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 GENERAL D'ARBLAY. 
 
 BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS.
 
 THE 
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 FRANCES BURNEY, 
 
 MADAME DARBLAY. 
 
 REVISED AND EDITED BY 
 
 SARAH CHAUNCEY WOOLSEY. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 Vol. II. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1880.
 
 Copyright, 1880, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 University Press: 
 John Wilson and Son, Camertdce.
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 MADAME D'ARBLAY 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 1788 — 1789. 
 
 Monday, August 18th. — Well, now I have a new per- 
 sonage to introduce to you, and no small one ; ask else the 
 stars, moon, and planets ' While I was surrounded with 
 bandboxes, and unpacking, Dr. Shepherd was announced. 
 Eager to make his compliments on the safe return, he 
 forced a passage through the back avenues and stairs, for 
 he told me he did not like being seen coming to me at the 
 front door, as it might create some jealousies amongst the 
 other Canons ! A very commendable circumspection ! but 
 whether for my sake or his own he did not particularize. 
 
 M. de Lalande/ he said, the famous astronomer, was just 
 arrived in England, and now at Windsor, and he had ex- 
 pressed a desire to be introduced to me. 
 
 Well, while he was talking this over, and I was wonder- 
 ing and evading, entered Mr. Turbulent. What a surprise 
 
 1 A French astronomer of great genius and celebrity, born in 1732. 
 He was brought up to the study of the law, but early displayed his pro- 
 ficiency in scientific and especially astronomical stuuies. Died in 1807.
 
 4 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788, 
 
 at sio-ht of the reverend Canon ! The reverend Canon, 
 ateo, was interrupted and confused, fearing, possibly, the 
 high honor he did me might now transpire amongst his 
 brethren, notwithstanding his generous efforts to spare 
 them its knowledge. 
 
 Mr. Turbulent, who looked big with heroics, was quite 
 provoked to see he had no chance of giving them vent. 
 They each outstayed the patience of the other, and at last 
 both went off together. Some hours after, however, while 
 I was dressinsr, the Canon returned. I could not admit 
 him, and bid Goter tell him at the door I was not visible. 
 He desired he might wait till I was ready, as he had busi- 
 ness of importance. I would not let him into the next 
 room, but said he might stay in the eating-parlor. 
 
 When I was dressed, I sent Goter to bring him in. She 
 came back, grinning and coloring ; she had not found him, 
 she said, but only Mrs. Schwellenberg, who was there 
 alone, and had called her in to know what she wanted. 
 She answered she came to see for a gentleman. " There's 
 no gentleman," she cried, " to come into my parlor ! it is 
 not permit. AVhen he comes I will have it locked up 1" 
 
 Oh, ho, my poor careful Canon ! thought I. However, 
 soon after a tap again at my door introduced him. He 
 said he had been waiting below in the passage as he saw 
 Madame Schwellenberg in the parlor, and did not care to 
 have her know him ; but his business Avas to settle bring- 
 ing M. de Lalande to see me in the evening. I told him I 
 w^as much honored, and so forth, but that I received no 
 evening company, as I was officially engaged. He had 
 made the appointment, he said, and could not break it, 
 without affronting him; besides, he gave me to understand 
 it would be an honor to me for ever to be visited by so 
 cfreat an astronomer. I agreed as to that, and was forced, 
 moreover, to agree to all the rest, no resource remaining.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY, 5 
 
 I mentioned to her Majesty the state of the case. She 
 thought the Canon very officious, and disapproved the 
 arrangement, but saw it was unavoidable. But when the 
 dinner came I was asked by the prhidente, " What for send 
 you gentlemen to my parlor ? " "I was dressing, ma'am, 
 and could not possibly receive company in mine, and 
 thought the other empty." " Empty or full is the same ! 
 I won't have it. I will lock up the room when it is done 
 so. No, no, I won't have no gentlemen here ; it is not 
 permit, perticklere when they won't not speak to me ! " 
 I then heard that a " large man, what you call," had en- 
 tered that sacred domain, and seeing there a lady, had 
 quitted it " bob short ! " I immediately explained all that 
 had passed, for I had no other way to save myself from an 
 imputation of favoring the visits and indiscretion of this 
 most gallant Canon. " Veil, when he comes so often he 
 might like you. For what won't you not marry him ?" 
 This was coming to the point, and so seriously, I found 
 myself obliged to be serious in answer, to avoid miscon- 
 struction, and to assure her, that were he Archbishop of 
 Canterbury,, and actually at my feet, I would not become 
 Archbishopess. " Vel, you been right when you don't not 
 like him ; I don't not like the men neither : not one from 
 them ! " So this settled us very amicably till tea-time, 
 and in the midst of that, with a room full of people, I was 
 called out by Westerhaults to Dr. Shepherd ! 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg herself actually te-lied at this, and I 
 could not possibly help laughing myself, but I hurried into 
 the next room, where I found him with his friend M. de 
 Lalande. What a reception awaited me ! how unexpected 
 a one from a famed and great astronomer ! M. de Lalande 
 advanced to meet me — I will not be quite positive it was 
 on tiptoe, but certainly with a mixture of jerk and strut 
 that could not be quite flat-footed.- He kissed his hand
 
 6 DIARY AND LETTEES [1788. 
 
 with the air of a petit maitre, and then broke forth into 
 such an harangue of eloges, so solemn with regard to its own 
 weight and importance, and so fade witli respect to the little 
 personage addressed, that I could not help thinking it 
 lucky for the planets, stars, and sun, they were not bound 
 to hear his comments, tJiough obliged to undergo his cal- 
 culations. 
 
 On my part sundry profound reverences, with now and 
 then an ''Oh, monsieur!" or "cest trop dlionneur" acquitted 
 me so well, that the first harangue being finished, on the 
 score of general and grand reputation, eloge the second 
 began, on the excellence with which "cette c^lebre demoiselle" 
 spoke French. 
 
 This may surprise you, my dear friends ; but you must 
 consider M. de Lalande is a great discoverer. 
 
 Well, but had you seen Dr. Shepherd ! he looked lost in 
 sleek delight and wonder, that a person to whom he had 
 introduced M. de Lalande should be an object for such 
 fine speeches. 
 
 This gentleman's figure, meanwhile, corresponds no bet- 
 ter with his discourse than his scientific profession, for 
 he is an ugly little wrinkled old man, with a fine showy 
 waistcoat, rich lace ruffles, and the grimaces of a dentist. 
 I believe he chose to- display that a Frenchman of science 
 could be also a man of gallantry. 
 
 I was seated between them, but the good doctor made 
 no greater interruption to the florid professor than I did 
 myself: he only grinned applause, with placid, but inef- 
 fable satisfaction. 
 
 Nothing therefore intervening, eloge the third followed, 
 after a pause no longer than might be necessary for due 
 admiration of eloge the second. This had for sicjet the fair 
 female sex ; how the ladies were now all improved ; how 
 they could write, and read, and spell ; how a man now-a-
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 7 
 
 days might talk with them and be understood, and how 
 delightful it was to see such pretty creatures turned 
 rational ! 
 
 And all this, of course, interspersed with particular ob- 
 servations and most pointed applications ; nor was there 
 in the whole string of compliments which made up the 
 three bouquets, one single one amongst them that might 
 have disgraced a,nj jx^tit maitre to utter, or smy petite ma%- 
 tresse to hear. 
 
 The third being ended, a rather longer pause ensued. I 
 believe he was dry, but I offered him no tea. I would 
 not voluntarily be accessory to detaining such great per- 
 sonages from higher avocations. I wished him next to go 
 and study the stars : from the moon he seemed so lately 
 arrived there was little occasion for another journey. 
 
 I flatter myself he was of the same opinion, for the 
 fourth eloge was all upon his unhappiness in tearing him- 
 self away from so much merit, and ended in as many bows 
 as had accompanied his entrance. 
 
 I suppose, in going, he said, with a shrug, to the canon, 
 "31. le Docteur, c est hien genant, mais il faut dire desjolies 
 choses aux dames ! " 
 
 I was obliged on my return to the tea-room to undergo 
 much dvill raillery from my fair companion, and much of 
 wonder that " since the canon had soch good preferment " 
 I did not " marry him at once," for he " would not come so 
 often if he did not want it." 
 
 Tuesday, August 18th. — The Duke of York's birthday 
 was kept this day, instead of Saturday, that Sunday morn- 
 ing might not interfere with the ball. 
 
 The Prince of Wales arrived early, while I was yet with 
 the Queen. He kissed her hand, and she - sent for the 
 Princesses. Only Princess Elizabeth and Princess Sophia 
 were dressed. Her Majesty went into the next room with
 
 8 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 Mrs. Sandys, to have her shoes put on, with which she 
 always finislies. The Prince and Princesses then chatted 
 away most fluently. Princess Elizabeth frequently ad- 
 dressed me with great sweetness ; but the Prince only with 
 curious eyes. Do not, however, understand that his looks 
 were either haughty or impertinent ; far from it ; they 
 were curious, however, in the extreme. 
 • The rest of the day was almost all devoted to dressing 
 and attendance, except a dinner, an afternoon, a tea, and 
 an evening tete-a-tete ! 
 
 I had a most restless and feverish night, attempting to 
 lie down at twelve o'clock and rising at four. The Queen 
 came home from the Castle, where the ball and supper 
 were given, about five ; and at six I again laid down till 
 near ei"ht. 
 
 O 
 
 For the remainder of this month we had General Bude, 
 Colonel Manners, and Mr. Bunbury, on visits most of the 
 time to aid the Equerry in Waiting, Colonel Goldsworthy. 
 
 Everybody was full of Mr. Fairly's appointment, and 
 spoke of it with pleasure. General Bude had seen him in 
 town; where he had remained some days to take the oaths, 
 I believe, necessary for his place. General Bude has long 
 been intimate with him, and spoke of his character exactly 
 as it lias appeared to me ; and Colonel Goldsworthy, who 
 was at Westminster with him, declared he believed a better 
 man did not exist. " This, in particular," cried General 
 Bude, " I must say of Fairly : whatever he thinks right he 
 pursues straightforward ; and I believe there is not a sac- 
 rifice upon earth that he would not make, rather than turn 
 a moment out of the path that he had an opinion it was 
 his duty to keep in." 
 
 They talked a good deal of his late lady ; none of them
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 9 
 
 knew her "but very slightly, as she was remarkably re- 
 served. " More than reserved," cried General Bade, " she 
 was quite cold. Yet she loved London and public life, 
 and Fairly n^ver had any taste for them ; in that they were 
 very mal assortie, but in all other things very happy." 
 
 " Yes," cried Colonel Goldsworthy, " and how shall we 
 give praise enougli to a man that would be happy himself, 
 and make his wife so too, for all that difference of opinion ? 
 for it was all his management, and good address, and good 
 temper. I hardly know such another man." 
 
 General Bude then related many circumstances of his 
 most exemplary conduct during the illness of his poor suf- 
 fering wife, and after her loss ; everybody, indeed, upon 
 the occasion of this new appointment, has broke forth 
 to do justice to his deserving it. Mrs. Ariana Egerton, who 
 came twice to drink tea with me on my being senza Cerbera, 
 told me that her brother-in-law. Colonel Masters, who had 
 served with him at Gibraltar, protested there was not an 
 officer in the army of a nobler and higher character, both 
 professional and personal. 
 
 She asked me a thousand questions of what I thought 
 about Miss Fuzilier ? She dislikes her so very much, she 
 cannot bear to think of her becoming Mrs. Fairly. She 
 has met with some marks of contempt from her in their 
 of&cial meetings at St. James's, that cannot be pardoned. 
 Miss Fuzilier, indeed, seemed to me formerly, when I used 
 to meet her in company, to have an uncertainty of dispo- 
 sition that made her like two persons ; now haughty, 
 silent, and supercilious — and then gentle, composed, and 
 interesting. She is, however, very little liked, the worst 
 being always what most spreads abroad. 
 
 The Queen was all graciousness, unmixed, to me, during 
 this recess of La Compagne ; whenever she did not attend
 
 10 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 the early prayers she almost regularly gave to me their 
 time, coming to my room, and there staying till the King 
 returned. She lent me books, talked them over, and 
 opened upon a thousand confidential topics ; and the 
 excellence of her understanding and acuteuess of her 
 observation never fail to make all discourse with her lively 
 and informing. 
 
 I saw all I could see of my poor Mrs. Astley, who is 
 settled, by way of keeping the house, in the loved mansion 
 of the most venerable and perfect of human beings — hu- 
 man now no longer — but perfect, I trust, with a per- 
 fection above our comprehension ! Nothing, however, is 
 yet arranged as to her pension, &c., which grieves and dis- 
 tresses me beyond measure. 
 
 September 4th. — To-day there was a drawing-room, 
 and I had the blessing of my dearest father while it lasted ; 
 but not sohts — he was accompanied by my mother; and 
 my dear Esther and her little innocent Sophy spent part 
 of the time with us. I am to be god-mother to the two 
 little ones, Esther's and James's. Heaven bless them ! 
 
 "We returned to Kew to a late dinner ; and, indeed, I 
 had one of the severest evenings .1 ever passed, where my 
 heart took no share in unkindness and injustice. I was 
 wearied in the extreme, as I always am on these drawing- 
 room days, which begin with full hair-dressing at six 
 o'clock in the morning, and hardly ever allow any break- 
 fast time, and certainly only standing, except while frizzing, 
 till the drawing-room commences ; and then two journeys 
 in that decked condition — and then another dressing, with 
 three dressing attendances — and a dinner at near seven 
 o'clock. 
 \ Yet, not having power to be very amusing after all this, 
 
 I was sternly asked by Mrs. Schwellenberg, " For what I 
 did not talk ? " I answered simply, " Because I was tired."
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 11 
 
 " You tired ! — what have you done ? when I used to do 
 so much more — you tired ! what have you to do but to be 
 happy ? — have you the laces to buy ? have you the ward- 
 robe to part ? have you — you tired ? Veil, what will 
 become next, when you have every happiness ! — you 
 might not be tired. No, I can't bear it." f\ 
 
 This, and so much more than it would be possible to 
 write, all uttered with a haughtiness and contempt that the 
 lowest servant could not have brooked receiving, awoke 
 me pretty completely, though before I was scarce able to 
 keep my eyelids a moment open ; but so sick I turned, 
 that indeed it was neither patience nor effort that enabled 
 me to hear her : I had literally hardly strength, mental or 
 bodily, to have answered her. Every happiness mine ! — 
 gracious heaven ! thought I, and is this the companion 
 of my leisure — the associate of my life ! Ah, my dear 
 friends, I will not now go on — I turn sick again. 
 
 I kept on no more journal till my most loved friends ar- 
 rived, the 10th of this month, and departed, the 16th. Oh, 
 they will here see, by those last few words, how seasonable 
 was their sweet visit ; how necessary to cheer the mournful 
 murmurings of such a livelong life. 
 
 September 22nd. — This day w^as all dressing again, to 
 commemorate the Coronation. I hate the parade and 
 trouble of these days, but must surely bear it, for a memo- 
 rial of the period that gave us such a King — so good he 
 is, so benevolent, so disinterested, so amiable. 
 
 All are in preparation for Princess Eoyal, whose birth- 
 day concludes this month ; that is, keeping it one day, and 
 resting from it another. 
 
 September 27th. — Mrs. Schwellenberg not being well 
 enough to come down to tea, I invited Madame de la Fite, 
 as I knew there would be a larger party to be ready for 
 Monday's birthday. And, accordingly, added to Colonel
 
 12 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 Goldsworthy, who has now his three months' waiting, were 
 General Bucle, Mr. Blomberg, and Colonel Welbred. It 
 quite lightened me to see this last, and he was more lively 
 and animated than usual. He took- his old seat, Mr. Tur- 
 bulent not being present, and gave me a full history how 
 he had passed his summer ; which, as usual, was in follow- 
 ing up beautiful prospects, and bringing home their prin- 
 cipal points. 
 
 He had been also, he said, to Cheltenham, since our 
 departure : " And there I was very happy to see liow beau- 
 tiful a view you had from your room upstairs." I laughed 
 heartily, and asked " How he should know my room ? " 
 
 " I know both your rooms," he cried. " It would be 
 hard to say which was least worth your knowing," cried I, 
 " for one was a garret, the other a store-room." 
 
 " Yes, I was sorry for your parlor, but above-stairs the 
 view might compensate for the smallness of the apart- 
 ment." He told' me the house was now shown to all 
 travellers, with the names of every inhabitant during the 
 Eoyal visit. 
 
 September 29th. — The birthday of our lovely eldest 
 Princess. It happens to be also the birthday of Miss 
 Goldsworthy ; and her Majesty, in a sportive humor, bid 
 me, as soon as she was dressed, go and bring down the two 
 " Michaelmas geese." I told the message to the Princess 
 Augusta, who repeated it in its proper words. I attended 
 them to the Queen's dressing-room, and there had the 
 pleasure to see the cadeaux presentations. The birth- 
 days in this house are made extremely interesting at the 
 moment, by the reciprocations of presents and congratula- 
 tions in this affectionate family. Were they but attended 
 with less of toil (I hate to add cite, for I am sure it is not 
 little toil), I should like them amazingly. 
 
 At noon I received a note from Mrs. Majendie, begging
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 13 
 
 a hint how to cotae dressed, as Mrs. Schwellenberg had 
 invited her to dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg being too much indisposed to come 
 downstairs, I could not but marvel at her not acquainting 
 me she had invited company to the table of which, per- 
 force, I must be deputy-receiver. However, the marvel 
 rested not here ; for when dinner wai called, and I opened 
 my door to be ready to follow Mrs. Majendie, as she 
 descended from making her compliments upstairs to Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg — not Mrs. Majendie alone had I to follow 
 — Mr. and Mrs. Majendie, Miss Goldsworthy, Madame 
 la rite, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, Miss Mawr, Mr. Turbulent, 
 and Mdlle. Montmoulin. 
 
 I disguised my surprise at this great group as well as 
 I could, lest to them it should prove as awkward as to 
 me ; and I passed them, to take my seat, with all the 
 ease I could assume. But I think it was a tolerable 
 stroke of power, to invite such a party to a table at 
 which another must preside, without the slightest hint of 
 her purpose. 
 
 The dinner, however, was cheerful and lively : they were 
 all intimate with one another, and none pretended to be 
 saddened at the absence. 
 
 September 30th. — This month concluded with a very 
 singular confidence. I had a private visit from Miss 
 Mawr : she came to borrow a book to while away some 
 of the time she spent in waiting till Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 could receive her, who always summoned her some time 
 before she was ready. But she besought me not to men- 
 tion she had called ; " For, to tell you the truth," she said, 
 " I should never be forgiven if it was known I called for 
 a moment ! " 
 
 I could not doubt the truth of this, though its plainness 
 surprised me ; but she said, relying on my honor, she must
 
 14 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 tell me something more, that had struck her with such an 
 indignation for me she could not conceal it. The day 
 before, when all her comj)any was assembled upstairs, 
 before dinner, she publicly asked Miss Goldsworthy to do 
 the honors of her table, as she was not well enough to do 
 them herself ! 
 
 " I was quite glad,"«she added, " that you knew nothing 
 of it, and so passed on so innocently to your proper place ; 
 and I 'm sure they were all glad, for everybody stared. 
 But I must beg you never so much as to say I ever called 
 upon you, for she can't bear it ! she 's so jealous. And 
 now I must go ! for if she should hear me here she '11 never 
 forgive it, and she 's always listening what voices she can 
 hear in your room." 
 
 She then confessed she often thought me strangely used 
 in many ways, and slighted, and contradicted, and dealt 
 with very rudely, but it was all from jealousy, and so must 
 be passed over. Yet she owned, for herself, it was a life 
 not to be endured ; that the greatest penance she ever suf- 
 fered was making these visits, which, also, she never con- 
 sented to till she had refused as often as she dared. 
 
 Something there is, I know not what, of unhappy obliga- 
 tion to her, that compels this intercourse ; but she assured 
 me, were it of a sort to last, she should break it, to live on 
 bread and water in preference ! and she pitied me, with a 
 good-nature that quite made me friends with her, for so 
 sad a lot as falling into such hands. 
 
 To live upon bread and water — ah ! were that my only 
 difficulty ! 
 
 I am glad, however, I did not know this intended af- 
 front ; it would higlily have embarrassed me how to act, 
 and I was embarrassed enough without it. Two years 
 ago I should have rejoiced at any proposition that took 
 from me the presidency of the table ; but now, after two
 
 1788.J OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 15 
 
 years keeping it, whenever its first claimant was absent, 
 it would have been a disgrace in the eyes of the whole 
 house to have had it thus suddenly taken away ; and such 
 was its palpable meaning. 
 
 After we all came downstairs, except Miss Mawr, she 
 inquired whether Miss Goldsworthy had sat at the head of 
 the table. Miss Mawr was afraid to answer, and she asked 
 "Westerhaults, who said No ; and she expressed great anger 
 and displeasure that her commands were thus disregarded 
 at her own table ! 
 
 She felt, however, too strongly, that she here attempted 
 an exertion of caprice and power beyond her right, to ven- 
 ture at speaking of it to me ; she knew it was a trial of 
 tyranny as unauthorized as it was unprovoked, and that it 
 could not stand the test of resistance even from the person 
 whom she thinks an object for her to trample upon. She 
 has become, however, both colder and fiercer ever since : 
 I cannot now even meet her eyes — they are almost ter- 
 rifying. 
 
 Nothing upon earth having passed between us, nor the 
 most remote subject of offence having occurred, I have 
 only one thing on which to rest my conjectures, for the 
 cause of this newly-awakened evil spirit, and this is from 
 the gentlemen. They had all of late been so wearied that 
 they could not submit even for a quarter of an hour to her 
 society : they had swallowed a dish of tea and quitted the 
 room all in five minutes, and Colonel Goldsworthy in par- 
 ticular, when without any companion in his waiting, had 
 actually always fallen asleep, even during that short inter- 
 val, or at least shut his eyes, to save himself the toil of 
 speaking. 
 
 This she brooked very ill, but I was esteemed innocent, 
 and therefore made, occasionally, the confidant of her com- 
 plaints. But lately, that she has been ill, and kept up-
 
 16 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 stairs every night, she has always desired me to come to 
 lier as soon as tea was over, which, she observed, " need 
 not keep me five minutes." On tlie contrary, however, 
 the tea is now at least an hour, and often more. 
 
 I have been constantly received with reproaches for not 
 coming sooner, and compelled to declare I had not been 
 sooner at liberty. This has occasioned a deep and visible 
 resentment, all against them, yet vented upon me, not in 
 acknowledged displeasure — pride there interfered — but 
 in constant ill-humor, ill-breeding, and ill-will. At length, 
 however, she has broken out into one inquiry, which, if 
 favorably answered, naight have appeased all ; but truth 
 was too strongly in the way. A few evenings after her 
 confinement she gravely said, " Colonel Goldsworthy al- 
 ways sleeps with me ! sleeps he with you the same ? " In 
 the midst of all my irksome discomfort, it was with diffi- 
 culty I could keep my countenance at this question, which 
 I was forced to negative. 
 
 The next evening she repeated it. " A^^ell, sleeps he yet 
 with you — Colonel Goldsworthy ? " " Not yet, ma'am," I 
 hesitatingly answered. " ! ver veil ! he will sleep with 
 nobody but me I 0, I von't come down." And a little 
 while after she added, " I believe he vill marry you ! " 
 " I believe not, ma'am," I answered. And then, very 
 gravely, she proposed him to me, saying he only wanted 
 a little encouragement, for he was always declaring he 
 wished for a wife, and yet wanted no fortune — " so for 
 what won't you not have him ? " I assured her we were both 
 perfectly well satisfied apart, and equally free from any 
 thoughts of each other. "Then for what," she cried, 
 " won't you have Dr. Shepherd ? " 
 
 She is now in the utmost haste to dispose of me ! and 
 then she added she had been told that Dr. Shepherd would 
 marry me ! She is an amazing woman ! Alas, I might
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. l7 
 
 have told her I knew too well what it was to be tied 
 to a companion ill-assorted and unbeloved, where I could 
 not help myself, to make any such experiment as a vol- 
 unteer ! 
 
 If she asks me any more about Colonel Goldsworthy 
 and his sleeping, I tliink I M'ill answer I am too near- 
 sighted to be sure if he is awake or not ! However, I 
 cannot but take this stroke concerning the table extremely 
 ill ; for though amongst things of the very least conse- 
 quence in itself, it is more openly designed as an affront 
 than any step that has been taken with me yet. I have 
 given the Colonel a hint, however — that he may keep 
 awake in future. 
 
 Perhaps a part of this increased ill-will may arise from 
 my having been of the Cheltenham party, where she could 
 not go, from want of room for her four servants. And 
 however little I mav have to do with these regulations, I 
 am quite the most convenient person to receive the ill 
 fruits of her disappointments. Well, the month is passed, 
 however, and here ends its recital. 
 
 October 2nd. — What a sweet noon had I this day — 
 my beloved father, my tender Susanna, my little darling 
 Fanny ! — How should I love the drawing-room days, with 
 all their toil, had they more frequently such cheers. Dear- 
 est, dearest Susanna ! Oh, how my heart dwelt upon the 
 little sight all the rest of the softened day ! And I had 
 leisure for repose to the poor mind, since I returned to 
 Kew senza Cerhera. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg, very -ill indeed, took leave of the 
 Queen at St. James's, to set off for W^eymouth, in com- 
 pany with Mrs. Hastings. I was really very sorry for her ; 
 she was truly in a situation of suffering, from bodily pain, 
 the most pitiable. I thought, as I looked at her, that if 
 the ill-humors I so often experience could relieve her, I 
 
 VOL. II. 2
 
 18 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 would consent to bear them unrepining, in preference to 
 seeing or knowing her so ill. But it is just the contrary ; 
 spleen and ill-temper only aggravate disease, and while 
 they involve others in temporary participation of their 
 misery, twine it around themselves in bandages almost sta- 
 tionary. She was civil, too, poor woman. I suppose when 
 absent she could not well tell why she had ever been other- 
 wise. 
 
 Windsor, October 9th. — I go on now pretty well; and 
 I am so much acquainted with my party, that when no 
 strangers are added, I begin to mind nothing but the first 
 entree of my male visitants. My Royal mistress is all 
 sweetness to me ; Miss Planta is most kind and friendly ; 
 General Bude is ever the same, and ever what I do not 
 wish to alter ; Colonel Goldsworthy seems coming round to 
 good-humor ; and even General Grenville begins to grow 
 sociable. He has quitted the corner into which he used to 
 cast his long figure, merely to yawn and lounge ; and 
 though yawn and lounge he does still, and must, I believe, 
 to the end of the chapter, he yet does it in society, and 
 •mixes between it loud sudden laughter at what is occa- 
 sionally said, and even here and there a question relative 
 to what is going forward. Nay — yesterday he even seated 
 himself at the tea-table, and amused himself by playing 
 with my work-box, and making sundry inquiries about its 
 contents. 
 
 So now, I believe, I am entered into good-fellowship 
 with them all. I have also a good deal of leisure, and it is 
 quiet and uncontrolled. So, altogether, things never have 
 been smoother, though serenity cannot well have less of 
 interest in it. Serenity, however, it is, and gratefully I 
 welcome it. 
 
 October 10th. — This evening, most unwittingly, I put 
 my new neighbor's good-humor somewhat to the test. He
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY, 19 
 
 asked me whether I had walked out in the morning ? Yes, 
 I answered, I always walked. " And in the Little Park ? " 
 cried he. Yes, I said, and to Old Windsor, and round the 
 park wall, and along the banks of the Tham'es, and almost 
 to Beaumont Lodge, and in the avenue of the Great Park, 
 and in short, in all the vicinage of Windsor. " But in the 
 Little Park ? " he cried. Still I did not understand him, 
 but plainly answered, " Yes, this morning ; and indeed 
 many mornings." " But did you see nothing — remark 
 nothing there ? " " Xo, not that I recollect, except some 
 soldiers drilling." You never heard such a laugh as now 
 broke forth from all — for, alas for my poor eyes, there 
 had been in the Little Park General Grenville's whole 
 regiment, with all his officers, and himself at their head ! 
 Fortunately it is reckoned one of the finest in the King's 
 service : this I mentioned, adding that else I could never 
 again appear before him. 
 
 He affected to be vehemently affronted, but hardly knew 
 how, even in joke, to appear so ; and all the rest helped the 
 matter on, by saying they should know now how to distin- 
 guish his regiment, which henceforth must always be called 
 " the drill. " The truth is, as soon as I perceived a few 
 red-coats I had turned another way, to avoid being marched 
 at, and therefore their number and splendor had all been 
 thrown away upon me. 
 
 Sunday, 12th. — At the cathedral this morning the 
 good Mdlle. Montmoulin told me she had just got thirteen 
 Swiss friends who were come to Windsor to see'her, and 
 they all would like to see me. I made my excuse pretty 
 honestly, but she urged me to do it with a simplicity very 
 amusing, crying, " Oh, if you won't know my friends, you 
 don't love me ! my dear Miss Burney ! and that is very a 
 little ingrate, for I love you so moch ! 'pon m'honneur, my 
 dear Miss Burney ! "
 
 20 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 * 
 
 Still I assured her I could not encounter so many stran- 
 gers. " Well, look then, now, and they .will see you a 
 littel!" I told her I could not distinguish them across 
 the cathedral. 
 
 " Oh, " she said, " you have such short eyes ! " 
 
 I have made Madame la -Fite very happy by inviting her 
 for next Friday evening to tea, to meet Mr. Fairly. He is 
 the only person of the establishment that she thinks lias 
 any merit beyond the chace ; and she can never forget his 
 having said of her, just before we went to Cheltenham, 
 " Why, what have you done to Madame la Fite ? she used 
 to be so prim ! and now she is foremost in conversation. " 
 She is charmed to have a cliauge remarked that she is 
 alwa3^s addressing to me as a compliment, and she says, in 
 return, q^}ie ce M. Fairly a le mime gout, puisque she never 
 remembered him so full of discourse. 
 
 Tuesday, 14th. — This evening I had again one of my 
 old newspaper vexations. I observed my beaux communi- 
 cating something one from the other, but softly, just as 
 they were retiring to the concert-room, Colonel Goldsworthy 
 marched up to my tea-table, and hastily saying "There, 
 ma'am, " he put a newspaper on the table, and hurried out 
 of the room with the greatest speed. 
 
 I read this paragraph : — " The literary silence of Miss 
 Burney at present is much to be regretted. No novelist of 
 the present time has a title to such public commendation 
 as that lady ; her characters are drawn with originality of 
 design and strength of coloring, and her morality is of the 
 purest and most elevated sort. " 
 
 You will say, perhaps. Why be vexed ? Why, my dearest 
 friends, because every mention alarms me ; I know not 
 what may follow; and the original repugnance to being 
 known returns with every panic. Indeed the more and 
 the longer I look around me, the greater appears the danger
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 21 
 
 of all public notice ! Panegjanc is as near to envy as abuse 
 is to disfjrace. 
 
 Friday, October 17th. — The King is not well; he has 
 not been quite well some time, yet nothing I hope alarm- 
 ing, though there' is an uncertainty as to his complaint not 
 very satisfactory ; so precious, too, is his health. 
 
 Saturday, October 18th. — The King was this morning 
 better. My Eoyal mistress told me Sir George Baker 
 was to settle whether we returned to Windsor to-day or 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Sunday, October 19th. —The "Windsor journey is again 
 postponed, and the King is but very indifferent. Heaven 
 preserve him ! there is something unspeakably alarming in 
 his smallest indisposition. 
 
 I am very much with the Queen, who, I see, is very 
 uneasy, but she' talks not of it. She reads Hunter's 
 " Discourses, " and talks chiefly upon them. 
 
 I showed her to-day an excellent and very original letter 
 I have received from good Mr. Hutton ; but he concludes 
 it, " I am, dear miss, your affectionate humble servant. " 
 
 " Affectionate ? " she repeated, " I did not know he was 
 so tender. " 
 
 We are to stay here some time longer, and so imprepared 
 were we for more than a day to two, that our distresses are 
 prodigious, even for clothes to wear ; and as to books, there 
 are not three amongst us ; and for company, only Mr. de 
 Luc and Miss Planta ; and so, in mere desperation for em- 
 ployment, I have just begun a tragedy. We are now in so 
 spiritless a situation that ray mind would bend to nothing- 
 less sad, even in fiction. But I am very glad something 
 of this kind has occurred to me ; it may while away 
 the tediousness of this unsettled, unoccupied, unpleasant 
 period.
 
 22 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 Monday, October 20th. — The King was taken very ill 
 in the night, and we have all been cruelly frightened ; but 
 it went off, and, thank Heaven ! he is now better. 
 
 I had all my morning devoted to receiving inquiring 
 visits. Lady Effingham, Sir George Howard, Lady Frances 
 Howard, all came from Stoke to obtain news of the King ; 
 his least illness spreads in a moment. 
 
 Mr. Turbulent has been sent for, and he enlivens the 
 scene somewhat. He is now all he should be, and so al- 
 tered ! scarce a flight left. He has opened his mind to me 
 very much with regard to his affairs, &c., and this is a 
 species of confidence I encourage to the utmost : it has 
 that style of friendliness that interests with propriety, and 
 it gives safe yet animating matter for tete-^-tetes, and 
 those are unavoidable at times, situated as we now are. 
 
 Tuesday, Oct. 21st. — The good and excellent King is 
 again better, and we expect to remove to Windsor in a day 
 or two. 
 
 Thursday, Oct. 23rd. — The King continues to mend, 
 thank God ! Saturday we hope to return to "Windsor. 
 Had not this composition fit seized me, societyless, and 
 bookless, and viewless as I am, I know not how I could 
 have whiled away my being ; but my tragedy goes on, and 
 fills up all vacancies. 
 
 Saturday, Oct. 25th. — Yesterday was so much the 
 same, I have not marked it ; not so to-dav. The King was 
 so much better that our Windsor journey at length took 
 place, with permission of Sir George Baker, the only phy- 
 sician his Majesty will admit. Miss Cambridge was with 
 me to the last moment. 
 
 I have been hanging up a darling remembrance of my 
 revered, incomparable Mrs. Delany. Her Saccharissa is 
 now over my chimney. I could not at first bear it, but 
 now I look at it, and call her back to my mind's eye per-
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 23 
 
 petually. This, like the tragedy I have set about, suits 
 the turn of things in this habitation. 
 
 I had a sort of conference with his Majesty, or rather 
 I was the object to whom he spoke, with a manner so un- 
 common, that a high fever alone could account for it ; a 
 rapidity, a hoarseness of voice, a volubility, an earnestness 
 — a vehemence, rather — it startled me inexpressibly ; yet 
 with a graciousness exceeding even aU I ever met with 
 before — it was almost kindness ! 
 
 Heaven — Heaven preserve him! The Queen grows 
 more and more uneasy. She alarms me sometimes for 
 herself, at other times she has a sedateness that aston- 
 ishes me still more. 
 
 I commune now with my dearest friends every morning, 
 upon the affairs of the preceding day. Alas ! how little 
 can I commune with them in any other way ! 
 
 Sunday, Oct. 26th. — The King was prevailed upon not 
 to go to chapel this morning. I met him in the passage 
 from the Queen's room ; he stopped me, and conversed 
 upon his health near half an hour, still with that extreme 
 quickness of speech and manner that belongs to fever ; and 
 he hardly sleeps, he tells me, one minute all night ; indeed, 
 if he recovers not his rest, a most delirious fever seems to 
 threaten him. He is all agitation, all emotion, yet all 
 benevolence and goodness, even to a degree that makes it 
 touching to hear him speak. He assures everybody of his 
 health ; he seems only fearful to give uneasiness to others, 
 yet certainly he is better than last night. Nobody speaks 
 of his illness, nor what they think of it. 
 
 The Bishop of Peterborough is made Dean of Durham, 
 and I am glad, for old acquaintance sake. 
 
 Oct. 29th. — The dear and good King again gains 
 ground, and the Queen becomes easier. 
 
 To-day Miss Planta told me she heard Mr. Fairly -was
 
 24 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1783. 
 
 confined at Sir E F 's, and therefore she would 
 
 now lay any wager he was to marry Miss F . In the 
 
 evening I inquired what news of him of General Bud^ : 
 he told me he was still confined at a friend's house, but 
 avoided naming where — probably from suggesting that, 
 however little truth there may yet have been in the report, 
 more may belong to it from this particular intercourse. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 1st. — Our King does not advance in 
 amendment ; he grows so weak that he walks like a gouty 
 man, yet has such spirits that he has talked away his voice, 
 and is so hoarse it is painful to hear him. The Queen is 
 evidently iii great uneasiness. God send hira better I 
 
 She read to me to-day a lecture of Hunter's. 
 
 During the reading this morning, twice, at pathetic pas- 
 sages, my poor Queen shed tears. " How nervous I am ! " 
 she cried ; " I am quite a fool ! Don't you think so ? " 
 " No, ma'am ! " was all I dared answer. She revived, how- 
 ever, finished the lecture, and went upstairs and played 
 upon the Princess Augusta's harpsichord. 
 
 The King was hunting. Her anxiety for his return was 
 greater than ever. The moment he arrived he sent a page 
 to desire to have coffee and take his bark in the Queen's 
 dressing-room. She said she would pour it out herself, and 
 sent to inquire how he drank it. 
 
 The King is very sensible of the great change there is in 
 himself, and of her disturbance at it. It seems, but Heaven 
 avert it ! a threat of a total breaking up of the constitu- 
 tion. This, too, seems his own idea. I was present at his 
 first seeing Lady Effingham on his return to Windsor this 
 last time. " j\Iy dear Effy," he cried, " you see me, all at 
 once, an old man." 
 
 I was so much affected by this exclamation, that I wished 
 to run out of the room. Yet I could not but recover when 
 Lady Effingham, in her well-meaning but literal way, com-
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 25 
 
 posedly answered, " We must all grow old, sir ; I am sure 
 I do." He then produced a walking-stick which he had 
 just ordered. " He could not," he said, " get on without it ; 
 his strength seemed diminishing hourly." 
 
 He took the bark, he said ; " But the Queen" he cried, 
 " is my physician, and no man need have a better ; she is 
 my Friend, and no man can have a better." How the 
 Queen commanded herself I cannot conceive ; but there was 
 something so touching in this speech, from his hoarse voice 
 and altered countenance, that it overset me very much. 
 
 Nor can I ever forget him in what passed this night. 
 When I came to the Queen's dressing-room he was still 
 with her. He constantly conducts her to it before he 
 retires to his own. He was begging her not to speak to 
 him when he got to his room, that he might fall asleep, a3 
 he felt great want of that refreshment. He repeated this 
 desire, I believe, at least a hundred times, though, far 
 enough from needing it, the poor Queen never uttered one 
 syllable ! He then applied to me, saying he was really 
 very well, except in that one particular, that he could not 
 sleep. 
 
 The kindness and benevolence of his manner all this 
 time was most penetrating : he seemed to have no anxiety 
 but to set the Queen at rest, and no wish but to quiet and 
 give pleasure to all around him. To me he never yet spoke 
 with such excess of benignity : he appeared even solicitous 
 to satisfy me that he should do well, and to spare all alarm ; 
 but there was a huriy in his manner and voice that indi- 
 cated sleep to be indeed wanted. Nor could I, all night, 
 forbear foreseeing " He sleeps now, or to-morrow he will 
 be surely delirious ! " 
 
 Sunday, November 2nd. — The King was better, and 
 prevailed upon to give up going to the early prayers. The 
 Queen and Princesses went. After they were gone, and I
 
 26 • DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 was following towards my room, the King called after me, 
 and he kept me in discourse a full half-hour ; nearly all 
 the time they were away. 
 
 It was all to the same purport ; that he was well, bu't 
 wanted more rest ; yet he said he had slept the last night 
 like a child. But his manner, still, was so touchingiy 
 kind, so softly gracious, that it doubled my concern to see 
 him so far from well. 
 
 Monday, November 3rd. — The birthday of the Princess 
 Sophia. I had received the beautiful birthday offering 
 yesterday from my Fredy, and this morning I carried 
 it to the Lower Lodge, where it was very prettily wel- 
 comed. 
 
 I have exerted myself to do the honors a little in the 
 establishment on Saturday next the 8th, for the Princess 
 Augusta's birthday. I have invited Miss Gomme and 
 Mdlle. Montmoulin to dinner, and poor Madame la Pite, 
 who is also to stay the evening. For me, this is being very 
 grand ; but the truth is, I find it wholly expected amongst 
 the household on the elder birthdays. 
 
 However, we are all here in a most uneasy state. The 
 King is better and worse so frequently, and changes so, 
 daily, backwards and forwards, that everything is to be 
 apprehended, if his nerves are not some way quieted. I 
 dreadfully fear he is on the eve of some severe fever. The 
 Queen is almost overpowered with some secret terror. I 
 am affected beyond all expression in her presence, to see 
 what struggles she makes to support serenity. To-day she 
 gave up the conflict when I was alone with her, and burst 
 into a violent fit of tears. It was very, very terrible to 
 see ! How did I wish her a Susan or a Fredy ! To un- 
 burthen her loaded mind would be to relieve it from all 
 but inevitable afflictioij. Oh, may Heaven in its mercy 
 never, never drive me to that solitary anguish more ! — I
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 27 
 
 have tried what it would do ; I speak from bitter recollec- 
 tion of past melancholy experience. 
 
 Sometimes she walks up and down the room without 
 uttering a word, but shaking her head frequently, and in 
 evident distress and irresolution. She is often closeted with 
 Miss Goldsworthy, of whom, I believe, she makes inquiry 
 how her brother has found the King, from time to time. 
 
 The Princes both came to Kew, in several visits to the 
 King. The Duke of York has also been here, and his 
 fond father could hardly bear the pleasure of thinking 
 him anxious for his health. "So good," he says, "is 
 Frederick ! " 
 
 To-night, indeed, at tea-time, I felt a great shock, in 
 hearing from General Bud(^, that Dr. Heberden had been 
 called in. It is true more assistance seemed much want- 
 ing, yet the King's rooted aversion to physicians makes 
 any new-comer tremendous. They said, too, it was merely 
 for counsel, not that his Majesty was worse. 
 
 Ah, my dearest friends ! I have no more fair running 
 journal : I kept not now even a memorandum for some 
 time, but I made them by recollection afterwards, and very 
 fully, for not a circumstance could escape a memory that 
 seems now to retain nothing but present events. 
 
 I will copy the sad period, however, for my Susan and 
 Fredy will wish to know how it passed ; and, though the 
 very prospect of the task involuntarily dejects me, a thou- 
 sand things are connected with it that must make all that 
 can follow unintelligible without it. 
 
 Tuesday, November 4th. — Passed much the same as 
 the days preceding it ; the Queen in deep distress, the 
 King in a state almost incomprehensible, and all the house 
 uneasy and alarmed. The drawing-room was again put off, 
 and a steady residence seemed fixed at Windsor.
 
 28 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 Wednesday, November 5th. — Oh dreadful day ! My 
 very heart has so sickened in looking over my memoran- 
 dums, that I was forced to go to other employments. I 
 will not, however, omit its narration. 'T is too interesting 
 ever to escape my own memory, and my dear friends have 
 never yet had the beginning of the thread which led 
 to all the terrible scenes of which they have variously 
 heard. 
 
 I found my poor Eoyal mistress, in the morning, sad and 
 sadder still ; something horrible seemed impending, and I 
 saw her whole resource was in religion. We had talked 
 lately much upon solemn subjects, and she appeared 
 already preparing herself to be resigned for whatever 
 might happen. 
 
 I was still wholly unsuspicious of the greatness of the 
 cause she had for dread. Illness, a breaking up of the con- 
 stitution, the payment of sudden infirmity and premature 
 old age for the waste of unguarded health and strength — 
 these seemed to me the threats awaiting her; and great 
 and grievous enough, yet how short of the fact ! 
 
 I had given up my walks some days ; I was too uneasy 
 to quit the house while the Queen remained at home, and 
 she now never left it. Even Lady Effingham, the last two 
 days, could not obtain admission ; she could only hear from 
 a page how the Royal Family went on. 
 
 At noon the King went out in his chaise, with the Prin- 
 cess -Royal, for an airing. I looked from my window to 
 see him ; he was all smiling benignity, but gave so many 
 orders to the postilions, and got in and out of the carriage 
 twice, with such agitation, that again my fear of a great 
 fever hanging over him grew more and more powerful. 
 Alas ! how little did I imagine I should see him no more 
 for so long — so black a period ! 
 
 When I went to my poor Queen, still worse and worse
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 29 
 
 I found her spirits. She had been greatly offended by 
 some anecdote in a newspaper — the "Morning Herald" — 
 relative to the King's indisposition. She declared the 
 printer should be called to account. She bid me burn the 
 paper, and ruminated upon who could be employed to rep- 
 resent to the editor that he must answer at his peril any 
 further such treasonable paragraphs. I named to her Mr. 
 Fairly, her own servant, and one so peculiarly fitted for 
 any office requiring honor and discretion. " Is he here 
 then ? " she cried. " No," I answered, but he was expected 
 in a few days. I saw her concurrence with this proposal. 
 The Princess Royal soon returned. She came in cheerfully, 
 and gave, in German, a history of the airing, and one that 
 seemed comforting. Soon after, suddenly arrived the 
 Prince of Wales. He came into the room. He had just 
 quitted Brighthelmstone. Something passing within 
 seemed to render this meeting awfully distant on both 
 sides. She asked if he should not return to Brighthelm- 
 stone ? He answered yes, the next day. He desired to 
 speak with her ; they retired together. 
 
 I had but just reached my own room, deeply musing on 
 the state of things, when a chaise stopped at the rails ; and 
 I saw Mr. Fairly and his son Charles alight, and enter the 
 house. He walked lamely, and seemed not yet recovered 
 from his late attack. 
 
 Though most happy to see him at this alarming time, 
 when I knew he could be most useful, as there is no one to 
 whom the Queen opens so confidentially upon her affairs, 
 I had yet a fresh start to see, by his anticipated arrival, 
 though still lame, that he must have been sent for and 
 hurried hither. 
 
 Only Miss Planta dined with me. We were both nearly 
 silent : I was shocked at I scarcely knew what, and she 
 seemed to know too much for speech. She stayed with me
 
 30 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 till six o'clock, but nothing passed, beyond general solici- 
 tude that the King might get better. 
 
 To keep my promise with Madame la Fite, I made 
 Columb go and watch her coming to Princess Elizabeth, 
 and invite her for tea. Meanwhile, a stillness the most 
 uncommon reigned over the whole house. Nobody stirred ; 
 not a voice was heard ; not a motion, I could do nothing 
 but watch, without knowing for what: there seemed a 
 strangeness in the house most extraordinary. At seven 
 o'clock Columb came to tell me that the music was all 
 forbid, and the musicians ordered away ! This was the 
 last step to be expected, so fond as his Majesty is of his 
 Concert, and I thought it might have rather soothed him : 
 I could not understand the prohibition ; all seemed stranger 
 and stranger. 
 
 At eight o'clock Madame la Fite came. She had just 
 left the Princess Elizabeth, and left her very miserable, 
 but knew not w^hy. The Queen, too, she said, was ill. 
 She was herself in the dark, or thought it necessary so to 
 seem. 
 
 Very late came General Bude. He looked extremely 
 imcomf or table. I could have made inquiries of him with 
 ease, as to the order about the Court ; but he loves not 
 to open before poor Madame la Fite. 
 
 Later still came Colonel Goldsworthy : his countenance 
 all gloom, and his voice scarce articulating no or yes. 
 General Grenville was gone to town. General Bude asked 
 me if I had seen Mr. Fairly ; and last of all, at length he 
 also entered. 
 
 How grave he looked ! how shut up in himself ! A 
 silent bow was his only salutation ; how changed I thought 
 it — and how fearful a meeting, so long expected as a 
 solace ! Scarce a word was spoken, except by poor Madame 
 la Fite, who made some few attempts to renew her acquain-
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. . 31 
 
 tance with her favorite, but they were vain. He was all 
 absorbed in distant gravity. 
 
 Colonel Goldsworthy was called away : I heard his voice 
 whispering some time in the passage, but he did not re- 
 turn. Various small speeches now dropped, by which I 
 found the house was all in disturbance, and the King in 
 some strange way worse, and the Queen taken ill. Poor 
 Madame la Pite, disappointed of a long-promised evening, 
 and much disturbed by the general face of things, when she 
 had drank her tea, rose to go. I could not oppose, and Mr. 
 Fairly hastened to help her on with her cloak, and to open, 
 the door. 
 
 A little less guardedly now, the two gentlemen spoke of 
 the state of the house, but in terms so alarming, I had not 
 courage to demand an explanation ; I dreadfully awaited 
 to catch their meaning, gradually, as I could, unasked. At 
 length, General Bude said he would go and see if any one 
 was in the music-room. Mr. Fairly said he thought he 
 had better not accompany him, for as he had not yet been 
 seen, his • appearance might excite fresh emotion. The 
 General agreed and went. We were now alone. But I 
 could not speak : neither did Mr. Fairly ; I worked — I 
 had begun a hassock for my Fredy. A long and serious 
 pause made me almost turn sick with anxious wonder and 
 fear, and an inward trembling totally disabled me from 
 asking the actual situation of things ; if I had not had my 
 work, to employ my eyes and hands, I must have left tlie 
 room to quiet myself I fancy he penetrated into all this, 
 though, at first, he had concluded me informed of every- 
 thing ; but he now, finding me silent, began an inquiry 
 whether I was yet acquainted how bad all was become, 
 and how ill the King ? 
 
 I really had no utterance for very alarm, but my look 
 was probably sufficient ; he kindly saved me any questions,
 
 32 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 and related to me the whole of the mysterious horror! 
 Oh, my dear friends, what a history ! The King, at dinner, 
 had broken forth into positive delirium, which long had 
 been menacing all who saw him most closely ; and the 
 Queen was so overpowered as to fall into violent hysterics. 
 All the Princesses were in misery, and the Prince of Wales 
 had burst into tears. No one knew what was to follow — 
 no one could conjecture the event. 
 
 He spoke of the poor Queen in terms of the most tender 
 compassion ; he pitied her, he said, from the bottom of his 
 soul ; and all her sweet daughters, the lovely Princesses — 
 there was no knowing to what we might look forward for 
 them all ! I was an almost silent listener ; but, having 
 expressed himself very warmly for all the principal suf- 
 ferers, he kindly, and with interest, examined me. " How," 
 he cried, " are you ? Are you strong ? are you stout ? — 
 can you go through such scenes as these ? you do not look 
 much fitted for them." 
 
 " I shall do very well," I cried, " for, at a time such as 
 this, I shall surely forget myself utterly. The Queen will 
 be all to me. I shall hardly, I think, feel myself at liberty 
 to be unhappy ! " 
 
 He was not yet well himself ; he had had an attack of 
 gout upon the road. He had quitted his sister, and, in a 
 visit in the journey back, he was seized. He had the ad- 
 vantage, there, of very good medical help. He got on to 
 town as soon as it was possible, and meant there to have 
 nursed himself well by Saturday, had not the ill accounts 
 from Windsor hastened him hither at once. He stayed 
 with me all the evening, during which we heard no voice, 
 no sound ! all' was deadly still ! At ten o'clock I said, " I 
 must go to my own room, to be in waiting." He deter- 
 mined upon remaining downstairs, in the Equerries' de- 
 partment, there to wait some intelligence. We parted in
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 33 
 
 mutuar expectation of dreadful tidings. In separating, he 
 took my hand, and earnestly recommended me to keep 
 myself stont and firm. 
 
 If this beginning of the night was affecting, what did it 
 not grow afterwards ! Two long hours I waited — alone, 
 in silence, in ignorance, in dread ! I thought they would 
 never be over ; at twelve o'clock I seemed to have spent 
 two whole days in waiting. I then opened my door, to 
 listen, in the passage, if anything seemed stirring. Not a 
 sound could I hear. My apartment seemed wholly sepa- 
 rated from life and motion. Whoever was in the house 
 kept at the other end, and not even a servant crossed the 
 stairs or passage by my rooms. 
 
 I would fain have crept on myself, anywhere in the 
 world, for some inquiry, or to see but a face, and hear a 
 voice, but I did not dare risk losing a sudden summons. 
 
 I re-entered my room, and there passed another endless 
 hour, in conjectures too horrible to relate. A little after 
 one, I heard a step — my door opened — and a page said I 
 must come to the Queen. I could hardly get along — 
 hardly force myself into the room ; dizzy I felt, almost to 
 falling. But the first shock passed, I became more col- 
 lected. Useful, indeed, proved the previous lesson of the 
 evening : it had stilled, if not mortified my mind, which 
 had else, in a scene such as this, been all tumult and emo- 
 tion. 
 
 My poor Eoyal mistress ! never can I forget her coun- 
 tenance — pale, ghastly pale she looked; she was seated 
 to be undressed, and attended by Lady Elizabeth Walde- 
 grave and Miss Goldsworthy ; her whole frame was dis- 
 ordered, yet she was still and quiet. These two ladies 
 assisted me to undress her, or rather I assisted them, for 
 they were firmer, from being longer present ; my shaking 
 hands and blinded eyes could scarce be of any use. I 
 
 VOL. II. 3
 
 34 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 gave her some camphor julep, which had been ordered her 
 by Sir George Baker.^ " How cold I am ! " she cried, and 
 put her hand on mine ; marble it felt ! and went to my 
 heart's core ! 
 
 The King, at the instance of Sir George Baker, had con- 
 sented to sleep in the next apartment, as the Queen was 
 ill. For himself, he would listen to nothing. Accordingly, 
 a bed was put up for him, by his own order, in the Queen's 
 second dressing-room, immediately adjoining to the bed- 
 room. He would not be further removed. Miss Golds- 
 worthy was to sit up with her, by the King's direction. I 
 would fain have remained in the little dressing-room, on 
 the other side of the bed-room, but she would not permit 
 it. She ordered Sandys, her wardrobe-woman, in the place 
 of Mrs. Thielky, to sit up there. Lady EHzabeth also 
 pressed to stay ; but we were desired to go to our own 
 rooms. How reluctantly did I come away ! how hardly to 
 myself leave her ! Yet I went to bed, determined to pre- 
 serve my strength to the utmost of my ability, for the ser- 
 vice of my unhappy mistress. I could not, however, 
 sleep. I do not suppose an eye was closed in the house 
 all night. 
 
 Thursday, [N'ovember 6th. — I rose at six, dressed in 
 haste by candle-light, and unable to wait for my summons 
 in a suspense so awful, I stole along the passage in the 
 dark, a thick fog intercepting all faint light, to see if I 
 could meet with Sandys, or any one, to tell me how the 
 night had passed. 
 
