I begged him not to prognosticate so much evil for me.
“O ma’am, there’s no help for it!” cried he; “you won’t have the hunting, to be sure, nor amusing yourself with wading a foot and a-half through the dirt, by way of a little pleasant walk, as we poor equerries do! It’s a wonder to me we outlive the first month. But the agreeable puffs of the passages you will have just as completely as any of us. Let’s see, how many blasts must you have every time you go to the queen? First, one upon your opening your door; then another, as you get down the three steps from it, which are exposed to the wind from the garden door downstairs; then a third, as you turn the corner to enter the passage; then you come plump upon another from the hall door; then comes another, fit to knock you down, as you turn to the upper passage; then, just as you turn towards the queen’s room, comes another; and last, a whiff from the king’s stairs, enough to blow you half a mile off!”
“Mere healthy breezes,” I cried, and assured him I did not fear them.
“Stay till Christmas,” cried he, with a threatening air, “only stay till then, and let’s see what you’ll say to them; you’ll be laid up as sure as fate! you may take my word for that. One thing, however, pray let me caution you about — don’t go to early prayers in November; if you do, that will completely kill you! Oh, ma’am, you know nothing yet of all these matters! only pray, joking apart, let me have the honour just to advise you this one thing, or else it’s all over with you, I do assure you!”
It was in vain I begged him to be more merciful in his prophecies; he failed not, every night, to administer to me the same pleasant anticipations.
“Why the princesses,” cried he, “used to it as they are, get regularly knocked up before this business is over; off they drop, one by one: — first the queen deserts us; then Princess Elizabeth is done for; then princess royal begins coughing; then Princess Augusta gets the snuffles; and all the poor attendants, my poor sister at their head, drop off, one after another, like so many snuffs of candles: till at last, dwindle, dwindle, dwindle — not a soul goes to the chapel but the king, the parson, and myself; and there we three freeze it out together!”
One evening, when he had been out very late hunting with the king, he assumed so doleful an air of weariness, that had not Miss Port exerted her utmost powers to revive him, he would not have uttered a word the whole night; but when once brought forward, he gave us more entertainment than ever, by relating his hardships.
“After all the labours,” cried he, “of the chase, all the riding, the trotting, the galloping, the leaping, the — with your favour, ladies, I beg pardon, I was going to say a strange word, but the — the perspiration — and — and all that — after being wet through over head, and soused through under feet, and popped into ditches, and jerked over gates, what lives we do lead! Well, it’s all honour! that’s my only comfort! Well, after all this, fagging away like mad from eight in the morning to five or six in the afternoon, home we come, looking like so many drowned rats, with not a dry thread about us, nor a morsel within us — sore to the very bone, and forced to smile all the time! and then after all this what do you think follows?— ‘Here, Goldsworthy,’ cries his majesty: so up I comes to him, bowing profoundly, and my hair dripping down to my shoes; ‘Goldsworthy,’ cries his majesty. ‘Sir,’ says I, smiling agreeably, with the rheumatism just creeping all over me! but still, expecting something a little comfortable, I wait patiently to know his gracious pleasure, and then, ‘Here, Goldsworthy, say!’ he cries, ‘will you have a little barley water?’ Barley water in such a plight as that! Fine compensation for a wet jacket, truly! — barley water! I never heard of such a thing in my life! barley water after a whole day’s hard hunting!”
“And pray did you drink it?”
“I drink it? — Drink barley water? no, no; not come to that neither. But there it was, sure enough! — in a jug fit for a sick room, just such a thing as you put upon a hob in a chimney, for some poor miserable soul that keeps his bed! just such a thing as that! — And, ‘Here, Goldsworthy,’ says his majesty, ‘here’s the barley water.’”
“And did the king drink it himself?”
“Yes, God bless his majesty! but I was too humble a subject to do the same as the king! — Barley water, quoth I! — Ha! ha! — a fine treat truly! Heaven defend me! I’m not come to that, neither! — bad enough too, but not so bad as that.”
