cabriolet could no longer proceed without being repaired. The groom was sent to discover the nearest blacksmith, who came soon to examine the mischief, and declared that it could not be remedied before daylight. We were forced to submit the vehicle to his decree - but our distress what to do with ourselves was now very serious. We knew there was no accommodation for us at the inn we had 'just quitted, but that of passing the night by the kitchen fire, exposed to all the hazards of suspicious observation upon our evident flight. To remain upon the high road stationary in our berlin might, at such a period, encompass us with dangers yet more serious. A KINDLY OFFER OF SHELTER. We were yet unresolved, when a light from the windows of a small house attracted our attention, and a door was opened, at which a gentlewoman somewhat more than elderly stood, with a candle in her hand, that lighted up a face full of Page 326 benevolence, in which was painted strong compassion on the view of our palpable distress. Her countenance encouraged us to approach her, and the smile with which she saw us come forward soon accelerated our advance; and when We reached her threshold, she waited neither for solicitation nor representation, but let us into her small dwelling without a single question, silently, as if fearful herself we might be observed, shutting the street door before she spoke. She then lamented, as we must needs, she said, be cold and comfortless, that she had no fire, but added that she and her little maid were in bed and asleep, when the disturbance on the road had awakened her, and made her hasten up, to inquire if any one were hurt. We told as much of our Story as belonged to our immediate situation, and she then instantly, assured us we should be welcome to stay in her house till the cabriolet was repaired. Without waiting for our thanks, she then gave to each a chair, and fetched great plenty of fuel, with which she made an ample and most reviving fire, in a large stove that was placed in the middle of the room. She had bedding, she said, for two, and begged that, when we were warmed and comforted, we would decide which of us most wanted rest. We durst not, however, risk, at such a moment, either being separated or surprised; we entreated her, therefore, to let us remain together, and to retire herself to the repose her humanity had thus broken. But she would not leave us. She brought forth bread, butter, and cheese, with wine and some other beverage, and then made us each a large bowl of tea. And when we could no longer partake of her hospitable fare, she fetched us each a pillow, and a double chair, to rest our heads and our feet. ALARMED BY POLISH LANCERS. Thus cheered and refreshed, we blessed our kind hostess, and fell into something like a slumber, when we were suddenly roused by the sound of trumpets, and warlike instruments, and the trampling of many horses, coming from afar, but approaching with rapidity. We all started up alarmed, and presently the group, perceiving, I imagine, through the ill-closed shutters, some light, stopped before the house, and battered the door and the window, demanding admission. We hesitated whether to remain or endeavour to conceal ourselves Page 327 but our admirable hostess bid us be still, while, calm herself, she opened the street door, where she parleyed with the party, cheerfully and without any appearance of fear, and told them she had no room for their accommodation, because she had given up even her own bed to some relations who were travelling, she gained from them an applauding huzza and their departure. She then informed us they were Polish lancers, and that she believed they were advancing to scour the country in favour of Bonaparte. She expressed herself an open 'and ardent loyalist for the Bourbons, but said she had no safety except in submitting, like all around her, to the stronger powers. Again, by her persuasion, we sought to compose ourselves; but a second party soon startled us from our purpose, and from that time we made no similar attempt. I felt horrified at every blast of the trumpet, and the fear of being made prisoner, or pillaged, assailed me unremittingly. At about five o'clock in the morning our carriages were at the door. We blessed our benevolent hostess, took her name and address, that we might seek some means of manifesting our gratitude, and then quitted Orchies. For the rest of our journey till we reached the frontiers, we were annoyed with incessant small military groups or horsemen; but though suspiciously regarded, we were not stopped. The fact is, the new government was not yet, in those parts, sufficiently organised to have been able to keep if they had been strong enough to detain us. But we had much difficulty to have our passports honoured for passing the frontiers ; and if they had not been so recently renewed at Amiens, I think it most probable our progress would have been impeded till new orders and officers were entitled to make us halt. ARRIVAL AT TOURNAY. Great, therefore, was our satisfaction when, through all these difficulties, we entered Tournay-where, being no longer in the lately restored kingdom of France, we considered ourselves to be escaped from the dominion of Bonaparte, and where we determined therefore to remain till we could guide our further proceedings by tidings of the plan and the position of Louis XVIII. We went to the most considerable inn, and all retired to rest which, after so much fatigue, mental and bodily, we required, and happily obtained. Page 328 The next day we had the melancholy satisfaction of hearing that Louis XVIII. also had safely passed the frontiers of his lost kingdom. As we were less fearful, now, of making inquiries, M. de Lally soon learnt that his majesty had halted at Lille, where he was then waiting permission and directions for a place of retreat from the King of Holland, or the Netherlands. But no intelligence whatsoever could we gain relative to the body-guards, and my disturbance increased, every moment. There was far more commotion at Tournay than at any other town through which we passed; for as the people here were not under the French government, either old or new, they were not awed into waiting to know to which they should belong, in fearful passiveness : yet they had all the perplexity upon their minds of disquieting ignorance whether they were to be treated as friends or foes, since if Bonaparte prevailed they could not but expect to be joined again to his dominions. All the commotion, therefore, of divided interests and jarring opinions was awake, and in full operation upon the faculties and feelings of every Belgian at this critical moment. FUTILE EFFORTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH M. D'ARBLAY. The horror of my suspense relative to the safety and the fate of Monsieur d'Arblay reduced my mind to a sort of chaos, that makes it impossible to recollect what was our abode at Tournay. I can but relate my distress and my researches. My first thought was to send a letter to my general at Lille, which if he was there would inform him of my vicinity, and if not, might perhaps find its way to his destination. At all events, I resolved only to write what would be harmless should it fall even into the hands of the enemy. I directed those few lines to M. le Chevalier d'Arblay, officier sup�rieur du garde du corps de sa majest� Louis XVIII. But when I would have sent them to the post, I was informed there was no post then to Lille. I then sought for a messenger, but was told that Lille was inaccessible. The few letters that were permitted to enter it were placed in a basket, the handle of which was tied to a long cord, that was hooked up to the top of the walls, and thence descended to appointed magistrates. Vainly I made every effort in my power to avail myself Of this method, no one of my party, nor at the inn,,knew or Page 329 could indicate any means that promised success, or even a trial. Worn at length by an anxiety I found insupportable, I took a resolution to go forth myself, stranger as I was to the place, and try to get my letter conveyed to the basket, however difficult or costly might be its carriage. Quite alone, therefore, I sallied forth, purposing to find, if possible, some sturdy boy who would be glad of such remuneration as I could offer, to pass over to Lille. Again, however, vain was every attempt. I entered all decent poor houses; sauntered to the suburbs, and entered sundry cottages; but no inquiry could procure either a man or a boy that would execute my commission. French was so generally known that I commonly made myself understood, though I only received a shake of the head, or a silent walking off, in return to my propositions. But in the end, a lad told me he thought he had heard that Madame la Duchesse de St. Agnes had had some intercourse with Lille. Delighted, I desired him to show me the house she inhabited. We walked to it together, and I then said I would saunter near the spot while he entered, with my earnest petition to know whether madame could give me any tidings of the king's body-guard. He returned with an answer that madame would reply to a written note, but to nothing verbal. I bid the boy hie with me to the inn; but as I had no writing tackle, I sent him forward to procure me proper implements at the stationer's. How it happened I know not, but I missed the boy, whom I could never regain and I soon after lost my way myself. In much perplexity I was seeking information which way to steer, when a distant sound of a party of horse caught my attention. I stopped. The sound approached nearer; the boys and idle people in the street ran forward to meet it, and presently were joined or followed by the more decent inhabitants. I had not the temerity to make one among them, yet my anxiety for news of any sort was too acute to permit me to retire. I stood therefore still, waiting for what might arrive, till I perceived some outriders galloping forward in the royal livery of France. Immediately after, a chariot and four with the arms of France followed, encircled by horsemen, and nearly enveloped by a continually increasing crowd, whence, from time to time, issued a feeble cry of "Vive le roi!" while two or three other carriages brought up the rear. With difficulty now could I forbear plunging into the midst of them, for my big expectations painted to me Louis XVIII. arrived Page 330 at Tournay, and my bigger hopes pictured with him his loyal guard. They had soon however passed by, but their straggling followers showed me their route, which I pursued till I lost both sight and sound belonging to them. I then loitered for my errand boy, till I found myself, by some indications that helped my remembrance, near the spot whence I had started. . Glad, for safety's sake, to be so near my then home, though mourning my fruitless wandering, I hastened my footsteps; but what was my emotion on arriving within a few yards of the inn, to observe the royal carriage which had galloped past me, the horsemen, the royal livery and all the appearance that had awakened my dearest hopes' The crowd was dispersed, but the porter's lodge, or perhaps bookkeeper's, was filled with gentlemen, or officers in full uniform. I hurried on, and hastily inquired who it was that had just arrived. My answer was, the Prince de Cond�. A thousand projects now occurred to me for gaining intelligence from such high authority, but in the large courtyard I espied Madame d'Henin sauntering up and down, while holding by the arm of a gentleman I had never before seen. Anxious to avoid delay, and almost equally desirous to escape remonstrances on my enterprise, since I could listen only to my restless anxiety, I would have glided by unnoticed; but she called after me aloud, and I was compelled to approach her. She was all astonishment at my courage in thus issuing forth alone, I knew not where nor whither, and declared that I was m�connoissable; but I only answered by entreating her to inquire the names of some of the gentlemen just arrived, that I might judge whether any among them could give me the information for which I sighed. No sooner did I hear that M. le Comte de Viomenil was of the number, than, recollecting his recent appointment at Paris, in conjunction with Victor de Maubourg, to raise volunteers for the king, I decided upon seeking him. Madame d'Henin would have given me some counsel, but I could not hear her; as I hurried off, however, the gentleman whose arm she held offered me his assistance in a tone and with a look of so much benevolence, that I frankly accepted it, and we sallied in search of a person known to me only by name. My stranger friend now saved me every exertion, by making every inquiry and led me from corridor to corridor, above, below, and to almost every apartment, asking incessantly if M. le Comte de Viomenil was not in the inn. Page 331 At length we learned that M. de Viomenil was dining quite alone in an upper chamber. My kind-hearted conductor led me to the door of the room assigned, and then tapped at it; and on an answer of "entrez!" he let go my arm, and with a bow silently left me. I found M. de Viomenil at table : he said he could give no possible account of his majesty, save that he was at Gand, but that of the body-guard he knew positively nothing. INTERVIEWS WITH M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. I afterwards learnt that my benevolent strange chevalier was no other than the celebrated M. de Ch�teaubriand.(271) I saw nothing more of him, save for a moment, when, in passing by a small staircase that led to my chamber, a door was suddenly opened, whence Madame d'Henin put out her head to invite me to enter, when she presented me to him and to Madame de Ch�teaubriand, a very elegant woman, but of a cold, reserved demeanour. I expressed eagerly the pleasure I had experienced in seeing the author of " The Itinerary to Jerusalem," a work I had read in Paris with extraordinary interest and satisfaction ; but I believe the "G�nie du Christianisme," and perhaps the "Atala," were works so much more prized by that author as to make my compliment misplaced. However, I so much more enjoy the natural, pleasing, instructive, and simple, though ingenious style and matter of the " Itinerary " than I do the overpowering sort of heroic eloquence of those more popular performances, that the zest of dear hallowed truth would have been wanting had I not expressed my choice. The "Itinerary" is, indeed, one of the most agreeable books I know. M. de Ch�teaubriand hung back, whether pleased or not, Page 332 with an air of gentlemanly serenity. I had opportunity for further effort : we left Tournay to proceed to Brussels, and heavy was my heart and my will to quit, thus in ignorance, the vicinity of Lille. At the town at which we stopped to dine which, I think, was Atot, we again met M. et Madame de Ch�teaubriand. This was a mutual satisfaction, and we agreed to have our meal in common. I now had more leisure, not of time alone, but of faculty, for doing justice to M. de Chateaubriand, whom I found amiable, unassuming, and, though somewhat spoilt by the egregious flattery to which he had been accustomed, wholly free from airs or impertinent selfconceit. Excessive praise seemed only to cause him excessive pleasure in himself, without leading to contempt or scorn of others. He is by no means tall, and is rather thickset - but his features are good, his countenance is very fine, and his eyes are beautiful, alike from colour, shape, and expression ; while there is a striking benevolence in his look, tone of voice, and manner. Madame de Ch�teaubriand also gained ground by farther acquaintance. She was faded, but not pass�e, and was still handsome, and of a most graceful carriage, though distant and uninviting. Her loftiness had in it something so pensive mixed with its haughtiness, that though it could not inspire confidence, it did not create displeasure. She possessed also a claim to sympathy and respect in being the niece of M. de Malesherbes, that wise, tender, generous, noble defender of Louis XVI. The conversation during and after dinner was highly interesting. M. de Ch�teaubriand opened upon his situation with a trusting unreserve that impressed me with an opinion of the nobleness of his mind. Bonaparte had conceived against him, he said, a peculiar antipathy, for which various motives might be assigned: he enumerated them not, however, probably from the presence of his wife ; as his marriage with a niece of that martyr to the service of the murdered king, Louis XVI., I conclude to be at their head. The astonishing and almost boundless success of his works, since he was dissatisfied with his principles, and more than suspicious of his disaffection to the imperial government, must have augmented aversion by mixing with it some species of apprehension. I know not what were the first publications of M. de Ch�teaubriand, but they were in such high estimation Page 333 when first I heard him mentioned, that no author was more celebrated in France; when his "Martyres" came out, no other book was mentioned; and the famous critic Geoffroyq who guided the taste of Paris, kept it alive by criticisms of alternate praise and censure without end. "Atala," the pastoral heroic romance, bewitched all the reading ladies into a sort of idolatry of its writer, and scarcely a page of it remained unadorned by some representation in painting. The enthusiasm, indeed, of the draughtsmen and of the fair sex seemed equally emulous to place the author and the work at the head of celebrity and the fashion. Of all this, of course, he spoke not - but he related the story of his persecution by Napoleon concerning his being elected a member of the French Institute. I was in too much disturbance to be able to clearly listen to the narrative, but I perfectly recollect that the censor, to soften Napoleon, had sent back the manuscript to M. de Ch�teaubriand, with an intimation that no public discourse could be delivered that did not contain an �loge of the Emperor. M. de Ch�teaubriand complied with the ordinance; but whether the forced praise was too feeble, or whether the aversion was too insuperable, I know not : all that is certain is, that Napoleon, after repeated efforts from the Institute of reelection, positively refused to ratify that of M. de Ch�teaubriand.(272) Another time a cousin of this gentleman was reputed to be engaged In a conspiracy against the emperor. M. de Ch�teaubriand solemnly declared he disbelieved the charge; and, as his weight in public opinion was so great, he ventured to address a supplique to Napoleon in favour of his kinsman; but the answer which reached him the following day was an account of his execution ! (248) Horne's"History of Napoleon." (249) This portion of the Diary is not dated, but the meeting with the Duchess of Angoul�me must have taken place in January or February, 1815. Madame d'Arblay had joined her husband in France, her son remaining at Cambridge.-ED. (250) "Very glad to see me." (251) "May I keep the book you sent me?" (252) "He has acted very nobly." (253) Raised every day." (254) "The king recollects very well having seen you in London." (255) "O, I don't doubt it at all." (256) "He was perfect!" (257) Princess Elizabeth. (258) "'Tis she who does the honours of the royal family." (259) On duty. (260) Minister for foreign affairs. (261) "We have better news. I can enter into no detail; but be calm, and love him who loves you alone. (262) Country estate. (263) "My dearest--All is lost! I cannot enter into details--pray, set out the sooner the better. Yours in life and death, A. d'A." (264) A large travelling-coach.-ED. (265) Le Bourget was the scene of some desperate fighting during the siege of Paris in 1870. It was surprised and captured from the Prussians before daybreak of October 28, by a French force commanded by General de Bellemare, but, after a gallant defence of two days, it was retaken by the Prussians. December 21, an attempt was made by the French to recapture Le Bourget, but without success.-ED. (266) Monday, the 20th, it should be-ED. (267) The son of Philippe Egalit�, afterwards King Louis Philippe.-ED. (268) Brother of Louis XVIII., whom he succeeded under the title of Charles X.-ED. (269) Should be Tuesday-ED. (270) "Right of the strongest." (271) Fran�ois Ren� de Ch�teaubriand was born at Saint Malo in 1768 He visited the United States in 1789, and found, in the pathless forests of the new world, the scenery which he describes, with poetic fervour, in the pages of "Atala." The news of the king's flight to Varennes brought him back to Europe. He married (1792) 'Mlle. de la Vigne-Buisson, joined the emigrant army which marched with Brunswick to conquer France, got wounded at Thionville, and retired to England. After the appointment of Bonaparte to the office of first Consul, Ch�teaubriand returned to France, and published his heroic- sentimental romance of "Atala." Its success with the public was great, and it was followed by "The Genius of Christianity," and other works. Under the restored Bourbons, Ch�teaubriand filled high diplomatic posts. This most sentimental of men of genius died in July, 1848.-ED. (272) This occurred in the year 1811.-ED. Page 334 SECTION 25 (1815) AT BRUSSELS: WATERLOO: REJOINS M. D'ARBLAY. SOJOURN AT BRUSSELS. Arrived at Brussels, we drove immediately to the house in which dwelt Madame la Comtesse de Maurville. That excellent person had lived many years in England an emigrant, and there earned a scanty maintenance by keeping a French school. She had now retired upon a very moderate pension, but was surrounded by intimate friends, who only suffered her to lodge at her own home. She received us in great dismay, fearing to lose her little all by these changes of government. I was quite ill on my arrival: excessive fatigue, affright, and watchfulness overwhelmed me. At Brussels all was quiet and tame. The Belgians had lost their original antipathy to Bonaparte, without having yet had time to acquire any warmth of interest for the Bourbons. Natively phlegmatic, they demand great causes or strong incitement to rouse them from that sort of passiveness that is the offspring of philosophy and timidity- philosophy, that teaches them to prize 'the blessings of safety ; and timidity, that points out the dangers of enterprise. In all I had to do with them I found them universally worthy, rational, and kind-hearted ; but Slow, sleepy, and uninteresting, in the sickroom to which I was immediately consigned, I met with every sort of kindness from Madame de Maurville, whom I had known intimately at Paris, and who had known and Page 335 appreciated my beloved, exemplary sister Phillips in London. Madame de Maurville was a woman that the Scotch would call long-headed; she was sagacious, penetrating, and gifted with strong humour. She saw readily the vices and follies of mankind, and laughed at them heartily, without troubling herself to grieve at them. She was good herself, alike in heart and in conduct, and zealous to serve and oblige ; but with a turn to satire that made the defects of her neighbours rather afford her amusement than concern. ' I was visited here by the highly accomplished Madame de la: Tour du Pin, wife to the favourite nephew of Madame d'Henin; a woman of as much courage as elegance, and who had met danger, toil, and difficulty in the Revolution with as much spirit, and nearly as much grace, as she had displayed in meeting universal admiration and homage at the court of Marie-Antoinette, of which she was one of the most brilliant latter ornaments. Her husband was at this time one of the French ministers at the Congress at Vienna; whence, as she learned a few days after my arrival at Brussels, he had been sent on an embassy of the deepest importance and risk, to La Vend�e or Bordeaux. She bore the term of that suspense with an heroism that I greatly admired, for I well knew she adored her husband. M. la Tour du Pin had been a prefect of Brussels under Bonaparte, though never in favour, his internal loyalty to the Bourbons being well known. But Bonaparte loved to attach great names and great characters to his government, conscious of their weight both at home and abroad, and he trusted in the address of that mental diving-machine, his secret police, for warding off any hazard he might run, from employing the adherents of his enemies. His greatly capacious, yet only half-formed mind, could have parried, as well as braved, every danger and all opposition, had not his inordinate ambition held him as arbitrarily under control as he himself held under control every other passion. Madame de Maurville soon found us a house, of which we took all but the ground floor: the entresol was mine, the first floor was Madame d'Henin's, and that above it was for M. de Lally. It was near the cathedral, and still in a prolongation of Madame de Maurville's street, la Rue de la Montagne. Nothing was known at Brussels, nothing at all, of the fate Of the body-guard, or of the final destination of Louis XVIII. How circumstances of such moment, nay, notoriety, could be kept from public knowledge, I can form no idea; but neither Page 336 in the private houses of persons of the first rank, in which, through Madame d'Henin, I visited, nor in any of the shops nor by any other sort of intercourse, either usual or accidental, could I gather any intelligence. Madame la Duchesse de Duras, ci-devant Mademoiselle Kersaint, who had visited me in Paris, and who was now in hasty emigration at Brussels, with her youngest daughter, Mademoiselle Clara de Duras, seemed sincerely moved by my distress, and wrote to various of her friends, who were emigrating within her reach, to make inquiry for me. I visited her in a shabby hotel, where I found her without suite or equipage, but in perfect tranquillity at their loss, and not alone unmurmuring, but nearly indifferent to her privations; while Mademoiselle Clara ran up and down stairs on her mother's messages, and even brought in wood for the stove, with an alacrity and cheerfulness that seemed almost to enjoy the change to hardships from grandeur. Indeed, to very young people, such reverses, for a certain time, appear as a frolic. Novelty, mere novelty, during the first youth, can scarcely be bought too dear. >From M. de la Feronaye, Madame de Duras procured me intelligence that the body-guard had been dispersed and disbanded by the Duc de Berry, on the frontiers of La Belgique they were left at liberty to remain in France, or to seek other asylums, as his majesty Louis XVIII. could not enter the kingdom of Holland with a military guard of his own. This news left me utterly in the dark which way to look for hope or information. Madame de Duras, however, said she expected soon to see the Duc de Richelieu, whose tidings might be more precise. LETTERS FROM GENERAL D'ARBLAY. Ten wretched days passed on in this ignorance, from the 19th to the 29th of March, 1815, when Madame de Maurville flew into my apartment, with all the celerity of fifteen, and all the ardour of twenty years of age, to put into my hands a letter from General d'Arblay, addressed to herself, to inquire whether she had any tidings to give him of my existence, and whether I had been heard of at Brussels, or was known to have travelled to Bordeaux, as Madame d'Henin, cousin to Madame de Maurville, had been uncertain, when M. d'Arblay left me in Paris, to which of those cities she should go. Page 337 The joy of that moment, Oh! the joy of that Moment that showed me again the handwriting that demonstrated the life and safety of all to which my earthly happiness clung, can never be expressed, and only by our meeting, when at last it took place, could be equalled. It was dated "Ypres, 27 Mars." I wrote directly thither, proposing to join him, if ", there were any impediment to his coming on to Brussels. I had already written, at hazard, to almost every town in the Netherlands. The very next day, another letter from the same kind hand arrived to Madame la Duchesse d'Hurste. This was succeeded by news that the king, Louis XVIII., had been followed to Gand by his body-guard. Thither, also, I expedited a letter, under cover to the Duc de Luxembourg, capitaine of the company to which M. d'Arblay belonged. I lived now in a hurry of delight that scarcely allowed me breathing-time, a delight that made me forget all my losses, my misfortunes-my papers, keepsakes, valuables of various sorts, with our goods, clothes, money-bonds, and endless et ceteras, left, as I had reason to fear, to seizure and confiscation upon the entry of the emperor into Paris-all, all was light, was nothing in the scale ; and I wrote to my Alexander, and my dearest friends, to rejoice in my joy, and that they had escaped my alarm. Next day, and again the next, came a letter from M. d'Arblay himself. The first was from Ypres, the second was from Bruges, and brought by the post, as my beloved correspondent had been assured of my arrival at Brussels by the Duc de Luxembourg, at Ghistelle, near Ostend, which M. d'Arblay was slowly approaching on horseback, when he met the carriage of Louis XVIII., as it stopped for a relay of horses, and the duke, espying him, descended from the second carriage of the king's suite, to fly to and embrace him, with that lively friendship he has ever manifested towards him. Thence they agreed that the plan of embarkation should be renounced, and, instead of Ostend M. d'Arblay turned his horse's head towards Gand, where he had a rendezvous with the duke. There he remained, to renew the offer of his services to his king, and there he was most peculiarly distinguished by M. le Duc de Feltre (General Clarke), who was still occupying the Post assigned him on the restoration of Louis XVIII. of ministre de la guerre.(273) Page 338 Relieved now--or rather blest--I was no longer deaf to the kindness of those who sought to enliven my exile ; I not only visited Madame la Duchesse de Duras, but also cultivated an intercourse with the charming Madame de la Tour du Pin whom I was the more glad to find delightful from her being of English origin; a Mademoiselle Dillon, Whose family was transplanted into France under James II., and who was descended from a nobleman whose eminent accomplishments she inherited with his blood; the famous Lord Falkland, on whose tomb in Westminster Abbey is carved "Here lies the friend of Sir Philip Sidney." Her sister, Miss Fanny Dillon, had been married by Bonaparte to General Bertrand; and thus, while one of them' was an emigrant following the fortunes of the Bourbons, the other was soon after destined to accompany Bonaparte himself into exile. Le Colonel de Beaufort, also, a warm, early friend of General d'Arblay, belonging to the garrison of Metz or of Toul, I forget which, had married a lady of great wealth in La Belgique; a woman rather unhappy in her person, but possessed of a generous and feeling heart : and this she instantly demonstrated by seeking and cultivating an acquaintance with the wandering wife of her husband's early camarade. I found her so amiable, and so soothing in her commiseration during my distress, that I warmly returned the partiality she showed me. ARRIVAL OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. Four days passed thus serenely, when, on that which completed a fortnight's absence from my best friend, the Duc de Duras came to convoy his wife to Gand, where he was himself in waiting upon Louis XVIII., and shortly afterwards M. de Ch�teaubriand was made a privy counsellor and settled there also. And within a day or two after this my door was opened by General d'Arblay! Oh, how sweet was this meeting ! this blessed reunion!-- how perfect, how exquisite! Here I must be silent. General d'Arblay was only with me by the permission of the Duc de Luxembourg, and liable to receive orders daily to return to Gand ; for I found to my speechless dismay, yet resistless approbation, that General d'Arblay had made a Page 339 decision as noble as it was dangerous, to refuse no call, to abstain from no effort, that might bring into movement his loyalty to his king and his cause, at this moment of calamity to both. Yet such was the harassed, or rather broken state of his health, that his mental strength and unconquerable courage alone preserved the poor shattered frame from sinking into languor and inertion. About this time I saw the entry of the new king, William Frederick, of the new kingdom of the Netherlands.(274) Tapestry, or branches of trees, were hung out at all the windows, or, in their failure, dirty carpets, old coats and cloaks, and even mats-a motley display of proud parade or vulgar poverty, that always, to me, made processions on the continent appear burlesque. A MISSION ENTRUSTED To GENERAL D'ARBLAY. On the 22nd of April opened a new source, though not an unexpected one, of inquietude, that preyed the more deeply upon my spirits from the necessity of concealing its torments. . . . The military call for M. d'Arblay arrived from Gand. The summons was from M. le Comte de Roch. The immediate hope in which we indulged at this call was, that the mission to which it alluded need not necessarily separate us, but that I might accompany my honoured husband and remain at his quarters. But, alas! he set out instantly for Gand . . . . . April 23rd brought me a letter: the mission was to Luxembourg. His adjoint was the Colonel Comte de Mazancourt, his aide-de-camp M. de Premorel, and also that gentleman's son. The plan was to collect and examine all the soldiers who were willing to return from the army of Bonaparte to that of Louis XVIII. Eleven other general officers were named to similar posts, all on frontier towns, for the better convenience of receiving the volunteers. On the 24th April M. d'Arblay again joined me revived by his natively martial spirit, and pleased to be employed! April 26, we left the Rue de La Montague, after, on my part, exactly a month's residence. Our new apartments in Page 340 the March� aux Bois were au premier,(275) and commodious and pleasant. One drawing-room was appropriated solely by M. d'Arblay for his military friends or military business ; the other was mine. Here we spent together seventeen days; and not to harass my recollections, I will simply copy what I find in MY old memorandum-book, as it was written soon after those days were no more:--"Seventeen days I have passed with my best friend; and, alas ! passed them chiefly in suspense and gnawing inquietude, covered over with assumed composure . but they have terminated, Heaven be praised! with better views, with softer calm, and fairer hopes. Heaven realize them! I am much pleased with his companions. M. le Comte de Mazancourt, his adjoint, is a gay, spirited and spirituel young man, remarkably well bred, and gallantly fond of his profession. M. de Premorel, the aide-de-camp, is a man of solid worth and of delicate honour, and he is a descendant of Godefroy de Bouillon. To this must be added, that he is as poor as he is noble, and bears his penury with the gentlemanly sentiment of feeling it distinct from disgrace. He is married, and has ten or eleven children: he resides with a most deserving wife, a woman also of family, on a small farm, which he works at himself, and which repays him by its produce. For many days in the year, potatoes, he told me, were the only food they could afford for themselves or their offspring! But they eat them with the proud pleasure of independence and of honour and loyalty, such as befits their high origins, always to serve, or be served, in the line of their legal princes. As soon as Louis XVIII. was established on his throne, M. de Premorel made himself known to the Duc de Luxembourg, who placed him in his own company in the garde du corps, and put his son upon the supernumerary list. . . .." This young man is really charming. He has a native noblesse of air and manner, with a suavity as well as steadiness of serene politeness, that announce the Godefroy blood flowing With conscious dignity and inborn courage through his youthful veins. He is very young, but tall and handsome, and speaks of all his brothers and sisters as if already he were chef de famille, and bound to sustain and protect them.. I delighted to lead him to talk of them, and the conversation on that subject always brightened him into joy and loquacity. He named every one of them to me in particular repeatedly, Page 341 with a desire I should know them individually, and a warm hope I might one day verify his representations. This youth, Alphonse, and his father dined with us daily at this period. All the mornings were devoted to preparations for the ensuing expected campaign. When, however, all was prepared, and the word of command alone was waited for from the Mar�chal Duc de Feltre, my dearest friend indulged in one morning's recreation, which proved as 'agreeable as anything at such a period could be to a mind oppressed like mine. He determined that we should visit the Palais de Lachen, which had been the dwelling assigned as the palace for the Empress Josephine by Bonaparte at the time of his divorce. My dearest husband drove me in his cabriolet, and the three gentlemen whom he invited to be of the party accompanied us on horseback. The drive, the day, the road, the views, our new horses-all were delightful, and procured me a short relaxation from the foresight of evil. The Palace of Lachen was at this moment wholly uninhabited, and shown to us by some common servant. It is situated in a delicious park d'Anglaise, and with a taste, a polish, and an elegance that clears it from the charge of frippery or gaudiness, though its ornaments and embellishments are all of the liveliest gaiety. There is in some of the apartments some Gobelin tapestry, of which there are here and there parts and details so exquisitely worked that I could have " hung over them enamoured." "RULE BRITANNIA!" IN THE ALLEE VERTE. Previously to this reviving excursion my dearest friend had driven me occasionally in the famous All�e Verte, which the inhabitants of Brussels consider as the first promenade in the world; but it by no means answered to such praise in my eyes: it is certainly very pretty, but too regular, too monotonous, and too flat to be eminently beautiful, though from some parts the most distant from the city there are views of cottages and hamlets that afford great pleasure. Our last entertainment here was a concert in the public and fine room appropriated for music or dancing. The celebrated Madame Catalani had a benefit, at which the Queen of the Netherlands was present, not, however, in state, though not incognita; and the king of warriors, Marshal Lord Wellington, surrounded by his staff and all the officers Page 342 and first persons here, whether Belgians, Prussians, Hanoverians, or English. I looked at Lord Wellington watchfully, and was charmed with every turn of his countenance, with his noble and singular physiognomy and his eagle eye. He was gay even to sportiveness all the evening, conversing with the officers around him. He never was seated, not even a moment, though I saw seats vacated to offer to him frequently. He seemed enthusiastically charmed with Catalani, ardently applauding whatsoever she sung, except the "Rule Britannia;: and there, with sagacious reserve, he listened in utter Silence. Who ordered it I know not, but he felt it was injudicious in every country but -our own to give out a chorus of "Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!" And when an encore began to be vociferated from his officers, he instantly crushed it by a commanding air of disapprobation, and thus offered me an opportunity of seeing how magnificently he could quit his convivial familiarity for imperious' dominion when occasion might call for the transformation. GENERAL D'ARBLAY LEAVES FOR LUXEMBOURG. When the full order arrived from Gand, establishing the mission of M. d'Arblay at Luxembourg, he decided upon demanding an audience of the Duke of Wellington, with whom he thought it necessary to concert his measures. The duke received him without difficulty, and they had a conference of some length, the result of which was that his grace promised to prepare Blucher, the great Prussian general, then actually at Luxembourg, for aiding the scheme. M. d'Arblay himself also wrote to Bl�cher; but before any answer could be returned, a new ordonnance from the Duc de Feltre directed M. d'Arblay to hasten to his post without delay. May 13, 1815.