Chapter 37

I did not get down to breakfast till it was almost over, as I was detained with the queen, and as everybody was obliged to make what haste they could, in order to insure a meal before a summons. I found Miss Planta, and the aide-de-camp, vice chamberlain, and equerry; Lady Harcourt had already breakfasted with them, but made off as soon as the queen was visible, to wait upon her majesty. Miss Vernons lay in bed from yesterday's fatigues.

The extreme silence and gravity of the aide-de-camp threw a reserve and constraint on all the party, and we were all nearly dumb, when a new lady suddenly rushed into the room. This was Mrs. Harcourt, the aide-de-camp's wife, who had been ill the preceding day, and therefore had not ventured to Oxford. She is a showy, handsome woman, extremely talkative, with quick parts, high spirits, and a rattling vein of humour.

Miss Planta, who had taken Lady Harcourt's place, in order to pour out the tea, instantly moved to another. Mrs. Harcourt hurried into that just vacated, without ceremony, calling out, “How monstrous late you all are!--though I need not talk, for I hate getting up early. I was so vastly ill yesterday I could not stir, but I am vastly well to-day, so I am going to Blenheim.”

This day had been previously dedicated to seeing Blenheim.

“To Blenheim?” repeated General Harcourt, in a low voice.

“Yes, sir, to Blenheim! So no grave faces, for my plan is fixed.”

He half articulated a fear of her being ill again, but she stopped him with “O, no matter, leave that to the Fates;--the queen has been so gracious as to say I may go, and therefore go I shall: so say nothing about it, for that's settled and unalterable.”

“After being so ill yesterday,” said Mr. Fairly, “I think it will be rather too much for you.”

“Not at all!--and what's more, you must carry me.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” cried he, “if go you will.”

“Yes, that I will, certainly; and some of you must take me. I have no coach ordered,-and there is not one to spare: so, amongst you, you equerries, you must carry me. I have never been to Blenheim since I married.”

“Were you before?” said the general.

“Yes, sir, and you took me.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, sir, you had that honour; and I think you have never taken that trouble since.”

All this, though uttered in a voice as peremptory as the language, was spoken with very becoming smiles, and an air of saucy good humour.

The breakfast all this while had stood quite still: indeed there was nobody but myself that had not nearly done. Major Price handed me roll and butter and bread across the table, by way of hint, I believe; all which I declined: at last Mr. Fairly said,

“Miss Burney, which is your cup?”

Upon this, Mrs. Harcourt, abruptly turning to me, exclaimed “O dear, you've got no tea!” Then pouring out a dish of slop, added, “Can you drink it? It looks very melancholy.”

“No,” I said, “I have had enough.”

Have not you also, my Susan, had enough of this scene?

The Blenheim visit being considered as a private one, nobody went but of the Marlborough acquaintance: though in all royal parties, the whole company is always named by the royals, and the lords and ladies of the mansions have no more right to invite a guest than a guest has to come uninvited.

I spent this day very pleasantly, in walking over the grounds which are extremely pretty, seeing a flower-garden planned by Mr. Mason, and the pictures in the house. The two Miss Vernons, Miss Planta, and Mr. Hagget, were all that remained at Nuneham. And it was now I wholly made peace with those two ladies; especially the eldest, as I found her, the moment she was removed from rays so bright that they had dazzled her, a rational, composed, obliging woman. She took infinite and unwearied pains to make amends for the cold and strange opening of our acquaintance, by the most assiduous endeavours to give me pleasure and amusement. And she succeeded very well. I could blame nobody but the countess' sister for our reception; I plainly saw these ladies had been unprepared to look upon us as any charge to themselves.

The royal excursioners did not return till between six and seven o'clock, when we dined with the same party as the preceding day. The evening, too, had just the same visitors, and passed in just the same manner.

SECT. 9 (1786-7-)

COURT DUTIES AT WINDSOR AND KEW.

[The following section and the two sections which succeed it, relate, almost exclusively, to Fanny's dreary prison- life in the royal household. Of the world without the palace, of the friends whom she had left, we hear next to nothing. The change for her was complete; the rare visits of her father, her sister, and the Lockes, one hasty excursion to Chesington, and one delightful evening at Mrs. Ord's, form nearly the sum total of her personal intercourse, during these eighteen months, with those whose kindness and sympathy had brightened her past years. She complained seldom, and only to her best-beloved Susan, but there is something truly pathetic in these occasional evidences of the struggle which she was making to conquer her repugnance, and to be happy, if that were possible, in her new situation. Dazzled by the royal condescension Fanny may have been; blinded she was not. It was her father who, possessed by a strange infatuation, remained blind to the incongruity, charmed by the fancied honour, of his daughter's position; and she, tender-hearted as she was, could not bear to inflict upon one so dear the pain which she knew must be the consequence of his enlightenment. Meanwhile, her best comfort was still in the friendship of Mrs. Delany, and this, in the course of nature, could not be of long duration.

