March 1.—-With all the various humours in which I had already seen Mr. Turbulent, he gave me this evening a surprise, by his behaviour to one of the princesses, nearly the same that I had experienced from him myself. The Princess Augusta came, during coffee, for a knotting shuttle of the queen’s. While she was speaking to me, he stood behind and exclaimed, a demi voix, as if to himself, “Comme elle est jolie ce soir, son Altesse Royale!” And then, seeing her blush extremely, he clasped his hands, in high pretended confusion, and hiding his head, called Out, “Que ferai-je? The princess has heard me!”
“Pray, Mr. Turbulent,” cried she, hastily, “what play are you to read to-night?”
“You shall choose, ma’am; either ‘La Coquette corrigée,’ or—” [he named another I have forgotten.]
“O no!” cried she, “that last is shocking! don’t let me hear that!”
“I understand you, ma’am. You fix, then, upon ‘La Coquette?’ ‘La Coquette’ is your royal highness’s taste?”
“No, indeed, I am sure I did not say that.”
“Yes, ma’am, by implication. And certainly, therefore, I will read it, to please your royal highness!”
“No, pray don’t; for I like none of them.”
“None of them, ma’am?”
“No, none;—no French plays at all!” And away she was running, with a droll air, that acknowledged she had said something to provoke him.
“This is a declaration, ma’am, I must beg you to explain!” cried he, gliding adroitly between the princess and the door, and shutting it With his back.
“No, no, I can’t explain it;—so pray, Mr. Turbulent, do open the door.”
“Not for the world, ma’am, with such a stain uncleared upon your royal highness’s taste and feeling!”
She told him she positively could not stay, and begged him to let her pass instantly. But he would hear her no more than he has heard me, protesting he was too much shocked for her, to suffer her to depart without clearing her own credit!
He conquered at last, and thus forced to speak, she turned round to us and said, “Well—if I must, then—I will appeal to these ladies, who understand such things far better than I do, and ask them if it is not true about these French plays, that they are all so like to one another, that to hear them in this manner every night is enough to tire one?”
“Pray, then, madam,” cried he, “if French plays have the misfortune to displease you, what national plays have the honour Of your preference?”
I saw he meant something that she understood better than me, for she blushed again, and called out “Pray open the door at once! I can stay no longer; do let me go, Mr. Turbulent!” “Not till you have answered that question, ma’am’ what country has plays to your royal highness’s taste?”
“Miss Burney,” cried she impatiently, yet laughing, “pray do you take him away!—Pull him!”
He bowed to me very invitingly for the office but I frankly answered her, “Indeed, ma’am, I dare not undertake him! I cannot manage him at all.”
“The country! the country! Princess Augusta! name the happy country!” was all she could gain.
“Order him away, Miss Burney,” cried she. “It is your room: order him away from the door.”
“Name it, ma’am, name it!” exclaimed he; “name but the chosen nation!”
And then, fixing her with the most provoking eyes, “Est-ce la Danemarc?” he cried.
She coloured violently, and quite angry with him, called out, “Mr. Turbulent, how can you be such a fool!” And now I found.. . the prince royal of Denmark was in his meaning, and in her understanding!
He bowed to the ground, in gratitude for the term “fool,” but added with pretended Submission to her will, “Very well, ma’am, s’il ne faut lire que les comédies Danoises.”
“Do let me go!” cried she, seriously; and then he made way, with a profound bow as she passed, saying, “Very well, ma’am, ‘La Coquette,’ then? your royal highness chooses ‘La Coquette corrigée?’”
“Corrigée? That never was done!” cried she, with all her sweet good-humour, the moment she got out—and off she ran, like lightning, to the queen’s apartments.
What say you to Mr. Turbulent now?
For my part, I was greatly surprised. I had not imagined any man, but the king or Prince of Wales, had ever ventured at a badinage of this sort with any of the princesses; nor do I suppose any other man ever did. Mr. Turbulent is so great a favourite with all the royal family that he safely ventures upon whatever he pleases, and doubtless they find, in his courage and his rhodomontading, a novelty extremely amusing to them.
March—I must now, rather reluctantly I own, come to recite a quarrel, a very serious quarrel, in which I have been involved with my most extraordinary fellow-traveller. One evening at Windsor Miss Planta left the room, while I was winding some silk. I was content to stay and finish the skein, though my remaining companion was in a humour too flighty to induce me to continue with him a moment longer. Indeed I had avoided pretty successfully all tête-à-têetes with him since the time when his eccentric genius led to such eccentric conduct in our long conference in the last month.