-My best friend left me to begin his campaign; left me, by melancholy chance, upon his birthday. I could not that day see a human being - I could but consecrate it to thoughts of him who had just quitted me yet who from me never was, never can be, mentally absent , and to our poor Alexander, thus inevitably, yet severely cast upon himself. AN EXCHANGE OF VISITS. The next day the gentle and feeling Madame de Beaufort spent the morning with me, using the most engaging efforts to Page 343 prevail with me to dine constantly at her table, and to accompany her in a short time to her villa. Without any charms, personal or even intellectual, to catch or fascinate, she seemed to have so much goodness of character, that I could not but try to attach myself to her, and accept her kindness as the "cordial drop" to make the cup of woe of my sad solitude go down; for Madame d'Henin, who, to equal sensibility, joined the finest understanding, was now so absorbed in politics that she had no time for any expansion of sympathy. She came, nevertheless, to see me in the evening, and to endeavour to draw me again into human life ! And her kind effort so far conquered me, that I called upon her the next day, and met Madame de Vaudreuil, for whom I had a still unexecuted commission from the Duchess dowager of Buccleuch, upon whom I had waited at the request of the princesse de Chimay, to entreat the interest of her grace with the prince regent, that the English pension accorded to the Duchess of Fitzjames might be continued to the duke, her husband, who remained a ruined widower with several children. I failed in my attempt, the natural answer being, that there was no possibility of granting a pension to a foreigner who resided in his own country while that country was at open war with the land whence he aspired at its obtention, a word I make for my passing convenience. I exchanged visits also with Madame de la Tour du Pin, the truly elegant, accomplished, and high-bred niece, by marriage, of Madame la Princesse d'Henin. Her husband, M. de la Tour du Pin, was at that time at Vienna, forming a part of the renowned Congress, by which he was sent to La Vend�e; to announce there the resolution of the assembled sovereigns to declare Bonaparte an outlaw, in consequence of his having broken the conditions of his accepted abdication, And I was discovered and visited by M. le Comte de Boursac, one of the first officers of the establishment of the Prince de Cond�, with whom he was then at Brussels; a man of worth and cultivation. At Paris he visited us so often, that he took up the name at the door of "Le Voisin," thinking it more safe to be so designated than to pronounce too frequently the name of a known adherent to the Bourbons. The good Madame de Maurville I saw often, and the family of the Boyds, with which my general had engaged me to quit Brussels, should Brussels become the seat of War, Page 344 THE FETE DIEU. Brussels in general was then inhabited by catholics, and catholic ceremonies were not unfrequent. In particular, la F�te Dieu was kept with much pomp, and a procession of priests paraded the streets, accompanied by images, pictures paintings, tapestry, and other insignia of outward and visible worship; and the windows were hung with carpets, and rugs, and mats, and almost with rags, to prove good will, at least, to what they deem a pious show. Ludicrous circumstances without end interrupted, or marred the procession, from frequent hard showers, during which the priests, decorated with splendid robes and petticoats, and ornaments the most gaudy, took sudden refuge at the doors of the houses by which they were passing, and great cloths, towels, or coarse canvas, were flung over the consecrated finery, and the relics were swaddled up in flannels, while dirt, splashes, running, scampering, and ludicrous wrappings up, broke at once and disfigured the procession. THE ECCENTRIC LADY CAROLINE LAMB. At Madame de la Tour du Pin's I kept the f�te of Madame de Maurville, with a large and pleasant party; and I just missed meeting the famous Lady Caroline Lamb,(276) who had been there at dinner, and whom I saw, however, crossing the Place Royale, from Madame de la Tour du Pin's to the Grand Hotel ; dressed, Or rather not dressed, so as to excite universal attention, and authorise every boldness of staring, from the general to the lowest soldier, among the military groups then constantly parading the Place,-for she had one shoulder, half her back, and all her throat and neck, displayed as if at the call of some statuary for modelling a heathen goddess. A slight scarf hung over the other shoulder, and the rest Of the attire was of accordant lightness. As her ladyship had Page 345 not then written, and was not, therefore, considered as one apart, from being known as an eccentric authoress, this conduct and demeanour excited something beyond surprise, and in an English lady provoked censure, if not derision, upon the whole English nation. A PROPOSED ROYAL CORPS. Monsieur le Duc de Luxembourg came to inform me that he was on the point of negotiating with the Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher, upon raising a royal corps to accompany their army into France, should the expected battle lead to that result ; and he desired me to prepare M. d'Arblay, should such be the case, for a recall from Tr�ves, that he might resume his post in the body-guards belonging to the Compagnie de Luxembourg. He spoke of my beloved in terms of such high consideration, and with expressions so amiable of regard and esteem, that he won my heart. He could by no means, he said, be again under active military orders, and consent to lose so distinguished an officer from his corps. I had formerly met the duke in Paris, at Madame de Laval's - and he bad honoured me with a visit chez moi immediately after my return from England: and in consequence of those meetings, and of his real friendship for M. d'Arblay, he now spoke to me with the unreserved trust due to a tried confidant in case of peril and urgency. He stayed with me nearly two hours-for when once the heart ventured to open itself upon the circumstances, expectations, or apprehensions of. that eventful period, subjects, opinions, and feelings pressed forward with such eagerness for discussion, that those who upon such conditions met, found nothing so difficult as to separate. I wrote instantly to M. d'Arblay ; but the duke's plan proved abortive, as the Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher refused all sanction to the junction of a French army With that of the allies. The thought, -perhaps-and perhaps Justly, that by entering France with natives against natives, they might excite a civil war, more difficult to conduct than that of only foreigners against foreigners. PAINFUL SUSPENSE. Suspense, during all this period, was frightfully mistress of '-,,the mind; nothing was known, everything was imagined. Page 346 The two great interests that were at war, the Bourbonists and Bonapartists, were divided and sub-divided into factions, or rather fractions, without end, and all that was kept invariably and on both sides alive was expectation. Wanderers, deserters or captives from France, arrived daily at Brussels, all with varying news of the state of that empire, and of the designs of Bonaparte amongst them. The Chevalier d'Argy made me a visit, to deliver me a letter from M. de Premorel, for M. d'Arblay. This gentleman was just escaped from Sedan in the disguise of a paysan, and assisted by a paysanne, belonging to his family. She conducted him through by-paths and thick forests, that she knew to be least frequented by the troops, police, or custom-house officers of *Bonaparte. He was going to offer his services to the king, Louis XVIII. I had much interesting public news from M. d'Argy : but I pass by all now except personal detail, as I write but for my nearest friends; and all that was then known of public occurrence has long been stale. . . . During this melancholy period when leisure, till now a delight, became a burthen to me, I could not call my faculties into any species of intellectual service; all was sunk, was annihilated in the overpowering predominance of anxiety for the coming event. I endured my suspense only by writing to or hearing from him who was its object. All my next dear connections were well. I heard from them satisfactorily, and I was also engaged in frequent correspondence with the Princess Elizabeth, whose letters are charming, not only from their vivacity, their frankness, and condescension, but from a peculiarity of manner, the result of having mixed little with the world, that, joined to great fertility of fancy, gives a something so singular and so genuine to her style of writing, as to render her letters desirable and interesting, independent of the sincere and most merited attachment which their gracious kindness inspires. INQUIETUDE AT BRUSSELS. I come now to busier scenes, and to my sojourn at Brussels during the opening of one of the most famous campaigns upon record ; and the battle of Waterloo, upon which, in great measure, hung the fate of Europe. Yet upon reflection, I will write no account of these great events, which have been detailed so many hundred times, and Page 347 so many hundred ways, as I have nothing new to offer upon them ; I will simply write the narrative of my own history at that awful period. I was awakened in the middle of the night by confused noises in the house, and running up and down stairs. I listened attentively, but heard no sound of voices, and soon all was quiet. I then concluded the persons who resided in the apartments on the second floor, over my head, had returned home later and I tried to fall asleep again. I succeeded; but I was again awakened at about five o'clock in the morning Friday, 16th June, by the sound of a bugle in the March� aux Bois: I started up and opened the window. But I only perceived some straggling soldiers, hurrying in different directions, and saw lights gleaming from some of the chambers in the neighbourhood : all again was soon still, and my own dwelling in profound silence, and therefore I concluded there had been some disturbance in exchanging sentinels at the various posts, which was already appeased: and I retired once more to my pillow, and remained till my usual hour. I was finishing, however, a letter for my best friend, when my breakfast was brought in, at my then customary time of eight o'clock; and, as mistakes and delays and miscarriages of letters had caused me much unnecessary misery, I determined to put what I was then writing in the post myself, and set off with it the moment it was sealed. THE BLACK BRUNSWICKERS. In my way back from the post-office, my ears were alarmed by the sound of military music, and my eyes equally struck with the sight of a body of troops marching to its measured time. But I soon found that what I had supposed to be an occasionally passing troop, was a complete corps; infantry, cavalry artillery, bag and baggage, with all its officers in full uniform, and that uniform was black. This gloomy hue gave an air so mournful to the procession, that, knowing its destination for battle, I contemplated with an aching heart. On inquiry, I learned it was the army of Brunswick. How much deeper yet had been my heartache had I foreknown that nearly all those brave men, thus marching on in gallant though dark array, with their valiant royal chief(277) at their head, Page 348 the nephew of my own king, George III., were amongst the first destined victims to this dreadful contest, and that neither the chief, nor the greater part of his warlike associates, would within a few short hours, breathe again the vital air ! My interrogations were answered with brevity, yet curiosity was all awake and all abroad; for the procession lasted some hours. Not a door but was open; not a threshold but was crowded, and not a window of the many-windowed gothic modern, frightful, handsome, quaint, disfigured, fantastic, or lofty mansions that diversify the large' market-place of Brussels, but was occupied by lookers on. Placidly, indeed, they saw the warriors pass : no kind greeting welcomed their arrival; no warm wishes followed them to combat. Neither, on the other hand, was there the slightest symptom of dissatisfaction ; yet even while standing thus in the midst of them, an unheeded, yet observant stranger, it was not possible for me to discern, with any solidity of conviction, whether the Belgians were, at heart, Bourbonists or Bonapartists. The Bonapartists, however, were in general the most open, for the opinion on both sides, alike with good will and with ill, was nearly universal that Bonaparte was invincible. THE OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN. Still, I knew not, dreamt not, that the campaign was already opened - that Bonaparte had broken into La Belgique on the 15th, and had taken Charleroi; though it was news undoubtedly spread all over Brussels except to my lonely self. My own disposition, at this period, to silence and retirement, was too congenial with the taciturn habits of my hosts to be by them counteracted, and they suffered me, therefore, to return to my home as I had quitted it, with a mere usual and civil salutation ; while themselves and their house were evidently continuing their common avocations with their common composure. Surely our colloquial use of the word phlegm must be derived from the character of the Flemings. The important tidings now, however, burst upon me in sundry directions. The Princesse d'Henin, Colonel de Beaufort, Madame de Maurville, the Boyd family, all, with intelligence of the event, joined offers of service, and invitations to reside with them during this momentous contest, should I prefer such protection to remaining alone at such a crisis. Page 349 What a day of confusion and alarm did we all spend on the 17th! In my heart the whole time was Tr�ves! Tr�ves! Tr�ves! That day, and June 18th, I passed in hearing the cannon! Good heaven! what indescribable horror to be so near the field of slaughter! such I call it, for the preparation to the ear by the tremendous sound was soon followed by its fullest effect, in the view of the wounded, the bleeding martyrs to the formidable contention that was soon to terminate the history of the war. And hardly more afflicting was this disabled return from the battle, than the sight of the continually pouring forth ready-armed and vigorous victims that marched past my windows to meet similar destruction. NEWS FROM THE FIELD OF BATTLE. Accounts from the field of battle arrived hourly; sometimes directly from the Duke of Wellington to Lady Charlotte Greville, and to some other ladies who had near relations in the combat, and which, by their means, were circulated in Brussels ; and at other times from such as conveyed those amongst the wounded Belgians, whose misfortunes were -inflicted near enough to the skirts of the spots of action, to allow of their being dragged away by their hovering countrymen to the city : the spots, I say, of action, for the far-famed battle of Waterloo was preceded by three days of partial engagements. During this period, I spent my whole time in seeking and passing from house to house of the associates of my distress, or receiving them in mine. Ten times, at least, I crossed over to Madame d'Henin, discussing plans and probabilities, and interchanging hopes and fears. I spent a considerable part of the morning with Madame de la Tour -du Pin, who was now returned from Gand, where Louis XVIII. supported his suspense and his danger with a coolness and equanimity which, when the �clat surrounding the glory of his daring and great opponent shall no longer by its overpowering resplendence keep all around it in the shade, will carry him down to posterity as the monarch precisely formed, by the patient good sense, the enlightened liberality, and the Immovable composure of his character, to meet the perilous perplexities of his situation, and, if he could not combat them with the vigour and genius of a hero, to sustain them at least with the dignity of a prince. Page 350 PROJECTS FOR QUITTING BRUSSELS, Madame d'Henin and Madame de la Tour du Pin projected retreating to Gand, should the approach of the enemy be unchecked ; to avail themselves of such protection as might be obtained from seeking it under the wing of Louis XVIII. M. de la Tour du Pin had, I believe, remained there with his majesty. M. de Lally and the Boyds inclined to Antwerp, where they might safely await the fate of Brussels, near enough for returning, should it weather the storm, yet within reach of vessels to waft them to the British shores should it be lost. Should this last be the fatal termination, I, Of course, had agreed to join the party of the voyage, and resolved to secure my passport, that, while I waited to the last moment, I might yet be prepared for a hasty retreat. I applied for a passport to Colonel Jones, to whom the Duke of Wellington had deputed the military command of Brussels in his absence but he was unwilling to sanction an evacuation of Brussels, which he deemed premature. It was not, he said, for us, the English, to spread alarm, or prepare for an overthrow: he had not sent away his own wife or children, and he had no doubt but victory would repay his confidence. I was silenced, but not convinced ; the event was yet uncertain, and my stake was, with respect to earthly happiness, my existence. A compromise occurred to me, which suggested my dispensing with a new passport, and contenting myself with obtaining his signature to my old one, accorded by M. le Chevalier de Jaucourt. He could not refuse to sign it; and we then separated. I promised him, nevertheless, that I would remain to the last extremity; and I meant no other. I was now better satisfied, though by no means at ease. Yet the motive of Colonel Jones was, that all should yield to the glory of the British arms and the Duke of Wellington. And I had the less right to be surprised, from the dreadful soldier's speech I had heard him utter when I first saw him, to the Princesse d'Henin: complaining of the length of time that was wasted in inaction, and of the inactivity and tameness of the Bourbons, he exclaimed, "We want blood, madam! what we want is blood!" CALMLY AWAITING THE RESULT, I found upon again going my rounds for information, that 'though news was arriving incessantly from the scene of action, Page 351 and with details always varying,, Bonaparte was always advancing. All the people of Brussels lived in the streets. Doors seemed of no use, for they were never shut. The individuals, when they re-entered their houses, only resided at the windows : so that the whole population of the city seemed constantly in public view. Not only business as well as society was annihilated, but even every species of occupation. All of which we seemed capable was, to inquire or to relate, to speak or to hear. Yet no clamour, no wrangling, nor even debate was intermixed with either question or answer ; curiosity, though incessant, was serene ; the faces were all monotony, though the tidings were all variety. I could attribute this only to the length of time during which the inhabitants had been habituated to change both of masters and measures, and to their finding that, upon an average, they neither lost nor gained by such successive revolutions. And to this must be joined their necessity of submitting, be it what it might, to the result. This mental consciousness probably kept their passions in order, and crushed all the impulses by which hope or fear is excited. No love of liberty buoyed up resistance; no views of independence brightened their imagination; and they bore even suspense with the calm of apparent philosophy, and an exterior of placid indifference. The first intelligence Madame d'Henin now gave me was, that the Austrian minister extraordinary, M. le Comte de Vincent, had been wounded close by the side of the Duke of Wellington ; and that he was just brought back in a litter to her hotel. As she was much acquainted with him, she desired me to accompany her in making her personal inquiries. No one now sent servants, cards, or messages, where there was any serious interest in a research. There was too much eagerness to bear delay, and ceremony and etiquette always fly from distress and from business. Le Comte de Vincent, we had the pleasure to hear, had been hurt only in the hand ; but this wound afterwards proved more serious than at first was apprehended, threatening for ,many weeks either gangrene or amputation. News, however, far more fatal struck our ears soon after : the gallant Duke of Brunswick was killed! and by a shot close also to the Duke of Wellington! The report now throughout Brussels was that the two Mighty chiefs, Bonaparte and Wellington, were almost constantly in view of each other. Page 352 FLIGHT To ANTWERP DETERMINED ON. But what a day was the next--June 18th--the greatest, perhaps, in its result, in the annals of Great Britain! My slumbers having been tranquillized by the close Of the 17th, I was calmly reposing, when I was awakened by the sound of feet abruptly entering my drawing-room. I started, and had but just time to see by my watch that it was only six o'clock, when a rapping at my bedroom door so quick as to announce as much trepidation as it excited, made me slip on a long kind of domino always, in those times, at hand, to keep me ready for encountering surprise, and demanded what was the matter? "Open your door! there is not a moment to lose! " was the answer, in the voice of Miss Ann Boyd. I obeyed, in great alarm, and saw that pretty and pleasing young woman, with her mother, Mrs. Boyd, who remembered having known and played with me when we were both children, and whom I had met with at Passy, after a lapse of more than forty years. They both eagerly told me that all their new hopes had been overthrown by better authenticated news, and that I must be with them by eight o'clock, to proceed to the wharf, and set sail for Antwerp, whence we sail on for England, should the taking of Brussels by Bonaparte endanger Antwerp also. To send off a few lines to the post, with my direction at Antwerp, to pack and to pay, was all that I could attempt, or even desire ; for I had not less time than appetite for thinking of breakfast. My host and my maid carried my small package, and I arrived before eight in the Rue d'Assault. We set off for the wharf on foot, not a fiacre or chaise being procurable. Mr. and Mrs. Boyd, five or six of their family, a governess, and I believe some servants, with bearers of our baggage, made our party. Though the distance was short, the walk was long, because rugged, dirty, and melancholy. Now and then we heard a growling noise, like distant thunder, but far more dreadful. When we had got about a third part of the way, a heavy rumbling sound made us stop to listen. It was approaching nearer and nearer, and we soon found that we were followed by innumerable carriages, and a multitude of persons. All was evidently military, but of so gloomy, taciturn, and forbidding a description, that when we were overtaken we had not courage to offer a question to any passer by. Had Page 353 we been as certain that they belonged to the enemy as we felt convinced that, thus circumstanced, they must belong to our own interests, we could not have been awed more effectually into silent passiveness, so decisively repelling to inquiry was every aspect, In truth, at that period, when every other hour changed the current of expectation, no one could be inquisitive without the risk of passing for a spy, nor communicative without the hazard of being suspected as a traitor. Arrived at the wharf, Mr. Boyd pointed out to us our barge, which seemed fully ready for departure ; but the crowd already come and still coming so incommoded us, that Mr. Boyd desired we would enter a large inn, and wait till he could speak with the master, and arrange our luggage and places, We went, therefore, into a spacious room and ordered breakfast, when the room was entered by a body of military men of all sorts ; but we were suffered to keep our ground till Mr, Boyd came to inform us that we must all decamp! A CHECK MET WITH. Confounded, but without any interrogatory, we vacated the apartment, and Mr. Boyd conducted us not to the barge, not to the wharf, but to the road back to Brussels ; telling us, in an accent of depression, that he feared all was lost-that Bonaparte was advancing-that his point was decidedly Brussels-and that the Duke of Wellington had sent orders that all the magazines, the artillery, and the warlike stores of every description, and all the wounded, the maimed, and the sick, should be immediately removed to Antwerp. For this purpose he had issued directions that every barge, every boat should be seized for the use of the army, and that everything of value should be conveyed away, the hospitals emptied, and Brussels evacuated. If this intelligence filled us with the most fearful alarm, how much more affrighting still was the sound of cannon which next assailed our ears ! The dread reverberation became louder and louder as we proceeded. Every shot tolled to our imaginations the death of myriads; and the conviction that the destruction and devastation were so near us, with the probability that if all attempt at escape should prove abortive, we might be personally involved in the carnage, gave us sensations too awful for verbal expression; we could only gaze and tremble, listen and shudder. Page 354 Yet, strange to relate! on re-entering the city, all seemed quiet and tranquil as usual! and though it was in this imminent and immediate danger of being invested, and perhaps pillaged, I saw no outward mark of distress or disturbance, or even of hurry or curiosity. Having re-lodged us in the Rue d'Assault, Mr. Boyd tried to find some land carriage for our removal. But not only every chaise had been taken, and every diligence secured, the cabriolets, the cal�ches, nay, the waggons and the carts; and every species of caravan, had been seized for Military service. And, after the utmost efforts he could make, in every kind of way, he told us we must wait the chances of the day, for that there was no possibility of escape from Brussels either by land or water. Remedy there was none; nor had we any other resource; we were fain, therefore, quietly to submit. Mr. Boyd, however, assured me that, though no land carriage was likely to find horses during this furious contest, he had been promised the return of a barge for the next morning, if he and his party would be at the wharf by six o'clock. We all therefore agreed that, if we were spared any previous calamity, we would set out for the wharf at five o'clock, and I accepted their invitation to be with them in the evening, and spend the night at their house. We then separated; I was anxious to get home, to watch the post, and to write to Tr�ves. A CAPTURED FRENCH GENERAL. My reappearance produced no effect upon my hosts : they saw my return with the same placid civility that they had seen my departure. But even apathy, or equanimity,--which shall I call it?--like theirs was now to be broken; I was seated at my bureau and writing, when a loud "hurrah!" reached my ears from some distance, while the daughter of my host, a girl of about eighteen, gently opening my door, said the fortune of the day had suddenly turned, and that Bonaparte was taken prisoner. At the same time the "hurrah!" came nearer. I flew to the window; my host and hostess came also, crying, "Bonaparte est pris! le voil ! le Voil !"(278) I then saw, on a noble war-horse in full equipinent, a general in the splendid uniform of France but visibly disarmed, and, Page 355 to all appearance, tied to his horse, or, at least, held on, so as to disable him from making any effort to gallop it off, and surrounded, preceded, and followed by a. crew of roaring wretches, who seemed eager for the moment when he should be lodged where they had orders to conduct him, that they might unhorse, strip, pillage him, and divide the spoil. His high, feathered, glittering helmet he had pressed down as low as he could on his forehead, and I could not discern his face ; but I was instantly certain he was not Bonaparte, on finding the whole commotion produced by the rifling crew above mentioned, which, though it might be guided, probably, by some subaltern officer, who might have the captive in charge, had left the field of battle at a moment when none other could be spared, as all the attendant throng were evidently amongst the refuse of the army followers. I was afterwards informed that this unfortunate general was the Count Lobau. He met with singular consideration during his captivity in the Low Countries, having thence taken to himself a wife. That wife I had met when last in Paris, at a ball given by Madame la Princesse de Beauvau. She was quite young and extremely pretty, and the gayest of the gay, laughing, chatting the whole evening, chiefly with the fat and merry, good-humoured Duchesse de Feltre (Madame la Mar�chale Clarke) - and her husband, high in office, in fame, and in favour, was then absent on some official duty. THE DEARTH OF NEWS. The dearth of any positive news from the field of battle, even in the heart of Brussels, at this crisis, when everything that was dear and valuable to either party was at stake, was at one instant nearly distracting in its torturing suspense to the wrung nerves, and at another insensibly blunted them into a kind of amalgamation with the Belgic philosophy. At certain houses, as well as at public offices, news, I doubt not, arrived; but no means were taken to - promulgate it - no gazettes, as in London, no bulletins, as in Paris, were cried about the streets ; we were all left at once to our conjectures and our destinies. The delusion of victory vanished into a merely passing advantage, as I gathered from the earnest researches into which it led me; and evil only met all ensuing investigation; retreat and defeat were the words in every mouth around me! Page 356 The Prussians, it was asserted, were completely vanquished on the 15th, and the English on the 16th, while on the day just passed, the 17th, a day of continual fighting and bloodshed, drawn battles on both sides left each party Proclaiming what neither party could prove--success. It was Sunday ; but church service was out of the question though never were prayers more frequent, more fervent, Form, indeed, they could not have, nor union, while constantly expecting the enemy with fire and sword at the gates, Who could enter a place of worship, at the risk of making it a scene of slaughter? But who, also, in circumstances so awful, could require the exhortation of a priest or the example of a congregation, to stimulate devotion? No! in those fearful exigencies, where, in the full vigour of health, strength, and life's freshest resources, we seem destined to abruptly quit this mortal coil, we need no spur--all is spontaneous; and the soul is unshackled. RUMOURS OF THE FRENCH COMING. Not above a quarter of an hour had I been restored to my sole occupation of solace, before I was again interrupted and startled ; but not as on the preceding occasion by riotous shouts ; the sound was a howl, violent, loud, affrighting, and issuing from many voices. I ran to the window, and saw the March� aux Bois suddenly filling with a populace, pouring in from all its avenues, and hurrying on rapidly, and yet as if unconscious in what direction; while women with children in their arms, or clinging to their clothes, ran screaming out of doors - and cries, though not a word was ejaculated, filled the air, and from every house, I saw windows closing, and shutters fastening ; all this, though long in writing, was presented to my eyes in a single moment, and was followed in another by a burst into my apartment, to announce that the French were come! I know not even who made this declaration; my head was out of the window, and the person who made it scarcely entered the room and was gone. How terrific was this moment ! My perilous situation urged me to instant flight; and, without waiting to speak to the people of the house, I crammed my papers and money into a basket, and throwing on a shawl and bonnet, I flew down stairs and out of doors. My intention was to go to the Boyds, to partake, as I had engaged, their fate , but the crowd were all issuing from the Page 357 way I must have turned to have gained the Rue d'Assault, and I thought, therefore, I might be safer with Madame de Maurville, who, also, not being English, might be less obnoxious to the Bonapartists. To the Rue de la Montagne I hurried, in consequence, my steps crossing and crossed by an affrighted multitude ; but I reached it in safety, and she received me with an hospitable welcome. I found her calm, and her good humour undisturbed. Inured to revolutions, under which she had smarted so as she could smart no more, from the loss of all those who had been the first objects of her solicitude, a husband and three sons! she was now hardened in her feelings upon public events, though her excellent heart was still affectionate and zealous for the private misfortunes of the individuals whom she loved. What a dreadful day did I pass! dreadful in the midst of its glory! for it was not during those operations that sent details partially to our ears that we could judge of the positive state of affairs, or build upon any permanency of success. Yet here I soon recovered from all alarm for personal safety, and lost the horrible apprehension of being in the midst of a city that was taken, sword in hand, by an enemy-an apprehension that, while it lasted, robbed me of breath, chilled my blood, and gave me a shuddering ague that even now in fancy returns as I seek to commit it to paper. FRENCH PRISONERS BROUGHT IN. The alerte(279) which had produced this effect, I afterwards learnt, though not till the next day, was utterly false ; but whether it had been produced by mistake or by deceit I never knew. The French, indeed, were coming; but not triumphantly ., they were prisoners, surprised and taken suddenly, ,and brought in, being disarmed, by an escort ; and, as they were numerous, and their French uniform was discernible from afar, the almost universal belief at Brussels that Bonaparte was invincible, might perhaps, without any intended deception, have raised the report that they were advancing as conquerors. NEWS OF WATERLOO. I attempt no description of this day, the grandeur of which was unknown, or unbelieved, in Brussels till it had taken its Page 358 flight, and could only be named as time past. The Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher were too mightily engaged in meriting fame to spare an instant for either claiming or proclaiming it. I was fain, therefore, to content myself with the intelligence that reached Madame de Maurville fortuitously. The crowds in the streets, the turbulence, the inquietude, the bustle the noise, the cries, the almost yells, kept up a perpetual expectation of annoyance. The door was never opened, but I felt myself pale and chill with fear of some sanguinary attack or military surprise. It is true that as Brussels was not fortified and could, in itself, offer no resistance, it could neither b' besieged nor taken by storm ; but I felt certain that the Duke of Wellington would combat for it inch by inch, and that in a conflict between life and death, every means would be resorted to that could be suggested by desperation. Madame de Maurville now told me that an English commissary was just arrived from the army, who had assured her that the tide of success was completely turned to the side of the Allies. She offered to conduct me to his apartment, which was in the same hotel as her own, and in which he was writing and transacting business gravely assuring me, and I really believe, herself, that he could not but be rejoiced to give me, in person, every particular I could wish to hear. I deemed it, however, but prudent not to put his politeness to a test so severe. Urgent, nevertheless, to give me pleasure, and not easily set aside from following her own conceptions, she declared she would go down stairs, and inform Mr. Saumarez that she had a countrywoman of his in her room, whom he would be charmed to oblige. I tried vainly to stop her; good humour, vivacity, curiosity, and zeal were all against my efforts; she went, and to my great surprise returned escorted by Mr. Saumarez himself. His narration was all triumphant and his account of the Duke of Wellington might almost have seemed an exaggerated panegyric if it had painted some warrior in a chivalresque romance. . . . I could not but be proud of this account: independent from its glory; my revived imagination hung the blessed laurels of peace. But though Hope was all alive, Ease and Serenity were not her companions: Mr. Saumarez could not disguise that there was still much to do, and consequently to apprehend; and he had never, he said, amongst the many he had viewed, seen a field Page 359 of battle in such excessive disorder. Military carriages of all sorts, and' multitudes of groups unemployed, occupied spaces that ought to have been left for manoeuvring or observation. I attribute this to the various nations who bore arms on that great day in their own manner; though the towering generalissimo of all cleared the ground, and dispersed what was unnecessary at every moment that was not absorbed by the fight. When the night of this memorable day arrived, I took leave of Madame de Maurville to join the Boyds, according to my engagement: for though all accounts confirmed the victory of the Duke of Wellington, we had so little idea of its result, that we still imagined the four days already spent in the work of carnage must be followed by as many more, before the dreadful conflict could terminate. Madame de Maurville lent me her servant, with whom I now made my way tolerably well, for though the crowd remained, it was no longer turbulent. A general knowledge of general success to the Allies was everywhere spread ; curiosity therefore began to be satisfied, and inquietude to be removed. The concourse were composedly--for no composure is like that of the Flemings- -listening to details of the day in tranquil groups, and I had no interruption to my walk but from my own anxiety to catch, as I could, some part of the relations. As all these have since been published, I omit them, though the interest with which I heard them was, at the moment, intense. Three or four shocking sights intervened during my passage, of officers of high rank, either English or Belge, and either dying or dead, extended upon biers, carried by soldiers. The view of their gay and costly attire, with the conviction of their suffering, or fatal state, joined to the profound silence of their bearers and attendants, was truly saddening ; and if my reflections were morally dejecting, what, oh what were my personal feelings and fears, in the utter uncertainty whether this victory were more than a passing triumph! In one place we were entirely stopped by a group that had gathered round a horse, of which a British soldier was examining one of the knees. The animal was a tall war-horse, and one of the noblest of his species. The soldier was enumerating to his hearers its high qualities, and exultingly acquainting them it was his own property, as he had taken it, if I understood right, from the fields He produced also a very fine ring, which was all he had taken Page 360 of spoil, Yet this man gravely added that pillage had been forbidden by the commander-in-chief! I found the Boyds still firm for departure. The news of the victory of the day, gained by the Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher, had raised the highest delight; but further intelligence had just reached them that the enemy, since the great battle, was working to turn the right wing of the Duke of Wellington, who was in the most imminent danger; and that the capture of Brussels was expected to take place the next morning, as everything indicated that Brussels was the point at which Bonaparte aimed, to retrieve his recent defeat. Mr. Boyd used every possible exertion to procure chaises or diligence, or any sort of land conveyance, for Antwerp, but every horse was under military requisition - even the horses of the farmers, of the nobility and gentry, and of travellers, The hope of water-carriage was all that remained. We were to set off so early, that we agreed not to retire to rest. THE VICTORY DECLARED TO BE COMPLETE. A gentleman, however, of their acquaintance, presently burst into the room with assurances that the enemy was flying in all directions, his better news reanimated my courage for Brussels and my trust in the Duke of Wellington; and when the Boyd family summoned me the next morning at four or five o'clock to set off with them for Antwerp, I permitted my repugnance to quitting the only spot where I could receive letters from Tr�ves to conquer every obstacle, and begged them to excuse my changed purpose. They wondered at my temerity, and probably blamed it ; but there was no time for discussion, and we separated. It was not till Tuesday, the 20th, I had certain and satisfactory assurances how complete was the victory. At the house of Madame de Maurville I heard confirmed and detailed the matchless triumph of the matchless Wellington, interspersed with descriptions of scenes of slaughter on the field of battle to freeze the blood, and tales of woe amongst mourning survivors in Brussels to rend the heart. While listening with speechless avidity to these relations, we were joined by M. de la Tour du Pin, who is a cousin of Madame de Maurville, and who said the Duke of Wellington had galloped to Brussels from Wavre to see the Prince of Orange and inquire in person after his wounds. Prince Page 361 Bl�cher was in close pursuit of Bonaparte, who was totally defeated, his baggage all taken, even his private equipage and personals, and who was a fugitive himself, and in disguise! The duke considered the battle to be so decisive, that while prince Bl�cher was posting after the remnant of the Bonapartian army, he determined to follow himself as convoy to Louis XVIII.; and he told M. de la Tour du Pin and the Duke de Fitzjames, whom he met at the palace of the King of Holland, to acquaint their king with this his proposal, and to beg his majesty to set forward without delay to join him for its execution. The Duke de Fitzjames was gone already to Gand with his commission. How daring a plan was this, while the internal state of France was so little known, while les places fortes(280) were all occupied, and while the corps of Grouchy was still intact, and the hidden and possible resources of Bonaparte were unfathomed! The event, however, demonstrated that the Duke of Wellington had judged with as much quickness of perception as intrepidity of valour. 'Twas to Tournay he had desired that the King of France would repair. THE WOUNDED AND THE PRISONERS. The duke now ordered that the hospitals, invalids, magazines, etc., should all be stationed at Brussels, which he regarded as saved from invasion and completely secure. It is not near the scene of battle that war, even with victory, wears an aspect of felicity-no, not even in the midst of its highest resplendence of glory. A more terrific or afflicting sojourn than that of Brussels at this period can hardly be imagined. The universal voice declared that so sanguinary a battle as that which was fought almost in its neighbourhood, and quite within its hearing, never yet had spread the plains with slaughter; and though exultation cannot ever have been prouder, nor satisfaction more complete, in the brilliancy of success, all my senses were shocked in viewing the effects of its attainment. For more than a week from this time I never approached my window but to witness sights of wretchedness. Maimed, wounded, bleeding, mutilated, tortured victims of this exterminating contest passed by every minute: the fainting, the sick, the dying and the dead, on brancards,(281) In carts, in waggons, succeeded one another without intermission. There Page 362 seemed to be a whole and a large army of disabled or lifeless soldiers! All that was intermingled with them bore an aspect of still more poignant horror ; for the Bonapartian Prisoners who were now poured into the city by hundreds, had a mien of such ferocious desperation, where they were marched on, uninjured, from having been taken by surprise or overpowered by numbers - or faces of such anguish, where they were drawn on in open vehicles, the helpless victims of gushing wounds or horrible dislocations, that to see them without commiseration for their sufferings, or admiration for the heroic, however misled enthusiasm, to which they Were martyrs, must have demanded an apathy dead to all feeling but what is personal, or a rancour too ungenerous to yield even to the view of defeat. Both the one set and the other of these unhappy warriors endured their calamities with haughty forbearance of complaint, The maimed and lacerated, while their ghastly visages spoke torture and death, bit their own clothes, perhaps their flesh ! to save the loud utterance of their groans; while those of their comrades who had escaped these corporeal inflictions seemed to be smitten with something between remorse and madness that they had not forced themselves on to destruction ere thus they were exhibited in dreadful parade through the streets of that city they had been sent forth to conquer. Others of these wretched prisoners had, to me, as I first saw them, the air of the lowest and most disgusting of jacobins, in dirty tattered vestments of all sorts and colours, or soiled carters' frocks; but disgust was soon turned to pity, when I afterwards learnt that these shabby accoutrements had been cast over them by their conquerors after despoiling them of their own. Everybody was wandering from home; all Brussels seemed living in the streets. The danger to the city, which had imprisoned all its inhabitants except the rabble or the military, once completely passed, the pride of feeling and showing their freedom seemed to stimulate their curiosity in seeking details on what had passed and was passing. But neither the pride nor the joy of victory was anywhere of an exulting nature. London and Paris render all other places that I, at least, have dwelt in, tame and insipid. Bulletins in a few shop-windows alone announced to the general public that the Allies had vanquished and that Bonaparte was a fugitive. I met at the embassy an old English officer who gave me Page 363 most interesting and curious information, assuring me that in the carriage of Bonaparte, which had been seized, there were proclamations ready printed, and even dated from the palace of Lachen, announcing the downfall of the Allies and the triumph of Bonaparte ! But no satisfaction could make me hear without deadly dismay and shuddering his description of the field of battle. Piles of dead!--Heaps, masses, hills of dead bestrewed the plains! I met also Colonel Jones; so exulting in success! so eager to remind me of his assurances that all was safe! And I was much interested in a narration made to me by a wounded soldier, who was seated in the courtyard of the embassy. He had been taken prisoner after he was severely wounded, on the morning of the 18th, and forced into a wood with many others, where he had been very roughly used, and stripped of his coat, waistcoat, and even his shoes ; but as the fortune of the day began to turn, there was no one left to watch him, and he crawled on all-fours till he got out of the wood, and was found by some of his roving comrades. Thousands, I believe I may say without exaggeration, were employed voluntarily at this time in Brussels in dressing wounds and attending the sick beds of the wounded. Humanity could be carried no further ; for not alone the Belgians and English were thus nursed and assisted, nor yet the Allies, but the prisoners also ; and this, notwithstanding the greatest apprehensions being prevalent that the sufferers, from their multitude, would bring pestilence into the heart of the city. The immense quantity of English, Belgians, and Allies, who were first, of course, conveyed to the hospitals and prepared houses of Brussels, required so much time for carriage and placing, that although the carts, waggons, and every attainable or seizable vehicle were unremittingly in motion-now coming, now returning to the field of battle for more,- it was nearly a week, or at least five or six days, ere the unhappy wounded prisoners, who were necessarily last served, could be accommodated. And though I was assured that medical and surgical aid was administered to them wherever it was possible, the blood that dried upon their skins and their garments, joined to the dreadful sores occasioned by this neglect, produced an effect so pestiferous, that, at every new entry, eau de Cologne, or vinegar, was resorted to by every inhabitant, even amongst the shopkeepers, even amongst the commonest persons, for averting the menaced contagion. Page 364 Even the churches were turned into hospitals, and every house in Brussels was ordered to receive or find an asylum for some of the sick. The Boyds were eminently good in nursing, dressing wounds, making slops, and administering comfort amongst the maimed, whether friend or foe. Madame d'Henin sent her servants, and money, and cordials to all the French that came within her reach ; Madame de la Tour du Pin was munificent in the same attentions; and Madame de Maurville never passed by an opportunity of doing good. M. de Beaufort, being far the richest of my friends at this place, was not spared; he had officers and others quartered upon him without mercy. We were all at work more or less in making lint. For me, I was about amongst the wounded half the day, the British, s'entend! The rising in France for the honour of the nation now, and for its safety in independence hereafter, was brilliant and delightful, spreading in some directions from La Manche to La M�diterran�e: the focus of loyalty was Bordeaux. The king left Gand the 22nd. All Alost, etc., surrounded followed, or preceded him. The noble Bl�cher entered France at Mortes le Ch�teau. HOSTILITIES AT AN END: TE DEUM FOR THE VICTORY, It was not till June 26th that the blessed news reached me of the cessation of hostilities. Colonel Beaufort was the first who brought me this intelligence, smiling kindly himself at the smiles he excited. Next came la Princesse d'Henin, escorted by my and her highly valued M, de Lally Tolendal. With open arms that dear princess reciprocated congratulations. Madame de Maurville next followed, always cordial where she could either give or behold happiness. The Boyds hurried to me in a body to wish and be wished joy. And last, but only in time, not in kindness, came Madame la Vicomtesse de Laval, mother to the justly honoured philanthropist, or, as others--but not I--call him, bigot, M. Mathieu de Montmorency, who, at this moment, is M. le Duc de Montmorency. Brussels now, which had seemed for so many days, from the unremitting passage of maimed, dying, or dead, a mere out-door hospital, revived, or, rather, was invigorated to something above its native state ; for from uninteresting tameness it became elevated to spirit, consequence, and vivacity. Page 365 On the following Sunday I had the gratification of hearing, at the Protestant chapel, the Te Deum for the grand victory, in presence of the King and Queen of the Low Countries--or Holland, and of the Dowager Princess of Orange, and the young warrior her grandson. This prince looked so ill, so meagre, so weak, from his half-cured wounds, that to appear on this occasion seemed another, and perhaps not less dangerous effort of heroism, added to those which had so recently distinguished him in the field. What enthusiasm would such an exertion, with his pallid appearance, have excited in London or Paris ! even here, a little gentle huzza greeted him from his carriage to the chapel - and for the same short passage, back again. After which, he drove off as tranquilly as any common gentleman might have driven away, to return to his home and his family dinner. About the middle of July-but I am not clear of the date -the news was assured and confirmed of the brilliant reenthronement of Louis XVIII., and that Bonaparte had ,surrendered to the English. Brussels now became an assemblage of all nations, from the rapturous enthusiasm that pervaded all to view the field of battle, the famous Waterloo, and gather upon the spot ,,details of the immortal victory of Wellington. MATERNAL ADVICE. (Madame d'Arblay to her son.) April 26, 1815. At length, my long expecting eyes meet again your hand-writing, after a breach of correspondence that I can never 'recollect without pain. Revive it not in my mind by any repetition, and I will dismiss it from all future power of tormenting me, by considering it only as a dream of other times. Cry "Done!" my Alex, and I will skip over the subject, not perhaps as lightly, but as swiftly as you skip over the hills of Norbury Park. I delight to think of the good and pleasure that sojourn may do you; though easily, too easily, I conceive the melancholy reflections that were awakened by the sight of our dear, dear cottage; yet your expressions upon its view lose much of their effect by being Overstrained, recherch�s, and designing to be pathetic. We never touch others, my dear Alex, where we study to show we -,are touched ourselves. I beg you, when you write to me, Page 366 to let your pen paint your thoughts as they rise, not as you seek or labour to embellish them. I remember you once wrote me a letter so very fine from Cambridge, that, if it had not made me laugh, it would certainly have made me sick. Be natural, my dear boy, and you will be sure to please Your mother without wasting your time. Let us know what you have received, what you have spent, what you may have still unpaid, and what you yet want. But for this last article, we both desire you will not wait our permission to draw upon your aunt, whom we shall empower to draw upon Mr. Hoare in our names. We know you to have no wanton extravagances, and no idle vanity, we give you, therefore, dear Alex, carte blanche to apply to your aunt, only consulting with her, and begging her kind, maternal advice to help your inexperience in regulating your expenses. She knows the difference that must be made between our fortune and that of Clement - but she knows our affection for our boy, and our confidence in his honour and probity, and will treat him with as much kindness, though not with equal luxury. Your father charges you never to be without your purse, and never to let it be empty. Your aunt will counsel you about your clothes. About your books we trust to yourself. And pray don't forget, when you make sleeping visits, to recompense the trouble you must unavoidably give to servants. And if you join any party to any public place, make a point to pay for yourself. It will be far better to go seldom, and with that gentlemanly spirit, than often, with the air of a hanger-on. How infinitely hospitable has been your uncle James! But hospitality is his characteristic. We had only insisted upon your regularity at chapel and at lectures, and we hear of your attention to them comparatively, and we are fixed to be contented en attendant. Don't lose courage, dear, dear Alex , the second place is the nearest to the first. I love you with all my heart and soul! . . . ABOUT THE GREAT BATTLE. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Monday, June 19, 1815- The sitting up all night, however little merrily, made me, I know not how, seem to have lived a day longer than real time, for I thought to-day the 20th when I finished my letter of this morning. I have now, therefore, to rectify that Mistake, Page 367 and tell you that there is, therefore, no chasm in the known history of the Duke of Wellington. But, to my infinite regret, with all the great, nay marvellous feats he has performed, he is less, not more, in public favour, from not being approved, or rather, I think, comprehended, in the opening of this tremendous business. As I am sure the subject must be of deeper interest to you than any other, at such an instant, I will tell you all I know-all I have heard and gathered, for I know nothing, and add my own consequent conjectures, as soon as I have first acquainted you that I separated from the Boyds at about half past seven in the morning, too much satisfied with the news of Lord Wellington's victory to endure to distance myself still further from all I love most upon earth. They, therefore, still alarmed, went to Antwerp, and I am again at the little bureau, upon which my dearest ami has sometimes written in the March� aux Bois. The first news the Duke of Wellington was known to receive of the invasion of les Pays Bas was at a ball at the Duchess of Richmond's. He would not break up the party, more than half of which was formed of his officers, nor suffer any interruption. Some time after, however, he went out, and when he returned distributed cards of orders to the several commanding officers. But he stayed to supper - after which fifty red-coats retired abruptly. Not so the duke--and he is now much-- Ah, mon ami, two letters arrive at the same instant, that curtail all subjects but what belong to themselves. Nous allons commencer!--Heaven preserve and prosper the beloved partner of my soul. I dare enter upon nothing; I can only say the first of the two letters, written before the order of commencer was issued, is one of the fullest and dearest I have in my possession; and I shall read and re-read its interesting contents with heart-felt pleasure. Tell, tell me, my beloved ami, where, when you would have me remove? I will not ask how--I will find that out. To be nearer to you--to hear more frequently--oh, what a solace! The maimed, wounded, bleeding, fainting, arrive still every minute. There seems a whole, and a large army of mutilated Soldiers. Jerome is said to be killed, and Vandamme to have lost both legs.(282) Our loss is yet incalculable. Page 368 Every creature that was movable is gone to Antwerp, or England, but myself - but my intense desire not to lose ground or time in my letters made me linger to the last, and now, thank heaven, all danger here is at an end, and all fugitives are returning. The imperial guard is almost annihilated. They fought like demons. Napoleon cried out continually to them, the prisoners say, "A Bruxelles, mes enfans! Bruxelles! Bruxelles!" They were reported one day to be actually arrived here. I never saw, never, indeed, felt such consternation. Not only money, jewels, and valuables of pecuniary sorts were shut up, but babies from the arms of their terrified mothers and nurses. I flew out myself, to take refuge in the apartments of Madame de Maurville, and I never witnessed such horror and desolation. I have left this for a word at the last minute, This is Wednesday, June 21st.... Mr Kirkpatrick tells me Murat is dead of his wounds;(283) Vandamme lost his two thighs, and is dead also; Jerome died of a cannon-ball at once. Poor M, de Vincent, the Austrian, has a ball still in his arm, which they cannot extract, Lord Fitzroy Somerset has an arm shot off; Lord Uxbridge a leg. Col. Hamilton is killed. Lobau is here a prisoner. I shall continue to write all the Page 369 particulars I can gather. It has been the most bloody battle that ever was fought, and the victory the most entire. AN ACCIDENT BEFALLS GENERAL D'ARBLAY. on the 19th of July, 1815, during the ever memorable Hundred Days, I was writing to my best friend, when I received a visit from la Princesse d'Henin and Colonel de Beaufort, who entered the room with a sort of precipitancy and confusion that immediately struck me as the effect of evil tidings which they came to communicate. My ideas instantly flew to the expectation of new public disaster, when Madame d'Henin faintly pronounced the name of M. d'Arblay. Alarmed, I turned from one to the other in speechless trepidation, dreading to ask, while dying to know what awaited me. Madame d'Henin then said, that M. de Beaufort had received a letter from M. d'Arblay: and I listened with subdued, yet increasing terror, while they acquainted me that M. d'Arblay had received on the calf of his leg a furious kick from a wild horse, which had occasioned so bad a wound as to confine him to his bed - and that he wished M. de Beaufort to procure me some travelling guide, that I might join 'him as soon as it would be possible with safety and convenience. But what was my agony when I saw that the letter was not in his own band! I conjured them to leave me, and let me read it alone. They offered, the one to find me a clever femme de chambre, the other to inquire for a guide to aid me to set out, if able, the next day; but I rather know this from recollection than from having understood them at the time: I only entreated their absence; and having consented to their return in a few hours, I forced them away. No sooner were they gone, than, calming my spirits by earnest and devout prayer, which alone supports my mind, and even preserves my senses, in deep calamity, I ran over the letter, which was dated the fourth day after the wound, and acknowledged that three incisions had been made in the leg unnecessarily by an ignorant surgeon, which had so aggravated the danger, as well as the suffering, that he was now in bed, not only from the pain of the lacerated limb, but also from a nervous fever! and that no hope was held Out to him of quitting it in less than a fortnight or three weeks. Page 370 MADAME D'ARBLAY'S DIFFICULTIES IN REJOINING HER HUSBAND. I determined not to wait, though the poor sufferer himself had charged that I should, either for the femme de chambe of Madame d'Henin or the guide of M. de Beaufort, which they could not quite promise even for the next day; and to me the next hour seemed the delay of an age. I went, therefore to order a chaise at six on the road to Luxembourg. The' answer was, that no horses were to be had! Almost distracted, I flew myself to the inn; but the answer was repeated! The route to Luxembourg, they told me, was infested with straggling parties, first, from the wandering army of Grouchy, now rendered pillagers from want of food ; and next, from the pursuing army of the Prussians, who made themselves pillagers also through the rights of conquest. To travel in a chaise would be impracticable, they assured me, without a guard. I now resolved upon travelling in the diligence, and desired to secure a place in that for Tr�ves. There was none to that city ! "And what is the nearest town to Tr�ves, whence I might go on in a chaise?" "Luxembourg." I bespoke a place, but was told that the diligence had set off the very day before, and that none other would go for six days, as it only quitted Brussels once a week. My friend the Baroness de Spagen next told me that, if travel I would, I had but to go by Li�ge, which, though not a direct, was the only safe road; that then she would put me under the protection of her brother-in-law, the Comte de Spagen, who was himself proceeding to that city by the ensuing night- coach. I accepted this kindness with rapture. I flew myself to the book-keeper I had so abruptly quitted, and instantly secured a place in the Li�ge diligence for night; and I was taking leave of my hosts, a Brussels fiacre being at the door, laden with my little luggage, when I was told that Le Roi, the confidential servant of Madame d'Henin, besought to speak a word to me from his mistress. He told me that the Princesse 'was quite miserable at my hazardous plan, which she had gathered from Madame de la Tour du Pin, and that she Page 371 supplicated me to postpone my purpose only till the next day, when I should have some one of trust to accompany me. I assured him that nothing now could make me risk procrastination, but begged him to still the fears of the excellent Princesse by acquainting her I should be under the protection of the Comte de Spagen. arrived at the inn after this last unprepared-for impediment, three or four minutes too late ! What was the fermentation of my mind at this news! A whole week I must wait for the next diligence, and even then lose the aid and countenance of le Comte de Spagen. Le Roi, who, through some short cut of footpaths and alleys, had got to the inn before me, earnestly pressed me, in the style of the confidential old servants of the French nobility, to go and compose myself chez la princesse. Even my host and hostess had pursued to wish me again good-bye, and now expressed their warm hopes I should return to them. But the book-keeper alone spoke a language to snatch me from despair, by saying my fiacre might perhaps catch the diligence two miles off, in the All�e Verte, where it commonly stopped for fresh passengers or parcels. Eagerly I promised the coachman a reward if he could succeed, and off he drove. The diligence was at the appointed place, and that instant ready to proceed ! I rushed into it with trepidation of hurry, and when more composed, I was eager to find out which of my fellow- travellers might be the Comte de Spagen; but I dared risk no question. I sat wholly silent. We arrived at Li�ge about nine in the morning I now advanced to the book-keeper, and made inquiries about the Comte de Spagen. He had arrived in the earlier coach, and was gone on in some other to his estates. As calmly as was in my power, I then declared my purpose to go to Tr�ves, and begged to be put on my way. I was come wrong, the book-keeper answered; the road was by Luxembourg. And how was I to get thither? By Brussels, he said, and a week hence, the diligence having set off the day before. Alas, I well knew that! and entreated some other means to forward me to Tr�ves, Page 372 He replied that he knew of none from Li ge; but that if I would go to Aix, I might there, perhaps, though it was out of the road, hear of some conveyance; but he asserted it was utterly impossible I could leave Li ge without a passport from the Prussian police-office, where I should only and surely be detained if I had not one to show from whence I came. This happily, reminded me of the one I had from M. de jaucourt' in Paris, and which was fortunately, though accidentally, in my hand-basket. Arrived at Aix, I earnestly inquired for a conveyance to Tr�ves; none existed! nor could I hear of any at all, save a diligence to juliers, which was to set out at four o'clock the next morning. To lose thus a whole day, and even then to go only more north instead of south, almost cast me into despair. But redress there was none, and I was forced to secure myself a place to juliers, whence, I was told, I might get on. At any more tranquil period I should have seized this interval for visiting the famous old cathedral and the tomb of Charlemagne; but now I thought not of them; I did not even recollect that Aix-la-Chapelle had been the capital of that emperor. I merely saw the town through a misty, mizzling rain, and that the road all around it was sandy and heavy, or that all was discoloured by my own disturbed view. I laid down, in a scarcely furnished apartment, without undressing. I suffered no shutter or curtain to be closed, lest i should lose my vehicle ; and such was my anxiety, that at three o'clock, by my own watch, I descended to inquire if we were not to set off. I wandered about by the twilight of a season that is never quite dark, but met no one. I returned to my chamber, but, always in terror of being forgotten, descended again in a quarter of an hour, though still without success. An hour, says Dr. Johnson, may be tedious, but it cannot be long : four o'clock at last struck, and I ran into a vehicle then ready in the courtyard of the auberge.(284) I found myself alone, which, at first, was a great relief to my mind, that was overburthened with care and apprehension, and glad of utter silence. Ere long, however, I found it fed my melancholy, which it was my business rather to combat and I was not, therefore, sorry when a poor woman with a child was admitted from the outside through the charity of the coachman, as the rain grew heavier. Page 373 At juliers we stopped at a rather large inn, at the head of an immensely long market-place. It was nearly empty, except where occupied by straggling soldiers, poor, lame, or infirm labourers, women, and children. The universal war of the Continent left scarcely a man unmaimed to be seen in civil life. The women who met my eyes were all fat, with very round and very brown faces. Most of them were barefooted, nay, barelegged, and had on odd small caps, very close round their visages. The better sort, I fancy, at that critical time, had hidden themselves or fled the town. We entered Cologne through an avenue, said to be seven miles in length, of lime-trees. It was evening, but very light, and Cologne had a striking appearance, from its magnitude and from its profusion of steeples. The better sort of houses were white and looked neat, though in an old-fashioned style, and elaborately ornamented. But, between the ravages of time and of war, the greater part of them seemed crumbling away, if not tumbling down. A FRIENDLY RECEPTION AT COLOGNE. But while I expected to be driven on to some auberge, a police officer, in a Prussian uniform, came to the coach-door, and demanded our passports. My companion made herself known as a native, and was let out directly. The officer, having cast his eye over my passport, put his head through the window of the carriage, and, in a low whisper, asked me whether I were French? French by marriage, though English by birth, I hardly knew which to call myself; I said, however, "Oui." He then, in a voice yet more subdued, gave me to understand that he could serve me. I caught at his offer, and told him I earnestly desired to go straight to Tr�ves, to a wounded friend. He would do for me what he could, he answered, for he was French himself, though employed by the Prussians. He would carry my passport for me to the magistrate of the place and get it signed without my having any further trouble though only, he feared, to Bonn, or, at farthest, to Coblenz, whence I might probably proceed unmolested. He knew also, and could recommend me to a most respectable lady and gentleman, both French, and under the Prussian hard gripe, where I might spend the evening en famille, and be spared entering any auberge. Page 374 He conducted me, in silence, passing through the cloisters to a house not far distant, and very retired in its appearance'. Arrived at a door at which he knocked or rang, he still spoke not a word, but when an old man came to open it, in a shabby dress, but with a good and lively face, be gave him some directions in German and in a whisper, and then entrusted with my passport, he bowed to me and hurried away. The old man led me to a very large room, scarcely at all furnished. He pulled out of a niche a sort of ebony armchair, very tottering and worn, and said he would call madame, for whom he also placed a fauteuil, at the head of an immense and clumsy table. I was then joined by an elderly gentlewoman, who was led in ceremoniously by a gentleman still more elderly. The latter made me three profound obeisances, which I returned with due imitation, while the lady approached me with good breeding, and begged me to take my seat. The old man then, who I found was their domestic, served the tea. I know not whether this was their general custom, or a compliment to a stranger. But when we had all taken some, they opened into a little conversation. It was I, indeed, who began by apologising for my intrusion, and expressing at the same time my great relief in being spared going to an auberge, alone as I was; but I assured them that the gentleman who had brought me to their dwelling had acted entirely by his own uninfluenced authority. They smiled or rather tried to smile, for melancholy was seated on their countenances in its most fixed colours and they told me that person was their best friend, and lost no opportunity to offer them succour or comfort. He had let them know my situation, and had desired they would welcome and cheer me. Welcome me, the lady added in French, they did gladly, since I was in distress; but they had little power to cheer me, involved as they were themselves in the depths of sorrow. Sympathy of compassion soon led to sympathy of confidence; and when they heard to whom I belonged, and the nature of my terrible haste, they related their own sad history. Death, misfortune, and oppression had all laid on them their iron hands ; they had lost their sons while forcibly fighting for a usurpation which they abhorred; they had lost their property by emigration; and they had been treated with Page 375 equal harshness by the revolutionists because they were suspected of loyalty, and by the royalists because their children had served in the armies of the revolutionists. They were now living nearly in penury, and owed their safety and peace solely to the protection of the officer who had brought me to them. With communications such as these, time passed so little heavily, however sadly, that we were ill-disposed to separate; and eleven o'clock struck, as we sat over their economical but well served and well cooked little supper, ere the idea of retiring was mentioned. They then begged me to go to rest, as I must be at the diligence for Coblenz by four o'clock the next morning. To another large room, nearly empty except the old, high, and narrow bed, the domestic now conducted me, promising to call me at half-past three o'clock in the morning, and to attend me to the diligence. I did not dare undress; I tied my watch, which was a small repeater, round my wrist, and laid down in my clothes-but to strike my watch, and to pray for my beloved invalid, and my safe restoration to him, filled up, without, I believe, three minutes of repose, the interval to my conductor's return. At half-past three we set out, after I had safely deposited all I durst spare, where my disinterested, but most poor host would inevitably find my little offering, which, if presented to him, he would probably have refused. I never heard his name, which he seemed studious to hold back; but I have reason to think he was of the ancient provincial noblesse. His manners, and those of his wife, had an antique etiquette in them that can only accord with that idea. The walk was immensely long; it was through the scraggy and hilly streets I have mentioned, and I really thought it endless. The good domestic carried my luggage. The height of the houses made the light merely not darkness ; we met not a creature; and the painful pavement and barred windows, and fear of being too late, made the walk still more dreary. I was but just in time; the diligence was already drawn out of the inn-yard, and some friends of the passengers were taking leave. I eagerly secured my place - and never so much regretted the paucity of my purse as in my inability to recompense as I wished the excellent domestic whom I now quitted. Page 376 FROM COLOGNE TO COBLENZ AND TREVES. I found myself now in much better society than I had yet been, consisting of two gentlemen, evidently of good education, and a lady. They were all, German, and spoke only that language one to another, though they addressed me in French as often as my absorption in my own ruminations gave any opening for their civility. And this was soon the case, by my hearing them speak of the Rhine ; my thoughts were so little geographical that it had not occurred to me that Cologne was upon that river - I had not, therefore, looked for or perceived it the preceding evening: but upon my now starting at the sound of its name and expressing my Strong -curiosity to behold it, they all began to watch for the first point upon which it became clearly visible, and all five with one voice called out presently after, "Ah, le voil !"(285) But imagination had raised expectations that the Rhine, at this part of its stream, would by no means answer. It seemed neither so wide, so deep, so rapid, nor so grand as my mind had depicted it nor yet were its waters so white or bright as to suit my ideas of its fame. At last my heart became better tuned. I was now on my right road; no longer travelling zig-zag, and as I could procure any means to get on, but in the straight road, by Coblenz, to the city which contained the object of all my solicitude. And then it was that my eyes opened to the beauties of nature; then it was that the far-famed Rhine found justice in those poor little eyes, which hitherto, from mental preoccupation, or from expectations too high raised, had refused a cordial tribute to its eminent beauty, unless indeed its banks, till after Bonn, are of inferior loveliness. Certain it is, that from this time till my arrival at Coblenz, I thought myself in regions of enchantment. >From Coblenz to Tr�ves I was two days travelling, though it might with ease have been accomplished in less than half that time. We no longer journeyed in any diligence that may be compared with one of France or of England, but in a queer German carriage, resembling something mixed of a coach, a chaise, and a cart. Page 377 MEETING WITH GENERAL D'ARBLAY. At Tr�ves, at length, on Monday evening, the 24th of July, 1815, I arrived in a tremor of joy and terror indescribable. But my first care was to avoid hazarding any mischief from surprise; and my first measure was to obtain some intelligence previously to risking an interview. It was now six days since any tidings had reached me. My own last act in leaving Brussels had been to write a few lines to M. de Premorel, my General's aide-de-camp, to announce my journey, and prepare him for my arrival. I now wrote a few lines to the valet of Monsieur d'Arblay, and desired he would come instantly to the inn for the baggage of Madame d'Arblay, who was then on the road. Hardly five minutes elapsed ere Fran�ois, running like a race-horse, though in himself a staid and composed German, appeared before me. How I shook at his sight with terrific suspense ! The good-natured creature relieved me instantly though with a relief that struck at my heart with a pang of agony--for he said that the danger was over, and that both the surgeons said so. He was safe, I thanked God ! but danger, positive danger had existed! Faint I felt, though in a tumult of grateful sensations: I took his arm, for my tottering feet would hardly support me; and M. de Premorel, hastening to meet me at the street-door, told me that the general was certain I was already at Tr�ves; I therefore permitted myself to enter his apartment at once. Dreadfully suffering, but still mentally occupied by the duties of his profession, I found him. Three wounds had been inflicted on his leg by the kick of a wild horse, which he had bought at Tr�ves, with intent to train to military service. He was felled by them to the ground. Yet, had he been skilfully attended, he might have been completely cured! But all the best surgeons, throughout every district, had been seized upon for the armies : and the ignorant hands into which he fell aggravated the evil, by incisions hazardous, unnecessary, and torturing. WAITING FOR LEAVE TO RETURN To FRANCE. The adjoint of M. d'Arblay, M. le Comte de Mazancourt, had been sent to Paris by M. d'Arblay, to demand leave and Page 378 passports for returning to France, the battle and peace of Waterloo having ended the purpose for which he had been appointed by Louis XVIII., through the orders of the Mar�chal Duc de Feltre, minister at war, to raise recruits from the faithful who wished to quit the usurper. My poor sufferer had been quartered upon M. Nell, a gentleman of Tr�ves; but there was no room for me at M. Nell's, and I was obliged-most reluctantly-to be conducted to an hotel at some distance. But the next day M. d'Arblay entered into an agreement with Madame de la Grange, a lady of condition who resided at Tr�ves, to admit me to eat and lodge at her house, upon the picnic plan, of paying the overplus of that expense I should cause her, with a proper consideration, not mentioned, but added by my dear general, for my apartment and incidental matters. This sort of plan, since their ruin by the Revolution, had become so common as to be called fashionable amongst the aristocratic noblesse, who were too much impoverished to receive their friends under their roofs but by community of fortune during their junction. Every morning after breakfast one of the family conducted me back to M. Nell's, where I remained till the hour of dinner, when M. Godefroy de Premorel commonly gave me le bras for returning, and Fran�ois watched for me at the end of the repast. This was to me a cruel arrangement, forcing my so frequent absences; but I had no choice. It was not till after reiterated applications by letter, and by MM. de Mazancourt and Premorel in person, that my poor general could obtain his letters of recall; though the re-establishment of Louis XVIII. on his throne made the mission on the frontiers null, and though the hapless and helpless state of health of M. d'Arblay would have rendered him incapable of continuing to fulfil its duties if any yet were left to perform. The mighty change of affairs so completely occupied men's minds, as well as their hands, that they could work only for themselves and the present : the absent were utterly forgotten. The Duc de Luxembourg, however, at length interfered, and procured passports, with the ceremonies of recall. DEPARTURE FOR PARIS. On the morning of our departure from Tr�ves, all the families of Nell and La Grange filled the courtyard, and surrounded the little carriage in which we set out, with others, Page 379 unknown to me, but acquainted with the general, and lamenting to lose sight of him-as who that ever knew him failed doing? M. de Mazancourt and the De Premorels had preceded us. The difficulty of placing the poor wounded leg was great and grievous, and our journey was anything but gay; the cure, alas, was so much worse than incomplete! The spirits of the poor worn invalid were sunk, and, like his bodily strength, exhausted; it was so new to him to be helpless, and so melancholy ! After being always the most active, the most enterprising, the most ingenious in difficulty and mischance, and the most vivacious in conquering evils, and combating accidents;-to find himself thus suddenly bereft not only of his powers to serve and oblige all around him, but even of all means of aiding and sufficing to himself, was profoundly dejecting ; nor, to his patriot-heart, was this all: far otherwise. We re-entered France by the permission of foreigners, and could only re-enter at all by passports of all the Allies! It seemed as if all Europe had freer egress to that country than its natives! Yet no one more rejoiced in the victory of Waterloo--no one was more elated by the prospect of its glorious results: for the restoration of the monarchy he was most willing to shed the last drop of his blood. But not such was the manner in which he had hoped to see it take place ; he had hoped it would have been more spontaneous, and the work of the French themselves to overthrow the usurpation. He felt, therefore, severely shocked, when, at the gates of Thionville, upon demanding admittance by giving his name, his military rank, and his personal passport, he was disregarded and unheard by a Prussian sub-officer--a Prussian to repulse a French general, in the immediate service of his king, from entering France! His choler rose, in defiance of sickness and infirmity; but neither indignation nor representation were of any avail, till he condescended to search his portefeuille for a passport of All the Allies, which the Duc de Luxembourg had wisely forwarded to Tr�ves, joined to that of the minister at war. Yet the Prussian was not to blame,. save for his uncourteous manners : the King of France was only such, at that moment, through Bl�cher and Wellington. Three or four days, I think, we passed at Metz, where the general put himself Into the hands of a surgeon of eminence, who did what was now to be done to rectify the gross mismanagement at Tr�ves. In this time I saw all that was most Page 380 worth remark in the old and famous city of Metz. But it looked drear and abandoned- as everywhere during my journey. Nothing was yet restored, for confidence was wanting in the state of things. Wellington and Bl�cher, the lords of the ascendant, seemed alone gifted with the Power of foreseeing, as they had been instrumentally of regulating, events. A CHANCE VIEW OF THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA. Not long after, I forget exactly where, we came under new yet still foreign masters--the Russians ; who kept Posts, like sentinels, along the high road, at stated distances. They were gentle and well-behaved, in a manner and to a degree that was really almost edifying. On the plains of Chalons there was a grand Russian encampment. We stopped half a day for rest at some small place in its neighbourhood and I walked about, guarded by the good Fran�ois, to view it. But, on surveying a large old house, which attracted my notice by a group of Russian officers that I observed near its entrance, how was I struck on being told by Fran�ois, that the Emperor of all the Russias was at that moment its inhabitant! At the entrance of the little gate that opened the palisade stood a lady with two or three gentlemen. There was no crowd, and no party of guards, nor any sign of caution or parade of grandeur, around this royally honoured dwelling. And, in a few minutes, the door was quietly opened and the emperor came out, in an undress uniform, wearing no stars nor orders, and with an air of gay good humour, and unassuming ease. There was something in his whole appearance of hilarity, freedom, youthfulness, and total absence of all thought of state and power, that would have led me much sooner to suppose him a jocund young Lubin, or country esquire, than an emperor, warrior, or a statesman. The lady curtsied low, and her gentlemen bowed profoundly as he reached the group. He instantly recognised them, and seemed enchanted at their sight. A sprightly conversation ensued, in which he addressed himself chiefly to the lady, who seemed accustomed to his notice, yet to receive it with a species of rapture. The gentlemen also had the easy address of conscious welcome to inspirit them, and I never followed up a conversation I could not hear, with more certainty of its being agreeable to all parties. They all spoke French, and I was restrained only by my own sense of propriety from advancing Page 381 within hearing 'of every word; for no sentinel, nor guard of any kind, interfered to keep the few lookers on at a distance; This discourse over, be gallantly touched his bat and leaped into his open carriage, attended by a Russian officer, and was out of sight in a moment. How far more happy, disengaged, and to his advantage, was this view of his imperial majesty, than that which I had had the year before in England, where the crowds that surrounded, and the pressure of unrestrained curiosity and forwardness, certainly embarrassed, if they did not actually displease him! ENGLISH TROOPS IN OCCUPATION. At Meaux I left again my captive companion for a quarter of an hour to visit the cathedral of the sublimely eloquent Bossuet. In happier moments I should not have rested Without discovering and tracing the house, the chamber, the library, the study, the garden which had been as it were sanctified by his virtues, his piety, his learning, and his genius and oh, how eagerly, if not a captive, would my noble-minded companion have been my conductor! A new change again of military control soon followed, at which I grieved for my beloved companion. I almost felt ashamed to look at him, though my heart involuntarily, irresistibly palpitated with emotions which had little, indeed, in unison with either grief or shame; for the sentinels, the guards, the camps, became English. All converse between us now stopped involuntarily, and as if by tacit agreement. M. d'Arblay was too sincere a loyalist to be sorry, yet too high-spirited a freeman to be satisfied. I could devise nothing; to say that might not cause some painful discussion or afflicting retrospection, and we travelled many miles in pensive silence-each nevertheless intensely observant of the astonishing new scene presented to our view, on re-entering the capital of France, to see the vision of Henry V. revived, and Paris in the hands of the English! I must not omit to mention that notwithstanding this complete victory over Bonaparte, the whole of the peasantry and common people, converse with them when or where or how I might during our route, with one accord avowed themselves utterly incredulous of his defeat. They all believed he Page 382 had only given way in order that he might come forward with new forces to extirpate all opposers, and exalt himself on their ashes to permanent dominion. LEAVETAKING: M. DE TALLEYRAND. On the eve of setting out for England, I went round to all I could reach of my intimate acquaintance, to make--as it has proved--a last farewell! M. de Talleyrand came in to Madame de Laval's drawing-room during my visit of leavetaking. He was named upon entering; but there is no chance he could recollect me, as I had not seen him since the first month or two after my marriage, when he accompanied M. de Narbonne and M. de Beaumetz to our cottage at Bookham. I could not forbear whispering to Madame de Laval, how many souvenirs his sight awakened! M. de Narbonne was gone, who made so much of our social felicity during the period of our former acquaintance; and Mr. Locke was gone, who made its highest intellectual delight; and Madame de Stael,(286) who gave it a zest of wit, deep thinking, and light speaking, of almost unexampled entertainment; and my beloved sister Phillips, whose sweetness, intelligence, grace, and sensibility won every heart: these were gone, who all, during the sprightly period in which I was known to M. Talleyrand, had almost always made our society. Ah! what parties were those! how select, how refined though sportive, how investigatingly sagacious though invariably well-bred! Madame de Laval sighed deeply, without answering me, but I left M. de Talleyrand to Madame la Duchesse de Luynes, and a sister of A le Duc de Luxembourg, and another lady or two, while I engaged my truly amiable hostess, till I rose to depart: and then, in passing the chair of M. de Talleyrand, who gravely and silently, but politely, rose and bowed, I said, "M. de Talleyrand m'a oubli: mais on n'oublie pas M. de Talleyrand."(287) I left the room with quickness, but saw a movement of surprise by no means unpleasant break over the habitual placidity, the nearly imperturbable composure of his made-up countenance. Page 383 our journey was eventless, yet sad; sad, not solely, though chiefly, from the continued sufferings of my wounded companion, but sad also, that I quitted so many dear friends, who had wrought themselves, by innumerable kindnesses, into my affections, and who knew not, for we could not bring ourselves to utter words that must have reciprocated so much pain, that our intended future residence was England. The most tender and generous of fathers had taken this difficult resolution for the sake of his son, whose earnest wish had been repeatedly expressed for permission to establish himself in the land of his birth. That my wishes led to the same point, there could be no doubt, and powerfully did they weigh with the most disinterested and most indulgent of husbands. All that could be suggested to compromise what was jarring in our feelings, so as to save all parties from murmuring or regret, was the plan of a yearly journey to France. (273) Minister of war. (274) About the close of the year 1813, when Napoleon's star was setting, and his enemies were pressing hard upon him, the Dutch threw off the yoke of France, recalled the Prince of Orange, and proclaimed him at Amsterdam King of the United Netherlands, by the title of William I.-ED. (275) On the first floor. (276) Lady Caroline Lamb (born in 1785) was the wife of the Hon. William Lamb, afterwards Lord Melbourne and prime minister of England. A year or two before Fanny saw her, she was violently in love with Lord Byron: "absolutely besieged him," Rogers said. Byron was not unwilling to be besieged, though he presently grew tired of the lady, and broke off their correspondence, to her great distress, with an insulting and rather heartless letter. But it was more than a mere flirtation on Lady Caroline's part. She fainted away on meeting Byron's funeral (1824); "her mind became more affected; she was separated from her husband and died 26 January, 1828, generously cared for by him to the last."(Dict. of National Biography.) She was the author of two or three novel.-ED. (277) Son of the Duke of Brunswick who invaded France in 1792, and who died in 1806 of the wounds which he received in the battle of Jena. His son was killed at Quatre Bras, June 16, 1815.-ED. (278) "Bonaparte is taken! there he is!" (279) Alarm. (280) Fortresses. (281) Litters. (282) Both reports were false. Jerome Bonaparte, Napoleon's youngest brother, formerly King of Westphalia, was wounded in the groin at Quatre Bras, two days before the battle of Waterloo. His wound, however, was not so severe as to prevent him from serving at Waterloo, and, after the flight of the Emperor to Paris, Jerome remained to conduct the retreat and rally the fugitives. General Vandamme was not at Waterloo at all, nor was he wounded. He was attached to the army commanded by Marshal Grouchy, and was engaged in a useless conflict with the Prussian rear-guard at Wavres on the day of the decisive battle.-ED. (283) Another false rumour. Murat was in France during the whole of the Waterloo campaign. This distinguished soldier had married Caroline Bonaparte, the youngest sister of Napoleon, by whom he was made King of Naples. In December, 1813, Murat was ungrateful enough to join the allied powers against the Emperor, but, after Napoleon's return from Elba, he threw himself into the war with characteristic precipitation. Marching from Naples with an army of 50,000 men, he occupied Rome and Florence, but was soon after totally defeated by the Austrians, and escaped with difficulty to France. The Emperor refused to see him. After the final abdication of Napoleon, Murat made a desperate attempt, with a handful of men, to regain his kingdom of Naples. He was taken prisoner, tried by a military commission, condemned to death, and immediately shot. At St. Helena Napoleon said of him, "It was his fate to ruin us every way; once by declaring against us, and again by unadvisedly taking our part."-ED. (284) Inn. (285) "Ah! there it is!" (286) This was a misapprehension. Madame de Stael died at Paris, July 14, 1817. The above narrative was written at a period some years later than that of the events to which it relates, and hence, in all probability, the mistake arose.-ED. (287) "M. de Talleyrand has forgotten me; but one does not forget M. de Talleyrand." Page 384 SECTION 26. (1815-8) AT BATH AND ILFRACOMBE: GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILLNESS AND DEATH. ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke and Mrs. Angerstein.) Dover, Oct. 18, 1815. Last night, my ever dear friends, we arrived once more in old England. I write this to send the moment I land in London. I cannot boast of our health, our looks, our strength, but I hope we may recover a part of all when our direful fatigues, mental and corporeal, cease to utterly weigh upon and wear us. We shall winter in Bath. The waters of Plombi�res have been recommended to my poor boiteux,(288) but he has obtained a cong� that allows this change. Besides his present utter incapacity for military service, he is now unavoidably on the retraite(289 list, and the King of France permits his coming over, not alone without difficulty, but with wishing him a good journey, through the Duc de Luxembourg, his captain in the gardes du corps. Adieu, dearest both--Almost I embrace you in dating from Dover. Had you my letter from Tr�ves? I suspect not, for my melancholy new history would have brought your kind condolence: or, otherwise, that missed me. Our letters were almost all intercepted by the Prussians while we were Page 385 there. Not one answer arrived to us from Paris, save by private hands. . . . December 24, 1815. My heart has been almost torn asunder, of late, by the dreadful losses which the newspapers have communicated to me, of the two dearest friends(290) of my absent partner ; both sacrificed in the late sanguinary conflicts. It has been with difficulty I have forborne attempting to return to him ; but a winter voyage might risk giving him another loss. The death of one of these so untimely departed favourites, how will Madame de Stael support? Pray tell me if you hear any thing of her, and what. . . . [With the year 1816 a new section of Madame d'Arblay's correspondence may be said to commence in her letters to her son, the late Rev. A. d'Arblay, who was then pursuing his studies at Caius college, Cambridge. It has been thought advisable to be more sparing in publication from this, than from the earlier portions of Madame d'Arblay's correspondence. Without, however, a few of these letters to her son, "the child of many hopes," this picture of her mind, with all its tenderness, playfulness, and sound sense, would scarcely be complete.] ALEXANDER D'ARBLAY: SOME OLD BATH FRIENDS. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke) Bath, February 15, 1816. Incredible is the time I have lost without giving in that claim which has never been given in vain for news of my own ,dear friend - but I have been-though not ill, so continually unwell, and though not, as so recently, in disordered and disorganizing difficulties, yet so incessantly occupied with small, but indispensable occupations, that the post hour has always gone by to-day to be waited for to-morrow. Yet my heart has never been satisfied-I don't mean with itself, for with that it can never quarrel on this subject,-but with my pen-my slack, worn, irregular, fugitive, fatigued, yet ever faithful, though never punctual pen. My dearest friend forgives, I know, even that; but her known and unvarying lenity is the very cause I cannot forgive it myself. We have had our Alexander for six weeks; he left us three \ Page 386 days ago, and I won't tell my dear friend whether or not we miss him. He is precisely such as he was--as inartificial in his character, as irregular in his studies. He cannot bring himself to conquer his disgust of the routine of labour at Cambridge; and while he energetically argues upon the innocence of a preference to his own early practice,(291) which he vindicates, I believe unanswerably, with regard to its real superiority, he is insensible, at least forgetful, of all that can be urged of the mischiefs to his prospects in life that must result from his not conquering his inclinations,"- I have nearly lost all hope of his taking the high degree A judged to him by general expectation at the University, from the promise of his opening. Of old friends here, I have found stationary, Mrs. Holroyd, and Mrs. Frances. and Harriet Bowdler. Mrs. Holroyd still gives parties, and tempted me to hear a little medley music, as she called it. Mrs. F. Bowdler lives on Lansdowne-crescent, and scarcely ever comes down the hill. Mrs. Harriet I have missed, though we have repeatedly sought a meeting on both sides ; but she left Bath for some excursion soon after my arrival. Another new resident here will excite, I am sure, a more animated interest ' Mrs. Piozzi. The Bishop of Salisbury, my old friend, found me out, and came to make me a long and most amiable visit, which was preceded by Mrs. I-, and we all spent an evening with them very sociably and pleasantly. FRENCH AFFAIRS. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S HEALTH. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, Friday, April 2, 1816. ......The Oppositionists, and all their friends, have now a dread of France, and bend their way to Italy. But the example now given at Paris, in the affair of Messrs. Wilson and Co.(292) that Englishmen are as amenable to the laws and customs of the countries which they inhabit, as foreigners while in England are to ours, will make them more careful, both in spirit and conduct, than heretofore they have deemed it necessary to be, all over the globe. It is a general opinion Page 387 that there will be a great emigration this summer, because John Bull longs to see something beyond the limited circumference of his birthright - but that foreign nations will be now so watchful of his proceedings, so jealous of his correspondence, and so easily offended by his declamation or epigrams, that he will be glad to return here, where liberty, when not abused, allows a real and free exercise of true independence of mind, speech, and conduct, such as no other part of the world affords. I am truly happy not to be at Paris at such a juncture ; for opinions must be cruelly divided, and society almost out of the question. Our letters all confess that scarcely one family is d'acord even with itself. The overstraining royalists make moderate men appear jacobins. The good king must be torn to pieces between his own disposition to clemency, and the vehemence of his partisans against risking any more a general amnesty. All that consoles me for the length of time required for the cure of your padre's leg is the consequence, in its keeping off his purposed visit. A cold has forced him to relinquish the pump till to-day, when he is gone to make another essay. He is so popular in Bath, that he is visited here by everybody that can make any pretext for calling. I have this moment been interrupted by a letter to invite me with my " bewitching husband " to a villa near Prior Park. He is not insensible to the kindness he meets with - au contraire, it adds greatly to his contentment in the steadiness of a certain young sprig that is inducing him here to plant his final choux; and the more, as we find that, as far as that sprig has been seen here, he, also, has left so favourable an impression, that we are continually desired to introduce him, on his next arrival, wherever we go. Your kind father, upon your last opening of "All here is well," instantly ran down stairs, with a hop, skip, and a jump, and agreed to secure our pretty lodgings for a year. THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE. THE STREATHAM PORTRAITS. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, April 30, 1816. The three chevaliers have all been condemned as culpable of aiding a state-criminal to escape, but not accused of any conspiracy against the French government. They Page 388 are therefore, sentenced merely to three months' imprisonment.(293) Certainly, if their logic were irrefutable, and if the treaty of Paris included the royal pardon with the amnesty accorded by the allied generals, then, to save those who ought not to have been tried would have been meritorious rather than illegal; but the king had no share in that treaty, which could only hold good in a military sense, of security from military prosecution or punishment from the Allies. These Allies, however, did not call themselves conquerors, nor take Paris, nor judge the Parisians ; but so far as belonged to a capitulation, meant, on both sides, to save the capital and its inhabitants from pillage and the sword. Once restored to its rightful monarch, all foreign interference was at an end. Having been seated on the throne by the nation, and having never abdicated, though he had been chased by rebellion from his kingdom, he had never forfeited his privilege to judge which of his subjects were still included in his original amnesty, and which had incurred the penalty or chances of being tried by the laws of the land - and by them, not by royal decree, condemned or acquitted. A false idea seems encouraged by all the king's enemies, that his amnesty ought to have secured pardon to the condemned: the amnesty could only act up to the period when it was granted and accepted; it could have nothing to do with after-offences. I am grieved to lose my respect and esteem for a character I had considered so heroical as that of Sir R. Wilson: but to find, through his intercepted correspondence, that the persecution Page 389 of the Protestants was to be asserted, true or false, to blacken the reigning dynasty. . . to find this truly diabolic idea presented to him by a brother of whom he speaks as the partner of all his thoughts, etc., has consumed every spark of favour in which he was held throughout the whole nation, except, perhaps, in those whom party will make deaf and blind for ever to what opposes their own views and schemes. I do not envy Lord Grey for being a third in such an intercourse, an intercourse teeming with inventive plots and wishes for new revolutions ! Your uncle has bought the picture of my dearest father at Streatham.(294) I am truly rejoiced it will come into our family, since the collection for which it was painted is broken up. Your uncle has also bought the Garrick, which was one of the most agreeable and delightful of the set. To what recollections, at once painful and pleasing, does this sale give birth! In the library, in which those pictures were hung, we always breakfasted; and there I have had as many precious conversations with the great and good Dr. Johnson as there are days in the year. Dr. Johnson sold the highest of all! 'tis an honour to our age, that!--360 pounds! My dear father would have been mounted higher, but that his son Charles was there to bid for himself, and, everybody must have seen, was resolved to have it. There was besides, I doubt not, a feeling for his lineal claim and pious desire. REGARDING HUSBAND AND SON. (Madame d'Arblay to a Friend.) Bath, August 17, 1816. I have been in a state of much uncertainty and disturbance since I wrote last with respect to one of the dearest possible interests of life, the maternal: the uncertainty, however, for this epoch is over, and I will hasten to communicate to you its result, that I may demand further and frequent accounts of your own plans, and of their execution or change, success Page 390 or failure. All that concerns you, must to me always be near and dear. General d'Arblay is gone to France, and here at Bath rest sa femme et son fils.(295) There was no adjusting the excursion but by separation. Alexander would have been wilder than ever for his French mathematics in re-visiting Paris ; and, till his degree is taken, we must not contribute to lowering it by feasting his opposing pursuits with fresh nourishment, M. d'Arblay nevertheless could by no means forego his intention which a thousand circumstances led him to consider as right' He could not, indeed, feel himself perfectly sa place without paying his devoirs to his king, notwithstanding he has been put by his majesty himself, not by his own desire, en retraite. The exigencies of the treasury demand this, for all who are not young enough for vigorous active service; but his wounded leg prevented his returning thanks sooner for the promotion with which the king finished and recompensed his services;(296) and therefore he deems it indispensable to present himself at the foot of the throne for that purpose now that he is able to "bear his body more seemly" (like Audrey) in the royal presence. He hopes also to arrange for receiving here his half-pay, when sickness or affairs or accident may prevent his crossing the Channel. Choice and happiness will, to his last breath, carry him annually to France ; for, not to separate us from his son, or in the bud of life, to force that son's inclination in fixing his place or mode of residence, alone decides his not fixing there his own last staff. But Alexander, young as he left that country, has seen enough of it to be aware that no line is open there to ambition or importance, but the military, most especially for the son of an officer so known and marked for his military character: and I need not tell you that, with my feelings and sentiments, to see him wield a sword that could only lead him to renown by being drawn against the country of his birth and of mine, would demolish my heart, and probably my head; and, to believe in any war in which England and France will not be rivals, is to entertain Arcadian hopes, fit only for shepherds and shepherdesses of the drama. Page 391 MATERNAL ANXIETIES. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Bath, October 28th, 1816. Certainement, et tr�s certainement, mon bien cher ami, your beautiful strictures upon la connoissance et l'usage du monde would have given "un autre cours mes id�es"(297) were the object of our joint solicitude less singular; but our Alexander, mon ami, dear as he is to us, and big as are my hopes pour l'avenir,(298) our Alexander is far different from what you were at his age. More innocent, I grant, and therefore highly estimable, and worthy of our utmost care, and worthy of the whole heart of her to whom he shall permanently attach himself. But O, how far less aimable! He even piques himself upon the difference, as if that difference were to his advantage. He is a medley of good qualities and of faults the most extraordinary and the most indescribable. Enfin, except in years, in poetry, and in mathematics, il n'est encore qu'un enfant.(299) Were he so only as to la connoissance, et m�me l'usage du monde, I should immediately subscribe to the whole of your really admirable dissertation upon the subject in the letter now before me, for I should then sympathise in your idea that a lovely young companion might mould him to her own excellence, and polish him to our wishes; but O, nous n'en sommes pas l !(300) When he is wholly at his ease, as he is at present, with his mother, and as he would soon inevitably be with his wife, he is so uncouth, so negligent, and absent, that his frightened partner would either leave him in despair to himself, or, by reiterated attempts to reason with him, lose her bridal power, and raise the most dangerous dissensions. He exults rather than blushes in considering himself ignorant of all that belongs to common life, and of everything that is deemed useful. Even in mathematics he disdains whatever is not abstract and simply theoretical. "Trouble I hate" he calls his motto. You will easily conceive that there are moments, nay, days, in which he is more reasonable; I should else be Page 392 hopeless : nor will he ever dare hold such language to you. but it is not less the expression of his general mind. Sometimes, too, he wishes for wealth, but it is only that he might be supine. Poor youth ! he little sees 'how soon he would then become poor ! Yet, while thus open to every dupery and professedly without any sense of order, he is so fearful of ridicule, that a smile from his wife at any absurdity would fill him with the most gloomy indignation. It does so now from his mother. A wife, I foresee you will reply, young and beautiful, sera bien autre chose; mais je crois que vous Vous trompez:(301) a mistress, a bride,--oui! a mistress and a bride would see him her devoted slave ; but in the year following year, when ardent novelty is passed away, a mother loved as I am may form much judgment what will be the lot of the wife, always allowing for the attractions of reconciliation which belong exclusively to the marriage state, where it is happy. Nevertheless, I am completely of your opinion, that a good and lovely wife will ultimately soften his asperity, and give him a new taste for existence, by opening to him new sources of felicity, and exciting, as you justly suggest, new emulation to improvement, when he is wise enough to know how to appreciate, to treat, and to preserve such a treasure. But will four months fit him for beginning such a trial? Think of her, mon ami, as well as of him. The "responsibility" in this case would be yours for both, and exquisite would be your agony should either of them be unhappy. A darling daughter-an only child, nursed in the lap of soft prosperity, sole object of tenderness and of happiness to both her parents. rich, well-born, stranger to all care, and unused to any control; beautiful as a little angel, and (be very sure) not unconscious she is born to be adored ; endowed with talents to create admiration, independently of the �clat of her personal charms, and indulged from her cradle in every wish, every fantaisie.--Will such a young creature as this be happy with our Alexander after her bridal supremacy, when the ecstasy of his first transports are on the wane? That a beauty such as you describe might bring him, even from a first interview, to her feet, notwithstanding all his present prejudices against a French wife, I think probable enough, though he now thinks his taste in beauty different from yours; for he has never, he says, been struck but by a commanding air. All beauty, "Page 393 however, soon finds its own way to the heart. But could any permanent amendment ensue, from working upon his errors only through his passions? Is it not to be feared that as they, the passions, subside, the errors would all peep up again ? And she, who so prudently has already rejected a nearly accepted pr�tendant for his want of order!!!(302) (poor Alexander!) how will she be content to be a monitress, where she will find everything in useful life to teach, and nothing in return to learn? And even if he endure the perpetual tutoring, will not she sicken of her victories ere he wearies of his defeats? And will Alexander be fit or willing to live under the eye, which he will regard as living under the subjection, of his wife's relations? In this country there is no notion of that mode of married life -, and our proud Alexander, the more he may want counsel and guidance, will the more haughtily, from fearing to pass for a baby, resent them. Let me add, that nothing can be less surprising than that he should have fixed his own expectation of welfare in England. Recollect, mon ami, it is now nearly three years ago since you gave him, in a solemn and beautiful letter, his choice between Cambridge and la compagnie de -Luxembourg, into which you had entered him saying that your position exacted that you should take your son back to serve, or not at all. You have certainly kept his definite answer, from which he has never wavered. And again, only at your last departure, this August, you told us positively that you could not take your son to France at twenty-one years of age with any honour or propriety but to enter him in the army. I would else, you know, have shut myself up with him in some cottage au lys, merely for the great pleasure of accompanying you. Alexander, therefore, now annexes an idea of degradation to a residence non-military in France. He would deem himself humbled by the civil place at which you hint, even if you could bring him, which I doubt above all, to submit to its duties. He regards himself, from peculiar circumstances, as an established Englishman (though born of a French father), with your own full consent, nay, by your own conditions. I by no means believe he will ever settle out of England, though he delights to think of travelling. And such, mon ami, appeared to be your own sentiments Page 394 when we parted, though they are changed now, or overpowered by the new view that is presented to you of domestic felicity, for Alexander. I have written thus fully, and after the best meditation in my power, according to your desire ; an(] every reflection and observation upon the subject, and upon Alexander, unites in making me wish, with the whole Of my judgment and feeling at once, to keep back, not to forward, any matrimonial connection, for years, not months, unless month,,; first produce the change to his advantage that I dare only expect from years. ADVANTAGES OF BATH: YOUNG D'ARBLAY's DECREE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Bath, November 10, 1816. I wish to live at Bath, wish it devoutly ; for at Bath we shall live, or no longer in England. London will only do for those who have two houses, and of the real country I may say the same; for a cottage, now Monsieur d'Arblay cannot, as heretofore, brave all the seasons, to work, and embellish his wintry hours, by embellishing anticipatingly his garden, would be too lonely, in so small a family, for the long evenings of cold and severe weather; and would lose us Alexander half the year, as we could neither expect nor wish to see him begin life as a recluse from the world. Bath, therefore, as it eminently agrees with us all, is, in England, the only place for us, since here, all the year round, there is always town at command, and always the country for prospect, exercise, and delight. Therefore, my dear friend, not a word but in favour of Bath, if you love me. Our own finishing finale will soon take root here, or yonder; for Alex will take his degree in January, and then, his mind at liberty, and his faculties in their full capacity for meditating upon his lot in life, he will come to a decision what mountain he shall climb, upon which to fix his staff; for all that relates to worldly prosperity will to him be up-hill toil, and labour. Never did I see in youth a mind so quiet, so philosophic, in mundane matters, with a temper so eager, so impetuous, so burningly alive to subjects of science and literature. The Tancred scholarship is still in suspense. The vice-chancellor is our earnest friend, as well as our faithful Dr. Davy, but the trustees have come to no determination - and Alex is my companion-or rather, I am Alex's Page 395 flapper-till the learned doctors can agree. At all events, he will not come out in Physic; we shall rather enter him at another college, with all the concomitant expenses, than let him, from any economy, begin his public career under false colours. When he entered this institution, I had not any notion of this difficulty; I was ignorant there would be any objection against his turning which way he pleased when the time for taking the degree should arrive. I am now in almost daily hope of the return of my voyager. His last letter tells me to direct no more to Paris. [After this time General d'Arblay made frequent journeys to Paris.] PLAYFUL REPROACHES AND SOBER COUNSEL. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, Friday, April 25, 1817. Why, what a rogue you are! four days in town! As there can be no scholarship--h�las! it matters not; but who knew that circumstance when they played truant? Can you tell me that, hey! Mr Cantab? Why, you dish me as if I were no more worth than Paley or Newton, or such like worthies! Your dear padre is very considerably better, surtout in looks, but by no means re-established ; for cold air--too much exertion- -too little--and all sorts of nourishment or beverage that are not precisely adapted to the present state of the poor shattered frame, produce instant pain, uneasiness, restlessness, and suffering. Such, however, is the common condition of convalescence, and therefore I observe it with much more concern than surprise - and Mr. Hay assures me all is as well as can possibly be expected after so long and irksome an illness. "The scholarship is at an end-- So much for that!" pretty cool, my friend! Will it make you double your diligence for what is not at an end? hey, mon petit monsieur? But I am sorry for your disappointment in the affair you mention, my dear Alex : though your affections were not so far engaged, methinks, but that your amour propre(303) is still more bless�(304) than your heart! hey? However, 'tis a real loss, Page 396 though little more than of an ideal friend, at present. But no idea is so flattering and so sweet, as that which opens to expectation a treasure of such a sort. I am really, therefore, sorry for you, my dear Alex. Your determination to give way to no sudden impulse in future is quite right. Nothing is so pleasant as giving way to impulse; nothing so hazardous. But this history must double your value for Messrs. Jones Musgrave, Jacobs, Ebden, Theobald, and Whewell. "Cling to those who cling to you!" said the immortal Johnson to your mother, when she uttered something that seemed fastidious relative to a person whose partiality she did not prize. Your padre was prevailed upon to go to the play. We were both very well pleased with H. Payne in certain parts; in some instances I even thought him excellent, especially in the natural, gentlemanly, and pensive tones in which he went through the gravedigger's and other scenes of the last act. But, for the soliloquies, and the grand conference with the mother! oh, there, Garrick rose up to my remembrance with an �clat of perfection that mocks all approach of approbation for a successor. But you, M. Keanite, permit a little hint against those looks that convey your resentment. They may lead to results that may be unpleasant. It is best to avoid displaying a susceptibility that shows the regret all on your own side ! Let the matter die away as though it had never been. Assume your cool air; your "so much for that!" but do not mark a d�pit that will rather flatter than vex. At first, it was well ; you gave way to Nature and to truth, and made apparent you had been sincere : but there, for your dignity's sake, let all drop ; and be civil as well as cool, if you would keep the upper hand. PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING BATH. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) 1817. .....June 18.-I made a morning visit to Mrs. Piozzi, whom I found with +Dr. Minchin, an informed, sensible physician. She was strange, as usual, at first; but animated, as usual, afterwards. The sisters, Mrs. Frances and Mrs Harriet Bowdler, called upon me, and were admitted, for I heard their names in time; and we had much good old talk), Page 397 that is, Frances and I; for Harriet is ever prim and demure and nearly mute before her elder sister. June 25.-Fixing the last day of the month for my journey, I set seriously to work to hasten my preparations. What a business it was! You have no conception how difficult, nor how laborious, it is to place so many books, such a quantity of linen, such a wardrobe, and such a mass of curiosities, in so small a compass. How fagged and fatigued I retired to rest every night, you may imagine. Alex vigorously carried heavy loads at a time from the study to the garret, but only where he might combine and arrange and order all for himself. However, he was tolerably useful for great luggages. June 26.-We spent the afternoon at Larkhall place, to meet there Maria and Sophy. My dear sister(305) was all spirit and vivacity. Mr. Burney, all tranquil enjoyment--peace, rest, leisure, books, music, drawing, and walking fill up his serene days, and repay the long toils of his meritorious life. And my sister, who happily foresees neither sickness nor ennui, is the spirit and spring of the party. June 28.-I devoted all day to leave-taking visits, for so many houses were opened, and claimed long confabulations, from their rarity, that I had not finished my little round till past ten o'clock at night. Yet of these hosts, Mrs. Frances Bowdler, Mrs. Piozzi, Mrs. Morgan, and Mrs. Andr� were out. Two of the three latter ladies are now in France, and they have written word, that the distress in their province exceeds all they have left in this country! Madame do Sourches has written a similar melancholy account; and Mrs. Holroyd, who received my longest call this morning, read me a letter from Lady B. with words yet stronger of the sufferings in the Low Countries! O baleful effects of "Bella, horrida bella!" I sat an hour also with Mrs. Harriet Bowdler, in sober chat and old histories. She has not--il s'en faut--the exhilaration and entertainment of her clever sister; but there is all the soft repose of good sense, good humour, urbanity, and kindness. One cannot do better than to cultivate with both; for if, after the spirited Frances, the gentle Harriet seems dull, one may at least say that after the kind Harriet, the satirical Frances seems alarming. But my longest visit was to the excellent Mrs. Ogle, who is the oldest acquaintance with whom I have any present connection in the world. It was at her house I first saw Mrs, Page 398 Chapone, who was her relation; I visited her, with my dear father, my mother-in-law, and my sisters ; though from circumstances we lost sight of each other, and met no more till I had that happy encounter with her at Cheltenham, when I brought her to the good and dear king. My respect for her age, her virtues, and this old connection, induced me to stay with her till it was too late to present myself elsewhere. I merely therefore called at the door of Madame de Sommery to inquire whether they Could receive me sans c�remonie for half an hour in the evening. This was agreed to , and Alex accompanied or rather preceded me to Madame de Sommery, who had her two jolies daughters, Stephanie and Pulch�rie, at work by her side, the tea-table spread l'Anglaise, and four of your th��tre(306)I upon the table, with Alex just beginning "Lido" as I entered. I was never so pleased with them before, though they have always charmed me; but in this private, comfortable style they were all ten times more easy, engaging, and lively than I had ever yet seen them. INSTALLED AT ILFRACOMBE. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Ilfracombe, Devonshire, June 31,(sic) 1817. . . .This very day of our arrival, before Alex had had time to search out Mr. Jacob, somebody called out to him in the street, "Ah, d'Arblay!" who proved to be his man. They strolled about the town, and then Jacob desired to be brought to me. Unluckily, I was unpacking, and denied. He has appointed Alex for a lesson to-morrow. May he put him a little en train! July 5.--I must now give you some account of this place. We are lodged on the harbour. The mistress of our apartments is widow to some master of a vessel that traded at Ilfracombe, with Ireland chiefly. She has three or four children: the eldest, but twelve years old, is the servant of the lodgers, and as adroit as if she were thirty. Our situation is a very amusing one; for the quay is narrow, and there are vessels just on its level, so close that even children walk into them all day long. When the sea is up, the scene is gay, busy, and interesting; but on its ebb the sands here are not Page 399 clean and inviting, but dark and muddy, and the contrary of odoriferous. But the entrance and departure of vessels, the lading, unlading, and the management of ships and boats, offer constantly something new to an eye accustomed only to land views and occupations. A CAPTURED SPANISH SHIP. But chiefly I wish for you for the amusement you would find from a Spanish vessel, which is close to the quay, immediately opposite to our apartments, and on a level with the parlour of the house. It has been brought in under suspicion of piracy, or smuggling, or aiding the slave trade. What the circumstances of the accusation are I know not - but the captain is to be tried at Exeter on the ensuing western circuit. Meantime, his goods are all sequestered, and he has himself dismissed all his sailors and crew to rejoin him when the trial is over. He is upon his parole, and has liberty to go whithersoever he will; but he makes no use of the permission, as he chooses not to leave his cargo solely under the inspection of the excisemen and custom officers here, who have everything under lock and key and seal. He is a good-looking man, and, while not condemned, all are willing to take his word for his innocence. Should that be proved, what compensation will be sufficient for repairing his confinement? He has retained with him only his physician, his own servant his cook, and a boy, with another lad, who is an American. I see him all day long, walking his quarter-deck, and ruminating upon his situation, with an air of philosophy that shows strong character. His physician, who is called here the " doctor," and is very popular, is his interpreter; he speaks English and French, has a spirited, handsome face, and manners the most courteous, though with a look darkly shrewd and Spanish. THE SPANISH CAPTAIN'S COOK. But the person who would most entertain you is the cook, who appears the man of most weight in the little coterie ; for he lets no one interfere with his manoeuvres. All is performed for the table in full sight, a pa�le(307) being lighted with a burning fierce fire upon the deck, where he officiates. He wears a complete white dress, and has a pail of water by his side, in Page 400 which he washes everything he dresses, and his Own hand, to boot, with great attention. He begins his pot au feu soon after seven every morning, and I watch the operation from my window; it is entirely French, except that he puts in more meat, and has it cut, apparently, into pounds; for I see it all carved into square morsels, seemingly of that weight, which he inserts bit by bit, with whole bowls, delicately cleaned, washed and prepared, of cabbages, chicory, turnips, carrots celery, and small herbs. Then some thick slices of ship ham and another bowl of onions and garlic; salt by a handful, and pepper by a wooden spoon full. This is left for many hours; and in the interval he prepares a porridge of potatoes well mashed, and barley well boiled, with some other ingredient that, when it is poured into a pan, bubbles up like a syllabub. But before he begins, he employs the two lads to wash all the ship. To see all this is the poor captain's only diversion ; but the cook never heeds him while at his professional operations; he even motions to him to get out of the way if he approaches too near, and is so intent upon his grand business that he shakes his head without answering, when the captain speaks to him, with an air that says, "Are you crazy to try to take off my attention?" And when the doctor, who often advances to make some observation, and to look on, tries to be heard, he waves his hand in disdain, to silence him. Yet, when all is done, and he has taken off his white dress, he becomes all obsequiousness, respectfully standing out of the way, or diligently flying forward to execute any command. SHIPS IN DISTRESS. July 6.-Alex and I went to church this morning, and heard a tolerable sermon. In the evening there was a storm, that towards night grew tremendous. The woman of the house called us to see two ships in distress. We went to the top of the house for a view of the sea, which was indeed frightful. One ship was endeavouring to gain the harbour; the other, to steer further into the main ocean ; but both appeared to be nearly swamped by the violence of the winds and waves. People mounted to the lighthouse with lights ; for at this season the lantern is not illuminated ; and a boat was sent out to endeavour to assist, and take any spare hands or passengers, if such there were, from the vessel ; but the sea was so boisterous Page 401 that they could not reach the ship, and were nearly lost in the attempt. Alex ran up to the lighthouse, to see what was doing ; but was glad to return, as he could with difficulty keep his feet, and was on the point of being lifted off them down the precipice into the sea. I never was so horrified as when, from the top of the house, I perceived his danger. Thank God, he felt it in time, and came back in safety. It requires use to sustain the feet in such a hurricane, upon a rock perpendicularly standing in the ocean. YOUNG D'ARBLAY's TUTOR. July 7.-We have heard that one of the vessels got off; but no tidings whatsoever have been received of the other. It is suspected to be a passage vessel from Bristol to Ireland. I have had Mr. Jacob to tea; I could not yet arrange a dinner, and he was impatient for an introduction. I like him extremely: he has everything in his favour that can be imagined ; sound judgment without positiveness, brilliant talents without conceit, authority with gentleness, and consummate knowledge of science with modesty. What a blessing that such a character should preside over these inexperienced youths ! Mr. Jacob has aided us to remove. Time is a plaything to the diligent and obliging, though a thief to the idle and capricious ; the first find it, in the midst of every obstacle, for what they wish, while the latter lose it, though surrounded by every resource, for all that they want. I had such success that I now write from my new dwelling, which I will describe to-morrow. July 9.-Quelle joie! this morning I receive a welcome to my new habitation, to make it cheer me from the beginning. 'Tis begun June 28th, and finished July 2nd. How propos is what I had just written of time in the hands of the diligent and obliging! yet how it is you can bestow so much upon me is my admiration. I have not mentioned a letter I have received from Mrs. Frances Bowdler. She tells me of the marriage of Miss---- to a Prussian gentleman, and expresses some vexation at it, but adds, "Perhaps I ought not to say this to you," meaning on account of the objection to a foreigner; and then elegantly adds, "but one person's having gained the great prize in the lottery does not warrant another to throw his whole wealth into the wheel." Not very bad English that? Page 402 GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILL-HEALTH. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.) Ilfracombe, Post Office, July 23, 1817. .....I have letters very frequently from Paris, all assuring me M. d'A. is re-establishing upon the whole; yet all letting me see, by collateral accounts, anecdotes, or expressions, that he is constantly in the hands of his physician, and that a difficulty of breathing attacks him from time to time, as it did before his journey: with a lassitude, a weakness, and a restlessness which make him there, as here they made him since his illness, unfit for company, and incapable, but by starts and for moments to have any enjoyment of mixed society! I do not therefore, feel comfortable about him, though, thank heaven, not alarmed. And at all events I am glad he tries the change of air. Change of scene also was advised for him by all * but he is too kind to find that beneficial when we are separated; and he writes me frequent avowals of seizures of dejection and sadness that reduce him to a state of great suffering. The parting, while he was in a situation so discouraging, was very cruel but Alexander had, and has, no chance of taking a tolerable degree without a friend constantly at hand to remind him of the passage of time. He never thinks of it: every day seems a day by itself, which he may fill up at pleasure, but which opens to him no prospect of the day that will succeed! So little reflection on the future, with so good capacity for judging the present, were never before united. PARTICULARS OF ILFRACOMBE. We are very well lodged for pleasantness, and for excellent people. We have a constant view of the sea from our drawing room, which is large and handsome - our bedrooms also are good; but our minor accommodations, our attendance, dinner equipage, cooking, etc., would very ill have contented my general had he been here. The best men, the most moderate and temperate, are difficult, nay, dainty, compared with women. When he comes, if I am so happy as to see him return while we are here, I must endeavour to ameliorate these matters. Ilfracombe is a long, narrow town, consisting of only one regular street, though here and there small groups of houses hang upon its skirts, and it is not destitute of lanes and alleys. Page 403 The town part or side Is ugly, ill paved and ill looking: but the backs of the habitations offer, on one side the street, prospects of fine hills, and on the other, noble openings to the sea. The town is built upon a declivity, of which the church is at the summit, and the harbour makes the termination. It was in the harbour, that is upon the quay, that we were at first lodged ; and our apartments were by no means without interest or amusement; but just as we were comfortably settled in them, we were told the ebbs and flows, etc., of the tides left occasionally, or brought, odours not the most salubrious. To this representation I thought it right to yield so implicitly, that I sought a new abode, and changed my quarters instantly. YOUNG D'ARBLAY's AVERSION TO STUDY. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Friday, September 12, 1817. I have so much to say to my dearest friend, that I open my new sheet at the moment of finishing the old one, though I shall not send it for a week - and let me begin by quieting your poor nerves relative to La Chapelle, in assuring you I neglect no possible means to follow, substantially and effectually, your injunctions, though I dare not tell him that you would never pardon the smallest infraction of our new treaty. He is not capable, mon ami, of an exactitude of that undeviating character. To force further solemn promises from so forgetful, so unreflecting, yet so undesigning and well-meaning a young creature, is to plunge him and ourselves into the culpability of which we accuse him. To attempt in that manner to couper court,(308) etc., instead of frightening him into right, would harden him into desperation. His disgust to his forced study is still so vehement, that it requires all I can devise of exhortation, persuasion, menace, and soothing, tour tour, to deter him from relinquishing all effort! The times, mon ami, are "out of joint:" we must not by exigeance precipitate him to his ruin, but try patiently and prudently, every possible means, to rescue him from the effects of his own wilful blindness and unthinking, idle eccentricity. If we succeed, how will he bless us when his maturer judgment opens his eyes to the evils he will have escaped! but if we fail why should we lie down and die because he Page 404 might have obtained fame and riches, yet obstinately preferred obscurity with a mere competence? Put not Your recovery and your happiness upon such a cast! My own struggles to support the disappointment for which I am forced to prepare myself, in the midst of all my persevering, unremitting efforts to avert it, are sufficiently severe ; but the manner in which I see your agitation threaten your health, makes his failure but secondary to my apprehensions! Oh, mon ami, ought we not rather to unite in comforting each other by sustaining ourselves? Should we not have done so mutually, if the contagious fever at Cambridge had carried him off? And what is the mortification of a bad degree and a lessened ambition, with all the mundane humiliation belonging to it, compared with the total earthly loss of so dear an object, who may be good and happy in a small circle, if he misses, by his own fault, mounting into a larger? Take courage, my dearest ami, and relieve me from the double crush that else may wholly destroy mine. Let us both, while we yet venture to hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Nothing on my part shall be wanting to save this blow; but should his perversity make it inevitable, we must unite our utmost strength, not alone to console each other, but to snatch from that "sombre d�couragement"(309) you so well foresee, the wilful, but ever fondly-loved dupe of his own insouciance. . . .(310) A VISIT FROM THE FIRST CHESS PLAYER IN ENGLAND. And now to lighter matters. I hope I have gained a smile from you by my disclosure that I lost my journal time for my usual post-day by successive dissipation ? What will you have conjectured ? That I have consented at last to listen to Mr. Jacob's recommendation for going to the Ilfracombe ball, and danced a fandango with him! or waltzed, au moins! or that I have complied with his desire of going to the cricket-ground, just arranged by the Cantabs and some officers who are here, in subscribing three guineas for the use of a field? Vous n'�tes pas;(311) for though I should like, in itself, to see a cricket-match, in a field which Mr. Jacob says is beautifully situated, and where the Bishop of Ossory and his lady, Mrs. Fowler, go frequently, as two of their sons are amongst the Page 405 players; yet, as Jacob evidently thinks our poor Alexander ought not to spare time for being of the party, I cannot bear to quit my watchful place by his side, and go thither without him. Mais--Vous vous rendez, n'est-ce-pas?