 When I came to the little dressing-room, I stopped, 
 irresolute what to do. I heard men's voices ; I was seized 
 with the most cruel alarm at such a sound in her Majesty's 
 dressing-room. I waited some time, and then the door 
 
 ^ Physician in Ordinary to the King, bom in Devon, 1722, created a 
 baronet in 1766. Died in 1809.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 35 
 
 opened, and I saw Colonel Goldsworthy and Mr. Batters- 
 comb. I was relieved from my first apprehension, yet 
 shocked enough to see them there at this early hour. 
 They had both sat up there all night, as well as Sandys. 
 Every page, both of the King and Queen, had also sat up, 
 dispersed in the passages and ante-rooms ; and what 
 horror in every face I met ! I waited liere amongst them, 
 till Sandys was ordered by the Queen to carry her a pair 
 of gloves. I could not resist the opportunity to venture 
 myself before her. I glided into the room, but stopped at 
 the door : she was in bed, sitting up ; Miss Goldsworthy 
 was on a stool by her side ! I feared approaching without 
 permission, yet could not prevail with myself to retreat. 
 She was looking down, and did not see me. Miss Golds- 
 worthy, turning round, said, " 'T is Miss Burney, ma'am." 
 She leaned her head forward, and in a most soft manner 
 said, " Miss Burney, how are you ? " 
 
 Deeply affected, I hastened up to her, but, in trying to 
 speak, burst into an irresistible torrent of tears. My dear- 
 est friends, I do it at this moment again, and can hardly 
 write for them ; yet I wish you to know all this piercing 
 history right. She looked like death — colorless and wan ; 
 but nature is infectious ; the tears gushed from her own 
 eyes, and a perfect agony of weeping ensued, which, once 
 begun, she could not stop ; she did not, indeed, try ; for 
 when it subsided, and she wiped her eyes, she said, " I 
 thank you, Miss Burney — you have made me cry ; it is a 
 great relief to me — I had not been able to cry before, all 
 this night long ! " 
 
 Oh what a scene followed ! what a scene was related ! 
 The King, in the middle of the night, had insisted upon 
 seeing if his Queen was not removed from the house ; and 
 he had come into her room, witli a candle in his hand, 
 opened the bed-curtains, and satisfied himself she was
 
 V 
 
 36 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 there, and Miss Goldsworthy by her side. This obser- 
 vance of his directions had much soothed him ; but he 
 stayed a full half hour, and the depth of terror during that 
 time no words can paint. The fear of such another en- 
 trance was now so strongly upon the nerves of the poor 
 Queen that she could hardly support herself. 
 
 The King — the Eoyal sufferer — was still in the next 
 room, attended by Sir George Baker and Dr. Heberden, 
 and his pages, with Colonel Goldsworthy occasionally, and 
 as he called for him. He kept talking unceasingly ; his 
 voice was so lost in hoarseness and weakness, it was ren- 
 dered almost inarticulate ; but its tone was still all benevo- 
 lence — all kindness — all touching graciousness. 
 
 It was thought advisable the Queen should not rise, lest 
 the King should be offended that she did not go to him ; 
 at present he was content, because he conceived her to be 
 nursing for her illness. 
 
 But what a situation for her I She would not let me 
 leave her now ; she made me remain in the room, and 
 ordered me to sit down. I was too trembling to refuse. 
 Lady Elizabeth soon joined us. We all three stayed with 
 her ; she frequently bid me listen, to hear what the King 
 was saying or doing. I did, and carried the best accounts 
 I could manage, without deviating from truth, except by 
 some omissions. Nothing could be so afilicting as this 
 task ; even now it brings fresh to my ear his poor ex- 
 hausted voice, " I am nervous," he cried ; " I am not ill ; 
 but I am nervous : if you would know what is tlie matter 
 with me, I am nervous. But I love you both very well ; 
 if you would tell me truth : I love Dr. Heberden best, for 
 he has not told me a lie : Sir George has told me a lie — a 
 white lie, he says, but I hate a white lie ! If you will tell 
 me a lie, let it be a black lie ! " This was what he kept 
 saying almost constantly, mixed in with other matter, but
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 37 
 
 always returning, and in a voice that truly will never 
 cease vibrating in my recollection. 
 
 The Queen permitted me to make her breakfast and 
 attend her, and was so affectingly kind and gentle in her 
 distress, that I felt a tenderness of sorrow for her that 
 almost devoted my whole mind to her alone ! Miss Golds- 
 worthy was a fixture at her side ; I therefore provided her 
 breakfast also. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth was sent out on inquiries of Colonel 
 Goldsworthy, and Mr. Batterscomb, and the pages, every 
 ten minutes ; while I, at the same intervals, was ordered to 
 listen to what passed in the room, and give warning if 
 anything seemed to threaten another entrance. 
 
 The behavior of Lady Elizabeth was a pattern of pro- 
 priety for her situation. She was quiet, gentle, serene, 
 full of respect and attention, and kind concern. She got 
 some breakfast, standing, in the little dressing-room, while 
 waiting for an answer to one of her messages; she wished 
 me to do the same, but I could not eat. She afterwards 
 told the Queen I had had nothing, and I was then ordered 
 to go and make reparation in my room. 
 
 The Queen bid me bring the Prayer-Book and read the 
 morning service to her. I could hardly do it, the poor 
 voice from the next room was so perpetually in my ears. 
 
 You may suppose a thousand things to be said and to 
 pass that I never would write ; all I have put down was 
 known to other witnesses. 
 
 When I came to my room, about twelve o'clock, for 
 some breakfast, I found a letter from Lady Carmarthen.^ 
 It was an answer to my congratulation upon her marriage, 
 and written with honest happiness and delight. She 
 
 1 Catharine, daughter of Thomas Anguish, Esq. In October, 1788, 
 she became the second wife of Francis Godolphin, Marquis of Carmar- 
 then.
 
 38 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 frankly calls herself the luckiest of all God's creatures ; 
 and this, if not elegant, is sincere, and I hope will be per- 
 manently her opinion. 
 
 While swallowing my breakfast, standing and in haste, 
 and the door ajar, I heard Mr. Fairly's voice, saying, " Is 
 Miss Burney there ? is she alone ? " and then he sent in 
 Columb, to inquire if he might come and ask me how I 
 did. I received him with as much gladness as I could then 
 feel, but it was a melancholy reception. I consulted with 
 him upon many points in which I wanted counsel : he is 
 quick and deep at ouce in expedients where anything is to 
 be done, and simple and clear in explaining himself where 
 he thinks it is best to do nothing. Miss Goldsworthy her- 
 self had once stolen out to consult with him. He became, 
 indeed, for all who belonged to the Queen, from this mo- 
 ment, the oracle. 
 
 Dr. Warren had been sent for express, in the middle of 
 the night, at the desire of Sir George Baker, because he 
 had been taken ill himself, and felt unequal to the whole 
 toil. 
 
 • I returned speedily to the room of woe. The arrival of 
 the physicians was there grievously awaited, for Dr. Heber- 
 den and Sir George would now decide upon nothing till 
 Dr. Warren ^ came. The poor Queen wanted something 
 very positive to pass, relative to her keeping away, which 
 seemed thought essential at this time, though the courage 
 to assert it was wanting in everybody. 
 
 The Princesses sent to ask leave to come to their mother. 
 She burst into tears, and declared she could neither see 
 them, nor pray, while in this dreadful situation, expecting 
 
 ^ Dr. Richard WaiTen was bom about 1732, and attained great emi- 
 nence in his profession. He was a Fellow of the Royal and Antif][uarian 
 Societies, and was Physician in Ordinary to George III. and the Prince of 
 Wales. He died in 1797.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 39 
 
 every moment to be broken in upon, and quite uncertain 
 in what manner, yet determined not to desert her apart- 
 ment, except by express direction from the physicians. 
 Who could tell to what height the delirium miglit rise ? 
 There was no constraint, no power: all feared the worst, 
 yet none dared take any measures for security. 
 
 The Princes also sent word they were at her Majesty's 
 command, but she shrunk still more from this interview : 
 it filled her with a thousand dreadful sensations, too obvious 
 to be wholly hid. 
 
 At length news was brought that Dr. Warren was arrived. 
 I never felt so rejoiced ; I could have run out to welcome 
 him with rapture. 
 
 With what cruel impatience did we then wait to hear 
 his sentence ! An impatience how fruitless ! It ended in 
 information tliat he had not seen the King, who refused 
 him admittance. This was terrible. But the Kino- was 
 never so despotic ; no one dared oppose him. He would 
 not listen to a word, though, when unopposed, he was still 
 all gentleness and benignity to every one around him. Dr. 
 Warren was then planted where he could hear his voice 
 and all that passed, and receive intelligence concerning his 
 pulse, &c., from Sir George Baker. 
 
 We now expected every moment Dr. Warren would bring 
 her Majesty his opinion; but he neither came nor sent. 
 She waited in dread incessant. She sent for Sir George 
 — he would not speak alone: she sent for Mr. Hawkins, 
 the household surgeon ; but all referred to Dr. Warren. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth and Miss Goldsworthy earnestly pressed 
 her to remove to a more distant apartment, where she 
 might not hear the unceasing voice of the unhappy King ; 
 but she would only rise and go to the little dressing-room, 
 there to wait in her night-clothes Dr. Warren's determina- 
 tion what step she should take.
 
 40 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 At length Lady Elizabeth learnt among the pages that 
 Dr. Warren had quitted his post of watching. The poor 
 Queen now, in a torrent of tears, prepared herself for seeing 
 him. 
 
 He came not. All astonished and impatient, Lady Eliza- 
 beth was sent out on inquiries. She returned and said Dr. 
 Warren was gone. 
 
 " Eun ! stop him ! " was the Queen's next order. " Let 
 him but let me know what I am to do. " Poor, poor 
 Queen ! how I wept to hear those words ! 
 
 Abashed and distressed, poor Lady Elizabeth returned. 
 She had seen Colonel Golds worthy, and heard Dr. Warren, 
 ■with the other two physicians, had left the house too far 
 to be recalled ; they were gone over to the Castle, to the 
 Prince of Wales. I think a deeper blow I had never 
 witnessed. Already to become but second, even for the 
 King ! The tears were now wiped : indignation arose, with 
 pain, the severest pain, of every species. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour Colonel Goldsworthy sent 
 in to beg an audience. It was granted, a long cloak only 
 being thrown over the Queen. 
 
 He now brought the opinion of all the physicians in 
 consultation, " That her Majesty would remove to a more 
 distant apartment, since the King would undoubtedly be 
 worse from the agitation of seeing her, and tliere could be 
 no possibility to prevent it while she remained so near. " 
 She instantly agreed, but with what bitter anguish ! Lady 
 Elizabeth, Miss Goldsworthy, and myself attended her ; 
 she went to an apartment in the same row, but to which 
 there was no entrance except by its own door. It consisted 
 of only two rooms, a bed-chamber and a dressing-room. 
 They are appropriated to the lady-in-waiting when she 
 is here. 
 
 At the entrance into this new habitation the poor
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 41 
 
 "wretched Queen once more gave way to a perfect agony of 
 grief and affliction ; while the words " What will become of 
 me ! What will become of me ! " uttered with the most 
 piercing lamentation, struck deep and hard into all our 
 hearts. Never can I forget their desponding sound ; they 
 implied such complicated apprehensions. 
 
 Instantly now the Princesses were sent for. The three 
 elder hastened down. Oh, what a meeting ! They all, 
 from a habit that is become a second nature, struggled to 
 repress all outward grief, though the Queen herself, wholly 
 overcome, wept even aloud. They all went into the bed- 
 room, and the Queen made a slight dressing, but only wore 
 a close gauze cap, and her long dressing-gown, which is a 
 dimity chemise. 
 
 I was then sent back to the little dressing-room, for 
 something that was .left ; as I opened the door, I almost 
 ran against a gentleman close to it in the passage. 
 
 " Is the Queen here ? " he cried, and then I saw the 
 Prince of Wales. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, shuddering at this new scene for 
 her ; " should I tell her Majesty your Royal Highness is 
 here?" This I said lest he should surprise her. But he 
 did not intend that : he was profoundly respectful, and 
 consented to wait at the door while I went in, but called 
 me back, as I turned away, to add, " You will be so good 
 to say I am come by her orders." She wept a deluge of 
 tears when I delivered my commission, but instantly ad- 
 mitted him. I then retreated. The other two ladies went 
 to Lady Elizabeth's room, which is next the Queen's new 
 apartments. 
 
 In the passage I was again stopped ; it was by Mr. 
 Fairly. I would have hurried on, scarce able to speak, but 
 he desired to know how the Queen did. " Very bad " was 
 all I could say, and on I hastened to my own room, which,
 
 42 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 the next minute, I would as eagerly liave hastened to quit, 
 from its distance from all that was going forward; but 
 now once the Prince had entered the Queen's rooms, I 
 could go thither no more unsummoned. 
 
 Miserable, lonely, and filled with dreadful conjectures, I 
 remained here till a very late dinner brought Miss Planta 
 to the dining-parlor, where I joined her. After a short 
 and dismal meal we immediately parted : she to wait in 
 the apartments of the Princesses above stairs, in case of 
 being wanted ; I to my own solitary parlor. 
 
 The Prince of Wales and Duke of York stayed here all 
 the day, and were so often in and out of the Queen's rooms 
 that no one could enter them but by order. The same 
 etiquette is observed when tlie Princes are with the Queen 
 as when the King is there — no interruption whatever is 
 made. I now, therefore, lost my only consolation at 
 this calamitous time, that of attending my poor Ptoyal 
 mistress. 
 
 Alone wholly, without seeing a human being, or gather- 
 ing any, the smallest intelligence of what was going for- 
 wards, I remained till tea-time. Impatient then for 
 information, I planted myself in the eating-parlor ; but no 
 one came. Every minute seemed an hour. I grew as 
 anxious for the tea-society as heretofore I had been anxious 
 to escape it ! but so late it grew, and so hopeless, that Col- 
 umb came to propose bringing the water. 
 
 No ; for I could swallow nothing voluntarily. 
 
 In a few minutes he came again, and with the compli- 
 ments of Mr. Fairly, who desired him to tell me he would 
 wait upon me to tea whenever I pleased. A little sur- 
 prised at this single message, but most truly rejoiced, I 
 returned my compliments, with an assurance that all time 
 was the same to me. He came directly, and indeed his 
 very sight, at this season of still horror and silent suspense, 
 was a repose to my poor aching eyes.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY, 43 
 
 " You will see," he said, " nobody else. The physicians 
 being now here, Colonel Goldsworthy thought it right to 
 order tea for the whole party in the music-room, which we 
 have now agreed to make the general waiting-room for 
 . us all. It is near the King, and we ought always to be at 
 hand." 
 
 Our tea was very sad. He gave me no hope of a short 
 seizure ; he saw it, in perspective, as long as it was dread- 
 ful : perhaps even worse than long, he thought it — but 
 that he said not. He related to me the whole of the day's 
 transactions, but my most dear and most honorable friends 
 will be the first to forgive me when I promise that I shall 
 commit nothing to paper on this terrible event that is told 
 me in confidence. 
 
 He did not stay long : he did not think it right to leave 
 his waiting friends for any time, nor could I wish it, val- 
 ued as I know he is by them all, and much as they need 
 his able counsel. 
 
 He left me plunged in a deep gloom, yet he was not 
 gloomy himself; he sees evils as things of course, and 
 bears them, therefore, as things expected. But he was 
 tenderly touched for the poor Queen and the Princesses. 
 
 Not till one in the morning did I see another face, and 
 then I attended my poor unhappy Queen. She was now 
 fixed in her new apartments, bedroom and dressing-room, 
 and stirred not a step but from one to the other. For- 
 tunately all are upon the ground-floor, both for King and 
 Queen ; so are the two Lady Waldegraves' and mine ; the 
 Princesses and Miss Planta, as usual, are upstairs, and the 
 gentlemen lodge above them. It was settled that Mrs. 
 Sandys and Miss Macenton should alternately sit up in 
 the dressing-room. The Queen would not permit me to 
 take that office, though most gladly I would have taken 
 any that would have kept me about her. But she does
 
 44 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 not think my strength sufficient. She allowed me, how- 
 ever, to stay with her till she was in bed, which I had 
 never done till now ; I never, indeed, had even seen her in 
 her bedroom till the day before. She has always had the 
 kindness and delicacy to dismiss me from her dressing- 
 room as soon as I have assisted her with her night-clothes ; 
 the wardrobe-woman then was summoned, and I regularly 
 made my curtsey. It was a satisfaction to me, however, 
 now to leave her the last, and to come to her the first. 
 
 Her present dressing-room is also her dining-room, her 
 drawing-room, her sitting-room ; she has nothing else but 
 her bedroom ! 
 
 I left her with my fervent prayers for better times, and 
 saw her nearer to composure than I had believed possible 
 in such a calamity. She called to her aid her religion, 
 and without it what, indeed, must have become of her ? 
 It was near two in the morning when I quitted her. In 
 passing through the dressing-room to come away, I found 
 Miss Goldsworthy in some distress how to execute a com- 
 mission of the Queen's : it was to her brother, who was to 
 sit up in a room adjoining to the King's ; and she was un- 
 dressed, and knew not how to go to him, as the Princes 
 were to and fro everywhere. I offered to call him to her ; 
 she thankfully accepted the proposal. I cared not, just 
 then, whom I encountered, so I could make myself of any 
 use. 
 
 When I gently opened the door of the apartment to 
 which I was directed, I found it was quite filled with gen- 
 tlemen and attendants, arranged round it on chairs and 
 sofas, in dead silence. 
 
 It was a dreadful start with which I retreated ; for any- 
 thing more alarming and shockincr could not be conceived : 
 
 o o o 
 
 the poor King within another door, unconscious any one 
 was near him, and thus watched, by dread necessity, at
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 45 
 
 such an hour of the night ! I pronounced the words, 
 " Colonel Goldsworthy," however, before I drew back, 
 though I could not distinguish one gentleman from an- 
 other, except the two Princes, by their stars. I waited in 
 the next room ; but instead of Colonel Goldsworthy, my 
 call was answered by Mr. Fairly. I acquainted him with 
 my errand. He told me he had himself insisted that 
 Colonel Goldsworthy should go to bed, as he had sat up all 
 the preceding night, and he had undertaken to supply his 
 place. 
 
 I went back to Miss Goldsworthy with this account. 
 She begged me to entreat Mr. Fairly would come to her, as 
 she must now make the commission devolve on him, and 
 could less than ever appear herself, as they were all as- 
 sembled in such a party. Mr. Fairly most considerately 
 had remained in this quiet room, to see if anything more 
 might be wanted, which spared me the distress of again in- 
 truding into the public room. 
 
 I begged him to follow, and we were proceeding to the 
 dressing-room, when I was stopped by a gentleman, who 
 said, " Does the Queen want anybody ? " It was the Prince 
 of Wales. "Not the Queen, sir," I answered, "but Miss 
 Goldsworthy has desired to see Mr. Fairly." 
 
 He let me pass, but stopped Mr. Fairly; and, as he 
 seemed inclined to detain him some time, I only told Miss 
 Goldsworthy what had retarded him, and made off to my 
 own room, and soon after two o'clock, I believe, I was 
 in bed. 
 
 Friday, November 7th. — I was now arrived at a sort 
 of settled regularity of life more melancholy than can pos- 
 sibly be described. I rose at six, dressed, and hastened to 
 the Queen's apartments, uncalled, and there waited in 
 silence and in the dark till I heard her move or speak 
 with Miss Goldsworthy, and then presented myself to the
 
 46 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 bedside of the unhappy Queen. She sent Miss Golds- 
 worthy early every morning, to make inquiry what sort of 
 night his Majesty had passed ; and in the middle of the 
 night she commonly also sent for news by the wardrobe- 
 woman, or Miss Macenton, whichever sat up. 
 
 She dismissed Miss Goldsworthy, on my arrival, to dress 
 herself. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave accommodated her 
 with her own room for that purpose. I had then a long 
 conference with this most patient sufferer ; and equal for- 
 bearance and quietness during a period of suspensive un- 
 happiness never have I seen, never could I have imagined. 
 
 At noon now I never saw her, which I greatly regretted ; 
 but she kept on her dressing-gown all day, and the Princes 
 were continually about the passages, so that no one un- 
 summoned dared approach the Queen's apartments. It 
 was only tlierefore at night and morning I could see her ; 
 but my heart was with her the livelong day. And how 
 long, good Heaven ! how long that day became ! Endless 
 I used to think it, for nothing could I do — to wait and to 
 watch — starting at every sound, yet revived by every 
 noise. 
 
 While I was yet with my poor Koyal sufferer this morn- 
 ing the Prince of Wales came hastily into the room. He 
 apologized for his intrusion, and then gave a very energetic 
 history of the preceding night. It had been indeed most 
 affectingly dreadful ! The King had risen in the middle of 
 the night, and would take no denial to walking into the 
 next room. There he saw the large congress I have men- 
 tioned : amazed and in consternation, he demanded what 
 they did there ? Much followed that I have heard since, 
 particularly the waruiest eloge on his dear son Frederick, 
 his favorite, his friend. " Yes," he cried, " Frederick is my 
 friend ! " — and this son was then present amongst the 
 rest, but not seen !
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 47 
 
 Sir George Baker was there, and was privately exhorted 
 by the gentlemen to lead the King back to his room ; but 
 he had not courage : he attempted only to speak, and 
 the King penned him in a corner, told him he was a mere 
 old woman — that he wondered he had ever followed his 
 advice, for he knew nothing of his complaint, which was 
 only nervous ! 
 
 The Prince of Wales, by signs and whispers, would have 
 urged others to have drawn him away, but no one dared 
 approach him, and he remained there a considerable time, 
 " Nor do I know when he w^ould have been got back," con- 
 tinued the Prince, " if at last Mr. Fairly had not undertaken 
 him. I am extremely obliged to Mr. Eairly indeed. He 
 came boldly up to him, and took him by the arm, and 
 begged him to go to bed, and then drew him along, and 
 said he must go. Then he said he would not, and cried 
 ' Who are you ? ' 'I am Mr. Fairly, sir,' he answered, * and 
 your Majesty has been very good to me often, and now I 
 am going to be very good to you, for you must come to 
 bed, sir : it is necessary to your life.' And then he was so 
 surprised that he let himself be drawn along just like a 
 child ; and so tliey got him to bed. I believe else he would 
 have stayed all night ! " 
 
 Mr. Fairly has had some melancholy experience in a case 
 of this sort, with a very near connection of his own. How 
 fortunate he was present ! 
 
 At noon I had the most sad pleasure of receiving Mr. 
 and Mrs. Smelt. They had heard in York of the illness of 
 the King, and had travelled post to Windsor. Poor worthy, 
 excellent couple ! — ill and infirm, what did they not suffer 
 from an attack like this — so wonderfully unexpected upon 
 a patron so adored ! 
 
 They wished the Queen to be acquainted with their 
 arrival, yet would not let me risk meeting the Princes in
 
 48 ' DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 carrying the news. Mr. Smelt I saw languished to see his 
 King : he was persuaded he might now repay a part of 
 former benefits, and he wished to be made his page during 
 his illness, that he might watch and attend him hourly. 
 
 The good Mrs. Smelt was even anxious to part with him 
 for this purpose ; and I had not a doubt, myself, he would 
 perform it better than anybody, his personal tenderness for 
 the King being aided by so intimate a knowledge of his 
 character and sentiments. 
 
 They determined to wait till the last, in hopes some 
 accident would occasion my being summoned. ■ • 
 
 Mr. Smelt, seeing Dr. Warren pass my window, hastened 
 out to confer with him ; and, just after, a rap at my door 
 produced Mr. Fairly. 
 
 I never gave him a better welcome. I had heard, I told 
 him, what he had done, and if he could instigate others to 
 such methods I should call him our nation's guardian. He 
 had a long story, he said, for me ; but from slightness of 
 acquaintance with Mrs. Smelt, he forbore at present to 
 enter into particulars, and only — Cheltenham fashion — 
 asked me to lend him pen and ink to write a note. We 
 left him to that, and pursued our discourse. 
 
 I had a message in the morning by Mr. Gorton, the 
 clerk of the kitchen, to tell me the Prince of Wales wished 
 our dining-parlor to be appropriated to the physicians, both 
 for their dinner and their consultations. I was therefore 
 obliged to order dinner for Miss Planta and myself in ray 
 own sitting-parlor, which was now immaterial, as the 
 Equerries did not come to tea, but continued altogether in 
 the music-room. 
 
 Mr. Fairly had, I believe, forgot this new regulation, for 
 the moment he had written his note he hastened away, 
 saying, " In the evening I shall come to tea, of course." 
 I stopped him, then, to explain the loss of the tea-room.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 49 
 
 but added, if he found any time, I should be most happy 
 to receive liim in my own. 
 
 As I had no summons, I contrived to speak to Mr. 
 Albert, the Queen's page, and begged him to acquaint her 
 Majesty Mr. and Mrs. Smelt were here. He did ; but no 
 message followed, and, therefore, at three o'clock, with 
 bleeding hearts, they left this miserable house. 
 
 In the evening, of course, came Mr. Fairly, but it was 
 only to let me know it would be of course no longer. He 
 then rang the bell for my tea-urn, finding I had waited, 
 though he declined drinking tea with me ; but he sat down, 
 and stayed half-an-hour, telling me the long story he had 
 promised, which was a full detail of the terrible preceding 
 night. The transactions of the day also he related to me, 
 and the designs for the future. How alarming were they 
 all ! yet many particulars, he said, he omitted, merely be- 
 cause they were yet more affecting, and could be dwelt 
 upon to no purpose. 
 
 Saturday, ISTov-ember 8th. — This was, if possible, the 
 saddest day yet passed : it was the birthday of Prin- 
 cess Augusta, and Mrs. Siddons had been invited to 
 read a play, and a large party of company to form the 
 audience. "W^iat a contrast from such an intention was 
 the event ! 
 
 When I went, before seven o'clock in the morning, to my 
 most unhappy Eoyal mistress, the Princes were both, in 
 the room. I retreated to tlie next apartment till they had 
 finished their conference. The Prince of Wales upon these 
 occasions has always been extremely well-bred and con- 
 descending in his manner, which, in a situation such as 
 mine, is no immaterial circumstance. 
 
 The poor Queen then spoke to me of the birthday present 
 
 •she had designed for her most amiable daughter. She 
 
 hesitated a little whether or not to produce it, but at length 
 VOL. n. 4
 
 50 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 meekly said, " Yes, go to Miss Planta and bring it. Do you 
 think there can be any harm in giving it now ? " 
 
 "0, no!" I said, happy to encourage whatever was a little 
 less gloomy, and upstairs I flew. I was met by all the 
 poor Princesses and the Duke of York, who inquired if he 
 might go again to the Queen. I begged leave first to exe- 
 cute my commission. I did ; but so engrossed was my 
 mind with the whole of -this living tragedy, that I so little 
 noticed what it was I carried as to be now unable to 
 recollect it. I gave it, however, to the Queen, who then 
 sent for the Princesses, and carried her gift to her daugh- 
 ter, weeping, who received it with a silent curtsey, kissing 
 and wetting with her gentle tears the hand of her afflicted 
 mother. 
 
 During my mournful breakfast, poor Mr. Smelt arrived 
 from Kew, where he had now settled himself. . Mr. de Luc 
 also joined us, and they could neither prevail upon them- 
 selves to go away all the morning. 
 
 Mr. Smelt had some thoughts of taking up his abode in 
 Windsor till the state of things should be more decisive. 
 The accounts of the preceding night had been most cruel, 
 and to quit the spot was scarce supportable .to him. Yet 
 he feared the Princes might disapprove his stay, and he 
 well knew his influence and welcome at Court was all con- 
 fined to the sick-room : thence there could now issue no 
 mandate. 
 
 Yet I encouraged him to stay, so did Mr. de Luc ; and 
 while he. was still wavering, he saw Dr. Warren in the 
 court-yard, and again hastened to speak with him. Before 
 he returned the Prince of Wales went out and met him ; 
 .find you may imagine how much I was pleased to observe 
 from the window that he took him by the arm, and walked 
 up and down with him. 
 
 When he came to us, he said the Prince had told him he
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 51 
 
 had better stay, that he might see the Queen. He deter- 
 mined, therefore, to send off an express to Mrs. Smelt, and 
 go and secure ap apartment at the inn. 
 
 This was very soothing to me, who so much needed just 
 such consolation as he could bestow ; and I begged he 
 would come back to dinner, and spend the whole day in 
 ray room during his stay. 
 
 What, however, was my concern and amaze, when, soon 
 after, hastily returning, he desired to speak to me alone, 
 and, as Mr. de Luc moved off, told me he was going back 
 immediately to Kew ! He spoke with a tremor that 
 alarmed me. I entreated to know why such a change? 
 He then informed me that the porter, Mr. Humphreys, 
 had refused him re-entrance, and sent him his great-coat ! 
 He had resented this impertinence, and was told it was by 
 the express order of the Prince ! In utter astonishment 
 he then only desired admittance for one moment to my 
 room, and having acquainted me with this circumstance, 
 he hurried off, in a state of distress and indignation that 
 left me penetrated with both. 
 
 He made Mr. de Luc promise to write to him, as he 
 knew I had received injunctions to send no accounts from 
 the house ; but he said he would come no more. And, 
 after such an unmerited — a wanton affront, who could ask 
 him ? I can make no comments." 
 
 From this time, as the poor King grew worse, general 
 hope seemed universally to abate ; and the Prince of Wales 
 now took the government of the house into his own hands. 
 Nothing was done but by his orders, and he was applied 
 to in every difficulty. The Queen interfered not in any- 
 thing ; she lived entirely in her two new rooms, and spent 
 the whole day in patient sorrow and retirement with her 
 daughters. 
 
 The next news that reached me, -through Mr. de Luc, was,
 
 62 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 that the Prince had sent his commands to the porter, to 
 admit only four persons into the house on any pretence 
 whatever : these were Mr. Majendie, Mr. Turbulent, Gene- 
 ral Harcourt, and Mr. d'e Luc himself; and these were 
 ordered to repair immediately to the Equerry-room below 
 stairs, while no one whatsoever was to be allowed to go to 
 any other apartment. 
 
 From this time commenced a total banishment from all 
 intercourse out of the house, and an unremitting confine- 
 ment within its walls. 
 
 I had now, all tea-meetings being over, no means of 
 gaining any particulars of what was passing, which added 
 so much to the horror of the situation, that by the evening 
 I was- almost petrified. Imagine, then, alike my surprise 
 and satisfaction at a visit from Mr. Fairly. He had never 
 come to me so unexpectedly. I eagerly begged an account 
 of what was going on, and, with his usual readiness and 
 accuracy, he gave it me in full detail. And nothing could 
 be more tragic than all the particulars ; every species of 
 evil seemed now hanging over this unhappy family. 
 
 He had had his son with him in his room upstairs: 
 " And I had a good mind," he said, " to have brought him 
 to visit you." I assured him he would have been a very 
 welcome guest ; and when he added that he could no 
 longer have him at the Equerry table to dinner, as the 
 Prince of Wales now presided there, I invited him for the 
 next day to mine. He not only instantly accepted the pro- 
 posal, but cried, with great vivacity, "I wish — you would 
 invite me too." I thought he was laughing, but said, 
 " Certainly, if such a thing might be allowed ; " and then, 
 to my almost speechless surprise, he declared, if I would 
 give him permission, he would dine with me next day. 
 
 He then proceeded to say that the hurry, and fatigue, 
 and violent animal spirits of the other table quite over-
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 53 
 
 powered him, and a respite of such a quiet sort would he 
 of essential service to him. Yet he paused a little after- 
 wards, upon the propriety of leaving the Prince of Wales's 
 table, and said "He would first consult with General Bude, 
 and hear his opinion." 
 
 Sunday, November 9th. — Xo one went to church ; not 
 a creature now quits the house : but I believe devotion 
 never less required the aid and influence of public wor- 
 ship. For me, I know, I spent almost my whole time 
 between prayer and watching. Even my melancholy, 
 resource, my tragedy, was now thrown aside; misery so 
 actual, living, and present, was knit too closely around me 
 to allow my depressed imagination to fancy any woe be- 
 yond what my heart felt. 
 
 In coming early from the Queen's apartment this morn- 
 ing I was addressed by a gentleman who inquired how I 
 did, by my name ; but my bewilderment made him obliged 
 to teU his own before I could recollect him. It was Dr. 
 Warren. I eagerly expressed my hopes and satisfaction in 
 his attendance upon the poor King, but he would not enter 
 upon that subject. I suppose he feared, from my zeal, 
 some indiscreet questions concerning his opinion of the 
 case ; for he passed by all I could start, to answer only with 
 speeches relative to myself — of his disappointment in 
 never meeting me, though residing under the same roof ; 
 his surprise in not dining w4th me when told he was to 
 dine in my room, and the strangeness of never seeing me 
 when so frequently he heard my name. 
 
 I could not bring myself to ask him to my apartment, 
 when I saw, by his whole manner, he held it imprudent to 
 speak with me about the only subject on which I wished 
 to talk — the King; and just then seeing the Duke of 
 York advancing, I hastily retreated. 
 
 While I was dressing, Mr. Fairly rapped at my door. I
 
 54 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 sent out Goter, who brought me his compliments, and, if it 
 would not be inconvenient to me, he and his son would 
 have the pleasure of dining with me. I answered, I should 
 be very glad of their company, as wolild Miss Planta. • 
 
 Our dinner was as pleasant as a dinner at such a season 
 could be. Mr. Fairly holds cheerfulness as a duty in the 
 midst of every affliction that can admit it ; and, therefore, 
 whenever his animal spirits have a tendency to rise, he 
 encourages and sustains them. So fond, too, is he of his 
 son, that his very sight is a cordial to him ; and that mild, 
 feeling, amiable boy quite idolizes his father, looking up to 
 him, hanging on his arm, and watching his eye to smile 
 and be smiled upon, with a fondness like that of an infant 
 to its maternal nurse. Repeatedly Mr. Fairly exclaimed, 
 " What a relief is this, to dine thus quietly ! " 
 
 What a relief should I, too, have found it, but for a 
 little circumstance, which I will soon relate. 
 
 We were still at table, with the dessert, when Columb 
 entered and announced the sudden return from Weymouth 
 of Mrs. Schwellenberg. 
 
 Up we all started ; Miss Planta flew out to receive her, 
 and state the situation of the house ; Mr. Fairly, expecting, 
 I believe, she was coming into my room, hastily made his 
 exit without a word ; his son eagerly scampered after him, 
 and I followed Miss Planta upstairs. My reception, how- 
 . ever, was such as to make me deem it most proper to again 
 return to my room. What an addition this to the gloom 
 of all ! and to begin at once with harshness and rudeness ! 
 I could hardly tell how to bear it. 
 
 Moj^DAY, November 10th. — This was a most dismal 
 day. The dear and most suffering King was extremely ill, 
 the Queen very wretched, poor Mrs. Schwellenberg all 
 spasm and horror, Miss Planta all restlessness, the house 
 all mystery, and my only informant and comforter distanced.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 55 
 
 Not a word, the whole day through, did I hear of what 
 was passing or intending. Our dinner was worse than an 
 ahnost famished fasting ; we parted after it, and met no 
 more. Mrs. Schwellenberg, who never drinks tea herself, 
 hearing the general party was given up, and never surmis- 
 ing that there had ever been any particular one, neither 
 desired me to come to her, nor proposed returning to me. 
 She took possession of the poor Queen's former dressing- 
 room, and between that and the adjoining apartments she 
 spent all the day, except during dinner. 
 
 This was my only little satisfaction, that my solitude had 
 not the evening's interruption I expected. Alas ! I now 
 found even its dreariness acceptable, in preference to such 
 a companion as must have dispelled it. But what a day ! 
 how endless every hour ! 
 
 Tuesday, November 1 1th. — This day passed like the 
 preceding ; I only saw her Majesty in the morning, and not 
 another human being from that hour till Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg and Miss Planta came to dinner. " Nor could I then 
 gather any information of the present state of things, as 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg announced that nothing must be 
 talked of. 
 
 To give any idea of the dismal horror of passing so 
 many hours in utter ignorance, where every interest of the 
 mind was sighing for intelligence, would not be easy : the 
 experiment alone could give it its full force ; and from 
 that. Heaven ever, guard my loved readers ! 
 
 Wednesday, November 12th. — To-day a little bright- 
 ened upon us ; some cliange appeared in the loved Royal 
 sufferer, and though it was not actually for the better in 
 itself, yet any change was pronounced to be salutary, as, 
 for some days past, there had been a monotonous con- 
 tinuation of the same bad symptoms, that had doubly 
 depressed us all. My spirits rose immediately ; indeed, I
 
 66 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 thank God, I never desponded, though many times I stood 
 nearly alone in my hopes. 
 
 In the passage, in the morning, T encountered Colonel 
 Gwynn. I had but just time to inform him I yet thought 
 all would do well, ere the Princes appeared. All the 
 Equerries are now here except Major Garth, who is ill ; 
 and they have all ample employment in watching and 
 waiting. From time to time they have all interviews ; but 
 it is only because the poor King will not be denied seeing 
 them : it is not thought right. But I must enter into 
 nothing of this sort — it is all too closely connected with 
 private domestic concerns for paper. 
 
 After dinner, my chief guest, la Prdsidenie, told me, " If 
 my room was not so warm, she would stay a littel with me." 
 I felt this would be rather too superlative an obligation ; 
 and therefore I simply answered that " I was too chilly to 
 sit in a cold room ; " and I confess I took no pains to tem- 
 per it according to this hint. 
 
 Finding th^re was now no danger of disagreeable inter- 
 views, Mr. Fairly renewed his visits as usual. He came 
 early this evening, and narrated the state of things ; and 
 then, with a laugh, he inquired what I had done with my 
 head companion, and how I got rid of her ? I fairly told 
 him my malice about the temperature. He could not help 
 laughing, though he instantly remonstrated against an 
 expedient that might prove prejudicial to my health. 
 ". You had better not," he cried, " try any experiments of 
 this sort : if you hurt your nerves, it may prove a perma- 
 nent evil ; this other can only be temporary." 
 
 He took up the " Task "^ again ; but he opened, by ill 
 luck, upon nothing striking or good ; and soon, with dis- 
 taste, flung the book down, and committed himself wholly 
 to conversation. . 
 
 * Cowper's Poem of "The Task," then newly published.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 57 
 
 He told me lie wished much he had been able to con- 
 sult with me on the preceding evening, when he had the 
 Queen's orders to write, in her Majesty's name, to the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, to issue , our public prayers for 
 the poor King, for all the churches. 
 
 I assured him I fancied it might do very well without 
 my aid. There was to be a privy council summoned, in 
 consequence of the letter, to settle the mode of compliance. 
 
 How right a step in my ever-right Eoyal mistress is 
 this ! If you hear less of her now, my dearest friends, 
 and of the internal transactions, it is only because I now 
 rarely saw her but alone, and all that passed, therefore, 
 was in promised confidence. And, for the rest, the whole 
 of my information concerning the Princes, and the plans 
 and the proceedings of the house, was told me in perfect 
 reliance on my secrecy and honor. I know this is saying 
 enoush to the most honorable of all confidants and friends 
 to whom I am writing. All that passes with regard to my- 
 self is laid completely before them. 
 
 Thursday, November 13th. — This was the fairest- day 
 we have passed since the first seizure of the most beloved 
 of monarchs. He was considerably better. Oh what a ray 
 of joy lightened us, and how mildly did my poor Queen 
 receive it ! 
 
 Friday, 14th. — Still all was greatly amended, and bet- 
 ter spirits reigned throughout the house. 
 
 Mr. Fairly — I can write of no one else, for no one else 
 did I see — called early, to tell me he had received an 
 answer relative to the prayer for his Majesty's recovery, in 
 consequence of which he had the Queen's commands for 
 going to town the next day, to see the Archbishop. This 
 was an employment so suited to the religious cast of his 
 character, that I rejoiced to see it fall into his hands. He 
 came again in the evening, and said he had now got the
 
 58 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 prayer. He did not entirely approve it, nor think it suf- 
 ficiently warm and animated. I petitioned to hear it, and 
 he readily complied, and read it with great reverence, 
 but very unaffectedly and quietly. I was very, very much 
 touched by it ; yet not, I own, quite so much as once be- 
 fore by another, which was read to me by Mr. Cambridge, 
 and composed by his son, for. the sufferings of his excel- 
 lent daughter Catherine. It was at once so devout, yet 
 so concise — so fervent, yet so simple, and the many ten- 
 der relations concerned in it — father, brother, sister — 
 so powerfully affected me, that I had no command over 
 the feelings then excited, even though Mr. Cambridge 
 almost reproved me for want of fortitude ; but there was 
 something so tender in a prayer of a brother for a sister. 
 
 Here, however, I was under better control ; for though 
 my whole heart was filled with the calamitous state of this 
 unhappy monarch, and with deepest affliction for all his 
 family, I yet knew so well my reader was one to severely 
 censure all failure in calmness and firmness, that I strug- 
 gled, and not ineffectually, to hear him with a steadiness 
 like his own. But, fortunately for the relief of this force, 
 he left the room for a few minutes to see if he was 
 wanted, and I made use of his absence to give a little 
 vent to those tears which I had painfully restrained in his 
 presence. 
 
 When he returned we had one of the best (on his part) 
 conversations in which I have ever been engaged, upon the 
 highest and most solemn of all subjects, prayers and sup- 
 plications to heaven. He asked my opinion with earnest- 
 ness, and gave his own with unbounded openness. 
 
 Saturday, November 15th. — This morning my poor 
 Royal mistress herself presented me with one of the prayers 
 for the King. I sliall always keep it; how — how fer- 
 vently did I use it ! Whilst I was at breakfast Mr. Fairly
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 59 
 
 once more called before he set off for town ; and he brought 
 me also a copy of the prayer. He had received a large 
 packet of them from the Archbishop, Dr. Moore, to dis- 
 tribute in the house. 
 
 The whole day the King continued amended. 
 
 Sunday, November 16th. — This morning I ventured 
 out to church. I did not like to appear abroad, but yet I 
 had a most irresistible earnestness to join the public con- 
 gregation in the prayer for the King. Indeed nothing 
 could be more deeply moving : the very sound of the 
 cathedral service, performed in his own chapel, overset me 
 at once ; and every prayer in the service in which he was 
 mentioned brought torrents of tears from all the suppliants 
 that joined in them. I could scarcely keep my place, 
 scarce command my voice from audible sobs. To come to 
 the House of prayer from such a house of woe ! I ran 
 away. when the service was over, to avoid inquiries. 
 
 The King was worse. His night had been very bad ; all 
 the fair promise of amendment was shaken ; he had now 
 some symptoms even dangerous to his life. Oh, good 
 Heaven, what a day did this prove ! I saw not a human 
 face, save at dinner ; and then, what faces ! gloom and de- 
 spair in all, and silence to every species of intelligence. 
 
 The good bishop of Worcester came, but he could only 
 see the Queen ; overwhelmed with grief for the situation 
 of his unhappy King and patron, he could bear no inter- 
 view he had power to shun. 
 
 Mr. Smelt came to Windsor, and, by means of certain 
 management, dined here, but hastened to Kew immediately 
 afterwards. In how many ways had I reason to repine at 
 his most ungrateful treatment ! 
 
 So full of horror was my mind that I could not even 
 read ; books of devotion excepted, I found it impossible 
 even to try to read, for I had not courage to take anything
 
 60 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788, 
 
 in hand. At the cathedral a sort of hymn had occurred 
 to me, and that I wrote down on my return ; and that 
 alone could divide my attention with listening for foot- 
 steps at the door. No footsteps, however, approached : 
 my only friend and intelligencer gone, not another in the 
 house could even dream of the profound ignorance in 
 which, during his absence, I was kept. My morning at- 
 tendance upon the Queen, indeed, was informing, as far as 
 it was tete-a-tete, but after that I saw her no more till 
 night, and then never alone. 
 
 It was melancholy to see the crowds of former welcome 
 visitors who were now denied access. The Prince reite- 
 rated his former orders ; and I perceived from my window 
 those who had ventured to the door returning back in 
 deluges of tears. Amongst them to-day I perceived poor 
 Lady Effingham, the Duchess of Ancaster, and Mr. Bry- 
 ant ; the last sent me in, afterwards, a mournful little let- 
 ter, to which he desired no answer. Indeed I was not at 
 liberty to write a word. 
 
 Wednesday, November 19th. — The account of the 
 dear King this morning was rather better. 
 
 Sir Lucas Pepys was now called in, and added to Dr. 
 Warren, Dr. Heberden, and Sir George Baker. I earnestly 
 wished to see him, and I found my poor Eoyal mistress 
 was secretly anxious to know his opinion. I sent to beg 
 to speak with him, as soon as the consultation was over ; 
 determined, however, to make that request no more if he 
 was as shy of giving information as Dr. Warren. 
 
 Poor Mr. de Luc was with me when he came ; but it 
 was necessary I should see Sir Lucas alone, that I might 
 have a better claim upon his discretion : nevertheless I 
 feared he would have left me, without the smallest intelli- 
 gence, before I was able to make my worthy, but most 
 slow companion comprehend the necessity of his absence.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 61 
 
 The moment we were alone, Sir Lucas opened upon the 
 subject in the most comfortable manner. He assured me 
 there was nothing desponding in the case, and that his 
 Koyal Patient would certainly recover, though not imme- 
 diately. 
 
 Whilst I was in the midst of the almost speechless joy 
 with which I heard this said, and ready to kiss the very 
 feet of Sir Lucas for words of such deliglit, a rap at my 
 door made me open it to Mr. Fairly, who entered, saying, 
 " I must come to ask you how you do, though I have no 
 good news to bring you ; but — " 
 
 He then, with the utmost amaze, perceived Sir Lucas. 
 In so very many visits he had constantly found me alone, 
 that I really believe he had hardly thought it possible he 
 should see me in any other way. 
 
 They then talked over the poor King's situation, and Sir 
 Lucas was very open and comforting. How many sad 
 meetings have I had with him heretofore ; first in the 
 alarming attacks of poor Mr. Thrale, and next in the ago- 
 nizing fluctuations of his unhappy widow ! Ah, my dear- 
 est friends, whom shall we pity so much as those who 
 neglect to habituate those imperious assaulters of all virtue 
 and all self-denial, tlie Fassioiis, to the control of Patience ? 
 For that, I begin to think, is more properly their Superior 
 than Eeason, which, in many cases, finds it hard not to 
 join with them. 
 
 Sir Lucas wished to speak with me alone, as he had 
 something he wanted, through me, to communicate to the 
 Queen ; but as he saw Mr. Fairly not disposed to retire 
 first, by his manner of saying " Sir Lucas, you will find 
 all the breakfast ready below stairs," he made his bow, 
 and said he would see me again. 
 
 Mr. Fairly then informed me he was quite uneasy at 
 the recluse life led by the Queen and the Princesses,
 
 62 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 and that he was anxious to prevail with them to take a 
 little air, which must be absolutely necessary to their 
 health. He was projecting a scheme for this purpose, 
 which required the assistance of the Duke of York, and 
 he left me, to confer upon it with his Eoyal Highness, 
 promising to return and tell his success. 
 
 Sir Lucas soon came back, and then gave me such une- 
 quivocal assurances of the King's recovery, that the mo- 
 ment he left me I flew to demand a private audience of 
 the Queen, that I might relate such delightful prognostics. 
 
 The Duke of York was with her. I waited in the pas- 
 sage, where I met Lady Charlotte Finch, and tried what I 
 could to instil into her mind the hopes I entertained ; this, 
 however, was- not possible ; a general despondency pre- 
 vailed throughout the house, and Lady Charlotte was in- 
 fected by it very deeply. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave then passed, and made me 
 go and wait in her room with her sister till the Duke left 
 the Queen. Nothing can deserve more commendation than 
 the steady good conduct and propriety of Lady Elizabeth 
 Waldegrave, who seems more uniformly to do precisely 
 what is right, and neither more nor less, than almost any 
 character I have met. 
 
 At length I gained admission and gave my account, 
 which was most meekly received by the most patient of 
 sorrowers. 
 
 Thursday, November 20th. — Poor Miss Goldsworthy 
 was now quite ill, and forced to retire and nurse. No 
 wonder, for she had suffered the worst sort of fatigue, that 
 of fearing to sleep, from the apprehension the Queen might 
 speak, and want her ; for, though the Queen was all gra- 
 ciousness and consideration, the situation could not admit 
 of ease and repose. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave now took her place of sleep-
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 63 
 
 ing in the Queen's room, but the office of going for early 
 intelligence how his Majesty had passed the night de- 
 volved upon me. 
 
 Exactly at seven o'clock I now went to the Queen's apart- 
 ment ; Lady Elizabeth then rose and went to her own room 
 to dress, and I received the Queen's commands for my inqui- 
 ries. 
 
 I could not, however, go myself into the room where 
 they assembled, which Miss Golds worthy, who always ap- 
 plied to her brother, had very properly done. I sent in a 
 message to beg to speak with General Bud6, or whoever 
 could bring an account. 
 
 Mr. Charles Hawkins came ; he had sat up. Oh, how 
 terrible a narrative did he dryly give of the night ! — short, 
 abrupt, peremptorily bad, and indubitably hopeless ! I did 
 not dare alter, but I greatly softened this relation, in giving 
 it to my poor Queen. I had been, indeed, too much shocked 
 by the hard way in which I had been told it, to deliver it in 
 the same manner ; neither did I, in my own heart, despair. 
 
 I saw Sir Lucas afterwards, who encouraged all my more 
 sanguine opinions. He told me many new regulations had 
 been made. His Majesty was to be kept as quiet as pos- 
 sible, and see only physicians, except for a short and stated 
 period in every day, during which lie might summon such 
 among his gentlemen as he pleased. 
 
 Friday, November 21st. — All went better and better 
 to-day, and I received from the King's room a more cheer- 
 ing account to carry to my poor Queen. We had now 
 hopes of a speedy restoration : the King held long con- 
 ferences with all his gentlemen, and, though far from com- 
 posed, was so frequently rational as to make any resistance 
 to his will nearly impossible. Innumerable difficulties 
 attended this state, but the general promise it gave of a 
 complete recovery recompensed them all
 
 64 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 Sir Lucas Pepys came to me in the morning, and ac- 
 quainted me with the rising hopes of amendment. But 
 he disapproved the admission of so many gentlemen, and 
 would have limited the license to only the Equerry in 
 waiting. Colonel Golds worthy, and Mr. Fairly, who was 
 now principal throughout the house, in universal trust for 
 his superior judgment. 
 
 This was the most serene, and even cheerful evening I 
 had passed since" the poor King's first seizure. 
 
 Saturday, November 22nd. — When I went for my 
 morning inquiries, Colonel Manners came out to me. He 
 could give me no precise account, as the sitters-up had not 
 yet left the King, but he feared the night had been bad. 
 We mutually bewailed the mournful state of the house. 
 He is a very good creature at heart, though as unformed as 
 if he had just left Eton or Westminster. But he loves his 
 Master with a true and faithful heart, and is almost as 
 ready to die as to live for him, if any service of that risk 
 was proposed to him. 
 
 While the Queen's hair was dressing, though only for a 
 close cap, I was sent again. Colonel Manners came out to 
 me, and begged I would enter the music-room, as Mr. 
 Keate, the surgeon, had now just left the King, and was 
 waiting to give me an account before he laid down. I 
 found him in his night-cap : he took me up to a window, 
 and gave me but a dismal history ; the night had been 
 very unfavorable, and the late amendment very transient. 
 
 I heard nothing further till the evening, when my con- 
 stant companion came to me. All, he said, was bad : he 
 had been summoned and detained nearly all the morning, 
 and had then rode to St. Leonard's to get a little rest, as 
 he would not return till after dinner. He had but just 
 begun his tea when his name was called aloud in the 
 passage : up he started, seized his hat, and with a hasty
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. . 65 
 
 bow, decamped. I fancy it was one of the Princes ; and 
 the more, as he did not come back. 
 
 Sunday, November 23rd. — A sad day this! I was 
 sent as usual for the night account, which I had given to 
 me by Mr. Fairly, and a very dismal one indeed. Yet I 
 never, upon this point, yield implicitly to his opinion, as 
 I see him frequently of the despairing side, and as for my- 
 self, I thank God, my hopes never wholly fail. A certain 
 faith in his final recovery has uniformly supported my 
 spirits from the beginning. 
 
 I ventured once more to the cathedral, to join in the 
 public prayer. There I was seen by poor Madame la Fite, 
 who lamented her banishment from the house in bitter 
 complaints. I could but tell her it was universal. " But, 
 my ch^re Madame," cried she, " do you see moch ce Mon- 
 sieur si digne, ce Mr. Fairly ? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " when he had any spare time." 
 And promised, in happier days, she also should see him ; 
 to her great content. 
 
 Dr. Duval preached a sermon, from Job, very applicable 
 and very well, all exhorting to trust in God, however hope- 
 less in man. 
 
 Sir Lucas came to me on my return, and was still very 
 comfortable. How much I owed him for his cheer at such 
 a season ! There now remained no other on the side 
 of hope; all were dispirited, and the King undoubtedly 
 worse. 
 
 In the evening, a small tap at my door, with " Here I 
 am again," ushered in Mr. Fairly. He seemed much 
 hurried and disturbed, and innately uncomfortable ; and 
 very soon he entered into a detail of the situation of affairs 
 that saddened me in the extreme. The poor King was 
 very ill indeed, and so little aware of his own condition, 
 that he would submit to no rule, and chose to have com- 
 
 VOL. II. 5
 
 66 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 pany with him from morning till night, sending out for 
 the gentlemen one after another without intermission, and 
 chiefly for Mr. Fairly, who, conscious it was hurtful to 
 his Majesty, and nearly worn out himself, had now no 
 chance of respite or escape but by leaving the house and 
 riding out. 
 
 I have never seen him so wearied, or so vexed, I know 
 not which. " How shall I rejoice," he cried, " when all 
 this is over, and I can turn my back to this scene." 
 
 I should rejoice, I said, for him when he could make his 
 escape ; but his use here, in the whole round, is infinite ; 
 almost nothing is done without consulting him. 
 
 " I wish," he cried, while he was making some memoran- 
 diims, " I could live without sleep ; T- know not how to 
 spare my night." He then explained to me various miscel- 
 laneous matters of occupation, and confessed himself forced 
 to break from the confused scene of action as much as pos- 
 sible, where the tumult and bustle were as overpowering as 
 the affliction, in the more quiet apartments, was dejecting. 
 Then, by implication, what credit did he not give to my 
 poor still room, which he made me understand was his only 
 refuge and consolation in this miserable house ! 
 
 This could not but be a gratification to me ; and the 
 whole of his confidential discourse was in so openly friendly 
 and unaffected a style, that it was a gratification without 
 any drawback. 
 
 He soon put down the book, acknowledging he could not 
 command any attention. " But I hope," he cried, " in a few 
 days to see you more comfortably." 
 
 How sincerely did I join in that hope ! 
 
 He then hurried off to execute some business for her 
 Majesty. 
 
 About ten o'clock, however, he came back, accompanied 
 by Lady Charlotte Finch, and each of them begging a
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 67 
 
 million of pardons, but telling me they had a commission 
 to execute for the Queen, and no place not crowded with 
 Princes, physicians, or pages, in which they could utter a 
 word undisturbed. 
 
 I rejoiced to make my apartment of any use at such a 
 period, and hastened into my bedroom, though they would 
 have me remain still. But I had no claim upon the confi- 
 dence of Lady Charlotte : and I was sure, if I stayed, Mr. 
 Fairly would forget I had none also upon his. I took 
 therefore, a book and a candle, and left them. 
 
 When they had finished their consultation Lady Char- 
 lotte came for me, and Mr. Fairly went away. We then 
 talked over affairs in general, but without any comfort. 
 She is no hoper; she sees nothing before us but despair 
 and horror. I believe myself, indeed, the only regular 
 hoper of any one resident in the house, Mr. Fairly him- 
 self now evidently leans to the darker side, though he 
 avoids saying so. 
 