ROYAL CAUTIONS AND CONFIDENCES.
Nov. 1. — We began this month by steadily settling ourselves at Kew. A very pleasant circumstance happened to me on this day, in venturing to present the petition of an unfortunate man who had been shipwrecked; whose petition was graciously attended to,’and the money he solicited was granted him. I had taken a great interest in the poor man, from the simplicity and distress of his narration, and took him into one of the parlours to assist him in drawing up his memorial.
The queen, when, with equal sweetness and humanity, she had delivered the sum to one of her pages to give to him, said to me, “Now, though your account of this poor man makes him seem to be a real object, I must give you one caution: there are so many impostors about, who will try to speak to you, that, if you are not upon your guard, you may be robbed yourself before you can get any help: I think, therefore, you had better never trust yourself in a room alone with anybody you don’t know.”
I thanked her for her gracious counsel, and promised, for the future, to have my man always at hand.
I was afterwards much touched with a sort of unconscious confidence with which she relieved her mind. She asked me my opinion of a paper in the “Tatler,” which I did not recollect; and when she was dressed, and seated in her sitting-room, she made me give her the book, and read to me this paper. It is an account of a young man of a good heart and sweet disposition, who is allured by pleasure into a libertine life, which he pursues by habit, but with constant remorse, and ceaseless shame and unhappiness. It was impossible for me to miss her object: all the mother was in her voice while she read it, and her glistening eyes told the application made throughout. My mind sympathised sincerely, though my tongue did not dare allude to her feelings. She looked pensively down when she had finished it, and before she broke silence, a page came to announce the Duchess of Ancaster.
THE QUEEN TIRED OF HER GEWGAWS.
Nov. 3. — In the morning I had the honour of a conversation with the queen, the most delightful, on her part, I had ever yet been indulged with. It was all upon dress, and she said so nearly what I had just imputed to her in my little stanzas, that I could scarce refrain producing them; yet could not muster courage. She told me, with the sweetest grace imaginable, how well she had liked at first her jewels and ornaments as queen,— “But how soon,” cried she, “was that over! Believe me, Miss Burney, it is a pleasure of a week, — a fortnight, at most, — and to return no more! I thought, at first, I should always choose to wear them, but the fatigue, and trouble of putting them on, and the care they required, and the fear of losing them, — believe me, ma’am, in a fortnight’s time I longed again for my own earlier dress, and wished never to see them more!”
She then still more opened her opinions and feelings. She told me she had never, in her most juvenile years, loved dress and shew, nor received the smallest pleasure from any thing in her external appearance beyond neatness and comfort: yet did not disavow that the first week or fortnight of being a queen, when only in her seventeenth year, she thought splendour sufficiently becoming her station to believe she should thenceforth choose constantly to support it. But her eyes alone were dazzled, not her mind; and therefore the delusion speedily vanished, and her understanding was too strong to give it any chance of returning,
A HOLIDAY AT LAST.
Nov 4. — This morning, when I attended the queen, she asked me if I should like to go and see my father at Chesington? and then gave orders immediately for a chaise to be ready without delay— “And there is no need you should hurry yourself,” she added, “for it will do perfectly well if you
are back to dinner; when I dress, I will send for Miss Planta.”
I thanked her very much, and she seemed quite delighted to give me this gratification. “The first thing I thought of this morning, when I woke,” said she, “and when I saw the sun shining in upon the bed, was that this would be a fine morning for Miss Burney to go and see her father.”
And soon after, to make me yet more comfortable she found a deputy for my man as well as for myself, condescending to give orders herself that another person might lay the cloth, lest I should be hurried home on that account.
I need not tell my two dear readers how sensibly I felt her goodness, when I acquaint them of its effect upon me; which was no less than to induce, to impel me to trust her with my performance of her request. just as she was quitting her dressing-room, I got behind her, and suddenly blurted out —
“Your majesty’s goodness to me, ma’am, makes me venture to own that there is a command which I received some time ago, and which I have made some attempt to execute.”