This time, however, when I had done my work, he protested I should stay and chat with him. I pleaded business—letters—hurry—all in vain: he would listen to nothing, and when I tried to move was so tumultuous in his opposition, that I was obliged to re-seat myself to appease him.
A flow of compliments followed, every one of which I liked less and less; but his spirits seemed uncontrollable, and, I suppose, ran away with all that ought to check them. I laughed and rallied as long as I possibly could, and tried to keep him in order, by not seeming to suppose he wanted aid for that purpose: yet still, every time I tried to rise, he stopped me, and uttered at last Such expressions of homage—so like what Shakspeare says of the school-boy, who makes “a sonnet on his mistress’ eyebrow,” which is always his favourite theme—that I told him his real compliment was all to my temper, in imagining it could brook such mockery.
This brought him once more on his knees, with such a volley of asseverations of his sincerity, uttered with such fervour and eloquence, that I really felt uneasy, and used every possible means to get away from him, rallying him however all the time, and disguising the consciousness I felt of my inability to quit him. More and more vehement, however, he grew, till I could be no longer passive, but forcibly rising, protested I would not stay another minute. But you may easily imagine my astonishment and provocation, when, hastily rising himself, he violently seized hold of me, and compelled me to return to my chair, with a force and a freedom that gave me as much surprise as offence.
All now became serious. Raillery, good-humour, and even pretended ease and unconcern, were at an end. The positive displeasure I felt I made positively known; and the voice manner, and looks with which I insisted upon an immediate’ release were so changed from what he had ever heard or observed in me before, that I saw him quite thunderstruck with the alteration; and all his own violence subsiding, he begged my pardon with the mildest humility.
He had made me too angry to grant it, and I only desired him to let me instantly go to my room. He ceased all personal opposition, but going to the door, planted himself before it, and said, “Not in wrath! I cannot let you go away in wrath!”
“You must, sir,” cried I, “for I am in wrath!” He began a thousand apologies, and as many promises of the most submissive behaviour in future; but I stopped them all, with a peremptory declaration that every minute he detained me made me but the more seriously angry. His vehemence now was all changed into strong alarm, and he opened the door, profoundly bowing, but not speaking, as I passed him.
I am sure I need not dwell upon the uncomfortable sensations I felt, in a check so rude and violent to the gaiety and entertainment of an acquaintance which had promised me my best amusement during our winter campaigns. I was now to begin upon quite a new system, and instead of encouraging, as hitherto I had done, everything that could lead to vivacity and spirit, I was fain to determine upon the most distant and even forbidding demeanour with the only life of our parties, that he might not again forget himself.
This disagreeable conduct I put into immediate practice. I stayed in my own room till I heard every one assembled in the next: I was then obliged to prepare for joining them, but before I opened the door a gentle rap at it made me call out “Who’s there?” and Mr. Turbulent looked in.
I hastily said I was coming instantly, but he advanced softly into the room, entreating forgiveness at every step. I made no other answer than desiring he would go, and saying I should follow. He went back to the door, and, dropping on one knee, said, “Miss Burney! surely you cannot be seriously angry?-’tis so impossible you should think I meant to offend you!”
I said nothing, and did not look near him, but opened the door, from which he retreated to make way for me, rising a little mortified, and exclaiming, “Can you then have such real ill-nature? How little I suspected it in you!”
“‘Tis you,” cried I, as I passed on, “that are ill-natured!”
I meant for forcing me into anger; but I left him to make the meaning out, and walked into the next room. He did not immediately follow, and he then appeared so much disconcerted that I saw Miss Planta incessantly eyeing him, to find out what was the matter. I assumed an unconcern I did not feel for I was really both provoked and sorry, foreseeing what a breach this folly must make in the comfort of my Windsor expeditions.
He sat down a little aloof, and entered into no conversation all the evening; but just as tea was over, the hunt of the next being mentioned he suddenly, asked Miss Planta to request leave for him of the queen to ride out with the party.
“I shall not see the queen,” cried she; “you had much better ask Miss Burney.”
This was very awkward. I was in no humour to act for him at this time, nor could he muster courage to desire it; but upon Miss Planta’s looking at each of us with some surprise, and repeating her amendment to his proposal, he faintly said, “Would Miss Burney be so good as to take that trouble?”