(312) Eh bien--to go back to Sept. 2nd. Alexander and I were nearly finishing our evening, tea being over, and nine o'clock having struck, while he was reading the "Spiritual Quixote"(313) for a little relaxation; when Miss Elizabeth Ramsay came to tell me that a gentleman was just arrived at Ilfracombe who begged leave to wait upon me, if I would admit him; and she gave me a card with the name of Mr. Bowdler. Of course I complied, and Alexander was wild with joy at the thought of such an interview, as Mr. Bowdler is acknowledged the first chess-player in England, and was the only man, when Philidor was here, who had the honour of a drawn battle with him: a thing that Philidor has recorded by printing the whole of the game in his treatise on chess. I was not glad to bring back his ideas to that fascination, yet could not be sorry he should have so great a pleasure. Mr. Bowdler presented himself very quickly, though not till he had made a toilette of great dress, such as would have suited the finest evening assembly at Bath. He was always a man of much cultivation, and a searcher of the bas bleus(314) all his life. He is brother to our two Mrs. Bowdlers, and was now come to escort Mrs. Frances from his house in Wales, where she has spent the summer, to Ilfracombe. I had formerly met this gentleman very often, at bleu parties, and once at a breakfast at his own house, given in honour of Mrs. Frances, where I met Sophy Streatfield, then a great beauty and a famous Greek scholar, of whom the " Literary Herald says:-- "Lovely Streatfield's ivory neck, Nose and notions la Grecque." He was extremely civil to Alex, whom he had longed, he said, to see, and Alex listened to every word that dropped from him, as if it would teach some high move at chess. We had much talk of old times. We had not met since we parted in St. James's-place, in the last illness of my dear Mrs. Page 406 Delany, whom he then attended as a physician. He stayed till past ten, having left his sister at the hotel, too tired with a sea passage to come out, or to receive chez elle. But he entreated me to dine with them next day, the only day he should spend at Ilfracombe, with such excess of earnestness and Alex seconded the request with so many "Oh, mamma's!" that he overpowered all refusal, assuring me it could not interfere with my Bath measures, as it was a dinner, pour ainsi dire,(315) on the road, for he and his sister were forced to dine at the hotel. He also declared, in a melancholy tone that he might probably never see me more, unless I made a tour of Wales, as -he began to feel himself too old for the exertion of a sea voyage. The next morning, immediately after breakfast, I waited upon my old friend and namesake, Fanny Bowdler, and sat with her two hours t�te- -t�te, for her brother was unwell, and she is admirable in close dialogue. I had hardly got home ere she followed me, and stayed till it was time to dress for dinner; when again we met, and only parted for our downy pillows. Her strong sense, keen observation, and travelled intelligence and anecdotes, made the day, thus devoted to her, from ten in the morning to ten at night, pass off with great spirit and liveliness: but Alex, oh! he was in Elysium. Mr. Bowdler took a great fancy to him, and indulged his ardent wish of a chess talk to the full; satisfying him in many difficult points, and going over with him his own famous game with Philidore - and, in short, delivering himself over to that favourite subject with him entirely. It will not, however, be mischievous, for Mr. Bowdler's own enthusiasm is over, and he has now left the game quite off, not having played it once these seven years. THE DIARY CONTINUED. A COAST RAMBLE IN SEARCH OF CURIOSITIES. The term for Alexander's studies with Mr. Jacob was just finishing, and a few days only remained ere the party was. to be dispersed, when I determined upon devoting a morning to the search of such curiosities as the coast produced. . I marched forth, attended only by M. d'Arblay's favourite little dog, Diane, with a large silk bag to see what I could Page 407 find that I might deem indigenous, as a local offering to the collection of my general, who was daily increasing his mineralogical stores, under the skilful direction of his friend, -the celebrated naturalist, M. de Bournon. I began my perambulation by visiting the promontory called "the Capstan"--or rather attempting that visit; for after mounting to nearly its height, by a circuitous path from the town, by which alone the ascent is possible, the side of the promontory being a mere precipice overlooking the ocean, a sudden gust of wind dashed so violently against us, that in the danger of being blown into the sea, I dropped on the turf at full length, and saw Diane do the same, with her four paws spread as widely as possible, to flatten her body more completely to the ground. This opening to my expedition thus briefly set aside, I repaired to the coast, where there are pebbles, at least, in great beauty as well as abundance. The coast of Ilfracombe is broken by rocks, which bear evident marks of being fragments of some one immense rock, which, undermined by the billows in successive storms, has been cast in all directions in its fall. We went down to the edge of the sea, which was clear, smooth, and immovable as a lake, the wind having subsided into a calm so quiet, that I could not tell whether the tide were in or out. Not a creature was in sight; but presently a lady descended, with a book in her hand, and passed on before us to the right, evidently to read alone. Satisfied by this circumstance that the tide was going out, and all was safe, I began my search, and soon accumulated a collection of beautiful pebbles, each of which seemed to merit being set in a ring. The pleasure they afforded me insensibly drew me on to the entrance of the Wildersmouth, which is the name given to a series of recesses formed by the rocks, and semicircular, open at the bottom to the sea, and only to be entered from the sands at low tide. I coasted two or three of them, augmenting my spoil as I proceeded; and perceiving the lady I have- already mentioned composedly engaged with her book, I hurried past to visit the last recess, whither I had never yet ventured. I found it a sort of chamber, though with no roof but a clear blue sky. The top was a portly mountain, rough, steep and barren - the left side was equally mountainous, but consisting of layers of a sort of slate, intermixed with moss ; the right side was the elevated Capstan, Page 408 which here was perpendicular; and at the bottom were ,the sands, by which I entered it, terminated by the ocean. The whole was altogether strikingly picturesque, wild and original. There was not one trace of art, or even of any previous entrance into it of man. I could almost imagine myself its first human inmate. My eye was presently caught by the appearance, near the top, of a cavern, at the foot of which I perceived something of so brilliant a whiteness that, in hopes of a treasure for my bag, I hastened to the spot. What had attracted me proved to be the jawbone and teeth of some animal. Various rudely curious things at the mouth of the cavern invited investigation; Diane, however, brushed forward, and was soon out of sight, but while I was busily culling, hoarding, or rejecting whatever struck my fancy, she returned with an air so piteous, and a whine so unusual, that, concluding she pined to return to a little puppy of a week old that she was then rearing, I determined to hasten; but still went on with my search, till the excess of her distress leading her to pull me by the gown, moved me to take her home; but when I descended, for this recess was on a slant, how was I confounded to find the sands at the bottom, opening to the recess, whence I had entered this marine chamber, were covered by the waves; though so gentle had been their motion, and so calm was the sea, that their approach had not caught my ear. I hastily remounted, hoping to find some outlet at the top by which I might escape, but there was none. This was not pleasant but still I was not frightened, not conceiving or believing that I could be completely enclosed: the less, as I recollected, in my passage to the cavern, having had a glimpse of the lady who was reading in the neighbouring recess. I hastily scrambled to the spot to look for her, and entreat her assistance ; but how was I then startled to find that she was gone, and that her recess, which was on less elevated ground than mine, was fast filling with water! CAUGHT BY THE RISING TIDE. I now rushed down to the sea, determined to risk a wet jerkin, by wading through a wave or two, to secure myself from being shut up in this unfrequented place : but the time was past! The weather suddenly changed, the lake was gone, and billows mounted one after the other, as if with enraged Page 409 pursuit of what they could seize and swallow. I eagerly ran up and down, from side to side, and examined every nook and corner, every projection and hollow, to find any sort of opening through which I could pass-but there was none. Diane looked scared; she whined, she prowled about - her dismay was evident, and filled me with compassion-but I could not interrupt my affrighted search to console her. Soon after, however, she discovered a hole in the rock at the upper part, which seemed to lead to the higher sands. She got through it, and then turned round to bark, as triumphing in her success, and calling upon me to share its fruits. But in vain !-the hollow was too small for my passage save of my head, and I could only have remained in it as if standing in the pillory. I still, therefore, continued my own perambulation, but I made a motion to my poor Diane to go, deeming it cruel to detain her from her little one. Yet I heard her howl as if reduced to despair, that I would not join her. Anon, however, she was silent--I looked after her, but she had disappeared. This was an alarming moment. Alone, without the smallest aid, or any knowledge how high the sea might mount, or what was the extent of my danger, I looked up wistfully at Capstan, and perceived the iron salmon; but this angle of that promontory was so steep as to be utterly impracticable for climbing by human feet; and its height was such as nearly to make me giddy in considering it from so close a point of view. I went from it, therefore, to the much less elevated and less perpendicular rock opposite; but there all that was not slate, which crumbled in my hands, was moss, from which they glided. There was no hold whatsoever for the feet. "I ran therefore to the top, where a large rock, by reaching from the upper part of this slated one to Capstan, formed the chamber in which I was thus unexpectedly immured. But this was so rough, pointed, sharp, and steep that I could scarcely touch it. The hole through which Diane had crept was at an accidentally thin part, and too small to afford a passage to anything bigger than her little self. The rising storm, however, brought forward the billows with augmented noise and violence; and my wild asylum lessened every moment. Now, indeed, I comprehended the fulness of my danger. If a wave once reached my feet, while coming upon me with the tumultuous vehemence of this storm, I had Page 410 nothing I could hold by to sustain me from becoming its prey and must inevitably be carried away into the ocean. EFFORTS TO REACH A PLACE OF SAFETY. I darted about in search of some place of safety, rapidly, and all eye; till at length I espied a small tuft of grass on the pinnacle of the highest of the small rocks that were scattered about my prison; for such now appeared my fearful dwelling-place. This happily pointed out to me a spot that the waves had never yet attained; for all around bore marks of the visits. To reach that tuft would be safety, and I made the attempt with eagerness ; but the obstacles I encountered were terrible. The roughness of the rock tore my clothes - its sharp points cut, now my feet, and now my fingers - and the distances from each other of the holes by which I could gain any footing for my ascent, increased the difficulty. I gained, however, nearly a quarter of the height, but I could climb no further and then found myself on a ledge where it was possible to sit down - and I have rarely found a little repose more seasonable. But it was not more sweet than short : for in a few minutes a sudden gust of wind raised the waves to a frightful height, whence their foam reached the base of my place of refuge, and threatened to attain soon the spot to which I had ascended. I now saw a positive necessity to mount yet higher, co�te qui co�te, and, little as I had thought it possible, the pressing danger gave me both means and fortitude to accomplish it: but with so much hardship that I have ever since marvelled at my success. My hands were wounded, my knees were bruised, and my feet were cut for I could only scramble up by clinging to the rock on all fours. When I had reached to about two-thirds of the height of my rock, I could climb no further. All above was so sharp and so perpendicular that neither hand nor foot could touch it without being wounded. My head, however, was nearly on a level with the tuft of grass, and my elevation from the sands was very considerable. I hoped, therefore, I was safe from being washed away by the waves; but I could only hope; I had no means to ascertain my situation; and hope as I might, it was as painful as it was hazardous. The tuft to which I had aimed to rise, and which, had I succeeded, would have been security, was a mere point, as unattainable as it was unique, Page 411 not another blade of grass being anywhere discernible. I was rejoiced, however, to have reached a spot where there was sufficient breadth to place one foot at least without cutting it, though the other was poised on such unfriendly ground that it could bear no part in sustaining me. Before me was an immense slab, chiefly of slate, but it was too slanting to serve for a seat-and seat I had none. My only prop, therefore, was holding by the slab, where it was of a convenient height for my hands. This support, besides affording me a little rest, saved me from becoming giddy, and enabled me from time to time to alternate the toil of my feet. A SIGNAL OF DISTRESS. Glad was I, at least, that my perilous clambering had finished by bringing me to a place where I might remain still ; for with affright, fatigue, and exertion I was almost exhausted. The wind was now abated, and the sea so calm, that I could not be sure whether the tide was still coming in. To ascertain this was deeply necessary for my tranquillity, that I might form some idea what would be the length of my torment. I fixed my eyes, therefore, upon two rocks that stood near the sea entrance into my recess, almost close to the promontory, from which they had probably been severed by successive storms. As they were always in the sea I could easily make my calculation by observing whether they seemed to lengthen or shorten. With my near-sighted glass I watched them ; and great was my consternation when, little by little, I lost sight of them. I now looked wistfully onward to the main ocean, in the hope of espying some vessel, or fishing-boat, with intention of spreading and waving my parasol, in signal of distress, should any one come in sight. But nothing appeared. All was vacant and vast ! I was wholly alone-wholly isolated. I feared to turn my head lest I should become giddy, and lose my balance. LITTLE DIANE. In this terrible state, painful, dangerous, and, more than all, solitary, who could paint my joy, when suddenly, reentering by the aperture in the rock through which she had quitted me, I perceived my dear little Diane ! For the instant I felt as if restored to safety-I no longer seemed Page 412 abandoned. She soon leaped across the flat stones and the sands which separated us, but how great was the difficulty to make her climb as I had climbed! Twenty times she advanced only to retreat from the sharp points of the rock, till ultimately she picked herself out a passage by help of the slate, and got upon the enormous table, of which the upper part was my support ; but the slant was such, that as fast as she ascended she slipped down, and we were both, I believe almost hopeless of the desired junction, when, catching at a favourable moment that had advanced her paws within my reach, I contrived to hook her collar by the curved end of my parasol and help her forward. This I did with one hand, and as quick as lightning, dragging her over the slab and dropping her at my feet, whence she soon nestled herself in a sort of niche of slate, in a situation much softer than mine, but in a hollow that for me was impracticable. I hastily recovered my hold, which I marvel now that I had the temerity to let go; but to have at my side my dear little faithful Diane was a comfort which no one not planted, and for a term that seemed indefinite, in so unknown-a solitude, can conceive. What cries of joy the poor little thing uttered when thus safely lodged! and with what tenderness I sought to make her sensible of my gratitude for her return ! I was now, compared with all that had preceded, in Paradise : so enchanted did I -feel at no longer considering myself as if alone in the world. O, well I can conceive the interest excited in the French prisoner by a spider, even a spider! Total absence of all. of animation in a place of confinement, of which the term is unknown, where volition is set aside, and where captivity is the work of the elements, casts the fancy into a state of solemn awe, of fearful expectation, which I have not words to describe; while the higher mind, mastering at times that fancy, seeks resignation from the very sublimity of that terrific vacuity whence all seems exiled, but self: seeks, and finds it in the almost Visible security of the omnipresence of God. To see after my kind little companion was an occupation that for awhile kept me from seeing after myself, but when I had done what I could towards giving her comfort and assistance, I again looked before me, and saw the waters at the base of my rock of refuge, still gradually rising on, while both my rocks of mark were completely swallowed up! Page 413 the INCREASING DANGER, My next alarm was one that explained that of Diane when she came back so scared from the cavern ; for the waves, probably from some subterraneous passage, now forced their way through that cavern, threatening inundation to even the highest part of my chamber. This was horrific. I could no longer even speak to Diane; my eyes were riveted upon this unexpected gulf, and in a few moments an immense breaker attacked my rock, and, impeded by its height from going straight forward, was dashed in two directions, and foamed onward against each side. I did not breathe--I felt faint--I felt even sea-sick. On, then, with added violence came two wide-spreading waves, and, being parted by my rock, completely encompassed it, meeting each other on the further and upper ground. I now gave up my whole soul to prayer for myself and for my Alexander, and that I might mercifully be spared this watery grave, or be endowed with courage and faith for meeting it with firmness. The next waves reached to the uppermost end of my chamber, which was now all sea, save the small rock upon which I was mounted! How I might have been subdued by a situation so awful at once, and so helpless, if left to unmixed contemplation, I know not -- had I not been still called into active service in sustaining my poor Diane. No sooner were we thus encompassed than she was seized with a dismay that filled me with pity. She trembled violently, and rising and looking down at the dreadful sight of sea, sea, sea all around, and sea still to the utmost extent of the view beyond, she turned up her face to me, as if appealing for protection and when I spoke to her with kindness, she crept forward to my feet, and was instantly taken with a shivering fit. I could neither sit nor kneel to offer her any comfort, but I dropped down as children do when they play at hunt the slipper, for so only could I loose my hold of the slab without falling, and I then stroked and caressed her in as fondling a way as if she had been a child; and I recovered her from her ague-fit by rubbing her head and back with my shawl. She then looked up at me somewhat composed, though still piteous and forlorn, and licked my hands with gratitude. Page 414 THE LAST WAVE OF THE RISING TIDE. While this passed the sea had gained considerably in height, and, a few minutes afterwards all the horrors of a tempest seemed impending. The wind roared around me, pushing on the waves with a frothy velocity that, to a bystander, not to an inmate amidst them, would have been beautiful. It whistled with shrill and varying tones from the numberless crevices in the three immense rocky mountains by whose semicircular adhesion I was thus immured - and it burst forth at times in squalls, reverberating from height to height or chasm to chasm, as if "the big-mouthed thunder" "Were bellowing through the vast and boundless deep." A wave, at length, more stupendous than any which had preceded it, dashed against my rock as if enraged at an interception of its progress, and rushed on to the extremity of this savage chamber, with foaming impetuosity. This moment I believed to be my last of mortality ! but a moment only it was ; for scarcely had I time, with all the rapidity of concentrated thought, to recommend myself, my husband, and my poor Alexander, humbly but fervently to the mercy of the Almighty, when the celestial joy broke in upon me of perceiving that this wave, which had bounded forward with such fury, was the last of the rising tide ! In its rebound, it forced back with it, for an instant, the whole body of water that was lodged nearest to the upper extremity of my recess, and the transporting sight was granted me of an opening to the sands but they were covered again the next instant, and as no other breaker made a similar opening, I was still, for a considerable length of time, in the same situation: but I lost hope no more. The tide was turned: it could rise therefore no higher; the danger was over of so unheard-of an end; of vanishing no one knew how or where--of leaving to my kind, deploring friends an unremitting uncertainty of my fate--of my re-appearance or dissolution. I now wanted nothing but time, and caution, to effect my deliverance. The threat of the tempest, also, was over ; the air grew as serene as my mind, the sea far more calm, the sun beautifully tinged the west, and its setting upon the ocean was resplendent. By remembrance, however, alone, I speak of its glory, not from any pleasure I then experienced in its sight: it told Page 415 me of the waning day; and the anxiety I had now dismissed for myself redoubled for my poor Alexander. . . . With my bag of curiosities I made a cushion for Diane, which, however little luxurious, was softness itself compared with her then resting-place. She, also, could take no repose, but from this period I made her tolerably happy, by caresses and continual attentions. But no sooner had the beams of the sun vanished from the broad horizon, than a small, gentle rain began to fall, and the light as well as brightness of the day became obscured by darkling clouds. This greatly alarmed me, in defiance of my joy and my philosophy; for I dreaded being surprised by the night in this isolated situation. I was supported, however, by perceiving that the sea was clearly retrograding, and beholding, little by little, the dry ground across the higher extremity of my apartment. How did I bless the sight ! the sands and clods of sea-mire were more beautiful to my eyes than the rarest mosaic pavement of antiquity. Nevertheless, the return was so gradual, that I foresaw I had still many hours to remain a prisoner. ARRIVAL OF SUCCOUR. The night came on--there was no moon - but the sea, by its extreme whiteness, afforded some degree of pale light, when suddenly I thought I perceived something in the air. Affrighted, I looked around me but nothing was visible; yet in another moment something like a shadow flitted before my eyes. I tried to fix it, but could not develop any form : something black was all I could make out; it seemed in quick motion, for I caught and lost it alternately, as if it was a shadow reflected by the waters. I looked up at Capstan: nothing was there, but the now hardly discernible Iron salmon. I then looked at the opposite side. . . . ah, gracious heaven, what were my sensations to perceive two human figures! Small they looked, as in a picture, from their distance, the height of the rock, and the obscurity of the night; but not less certainly from their outline, human figures. I trembled--I could not breathe--in another minute I was espied, for a voice loud, but unknown to my ears, called out "Holloa!" I unhesitatingly answered, "I am safe!" "Thank God!" was the eager reply, in a voice hardly Page 416 articulate, "Oh, thank God!" but not in a Voice unknown though convulsed with agitation--it was the voice of my dear son! Oh what a quick transition from every direful apprehension to' joy and delight! yet knowing his precipitancy, and fearing a rash descent to join me, in ignorance of the steepness and dangers of the precipice which parted us, I called out with all the energy in my power to conjure him to await patiently, as I would myself, the entire going down of the tide. He readily gave me this promise, though still in sounds almost inarticulate. I was then indeed in heaven while upon earth. Another form then appeared, while Alex and the first companion retired. This form, from a gleam of light on her dress, I soon saw to be female. She called out to me that Mr. Alexander and his friend were gone to call for a boat to come round for me by sea. The very thought made me shudder, acquainted as I now was with the nature of my recess, where, though the remaining sea looked as smooth as the waters of a lake, I well knew it was but a surface covering pointed fragments of rock, against which a boat must have been overset or stranded. Loudly, therefore, as I could raise my voice, I called upon my informant to fly after them, and say I was decided to wait till the tide was down. She replied that she would not leave me alone for the world. The youths, however, soon returned to the top of the mountain, accompanied by a mariner, who had dissuaded them from their dangerous enterprise. I cheerfully repeated that I was safe, and begged reciprocated patience. They now wandered about on the heights, one of them always keeping in view. Meanwhile, I had now the pleasure to descend to the sort of halfway-house which I had first hoped would serve for my refuge. The difficulty was by no means so arduous to come down as to mount, especially as, the waters being no longer so high as my rock, there was no apprehension of destruction should my footing fail me. Some time after I descried a fourth figure on the summit, bearing a lantern. This greatly rejoiced me, for the twilight now was grown so obscure that I had felt much troubled how I might at last grope my way in the dark out of this terrible Wildersmouth. Page 417 They all now, from the distance and the dimness, looked like spectres : we spoke no more, the effort being extremely fatiguing. I observed, however, with great satisfaction, an increase of figures, so that the border of the precipice seemed covered with people. This assurance that if any accident happened, there would be succour at hand, relieved many a fresh starting anxiety. Not long after, the sea wholly disappeared, and the man with the lantern, who was an old sailor, descended the precipice on the further part, by a way known to him ; and placing the lantern where it might give him light, yet allow him the help of both his hands, he was coming to me almost on all fours - when Diane leaped to the bottom of the rock, and began a barking so loud and violent that the seaman stopped short, and I had the utmost difficulty to appease my little dog, and prevail with her, between threats and cajolements, to suffer his approach. . . . MEETING BETWEEN MOTHER AND SON. My son no sooner perceived that the seaman had found footing, though all was still too watery and unstable for me to quit my rock, than he darted forward by the way thus pointed out, and clambering, or rather leaping up to me, he was presently in my arms. Neither of us could think or care about the surrounding spectators-we seemed restored to each other, almost miraculously, from destruction and death. Neither of us could utter a word, but both, I doubt not, were equally occupied in returning the most ardent thanks to heaven. Alexander had run wildly about in every direction; visited hill, dale, cliff, by-paths, and public roads, to make and instigate inquiry-but of the Wildersmouth he thought not, and never, I believe, had heard; and as it was then a mere part of the sea, from the height of the tide, the notion or remembrance of it occurred to no one. Mr. Jacob, his coolheaded and excellent hearted friend, was most unfortunately at Barnstaple, but he at length thought of Mr. John Le Fevre, a young man who was eminently at the head of the Ilfracombe students, and had resisted going to the ball at Barnstaple, not to lose an hour of his time. Recollecting this, Alex went to his dwelling, and bursting into his apartment, called out, "My mother is missing!" Page 418 The generous youth, seeing the tumult of soul in which he was addressed, shut up his bureau without a word, and hurried off with his distressed comrade, giving up for that benevolent purpose the precious time he had refused himself to spare for a moment's recreation. Fortunately, providentially, Mr. Le Fevre recollected Wildersmouth, and that one of his friends had narrowly escaped destruction by a surprise there of the sea. He no sooner named this than he and Alexander contrived to climb up the rock opposite to Capstan, whence they looked down upon my recess. At first they could discern nothing, save one small rock uncovered by the sea : but at length, as my head moved, Le Fevre saw something like a shadow--he then called out, "Holloa!" etc. To Mr. Le Fevre, therefore, I probably owe my life. Two days after, I visited the spot of my captivity, but it had entirely changed its appearance. A storm of equinoctial violence had broken off its pyramidal height, and the drift of sand and gravel, and fragments of rocks, had given a new face to the whole recess. I sent for the seaman to ascertain the very spot: this he did; but told me that a similar change took place commonly twice a year - and added, very calmly, that two days later I could not have been saved from the waves. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S RETURN TO ENGLAND. (Madame d'Arblay to a Friend.) Bath, November 9, 1817. Can I still hope, my dear friend, for that patient partiality which will await my tardy answer ere it judges my irksome silence? Your letter Of Sept. 27th I found upon my table when I returned, the 5th of October, from Ilfracombe. I returned, with Alexander, to meet General d'A. from Paris. You will be sorry, I am very sure, and probably greatly surprised, to hear that he came in a state to occupy every faculty of my mind and thoughts-- altered--thin--weak--depressed--full of pain--and disappointed in every expectation of every sort that had urged his excursion! I thank God the fever that confined him to his bed for three days is over, and he yesterday went down stairs and his repose now is the most serene and reviving. The fever, Mr. Hay assured me, was merely symptomatic ; not of inflammation Page 419 or any species of danger, but the effect of his sufferings. Alas! that is heavy and severe enough, but still, where fever comes, 'tis of the sort the least cruel, because no ways alarming. Nov. 15-I never go out, nor admit any one within - nor shall I, till a more favourable turn will let me listen to his earnest exhortations that I should do both. Mr. Hay gives me strong hopes that that will soon arrive, and then I shall not vex him by persevering in this seclusion: you know and can judge how little this part of my course costs me, for to quit the side of those we prize when they are in pain, would be a thousand times greater sacrifice than any other privation. THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE'S DEATH. You are very right as to Lady Murray, not only, of course, I am honoured by her desire of intercourse, but it can never be as a new acquaintance I can see the daughter of Lord and Lady Mulgrave. I have been frequently in the company of the former, who was a man of the gayest wit in society I almost ever knew. He spread mirth around him by his sprightly ideas and sallies, and his own laugh was as hearty and frank as that he excited in others ; and his accomplished and attaching wife was one of the sweetest creatures in the world. Alas ! how often this late tragedy in the unfortunate royal family has called her to my remembrance!(316) She, however, left the living consolation of a lovely babe to her disconsolate survivor ;-the poor Prince Leopold loses in one blow mother and child. The royal visit here has been a scene of emotion:--first of joy and pleasure, next of grief and disappointment. The queen I thought looked well till this sudden and unexpected blow; after which, for the mournful day she remained, she admitted no one to her presence, but most graciously sent me a message to console me. She wrote instantly, with her own hand, to Prince Leopold-that prince who must seem to have had a vision of celestial happiness, so perfect it was, so exalted, and so transitory. The poor Princess Charlotte's passion for him had absorbed her, yet was so well placed as only to form her to excellence, and it had so completely won his return, that like herself he coveted Page 420 her alone...... Princess Elizabeth is much altered personally, to my great concern; but her manners, and amiability, and talents, I think more pleasing and more attaching than ever, How delighted I was at their arrival ! THE QUEEN AND PRINCESSES AT BATH. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, November 9, 1817. We have here spent nearly a week in a manner the most extraordinary, beginning with hope and pleasure, proceeding to fear and pain, and ending in disappointment and grief. The joy exhibited on Monday, when her majesty and her royal highness arrived, was really ecstatic ; the illumination was universal. The public offices were splendid; so were the tradespeople's who had promises or hopes of employment; the nobles and gentles were modestly gay, and the poor eagerly put forth their mite. But all was flattering, because voluntary. Nothing was induced by power, or forced by mobs. All was left to individual choice. Your padre and I patrolled the principal streets, and were quite touched by the universality of the homage paid to the virtues and merit of our venerable queen, upon this her first progress through any part of her domains by herself. Hitherto she has only accompanied the poor king, as at Weymouth and Cheltenham, Worcester and Exeter, Plymouth and Portsmouth, etc. ; or the prince regent, as at Brighthelmstone. But here, called by her health, she came as principal, and in her own character of rank and consequence. And, as Mr. Hay told me, the inhabitants of Bath were all even vehement to let her see the light in which they held her individual self, after so many years witnessing her exemplary conduct and distinguished merit. ::She was very sensible to this tribute; but much affected, nay, dejected, in receiving it, at the beginning; from coming without the king where the poor king had always meant himself to bring her - but just as he had arranged for the excursion, and even had three houses taken for him in the Royal-crescent, he was afflicted by blindness. He would not then come; for what, he said, was a beautiful city to him who could not look at it? This was continually in the remembrance of the queen during the honours of her reception ; but she had recovered from the melancholy recollection, and was Page 421 cheering herself by the cheers of all the inhabitants, when the first news arrived of the illness of the Princess Charlotte. At that moment she was having her diamonds placed on her head for the reception of the mayor and corporation of Bath, with an address upon the honour done to their city, and upon their hopes from the salutary spring she came to quaff. Her first thought was to issue orders for deferring this ceremony but when she considered that all the members of the municipality must be assembled, and that the great dinner they had prepared to give to the Duke of Clarence could only be postponed at an enormous and useless expense, she composed her spirits, finished her regal decorations, and admitted the citizens of Bath, who were highly gratified by her condescension, and struck by her splendour, which was the same as she appeared in on the greatest occasions in the capital. The Princess Elizabeth was also a blaze of jewels. And our good little Mayor (not four feet high) and aldermen and common councilmen were all transported. NEWS ARRIVES OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE'S DEATH. The Duke of Clarence accepted their invitation, and was joined by the Marquis of Bath and all the queen's suite. But the dinner was broken up. The duke received an express with the terrible tidings: he rose from table, and struck his forehead as he read them, and then hurried out of the assembly with inexpressible trepidation and dismay. The queen also was at table when the same express arrived, though only with the princess and her own party: all were dispersed in a moment, and she shut herself up, admitting no one but her royal highness. She would have left Bath the next morning; but her physician, Sir Henry Halford, said it would be extremely dangerous that she should travel so far, in her state of health, just in the first perturbation of affliction. She would see no one but her suite all day, and set out the next for Windsor Castle, to spend the time previous to the last melancholy rites, in the bosom of her family. All Bath wore a face of mourning. The transition from gaiety and exultation was really awful. What an extinction of youth and happiness ! The poor Princess Charlotte had never known a moment's suffering since her marriage. Her lot seemed perfect. Prince Leopold is, indeed, to be pitied. Page 422 (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.) Bath, November 25, 1817. .....We are all here impressed with the misfortunes of the royal house, and chiefly with the deadly blow inflicted on the perfect conjugal happiness of the first young couple in the kingdom. The first couple not young bad already received a blow yet, perhaps, more frightful : for to have, yet lose-to keep, yet never to enjoy the being we most prize, is surely yet more torturing than to yield at once to the stroke which we know awaits us, and by which, at last, we must necessarily and indispensably fall. The queen supports herself with the calm and serenity belonging to one inured to misfortune, and submissive to Providence. The Princess Elizabeth has native spirits that resist all woe after the first shock, though she is full of kindness, goodness, and zeal for right action. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. SERIOUS ILLNESS OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. (Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Bath, Thursday, February 26, 1818. I had company in the room when Lady K-'s note arrived, desiring I would send you some papers of hers by the person who should bring it. I had offered a conveyance to London by some friends of my own, but she preferred their passing through your hands. Accept my truest wishes for the restoration of complete peace to a mind which has been SO long and so justly admired, loved, and praised by, Dear madam,--Your ever faithful, H. L. P. Who attends the general? and why do you think him SO very bad? (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi.) Bath, February 26, 1818. There is no situation in which a kind remembrance from you, my dear madam, would not awaken me to some pleasure; but my poor sufferer was so very ill when your note came, that it was not possible for me to answer it. That I think him so very bad, is that I see him perpetually in pain Page 423 nearly insupportable ; yet I am assured it is local and unattended with danger while followed up with constant care and caution. This supports my spirits, which bear me and enable me to help him through a malady of anguish and difficulty. It is a year this very month since he has been in the hands of Mr. Hay as a regular patient. Mr. Hay was recommended to us by Mrs. Locke and Mrs. Angerstein, whom he attends as physician, from their high opinion of his skill and discernment. But, alas ! all has failed here ; and we have called in Mr. Tudor, as the case terminates in being one that demands a surgeon. Mr. Tudor gives me every comfort in prospect, but prepares me for long suffering, and slow, slow recovery. Shall I apologise for this wordy explanation? No - you will see by it with what readiness I am happy, to believe that our interest in each other must ever be reciprocal. Lady K- by no means intended to give me the charge of the papers; she only thought they might procure some passing amusement to my invalid. I must, on the contrary, hope you will permit me to return them you, in a few days, for such conveyance as you may deem safe; I am now out of the way of seeking any. I hope you were a little glad that my son has been among the high Wranglers. NARRATIVE OF THE ILLNESS AND DEATH OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. THE GENERAL'S FIRST ATTACK: DELUSIVE HOPES. Bolton Street, Berkeley Square. It is now the 17th of November, 1819. A year and a half have passed since I was blessed with the sight of my beloved husband. I can devise no means to soothe my lonely woe, so likely of success as devoting my evening solitude to recollections of his excellences, and of every occurrence of his latter days, till I bring myself up to the radiant serenity of their end. I think it will be like passing with him, with him himself, a few poor fleeting but dearly-cherished moments. I will call back the history of my beloved husband's last illness. Ever present as it is to me, it will be a relief to set it down. In Paris, in the autumn Of 1817, he was first attacked with Page 424 the deadly evil by which he was finally consumed. I suspected not his danger. He had left me in June, in the happy but most delusive persuasion that the journey and his native air would complete his recovery from the jaundice, which had attacked him in February, 1817. Far from ameliorating, his health went on daily declining. His letters, which at first were the delight and support of my existence, became disappointing, dejecting, afflicting. I sighed for his return ! I believed. he was trying experiments that hindered his recovery; and, indeed, I am persuaded he precipitated the evil by continual changes of system. At length his letters became so comfortless, that I almost expired with desire to join him - but he positively forbade my quitting our Alexander, who was preparing for his grand examination at Cambridge. On the opening of October, 1817, Alex and I returned from Ilfracombe to Bath to meet our best friend. He arrived soon after, attended by his favourite medical man, Mr. Hay, whom he had met in Paris. We found him extremely altered-not in mind, temper, faculties--oh, no!--but in looks and strength: thin and weakened so as to be fatigued by the smallest exertion. He tried, however, to revive; we sought to renew our walks, but his strength was insufficient. He purchased a garden in the Crescent fields, and worked in it, but came home always the worse for the effort. His spirits were no longer in their state of native genial cheerfulness : he could still be awakened to gaiety, but gaiety was no longer innate, instinctive with him. GENERAL D'ARBLAY PRESENTED TO THE QUEEN. In this month, October, 1817, I had a letter from the Princess Elizabeth, to inform me that her majesty and herself were coming to pass four weeks in Bath. The queen's stay was short, abruptly and sadly broken up by the death of the Princess Charlotte. In twenty-four hours after the evil tidings, they hastened to Windsor to meet the prince regent and almost immediately after the funeral, the queen and princess returned, accompanied by the Duke of Clarence. I saw them continually, and never passed a day without calling at the royal abode by the queen's express permission ; and during the whole period of their stay, my invalid appeared to be stationary in his health. I never quitted him save for this royal visit, and that only of a morning. Page 425 He had always purposed being presented to her majesty in the pump-room, and the queen herself deigned to say "she should be very glad to see the general." Ill he was! suffering, emaciated, enfeebled! But he had always spirit awake to every call; and just before Christmas, 1817, we went together, between seven and eight o'clock in the morning, in chairs, to the pump-room. I thought I had never seen him look to such advantage. His fine brow so open, his noble countenance so expressive, his features so formed for a painter's pencil! This, too, was the last time he ever wore his military honours--his three orders of "St. Louis," "the Legion of Honour," and "Du Lys," or "De la Fid�lit�;" decorations which singularly became him, from his strikingly martial port and character. The queen was brought to the circle in her sedan-chair, and led to the seat prepared for her by her vice-chamberlain, making a gracious general bow to the assembly as she passed. Dr. Gibbs and Mr. Tudor waited upon her with the Bath water, and she conversed with them, and the mayor and aldermen, and her own people, for some time. After this she rose to make her round with a grace indescribable, and, to those who never witnessed it, inconceivable ; for it was such as to carry off age, infirmity, sickness, diminutive stature and to give her, in defiance of such disadvantages, a power of charming that rarely has been equalled. Her face had a variety of expression that made her features soon seem agreeable; the intonations of her voice so accorded with her words, her language was so impressive, and her manner so engaging and encouraging, that it was not possible to be the object of her attention without being both struck with her uncommon abilities and fascinated by their exertion. Such was the effect which she produced upon General d'Arblay, to whom she soon turned. Highly sensible to the honour of her distinction, he forgot his pains in his desire to manifest his gratitude;--and his own smiles--how winning they became! Her majesty spoke of Bath, of Windsor, of the Continent; and while addressing him, her eyes turned to meet mine with a look that said, "Now I know I am making you happy!" She asked me, archly, whether I was not fatigued by coming to the pump-room so early? and said, "Madame d'Arblay thinks I have never seen you before ! but she is mistaken, for I peeped at you through the window as you passed to the Terrace at Windsor." Alas! the queen no Page 426 sooner ceased to address him than the pains he had suppressed became intolerable, and he retreated from the circle and sank upon a bench near the wall - he could stand no longer, and we returned home to spend the rest of the day in bodily misery. GLOOMY FOREBODINGS. Very soon after the opening of this fatal year 1818, expressions dropped from my beloved of his belief of his approaching end : they would have broken my heart, had not an incredulity --now my eternal wonder,--kept me in a constant persuasion that he was hypochondriac, and tormented with false apprehensions. Fortunate, merciful as wonderful, was that incredulity, which, blinding me to my coming woe, enabled me to support my courage by my hopes, and helped me to sustain his own. In his occasional mournful prophecies, which I always rallied off and refused to listen to, he uttered frequently the kind words, "Et jamais je n'ai tant aim� la vie! Jamais, jamais, la vie ne m'a �t� plus ch�re!"(317) How sweet to me were those words, which I thought- -alas, how delusively--would soothe and invigorate recovery! The vivacity with which I exerted all the means in my power to fly from every evil prognostic, he was often struck with, and never angrily; on the contrary, he would exclaim, "Comme j'admire ton courage!"