She turned round with great quickness,— “The great coat?” she cried, “is it that?”
I was glad to be so soon understood, and took it from my pocket book — but holding it a little back, as she offered to take it.
“For your majesty alone,” I cried; “I must entreat that it may meet no other eyes, and I hope it will not be looked at when any one else is even in sight!”
She gave me a ready promise, and took it with an alacrity and walked off with a vivacity that assured me she would not be very long before she examined it; though, when I added another little request, almost a condition, that it might not be read till I was far away, she put it into her pocket unopened, and, wishing me a pleasant ride, and that I might find my father well, she proceeded towards the breakfast parlour.
My dear friends will, I know, wish to see it, — and so they shall; though not this moment, as I have it not about me, and do not remember it completely.
My breakfast was short, the chaise was soon ready, and forth I sallied for dear — once how dear! — old Chesington! Every step of the road brought back to my mind the first and most loved and honoured friend of my earliest years, and I felt a melancholy almost like my first regret for him, when I considered what joy, what happiness I lost, in missing his congratulations on a situation so much what he would have chosen for me — congratulations which, flowing from a mind such as his, so wise, so zealous, so sincere, might almost have reconciled me to it myself — I mean even then — for now the struggle is over, and I am content enough.
John rode on, to open the gates; the gardener met him and I believe surprise was never greater than he carried into the house with my name. Out ran dear Kitty Cooke, whose honestly affectionate reception touched me very much,— “O,” cried she, “had our best friend lived to see this day when you came to poor old Chesington from Court!”
Her grief, ever fresh, then overflowed in a torrent and I could hardly either comfort her, or keep down the sad regretful recollections rising in my own memory. O my dear Susan, with what unmixed satisfaction, till that fatal period when I paid him my last visit, had I ever entered those gates-where passed the scenes of the greatest ease, gaiety, and native mirth that have fallen to my lot!
Mrs. James Burney next, all astonishment, and our dear James himself, all incredulity, at the report carried before me, came out. Their hearty welcome and more pleasant surprise recovered me from the species of consternation with which I had approached their dwelling, and the visit, from that time, turned out perfectly gay and happy.
My dearest father was already gone to town; but I had had much reason to expect I should miss him, and therefore I could not be surprised....
I left them all with great reluctance: I had no time to walk in the garden, — no heart to ascend the little mount, and see how Norbury hills and woods looked from it!
I set out a little the sooner, to enable me to make another visit, which I had also much at heart, — it was to our aunts at Kingston. I can never tell you their astonishment at sight of me; they took me for my own ghost, I believe, at first, but they soon put my substance to the proof, and nothing could better answer my motives than my welcome, which I need not paint to my Susan, who never sees them without experiencing it. To my great satisfaction, also, my nieces Fanny and Sophy happened to be there at that time.
My return was just in time for my company, which I found increased by the arrival of two more gentlemen, Mr. Fisher and Mr. Turbulent. Mr. Fisher had been ordered to come, that he might read prayers the next day, Sunday. Mr. Turbulent was summoned, I suppose, for his usual occupations; reading with the princesses, or to the queen. Shall I introduce to you this gentleman such as I now think him at once? or wait to let his character open itself to you by degrees, and in the same manner that it did to me? So capital a part as you will find him destined to play, hereafter, in my concerns, I mean, sooner or later, to the best of my power, to make you fully acquainted with him....
He took his seat next mine at the table, and assisted me, while Mr. Fisher sat as chaplain at the bottom. The dinner went off extremely well, though from no help of mine.... The three men and the three females were all intimately acquainted with one another, and the conversation, altogether, was equal, open, and agreeable.
You may a little judge of this, when I tell you a short speech that escaped Miss Planta. Mr. Turbulent said he must go early to town the next morning, and added, he should call to see Mrs. Schwellenberg, by order of the queen, “Now for heaven’s sake, Mr. Turbulent,” she cried, eagerly, “don’t you begin talking to her of how comfortable we are here! — it will bring her back directly!”
This was said in a half whisper; and I hope no one else heard it. I leave you, my dear friends, to your own comments.
TEA ROOM GAMBOLS.
Mr. and Mrs. Smelt and Mrs. Delany came to us at teatime. Then, and in their society, I grew more easy and disengaged.
The sweet little Princess Amelia, who had promised me a visit, came during tea, brought by Mrs. Cheveley. I left every body to play with her, and Mr. Smelt joined in our gambols. We pretended to put her in a phaeton, and to drive about and make visits with her. She entered into the scheme with great spirit and delight, and we waited upon Mrs. Delany and Mrs. Smelt alternately. Children are never tired of playing at being women; and women there are who are never tired, in return, of playing at being children!
In the midst of this frolicking, which at times was rather noisy, by Mr. Smelt’s choosing to represent a restive horse, the king entered! We all stopped short, guests, hosts, and horses; and all, with equal celerity, retreated, making the usual circle for his majesty to move in. The little princess bore this interruption to her sport only while surprised into quiet by the general respect inspired by the king. The instant that wore off, she grew extremely impatient for the renewal of our gambols, and distressed me most ridiculously by her innocent appeals.
“Miss Burney! — come! — why don’t you play? — Come, Miss Burney, I say, play with me! — come into the phaeton again! — why don’t you, Miss Burney?”
After a thousand vain efforts to quiet her by signs, I was forced to whisper her that I really could play no longer.
“But why? why, Miss Burney? — do! do come and play with me! — You must, Miss Burney!”
This petition growing still more and more urgent, I was obliged to declare my reason, in hopes of appeasing her, as she kept pulling me by the hand and gown, so entirely with all her little strength, that I had the greatest difficulty to save myself from being suddenly jerked into the middle of the room: at length, therefore, I whispered, “We shall disturb the king, ma’am!”
This was enough; she flew instantly to his majesty, who was in earnest discourse with Mr. Smelt, and called out, “Papa, go!”
“What?” cried the king.
“Go! papa, — you must go!” repeated she eagerly.
The king took her up in his arms, and began kissing and playing with her; she strove with all
her might to disengage herself, calling aloud “Miss Burney! Miss Burney! take me — come, I say, Miss Burney! — O Miss Burney, come!”
You may imagine what a general smile went round the room at this appeal: the king took not any notice of it, but set her down, and went on with his discourse. She was not, however, a moment quiet till he retired: and then we renewed our diversions, which lasted to her bed-time.
A DREADFUL MISHAP.
Nov. 6. — This morning happened my first disgrace of being too late for the queen — this noon, rather; for in a morning ’tis a disaster that has never arrived to this moment.
The affair thus came to pass. I walked for some time early in Kew gardens, and then called upon Mrs. Smelt. I there heard that the king and queen were gone, privately, to Windsor, to the Lodge — probably for some papers they could not intrust with a messenger. Mr. Smelt, therefore, proposed taking this opportunity of shewing me Richmond gardens, offering to be my security that I should have full time. I accepted the proposal with pleasure, and we set out upon our expedition. Our talk was almost all of the queen. Mr. Smelt wishes me to draw up her character. I owned to him that should it appear to me, on nearer and closer inspection, what it seemed to me then, the task could not be an unpleasant one.
He saw me safe to the Lodge, and there took his leave: and I was going leisurely upstairs, when I met the Princess Amelia and Mrs. Cheveley; and while I was playing with the little princess, Mrs. Cheveley announced to me that the queen had been returned some time, and that I had been sent for immediately.
Thunderstruck at this intelligence, I hastened to her dressing-room; when I opened the door, I saw she was having her hair dressed. To add to my confusion, the Princess Augusta, Lady Effingham, and Lady Frances Howard were all in the room. I stood still at the door, not knowing whether to advance, or wait a new summons. In what a new situation did I feel myself! — and how did I long to give way to my first impulse, and run back to my own room.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 563