An opportunity offering favourably, I spoke at night to the queen, and she gave leave for his attending the chase. I intended to send this permission to Miss Planta, but I had scarce returned to my own room from her majesty, before a rap at my door was followed by his appearance. He stood quite aloof, looking grave and contrite. I Immediately called out “I have spoken, sir, to the queen, and you have her leave to go.” He bowed very profoundly, and thanked me, and was retreating, but came back again, and advancing, assumed an air of less humility, and exclaimed, “Allons donc, Mademoiselle, j’espère que vous n'êtes plus si méchante qu’hier au soir!”
I said nothing; he came nearer, and, bowing upon his own hand, held it out for mine, with a look of most respectful Supplication. I had no intention of cutting the matter so short, yet from shame to sustain resentment, I was compelled to hold out a finger: he took it with a look of great gratitude, and very reverently touching the tip of my glove with his lip, instantly let it go, and very solemnly said, “Soyez sûr que je n’ai jamais eu la moindre idée de vous offenser.” and then he thanked me again for his licence, and went his way.
I had the pleasure of two or three visits from Mr. Bryant, whose loyal regard for the king and queen makes him eagerly accept every invitation, from the hope of seeing them in my room; and one of the days they both came in to speak to him, and were accompanied by the two eldest princesses, who stood chatting with me by the door the whole time, and saying comical things upon royal personages in tragedies, particularly Princess Augusta, who has a great deal of sport in her disposition. She very gravely asserted she thought some of those princes on the stage looked really quite as well as some she knew off it.
Once about this time I went to a play myself, which surely I may live long enough and never forget. It was “Seduction,” a very clever piece, but containing a dreadful picture of vice and dissipation in high life, written by Mr. Miles Andrews, with an epilogue—O, such an epilogue! I was listening to it with uncommon attention, from a compliment paid in it to Mrs. Montagu, among other female writers; but imagine what became of my attention when I suddenly was struck with these lines, or something like them:—
To hear, wholly unprepared and unsuspicious, such lines in a theatre—seated in a royal box—and with the whole royal family and their suite immediately opposite me—was it not a singular circumstance? To describe my embarrassment would be impossible. My whole head was leaning forward, with my opera glass in my hand, examining Miss Farren, who spoke the epilogue. Instantly I shrank back, so astonished and so ashamed of my public situation, that I was almost ready to take to my heels and run, for it seemed as if I were there purposely in that conspicuous place—
“To list attentive to my own applause.”
The king immediately raised his opera-glass to look at me, laughing heartily—the queen’s presently took the same direction—all the princesses looked up, and all the attendants, and all the maids of honour!
I protest I was never more at a loss what to do with myself: nobody was in the front row with me but Miss Goldsworthy, who instantly seeing how I was disconcerted, prudently and good-naturedly forbore taking any notice of me. I sat as far back as I could, and kept my fan against the exposed profile for the rest of the night, never once leaning forward, nor using my glass.
None of the royal family spoke to me on this matter till a few days after; but I heard from Mrs. Delany they had all declared themselves sorry for the confusion it had caused me. And some time after the queen could not forbear saying, “I hope, Miss Burney, YOU minded the epilogue the other night?”
And the king, very comically, said, “I took a peep at you!—I could not help that. I wanted to see how you looked when your father first discovered your writing—and now I think I know!”
St. James’s Palace, June 4-Take a little of the humours of this day, with respect to myself, as they have arisen. I quitted my downy pillow at half-past six o’clock, for bad habits in sickness have lost me half an hour of every morning; and then, according to an etiquette I discovered but on Friday night, I was quite new dressed: for I find that, on the king’s birthday, and on the queen’s, both real and nominal, two new attires, one half, the other full dressed, are expected from all attendants that come into the royal presence.
This first labour was happily achieved in such good time, that I was just seated to my breakfast—a delicate bit of roll half-eaten, and a promising dish of tea well stirred—when I received my summons to attend the queen.
She was only with her wardrobe-woman, and accepted most graciously a little murmuring congratulation upon the day, which I ventured to whisper while she looked another way. Fortunately for me, she is always quick in conceiving what is meant, and never wastes time in demanding what is said. She told me she had bespoke Miss Planta to attend at the grand toilette at St. James’s, as she saw my strength still diminished by my late illness. Indeed it still is, though in all other respects I am perfectly well.