But dreary as this life of routine was to the unfortunate victim, we venture to assure the reader that he will find the victim's account of it very far from dreary. Indeed, these pages might almost be instanced to show from what unpromising materials a person endowed with humour and observation can construct a singularly entertaining narrative. Our wonder is that neither the monotony of her official duties, nor the insipidity of her associates, nor even the odious tyranny of her colleague, could wholly subdue in the author of “Evelina” and “Cecilia” that bright and humorous disposition to which the following pages bear frequent testimony.--ED.]

THE MISCHIEF-MAKING KEEPER OF THE ROBES.

_Tuesday, Aug. 15._--This morning we all breakfasted together, and at about twelve o'clock we set off again for Windsor.

Lord Harcourt came into the breakfast room with abundance of civil speeches upon his pleasure in renewing our acquaintance, and the Miss Vernons parted with me like wholly different people from those I met.

As soon as I returned to the queen's Lodge at Windsor, I called upon Mrs. Schwellenberg. I found her still occupied concerning the newspaper business about Mrs. Hastings. She was more than ever irritated against Mr. Fairly for his information, and told me she was sure he must have said it to her on purpose, and that she wished people might hold their tongue: but that she was bent upon having satisfaction, and therefore she had sent for Mrs. Hastings, and informed her of the whole business.

I was not only sorry, but frightened, lest any mischief should arise through misrepresentations and blunders, between Mr. Fairly and Mr. Hastings: however, this imprudent step was taken already, and not to be called back.

She protested she was determined to insist that Mr. Fairly should produce the very paper that had mentioned the queen, which she should show, and have properly noticed.

I, on the other side, instantly resolved to speak myself to Mr. Fairly, to caution him by no means to be led into seeking any such paper, or into keeping such a search awake; for, with the best intentions in the world, I saw him on the point of being made the object of vindictive resentment to Mr. Hastings, or of indignant displeasure to the queen herself,--so wide-spreading is the power of misapprehension over the most innocent conversation.

I saw, however, nothing of Mr. Fairly till tea-time; indeed, except by very rare chance, I never see any of the king's people but at that meeting. Mrs. Schwellenberg was then present, and nothing could I do. Major Price and Mr. Fisher were of the party. Mr. Fairly fortunately had letters to write, and hastily left us, after taking one dish of tea. The moment he was gone Mrs. Schwellenberg said she had forgot to speak to him about the newspaper, and told Major Price to ask him for it. Major Price assented with a bow only, and the matter dropped.

I, however, who best knew the danger of its going any farther, now determined upon speaking to Major Price, and making him contrive to hush it up. Utterly impossible, nevertheless, proved this scheme; Major Price was too great a favourite to be an instant disengaged. I was obliged, therefore, to be quiet.

A TERRACE PARTY.

_Wednesday, Aug. 16_--Was the birthday of Prince Frederick, Duke of York. The queen sent me in the morning to my dear Mrs. Delany, whom I had but just found a moment to fly to the preceding day, and I was commanded to bring--her, if well enough, just as she was, in her home morning dress, to her majesty. This I did with great delight; and that most venerable of women accepted the invitation with all the alacrity of pleasure she could have felt at fifteen. The queen, in the late excursion, had made many purchases at Woodstock: and she now made some little presents from them to this dear lady.

In the evening, as it was again a birthday, I resolved upon going to the Terrace, as did Mrs. Delany, and with her and Miss Mawer, and Miss Port, I sallied forth. To avoid the high steps leading to the Terrace from the Lodge, we went through a part of the Castle.

The Terrace was much crowded, though so windy we could hardly keep our feet; but I had an agreeable surprise in meeting there with Dr. Warton.[213] He joined Mrs. Delany instantly, and kept with us during the whole walk. He congratulated me upon my appointment, in terms of rapture; his ecstacies are excited so readily, from the excessive warmth of his disposition, and its proneness to admire and wonder, that my new situation was a subject to awaken an enthusiasm the most high-flown.

Presently after we were joined by a goodly priest, fat, jovial, breathing plenty ease, and good living. I soon heard him whisper Mrs. Delany to introduce him to me. It was Dr. Roberts, provost of Eton: I had already seen him at Mrs. Delany's last winter, but no introduction had then passed. He is a distant relation of Mr. Cambridge. His wife was with him, and introduced also.

