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, 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, evergreens, 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. 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.
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 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.
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. Fairly317 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. 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. 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.
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 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.
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 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.
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 playhouse323 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 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, 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. 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.
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 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, 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.
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! apropos—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.” 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.
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 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.
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 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. 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, 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. 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 contend 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.