 Monday, November 24th. — Very bad again was the 
 night's account, which I received at seven o'clock this 
 morning from Mr. Dundas. I returned with it to 
 my poor Koyal mistress, who heard it with her usual pa- 
 tience. 
 
 While I was still with her. Lady Elizabeth came with 
 a request from Mr. Fairly, for an audience before her 
 Majesty's breakfast. As soon as she was ready she ordered 
 me to teU Lady Elizabeth to bring him. 
 
 Soon after, with a hasty rap, came Mr. Fairly. He 
 brought his writing to my table, where I was trying to 
 take off impressions of plants. I saw he meant to read 
 me his letter ; but before he had finished it Lady Charlotte 
 Finch came in search of him. It was not for the Queen, 
 but herself ; she wished to speak and consult with him
 
 68 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 upon the King's seeing his children, which was now his 
 vehement demand. 
 
 He was writing for one of the King's messengers, and 
 could not stop till he had done. Poor Lady Charlotte, 
 overcome with tenderness and compassion, wept the whole 
 time he was at his pen ; and when he had put it down, 
 earnestly remonstrated on the cruelty of the present regu- 
 lations, which debarred his Majesty the sight of the 
 Princesses. 
 
 I joined with her, though more firmly, believe me ; my 
 tears I suppress for my solitude. I have enough of that to 
 give them vent, and, with all my suppression, my poor 
 aching eyes can frequently scarce see one object from an- 
 other. 
 
 When Mr. Fairly left off writing he entered very deeply 
 into argument with Lady Charlotte. He was averse to 
 her request ; he explained the absolute necessity of strong 
 measures, and of the denial of dangerous indulgences, while 
 the poor King was in this wretched state. The disease, 
 he said, was augmented by every agitation, and the disci- 
 pline of forced quiet was necessary till he. was capable of 
 some reflection. At present he spoke everything that oc- 
 curred to him, and in a manner so wild, unreasonable, and 
 dangerous, with regard to future constructions, that there 
 could be no kindness so great to him as to suffer him only 
 to see those who were his requisite attendants. 
 
 He then enumerated many instances very forcibly, in 
 which he showed how much more properly his Majesty 
 might have been treated, by greater strength of steadiness 
 in his management. He told various facts which neither 
 of us had heard; and, at last, in speaking of the most 
 recent occurrences, he fell into a narrative relating to 
 himself. 
 
 The King, he said, had almost continually demanded
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 69 
 
 him of late, and with the most extreme agitation ; he had 
 been as much with him as it was possible for his health to 
 bear. "Five hours," continued he, "I spent with him on 
 Friday, and four on Saturday, and three and a half yester- 
 day ; yet the moment I went to him last night, he accused 
 me of never coming near him. He said I gave him up 
 entirely ; that I was always going out, always dining 
 out, always going to Mrs. Harcourt's — riding to St. 
 Leonard's ; but he knew why -^ 't was to meet Miss 
 Fuzilier." 
 
 Lady Charlotte stared, surprised, I saw, at his naming 
 that lady, and in a voice and manner so entirely disclaim- 
 ing the King's imputation. I had heard him before, and 
 my surprise, therefore, was over. 
 
 " Then," continued he, " he raved about my little boy, 
 whom he said I loved better than him ; and — and — so 
 he went on in that- sort of way for a considerable time, 
 quite enraged." 
 
 Poor Lady Charlotte was answered, and, looking ex- 
 tremely sorry, went away. 
 
 He then read me his messenger's letter. 'T was upon a 
 very delicate affair, relative to the Prince of Wales, in 
 whose service he told me, he first began his court prefer- 
 ment. 
 
 When he had made up his packet, he returned to the 
 subject of the King's rage, with still greater openness. 
 He had attacked him, he said, more violently than ever 
 about Miss Fuzilier; which, certainly, as there had been 
 such a report, was very unpleasant. "And when I se- 
 riously assured him," he added, " that there was nothing in 
 it, he said I had made him the happiest of men." 
 
 I found the Queen at night very much disturbed, and all 
 I could learn assured me how complicated were her reasons
 
 70 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 for disturbance ; though I heard no particulars, as I did 
 not see Mr. Fairly again at night. 
 
 Tuesday, November 25th. — My morning account was 
 from General Bud4, and a very despairing one. He has 
 not a ray of hope for better days. 
 
 My poor Queen was so much pleased with a sort of 
 hymn for the King, which she had been reading in the 
 newspapers, that I scrupled not to tell her of one in manu- 
 script, which, of course, she desired to read ; but I stipu- 
 lated for its return, though I could not possibly stay in 
 the room while she looked at it. I would copy it here for 
 my dear readers, who will exclaim and declaim against me 
 that I do not ; but, in truth, at this moment in which I am 
 writing, I know not where to find it. 
 
 In the evening Mr. Fairly came, entering with a most 
 gently civil exclamation of " How long it is since I have 
 seen you ! " 
 
 I could not answer, it was only one evening missed ; for, 
 in truth, a day at this time seems literally a week, and a 
 very slow one too.' He had been to town, suddenly sent 
 by the Queen last night, and had returned only at noon. 
 
 He gave me a full account of all that was passing and 
 projecting ; and awfully critical everything seemed. " He 
 should now soon," he said, " quit the tragic scene, and go 
 to relax and recruit, with his children, in the country. He 
 regarded his services here as nearly over, since an entirely 
 new regulation was planning, in which the poor King was 
 no longer to be allowed the sight of any of his gentlemen. 
 His continual long conversations with them were judged 
 utterly improper, and he was only to be attended by the 
 medical people and his pages." 
 
 He then gave into my hands the office of hinting to the 
 Queen his intention, if he could be dispensed with by her 
 Majesty, to go into the country on the 12th of next month
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 71 
 
 (December), with his boy Charles, who then left Eton for 
 the Christmas holidays. I knew this would be unwelcome 
 intelligence ; but I wished to forward his departure, and 
 would not refuse the commission. 
 
 When this was settled he said he would go and take a 
 circuit, and see how matters stood ; and then, if he could 
 get away after showing himself, return — if I would give 
 him leave to drink his tea with me. 
 
 He had not been gone ten minutes before Lady Charlotte 
 came in search of him. She had been told, she said, that 
 he was with me. I laughed, but could not forbear asking 
 if I passed for his keeper, since whenever he was missing 
 I was always called to account for him. Again, however, 
 he came and drank his tea, and stayed an hour, in most 
 confidential discourse. 
 
 When the new regulation is established, only one gen- 
 tleman is to remain — which will be the Equerry in wait- 
 ing. This is now Colonel Goldsworthy. The rest will 
 disperse. 
 
 Wednesday, 26th. — My seven o'clock account this 
 morning was given me by Mr. Fairly ; and a very gloomy 
 one. He made me come into the waiting-room to hear it 
 by the fire, for it was very cold, and he was there alone ; 
 and, indeed, he had as many questions to ask as to answer, 
 for he thought me unwell myself : but I got on, nervous 
 and feverish now and then, but never, thank heaven, con- 
 fined ; and at this time, nothing short of that would, by 
 any other whom I now see, be perceived. 
 
 The new plan of operations being settled, my poor 
 Queen was again very calm. She gave me back my 
 verses with very gracious thanks, but desired a copy. I 
 shall trust to the times and their fulness for her forget- 
 ting this request.
 
 72 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 Mr. Fairly returned and gave me his usual narrative. 
 I found we were all speedily to remove to Kew. This was 
 to be kept profoundly secret till almost the moment of 
 departure. The King will never consent to quit Windsor ; 
 and to allure him away by some stratagem occupies all the 
 physicians, who have proposed and enforced this measure. 
 Mr. Fairly is averse to it : the King's repugnance he thinks 
 insurmountable, and that it ought not to be opposed. But 
 the Princes take part with the physicians. He left me to 
 ride out, but more cordial and with greater simplicity of 
 kindness than ever, he smilingly said in going, " Well, 
 good bye, and G-od bless you." 
 
 " Amen," quoth I, after he had shut the door. 
 
 In the afternoon I had a short visit from Sir Lucas, who 
 still sustained the language of hope. 
 
 Thursday, 27th. — This morning and whole day Avere 
 dreadful ! My early account was given me by Mr. Charles 
 Hawkins, and with such determined decision of incura- 
 bility, that I left him quite in horror. 
 
 All that I dared, I softened to my poor Queen, who was 
 now harassed to death with state affairs, and impending 
 storms of state dissensions. I would have given the world 
 to have spent the whole day by her side, and poured in 
 what balm of hope I could, since it appeared but too 
 visibly she scarce received a ray from any other. 
 
 Universal despondence now pervaded the whole house. 
 Sir Lucas, indeed, sustained his original good opinion, but 
 he was nearly overpowered by standing alone, and was 
 forced to let the stream take its course with but little 
 opposition. 
 
 Even poor Mr. de Luc was silenced ; Miss Plauta easily 
 yields to fear ; and Mrs. Schwellenberg — who thinks it 
 treason to say the King is ever at all indisposed- — not 
 being able to say all was quite well, forbade a single word
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 73 
 
 being uttered upon the subject ! The dinners, therefore 
 became a time of extremest pain — all was ignorance, 
 mystery, and trembling expectation of evil. 
 
 In the evening, thank Heaven ! came again my sole 
 relief, Mr. Fairly. He brought his son, and they entered 
 with such serene aspect^!, that 1 soon shook off a little 
 of my gloom ; and I heard there was no new cause, for 
 though all was bad, nothing was worse. We talked over 
 everything ; and that always opens the mind, and softens 
 the bitterness of sorrow. The prospect before us, -with 
 respect to Kew, is indeed terrible. There is to be a total 
 seclusion from all but those within the walls, and those 
 are to be contracted to merely necessary attendants. Mr. 
 Fairly disapproved the scheme, though a gainer by it of 
 leisure and liberty. Only the Equerry in waiting is to 
 have a room in the house ; the rest of the gentlemen are 
 to take their leave. He meant, therefore, himself, to go 
 into the country with all speed. 
 
 Friday, 28th. — How woful — how bitter a day, in every 
 part, was this ! 
 
 My early account was from the King's page, Mr. Still- 
 ingfleet, and the night had been extremely bad. I dared 
 not sink the truth to my poor Queen, though I mixed 
 in it whatever I could devise of cheer and hope ; and 
 she bore it with the most wonderful calnmess, and kept 
 me with her a full half-hour after breakfast was called, 
 talking over " Hunter's Lectures," and other religious books, 
 with some other more confidential matters. 
 
 Dr Addington was now called in : a very old physician, 
 but peculiarly experienced in disorders such as afflicted 
 our poor King, though not professedly a practitioner in 
 them. 
 
 Sir Lucas made me a visit, and informed me of all the 
 medical proceedings ; and told me, in confidence, we were
 
 74 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 to go to Kew to-morrow, though the Queen herself had not 
 yet concurred in the measure ; but the physicians joined 
 to desire it, and they were supported by the Princes. The 
 difficulty how to get the King .away from his favorite 
 abode was all that rested. If they even attempted force, 
 they had not a doubt but his smallest resistance w^ould call 
 up the whole country to his fancied rescue ! Yet how, at 
 such a time, prevail by persuasion ! 
 
 He moved me even to tears, by telling me that none of 
 their own lives would be safe if the King did not recover, 
 so prodigiously high ran the tide of affection and loyalty. 
 All the physicians received threatening letters daily, to 
 answer for the safety of their monarch with their lives ! 
 Sir George Baker had already been stopped in his carriage 
 by the mob, to give an account of the King ; and when he 
 said it was a bad one, they had furiously exclaimed, "The 
 more shame for you." 
 
 After he left me, a privy council was held at the Castle, 
 with the Prince of Wales ; the Chancellor, Mr. Pitt, and 
 all the officers of state were summoned, to sign a permission 
 for the King's removal. The poor Queen gave an audience 
 to the Chancellor — it was necessary to sanction their pro- 
 ceedings. The Princess Eoyal and Lady Courtown at- 
 tended her. It was a tragedy the most dismal ! 
 
 The Queen's knowledge of the King's aversion to Kew 
 made her consent to this measure with the extremest re- 
 luctance ; yet it was not to be opposed : it was stated as 
 much the best for him, on account of the garden : as here 
 there is none but what is public to spectators from the ter- 
 race, or tops of houses. I believe they were perfectly 
 ridit, though the removal was so tremendous. 
 
 The physicians were summoned to the Privy Council, to 
 give their opinions, upon oath, that this step was necessary. 
 
 Inexpressible was the alarm of every one, lest the King,
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 75 
 
 if he recovered, should bear a lasting resentment against 
 the authors and promoters of this journey. To give it, 
 therefore, every possible sanction, it was decreed that he 
 should be seen both by the Chancellor and Mr. Pitt. 
 
 The Chancellor went into his presence with a tremor 
 such as, before, he had been only accustomed to inspire ; 
 and when he came out, he was so extremely affected by 
 the state in which he saw his Royal master and patron 
 that the tears ran down his cheeks, and his feet had diffi- 
 culty to support him. 
 
 Mr. Pitt was more composed, but expressed his grief 
 with so much respect and attachment, that it added new 
 weight to the universal admiration with which he is here 
 beheld. 
 
 I went very late to the Queen, and found her in deep 
 sorrow ; but nothing confidential, passed : I found her not 
 alone, nor alone did I leave her. But I knew what was 
 passing in her mind — the removing the King ! — its diffi- 
 culty and danger at present, and the dread of his perma- 
 nent indignation hereafter. 
 
 Saturday, November 29th. — Shall I ever forget the 
 varied emotions of this dreadful day ! 
 
 I rose with the heaviest of hearts, and found my poor 
 Royal mistress in the deepest dejection : she told me now 
 of our intended expedition to Kew. Lady Elizabeth 
 hastened away to dress, and I was alone with her for 
 some time. 
 
 Her mind, she said, quite misgave lier about Kew: the 
 King's dislike was terrible to think of, and she could not 
 foresee in what it might end. She would have resisted 
 the measure herself, but that she had determined not to 
 have upon her own mind any opposition to the opinion of 
 the physicians. 
 
 The account of the night was still more and more dis-
 
 76 DIAEY AND LETTERS [178S. 
 
 couraging : it was related to me by one of the pages, Mr. 
 Bra wan ; and though a little I softened or omitted particu- 
 lars, I yet most sorrowfully conveyed it to the Queen. 
 
 Terrible was the morning ! — uninterruptedly terrible ! 
 all spent in hasty packing up, preparing for we knew not 
 wliat, nor for how long, nor with what circumstances, nor 
 scarcely with what view ! We seemed preparing for cap- 
 tivity, without having committed any offence ; and for 
 banishment, without the least conjecture when we might 
 be recalled from it. 
 ■^( The poor Queen was to get off in private : the plan 
 
 settled between 'the Princes and the physicians was that 
 her Majesty and the Princesses should go away quietly, 
 and -then that the King should be told that they were 
 gone, which was the sole method they could devise to pre- 
 vail with him to follow. He was then to be allured by a 
 promise of seeing them at Kew ; and, as they knew he 
 would doubt their assertion, he was to go through the 
 rooms and examine the house himself. 
 
 I believe it was about ten o'clock when her Majesty de- 
 parted : drowned in tears, she glided along the passage, 
 and got softly into her carriage, with two weeping Prin- 
 cesses, and Lady Courtown, who was to be her Lady-in- 
 waiting during this dreadful residence. 
 
 Then followed the third Princess, with Lady Charlotte 
 Finch. They went off without any state or parade, and a 
 more melancholy scene cannot be imagined. There was 
 not a dry eye in the house. The footmen, the house- 
 maids, the porter, the sentinels — all cried even bitterly as 
 they looked on. 
 
 The three younger Princesses were to wait till the event 
 was known. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave and Miss Golds- 
 worthy had their Pioyal Highnesses in charge. It was 
 settled the King was to be attended by three of his gentle-
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 77 
 
 men, in the carriage, and to be followed by the physicians, 
 and preceded by his pages. But all were to depart on his 
 arrival at Kew, except his own Equerry-in-waiting. It was 
 not very pleasant to these gentlemen to attend his Majesty 
 at such a time, and upon such a plan, so adverse to his in- 
 clination, without any power of assistance : however, they 
 would rather have died than refused, and it was certain 
 the King would no other way travel but by compulsion, 
 which no human being dared even mention. 
 
 Miss Planta and I were to go as soon as the packages 
 could be ready, with some of the Queen's things. Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg was to remain behind, for one day, in order 
 to make arrangements about the jewels. 
 
 In what confusion was the liouse ! Princes, Equerries, 
 Physicians, Pages — all conferring, whispering, plotting, 
 and caballing, how to induce the King to set off! 
 
 At length we found an opportunity to glide through the' 
 
 passage to the coach ; Miss Planta and myself, with her 
 
 maid and Goter. But the heaviness of heart with which 
 
 •we began this journey, and the dreadful prognostics of the 
 
 .duration of misery to which it led us — who can tell ? 
 
 We were almost wholly silent all the way. 
 
 When we arrived at Kew, we found the suspense with 
 which the King was awaited truly terrible. Her Majesty 
 had determined to return to Windsor at night, if he came 
 not. We were all to forbear unpacking in the meanwhile. 
 
 The house was all now regulated by express order of the 
 Prince of Wales, who rode over first, and arranged all the 
 apartments, and writ, with chalk, the names of the destined 
 inhabitants on each door. 
 
 My own room he had given to Lady Courtown ; and for 
 me, he had fixed on one immediately adjoining to Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg's ; a very pleasant room, and looking into 
 •the garden, but by everybody avoided, because the partition 
 
 A
 
 78 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 V 
 
 is so thin of the next apartment, that not a word can be 
 spoken in either that is not heard in both. 
 
 While I was surveying this new habitation, the Princess 
 Royal came into it, and, with a cheered countenance, told 
 me that the Queen had just received intelligence that the 
 King was rather better, and would come directly, and 
 therefore I was commissioned to issue orders to Columb to 
 keep out of sight, and to see that none of the servants were 
 in the way when the King passed. 
 
 Eagerly, and enlivened, downstairs I hastened, to speak 
 to Columb. I flew to the parlor, to ring the bell for him, 
 as in my new room I had no bell for either man or maid ; 
 but judge my surprise, when, upon opening the door, and 
 almost rushing in, I perceived a Windsor uniform ! I was 
 retreating with equal haste, when the figure before me 
 started, in so theatric an attitude of astonishment, that it 
 forced me to look again. The arms were then wide opened, 
 while the figure fell back, in tragic paces. 
 
 Much at a loss, and unable to distinguish the face, T was 
 again retiring, when . the figure advanced, but in such 
 measured steps as might have suited a' march upon a 
 stage. 
 
 I now suspected it was Mr. Fairly ; yet so unlikely I 
 thought it, I could not believe it without speech. " Surely,"- 
 
 I cried, " it is not — it is not " I stopped, afraid to 
 
 make a mistake. 
 
 The laugh now betrayed him : he could hardly believe I 
 had really not known him. I explained that my very little 
 expectation of seeing him at Kew had assisted my near- 
 sightedness to perplex me. 
 
 But I was glad to see him so sportive, which I found 
 was owing to the good spirits of bringing good news ; 
 he had mounted his horse as soon as he had heard the 
 King had consented to the journey, and he had galloped
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 79 
 
 to Kew, to acquaint her Majesty with the welcome tid- 
 
 ings. 
 
 I rang, and gave my orders to Columb ; and he then 
 begged me not to hurry away, and to give him leave to 
 wait, in this parlor, the King's arrival. He then ex- 
 plained to me the whole of the intended proceedings 
 and arrangements, with details innumerable and most 
 interesting. 
 
 Dinner went on, and still no King. We now began to 
 grow very anxious, when Miss Plauta exclaimed that she 
 thouglit she heard a carriage. We all listened. " I hope ! " 
 I cried. " I see you do ! " cried he ; " you have a very 
 face of hope at this moment 1 " — and it was not disap- 
 pointed. The sound came nearer, and presently a carriage 
 drove into the front court. I could see nothing, it was so 
 dark ; but I presently heard the much-respected voice of 
 the dear unhappy King, speaking rapidly to the porter, as 
 he alighted from the coach. Mr. Fairly flew instantly 
 upstairs, to acquaint the Queen with the welcome tidings. 
 
 The poor King had been prevailed upon to quit Wind- 
 sor with the utmost difficulty : he was accompanied by 
 General Harcourt, his aide-de-camp, and Colonels Golds- 
 worthy and Welbred — no one else I He had passed all 
 the rest with apparent composure, to come to his carriage, 
 for they lined the passage, eager to see him once more ! 
 and almost all Windsor was collected round the rails, &c.> 
 to witness the mournful spectacle of his. departure, which 
 left them in the deepest despondence, with scarce a ray of 
 hope ever to see him again. 
 
 The bribery, however, which brought, was denied him ! 
 ■ — he was by no means to see the Queen ! 
 
 When I went to her at night she was all graciousness, 
 and kept me till very late. I had not seen her alone so 
 long, except for a few minutes in the morning, that I had
 
 80 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 a thousand things I wished to say to her. You may be 
 sure they were all, as far as they went, consolatory. 
 
 Princess Augusta had a small tent-bed put up in the 
 Queen's bed-chamber : I called her Eoyal Highness when 
 the Queen dismissed me. She undressed in an adjoining 
 apartment. 
 
 I must now tell you how the house is disposed. The 
 whole of the ground-floor that looks towards the garden is 
 appropriated to the King, though he is not indulged within 
 its range. In the side wing is a room for the physicians, 
 destined to their consultations ; adjoining to that is the 
 Equerry's dining-room. Mrs. Schwellenberg's parlors, which 
 are in the front of the house, one for dining, the other for 
 coffee and tea, are still allowed us. The other front rooms 
 below are for the pages to dine, and the rest of the more de- 
 tached buildings are for the servants of various sorts.- 
 
 All the rooms immediately over those which are actually 
 occupied by the King are locked up ; her Majesty relin- 
 quishes them, that he may never be tantalized by footsteps 
 overhead. She has retained only the bedroom, the draw- 
 ing-room, which joins to it, and the gallery, in which she 
 eats. Beyond this gallery are the apartments of the three 
 elder Princesses, in one of which rooms Miss Planta sleeps. 
 There is nothing more on the first floor. 
 
 On the second a very large room for Mrs. Schwellenberg, 
 and a very pleasant one for myself, are over the Queen's 
 rooms. Farther on are three bedrooms, one for the surgeon 
 or apothecary in waiting, the next for the Equerry, and the 
 third, lately mine, for the Queen's lady — all written thus 
 with chalk by the Prince. The inhabitants at present 
 are Mr. Charles Hawkins, Colonel Goldsworthy, and Lady 
 Courtown. 
 
 Then follows a very long dark passage, with little bed- 
 rooms on each side for the maids, viz. the two Misses
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 81 
 
 Macenton, wardrobe-women to the Princesses, their own 
 maid, Lady Courtown's, Miss Planta's, Mrs. Schwellenberg's 
 two maids, Mrs. Lovel and Arline, and Mr. Chamberlayne, 
 one of the pages. These look like so many little cells of 
 a convent. Mrs. Sandys has a room nearer the Queen's, 
 and Goter has one nearer to mine. At the end of this pas- 
 sage there is a larger room, formerly appropriated to Mr. 
 de Luc, but now chalked " The Physicians." 
 
 One Physician, one Equerry, and one Surgeon or Apoth- 
 ecary, are regularly to sleep in the house. 
 
 This is the general arrangement. 
 
 The Prince very properly has also ordered that one of 
 his Majesty's Grooms of the Bedchamber should be in 
 constant waiting; he is to reside in the Prince's house, 
 over the way, which is also fitting up for some others. 
 This gentleman is to receive all inquiries about the King's 
 health. The same regulation had taken place at Windsor, 
 in the Castle, where the gentlemen waited in turn. Though, 
 as the Physicians send their account to St. James's, this is 
 now become an almost useless ceremony, for everybody 
 goes thither to read the bulletin. 
 
 The three young Princesses are to be in a house belong- 
 ing to the King on Kew Green, commonly called Princess 
 Elizabeth's, as her Eoyal Highness has long inhabited it in 
 her illness. There will lodge Miss Goldsworthy, Madlle. 
 Montmoulin, and Miss Gomme. Lady Charlotte Finch is 
 to be at the Prince of Wales's. 
 
 I could not sleep all night — I thought I heard the poor 
 King. He was under the same range of apartments, 
 though far distant, but his indignant disappointment 
 haunted me. The Queen, too, was very angry at having 
 promises made in her name which could not be kept. 
 What a day altogether was this ! 
 
 Sunday, November 30th. — Here, in all its dread colors, 
 
 VOL. II. 6
 
 82 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 dark as its darkest prognostics, began the Kew campaign. 
 I went to my poor Queen at seven o'clock : the Princess 
 Augusta arose and went away to dress, and I received her 
 Majesty's commands to go down for. inquiries. She had 
 herself passed a wretched night, and already lamented 
 leaving Windsor. 
 
 I waited very long in the cold dark passages below, 
 before I could find any one of whom to ask intelligence. 
 The parlors were without fires, and washing. I gave direc- 
 tions afterwards to have a fire in one of them by seven 
 o'clock every morning. 
 
 At length I procured the speech of one of the pages, and 
 heard that the night had been the most violently bad of 
 any yet passed ! — and no wonder ! 
 
 I hardly knew how to creep upstairs, frozen both within 
 and without, to tell such news ; but it was not received as 
 if unexpected, and I omitted whatever was not essential 
 to be known. 
 
 Afterwards arrived Mrs. Schwellenberg, so oppressed 
 between her spasms and the house's horrors, that the op- 
 pression she inflicted ought perhaps to be pardoned. It 
 was, however, difficult enough to bear • Harshness, tyranny, 
 dissension, and even insult, seemed personified. I cut short 
 details upon this subject — they wovdd but make you sick- 
 
 My dear Miss Cambridge sent to me immediately. I 
 saw she had a secret hope she might come and sit with me 
 now and then in this confinement. It would have been 
 my greatest possible solace in this dreary abode: but I 
 hastened to acquaint her of the absolute seclusion, and 
 even to beg she would not send her servant to the house : 
 for I found it was much desired to keep off all who might 
 carry away any intelligence. 
 
 She is ever most reasonable, and never thenceforward 
 hinted upon the subject. But she wrote continually long
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 83 
 
 letters, and filled with news and anecdotes of much interest 
 relating to any tliirtg she could gather of out-house proceed- 
 ings, which now became very important — the length of 
 the malady threatening a Regency ! — a word which I 
 have not yet been able to articulate. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Smelt, though so near, came not ! The 
 Master of the house was not its owner! — they presumed 
 not to enter its doors ! 
 
 Kew, Monday, December 1st. — Mournful was the 
 opening of the month! My account of the night from 
 Gezewell, the page, was very alarming, and my poor Royal 
 ■mistress began to sink more than I had ever yet seen. No 
 wonder ; the length of the malady so uncertain, the steps 
 which seemed now requisite so shocking : for new advice, 
 and such as suited only disorders that physicians in general 
 relinquish, was now proposed, and compliance or refusal 
 were almost equally tremendous. 
 
 I had half an hour with her alone before she summoned 
 the wardrobe-woman, and after poor Princess Augusta re- 
 tired to another room to dress. Again, too, at noon, she 
 sent for me before her other attendants, and much of mel- 
 ancholy confidence ensued. In sadness I returned from 
 her, and, moping and unoccupied, I was walking up and 
 down my room, when Columb came to say Mr. Fairly de- 
 sired to know if I could see him. 
 
 Certainly, I said, I would come to him in the parlor. 
 
 He was not at all well, nor did he seem at all comfort- 
 able. He had undertaken, by his own desire, to purchase 
 small carpets for the Princesses, for the house is in a state 
 of cold and discomfort past all imagination. It has never 
 been a winter residence, and there was nothing prepared 
 for its becoming one. He could not, he told me, look at 
 the rooms of their Royal Highnesses without shuddering 
 for them ; and he longed, he said, to cover all the naked,
 
 84 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 cold boards, to render them more habitable. He had "ob- 
 tained permission to execute this as a commission : for so 
 miserable is the house at present that no general orders to 
 the proper people are either given or thought about ; and 
 every one is so absorbed in the general calamity, that they 
 would individually sooner perish than offer up complaint 
 or petition. I should never end were I to explain the 
 reasons there are for both. 
 
 Mr. Fairly 's confidential favor with all the Eoyal Family 
 enables him to let the benevolence of his character come 
 forth in a thousand little acts and proposals at this cruel 
 period, which, from any other, would be regarded as a lib- 
 erty or impropriety. 
 
 What he must next, he said, effect, was supplying them 
 with sand-bags for windows and doors, which he intended to 
 bring and to place himself The wind which blew in upon 
 those lovely Princesses, he declared, was enough to destroy 
 them. 
 
 When he had informed me of these kind offices, he began 
 an inquiry into how I was lodged. Well enough, I said ; 
 but he would not accept so general an answer. He insisted 
 upon knowing what was my furniture, and in particular if 
 I had any carpet; and when I owned I had none, he 
 smiled, and said he would bring six, though his commission 
 only extended to three. 
 
 He did not at all like the parlor, which, indeed, is 
 wretchedly cold and miserable : he wished to bring it a 
 carpet, and new fit it up with warm winter accommoda- 
 tions. He reminded me of my dearest Fredy, when she 
 brought me a decanter of barley-water and a bright tin 
 saucepan, under her hoop. I could not tell him that his- 
 tory in detail, but I rewarded his good-nature by hinting 
 at the resemblance it bore, in its active zeal, to my sweet 
 Mrs. Locke.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 85 
 
 This day was far less rigid than the preceding one, as 
 my coadjutrix began to recover a little more good humor, 
 and as I was called down in the evening to Sir Lucas 
 Pepys, who still supports hope for the end, and again to 
 Mr. Dundas, who gave me a good account of my dear Miss 
 Cambridge, whom he attends, and who had made him prom- 
 ise her that he would actually see me, in order to satisfy her 
 I was really living and looking well. She had suspected 
 I was ill, and her kind heart had taken an alarm which 
 my own letters could not remove. 
 
 Tuesday, December 2nd. — This morning I was blessed 
 with a better account of my poor Kiug, which I received 
 from Mr. Dundas, than I have had for six days past. With 
 what eager joy did I fly with it to my Queen ! and I ob- 
 tained her leave for carrying it on to the Princesses, who 
 otherwise might not have known it till the general break- 
 fast, at nine o'clock. 
 
 I took this fair opportunity to propose stepping out to 
 call upon Mr. and Mrs. Smelt, as they would not come to 
 the house, and I had received a most melting note from 
 both, expressive of their deep unhappiness. I produced 
 it : it drew tears from the poor Queen — easily now drawn ! 
 and she assented to my proposition. I hastened therefore 
 to them, and met the kindest but most melancholy recep- 
 tion: yet I cheered them with my better news, and would 
 have stayed all my short morning to enjoy their valuable 
 society, but that Mrs. Harcourt entered, which, as it 
 stopped our confidential openness, enabled me to depart. 
 Yet she made herself a welcome, for she brought me a dear 
 alive from my sisters. It had arrived after our departure 
 from Windsor, and she had called at the Queen's Lodge to 
 see the little Princesses. 
 
 I had also a short interview in the parlor with Sir Lucas, 
 but a comfortable one. The Queen afterwards presented
 
 86 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 me with a very pretty little new carpet ; only a bed-side 
 slip, but very warm. She knew not how much I was ac- 
 quainted with its history, but I found she had settled for 
 them all six. She gave another to Mrs. Schwellenberg. 
 
 Wednesday, December 3rd. — Worse again to-day was 
 the poor King : the little fair gleam, how soon did it pass 
 away ! 
 
 I was beginning to grow ill myself, from the added 
 fatigue of disturbance in the night, unavoidably occasioned 
 by my neighborhood to an invalid who summoned her 
 maids at all hours ; and my Eoyal mistress, who knew 
 this to have been the case with my predecessor, Mrs. Hag- 
 gerdorn, spoke to me about it herself ; and, fearing I might 
 suffer essentially, she graciously issued orders for a removal 
 to take place. 
 
 In consequence of this there were obliged to be two or 
 three other changes. The physician in waiting was re- 
 moved, and his- room made over to me ; while that which 
 I had at first occupied was deemed impracticable for a 
 sleeping-room to any one. 
 
 My new apartment is at the end of the long dark pas- 
 sage I have mentioned, with bedroom cells on each side of 
 it. It is a very comfortable room, carpeted all over, with 
 one window looking to the front of the house and two into 
 a court-yard. It is the most distant from the Queen, but 
 in all other respects is very desirable. I have made it as 
 neat as I could, and its furniture is far better than that of 
 my own natural apartment, which my Fredy thought so 
 succinct ! 
 
 I must now relate briefly a new piece of cruelty, I 
 happened to mention to la premiere pr^idente my waiting 
 for a page to bring the morning accounts. "And where do 
 you wait ? " 
 
 " In the parlor, ma'am."
 
 1788.] ' OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 87 
 
 " In my parlor ? Oh, ver well ! I will see to that ! " 
 
 " There is no other place, ma'am, but the cold passages, 
 which, at that time in the morning, are commonly wet as 
 well as dark." 
 
 " Oh, ver well! When- everybody goes to my room I 
 might keep an inn — what you call hotel." 
 
 All good liumor now again vanished ; and this morning, 
 when I made my seven o'clock inquiry, I found the parlor 
 doors both locked ! I returned so shivering to my Queen, 
 that she demanded the cause, which I simply related; 
 foreseeing inevitable destruction from continuing to run 
 such a hazard. She instantly protested there should be a 
 new arrangement. 
 
 Thursday, December 4th, — No opportunity offered 
 yesterday for my better security, and therefore I was again 
 exposed this morning to the cold dark damp of the miser- 
 able passage. The account was tolerable, but a threat of 
 sore-throat accelerated the reform. 
 
 It was now settled that the dining-parlor should be 
 made over to the officers of state who came upon business 
 to the house, and who hitherto had waited in the hall; 
 and the- room which was next to Mrs. Schwellenberg's, and 
 which had first been mine, was now made our salle a man- 
 ger. By this means, the parlor being taken away for other 
 people, and by command relinquished, I obtained once 
 •again the freedom of entering it, to gather my account for 
 her Majesty. But the excess of ill-will awakened by my 
 obtaining this little privilege, which was actually neces- 
 sary to my very life, was so great, that more of personal 
 offence and harshness could not have been shown to the 
 most guilty of culprits. 
 
 One of the pages acquainted me his Majesty was not 
 worse, and the night had been as usual. As usual, too, 
 was my day ; sad and solitary aU the morning — not soli-
 
 88 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 tary, but worse, during dinner and coffee. Just after it, 
 however, came the good and sweet Mr. Smelt. The Prince 
 of Wales sent for him, and condescended to apologize for 
 the Windsor transaction, and to order he might regain ad- 
 mission. How this was brought about I am not clear. I 
 only know it is agreed by all parties that the Prince has 
 the faculty of making his peace, where he wishes it, with 
 the most captivating grace in the world. 
 
 It was softening to these rigid days to see Mr. Smelt 
 again, even in ungenial company. But it was only soften- 
 ing to my sight : I was bowed down once more from all 
 strength of effort, and only sat silent and rejoiced he was 
 there. Between seven and eight o'clock I stole away. I 
 was of no use, and Mr. Smelt beins: with Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, I could no way be missed ; and I wished to keep up 
 the custom lately begun at Windsor, of rescuing a part, at 
 least, of my evenings for myself. Hitherto, however, as I 
 could not leave her alone, I had not left her at all. 
 
 Mr. Fairly told me this evening that Dr. Willis, a physi- 
 cian of Lincolui of peculiar skill and practice in intel- 
 lectual maladies, had been sent for by express. The poor 
 Queen had most painfully concurred in a measure which 
 seemed to fix the nature of the King's attack in the face of 
 the world ; but the necessity and strong advice had pre- 
 vailed over her repugnance. 
 
 Saturday, December 6th. — The accounts now of the 
 poor King vary but slightly ; neither the better nor the 
 worse are long enough either for permanent joy, or thank 
 God ! alarm. 
 
 The Queen told me afterwards that Mr. Fairly had been 
 recommending Moir's Sermons to her; and she desired me 
 to ask him for a full direction where they were to be had. 
 
 I readily undertook the little commission, much pleased 
 to see by it her approbation of our conferences. For well
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'aRBLAY. 89 
 
 do I know, had she disapproved them, even slightly, the 
 last thing in the world she would have done would have 
 been authorizing them by a message from one. to the other. 
 
 As he had told me he should go to town to-day, I was 
 upon the point of sending Columb to him with a message 
 concerning Moir, when, fortunately, he came to me, to 
 borrow pen and ink for a few memorandums. Notwith- 
 standing much haste, he could not, he said, go till he had 
 acquainted me with the opening of Dr. Willis with his 
 Eoyal patient. I told him there was nothing I more 
 arixiously wished to hear. He then gave me the full nar- 
 ration, interesting, curious, extraordinary ; full of promise 
 and hope. He is extremely pleased -both with the doctor 
 and his son. Dr. John. He says they are fine, lively, 
 natural, independent characters. I quite long to see them. 
 But my accounts are always now from the pages or the 
 apothecaries, Mr. Battiscomb and Mr. Dundas. This little 
 history gave me a spirit that supported me through the 
 day ; and at night, though I had no society, I retired to a 
 little quiet reading. Good Mr. Smelt comes regularly every 
 evening, and takes my place at the card-table. 
 
 Sunday, December 7th. — Very bad was this morning's 
 account, and very mournful all the day, except one half-hoiir, 
 at my breakfast, in which I had the most pleasant surprise 
 of a visit from Mr. Smelt. Mrs. Schwellenberg was not 
 visible, and therefore he ventured to come on to my room, 
 and beg some news. I promised he should always have it 
 if he would always come, which he assured me wx»uld be 
 most useful to the peace of his mind. He would not take 
 any breakfast, as Mrs. Smelt was anxiously waiting his 
 return. 
 
 Monday, December 8th. — The accounts began mend- 
 ing considerably, and hope broke in upon all. 
 . Tuesday, December 9th. — All gets now into a better
 
 90 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 channel, and the dear Royal invalid gives every symptom 
 of amendment. God be praised ! Mr. Smelt now calls 
 every morning at breakfast-time, and I have the infinite 
 comfort of his reviving society for a regular half-hour ; and 
 this is as unknown to la PresidenU as the visits of my 
 other consoler : she would be quite outrageous to hear of 
 either. 
 
 Mr. Smelt could not stay this evening, and therefore, as 
 soon as I had made my tea, I returned to Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, as she was alone, and more civil, and requested it. 
 
 Wednesday, December 10th. — Still amending, in all 
 but my evenings ; which again, except one hour under pre- 
 tence of drinking tea, are falling into their old train. 
 
 Thursday, December 11th. — To-day w^e have had the 
 fairest hopes ; the King took his first walk in Kew garden ! 
 There have been impediments to this trial hitherto, that 
 have been thought insurmountable, though, in fact, they 
 were most frivolous. The walk seemed to do him good, 
 and we are all in better spirits about him than for this 
 many and many a long day past. 
 
 Friday, December 12th. — This day passed in much 
 the same manner. Late in the evening, after Mr. Smelt 
 was gone, Mrs. Schwellenberg began talking about Mr. 
 Fairly, and giving free vent to all her strong innate aver- 
 sion to him. She went back to the old history of the 
 " newseepaper," and gave to his naming it every unheard-of 
 motive of spite, disloyalty, and calumny ! — three qualities 
 which I believe equally and utterly unknown to him. He 
 was also, she said, " very onfeeling, for she had heard him 
 laugh prodigious with the Lady Waldegraves, perticleer 
 with Lady Carlisle, what you call Lady Elizabeth her sis- 
 ter ; and this in the King's illness." And, in fine, she 
 could not bear him. 
 
 Such gross injustice I could not hear quietly. I began
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 91 
 
 a warm defence, protesting I knew no one whose heart 
 was more feelingly devoted to the Eoyal Family, except, 
 perhaps, Mr. .Smelt ; and that as to his laughing, it must 
 have been at something of passing and accidental amuse- 
 ment, since he was grave even to melancholy, except when 
 he exerted his spirits for the relief or entertainment of 
 others. Ec^ually amazed and provoked, she disdainfully 
 asked me what I knew of him ? I made no answer. I 
 was not quite prepared for the interrogatory, and feared 
 she might next inquire when and where I had seen him. 
 
 My silence was regarded as self-conviction of error, and 
 she added, " I know you can't not know him ; I know he 
 had never seen you two year and half ago ; when you 
 came here he had not heard your name." 
 
 " Two years and a half," I answered, coolly, " I did not 
 regard as a short time for forming a judgment of any one's 
 character." 
 
 " When you don't not see them ? You have never seen 
 him, I am sure, but once, or what you call twice." I did 
 not dare let this pass, it was so very wide from the truth ; 
 but calmly said I had seen him much oftener than once or 
 twice. 
 
 " And where ? when have you seen him ? " " Many 
 times ; and at Cheltenham constantly ; but never to observe 
 in him anything but honor and goodness." 
 • " Oh, ver w^ell ! you don't not know him like me ; you 
 can't not know him ; he is not from your acquaintance — 
 I know that ver well ! " She presently went on by her- 
 self. " You could not know such a person — he told me 
 the same himself : he told me he had not never seen you 
 when you first came. You might see him at Cheltenham ; 
 that is ■ true ; but nothing others, I am sure. At Windsor 
 there was no tea, not wonce, so you can't not have seen 
 him, only at Cheltenham." I hardly knew whether to
 
 92 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 laugh or be frightened at this width of error ; nor, indeed, 
 whether it was not all some artifice to draw me out, from 
 pique, into some recital : at all events, I thought it best 
 to say nothing, for she was too affronting to deserve to be 
 set right. 
 
 She went on to the same purpose some time, more than 
 insinuating that a person such as Mr. Fairly could never 
 let himself down to be acquainted with me ; till, finding 
 me too much offended to think her assertions worth an- 
 swering,.she started, at last, another subject. I then forced 
 myself to talk much as usual. But how did I rejoice when 
 the clock struck ten — how wish it had been twelve ! 
 
 Saturday, December 13th. — Accounts are now very 
 tolerable, and the sentiments of Sir Lucas Pepys upon the 
 prospects before us are most encouraging ; and I have 
 the happiness to convey them to my Royal mistress upon 
 every visit he makes here. But I have never yet seen 
 Dr. Willis. I never go downstairs but at seven o'clock in 
 the morning, to speak to the page or apothecary who has 
 sat up with the King. 
 . Sunday, December 14th. — The day passed much as 
 usual, with no sensible change in the King. 
 
 Monday, December 15th. — This whole day was passed 
 in great internal agitation throughout the house, as the 
 great and important business of the Regency was to be 
 discussed to-morrow in Parliament. All is now too pain- 
 ful and intricate for writing a word. I begin to confine 
 my memorandums almost wholly to my own personal pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 Tuesday, December 16th. — "Whatsoever might pass in 
 the House on this momentous subject, it sat so late that 
 no news could arrive. Sweeter and better news, however, 
 was immediately at hand than any the whole senate could 
 transmit ; the account from the pages was truly cheering.
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 93 
 
 With what joy did I hasten with it to the Queen, who im- 
 mediately ordered me to be its welcome messenger to the 
 three Princesses. And when Mr. Smelt came to my break- 
 fast, with what rapture did he receive it !• seizing and kiss- 
 ing my hand, while his eyes ran over, and joy seemed quite 
 to bewitch him. He flew away in a very few minutes, to 
 share his happiness with his faithful partner. 
 
 After breakfast I had a long conference in the parlor 
 with Sir Lucas Pepys, who justly gloried in the advance- 
 ment of his original prediction ; but there had been much 
 dissension amongst the physicians concerning the bulletin 
 to go to St. James's, no two agreeing in the degree of hetter 
 to be announced to the world. 
 
 Dr. Willis came in while we were conversing, but in- 
 stantly retreated, to leave us undisturbed. He looks a 
 very fine old man. I wished to be introduced to him. Mr. 
 Smelt and Mr. Fairly are both quite enchanted with all the 
 family ; for another son now, a clergyman, Mr, Thomas 
 Willis, has joined their forces. 
 
 Wednesday, December 17th. — My account this morn- 
 ing was most afflictive once more : it was given by Mr. 
 Hawkins, and was cruelly subversive of all our rising hopes. 
 I carried it to the Queen in trembling; but she bore it 
 most mildly. What resignation is hers ! 
 
 Miss Planta tells me the Queen has given her commands 
 that no one shall bring her any account of the night but 
 me. She has been teased, I fancy, with erroneous rela- 
 tions, or unnecessarily wounded with cruel particulars. 
 Be this as it may, I can hardly, when my narration is bad, 
 get out the words to tell it; and I come upon the worst 
 parts, if of a nature to be indispensably told, with as much 
 difficulty as if I had been author of them. But her pa- 
 tience in hearing and bearing them is truly edifying. 
 
 Mr. Hawkins to-day, after a recital of some particulars
 
 94 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 extremely shocking, said, " But you need not tell that to 
 the Queen." " I could not, sir," was my true, though dry 
 answer. Yet I never omit anything essential to be known. 
 Detail is rarely of that character. 
 
 Monday, December 22nd. — With what joy did I carry, 
 this morning, an exceeding good account of the King to my 
 Royal mistress ! It was trebly welcome, as much might 
 depend upon it in the resolutions of the House concerning 
 the Regency, which was of to-day's discussion. 
 
 Mr. Fairly took leave, for a week, he said, wishing me 
 my health, while I expressed my own wishes for his good 
 journey. But, in looking forward to a friendship the most 
 permanent, I saw the eligibility of rendering it the most 
 open. I therefore went back to Mrs. Schwellenberg ; and 
 the moment I received a reproach for staying so long, I 
 calmly answered, " Mr. Fairly had made me a visit, to take 
 leave before he went into the country." Amazement was 
 perhaps never more indignant. Mr. Fairly to take leave 
 of me ! while not once he even called upon her ! This 
 offence swallowed up all other comments upon the com- 
 munication. I seemed not to understand it ; but we had 
 a terrible two hours and a half. Yet to such, now, I may 
 look forward wdthout any mixture, any alleviation, for 
 evening after evening in this sad abode. 
 
 [N.B. My own separate adventures for this month, and 
 year, concluded upon this day. I shall comprise the 
 rest in a page or two.] 
 At the same time that I lost my acknowledged friend, I 
 also lost Mr. Smelt, who was so much alarmed by an ill- 
 ness of his excellent wife, that he quitted her in no part 
 of the day except the morning, when he came, he said, for 
 " his daily support," to my little apartment. He came, he 
 declared, for food, just as instinctively as my birds ; for I
 
 1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 95 
 
 have formed a small receptacle for those sweet little crea- 
 tures, which I provide with food, that allures them in this 
 hard weather to visit me in troops. And they are so tame, 
 by finding themselves always supplied and never disturbed, 
 that I am not a moment wholly deserted by them till sun- 
 set. Mrs. Smelt, however, thank Heaven, was much re- 
 covered before the year was ended. 
 
 Another fortunate, though far less important incident 
 also happened : Mrs. Schwellenberg took a very great fancy 
 to Madlle. Montmoulin, and invited her to play at cards 
 almost every evening; and this enabled me to lengthen 
 my absence till ten o'clock, when I took the place of 
 Madlle. Montmoulin, who returned to the house in which 
 she lives, with the younger Princesses, called Princess 
 Elizabeth's House. 
 
 The King, went on, now better, now worse, in a most 
 fearful manner ; but Sir Lucas Pepys never lost sight of 
 hope, and the management of Dr. Willis and his two sons 
 was most wonderfully acute and successful. Yet so much 
 were they perplexed and tormented by the interruptions 
 given to their plans and methods, that they were frequently 
 almost tempted to resign the undertaking from anger and 
 confusion.
 
 96 DIAKY AND LETTERS. (1789. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1789 — 1790. 
 
 Kew Palace, Thursday, January 1st. — The year 
 opened with an account the most promising of our beloved 
 King. I saw . Dr. Willis, and he told me the night had 
 been very tranquil ; and he sent for his son. Dr. John 
 Willis, to give me a history of the morning. Dr. John's 
 narration was in many parts very affecting : the dear and 
 excellent King had been praying for his own restoration ! 
 Both the doctors told me that such strong symptoms of 
 true piety had scarce ever been discernible through so 
 dreadful a malady. 
 
 How I hastened to my Queen ! — and with what alacrity 
 I besought permission to run next to the Princesses ! It 
 was so sweet, so soothing, to open a new year with the 
 solace of anticipated good ! 
 
 Oh how did I, afterwards, delight Mr. Smelt ! He came, 
 as usual, at my breakfast, but he could hardly get away. 
 Joy in the beginning of a year that succeeds a year of sor- 
 row is so truly buoyant that the heart seems to jump with 
 every breath. When, however, he recollected that each 
 instant of his present enjoyment was an instant lost to his 
 valuable partner, he hastened to that his best participation. 
 
 At noon he came back again, and brouglit Mr. de Luc, 
 who had permission to enter the walls, with a new year's 
 c^ood wishes. I told the two Dr. Willises that they had 
 given to the whole nation a new year's gift. 
 
 Friday, 2nd. — All still amends in the great, great point.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 97 
 
 Were I to speak of smaller matters, I could not use so 
 fair a phrase. Let the King, however, recover; and then, 
 between the partial and the general joy, I shall revive. 
 
 Saturday, 3rd. — I have the great pleasure, now, of a 
 change in my morning's historiographers : I have made 
 acquaintance with Dr. Willis and his son, and they have 
 desired me to summon one of them constantly for my 
 information. 
 
 I am extremely struck with both these physicians. Dr. 
 Willis 1 is a man of ten thousand ; open, honest, dauntless, 
 light-hearted, innocent, and high-minded : I see him im- 
 jn-essed with the most animated reverence and affection for 
 his Eoyal patient ; but it is wholly for his character, — not 
 a whit for his rank. 
 
 Dr. John, his eldest son, is extremely handsome, and in- 
 herits, in a milder degree, all the qualities of his father ; 
 but, living more in the general world, and having his fame 
 and fortune still to settle, he has not yet acquired the 
 same courage, nor is he, by nature, quite so sanguine in 
 his opinions. The manners of both are extremely pleas- 
 ing, and they both proceed completely their own way, not 
 merely unacquainted with court etiquette, but wholly, 
 and most artlessly, unambitious to form any such ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Friday, 9th. — I might write enough, were I to enter 
 upon the adventures of to-day; but as they all consisted in 
 
 1 Dr. Francis Willis was a native of Lincolnshire, and received a cla.ssi- 
 cal education at Brasenose College, Oxford, where he obtained a fellowship. 
 In 1740 he entered into Holy Orders, and was appointed to a college liv- 
 ing ; but shortly afterwards he devoted himself to the medical profession, 
 and that department of it chiefly which was connected with diseases of the 
 mind, without, however, abandoning the church. He established a pri- 
 vate asylum for lunatics at Greatford, in his native county ; and his suc- 
 cess there led to his being intrusted with the entire management of the 
 King's case. 
 
 VOL. II. 7
 
 98 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 almost unheard-of indignities, from a person who cannot 
 fabricate a provocation in the world beyond that of declin- 
 ing to spend with her every moment not spent in legal 
 attendance, — why I will not give the sickening relation : 
 I will only confess, the treatment these last two days has 
 been of so insulting a nature, that I should have thought 
 meanly, not meekly, of myself, for consenting to return to 
 hev table or her room, had I not considered the apparent 
 selfishness there would seem in any open rupture at a time 
 of such material distress. I bear it, therefore, and will 
 bear it while this misery lasts ; but I think that must 
 change, or I must change, if I bea? it longer. 
 
 So completely overset had I been with secret rumina- 
 tions of what there was to recompense endurance of such 
 usage, that when Mr. Smelt came in, after coffee, he kindly 
 inquired if I was taken ill, and what had made me so pale 
 and thin all at once. 
 
 I saw her struck — with sliame, and, I really believe, a 
 little remorse ; for she grew more civil directly, offered me 
 some of her supper, and asked why I did not sometimes 
 go out. 
 
 When I went away, however, for my tea, I thought my 
 least resentment might authorize my returning no more ; 
 but at nine o'clock she sent me a message, with her com- 
 pliments, and she was quite alone, if I would be so good 
 to come : so there was no help for going. A little conces- 
 sion from a proud mind is a great pain ; and it therefore 
 appeases accordingly. I proposed piquet : I liad not yet 
 regained voice enough for talking. It was gladly accepted. 
 I can give no other interpretation to the insulting mode of 
 present behavior, except the incapacity of bearing with 
 patience the gloomy confinement inflicted on all the house ; 
 which renders a temper, naturally irascible, fierce and fu- 
 rious even to savageness.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 99 
 
 How often do I not wish I might but be allowed to see 
 my good Miss Cambridge ! She is so near — so eager to 
 come — so kindly affectionate ; what a lightener, and how 
 innocent a one, would it not be, to this burthening period ! 
 
 Saturday, 10th. — The King is again not so well; and 
 new evidences are called for in the house, relative to his 
 state. My poor Eoyal mistress now droops. I grieve — 
 srieve to see her ! — but her own name and conduct called 
 in question ! — who can wonder she is shocked and shaken ? 
 Was there not enough before, firmly as she supported it ? 
 But it is evident, my dear friends, throughout the world, 
 misfortune is better endured than insult ; even though the 
 one be permanent, and the other transient. 
 
 During my hour's respite of this evening, while I was 
 reading " Hunter's Lectl^^es " — which were lent me by the 
 Queen, and must be read ere returned — a rap at my door 
 made me suppose Mr. Smelt had followed me, as Mrs. 
 Schwelleuberg had talked of going to the Queen. " Who 's 
 there ? " I called out ; but the voice that answered was Mr. 
 Fairly's, who, in slowly opening it, mildly said, " May a 
 friend come in, and ask Miss Burney how she does ? " 
 
 When he had made me shake hands with him across my 
 table, he hastened to peep at my book. He is just like 
 Dr. Johnson in that particular ; he cannot rest till he reads 
 the title, when once he has seen a binding. He had been 
 sent for express, by her jNIajesty. In these perilous times, 
 I wonder not she could dispense with his services no 
 longer ; wise, good, undaunted, vigorous — who has she 
 like him ? 
 
 I did not go to Mrs. Schwelleuberg : it was late. I ex- 
 pected questions and reproaches : my mind was too full to 
 encounter them. 1 knew she could but tell the Queen of 
 my absence, and her surmises ; and I had no desire, no 
 intention, to keep either secret from her Majesty. I re-
 
 100 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 solved to speak myself, as usual, of my visitor ; and if by 
 her any ol3Jections were made, to intimate them at once to 
 Air. Fairly himself, without scruple or reserve. My mind 
 is every way too little happy to run the smallest risk of 
 the disapprobation of my Eoyal mistress. 
 
 I had some difficulty to seize a moment for my commu- 
 nication : the Queen did not appear surprised, though 
 rather thoughtful. She asked some general questions con- 
 cerning him, and then spoke of other things. 
 
 Sunday, 1 1th. — This morning Dr. John gave me but a 
 bad account of the poor King. His amendment is not 
 progressive ; it fails, and goes back, and disappoints most 
 grievously; yet it would be nothing were the case and its 
 circumstances less discussed, and were expectation more 
 reasonable. 
 
 When Mr. Smelt came for his account at my breakfast, 
 and had joined in my lamentation that it was not more 
 favorable, he talked kindly of my absence ; yet, drearily 
 as I know he must pass his subsequent tete-a-tetes, I see 
 him frequently shocked inexpressibly, though silently, at 
 the altered person he meets in the afternoon, from that 
 with which he parts in a morning. When he enters that 
 baleful presence after an attack, the depression which regu- 
 larly succeeds to my resentment of an afiront affects him 
 even visibly. He is truly amiable, and so good that he 
 bears with this eternal sacrifice of his own time, purely in 
 gratitude for some past little favors and obligations which 
 have been received through those haughty hands. I pity 
 with all my heart whoever has been obliged by those they 
 cannot love. 
 
 There is not even the smallest possible provocation to 
 these affronts, except from envy that Sir Lucas Pepys 
 gives to me the fair hopes I distribute to the Queen and 
 Princesses. Yet how give them to her, whom he lias never
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 101 
 
 even seen ? And perhaps the visits of Mr. Fairly may 
 help to irritate, if she knows their frequency. 
 
 Monday, 12th. — A melancholy day : news bad both at 
 home and abroad. At home, the dear unhappy King still 
 worse — abroad new examinations voted of the physicians ! 
 Good Heaven.! what an insult does this seem from parlia- 
 mentary power, to investigate and bring forth to the world 
 every circumstance of such a malady as is ever held sacred 
 to secrecy in the most private families ! How indignant 
 we all feel here no words can say.^ 
 
 Wednesday, 14Tn. — I must now mention a rather sin- 
 gular conversation. I had no opportunity last night to 
 name, as usual, my visitor ; but I have done it so often, so 
 constantly indeed, that I was not uneasy in the omission. 
 But this morning, while her hair was dressing, my Eoyal 
 mistress suddenly said, " Did you see anybody yesterday ? " 
 
 1 " The account which she has given of the king's illness contains much 
 excellent narrative and description, and will, we think, be more valued by 
 the historians of a future age than any equal ])ortion of Pepys's or Eve- 
 lyn's Diaries. That account shows, also, how affectionate and compassion- 
 ate her nature was. But it shows also, we must say, that her way of life 
 was rapidly impairing her powers of reasoning and her sense of justice. 
 We do not mean to discuss in this place the question whether the views of 
 Mr. Pitt or those of Mr. Fox, respecting the regency, were the more cor- 
 rect. It is, indeed, quite needless to discuss that question: for the censure 
 of Miss Burney falls alike on Pitt and Fox, on majority and minority. 
 She is angry with the House of Commons for presuming to inquire whether 
 the king was mad or not, and whether there was a chance of his recover- 
 ing his senses. ... It never occurred, so far as we can see, to the exons 
 and keepers of the robes, that it was necessary that there should be some- 
 where or other a power in the State to pass laws, to preserve order, to par- 
 don criminals, to fill up offices, to negotiate with foreign governments, to 
 command the army and navy. Nay, these enliglitened politicians, ami 
 Miss Burney among the rest, seem to have thought that any person who 
 considered the subject with reference to the public interest, showed him- 
 self to be a bad-hearted man. Nobody wonders at this in a gentleman- 
 usher ; but it is melancholy to see genius sinking into such debasement." 
 — Lord Moxaulay, Essay on Madame D'Arblay.
 
 102 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 I could not but be sure of her meaning, and though vexed 
 to be anticipated in my avowal, which had but waited the 
 departure of the wardrobe-woman, Sandys, I instantly an- 
 swered, " Yes, ma'am ; Mr. Smelt in the morning, and Mr. 
 Fairly in the evening." " Oh ! Mr. Fairly was here, then ? " 
 
 I was now doubly sorry she should know this only from 
 me ! He had mentioned being just come from town, but 
 I had concluded Lady Charlotte Finch, as usual, knew of 
 his arrival, and had made it known to her Majesty. A 
 little while after, — " Did he go away from you early ? " 
 she said. "No, ma'am," I immediately answered, "not 
 early ; he drank tea with me, as he generally does, I believe, 
 when he is here for the night." 
 
 " Perhaps," cried she, after a pause, " the gentlemen be- 
 low do not drink tea." "I cannot tell, ma'am, I never 
 heard him say ; I only know he asked me if I would give 
 him some, and I told him yes, with great pleasure." Never 
 did I feel so happy in unblushing consciousness of inter- 
 nal liberty as in this little catechism ! However, I soon 
 found I had mistaken the motive of the catechism: it 
 was not on account of Mr. Fairly and his visit — it was 
 all for Mrs. Schwellenberg and her no visits ; for she soon 
 dropped something of "poor Mrs. Schwellenberg" and 
 her miserable state, that opened her whole meaning. Here, 
 indeed, I was not, am not so ready. Treated with such 
 truly unprovoked indignity as at present, I can suffer no 
 interference to make me relinquish my evening retreat, 
 which is very rarely for more than one poor hour, except 
 when I leave her engaged with Mr. Smelt or Aldlle. Mout- 
 moulin. And I almost constantly return at last, and stay 
 till we go to the Queen, which is hardly ever till past 
 twelve o'clock, and which always seems not till three in 
 the morning. 
 
 It is palpable she has lodged some complaint against my
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 103 
 
 absences. The discovery made me not only silent, but 
 comfortless. I cannot endure to retaliate ; I am bent 
 against making any serious charge to discredit an old ser- 
 vant, who, with all her faults, has an attachment for her 
 mistress that merits her protection. And this, too, is the 
 last time to take for either attack or defence. It would be 
 distressing ; it would be unfeeling. I know myself now 
 peculiarly useful : many things pass that I am bound not 
 to wn-ite ; and it might seem taking a mean advantage of 
 the present circumstances to offer any defensive appeal 
 just now. 
 
 Sunday, 18th. — The public birthday of my poor Eoyal 
 mistress. How sadly did she pass it; and how was I 
 filled with sorrow for her reflections upon this its first an- 
 niversary for these last twenty-eight years in which the 
 King and the nation have not united in its celebration ! 
 All now was passed over in silence and obscurity ; all ob- 
 servance of the day was prohibited, both abroad and at 
 home. 
 
 The poor King, whose attention to times and dates is 
 unremittingly exact, knew the day, and insisted upon see- 
 ing the Queen and three of the Princesses ; but — it was 
 not a good day. 
 
 Kew, Monday, 19th. — This morning the news was 
 very cheering, and I have begun now a great friendship 
 with Dr. Willis and Dr. John. They are most delightful 
 people ; all originality, openness, and goodness. 
 
 When I saw, afterwards, Sir Lucas Pepys, he told me he 
 plainly saw I was on the verge of an illness myself, and 
 recommended air and exercise as essentially requisite to 
 save me from this menace. I obeyed his injunctions the 
 moment I could name them to the Queen, for my health is 
 now amongst my first duties, as far as it may depend upon 
 my own care.
 
 104 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 I took, therefore, a safe opportunity, and strolled a little 
 while in Eichmond Gardens. 
 
 Sunday, 25th. — The two last days were wholly eventless; 
 but this morning I had so fair an account of our beloved 
 monarch, that I drew up a bulletin myself ; not, indeed, 
 for St. James's, but where it was certain of a flourishing 
 reception. Mr. Smelt was going to town, and could not 
 call. He sent me a note of inquiry, which arrived while I 
 was still listening to Dr. John Willis, in our late little parlor, 
 and hearing every interesting particular of the night and 
 early morning. I answered Mr. Smelt's note, thus : — 
 
 "Kew Palace, Suuday morning, January 25, 1789. 
 
 " His Majesty has passed a very good night, and is per- 
 fectly composed and collected this morning. 
 
 " (Signed) John Willis. 
 
 " (Witnessed) Frances Burney." 
 
 The young doctor gave me his name very willingly ; and 
 with this bulletin Mr. Smelt went and gladdened the hearts 
 of every good subject of his acquaintance in town. 
 
 These AVillises are most incomparable people. They 
 take a pleasure, that brightens every particle of their coun- 
 tenances, in communicating what is good, and they soften 
 all that is bad with the most sedulous kindness. 
 
 In running this morning, at seven o'clock, along my dark 
 passage, I nearly fell over a pail, carelessly left in the way 
 by a housemaid, and broke my shin very painfully. Unable, 
 therefore, to walk, yet so strongly enjoined to take the air, 
 I could not escape accompanying Mrs. Schwellenberg in a 
 little tour round Brentford, which, that we might see a 
 little of the world, was tlie postilHon's drive. But the ill 
 humor of my companion during this rural ride was of so 
 affronting a cast, that I wished myself a thousand times
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 105 
 
 hopping with my broken shin over the worst ploughed 
 land in England, rather than so to be seated in a royal 
 vehicle. 
 
 I have not mentioned a singular present which has been 
 sent me from Germany this month : it is an almanac, in 
 German, containing for its recreative part an abridgment of 
 " Cecilia," in that language ; and every month opens with 
 a cut from some part of her history. It is sent me by M. 
 Henouvre, a gentleman in some office in the King's estab- 
 lishment at Hanover. I wish I could read it — but I have 
 only written it ! 
 
 Monday, 26th. — In the evening Mr. Fairly came to tea. 
 He was grave, and my reception did not make him gayer. 
 General discourse took place, till Mrs, Dickenson hap- 
 pened to be named. He knew her very well as Miss 
 Hamilton. Her conjugal conduct, in displaying her supe- 
 rior power over her husband, was our particular theme, till 
 in the midst of it he exclaimed, " How well you will be 
 trained in by Mrs. Schwellenberg — if you come to trial ! " 
 
 Ah ! thought I, the more I suffer through her, the less 
 and less do I feel disposed to run any new or more lasting 
 risk. But I said not this ; I only protested I was much 
 less her humble servant than might be supposed. 
 
 " How can that be," cried he, " when you never contest 
 any one point with her ? " Not, I said, in positive wran- 
 gling, Avhich could never answer its horrible pain ; but still 
 I refused undue obedience, when exacted with indignity, 
 and always hastened to retire Avhen offended and affronted. 
 
 He took up Mrs. Smith's " Emmeline," which is just lent 
 me by the Queen ; but he found it not jyiquant, and putting 
 it down, begged me to choose him a Eambler. I had a 
 good deal of difficulty in my decision, as he had already 
 seen almost all I could particularly wish to recommend ;
 
 106 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 and when he saw me turn over leaf after leaf with some 
 hesitation, he began a serious reproach to me of inflexible 
 reserve. And then away he went. 
 
 I hastened immediately to Mrs. Schwellenberg, and 
 found all in a tumult. She had been, she said, alone all 
 the evening, and was going to have sent for me, but found 
 I had my company. She sent for Mile. Montmoulin — but 
 she had a cold ; for Miss Gomme, but she could not come 
 because of the snow ; for Miss Planta — but she was ill 
 with a fever, " what you call headache:" she had then 
 " sent to Princess Eoyal, who had been to her, and pitied 
 her ver moch, for Princess Eoyal was really sensible." 
 
 And all this was communicated with a look of accusa- 
 tion, and a tone of menace, that might have suited an 
 attack upon some hardened felon. And this complaint of 
 the absence of two hours to one treated when present as if 
 too highly honored in being suffered in the same apart- 
 ment ! I never yet found this more hard to bear — to be 
 denied the common forms of common civility when 1 
 stayed, yet to have the whole house apprised of my retreat, 
 as an act of barbarity ! 
 
 I made no sort of apology ; nor any other answer than 
 that I had had the honor of Mr. Fairly's company to tea, 
 which was always a pleasure to me. I believe something 
 like consciousness whispered her here, that it might really 
 be possible his society was as pleasant as I had found hers, 
 for she then dropped her lamentation, and said she thanked 
 God she wanted nobody, not one ; she could always amuse 
 herself, and was glad enough to be alone. Were it but true ! 
 
 I offered cards ; she refused, because it was too late, 
 though we yet remained together near two hours. 
 
 If this a little disordered me, you will not think what 
 followed was matter of composure. Wliile the Queen's 
 hair was rolling up, by the wardrobe-woman, at night, Mrs.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 107 
 
 Schwellenberg happened to leave the room, and almost 
 instantly her Majesty, in a rather abrupt manner, said, " Is 
 Mr. Fairly here to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " When did he come back ? " I could not recollect. 
 
 " I did not know he was here." 
 
 This thunderstruck me ; that he should come again, or 
 stay, at least, without apprising his Eoyal mistress, startled 
 me inwardly, and distressed me outwardly. 
 
 " I knew, indeed," she then added, " he was here in the 
 morning, but I understood he went away afterwards." The 
 idea of connivance now struck me with a real disdain, that 
 brought back my courage and recollection in full force, and 
 I answered, " I remember, ma'am, he told me he had rode 
 over to Eichmond Park at noon, and returned here to din- 
 ner with Colonel Welbred, and in the evening, he drank 
 tea with me, and said he should sup with General Har- 
 court." All this, spoken with an openness that rather in- 
 vited than shunned further investigation, seemed to give 
 an immediate satisfaction; the tone of voice changed to 
 its usual complacency, and she inquired various things 
 concerning the Stuart family, and then spoke upon more 
 common topics. 
 
 I concluded it now all over ; but soon after Mrs. Sandys 
 went away, and then, very unexpectedly, the Queen re- 
 newed the subject. " The reason," she said, " that I asked 
 about Mr. Fairly was that the Schwellenberg sent to ask 
 Miss Planta to come to her, because Mr. Fairly was — no, 
 not with her — he never goes to her." She stopped ; but 
 I was wholly silent. I felt instantly with how little pro- 
 priety I could undertake either to defend or to excuse Mr. 
 Fairly, whom I determined to consider as a visitor, over 
 whom, having no particular influence, I could be charged 
 with no particular responsibility. After waiting a few
 
 108 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 minutes — " With you," she said, " Mr. Fairly was ; and 
 the Schwellenberg was alone." 
 
 My spirits quite panted at this moment to make a full 
 confession of the usage I had endured from the person 
 thus compassionated ; but I had so frequently resolved, in 
 moments of cool deliberation, not even to risk doing mis- 
 chief to a favorite old servant, however personally provoked, 
 that I withstood the impulse ; but the inward conflict 
 silenced me from saying anything else. I believe she was 
 surprised ; but she added, after a long pause, " I believe — 
 he comes to you every evening when here ? " 
 
 " I do not know, ma'am, always, when he is here or 
 away ; but I am always very glad to see him, for indeed 
 
 his \dsits make all the little variety that " I hastily 
 
 stopped, lest she should think me discontented with this 
 strict confinement during this dreadful season ; and that I 
 can never be, when it is not accompanied by tyranny and 
 injustice. She immediately took up the word, but without 
 the slightest displeasure. " Why here there might be more 
 variety than anywhere, from the nearness to town, except 
 for " 
 
 " The present situation of things," I eagerly interrupted 
 her to say, and went on : — " Indeed, ma'am, I have scarce 
 a wish to break into the present arrangement, by seeing 
 anybody while the house is in this state ; nor ha\e I, 
 from last October, seen one human being that does not 
 live here, except Mr. Smelt, Mr. Fairly, and Sir Lucas 
 Pepys ; and they all come upon their own calls, and not 
 for me." 
 
 " The only objection," she gently answered, " to seeing 
 anybody, is that every one who comes carries some sort of 
 information away with them." 
 
 I assured her I was perfectly content to wait for better 
 times. Here the matter dropped; she appeared satisfied
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 109 
 
 with what I said, and became soft and serene as before the 
 little attack. 
 
 Tuesday, 27th. — The intelligence this morning was not 
 very pleasant. I had a conference afterwards with Sir 
 Lucas Pepys, who keeps up undiminished hope. We held 
 our co"incil in the physicians' room, which chanced to be 
 empty; but before it broke up Colonel Welbred entered. 
 It was a pleasure to me to see him, though somewhat an 
 embarrassment to hear him immediately lament that we 
 never met, and add that he knew not in what manner to 
 procure himself that pleasure. 
 
 I joined in the lamentation, and its cause, which con- 
 fined us all to our cells. Sir Lucas declared my confine- 
 ment menaced my health, and charged me to walk out, and 
 take air and exercise very sedulously, if I would avoid an 
 illness. 
 
 Colonel Welbred instantly offered me a key of Richmond 
 Gardens, which opened into them by a nearer door than 
 what was used in common. 
 
 I accepted his kindness, and took an hour's walk — for 
 the first time since last October ; ten minutes in Kew Gar- 
 dens are all I have spent without doors since the middle 
 of that month. 
 
 Kew Lodge, Wednesday, 28th. — The excellent Dr. 
 AVillis gave me a most reviving account of our beloved 
 King this morning, and with a glee so genuine, that I 
 think even the opposition must have sympathized in it. 
 Afterwards the same pleasant tidings were confirmed by his 
 son, Dr. John, who is a truly amiable and lively character, 
 with admirable good sense and no pretensions. Mr. Smelt, 
 all delight, came to me at noon, with the debates of the 
 Commons on the Regency. 
 
 Thursday, 29th. — Still good news from the two good 
 doctors. All else bad — Cerbera dreadful ! — more rough
 
 110 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 and harsh than I have words to tell. She has done, pal- 
 pably, what was possible to secure a censure from the 
 Magnolia; but the Magnolia cannot enjoin an injustice — 
 though she may wish me more subservient. But I will 
 not enter upon these matters here. 
 
 Friday, 30th. — To-day my poor Royal mistress re- 
 ceived the address of the Lords and Commons, of con- 
 dolence, &c., upon his Majesty's illness. What a painful, 
 but necessary ceremony ! It was most properly presented 
 by but few members, and those almost all chosen from the 
 household : a great propriety. 
 
 Not long after came Mr. Fairly, looking harassed. " May 
 I," he cried, " come in ? — and — for an hour ? Can you 
 allow me entrance and room for that time ? " Much sur- 
 prised, for already it was three o'clock, I assented : he then 
 told me he had something to copy for her Majesty, which 
 was of the highest importance, and said he could find no 
 quiet room in the house but mine for such a business. I 
 gave him every accommodation in my power. When he 
 had written a few lines, he asked if I was very busy, or 
 could help him ? Most readily I offered my services : and 
 then I read to him the original, sentence by sentence, to 
 facilitate his copying; receiving his assurances of my 
 " great assistance " every two lines. 
 
 In the midst of this occupation, a tap at my door made 
 me precipitately put down the paper to receive — Lady 
 Charlotte Finch ! " Can you," she cried, " have the good- 
 ness to tell me anything of Mr. Fairly ? " The screen had 
 hidden him ; but, gently, — though I believe ill enough 
 pleased, — he called out himself, " Here is Mr. Fairly." 
 
 She flew up to him, crying, " Oh, Mr. Fairly, what a 
 search has there been for you, by the Queen's orders ! 
 She has wanted you extremely, and no one knew where to 
 find you. They have been to the waiting-room, to the
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. Ill 
 
 equerries', all over the garden, to the Prince's house, in 
 your own room, and could find you nowhere, and at last 
 they thought you were gone back to town." He calmly 
 answered, while he still wrote on, he was sorry they had 
 had so much trouble, for he had only been executing her 
 Majesty's commands. 
 
 She then hesitated a little, almost to stammering, in 
 adding, "So — at last — I said — that perhaps — you might 
 be here ! " He now raised his head from the paper, and 
 bowing it towards me, " Yes," he cried, " Miss Burney is so 
 good as to give me leave, and there is no other room in the 
 house in which I can be at rest." 
 
 " So I told her Majesty," answered Lady Charlotte, 
 " though she said she was sure you could not be here ; but 
 I said there was really no room of quiet here for any busi- 
 ness, and so then I came to see." 
 
 " Miss Burney," he rejoined, " has the goodness also to 
 help me — she has taken the trouble to read as I go on, 
 which forwards me very much." Lady Charlotte stared, 
 and I felt sorry at this confession of a confidence she could 
 not but think too much, and I believe he half repented it, 
 for he added, " This, however, you need not perhaps mention, 
 though I know where I trust ! " He proceeded again with 
 his writing, and she then recollected her errand. She told 
 him that what he was copying was to be carried to town 
 by Lord Aylesbury, but that the Queen desired to see it 
 first. She then returned to her Majesty. 
 
 She soon, however, returned again. She brought tlie 
 Queen's seal, and leave that he might make up the packet, 
 and give it to Lord Aylesbury, without showing it first to 
 her Majesty, who was just gone to dinner. 
 
 With her customary good-humor and good-breeding, 
 she then chatted with me some time, and again departed. 
 We then went to work with all our might, reading and
 
 112 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 copying. The original was extremely curious — I am 
 sorry I must make it equally secret. 
 
 Kew Palace, Monday, February 2nd. — What an ad- 
 venture had I this morning ! one that has occasioned me 
 the severest personal terror I ever experienced in my life. 
 
 Sir Lucas Pepys still persisting that exercise and air 
 were absolutely necessary to save me from illness, I have 
 continued my walks, varying my gardens from Eichmond 
 to Kew, according to the accounts I received of the move- 
 ments of the King. For this I had her Majesty's permis- 
 sion, on the representation of Sir Lucas. 
 
 This morning, when I received my intelligence of the 
 King from Dr. John Willis, I begged to know where I 
 w might walk in safety ? " In Kew Gardens," he said, "as 
 the King would be in Eichmond." 
 
 " Should any unfortunate circumstance," I cried, " at any 
 time, occasion my being seen by his Majesty, do not men- 
 tion my name, but let me run off without call or notice." 
 This he promised. Everybody, indeed, is ordered to keep 
 out of sight. 
 
 Taking, therefore, the time I had most at command, I 
 strolled into the gardens. I had proceeded, in my quick 
 way, nearly half the round, when I suddenly perceived, 
 through some trees, two or three figures. Eelying on the 
 instructions of Dr. John, I concluded them to be workmen 
 and gardeners ; yet tried to look sharp, and in so doing, as 
 they were less shaded, I thought I saw the person of his 
 Majesty ! Alarmed past all possible expression, I waited 
 not to know more, but turning back, ran off with all my 
 might. But what was my terror to hear myself pursued ! 
 — to hear the voice of the King himself loudly and 
 hoarsely calling after me, " Miss Burney ! Miss Burney ! " 
 
 I protest I was ready to die. I knew not in what state 
 he might be at the time ; I only knew the orders to keep
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 113 
 
 out of his way were universal ; that the Queen wouhi 
 highly disapprove any unauthorized meeting, and that the 
 very action of my running away might deeply, in his 
 present irritable state, offend him. Nevertheless, on I ran, 
 too terrified to stop, and in search of some short passage, 
 for the garden is full of little labyrinths, by which I might 
 escape. The steps still pursued me, and still the poor 
 hoarse and altered voice rang in my ears : — more and 
 more footsteps resounded frightfully behind me, — the 
 attendants all running, to catch their eager master, and 
 the voices of the two Doctor Willises loudly exhorting him 
 not to heat himself so unmercifully. 
 
 Heavens, how I ran ! I do not think I should have felt 
 the hot lava from Vesuvius — at least not the hot cinders 
 — had I so run during its eruption. My feet were not 
 sensible that they even touched the ground. 
 
 Soon after, I heard other voices, shriller, though less 
 nervous, call out " Stop ! stop ! stop ! " I could by no 
 means consent : I knew not what was purposed, but I 
 recollected fully my agreement with Dr. John that very 
 morniug, that I should decamp if surprised, and not be 
 named. 
 
 My own fears and repugnance, also, after a flight and dis- 
 obedience like this, were doubled in the thought of not 
 escaping : I knew not to what I might be exposed, should 
 the malady be then high, and take the turn of resentment. 
 Still, therefore, on I flew ; and such was my speed, so 
 almost incredible to relate or recollect, that I fairly believe 
 no one of the .whole party could have overtaken me, if 
 these words, from one of the attendants, had not reached 
 me, " Doctor Willis begs you to stop ! " 
 
 " I cannot ! I cannot ! " I answered, still flying on, when 
 he called out, " You must, ma'am ; it hurts the King to 
 run." Then, indeed, I stopped — in a state of fear really 
 
 VOL. II. 8
 
 114 DIARY AND LETTEES [1789. 
 
 amounting to agony. I turned round. I saw the two 
 Doctors had got the King between them, and three attend- 
 ants of Dr. Willis's were hovering about. They all slack- 
 ened their pace, as they saw me stand still ; but such was 
 the excess of my alarm, that I was wholly insensible to 
 the effects of a race which, at any other time, would have 
 required an hour's recruit. As they approached, some 
 little presence of mind happily came to my command : it 
 occurred to me that, to appease the wrath of my flight, I 
 must now show some confidence : I therefore faced them 
 as undauntedly as I was able, only charging the nearest of 
 the attendants to stand by my side. 
 
 When they were within a few yards of me, the King 
 called out, " Why did you run away ? " Shocked at a 
 question impossible to answer, yet a little assured by the 
 mild tone of his voice, I instantly forced myself forward, 
 to meet him, though the internal sensation, which satisfied 
 me this was a step the most proper to appease his sus- 
 picions and displeasure, was so violently combated by the 
 tremor of my nerves, that I fairly think I may reckon it 
 the greatest effort of personal courage I have ever made. 
 The effort answered : I looked up, and met all his wonted 
 benignity of countenance, though something still of wild- 
 ness in his eyes. Think, however, of my surprise, to feel 
 him put both his hands round my two shoulders, and then 
 kiss my cheek ! 
 
 I wonder I did not really sink, so exquisite was my af- 
 fright when I saw him spread out his arms ! Involunta- 
 rily, I concluded he meant to crush me : but the Willises, 
 who have never seen him till this fatal illness, not know- 
 ing how very extraordinary an action this was from him, 
 simply smiled and looked pleased, supposing, perhaps, it 
 was his customary salutation ! I believe, however, it was 
 but the joy of a heart unbridled, now, by the forms and
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 115 
 
 proprieties of established custom and sober reason. To see 
 any of his household thus by accident, seemed such a near 
 approach to liberty and recovery, that who can wonder it 
 should serve rather to elate than lessen what yet remains 
 of his disorder ! 
 
 He now spoke in such terms of his pleasure in seeing 
 me, that I soon lost the whole of my terror ; astonishment 
 to find him so nearly well, and gratification to see him so 
 pleased, removed every uneasy feeling, and the joy that 
 succeeded, in my conviction of his recovery, made me 
 ready to throw myself at his feet to express it. 
 
 What a conversation followed ! When he saw me fear- 
 less, he grew more and more alive, and made me walk close 
 by his side, away from the attendants, and even the Wil- 
 lises themselves, who, to indulge him, retreated. I own 
 myself not completely composed, but alarm I could enter- 
 tain no more. Everything that came uppermost in his 
 mind he mentioned ; he seemed to have just such remains 
 of his flightiness as heated his imagination without de- 
 ranoinc; his reason, and robbed him of all control over his 
 speech, though nearly in his perfect state of mind as 
 to his opinions. What did he not say ! — He opened his 
 whole heart to me, — expounded all his sentiments, and 
 acquainted me with all his intentions. 
 
 The heads of his discourse I must give you briefly, as I 
 am sure you will be highly curious to hear them, and as 
 no accident can render of much consequence what a man 
 says in such a state of physical intoxication. 
 
 He assured me he was quite well — as well as he had 
 ever been in his life; and then inquired how I did, and 
 how I went on ? and whether I was more comfortable ? 
 If these questions, in their implication, surprised me, im- 
 agine how that surprise must increase when he proceeded 
 to explain them ! He asked after the coadjutrix, laughing,
 
 116 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 and saying, " Never mind her ! — don't be oppressed — I 
 am* your friend ! don't let her cast you down ! — I know 
 you have a hard time of it — but don't mind her ! " 
 
 Almost thunderstruck with astonishment, I merely curt- 
 seyed to his kind " I am your friend, " and said nothing. 
 Then presently he added, " Stick to your father — stick to 
 your own family — let them be your objects. " How readily 
 I assented ! 
 
 Again he repeated all I have just written, nearly in the 
 same words, but ended it more seriously : he suddenly 
 stopped, and held me to stop too, and putting his hand on 
 his breast, in the most solemn manner, he gravely and 
 slowly said, " I will protect you ! — I promise you that — 
 and therefore depend upon me ! " I thanked him ; and 
 the Willises, thinking him rather too elevated, came to 
 propose my walking on. " No, no, no ! " he cried, a hundred 
 times in a breath ; and their good humor prevailed, and 
 they let him again walk on with his new companion. 
 
 He then gave me a history of his pages, animating almost 
 into a rage, as he related his subjects of displeasure with 
 them, particularly with Mr. Ernst, who, he told me, had 
 been brought up by himself. I hope his ideas upon these 
 men are the result of the mistakes of his malady. Then 
 he asked me some questions that very greatly distressed 
 me, relating to information given him in his illness, from 
 various motives, but which he suspected to be false, and 
 which I knew he had reason to suspect : yet was it most 
 dangerous to set anything right, as I was not aware what 
 mif'ht be the views of their having been stated wrong. I 
 was as discreet as I knew how.to be, and I hope 1 did no 
 mischief ; but this was the worst part of the dialogue. 
 
 He next talked to me a great deal of my dear father, and 
 made a thousand inquiries concerning his " History of 
 Music. " This brought him to his favorite theme, Handel ;
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. . 117 
 
 and he told me innumerable anecdotes of him, and partic- 
 ularly that celebrated tale of Handel's saying of himself, 
 when a boy, " While that boy lives, my music will never 
 want a protector. " And this, he said, I might relate to 
 my father. Tlien he ran over most of his oratorios, attempt- 
 ing to sing the subjects of several airs and choruses, but 
 so dreadfully hoarse that the sound was terrible. Dr. 
 Willis, quite alarmed at this exertion, feared he would do 
 himself harm, and again proposed a separation. " No ! no ! 
 no ! " he exclaimed, " not yet ; I have something I must 
 just mention first. " Dr. Willis, delighted to comply, even 
 when uneasy at compliance, again gave way. 
 
 The good King then greatly affected me. He began 
 upon my revered old friend, Mrs. Delany ; and he spoke 
 of her with such warmth — such kindness ! " She was my 
 friend ! " he cried, " and I loved her as a friend ! I have 
 made a memorandum when I lost her — I will show it 
 you. " He pulled out a pocket-book, and rummaged some 
 time, but to no purpose. The tears stood in his eyes — 
 he wiped them, and Dr. Willis again became very anx- 
 ious. " Come, sir," he cried, " now do you come in and 
 let the lady go on her walk, — come, now, you have 
 talked a long while, — so we'll go in — if your Majesty 
 pleases." 
 
 " No, no ! " he cried, " I want to ask her a few questions ; 
 — I have lived so long out of the world, I know nothing ! " 
 This touched me to the heart. We walked on together, 
 and he inquired after various persons, particularly Mrs. 
 Boscawen, because she was Mrs. Delany's friend ! Then, 
 for the same reason, after Mr. Frederick Montagu, of whom 
 he kindly said, *' I know he has a great regard for me, for 
 all he joined the opposition. " Lord Grey de Wilton, Sir 
 Watkin Wynn, the Duke of Beaufort, and various others, 
 followed. He then told me he was very much dissatisfied
 
 118 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 with several of his state officers, and meant to form an 
 entire new establishment. He took a paper out of his 
 pocket-book, and showed me his new list. This was the 
 wildest thing that passed ; and Dr. John Willis now se- 
 riously urged our separating ; but he would not consent ; 
 he had only three more words to say, he declared, and 
 again he conquered. He now spoke of my father, with 
 still more kindness, and told me he ought to have had the 
 post of Master of the Band, and not that little poor musician 
 Parsons, who was not fit for it : " But Lord Salisbury, " he 
 cried, " used your father very ill in that business, and so 
 he did me ! However, I have dashed out his name, and 
 I shall put your father's in, — as soon as I get loose again ! " 
 This again — how affecting was this ! 
 
 " And what," cried he, " has your father got, at last ? 
 nothing but that poor thing at Chelsea ? fie ! fie ! fie ! 
 But never mind ! I will take care of him ! I will do it 
 myself ! " Then presently he added, " As to Lord Salis- 
 bury, he is out already, as this memorandum will show you, 
 and so are many more. I shall be much better served ; and 
 when once I get away, I shall rule with a rod of iron ! " 
 This was very unlike himself, and startled the two good 
 doctors, who could not bear to cross him, and were exult- 
 ing at my seeing his great amendment, but yet grew quite 
 uneasy at his earnestness and volubility. Finding we now 
 must part, he stopped to take leave, and renewed again his 
 charges about the coadjutrix. "Never mind her!" he 
 cried, " depend upon me ! I will be your friend as long as 
 I live ! — I here pledge myself to be your friend ! " And 
 then he saluted me again just as at the meeting, and suf- 
 fered me to go on. 
 
 What a scene ! how variously was I affected by it ! but, 
 upon the whole, how inexpressibly thankful to see him so 
 nearly himself — so little removed from recovery !
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 119 
 
 I went very soon after to the Queen, to whom I was 
 most eager to avow the meeting, and how little I could 
 help it. Her astonishment, and her earnestness to hear 
 every particular, were very great. I told her almost all. 
 Some few things relating to the distressing questions I 
 could not repeat ; nor many things said of Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, which would much, and very needlessly, have hurt 
 her. 
 
 This interview, and the circumstances belonging to it, 
 excited general curiosity, and all the house watched for 
 opportunities to beg a relation of it. How delighted was 
 I to tell them all my happy prognostics ! 
 
 But the first to hasten to liear of it was Mr. Smelt ; 
 eager and enchanted was the countenance and attention of 
 that truly loyal and most affectionate adherent to his old 
 master. Yet he saw me so extremely shaken by the vari- 
 ous exertions of the morning, that I could with difficulty 
 persuade him they would not make me ill : never, I assured 
 him, where the result was well, did any agitation essen- 
 tially hurt me. He wished me to see Lady Harcom^t and 
 the General, and to make them a brief relation of this 
 extraordinary rencounter : but for that I had not effort 
 enough left. 
 
 I did what I could, however, to gratify the curiosity of 
 Colonel Welbred, which I never saw equally excited. I 
 was passing him on the stairs, and he followed me, to say 
 he had heard what had happened — I imagine from the 
 AVillises. I told him, with the highest satisfaction, the 
 general effect produced upon my mind by the accident, 
 that the King seemed so nearly himself, that patience itself 
 could have but little longer trial. 
 
 He wanted to hear more particulars : I fancy the Willises 
 had vaguely related some : " Did he not," he cried, " promise 
 to — do something for you ? — take care of you ? " I only
 
 120 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 laughed, and answered, " Oh yes ! if you want anything, 
 apply to me ; — no»w is my time ! " 
 
 Tuesday, 3rd. — I had the great happiness to be assured 
 this morning, by both the Doctor Willises, that his Majesty 
 W' as by no means the worse for our long conference. Those 
 good men are inexpressibly happy themselves in the de- 
 lightful conviction given me, and by me spread about, of 
 the near recovery of their royal patient. 
 
 Friday, 6th. — These last three days have been spent 
 very unpleasantly indeed : all goes hardly and difficultly 
 with my poor Eoyal mistress. 
 
 Yet his Majesty is now, thank Heaven, so much better, 
 that he generally sees his gentlemen in some part of the 
 evening ; and Mr. Fairly, having no particular taste for 
 being kept in waiting whole hours for this satisfaction of a 
 few minutes, yet finding himself, if in the house, indis- 
 pensably required to attend with the rest, has changed his 
 Kew visits from nights to mornings. 
 
 He brought me the " Regency Bill ! " — I shuddered to 
 hear it named. It was just printed, and he read it to me, 
 with comments and explanations, w^hich took up all our 
 time, and in a manner, at present, the most deeply inter- 
 esting in wdiich it could be occupied. 'T is indeed a dread 
 event ! — and how it may terminate who can say ? My 
 poor Royal mistress is much disturbed. Her daughters 
 behave like angels ; they seem content to reside in this 
 gloomy solitude for ever, if it prove of comfort to their 
 mother, or mark their duteous affection for their father. 
 
 Tuesday, 10th. — The amendment of the King is pro- 
 gressive, and without any reasonable fear, though not with- 
 out some few drawbacks. The Willis family were surely 
 sent by Heaven to restore peace, and health, and pros- 
 perity to this miserable house !
 
 1789,] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. « 121 
 
 Lady Charlotte Finch called upon me two days ago, 
 almost purposely, to inquire concerning the report of my 
 young friend's marriage ; and she made me promise to 
 acquaint her when I received any further news : at noon, 
 therefore, I went to her apartment at the Prince of Wales's, 
 with this information. Mr. Fairly, I knew, was with the 
 equerries in our lodge. Lady Charlotte had" the Duchess 
 of Beaufort and all the Fieldings with her, and therefore I 
 only left a message, by no means feeling spirits for en- 
 countering any stranger. 
 
 At noon, wlien I attended her Majesty, she inquired if I 
 had walked ? — Yes. — Where ? — In Eichmond Gardens. 
 — And nowhere else ? — No. She looked thoughtful — 
 and presently I recollected my intended visit to Lady 
 Charlotte, and mentioned it. She cleared up, and said, 
 " Oh ; — you went to Lady Charlotte ? " " Yes, ma'am," I 
 answered, thinking her very absent — which I thought 
 with sorrow, as that is so small a part of her character, 
 that I know not I ever saw any symptom of it before. 
 Nor, in fact, as I found afterwards, did I see it now. It 
 was soon explained. Miss Gomme, Madlle. Montmoulin, 
 and Miss Planta, all dined with Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 to-day. The moment I joined them, Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 called out, — " Pray, Miss Berner, for what visit you the 
 gentlemen ? " 
 
 " Me ? " 
 
 " Yes, you — and for what, I say ! " Amazed, I declared 
 I did not know what she meant. " Oh ! " cried she scoff- 
 ingly, "that won't not do — we all saw you — Princess 
 Royal the same ! — so don't not say that ! " I stared — and 
 Miss Gomme burst out in laughter, and then Mrs. Schwell- 
 enberg added — " For what go you over to the Prince 
 of Wales his house ? — nobody lives there but the gentle- 
 men — nobody others."
 
 122 ' DIAEY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 I laughed too, now, and told her the fact. " Oh/' cried 
 she, " Lady Charlotte ! — ver true. I had forgot Lady 
 Charlotte ! " 
 
 " Oh, very well, ma'am," cried I — "so only the gentle- 
 men were remembered ! " 
 
 I then found this had been related to the Queen ; and 
 Madlle. Montmoulin said she supposed the visit had been to 
 General Gordon ! — He is the groom now in waiting. " Li 
 good time ! " — as Mrs. Piozzi says ; — I know not even his 
 face ! But I laughed, without further affirmation. Miss 
 Gomme told me she had not been so much diverted since 
 the poor King's illness as by hearing this attack upon my 
 character. 
 
 Then followed an open raillery from Madlle. JVIontmoulin 
 of Mr. Fairly's visits ; but I stood it very well, assuring 
 her I should never seek to get rid of my two prison-visitors, 
 Mr. Smelt and Mr. Fairly, till I could replace them by 
 better, or go abroad for others ! 
 
 Friday, 13th. — This morning there was a great alarm 
 in the house by the appearance of two madmen. I heard it 
 from Columb. Mr. Smelt was so engaged in consultation 
 about them, that he did not even come upstairs ; and I 
 remained in the most anxious uncertainty till noon, when 
 my ever ready and kind informant, Mr. Fairly, found liis 
 way to me. 
 
 " I am come," he cried, " only for a moment, to acquaint 
 you with the state of things below." He then repeated 
 all the particulars : but as the adventure was local, I shall 
 not write more of it than that one of these men, after a 
 long examination by all the gentlemen, was dismissed, and 
 the other sent to the office of Lord Sydney, Secretary of 
 State. Nothing so strange as the eternal rage of these 
 unhappy lunatics to pursue the Royal Family ! 
 
 He then gave me the particulars of the progress of the
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 123 
 
 Eegency Bill, which direful topic lasted while he stayed. 
 Oh, how dreadful will be the day when that unhappy bill 
 takes place ! I cannot approve the plan of it ; — the King 
 is too well to make such a step right. It will break his 
 spirits, if not his heart, when he hears and understands 
 such a deposition. 
 
 Saturday, 14th. — The King is infinitely better. Oh 
 that there were patience in the land ! and this Eegency 
 Bill postponed ! 
 
 Two of the Princesses regularly, and in turn, attend 
 their Eoyal mother in her evening visits to the King. 
 Some of those who stay behind, now and then spend the 
 time in Mrs. Schwellenberg's room. They all long for 
 their turn of going to the King, and count the hours till 
 it returns. Their dutiful affection is truly beautiful to 
 behold. 
 
 This evening the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary came 
 into Mrs. Schwellenberg's room while I was yet there. 
 They sang songs in two parts all the evening, and very 
 prettily in point of voice. Their good humor, however, 
 and inherent condescension and sweetness of manners, 
 would make a much worse performance pleasing. 
 
 February 16th. — All well, and the King is preparing 
 for an interview with the Chancellor ! Dr. Willis now 
 confides in me all his schemes and notions ; we are grow- 
 ing the best of friends ; and his son, Dr. John, is nearly 
 as trusty. Excellent people ! how I love and honor them 
 all! 
 
 When I came to tea, I found Mr. Fairly waiting in my 
 room. He had left Kew for Eichmond Park, but only 
 dined there. We had much discussion of state business. 
 The King is so much himself, that he is soon to be in- 
 formed of the general situation of the kingdom. Oh, what
 
 124 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 an information I — how we all tremble in looking forward 
 to it ! Mr. Fairly thinks Mr. Smelt the fittest man for 
 this oflice : Mr. Smelt thinks the same of Mr. Fairly : both 
 have told me this. 
 
 Then again Mr. Locke came into play. I told him I 
 believed him a man without blemish. 
 
 He repeated my words with emphatic surprise. " At 
 least," I cried, " there is no fault in him I have ever seen, 
 — nor yet that, amongst his acquaintance, I have ever 
 heard mentioned." 
 
 " "What a character ! " he exclaimed ; and again, forget- 
 ting the long delay he had proposed in the morning, he 
 declared he must know him. He asked me various par- 
 ticulars of his way of life ; I sketched it all out with that 
 delight which such a subject communicates to all my ideas, 
 and he is now perfectly well informed of the whole system 
 of Norbury Park. 
 
 He began soon to look at his watch, complaining very 
 much of the new ceremony imposed, of this attendance of 
 handing the Queen, which, he said, broke into his whole 
 evening. Yet he does as little as possible. " The rest of 
 them," he said, " think it necessary to wait in an adjoining 
 apartment during the whole interview, to be ready to show 
 themselves when it is over." 
 
 He now sat with his watch in his hand, dreading to pass 
 his time, but determined not to anticipate its occupation, 
 till half past nine o'clock, when he drew on his white 
 gloves, ready for action. But then, stopping short, he de- 
 sired me to guess whom, amongst my acquaintance, he had 
 met in London this last time of his going thither. I could 
 not guess wdiom he meant — but I saw it was no common 
 person, by his manner. He then continued — "A tall, 
 thin, meagre, sallow, black-eyed, penetrating, keen-looking 
 .figure."
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 125 
 
 I could still not guess, — and he named Mr. Wyndham. 
 
 " Mr. Wyndham ! " I exclaimed, " no, indeed, — you do 
 not describe him fairly, — he merits better coloring." 
 
 He accuses me of being very partial to him : however, 
 I am angry enough with him just now, though firmly per- 
 suaded still, that whatever has fallen from him, that is 
 wrong and unfeeling, on the subject of the Eegency, has 
 been the effect of his enthusiastic friendship for Mr. Burke : 
 for he has never risen, on this cruel business, but in sup- 
 port of that most misguided of vehement and wild orators. 
 This I have observed in the debates, and felt that Mr. 
 Burke was not more run away with by violence of temper 
 and passion, than Mr. Wyndham by excess of friendsliip 
 and admiration. 
 
 Mr. Fairly has, I fancy, been very intimate with him, 
 for he told me he observed he was passing him in Queen 
 Anne Street, and stopped his horse, to call out, " Oh ho, 
 Wyndham ! so I see you will not know me with this ser- 
 vant ! " He was on business of the Queen's, and had one 
 of the royal gTOoms with him. 
 
 Mr. Wyndham laughed, and said he was very glad to see 
 who it was, for, on looking at the royal servant, he had 
 just been going to make his lowest bow. " Oh, I thank 
 you ! " returned Mr. Fairly, " you took me, then, for the 
 Duke of Cumberland." 
 
 We talked about him a good while ; my high admiration 
 of his talents, his style of conversation, and the mingled 
 animation and delicacy of his manners, I enlarged upon 
 without scruple ; adding, that I should not feel it so 
 strongly, but from a fixed belief, founded on reason and 
 information, that his internal character was amongst the 
 noblest ever formed. 
 
 February 17th. — The times are now most interesting 
 and critical. Dr. Willis confided to me this morning that
 
 126 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 to-day the King is to see the Chancellor. How important 
 will be the result of his appearance ! — the whole national 
 fate depends upon it ! 
 
 Mr. Smelt has had his first interview also ; — it was all 
 smooth ; but, to himself, deeply affecting. 
 
 I am very sorry to say I am satisfied a certain Cerbera 
 has lamented my tea-elopements to the Princess Eoyal. 
 There is an evident change, and coldness of a high sort, in 
 that lately so condescending Princess. I am quite grieved 
 at this. But I will not pay a mean court, for which I 
 should despise myself, in order to conciliate a person whom 
 I have never justly offended, but by running away from 
 her when affronted myself. I will ratlier risk every conse- 
 quence. Time, I think, must stand my friend. 
 
 Wednesday, 18th. — I had this morning the highest 
 gratification, the purest feeling of delight, I have been re- 
 galed with for many months : I saw, from the road, the 
 King and Queen, accompanied by Dr. Willis, walking in 
 Eichmond Gardens, near the farm, arm in arm ! — It was a 
 pleasure that quite melted me, after a separation so bitter, 
 scenes so distressful — to witness such harmony and secu- 
 rity ! Heaven bless and preserve them ! was all I could 
 incessantly say while I kept in their sight. 
 
 I was in the carriage with Mrs. Schwellenberg at the 
 time. They saw us also, as I heard afterwards from the 
 Queen. 
 
 Thursday, 19th. — This is my dear young friend's ^ bridal 
 day ! I have written to her. Heaven send her happy ! 
 
 Dr. Willis tliis morning lent me a crambo song, on his 
 own name, which he has received by the penny post. 
 I shall copy and show it you. It is sportive enough, and 
 loyal. 
 
 This was a sweet, and will prove a most memorable day : 
 
 1 Mrs. Delany's niece, Miss Port.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 127 
 
 the Eegency was put off, in the House of Lords, by a motion 
 from the Lord Chancellor ! 
 
 Huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 And this evening, for the first time, the King came up- 
 stairs to drink tea with the Queen and Princesses in the 
 drawing-room ! My heart was so full of joy and thank- 
 fulness, I could hardly breathe ! Heaven — Heaven be 
 praised ! 
 
 What a different house is this house become ! — sadness 
 and terror, that wholly occupied it so lately, are now flown 
 away, or rather are now driven out ; and though anxiety 
 still forcibly prevails, 't is in so small a proportion to joy 
 and thankfulness, that it is borne as if scarce an ill ! 
 
 Monday, 23rd. — This morning opened wofully to me, 
 though gaily to the house ; for as my news of his Majesty 
 was perfectly comfortable, I ventured, in direct words, to 
 ask leave to receive my dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Locke, 
 who were now in town : — in understood sentences, and 
 open looks, I had already failed again and again. 
 
 My answer was — "I have no particular objection, only 
 you '11 keep them to your room." Heavens ! — did they 
 ever, unsummoned, quit it ? or have they any wish to en- 
 large their range of visit ? I was silent, and then heard a 
 history of some imprudence in Lady Effingham, who had 
 received some of her friends. 
 
 My resolution, upon this, I need not mention : I pre- 
 ferred the most lengthened absence to such a permission. 
 But I felt it acutely ! and I hoped, at least, that, by taking 
 no steps, something more favorable might soon pass. 
 
 The King I have seen again — in the Queen's dressing- 
 room. On opening the door, there he stood ! He smiled 
 at my start, and saying he had waited on purpose to see 
 me, added, " I am quite well now, — I was nearly so when
 
 128 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 I saw you before — but I could overtake you better now ! " 
 And then he left the room. I was quite melted with joy 
 and thankfulness at this so entire restoration. 
 End of February, 1789. Dieu merci ! 
 
 Kew Palace. 
 
 Sunday, March 1st. — What a pleasure was mine this 
 morning ! how solemn, but how grateful ! The Queen gave 
 me the " Prayer of Thanksgiving " upon the King's re- 
 covery. It was this morning read in all the churches 
 throughout the metropolis, and by this day week it will 
 reach every church in the kingdom. It kept me in tears 
 all the morning, — that such a moment should actually 
 arrive ! after fears so dreadful, scenes so terrible. 
 
 The Queen gave me a dozen, to distribute among the 
 female servants ; but I reserved one of them for dear Mr. 
 Smelt, who took it from me in speechless ecstasy — his 
 fine and feeling eyes swimming in tears of joy. 
 
 There is no describing — and I will not attempt it — the 
 fulness, the almost overwhelming fulness of this morning's 
 thankful feelings ! 
 
 I had the great gratification to see the honored object of 
 this joy, for a few minutes, in the Queen's dressing-room. 
 He was all calmness and benevolent graciousness. I fan- 
 cied my strong emotion had disfigured me ; or perhaps the 
 whole of this long confinement and most affecting winter 
 may have somewhat marked my countenance ; for the King 
 presently said to me, 
 
 " Pray, are you quite well to-day ? " 
 
 " I think not quite, sir," I answered. 
 
 " She does not look well," said he to the Queen ; " she 
 looks a little — yelloio I think." How kind to think of any 
 body and their looks, at this first moment of reappear- 
 ance !
 
 1789,] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 129 
 
 I hear Llajor Price is arrived, on a visit, to see his re- 
 stored old master; with what true joy will he see that 
 sight ! Mr. Smelt told me, also, there ivould he no more pri- 
 vate parties, as the King now sent for all the gentlemen to 
 join the Royal set at the card-table every evening. I have 
 much reason to be glad of this at present. 
 
 On my return I found a letter from my dear M , 
 
 written on the day of her marriage ; which was performed 
 at Bath, whence she set out for her father's house. Her 
 letter is dated on the road. 
 
 Wednesday, March 4th. — A message from Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg this morning, to ask me to air with her, 
 received my most reluctant acquiescence ; for the frost is 
 so severe that any air without exercise, is terrible to me ; 
 though, were her atmosphere milder, the rigor of the season 
 I might not regard. 
 
 When we came to the passage, the carriage w^as not 
 ready. She murmured most vehemently ; and so bitterly 
 cold was I, I could heartily have joined, had it answered 
 any purpose. 
 
 While thus bad was making worse, a party of gentlemen 
 in uniform passed ; and presently INIr. Fairly, looking 
 towards us, exclaimed, " Is that — yes, it is Miss Burney: I 
 must just ask her how she does! — "and, quitting the 
 group, he came to me with a thousand kind inquiries. 
 He was then entering still further into conversation ; but 
 I drew back, alarmed, lest, not having noticed my com- 
 panion, he should unknowingly incense her by this dis- 
 tinction. Still, however, he went on, till I looked full 
 round at Mrs. Schwellenberg, who was standing, loftily 
 silent, only a few steps above me. He then addressed her ; 
 whether he had not seen or had not cared about her before, 
 I know not. She instantly began a proud accusation of 
 her servants, protesting she had never met such a thing 
 
 VOL. II. 9
 
 130 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 before as to wait for such people ; but made no answer to 
 his tardy salutation. 
 
 Just as well content, he heard her without reply, and, 
 returning to me, renewed his attempt at conversation. 
 More loftily than ever, she then drew up, and uttered 
 aloud the most imperious reproaches, on the unexampled 
 behavior of her people who were never while they lived 
 again to have power to make her wait " not one moment." 
 Frightened at this rising storm, I endeavored to turn 
 towards her, and engage her to join in other discourse; 
 but Mr. Fairly did not second my motion, and / obtained 
 no other notice than, " Oh, ver well ! when they will serve 
 me so, they might see what will become ! — no ! it is not 
 permit ! — " &c. 
 
 In the midst of this. Colonel Goldsworthy appeared ; he 
 came forward, with Hovjdost — but Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 called him to her, with unusual civility, and many kind 
 inquiries about his sister. 
 
 In this cold passage we waited in this miserable manner 
 a full quarter of an hour ; all the time scolding the ser- 
 vants, threatening them with exile, sending message after 
 message, repining, thwarting, and contentious. Now we 
 were to go and wait in the King's rooms — now in the 
 gentlemen's — now in Dr. WiUis's — her own, — and this, 
 in the end, took place. 
 
 In our way we again encountered Mr. Fairly. He asked 
 where we were going. " To my own parlor ! " slie an- 
 swered. He accompanied us in ; and, to cheer the gloom, 
 seized some of- the stores of Dr. Willis, — sandwiches, wine 
 and water, and other refreshments, and brouglit them to 
 us, one after another, in a sportive manner, recommending 
 to us to break through common rules, on such an occasion, 
 and eat and drink to warm ourselves.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 131 
 
 She stood in stately silence, and bolt upright, scarce 
 deigning to speak even a refusal ; till, upon his saying, 
 while he held a glass of wine in his hand, " Come, ma'am, 
 do something eccentric for once — it will warm you ! — " 
 she angrily answered, " You been reely — what you call — 
 too much hospital ! " Neither of us could help laughing, 
 — " Yes," cried he, " with the goods of others ; that makes 
 a wide difterence in hospitality ! " 
 
 Then he rattled away upon the honors the room had 
 lately received, of having had Mr. Pitt, the Chancellor, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, &c., to wait in it. This she re- 
 sented highly, as seeming to think it more honored in her 
 absence than presence. 
 
 At length we took our miserable airing, in which I was 
 treated with as much fierce harshness as if I was convey- 
 ing to some place of confinement for the punishment of 
 some dreadful offence ! She would have the glass down on 
 my side ; the piercing wind cut my face ; I put my muff 
 up to it : this incensed her so much, that she vehemently 
 declared " she never, no never, would trohhle any vjon to air 
 with her again, but go always selfs," — And who will re- 
 pine at that ? thought I. Yet by night I had caught a 
 violent cold, which flew to my face, and occasioned me 
 dreadful pain. 
 
 Tuesday, March 10th. — I have been in too much pain 
 to write these last five days : and I became very feverish, 
 and universally ill, affected with the fury of the cold. 
 
 My Eoyal mistress, who could not but observe me very 
 unwell, though I have never omitted my daily three at- 
 tendances, which I have performed with difficulty all hut 
 insurmountable, concluded I had been guilty of some 
 imprudence : I told the simple fact of the glass — but 
 quit& simply, and without one circumstance. She instantly 
 said she was surprised I could catch cold in an airing, as
 
 132 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 it never appeared that it disagreed with me when I took 
 it with Mrs. Delany. 
 
 " No, ma'am," I immediately answered, " nor with Mrs. 
 Locke ; nor formerly with Mrs. Thrale : — but they left me 
 the regulation of the glass on my own side to myself ; or, 
 if they interfered, it was to draw it up for me." This I 
 could not resist. I can be silent ; but when challenged to 
 speak at all, it must be plain truth. I had no answer. 
 Illness here — till of late — has been so unknown, that it 
 is commonly supposed it must be wilful, and therefore 
 meets little notice, till accompanied by danger, or inca- 
 pacity of duty. This is by no means from hardness of 
 heart — far otherwise; there is no hardness of heart in 
 any one of them ; but it is prejudice and want of personal 
 experience.^ 
 
 Tuesday, March 10th. — This was a day of happiness 
 indeed ! — a day of such heartfelt public delight as could 
 not but suppress all private disturbance. The King sent 
 to open the House of Lords by Commission, The general 
 illumination of all London proved the universal joy of a 
 thankful and most affectionate people, who have shown so 
 largely, on this trying occasion, how well they merited the 
 monarch thus benignantly preserved. 
 
 The Queen, from her privy purse, gave private orders for 
 a splendid illumination at this palace ; Eebecca painted a 
 beautiful transparency ; and Mr. Smelt had the regulation 
 
 1 " Weak, feverish, hardly able to stand, Frances had still to rise be- 
 fore seven in order to dress the 'sweet Queen,' and to sit up till midnight 
 in order to undress the sweet Queen. The indisposition of the handmaid 
 could not, and did not, escape the notice of her royal mistress. But the 
 established doctrine of the Court was, that all sickness was to be consid- 
 ered as a pretence until it proved fatal. The only way in which the in- 
 valid was to clear herself from the suspicion of ' malingering,' as it is 
 called in the army, was to go on lacing and unlacing till she fell down 
 dead at the royal feet." — Lord Macaulo/ij, Essay on Madame d'Arblay.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. ^ 133 
 
 of the whole. The King — Providence — Health — and 
 Britannia, were displayed with elegant devices : the Queen 
 and Princesses, all but the youngest, went to town to see 
 the illumination there ; and Mr. Smelt was to conduct the 
 surprise. — It was magnificently beautiful. When it was 
 lighted and prepared, the Princess Amelia went to lead 
 her Papa to the front window ; but first she dropped on 
 her knees, and presented him a paper with these lines — 
 which, at the Queen's desire, I had scribbled in her name, 
 for the happy occasion : — 
 
 To THE King. 
 
 Amid a rapturous Nation's praise 
 
 Tliat sees thee to their prayers restored, 
 Turn gently from the general blaze, — 
 
 Thy Charlotte woos her bosom's lord. 
 
 Turn and behold where, bright and clear, 
 
 Depictured with transparent art, 
 The emblems of her thoughts appear. 
 
 The tribute of a gi'ateful heart. 
 
 ! small the tribute, were it weighed 
 
 "With all she feels — or half she owes ! 
 But noble minds are best repaid 
 
 From the pure spring whence bounty flows. 
 
 P. S. The little bearer begs a kiss 
 
 From dear Papa, for bringing this. 
 
 I need not, I think, tell you, the little bearer begged not 
 in vain. The King was extremely pleased. He came into 
 a room belonging to the Princesses, in which we had a 
 party to look at the illuminations, and there he stayed 
 above an hour ; cheerful, composed, and gracious ! all that 
 could merit the great national testimony to his worth this 
 day paid him. 
 
 Lady Efiingham, Major Price, Dr. Willis, and Mr. and
 
 134 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 Mrs. Smelt, made the party ; witli the sweet little Princess 
 till her bed-time, Miss Gomme, &c. 
 
 The Queen and Princesses did not return from town 
 till one in the morning. They were quite enchanted with 
 the glorious scene they had been beholding. 
 
 Wednesday, March 11th. — This morning our beloved 
 Sovereign, reinstated in all his dignities, received the Ad- 
 dress of the Lords and Commons, in person, upon his re- 
 covery. The Queen, too, saw some of the foreign ministers, 
 on the same joyful occasion. All was serene gaiety and 
 pleasure ! 
 
 At nisht the Princess Elizabeth came to call me to the 
 Queen. Her Majesty was in the drawing-room, with the 
 King, Princesses, Lady Pembroke, Mr. Smelt, and Dr. Wil- 
 lis. She immediately communicated to me her gracious 
 permission that I should spend the next day in town, sleep 
 at my father's, and return on Friday evening. On Satur- 
 day we are all to take leave of Kew. 
 
 Thursday, March 12th. — I set out as early as I was 
 able, in a post-chaise, with Columb on horseback. On the 
 road we overtook the King, with Mr. Fairly, Colonels Man- 
 ners, Gwynn, and Goldsworthy, and Major Price. 
 
 I stopped the chaise ; but the King rode up to it, and 
 asked me how long I should stay in town, and how long it 
 was since I had seen my father ? When I answered five 
 months, " Oh poor soul ! " he exclaimed, and then let me 
 go on. 
 
 How did I rejoice to see my dearest father ! 
 
 Friday evening I returned to Kew. 
 
 Queen's Lodge, Windsor. 
 Saturday, March 14th. — This morning we returned 
 to Windsor, with what different sensations from those with 
 which we left it ! All illness over, all fears removed, all
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 135 
 
 sorrows lightened ! The King was so well as to go on 
 horseback, attended by a large party of gentlemen. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg went to town to spend some days ; 
 Miss Planta only accompanied me : Mr. and ]\Irs. Smelt, 
 on invitation by the King, came also to Windsor for a 
 week. The Queen was all graciousness : everything and 
 everybody were smiling and lively. 
 
 All Windsor came out to meet the King. It was a joy 
 amounting to ecstasy ; I could not keep my eyes dry all 
 day long. A scene so reversed ! sadness so sweetly ex- 
 changed for thankfulness and delight ! I had a charming 
 party to dinner ; Mr. and Mrs. Smelt and the Bishop of 
 Worcester joining Mr. de Luc and Miss Planta. Recovery 
 was all the talk ; there could be no other theme. 
 
 The town of Windsor had subscribed forty guineas for 
 fireworks, to celebrate the return of the King ; the Royal 
 Family were to see them from Mrs. Schwellenberg's bed- 
 room, which looked directly upon them ; and Mr. Smelt 
 begged to see them from mine, Mdiich is immediately under 
 that of Mrs. Schwellenberg. 
 
 Sunday, March 15th. — The King this morning renewed 
 his public service at church, by taking the Sacrament at 
 eight o'clock. All his gentlemen attended him. The 
 Queen, Princesses, and household went at the usual time. 
 Bishop Hurd preached an excellent sermon, with one 
 allusion to the King's recovery, delicately touched and 
 quickly passed over. 
 
 Miss Burnei/ to Mrs. . 
 
 March 6, 1789. 
 
 I thought with greatly added satisfaction, from 
 
 what the last letter contains, of Mr. 's religious prin- 
 ciples. There, indeed, you have given a basis to my hopes
 
 136 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1789, 
 
 of your happiness, that no other consideration could have 
 given me. To have him good is very important to me : to 
 have you impressed with his goodness, I had almost said, 
 is yet more so. 
 
 Only guard yourself, all you can, from ruminatmg, too 
 deeply, and from indulging every rising emotion, whether 
 of ^9am or pleasure. You are all made up with propen- 
 sities to both ; I see it with concern, yet with added ten- 
 derness : see it also yourself, and it can do no evil. We 
 are all more in our own power than we think, till we try, 
 or are tried. To calm your too agitated mind must be 
 uppermost in your thoughts : — pray for strength to do it, 
 and you will not be denied it : — but pray, I beg you : — 
 it will not come without prayer, and prayer will impress 
 you with the duty of exertion. 
 
 Miss Burney to the same. 
 
 Queen's Lodge, "Windsor, March 17, 1789. 
 How tranquillizing a letter, my sweet friend, have you 
 at last sent me ! I read it with the highest satisfaction, 
 and I have dwelt upon it with constant pleasure ever 
 
 since. What you tell me of Mrs. 's kindness and 
 
 attention could not indeed surprise me, but my best grati- 
 fication from them arises in your grateful acceptance. 
 When you tell me you have not known so much comfort 
 for time immemorial, you show that right disposition to 
 be happy which forms one of the principal powers for 
 becoming so. I do indeed flatter myself that now, since 
 your destiny in this world is fixed, your mind will con- 
 tinue in the same serene state in which you describe it ; 
 for I know your sense of duty (may I say so to a married 
 woman ?), and I know the excellent resolutions with which
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 137 
 
 you began your new course of life ; and contentment and 
 cheerfulness are so much in our own power, though high 
 felicity depends upon circumstances, that whoever is ear- 
 nestly bent on making the happiness of others their first 
 care must attain them. And such, I know, was the gen- 
 erous intention with which you set out ; an intention 
 which, well supported, never, I believe, failed of preserv- 
 ing the most grateful affection in the object towards whom 
 
 it is directed. And you, my dear M , I well know, 
 
 have a thousand powers for keeping awake at the same 
 time the most lively admiration. And you will not let 
 them languish because you are married ; for you require 
 affection and kindness ; they are necessary to your peace ; 
 you have enjoyed them in full sway all the best and 
 happiest part of your life, and you could do nothing to 
 diminish them that would not chiefly end in punishing 
 yourself No, no ; I do not fear this from you, common as 
 is the fault. Your poor mind has been tutored, — torn 
 rather, — in the school of early adversity, and you will not 
 yourself roughen the harbor that brings you to rest. 
 
 We have lived in much hurry since I wrote last, though, 
 thank Heaven, of a sort the most pleasant. The recovery 
 of the King is a blessing unspeakable both in its extent 
 and force. He little before knew the general loyalty and 
 attachment of the nation. The nation knew it not, indeed, 
 itself. 
 
 The Bishop of Worcester has been here to give His 
 Majesty the Sacrament, and inquired much about you. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest M ; I entreat to hear from you 
 
 as soon and as often as you can. I know how much you 
 must be engaged for some time to come, and short letters 
 shall content me till you have leisure to lengthen them. 
 But tell me where you are as immediately as possible. 
 Heaven ever bless you ! F. B.
 
 138 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 Wednesday, March 18th. — To-day, — suddenly and 
 unexpectedly, — returned Mrs. Schwellenberg. Our din- 
 ner and coffee were altered sufficiently : only Miss Planta 
 attended them ; and all returned to gloom and discontent. 
 
 But at tea she declined appearing, not having time to 
 dress. I came down to my own room, about seven o'clock, 
 to get a little breathing time, and send to invite Miss 
 Egerton, to help me in doing the honors to this last 
 evening of so large a tribe : I well knew none of the 
 household ladies would venture without another invitation. 
 
 Queen's Lodge, Windsor. 
 
 The rest of this month T shall not give by daily dates, 
 but by its incidents. 
 
 The officers of the Welsh Fusileers "presented their 
 compliments " to me, in a card, to invite me to their ball ; 
 and as it was given on so joyful an occasion, and General 
 Grenville was the commanding officer, I received her 
 Majesty's directions to go. So did Miss Planta and tJie 
 ladies of the Lower Lodge. 
 
 I think I need not mention meeting my beloved Fredy 
 in town, on our delightful excursion thither for the Grand 
 Eestoration Drawing Room, in which the Queen received 
 the compliments and congratulations of almost all the 
 court part of the nation. Miss Cambridge worked me, 
 upon this occasion, a suit, in silks upon tiffany, most ex- 
 cessively delicate and pretty, and much admired by her 
 Majesty. 
 
 All I shall mention of this town visit is, that, the day 
 after the great drawing-room, Miss Fuzilier, for the first 
 time since I have been in office, called upon me to inquire 
 after the Queen. Miss Tryon, and Mrs. Tracey, and Mrs. 
 Fielding, were with her. She looked serious, sensible, 
 interesting. I thought instantly of the report concerning
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 139 
 
 Mr. Fairly, and of his disavowal : but it was singular that 
 the only time she opened her mouth to speak was to name 
 him ! Miss Tryon, wlio chatted incessantly, had spoken 
 of the great confusion at the drawing-room, from the 
 crowd : " It was intended to be better regulated," said Miss 
 r., " Mr. Fairly told me." She dropped her eye the mo- 
 ment she ]iad spoken his name. After this, as before it, 
 she said nothing. 
 
 On our return to Windsor we soon lost more of our 
 party. The excellent Mr. and Mrs. Smelt left us first. I 
 was truly sorry to part with them ; and Mr. Smelt held a 
 long confidential conference with me on the morning he 
 went : he told me his plan also of retiring, to finish his 
 life in the bosom of his children, in the north. When I 
 expressed my inevitable concern, though unmixed with a 
 shadov/ of remonstrance against a scheme so natural, right, 
 and happy, he spoke to me in warmer terms than ever be- 
 fore dropped from him, of kind personal regard ; and he 
 finished it with laughingly exclaiming, " Your whole con- 
 duct, in this trying situation, has appeared to me perfec- 
 tion. There ! now it 's all out ! — and I don't know how 
 it came to pass, for I never mentioned to you before how 
 much I both love and honor you." 
 
 This would not lighten the projected separation ; yet 
 would I not, for the universe, even retard either of the 
 retirements now planned by my two kind and most valu- 
 able supporters during the confinement I have endured. 
 
 Miss Burney to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 Keav, April, 1789. 
 
 My dearest Friends, — I have her Majesty's commands to 
 inquire — w^hether you have any of a certain breed of 
 poultry ?
 
 140 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 N.B. What breed I do not remember. 
 
 And to say she has just received a small group of the 
 same herself. 
 
 N.B. The quantity I have forgotten. 
 
 And to add, she is assured they are something very rare 
 and scarce, and extraordinary and curious. 
 
 N.B. By whom she was assured I have not heard. 
 
 And to subjoin, that you must send word if you have 
 any of the same sort. 
 
 N.B. How you are to find that out, I cannot tell. 
 
 And to mention, as a corollary, that, if you have none 
 of them, and should like to have some, she has a cock and 
 a hen she can sj)are, and will appropriate them to Mr. 
 Locke and my dearest Fredy. 
 
 This conclusive stroke so pleased and exhilarated me, 
 that forthwith I said you would both be enchanted, and so 
 forgot all the preceding particulars. And I said, more- 
 over, that I knew you would rear them, and cbeer them, 
 and fondle them like your children. So now — pray write 
 a very fair answer fairly, in fair hand and to fair purpose. 
 
 My Susanna is just now come — so all is fair with my 
 dearest Mr. and Mrs. Locke's F. B. 
 
 Queen's Lodge, ■Wi>rDsoB. 
 
 April. — I shall abbreviate this month also of its chrono- 
 logical exactness. 
 
 The same gentlemen continued. Colonel Manners and 
 Mr. G, Villiers. But Mrs. Schwellenberg is softened into 
 nothing but civility and courtesy to me. To what the 
 change is owing I cannot conjecture ; but I do all that in 
 me lies to support it, preferring the entire sacrifice of every 
 moment, from our dinner to twelve at night, to her harsh-
 
 1789.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 141 
 
 ness and horrors. Nevertheless, a lassitude of existence 
 creeps sensibly upon me. 
 
 Colonel Manners, however, for the short half- hour of tea- 
 time, is irresistibly diverting. He continues my constant 
 friend and neighbor, and, while he affects to play off the 
 coadjutrix to advantage, he nods at me, to draw forth my 
 laughter or approbation, with the most alarming undisguise. 
 I often fear her being affronted ; but naturally she ad- 
 mires him very much for his uncommon share of beauty, 
 and makes much allowance for his levity. However, the 
 never-quite-comprehended affair of the leather bed-cover 
 has in some decree intimidated her ever since, as she con- 
 stantly apprehends that, if he were provoked, he would 
 play her some trick. 
 
 He had been at White's ball, given in town upon His 
 Majesty's recovery. We begged some account of it : he 
 ranted away with great fluency, uttering little queer sar- 
 casms at Mrs. Schwellenberg by every opportunity, and 
 coloring when he had done, with private fear of enraging 
 her. This, however, she suspected not, or all his aim had 
 been lost ; for to alarm her is his delight. 
 
 " I liked it all," he said, in summing up his relation, 
 " very well, except the music, and I like any caw — caw — 
 caw, better than that sort of noise, — only you must not 
 tell the King I say that, ma'am, because the King likes it." 
 
 She objected to the word " must not," and protested she 
 would not be directed hy no one, and would tell it, if she 
 pleased. Upon this, he began a most boisterous threaten- 
 ing of the evil consequences which would accrue to her- 
 self, though in so ludicrous a manner that how she could 
 suppose him serious was my wonder. " Take care of your- 
 self, ma'am," he cried, holding up his finger as if menacing 
 a child ; " take care of yourself ! I am not to be provoked 
 twice ! "
 
 142 DIAUY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 This, after a proud resistance, conquered her ; and, really 
 frightened at she knew not what, she fretfully exclaimed, 
 " Ver well, sir 1 — I wish I had not comm down ! I won't 
 no more ! you might have your tea when you can get it ! " 
 
 Eeturning to his account, he owned he had been rather 
 a little musical himself for once, which was when they all 
 sang " God save the King," after the supper ; for then he 
 joined in the chorus, as well and as loud as any of them, 
 " though some of the company," he added, " took the lib- 
 erty to ask me not to be so loud, because they pretended I 
 was out of tune ; but it was in such a good cause that I did 
 not mind that." 
 
 She was no sooner recovered than the attack became 
 personal again ; and so it has continued ever since ; he 
 seems bent upon " ])laying her off " in all manners; he 
 braves her, then compliments her, assents to her opinion, 
 and the next moment contradicts her; pretends uncom- 
 mon friendship for her, and then laughs in her face. But 
 his worst manoeuvre is a perpetual application to me, by 
 looks and sly glances, which fill me with terror of passing 
 for an accomplice ; and the more, as I find it utterly im- 
 possible to keep grave during- these absurdities. 
 
 And yet, the most extraordinary part of the story is that 
 she really likes him ! though at times she is so angry, she 
 makes vows to keep to her own room. 
 
 Mr, George Villiers, with far deeper aim, sneers out his 
 own more artful satire, but is never understood ; while 
 Colonel Manners domineers with so high a hand, he carries 
 all before him ; and whenever Mrs. Schwellenberg, to 
 lessen her mortification, draws me into the question, he 
 instantly turns off whatever she begins into some high- 
 flown compliment, so worded also as to convey some com- 
 parative reproach. This offends more than all. 
 
 When she complains to me of him, in his absence, I
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 143 
 
 answer he is a mere schoolboy, for mischief, without 
 serious design of displeasing : but she tells me she sees he 
 means to do her some harm, and she will let the King 
 know, if he goes on at that rate; for she does not choose such 
 sort of familiarness. 
 
 Once she apologized suddenly for her English, and Col- 
 onel Manners said, " Oh, don't mind that, ma'am, for I take 
 no particular notice as to your language." " But," says 
 she, " Miss Berner might tell me, when I speak it some- 
 times not quite right, w^hat you call." 
 
 " Oh dear no, ma'am ! " exclaimed he ; " Miss Burney is 
 of too mild a disposition for that : she could not correct 
 you strong enough to do you good." 
 
 " Oh ! — ver well, sir ! " she cried, confounded by his 
 effrontery. 
 
 One day she lamented she had been absent when there 
 was so much agreeable company in the house; "And now," 
 she added, " now that I am comm back, here is nobody ! — 
 not one ! — no society ! " He protested this was not to be 
 endured, and told her that to reckon all us nobody was so 
 bad, he should resent it. " What will you do, my good 
 Colonel ? " she cried. 
 
 " Oh ma'am, do 1—1 will tell Dr. Davis." 
 
 " And who bin he ? " 
 
 " Why, he 's the master of Eton school, ma'am ! " with a 
 thundering bawl in her ears, that made her stop them. 
 
 " No, sir ! " she cried, indignantly, " I thank you for that ! 
 I won't have no Dr. schoolmaster, what you call ! I bin too 
 old for that." 
 
 " But ma'am, he shall bring you a Latin oration upon 
 this subject, and you must hear it ! " " Oh, 't is all the 
 sam ! I shan't not understand it, so I won't not hear it ! " 
 
 " But you mud, ma'am. If / write it, I shan't let you 
 off so : — you must hear it ! "
 
 144 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 " No, I won't ! — Miss Berner might, — give it her ! " 
 " Does Miss Burney know Latin ? " cried Mr. G. Villiers. 
 " Not one word," quoth I. 
 
 " I believe that ! " cried she, " but she might hear it the 
 sam ! " 
 
 The Queen graciously presented me with an extremely 
 pretty medal of green and gold, and a motto, Vive le Roi, 
 upon the Thanksgiving occasion, as well as a fan, orna- 
 mented with the words — Health restored to one, and hap- 
 piness to millions. 
 
 May. — I must give the few incidents of this month in 
 all brevity. 
 
 On the 2nd of May I met Colonel Manners, waiting at 
 the corner of a passage leading towards the Queen's apart- 
 ments. " Is the King, ma'am," he cried, " there ? because 
 Prince William is come." I had heard he was arrived in 
 town, — and with much concern, since it was without leave 
 of the King. It was in the illness, indeed, of the King he 
 sailed to England, and when he had probably all the excuse 
 of believing his Eoyal Father incapable of further gover- 
 nance. How did I grieve for the feelings of that Royal 
 Father, in this idea ! yet it certainly offers for Prince 
 William his best apology. 
 
 In the evening, while Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mrs. Zachary, 
 and myself were sitting in the eating parlor, the door was 
 suddenly opened by Mr. Alberts, the Queen's page, and 
 " Prince William " was announced. 
 
 He came to see Mrs. Schwellenberg. He is handsome, 
 as are all the Eoyal Family, though he is not of a height 
 to be called a good figure. He looked very hard at the 
 two strangers, but made us all sit, very civilly, and drew a 
 chair for himself, and began to discourse, with the most
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 145 
 
 unbounded openness and careless ease, of everything that 
 occurred to him. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg said she had pitied him for the grief 
 he must have felt at the news of the King's illness : " Yes," 
 cried he, " I was very sorry for His Majesty, very sorry in- 
 deed, — no man loves the King better ; of that be assured. 
 But all sailors love their King. And I felt for the Queen, 
 too, — I did, 'faith. I was horribly agitated when I saw 
 the King first. I co\dd hardly stand." 
 
 Then Mrs. Schwellenberg suddenly said, " Miss Berner, 
 now you might see his Eoyal Highness ; you wanted it so 
 moch, and now you might do it. Your Koyal Highness, 
 that is Miss Berner." 
 
 He rose very civilly, and bowed, to this strange freak of 
 introduction : and, of course, I rose and curtseyed low, and 
 waited his commands to sit again ; which were given in- 
 stantly, with great courtesy. " Ma'am," cried he, " you 
 have a Brother in the service ? " " Yes, sir," I answered, 
 much pleased with this professional attention. He had 
 not, he civilly said, the pleasure to know him, but he had 
 heard of him. Then, turning suddenly to Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, " Pray," cried he, " what is become of Mrs. — Mrs. — 
 Mrs. Hogentot ? " 
 
 " Oh, your Eoyal Highness ! " cried she, stifling nuich 
 offence, " do you mean the poor Haggerdorn ? — Oh, your 
 Koyal Highness ! have you forgot her ? " "I have, upon 
 my word ! " cried he, plumply ; " upon my soul, I have ! " 
 Then turning again to me, " I am very happy, ma'am," he 
 cried, " to see you here ; it gives me great pleasure the 
 Queen should appoint the sister of a sea-officer to so eligi- 
 ble a situation. As long as she has a brother in the 
 service, ma'am," cried he to Mrs. Schwellenberg, " I look 
 upon her as one of us. Oh, 'faith I do ! I do indeed ! she 
 is one of the corps." 
 
 VOL. II. 10
 
 146 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 Then he said he had been making acquaintance with a 
 new Princess, one he did not know nor remember — Prin- 
 cess Amelia. " Mary, too," he said, " I had quite forgot ; 
 and they did not tell me who she was ; so I went up to 
 her, and, without in the least recollecting her, she 's so 
 monstrously grown, I said, ' Pray, ma'am, are you one of 
 the attendants ? ' " 
 
 Princess Sophia is his professed favorite. " I have had 
 the honor," he cried, " of about an hour's conversation with 
 that young lady, in the old style ; though I have given up 
 my mad frolics now. To be sure, I had a few in that style 
 formerly ! — upon my word I am almost ashamed I — Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 Then, recollecting particulars, he laughed vehemently, 
 but Mrs. Schwellenberg eagerly interrupted his communi- 
 cations ; I fancy some of them might have related to our 
 own sacred person ! " Augusta," he said, " looks very well 
 — a good face and countenance — she looks inter'&sting — 
 she looks as if she knew more than she would say ; and I 
 like that character." 
 
 He stayed a full hour, chatting in this good-humored 
 and familiar manner. 
 
 For all the early part of this month I was grievously ill 
 with a pain in my face. I applied for it a blister, in vain ; 
 I had then recourse to leeches, and one of them certainly 
 bit a nerve, for what I suffered surpasses description ; it was 
 torture, it was agony ! I fully thought myself poisoned, 
 and I am most thankful to add that during that persuasion 
 I felt a freedom from what are called the "horrors of 
 death," which, at my recovery and ever since, has paid me 
 for that exquisite suffering. 
 
 All good, all patient with human infirmities, I painted 
 to myself that Great Creator before whom I believed my-
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 147 
 
 self prematurely appearing, and the dread of his wrath was 
 sunk in the hope of his mercy through the Eedeemer. 
 Whether I should feel this mental calm when not in such 
 dire bodily pain, Heaven only knows ! I am the happier 
 that I have ever felt it, when I believed the end of all 
 approaching. 
 
 But why do I forget the resolution with which I began 
 these my chronicles, of never mixing with them my re- 
 ligious sentiments — opinions — hopes — fears — belief — or 
 aspirations ? 
 
 In my books upon those, which no human eye but my 
 own has ever been cast over, I blend nothing mundane — 
 I mean as to my affairs ; for as to my thoughts and feelings, 
 let me try how I may — and I try with all my might — to 
 refine them and fit them for sacred subjects — I dare not 
 presume that I have had such success as really to have 
 purified them from the worldly dross that forms, rather 
 than mingles with, all I scrawl down helter-skelter in my 
 memorandum chronicles. However, I never will jumble 
 together what I deem holy with what I know to be trivial. 
 
 June. — This month, till our journey to Weymouth took 
 place, passed without mark or likelihood, save one little 
 token of Spanish gallantry from the Marquis del Campo, 
 who, when he came to Windsor, after reproving me very 
 civilly for being absent from his fete, told me he had re- 
 membered me during the drawing of his lottery, that 
 night, and " had taken the liberty to bring me my prize," 
 which was a blue enamel ring with a motto. 
 
 Now, though this remembrance on such an evening was 
 impossible, there was no refusing, without affronting him, 
 the very good-humored and polite pretence.
 
 148 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 Miss Burney to Dr. Bttrnei/. 
 
 Gloucester House, Weymouth, July 13, 1789. 
 
 My dearest Padre's kind letter was most truly welcome 
 to me. When I am so distant, the term of absence or of 
 silence seems always doubly long to me. 
 
 The bay here is most beautiful ; the sea never rough, 
 generally calm and gentle, and the sands perfectly smooth 
 and pleasant. I have not yet bathed, for I have had a cold 
 in my head, which I caught at Lyndhurst, and which makes 
 me fear beginning ; but I have hopes to be well enough to- 
 morrow, and thenceforward to ail nothing more. It is my 
 intention to cast away all superfluous complaints into the 
 m.ain ocean, which I think quite sufficiently capacious to 
 hold them ; and really my little frame will find enough to 
 carry and manage without them. 
 
 Colonel Goldsworthy has just sent me in a newspaj^er 
 containing intelligence that Angelica Kauffman ^ is making 
 drawings from " Evelina " for the Empress of Russia ! Do 
 you think the, Empress of Eussia hears of anything now 
 besides Turkey and the Emperor ? And is not Angelica 
 Kauffman dead ? 0, what an Oracle ! for such is the 
 paper called. 
 
 His Majesty is in delightful health, and much-improved 
 spirits. All agree he never looked better. The loyalty of 
 all this place is excessive ; they have dressed out every 
 street with labels of " God save the King ; " all the shops 
 have it over the doors ; all the children wear it in their 
 caps — all the laborers in their hats, and all the sailors in 
 their voices; for they never approach the house without 
 
 1 The daughter of a Swiss painter born at Coire in 1740. She studied 
 at Rome and Venice, and afterwards came to England, where she enjoyed 
 a brilliant reputation for many years, and was ultimately elected a Royal 
 Academician. Her death did not take place till 1807.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 149 
 
 shouting it aloud — nor see the King, or his shadow, with- 
 out beginning to huzza, and going on to three cheers. 
 
 The bathing-machines make it their motto over all their 
 windows; and those bathers that belong to the royal dip- 
 pers wear it in bandeaux on their bonnets, to go into the 
 sea.; and have it again, in large letters, round their waists, 
 to encounter the waves. Flannel dresses, tucked up, and 
 no shoes nor stockings, with bandeaux and girdles, have a 
 most singular appearance ; and when first I surveyed these 
 loyal nymphs, it was with some difficulty I kept my fea- 
 tures in order. Nor is this all. Think but of the surprise 
 of His JNIajesty when, the first time of his bathing, he had 
 no sooner popped his royal head under water than a band 
 of music, concealed in a neighboring machine, struck up 
 " God save great George our King." 
 
 One thing, however, was a little unlucky; — when the 
 Mayor and burgesses came with the address, they requested 
 leave to kiss hands. This was graciously accorded ; but, 
 the Mayor advancing in a common way, to take the Queens 
 hand, as he might that of any lady mayoress. Colonel 
 Gwynn, who stood by, wliispered, " You must kneel, sir ! " 
 He found, however, that he took no notice of this hint, but 
 kissed the Queen's hand erect. As he passed him, in his 
 way back, the Colonel said, " You should have knelt, sir ! " 
 " Sir," answered the poor Mayor, " I cannot." 
 
 " Everybody does, sir." 
 
 " Sir, — I have a wooden leg ! " Poor man ! 't was such 
 a surprise ! and such an excuse as no one could dispute. 
 But the absurdity of the matter followed — all the rest did 
 the same ; taking the same privilege, by the example, 
 without tlie same or any cause ! 
 
 We have just got Mrs. Piozzi's book here. My Pioyal 
 mistress is reading, and will then lend it me. Have you 
 read it ?
 
 150 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 A thousand thanks for your home news. 
 
 I am, most dear sir, affectionately and dutifully your 
 
 F. B: 
 
 Wednesday, July 15th. — Mrs. Gwynn is arrived, and 
 means to spend the Koyal season here. She lodges at the 
 hotel just by, and we have met several times. She is 
 very soft and pleasing, and still as beautiful as an angel. 
 We have had two or three long tete-a-tetes, and talked 
 over, with great pleasure, anecdotes of our former mutual 
 acquaintances — Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Eeynolds, Mrs. 
 Thrale, Baretti, Miss Eeynolds, Miss Palmer, and her old 
 admirer, Dr. Goldsmith, of whom she relates — as who 
 does not ? — a thousand ridiculous traits. 
 
 The Queen is reading Mrs. Piozzi's " Tour " to me, in- 
 stead of my reading it to her. She loves reading aloud, 
 and in this work finds me an able commentator. How 
 like herself, how characteristic is every line ! — Wild, en- 
 tertaining, flighty, inconsistent, and clever ! 
 
 Thursday, 16th. — This morning the Eoyal party went 
 to Dorchester, and I strolled upon the sands with Mrs. 
 Gwynn. We overtook a lady, of a very majestic port and 
 demeanor, who solemnly returned Mrs. Gwynn's saluta- 
 tion, and then addressed herself to me with similar gravity. 
 I saw a face I knew, and of very uncommon beauty ; but 
 did not immediately recollect it was Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 She is come here, she says, solely for her health ; she 
 has spent some days with Mrs. Gwynn, at General Har- 
 court's. Her husband was with her, and a sweet child. 
 
 I wished to have tried if her solemnity would have worn 
 away by length of conversation ; but I was obliged to 
 hasten home. But my dearest Fredy's opinion, joined to 
 that of my sister Esther, satisfies me I was a loser by this 
 necessary forbearance.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 151 
 
 Wednesday, July 29th. — We went to the play, and 
 saw Mrs. Siddons in Rosalind. She looked beautifully, 
 but too large for that shepherd's dress ; and her gaiety sits 
 not naturally upon her — it seems more like disguised 
 gravity. I nmst own my admiration for her confined to 
 her tragic powers ; and there it is raised so high that I feel 
 mortified, in a degree, to see her so much fainter attempts 
 and success in comedy. 
 
 Friday, July 31st. — This afternoon, when I came into 
 the parlor, I saw a stranger, but habited in the uniform, 
 and of a pleasing appearance. We bowed and curtseyed 
 ■ — both silent. I expected him to announce his business ; 
 he expected me to give him some welcome ; which when I 
 found, concluding him arrived on some commands from the 
 King, I begged him to be seated, and took my usual chair. 
 
 " Perhaps, ma'am," he then cried, " this is your room ? " 
 
 I assented, a little surprised. 
 
 " I am just come," he said, " with the Duke of Gloucester, 
 who is gone to His Majesty." 
 
 " Then perhaps, sir," cried I, " this is your room ? " 
 
 He laughed, but disclaimed owning it. However, I 
 found he was the Duke's gentleman-in-waiting, and had 
 concluded this the apartment destined for the equerries. 
 
 This retort courteous in our address took off stiffness 
 from either side, and we entered into a general conversa- 
 tion, chiefly upon the French. I found him sprightly, 
 intelligent, and well-bred. He stayed M'ith me more than 
 an hour, and then parted to look for the equerries, to 
 whose apartments I sent Columb to conduct him ; and 
 neither of us, probably, knew the name of the other till 
 we were separated ; I then found his was Vincent. He is 
 a nephew of Sir George Howard.
 
 152 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 Gloucester House, "Weymouth. 
 
 Monday, August 3ed. — The loyalty and obedient re- 
 spect of the people here to their King are in a truly primi- 
 tive style. The whole Koyal party went to see Lulworth 
 Castle, intending to be back to dinner, and go to the 
 play at night, which their Majesties had ordered, with Mrs. 
 Siddons to play Lady Townly. Dinner-time, however, 
 came and passed, and they arrived not. They went by 
 sea, and the wind proved contrary ; and about seven 
 o'clock a hobby groom was despatched hither by land, with 
 intelligence that they had only reached Lulworth Castle at 
 five o'clock. They meant to be certainly back by eight ; 
 but sent their commands that the farce might be performed 
 first, and the play wait them. 
 
 The manager repeated this to tlie audience, — already 
 waiting and wearied ; but a loud applause testified their 
 agreeahility to whatever could be proposed. 
 
 The farce, however, was much sooner over than the pas- 
 sage from Lulworth Castle. It was ten o'clock when they 
 landed ! And all this time the audience — spectators 
 rather — quietly waited ! 
 
 They landed just by the theatre, and went to the house 
 of Lady Pembroke, who is now here in attendance upon 
 the Queen : and there they sent home for the King's page, 
 with a loig, &c. ; and the Queen's wardrobe-woman, with 
 similar deco7xdions ; and a message to Miss Planta and me, 
 that we might go at once to the theatre. We obeyed ; and 
 soon after they appeared, and were received with the most 
 violent gusts of joy and huzzas, even from the galleries 
 over their heads, whose patience had not the reward of 
 seeing them at last. Is not this a charming trait of pro- 
 vincial popularity! Mrs. Siddons, in her looks, and the 
 tragic part, was exquisite.
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 153 
 
 Tuesday, August 4th. — To-day all the Eoyals went to 
 Sherborne Castle. 
 
 My day being perfectly at liberty, Mrs. Gwynn stayed 
 and spent it with me. 
 
 The weatlier was beautiful ; the sea-breezes here keep off 
 intense heat in the warmest season. We walked first to 
 
 see the shrubbery and plantation of a lady, Mrs. B , wlio 
 
 has a very pretty house about a mile and a half out of tlie 
 town. Here we rested, and regaled ourselves with sweet 
 flowers, and then proceeded to the old castle, — its ruins 
 rather, — which we most completely examined, not leaving 
 one stone untrod, except such as must have precipitated 
 us into the sea. This castle is biiilt almost in the sea, 
 upon a perpendicular rock, and its situation, therefore, 
 is nobly bold and striking. It is little more now than 
 walls, and a few little winding staircases at its four cor- 
 ners. 
 
 I had not imagined my beautiful companion could ha\e 
 taken so much pleasure from an excursion so romantic and 
 lonely; but she enjoyed it very much, clambered about as 
 unaffectedly as if she had lived in rural scenes all her life. 
 and left nothing unexamined. 
 
 We then prowled along the sands at the foot of the ad- 
 joining rocks, and picked up sea-weeds and shells ; but I 
 do not think they were such as to drive Sir Ash ton Lever, 
 or the Museum-keepers, to despair ! We had the Queen's 
 two little dogs, Badine and Phillis, for our guards and asso- 
 ciates. We returned home to a very late tea, thoroughly 
 tired, but very much pleased. To me it was the only rural 
 excursion I had taken for more than three years. 
 
 Sunday, August 16th. — This is the birthday of the 
 Duke of York. Births and deaths I — how do they make 
 up the calculations of time ! 
 
 Lord Courtown brought me a very obliging message from
 
 154 DIARY AND LETTEES [1789. 
 
 Lady Mount-Edgecumbe, who had been here at noon to 
 kiss hands, on becoming a Countess from a Baroness. She 
 sent to invite me to see her place, and contrive to dine 
 and spend the day there. Her Majesty approves the 
 Mount-Edgecumbe invitation. 
 
 Monday, August 17th. — The Queen sent for me in 
 the afternoon, to hear her own private diary, and tell her if 
 it was English. Indeed there was scarce an expression 
 that was foreign. 
 
 Wednesday, August 1 9th. — ^ Aj^aiu this morning was 
 spent by the Royals at Plymouth Dock — by me in strolls 
 round the house. The wood here is truly enchanting ; the 
 paths on the slant down to the water resemble those of 
 sweet Norbury Park. 
 
 The tea, also, was too much the same to be worth detail- 
 ing. I will only mention a speech which could not but 
 divert me, of Mr. Alberts, the Queen's page. He said no- 
 body dared represent to the King the danger of his present 
 continual exertion in this hot weather, " unless it is Mr. 
 Fairly," he added, " who can say anything, in his genteel 
 roundabout way." 
 
 Monday, August 24th. — To-day the Royals went to 
 Marystow, Colonel Hey wood'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 excur- 
 sions, from belonging to crowned heads, than we should
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 15B 
 
 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; where 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 wliich 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 Tamar, 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 honored with a visit to see the place, which was 
 very ancient and curious. They should leave Lord Valle- 
 tort to do the honors, 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 sliall enter into no description from 
 want of time : but 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 evertrreens 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, &c., — Dartmoor Hills, Ply- 
 mouth, the Dockyard, Saltram, and St. George's Channel. 
 Several noble ships, manned and commissioned, were in 
 the Hamoaze ; amongst tliem our Weymouth friends, the 
 " Magnificent," and " Southampton."
 
 156 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 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. Darner, with an acrostic on her name 
 by Lord Valletort. It is surprising to see the state of veg- 
 etation at this place, so close to the main. Myrtles, pome- 
 granates, 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. Towns- 
 hend, and Captain Douglas; and heard a tremendous account 
 of the rage of the sea-captains, on being disappointed of a 
 dinner at the Eoyal 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 Eoyals, had they chosen 
 to sleep at Mount-Edgecumbe. The house is old, and seems 
 pleasant and convenient. In a very pretty circular parlor, 
 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
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 157 
 
 Opera Eehearsal, " was so well read, the leaves always flew 
 apart to display it. 
 
 Monday, September 14th. — We all left Weymouth. 
 
 All possible honors were paid the King on his departure ; 
 lords, ladies, and sea-officers lined the way that he passed, 
 the guns of the Magnificent and Soutliam'pton fired the part- 
 ing salute, and the ships were under sail. 
 
 We all set out as before, but parted on the road. The 
 Royals went to breakfast at Eedlinch, the seat of Lord 
 Ilchester, where Mr. Fairly was in waiting for them, and 
 thence proceeded to a collation at Sherborne Castle, whither 
 he was to accompany them, and then resign liis present 
 attendance, which has been long and troublesome and irk- 
 some, I am sure. 
 
 Miss Planta and myself proceeded to Longleat, the seat 
 of the Marquis of Bath, late Lord A¥eymouth, 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, sac- 
 rificed his incomparable niece, at the age of seventeen, 
 marrying her to an unwieldy, uncultivated country esquire, 
 near sixty years of age, and scarce ever sober — his name 
 Pendarves. With how sad an awe, in recollecting her sub- 
 missive 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 per- 
 son, 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.
 
 158 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 Lady Bath showed us our rooms, to which we repaired 
 immediately, to dress before the arrival of the Eoyals. 
 
 We dined with the gentlemen, all but the Marquis, who 
 was admitted, in his own house, to dine with the King and 
 Queen, as M^ere all the ladies of his family. Lord Wey- 
 mouth, 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. 
 
 My poor Mrs. Delauy was constantly in my mind — 
 constantly, constantly ! I thought I saw her meek image 
 vainly combating affliction and disgust with duty and com- 
 pliance, and weeping floods of tears, unnoticed by her 
 unrelenting persecutor. We spent all the following day 
 here. I went to the chapel ; I felt horror-struck as I 
 looked at the altar ; what an offering for ambition ! what 
 a sacrifice to tyranny ! 
 
 The house is very magnificent, and of an immense mag- 
 nitude. 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. 
 
 Friday, September 18th. — We left Tottenham Court, 
 and returned to Windsor. The Eoyals 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, &c. 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
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 159 
 
 flourished away successfully enough ; but it was very vex- 
 atious, as he had matters innumerable for discussion. 
 
 November. — My memorandums of this month are very 
 regular ; but I shall beg leave to condense them all into 
 the days and circumstances essential. 
 
 Upon the birthday of the Princess Sophia I had the 
 honor to present my pretty Leatherhead fairings — the 
 pincushion, needle-book, and letter-case of pink satin, and 
 the inkstand, so long deferred, for Princess Mary. 
 
 Early in this month I had the solace of three little 
 interviews with my beloved Susanna. On the birthday of 
 the Princess Augusta, the excellent Mr. and Mrs. Smelt, 
 just arrived from their summer tour to their daughters, 
 came hither with congratulations. As it proved, 't was the 
 last visit of that very white-souled and amiable woman, 
 and the last time I ever beheld her ; but she w^as particu- 
 larly well, and there appeared no symptom of the fatal end 
 so near approaching. 
 
 The following day Colonel Gwynn came. He told us, 
 at tea-time, the wonderful recovery of Colonel Golds- 
 worthy, 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 pre- 
 pared, when he was suddenly stopped, on the very preced- 
 ing 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
 
 160 DIARY AND LETTERS [1789. 
 
 Eoyal mistress, she mentioned Mr. Fairly for the first time 
 since we left Weymouth. It was to express much dis- 
 pleasure against him : he 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 ven- 
 ture to answer I could not doubt but he must have had 
 some reason, which, if known, might account for his mis- 
 take, 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 heart 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.' " 
 
 Wednesday, November 18th. — 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 rumor," I replied, " the other day, from 
 Colonel Gwynn." 
 
 " Oh, it is 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 mat- 
 ter ; but I would not tell her that. 
 
 Friday, November 20th. — Some business sent me to 
 speak with Miss Planta before our journey back to Wind-
 
 1789.] . OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 161 
 
 sor. When it was executed and I was coming away, she 
 called out, " Oh ! a propos — it 's all declared, and the Prin- 
 cesses wished Miss Fiizilier joy yesterday in the drawing- 
 room. She looked remarkably well ; hut said Mr. Fairly 
 had still a little gout, and could not appear." 
 
 Now first mv 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 mid- 
 night, in picquet company. 
 
 Saturday, November 28th. — The Queen, after a very 
 Ion" airiniT, came in to dress, and summoned me imme- 
 diately ; and in two minutes the Princess Eoyal 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 Eoyal 
 Higliness'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 cet on to St. Leonards to dinner." Miss Fuzilier is now 
 there. " Well, then," she answered, " I '11 slip on my pow- 
 dering-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 Eoyal ? " " Yes, indeed, mam- 
 ma ! " — They then again talked in 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 ? " 
 VOL. n. 11
 
 162 DIAKY AND LETTERS . [1789. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg reproved him for talking of " soch 
 things : " she holds it petty treason to speak of it, as they 
 are hoth in oftice about the Court; though she confessed 
 it would be in a fortnight. At tea, when the gentlemen — 
 General Bude, Majors Price and Garth, and Mr. Willis — 
 appeared, she said, " Where be Mr. Fairly ? " They all 
 exclaimed, " Is he here ? " " Oh, 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. Schwel- 
 lenberg exclaimed, " For what not stay one night ? For 
 what not go to the gentlemen ? — It looks like when he 
 been ashamed. — Oh, fie ! I don't not like soch ting. 
 And for what always say coutraire ? — always say to 
 everybody he won't not have her ! — There might be some- 
 ting wrong in aU 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. — Most gratefully I met the mild anniver- 
 saries of this month, which was so dreadful in the year 
 '88. The King's health seems perfect, and there is a cool- 
 ness and composure in his manner that promise its perma- 
 nency — God be praised ! 
 
 But 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 ser- 
 vice begins, she enters into small talk, with a pretty tol- 
 erable degree of frankness, not much repressed by scruj^les 
 of delicacy. 
 
 Take a specimen. She opened, the other morning, upon
 
 1789.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 163 
 
 my situation and occupation, and made the most plump 
 inquiries into its particulars, with a sort of hearty good 
 humor 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 honor, to be sure, to serve a Queen, 
 and all that ; but I dare say a lady's-maid could do it bet- 
 ter ; though to be called about a Queen, as I say, is a great 
 deal of honor : but, for my part, I should not like it ; be- 
 cause to be always obliged to go to a person, whether one 
 was in the humor 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 honor, and all that." Ls 
 not this a fit bishop's wife ? is not here primitive candor 
 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, Madlle. Mont- 
 moulin, 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'hon- 
 neur, 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.
 
 164 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 CHAPTEE TIL 
 
 1790—1791. 
 
 January. — Mr. Fairly was married the 6th. — I must 
 wish happiness to smile on that day, and all its anniver- 
 saries ; 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 liad 
 been called upon to perform the ceremony. It was by 
 special license, and at the house of Sir E F . 
 
 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 — work-boxes, netting-cases, &c., &c. ! 
 
 Mr. Fairly then asked Dr. Fisher what they were to do ?
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 1C5 
 
 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 ser- 
 vice. 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 ! 'T is 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 
 bridegroom set off for a friend's house in Hertfordshire by 
 themselves, attended by servants with white favors. The 
 rest of the party, father, sister, and priest included, went 
 to the play, which happened to be Benedict. 
 
 I shall say nothing of the Queen's birthday, but that I 
 had a most beautiful trimming worked me for it by Miss 
 Cambridge, wdio 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 con- 
 stant solace, what sweet and soft amends do I find and feel 
 in the almost unexampled union of kindness and excellence 
 in my chosen friends !
 
 i66 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1790, 
 
 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 bedchamber-women and maids of honor ; and, while 
 still reading them, I was honored with a call from the 
 Bishop of Salisbury ; and in two minutes my 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 tlie 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 mat- 
 ters of the time being. 
 
 I apologized to Mrs. Fairly for my inability to return 
 the honor of her visit, but readily undertook to inform 
 Her Majesty of her inquiries, which she earnestly begged 
 from me. 
 
 Tuesday, February 16Tir. — Mr. Hastings's trial re-
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY, • 167 
 
 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 inter- 
 course 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 three hours before they entered, all spent in a 
 harmony of converse and communication I never for three 
 hours following can have elsewhere : no summons impend- 
 ing — 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 con- 
 duct, 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. Wyndham 
 was of the set. 
 
 Mr. Anstruther spoke, and all the 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! — 't is so painful 
 to see with utter disapprobation those faces we have met 
 with joy and pleasure ! He came to speak to some rela- 
 tions 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 curtseyed. 
 He only said, " Oh ! is it you ? " — then asked how I did.
 
 168 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 said something iii praise of Mr. Anstruther, partly to his 
 friends and partly to me — heard from 7ne no reply — and 
 hurried away, coldly, and with a look dissatisfied and un- 
 cordial. 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 abnse 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. 
 
 My dearest readers know that this month I went to meet 
 my own assembly, as it is honorably called, at Lady Eothes': 
 it was smaller than at Mrs. Ord's, but very pleasant — 
 Mrs. Montagu, Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. and Miss Ord, the 
 Attorney-General, Sir Archibald Macdonald, his Lady 
 Louisa, Mr. Pepys, Mrs. Buller, Lord Leslie, and my dearest 
 father. 
 
 All our talk was of France, the illustrious fuoitives now 
 here, and poor Sir Joshua Reynolds's Academic troubles. 
 
 Monday, March 1st. — This morning we went to Windsor. 
 
 This month lost us Colonel Welbred, wliose waiting 
 never finishes but to my regret. I had much confidential 
 talk with him the last evening of his residence, in which he 
 opened to me the whole of his situation, both with respect 
 to his place and his family, as far as they arc political. He
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 169 
 
 gave me much concern for him in his statement, and the 
 more, because all he said confirmed my best opinion of his 
 honor and delicacy. He has the misfortune to have two 
 brothers who never meet — ■ solely from dissension in poli- 
 tics. He loves them both, and with both keeps well ; but 
 while he has a place that devotes a fourth of the year to 
 the King, his residence for the rest of it is with the brother 
 who is in opposition to Government. Not small must be 
 the difficulties of such circumstances, and his preferment 
 is probably checked by this determined fraternal amity ; 
 though his moderation and uprightness secure him the 
 esteem, and force the good word, of both parties, as well as 
 of both brothers. 
 
 Much injustice, however, has I believe accrued to him 
 from this mild conduct, which is not calculated for advan- 
 tage in a station that demands decisive viojor, though in 
 private oi* retired life it makes the happiness and peace of 
 all around. He grew so engaged, and I was so much in- 
 terested for him, in the course of this explication, that, 
 when called away to cards, he said he would not make me 
 his final bow, but see me again the next morning. I set 
 off, however, by sudden commands, so much earlier than 
 usual, that I saw him no more ; nor probably may meet 
 him again till his waiting next year. 
 
 In one of our Windsor excursions at this time, while I 
 was in Her Majesty's dressing-room, with only Mr. De 
 Luc present, she suddenly said, " Prepare yourself. Miss 
 Burney, with all your spirits, for to-night you must be 
 reader." 
 
 She then added that she recollected what she had been 
 told by my honored Mrs. Delany, of my reading Shakes- 
 peare to her, and was desirous that I should read a play to 
 herself and the Princesses ; and she had lately heard from 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg, "nobody could do it better wlien I
 
 170 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 "would." I assured Her Majesty it was rather when I could, 
 as any reading Mrs. Schwellenberg had heard must wholly 
 have been better or worse according to my spirits, as she 
 had justly seemed to suggest. 
 
 The moment coffee was over the Princess Elizabeth came 
 for me. I found Her Majesty knotting, the Princess Eoyal 
 drawing, Princess Augusta spinning, and Lady Courtown I 
 believe in the same employment, but I saw none of them 
 perfectly well. 
 
 " Come, Miss Burney," cried the Queen, " how are your 
 spirits ? — How is your voice ? " 
 
 " She says, ma'am," cried the kind Princess Elizabeth, 
 "she shall do her best." This had been said in attending 
 Her Royal Higlniess back. I could only confirm it, and 
 that cheerfully — to hide fearfully. I had not the advan- 
 tage of choosing my play, nor do I know what would have 
 been my decision had it fallen to my lot. Her Majesty' 
 had just begun Colman's works, and " Polly Honeycomb " 
 was to open my campaign. 
 
 " I think," cried the Queen most graciously, " Miss 
 Burney will read the better for drawing a chair and sitting 
 down." 
 
 " O yes, mamma ! I dare say so ! " cried Princess Augusta 
 and Princess Elizabeth, both in a moment. The Queen 
 then told me to draw my chair close to her side. I made 
 no scruples. Heaven knows I needed not the addition of 
 standing ! but most glad I felt in being placed thus near, 
 as it saved a constant painful effort of loud reading. 
 
 " Lady Courtown," cried the Queen, " you had better 
 draw nearer, for Miss Burney has the misfortune of reading 
 rather low at first." 
 
 Nothing could be more amiable than this opening. 
 Accordingly, I did, as I had promised, my best ; and, in- 
 different as that was, it would rather have surprised you,
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 171 
 
 all things considered, that it was not yet worse. But I 
 exerted all the courage I possess, and, having often read 
 to the Queen, I felt how much it behoved rae not to let 
 her surmise I had any greater awe to surmount. It is but 
 a vulgar performance ; and I was obliged to omit, as well 
 as I could at sight, several circumstances very unpleasant 
 for reading, and ill enough fitted for such hearers. It went 
 off pretty flat. Nobody is to comment, nobody is to inter- 
 rupt ; and even between one act and another not a 
 moment's pause is expected to be made. 
 
 I had been already informed of this etiquette by Mr. 
 Turbulent and Miss Planta ; nevertheless, it is not only 
 oppressive to the reader, but loses to the hearers so much 
 . spirit and satisfaction, that I determined to endeavor, should 
 I again be called upon, to introduce a little break into this 
 tiresome and unnatural profundity of respectful solemnity. 
 My own embarrassment, however, made it agree with me, 
 for the present, uncommonly well. Lady Courtown never 
 uttered one single word the whole time ; yet is she one of 
 the most loquacious of our establishment. But such is the 
 settled etiquette. 
 
 The Queen has a taste for conversation, and the Prin- 
 cesses a good-humored love for it, that doubles the regret 
 of such an annihilation of all nature and all pleasantry. 
 But what will not prejudice and education inculcate ? 
 They have been brought up to annex silence to respect and 
 decorum : to talk, therefore, unbid, or to differ from any 
 given opinion, even when called upon, are regarded as high 
 improprieties, if not presumptions. They none of them do 
 justice to their own minds, while they enforce this subjec- 
 tion upon the minds of others. I had not experienced it 
 before ; for when reading alone with the Queen, or listening 
 to her reading to me, I have always frankly spoken almost 
 whatever has occurred to me. But there I had no other
 
 172 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 examples before me, and therefore I might inoffensively be 
 guided by myself ; and Her Majesty's continuance of the 
 same honor has shown no disapprobation of my proceed- 
 ing. But here it was not easy to make any decision for 
 myself ; to have done what Lady Courtown forbore doing 
 would have been undoubtedly a liberty. 
 
 So we all behaved alike ; and easily can I now con- 
 ceive the disappointment and mortification of poor Mr. 
 Garrick when he read " Lethe " to a Eoyal audience. Its 
 tameness must have tamed him, and I doubt not he never 
 acquitted himself so ill. 
 
 The next evening I had the same summons ; but " The 
 English Merchant " was the play, which did far better. It 
 is an elegant and serious piece, which I read with far 
 greater ease, and into which they all entered with far 
 greater interest. 
 
 This is all I have been able to recollect of March in 
 which my dearest readers might not themselves be writers. 
 Chiefly I rejoice they witnessed the long- wished, the long- 
 dreaded interview with my formerly most dearly-loved 
 Mrs. Thrale — not writing it saves me much pang. ^ 
 
 April. — I have involuntarily let this month creep 
 along unrecorded till this Tuesday the 20th. I could not 
 muster courage for a journal ; but now, to avoid any future 
 long arrears, I determined to put down its poor shallow 
 memorials. 
 
 On Easter Sunday, the 4th of April, when I left my 
 
 1 " 1790, March 18th. — I met Miss Burney at an assembly last night 
 — 't is six years since I had seen her : she appeared most fondly rejoiced, 
 in good time ! And Mrs. Locke, at whose house we stumbled on each 
 other, pretended that she had such a regard for me, &c. I answered with 
 ease and coldness, but in exceeding good humor : and we talked of the 
 King and Queen, his Majesty's illness and recovery — and all ended, 
 as it should do, with perfect indifference." — Extract from Mrs. Thrale s 
 Journal.
 
 1790.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 173 
 
 beloved Susan at St. James's, I left with her all spirit for 
 any voluntary employment, and it occurred to me I could 
 best while away the leisure allowed me by returning to my 
 long-forgotten tragedy. This I have done, in those mo- 
 ments as yet given to my Journal, and it is well I had so 
 sad a resource, since any merrier I must have aimed at in 
 vain. 
 
 It was a year and four months since I had looked at or 
 thought of it. I found nothing but unconnected speeclies, 
 and hints, and ideas, though enough in quantity, perhaps, for 
 a whole play. I have now begun planning and methodizing, 
 and have written three or four regular scenes. I mention 
 all these particulars of my progress, in answer to certain 
 queries in the comments of my Susan and Fredy, both of 
 old date. 
 
 Another reading took place, and much more comforta- 
 bly ; it was to the Queen and Princesses, without any 
 lady-in-waiting. The Queen, as before, condescended to 
 order me to sit close to her side ; and as I had no model 
 before me, I scrupled much less to follow the bent of my 
 own ideas by small occasional comments. And these were 
 of use both to body and mind ; they rested the lungs from 
 one invariable exertion, as much as they saved the mind 
 from one strain of attention. 
 
 Our play was "The Man of Business," a very good 
 comedy, but too local for long life. And another of Col- 
 man's which I read afterwards has the same defect. Half 
 the follies and peculiarities it satirizes are wholly at 
 an end and forgotten. Humor springing from mere 
 dress, or habits, or phraseology, is quickly obsolete ; when 
 it sinks deeper, and dives into character, it may live 
 for ever. 
 
 To myself I read Mrs. Piozzi's " Travels." The " Travels" 
 are just like herself, abounding in sallies of genius.
 
 174 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 Tuesday, April 27th. — I had the happiness of my 
 dearest Fredy's society in Westminster Hall — if happiness 
 and that place may be named together. 
 
 The day was mixed ; evidence and Mr. Anstruther 
 weighing it down, and IVIr. Burke speaking from time to 
 time, and lighting it up. Oh, were his purpose worthy 
 his talents, what an effect would his oratory produce ! I 
 always hear him with so much concern, I can scarce re- 
 joice even in being kept awake by him. 
 
 The day was nearly passed, and I was eating a biscuit 
 to prevent an absolute doze while Mr. Anstruther was talk- 
 ing, when, raising myself from a listening bend, I turned 
 to the left, and perceived Mr. Wyndham, who had quietly 
 placed himself by my side without speaking. My sur- 
 prise was so great, and so totally had I given up all idea of 
 renewing our conferences, that I could scarce refrain ex- 
 jDressing it. Probably it was visible enough, for he said, 
 as if apologizing for coming up, that so to do was the only 
 regale their toils allowed them. 
 
 He then regretted that it was a stupid day, and, with all 
 his old civility about me and my time, declared he was 
 always sorry to see me there when nothing worth atten- 
 tion was going forward. 
 
 This soon brought us round to our former intimacy of 
 converse; and, the moment I was able, T ventured at my 
 usual inquiry about his own speaking, and if it would soon 
 take place. " No," he answered, with a look of great 
 pleasure, " I shall now not speak at all — I have cleared 
 myself from that task, and never with such satisfaction did 
 I get rid of any ! '" Amazed, yet internally glad, I haz- 
 arded some further inquiry into the reason of this change 
 of plan. They were drawing, he said, to a conclusion, and 
 the particular charge which he had engaged himself to 
 open was relinquished. "I have, therefore," he cried.
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 175 
 
 "washed ray hands of making a speech, yet satisfied my 
 conscience, my honor, my promises, and my intentions ; 
 for I have declined undertaking anything new, and no 
 claim, therefore, remains upon me." 
 
 " Well," quoth I, " I am at a loss whether to be glad or 
 sorry." He comprehended instantly : glad for Mr. Hastings, 
 or sorry for not hearing him. He laughed, but said some- 
 thing a little reproachful, upon my continued interest 
 for that gentleman. I would not pretend it was dimin- 
 ished ; I determined he should find me as frank as 
 heretofore, and abscond, or abide, as his nerves stood the 
 firmness. 
 
 " You are never, then," (I said afterwards) "to speak here ?" 
 
 " Once," he answered, " I said a few words — " 
 
 " Oh when ? " I cried : " I am very sorry I did not know 
 it, and hear you — as you did speak ! " " Oh ! " cried he, 
 laughing, " I do not fear this flattery now, as I shall speak 
 no more ! " 
 
 " But what," cried I, " was the occasion that drew you 
 forth ? " 
 
 " Nothing very material ; but I saw Burke run hard, 
 and I wished to help him." " That was just," cried I, 
 " what I should have expected from you — and just what 
 I have not been able not to honor, on some other occa- 
 sions, even where I have most blamed the matter that has 
 drawn forth the assistance." 
 
 This was going pretty far : — he could not but instantly 
 feel I meant the Regency discussions. He neither made 
 me any answer, nor turned his head, even obliquely, my 
 way. I was not sorry, however. 'T is always best to be 
 sincere. Finding him quite silent, to soften matters as 
 well as I could with honesty, I began an ^loge of Mr. 
 Burke, both warm and true, as far as regards his wonderful 
 abilities. But he soon distinguished the rigorous precision
 
 176 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 with which, involuntarily, I praised the powers, without 
 advertinsj to their use. 
 
 Suddenly then, and with a look of extreme keenness, he 
 turned his eyes upon me, and exclaimed, " Yes ; and he has 
 very highly, also, the faculty of being right ! " I would the 
 friendship that dictated this assertion were as unwarped as 
 it is animated. 
 
 I could not help saying, rather faintly, " Has he ? " Not 
 faintly he answered. " He has ! — but not the world alone, 
 even his friends are apt to misjudge him. What he enters 
 upon, however, with earnestness, you will commonly find 
 turn out as he represents it." 
 
 His genius, his mental faculties, and the natural good- 
 ness of his heart, I then praised as warmly as Mr. Wynd- 
 ham could have praised them himself; but the subject ran 
 me aground a second time, as, quite undesignedly, I con- 
 cluded my panegyric with declaring that I found it impos- 
 sible not to admire — nay, love him — through all his 
 wrousr. Finding another total silence and averted head, I 
 started something more general upon the trial. His ojDen- 
 ness then returned, with all its customary vivacity, and 
 he expressed himself extremely irritated upon various 
 matters which had been carried against the managers by 
 the judges. " But, Mr. Wyndham ! " exclaimed I ; " the 
 judges ! — is it possible you can enter into such a notion 
 as to suppose Mr. Hastings capable of bribing them ? " 
 " Oh, for capable," cried he, " I don't know ! — " " Well, 
 leave that word out, and suppose him even willing — can 
 you imagine all the judges and all the lords — for they 
 must concur — disposed to be bribed ? " " No ; but I see 
 them all determined to acquit Mr. Hastings." " Deter- 
 mined ? — nay, that indeed is doing him very little honor." 
 " Oh, for honor ! — if he is acquitted — " He stopped — 
 as if that were sufficient. I ventured to ask why the
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 177 
 
 judges and the lords should make such a determination. 
 " From the general knavery and villany of mankind," M'as 
 his hard answer ; " which always wishes to abet successful 
 guilt." 
 
 " Well," cried I, shaking my head, " you have not, 1 
 see, relinquished your speech from having nothing to say. 
 But I am glad you have relinquished it, for I have always 
 been most afraid of you ; and the reason is, those who 
 know how to hold back will not for nothing come for- 
 ward. There is one down there, who, if he knew how 
 ever to hold back, would be great indeed ! " He could 
 not deny this, but would not affirm it. Poor Mr. Burke ! 
 • — so near to being wholly right, while yet wholly 
 wrong ! 
 
 When Mr. Burke mounted the rostrum, Mr. Wyndham 
 stopped short, saying, " I won't interrupt you ; " and, in a 
 moment, glided back to the manager's box, where he stood 
 behind Mr. Burke, evidently at hand to assist in any diffi- 
 culty. His affection for him seems to amount to fondness. 
 This is not for me to wonder at. AVho was so captivated 
 as myself by that extraordinary man, till he would no 
 longer suffer me to reverence the talents I must still ever 
 admire ? 
 
 Sunday, May 2nd. — This morning, in my way to church, 
 just as I arrived at the iron gate of our courtyard, a well- 
 known voice called out, " Ah, there's Miss Burney ! " 
 I started, and looked round — and saw — Mrs. Piozzi. 1 
 hastened up to her ; she met my held-out hand with both 
 hers ; Mr. Piozzi and Cecilia were with her — all smiling 
 and good-humored. "You are going," she cried, " to church ? 
 — so am I. I must run first to the inn : I suppose one 
 may sit — anywhere one pleases ? " 
 
 " Yes," I cried, " but you must be quick, or you will sit 
 
 VOL, II. 12
 
 178 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 nowhere, there will be such a throng." This was all ; — 
 she hurried on — so did I. 
 
 I received exceeding great satisfaction in this little and 
 unexpected meeting. She had been upon the Terrace, and 
 was going to change her hat ; and haste on both sides pre- 
 vented awkwardness on either. 
 
 Yet I saw she had taken in good part my concluding 
 hand presentation at my dear Mr. Locke's : she met me no 
 more with that fiert6 of defiance ; it was not — nor can it 
 ever be — with her old cordiality, but it was with some 
 degree of pleasure, and that species of readiness which 
 evinces a consciousness of meeting w^ith a good reception. 
 
 Thursday, May 6th. — This being the last Pantheon, I 
 put in my long-intended claim ; and it was greatly facili- 
 tated by the circumstance of a new singer, Madame Beiida, 
 making her first appearance. She is just arrived from 
 Germany, and has been humbly recommended to the no- 
 tice of Her Majesty ; it was on this account my father 
 engaged her to try her powers at the Pantheon ; and the 
 Queen was herself interested I should hear her success. 
 
 ]\Iy dearest father fetched me from the Queen's house, 
 Esther and Marianne kept me places between them. Mar- 
 ianne never looked so pretty ; I saw not a face there I 
 thought equally lovely. And, oh, how Pacchierotti sung ! 
 — HOW ! — with what exquisite feeling, what penetrating 
 pathos ! — I could almost have cried the whole time, that 
 this one short soncj was all I should be able to hear ! 
 
 At the beginning of the second act I was obliged to de- 
 camp. James, who had just found me out, was my es- 
 quire. " Well," he cried, in our way to the chair, " will 
 there be war with Spain ? " I assured him I thought not. 
 " So I am afraid ! " answered the true English tar. " How- 
 ever, if there is, I should be glad of a frigate of thirty-two
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 179 
 
 guns. Now, if you ask for it, don't say 2i frigate, and get 
 me one of twenty-eight ! " Good Heaven ! — poor inno- 
 cent James ! — 
 
 And just as I reached the chair — " But how shall you 
 feel," he cried, " when I ask you to desire a guard-ship for 
 me, in about two years' time ? " I could make no precise 
 answer to that ! He then added that he intended cominjr 
 to court ! Very much frightened, I besought him first to 
 come and drink tea with me — which he promised. 
 
 In my way home, as I went ruminating upon this ap- 
 parently but just, though really impracticable, demand, I 
 weighed well certain thoughts long revolving, and of late 
 nearly bursting forth ; and the result was this — to try all, 
 while yet there is time ! Reproach else may aver, when too 
 late, greater courage would have had greater success. This 
 idea settled my resolutions^ and they all bent to one point, 
 risking all risk.?. 
 
 Monday, May 10th. — This evening, by appointment, 
 came our good James and his wife, and soon afterwards, to 
 my great pleasure. Captain Phillips joined us. 
 
 I take it, therefore, for granted, he will have told all 
 that passed in the business way. I was very anxious to 
 gather more intelligibly the wishes and requests of poor 
 James, and to put a stop to his coming to court without 
 taking such previous steps as are customary. I prevailed, 
 and promised, in return, to make known his pretensions. 
 
 You may believe, my dear friends, this promise was the 
 ■ result of the same wish of experiment, and sense of claim 
 upon me of my family to make it lohile I may, that I have 
 mentioned. I did this very evening. I did it gaily, and 
 in relating such anecdotes as were amusingly characteristic 
 of a sailor's honest but singular notions of things : yet I 
 have done it completely ; his wishes and his claims are 
 now laid open — Heaven knows to what effect ! The
 
 180 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 court-scheme I have also told ; and my Eoyal mistress 
 very graciously informed me, that if presented by some 
 superior officer there could be no objection ; but otherwise, 
 unless he had some promotion, it was not quite usual. 
 
 Fkiday, May 28th. — The Princess Augusta conde- 
 scended to bring me a most gracious message from the 
 King, desiring to know if I wished to go to Handel's Com- 
 memoration, and if I should like the " Messiah," or prefer 
 any other day ? 
 
 With my humble acknowledgments for his goodness, I 
 fixed instantly on the " Messiah ; " and the very amiable 
 Princess came smiling back to me, bringing me my ticket" 
 from the King. 
 
 This would not, indeed, much have availed me, but that 
 I fortunately knew my dear father meant to go to the 
 Abbey. I despatched Columb to Chelsea, and he promised 
 to call for me the next morning. 
 
 He was all himself ; all his native self ; — kind, gay, 
 open, and full fraught with converse. 
 
 Chance favored me : we found so little room, that we 
 were fain to accept two vacant places at once, though they 
 separated us from my uncle, Mr. Burney, and his brother 
 James, who were all there, and all meant to be of the 
 same party. 
 
 I might not, at another time, have rejoiced in this dis- 
 union, but it was now most opportune : it gave me three 
 hours' conference with my dearest father — the only con- 
 ference of that length I have had in four years. 
 
 Fortune again was kind ; for my father began relating 
 various anecdotes of attacks made upon him for procuring 
 to sundry strangers some acquaintance with his daughter, 
 particularly with the Duchesse de Biron, and the Mesdames 
 de Boufflers ; to whom he answered, he had no power ; 
 but was somewhat struck by a question of Madame de B.
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 181 
 
 in return, who exclaimed, " Mais, monsieur, est-ce possible ! 
 Mademoiselle voire lille n'a-t-elle point de vacance ? " ^ 
 
 This led to much interesting discussion, and to many 
 confessions and explanations on my part, never made be- 
 fore ; which induced him to enter more fully into the 
 whole of the situation, and its circumstances, than he had 
 ever yet had the leisure or the spirits to do ; and he re- 
 peated sundry speeches of discontent at my seclusion 
 from the world. 
 
 All this encouraged me to much detail : I spoke my high 
 and constant veneration for my Eoyal mistress, her merits, 
 her virtues, her condescension, and her even peculiar kind- 
 ness towards me. But I owned the species of life distaste- 
 ful to me ; I was lost to all private comfort, dead to all 
 domestic endearment ; I was worn with want of rest, and 
 fatigued with laborious watchfulness and attendance. My 
 time was devoted to official duties ; and all that in life 
 was dearest to me — my friends, my chosen society, my 
 best affections — lived now in my mind only by recollection, 
 and rested upon that with nothing but bitter regret. With 
 relations the most deservedly dear, with friends of almost 
 unequalled goodness, I lived like an orphan — like one who 
 had no natural ties, and must make her way as she could 
 by those that were factitious. Melancholy was the exist- 
 ence where happiness was excluded, though not a complaint 
 could be made ! where the illustrious personages who were 
 served possessed almost all human excellence, — yet where 
 those who were their servants, though treated with the 
 most benevolent condescension, could never, in any part of 
 the live-long day, command liberty, or social intercourse, or 
 repose ! 
 
 The silence of my dearest father now silencing myself, I 
 turned to look at him ; but how was I struck to see his 
 
 ^ ' ' But is it possible, sir, that your daughter has no vacations ? "
 
 182 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 honored head bowed down almost into his bosom with 
 dejection and discomfort ! — We were both perfectly still a 
 few moments ; but when he raised his head I could hardly 
 keep my seat, to see his eyes filled with tears ! — "I have 
 long, " he cried, " been uneasy, though I have not spoken ; 
 . . . but ... if you wish to resign — my house, my purse, 
 my arms, shall be open to receive you back ! " 
 
 The emotion of my whole heart at this speech — this 
 sweet, this generous speech — Oh, my dear friends, I need 
 not say it ! 
 
 We were mutually forced to break up our conference. 
 I could only instantly accept his paternal offer, and tell 
 him it was my guardian angel, it was Providence in its 
 own benignity, that inspired him -with, such goodness. I 
 begged him to love the day in which he had given me such 
 comfort, and assured him it would rest upon my heart with 
 grateful pleasure till it ceased to beat. 
 
 He promised to drink tea with me before I left town, 
 and settle all our proceedings. I acknowledged my inten- 
 tion to have ventured to solicit this very permission of 
 resigning. — " But I, " cried he, smiling with the sweetest 
 kindness, " have spoken first myself. " 
 
 What a joy to me, what a relief, this very circumstance ! 
 it will always lighten any evil that may, unhappily, follow 
 this proposed step. 
 
 The next morning I went again to the trial of poor Mr. 
 Hastings : Mrs. Ord received from me my companion ticket, 
 kindly giving up the Duke of Newcastle's box to indulge 
 me with her company. 
 
 But I must mention an extraordinary circumstance that 
 happened in the last week. I received in a parcel — No, I 
 will recite it you as I told it to Mr. Wyndham, who, fortu-
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 183 
 
 nately, saw and came up to me — fortunately, I say, as 
 the business of the day was very unedifying, and as Mrs. 
 Ord much wished to hear some of his conversation. 
 
 He inquired kindly about James and his affairs, and if 
 
 ,he had yet a ship ; and, to let him see a person might reside 
 
 in a Court, and yet have no undue influence, I related his 
 
 proceedings with Lord Chatham, and his laconic letter and 
 
 interview. The first running thus : — 
 
 " My Lord, — I should be glad of an audience ; if your 
 Lordship will be so good to appoint a time, I will wait 
 upon you. I am, my Lord, your humble servant, 
 
 " James Burney. " 
 
 " And pray, " quoth I to James, when he told me this, 
 " did you not say the honor of an audience ? " 
 
 " No," answered he, " I was civil enough without that ; 
 I said. If you will be so good — that was very civil — and 
 honor is quite left off now. " 
 
 How comic ! to run away proudly from forms and eti- 
 quettes, and then pretend it was only to be more in the 
 last mode. 
 
 Mr. Wyndham enjoyed this characteristic trait very 
 much ; and he likes James so well that he deserved it, as 
 well as the interview which ensued. 
 
 " How do you do, Captain Burney ? " 
 
 " My Lord, I should be glad to be employed. " 
 
 " You must be sensible. Captain Burney, we have many 
 claimants just now, and more than it is possible to satisfy 
 immediatel3^" 
 
 " I am very sensible of that, my Lord ; but, at the same 
 time, I wish to let your Lordship know what I should like 
 to have — a frigate of thirty-two guns." 
 
 " I am very glad to know what you wish, sir." He took
 
 184 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 out his pocket-book, made a memorandum, and wished 
 James a good morninfr. Whether or not it occurred to 
 
 o o 
 
 Mr. Wyndham, while I told this, that there seemed a 
 shorter way to Lord Chatham, and one more in his own 
 style, I know not : he was too delicate to let such a hint 
 escape, and I would not for the world intrust him with my 
 applic-ations and disappointments. 
 
 Queen's Lodge, Windsor, August, 1790. 
 
 I was ill the whole of this month, though not once with 
 sufficient seriousness for confinement, yet with a difficulty 
 of proceeding as usual so great, that tlie day was a burthen 
 — or rather, myself a burthen to the day. A languor so 
 prodigious, with so great a failure of strength and spirit, 
 augmented almost hourly, that I several times thought I 
 must be compelled to excuse my constancy of attendance ; 
 but there was no one to take my place, except Miss Planta, 
 whose health is insufficient for her own, and IVIlle. Mont- 
 moulin, to whom such an addition of duty is almost dis- 
 traction. I could not, therefore, but work on while to 
 work at any rate able. 
 
 I drew up, however, my memorial, or rather, showed 
 it now to my dearest father. He so much approved it, 
 that he told me he would not have a comma of it altered. 
 I will copy it for you. It is as respectful and as grateful 
 as I had words at command to make it, and expressive of 
 strong devotion and attachment ; but it fairly and firmly 
 states that my strength is inadequate to the duties of my 
 charge, and, therefore, that I humbly crave permission to re- 
 sign it and retire into domestic life. It was written in my 
 father's name and my own. I had now that dear father's 
 desire to present it upon the first auspicious moment : and 
 ! with what a mixture of impatience and dread un- 
 speakable did I look forward to such an opportunity !
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 185 
 
 The war was still undecided : stiU I inclined to wait its 
 issue, as I perpetually brought in my wishes for poor 
 James, though without avail. Major Garth, our last 
 equerry, was raised to a high post in the West Indies, and 
 the rank of Colonel. I recommended James to his notice 
 and regard if they met ; and a promise most readily and 
 pleasantly made to seek him out and present him to his 
 brother, the General, if they ever served in the same dis- 
 trict, was all, I think, that my court residence obtained for 
 my marine department of interest ! 
 
 Meanwhile, one morning at Kew, Miss Cambridge was 
 so much alarmed at my declining state of health that she 
 would take no denial to my seeing and consulting Mr. 
 Dundas. He ordered me the bark, and it strengthened 
 me so much for awhile, that I was too much recruited 
 for presenting my sick memorial, which I therefore cast 
 aside. 
 
 Mrs. Ord spent near a week at "Windsor in the beginning 
 of this month. I was ill, however, the whole time, and 
 suffered so much from my official duties, that my good 
 Mrs. Ord, day after day, evidently lost something of her 
 partiality to my situation, from witnessing fatigues of which 
 she had formed no idea, and difficulties and disagreeabili- 
 ties in carrying on a week's intercourse, even with so 
 respectable a friend, which I believe she had thought im- 
 possible. Two or three times she burst forth into ejacula- 
 tions strongly expressive of fears for my health and sorrow 
 at its exhausting calls. I could not but be relieved in my 
 own mind that this much-valued, most maternal friend 
 should thus receive a conviction beyond all powers of rep- 
 resentation, that my place was of a sort to require a strength 
 foreign to my make. 
 
 She left me in great and visible uneasiness, and wrote to 
 me continually for bills of health. I never yet so much
 
 186 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 loved her, for, kind as I have always found her, I never yet 
 saw in her so much true tenderness. 
 
 In this month, also, I first heard of the zealous exertions 
 and chivalrous intentions of Mr. Wyndham. Charles told 
 me they never met without his denouncing the whole 
 thunders of his oratory against the confinement by which 
 he thought my health injured; with his opinion that it 
 must be counteracted speedily by elopement, no other way 
 seeming effectual. But with Charlotte he came more home 
 to the point. Their vicinity in Norfolk occasions their 
 meeting, though very seldom at the house of Mr. Francis, 
 who resents his prosecution of Mr. Hastings, and never 
 returns his visits ; but at assemblies at Aylsham and at 
 Lord Buckingham's dinners they are certain of now and 
 then encountering. 
 
 This summer, when Mr. Wyndham went to Felbrig, his 
 Norfolk seat, they soon met at an assembly, and he im- 
 mediately opened upon his disapprobation of her sister's 
 monastic life, adding, " I do not venture to speak thus 
 freely upon this subject to everybody, but to you I think 
 I may ; at least, I hope it." 
 
 Poor dear Charlotte was too full-hearted for disguise, and 
 they presently entered into a confidential cabal, that made 
 her quite disturbed and provoked wlien hurried away. From 
 this time, whenever they met, they were pretty much of 
 a mind. " I cannot see you," he always cried, " without 
 recurring to that painful subject — your sister's situation." 
 He then broke forth in an animated offer of his own ser- 
 vices to induce Dr. Burney to finish such a captivity, if he 
 could flatter himself he might have any influence. Char- 
 lotte eagerly promised him the greatest, and he gave her 
 his promise to go to work. What a noble Quixote ! How 
 much I feel obliged to him ! How happy, when I may 
 thank him !
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 187 
 
 He then pondered upon ways and means. He had al- 
 ready sounded my father : " but it is resolution," he added, 
 "not inclination, Dr. Burney wants." After some further 
 reflection, he then fixed upon a plan : " 1 will set the Lite- 
 rary Club upon him ! " he cried : " Miss Burney has some 
 very true admirers there, and I am sure they will all 
 eagerly assist. We will present him a petition — an 
 address." 
 
 Much more passed : Mr. Wyndham expressed a degree 
 of interest and kindness so cordial, that Charlotte says she 
 quite longed to shake hands with him ; and if any success 
 ever accrues, she certainly must do it. Frightened, how- 
 ever, after she returned home, she feared our dearest father 
 might unfairly be overpowered, and frankly wrote him a 
 recital of the whole, counselling him to see Mr. Wyndham 
 in private before a meeting at the Club could take place. 
 
 And now for a scene a little surprising. 
 
 The beautiful chapel of St. George, repaired and finished 
 by the best artists at an immense expense, which was now 
 opened after a very long shutting up for its preparations,, 
 brouglit innumerable strangers to Windsor, and, among 
 others, Mr. Bos well. 
 
 This I heard, in my way to the chapel, from Mr. Tur- 
 bulent, who overtook me, and mentioned having met Mr. 
 Boswell at the Bishop of Carlisle's the evening before. 
 He proposed bringing him to call upon me; but this I de- • 
 clined, certain how little satisfaction would be given here 
 by the entrance of a man so famous for compiling anec- 
 dotes. But yet I really wished to see him again, for old 
 acquaintance' sake, and unavoidable amusement from his 
 oddity and good humor, as well as respect for the object of 
 his constant admiration, my revered Dr. Johnson. I there- 
 fore told Mr. Turbulent I should be extremely glad to speak 
 with him after the service was over.
 
 188 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 Accordingly, at the gate of the choir, Mr. Turbulent 
 brought him to me. We saluted with mutual glee : his 
 comic-serious face and manner have lost nothing of their 
 wonted singularity ; nor yet have his mind and language, 
 as you will soon confess. " I am extremely glad to see you 
 indeed," he cried, " but very sorry to see you here. My 
 dear ma'am, why do you stay ? — it won't do, ma'am ! you 
 must resign ! — we can put up with it no longer. I told 
 my good liost the Bishop so last night ; we are all grown 
 quite outrageous ! " Whether I laughed the most, or stared 
 the most, I am at a loss to say ; but I hurried away from 
 the cathedral, not to have such treasonable declarations 
 overheard, for we were surrounded by a multitude. He 
 accompanied me, however, not losing one moment in con- 
 tinuing his exhortations : 
 
 "If you do not quit, ma'am, very soon, some violent 
 measures, I assure you, will be taken. We shall address 
 Dr. Burney in a body ; I am ready to make the harangue 
 myself We shall fall upon him all at once." 
 
 I stopped him to inquire about Sir Joshua ; he said he 
 saw him very often, and that his spirits w^ere very good. 
 I asked about Mr. Burke's book. 
 
 " Oh," cried he, " it will come out next week : 't is the 
 first book in the world, except my own, and that 's coming 
 out also very soon ; only I want your help." 
 , " My help ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam ; you must give me some of your choice 
 little notes of the Doctor's ; we have seen him long enough 
 upon stilts ; I want to show him in a new light. Grave 
 Sam, and great Sam, and solemn Sam, and learned Sam — 
 all these he has appeared over and over. Now I want to 
 entwine a wreath of the graces across his brow ; I want to 
 show him as gay Sam, agreeable Sam, pleasant Sam : so you 
 must help me with some of his beautiful billets to yourself.
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 189 
 
 I evaded this by declaring I had not any stores at hand. 
 He proposed a thousand curious expedients to get at them, 
 but I was invincible. Then I was hurrying on, lest I 
 should be too late. He followed eagerly, and again ex- 
 claimed, " But, ma'am, as I tell you, this won't do — you 
 must resign off-hand ! Why, I would farm you out my- 
 self for double, treble the money ! I wish I had the regu- 
 lation of such a farm — yet I am no farmer-general. But 
 I should like to farm you, and so I will tell Dr. Burney. 
 I mean to address him ; I have a speech ready for the first 
 opportunity." 
 
 He then told me his " Life of Dr. Johnson " was nearly 
 printed, and took a proof-sheet out of his pocket to show 
 me ; with crowds passing and repassing, knowing me well, 
 and staring well at him : for we were now at the iron rails 
 of the Queen's Lodge. I stopped ; I could not ask him in : 
 I saw he expected it, and was reduced to apologize, and tell 
 him I must attend the Queen immediately. He uttered again 
 stronger and stronger exhortations for my retreat, accom- 
 panied by expressions which I was obliged to check in their 
 bud. But finding he had no chance for entering, he stopped 
 me again at the gate, and said he would read me a part of 
 his work. There was no refusing this ; and he began, with a 
 little of Dr. Johnson to himself. He read it in strong imita- 
 tion of the Doctor's manner, very well, and not caricature. 
 But Mrs. Schwellenberg was at her window, a crowd was 
 gathering to stand round the rails, and the King and 
 Queen and Royal Family now approached from the Terrace. 
 I made a rather quick apology, and, with a step as quick as 
 my now weakened limbs have left in my power, I hurried 
 to my apartment. 
 
 You may suppose I had inquiries enough, from all 
 around, of " Who was the gentleman I was talking to at 
 the rails ? " And an injunction rather frank not to admit
 
 190 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 him beyond those limits. However, I saw him again the 
 next morning, in coming from early prayers, and he again 
 renewed his remonstrances, and his petition for my letters 
 of Dr. Johnson. 
 
 I cannot consent to print private letters, even of a 
 man so justly celebrated, when addressed to myself: 
 no, I shall hold sacred those revered and but too scarce 
 testimonies of the high honor his kindness conferred 
 upon me. One letter I have from him that is a mas- 
 terpiece of elegance and kindness united. 'T was his 
 last. 
 
 November. — This month will be very brief of annals ; 
 I was so ill, so unsettled, so unhappy during every day, 
 that I kept not a memorandum. 
 
 All the short benefit I had received from the bark 
 was now at an end : languor, feverish nights, and rest- 
 less days were incessant. My memorial was always in 
 my mind ; my courage never rose to bringing it from my 
 letter-case. Yet the war was over, the hope of a sliip for 
 my brother demolished, and my health required a change 
 of life. 
 
 The Queen was all graciousness ; and her favor and con- 
 fidence and smiles redoubled my difficulties. I saw she 
 had no suspicion but that I was hers for life ; and, unim- 
 portant as I felt myself to her, in any comparison with 
 those for whom I quitted her, I yet knew not how to give 
 her the unpleasant surprise of a resignation for which I saw 
 her wholly unprepared. 
 
 It is true my depression of spirits and extreme alteration 
 of person might have operated as a preface ; for I saw no 
 one, except my Royal mistress and Mrs. Schwellenberg, 
 who noticed not the change, or who failed to pity and 
 question me upon my health and my fatigues ; but as they 
 alone saw it not, or mentioned it not, that afforded me no
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 191 
 
 resource.^ And thus, with daily intention to present my 
 petition and conchide this struggle, night always returned 
 M'ith the effort unmade, and the watchful morning arose 
 fresh to new purposes that seemed only formed for demoli- 
 tion. And the mouth expired as it began, with a desire 
 the most strenuous of liberty and peace, combated by re- 
 luctance unconquerable to give pain, displeasure, or distress 
 to my very gracious Eoyal mistress. 
 
 December. — Leaving a little longer in the lurch the 
 late months, let me endeavor to give to my beloved friends 
 some account of this conclusion of the year while yet in 
 being. 
 
 My loss of health was now so notorious, that no part of 
 the house could wholly avoid acknowledging it ; yet was 
 the terrible picquet the catastrophe of every evening, 
 though frequent pains in my side forced me, three or four 
 times in a game, to creep to my own room for hartshorn 
 and for rest. And so weak and faint I was become, that I 
 was compelled to put my head out into the air, at all 
 hours, and in all weathers, from time to time, to recover 
 the power of breathing, which seemed not seldom almost 
 withdrawn. 
 
 Her Majesty was very kind during this time, and the 
 Princesses interested themselves about me with a sweet- 
 ness very grateful to me ; indeed, the whole household 
 showed compassion and regard, and a general opinion that 
 I was falling into a decline ran through the establishment. 
 Miss Planta was particularly attentive and active to afford 
 me help and advice; Mdlle. Montmoulin's eyes glistened 
 
 1 "Had she been a negro slave, a humane planter would have excused 
 her from work. But her Majesty knew no mercy. Thrice a day the ac- 
 cursed bell still rang ; the Queen was to be dressed for the morning at 
 seven, and to be dressed for the day at noon, and to be undressed at mid- 
 night." — Lord Macaulay, Essay mi Madame d'Arhlay.
 
 192 - DIAEY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 wheu we met ; Miss Goldsworthy declared she thought my 
 looks so altered as scarcely to be known again ; Lady Eliz- 
 abeth Waldegrave enjoined me earnestly to ask leave for 
 respite and recruit, lest the Queen should lose me entirely 
 by longer delay ; Miss Gomme honestly protested she 
 thought it became a folly to struggle on any longer against 
 strength and nature ; Mr. De Luc was so much struck with 
 the change as to tell the Queen herself that a short and 
 complete retirement from attendance seemed essential to 
 my restoration ; and even Mr. Turbulent himself called 
 one day upon me, and frankly counselled me to resign at 
 once, for, in my present state, a life such as that I led was 
 enough to destroy me. 
 
 Thus there seemed about my little person a universal 
 commotion ; and it spread much further, amongst those I 
 have never or slightly mentioned. You will not, therefore, 
 be surprised to hear that my true and faithful friend Mrs. 
 De Luc partook so largely in the general alarm as to come 
 to me, with her kind eyes overflowing with tears, to en- 
 treat me, without the risk of farther delay, to relinquish 
 a situation of which the fatigue would else prove fatal 
 to me. There seemed, indeed, but one opinion, that res- 
 ignation of place or of life was the only remaining alter- 
 native. 
 
 There seemed now no time to be lost ; when I saw my 
 dear father he recommended to me to be speedy, and my 
 mother was very kind in urgency for immediate measures. 
 I could not, however, summon courage to present my me- 
 morial ; my heart always failed me, from seeing the Queen's 
 entire freedom from such an expectation : for though I was 
 frequently so ill in her presence that I could hardly stand, 
 I saw she concluded me, while life remained, inevitably 
 hers. 
 
 Finding my inability unconquerable, I at length deter-
 
 1790.] OF MA.DAME D'ARBLAY. 193 
 
 mined upon consulting Mr. Francis. I wrote to Charlotte 
 a faithful and minute account of myself, with all my at- 
 tacks — cough, pain in the side, weakness, sleeplessness, 
 &c. — at full length, and begged Mr. Francis's opinion 
 how I must proceed. Very kindly he wrote directly to my 
 father, exhorting instantaneous resignation, as all that 
 stood before me to avert some dangerous malady. 
 
 The dear Charlotte at the same time wrote to me con- 
 juring my prompt retreat with the most affecting earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 The uneasiness that preyed upon my spirits in a task so 
 difficult to perform for myself, joined to my daily declen- 
 sion in health, was now so apparent, that, though I could 
 go no farther, I paved the way for an opening, by owning 
 to the Queen that Mr. Francis had been consulted upon my 
 health. The Queen now frequently inquired concerning 
 his answer ; but as I knew he had written to my father, I 
 deferred ffivins the result till I had had a final conference 
 with that dear parent. I told Her IMajesty my father would 
 show me the letter when I saw him. This I saw raised for 
 the first time a surmise that something was in agitation, 
 though I am certain the suspicion did not exceed an ex- 
 pectation that leave would be requested for a short absence 
 to recruit. 
 
 My dearest father, all kindness and goodness, yet all 
 alarm, thought time could never be more favorable ; and 
 when next I saw him at Chelsea, I wrote a second memo- 
 rial to enclose the original one. 
 
 With a beating heart, and every pulse throbbing, I re- 
 turned thus armed to the Queen's house. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg sent for me to her room. I could 
 hardly articulate a word to her. My agitation was so great 
 that I was compelled to acknowledge something very awful 
 was impending in my affairs, and to beg she would mak§ 
 
 VOL. II. 13
 
 194 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 no present inqniries. I had not meant to employ her in 
 the business, nor to name it to her, but I was too much 
 disturbed for concealment or evasion. She seemed really 
 sorry, and behaved with a humanity I had not much reason 
 to expect. 
 
 I spent a terrible time till I went to the Queen at night, 
 spiriting myself up for my task, and yet finding apprehen- 
 sion gain ground every moment. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg had already been some time with 
 Her Majesty when I was summoned. I am sure she had 
 already mentioned the little she had gathered. I could 
 hardly perform my customary offices from excess of trepi- 
 dation. The Queen looked at me with the most inquisi- 
 tive solicitude. When left with her a moment I tried 
 vainly to make an opening : I could not. She was too 
 much impressed herself by my manner to wait long. She 
 soon inquired what answer had arrived from Mr. Francis ? 
 
 That he could not, I said, prescribe at a distance. T 
 hoped this would be understood, and said no more. The 
 Queen looked much perplexed, but made no answer. 
 
 The next morning I was half dead with real illness, ex- 
 cessive nervousness, and the struggle of what I had to 
 force myself to perform. The Queen again was struck 
 with my appearance, which I believe indeed to have been 
 shocking. When I was alone with her, she began upon 
 Mr. Francis with more inquiry. I then tried to articulate 
 that I had something of deep consequence to myself to 
 lay before Her Majesty ; but that I was so unequal in my 
 weakened state to speak it, that I had ventured to commit 
 it to writing, and entreated permission to produce it. She 
 could hardly hear me, yet understood enough to give im- 
 mediate consent. 
 
 I then begged to know if I might prpsent it myself, or 
 whether I should give it to Mrs. Schwellenberg,
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 195 
 
 "0, to me ! to me ! " she cried, with kind eagerness. She 
 added, however, not then, as she was going to breakfast. 
 
 This done was ah-eady some relief, terrible as was all 
 that remained ; but I now knew I must go on, and that 
 all my fears and horrors were powerless to stop me. 
 
 This was a drawing-room day. I saw the King at St. 
 James's, and he made the most gracious inquiries about 
 my health : so did each of the Princesses. I found they 
 were now all aware of its failure. The Queen proposed to 
 me to see Dr. Gisburne : the King seconded the proposi- 
 tion. There was no refusing ; yet, just now, it was dis- 
 tressing to comply. 
 
 The next morning, Friday, when again I was alone with 
 the Queen, slie named the subject, and told me she would 
 rather I should give the paper to tlie Schwellenberg, who 
 had been lamenting to her my want of confidence in her, 
 and saying I confided and told everything to the Queen. 
 " I answered," continued her jVIajesty, " that you were 
 always very good ; but that, with regard to confiding, you 
 seemed so happy with all your family, and to live so well 
 together, that there was nothing to say." 
 
 I now perceived Mrs. Schwellenberg suspected some dis- 
 sension at home was the cause of my depression. I was 
 sorry not to deliver my memorial to the principal person, 
 and yet glad to have it to do where I felt so much less 
 compunction in giving pain. 
 
 I now desired an audience of Mrs. Schwellenberg. With 
 what trembling agitation did I deliver her my paper, re- 
 questing her to have the goodness to lay it at the feet of 
 the Queen before Her Majesty left town ! We were then to 
 set out for Windsor before twelve o'clock. Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg herself remained in town. 
 
 Here let me copy the memorial.
 
 196 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 Most humbly presented to Her Majesty. 
 
 Madam, — With the deepest sense of your Majesty's 
 goodness and condescension, amounting even to sweetness 
 
 — to kindness — who can wonder I should never have 
 been able to say what I know not how to write — that I 
 find my strength and health unequal to my duty ? 
 
 Satisfied that I have been regularly spared and favored 
 by your Majesty's humane consideration to the utmost, I 
 could never bring myself to the painful confession of my 
 secret disquietude ; but I have long felt creeping upon me 
 a languor, a feebleness, that makes, at times, the most com- 
 mon attendance a degree of capital pain to me, and an 
 exertion that I could scarce have made, but for the revived 
 alacrity with which your Majesty's constant graciousuess 
 has inspired me, and would still, I believe, inspire me, even 
 to my latest hour, while in your Majesty's immediate pres- 
 ence. I kept this to myself while I thought it might 
 wear away — or, or least, I only commimicated it to ob- 
 tain some medical advice : but the weakness, though it 
 comes only in fits, has of late so much increased, that I 
 have hardly known how, many days, to keep myself about 
 
 — or to rise in the morning, or to stay up at night. 
 
 At length, however, as my constitution itself seems 
 slowly, yet surely, giving way, my father became alarmed. 
 
 I must not enter here, upon his mortification and disap- 
 pointment : the health and preservation of his daughter 
 could alone be more precious to him than your Majesty's 
 protection. 
 
 With my own feelings upon the subject it would ill 
 become me to detain your Majesty, and the less, as I am 
 fully sensible ray place, in point of its real business, may 
 easily be far better supplied ; — in point of sincere devo- 
 tion to your Majesty, I do not so readily yield. I can 
 only, therefore, most humbly entreat that your Majesty
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 197 
 
 will deign to accept from my father and myself the most 
 dutiful acknowledgments for the uniform benignity so 
 graciously shown to me during the whole of my attend- 
 ance. My father had originally been apprehensive of my 
 inability, with regard to strength, for sustaining any but 
 the indulgence of a domestic life : but your Majesty's jus- 
 tice and liberality will make every allowance for the flat- 
 tered feelings of a parent's heart, which could not endure, 
 untried, to relinquish for his daughter so high an honor as 
 a personal office about your Majesty. 
 
 I dare not, Madam, presume to hope that your Maj- 
 esty's condescension will reach to the smallest degree of 
 concern at parting with me ; but permit me. Madam, 
 humbly, earnestly, and fervently, to solicit that I may not 
 be deprived of the mental benevolence of your Majesty, 
 which so thankfully I have experienced, and so gratefully 
 must for ever remember. 
 
 That every blessing, every good, may light upon your 
 Majesties here, and await a future and happier period here- 
 after, will be always amongst the first prayers of, Madam, 
 your Majesty's ever devoted, ever grateful, most attached, 
 and most dutiful subject and servant, 
 
 Frances Burney. 
 
 With this, though written so long ago, I only wrote an 
 explanatory note to accompany it, which I will also copy: — ■ 
 
 Madam, — May I yet humbly presume to entreat your 
 Majesty's patience for a few added lines, to say that the 
 address which I now most respectfully lay at your Maj- 
 esty's feet was draw^n up two months ago, when first I felt 
 so extreme a weakness as to render the smallest exertion a 
 fatigue ? While I waited, however, for firmness to present 
 it, I took the bark, and found mvself, for some time, so
 
 198 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 much amended, that I put it aside, and my father, per- 
 ceiving me better, lost his anxious uneasiness for my try- 
 ing a new mode of life. But the good effect has, of late, 
 so wholly failed, that an entire change of air and manner 
 of living are strongly recommended as the best chance for 
 restoring my shattered health. We hold it, therefore, a 
 point of the grateful duty we owe to your Majesty's good- 
 ness and graciousness, to make this melancholy statement 
 at once, rather than to stay till absolute incapacity might 
 disable me from offering one small but sincere tribute of 
 profound respect to your Majesty — the only one in my 
 power — that of continuing the high honor of attending 
 your Majesty, till your Majesty's own choice, time, and 
 convenience nominate a successor. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg took it, and promised me her ser- 
 vices, but desired to know its contents. I begged vainly 
 to be excused speaking them. She persisted, and I then 
 was compelled to own they contained my resignation. 
 How aghast she looked! — how inflamed with wrath! — 
 how petrified with astonishment ! It was truly a dreadful 
 moment to me. She expostulated on such a step, as if it 
 led to destruction : she offered to save me from it, as if the 
 peace of my life depended on averting it ; and she menaced 
 me with its bad consequences, as if life itself, removed from 
 these walls, would become an evil. 
 
 I plainly recapitulated the suffering state in which I had 
 lived for the last three months : the difficulty with which 
 I had waded through even the most common fatigues of 
 the day ; the constraint of attendance, however honorable, 
 to an invalid ; and the impracticability of pursuing such a 
 life, when thus enfeebled, with the smallest chance of ever 
 recovering the health and strength which it had demolished.
 
 1790.] OF MADAME d'aRBLAY. 199 
 
 To all tins she began a vehement enlogium on the supe- 
 rior happiness and blessing of my lot, while nnder such a 
 protection ; and angrily exhorted me not to forfeit what I 
 could never regain. 
 
 I then frankly begged her to forbear so painful a discus- 
 sion, and told her the memorial was from my father as well 
 as myself — that I had no right or authority to hesitate in 
 delivering it — tliat the Queen herself was prepared to 
 expect it — and that I had promised my father not to go 
 again to Windsor till it was presented. I entreated her, 
 therefore, to have the goodness to show it at once. This 
 was unanswerable, and she left me with the paper in her 
 hand, slowly conveying it to its place of destination. 
 
 Just as she was gone, I was called to Dr. Gisburne ; or 
 rather, without being called, I found him in my room, as I 
 returned to it. 
 
 Think if my mind, now, wanted not medicine the most ! 
 I told him, however, my corporeal complaints ; and he or- 
 dered me opium and three glasses of wine in the day, and 
 recommended rest to me, and an application to retire to 
 my friends for some weeks, as freedom from anxiety was 
 as necessary to my restoration as freedom from attendance. 
 
 During this consultation I was called to Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg. Do you think I breathed as I went along ? — No ! 
 She received me, nevertheless, with complacency and 
 smiles ; she began a labored panegyric of her own friendly 
 zeal and goodness, and then said she had a proposal to 
 make me, which she considered as the most fortunate turn 
 my affairs could take, and as a proof that I should find 
 her the best friend I had in the world. She then premised 
 that she had shown the paper, — that the Queen had read 
 it, and said it was very modest, and nothing improper. 
 Her proposal was, that I should have leave of absence for 
 six weeks, to go about and change the air, to Chelsea, and
 
 200 DIARY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 Norbniy Park, and Capitan Phillips, and Mr. Francis, and 
 Mr. Cambrick, which would get nie quite well ; and, during 
 that time, she would engage Mile. Montmoulin to perform 
 my office. 
 
 I was much disturbed at this ; and though rejoiced and 
 relieved to understand that the Queen had read my memo- 
 rial without displeasure, I was grieved to see it was not 
 regarded as final. I only replied I would communicate 
 her plan to my father. 
 
 Soon after this we set out for Windsor. Here the first 
 presenting myself before the Queen was a task the heaviest, 
 if possible, of any. Yet I was ill enough, Heaven knows, 
 to carry the apology of my retreat in my countenance. 
 However, it was a terrible effort — I could hardly enter 
 her room. She spoke at once, and with infinite softness, 
 asking me how I did after my journey. " Not well, in- 
 deed," I simply answered. " But better ? " she cried : " are 
 you not a little better ? " I only shook my head ; I be- 
 lieve the rest of my frame shook without my aid. 
 
 "What! not a little? — not a little bit better?" she 
 cried, in the most soothing voice. 
 
 " To-day, ma'am," I said, " I did indeed not expect to be 
 better." I then muttered something, indistinctly enough, 
 of the pain I had suffered in what I had done : she opened, 
 however, upon another subject immediately, and no more 
 was said upon this. But she was kind, and sweet, and 
 gentle, and all consideration with respect to my attend- 
 ance. 
 
 I wrote the proposal to my poor father. I received, by 
 return of post, the most truly tender letter he ever wrote 
 nie. He returns thanks for the clemency with which my 
 melancholy memorial has been received, and is truly sensi- 
 ble of the high honor shown me in the new proposition ; 
 but he sees my health so impaired, my strength so decayed.
 
 1790.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 201 
 
 my whole frame so nearly demolished, that he apprehends 
 anything short of a permanent resignation, that would en- 
 sure lasting rest and recruit, m'ight prove fatal. He quotes 
 a letter from Mr. Francis, containing his opinion that I 
 must even be speedy in my retiring, or risk the utmost 
 danger ; and he finishes a letter filled with gratitude 
 towards the Queen, and affection to his daughter, with his 
 decisive opinion that I cannot go on, and his prayers and 
 blessings on my retreat. 
 
 The term "speedy," in Mr. Francis's opinion, deterred 
 me from producing this letter, as it seemed indelicate and 
 unfair to hurry the Queen, after offering her the fullest 
 time. I therefore waited till Mrs. Schwellenberg came to 
 Windsor before I made any report of my answer. A scene 
 almost horrible ensued, when I told Cerbera the offer was 
 declined. She was too much enraged for disguise, and 
 uttered the most furious expressions of indignant con- 
 tempt at our proceedings. I am sure she would gladly 
 have confined us both in the Bastile, had England such a 
 misery, as a fit place to bring us to ourselves, from a daring 
 so outrageous against imperial wishes. For the rest of this 
 gloomy month and gloomy year, a few detached paragraphs 
 must suffice. 
 
 Mr. Turbulent, as I have told you, won now all my good 
 will by a visit in this my sinking and altered state, in 
 which, with very unaffected friendliness, he counselled and 
 exhorted me to resign my office, in order to secure my re- 
 covery. He related to me, also, his own most afflicting 
 story — his mortifications, disappointments, and ill-treat- 
 ment ; and perhaps my concern for his injuries contribu- 
 ted to his complete restoration in my good will. 
 
 Another confidence soon followed, of a sort far more 
 pleasant: my good friend 'Fon vihonneur — Mile. Mont- 
 moulin — informed me of her engagements with M. d'Es-
 
 202 DIABY AND LETTERS [1790. 
 
 p^re-en-Dieu, and with her hopes of his speedily coming 
 over to England to claim her, and carry her to his chateau 
 en Langiiedoc. I sincerely wish her happy, and her pros- 
 pects wear all promise of her fulfilling my wish. Adieu, 
 my dear friends ! 
 
 Adieu — undear December ! 
 
 Adieu — and away for ever, most painful 1790 !
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 203 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 From January, 1791, to July, 1791. 
 
 Miss Burney to Dr. Burney. 
 
 January, 1791. 
 
 Most dear Sir, — I had no opportunity to put in practice 
 my plan of the montre. I found, by circumstances, a full 
 expectation of some conceding and relenting plan to follow 
 my Chelsea visit. A blank disappointment sat on the 
 face I revere ; a sharper austerity on that I shrink from. 
 
 Comfortless enough this went on till this morn : an in- 
 cident then occurred that enabled me to say I had shown 
 the montre to you. — " And how does he like it ? " I was 
 asked, very gently. " It made him, as me, almost melan- 
 choly," was my true answer. It was felt and understood 
 instantly. " But you must not encourage melancholy 
 thoughts," was very benignly spoken. This has revived 
 me — I was drooping ; and I am not much better in my 
 strength for this suspensive state ! Yet, I trust, I am now 
 finally comprehended, and that we are mutually believed 
 to be simple and single in what is proposed, and, conse- 
 quently, steady and unalterable. 
 
 Adieu, dearest of dear padres ! — This is the sum total of 
 all : the detail must await our meeting ; and we do not go 
 to town till the day before the birthday. — What a hurry 
 it will be ! 
 
 I was asked what I had bought for the birthday ? That, 
 therefore, is of course expected ! Well ; " God 's above
 
 204 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 all," — as you love to quote ; so I must keep up my spirits 
 with that. 
 
 I thank Heaven, there was much softness in the manner 
 of naming you this morning. I see no ill-will mixed with 
 the reluctance ; which much consoles me. I do what is 
 possible to avoid all discussion ; I see its danger still so 
 glaring. How could I resist, should tlie Queen condescend 
 to desire, to ask, that I would yet try another year ? — and 
 another year would but be uselessly demolishing me ; for 
 never could I explain to her that a situation which un- 
 avoidably casts all my leisure into the presence of Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg must necessarily be subversive of my 
 health, because incompatible with my peace, my ease, 
 my freedom, my spirits, and my affections. The Queen is 
 probably kept from any suspicion of tlie true nature of the 
 case, by the praises of Mrs. Schwellenberg, who, with all 
 her asperity and persecution, is uncommonly partial to my 
 society ; because, in order to relieve myself from sullen 
 gloom, or apparent dependency, I generally make my best 
 exertions to appear gay and chatty ; for when I can do 
 this, she forbears both rudeness and imperiousness. She 
 then, I have reason to believe, says to the Queen, as I 
 know she does to some others, " The Bernan bin reely 
 agribble ; " and the Queen, not knowing the incitement 
 that forces my elaborate and painful efforts, may suppose I 
 am lively at heart, when she hears I am so in discourse. 
 And there is no developing this without giving the Queen 
 the severest embarrassment as well as chagrin. I would 
 not turn informer for the world. Mrs. Schwellenberg, too, 
 with all her faults, is heart and soul devoted to her Eoyal 
 mistress, with the truest faith and loyalty. I hold, there- 
 fore, silence on this subject to be a sacred duty. To return 
 to you, my dearest padre, is the only road that is open for 
 my return to strength and comfort, bodily and mental. I
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 205 
 
 am inexpressibly grateful to the Queen, but I burn to be 
 delivered from Mrs. Schwellenberg, and I pine to be again 
 in the arms of my padre. Most dear sir, your F. B. 
 
 You may suppose my recovery was not much forwarded 
 by a ball given at the Castle on Twelfth-day. The Queen 
 condescended to say that I might go to bed, and she would 
 content herself with the wardrobe-woman, in considera- 
 tion of my weak state ; but then she exhorted me not to 
 make it known to the Schwellenberg, who would be quite 
 wretched at such a thing. 
 
 I returned my proper thanks, but declined the proposal, 
 so circumstanced, assuring Her Majesty that it would make 
 me wretched to have an indulgence that could produce an 
 impropriety which would make Mrs. Schwellenberg so 
 through my means. 
 
 And now to enliven a little ; what will you give me, fair 
 ladies, for a copy of verses written between the Queen of 
 Great Britain and your most small little journalist ? 
 
 The morning of the ball the Queen sent for me, and said 
 she had a fine pair of old-fashioned gloves, white, with 
 stiff tops and a deep gold fringe, which she meant to send 
 to her new Master of the Horse, Lord Harcourt, who was 
 to be at the dance. She wished to convey them in a copy 
 of verses, of which she had composed three lines, but 
 could not get on. She told me her ideas, and I had the 
 honor to help her in the metre ; and now I have the honor 
 to copy them from her own Eoyal hand : — 
 
 To THE Earl of Harcourt. 
 
 Go, happy gloves, bedeck Earl Harcourt's hand, 
 And let him know they come from fairy-land, 
 Where ancient customs still retain their reign ; 
 To modernize them all attempts were vain. 
 Go, cries Queen Mab, some noble owner seek, 
 Who has a proper taste for the antique.
 
 206 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 ISTow, no criticizing, fair ladies ; — the assistant was 
 neither allowed a pen nor a moment, but called upon to 
 help finish, as she might have been to hand a fan. The 
 Earl, you may suppose, was sufficiently enchanted. 
 
 How, or by whom, or by what instigated, I know not, 
 but I heard that the newspapers, this winter, had taken up 
 the cause of my apparent seclusion from the world, and 
 dealt round comments and lamentations profusely. I heard 
 of this with much concern. 
 