(318) while his own, on the observation, always revived. "My courage?" I always answered, "What courage? Am I not doing what I most desire upon earth--remaining by your side? When you are not well, the whole universe is to me, there!" Soon after, nevertheless, recurring to the mournful idea ever uppermost, he said, with a serenity the most beautiful, "Je voudrois que nous causassions sur tout cela avec calme,---doucement,--cheerfully m�me(319) as of a future voyage-- as of a subject of discussion--simply to exchange our ideas and talk them over." Alas, alas ! how do I now regret that I seconded not this project, so fitted for all pious Christian minds, whether their pilgrimage be of shorter or longer duration. But I saw him Page 427 I, oh, how ill! I felt myself well ; it was, therefore, apparent who must be the survivor in case of sunderment; and, therefore, all power of generalizing the subject was over. And much and ardently as I should have rejoiced in treating such a theme when he was well, or on his recovery, I had no power to sustain it thus situated. I could only attend his sick couch; I could only 'live by fostering hopes of his revival, and seeking to make them reciprocal. During this interval a letter from my affectionate sister Charlotte suggested our taking further advice to aid Mr. Hay, since the malady was so unyielding. /On January the 24th Mr. Tudor came, but after an interview and examination, his looks were even forbidding. Mr. Hay had lost his air of satisfaction and complacency, Mr. Tudor merely inquired whether he should come again? "Oh, yes, yes, yes!" I cried, and they retired together. And rapidly I flew, not alone from hearing, but from forming any opinion, and took refuge by the side of my beloved, whom I sought to console and revive. And this very day, as I have since found, he began his Diary for the year. It contains these words:-- "Jamais je n'ai tant aim� la vie que je suis en si grand danger de perdre; malgr� que je n'aye point de fi�vre, ni le moindre mal la t�te; et que j'aye non seulement l'esprit libre, mais le coeur d'un contentement Parfait. La volont� de Dieu soit faite! J'attends pour ce soir ou demain le resultat d'une consultation."(320) PRESENTS FROM THE QUEEN AND PRINCEss ELIZABETH. On this same day Madame de Soyres brought me a packet from her majesty, and another from the Princess Elizabeth. The kind and gracious princess sent me a pair of silver camp candlesticks, with peculiar contrivances which she wrote me word might amuse the general as a military man, while they might be employed by myself to light my evening researches among the MSS. of my dear father, which she wished me to collect and to preface by a memoir. Her mother's offering was in the same spirit of benevolence - it was a collection of all the volumes of "L'Hermite de Page 428 la Chauss�e d'Antin," with Chalmers's Astronomical Sermons, and Drake's two quartos on Shakespeare; joined to a small work of deeper personal interest to me than them all, which was a book of prayers suited to various circumstances, and printed at her majesty's own press at Frogmore. In this she had condescended to write my name, accompanied by words of peculiar kindness. My poor ami looked over every title-page with delight, feeling as I did myself that the gift was still more meant for him than for me--or rather, doubly, trebly for me in being calculated to be pleasing to him!--he was to me the soul of all pleasure on earth. What words of kindness do I find, and now for the first time read, in his Diary dated 2nd February! After speaking--h�las, h�las!--"de ses douleurs inouies," (321) he adds, "Quelle �trange maladie! et quelle position que la mienne! il en est une, peut�tre plus ficheuse encore, c'est celle de ma malheureuse compagne; avec quelle tendresse elle me soigne! et avec quel courage elle supporte ce qu'elle a souffrir! Je ne puis que r�p�ter, La volont� de Dieu soit faite!"(322) Alas! the last words he wrote in February were most melancholy:-- "20 F�vrier, Je sens que je m'afaiblis horriblement--je ne crois pas que ceci puisse �tre encore bien long.(323) Ch�re Fanny, cher Alex! God bless you! and unite us for ever, Amen!" Oh my beloved! Delight, pride, and happiness of my heart! May heaven in its mercy hear this prayer! . . . THE GENERAL RECEIVES THE VISIT OF A PRIEST. In March he revived a little, and Mr. Tudor no longer denied me hope; on the 18th Alex came to our arms and gratulations on his fellowship; which gave to his dearest father a delight the most touching. I have no Diary in his honoured hand to guide my narrative in April; a few words only he ever wrote more, and these, after speaking of his sufferings, end with "Pazienza! " Page 429 Pazienza!"--such was his last written expression! 'Tis on the 5th of April. . . . On the 3rd of May he reaped, I humbly trust, the fair fruit of that faith and patience he so pathetically implored and so beautifully practised. At this critical period in April I was called down one day to Madame la Marquise de S-, who urged me to summon a priest of the Roman catholic persuasion to my precious sufferer. I was greatly disturbed every way; I felt in shuddering the danger she apprehended, and resisted its belief; yet I trembled lest I should be doing wrong. I was a protestant, and had no faith in confession to man. I had long had reason to believe that my beloved partner was a protestant, also, in his heart ; but he had a horror of apostasy, and therefore, as he told me, would not investigate the differences of the two religions; he had besides a tie which to his honour and character was potent and persuasive; he had taken an oath to keep the catholic faith when he received his Croix de St. Louis, which was at a period when the preference of the simplicity of protestantism was not apparent to him. All this made me personally easy for him, yet, as this was not known, and as nothing definite had ever passed between us upon this delicate subject, I felt that he apparently belonged still to the Roman catholic church; and after many painful struggles I thought it my absolute duty to let him judge for himself, even at the risk of inspiring the alarm I so much sought to save him! . . . I compelled myself therefore to tell him the wish of Madame de S-, that he should see a priest. "Eh bien," he cried, gently yet readily, "je ne m'y oppose pas. Qu'en penses tu?" I begged to leave such a decision wholly to himself. Never shall I forget the heavenly composure with which my beloved partner heard me announce that the priest, Dr. Elloi, was come. Cheerfully as I urged myself to name him, still he could but regard the visit as an invitation to make his last preparations for quitting mortal life. With a calm the most gentle and genuine, he said he had better be left alone with him, and they remained together, I believe, three hours. I was deeply disturbed that my poor patient should be so long without sustenance or medicine - but I durst not intrude, though anxiously I kept at hand in case of any sudden summons. When, at length, the priest re-appeared, I found Page 430 my dearest invalid as placid as before this ceremony, though fully convinced it was meant as the annunciation of his expected and approaching departure. THE LAST SACRAMENT ADMINISTERED. Dr. Elloi now came not only every day, but almost every hour of the day, to obtain another interview; but my beloved, though pleased that the meeting had taken place, expressed no desire for its repetition. I was cruelly distressed ; the fear of doing wrong has been always the leading principle of my internal guidance, and here I felt incompetent to judge what was right. Overpowered, therefore, by my own inability to settle that point, and my terror lest I should mistake it, I ceased to resist ; and Dr. Elloi, while my patient was sleeping from opium, glided into his chamber, and knelt down by the bedside with his prayer book in his hand. Two hours this lasted; but when the doctor informed me he had obtained the general's promise that he should administer to him the last sacrament, the preparations were made accordingly, and I only entreated leave to be present. This solemn communion, at which I have never in our own church attended with unmoistened eyes, was administered the same evening. The dear invalid was in bed: his head raised with difficulty, he went through this ceremony with spirits calm, and a countenance and voice of holy composure. FAREWELL WORDS OF COUNSEL. Thenceforth he talked openly, and almost solely, of his approaching dissolution, and prepared for it by much silent mental prayer. He also poured forth his soul in counsel for Alexander and myself. I now dared no longer oppose to him my hopes of his recovery - the season was too awful. I heard him only with deluges of long-restrained tears, and his generous spirit seemed better satisfied in thinking me now --awakened to a sense of his danger, as preparatory for supporting its consequence. "Parle de moi." He said, afterwards, "Parle--et souvent. Surtout Ò Alexandre; qu'il ne m'oublie pas!"(325) "Je ne parlerai pas d'autre chose!"(326) I answered . . . and Page 431 I felt his tender purpose. He knew how I forbore ever to speak of my lost darling sister, and he thought the constraint injurious both to my health and spirits : he wished to change my mode with regard to himself by an injunction of his own. "Nous ne parlerons pas d'autre chose!" I added, "mon ami!--mon ami!--je ne survivrai que pour cela!"(327) He looked pleased, and with a calm that taught me to repress my too great emotion. He then asked for Alexander, embraced him warmly, and half raising himself with a strength that had seemed extinct but the day before, he took a hand of Alexander and one of mine, and putting them together between both his own, he tenderly pressed them, exclaiming, "How happy I am! I fear I am too happy!" Kindest of human hearts! His happiness was in seeing us together ere he left us his fear was lest he should too keenly regret the quitting us! At this time he saw for a few minutes my dear sister Esther and her Maria, who had always been a great favourite with him. When they retired, he called upon me to bow my knees as he dropped upon his own, that he might receive, he said, my benediction, and that we might fervently and solemnly join in prayer to Almighty God for each other. He then consigned himself to uninterrupted meditation : he told me not to utter one word to him, even of reply, beyond the most laconic necessity. He desired that when I brought him his medicine or nutriment, I would give it without speech and instantly retire; and take care that no human being addressed or approached him. This awful command lasted unbroken during the rest of the evening, the whole of the night, and nearly the following day. So concentrated in himself he desired to be!--yet always as free from irritation as from despondence-- always gentle and kind even when taciturn, and even when in torture. When the term of his meditative seclusion seemed to be over, I found him speaking with Alexander, and pouring into the bosom of his weeping son the balm of parental counsel and comfort. I received at this time a letter from my affectionate sister Charlotte, pressing for leave to come and aid me to nurse my dearest invalid. He took the letter and pressed it to his lips, saying, "Je l'aime bien; dis le lui. Et Page 432 elle M'aime."(328) But I felt that she could do me no good. We had a nurse whose skill made her services a real blessing ; and for myself, woe, such as he believed approaching, surpassed all aid but from prayer and from heaven--lonely meditation. When the morning dawned, he ordered Payne to open the shutters and to undraw the curtains. The prospect from the windows facing his bed was picturesque, lively, lovely: he looked at it with a bright smile of admiration, and cast his arm over his noble brow, as if hailing one more return of day' and light, and life with those he loved. But when, in the course of the day, something broke from me of my reverence at his heavenly resignation, "R�sign�?" he repeated, with a melancholy half smile; "mais comme �ah!" and then in a voice of tenderness the most touching, he added, "Te quitter!" I dare not, even yet, hang upon my emotion at those words! That night passed in tolerable tranquillity, and without alarm, his pulse still always equal and good, though smaller. On Sunday, the fatal 3rd of May, my patient was still cheerful, and slept often, but not long. This circumstance was delightful to my observation, and kept off the least suspicion that my misery could be so near. THE END ARRIVES. My pen lingers now!-reluctant to finish the little that remains. About noon, gently awaking from a slumber, he called to me for some beverage, but was weaker than usual, and could not hold the cup. I moistened his lips with a spoon several times. He looked at me with sweetness inexpressible, and pathetically said, "Qui?" He stopped, but I saw he meant "Who shall return this for you?" I instantly answered to his obvious and most touching meaning, by a cheerful exclamation of "You! my dearest ami! You yourself! You shall recover, and take your revenge." He smiled, but shut his eyes in silence. After this, he bent forward, as he was supported nearly upright by pillows in his bed, and taking my hand, and holding it between both his own, he impressively said, "Je ne sais si Page 433 ce sera le dernier mot--mais ce sera la derni�re pens�e--notre r�union!"(329) Oh, words the most precious that ever the tenderest of husbands left for balm to the lacerated heart of a surviving wife! I fastened my lips on his loved hands, but spoke not. It was not then that those words were my blessing! They awed--they thrilled--more than they solaced me. How little knew I then that he should speak to me no more ! Towards evening I sat watching in my arm-chair, and Alex remained constantly with me. His sleep was so calm, that an hour passed in which I indulged the hope that a favourable crisis was arriving; that a turn would take place by which his vital powers would be restored; but when the hour was succeeded by another hour, when I saw a universal stillness in the whole frame, such as seemed to stagnate all around, I began to be strangely moved. "Alex!" I whispered, "this sleep is critical! a crisis arrives! Pray God-- Almighty God!--that it be fav--." I could not proceed. Alex looked aghast, but firm. I sent him to call Payne. I intimated to her my opinion that this sleep was important, but kept a composure astonishing, for when no one would give me encouragement, I compelled myself to appear not to want it, to deter them from giving me despair. Another hour passed of concentrated feelings, of breathless dread. His face had still its unruffled serenity, but methought the hands were turning cold; I covered them - -I watched over the head of my beloved; I took new flannel to roll over his feet; the stillness grew more awful; the skin became colder. Alex, my dear Alex, proposed calling in Mr. Tudor, and ran off for him. I leant over him now with sal volatile to his temple, his forehead, the palms of his hands, but I had no courage to feel his pulse, to touch his lips. Mr. Tudor came - he put his hand upon the heart, the noblest of hearts, and pronounced that all was over! How I bore this is still marvellous to me! I had always believed such a sentence would at once have killed me. But his sight--the sight of his stillness, kept me from distraction! Sacred he appeared, and his stillness I thought should be mine, and be inviolable. I suffered certainly a partial derangement, for I cannot to this moment recollect anything that now succeeded, with truth Page 434 or consistency; my memory paints things that were necessarily real, joined to others that could not possibly have happened, yet so amalgamates the whole together as to render it impossible for me to separate truth from indefinable, unaccountable fiction. Even to this instant I always see the room itself charged with a medley of silent and strange figures grouped against the wall just opposite to me, Mr. Tudor, methought, was come to drag me by force away; and in this persuasion, which was false, I remember supplicating him to grant me but one hour, telling him I had solemnly engaged myself to pass it in watching. . . . But why go back to my grief? Even yet, at times, it seems as fresh as ever, and at all times weighs on me with a feeling that seems stagnating the springs of life. But for Alexander ,our Alexander!--I think I could hardly have survived. His tender sympathy, with his claims to my love, and the solemn injunctions given me to preserve for him, and devote to him, my remnant of life--these, through the Divine mercy, sustained me. May that mercy, with its best blessings, daily increase his resemblance to his noble father. March 20, 1820. (288) M. d'Arblay, who was, it appears, still lame (boiteux) from the kick which he had received from a horse.-ED, (289) Half-pay. (290) The Comte de Narbonne and Comte F. de la Tour Maubourg. (291) He had studied mathematics in Paris according to the analytical method, instead of the geometrical, which was at that time exclusively taught at Cambridge. (292) See infra, p. 387-8.-ED. (293) It is not without pain that we find Fanny, in this letter defending the harsh treatment accorded by the Bourbon king to Lavalette and others of the partisans of the emperor. Lavalette had served Napoleon both as soldier and diplomatist. At the restoration of the Bourbons in 1814 he retired from public life, but on the return of Napoleon he again entered the service of his old master. He was arrested after the downfall of the emperor, tried for treason, and condemned to death. His wife implored the king's mercy in vain, Lavalette was confined in the Conciergerie, and December 21, 1815, was the day fixed for his execution. The evening before that day his wife visited him in the prison. He exchanged clothes with her, and thus disguised, succeeded in making his escape. His safety was secured by three English gentlemen, one of whom, Sir Robert Wilson, conveyed Lavalette, in the disguise of an English officer, across the Belgian frontier. For this generous act the three Englishmen were tried in Paris, and sentenced, each, to three months' imprisonment.-ED. (294) At the sale of the collection, formed by Mr. Thrale, of portraits of his distinguished friends, painted by one of the most distinguished of them-Sir Joshua Reynolds. The collection comprised portraits of Johnson, Burke, Dr. Burney, Reynolds, etc. Reynolds painted two portraits of Johnson for Mr. Thrale. That referred to by Fanny is probably the magnificent portrait painted about 1773, and now in the National Gallery, for which Thrale paid thirty-five guineas.-ED. (295) "His wife and son." (296) M. d'Arblay had been promoted by Louis XVIII. to the rank of Lieutenant-General.-ED. (297) "Certainly, and very certainly, my dearest, your beautiful strictures upon the knowledge and the customs of the world would have given another current to my ideas." (298) "For the future." (299) "He is still but a child." (300) "That is not our case." (301) "Will be quite another thing; but I think you are mistaken." (302) This paragon of perfection, then, was an actual person, whom General d'Arblay was thinking of as a wife for his son!-ED. (303) Self-love. (304) Wounded. (305) Esther Burney.-ED. (306) Volumes of plays.-ED. (307) Stove. (308) "Make short work." (309) "Gloomy discouragement." (310) "Apathy." (311) "You are quite mistaken." (312) "You give it up, don't you?" (313) An interesting and humorous novel by the Rev. Richard Graves, the friend of Shenstone.-ED. (314) Blue stockings. (315) "So to speak." (316) The Princess Charlotte, only child of the prince and princess of Wales, was married at the age of twenty (May 2, 1816) to Prince Leopold of SaxeCoburg. On the 5th of November, 1817, she was delivered of a still-born child, and died a few hours later.-ED. (317) "I have never loved life so much! Never, never has life been dearer to me!" (318) "How I admire your courage!" (319) "I should like us to talk of all that with calmness,-- mildly,--even cheerfully." (320) "Never have I so much loved life as now that I am in so great danger of losing it ; notwithstanding that I have no fever, nor is my head in the least affected ; and not only is my mine] clear, but my heart perfectly at ease. God's will be done! I await the result of a consultation this evening or to-morrow." (321) "Of his unheard-of sufferings." (322) "What a strange malady! and what a position is mine! there is one perhaps more grievous yet, that of my unhappy companion-- with what tenderness she cares for me! and with what courage she bears what she has to suffer! I can only repeat, God's will be done!" (323) "February 20. I feel that I am getting horribly weak--I do not think this can last much longer." (324) "Well, I have no objection. What do you think of it?" (325) "Speak of me! Speak--and often. Especially to Alexander; that he may not forget me!" (326) "I shall speak of nothing else!" (327) "We shall speak of nothing else! my dear!--my dear!--I shall survive only for that!" (328) "I love her well; tell her so. And she loves me." (329) "I do not know if this will be my last word--but it will be my last thought--our reunion." Page 435 SECTION 27. (1818-40) YEARS OF WIDOWHOOD. DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON. HER OWN DEATH. (Extracts from Pocket-book Diary.) MOURNFUL REFLECTIONS. May 17, 1818. This melancholy second Sunday since My irreparable loss I ventured to church. I hoped it might calm my mind and subject it to its new state--its lost--lost happiness. But I suffered inexpressibly; I sunk on my knees, and could scarcely contain my sorrows--scarcely rise any more! but I prayed--fervently--and I am glad I made the trial, however severe. Oh mon ami! mon tendre ami! if you looked down! if that be permitted, how benignly will you wish my participation in your blessed relief! Sunday, May 31.-This was the fourth Sunday passed since I have seen and heard and been blessed with the presence of my angel husband. Oh loved and honoured daily more and more! Yet how can that be? No! even now, in this cruel hour of regret and mourning it cannot be! for love and honour could rise no higher than mine have risen long, long since, in my happiest days. June 3.-This day, this 3rd of June, completes a calendar month since I lost the beloved object of all my tenderest affections, and all my views and hopes and even ideas of happiness on earth. . . . June 7.-The fifth sad Sunday this of earthly separation! oh heavy, heavy parting! I went again to church. I think Page 436 it right, and I find it rather consolatory-rather only, for the effort against sudden risings of violent grief at peculiar passages almost destroys me; and no prayers do me the service I receive from those I continually offer up in our apartment by the side of the bed on which he breathed forth his last blessing. Oh words for ever dear! for ever balsamic! "Je ne sais si ce sera le dernier mot--mais ce sera bien la derni�re pens�e--notre r�union." VISITS RECEIVED AND LETTERS PENNED. June 18.-My oldest friend to my knowledge living, Mrs. Frances Bowdler, made a point of admission this morning, and stayed with me two hours. She was friendly and good, and is ever sensible and deeply clever. Could I enjoy any society, she would enliven and enlighten it, but I now can only enjoy sympathy!--sympathy and pity! Alex and I had both letters from M. de Lafayette. June 23.-To-day I have written my first letter since my annihilated happiness-to my tenderly sympathising Charlotte. I covet a junction with that dear and partial sister for ending together our latter days. I hope we shall bring it to bear. With Alex read part of St. Luke. June 29.-To-day I sent a letter, long in writing and painfully finished, to my own dear Madame de Maisonneuve. She will be glad to see my hand, grieved as she will be at what it has written. With Alex read part of St. Luke. June 30-I wrote--with many sad struggles--to Madame Beckersdorff, my respectful devoirs to her majesty, with the melancholy apology for my silence during the royal nuptials of the Dukes of Clarence, Kent, and Cambridge; and upon the departure of dear Princess Eliza,' and upon her majesty's so frequent and alarming attacks of ill health. With Alex read the Acts of the Apostles. . . . July 8.-I have given to Alex the decision of where we shall dwell. Unhappy myself everywhere, why not leave unshackled his dawning life? To quit Bath--unhappy Bath!--he had long desired: and, finally, he has fixed his choice in the very capital itself. I cannot hesitate to oblige him. August 28.-My admirable old friend, Mrs. Frances Page 437 Bowdler, spent the afternoon with me. Probably we shall meet no more but judiciously, as suits her enlightened understanding, and kindly, as accords with her long partiality,- she forbore any hint on that point. Yet her eyes swam in tears, not ordinary to her, when she bade me adieu. August 30.-The seventeenth week's sun rises on my deplorable change! A very kind, cordial, brotherly letter arrives from my dear James. An idea of comfort begins to steal its way to my mind, in renewing my intercourse with this worthy brother, who feels for me, I see, with sincerity and affection. Sept. 5.-A letter from dowager Lady Harcourt, on the visibly approaching dissolution of my dear honoured royal mistress ! written by desire of my beloved Princess Mary, Duchess of Gloucester, to save me the shock of surprise, added to that of grief. Sunday, Sept. 6.-A fresh renewal to me of woe is every returning week ! The eighteenth this of the dread solitude of my heart ; and miserably, has it passed, augmenting sorrow weighing it in the approaching loss of my dear queen! Again I took the Sacrament at the Octagon, probably for the last time. Oh, how earnest were my prayers for re-union in a purer world! Prayers were offered for a person lying dangerously ill. I thought of the queen, and prayed for her fervently. Sunday, Sept. 27-This day, the twenty-first Sunday of my bereavement, Alexander, I trust, is ordained a deacon of the Church of England. Heaven propitiate his entrance! I wrote to the good Bishop of Salisbury to beseech his pious wishes on this opening of clerical life. REMOVAL FROM BATH TO LONDON. Sept. 28.-Still my preparations to depart from Bath take up all of time that grief does not seize irresistibly; for, oh! what anguish overwhelms my soul in quitting the place where last he saw and blessed me!--the room, the spot on which so softly, so holily, yet so tenderly, he embraced me and breathed his last! Sept. 30.-This morning I left Bath with feelings of profound affliction - yet, reflecting that hope was ever open-- that future union may repay this laceration--oh, that my torn soul could more look forward with sacred aspiration! Then better would it support its weight of woe. Page 438 My dear James received me with tender pity; so did his good wife, son, and daughter. Oct. 6.-My dear Alexander left me this morning for Cambridge. How shall I do, thus parted from both! My kind brother, and his worthy house, have softened off the day much; yet I sigh for seclusion--my mind labours under the weight of assumed sociability. Oct. 8. I came this evening to my new and probably last dwelling, No. 11, Bolton-street, Piccadilly. My kind James conducted me. Oh, how heavy is my forlorn heart ! I have made myself very busy all day ; so only could I have supported this first opening to my baleful desolation ! No adored husband! No beloved son ! But the latter is only at Cambridge. Ah! let me struggle to think more of the other, the first, the chief, as also only removed from my sight by a transitory journey! Oct. 14.-Wrote to my--erst--dearest friend, Mrs. Piozzi. I can never forget my long love for her, and many obligations to her friendship, strangely as she had been estranged since her marriage. Oct. 30.-A letter from my loved Madame de Maisonneuve, full of feeling, sense, sweetness, information to beguile me back to life, and of sympathy to open my sad heart to friendship. Nov. 7.-A visit from the excellent Harriet Bowdler, who gave me an hour of precious society, mingling her commiserating sympathy with hints sage and right of the duty of revival from every stroke of heaven. Oh, my God, Saviour! To thee may I turn more and more. DEATH OF THE QUEEN: SKETCH OF HER CHARACTER.(331) Nov. 17-This day, at one o'clock, breathed her last the inestimable Queen of England.(332) Heaven rest and bless her soul! Her understanding was of the best sort ; for while it endued her with powers to form a judgment of all around her, it pointed out to her the fallibility of appearances, and thence kept her always open to conviction where she had been led by circumstances into mistake. >From the time of my first entrance into her household her manner to me was most kind and encouraging, for she had Page 439 formed her previous opinion from the partial accounts of my beloved Mrs. Delany. She saw that, impressed with real respect for her character, and never-failing remembrance of her rank, she might honour me with confidence without an apprehension of imprudence, invite openness without incurring freedom, and manifest kindness without danger of encroachment. . . . When I was alone with her she discarded all royal constraint, all stiffness, all formality, all pedantry of grandeur, to lead me to speak to her with openness and ease; but any inquiries which she made in our t�te- -t�tes never awakened an idea of prying into affairs, diving into secrets, discovering views, intentions, or latent wishes, or amuses. No,. she was above all such minor resources for attaining intelligence; what she desired to know she asked openly, though cautiously if of grave matters, and playfully if of mere news or chit-chat, but always beginning with, "If there is any reason I should not be told, or any that you should not tell, don't answer me." Nor were these words of course, they were spoken with such visible sincerity, that I have availed myself of them fearlessly, though never without regret, as it was a delight to me to be explicit and confidential in return for her condescension. But whenever she saw a question painful, or that it occasioned even hesitation, she promptly and generously started some other subject. Dec. 2.-The queen, the excellent exemplary queen, was this day interred in the vault of her royal husband's ancestors,(133) to moulder like his subjects, bodily into dust; but mentally, not so! She will live in the memory of those who knew her best, and be set up as an example even by those who only after her death know, or at least acknowledge her virtues. I heard an admirable sermon on her departure and her character from Mr. Repton in St. James's church. I wept the whole time, as much from gratitude and tenderness to hear her thus appreciated as from grief at her loss--to me a most heavy one! for she was faithfully, truly, and solidly attached to me, as I to her. Dec. 12.-A letter from the Duchess of Gloucester,(134) to My equal gratification and surprise. She has deigned to answer my poor condolence the very moment, as she says, that she Page 440 received it. Touched to the heart, but no longer with pleasure in any emotion, I wept abundantly. MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON IS ORDAINED. Sunday, April 11, 1818.-This morning my dearest Alexander was ordained a priest by the Bishop of Chester in St. James's church. I went thither with my good Eliz. Ramsay, and from the gallery witnessed the ceremony. Fifty-two were ordained at the same time. I fervently pray to God that my son may meet this his decided calling with a disposition and conduct to sanction its choice ! and with virtues to merit his noble father's name and exemplary character! Amen Amen! WITH some ROYAL HIGHNESSES. July 15-A message from H. R. H. Princess Augusta, with whom I passed a morning as nearly delightful as any, now, can be! She played and sang to me airs of her own composing-unconscious, medley reminiscences, but very pretty, and prettily executed. I met the Duke of York, who greeted me most graciously- saying, as if with regret, how long it was since he had seen me. In coming away, I met, in the corridor, my sweet Duchess of Gloucester, who engaged me for next Sunday to herself. July 26.-Her royal highness presented me to the duke, whom I found well-bred, Polite, easy, unassuming, and amiable; kind, not condescending. QUEEN CAROLINE. (Madame d"Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Wednesday, June 7, 1820. . . . All London now is wild about the newly arrived royal traveller.(135) As she is in this neighbourhood, our part of the Page 441 town is surprised and startled every other hour by the arrival of some new group of the curious rushing on to see her and her 'squire the alderman, at their balcony. Her 'squire, also, now never comes forth unattended by a vociferous shouting multitude. I suppose Augusta, who resides still nearer to the dame and the 'squire of dames, is recreated in this lively way yet more forcibly. The 15th of this month is to be kept as king's birthday at Court. Orders have been issued to the princesses to that effect, and to tell them they must appear entirely out of mourning. They had already made up dresses for half mourning, of white and black. I should not marvel if the royal traveller should choose to enter the apartments, and offer her congratulations upon the festival. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Elliot Vale, London, August 15, 1820. How long it seems--"Seems, madam! nay, it is! since I have heard from my most loved friend!--I have had, Page 442 however, I thank heaven, news of her, and cheering news, though I have lost sight of both her dear daughters. . . . We are all, and of all classes, all opinions, all ages, and all parties, absolutely absorbed by the expectation of Thursday. The queen has passed the bottom of our street twice this afternoon in an open carriage, with Lady Ann(336) and Alderman Wood!-How very inconceivable that among so many adherents, she can find that only esquire!-And why she should have any, in her own carriage and in London, it is not easy to say. There is a universal alarm for Thursday.(337) the letter to the king breathes battle direct to both Houses of Parliament as much as to his majesty. Mr. Wilberforce is called upon, and looked up to, as the only man in the dominions to whom an arbitration should belong. Lord John Russell positively asserts that it is not with Lord Castlereagh and the ministers that conciliation or non-conciliation hangs, but with Mr. Wilberforce and his circle. If I dared hope such was the case, how much less should I be troubled by the expectance awakened for to-morrow--it is now Wednesday that I finish my poor shabby billet. Tremendous is the general alarm at this moment for the accused turns accuser, public and avowed, of King, Lords, and Commons, declaring she will submit to no award of any of them. What would she say should evidence be imperfect or wanting, and they should acquit her? It is, however, open war, and very dreadful, She really invokes a revolution in every paragraph of her letter to her sovereign and lord and husband. I know not what sort of conjugal rule will be looked for by the hitherto lords and masters of the world, if this conduct is abetted by them. . . . The heroine passed by the bottom of our street yesterday, in full pomp and surrounded with shouters and vociferous admirers. She now dresses superbly every day, and has always six horses and an open carriage. She seems to think now she has no chance but from insurrection, and therefore all her harangues invite it. Oh Dr. Parr!--how my poor brother would have blushed for him! he makes those orations Page 443 with the aid of Cobbett!--and the council, I suppose. Of course, like Croaker in "The Good-natured Man" I must finish with "I wish we may all be well this day three months!" GOSSIP FROM AN OLD FRIEND, AND THE REPLY. (From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Bath, October 20. It was very gratifying, dear madam, to find myself so kindly remembered, and with all my heart I thank you for your letter. My family are gone to Sandgate for the purpose of bathing in the sea, this wonderfully beautiful October ; and were you not detained in London by such a son as I hear you are happy in, I should wish you there too, Apropos to October, I have not your father's admirable verses upon that month ; those upon June, I saw when last in Wales could you get me the others ? it would be such a favour and you used to like them best. How changed is the taste of verse, prose, and painting since le bon vieux temps, dear madam! Nothing attracts us but what terrifies, and is within--if within--a hair's breadth of positive disgust. The picture of Death on his Pale Horse, however, is very grand certainly-and some of the strange things they write remind me of Squoire Richard's visit to the Tower Menagerie, when he says "Odd, they are pure grim devils,"--particularly a wild and hideous tale called Frankenstein. Do you ever see any of the friends we used to live among? Mrs. Lambert is yet alive, and in prosperous circumstances ; and Fell, the bookseller in Bond-street, told me a fortnight or three weeks ago, that Miss Streatfield lives where she did in his neighbourhood,-- Clifford-street, S. S. still. Old Jacob and his red night-cap are the only live creatures, as an Irishman would say, that come about me of those you remember, and death alone will part us,-he and I both lived longer with Mr. Piozzi than we had done with Mr. Thrale. Archdeacon Thomas is, I think, the only friend you and I have now quite in common : he gets well ; and if there was hope of his getting clear from entanglement, he would be young again,-he is a valuable mortal. Adieu! Leisure for men of business, you know, and business for men of leisure, would cure many complaints. Page 444 Once more, farewell ! and accept my thanks for your good-natured recollection of poor H. L. P. (Madame d'Arblay. to Mrs. Piozzi-) Bolton-street, December 15, 1820. Now at last, dear madam, with a real pen I venture to answer your kind acceptance of my Bath leave-taking address, of a date I would wish you to forget-but the letter is before me, and has no other word I should like to relinquish. But more of grief at the consequence of my silence, namely your own, hangs upon the circumstance than shame, for i have been so every way unwell,-unhinged, shattered, and unfitted for any correspondence that could have a chance of reciprocating pleasure, that perhaps I ought rather to demand your thanks than your pardon for this delay. I will demand, however, which you please, so you will but tell me which you will grant, for then I shall hear from you again. I must, nevertheless, mention, that my first intention, upon reading the letter with which you favoured me, was to forward to you the verses on October, of my dear father, which you honoured with so much approbation .- but I have never been able to find them, unless you mean the ode, written in that month, on the anniversary of his marriage with my mother-in-law, beginning:-- Hail, eldest offspring of the circling year, October! bountiful, benign, and clear, Whose gentle reign, from all excesses free, Gave birth to Stella--happiness to me." If it be this, I will copy it out with the greatest alacrity, for the first opportunity of conveyance. So here, again, like the dun of a dinner card, I entitle myself to subjoin "An answer is required." . . . You inquire if I ever see any of the friends we used to live amongst :-almost none; but I may resume some of those old ties this winter, from the ardent desire of my son. I have, till very lately, been so utterly incapable to enjoy society, that I have held it as much kindness to others as to myself, to keep wholly out of its way. I am now, in. health, much better, and consequently more able to control the murmuring propensities that were alienating me from the purposes of life while yet living,-this letter, indeed, will show that I am Page 445 * restored to the wish, at least, of solace, and that the native cheerfulness of my temperament is opening from the weight of sadness by which I had long believed it utterly demolished. But Time, " uncalled, unheeded, unawares, "-works as secretly upon our spirits as upon our years, and gives us as little foresight into what we can endure, as into how long we shall exist. . . . MORE Gossip. (From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Penzance, Thursday, January 18, 1821. Dear Madame d'Arblay was very considerate in giving me something to answer, for something original to say would be difficult to find at Penzance; but your letter has no date, and I am not sure that Bolton-street is sufficient. Poor Mrs. Byron, who used to inhabit it, would have enjoyed her grandson's(338) reputation, would not she? had it pleased God to lengthen her life like that of Mrs. Lambart, who died only last week, but a few days short of her expected centenary-as did Fontenelle. You are truly fortunate, dear madam, so was your father, in leaving those behind who knew and could appreciate your merits--every scrap will properly be valued--but those verses belong not to the October I meant. . . . Mrs. Bourdois and her sisters--all true Burneys--will be angry I don't live wholly at Bath, and their society would prove a strong temptation; but Bath is too much for me, who am now unwilling to encounter either crowds or solitude: I feared neither for three-score years of my life, and earnestly now join my too disinterested solicitations to those of your son, that you will no longer bury your charming talents in seclusion. Sorrow, as Dr. Johnson said, is the mere rust of the soul. Activity will cleanse and brighten it. You recollect the --'s; Fanny married Sir Something --, and is a widowed mother. The young man, of whom high expectations were formed, took to the gaming table, forged for 5000 pounds, and was saved out of prison by the dexterity of his servant:--a complete coup de th��tre. That I call sorrow scarce possible to be borne. You saw the story in the newspapers, but possibly were not aware who was the sufferer. Will it amuse you to hear that "fine Mr. Daniel," as you Page 446 used to call my showy butler, died an object of disgust and horror, whilst old Jacob, with whose red nightcap you comically threatened the gay dandy--lived till the other day, and dying, left 800 pounds behind him! Such stuff is this world made of! The literary world is to me terra incognita, far more deserving of the name (now Parry and Ross are returned) than any part of the polar region; but the first voyage amused me most and when I had seen red snow, and heard of men who wanted our sailors to fly, because they perceived they could swim, I really thought it time to lie down and die; but one cannot die when one will, so I have hung half on, half off, society this last half year; and begin 1821 by thanking dear Madame d'Arblay for her good-natured recollection of poor H. L. Piozzi. ILL-HEALTH OF THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY. DR. BURNEY'S MSS. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi.) Bolton-street, Berkeley-square, Feb. 6, 1821. You would be repaid, dear madam, if I still, as I believe, know you, for the great kindness of your prompt answer, had you witnessed the satisfaction with which it was received ; even at a time of new and dreadful solicitude; for my son returned from Cambridge unwell, and in a few days after his arrival at home was seized with a feverish cold which threatened to fasten upon the whole system of his existence, not with immediate danger, but with a perspective to leave but small openings to any future view of health, strength, or longevity. I will not dwell upon this period, but briefly say, it seems passed over. He is now, I thank heaven, daily reviving, and from looking like-not a walking, but a creeping spectre, he is gaining force, spirit, and flesh visibly, and almost hour by hour; still, however, he requires the utmost attention, and the more from the extreme insouciance, from being always absorbed in some mental combinations, with which he utterly neglects himself. I am therefore wholly devoted to watching him. I am quite vexed not to find the right October. However, I do not yet despair, for in the multitude of MSS. that have fallen to my mournfully surviving lot to select, or destroy, etc., chaos seems come again; and though I have worked at them during the last year so as to obtain a little light, it is scarcely Page 447 more than darkness visible. To all the vast mass left to my direction by my dear father, who burnt nothing, not even an invitation to dinner, are added not merely those that devolved to me by fatal necessity in 1818, but also all the papers possessed from her childhood to her decease of that sister you so well, dear madam, know to have been my heart's earliest darling. When on this pile are heaped the countless hoards which my own now long life has gathered together, of my personal property, such as it is, and the correspondence of my family and my friends, and innumerable incidental windfalls, the whole forms a body that might make a bonfire to illuminate me nearly from hence to Penzance. And such a bonfire might perhaps be not only the shortest, but the wisest way to dispose of such materials. This enormous accumulation has been chiefly owing to a long unsettled home, joined to a mind too deeply occupied by immediate affairs and feelings to have the intellect at liberty for retrospective investigations. . . . A LAST GOSSIPING LETTER. (From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Sion Row, Clifton, near Bristol, March 15, 1821. I feel quite happy in being able to reply to dear Madame d'Arblay's good-natured inquiries, from this, the living world. Such we cannot term Penzance--not with propriety--much like Omai, who said to you, "No mutton there, missee, no fine coach, no clock upon the stairs," etc.; but en revanche here is no Land's End, no submarine mine of Botallock! What a wonderful thing is that extensive cavern ! stretching out half a mile forward under the roaring ocean, from whence 'tis protected only by a slight covering, a crust of rock, which, if by any accident exploded, "Would let in light on Pluto's dire abodes, Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n to Gods." Plutus, however, not Pluto, is professed proprietor - 'tis an immense vacuity filled with the vapours of tin and copper, belonging to Lord Falmouth and a company of miners, where sixty human beings work night and day, and hear the waves over their heads , sometimes regularly beating the Cornish cliffs, sometimes tossing the terrified mariner upon the inhospitable shore; where shipwreck is, even in these civilized days, considered as a Godsend. Page 448 I am glad I saw it, and that I shall see it no more. You would not know poor Streatham Park. I have been forced to dismantle and forsake it; the expenses of the present time treble those of the moments you remember; and since giving up my Welsh estate, my income is greatly diminished. I fancy this will be my last residence in this world, meaning Clifton, not Sion Row, where I only live till my house in the Crescent is ready for me. A high situation is become necessary to my breath, and this air will agree with me better than Bath did. You ask how the Pitches family went on. Jane married a rough man, quarter-master to a marching regiment, and brought him three sons: the first a prodigy of science, wit, and manners; he died early: the second I know nothing of: the third, a model of grace and beauty, married the Duke of Marlborough's sister. Peggy is Countess Coventry, you know, and has a numerous progeny. Emily is wife to Mr. Jolliffe, M.P. for some place, I forget what. Penelope married Sir John Sheffield, but died before he came to the title. I dined with them all last time I was in London, at Coventry House. Poor old Davies's departure grieved me, so did that of good Mr. Embry; au reste, the village of Streatham is full of rich inhabitants, the common much the worse for being so spotted about with houses, and the possibility of avoiding constant intercourse with their inhabitants (as in Mr. Thrale's time) wholly lost!..... DEATH OF MRS. PIOZZI. May, 1821.