The queen wore a very beautiful dress, of a new manufacture, of worked muslin, thin, fine, and clear, as the chambery gauze. I attended her from the blue closet, in which she dresses, through the rooms that lead to the breakfast apartment. In One of these while she stopped for her hair-dresser to finish her head-dress, the king joined her. She spoke to him in German, and he kissed her hand.
The three elder princesses came in soon after: they all went up, with congratulatory smiles and curtsies, to their royal father, who kissed them very affectionately; they then, as usual every Morning, kissed the queen’s hand. The door was thrown open to the breakfast-room, which is a noble apartment, fitted up with some of Vandyke’s best works; and the instant the king, who led the way, entered, I was surprised by a sudden sound of music, and found that a band of musicians were stationed there to welcome him. The princesses followed, but Princess Elizabeth turned round to me to say she could hardly bear the sound: it was the first morning of her coming down to breakfast for many months, as she had had that repast in her own room ever since her dangerous illness. It overcame her, she said, more than the dressing, more than the early rising, more than the whole of the hurry and fatigue of all the rest of a public birthday. She loves the king most tenderly; and there is a something in receiving any person who is loved, by sudden music, that I can easily conceive to be very trying to the nerves.
Princess Augusta came back to cheer and counsel her; she begged her to look out at the window, to divert her thoughts, and said she would place her where the sound might be less affecting to her.
A lively “How d’ye do, Miss Burney? I hope you are quite well now?” from the sweet Princess Mary, who was entering the ante-room, made me turn from her two charming sisters; she passed on to the breakfast, soon followed by Princess Sophia, and then a train of their governesses, Miss Goldsworthy, Mademoiselle Montmoulin, and Miss Gomme, all in full dress, with fans. We reciprocated little civilities, and I had then the pleasure to see little Princess Amelia, with Mrs. Cheveley, who brought up the rear. Never, in tale or fable, were there six sister princesses more lovely.
As I had been extremely distressed upon the queen’s birthday, in January, where to go or how to act, and could obtain no information from my coadjutrix, I now resolved to ask for directions from the queen herself; and she readily gave them, in a manner to make this day far more comfortable to me than the last. She bade me dress as fast as I could, and go to St. James’, by eleven o’clock; but first come into the room to her. Then followed my grand toilette. The hair-dresser was waiting for me, and he went to work first, and I second, with all our might and main. When my adorning tasks were accomplished, I went to the blue closet. No one was there, I then hesitated whether to go back or seek the queen. I have a dislike insuperable to entering a royal presence, except by an immediate Summons: however, the directions I had had prevailed, and I went into the adjoining apartment. There stood Madame de la Fite! she was talking in a low voice with M. de Luc. They told me the queen was in the next room, and on I went.
She was seated at a glass, and the hair-dresser was putting on her jewels, while a clergyman in his canonicals was standing near and talking to her. I imagined him some bishop unknown to me, and stopped; the queen looked round, and called out “it’s Miss Burney!—come in, Miss Burney.” in I came, curtseying respectfully to a bow from the canonicals, but I found not out till he answered something said by the queen, that it was no other than Mr. Turbulent.
Madame de la Fite then presented herself at the door (which was open for air) of the ante-room. The queen bowed to her, and said she would see her presently: she retired, and her majesty, in a significant low voice, said to me, “Do go to her, and keep her there a little!” I obeyed, and being now in no fright nor hurry, entered into conversation with her sociably and comfortably.
I then went to St. James’s. The queen was most brilliant in attire; and when she was arrayed, Mr. West233 was allowed to enter the dressing-room, in order to give his opinion of the disposition-of her jewels, which indeed were arranged with great taste and effect.
The three princesses, Princess Royal, Augusta, and Elizabeth, were all very splendidly decorated, and looked beautiful. They are indeed uncommonly handsome, each in their different Way-the princess royal for figure, the Princess Augusta for countenance, and the Princess Elizabeth for face.
Friday, June 8-This day we came to Windsor for the Summer, during which we only go to town for a Drawing-room once a fortnight, and to Kew in the way. Mrs. Schwellenberg remained in town, not well enough to move.
The house now was quite full, the king having ordered a party to it for the Whitsun holidays. This party was Colonel Manners, the equerry in waiting; Colonel Ramsden, a good-humoured and well-bred old officer of the king’s household; Colonels Wellbred and Goldsworthy, and General Budé.