These also joined us; and in a few minutes more a thin, little, wizen old gentleman, with eyes that scarce seemed to see, and a rather tottering gait, came up to Mrs. Delany, and after talking with her some time, said in a half whisper, “Is that Miss Burney?” and then desired a presentation. It was Mr. Bryant, the mythologist.[214] I was very glad to see him, as he bears a very high character, and lives much in this neighbourhood. He talks a great deal, and with the utmost good humour and ease, casting entirely aside his learning, which I am, nevertheless, assured is that of one of the most eminent scholars of the age.

We had now a very good party, and seated ourselves in a sort of alcove, to be sheltered from the wind; but it was so very violent that it deterred the royal family from walking. They merely came on the Terrace to show themselves to those who were eager to pay their compliments upon the day, and then returned to the Castle.

Dr. Warton insisted upon accompanying me home as far as the iron rails, to see me enter my royal premises. I did not dare invite him in, without previous knowledge whether I had any such privilege; otherwise, with all his parts, and all his experience, I question whether there is one boy in his school at Winchester who would more have delighted in feeling himself under the roof of a sovereign.

A NERVOUS READER.

_Aug. 17._--From the time that the queen condescended to desire to place me in immediate attendance upon her own person, I had always secretly concluded she meant me for her English reader; since the real duties of my office would have had a far greater promise of being fulfilled by thousands of others than by myself. This idea had made the prospect of reading to her extremely awful to me: an exhibition, at any rate, is painful to me, but one in which I considered her majesty as a judge, interested for herself in the sentence she should pronounce, and gratified or disappointed according to its tenor--this was an exhibition formidable indeed, and must have been considered as such by anybody in similar circumstances.

Not a book, not a pamphlet, not a newspaper, had I ever seen near the queen, for the first week, without feeling a panic; I always expected to be called upon. She frequently bid me give her the papers; I felt that they would be the worst reading I could have, because full of danger, in matter as well as manner: however, she always read them herself.

To-day, after she was dressed, Mrs. Schwellenberg went to her own room; and the queen, instead of leaving me, as usual, to go to mine, desired me to follow her to her sitting dressing-room. She then employed me in helping her to arrange her work, which is chair covers done in ribbon; and then told me to fetch her a volume of the “Spectator.” I obeyed with perfect tranquillity. She let me stand by her a little while without speaking, and then, suddenly, but very gently, said, “Will you read a paper while I work?”

I was quite “consternated!” I had not then the smallest expectation of such a request. I said nothing, and held the book unopened.

She took it from me, and pointed out the place where I should begin. She is reading them regularly through, for the first time. I had no choice: I was forced to obey; but my voice was less obedient than my will, and it became so husky, and so unmanageable, that nothing more unpleasant could be heard. The paper was a curious one enough--all concerning a Court favourite. I could hardly rejoice when my task was over, from my consciousness how ill it was performed. The queen talked of the paper, but forbore saying anything of any sort about the reader. I am sorry, however, to have done so ill.

MISS BURNEY REPINES AT HER POSITION.

FANNY BURNEY TO MRS. PHILIPS.

_August 20._

... O my beloved Susan, 'tis a refractory heart I have to deal with!--it struggles so hard to be sad--and silent--and fly from you entirely, since it cannot fly entirely to you. I do all I can to conquer it, to content it, to give it a taste and enjoyment for what is still attainable: but at times I cannot manage it, and it seems absolutely indispensable to my peace to occupy myself in anything rather than in writing to the person most dear to me upon earth!... If to you alone I show myself in these dark colours, can you blame the plan that I have intentionally been forming, namely, to wean myself from myself--to lessen all my affections--to curb all my wishes--to deaden all my sensations? This design, my Susan, I formed so long ago as the first day my dear father accepted my offered appointment: I thought that what demanded a complete new system of life, required, if attainable, a new set of feelings for all enjoyment of new prospects, and for lessening regrets at what were quitted, or lost. Such being my primitive idea, merely from my grief of separation, imagine but how it was strengthened and confirmed when the interior of my position became known to me!--when I saw myself expected by Mrs. Schwellenberg, not to be her colleague, but her dependent deputy! not to be her visitor at my own option, but her companion, her humble companion, at her own command! This has given so new a character to the place I had accepted under such different auspices, that nothing but my horror of disappointing, perhaps displeasing, my dearest father, has deterred me from the moment that I made this mortifying discovery, from soliciting his leave to resign.

But oh my Susan,--kind, good, indulgent as he is to me, I have not the heart so cruelly to thwart his hopes--his views--his happiness, in the honours he conceived awaiting my so unsolicited appointment. The queen, too, is all sweetness, encouragement, and gracious goodness to me, and I cannot endure to complain to her of her old servant. You see, then, my situation; here I must remain!--The die is cast, and that struggle is no more.--To keep off every other, to support the loss of the dearest friends, and best society, and bear, in exchange, the tyranny, the exigeance, the ennui, and attempted indignities of their greatest contrast,--this must be my constant endeavour.