--I have lost now, just lost, my once most dear, intimate, and admired friend, Mrs. Thrale Piozzi,(339) who preserved her fine faculties, her imagination, her intelligence, her powers of allusion and citation, her extraordinary memory, and her almost unexampled vivacity, to the last of her existence. She was in her eighty-second year, and yet owed not her death to age nor to natural decay, but to the effects of a fall in a journey from Penzance to Clifton. On her eightieth birthday she gave a great ball, concert, and supper, in the public rooms at Bath, to upwards of two hundred persons, and the ball she opened herself. She was, in truth, a most wonderful character for talents and eccentricity, for wit, genius, generosity, spirit, and powers of entertainment. Page 449 MRS. PIOZZI COMPARED WITH MADAME DE STAEL. She had a great deal both of good and not good, in common with Madame de Stael Holstein. They had the same sort of highly superior intellect, the same depth of learning, the same general acquaintance with science, the same ardent love of literature, the same thirst for universal knowledge, and the same buoyant animal spirits, such as neither sickness, sorrow, nor even terror, could subdue. Their conversation was equally luminous, from the sources of their own fertile minds, and from their splendid acquisitions from the works and acquirements of others. Both were zealous to serve, liberal to bestow, and graceful to oblige; and both were truly highminded in prizing and praising whatever was admirable that came in their way. Neither of them was delicate nor polished, though each was flattering and caressing; but both had a fund inexhaustible of good humour, and of sportive gaiety, that made their intercourse with those they wished to please attractive, instructive, and delightful and though not either of them had the smallest real malevolence in their compositions, neither of them could ever withstand the pleasure of uttering a repartee, let it wound whom it might, even though each would serve the very person they goaded with all the means in their power. Both were kind, charitable, and munificent, and therefore beloved; both were sarcastic, careless, and daring, and therefore feared. The morality of Madame de Stael was by far the most faulty, but so was the society to which she belonged so were the general manners of those by whom she was encircled. SISTER HETTY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.) October 21, 1821. "Your mind," my dearest Esther, was always equal to literary pursuits, though your time seems only now to let you enjoy them. I have often thought that had our excellent and extraordinary own mother been allowed longer life, she would have contrived to make you sensible of this sooner. I do not mean in a common way, for that has never failed, but in one striking and distinguished ; for she very early indeed began to form your taste for reading, and delighted Page 450 to find time, amidst all her cares, to guide you to the best authors, and to read them with you, commenting and pointing out passages worthy to be learned by heart. I perfectly recollect, child as I was, and never of the party, this part of your education. At that very juvenile period, the difference even of months makes a marked distinction in bestowing and receiving instruction. I, also, was so peculiarly backward, that even our Susan stood before me; she could read when I knew not my letters. But though so sluggish to learn, I was always observant: do you remember Mr. Seaton's denominating me, at fifteen, "the silent, observant Miss Fanny"? Well I recollect your reading with our dear mother all Pope's works and Pitt's "AEneid." I recollect, also, your spouting passages from Pope, that I learned from hearing you recite them before--many years before I read them myself. But after you lost, so young, that incomparable guide, you had none left. Our dear -father was always abroad, usefully or ornamentally; and, after giving you a year in Paris with the best masters that could be procured, you came home at fifteen or sixteen to be exclusively occupied by musical studies, save for the interludes that were "Sacred to dress and beauty's pleasing cares:" for so well you played, and so lovely you looked, that admiration followed alike your fingers and your smiles : and the pianoforte and the world divided your first youth, which, had that exemplary guide been spared us, I am fully persuaded would have left some further testimony of its passage than barely my old journals, written to myself, which celebrate your wit and talents as highly as your beauty. And I judge I was not mistaken, by all in which you have had opportunity to show your mental faculties, i.e. your letters, which have always been strikingly good and agreeable, and evidently unstudied. When Alex comes home I will try to get "Crabbe," and try to hear it with pleasure. The two lines you have quoted are very touching. Thus much, my dear Etty, i wrote on the day I received your last; but . . . . November.-I write now from Eliot Vale, under the kind and elegant roof of sweet Mrs. Locke, who charges me with her most affectionate remembrances. Perhaps I may meet here with your favourite Crabbe: as I subscribe to no library, I know not how else I shall get at him. I thank you a Page 451 thousand times for the good bulletin of your health, my dearest Esther; and I know how kindly you will reciprocate my satisfaction when I tell you mine is inconceivably ameliorated, moyennant great and watchful care: and Alex keeps me to that with the high hand of peremptory insistence, according to the taste of the times for the "rising generation" expects just as much obedience to orders as they withhold. If you were to hear the young gentleman delivering to me his lectures on health, and dilating upon air, exercise, social intercourse, and gay spirits, you would be forced to seek a magnifying glass to believe that your eyes did not deceive you, but that it was really your nephew haranguing his mother. However, we must pass by the exhorting impetuosity, in favour of the zealous anxiety that fires it up in his animated breast. OFFICIAL DUTIES TEMPORARILY RESUMED. I was kept in town by a particular circumstance--I might say, like the play-bills, by particular desire; for it was a fair royal personage who condescended to ask me to remit my visit to Eliot Vale, that I might attend her sittings for her picture, her two ladies being at that time absent on cong�. You may believe how much I was gratified, because you know my sincere and truly warm attachment for all those gracious personages; but you may be surprised Your poor sister could now be pitched upon, where so much choice must always be at hand, for whiling away the tediousness of what she, the princess, calls the odious occupation of sitting still for this exhibition - but the fact is, I was able to fulfil her views better than most people could, in defiance of my altered spirits and depressed faculties, by having recourse simply to my memory in relating things I saw, or heard, or did, during the long ten years, and the eventful--added one year more, that I spent abroad. Only to name Bonaparte in any positive trait that I had witnessed or known, was sufficient to make her open her fine eyes in a manner extremely advantageous to the painter. THE Rev. A. D'ARBLAY NAMED LENT PREACHER. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.) February 29, 1823. .....Thanks for that kind jump of joy for the success of Alex at Lee, and for my hopes from St. Paul's. You ask who Page 452 named him preacher for the 5th Sunday in Lent: How could I omit telling you 'twas the Bishop of London himself? -This has been brought about by a detail too long for paper, but it is chiefly to my faithful old friends Bishop Fisher of Salisbury and the Archdeacon of Middlesex that we owe this mark of attention; for Alex has never been presented to the Bishop of London. MADAME D'ARBLAY'S HEALTH AND OCCUPATION. You still ask about my health, etc. I thought the good result would have sufficed ; but thus stands the detail : I was packing up a board of papers to carry with me to Richmond, many months now ago, and employed above an hour, bending my head over the trunk, and on my knees -when, upon meaning to rise, I was seized with a giddiness, a glare of sparks before my eyes, and a torturing pain on one side of my head, that nearly disabled me from quitting my posture, and that was followed, when at last I rose, by an inability to stand or walk. My second threat of seizure was at Eliot Vale, while Alex was at Tunbridge. I have been suddenly taken a third time, in the middle of the night, with a seizure as if a hundred windmills were turning round in my head: in short,-I had now recourse to serious medical help, and, to come to the sum total, I am now so much better that I believe myself to be merely in the common road of such gentle, gradual decay as, I humbly trust, I have been prepared to meet with highest hope, though with deepest awe--for now many years back. The chief changes, or reforms, from which I reap benefit are, 1st. Totally renouncing for the evenings all revision or indulgence in poring over those letters and papers whose contents come nearest to my heart, and work upon its bleeding regrets. Next, transferring-to the evening, as far as is in my power, all of sociality, with Alex, or my few remaining friends, or the few he will present to me of new ones. 3rd. Constantly going out every day-either in brisk walks in the morning, or in brisk jumbles in the carriage of one of my three friends who send for me, to a t�te- -t�te tea converse. 4th. Strict attention to diet. . . . I ought to have told you the medical sentence upon which I act. These were the words--"You have a head over-worked, and a heart over-loaded." This produces a disposition to Page 453 fulness in both that causes stagnation, etc., with a consequent want of circulation at the extremities, that keeps them cold and aching. Knowing this, I now act upon it as warily as I am able. The worst of all is, that I have lost, totally lost, my pleasure in reading! except when Alex is my lecturer, for whose sake my faculties are still alive to what--erst! gave them their greatest delight. But alone; I have no longer that resource; I have scarcely looked over a single sentence, but some word of it brings to my mind some mournful recollection, or acute regret, and takes from one all attention--my eyes thence glance vainly over pages that awaken no ideas.--This is melancholy in the extreme; yet I have tried every species of writing and writer-- but all pass by me mechanically, instead Of instructing or entertaining me intellectually. But for this sad deprivation of my original taste, my evenings might always be pleasing and reviving--but alas! DESTROYED CORRESPONDENCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.) August, 1823. What an interesting letter is this last, my truly dear Hetty 'tis a real sister's letter, and such a one as I am at this time frequently looking over of old times! For the rest of my life I shall take charge' and save my own executor the discretionary labours that with myself are almost endless ; for I now regularly destroy all letters that either may eventually do mischief, however clever, or that contain nothing of instruction or entertainment, however innocent. This, which I announce to all my correspondents who write confidentially, occasions my receiving letters that are real conversations. Were I younger I should consent to this condition with great reluctance-or perhaps resist it : but such innumerable papers, letters, documents, and memorandums have now passed through my hands, and, for reasons prudent, or kind, or conscientious, have been committed to the flames, that I should hold it wrong to make over to any other judgment than My Own, the danger or the innoxiousness of any and every manuscript that has been cast into my power. To you, therefore, I may now safely copy a charge delivered to me by UP our dear vehement Mr. Crisp, at the opening of my juvenile Page 454 correspondence with him,--"Harkee, you little monkey!--dash away whatever comes uppermost; if you stop to consider either what you say, or what may be said of you, I would not ,give one fig for your letters."--How little, in those days, did either he or I fear, or even dream of the press! What became of letters, jadis, I know not; but they were certainly both written and received with as little fear as wit. Now every body seems -obliged to take as much care of their writing desks as of their trinkets or purses,-for thieves be abroad of more descriptions than belong to the penniless pilferers. THE PRINCESS AND THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY. (Madame dArblay to Mrs. locke.) 11 Bolton-street, Nov. 1824. Now then for a more cheerful winding-up. I came from Camden Town very unwillingly,--but Alex was called to Cambridge to an audit, and so I took that opportunity to make a break-up. But the day before I quitted it I received the highest resident honour that can be bestowed upon me--namely, a visit from one of my dear and condescending princesses. She came by appointment,-yet her entrance was so quick that Alex had not time to save himself.-However, she took the incident not only without displeasure but with apparent satisfaction, saying she was very glad to renew her acquaintance with him. She had not seen him since the time of his spouting, "The spacious firmament on high"--"Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay," etc.,--all of which she remembers hearing. Ah--I have never recollected till this instant that I ought to have gone to her the next day !-how shocking!--and now that I have the consciousness, I can do nothing, for I am lame from a little accident.--Well!--she is all goodness-and far more prone to forgive than I, I trust, am to offend. A VISIT FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. Although Madame d'Arblay's intercourse with society was now usually confined to that of her relations and of old and established friends, she yet greeted with admiration and pleasure Sir Walter Scott, who was brought to her by Mr. Rogers. Sir Walter, in his Diary for Nov. 18th, 1826, thus Page 455 describes the visit:--"I have been introduced to Madame d'Arblay, the celebrated authoress of 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' an elderly lady with no remains of personal beauty, but with a simple and gentle manner, and pleasing expression of countenance, and apparently quick feelings. She told me she had wished to see two persons-myself, of course, being one, the other, George Canning. This was really a compliment to be pleased with--a nice little handsome pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairy-maid, instead of the grease fit only for cartwheels which one is dosed with by the pound. "I trust I shall see this lady again." MEMOIRS OF DR. BURNEY. >From the year 1828 to 1832 Madame d'Arblay was chiefly occupied in preparing for the press the Memoirs of her father; and on their publication, she had the pleasure to receive letters from Dr. Jebb, Bishop of Limerick, and from Mr. Southey, the poet. Among the less favourable criticisms of her work, the Only one which gave Madame d'Arblay serious pain was an attack (in a periodical publication) upon her veracity--a quality which, in her, Dr. Johnson repeatedly said "he had never found failing," and for which she had been through life trusted, honoured, and emulated. DEATHS OF HESTER BURNEY AND MRS. LOCKE. (1835 to 1838.) Madame d'Arblay's letters were now very few. - A complaint in one of her eyes, which was expected to terminate in a cataract, made both reading and writing difficult to her. The number of her correspondents had also been painfully lessened by the death of her eldest sister, Mrs. Burney, and that of her beloved friend, Mrs. Locke ; and she had sympathised with other branches of her family in many similar afflictions, for she retained in a peculiar degree not only her intellectual powers, but the warn) and generous affections of her youth. "Though now her eightieth year was past," she took her wonted and vivid interest in the concerns, the joys, and sorrows of those she loved. Page 456 DEATH OF THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY. At this time her son formed an attachment which promised to secure his happiness, and to gild his mother's remaining days with affection and peace : and at the close of the year 1836 he was nominated minister of Ely chapel, which afforded her considerable satisfaction. But her joy was mournfully short-lived. That building, having been shut for some years, was damp and ill-aired. The Rev. Mr. d'Arblay began officiating there in winter, and during the first days of his ministry he caught the influenza, which became so serious an illness as to require the attendance of two physicians. Dr. Holland and Dr. Kingston exerted their united skill with the kindest interest; but their patient, never robust, was unable to cope with the malady, and on the 19th of January, 1837, in three weeks from his first seizure, the death of this beloved son threw Madame d'Arblay again into the depths of affliction. Yet she bore this desolating stroke with religious submission, receiving kindly every effort made to console her, and confining chiefly to her own private memoranda the most poignant expressions of her anguish and regret, as also of the deeply religious trust by which she was supported. The following paragraph is taken from her private notebook:-- "1837.-On the opening of this most mournful--most earthly hopeless, of any and of all the years yet commenced of my long career! Yet, humbly I bless my God and Saviour, not hopeless; but full of gently-beaming hopes, countless and fraught with aspirations of the time that may succeed to the dread infliction of this last irreparable privation, and bereavement of my darling loved, and most touchingly loving, dear, soul--dear Alex." DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SISTER CHARLOTTE. Much as Madame d'Arblay had been tried by the severest penalty of lengthened days, the loss of those who were dearest to her, *one more such sorrow remained in her cup of life. Her gentle and tender sister Charlotte, many years younger than herself, was to precede her in that eternal world for which they were both preparing; and in the autumn of the year 1838, a short illness terminated in the removal of that beloved sister. Page 457 ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. (1839-40.) Madame d'Arblay's long and exemplary life was now drawing to a close; her debility increased, her sight and hearing nearly failed her; but in these afflictions she was enabled to look upwards with increasing faith and resignation. In a letter on the 5th of March, 1839, she wrote the following paragraph,(340) which was perhaps the last ever traced by her pen :-- "March 5, 1839. "Ah, my dearest! how changed, changed I am, since the irreparable loss of your beloved mother! that last original tie to native original affections! . . . "Wednesday.-I broke off, and an incapable unwillingness seized my pen; but I hear you are not well, and I hasten--if that be a word I can ever use again--to make personal Inquiry how you are. "I have been very ill, very little apparently, but with nights of consuming restlessness and tears. I have now called in Dr. Holland, who understands me marvellously, and I am now much as usual; no, not that--still tormented by nights without repose-- but better. "My spirits have been dreadfully saddened of late by whole days- -nay weeks--of helplessness for any employment. They have but just revived. How merciful a reprieve! How merciful IS ALL we know! The ways of Heaven are not dark and intricate, but unknown and unimagined till the great teacher, Death, develops them." In November, 1839, Madame d'Arblay was attacked by an illness which showed itself at first in sleepless nights and nervous imaginations. Spectral illusions, such as Dr. Abercrombie has described, formed part of her disorder; and though after a time Dr. Holland's skill removed these nervous impressions, yet her debility and cough increased, accompanied by constant fever. For several weeks hopes of her recovery were entertained; her patience assisted the remedies of her kind physician , and the amiable young friend, " who was to her as a daughter," watched over her with unremitting care and attention but she became more and more feeble, Page 458 and her mind wandered ; though at times every day she was composed and collected, and then given up to silent prayer, with her hands clasped and eyes uplifted. During the earlier part of her illness she had listened with comfort to some portions of St. John's Gospel, but she now said to her niece, "I would ask you to read to me, but I could not understand one word--not a syllable! but I thank God my mind has not waited till this time." At another moment she charged the same person with affectionate farewells and blessings to several friends, and with thanks for all their kindness to her. Soon after she said, "I have had some sleep." "That is well," was the reply; "you wanted rest." "I shall have it soon, my dear," she answered emphatically: and thus, aware that death was approaching, in peace with all the world, and in holy trust and reliance on her Redeemer, she breathed her last on the 6th of January, 1840 ; the anniversary of that day she had long consecrated to prayer, and to the memory of her beloved sister Susanna. (330) Her departure for Germany with her husband, the Prince of Hesse-Homburg, to whom she had been recently married.-ED. ' (331) From a Memorandum book of Madame d'Arblays. (332) Queen Charlotte died at the palace at Kew, in the seventy-fifth year of her age, after an illness of six months.-ED. (133) At Windsor.-ED. (134) The Princess Mary, who had married her cousin, the Duke of Gloucester.-ED. (135) Queen Caroline. George IV. was now king, George III. having died January 29, 1820. A brief account of the life of Queen Caroline may be of assistance to the reader. Her father was the Duke of Brunswick: her mother a sister of George II. She was born in 1768, and married her cousin, the Prince of Wales, in April, 1795, A speedy estrangement followed, brought about by the prince's intrigues, especially with Lady Jersey; and, after the birth of their daughter, the Princess Charlotte, a total separation took place. In 1806 a charge of adultery was brought against the Princess of Wales. The charge was declared disproved, but colour had been given to it by the undoubted levity and imprudence of her conduct. In 1813 she went abroad, and spent several years in travelling on the continent. Her behaviour during this period gave rise to fresh charges, from which she has never been entirely cleared. She returned to England, June 6, 1820, came to London, and took up her residence in South Audley-street, at the house of her friend, Alderman Wood, one of the members of Parliament for the city of London. Shortly before her return, the king's ministers had proposed to settle upon her an annuity of -/'50,000 for life, subject to the conditions of her continuing to reside abroad, and refraining from assuming the title of queen. This proposal she instantly rejected. She was received in England by the people with unbounded enthusiasm, to which the general discontent then prevailing questionless contributed. A secret committee of the House of Lords, appointed to examine the charges against the queen, having made their report, the government brought in a bill to deprive her of the title of queen, and to dissolve the marriage. She was defended by counsel before the House of Lords, her leading advocate being Mr. (afterwards Lord) Brougham, The Motion for the third reading of the bill passed (November 10) by a small majority, but the bill was immediately afterwards abandoned by the government. This proceeding was generally considered as tantamount to an acquittal, and was celebrated by illuminations and the voting of congratulatory addresses in all parts of the country. Queen Caroline did not long enjoy her triumph. She presented herself at Westminster Abbey on the occasion of the king's coronation, July 19, 1821, but was refused admission. Less than three weeks later she was dead.-ED. (336) Lady Ann Hamilton, who had formerly belonged to Queen Caroline's household, and had joined her in France, shortly before her return to England.-ED. (337) Thursday, August 17, was the day on which the queen's trial commenced before the House of Lords.-ED. (338) Lord Byron, the poet.-ED. (339) Mrs. Piozzi died at Clifton, May 2, 1821, having survived her second husband about twelve years.-ED. (340) To her niece Mrs. Barrett. INDEX Addington, Dr., attends the king, ii. 262. Agujari, Lucrezia, vocalist, i. 162. Aiken, John, M.D., iii. 179. Akenside, his "Pleasures of Imagination" discussed, ii. 193. Alexander I. of Russia, iii. 289, 380. Allen, Mrs. S., marries Dr. Burney, i, xviii. Althorpe, Lord, i. 176, Amelia, Princess, her childish ways and sports, 1. 349, 420, 437; her birthday, 364; 439, 442; ii. 34, 72, 75, 303, 309, 4o6; her AFFECtion for Fanny, 434; iii. 108, 138, 140, 156, 165; at Juniper Hall, 180. Amiens, Fanny's supper at, iii. 319. Ancaster, Duchess of, i. 350 355, 361, 365, 379, 385, 387, 391, 393-4, 396; ii. 10, 39, 85. Andrews, Miles, ii. 32. Angouleme, Duchess d', in London, iii. 276, 281, 291-3; conversation with Fanny, 295. Anstey, Christopher, "Evelina" attributed to, i. xxv, 63. Anstruther, Mr. M.P., ii. 97, 145, 345, 352. Antwerp, projected flight to, iii. 352. Arblay, general Alex. d', acount of, i. xliv; at Juniper Hall, iii. 14, 28-9, 31, 33, 35, 40, 42, 43, 45; he and Fanny in love, 48, 50, 53, 55, 59, 62; named to Fanny, 67; 68, 74; his pursuits, 75, 85; at Windsor, 99, 102, 105-6; noticed by George III., 109; plans Camilla Cottage, 115, 122-3, 154; his brother's death, 126; 135, 155-6, 171, 192; his French property, 194; goes to France, 198; his military appointment, 203-7; in Paris, 224-5; his old comrades, 227; his relatives, 234; his pension and property, 241-2; 255, 272, 287; returns to France, 289; enters Louis XVIII's bodyguard, 290; reinstated as maréchal de Camp, 291; his loyalty, 298; on the eve of the Hundred Days, 304-8, 311; reaches Belgium, 337; his mission to Luxemburg, 339, 342; his audience with Wellington, 342; his accident, 369; joined by Fanny at Treves, 370-7; returns to England, 383-5; his affairs and plans, 390; his failing health, 07, 400, 418, 422-3; presented to the queen, 424-6; gradually sinking, 426, 428-32; his death, 433. Arblay, Rev. Alexander d', iii. 82, 97, 121, 138, 143, 156-7; at Court, 163; presented to the queen, 167; his precocity, 177, 182, 192, 196; goes to France, 209; at Dunkirk, 252; returns to England, 263; secures a scholarship, 266, 270; at Cambridge, 272, 275, 293; maternal advice to, 365; his waywardness and prospects, 386, 390-6; his tutor, 401; his aversion to study, 403; his alarm for his mother, 415-8; at his father's death-bed, 430-3; at Cambridge, 436; ordained, 437, 440; in ill-health, 446; named Lent preacher, 451; with one Of the princesses, 454; his death, 456. Arblay, Madame d' (Frances Burney), announces her marriage, iii. 67-70; loses her stepmother, 71; her tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," 72, 90-4; her novel, "Camilla," 72, 89, 95-6, 98-112; birth of her son, 85; meets Mrs. Piozzi, 88; presents "Camilla" to royalty, 99-112; relative success of her novels, 114; her Camilla Cottage, 115, 122-3; her opinion of Burke, 126; visits the queen, 141; chats with the princesses, 138-40, 140, 153-4; indignant with Talleyrand, 153; her little boy at Court, 163; visits old friends, 172; with Princess Amelia, 180-3; her withdrawn comedy, "Love and Fashion," 193; her anxiety for her husband, 205-7; goes to France, 208; to Paris, 215; her life there, 216; snubs Mdme. deStael, 220; at the Tuileries, 224; sees Napoleon, 232; at Joigny, 234; at Passy and Paris, 240-7; her dangerous illness, 247, 252; her adventure at Dunkirk, 249; her return to England, 263; regrets Mdme. de Stael, 269; meets S. Rogers, 270; Wilberforce, 271; publishes "The Wanderer," 272-3-5; loses her father, 273-4; is presented to Louis XVIII., 276; joined by her husband, 289; returns to France, 292; meets Duchess d'Angouleme, 293; her flight from Paris, 301, 308-27; her efforts to communicate with her husband, 328; converses with Chateaubriand, 330-3; arrives at Brussels, 334; receives news of d'Arblay, 336-7, 338; her projected flight to Antwerp, 352; joins her husband at Treves, 370-7; returns to France, 378; her bon mot to Talleyrand, 382; return to England, 383; at Bath, 385; Ilfracombe, 398, 402; is caught by the rising tide, 4o6-18; at Bath, 418, 422-37; her husband's illness, 423; his death, 432; her years of widowhood, 434; her son ordained, 440; her correspondence with Madame PiOzzi, 443-8; her health and occupations, 452; is visited by Sir Walter Scott, 454; issues the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," 455; her son's death, 456; her illness and death, 458. Argand, Aimé, i. 405. Argy, Chevalier d', iii. 346. Arras, Fanny at, iii. 321. Arundel, Lord, i. 198. Auch, Countess d', iii. 313. Augusta, Princess, i. 339, 342, 360, 362; her birthday, 365, 375, 385, 387, 409, 439-40; ii. 9, 10; teased by Turbulent, 26; 32, 34-5, 50, 75, 155, 164, 2o6, 242, 270, 310, 347, 490; iii. 104, 107-8, 138, 146, 156-9, 164, 440. Aylesbury, Lord, ii. 332, 400; iii. 163. Aylsham, Fanny at, iii. 37. Bachmeister, Mlle., successor to Mrs. Schwellenberg, iii. 142, 162, 163. Baker, Sir George, M.D., attends the king, ii. 222-3, 231-2, 234-5, 250, 263. Banks, Sir Joseph, ii. 140-1. Bantry Bay Expedition, iii. 124. Barbauld, Mr. and Mrs. (the authoress), iii. 178. Barber, Frank, Johnson's negro, i. 287; iii. 129. Barclay & Perkins, origin of, i. 203. Baretti, Joseph, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; admires "Evelina," xxvii, 83; teases Charlotte Burney, 302; his wager, 302, 305; attacks Mrs. Piozzi, ii. 167, 176; tried for murder, 176. Barrett, Mrs., i. xi; iii. 457. Barrington, Lord, at Dr. Burney's, i. Xvii. Barry, Mr., R. A., at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; expelled the Academy, iii. 184. Bate, Henry, Rev., of the Morning Post and Herald, i. 164. Bath, Fanny at, i. 165-197 423-9; iii. 385-98, 418, 422-37 Queen Charlotte at, iii. 420. Bath, Marquis an(l Marchioness of, ii. 330 ; their family, 331. Bath Easton, i. 174, 189. Batt, Mr., ii. 83, 433. Battiscombe (royal apothecary), i. 293, 446 ; ii. 231, 233. Beauclerk, Topham and Lady Di., i. 154, 231-2. Beauffiremont, Princess de, iii. 237. Beaufort, Duke of, ii. 291. Beauvau, Prince and Princess de, iii. 218, 224-5. Berry, Agnes and Mary, iii. 219. Bertie, Lady Charlotte, lady of the bedchamber, i. 365, 385, 390-3; ii. 39. Betterton, Miss, actress, iii. 149, 157. Bewley, Mr., and Johnson's hearthbroom, i. xvi. Birch, Selina, a prodigy, i. 150-3. Black Brunswickers, the, iii. 347. Blakeney, General, his disposition and conversation, i. 158-164. Blandford, Marquis of, i. 387. Blenheim, royal visit to, i. 397. Bligh, Captain (afterwards Admiral), ii, 350, 358. Blucher, Marshal, iii. 342, 345, 358, 364. Bolt Court, Johnson's home at, i. 95-7, 258, 283-8. Bonaparte, Jerome, iii. 367. Bonaparte, Louis, iii. 235. Bonaparte, Napoleon, and M. d'Arblay, i., x1v; bon mot of, iii. 200; and d'Arblay, 207; at the Tuileries, 231; returns from Elba, 301, 314; persecutes Chateaubriand, 333; his last campaign, 293, 351, 353, 363, 365. Bookham, Fanny at, iii, 75, et seq. Boscawen, Hon. Mrs., ii. 83, 291 iii. 98, 100, 133, 173. Boswell, James, i. 234-5, 319; his "Life of Dr. Johnson," ii. 377, 400-2; his mimicry of Johnson, 432. Bouchier, Captain, i. 179-80, 185-9. Bouffiers-Rouvrel, Countess de, ii. 368. Bourget, Le, Fanny's halt at, iii. 315. Bowdler, Harriet, i. 190-1; iii. 386. Bowdlers, the, i. 194; ii. 424; iii. 386, 396, 401; the first chess-player in England, 405, 406. Boyd, Mr. and Mrs., at Brussels, iii. 343, 352-3, 360. Boydell, Alderman, ii. 464. Bremyere, Mrs., iii. 142, 161. Brighthelmstone (Brighton), Fanny at, i. 112, 133-7, 153-64, 197, 236-9-48. Brisvane, Captain, i. 185-8. Broglie, Marshal de, iii. 16; Madame de, iii. 16, 29, 39. Broome, Ralph, author of "Simkins' Letters," iii. 133, 167, 176. Broome, Mrs., see Burney, Charlotte. Brown, Fanny, an untidy flirt, i. 85-6, 138-9. Bruce, James, the traveller, i. xvii; ii. 330. Brudenell, Miss, ii. 126. Brunswick, army of, iii. 347; Duke of, his death, 347, 351. Brussels, Fanny at, iii. 334; "Rule Britannia" at, 341-2; Fete-Dieu at, 344; the inquietude at, 346; plans for quitting, 350; aspect of, before and after Waterloo, 351-65. Bryant, Jacob, i. 402; his eccentric talk, ii. 22-3, 31, 72, 349, 405. Budé, General, i. 353, 355, 358, 365-6, 416-7, 421, 427, 440-1, 444; ii. 36, 47, 51, 213, 218, 224, 226, 228-9, 245, 341. Bulkley, Lord, ii. 347. Buller, Dean, ii. 321. Bunbury, Henry W., ii. 51, 59, 140, 190-1, 195; Mrs. (Goldsmith's "Little Comedy"), i. 111. Burgoyne, General, ii. 120. Burke, Edmund, praises "Evelina", i. xxvi, 94; slighted by Fanny, xxxvii; introduced to Fanny, 230; on "Cecilia," 232, 252-4; on Fanny's Court appointment, 290; / at the Hastings trial, ii. 92-3, 110, 112, 117; his speech against Hastings, 121, 128, 134; at the trial, 125-7, 129-30, 138, 145, 147, 345, 352, 355, 359-61, 363-4, 392, 438, 440, 445, 452; on the Regency Bill, 351; on the French Revolution, 371, 377; on Fanny's treatment at Court, 429; Reynolds's legacy to, 444; at Mrs. Crewe's with Fanny, 457-63; on Fox, 459; on Windham, 460; subscribes for "Camilla," iii. 73; his death and funeral, 125. Burke, Mrs. Edmund, i. 252, ii. 457, 461. Burke, Richard, son of Edmund, i. 254, 259; ii. 101, 121, 456; iii. 44, 89. Burke, Richard, brother of Edmund, i. 229; ii. 101, 121, 457; iii. 82. Burke, William, i. 115-9. Burney, Charles, Mus. Doc., his early life, marriage, position, and friends, i. xiii-xvii; his second marriage, xviii; authorises the publication of "Evelina," xxiv; peruses it, xxv, 65-8; appointed organist at Chelsea, xxxvii; takes Fanny to Streatham, 75; visits Reynolds, 115; meets Murpby, 129; visits Mrs. Paradise, 224; dines with Reynolds, 228; Visits Chesington, 233; chides Mrs. Thrale, 237; distressed at Crisp's death, 271; at Johnson's deathbed and funeral, 285-8; is commended by the queen, 295; misses a Court appointment, 323-6; is delighted at Fanny's appointment, xxxiii, 329; takes her to Windsor, 333; alluded to, 370, 415; his verses on the queen's birthday, ii. 9; is incensed at Fanny's condition, 65; is lampooned in the Probationary Odes, 145; George III's opinion of him, 291-2; mentioned, 356; his views respecting Fanny's resignation, 366, 368-70, 374, 376-7, 380, 386-7 [See also i. xli-ii]; takes her home, 411; chats with Burke, 429; with Fanny, 430-32; meets the Burkes at Mrs. Crewe's, 456-62; Fox at the Literary Club, iii, 44; objects to Mdme. de Stael, 51; to Fanny's marriage, 65; loses his second wife, 71, 117-9; meets the Piozzis, 88; his "Life of Metastasio," 89, 92, 103; attends Burke's funeral, 125; visits Etruria and Lichfield, 128; visits Herschel, 131, 184; his poetical history of astronomy, 143; his Chelsea apartments, 155, 165; his books, 173; converses with George III, 185, 193; dines with the Prince of Wales, 243; visits Bath, 244; elected a member of the French Institute, 247; is greatly aged, 265; his death, 249, 273; his portrait by Reynolds, 389; his papers, 447; his memoirs, 455. Burney, Mrs., née Allen, wife of above, I. 60; visits Lowndes with Fanny, 79; dresses badly, 86; visits Reynolds, 113; her death, iii. 71, 117. Burney, Rev. Charles, D.D., his birth and library, i. 60; attends Johnson's funeral, 288; at the Hastings trial, ii. 95, 100, 103, 391; mentioned, 375, 411; ii. 171; dines with the Prince of Wales, 243; meets Fanny on her return from France, 265; his school, 270, 272; buys his father's portrait, 389. Burney, Charles Rousseau ("Mr. Burney"), his parentage and mariiage, i. 59; toasts the author of "Evelina," 72; referred to, iii. 397. Burney, Charlotte Anne (Mrs. Francis, afterwards Broome), account of, i. 60; describes her father's perusal of "Evelina," 65-7, 198, 224; fragments of her journal, 254; teased by Baretti, 302; 415; ii. 102, 108, 145; at the Hastings trial, 345, 375; iii. 17; marries Ralph Broome, 133, 167; her death, 456. Burney, Edward, Fanny's cousin, artist, i. 60, 61, 233. Burney, Esther ("Hetty"), birth and marriage, i. 59; and "Evelina," 64; ii. 350, 356; iii. 17, 397, 449, 455. Burney, Frances (Madame d'Arblay), Macaulay's acount of:-- her birth and education, i. xiv-v; surroundings, xvii; appearance and opportunities, xviii; her Writings, first attempts, xviii; her Diary and Letters, xix, xxiii; "Evelina," xxiii-vii; "The Witlings," xxviii; "Cecilia," xxix; "Camilla," "Edwy and Elgiva," x1v; "The Wanderers," and the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," xlvi; qualities and blemishes of her writings, xlvii-lvii; her detractors and admirers, xxvi-vii; her presentation to George III. and Queen Charlotte, xxx; her appointment and life at Court, xxxi-v; her account of the royal visit to Oxford, xxxv; of the trial of Warren Hastings, xxxvi; of George III's illness, xxxviii; her last years at Court, illness and resignation, xxxix; her trip through the south-west of England, visit to juniper Hall, and marriage with General d'Ar.blay, xliv; her departure for France, x1v; return to England and death, xlvi. Diary and Letters:-- Her account of "Evelina," i. 61-74; visits the Thrales and meets Dr. Johnson and Seward, 75-8; interviews Lowndes, 79; is confused by the praise of Johnson and others, 83-91; meets Sir Joshua Reynolds, 92-5; Mrs. Montagu, 100; husbands suggested for her, 106; is kissed by Johnson, 109; visited by Dr. Francklin, 112; visits Reynolds, 113; meets R. B. Sheridan and his Wife, 123; meets Arthur Murphy, 129; purposes writing a play ("The Witlings"), 129, 133; at Brighton, 133; at Streatham, 137; sends "The Witlings" to Crisp, 145; her views of its fate, 146; visits Tunbridge Wells, 149; Brighton, 153, 236, 239, 248; is badly treated by the Cumberlands, 155; visits Bath, 165; her letters on the Gordon riots, 193; leaves Bath, 197; at Streatham, 203; attends Mrs. Paradise's rout, 224; meets Edmund Burke and Gibbon, 228; sits for her portrait, 233 her account of General Paoli, 234-5; of Miss Monckton's assembly, 248; at Mrs. Walsingham's, 256; meets Mrs. Siddons, 257; visits Johnson, 258; is Praised by Soames Jenyns, 261-2; loses her friend Crisp, 270-1; visits the Cambridges, 273-5; her friendship for Mrs. Locke, 277; her views on Mrs. Thrale's second marriage, 278-9; at Norbury with the Lockes, 280; her stormy interview with Lady F., 282; her last chat with Johnson, 283; her account of his death, 285; her visits to Mrs. Delany, 265-70, 292; hides from the queen, 297; her first interview with the king and queen, 298; discusses literary matters with the king and queen, 316-21; is presented at Court, 322; is appointed a keeper of the robes, 327-32; her arrival and reception at Windsor, 333-8; looks on at the queen's toilet, 339; is visited by Court officials, 340; her daily routine, 345; prepares the queen's snuff, 348, 361; accompanies the Court to Kew, 349; is visited by Mrs. Warren Hastings, 352; on familiar terms with the princesses, 353; her account of an attempt against the king, 355; her bitter experience of Mrs. Schwellenberg begins, 359; is kissed by Princess Amelia, 365; is promised a gown from the queen, 368; defends Mrs. Hastings, 371; visits Nuneham and Oxford with the Court, 373; worries and difficulties of the excursion, 374, 382, 390, 393-4; her duties at Windsor and Kew, 399; reads to the queen, 403; repines at her Position, 403; discusses Mdme. de Genlis, 4o5; meets W. Herschel, 408, 444; cannot ask: a guest to dinner, 413; invites a wrong guest, 417 receives a lilac tabby from the queen, 421; is entrusted with the queen's jewels, 422; her tea-table worries, 425; obtains a holiday, 433 ; her verses on "The Greatcoat," 424, 434; romps with Princess Amelia, 437; is too late to attend on the queen, 438; her present to Princess Augusta, 440; is taken ill, 445; in a predicament at St. James's, ii. 10-15; is worried by Turbulent, 16, 24-31, 47, 54, 57, 82, 214-5; is complimented in an epilogue, 32; is disappointed With Mrs. Siddons, 52; her resignation rumoured, 62; is persecuted by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 65; receives a gift from the queen, 72; discusses Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, 74; among her old friends, 82, 85; attends the Warren Hastings trial, 95-136, 143-9, 345-6, 352-5, 357-65, 370-3, 389-95, 437-47, 452, 455; at Egham races, 151; at Cheltenham with the Court, 154-9; her flirtation with Fairly, 159-61, 165, 168-9, 174, 177-87, 193-5, 197-9, 200-3, 204-6; meets Seward, 167, 170; meets Robert Raikes at Gloucester, 171; visits Tewkesbury, 191; is visited by Richard Burney, 192; is attacked with influenza, 195; visits Worcester, 199; is at Windsor again, 207; is twitted about Canon Shepherd, 209, 217; her introduction to Lalande, 210; is eyed curiously by the Prince of Wales, 211; is plagued by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 215-8; begins to write "Edwy and Elgiva," 222; converses with George III. at the outset of his illness, 225-6; her anxiety for him and the queen, 230-2; attends the public prayers for his recovery, 250; is comforted by Pepys's prognostics, 251; leaves for Kew, 265-6; reports to the queen on the king's health, 270; is chased by the king in Kew Gardens; is kissed by him, 289; his strange talk to her, 290-2; her meetings with Fairly during the king's illness, 237, 239, 242, 244, 246, 248, 251, 253-64, 271, 275, 277, 279, 281, 297-8; Fairly's visits remarked on by the queen, 280, 282; Mrs. Schwellenberg's treatment of her during the king's illness, 246, 272-5, 295; sees the king recovered, 298-9, 300; her verses on his recovery, 303; her parting from Fairly, 303-4; meets Miss Fuzilier, 304; at Lyndhurst, 310; Southampton, 312; Weymouth, 313; Exeter and Saltram, 321; Plymouth, 323; Mount Edgecumbe, 327; meets Fairly again, 329; at Longleat, 330; Tottenham Court, 332; Windsor, 333; hears rumours of Fairly's marriage, 334, 340; in the crush at Covent Garden, 335; visited by Mrs. Fairly, 344, 373; reads Colman's plays to the queen, 347, 350; meets Madame PiOzzi, 355; her servant Columb, 367; meets James Boswell, 377; is mentioned in his "Johnson," 401; helps the queen to write verses, 388; her desire to resign, 366, 368-70, 374-6, 379, 389; close of her Court duties, 401; her successor and pension, 403; her leave-takings, 4o5-8; travels through the south-west of England, 410; meets Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, 426-9; and Bishop Percy, 428; her literary recreation, 430; on Reynolds's blindness, 431; attends the queen, 434-7; chats with her and the king, 448; compliments the king on his birthday, 453; with the Burkes at Mrs. Crewe's, 456; visits Caen Wood, 464; her adventure at the Shakespeare gallery, 465; is invited to Arthur Young's, 468; stays there, iii. 17; at Aylsham, 37; Norbury Park, 43; meets Madame de Stael and other émigrés of juniper Hall, 44-61; falls in love with d'Arblay, 48, 59, 64; marries him, 67 (see Arblay, Madame d'). Burney, James (afterwards Admiral), his birth, voyages, marriage, and death, i. 59, 168, 173, 200; at Chesington, 436; at the Hastings trial, ii. 120, 122, 125, 129-39, 357-8, 438; his interview with the Earl of Chatham, 370; wants a ship, 356; mentioned, 350, 411; iii. 60. Burney, Mrs. James, i. 436. Burney, Richard, Fanny's uncle, i. 60. Burney, Richard, Fanny's cousin, i. 60; "Evelina" read to, 62; visits Fanny at Cheltenham, ii. 192. Burney, Richard Thomas, i. 60. Burney, Sarah Harriet ("Sally"), i. 60, 65, 333; ii. 357, 391, 411; iii. 17, 24, 72, 146. Burney, Susanna Elizabeth (Mrs. Phillips), her birth, marriage, and death, i. 60; 62-6, 65, 224, 270, 278, 280, 344, 403, 411, 415; her acquaintance with the emigres of juniper Hall, iii. 17, 28-38, 54, 56-61, 64; leaves for Ireland, 71, 121, 124; her death, 170, 188-91. Bute, Lady, ii. 69-70. Byron, Augusta, i. 169, 179, 181, 185-8; Captain George, 169, 173; Mrs., i. 169; ii. 424; iii. 445. Caen-Wood, ii. 464-' Cagliostro, Count, i. 411. Calais, description of, iii. 211. Calvert, Dr., i. 92-3. Cambaceres, iii. 231. Cambridge, Rev. George Owen, i. 258-9, 261-4, 273, 275. Cambridge, Miss, i. 327-30, 347; ii. 223, 271, 304, 344, 375, 411. Cambridge, Richard Owen, i. 258-9, 261-2, 273-5, 326; ii. 16, 83. "Camilla," Madame d'Arblay's novel, i. x1v; Macaulay on, li-lv; iii. 72, 89, 95-6, 98-102, 107-12, 114; reviewed, 116. Camilla Cottage, iii. 115, 122-3, 135, 154, 157. Campbell, Lady Augusta, ii. 85. Camperdown, Duncan's victory off, iii. 140-3, 147-50. Campo, Signor del, ii. 36, 47. Canning, George, iii. 82-3. Carmichael, Miss, Johnson's Poll, i. 96-7. Caroline of Brunswick (Queen), iii. 440-3; Carter, Elizabeth, ii. 83, 279. Cator, Mr., i. 210-13, 221. Cavendish, Ladies Georgiana and Harriet, ii. 425-6. "Cecilia," Fanny's novel; price paid for, i. Xxiv, 254; its production, xxviii-ix, 202, 228; Macaulay's estimate of, xxxii, l-lv; praised by Burke, 232-3; extolled by the "old wits," 251-4; eulogised by Soames jenyns, 261-3; discussed at Mrs. Delany's, 268-76; ii. 32, 176; iii. 114. Chamier, Anthony, M.P., i. 148 Chapman, Dr., Vice- Chancellor at Oxford, ii. 386-7. Chapone, Mrs. (Hester Mulso), account Of, i. 265-70, 288; ii. 83, 321; iii. 172, 398. Charlotte, Princess, anecdotes of, iii. 145, 159, 290; her death, 419, 421. Charlotte, Queen, Macaulay's account of, i. xxx-xxxii; in favour of Warren Hastings, xxxviii; her treatment of Fanny, xl, xli, xliii; generosity to Mrs. Delany, 291; inquisitive about Fanny, 294-5; meets her, 304-13; her disposition and manners, 314; chats about Mdme. de Genlis, Goethe, Klopstock, Milton, Wickliffe, and Roman Catholic superstitions, 319-21; on the Terrace at Windsor, 325; aPpoints Fanny a keeper of her robes, 327-32; receives her at Windsor, 335; ceremonial in her dressing-room, 339; Fanny's routine with, 345-8; er snuff, 348-9, 361; at a Drawing-room, 350, 369; at Kew, 351; her pet dog, 353; distressed by the attempt against the king, 355, 357-61, 367; promises Fanny a gown, 368; visits Nuneham, 374; Oxford, 385-95; Blenheim, 397; Fanny as her reader, 403; advises her concerning Mdme. de Genlis, 407; 416, 419, 420, 422; praised by Fanny, 424; cautions Fanny, 432; tired of her gewgaws, grants Fanny a holiday, 433; receives some verses from her, 424, 434; rebukes her, 439; 440, 442, 446 Dr. Burney's verses for, ii. 10; 22; at the play, 31; on the king's birthday, 33; with the Polignacs, 39; with the Duke of York, 49; 52, 85; with the Prince of Wales, 61, 63; her New Year gift to Fanny, 72; remarks on Dr. Johnson, 77-8; interested in the Hastings trial, 95, 119, 345, 361, 390-1, 395, 448; chats about Lady Hawke's novel, 150; visits Cheltenham, 155-7; her rooms there, 163; her selfishness, 181; remarks on Fairly, 185-7; visits Worcester, 199; on Fairly, 200, 205-6; returns to Windsor, 206; her Wit, 216; during the king's illness, 224-31, 234-6, 238-40, 242, 244, 246, 248-50, 252, 257-8, 262-3; at Kew with the king, 265, 269, 272, 276; remarks on Fairly's visits to Fanny, 280, 282, 285; her birthday, 281, 361; 292, 295 walks out with the king, 297-8; 300, 302; orders illuminations for the king's recovery, 303; holds a Drawing-room, 304; her poultry, 305; visits Lyndhurst, 310; Weymouth, 313, 315, 320-1, 323; Longleat, 330-3; on Fairly, 335; at the play, 335, 342; employs Fanny as reader, 347, 350; her treatment of Fanny, 366, 379- 89, 390, 401-2; her gift to Lord Harcourt, 388; grants Fanny a pension, 403-4, 405; takes leave of her, 408-9; attended by Fanny, 434-7; chats with Fanny, 447, 454-5; Fanny presents "Camilla: to, iii. 99, 103; gives Fanny fifty guineas, 106; has interviews with her, 141, 154; her bounties, 159; alarmed by a mad woman, 266, 278; visits Bath, 420; receives General d'Arblay, 425; her presents to Fanny, 427; her approaching dissolution, 437; her death, 438-9. Chateaubriand, F. R. de, iii. 330-3, 338; his wife, 331-2. Chatham, Pitt, Earl of, i. xx; ii. 321; receives James Burney, 370. Chatre, Marchioness de la, iii. 10, 28, 35, 39, 53; Marquis de la, iii. 39. Chavagnac, Adrienne de, iii. 208. Cheltenham, royal visit to, ii. 154; the wells at, 164; the walks at, 173. Chesington, residence of S. Crisp, i. xxii, 60; Fanny at, 64-75, 200, 233, 266, 270-1, 433 ; iii. 61-5. Chester, Porteus, Bishop of, his sermons, i. 313; his preferment, ii. 82. Chesterfield, Earl of, ii. 317, 346. Cheveley, Mrs., i. 416, 439; ii. 36, 72. Chimay, Princess de, iii. 254. Cholmondeley, Mrs., admires "Evelina," i. xxvii, 68, 94; meets Fanny, 114-20; her entertainment, 120-6; Cholmondeley, Mr., i. 114; Fanny, i. 114- Claremont, Lady, ii. 97. Clarence, Duke of, see William, Prince. Clarges, Sir Thomas, i. 344. Clayton, Lady Louisa, i. 325, 342. Clerk, Mr., apothecary, ii. 195. Clerke, Sir Philip Jennings, i. 127-8, 137-9, 194, 204-5; ii. 312. Clive, Kitty, i- 317. Collumpton Church, ii. 421. Colman, George, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; his comedies, ii. 347-50. Cologne, iii. 373. Columb, Jacob, ii. 367. Condé, prince de, iii. 283, 329-30. Conway, General, ii. 23. Cooke, Kitty, i. 60, 108, 200, 233, 435; iii. 63. Cork, Lord, i. 228-9. Cotton, Captain, i. 173. Court (the), life of an attendant at, i. xxxi, xxxiv; monotony of, Xxxv; Fanny's treatment at, xl-xliii ; 289-90; presentations at, 322-3; at Windsor, 333-49, 352-66, 400-47; at Kew, 349, 366, 422 at St. james's, 308, 350, 360. royal birthdays at, 364 visits Nuneham, 374-85, 396; Oxford, 385-95; Blenheim, 397; equerries at, 429; routine at, 443; at St james's, ii. 9-15, 33-5, 62, 65, 85; at Windsor, 16-31, 35-53, 55-61, 72-81 ; at Kew, 50; at the play, 32; New Year's day at, 72; visits Cheltenham, 155; Worcester, 199; during the king's illness, at Windsor, 222-264; at Kew, 265-303; at Windsor, 303; in the New Forest, 311; at Weymouth, 313-21, 329; at Exeter and Saltram, 322-3; Longleat, 330; Tottenham Court, 332; Windsor, 333, 340, 373, 401; Kew, 407; St. james's, 304, 335, 345-73, 382, 396, 408. at Windsor, iii. 99-112, 185-7. Courtenay, Lord, ii, 420. Courtown, Lord, i. 366 ; ii. 155, 159, 162, 164, 165, 191, 199, 314, 323, 399; Lady, ii. 191, 263, 265, 274, 322; iii. 159, Coussmaker, Miss, i. 67. Coventry, Lady, and Crisp's "Virginia," i. xx-i. Crawford, Mr., ii. 51. Crewe, John, first Lord, iii. 266; Mrs., later Lady, i. 121; ii. 129-30, 138-9, 411, 456-68; iii. 73, 75, 77, 125-6, 129, 266-8, 277-88. Crisp, Anne, i. 26. Crisp, Samuel, his appearance and acquirements, i. xix; his "Virginia," xx, xxi; his misanthropy, xxii; his regard for Fanny; he condemns "The Witlings," xxviii, 145-7; "Evelina" read to him, 64; he guesses the author, 70-1; learns the truth, 74-5; alluded to, 200, 233; his death, xxix, 238, 270-1; his remarks on letter writing, iii. 452. Critics, Macaulay on the, i. xix. Croker, J. W., twits Fanny, i. xxvi. Crutchley, Mr., M.P., chats with Fanny, 1. 