 I have now nothing worth scribbling before my terrible 
 illness, beginning about four o'clock in the morning of the 
 day preceding the Queen's birthday: and of that, in its 
 various adventures, you, my kind and tender nurses, are 
 fully apprised. 
 
 February. — This month, my dearest Susanna, has no 
 memorial but in my heart; which amply you supplied with 
 never-dying materials for recollection. 
 
 March. — And here may I gratefully say ditto, ditto, 
 ditto, to the above three lines, inserting the name of my 
 kindest, dearest Frederica. 
 
 April. — Now, though I have kept memorandums since 
 the departure of my dear Fredy, they are not chronological, 
 and therefore you must pardon the omission of my former 
 regularity. 
 
 In the course of this month I had two conferences with 
 my Eoyal mistress upon my resignation, in which I spoke 
 with all possible openness upon its necessity. She con- 
 descended to speak very honorably of my dear father to 
 me ; and, in a long discourse upon my altered health with 
 Mrs. de Luc, she still further condescended to speak most 
 graciously of his daughter, saying, in particular, these strong 
 words, in answer to something kind uttered by that good 
 friend in my favor : " Oh, as to character, she is what we
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 207 
 
 call ill German ' true as gold ; ' and, in point of heart, there 
 is not, all the world over, one better " — and added some- 
 thing further upon sincerity very forcibly. This makes 
 me very happy. 
 
 She deigned, also, in one of these conferences, to consult 
 with me openly upon my successor, stating her difficulties, 
 and making me enumerate various requisites. It would 
 be dangerous, she said, to build upon meeting in England 
 with one who would be discreet in point of keeping oft' 
 friends and acquaintances from frequenting the palace ; 
 and she graciously implied much commendation of my 
 discretion, in her statement of what she feared from a new 
 person. 
 
 May 7th. — As no notice whatever was taken, all this 
 time, of my successor, or my retirement, after very great 
 harass of suspense, and sundry attempts to conquer it, I 
 had at length again a conference with my Eoyal mistress. 
 She was evidently displeased at again being called upon, 
 but I took tlie courage to openly remind her that the birth- 
 day was her Majesty's own time, and that my father con- 
 ceived it to be the period of my attendance by her especial 
 appointment. And this was a truth which flashed its own 
 conviction on her recollection. She paused, and then, as- 
 sentingly, said, " Certainly." I then added, that as, after 
 the birtliday, their Majesties, went to Windsor, and the 
 early prayers began immediately, I must needs confess I 
 felt myself wholly unequal to encountering the fatigue of 
 rising for them in my present weakened state. She was 
 now very gracious again, conscious all this was fair and 
 true. She told me her own embarrassments concerning the 
 successor, spoke confidentially of her reasons for not en- 
 gaging an Englishwoman, and acknowledged a person was 
 fixed upon, though something yet remained iinarranged. 
 She gave me, however,, to understand that all would be
 
 208 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 expedited : and foreign letters were despatched, I know, 
 immediately. 
 
 This painful task over, of thus frequently reminding my 
 Eoyal mistress that my services were ending, I grew easier. 
 She renewed, in a short time, all her old confidence and 
 social condescension, and appeared to treat me with no 
 other alteration than a visible regTet that I should quit her 
 — shown rather than avowed, or much indeed it would 
 have distreased me. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg was now invariable in kindness ; but 
 with regard to my servants, I could obtain no other satis- 
 faction than that they must each have a month's wages, as 
 her Majesty would not consent to making my resignation 
 known. William, she told me, might probably become the 
 footman of my successor: poor little Goter has little 
 chance ! and I fear it will be a real tragedy when she 
 knows her doom. She now improves daily, and I am quite 
 sorry for her. 
 
 From Sunday, May 8th, to May 15th. — I have again 
 been very unwell — low, faint, and feeble. The sweet 
 Princess Elizabeth has taken an animated interest about 
 me ; I have been prescribed for by Mrs. de Luc, and her 
 Eoyal Highness has insisted on my performance of injunc- 
 tions. Miss Planta has also been extremely friendly and 
 
 assistmg. 
 
 From Sunday, May 15th, to Sunday, May 22nd. — The 
 trial of the poor persecuted Mr. Hastings being now again 
 debating and arranging for continuance, all our house, I 
 found, expected me now to come forth, and my Eoyal 
 mistress and Mrs. Schwellenber'::^ thought I should find it 
 irresistible. Indeed it nearly was so, from my anxious in- 
 terest in the approaching defence ; but when I considered 
 the rumors likely to be raised after my retreat, by those 
 terrifying watchers of court transactions who inform the
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 209 
 
 public of their conjectures, I dreaded the probable assertion 
 that I must needs be disgusted or discontented, for health 
 could not be the true motive of my resignation, since I was 
 in public just before it took place. I feared, too, that even 
 those who promoted the enterprise might reproach me with 
 my ability to do what I wished. These considerations de- 
 termined me to run no voluntary risks ; especially as I 
 should so ill know how to parry Mr. Wyndham, should he 
 now attack me upon a subject concerning which he merits 
 thanks so nobly, that I am satisfied my next interview with 
 him must draw them forth from me. Justice, satisfaction 
 in his exertions, and gratitude for their spirited willingness, 
 all call upon me to give him that poor return. Tlie danger 
 of it, however, now, is too great to be tried, if avoidable ; 
 and I had far rather avoid seeing him than either gratify 
 myself by expressing my sense of his kindness, or unjustly 
 withhold from him what I think of it. 
 
 These considerations determined me upon relinquishing 
 all public places, and all private visits, for the present. 
 
 The trial, however, was delayed, and the Handelian com- 
 memoration came on. My beloved Mr. and Mrs. Locke 
 will have told my Susan my difficulties in this business, 
 and I will now tell all three how they ended. 
 
 The Queen, unexpectedly, having given me a ticket, and 
 enjoined me to go the first day, that I might have longer 
 time to recruit against the King's birthday, I became, as 
 you will have heard, much distressed what course to pur- 
 sue. I took the first moment I was alone with Her 
 Majesty to express my father's obligation to her for not 
 suffering me to sit up on her own birthday, in this week, 
 and I besought her permission to lay before her my father's 
 motives for hitherto wishing me to keep qniet this spring, 
 as well as my own, adding I was sure Her Majesty would 
 benignly wish this business to be done as peaceably and 
 
 VOL. II. 14
 
 210 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 unobserved cd possible. She looked extremely earnest, and 
 bid me proceed. 
 
 I then briefly stated that whoever had the high honor of 
 belonging to their Majesties were liable to comments upon 
 all their actions ; that, if the comment was only founded 
 in truth, we had nothing to fear, but that, as the world was 
 much less addicted to veracity than to mischief, my father 
 and myself had an equal apprehension that, if I should 
 now be seen in public so quickly before the impending 
 change, reports might be spread, as soon as I went home, 
 that it could not be for health I resigned. 
 
 She listened very attentively and graciously, and in- 
 stantly acquiesced, giving me the ticket for my own dis- 
 posal, and another for little Sarah, who was to have 
 accompanied me. The other, therefore, I gave to James. 
 And thus ended, most favorably, this dilemma. 
 
 My dear Fredy will have mentioned the circumstances 
 of the Queen's real birthday, and her insistance tliat I 
 should not sit up for the ball, and the most kind interfer- 
 ence of the King to prevent my opposing her order, in 
 wliich all the three elder Princesses joined, with looks of 
 benevolent deliglit that I should thus be spared an exer- 
 tion for which I was really most unequal. This once, 
 therefore, the Queen had only Mrs. Thielky, and I had an 
 admirable night's repose and recruit — most unpleasantly, 
 however, circumstanced by the consciousness it was deemed 
 a high impropriety. I told the Queen afterwards tliat, 
 though I was most sensible of her gracious consideration 
 in sparing me a fatigue which I believed would wholly 
 liave overpowered me, I yet never more thoroughly felt 
 the necessity of my retreat, that my place might be sup- 
 plied by one who could better perform its office. She was 
 not much pleased with this speech ; but I owed it to truth 
 and justice, and could not repress it.
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 211 
 
 Feom Sunday 22nd, to the end of May. — This Sun- 
 day, the birthday of the lovely and amiable Princess Eliz- 
 abeth, found me very ill again ; but as I am that now very 
 frequently, and always come round to the same state as be- 
 fore these little occasional attacks, I will leave them unmen- 
 tioned, except where they hang to other circumstances. 
 
 Poor Mr. Smelt, who had spent his melancholy winter at 
 Kew, with his two deserving daughters, J\lrs. Cholmley and 
 Mrs. Goulton, was now preparing to return, for the sum- 
 mer, to their dwellings in the north. It seemed a species 
 of duty on my part to acquaint him with my intended 
 resignation, as he had been employed by her Majesty to 
 bring me the original proposition of the office ; but I have 
 no permission — on the contrary, repeated exhortations to 
 tell no one ; and therefore, from the time the transaction 
 has become the Queen's, I have made no new confidence 
 whatsoever. 
 
 When the trial actually recommenced, the Queen grew 
 anxious for my going to it : she condescended to intimate 
 that my accounts of it were the most faithful and satis- 
 factory she received, and to express much ill-will to giving 
 them up. The motives I had mentioned, however, were 
 not merely personal ; she could not but see any comments 
 must involve more than myself, and therefore I abided 
 steadily by her fiijst agreement to my absenting myself 
 from all public places, and only gently joined in lier regret, 
 which I forcibly enough felt in this instance, without ven- 
 turing any offer of relinquishing the prudential plan pre- 
 viously arranged. She gave me tickets for Charles for 
 every day that the Hall was opened, and I collected what 
 I could of information from him for her satisfaction. 
 
 I had a most friendly visit in my apartment from Dr. 
 Willis, a man whom I as cordially like as I admire, and 
 whose noble open heart is as worthy reverence as his truly
 
 212 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 original talents in his own art. He came to offer me his 
 counsel for my health, telling me he really could not en- 
 dure to see me look so wan and altered. I assured him 
 very sincerely there was no medical advice I could receive 
 in the whole world which would have such assistance with 
 me from faith as his ; but that as I was the formal and 
 official patient of Dr. Gisburne, I feared he would be much 
 offended at my indulging my private opinion by changing 
 my physician. 
 
 " Why, now, I really think," cried he, " which you '11 say 
 is very vain, that I could cure you ; and why should not 
 we consult without his knowing it ? I give you my word 
 I would not offend any man ; but you may take my word 
 for it, for all that, I would affront all the college of doctors, 
 and all the world beside, rather than not do you good if it 
 is in my power." 
 
 When I thanked him for this exceeding kindness, which 
 was uttered with a cordiality of manner that doubled its 
 warmth, he said, " Why, to tell you the truth, I don't quite 
 know how I could have got on at Kew, in the King's ill- 
 ness, if it had not been for seeing you in a morning. I 
 assure you they worried me so, all round, one way or other, 
 that I was almost ready to go off But you used to keep 
 me up prodigiously. Though, I give you my word, I was 
 afraid sometimes to see you, with your good-humored face, 
 for all it helped me to keep up, because I did not know 
 what to say to you, when things went bad, on account of 
 vexing you." 
 
 He then examined me, and wrote me a prescription, and 
 gave me directions, and told me I must write him word, 
 into Lincolnshire, how his advice agreed. " If you were to 
 do me the honor to send me a letter," he cried, " I '11 assure 
 you I should be very much pleased ; but you would give 
 me a very bad opinion of you, which would be no easy
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 213 
 
 thing to do neither, if you were to offer me a fee, except 
 it be a letter, and now don't be stingy of that." 
 
 I tried his medicines, but they were too violent, and 
 required rest and nursing ; however, I reaUy believe they 
 will prove effectual. 
 
 Queen's House, London. 
 
 June. — On the opening of this month Her Majesty told 
 me that the next day Mr. Hastings w^as to make his defence, 
 and warmly added, " I would give the world you could go 
 to it ! " Tliis was an expression so unusual in animation, 
 that I instantly told her I would write to my father, who 
 could not possibly, in that- case, hesitate. 
 
 " Surely, " she cried, " you may wrap up, so as not to 
 catch cold that once ? " I told Her Majesty that, as my 
 father had never thought going out would be really preju- 
 dicial to my health, he had only wished to have his motive 
 laid fairly before Her Majesty, and then to leave it to her 
 own command. Her Majesty accepted this mode of con- 
 sent, and gave me tickets for Charles and Sarah to accom- 
 pany me, and gave leave and another ticket for Mr. de Luc 
 to be of the party. After this the Eoyal Family went to 
 the Abbey, for which, also, the Queen graciously gave me 
 a ticket for whom I pleased. 
 
 Thursday, June 2nd. — I went once more to Westmin- 
 ster HaU. Charles and Sarah came not to their time, and 
 I left directions and tickets, and set off with only Mr. de 
 Luc, to secure our own, and keep places for them. 
 
 The Hall was more crowded than on any day since the 
 trial commenced, except the first. Peers, commoners, and 
 counsel, peeresses, commoneresses, and the numerous indefi- 
 nites, crowded every part, with a just and fair curiosity to 
 hear one day's defence, after seventy-three of accusation. 
 
 Unfortunately, I sat too high up to hear the opening, and
 
 214 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 when, afterwards, the departure of some of my obstacles 
 removed me lower, I was just behind some of those unfeel- 
 ing enemies who have not even the decorum due to them- 
 selves, of appearing to listen to what is offered against 
 their own side. I could only make out that this great and 
 persecuted man, upon a plan all his own, and at a risk 
 impossible to ascertain, was formally making his own de- 
 fence, not with retaliating declamation, but by a simple, 
 concise, and most interesting statement of facts, and of the 
 necessities accompanying them in the situation to which 
 the House then impeaching had five times called him. He 
 spoke with most gentlemanly temper of his accusers, his 
 provocation considered, yet with a firmness of disdain of 
 the injustice with which he had been treated in return for 
 his services, that was striking and affecting, though una- 
 dorned and manly. 
 
 His spirit, however, and the injuries which raised it, 
 rested not quietly upon his particular accusers : he arraigned 
 the late minister, Lord North, of ingratitude and double- 
 dealing, and the present minister, Mr. Pitt, of unjustifiably 
 and unworthily forbearing to sustain him. 
 
 Here Mr, Fox, artfully enough, interrupted him, to say 
 the Kind's ministers were not to be arraigned for what 
 passed in the House of Parliament. 
 
 Mr. Burke rose also to enter his protest. But Mr. Hast- 
 ings then lost his patience and his temper : he would not 
 suffer the interruption ; he had never, he said, interrupted 
 their long speeches ; and when Mr. Burke again attempted 
 to speak, Mr. Hastings, in an impassioned but affecting 
 manner, extended his arms, and called out loudly, " I throw 
 myself upon the protection of your Lordships ! — I am not 
 used to public speaking, and cannot answer them ; what I 
 wish to submit to your Lordships I have committed to 
 paper ; but, if I am punished for what I say, I must insist
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 215 
 
 upon being heard ! — I call upon you, my Lords, to protect 
 me from this violence ! " This animated appeal prevailed ; 
 the managers were silenced by an almost universal cry of 
 " Hear, hear, hear ! " from the Lords ; and by Lord Kenyon, 
 who represented the Chancellor, and said, " Mr. Hastings, 
 proceed. " 
 
 The angry orators, though witli a very ill grace, were 
 then silenced. They were little aware what a compliment 
 this intemperate eagerness was paying to Mr. Hastings, 
 who for so many long days manifested that fortitude against 
 attack, and that patience against abuse, which they coukl 
 not muster, without any parallel in provocation, even for 
 three short hours. 
 
 The conclusion of the defence I heard better, as Mr. 
 Hastings spoke considerably louder from this time ; the 
 spirit of indignation animated his manner and gave strength 
 to his voice. You will have seen the chief parts of his 
 discourse in the newspapers ; and you cannot, 1 think, but 
 grow more and more his friend as you peruse it. He 
 called pathetically and solemnly for instant judgment ; 
 but the Lords, after an adjournment, decided to hear his 
 defence by evidence, and in order, the next sessions. How 
 grievous such continual delay to a man past sixty, and 
 sighing for such a length of time for redress from a prose- 
 cution as yet unparalleled in our annals ! 
 
 When we came downstairs into the large waiting-hall, 
 Mr. de Luc went in search of William and chairs. Sally 
 then immediately discerned Mr. Wyndham with some 
 ladies. He looked at me without at first knowimj me. 
 
 Mr. Nicholls, however, knew my voice. He came and 
 chatted with his accustomed good-humor and ease. 
 
 While this was going on, Sarah whispered me that Mr. 
 Wyndham was looking harder and harder ; and presently, 
 at a pause with Mr. Nicholls, he came, up to me, and in a
 
 216 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 tone of very deep concern, and with a look that fully con- 
 curred with it, he said, " Do I see Miss Burney ? " I could 
 not but feel the extent of the interrogation, and my assent 
 acknowledged my comprehension. 
 
 " Indeed," he cried, " I was going to make a speech — 
 not very — gallant ! " 
 
 " But it is what I should like better," I cried, " for it is 
 kind, if you were going to say I look miserably ill, as that 
 is but a necessary consequence of feeling so, — and misera- 
 bly ill enough I have felt this long time past." 
 
 When we came home I was immediately summoned to 
 Her Majesty, to whom I gave a full and fair account of all 
 I had heard of the defence ; and it drew tears from her 
 expressive eyes, as I repeated Mr. Hastings's own words, 
 upon the hardship and injustice of the treatment he had 
 sustained. 
 
 Afterwards, at night, the King called upon me to repeat 
 my account ; and I was equally faithful, sparing nothing 
 of what had dropped from the persecuted defendant 
 relative to His Majesty's Ministers. I thought official 
 accounts might be less detailed there than against tlie 
 Managers, who, as open enemies, excite not so much my 
 " high displeasure " as the friends of Government, who so 
 insidiously elected and panegyrized him wliile they wanted 
 his assistance, and betrayed and deserted him when he 
 was no longer in a capacity to serve them. Such, at least, 
 is the light in which the defence places them. 
 
 The King listened with much earnestness and a marked 
 compassion. He had already read the account sent him 
 officially, but he was as eager to hear all I could recollect, 
 as if still uninformed of what had passed. The v/ords 
 may be given to the eye, but the impression they make 
 can only be conveyed by the ear ; and I came back so 
 eagerly interested, that my memory was not more stored
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 217 
 
 witli the very words than my voice with the intonations 
 of all that had passed. With regard to my bearing this 
 sole unofficial exertion since my illness, I can only say 
 the fatigue I felt bore not any parallel with that of every 
 drawing-room day, because I was seated. 
 
 June 4th. — Let me now come to the 4th, the last birth- 
 day of the good, gracious, benevolent King I shall ever, in 
 all human probability, pass under his Royal roof 
 
 The thought was affecting to me, in defiance of my vol- 
 unteer conduct, and I could scarce speak to the Queen when 
 I first went to her, and wished to say something upon a 
 day so interesting. The King was most gracious and kind 
 when he came into the State Dressing- Room at St. James's, 
 and particularly inquired about my health and strength, 
 and if they would befriend me for the day. I longed again 
 to tell him how hard I would work them, rather than let 
 them, on such a day, drive me from my office ; but I found 
 it better suited me to be quiet ; it was safer not to trust to 
 any expression of loyalty, with a mind so full, and on a 
 day so critical. 
 
 With regard to health, my side is all that is attended 
 with any uneasiness, and that is sometimes a serious busi- 
 ness. Certainly there is nothing premature in what has 
 been done. And — picquet ! — life hardly hangs on earth 
 during its compulsion, in these months succeeding months, 
 and years creeping, crawling, after years. 
 
 At dinner Mrs. Schwellenberg presided, attired magnifi- 
 cently. Miss Goldsworthy, Mrs. Stainforth, Messrs. de Luc 
 and Stanhope dined with us ; and while we were still eating 
 fruit, the Duke of Clarence entered. He was just risen from 
 the King's table, and waiting for his equipage to go home 
 and prepare for the ball. To give you an idea of the energy 
 of his Royal Highness's language, I ought to set apart a gen- 
 eral objection to Avriting, or rather intimating, certain forci-
 
 218 DIAEY AND LETTERS .[1791. 
 
 ble words, and beg leave to show you, in genuine colors, a 
 Eoyal sailor. We all rose, of course, upon his entrance, 
 and the two gentlemen placed themselves behind their 
 chairs, while the footman left the room ; but he ordered us 
 all to sit down, and called the men back to hand about 
 some wine. He was in exceeding high spirits and in the 
 utmost good humor. He placed himself at the head of the 
 table, next Mrs. Schwellenberg, and looked remarkably 
 well, gay, and full of sport and mischief, yet clever withal 
 as well as comical. 
 
 " "Well, this is the first dav I have ever dined with the 
 King at St. James's on his birthday. Pray, have you all 
 drunk His Majesty's health ? " 
 
 " No, your Roy'l Highness : your Roy'l Highness might 
 make dem do dat," said Mrs. Schwellenberg. 
 
 " 0, by will I ! Here, you (to the footman) ; bring 
 
 champagne ! I '11 drink the King's health again, if I die 
 for it ! Yet, I have done pretty well already : so has the 
 King, I promise you ! I believe His Majesty was never 
 taken such good care of before. We have kept his spirits 
 up, I promise you ; we have enabled him to go through his 
 fatigues ; and I should have done more still, but for the 
 ball and Mary — I have promised to dance with Mary ! " 
 
 Princess Mary made her first appearance at Court to- 
 day : she looked most interesting and unaffectedly lovely : 
 she is a sweet creature, and perhaps, in point of beauty, 
 tlie first of this truly beautiful race, of which Princess 
 Mary may be called pendant to the Prince of Wales. 
 
 Champagne being now brought for the Duke, he ordered 
 it all round. When it came to me I whispered to Wester- 
 haults to carry it on : the Duke slapped his hand violently 
 
 on the table, and called out, " O, by , you shall drink 
 
 it ! " There was no resisting this. We all stood up, and 
 the Duke sonorously gave the Royal toast. " And now,"
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 219 
 
 cried he, making us all sit down again, " where are my ras- 
 cals of servants ? I sha'n't be in time for the ball; besides, 
 I 've got a deuced tailor waiting to fix on my epaulette ! 
 Here, you, go and see for my servants ! d' ye hear ? Scam- 
 per off! " Off ran William. " Come, let *s have the King's 
 health again. De Luc, drink it. Here, champagne to de 
 Luc ! " I wish you could have seen Mr. de Luc's mixed 
 simper — half pleased, half alarmed. However, the wine 
 came and he drank it, the Duke taking a bumper for him- 
 self at the same time. 
 
 " Poor Stanhope ! " cried he : " Stanhope shall have a 
 glass, too ! Here, champagne ! what are you all about ? 
 Why don't you give champagne to poor Stanhope ? " Mr. 
 Stanhope, with great pleasure, complied, and the Duke 
 again accompanied him. 
 
 " Come hither, do you hear ? " cried the Duke to the ser- 
 vants, and on the approach, slow and submissive, of Mrs. 
 Stainforth's man, he hit him a violent slap on the back, 
 calling out, " Hang you! M'hy don't you see for my rascals ?" 
 
 Away flew the man, and then he called out to Wester- 
 haults, " Hark'ee ! bring another glass of champagne to 
 Mr. de Luc ! " 
 
 Mr. de Luc knows these Eoyal youths too well to ven- 
 ture at so vain an experiment as disputing with them ; so 
 he only shrugged his shoulders and drank the wine. The 
 Duke did the same. "And now, poor Stanhope," cried 
 the Duke ; " give another glass to poor Stanhope, d' ye 
 hear ? " 
 
 " Is not your Royal Highness afraid," cried Mr. Stan- 
 hope, displaying the full circle of his borrowed teeth, " I 
 shall be apt to be rather up in the world, as the folks say, 
 if I tope on at this rate ? " 
 
 " Not at all ! you can't get drunk in a better cause, I 'd 
 get drunk myself if it was not for the ball. Here, cham-
 
 220 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 pagne ! another glass for the philosopher ! I keep sober 
 for Mary." 
 
 " 0, your Eoyal Highness ! " cried ]\Ir. de Luc, gaining 
 courage as he drank, " you will make me quite droll of it 
 if you make me go on — quite droll ! " 
 
 " So much the better ! so much the better ! it will do 
 you a monstrous deal of good. Here, another glass of 
 champagne for the Queen's philosopher ! " Mr. de Luc 
 obeyed, and the Duke then addressed Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg's George. " Here, you ! you ! why, where is my car- 
 riage ? run and see, do you hear ? " Off hurried George, 
 grinning irrepressibly. 
 
 " If it was not for that deuced tailor, I would not stir. 
 I shall dine at the Queen's house on Monday, Miss Golds- 
 worthy ; I shall come to dine with Princess Eoyal. I find 
 she does not go to Windsor with the Queen." The Queen 
 meant to spend one day at Windsor, on account of a re- 
 view which carried the King that way. 
 
 Some talk then ensued upon the Duke's new carriage, 
 which they all agreed to be the most beautiful that day at 
 Court. I had not seen it, which, to me, was some impedi- 
 ment against praising it. He then said it was necessary 
 to drink the Queen's health. 
 
 The gentlemen here made no demur, though Mr. de Luc 
 arched his eyebrows in expressive fear of consequences. 
 
 " A bumper," cried the Duke, " to the Queen's gentleman- 
 usher." They all stood up and drank the Queen's health. 
 
 " Here are three of us," cried the Duke, " all belonging 
 to the Queen : the Queen's philosopher, the Queen's gen- 
 tleman-usher, and the Queen's son ; but, thank Heaven, 
 I 'm nearest." 
 
 " Sir," cried Mr. Stanhope, a little affronted, " I am not 
 now the Queen's gentleman-usher ; I am the Queen's 
 equerry, sir."
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 221 
 
 " A glass more of champagne here ! What are you all 
 so slow for ? Where are all my rascals gone ? They 've 
 put me in one passion already this morning. Come, a 
 glass of champagne for the Queen's gentleman-usher ! " 
 laughing heartily. 
 
 " iSro, sir," repeated Mr. Stanhope ; " I am equerry now, 
 sir." 
 
 " And another glass to the Queen's philosopher ! " , Nei- 
 ther gentleman objected ; but j\Irs. Schwellenberg, who had 
 sat laughing and happy all this time, now grew alarmed, 
 and said, "Your Eoyal Highness, I am afraid for the 
 ball ! " 
 
 " Hold you your potato-jaw, my dear," cried the Duke, 
 patting her ; but, recollecting himself, he took her hand and 
 pretty abruptly kissed it, and then, flinging it hastily away, 
 laughed aloud, and called out, " There ! that will make 
 amends for anything, so now I may say what I will. So 
 here ! a glass of Champagne for the Queen's philosopher 
 and the Queen's gentleman-usher ! Hang me if it will not 
 do them a monstrous deal of good ! " Here news was 
 brought that the equipage was in order. He started up, 
 calling out, " Now, then, for my deuced tailor." 
 
 " Oh, your Eoyal Highness ! " cried Mr. de Luc, in a 
 tone of expostulation, " now you have made us droll, you 
 20 ! " Off, however, he went. And is it not a curious 
 scene ? All my amaze is, how any of their heads bore 
 such libations. 
 
 In the evening I had by no means strength to encounter 
 the ball-room. I gave my tickets to Mrs. and Miss Doug- 
 las. Mrs. Stainforth was dying to see the Princess Mary 
 in her Court dress. Mr. Stanhope offered to conduct her 
 to a place of prospect. She went with him. I thought 
 this preferable to an unbroken evening with my fair com- 
 panion, and Mr. de Luc thinking the same, we both left 
 
 o
 
 222 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 Mrs. Scliwellenberg to unattire, and followed. But we 
 were rather in a scrape by trusting to Mr. Stanhope after 
 all this champagne : he had carried Mrs. Stainforth to the 
 ■very door of the ball-room, and there fixed her — in a 
 place which the King, Queen, and suite must brush past 
 in order to enter the ball-room. I had followed, however, 
 and the crowds of beef-eaters, officers, and guards that 
 lined all the state-rooms through which we exhibited our- 
 selves, prevented my retreating alone. I stood, therefore, 
 next to Mrs. Stainforth, and saw the ceremony. 
 
 The passage was made so narrow by attendants, that 
 they were all forced to go one by one. First, all the 
 King's great state-officers, amongst wdiom I recognized 
 LordCourtown, Treasurer of the Household; Lord Salis- 
 bury carried a candle ! — 't is an odd etiquette. — These being 
 passed, came the King — he saw us and laughed ; then the 
 Queen's Master of the Horse, Lord Harcourt, who did 
 ditto ; then some more. 
 
 The Vice-Chamberlain carries the Queen's candle, that 
 she may have the arm of the Lord Chamberlain to lean on ; 
 accordingly, Lord Aylesbury, receiving that honor, now 
 preceded the Queen : she looked amazed at sight of us. 
 The kind Princesses one by one acknowledged us. I spoke 
 to Princess Mary, wishing her Eoyal Highness joy ; she 
 looked in a delight and an alarm nearly equal. She was 
 to dance her first minuet. Then followed the ladies of the 
 Bedchamber, and Lady Harcourt was particularly civil. 
 Then the Maids of Honor, every one of whom knew and 
 spoke to us. I peered vainly for the Duke of Clarence, 
 but none of the Princes passed us. What a crowd brought 
 up the rear ! I was vexed not to see the Prince of Wales. 
 Well, God bless the King ! and many and many such days 
 may he know ! 
 
 I was now so tired as to be eager to go back ; but the
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 223 
 
 Queen's philosopher, the good and most sober and tem- 
 perate of men, was really a little giddy with all his bum- 
 pers, and his eyes, which were quite lustrous, could not fix 
 any object steadily; while the poor gentleman-usher — 
 equerry, I mean — kept his mouth so Avide open with one 
 continued grin, — I suppose from the sparkling beverage, — 
 that I was every minute afraid its pearly ornaments, whicli 
 never fit their case, would have fallen at our feet. Mrs. 
 Stainforth gave me a significant look of making the same 
 observation, and, catching me fast by the arm, said, "Come, 
 Miss Burney, let's you and I take care of one another;" 
 and then she safely toddled me back to Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, who greeted us with saying, " Veil, bin you much 
 amused ? Dat Prince Villiam — oders de Duke de Clarence 
 — bin raelly ver merry — oders vat you call tipsy." 
 
 Brief must be my attempt at the renmant of this month, 
 my dearest friends ; for it was spent in so much difficulty, 
 pain, and embarrassment, that I should have very little 
 to relate that you could have any pleasure to hear ; and 
 I am weary of dwelling on evils that now, when I write, 
 are past ! I thank God ! 
 
 June Stii. — The day following the birthday, you can- 
 not be surprised to hear that I was really very ill. I stood 
 with such infinite difficulty in the Queen's presence at 
 noon that I was obliged to be dismissed, and to go to bed 
 in the middle of the day. I soon got better, however, 
 and again attended in the evening, and in a few days I was 
 much the same as before tlie gala. 
 
 My orders, which I punctually obeyed, of informing no 
 one of my impending departure, were extremely painful to 
 adhere to, as almost everybody I saw advised me strenu- 
 ously to beg leave of absence to recruit, and pressed so 
 home to me the necessity of taking some step for my 
 health, that I was reduced to a thousand unpleasant
 
 224 DIARY AND LETrERS [1791. 
 
 evasions in my answers. But I was bound ; and I never 
 disengage myself from bonds imposed by others, if once I 
 have agreed to them. 
 
 Mr. Turbulent at this time outstayed the tea-party one 
 evening, not for his former rhodomontading, but to seri- 
 ously and earnestly advise me to resign. My situation, he 
 said, was evidently death to me. 
 
 Her Majesty, the day before we left Windsor, gave me 
 to understand my attendance would be yet one more fort- 
 night requisite, though no longer. I heard this with a 
 fearful presentiment I shoidd surely never go through 
 another fortnight, in so weak and languishing and painful 
 a state of health. However, I could but accede, though I 
 fear with no very courtly grace. So melancholy, indeed, 
 was the state of my mind, from the weakness of my frame, 
 that I was never alone but to form scenes of " foreicrn woe," 
 when my own disturbance did not occupy me wholly. I 
 began — almost whether I would or not — another tragedy ! 
 The other three all unfinished ! not one read ! and one of 
 them, indeed, only generally sketched as to plan and char- 
 acter. But I could go on with nothing ; I could only sug- 
 gest and invent. 
 
 The power of composition has to me indeed proved a 
 solace, a blessing ! When* incapable of all else, that, unso- 
 licited, unthought of, has presented itself to my solitary 
 leisure, and beguiled me of myself, though it has not of 
 late regaled me with gayer associates. 
 
 July. — I come now to write the last week of my royal 
 residence. The Queen honored me with the most uniform 
 graciousness, and though, as the time of separation ap- 
 proached, her cordiality rather diminished, and traces of 
 internal displeasure appeared sometimes, arising from an 
 opinion I ought rather to have struggled on, live or die, than 
 to quit her — yet I am sure she saw how poor was my own
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 225 
 
 chance, except by a change in the mode of life, and at 
 least ceased to wonder, though she could not approve.^ 
 
 The King was more courteous, more communicative, 
 more amiable, at every meeting ; and he condescended to 
 hold me in conversation with him by every opportunity, 
 and with an air of such benevolence and goodness, that I 
 never felt such ease and pleasure in his notice before. He 
 talked over all Mr. Boswell's book, and I related to him 
 sundry anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, all highly to his honor, 
 and such as I was eager to make known. He alwavs heard 
 me with the utmost complacency, and encouraged me to 
 proceed in my accounts, by every mark of attention and 
 interest. 
 
 He told me once, laughing heartily, that, having seen 
 my name in the Index, he was eager to come to what was 
 said of me ; but when he found so little, he was surprised 
 and disappointed, 
 
 I ventured to assure him how much I had myself been 
 rejoiced at this very circumstance, and with what satis- 
 faction I had reflected upon having very seldom met Mr. 
 Boswell, as I knew there was no other security against 
 all manner of risks in his relations. 
 
 1 " Sweet Queen ! what noble candor, to admit that the undutifulness 
 of people who did not think the honor of adjusting her tuckers worth the 
 sacrifice of their own lives was, though highly criminal, not altogether un- 
 natural ! We perfectly understand her Majesty's contempt for the lives of 
 others where her own pleasure was concerned. Perhaps that economy 
 which was among her Majesty's most conspicuous virtues had something 
 to do with her conduct on this occasion. Miss Burney had never hinted 
 that she expected a retiring pension ; but her Majesty knew what the pub- 
 lic thought, and what became her own dignity. She could not for veiy 
 shame suffer a woman of distinguished genius, who had quitted a lucra- 
 tive career to wait on her, who had served her faithfully for a pittance 
 during five years, and whose constitution had been impaired by labor and 
 watching, to leave the Court without some mark of royal liberality."— iorcf 
 Macaiday, Essay on Madame d'Arblay. 
 VOL. II. 15
 
 226 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 I must have told you long since of the marriage of Mile. 
 Montmoulin to M. d'Espere-en-Dieu ? Her niece, another 
 Mile. Montmoulin, has succeeded her. I was not inclined 
 to make new acquaintance on the eve of my departure ; 
 hut she came one morning to my room, in attendance upon 
 the Princess Mary, wdio called in to ask me some question. 
 She seems agreeable and sensible. The Princess Mary 
 then stayed and chatted with me over her own adventures 
 on the King's birthday, when slie first appeared at Court. 
 The history of her dancing at the ball, and the situation of 
 her partner and brother, the Duke of Clarence, she spoke 
 of with a sweet ingenuousness and artless openness which 
 mark her very amiable character. And not a little did I 
 divert her when I related the Duke's visit to our party ! 
 " Oh," cried she, " he told me of it himself the next morn- 
 ing, and said, ' You may think how far I was gone, for I 
 kissed the Schwellenberg's hand ! ' " 
 
 About this time Mr. Turbulent made me a visit at tea- 
 time, when the gentlemen were at the Castle ; and the 
 moment William left the room, he eagerl}^ said, " Is this 
 true, Miss Burney, tliat I liear ? Are we going to lose 
 you ? " I was much surprised, but could not deny the 
 charge. He, very good-naturedly, declared himself much 
 pleased at a release which, he protested, he thought neces- 
 sary to my life's preservation. I made him tell me the 
 channel through which a business I had guarded so scru- 
 pulously myself had reached him ; but it is too full of 
 windings for writing. 
 
 With Mr. de Luc I was already in confidence upon my 
 resignation, and with the knowledge of the Queen, as he 
 had received the intelligence from Germany, whence my 
 successor was now arriving. I then also begged the in- 
 dulgence of writing to Mr. Smelt upon the subject, which 
 w^as accorded me.
 
 1791.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 227 
 
 My next attack was from Miss Planta. She expressed 
 herself in the deepest concern at my retiring, though she 
 not only acknowledged its necessity, but confessed she had 
 not thought I could have performed my official duty even 
 one year ! She broke from me while we talked, leaving 
 me abruptly in a violent passion of tears. 
 
 Miss Burnet/ to Dr. Burney. 
 
 July 3rd, '91. 
 
 Dearest Sir, — Mademoiselle Jacobi, my destined suc- 
 cessor, is come. This moment I have been told it by the 
 Queen. And, in truth, I am again feeling so unwell that I 
 had fully expected, if the delay had been yet lengthened, 
 another dreadful seizure for its termination. But I hope 
 now to avoid this : and my mind is very full, very agi- 
 tated ; nothing has yet been said of my day of dismis- 
 sion. 
 
 I conclude I return not till Thursday, after the draw- 
 ing-room. I fancy my attendance will be required at St. 
 James's till that ceremony is over. It will be highly dis- 
 agreeable, and even painful, to conclude in such full con- 
 gress and fine trappings, &c., for I know I shall feel a pang 
 at parting with the Queen, in the midst of the soul's satis- 
 faction with which I shall return to my beloved father — 
 that dear parental protection under which, if my altered 
 health should even fail of restoration, my mind will be 
 composed, and my best aftectious cherished, soothed, and 
 returned. My eyes fill while I write ; my dearest father, 
 I feel myself already in your kind arms. I shall write 
 instantly to my good Mrs. Ord ; I have many reasons for 
 knowing her plan of excursion as wise to follow as it was 
 kind to propose ; and if you go to Crewe Hall, we may 
 set off almost at the same moment.
 
 228 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 All the sweet Princesses seem sorry I am going. In- 
 deed the most flattering marks of attention meet me from 
 all quarters. I feel heavy-hearted at the parting scene, 
 especially with the Queen, in the midst of all my joy and 
 relief to return to my beloved father. And the King — 
 the benevolent King — so uniformly, partially, and en- 
 couragingly good to me — I can hardly look at with dry 
 eyes. Mrs. Schwellenberg has been forced to town by ill- 
 health ; she was very friendly, even affectionate, in going. 
 
 The business with my servants is quite a tragedy to me 
 — they so much liked their places : they have both been 
 crying, even the man ; Goter cannot keep from sobbing. 
 
 I flatter mj^elf, dearest sir, we shall still have near a 
 month together before our first branching off; and such 
 rest as that, with peace, my long-postponed medical trial 
 of Dr. W.'s prescription, and my own most wished regimen 
 of affection in domestic life, will do all that can be done 
 towards recruiting my shattered frame ; and the frequent 
 gentle changes of air, with such a skilful directress as Mrs. 
 Ord, will be giving me, indeed, every possible chance. 
 
 Adieu, most dear sir : to the world's end, and I hope 
 after the world's end, dutifully and affectionately, your 
 
 r. B. 
 
 I had soon the pleasure to receive IVIlle. Jacobi. She 
 brought with her a young German, as her maid, who proved 
 to be her niece, but so poor she could not live when her 
 aunt left Germany ! Mr. Best, a messenger of the King's, 
 brought her to Windsor, and ^Irs. Best, his wife, accom- 
 panied him. 
 
 I was extremely pleased with Mile. Jacobi, who is tall, 
 well made, and nearly handsome, and of a humor so gay, 
 an understanding so lively, and manners so frank and 
 ingenuous, that I felt an immediate regard for her, and
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 229 
 
 we grew mutual good friends. She is the daughter 
 of a dignified clergyman of Hanover, high in theological 
 fame. 
 
 They all dined with me ; and, indeed. Mile. Jacobi, 
 wanting a thousand informations in her new situation, 
 which I was most happy to give her, seldom quitted me an 
 instant. 
 
 Tuesday morning I had a conversation, very long and 
 very affecting to me, with Her Majesty. I cannot pretend 
 to detail it. I will only tell you she began by speaking of 
 Mile. Jacobi, whom I had the satisfaction to praise, as far 
 as had appeared, very warmly ; and then she led me to talk 
 at large upon the nature and requisites and circumstances 
 of the situation I was leaving. I said whatever I could 
 suggest that would tend to render my successor more com- 
 fortable, and had the great happiness to represent with 
 success the consolation and very innocent pleasure she 
 might reap from the society of the young relation she had 
 brought over, if she might be permitted to treat her at once 
 as a companion, and not as a servant. This was heard with 
 the most humane complacency, and I had leave given me 
 to forward the plan in various wavs. 
 
 She then conversed upon sundry subjects, all of them y 
 confidential in their nature, for near an hour ; and then, 
 after a pause, said, " Do I owe you anything, my dear Miss 
 Burney ? " I acquainted her with a debt or two amount- 
 ing to near 70Z. She said she would settle it in the after- 
 noon, and then paused again ; after which, with a look full 
 of benignity, she very expressively said, " As I don't know 
 your plan, or what you propose, I cannot tell what would 
 make you comfortable, but you know the size of my 
 family." I comprehended her, and was. immediately inter- 
 rupting her with assurances of my freedom from all expec- 
 tation or claim ; but she stopped me, saying, " You know
 
 A 
 
 230 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 what you now have from me : — the half of that I mean to 
 continue." 
 
 Amazed and almost overpowered by a munificence I had 
 so little expected or thought of, I poured forth the most 
 earnest disclaimings of such a mark of her graciousness, 
 declaring I knew too well her innumerable calls to be easy 
 in receiving it ; and much more I uttered to this purpose, 
 with the unaffected warmth that animated me at the 
 moment. She heard me almost silently ; but, in conclu- 
 sion, simply, yet strongly, said, " I shall certainly do that ! " 
 with a stress on the " that " that seemed to kindly mean 
 she would rather have done more. 
 
 The conference was in this stage when the Princess 
 Elizabeth came into the room. The Queen then retired to 
 the ante-chamber. My eyes being full, and my heart not 
 very empty, I could not then forbear saying to her Eoyal 
 Highness how much the goodness of the Queen had pene- 
 trated me. The Princess spoke feelings I could not expect, 
 by the immediate glistening of her soft eyes. She conde- 
 scended to express lier concern at my retiring ; but most 
 kindly added, " However, Miss Burney, you have this to 
 comfort you, go when you will, that your behavior has been 
 most perfectly honorable." 
 
 This, my last day at Windsor, was filled with nothing 
 but packing, leave-taking, bills-paying, and lessoning to 
 Mile. Jacobi, who adhered to my side through everything, 
 and always with an interest that made its own way for her. 
 All the people I had to settle with poured forth for my 
 better health good wishes without end ; but amongst the 
 most unwilling for my retreat stood poor Mrs. Astley ; in- 
 deed she quite saddened me by her sadness, and by the 
 recollections of that sweet and angelic being her mistress, 
 who had so solaced my early days at that place. Mr. 
 Bryant, too, came this same morning ; he had an audience
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 231 
 
 of the Queen : lie knew nothing previously ot my design. 
 He seemed quite thunderstruck. " Bless me ! " he cried, in 
 his short and simple but expressive manner ; " so I shall 
 never see vou again — never have the honor to dine in that 
 apartment with you more ! " &c. I would have kept him 
 to dinner this last day, but he was not well, and would 
 not be persuaded. He would not, however, bid me adieu, 
 but promised to endeavor to see me some time at Chelsea. 
 
 I had tlien a little note from Miss Gomme, desiring to 
 see me in the garden. She had just gathered the news. 
 I do not believe any one was more disposed to be sorry, if 
 the sight and sense of my illness had not checked her con- 
 cern. She highly approved the step I was taking, and was 
 most cordial and kind. 
 
 Miss Planta came to tell me she must decline dining 
 with me, as she felt she should cry all dinner-time, in re- 
 flecting upon its being our last meal together at Windsor, 
 and this might affront Mile. Jacobi. 
 
 The Queen deigned to come once more to my apartment 
 this afternoon. She brought me the debt. It was a most 
 mixed feeling with which I now saw her. 
 
 In the evening came Madame de la Fite. I need not tell 
 you, I imagine, that her expressions were of " la plus vive 
 douleur ; " yet she owned she could not wonder my father 
 should try what another life would do for me. My dear 
 Mrs. de Luc came next ; she, alone, knew of this while 
 impending. She rejoiced the time of deliverance was ar- 
 rived, for she had often feared I should outstay my strength, 
 and sink while the matter was arranging. She rejoiced, 
 however, with tears in her kind eyes ; and, indeed, I took 
 leave of her with true regret. It was nine o'clock before 
 I could manage to go down the garden to the Lower Lodge 
 to pay my duty to the younger Princesses, whom I could 
 not else see at all, as they never go to town for the court-
 
 232 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 days. I went first upstairs to Miss Gomme, and had the 
 mortification to learn that the Princess Amelia was already 
 gone to bed. This extremely grieved me. When or how 
 I may see her lovely little Highness more, Heaven only 
 knows ! 
 
 I waited with Miss Goldsworthy till the Princesses ]\Iary 
 and Sophia came from the Upper Lodge, which is when the 
 King and Queen go to supper. Their Royal Highnesses 
 were gracious even to kindness ; they shook my hand again 
 and again, and wished me better health, and all happiness, 
 with the sweetest earnestness. Princess Mary repeatedly 
 desired to see me whenever I came to the Queen's house, 
 and condescended to make me as repeatedly promise that 
 I would not fail. I was deeply touched by their goodness, 
 and by leaving them. 
 
 Wednesday. — In the morning Mrs. Evans, the house- 
 keeper, came to take leave of me ; and the housemaid of 
 my apartment, who, poor girl ! cried bitterly that I was 
 going to give place to a foreigner ; for Mrs. Schwellenberg's 
 severity with servants has made all Germans feared in the 
 house. 
 
 Oh, but let me first mention that, when I came from the 
 Lower Lodge, late as it was, I determined to see my old 
 friends the equerries, and not quit the place Mdthout bid- 
 ding them adieu. I had never seen them since I had dared 
 mention my designed retreat. I told William, therefore, 
 to watch their return from the Castle, and to give my com- 
 pliments to either Colonel Gwynn or Colonel Goldsworthy, 
 and an invitation to my apartment. 
 
 Colonel Goldsworthy came instantly, I told him I could 
 not think of leaving Windsor without offering first my good 
 wishes to all the liousehold. He said that, when my in- 
 tended departure had been published, he and all the gentle- 
 men then with him had declared it ought to have taken
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAV. 233 
 
 place six months ago. He was extremely courteous, and I 
 begged him to bring to me the rest of his companions that 
 were known to me. 
 
 He immediately fetched Colonel Gwynn, General Gren- 
 ville, Colonel Eamsden, and Colonel Manners. This was 
 the then party. I told him I sent to beg their blessing 
 upon my departure. They were all much pleased, appa- 
 rently, that I had not made my exit without seeing them : 
 they all agreed in the urgency of the measure, and we ex- 
 changed good wishes most cordially. 
 
 My Wednesday morning's attendance upon the Queen 
 was a melancholy office. Miss Golds worthy as well as 
 Miss Gomme came early to take another farewell. I had 
 not time to make any visits in the town, but left commis- 
 sions with Mrs. de Luc and Madame de la Fite. Even Lady 
 Charlotte Finch I could not call upon, though she had 
 made me many kind visits since my illness. I wrote to 
 her, however, by Miss Gomme, to thank her, and bid her 
 adieu. 
 
 Thuesday, July.Tth. — This, my last day of office, was 
 big and busy, — joyful, yet affecting to me in a high degree- 
 In the morning, before I left Kew, I had my last inter- 
 view with Mrs. Schwellenberg. She was very kind in it, 
 desiring to see me whenever I could in town, during her 
 residence at the Queen's house, and to hear from me by 
 letter meanwhile. 
 
 She then much surprised me by an offer of succeeding 
 to her own place, when it was vacated either by her re- 
 tiring or her death. This was, indeed, a mark of favor 
 and confidence I had not expected. I declined, however, 
 to enter upon the subject, as the manner in which she 
 opened it made it very solemn, and, to her, very affecting. 
 She would take no leave of me, but wished me better 
 hastily, and, saying we should soon meet, she hurried sud-
 
 234 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 denly out of the room. Poor woman ! If her temper 
 were not so irascible, I really believe her heart would be 
 by no means wanting in kindness. 
 
 I then took leave of Mrs. Sandys, giving her a token of 
 remembrance in return for her constant good beliavior, and 
 she showed marks of regard, and of even grief, I was sorry 
 to receive, as I could so ill return. 
 
 But the tragedy of tragedies was parting with Goter: 
 that poor girl did nothing but cry incessantly from the time 
 slie knew of our separation. I was very sorry to have no 
 place to recommend her to, though I believe she may rather 
 benefit by a vacation that carries her to her excellent 
 father and mother, who teach her nothing but good. I did 
 what I could to soften the blow, by every exertion in my 
 power in all ways ; for it was impossible to be unmoved at 
 her violence of sorrow. I then took leave of Kew Palace 
 — the same party again accompanying me, for the last time, 
 in a Eoyal vehicle going by the name of Miss Burneys 
 coach. 
 
 I should mention that the Queen graciously put into my 
 hands the power of giving every possible comfort and kind 
 assurances of encouragement to Mile. Jacobi and her poor 
 little Bettina ; and all was arranged in the best manner for 
 their accommodation and ease. Her Majesty made me 
 also the happy conveyancer of various presents to them 
 both, and gave to me the regulation of their proceedings. 
 
 When we arrived in town I took leave of Mr. de Luc. 
 I believe he was as much inclined to be sorry as the vis- 
 ible necessity of the parting would permit him. For me, 
 1 hope to see every one of the establishment hereafter, far 
 more comfortably than ever I have been able to do during 
 the fatigues of a life to which I was so ill suited. 
 
 I come now near the close of my Court career. At St. 
 James's all was graciousness ; and my Eoyal mistress gave
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'AllBLAY. 235 
 
 me to understand slie would have me stay to assist at her 
 toilet after the drawing-room ; and much delighted me by 
 desiring my attendance on the Thursday fortnight, when 
 she came again to town. This lightened the parting in the 
 pleasantest manner possible. When the Queen commanded 
 me to follow her to her closet I was, indeed, in much emo- 
 tion ; but I told her that, as what had passed from ]\Irs. 
 Schwellenberg in the morning had given me to understand 
 her Majesty was fixed in her munificent intention, not- 
 withstanding what I had most unaffectedly urged against 
 it — "Certainly," she interrupted, " I shall certainly do it." 
 
 " Yet so little," I continued, " had I thought it right to 
 dwell upon such an expectation, that, in the belief your 
 Majesty would yet take it into further consideration, I had 
 not even written it to my father." " Your father," she 
 again interrupted me, " has nothing to do with it ; it is 
 solely from me to you." 
 
 " Let me then humbly entreat," I cried, " still in some 
 measure to be considered as a servant of your Majesty, 
 either as reader, or to assist occasionally if Mile. Jacobi 
 should be ill." She looked most graciously pleased, and 
 immediately closed in with the proposal, saying, " When 
 your health is restored — perhaps sometimes." 
 
 I then fervently poured forth my thanks for all her 
 goodness, and my prayers for her felicity. She had her 
 handkerchief in her hand or at her eyes the whole time. 
 I was so much moved by her condescending kindness, that 
 as soon as I got out of the closet I nearly sobbed. I went 
 to help Mile. Jacobi to put up the jewels, that my emotion 
 miglit the less be observed. The King then came into the 
 room. He immediately advanced to the window, where I 
 stood, to speak to me.. I was not then able to comport 
 myself steadily. I was forced to turn my head away from 
 him. He stood still and silent for some minutes, waiting
 
 236 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 to see if I should turn about ; but I could not recover 
 myself sufficiently to face him, strange as it was to do 
 otherwise : and perceiving me quite overcome he walked 
 away, and I saw him no more. His kindness, his goodness, 
 his benignity, never shall I forget — never think of but 
 with fresh gratitude and reverential affection. 
 
 They all were now going — I took, for the last time, the 
 cloak of the Queen, and, putting it over her shoulders, 
 slightly ventured to press them, earnestly, though in a low 
 voice, saying, " God Almighty bless your Majesty ! " She 
 turned round, and, putting her hand upon my ungloved 
 arm, pressed it with the greatest kindness, and said, " May 
 you be happy ! " She left me overwhelmed Avith tender 
 gratitude. The three eldest Princesses were in the next 
 room : they ran in to me the moment the Queen went 
 onward. Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth each 
 took a hand, and the Princess Eoyal put hers over them. 
 I could speak to none of them ; but they repeated " I 
 wish you happy ! — I wish you health ! " again and again, 
 with the sweetest eagerness. They then set off for Kew. 
 
 Here, therefore, end my Court Annals ; after having 
 lived in the service of Her Majesty five years within ten 
 days — from July 17, 1786, to July 7, 1791.
 
 1791.J OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 237 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 From July, 1791, to January, 1793. 
 
 Chelsea College. 
 
 Once more I have the blessing to address my beloved 
 friends from the natal home ! — with a satisfaction, a seren- 
 ity of heart immeasurable. All smaller evils shall now 
 give way to the one great good ; and I shall not, I hope, be 
 forgetful, when the world wags ill, that scarce any mis- 
 fortune, scarce misery itself, can so wastefully desolate the 
 very soul of my existence as a banishment, even the most 
 honorable, from those I love. 
 
 But I must haste to the present time, and briefly give 
 the few facts that occurred before my Susanna came to 
 greet my restoration, and the few that preceded my jour- 
 ney to the south-west afterwards, in July. 
 
 My dear father was waiting for me in my apartment at 
 St. James's when their Majesties and their fair Eoyal 
 daughters were gone. He brought me home, and welcomed 
 me most sweetly. My heart was a little sad, in spite of 
 its contentment. My joy in quitting my place extended 
 not to quitting the King and Queen ; and the final marks 
 of their benign favor had deeply impressed me. My mother 
 received me according to my wishes, and Sarah most cord- 
 ially. 
 
 My dear James and Charles speedily came to see me ; 
 and one precious half-day I was indulged with my kind 
 Mr. Locke and his Fredy. If I had been stouter and 
 stronger in health, I should then have been almost flightily
 
 238 DIARY AND LETTERS [179L 
 
 happy ; but the weakness of the frame still kept the rest 
 in order. My ever-kind Miss Cambridge was also amongst 
 the foremost to hasten with congratulations on my return 
 to my old ways, and to make me promise to visit Twick- 
 enham after my projected tour with Airs. Ord. 
 