Amongst my sources of unhappiness in this extraordinary case is, the very favour that, in any other, might counteract it--namely, that of the queen: for while, in a manner the most attractive, she seems inviting my confidence, and deigning to wish my happiness, she redoubles my conflicts never to shock her with murmurs against one who, however to me noxious and persecuting, is to her a faithful and truly devoted old servant. This will prevent my ever having my distress and disturbance redressed; for they can never be disclosed. Could I have, as my dear father conceived, all the time to myself, my friends, my leisure, or my own occupations, that is not devoted to my official duties, how different would be my feelings, how far more easily accommodated to my privations and sacrifices! Little does the queen know the slavery I must either resist or endure. And so frightful is hostility, that I know not which part is hardest to perform.

MADAME DE GENLIs DISCUSSED.

_Windsor, Monday Evening._--Madame de la Fite, who calls upon me daily, though I am commonly so much engaged I can scarce speak to her for a moment, came to desire I would let her bring me M. Argant,[215] who was come to Windsor to show some experiment to the king.

Madame de la Fite has long pressed me with great earnestness to write to Madame de Genlis, whose very elegant little note to me I never have answered. Alas! what can I do? I think of her as of one of the first among women--I see her full of talents and of charms--I am willing to believe her good, virtuous, and dignified;--yet, with all this, the cry against her is so violent and so universal, and my belief in her innocence is wholly unsupported by proof in its favour, or any other argument than internal conviction, from what I observed of her conduct and manners and conversation when I saw her in London, that I know not how to risk a correspondence with her, till better able to satisfy others, as well as I am satisfied myself: most especially, I dare not enter into such an intercourse through Madame de la Fite, whose indiscreet zeal for us both would lead her to tell her successful mediation to everybody she could make hear her. Already she has greatly distressed me upon this subject. Not content with continual importunity to me to write, ever since my arrival, which I have evaded as gently as possible, to avoid giving her my humiliating reasons, she has now written Madame de Genlis word that I am here, belonging to the same royal household as herself; and then came to tell me, that as we were now so closely connected, she proposed our writing jointly, in the same letter.

All this, with infinite difficulty, I passed over,--pleading my little time; which indeed she sees is true. But when M. Argant was here, she said to me, in French, “M. Argant will immediately wait upon Madame de Genlis, for he is going to Paris; he will tell her he saw us together, and he will carry her a letter' from me; and surely Miss Burney will not refuse M. Argant the happiness of carrying two lines from one lady so celebrated to another?” I was quite vexed; a few lines answer the same purpose as a few sheets; since, once her correspondent, all that I am hesitating about is as completely over, right or wrong, as if I wrote to her weekly.

As soon as they left me, I hastened to my dear Mrs. Delany, to consult with her what to do. “By all means,” cried she, “tell the affair of your difficulties whether to write to her or not, to the queen: it will unavoidably spread, if you enter into such a correspondence, and the properest step you can take, the safest and the happiest, is to have her opinion, and be guided by it. Madame de Genlis is so public a character, you can hardly correspond with her in private, and it would be better the queen should hear of such an intercourse from yourself than from any other.”

I entirely agreed in the wisdom of her advice, though I very much doubted my power to exert sufficient courage to speak, unasked, upon any affair of my own. You may be sure I resolved to spare poor Madame de la Fite, in my application, if I made it: “to write, or not to write,” was all I wanted to determine; for the rest, I must run any risk rather than complain of a friend who always means well....

An opportunity offered the next morning, for the queen again commanded me to follow her into her saloon; and there she was so gentle, and so gracious, that I ventured to speak of Madame de Genlis.

It was very fearfully that I took this liberty. I dreaded lest she should imagine I meant to put myself under her direction, as if presuming she would be pleased to direct me. Something, I told her, I had to say, by the advice of Mrs. Delany, which I begged her permission to communicate. She assented in silence, but with a look of the utmost softness, and yet mixed with strong surprise. I felt my voice faltering, and I was with difficulty able to go on,--so new to me was it to beg to be heard, who, hitherto, have always been begged to speak. There is no absolutely accounting for the forcible emotions which every totally new situation and new effort will excite in a mind enfeebled, like mine, by a long succession of struggling agitations. I got behind her chair, that she might not see a distress she might wonder at: for it was not this application itself that affected me; it was the novelty of my own situation, the new power I was calling forth over my proceedings, and the--O my Susan!--the all that I was changing from--relinquishing-of the past--and hazarding for the future!