106-8, 201-23; at the Hastings trial, ii. 101-2, 114, 122; at Egham races, 151. Cumberland, Richard, i. xxvi, 121, 156-8, 315-6; iii. 91-4; Mrs., i. 154-6; Richard, the younger, i. 155-7. Cumberland, Ernest, Duke of, ii. 98; iii. 160. Cumberland, Lady Albinia, iii. 181. Cure, Mr., i. 154-5. Damer, Hon. Mrs., ii. 328; iii. 218. D'Arblay, see Arblay. Davenant, Mr. and Mrs., i. 208-9. Delany, Dr., i. xxx, 264. Delany, Mrs., account of, i. xxx, 64; reads "Cecilia," 252-3; Fanny's first Visit to, 265-70; royal generosity to, 290; visited by George III. and Queen Charlotte, 293; her intercourse with Fanny and the royal family, 324, 329-30, 334-44, 351-2, 355, 358-9, 363-6, 374, 401, 4o6, 416, 420, 422, 426-7, 439, 441-2; ii. 21, 32, 53, 61, 69, 72, 94; her death, 141-3; her marriage at Longleat, 330; judged by Burke, 460. Delap, Rev. John, D.D., i. 139, 141, 150, 157, 160-1. Delawarr, Earl, ii. 321. Desmoulins, Mrs., Johnson's "De Mullin," i. 95-6, 258. Devonshire, Duke of, i. 248; ii. 410, 426-8; iii. 125; Georgiana, Duchess of, i. 2 15 ; ii. 410, 426-8. Dewes, Bernard, i. 295, 298-9, 440. "Diary and Letters of Madame d'Arblay," original edition, i. xi, xii, Xlv; origin of the, xiv, xxxiv. Dickens, Mrs., i. 154. Digby, Colonel, Hon. Stephen, see Fairly. Dillon, Mdlle. iii. 338. Dobson, Mrs., authoress, i. 170. Dorset, Duke of, i. 121, 309. Douai, royalists at, iii. 324. Douglas, Archibald, ii. 222-3. Douglas, Captain, R.N., ii. 316, 337. Douglas, Dr., i. 445. Douglas, Lady Frances, ii, 222. D'Oyley, Sir John and Lady, ii. 169, 173-4. Drake, Sir Francis (royal steward), i. 363; ii. 420. Dudley, Sir H. Bate, see Bate. Dumouriez, General, iii. 54. Duncan, Admiral, his victory off Camperdown, iii. 140-3, 147-50. Duncannon, Lady, ii. 424. Dundas, Mr. (Sir David), ii. 375. Dunkirk, Fanny's adventure at, iii, 249; Spanish prisoners at, 257. Duras, Dowager Duchess de, iii. 295. Duras, Duchess de, iii- 336; Duke de, iii. 281-7, "Early Diary of Frances Burney," i. xv. "Edwy and Elgiva," Fanny's tragedy, i. xiv; ii, 222, 349; iii. 72, 90. Effingham, Lady, lady of the bed-chamber, i. 343, 351-2, 361, 439; ii. 8, 222, 225, 227. Egerton, Mrs Ariana, iii. 69. Egham races, Fanny at, ii. 151. Elizabeth, Princess ; her illness, i. 296-315; her intercourse with Fanny, 339, 355, 362, 365 374, 377-8, 385, 387, 423; ii. 10, 34-5, 39, 155, 164, 201, 205, 211, 296, 347, 404, 409, 436, 447, 454; iii. 100, 108; her marriage, 122 ; 140, 155, 158, 165, 266, 300, 346, 420-2, 427, 436. Ellenborough, Lord (Mr. Law), at the Hastings trial, ii. 437, 439-41, 443- Elliot, Sir Gilbert, ii. 97, 100, 118; iii. 80, 125. Embry, Mr., i. 109-10. Emigrés, French, at juniper Hall, i. xliv; iii. 11, 13, 15, 28-61. Erskine, Hon. Thomas, and Mrs. Siddons, i. 257; his egotism, his wife, ii. 462-4. "Evelina," Fanny's novel ; its publication, i. xxiv, 59, 61-2; its success, xxv, 115; its admirers, Nxvi; its style, liii, liv; Macaulay's estimate of, lvi; attributed to Anstey, 63; read to Crisp, 64-5; by Dr. Burney, 66-7; by Reynolds, 78; by Burke, 101; praised by Dr. Burney, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and Mrs. Thrale, 68-72; by Dr. Johnson, 71, 73, 76, 103; by Crisp, 74-5; by Seward, 77; by Sheridan, 124; Fanny's copy of, 69; price paid for the NIS., 69; Reynolds sits up reading, 78; praised to Dr. Lort, 90-1; curiosity respecting its author, 92-5, 224-8; Cumberland's jealousy of, 158; quoted, 165; a child's enquiries about, 191-2; Paoli's View Of, 234; Windham's remarks on, ii. 144; Baretti on, 176; its sale, iii. 114. Exeter, royal visit to, ii. 321. Fairly, Colonel (Hon. Stephen Digby), i. xxxix; ii. attacks Mrs. Warren Hastings, 371; at Nuneham, with Fanny, 380, 383; at Oxford, 385, 390, 395-7; embroiled with Mrs. Schwellenberg, 400; looks melancholy, 445; loses his first wife, ii. 53; at Windsor, 75; his conversation, 78; likely to marry Miss Fuzilier, 126, 153, 177; 139; with Fanny, 154; at Cheltenham, 155, 158-9; his téte-a-téte with Fanny, 159-61 ; 162 ; talks, reads, and flirts with her, 165-8, 170, 174, 177-87, 193, 197, 199; ill with the gout, 171, 173; criticises the princes, 189; takes leave of Fanny, 200-3; his note to her, 204; discussed by his brother equerries, 213; with the Gunnings, 224; at Windsor during George III.'s illness, 228, 233, 236-7, 239-40; soothes the king, 241; on familiar terms with Fanny, 242-4-6-8; his remarks on the prayers for the king, 249; is anxious about the queen, 251; his intercourse with Fanny, 253-62, 264; arrives at Kew, 267; is concerned for the princesses, 271-2; disliked by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 275-7; with Fanny, 277, 279, 281; the queen remarks on his visits, 280-2; search for him, 285; 293-4; meets Windham, 297-8; takes leave of Fanny, 303-4 at Weymouth, 329; his marriage is rumoured, 334, 340; his strange wedding to Miss Fuzilier, 342-4; meets Fanny again, iii. 111. Fairly, Mrs., ii. 344, 373; see also Fuzilier. Farnham, ii. 411. Farren, Miss, actresw, ii. 32; iii. 149. Fauconberg Hall, ii. 155, 157; Lord, ii. 155. "Female Quixote, The," by Charlotte Lenox, i. lvi. Ferrars, Lady De, i. 243-4; Lord De, i. 243. Ferry, Mr., i. 178-9. Fielding, Henry, Dr. Johnson on, i. 91. Fielding, Sir John, i. 192-3. Fielding, Mrs. (woman of the bedchamber), i. 341-2, 351, 366; ii. 10, 304. Finch, Lady Charlotte (governess to the princesses), i. 341-2, 355-6; ii. 184, 252, 259, 265, 270, 274, 286. Finch, Miss, i- 06. Fisher, Canon, i. 338, 366, 427, 436-7; ii. 72, 75-6, 212-3, 342, 406; iii. 99, 120. Fisher, Kitty, and Dr. Johnson, i. 89. Fisher, Mrs., ii. 72, 75; iii. 110. Fite, Madame de la, at Norbury Park, i. 280-1, 311-2; her intercourse with Fanny at Windsor, 337, 342, 355, 405-6, 409-16, 440 ; ii. 35, 405, 451. Fitzherbert, Mrs., ii. 320. Flint, Bet, and Johnson, i. 87,8. Foster, Lady Elizabeth, ii- 410, 427-8. Fouche, iii. 250. Fox, Charles James, at the Hastings trial, ii. 92, 93, 97, 125, 127-8, 134-5, 361, 392, 441; and the regency bill, 221; Burke on, 459, 463; and the execution of Louis xvi, iii. 44. France, revolution in, iii. 11, 42-4; Fanny goes to, 203; leaves, 263; returns to, 292-327, 378,83; foreign occupation Of, 379-81. Francis, Clement, marries Charlotte Burney, i. 332 ; ii. 109, 123, 145, 345, 375, 380-1; iii. 38. Francis, Mrs., see Burney, Charlotte. Francis, Mr. (Sir Philip), ii. 89, 109, 346. Francklin, Rev. Th., D. D., admires "Evelina," i. xxvii; interviews Fanny, 112. French Clergy Fund, the, iii. 77, 78. French, Miss, Burke's niece, ii. 457, 461; Fuller, Captain, and his soldiers, i. 135, 136, 137. Fuller, Mr. Rose, at Streatham, i. 92, 109, 139; his conversation, 148, 153. Fuzilier, Miss (Charlotte Gunning), ii. 126, 153, 177, 224, 255, 304, 340, 342-4, see Fairly, Mrs. Gabrielli, Signora, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii. Gage, Sir Thomas, ii. 450; iii. 23. Galway, Dowager Lady, i. 248, 254. Gaud (Ghent), Louis xviii. at, iii. 337, 349. Garrick, David, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; his connection with Crisp's "Virginia," xx, xxi; his love of flattery, 122; 317; reads "Lethe" to a royal audience, 349; his relatives, his monument at Lichfield, iii. 129. Garrick, Mrs., ii. 82, 432. Garth, Major, ii- 374. Gast, Mrs. Sophia, Crisp's sister, i. 60, 71, 169, 233, 266; ii. 207. Genlis, Madame de, Fanny's acquaintance with, i. 316; her strictures on the English stage, 318 ; Queen Charlotte on her writings, 319; her position discussed, 405-8; in England as Mdme. Brulard, 449; iii. 22-4, 26-7. George III, his generosity to Mrs. Delany, i. 265, 291 ; visits her incog, 293; is inquisitive about Fanny, 294; his first interview with her, XXX, 298; his health, constitution, and diet, 299 ; questions Fanny about her writings, 301-4; is anxious she should continue writing, 310; his views on sermons, 313; his demeanour and character, 314, 318-9; takes tea at Mrs. Delany's, etiquette, 314-5; his opinions of Lord George Sackville, Voltaire, and Rousseau, 316; of plays and players, 317; on the Terrace at Windsor, 325-6; in the queen's dressing-room, 339; at Kew, 349-51; an attempt on his life, 355-61; is cheered at Little Kew, 367; visits Nuneham, Oxford, and Blenheim, 373-98; protects Herschel, 408, 420; his equerries and his barley-water, 431 ; with his favourite daughter, Amelia, 437; visits Fanny during her illness, 446; converses with jacob Bryant, ii. 23; at the play, 31; his birthday, 33; plays backgammon, 37; with the Polignacs, 39; is joyful at the Duke of York's return, 49; criticises Goldsworthy's collar, 84; is amused by a caricature, 140; goes to Cheltenham, 155; his rooms there, 163; visits Cirencester, 171; Tewkesbury, 174; is solicitous about Fairly, 181-2, 186, 187-8; lodges the Duke of York in a portable wooden house, 190; has Fanny prescribed for, 196; visits Worcester, 199; returns to Windsor, 206; his illness, 220; is in an uncertain state, 222-4; his want of sleep, 294-6; progress of his illness, 226-8; first outburst of delirium, 228; delirious, 232; refuses to see Dr. Warren, 234; his night watchers, 238; is soothed by Mr. Fairly, 240; public prayers for, 248; is much worse, 250; certainty of his recovery, 251; his charter, 254, 256; reports upon his Condition, 257; requires stricter management, 259; is removed to Kew, 261, 265-6; state of his health, 268, 272, 273; takes his first walk, 274; his varying condition, 276-7; is treated by Dr. Willis, 274, 278; on the queen's birthday, 281; chases Fanny in Kew Gardens, 287-92; his gradual amendment, 294-8; is completely restored, 299; inquires after Fanny, 300; illuminations on his recovery, 303; his reception in the New Forest, 310; at LyDdhurst, 311; at Salisbury, Dorchester, Weymouth, 313; his sea baths, 314-6; his amusements at and excursions from Weymouth, 316-21; at Exeter and Saltram, 322-3; again at Weymouth, 329; at Longleat, 330; at Tottenham Court, 332; returns to Windsor, 333; at Covent Garden Theatre, 335-40; is interested in the Hastings trial, 395. 456 ; his birthday, 395, 399; reads Boswell's "Johnson," 401-2; takes leave of Fanny, 409; meets her again; 436; chats with her, 448-9, 453-6; "Camilla" presented to him, iii. 100, 106-7; notices M. d'Arblay, 110; remarks on "Camilla," 111; chats with Fanny, 145; with Dr. Burney, 185-7; is again mad; 252, 267; his death, 440. Ghent, see Gand. Gibbon eulogises Fanny, i. xxvi; meets her, 228-32; reads "Cecilia," 254; falls into the Thames, 275; admires Lady Elizabeth Foster, ii. 428. Girardin, Alexandre de, iii. 34. Glastonbury Abbey, ii. 421. Gloucester, Fanny at, ii. 171. Gloucester, Dr. Halifax, bishop of, ii. 173. Gloucester, Princess Sophia of, iii. 151. Gloucester, William Frederick, Duke of, iii. 151. Gloucester, William Henry, Duke of, ii. 98, 311 ; iii. 151. Goethe, his "Sorrows of Werther," i. xxxi, 320. Goldsmith, Dr., his "Good-Natured man" and "The Rambler," i. 83-4; his love for Mary Horneck, 111; his blundering ways, 232. Goldsworthy, Colonel (equerry), his character and humour, i. 421; is offended with Fanny, 427; his duties and discomforts, 429-31; 440; his remarks on the Court concerts, 444; ii- 17; character and humour, 36-7; derides Col. Manners, 40-2; his huge coat collar, 84; at Worcester, 199 213 his breach of etiquette, 216, 218; during George III.s illness, 228-9, 231, 233, 235, 239, 261, 268; at Weymouth, 320, 323, 407. Goldsworthy, Miss (governess to the princesses), i. 2o2, 342, 365, 421; ii. 32, 231-5, 238-9, 240, 246, 252, 266; 270, 396, 406-7, 434. Gomme, Miss, Court attendant, ii. 34, 95, too, 270, 283, 295, 342, 405, 434 ; iii. 105. Gordon, Lord George, i. 192-5-7, 411; riots, i. 165, 192-9. Grafton, Duke of, iii. 27. Grattan, Henry, iii. 278, 281. Gregory, Miss, i. 100-3; ii. 424. Grenville, General, ii. 50, 218, 407. Greville, Colonel, equerry, see Wellbred. Greville, Fulk, patron ofDr. Burney, i. xiii. Grey, Mr., afterwards Earl, at the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 97; and Reform, 463; alluded to, iii. 389. Grub Street, Fanny's proposed visit to, i. 199. Guibert, M., iii. 56. Guiche, Countess de, ii. 39. Guiffardiere, Rev. C. de, see "Turbulent." Gunning, Charlotte, see Fuzilier. Gunning, Sir Robt., ii. 126, 224, 342. Gwatkin, Mr., i. 92, 119; ii. 444. Gwynn, Colonel (king's equerry), ii- 45, 47, 51, 155, 158-9, 162, 165, 173, 191, 247, 317, 407 ; Mrs., see Horneck, Mary. Haggerdorn, Mrs., keeper of the queen's robes, succeeded by Fanny, i. 329-31; ii. 24, 153. Hagget, Rev. Mr., i. 379, 383, 385, 390, 396-8. Hales, Lady, on "Evelina," i. 67. Halifax, Dr., ii. 173. Hamilton , "Single speech," i. 164. Hamilton, Sir William, ii. 38. Hamilton, Lady Ann, iii. 442. Hamilton, Mrs., of Chesington, i. 60, 200, 233 ; iii. 63. Hampden, Mrs., i. 250. Harcourt, Earl of, i. 122-3, 373-4, 379, 385, 387-8, 390, 400; ii. 185, 191, 388, 399; Countess of, i. 373, 377, 382, 385, 390, 393-4 ii. 185, 191. Harcourt, General, i. 380, 383, 385, 390; ii. 39, 244, 268; Mrs., i. 396; ii. 39, 281. Harrington, Dr., i. 171-8, 195. Harrington, Rev. Henry, i. 171-2, 177. Harris, James, i. 198; ii. 355-8. Hartington, Marquis of, ii. 426. Hastings, Warren, Fanny's opinions of, i. xxxvii; Queen Charlotte and, xxxviii; meets Fanny, 326; his marriage, 327; the storm gathering round, ii. 44; résumé of his career, impeachment, trial, 86-94; Fanny's account of his trial, 95-139, 143-9, 345-6, 352-5, 357-65, 370-3, 389-95, 437-47, 452,455-6; meets Windham, 373; is acquitted, iii. 92. Hastings, Mrs. Warren, account of, i. 327; visits Fanny, 352; is defended by her, 371, 372; mischief making about, 400; her money, ii. 92; her eccentricities, 451. Hawke, Lady, i. 225-8; ii. 150. Hawkesworth, i. xvi. Hawkins, Mr., surgeon of the royal household, ii. 235, 252, 260, 276. Hawkins the, ii. 200. Hayes, Mrs., i. 443. Heberden, Dr., king's physician, ii. 38, 226, 232, 234, 250; Mrs. and Miss, i. 360; ii. 39. Henderson, John, actor, i. 317. Henin, Princess d', iii, 56, 119, 136, 218-9, 222, 304-5, 307; her flight from Paris with Fanny, 311, 313-25, 330; at Brussels, 335, 343, 349, 304, 369, 370. Herschel, Miss, her comet, i. 409; ii. 58; iii. 131. Herschel, Dr. (afterwards Sir W.), his telescope, i. 408-9, 445; discussed, ii. 37, 38, 40, 58; visited by Dr. Burney, iii. 131, 184-7. Hoole, John, i. 259, 285. Horneck, Catherine (Mrs Bunbury), "Little Comedy," i. 111; ii. 51. Horneck, Mary (Mrs. Gwynn), the Jessamy Bride, i. 111, 114; ii. 45, 140, 317, 319; Mrs., i. 111, 114. Howard, Lady Frances, i- 343-4, 352, 439 ; ii. 222. Howard, Sir George, i. 344, 352 ii. 222. Howe, Lord, and the I"Vengeur," iii. 143. Huddisford, Mr., his libel on Fanny, i. 113, 119. Hulin, General, iii. 224-5. Humphries, Miss, i. 62-3. Hundred Days, the, iii. 292-3. Huntingdon, i. 176, 180. Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, ii. 143, 199. Ilfracombe, Fanny at, iii. 398; her adventure at, 405-18. Illness of George III., ii. 221-99. Imhoff, Madame, marries Warren Hastings, i. 327. Impey, Sir Elijah, ii. 89, 118. Inchiquin, Lord, iii. 125. Jacobi, Mdlle., Fanny's successor, ii. 403-9, 434, 447; iii. 102, 106, 109, 142. jaucourt, M. de, iii. 14, 29-32, 80. jenyns, Soame, praises "Cecilia," i. 261-3. jerningham, his verses, i. xxvii. Jervis, Admiral, iii. 143. Johnson, Commodore, i. 168. Johnson, Samuel, LL. D., his friend- ship for Dr. Burney, i. xvi; his opinion of "Evelina," xxvi; his last message to Fanny, xxix; assists her with "Cecilia," lii-lv; "Evelina" read to him, 71, 73; meets Fanny, 77; tails at Langton, 81; praises "Evelina," 83, 90, 103; abuses the Scotch, 84-5; criticises Mrs. Burney's dress, 86; his stories of Bet Flint and Mrs. Pinkethman, 87-8; his household, 95; his opinion of Mrs. Montagu, 97-9; his compliments and bitter sayings, 104-6; kisses Fanny, 109; disputes with Sir P. J. Clerke, 128-9; advises Fanny respecting her play, 130-2; his account of the Gordon riots, 192; offers to take Fanny to Grub Street, 199; is appointed Thrale's executor, 202; intercedes for Mauritius Lowe, 209; his "Life of Lord Lyttelton," 211-3; his sportive moods, 215; at Brighton, 238; on Gray and Pope, 240-1; his bluster at Lord de Ferrars, 243; is held in general dread, 247 attends Miss Monckton's assembly, 250-5; his inmates at Bolt Court, 258; is attacked by paralysis, 272; his failing health, 283; his death, 285-8; his letters to Mrs. Thrale, ii. 74; his intercourse with Windham, 103, 136-8; his life by Boswell, 377, 400; his monument at Lichfield, iii. 129; his portrait by Reynolds, 389; his view of sorrow, 445. Joigny, Fanny at, iii. 234. Jones, Colonel, commander at Brussels, iii. 350, 363. Jordan, Mrs., ii. 79; in "The Country Girl," 185, 190. juniper Hall, French émigré's at, i. xliv; iii. 11, 13, 15, 28, 61. Kaye, Captain, a beau, i. 245-6. Kenyon, Lord, ii. 393. Kew Palace, the Court at, i. 349-51, 367, 422; ii. 50-4; during the king's illness, 265-303; gardens of, Fanny chased by George III., 287; Fanny's farewell to, 407. Klopstock, his "Messiah," i. x1xi, 320. L'AEKEN, palace of, iii. 341. Ladd, Sir John, i. 107; Lady, i. 92, 109. Lafayette. Marquis de, iii, 12, 14, 29, 31, 86, 207, 426; Marchioness de, iii. 221; Mdlle. de, iii. 223. Lalande, J. J. de, ii. 208-11. Lally-Tolendol, Count de, iii. 13; his tragedy, 54; at Norbury, 118, 136; his qualities, 196-7; his flight from France, 312-4, 316-25, 328, 364, 369. Lamb, Lady Caroline, iii, 344. Lamballe, Princess de, ii. 50. Lameth, iii. 16, 319-20. Langton, Bennet, admires "Evelina," i. xxvii; his children and affairs, 81-2; at Johnson's deathbed, 286-8; his wife, ii. 83; mimics Johnson, 453. Lansdowne, Lord, his connection with Waller and Pope, i. xxx; iii. 260. Latour-Maubourg, Victor de, iii. 273, 309. Lauriston, General, iii. 171, 227, 241. Lavalette, Marquis de, his escape, iii. 386-8. Law, Mr., ii. 437, 439-41, 443. Lawrence, Sir Thomas, his precocity, i. 167. Lenox, Charlotte, her novel, "The Female Quixote," i. lvi; Johnson on, ii. 401. Lever, Sir Ashton, ii. 319. Levett, Robert, at Dr. johnson's, i. 96. Liancourt, Duke de, iii. 13, 18-22, 24-8, 37. Lindsay, Lady Anne, i. 144. Linley, Eliza Anne, married to Sheridan, i. 111-12, 344 [see Sheridan, Mrs.]. Linley, Miss, sister to Mrs. Sheridan, i. 121. Literary Club, The, meeting at, iii. 44. Lobau, Count, iii- 355. Locke, Mr. and Mrs., of Norbury Park, i. 277, 280-2, 312, 344, 411; ii. 299, 305; iii. 16, 39, 59, 76, 81, 115, 120, 144, 154, 202, 252, 279, 384-5, 394, 441, 450, 455; William, son of, his artistic talent, i. 312-3 ; ii. 60, 141. London, Porteus, Bishop of, ii. 82. Long, Dudley, ii. 97. Longleat, the Court at, ii. 330; paintings at, 331. Lort, Michael, D.D., and "Evelina," i. 89, 90. Loughborough, Lord, ii. 462. Louis xvi, his trial and execution, iii. 42-4, 48, 53-4. Louis xviii., his levee at Grillon's, 276; Fanny presented to, 284-8; his reception in Paris, 291, 310, 318; reaches Ghent, 337, 349; leaves for France, 364-5. "Love and Fashion," Fanny's comedy, iii. 193. Lowe, Mauritius, painter, i. 209. Lowndes, J., publishes "Evelina," i. xxiv, xxv, 59, 61, 69, 75; is interviewed by Fanny, 79. Luc, M. de, i. 443; ii. 9, 40, 48, 65-8, 70, 243-4, 262, 320, 391, 393, 396, 403, 435-6; Mrs de, i- 353, 363 ; ii. 405. Lucan, Lady, and Mrs. Siddons, i. 257-8. Lulworth Castle, The Court at, ii. 318; Fanny at, 320. Luxembourg, Duke de, iii. 345. Luxemburg, M. d'Arblay's mission to, iii. 339. Lyndhurst, the king at, ii. 311. Lyme, Fanny at, ii. 418. MacBean, Johnson's amanuensis, i. 96. Macartney, Earl, ii. 456. Macburneys, The, i., xiii. Malesherbes, M. de, iii. 48, 54, Malouet, iii. 37. Manners, colonel, afterwards General (equerry), his eccentric sayings, ii. 36-8; his singing, 40-2; plagues Mrs. Schwellenberg, 42; his election beating, 213; alluded to, 152, 257; mystifies Mrs. Scbwellenberg, 305; as an M.P., 351; mentioned, 393, 407; iii. 110-2. Mansfield, Lord, i. 192-3; ii. 464. Markham, Archbishop, ii. 105. Marlborough, Duke of, is colour-blind, i. 307; at Oxford, 386-7-9; Duchess of, 386-9. Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess of, anecdote of, i. 169. Mary, Princess, i. 353-4, 365; ii. 34, 39, 296, 396, 4o6, 434; iii. 138, 164, 266, 437-9, 440. Maurville, Mdme. de, iii. 334, 338, 348, 358, 364. Mazancourt, Count de, iii. 339-40, 377. Melbourne, Lord, iii. 243, 344. Menage, Countess de, ii. 413. "Memoirs of Dr. Burney,"'i. xxiii, lv, 234; iii. 455. "Metastasio, Life of," Dr. Burney's, iii. 89, 92, 103. Metcalf, Philip, M.P., i. 244-5, 250. Mhaughendorf, Miss, i- 375-7, 381. Mickleham, Fanny at, iii. 46, 49, 50, 52; her marriage at, 67, 71. Miller, Sir John, i. 174, 180, 190, 221. Miller, Lady, "The Lady of the Vase," i. xxvii, 74-5, 180, 189, 221; ii. 424. Milton Abbey, ii. 417. Mithoff, Rev. Mr., i. 418-20. Molloy, Capt., R.N., ii. 324-7. Molyneux, Sir F., ii. 98. Monckton, Hon. Miss (afterwards Countess of Cork), meets Fanny, i. 248; her assembly, 249-56, 257; ii. 102-3. Monmoulin, Mdlle., i. 365; ii. 34, 270, 282, 295-6, 342. Montagu, Duke of, i. 365, 440. Montagu, Elizabeth, née Robinson, her writings, conversation, and disposition, i. 97-8; Johnson's opinion of, 99; meets Fanny, 100-3; her opinion of Johnson's "Life of Lord Lyttelton," 210; praises "Cecilia," 251-2; Frances Reynolds's letter to, 260; mentioned, ii. 82, 424, 432, 450. Montagu, Frederick, M.P., ii. 97, 291. Montmorency, Viscount de, iii. 14, 28, 39, 53, 80. Mordaunt, Lord, i. 134. More, Hannah, her flattery, i. 122, 185. Mornington, Lady, ii. 338. Mortemart, Mdlle. de, iii. 218, 224. Mount Edgecumbe, Lordand Lady, i. xvii ; ii. 323, 327. Mount Edgecumbe, Fanny at, ii. 327. Mountmorres, Lord, ii. 336-9. Mulgrave, Lord, i. xvii, 168, 172-4-6; ii. 83, 150; Lady, ii. 83, 150. Mulso, Hester, see Chapone. Murat, iii. 368. Murphy, Arthur, offers to assist Fanny Burney in writing a play, i. xxviii, 130-1, 133, 134. Murray, Lady, iii. 419. Musgrave, Mr., i. 221. Musters, Mrs., a beauty, i. 154. Napoleon, see Bonaparte, Narbonne, Count de, in England, i. xliv; iii. 29-30, 35-7, 40, 43, 45, 52, 54, 57, 82, 97; in France, 253; his death, 273. Necker, M., iii. 36, 47, 52, 220, Netherlands, King and Queen of the, iii. 339, 365. Newcastle, Duke of, ii. 96. New Forest, the king's reception in the, ii. 310. Ney, Marshal, and his iron cage for Napoleon, iii. 304. Nicholson, Margaret, her attempt against the king, i. 355-61, 367. Nore, the, mutiny at, iii. 139. Norfolk, Duke of, iii. 158. North, Colonel, ii. 97. North, Lord, ii, 392. Nugent, Colonel, reads an address to Louis XVIII., iii. 286. Nuneham, royal visits to, i. 374-85, 396 ; ii- 156. O'Connor, Arthur, iii. 166. Ogle, Mrs., ii. 187-8; iii. 397. Omai, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii. Orange, Prince (William 1. of Holland) and Princess of, iii. 147, 231, 339, 365. Orange, Prince of (William II. of Holland), iii, 365. Ord, Mrs., a "blue stocking," i. 259, 261-3, 333-4; ii. 82, 150, 370, 378, 410-29. Orford, Lord, ii. 434-5. "Original Love Letters," ii. 170, 182. O'Riley, Miss, a flirt, i. 205. Orleans, Mdlle d', ii. 449-50; iii. 23. Orloff, Count, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii. Otaheite, rubbing noses at, iii. 60. Owen, Miss, i. 13-5. Oxford, royal visits to, i. xxxv-vi, 385-95; ii. 156. Pacchierotti, Gasparo, vocalist, i. XVii, 121, 224, 263-4; ii. 356. Paine, Thomas, in Suffolk, ii. 450. Palmer, Miss, and "Evelina," i. 92-5; at Reynolds's, 113-20, 228-9, 256; at Cheltenham, ii. 169, 173-4, 411, 431; inherits from Reynolds, marries Lord Inchiquin, 444. Palmerston, Lord, i. 115-20. Pamela, Mdme. de Genlis's, ii. 449; iii. 23. Paoli, General Pasquale, pays homage to Fanny, i. xxvii; her account OF, 23-5. Paradise, Mr. and Mrs., i. 224-8. Paris, Fanny in, iii. 215; a parade in presence of the first Consul, 224 ; the influenza in, 239; on Napoleon's return from Elba, 305; Fanny's flight from, 308 et seq.; her return to, 378. Paston Letters," the, ii. 21-2, 150. Payne and Cadell, publish "Cecilia," i. 254. Pembroke, Elizabeth, Countess of, i- 135-6, 178. Pepys, Lucas, Dr., afterwards Sir, i. 239; ii. 83, 126; attends the king, 250-3, 262-4, 276, 284, 287; 432 ; iii. 177, 180. Pepys, W. W., afterwards Sir, i. 148, 210-3, 239-41 ii. 82; iii. 177. Percy, Bishop, ii. 428; iii. 44. Perkins, Mr., i. 197. Philidor, iii. 405. Phillips, Captain Molesworth, i. 60, 224, 231 ; ii. 357, 437; iii. 31, 35, 59, 71, 113; Mrs., see Burney, Susanna. Pinkethman, Mrs. and Dr. Johnson, i. 88. Piozzi, Signor, marries Mrs. Thrale, i. 236-8, 278-9 ; iii. 88. Piozzi, Mrs. (Thrale), leaves England, i. 237; is gay and happy, 288 ; publishes her correspondence with Johnson, ii. 74-8, 101; is attacked by Baretti, ii. 167, 176; meets Fanny, 355; Dr. Burney, iii. 88; at Bath, 386, 396-7, 422; letters from, 443-5-7; her death, 448; compared with Mdme. de Stael, 449. Pitt, William, and the Regency bill, i, XXXi., ii. 220-1; and the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 108, 135; at Windsor, 263; D'Arblay's application to, iii. 74; his "loyalty loan," 121. Planta, Miss, English teacher and attendant to the princesses; her intercourse with Fanny, i. 291, 349-51, 361, 365, 374-87, 390-8, 415, 437, 443, 446 ; ii. 18, 30-3, 46, 65-9, 85, 139, 155-9, 161-8, 170, 180-5, 189-94, 200-1, 218, 224, 228, 242, 246, 262, 266-9, 283, 312-4-6, 322-3, 327-9, 335-8, 405, 434; iii. 99, 142, 155, 163. Plymouth dockyard, ii. 323. Polier, Colonel, a gourmand, i. 336, 340, 345. Polignac, Duke and Duchess de, at Windsor, ii. 39; the duchess and the Diamond Necklace scandal, ibid. Port, Miss, account of, i. 293; at Mrs. Delany'S, 293, 298, 300; serves tea to George III., 315, 318; her intercourse with Fanny, 337-8, 342, 401, 418, 427, 440; ii. 36, 39, 40, 46, 49, 141-2, 150, 184-6, 192. Porteus, Dr., Bishop of Chester, i. 313 ; ii. 82. Portland, Duchess of, née Harley, inquires after "Cecilia," i. 251, 253; meets Fanny, 267-70; her death, 290; Duke of, iii. 125. Powderham Castle, ii. 420. Prémorel, M. de, iii. 340, 346, 377-8. Price, Major, equerry to George III, i. 338, 344, 352, 355, 358, 363-6, 371, 380, 383-7, 390, 396-7, 400, 416, 421; ii, 17, 45, 176, 203, 206, 341, 346, 436. Princes, the, see Cumberland, Gloucester, Dukes of, Wales, Prince of, William, Prince (Duke of Clarence), and York, Duke of. Princess Royal, Charlotte (Queen of Wiirtemburg), i. 339, 348, 354, 358, 365, 375, 377-8, 385, 387, 416, 420, 422-3; ii. 10, 35, 199, 216, 266, 340, 347, 409, 447; iii. 104, 107; is presented to her fiancé, 115; 122; her marriage, 138-9. Princesses, the, i- 353, 357, 365, 377, 389, 394; ii. 33, 224, 236, 265, 269-70, 271-2, 409, 455; their births, marriages, deaths, iii. 123; 451, 454; see also Amelia; Augusta, Elizabeth, Mary, Princess Royal, and Sophia. "Probationary Odes," the, ii. 145. Prussia, King of, iii. 289. Quatre Bras, battle of, iii. 347, 351. Queen, the, see Charlotte, Queen. Raikes, Robert, founder of Sunday schools, ii. 171-3. Ramsden, Colonel, equerry, ii. 36-7, 407. Regency bill, the, i. xxxix; ii. 220-1, 271, 276, 296-9. Regent, Prince, see Wales. Revolution, the French, résumé of the principal events of, from September 1791 to March 1793, iii. 11-5; the capture of the Bastille, 18; the invasion of the Tuileries, 19; the Duke de Liancourt's efforts at Rouen, 19-22; decrees against the emigres, 33; trial and execution of Louis XVI., 42-4, 48; sieges of Dunk-irk and Toulon, 73-4, 78; the insurrection of the 18th Fructidor, 136; the "Vengeur" legend, 143; the peace of Amiens, 171; the revolutionary calendar, 214. Reynolds, Mrs. Frances, i. 78, 199, 260. Reynolds, Sir Joshua, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; reads "Evelina," 78; his meeting and intercourse with Fanny, 92-5, 106, 113, 123, 125-6; is derided by Blakeney, 160; his opinion of Lawrence, 167; his picture of Beattie, 184; introduces Fanny to Burke and Gibbon, 228-32; with Fanny at Miss Monckton's, 29-6, 259-60, 272; ii. 82; at the Hastings trial, 100; his failing eyesight, 333, 377, 411, 431-2; his death, his disposition of his fortune, 444 ; his paintings at Streatham, iii. 389. Rhamus, Mr., ii. 11, 13. Rhine, scenery of the, iii, 377. Richmond, Reynolds's dinner party at, i. 228. Richmond, Duke of, ii. 321; Duchess of, her ball at Brussels, iii. 367. Riggs, Mrs., i. 174, 189. Roberts, Dr., provost of Eton, i. 401, 440. Roche, Mdme. de la, authoress, i. 409-16. Rochefoucault, Duke de la, iii. 22. Rogers, Samuel, iii. 177, 270, 454. Rothes, Lady, ii. 432; iii. 177, 180. Rousseau, J. J., George III. on, i. xxx, 316. Rovigo, Duke de, iii. 253. Royal, Princess, see Princess. Rumford, Count, iii. 133. Russia, Alexander 1. of, iii. 289. Rutland, Mary Isabella, Duchess of, i. 215. Sackville, Lord George, R. Cumberland and George III. on, i. 315-6. St. Asaph's, Bishop of, 1, 229. St. James's Palace, Court drawingrooms at, i. 308, 350, 369 ; ii. 9-15, 33-5, 65-6, 85, 304, 335; the Court at, 345-73, 382, 396, 408 ; attempt against George III. outside, i. 356. St. just, de, iii. 35. St. Vincent, Lord, iii. 143. Salisbury, i. 197; Bishop of, i. 338; iii. 386, 437; Marquis of, ii. 292, 399. Saltram, the Court at, ii. 323. Sandwich, Earl of, i. xvii. Savile, Sir George, i. 193. Saxe-Gotha, Duke of, i. 344. Saye and Sele, Lady, i. 225-8; ii. 151; Lord, i. 227-8. Schwellenberg, -,Mrs., keeper of the queen's robes, Fanny's life with, i. xxxiv, X1, x1ii, 290; knows Mrs. Hastings, 327-8; Fanny is introduced to her, 331-2, 335-40, 344-53, 355, 358; Fanny's bitter experience of her begins, 359 ; 360; invites herself to supper, 363 falls ill, 366; offers Fanny a gown from the queen, 367; in a Pet, 371; 373-4; makes mischief about Mrs. Hastings, 400; her tyranny, 404; 4113-5, 418-20 again ill, 421-2, 425; ii. 35; teased by the equerries, 42-6; suspicious of Turbulent, 46, 52, 56; her tyrannical ways, 62, 65-8; her capriciousness, 68-71 72; does Fanny a favour, 74-7; extremely ill, 84, 139; returns to Windsor, 152; Fanny's nickname for, 157; twits Fanny about marriage, 209, 217; rails at her, 215-6; angry with Goldsworthy, 217; again ill, 218; during the king's illness, 246-7, 253, 269, 271; her cruelty to Fanny, 272-4; her aversion for Fairly' 275; 282-3; George III. on her conduct, 290; accuses Fanny of visiting gentlemen, 295; in a temper, 301-2; is mystified, 304; rails at Fairly, 341; with Fanny, 347, 378-9, 381, 384-7; at Prince William's drinking bout, 396-8; is kissed by him, 400; her severity, 4o6; takes leave of Fanny, 407; with her again, 434-7; is all civility, 447; her death, iii. 142. Scott, Major, ii. 92, 105, 108. Scott, Sir Walter, iii- 454-5. "Seduction," a play, ii. 32. Selwyn, Mr., banker, i. 161-7. Sercey, Henriette de, ii. 449-50; iii. 23. Seward, William, i. xxvii; his meetings with Fanny, 77-8, 89, 90, 109-10; and Sophy Streatfield, 132, 137, 142, 144-5; his ennui and suggested play, 142-4, 212-5, 218-22, 272; meets Fanny at Cheltenham, ii. 167, 170, 173; 411 ; iii. 174; his death, 183. Shakespeare, George III.'s opinions of, i. xxx, 318; gallery, the, ii. 464. Shelley, Lady, i. 242. Shenstone, William, i. 212. Shepherd, Dr. A., ii. 55, 208-11, 217. Sherborne Castle, ii. 319, 330. Sheridan, R. B., eulogises Fanny, i. xxvi; marries Miss Linley, 111-2, 344; meets Fanny, 123, 145; Mrs. Thrale's bon mot on, 223; at the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 139, 438. Sheridan, Mrs., née Linley, her beauty, talents, marriage, i. 111-2; meets Fanny, 121, 344. Shipley, Georgiana, i. 229. Siddons, Mrs., meets Fanny, i. 257 ; praised by George III., 321; disappointing on near acquaintance, ii. 52; 317-9; buys Sadler-,' Wells, iii. 149. Sidmouth, ii. 419. Sleepe, Esther, mother of Fanny Burney, her marriage and death, i. xiv; Mr., i. 199. Smelt, Mr., Court official, i. 166, 324, 327-31, 437-9, 443-5; ii. 9, 15, 19, 20-2, 50, 83, 241, 243-4, 273, 276-7, 293, 297, 300, 303; Mrs., i. 437-8, 440; ii. 241. Smith, Mr. Thrale's Cousin, i. 106-7. Smith, Charlotte, iii. 75. Sophia, Princess, and Mr. Webb's nose, 1. 311; 353, 365; ii. 34, 211, 309, 406, 434, 455; iii. 140, 156. Sophia of Gloucester, Princess, see Gloucester. Southwell, Lord, i. 209. Souza, Mdme. de, iii. 236-8. Spanish prisoners at Dunkirk, iii. 259; ship captured, 399. Spencer, Countess, i. 359; ii. 424-9; iii. 92; Earl, 424-7; the Ladies, i. 386-7-9; ii. 23. Stael, Madame de, in England, i. xliv, iii. 14, 32; her first letters in English, 45; Fanny's admiration for, 46-8, 50; Dr. Burney's disapproval of, 51; defended by Fanny, 52, 55-61 80; snubbed by Fanny, 220; regretted by her, 269, 382; compared with Mrs. Thrale, 449; M. de, iii. 47. Stainsforth, Mrs., ii. 399. Stanhope, Mr., ii. 396. Stonehenge, ii. 417. Stormont, Lord, ii. 446. Strange, Sir Robert and Lady, iii. 173; Mary Bruce, i. 288. Streatfield, Mrs., i. 149-50; Sophia, the weeping beauty, i. 132-3, 137-42, 144-5, 149-53, 219-21, 283; ii. 450; Iii. 405. Streatham, the Thrales' residence at, i. xxvi; Fanny at, 75-8, 80, 110, 127-33, 137-49, 203-23; the paintings at, iii. 389; dismantled and forsaken, 448. Stuart, Lady, Louisa, ii. 69-70. Sunday schools established, ii. 171. Sydney, Lady, ii. 317. Talleyrand-PérigGord, Charles Maurice de, at juniper Hall, i. xliv; iii. 14, 39; is found charming, 50; 53, 55; his letters of adieu, 83; Fanny indignant with, 153; her bon mot to, 382. Tallien, iii. 47. Taylor, Michael Angelo, ii. 97, 145, 452. Templetown, Lord and Lady, ii. 151. Tewkesbury, Fanny at, ii. 191. Thackeray, Mrs., ii. 69. Thielky, Mrs., i. 340, 345-6, 353, 374, 381-2. Thrale, Mr., "Evelina" read to, i. 71; his character and acquirements, 75; 82, 86, 89, 90, 92, 96, 127-8, 132-4, 149, 153, 166, 168, 194-7; his death, 200-3. Thrale, Mrs., hears about "Evelina," i. xxv, her character and disposition, xxvi; her second marriage, xxix admires "Evelina," 68, 71-2; advises Fanny to write for the stage, 74, 129-31; her kindness to Fanny, 76, 80; praises "Evelina" to Dr. Lort, 90-1; to Mrs. Montagu, 102-5; makes sport with Reynolds, 92-5; converses with Johnson, 95-7; her opinions of him, 104-6; suggests some husbands for Fanny, 106-8; mentioned, 109-10; at Brighton with Fanny, 133, 136, 149, 339-48; with Sophy Streatfield, 132, 137-42; meets the Cumberlands, 156-8; converses with Blakeney, 159-63; at Bath with Fanny, 165-97; loses her husband, 200-3; banters Crutchley, 216-9; her opinion of Mrs. Siddons, 257; alluded to, 258, 262, 265; her fascination and Wit, 277; marries PiOzzi, 236-8. See Piozzi, Mrs. Thrale, Hester[" Queenie "], i. 75, 76, 92, 93, 101, 102, 133, 149, 157, 203, 206-8, 224, 240, 243, 284; Susan, i. 133, 240. Thurlow, Lord Chancellor, ii. 99, 104, 263. Tottenham Court, royal visit to, ii. 332; paintings at, 332-3. Toulon, siege of, iii. 73-4, 76, 78, 90. Tour du Pin, M. and Mdme. de la, iii. 335, 343, 349-50, 364. Tournai, Fanny arrives at, iii. 327. Travell, Beau, i. 76. Treves, Fanny's journey to, iii. 370-8. Tryon, Miss, ii. 304. Tucker, Dean, ii. 173. Tuileries, the, invaded, iii. 19; Bonaparte at, 224; Duchess d'Angouleme at, 294. Tunbridge, Fanny at, i. 112, 149. Turbulent, Mr. (Rev. C. de Guiffardi6re), account Of, i. 436; on Court routine, 443-4; introduces Wellbred to Fanny, ii. 16-21, 22; Worries Fanny, 24; teases Princess Augusta, 26-8; meets with a rebuff, 28-31; with the queen, 35; Mrs, Schwellenberg suspicious of, 46; annoys Fanny, 47-8; troublesome again, 54, 56-8; condemns himself, 80, 140-1; his troublesome pleasantries, 151-2, 208; rails at Fanny, 214-5; greatly altered, 222; during the king's illness, 244, 341, 400, 403. Turner, Sir G. P., i. 227. Twining, Rev. T., i. xvi. Valletort, Lord, ii. 327-9. Vandamme, General, iii. 368. "Vengeur," legend of the, iii. 143, Vernon, the Misses, i. 379, 383-7, 393, 396-8. Vesey, Mrs., a bluestocking, i. 98, 122, 277. 373 ; ii. 97. Victoire, Madame, daughter of Louis XV., iii. 36-7. Villiers, Hon. George, ii. 305, 307, 321. Vincent, Count de, iii. 351. Voltaire, George III. on, i. xxx, 316. Waldegrave, Lady Caroline, i. 340; ii, 238, 322; Lady Elizabeth, i. 340, 365; ii. 39, 230-1, 233, 235, 238, 240, 246, 252, 259, 265-6, 275, 322. Wales, Prince of (George IV.), i. 360; his good heart but suspicious conduct, 373; his mother's anxiety regarding him, 432; on bad terms with the king, ii. 10; with the Polignacs, 39; reconciled with his father, 40; With the Duke of York at Windsor, 49-51; with the queen, 61, 64; at the Hastings trial, 98; his animal spirits, 189; eyes Fanny curiously, 211; and the Regency bill, 221; at Windsor during the king's illness, 228, 235, 237, 239-41, 242-5, 263-4; goes to Kew, 266; at the play, 436; iii. 160; eulogised by Dr. Burney, 243; by the Duchess d'Angouleme, 299; his matrimonial troubles, 440-1. Wallace, Mr., attorney-general, i. 205. Waller, Edmund, ii. 204. Wallis, Miss, iii. i49. Walpole, Horace, "Evelina" attributed to, i. 79; chats with Fanny, ii. 85, 411; iii. 219. See Orford. Walsingham, Mrs., entertains Fanny, i. 256-7, 307; Lord, ii. 126. "Wanderer, The," Mme. d'Arblay's novel, i. Xlvi, lv; iii. 248-9, 255, 272-3-5. Warren, Dr., ii. 224-5, 245, 280; Lady, her tale of a dowry hunter, i. 242. Warton, Dr. Joseph, i. 123, 401-2, 422 ; ii. 32 1. Waterloo, battle of, iii, 357-68. Webb, Mr., his huge nose, i. 311. Wedderburn, Alex., see Loughborough. Wellbred (Greville), Colonel, king's equerry, introduced to Fanny, ii. 16-21; disposition, 36-8; derides Manners, 40-2, 43-4; Fanny's opinion of, 78-9; his powers of sight, 84, 139, 151-2; accompanies George III. to Kew, 268, 285, 291. Wellesley, Lady Anne, ii. 338. Wellington, Duke of, iii. 291; at Brussels, 341-2, 345, 355 at Waterloo, 360-7. Wells Cathedral, ii. 422. Wells, Mrs., actress, ii. 318, 464-8. West, Benjamin, R.A., ii. 35. Wesley, Charles, i. 344; iii. 183. Weston, Miss, i. 179-80. Weymouth, the Court at, ii. 313 Lady, i. 291 ; ii- 39, 155, 157, 162, 164, 185. See Bath, Marchioness of. Whalley, Mr. and Mrs., i. 171-5, 180. Whitworth, Lord, iii. 240. Wieland, i. 409-10, 412. Wilberforce, W., iii. 271, 442. Wilkes, John, ii. 339. William, Prince, Duke of Clarence, ii. 98, 189, 308; his partiality for champagne, 395-400; 436, 454; iii- 150, 421, 436. Williams, Anna, and " Evelina," i. 75; Johnson's account of, 95; befriended by Mrs. Montagu, 98, 258. Willis, Dr., senior, attends the king, ii. 274, 276-9, 290-1, 293, 296, 298; Dr. John, ii. 274, 278-9, 287, 291; Rev. Thos., ii. 277, 278-9, 335, 346. Wilton, ii. 417; Lord Grey de, ii. 291.'' Winchester, ii. 413-7. Windham, William, M.P., eulogises Fanny xxvi ; at the Hastings trial, ii. 102-119, 120-1, 123, 130-8, 144-9, 352-5, 357-65, 370-3, 390, 393, 438-43, 444-6, 447, 452; portrayed by Fairly, 297-8; urges that Fanny should resign, 376; judged by Burke, 460; 463; iii. 38; at the Literary Club, 44; at Burke's funeral, 125; his good breeding, 279. Windsor, Fanny at, i. )2-326, 331, 333; the Court at, 19-49, 352-66, 400-447; ii. 16-31, 35-53, 55-61, 72-81, 139, 207; ' during the king's illness, 222-64; 333, 340, 347, 373, 401; iii. 99-112, 185-7. "Witlings, The," Fanny's comedy, Macaulay's account of, xviii; praised by Arthur Murphy, 133; its fate, 145-9. Worcester, royal Visit to, ii. 109. Wurtembvirg, Prince of, iii. 115, 156. Wycherley, W, ii. 460. Wynn, Sir Watkin, ii. 291. W---, Miss, a young infidel, i. 180-4, 190-1; ii. 191. York, Archbishop Markham of, ii. 105. York, Duchess of, ii. 436, 454; Iii. 111-2, 145. York, Frederick, Duke of, mentioned, i. 401, 417; returns to England, 49-51, 59, 63; with the queen, 85; at the Hastings trial, 98; his animal spirits, 189; at Cheltenham, 190; at Windsor during the king's illness, 226, 237; his father's favourite, 241, 242, 246, 251; his wife, 436; at the siege of Dunkirk, iii. 73; commander-in-chief, 11-2. Young, Arthur, ii. 449; invites Fanny to Bradfield, 468; with the Duke de Liancourt, iii. 17-28; Mrs., ii, 449; Mary, ii. 449. Young, Profesor , iii. 176. TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH,