I was now in a momentary doubt whether or not it would be proper, or too great a liberty, to ask her royal highness to be seated; but, after a moment’s hesitation, I thought it best to place her a chair, and say nothing.
I did; and she turned about to me with a most graceful curtsey, and immediately accepted it, with a most condescending apology for my trouble. I then, thus encouraged, put another chair for the little Princess Sophia, who took it as sweetly.
“Pray sit down too,” cried the princess royal: “I beg you will, Miss Burney!”
I resisted a little while; but she would not hear me, insisting, with the most obliging earnestness, upon carrying her point.
She writes German with as much facility as I do English and therefore, the whole time she was taking down the titles of the books, she kept up a conversation, Mrs. Delany her well and kindly chosen subject. When she had done her task, she quitted me with the same sweetness, and the Princess Mary ran in for her little sister.
The princess royal, not long after, again returned:— “There is no end to me, you will think, this morning,” cried she, on entering; and then desired to have all the books I had cut open; nor would she suffer me to carry one for her, though they were incommodious, from their quantity, for herself.
Such has been the singular condescension of the queen, that every little commission with which she has yet intrusted me she has contrived to render highly honourable, by giving the princesses some share in them.
ALARMING NEWS.
In the evening I had no little difficulty how to manage to go to Mrs. Delany, — for I have here to mention the worst thing that has happened to me at Windsor, — the desertion of Major Price from the coffee. The arrival of General Bude, who belongs to the equerries’ table, has occasioned his staying to do the honours to him till terrace time. At tea, they belong to Mrs. Schwellenberg.
This has not only lost me some of his society, the most pleasant I had had in the Lodge, but has trebled my trouble to steal away. While I left him behind, the absconding from a beau was apology all-sufficient for running away from a belle; but now I am doubly wanted to stay, and too-doubly earnest to go!...
I went into my own room for my cloak, and, as usual, found Madame de la Fite just waiting for me. She was all emotion, — she seized my hand,— “Have you heard? — O mon Dieu! — O le bon Roi! O Miss Burney! — what an horrreur!”
I was very much startled, but soon ceased to wonder at her perturbation; — she had been in the room with the Princess Elizabeth, and there heard, from Miss Goldsworthy, that an attempt had just been made upon the life of the king!
I was almost petrified with horror at the intelligence. If this king is not safe — good, pious, beneficent as he is — if his life is in danger, from his own subjects, what is to guard the throne? and which way is a monarch to be secure?
Madame de la Fite had heard of the attempt only, not the particulars; but I was afterwards informed of them in the most interesting manner, — namely, how they were related to the queen. And as the newspapers will have told you all else, I shall only and briefly tell that.
No information arrived here of the matter before his majesty’s return, at the usual hour in the afternoon, from the levee. The Spanish minister had hurried off instantly to Windsor, and was in waiting, at Lady Charlotte Finch’s, to be ready to assure her majesty of the king’s safety, in case any report anticipated his return.
The queen had the two eldest princesses, the Duchess of Ancaster, and Lady Charlotte Bertie with her when the king came in. He hastened up to her, with a countenance of striking vivacity, and said, “Here I am! — safe and well, — as you see! — but I have very narrowly escaped being stabbed!”
His own conscious safety, and the pleasure he felt in thus personally shewing it to the queen, made him not aware of the effect of so abrupt a communication. The queen was seized with a consternation that at first almost stupefied her, and after a most painful silence, the first words she could articulate were, in looking round at the duchess and Lady Charlotte, who had both burst into tears,— “I envy you! — I can’t cry!”
The two princesses were for a little while in the same state but the tears of the duchess proved infectious, and they then’ wept even with violence.
THE ATTEMPT AGAINST THE KING.
The king, with the gayest good-humour, did his utmost to comfort them; and then gave a relation of the affair, with a calmness and unconcern that, had any one but himself been his hero, would have been regarded as totally unfeeling.
You may have heard it wrong; I will concisely tell it right. His carriage had just stopped at the garden-door at St. James’s, and he had just alighted from it, when a decently-dressed woman, who had been waiting for him some time, approached him, with a petition. It was rolled up, and had the usual superscription— “For the king’s most excellent majesty.” She presented it with her right hand; and at the same moment that the king bent forward to take it, she drew from it, with her left hand, a knife, with which she aimed straight at his heart.
The fortunate awkwardness of taking the instrument with the left hand made her design perceived before it could be executed; — the king started back, scarce believing the testimony of his own eyes; and the woman made a second thrust, which just touched his waistcoat before he had time to prevent her; — and at that moment one of the attendants, seeing her horrible intent, wrenched the knife from her hand.
“Has she cut my waistcoat?” cried he, in telling it,— “Look! for I have had no time to examine.”
Thank heaven, however, the poor wretch had not gone quite so far. “Though nothing,” added the king, in giving his relation, “could have been sooner done, for there was nothing for her to go through but a thin linen, and fat.”
While the guards and his own people now surrounded the king, the assassin was seized by the populace, who were tearing her away, no doubt to fall the instant sacrifice of her murtherous purpose, when the king, the only calm and moderate person then present, called aloud to the mob, “The poor creature is mad! — Do not hurt her! She has not hurt me!”
He then came forward, and showed himself to all the people, declaring he was perfectly safe and unhurt; and then gave positive orders that the woman should be taken care of, and went into the palace, and had his levee.
There is something in the whole of his behaviour upon this occasion that strikes me as proof indisputable of a true and noble courage: for in a moment so extraordinary — an attack, in this country, unheard of before — to settle so instantly that it was the effect of insanity, to feel no apprehension of private plot or latent conspiracy — to stay out, fearlessly, among his people, and so benevolently to see himself to the safety of one who had raised her arm against his life, — these little traits, all impulsive, and therefore to be trusted, have given me an impression of respect and reverence that I can never forget, and never think of but with fresh admiration.
If that love of prerogative, so falsely assigned, were true, what an opportunity was here offered to exert it! Had he instantly taken refuge in his palace, ordered out all his guards, stopped every avenue to St. James’s, and issued his commands that every individual present at this scene should be secured and examined, — who would have dared murmur, or even blame such measures? The insanity of the woman has now fully been proved; but that noble confidence which gave that instant excuse for her was then all his own.
AGITATION OF THE QUEEN AND PRINCESSES.
Nor did he rest here; notwithstanding the excess of terror for his safety, and doubt of further mischief, with which all his family and all his household were seized, he still maintained the most cheerful composure, and insisted upon walking on the terrace, with no other attendant than his single equerry.
The poor queen went with him, pale and silent, — the princesses followed, scarce yet commanding their tears. In the evening, just as usual, the king had his concert: but it was an evening of grief and horror to his family: nothing was listened to, scarce a wo
rd was spoken; the princesses wept continually; the queen, still more deeply struck, could only, from time to time, hold out her hand to the king, and say, “I have you yet!”
The affection for the king felt by all his household has been at once pleasant and affecting to me to observe: there has not been a dry eye in either of the Lodges, on the recital of his danger, and not a face but his own that has not worn marks of care ever since.
I put off my visit to my dear Mrs. Delany; I was too much horror-struck to see her immediately; and when, at night, I went to her, I determined to spare her the shock of this event till the next day.... General Bude and Major Price were with Mrs. Schwellenberg at my return; and not a word was uttered by either of them concerning the day’s terrific alarm. There seemed nothing but general consternation and silence.
When I went to the queen at night she scarce once opened her lips. Indeed I could not look at her without feeling the tears ready to start into my eyes. But I was very glad to hear again the voice of the king, though only from the next apartment, and calling to one of his dogs.
August 3 — The poor queen looked so ill that it was easy to see how miserable had been her night. It is unfortunately the unalterable opinion of Mrs. Schwellenberg that some latent conspiracy belongs to this attempt, and therefore that it will never rest here. This dreadful suggestion preys upon the mind of the queen, though she struggles to conquer or conceal it. I longed passionately this morning, when alone with her, to speak upon the matter, and combat the opinion; but as she still said nothing, it was not possible.
When she was dressed for the chapel, she desired me to keep little Badine; but he ran out after her: I ran too, and in the gallery, leading from the queen’s room to mine, all the princesses, and their governesses, were waiting for the queen. They all looked very ill, the princess royal particularly. — O well indeed might they tremble! for a father more tender, more kind, more amiable, I believe has scarcely ever had daughters to bless....
I then passed on to my own room, which terminates this gallery. But I have since heard it is contrary to rule to pass even the door of an apartment in which any of the royal family happen to be, if it is open. However, these little formalities are all dispensed with to the ignorant — and as I learn better I shall observe them more. I am now obliged to feel and find my way as I can, having no friend, adviser, nor informer in the whole house. Accident only gives me any instruction, and that generally arrives too late to save all error. My whole dependence is upon the character of the queen; her good sense and strong reason will always prevent the unnecessary offence of ranking mistakes from inexperience, with disrespect or inattention. I have never, therefore, a moment’s uneasiness upon these points. Though there is a lady who from time to time represents them as evils the most heinous.
I had afterwards a letter from my poor Mrs. Delany, written with her own hand, and with a pencil, as she is now too indistinct of sight to see even a word. She writes therefore only by memory, and, if with pen and ink, cannot find her place again when she leaves it, to dip the pen in the inkstand.
She had escaped the news at the chapel, but had been told it afterwards by Lady Spencer, lest it should reach her ears in any worse manner. You may imagine how greatly it shocked her.
I ran to answer her note in person, determining, upon such an occasion, to risk appearing before the queen a second time in my morning dress, rather than not satisfy my dear Mrs. Delany by word of mouth. I gave her all the comfort in my power, and raised her agitated spirits by dwelling upon the escape, and slightly passing by the danger.
The queen was so late before her second summons that I was still in time. I found her with her eyes almost swollen out of her head, but more cheerful and easy, and evidently relieved by the vent forced, at length, to her tears.
She now first spoke upon the subject to me; inquiring how Mrs. Delany had borne the hearing it. I told her of the letter sent me in the morning, and half proposed shewing it, as it expressed her feelings beyond the power of any other words. She bowed her desire to see it, and I ran and brought it. She read it aloud, Mrs. Schwellenberg being present, and was pleased and soothed by it.
A PRIVILEGE IS SECURED.
A little incident happened afterwards that gave me great satisfaction in perspective. While I was drinking coffee with Mrs. Schwellenberg, a message was brought to me, that Mrs. and Miss Heberden desired their compliments, and would come to drink tea with me if I was disengaged.
To drink tea with me! The words made me colour. I hesitated, — I knew not if I might accept such an offer. With regard to themselves, I had little or no interest in it, as they were strangers to me, but with regard to such an opening to future potentiality, — there, indeed, the message acquired consequence. After keeping the man some minutes, I was so much at a loss, still, to know what step I had power to take, that I was induced to apply to Mrs. Schwellenberg, asking her what I must do.
“What you please!” was her answer; and I waited nothing more explicit, but instantly sent back my compliments, and that I should be very glad of their company.
This was a most happy event to me: it first let me know the possibility of receiving a friend in my own room to tea.
They left me before the tea-party assembled in our common room. It was very much crowded, everybody being anxious to hear news of the queen. When they were all gone but Mrs. Delany, Mrs. Schwellenberg made us both very happy by a private communication that the Prince of Wales was actually then in the Lodge, whither he rode post haste, on the first news of the alarm given to the queen.
THE QUEEN CONTINUES ANXIOUS.
Friday, Aug. 4 — This was an extremely arduous morning to the poor queen. The king again went to town; and her anxiety in his absence, and fear how it might end, oppressed her most painfully. She could not take her usual airing. She shut herself up with the Princess Augusta; but, to avoid any rumours of her uneasiness, the carriage and usual horsemen were all at the door at the customary time; and the princess royal, attended by the Duchess of Ancaster, went out, and passed, driving quick through the town, for the queen herself, to most of the people.
At her toilette, before dinner, Lady Effingham was admitted. The queen had her newspapers as usual, and she read aloud, while her hair was dressing, several interesting articles concerning the attack, the noble humanity of the king, his presence of mind, and the blessing to the whole nation arising from his preservation. The spirit of loyalty, warmth, and zeal with which all the newspapers are just now filled seemed extremely gratifying to her; she dwelt upon several of the strongest expressions with marked approbation, exclaiming from time to time, as she read particular praises of his majesty’s worth and importance, “That is true! — That is true, indeed!” But suddenly, afterwards, coming upon a paragraph beginning with the words of the coronation anthem, “Long live the king! May the king live for ever!” her tears flowed so fast that they blinded her, and to hear her read such words was so extremely affecting, that I was obliged to steal behind her chair to hide myself; while Lady Effingham took out her handkerchief, and cried in good earnest. I believe her to be warmly and gratefully attached both to the king and queen and she has received from the queen very uncommon assistance, I am informed, in some very distressful situations.
The queen, however, read on; dispersing her tears as she could, and always smiling through them when the praise, not the danger, drew them forth.
Nothing could be more gracious than her manner to me the whole time — she did not, as usual, dismiss me, either for her hair-dressing, or for Lady Effingham; she was sure I must be interested in what was going forward, and she looked at us alternately, for our comments, as she went on.
I rejoiced she had not set me to read these papers. I expected, for the first week, every summons would have ended in a command to read to her. But it never happened, and I was saved an exertion for which I am sure I should have had no voice.
SNUFF PREPARER-IN — CHIEF.
Sunday, Aug. 6 — This morning, be
fore church, Miss Planta was sent to me by the queen, for some snuff, to be mixed as before: when I had prepared it, I carried it, as directed, to her majesty’s dressing-room. I turned round the lock, for that, not rapping at the door, is the mode of begging admission; and she called out to me to come in.
I found her reading, aloud, some religious book, but I could not discover what, to the three eldest princesses. Miss Planta was in waiting. She continued after my entrance, only motioning to me that the snuff might be put into a box on the table.
I did not execute my task very expeditiously: for I was glad of this opportunity of witnessing, the maternal piety with which she enforced, in voice and expression, every sentence that contained any lesson that might be useful to her royal daughters. She reads extremely well, with great force, clearness, and meaning.
Just as I had slowly finished my commission, the king entered. She then stopped, and rose; so instantly did the princesses. He had a letter in his hand open: he said something to the queen in German, and they left the room together but he turned round from the door, and first spoke to me, with a good-humoured laugh, saying, “Miss Burney, I hear you cook snuff very well!”
“Cook snuff!” repeated the Princess Augusta, laughing and coming up to me the moment they left the room. “Pray, Miss Burney, let me have one pinch!” The Princess Elizabeth ran up to me, also, exclaiming, “Miss Burney, I hope you hate snuff? I hope you do, for I hate it of all things in the world!”
A SUPPER MYSTERY.
After tea, one of Mrs. Schwellenberg’s domestics called me out of the room. John waited to speak to me in the gallery. “What time, ma’am,” cried he, “shall you have your Supper?”
“What supper?” cried I. “I only eat fruit, as usual.”
“Have not you ordered supper, ma’am, for to-night?
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 554