Colonel Ramsden is gentle and pleasing, but very silent; General Budé is always cheerful, but rises not above a second; Colonel Hotham has a shyness that looks haughty, and therefore distances; Colonel Goldsworthy reserves his sport and humour for particular days and particular favourites; and Colonel Wellbred draws back into himself unless the conversation promises either instruction or quiet pleasure; nor would any one of these, during the whole time, speak at all, but to a next neighbour, nor even then, except when that neighbour suited his fancy.
You must not, however, imagine we had no public speakers; M. del Campo harangued aloud to whoever was willing to listen, and Colonel Manners did the same, without even waiting for that proviso. Colonel Manners, however, I must introduce to you by a few specimens: he is so often, in common with all the equerries, to appear on the scene, that I wish you to make a particular acquaintance with him.
One evening, when we were all, as usual, assembled, he began a discourse upon the conclusion of his waiting, which finishes with the end of June:—“Now I don’t think,” cried he, “that it’s well managed: here we’re all in waiting for three months at a time, and then for nine months there’s nothing!”
“Cry your mercy!” cried Colonel Goldsworthy, “if three months—three whole months—are not enough for you, pray take a few more from mine to make up your market!”
“No, no, I don’t mean that;—but why can’t we have our waitings month by month?—would not that be better?”
“I think not!—we should then have no time unbroken.”
“Well, but would not that be better than what it is now? Why, we’re here so long, that when one goes away nobody knows one!—one has quite to make a new acquaintance! Why, when I first come out of waiting, I never know where to find anybody!”
The Ascot races were held at this time; the royal family were to be at them one or two of the days. Colonel Manners earnestly pressed Miss Port to be there. Colonel Goldsworthy said it was quite immaterial to him who was there, for when he was attending royalty he never presumed to think of any private comfort.
“Well, I don’t see that!” cried Colonel Manners,—“for if I was you, and not in my turn for waiting, I should go about just as I liked;—but now, as for me, as it happens to be my own turn, Why I think it right to be civil to the king.”
We all looked round;—but Colonel Goldsworthy broke forth aloud— “Civil, quotha?” cried he; “Ha! ha! civil, forsooth!—You’re mighty condescending!—the first equerry I ever heard talk of his civility to the king!—‘Duty,’ and ‘respect,’ and ‘humble reverence,’—those are words we are used to,—but here come you with Your civility!——Commend me to such affability!”
You see he is not spared; but Colonel Goldsworthy is the wag professed of their community, and privileged to say what he pleases. The other, with the most perfect good-humour, accepted the joke, without dreaming of taking offence at the sarcasm.
Another evening the king sent for Colonel Ramsden to play at backgammon.
“Happy, happy man!” exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, exultingly; but scarce had he uttered the words ere he was summoned to follow himself. “What! already!” cried he,—“without even my tea! Why this is worse and worse!—no peace in Israel!—only one half hour allowed for comfort, and now that’s swallowed! Well, I must go;—make my complaints aside, and my bows and smiles in full face!”
Off he went, but presently, in a great rage, came back, and, while he drank a hot dish of tea which I instantly presented him, kept railing at his stars for ever bringing him under a royal roof. “If it had not been for a puppy,” cried he, “I had never got off even to scald my throat in this manner But they’ve just got a dear little new ugly dog: so one puppy gave Way to t’other, and I just left them to kiss and hug it, while I stole off to drink this tea! But this is too much!—no peace for a moment!—no peace in Israel!”
When this was passed, Colonel Wellbred renewed some of the conversation of the preceding day with me; and, just as he named Dr. Herschel Colonel Manners broke forth with his dissenting opinions. “I don’t give up to Dr. Herschel at all,” cried he; “he is all system; and so they are all: and if they can but make out their systems, they don’t care a pin for anything else. As to Herschel, I liked him well enough till he came to his volcanoes in the moon, and then I gave him up, I saw he was just like the rest. How should he know anything Of the matter? There’s no such thing as pretending to measure, at such a distance as that?" Colonel Wellbred, to whom I looked for an answer, instead of making any, waited in quiet silence till he had exhausted all he had to say upon the subject, and then, turning to me, made some inquiry about the Terrace, and went on to other general matters. But, some time after, when all were engaged, and this topic seemed quite passed, he calmly began, in general terms, to lament that the wisest and best of people were always so little honoured or understood in their own time, and added that he had no doubt but Sir Isaac Newton had been as much scoffed and laughed at formerly as Herschel was now; but concluded, in return, Herschel, hereafter, would be as highly reverenced as Sir Isaac was at present....
