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.
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 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!
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?" 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.
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 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 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. 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.”
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,
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!
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, “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!
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. 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.
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. 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:—
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.
P.S. 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.
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." 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.”
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 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.
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.
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 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 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 added, “now that I am come 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 same!”
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 William307 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 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 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.