The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney. Frances Burney
it; and the conversation concluded with nothing being settled.
How little did the sweet queen imagine that this her first mark of favour should so be offered me as to raise in me my first spirit of resistance! How differently would she have executed her own commission herself! To avoid exciting jealousy was, I doubt not, her motive for employing another.
A Crowded Drawing-room
Aug. 10.—I journeyed to town, with Mrs. Schwellenberg and Miss Planta; and this morning I was employed for the first time on a message to the queen. I was in the ante-room, when Mr. Nicolay, her majesty’s page at St. James’s, came and told me the Duchess of Ancaster sent her humble duty to the queen, and begged an audience before the Drawing-room. I told the queen, who, when dressed, all but her necklace, received the duchess in the ante-room.
I mention all these little ceremonies as they occur, that hereafter I may have no occasion, when they lead to other matters, to explain them.
The bedchamber woman was rung for on the queen’s return. So you see I am not the only one to answer a bell. It was Mrs. Fielding, who looked at me with an attention that will not leave her much in doubt as to my dress, at least, though she could not speak. I have told you, I believe, that no one, not even the princesses, ever speak in the presence of the king and queen, but to answer what is immediately said by themselves. There are, indeed, occasions in which this is set aside, from particular encouragement given at the moment; but it is not less a rule, and it is one very rarely infringed.
When the Drawing-room began, I went to my own room and there I had the great happiness of finding my father, who had contrived to be in town purposely, and to whom I had sent John, in St. Martin’s-street, that he might be shown the straight way to my apartment. He had determined upon going to the Drawing-room himself, to manifest, amongst the general zeal of the times, his loyal joy in his majesty’s safety.
The drawing-room was over very late indeed. So anxious has been the whole nation to show their affectionate attachment to the king, that this, the first Drawing-room since his danger, was as splendid, and as much crowded, as upon a birthday. When the queen summoned me, upon returning to her dressing-room, and mentioned how full and how hot it had been, I ventured to say, “I am very glad of it, ma’am; it was an honest crowd today.”
The Keeper of the Robes is Very Much Put Out
At tea I found a new uniform. Major Price, immediately introduced me to him; he was Colonel Fairly.179 He is a man of the most scrupulous good-breeding, diffident, gentle, and sentimental in his conversation, and assiduously attentive in his manners. He married Lady ——, and I am told he is a most tender husband to her.
A very unfortunate subject happened to be started during our tea; namely, the newspaper attacks upon Mrs. Hastings. The colonel, very innocently, said he was very sorry that lady was ever mentioned in the same paragraph with her majesty. Mrs. Schwellenberg indignantly demanded “Why?—where?—when? and what?”
Unconscious of her great friendship for Mrs. Hastings, the colonel, unfortunately, repeated his concern, adding, “Nothing has hurt me so much as the queen’s being ever named in such company.”
The most angry defence was now made, but in so great a storm of displeasure, and confusion of language, that the colonel, looking utterly amazed, was unable to understand what was the matter. Major Price and myself were both alarmed; Miss Port longed to laugh; Miss Mawer sat perfectly motionless; Mrs. Fisher decidedly silent. No one else was present. The colonel, whenever he could be heard, still persisted in his assertion, firmly, though gently, explaining the loyalty of his motives.
This perseverance increased the storm, which now blew with greater violence, less and less distinct as more fierce. Broken sentences were all that could be articulated. “You might not say such thing!”—“Upon my vord!”—“I tell you once!”—“colonel what-you-call, I am quite warm!”—“Upon my vord!—I tell you the same!”—“You might not tell me such thing!”—“What for you say all that?”
As there was nothing in this that could possibly clear the matter, and the poor colonel only sunk deeper and deeper, by not understanding the nature of his offence, Major Price now endeavoured to interfere; and, as he is a great favourite, he was permitted not only to speak, but to be heard.
“Certainly,” said he, “those accounts about Mrs. Hastings, and the history of her divorce, are very unpleasant anecdotes in public newspapers; and I am sorry, too, that they should be told in the same paragraph that mentions her being received by the queen.”
Nothing could equal the consternation with which. This unexpected speech was heard. “Upon my vord! You sorprise me!” was all that could now be got out.
As I found them now only running further from general comprehension, I felt so sorry that poor Mrs. Hastings, whom I believe to be a most injured woman, should so ill be defended even by her most zealous friend, that I compelled myself to the exertion of coming forward, now, in her behalf myself, and I therefore said, it was a thousand pities her story should not be more accurately made known: as the mode of a second marriage from a divorce was precisely the contrary here of what it was in Germany; since here it could only take place upon misconduct, and there, I had been told, a divorce from misconduct prohibited a second marriage, which could only be permitted where the divorce was the mere effect of disagreement from dissimilar tempers. Mrs. Hastings, therefore, though acquitted of ill-behaviour by the laws of her own country seemed, by those of England, convicted; and I could not but much regret that her vindication was not publicly made by this explanation.
“So do I, too,” cried Major Price “for I never heard this before.”
“Nor I,” cried the colonel “and indeed it ought to be made known, both for the sake of Mrs. Hastings, and because she has been received at Court, which gave everybody the greatest surprise, and me, in my ignorance, the greatest concern, on account of the queen.”
This undid all again, though my explanation had just stilled the hurricane; but now it began afresh.
“You might not say that, Colonel Fairly; you might not name the queen!—O, I can’t bear it!—I tell you once it is too moch!—What for you tell me that?”
“Ma’am, I—I only said—It is not me, ma’am, but the newspapers.”
“What for you have such newspapers?—I tell you the same—it is—what you call—I don’t like such thing!”
“But, ma’am-”
“O, upon my vord, I might tell you once, when you name the queen, it is—what you call—I can’t bear it!—when it is nobody else, with all my heart! I might not care for that—but when it is the queen,—I tell you the same, Colonel Fairly—it makes me—what you call—perspire.”
The major again interfered, saying it was now all cleared up, by the account of the difference of the German customs, and therefore that it was all very well. A certain quiet, but yet decisive way, in which he sometimes speaks, was here very successful; and as the lady stopped, the colonel saw all explanation too desperate to aim at further argument.
172 Dr. Burney’s daughter by his second wife
173 Sir Thomas Clarges, whose wife was a dear friend of Susan Burney. Sir Thomas died in December, 1782. In the “Early Diary” he is mentioned once or twice, as a visitor at Dr. Burney’s. Fanny writes of him in May, 1775, as “a young baronet, who was formerly so desperately enamoured of Miss Linley, now Mrs. Sheridan, that his friends made a point of his going abroad to recover himself: he is now just returned from italy, and I hope cured. He still retains all the schoolboy English mauvaise honte; scarce speaks but to make an answer, and is as shy as if his last residence had been at Eton instead of Paris.”
174 ’Tis amazing what nonsense sensible people can write, when their heads are turned by considerations of rank and flummery!