We had then some discourse upon dress and fashions. Virtuosos being next named, Colonel Manners inveighed against them quite violently, protesting they all wanted common honour and honesty; and to complete the happy subject, he instanced, in particular, Sir William Hamilton, who, he declared, had absolutely robbed both the king and state of Naples!
After this, somebody related that, upon the heat in the air being mentioned to Dr. Heberden, he had answered that he supposed it proceeded from the last eruption in the volcano in the moon: “Ay,” cried Colonel Manners, “I suppose he knows as much of the matter as the rest of them: if you put a candle at the end of a telescope, and let him look at it, he’ll say, what an eruption there is in the moon! I mean if Dr. Herschel would do it to him; I don’t say he would think so from such a person as me.”
“But Mr. Bryant himself has seen this volcano from the telescope.”
“Why, I don’t mind Mr. Bryant any more than Dr. Heberden: he’s just as credulous as t’other.”
I wanted to ask by what criterion he settled these points in so superior a manner:—but I thought it best to imitate the silence of Colonel Wellbred, who constantly called a new subject, upon every pause, to avoid all argument and discussion while the good-humoured Colonel Manners was just as ready to start forward in the new subject, as he had been in that which had been set aside.
One other evening I invited Madame de la Fite: but it did not prove the same thing; they have all a really most undue dislike of her, and shirk her conversation and fly to one another, to discourse on hunting and horses. THE DUCHESS DE POLIGNAC AT WINDSOR.
The following Sunday, June 17, I was tempted to go on the Terrace, in order to see the celebrated Madame de Polignac,234 and her daughter, Madame de Guiche. They were to be presented, with the Duke de Polignac, to their majesties, upon the Terrace. Their rank entitled them to this distinction; and the Duchess of Ancaster, to whom they had been extremely courteous abroad, came to Windsor to introduce them. They were accompanied to the Terrace by Mrs. Harcourt and the general ‘with whom they were also well acquainted.
They went to the place of rendezvous at six o’clock; the royal party followed about seven, and was very brilliant upon the occasion. The king and queen led the way, and the Prince of Wales, who came purposely to honour the interview, appeared at it also, in the king’s Windsor uniform. Lady Weymouth was in waiting upon the queen. The Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Charlotte Bertie, and Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, with some other ladies, I think, attended: but the two eldest princesses, to the very great detriment of the scenery, were ill, and remained at home. Princess Elizabeth and Mary were alone in the queen’s suite.
I went with Miss Port and Mrs. and Miss Heberden. The crowd was so great, it was difficult to move. Their majesties and their train occupied a large space, and their attendants had no easy task in keeping them from being incommoded by the pressing of the people. They stopped to converse with these noble travellers for more than an hour. Madame la Duchesse de Polignac is a very well-looking woman, and Madame de Guiche is very pretty. There were other ladies and gentlemen in their party. But I was much amused by their dress, which they meant should be entirely a l’Angloise—for which purpose they had put on plain undress gowns, with close ordinary black silk bonnets! I am sure they must have been quite confused when they saw the queen and princesses, with their ladies, who were all dressed with uncommon care, and very splendidly.
But I was glad, at least, they should all witness, and report, the reconciliation of the king and the Prince of Wales, who frequently spoke together, and were both in good spirits.
Miss Port and myself had, afterwards, an extremely risible evening with Colonels Goldsworthy, Wellbred, and Manners the rest were summoned away to the king, or retired to their own apartments. Colonel Wellbred began the sport, undesignedly, by telling me something new relative to Dr. Herschel’s volcanoes. This was enough for Colonel Manners, who declared aloud his utter contempt for such pretended discoveries. He was deaf to all that could be said in answer, and protested he wondered how any man of common sense could ever listen to such a pack of stuff.
Mr. de Luc’s opinion upon the subject being then mentioned—he exclaimed, very disdainfully, “O, as to Mr. de Luc, he’s another man for a system himself, and I’d no more trust him than anybody: if you was only to make a little bonfire, and put it upon a hill a little way off, you might make him take it for a volcano directly!—And Herschel’s not a bit better. Those sort of philosophers are the easiest taken in in the world.” Our next topic was still more ludicrous. Colonel Manners asked me if I had not heard something, very harmonious at church in the morning? I answered I was too far off, if he meant from himself.
“Yes,” said he; “I was singing with Colonel Wellbred; and he said he was my second.—How did I do that song?”
“Song?—Mercy!” exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, “a song at church!—why it was the 104th Psalm!” “But how did I do it, Wellbred; for I never tried at it before?”
“Why—pretty well,” answered Colonel Wellbred, very composedly; “Only now and then you run me a little into ‘God save the king.’”
This dryness discomposed every muscle but of Colonel Manners, who replied, with great simplicity, “Why, that’s because that’s the tune I know best!”
“At least,” cried I, “’twas a happy mistake to make so near their majesties.”
“But, pray, now, Colonel Wellbred, tell me sincerely—could you really make out what I was singing?”
“O yes,” answered Colonel Wellbred; “with the words.”
“Well, but pray, now, what do you call my voice?”
“Why—a—a—a counter-tenor.”
“Well, and is that a good voice?”
There was no resisting,-even the quiet Colonel Wellbred could not resist laughing out here. But Colonel Manners, quite at his ease, continued his self-discussion.
“I do think, now, if I was to have a person to play over a thing to me again and again, and then let me sing it, and stop me every time I was wrong, I do think I should be able to sing ‘God save the king’ as well as some ladies do, that have always people to show them.”
“You have a good chance then here,” cried I, “of singing some pieces of Handel, for I am sure you hear them again and again!”
“Yes, but that is not the thing for though I hear them do it’ so often over, they don’t stop for me to sing it after them, and then to set me right. Now I’ll try if you’ll know what this is.”
He then began humming aloud, “My soul praise,” etc., so very horribly, that I really found all decorum at an end, and laughed, with Miss Port, a qui mieux mieux. Too much engaged to mind this, he very innocently, when he had done, applied to us all round for our opinions.
Miss Port begged him to sing another, and asked for that he had spouted the other day, “Care, thou bane of love and joy.”
He instantly complied; and went on, in such shocking, discordant and unmeaning sounds, that nothing in a farce could be more risible: in defiance however of all interruptions, he Continued till he had finished one stanza; when Colonel Goldsworthy loudly called out,—“There,—there’s enough!—have mercy!” “Well, then, now I’ll try something else.”
“O, no!” cried Colonel Goldsworthy, hastily, “thank you, thank you for this,-but I won’t trouble you for more—I’ll not bear another word.”
Colonel Wellbred then, with an affected seriousness, begged to know, since he took to singing, what he should do for a shake, which was absolutely indispensable.
“A shake?” he repeated, “what do you mean?”
“Why—a shake with the voice, such as singers make.”
“Why, how must I do it?”
“O, really, I cannot tell you.”
“Why, then, I’ll try myself—is it so?”
And he began such a harsh hoarse noise, that Colonel Goldsworthy exclaimed, between every other sound,—“No, no,—no more!” While Colonel Wellbred professed teaching him, and gave such ridiculous lessons and directions,-now to stop short, now to swell,-now to sink the voice, etc., etc., that, between the master and the scholar, we were almost demolished.
Tuesday, June 19.—We were scarcely all arranged at tea when Colonel Manners eagerly said, “Pray, Mrs. Schwellenberg, have you lost anything?”
“Me?—no, not I
“No?—what, nothing?”
“Not I!”
“Well, then, that’s very odd! for I found something that had your name writ upon it.”
“My name? and where did you find that?”
“Why—it was something I found in my bed.”
“In your bed?—O, very well! that is reelly comeecal?”
“And pray what was it?” cried Miss Port.
“Why—a great large, clumsy lump of leather.”
“Of leadder, sir?—of leadder? What was that for me?”
“Why, ma’am, it was so big and so heavy, it was as much as I could do to lift it!”
“Well, that was nothing from me! when it was so heavy, you might let it alone!”
“But, ma’am, Colonel Wellbred said it was somewhat of yours." “Of mine?—O, ver well! Colonel Wellbred might not say such thing! I know nothing, Sir, from your leadder, nor from your bed, sir,—not I!”
“Well, ma’am, then your maid does. Colonel Wellbred says he supposes it was she.”
“Upon my vord! Colonel Wellbred might not say such things from my maid! I won’t not have it so!”
“O yes, ma’am; Colonel Wellbred says she often does SO. He says she’s a very gay lady.”
She was quite too much amazed to speak: one of her maids, Mrs. Arline, is a poor humble thing, that would not venture to jest, I believe, with the kitchen maid, and the other has never before been at Windsor.
“But what was it?” cried Miss Port.
“Why, I tell you—a great, large lump of leather, with ‘Madame Schwellenberg’ wrote upon it. However, I’ve ordered it to be sold.”
“To be sold? How will you have it sold, Sir? You might tell me that, when you please.”
“Why, by auction, ma’am.”
“By auction, Sir? What, when it had my name upon it? Upon my vord!—how come you to do dat, sir? Will you tell me, once?”
“Why, I did it for the benefit of my man, ma’am, that he might have the money.”
“But for what is your man to have it, when it is mine?”
“Because, ma’am, it frightened him so.”
“Over well! Do you rob, sir? Do you take what is not your own, but others’, sir, because your man is frightened?”
“O yes, ma’am! We military men take all we can get!”
“What! in the king’s house, Sir!”
“Why then, ma’am, what business had it in my bed? My room’s my castle: nobody has a right there. My bed must be my treasury; and here they put me a thing into it big enough to be a bed itself.”——
“O! vell! (much alarmed) it might be my bed-case, then!” (Whenever Mrs. Schwellenberg travels, she carries her bed in a large black leather case, behind her servants’ carriage.) “Very likely, ma’am.”
“Then, sir,” very angrily, “how come you by it?”
“Why, I’ll tell you, ma’am. I was just going to bed; so MY servant took one candle, and I had the other. I had just had my hair done, and my curls were just rolled up, and he was going away; but I turned about, by accident, and I saw a great lump in my bed; so I thought it was my clothes. ‘What do you put them there for?’ says I. ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘it looks as if there was a drunken man in the bed.’ ‘A drunken man?’ says I; ‘Take the poker, then, and knock him on the head!’”
“Knock him on the head?” interrupted Mrs. Schwellenberg, “What! when it might be some innocent person? Fie! Colonel Manners. I thought you had been too good-natured for such thing—to poker the people in the king’s house!”
“Then what business have they to get into my bed, ma’am? So then my man looked nearer, and he said, ‘Sir, why, here’s your night-cap and here’s the pillow!—and here’s a great, large lump of leather!’ ‘Shovel it all out!’ says I. ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘It’s Madame Schwellenberg’s! here’s her name on it.’ ‘Well, then,’ says I, ‘sell it, to-morrow, to the saddler.’”
“What! when you knew it was mine, sir? Upon my vord, you been ver good!” (bowing very low). “Well, ma’am, it’s all Colonel Wellbred, I dare say; so, suppose you and I were to take the law of him?”
“Not I, sir!” (Scornfully).
“Well, but let’s write him a letter, then, and frighten him: let’s tell him it’s sold, and he must make it good. You and I’ll do it together.”
“No, sir; you might do it yourself. I am not so familiar to write to gentlemens.”
“Why then, you shall only sign it, and I’ll frank it.”
Here the entrance of some new person stopped the discussion.
Happy in his success, he began, the next day, a new device: he made an attack in politics, and said, he did not doubt but Mr. Hastings would come to be hanged; though, he assured us, afterwards, he was firmly his friend, and believed no such thing.236
Even with this not satisfied, he next told her that he had just heard Mr. Burke was in Windsor. Mr. Burke is the name in the world most obnoxious, both for his Reform bill,237 which deeply affected all the household, and for his prosecution of Mr. Hastings; she therefore declaimed against him very warmly.
“Should you like to know him, ma’am?” cried he. “Me?—No; not I.”
“Because, I dare say, ma’am, I have interest enough with him to procure you his acquaintance. Shall I bring him to the Lodge to see you?”
“When you please, sir, you might keep him to yourself!”
“Well, then, he shall come and dine with me, and after it drink tea with you.”
“No, no, not I! You might have him all to yourself.”
“But if he comes, you must make his tea.”
“There is no such ‘must,’ sir! I do it for my pleasure—only when I please, sir!”
At night, when we were separating, he whispered Miss Port that he had something else in store for the next meeting, when he intended to introduce magnetising.