 I could myself undertake no visiting at this time ; rest 
 and quiet being quite essential to my recovery. But my 
 father did the honors for me amongst those who had been 
 most interested in my resignation. He called instantly 
 upon Sir Joshua Eeynolds and Miss Palmer, and Mr. 
 Burke ; and he wrote to Mr. Walpole, Mr. Seward, Mrs. 
 Crewe, Mr. Wyndham, and my Worcester uncle. Mr. 
 Walpole wrote the most charming of answers, in the gal- 
 lantry of the old court, and with all its wit, concluding 
 with a warm invitation to Strawberry Hill. Sir Joshua 
 and Miss Palmer sent me every species of kind exultation. 
 Mr. Burke was not in town. Mr. Seward wrote very 
 heartily and cordially, and came also when my Susanna 
 was here. Mrs. Crewe immediately pressed me to come 
 and recruit at Crewe Hall in Cheshire, where she promised 
 me repose, and good air and good society. 
 
 Mr. Wyndham to Dr. Burney. 
 
 July, 1791. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I am shocked that circumstances of different 
 
 sorts — among which one has been the hope of visiting you 
 
 at Chelsea — should have delayed so long my acknov.'ledg- 
 
 ments for your very kind letter. I not only received with 
 
 infinite satisfaction the intelligence which it contained, but 
 
 1 was gratified by being distinguished as one to whom such 
 
 intelligence would be satisfactory. It was the common 
 
 cause of every one interested in the concerns of genius 
 
 and literature. I have been alarmed of late, however, by
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 239 
 
 hearing that the evil has not ended with the occasion, but 
 that Miss B.'s liealth is still far from being re-established, 
 I hope the fact is not true in the extent in which I heard 
 it stated. There are few of those who only admire Miss 
 Barney's talents at a distance, and have so little the honor 
 of her acquaintance, who feel more interested in her wel- 
 fare ; nor could I possibly be insensible to a concern in 
 which you must be so deeply affected. 
 
 I should be very happy if, at any time when you are in 
 this neighborhood, you "svould give me the chance of seeing 
 you, and of hearing, I hope, a more favorable account than 
 seemed to be the amount of what I heard lately. 
 
 W. W. 
 
 SiDMOUTH, Devonshire. 
 
 Monday, August 1st. — I have now been a week out 
 upon my travels, but have not had the means or the time, 
 till this moment, to attempt their brief recital. 
 
 Mrs. Ord called for me about ten in the morning. I left 
 my dearest father with the less regret, as his own journey 
 to Mrs. Crewe was very soon to take place. It was a 
 terribly rainy morning, but I was eager not to postpone 
 the excursion. As we travelled on towards Staines, I could 
 scarcely divest myself of the idea that I was but making 
 again my usual journey to Windsor; and I could with 
 difficulty forbear calling Mrs. Ord Miss Planta during the 
 whole of that well-known road. I did not, indeed, take 
 her maid, who was our third in the coach, for Mr. de Luc, 
 or Mr. Turbulent ; but the place she occupied made me 
 think much more of those I so long had liad for my vis-a- 
 vis than of herself. 
 
 "We went on no farther than to Bagshot ; thirty miles 
 was the extremity of our powers ; but I bore them very 
 tolerably, though variably. We put up at the best inn,
 
 240 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 very early, and then inquired what we could see in the 
 town and neighborhood. " Nothing !" was the concise an- 
 swer of a staring housemaid. We determined, therefore, 
 to prowl to the churchyard, and read the tombstone in- 
 scriptions ; but when we asked the way, the same woman, 
 staring still more wonderingly, exclaimed, " Church ! 
 there's no church nigh here! There "s the Prince of 
 Wales's, just past the turning — you may go and see 
 that, if you will ! " 
 
 So on we walked towards this hunting villa : but after 
 toiling up a long unweeded avenue, we had no sooner 
 opened the gate to the parks than a few score of clogs, 
 which were lying in ambush, set up so prodigious a variety 
 of magnificent barkings, springing forward at the same 
 time, that, content with having caught a brief view of the 
 seat, we left them to lord it over the domain they regarded 
 as their own, and, with all due submission, pretty hastily 
 shut the gate, without troubling them to give us another 
 
 salute. We returned to the inn, and read B 's " Lives 
 
 of the Family of the Boyles." 
 
 Tuesday, August 2nd. — We proceeded to Farnham to 
 breakfast, and thence walked to the Castle. The Bishop 
 of Winchester, Mrs. North, and the whole family, are gone 
 abroad. The Castle is a good old building, with as much 
 of modern elegance and fashion intermixed in its alter- 
 ations and fitting up as Mrs. North could possibly contrive 
 to weave into its ancient grandeur. They date the Castle 
 from King Stephen, in whose reign, as Norbury will tell 
 i;s, the land was almost covered with such strong edifices, 
 from his imprudent permission of building them, granted 
 to appease the Barons, who were turned aside from the 
 Empress Maud. I wished I could have climbed to the top 
 of an old tower, much out of repair, but so high, that I 
 fancied I could thence have espied the hills of Norbury.
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 241 
 
 However, I was ready to fall already, from only ascending 
 the slope to reach the Castle. 
 
 Thursday, August 4th. — We proceeded to breakfast 
 at Roraney. What a contrast this journey to that I took 
 two years ago in attendance upon her Majesty ! The 
 roads now so empty, the towns so quiet ; and then, what 
 multitudes ! what tumults of joy ! and how graciously wel- 
 comed ! 
 
 We went on to dine at Salisbury, a city which, with 
 their Majesties, I could not see for people. It seemed to 
 have neither houses nor walls, but to be composed solely 
 of faces. We strolled about the town, but the Cathedral 
 was shut up to be repaired, much to our regret. 
 
 Friday, August 5th. — We went to Stonehenge. Here 
 I was prodigiously disappointed, at first, by the huge 
 masses of stone so unaccountably piled at the summit of 
 Salisbury Plain. However, we alighted, and the longer I 
 surveyed and considered them, the more augmented my 
 wonder and diminished my disappointment. 
 
 We then went on to Wilton. There I renewed my de- 
 light over the exquisite Vandykes, and with the statues, 
 busts, and pictures, which again I sighingly quitted, with 
 a longing wish I might ever pass under that roof time 
 enough to see them more deliberately. We stopped in the 
 Hans Holbein porch, and upon the Inigo Jones bridge, as 
 long as we could stand, after standing and staring and 
 straining our eyes till our guide was quite fatigued. 'Tis 
 a noble collection ; and how might it be enjoyed if, as an 
 arch old laboring man told us, fine folks lived as they 
 ought to do ! 
 
 Tuesday, August 9th. — We travelled to Sidmouth. 
 And here we have taken up our abode for a week. It was 
 all devoted to rest and sea-air. 
 
 Sidmouth is built in a vale by the sea-coast, and the 
 
 VOL. 11. 16
 
 242 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 terrace for compan}'' is nearer to the ocean than any I have 
 elsewhere seen, and therefore both more pleasant and more 
 commodious. The little bay is of a most peaceful kind, 
 and the sea as calm and gentle as the Thames. I longed 
 to bathe, but I am in no state now to take liberties with 
 myself, and, having no advice at hand, I ran no risk. 
 
 Nothing has given me so much pleasure since I came to 
 this place as our landlady's account of her own and her 
 town's loyalty. She is a baker, a poor widow woman, she 
 told us, who lost her husband by his fright in thinking he 
 saw a gliost, just after her mother w-as drowned. She 
 carries on the business, with the help of her daughter, a 
 girl about fifteen. We could get no other lodgings, so full 
 was the town ; and these are near the sea, though other- 
 wise not desirable. 
 
 I inquired of her if she had seen the Eoyal Family 
 when they visited Devonshire ? " Yes, sure, ma'am ! " she 
 cried ; " there was ne'er a soul left in all this place for 
 going out to see 'em. My daughter and I rode a double 
 horse, and we went to Sir George Young's, and got into the 
 park, for we knew the housekeeper, and she gave my 
 daughter a bit to taste of the King's dinner when they had 
 all done, and she said she might talk on it when she was 
 a old woman." 
 
 I asked another good woman, who came in for some 
 flour, if she had been of the party ? " No," she said, " she 
 was ill, but she had had holiday enough upon the King's 
 recovery, for there was such a holiday then as the like was 
 not in all Encrland." 
 
 " Yes, sure, ma'am," cried the poor baker-woman, " we 
 all did our best then, for there was ne'er a town in all 
 England like Sidmouth for rejoicing. . Why, I baked a 
 hundred and ten penny loaves for the poor, and so did 
 every baker in town, and there 's three ; and the gentry
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 243 
 
 subscribed for it. And the gentry roasted a bullock and 
 cut it all up, and we all eat it, in the midst of the rejoicing. 
 And then we had such a fine sermon, it made us all cry ; 
 there was a more tears shed than ever was known, all for 
 over-joy. And they had the King drawed, and dressed up 
 all in gold and laurels, and they put un in a coach and 
 eight horses, and carried un about ; and all the grand gen- 
 tlemen in the town, and all abouts, come in their own car- 
 riages to join. And they had the finest band of music in 
 all England singing ' God save the King,' and every soul 
 joined in the chorus, and all not so much because he was 
 a King, but because they said a was such a worthy gentle- 
 man, and that the like of him was never known in this 
 nation before ; so we all subscribed for the illuminations 
 for that reason, — some a shilling, some a guinea, and some 
 a penny, — for no one begrudged it, as a was such a 
 worthy person." 
 
 The other woman and the daughter then united in the re- 
 cital, and gave it with such heartiness and simplicity, that 
 at last I was forced to leave them a little abruptly, for I 
 fairly lost all voice to answer them, from the lively sensa- 
 tions of pleasure which such proofs of the popularity of 
 the good and dear King always give me. The two women 
 both cried also, and that was far more wonderful. 
 
 The good Mrs. Dare has purchased images of all the 
 Royal Family, in her great zeal, and I had tliem in my 
 apartment — King, Queen, Prince of Wales, Dukes of 
 York, Clarence, Kent, Sussex, Cumberland, and Cambridge ; 
 Princess Royal, and Princesses Augusta, Elizabeth, Mary, 
 Sophia, and Amelia. God bless them all ! 
 
 Queen Square, Bath. 
 Saturday, August 20th. — Bath is extremely altered 
 since I last visited it. Its circumference is perhaps trebled ;
 
 244 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791, 
 
 but its buildings are so unfinished, so spread, so everywhere 
 beginning and nowhere ending, that it looks rather like a 
 space of ground lately fixed upon for erecting a town, than 
 a town itself, of so many years' duration. 
 
 It is beautiful and wonderful throughout. The hills are 
 built up and down, and the vales so stocked with streets 
 and houses, that, in some places, from the ground-floor on 
 one side a street, you cross over to the attic of your oppo- 
 site neighbor. The white stone, where clean, has a beauti- 
 ful effect, and, even where worn, a grand one. But I must 
 not write a literal Bath Guide, and a figurative one Anstey 
 has all to himself. I will only tell you in brief, yet in 
 truth, it looks a city of palaces, a town of hills, and a hill 
 of towns. 
 
 Oh, how have I thought, in patrolling it, of my poor Mrs. 
 Thrale ! I went to look (and sigh at the siglit) at the 
 house on the Nortli Parade where we dwelt, and almost 
 every old place brings to my mind some scene in which we 
 were engaged ; — in the Circus, the houses then Mrs. 
 Montagu's and Mrs. Cholraondely's ; in Brock-street, Mrs. 
 Vanbrugh's ; in Church-street, Mrs. Larabart's ; in the 
 Crescent, Mr. Whalley's ; in Alfred-street, Mrs. Bowdler's ; 
 at the Belvidere, Mrs. Byron, Miss Leigh, and Lord Mul- 
 grave, &c., &c., &c. 
 
 Besides the constant sadness of all recollections that 
 bring fresh to my thoughts a breach with a friend once so 
 loved, how are most of the families altered and dispersed 
 in these absent ten years ! From Mrs. Montagu's, Miss 
 Gregory, by a marriage disapproved, is removed for ever ; 
 from Mrs. Cholmondely's, by the severer blow of death, Lady 
 Mulgrave is separated ; Mrs. Lambart, by the same blow, 
 has lost the brother. Sir Philip Gierke, who brought us to 
 her acquaintance ; Mr. Bowdler and his excellent eldest 
 daughter have yielded to the same stroke ; Mrs. Byron has
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 245 
 
 followed; Miss Leigh has been married aud widowed; 
 Lord Mulgrave has had the same hard lot ; and, besides 
 these, Mrs. Cotton, Mrs. Thrale's aunt, Lady ]\Iillar, and 
 Mr. Thrale himself, are no more. 
 
 In another ten years, another writer, perhaps, may make 
 a list to us of yet deeper interest. Well, we live but to 
 die, and are led but to follow, 'T is best, therefore, to 
 think of these matters till they occur with slackened 
 emotion. 
 
 August 31st. — I have kept no regular memorandums ; 
 but I shall give you the history of the Bath fortnight of 
 this month as it rises in my memory. 
 
 Soon after we came, while I was finishing some letters, 
 and quite alone, Mrs. Ord's servant brought me word Lady 
 Spencer would ask me how I did, if I was well enough to 
 receive her. Of course I begged she might come upstairs. 
 
 I have met her two or three times at my dearest j\Irs. 
 Delany's, where I met, also, with marked civilities from her. 
 I knew she was here, wdth her unhappy daughter. Lady 
 Duncannon, whom she assiduously nurses, aided by her 
 more celebrated other daughter, the Duchess of Devon- 
 shire. 
 
 She made a very flattering apology for coming, and then 
 began to converse upon my beloved Mrs. Delany, and 
 thence to subjects more general. She is a sensible and 
 sagacious character, intelligent, polite, and agreeable ; 
 and she spends her life in such exercises of active charity 
 and zeal, that she would be one of the most exemplary 
 women of rank of the age, liad she less of show in her ex- 
 ertions, and more of forbearance in publishing them. My 
 dear oracle, however, once said, vain-glory must not be de- 
 spised or discouraged, when it operated but as a human 
 engine for great or good deeds. 
 
 She spoke of Lady Duncannon's situation with much
 
 246 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 sorrow, and expatiated upon her resignation to lier fate, her 
 prepared state for death, and the excellence of her princi- 
 ples, with an eagerness and feeling that had quite over- 
 whelmed me with surprise and embarrassment. 
 
 Her other daughter she did not mention ; but her grand- 
 daughter Lady Georgiana Cavendish, she spoke of with 
 rapture. Miss Trimmer, also, the eldest daughtei: of the 
 exceeding worthy Mrs. Trimmer, she named with a regard 
 that seemed quite affectionate. She told me she had the 
 care of the young Lady Cavendishes, but was in every re- 
 spect treated as if one of themselves. 
 
 The name of Mrs. Trimmer led us to talk of the Sunday- 
 schools and Schools of Industry. They are both in a very 
 flourishing state at Bath, and Lady Spencer has taken one 
 school under her own immediate patronage. 
 
 The next day, of course, I waited on her : she was out. 
 But the following day, which was Sunday, she sent me a 
 message upstairs to say she would take me to see the 
 Sunday-school, if I felt well enough to desire it. 
 
 She waited below for my answer, which, of course, I car- 
 ried down in my proper person, ready hatted and cloaked. 
 
 It was a most interesting sight. Such a number of poor 
 innocent children, all put into a way of right, most taken 
 immediately from every way of wrong, lifting up their little 
 hands, and joining in those prayers and supplications for 
 mercy and grace, which, even if they understand not, must 
 at least impress them with a general idea of religion, a 
 dread of evil, and a love of good ; it was, indeed, a sight to 
 expand the best hopes of the heart. 
 
 I felt very much obliged to my noble conductress, with 
 whom I had much talk upon the subject in our walk back. 
 Her own little school, of course, engaged us the most. She 
 told me that the next day six of her little girls were to be 
 new-clothed, by herself, in honor of the birthday of the
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 247 
 
 Duke of Devonshire's second daughter, Lady Harriot Cav- 
 endish, who was to come to her grand-mamma's house to 
 see the ceremony. To this sight she also invited me, and 
 I accepted her kindness with pleasure. 
 
 The following day, therefore, Monday, I obeyed Lady 
 Spencer's tinie, and at six o'clock was at her house in Gay- 
 street. My good Mrs. Ord, to make my leaving her quite 
 easy, engaged herself to go at the same hour to visit Mrs. 
 Hartlev. 
 
 Lady Spencer had Mrs. Mary Pointz and Miss Trimmer 
 with her; and tlie six children, just prepared for Lady 
 Harriot, in their new gowns, were dismissed from their ex- 
 amination, upon my arrival, and sent downstairs to await 
 the coming of her little ladyship, who, having dined with 
 her mamma, was later than her appointment. 
 
 Lady Spencer introduced me to Miss Trimmer, who is a 
 pleasing, but not pi-etty young woman, and seems born with 
 her excellent mother's amiableness and serenity of mind. 
 
 Lady Georgiana is just eight years old. She has a fine, 
 animated, sweet, and handsome countenance, and the form 
 and figure of a girl of ten or twelve years of age. Lady 
 Harriot, who this day was six years old, is by no means so 
 handsome, but has an open and pleasing countenance, and 
 a look of the most happy disposition. Lady Spencer 
 brought her to me immediately. 
 
 I inquired after the young Marquis of Hartington. Lady 
 Spencer told me they never trusted him from the Upper 
 Walks, near his house, in Marlborough-buildings. He has a 
 house of his own near the Duke's, and a carriage entirely to 
 himself; but you will see the necessity of these appropria- 
 tions, when I remind you he is now fourteen months old. 
 
 Lady Spencer had now a lottery — without blanks, you will 
 suppose — of playthings and toys for the children. She dis- 
 tributed the prizes, and Lady Duncannon held the tickets.
 
 248 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 During this entered Lord Spencer, the son of Lady Spen- 
 cer, who was here only for three days, to see his sister 
 Duucannon. They had all dined with the little Lady 
 Harriot. The Duke is now at Chatsworth, in Derbyshire. 
 
 I thought of Lord Spencer's kindness to Charles, and I 
 recollected he was a favorite of Mr. Wyndham. I saw him, 
 therefore, with very different ideas to those raised by the 
 sight of his poor sister Duncannon, to whoin he made up 
 with every mark of pitying affection ; she, meanwhile, 
 receiving him with the most expressive pleasure, though 
 nearly silent. I could not help feeling touched, in defi- 
 ance of all obstacles. 
 
 Presently followed two ladies. Lady .Spencer, with a 
 look and manner warmly announcing pleasure in what she 
 was doing, then introduced me to the first of them, saying 
 " Duchess of Devonshire, Miss Burney." 
 
 She made me a very civil compliment upon hoping my 
 health was recovering ; and Lady Spencer, then, slightly, 
 and as if unavoidably, said, " Lady Elizabeth Forster." 
 
 I have neglected to mention, in its place, that the six 
 poor little girls had a repast in the garden, and Lady 
 Georgiana earnestly begged leave to go down and see and 
 speak with them. She applied to Lady Spencer. " Oh, 
 grandmamma," she cried, " pray let me go ! Mamma says 
 it all depends Tipon you." The Duchess expressed some 
 fear lest there might be any illness or disorder amongst the 
 poor things : Lady Spencer answered for them ; and Lady 
 Georgiana, with a sweet delight, flew down into the gar- 
 den, all the rest accompanying, and Lady Spencer and the 
 Duchess soon following. It was a beautiful sight, taken 
 in all its dependencies, from the windows. Lord Spencer 
 presently joined them. 
 
 To return to the Duchess. I did not find so much beauty 
 in her as I expected, notwithstanding the variations of ac-
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 249 
 
 counts ; but I found far more of manner, politeness, and 
 gentle quiet. She seems by nature to possess the highest 
 animal spirits, but she appeared to me not happy. I 
 thought she looked oppressed within, though there is a 
 native cheerfulness about her which I fancy scarce ever 
 deserts her. 
 
 There is in her face, especially when she speaks, a sweet- 
 ness of good-humor and obligingness that seem to be the 
 natural and instinctive qualities of her disposition ; joined 
 to an openness of countenance that announces her en- 
 dowed, by nature, with a character intended wholly for 
 honesty, fairness, and good purposes. 
 
 She now conversed with me "wholly, and in so soberly 
 sensible and quiet a manner, as I had imagined incompati- 
 ble with her powers. Too much and too little credit have, 
 variously been given her. About me and my health she 
 was more civil than I can well tell you ; not from prudery 
 — I have none, in these records, methinks ! — but from its 
 being mixed into all that passed. We talked over my late 
 tour, Bath waters, and the King's illness. This, which 
 was led to by accident, was here a tender subject, consider- 
 ing her heading the Regency squadron ; however, I have 
 only one line to pursue, and from that I can never vary. 
 I spoke of my own deep distress from his sufferings with- 
 out reserve, and of the distress of the Queen with the most 
 avowed compassion and respect. She was extremely well- 
 bred in all she said herself, and seemed willing to keep up 
 the subject. I fancy no one has just in the same way 
 treated it with her Grace before ; however, she took all in 
 good part, though to have found me retired in discontent 
 had perhaps been more congenial to her. But I have been 
 sedulous to make them all know the contrary. Neverthe- 
 less, as I am eager to be considered apart from all party, 
 I was much pleased, after all this, to have her express her-
 
 250 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 self very desirous to keep up our acquaintance, ask many- 
 questions as to the chance of my remaining in Bath, most 
 politely hope to profit from it, and, finally, inquire my 
 direction. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Ord is quite in dismay at this acquaintance, 
 and will believe no good of them, and swallows all that is 
 said of evil. In some points, however, I have found her 
 so utterly misinformed, that I shall never make over into 
 her custody and management my opinion of the world. 
 She thinks the worst, and judges the most severely, of all 
 mankind, of any person I have ever known ; it is the 
 standing imperfection of her character, and so ungenial, so 
 nipping, so blighting, it sometimes damps all my pleasure 
 in her society, since my living with her has shown the ex- 
 tent of her want of all charity towards her fellows. 
 
 I always wonder how people, good themselves, as she is, 
 can make up their minds to supposing themselves so sin- 
 gular. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth, however, has the character of being so 
 alluring, that Mrs. Holroyd told me it was the opinion of 
 Mr. Gibbon no man could withstand her, and tliat, if she 
 chose to beckon the Lord Chancellor from his woolsack, in 
 full sight of the world, he could not resist obedience ! 
 
 Queen's Square, Bath. 
 September. — With what pleased and full sensations do 
 I here begin a month I shall end with my beloved readers ! 
 Oh that such a time should be really approaching ! when 
 in peace, with ease, in natural spirits, and with a mind 
 undisturbed, I may visit Mickleham, and revisit Norbury 
 Park. 
 
 Three days before we left Bath, as I was coming with 
 Mrs. Ord from the Pump-room, we encountered a chair from
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 251 
 
 which a lady repeatedly kissed her hand and bowed to me. 
 I was too near-sighted to distinguish who she was, till, 
 coming close, and a little stopped by more people, she put 
 her face to the glass, and said, " How d' ye do ? How d' ye 
 do ? " and I recollected the Duchess of Devonshire. 
 
 About an hour after I had again the honor of a visit 
 from her, and with Lady Dowager Spencer. I was luckily 
 at home alone, Mrs. Ord having dedicated the rest of the 
 morning to her own visits. I received them, therefore, 
 with great pleasure. I now saw the Duchess far more easy 
 and lively in her spirits, and, consequently, far more lovely 
 in her person. Vivacity is so much her characteristic, 
 that her style of beauty requires it indispensably ; the 
 beauty, indeed, dies away without it. I now saw how her 
 fame for personal charms had been obtained ; the expres- 
 sion of her smiles is so very sweet, and has an ingenuous- 
 ness and openness so singular, that, taken in those mo- 
 ments, not the most rigid critic could deny the justice of 
 her personal celebrity. She was qnite gay, easy, and 
 charming : indeed, that last epithet might have been coined 
 for her. 
 
 The last person I saw at Bath was Lady Spencer, who, 
 late in the evening, and in the midst of our packing, came 
 and sat for a very pleasant half-hour. 
 
 This has certainly been a singular acquaintance for me 
 — that the first visit I should make after leaving the 
 Queen should be to meet the head of the opposition pub- 
 lic — the Duchess of Devonshire ! 
 
 Monday, September 12th. — My dear M , as I still 
 
 always call her when I speak or write to her, accompanied 
 me near forty miles on my way to Mickleham. 
 
 Here I stop. — I came to my dearest Susan, — I was
 
 252 DIARY AXD LETTERS [1791. 
 
 received by my dearest Fredy, — and, at length, just where 
 I most wished, I finished. 
 
 N. B. As our frequent interruptions prevented my read- 
 ing you and my Fredy a paragraph from my father con- 
 cerning Mr, Burke, which, for my sake, I know you will 
 like, I will here copy it : — 
 
 " I dined with Sir Joshua last week, and met Mr. Burke, 
 his brother, Mr. Malone, the venerable Bishop of St. Pol 
 de Leon, and a French Abbe or Chevalier. I found Mr. 
 Burke in the room on my arrival, and after the first very 
 cordial civilities were over, he asked me, with great eager- 
 ness, whether I thought he might go in his present dress to 
 pay his respects to Miss Burney ; and was taking up his hat, 
 till I told him you were out of town. He imagined, I sup- 
 pose, you were in St. Martin's-street, where he used to call 
 upon you. In talking over your health, the recovery of your 
 liberty and of society, he said, if Johnson had been alive, 
 your history would have furnished him with an additional 
 and interesting article to his ' Vanity of Human Wishes.' 
 He said he had never been more mistaken in his life. He 
 thought the Queen had never behaved more amiably, or 
 shown more good sense, than in appropriating you to her 
 service ; but what a service had it turned out ! — a con- 
 finement to such a companion as Mrs. Schwellenberg ! — 
 Here exclamations of severity and kindness in turn lasted 
 a considerable time." 
 
 If evt^i- I see Mr. Burke where he speaks to me upon 
 this subject, I will openly state to him how impossible it 
 was that the Queen should conceive the subserviency 
 expected, so unjustly and unwarrantably, by Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg ; to whom I ought only to have belonged officially, 
 and at official hours, unless the desire of further inter- 
 course had been reciprocal. The Queen had imagined that 
 a younger and more lively colleague would have made
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 253 
 
 her faithful old servant happier ; and that idea was merely 
 amiable in Her Majesty, who could little suspect the misery 
 inflicted on that poor new colleague. 
 
 Chelsea College. 
 
 October. — - Though another month is begun since I left 
 my dearest of friends, I have had no journalizing spirit ; 
 but I will give all heads of chapters, and try to do better. 
 
 My meeting with Miss Cambridge at Kingston I have 
 told already; and I soon afterwards set my good aunts safely 
 down at their new Richmond abode. I found my beloved 
 father in excellent health, spirits, and good humor ; my 
 mother tolerably, and Sarah well and affectionate. James 
 was at dinner with them, and in perfect g5od plight, ex- 
 cept when he ruminated upon his little godson's having 
 three names ; that, I fancy, he regards as rather aristo- 
 crat, for he made as grave a remonstrance against it as 
 he endeavored to do at the very moment they were pro- 
 nounced in the midst of the christening. 
 
 I have lived altogether in the most quiet and retired 
 manner possible. My health gains ground, gradually, but 
 very perceptibly, and a weakness that makes me soon 
 exhausted in whatever I undertake is all of illness now 
 
 remammg. 
 
 I have never been so pleasantly situated at home since 
 I lost the sister of my heart and my most affectionate 
 Charlotte. My father is almost constantly within. Indeed, 
 I now live with him wholly ; he has himself appropriated 
 me a place, a seat, a desk, a table, and every convenience 
 and comfort, and he never seemed yet so earnest to keep 
 me about him. We read together, write together, chat, 
 compare notes, communicate projects, and diversify each 
 other's employments. He is all goodness, gaiety, and
 
 254 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 affection ; and his society and kindness are more precious 
 to me than ever. 
 
 Fortunately, in this season of leisure and comfort, the 
 spirit of composition proves active. The day is never long 
 enough, and I could employ two pens almost incessantly, 
 in merely scribbling what will not be repressed. This is a 
 delight to my dear father inexpressibly great : and though 
 I have gone no further than to let him know, from time to 
 time, the species of matter that occupies me, he is perfectly 
 contented, and patiently \vtiits till something is quite fin- 
 ished, before he insists upon reading a word. This " suits 
 my humor well," as my own industry is all gone when once 
 its intent is produced. 
 
 For the rest, I have been going on with my third trag- 
 edy. I have two written, but never yet have had oppor- 
 tunity to read them; w^hich, of course, prevents their being 
 corrected to the best of my power, and fitted for the 
 perusal of less indulgent eyes ; or rather of eyes less preju- 
 diced. 
 
 Believe me, my dear friends, in the present composed 
 and happy state of my mind, I could never have suggested 
 these tales of woe ; but, having only to connect, combine, 
 contract, and finish, I will not leave them undone. Not, 
 however, to sadden myself to the same point in which I 
 began them ; I read more than I write, and call for hap- 
 pier themes from others, to enliven my mind from the 
 dolorous sketches I now draw of my own. 
 
 The library or study, in which we constantly sit, sup- 
 plies such delightful variety of food, that I have nothing to 
 wish. Thus, my beloved sisters and friends, you see me, 
 at length, enjoying all that peace, ease, and chosen recre- 
 ation and employment, for which so long I sighed in vain, 
 and which, till very lately, I had reason to believe, even 
 since attained, had been allowed me too late. I am more
 
 1791.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 255 
 
 and more thankful every night, every morning, for the 
 change in my destiny, and present blessings of my lot ; 
 and you, my beloved Susan and Fredy, for whose prayers I 
 have so often applied in my sadness, suffering, and despond- 
 ence, afford me now the same community of thanks and 
 acknowledgments. 
 
 November. — I called also one morning upon Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg. She received me with much profession of 
 regard, and with more than profession of esteem — since she 
 evinced it by the confidential discourse into which she 
 soon entered upon the Royal Family and herself. How- 
 ever, I easily read that she still has not forgiven my resig- 
 nation, and still thinks I failed in loyalty of duty, by 
 not staying, though to die, rather than retire, though to 
 live. 
 
 This, however, is so much a part of her very limited 
 knowledge, and very extensive prejudice, that I submit to 
 it without either wonder or resentment. 
 
 She trusted me, nevertheless, just as usual, in speaking 
 of the Court affairs. I entreated her permission to venture 
 to trouble her with " laying my humblest duty at the 
 Queen's feet ; " for that is the phrase now allowed. She 
 told me I had a " reelly right " to that, and promised to do 
 it, with great good humor. When she settled in town for 
 the winter, she desired to see me often ; she said she 
 should return to Windsor in two days. The family were 
 all there, as usual. We had much talk of the Duke of 
 York and his marriage, &c. 
 
 I then called upon Mrs. Stainforth : none other of my 
 friends were in town. She also received me with great 
 civility, and hardly would let me quit her, opening her 
 heart in the old way, upon her sufferings from the tyranny
 
 256 DIARY AND LETTERS [1791. 
 
 of Mrs. Schwellenberg. — 'T is dreadful that power thus 
 often leads to every abuse ! — I grow democratic at once 
 on these occasions. Indeed, I feel always democratic 
 where I think power abused, whether by the great or the 
 little. 
 
 Miss Burner/ to Mrs. Francis. 
 
 My beloved Charlotta, — I think you quite right for 
 giving up all mere card visits that you are able to decline, 
 for the best of all reasons of concurrence — that I should 
 do the same myself 'T is a miserable waste of existence 
 to do what judgment and reason never approve, when even 
 inclination and pleasure are at the same time averse; and 
 I am sure by morning calls, and open, though moderate I, 
 confessions of disaffection to the employment, you may 
 avoid both that and offence at once ; and offence is tlie 
 only terror that could spur me into an occupation so dis- 
 tasteful to me. 
 
 I called upon poor Mile. Jacobi yesterday, at Brompton. 
 I found her in a small room, with a Madame Warmai, a 
 German, who speaks English, and issues all orders and 
 directions ; and Mile. Winckelmann, whom she calls La 
 Betti, and who attends her as her maid, though she is her 
 niece. She has had a dreadful illness ; she has sprained 
 her ankle ; and her vexation, joined to painful exertion, 
 threw her into a nervous fever. She has now conquered 
 the fever, though her leg is still on bolsters, and she can- 
 not put her foot to the ground. What a misfortune for a 
 Royal attendant ! 
 
 She told me much of IMr. D., who attends her. She 
 says she asked him, one day, what she could do ? " Sit 
 still," he smilingly answered. 
 
 " But not always," she cried : " tell me what I am to do
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 257 
 
 by-and-by?" "Oh," cried he, still smiling, "I never 
 think of the future." 
 
 How consoling ! She added, that he once found her 
 eating some leveret, and said he " rejoiced to see her now 
 so well ; " and from that time he had never felt her pulse 
 nor looked at her tongue. Tired out with her lingering 
 complaints, little advance, and no comfort, she at last re- 
 proached him with this, and bluntly said, " Sir, you never 
 can tell how I do ; you never feel my pulse ! " He smiled 
 still more, and, putting out his arm, held it close to her 
 hand, and said, " Feel mine ! " Quite affronted, she an- 
 swered, " Never ! so long as I breathe — never I feel that 
 pulse ! " Do you not know him again ? 
 
 Mrs. Chapone to Miss Burney. 
 
 Are you in town, my dear Miss Burney, and do you re- 
 member an old soul that used to love your company ? If 
 you will give it me next Thursday evening, you will meet 
 Pepys, Boscawen, &c. ; so you may put on your blue stock- 
 ings.^ If you have got any boots to walk about in the 
 mornings, I shall like you as well in them. 
 
 I hope all the family are well. I need not say that Dr. 
 Burney 's company would be an additional pleasure on 
 Thursday. I am, dear madam, your affectionate servant, 
 
 H. Chapone. 
 
 Ko. 17, Carlisle Street, Dean Street, 
 December 27. 
 
 January. — I had a very civil note from Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, telling me that Miss Goldsworthy was ill, which 
 made Miss Gomme necessary to the Princesses, and there- 
 
 1 In reference to the well-known literary clique, humorously styled the 
 Bos Bleu. 
 
 VOL. II. 17
 
 258 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 fore, as Mile. Jacobi was still lame, Her Majesty wished 
 for my attendance on Wednesday noon. 
 
 I received this little summons witli very sincere pleasure, 
 and sent a warm acknowledgment for its honor. I was 
 engaged for the evening to Mr. Walpole, now Lord Orford, 
 by my father, who promised to call for me at the Queen's 
 house. 
 
 At noon I went thither, and saw, by the carriages, their 
 Majesties were just arrived from Windsor. In my way up- 
 stairs I encountered the Princess Sophia. I really felt a 
 pleasure at her sight, so great that I believe I saluted her : 
 I hardly know ; but she came forward, with her hands 
 held out, so good humored and so sweetly, I was not much 
 on my guard. How do I wish I had gone that moment to 
 my Royal mistress, while my mind was fully and honestly 
 occupied with the most warm satisfaction in being called 
 again into her presence ! 
 
 The Princess Sophia desired me to send her Miss Gomme, 
 whom she said I should find in my own room. Thither I 
 went, and we embraced very cordially ; but she a little 
 made me stare by saying, " Do you sleep in your old bed ? " 
 " Xo," I answered, " I go home after dinner ; " and she 
 said no more, but told me she must have two hours' con- 
 ference alone with me, from the multiplicity of things she 
 had to discuss with me. We parted then, and I proceeded 
 to Mrs. Schwellenberg. There I was most courteously re- 
 ceived, and told I was to go at night to the play. I replied 
 I was extremely sorry, but I was engaged. 
 
 She looked deeply displeased, and I was forced to offer 
 to send an excuse. Nothing, however, was settled ; she 
 went to the Queen, whither I was most eager to follow, 
 but I depended upon her arrangement, and could not 
 go uncalled. I returned to my own room, as they all 
 still call it, and Miss Gomme and Miss Planta both
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 259 
 
 came to me. We had a long discourse upon matters 
 and things. 
 
 By-and-by Miss Gomme was called out to Princesses 
 Mary and Amelia; she told them who was in the old. 
 apartment, and they instantly entered it. Princess Mary 
 took my hand, and said repeatedly, "My dear Miss Burney, 
 how glad I am to see you again ! " and the lovely little 
 Princess Amelia kissed me twice, with the sweetest air of 
 affection. This was a very charming meeting to me, and 
 I expressed my real delight in being thus allowed to come 
 amongst them again, in the strongest and truest terms. 
 
 I had been but a short time alone, when Westerhaults 
 came to ask me if I had ordered my father's carriage to 
 bring me from the play. I told him I was engaged, but 
 would give up that engagement, and endeavor to secure 
 being fetched home after the play. Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 then desired to see me. " What you mean by going 
 home ? " cried she, somewhat deridingly : " know you not 
 you might sleep here ? " 
 
 I was really thunderstruck ; so weak still, and so un- 
 equal as I feel to undertake night and morning attendance, 
 which I now saw expected. I was obliged, however, to 
 comply; and I wrote a note to Sarah, and another note to 
 be given to my father, when he called to take me to Lord 
 Orford. But I desired we might go in chairs, and not 
 trouble him for the carriage. 
 
 This arrangement, and my dread of an old attendance I 
 was so little refitted for renewing, had so much disturbed 
 me before I was summoned to the Queen, that I appeared 
 before her without any of the glee and spirits with which 
 I had originally obeyed her commands. I am still grieved 
 at this circumstance, as it must have made me seem cold 
 and insensible to herself, when I was merely chagrined at 
 the peremptory mismanagement of her agent. Mr. de Luc
 
 260 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 was with her. She was gi-acious, but by no means lively 
 or cordial. She was offended, probably — and there was 
 no reason to wonder, and yet no means to clear away the 
 .cause. This gave me much vexation, and the more I 
 felt it the less I must have appeared to merit her con- 
 descension. 
 
 Nevertheless, after she was dressed, she honored me with 
 a summons to the White Closet, where I presently felt as 
 much at home as if I had never quitted the Eoyal resi- 
 dence. She inquired into my proceedings, and I began a 
 little history of my south-west tour; which she listened to 
 till word was brought the King was come from the Lev^e : 
 dinner was ordered, and I was dismissed. 
 
 At our dinner, the party, in the old style, was Mr. de 
 Luc, Miss Planta, Mrs. Stainforth, and Miss Gomme ; Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg was not well enough to leave her own 
 apartment, except to attend the Queen. 
 
 We were gay enough, I own ; my spirits were not very 
 low in finding myself a guest at that table, where I was so 
 totally unfit to be at home, and whence, nevertheless, I 
 should have been very much and deeply concerned to 
 have found myself excluded, since the displeasure of the 
 Queen could alone have procured such a banishment. - Be- 
 sides, to visit, I like the whole establishment, however in- 
 adequate I found them for supplying the place of all I 
 quitted to live with them. Oh, who could succeed there ? 
 
 During the dessert the Princess Elizabeth came into the 
 room. I was very glad, by this means, to see all this 
 lovely female tribe. As soon as she was gone I made off 
 to prepare for the play, with fan, cloak, and gloves. At 
 the door of my new old room who should I encounter but 
 Mr. Stanhope ? He was all rapture, in his old way, at the 
 meeting, and concluded me, I believe, reinstated. I got 
 off as fast as possible, and had just shut myself in, and
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 261 
 
 him out, when I heard the voice of the King, who passed 
 my door to go to the dining-room. I was quite chagrined 
 to have left it so unseasonably, as my whole heart yearned 
 to see him. He stayed but a minute, and I heard liim 
 stop close to my door, and speak with Mr. de Luc. The 
 loudness of his voice assuring me he was saying nothing- 
 he meant to be unheard, I could not resist softly opening 
 my door. I fancy he expected this, for he came up to me 
 immediately, and with a look of goodness almost amount- 
 ing to pleasure — I believe I may say quite — he inquired 
 after my health,- and its restoration, and said he was very 
 glad to see me again. Then turning gaily to Mr. de Luc, 
 " And you, Mr. de Luc," he cried, " are not you too very 
 glad to see Miss Beurni again ? " 
 
 I told him, very truly, the pleasure with which I had re- 
 entered his roof — He made me stand near a lamp, to 
 examine me, and pronounced upon my amended looks 
 with great benevolence : and, when he was walking away, 
 said aloud to Mr. de Luc, who attended him, " I dare say 
 she was very willing to come ! " 
 
 I heard afterwards from Miss Gomme that the King 
 came to the eating-room purposely to see me, as he told 
 the Princesses. I cannot tell you how grateful I feel for 
 such condescending goodness ; and how invariably I ex- 
 perienced it during my whole residence under his roof. 
 
 Our party in the box for the Queen's attendants con- 
 sisted of Lady Catherine Stanhope, Miss Planta, Major 
 Price, Greville Upton, and Mr. Frank Upton. The King 
 and Queen and six Princesses sat opposite. It was to me 
 a lovely and most charming sight. The Prince of Wales, 
 and the Duke of York and his bride, with the Duke of 
 Clarence, sat immediately under us. I saw the Duchess 
 now and then, and saw that she has a very sensible and 
 marked countenance, but no beauty. She was extremely
 
 262 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 well received by the people, and smiled at in the most 
 pleasing manner by her opposite new relations. The play 
 was " Cymon," with alterations, &c. 
 
 At night I once more attended the Queen, and it seemed 
 as strange to me as if I had never done it before. 
 
 The next day, Thursday, the Queen gave up the drawing- 
 room, on account of a hurt on her foot. I had the honor 
 of another very long conference in the White Closet, in 
 which I finished the account of my late travels, and dur- 
 ing which, though she was very gracious, she was far less 
 communicative than heretofore, saying little herself, and 
 making me talk almost all. 
 
 When 1 attended the Queen again to-night, the strange- 
 ness was so entirely worn away, that it seemed to me as if 
 I had never left my office ! And so again on Friday morn- 
 ing. At noon the Eoyal Family set off for Windsor, The 
 Queen graciously sent for me before she went, to bid me 
 good-bye, and condescended to thank me for my little 
 services. I would have offered repetition with all my heart, 
 but I felt my frame unequal to such business. Indeed, I 
 was half dead with only two days' and nights' exertion. 
 'T is amazing how I ever went through all that is passed. 
 
 February. — I shall begin this month at the 13th, the 
 day I left my dearest friends. I found our small family at 
 home in much the same state as I had left it ; my dear 
 father, however, rather worse than better, and lower and 
 more depressed about himself than ever. To see him de- 
 jected is, of all sights, to me the most melancholy, his 
 native cheerfulness having a character of such temperate 
 sweetness, that there is no dispensing with any of it, as its 
 utmost vigor never a moment overpowers. 
 
 Among the tickets I found of visitors during my absence, 
 I was much pleased to see the name of Mr. Bryant. Good 
 and kind old man ! how much I should like to see him 
 again !
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 263 
 
 And I found also, waiting my return, a note from Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, with an offer of a ticket for Mr. Hastings's 
 trial, the next day, if I wished to go to it. 
 
 I did wish it exceedingly, no public subject having ever 
 so deeply interested me; but I could not recollect any 
 party I could join, and therefore I proposed to Captain 
 Phillips to call on his Court friend, and lay before her my 
 difficulty. He readily declared he would do more, for he 
 would frankly ask her for a ticket for himself, and stay 
 another day, merely to accompany me. You know well 
 the kind pleasure and zeal with wliich he is always ready 
 to discover and propose expedients in distress. 
 
 His visit prospered, and we went to Westminster Hall 
 together. 
 
 Upon the day of Sir Joshua Eeynolds's death I was in 
 my bed, with two blisters, and I did not hear of it till two 
 days after. I shall enter nothing upon this subject here : 
 our cuiTcnt letters mentioned the particulars, and I am not 
 desirous to retrace them. His loss is as universally felt as 
 his merit is universally acknowledged, and, joined to all 
 public motives, I had myself private ones of regret that 
 cannot subside. He was always peculiarly kind to me, and 
 he had worked at my deliverance from a life he conceived 
 too laborious for me, as if I had been his own daughter ; 
 yet, from the time of my coming forth, I only twice saw 
 him. I had not recovered strength for visiting before he 
 was past receiving me. I grieve inexpressibly never to 
 have been able to pay him the small triljute of thanks for 
 his most kind exertions in my cause. I little thought the 
 second time I saw him would be my last opportunity, and 
 my intention was to wait some favorable opening. 
 
 Miss Palmer is left heiress, and her unabating attend- 
 ance upon her inestimable uncle in his sick room makes
 
 264 DIAHY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 everybody content with her great acquisition. I am sure 
 she loved and admired him with all the warmth of her warm 
 heart. I wrote her a few lines of condolence, and she has 
 sent me a very kind answer. She went immediately to the 
 Burkes, with whom she will chiefly, I fancy, associate. 
 
 1VLA.RCH. — Sad for the loss of Sir Joshua, and all of us 
 ill ourselves, we began this month. Upon its third day 
 was his funeral. My dear father could not attend ; but 
 Charles was invited and went. All the Eoyal Academy, 
 professors and students, and all the Literary Club, attended 
 as family mourners. Mr. Burke, Mr. Malone,^ and Mr. 
 Metcalf, are executors. Miss Palmer has spared nothing, 
 either in thought or expense, that could render the last 
 honors splendid and grateful. It was a very melancholy day 
 to us, though it had the alleviation and softening of a letter 
 from our dear Charlotte, promising to arrive the next day. 
 
 April. — This wayward month opened upon me with 
 none of its smiles : sickness and depression pervaded our 
 household. 
 
 I shall now pass from the 8th, when the combined forces 
 of Mrs. Ord's rhetoric and Charles's activity removed me 
 from sickness and sinking to the salubrious hills of Nor- 
 bury, and the balsamic medicine of social tenderness, to my 
 return to my dear father, April 18th, when I found him but 
 little better, and far from such a state as could have made 
 me happy in absence. Gradually, however, he has been 
 recruiting, though I have no hope of his entire restoration 
 before the dog-days. 
 
 I paid my duty at the Queen's house, in inquiring after 
 her Majesty, where I was extremely well received by Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, and saw ]\Iiss Planta and Mr. do Luc. 
 
 My next visiting opportunity carried me to Mrs. Mon- 
 
 1 Edmund Malone, chiefly known by his Commentaries on Shakespeare, 
 bom 1741, died 1812.
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 265 
 
 tagu : she let me in, and showed me her new room, which 
 was a double gratification to me, from the elegant paint- 
 ings by our ingenious Edward. You will have heard this 
 line room described by Mr. Locke ; my Susanna, and you, 
 my Fredy, I hope have seen it. 'T is a very beautiful house 
 indeed, and now completely finished. 
 
 May. — The 1st of this month I went again to West- 
 minster Hall, with our cousin Elizabeth. 
 
 Thence I went to the Queen's house, where I have a 
 most cordial general invitation from Mrs. Schwellenberg to 
 go by all opportunities; and there is none so good as after the 
 trial, that late hour exactly according with her dinner-time. 
 
 She is just as she was in respect to health ; but in all 
 other respects, oh how amended ! all civility, all obliging- 
 ness, all courtesy ! and so desirous to have me visit her, 
 that* she presses me to come incessantly. 
 
 Mr. de Luc and Miss Mawer were of the party. 
 
 During coffee, the Princess Eoyal came into the room. 
 She condescended to profess herself quite glad to see me ; 
 and she -had not left the room five minutes before, again re- 
 turning, she said, "Mrs. Schwellenberg, I am come to 
 plague you, for I come to take away Miss Burney." 
 
 I give you leave to guess whether this plagued me. 
 
 May 2. — The following week I again went to West- 
 minster Hall. Mile. Jacobi had made a point of accom- 
 panying me, that she might see the show, as James called 
 it to General Burgoyne, and I had great pleasure in taking 
 her, for she is a most ingenuous and good creature, though 
 — alas! — by no means the same undaunted, gay, open 
 character that she appeared at first. Sickness, confinement, 
 absence from her friends, submission to her coadjutrix, and 
 laborious watching, have much altered her. 
 
 I attended Mile. Jacobi to the Queen's house, where I
 
 266 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 dined ; and great indeed M'as ray pleasure, during coffee, to 
 see the Princess Elizabeth, who, in the most pleasing man- 
 ner and the highest spirits, came to summon me to the 
 Queen. 
 
 I found Her Majesty again with all her sweet daughters 
 but the youngest. She was gracious and disposed to con- 
 verse. 
 
 We had a great deal of talk upon public concerns, and 
 she told me a friend of mine had spoken very well the 
 day before, and so had Mr. Burke. She meant Mr. Wynd- 
 ham. It was against the new societies,^ and in favor of 
 the Proclamation. Mr. Burke, of course, would here come 
 forth in defence of his own predictions and opinions ; 
 but Mr. Wyndham, who had rather abided hitherto with 
 Charles Fox, in thinking Mr.. Burke too extreme, well as he 
 loves him personally, was a new convert highly acceptable. 
 He does not, however, go all lengths with Mr. Burke; he is 
 only averse to an unconstitutional mode of reform, and to 
 sanctioning club powers, so as to enable them, as in France, 
 to overawe the state and senate. 
 
 Soon after, to my infinite joy, the King entered. Oh, he 
 spoke to me so kindly ! — he congratulated me on the bet- 
 ter looks which his own presence and goodness gave me, 
 repeatedly declaring he had never seen me in such health. 
 He asked me after my father, and listened with interest 
 when I mentioned his depression, and told him that all he 
 had done of late to sooth his retirement and pain had been 
 making canons to solemn words, and with such difficulties 
 of composition as, in better health and spirits, would have 
 rather proved oppressive and perplexing than a relief to his 
 feelings. 
 
 " I, too," said the King, after a very serious pause, " have 
 myself sometimes found, when ill or disturbed, that some 
 
 ' The "London Corresponding Societies," &c.
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 267 
 
 grave and even difficult employment for my thoughts has 
 tended more to compose me than any of the supposed usual 
 relaxations." 
 
 He also condescended, to ask after little ISTorbury, taking 
 off the eager little fellow while he spoke, and his earnest 
 manner of delivery. He then inquired about my friends, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Locke, and their expectations of the return of 
 Mr. William. 
 
 He inquired how I lived, whom I saw, what sort of neigh- 
 bors I had in the college, Chelsea, and many other partic- 
 ulars, that seemed to desire to know how I went on, and 
 whether I was comfortable. His looks, I am sure, said so, 
 and most kindly. 
 
 They kept me till they went to the Japan Eoom, where 
 they meet the officers and ladies who attend them in pub- 
 lic. They were going to the Ancient Music. This dear 
 King, nobly unsuspicious where left to himself, and where 
 he has met no doubleness, spoke also very freely of some 
 political matters before me — of the new association in 
 particular. It gratified me highly. 
 
 Friday, May 25th. — This morning I went to a very 
 fine public breakfast, given by Mrs. Montagu. The crowd 
 of company was such that we could only slowly make way 
 in any part. There could not be fewer than four or five 
 hundred people. It was like a full Eanelagh by daylight. 
 
 We now met Mrs. Porteus ; and who should be with her 
 but tlie poor pretty S. S., whom so long I had not seen, 
 and who has now lately been finally given up by her long- 
 sought and very injurious lover. Dr. Vyse. She is sadly 
 faded, and looked disturbed and unhappy ; but still beauti- 
 ful, though no longer blooming; and still affectionate, 
 though absent and evidently absorbed. We had a little 
 chat together about the Thrales. In mentioning our for-
 
 268 DIARY AND LETTEES [1792. 
 
 raer intimacy with them, " Ah, those," she cried, " were 
 happy times ! " and her eyes glistened. Poor thing ! hers 
 has been a lamentable story ! — Imprudence and vanity 
 have rarely been mixed with so much sweetness and good- 
 humor, and candor, and followed with more reproach and 
 ill success. We agreed to renew acquaintance next win- 
 ter ; at present she will be little more in town. 
 
 June 1st. — This day had been long engaged for break- 
 fasting with Mrs. Dickenson and dining with Mrs. Ord. 
 The breakfast guests were Mr. Langton, Mr. Foote, Mr. 
 Dickenson, jun., a cousin, and a very agreeable and pleas- 
 ing man ; Lady Herries, Miss Dickenson, another cousin, 
 and ]Mr. Boswell. This last was the object of the morning. 
 I felt a strong sensation of that displeasure which his lo- 
 quacious communications of every weakness and infirmity 
 of the first and greatest good man of these times has 
 awakened in me, at his first sight ; and, though his address 
 to me was courteous in the extreme, and he made a point 
 of sitting next me, I felt an indignant disposition to a 
 nearly forbidding reserve and silence. How many starts 
 of passion and prejudice has he blackened into record, that 
 else might have sunk, for ever forgotten, under the prepon- 
 derance of weiohtier virtues and excellencies I 
 
 Angry, however, as I have long been with him, he soon 
 insensibly conquered, though he did not soften me : there 
 is so little of ill- design or ill-nature in him, he is so 
 open and forgiving for all that is said in return, that he 
 soon forced me to consider him in a less serious light, and 
 change my resentment against his treachery into something 
 like commiseration of his levity ; and before we parted 
 we became good friends. There is no resisting great good 
 humor, be what will in the opposite scale. 
 
 He entertained us all as if hired for that purpose, tell- 
 ing stories of Dr. Johnson, and acting them with incessant
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 269 
 
 buffoonery. I told him frankly that, if he turned him 
 into ridicule by caricature, I should fly the premises : he 
 assured me he would not, and indeed his imitations, though 
 comic to excess, were so far from caricature that he omit- 
 ted a thousand gesticulations which I distinctly remember. 
 
 Mr. Langton told some stories himself in imitation of 
 Dr. Johnson ; but they became him less than Mr. Bos well, 
 and only reminded me of what Dr. Johnson himself once 
 said to me — " Every man has, some time in his life, an 
 ambition to be a wag." If Mr. Langton had repeated any- 
 thing from his truly great friend quietly, it would far 
 better have accorded with his own serious and respectable 
 character. 
 
 June 4th. — The birthday of our truly good King. As 
 His Majesty had himself given me, when I saw him after 
 the Queen's birthday, an implied reproach for not present- 
 ing myself at the palace that day, I determined not to 
 incur a similar censure on this, especially as I hold my ad- 
 mission on such a national festival as a real happiness, as 
 well as honor, when it is to see themselves ! 
 
 How different was my attire from every other such occa- 
 sion the five preceding years! It was a mere simple 
 dressed rmdress, without feathers, flowers, hoop, or furbe- 
 lows. When I alighted at the porter's lodge I was stopped 
 from crossing the court-yard, by seeing the King, with his 
 three sons, the Prince of Wales, Duke of York, aud Duke 
 of Clarence, who were standing there after alighting from 
 their horses, to gratify the people who encircled the iron 
 rails. It was a pleasant and goodly sight, and I rejoiced 
 in such a detention. 
 
 I had a terrible difficulty to find a friend who would 
 make known to Her Majesty that I was come to pay my 
 devoirs. At length, while watching in the passages to and 
 fro, I heard a step upon the Priucesses' stairs, and, venturing
 
 270 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 forward, I encountered the Princess Elizabeth. I paid 
 my respectful congratulations on the day, which she most 
 pleasantly received, and I intimated my great desire to see 
 Her Majesty. I am sure the amiable Princess communi- 
 cated my petition, for Mr. de Luc came out in a few 
 minutes and ushered me into the Eoyal presence. The 
 Queen was in her State Dressing-room, her head attired 
 for the Drawing-room superbly ; but her Court-dress, as 
 usual, remaining to be put on at St. James's. She had 
 already received all her early complimenters, and was pre- 
 pared to go to St. James's : the Princess Koyal was seated 
 by her side, and all the other Princesses, except the Princess 
 Amelia, were in the room, with the Duchess of York. Mr. 
 de Luc, Mrs. Schwellenberg, Madame de la Pite, and Miss 
 Goldsworthy were in the background. 
 
 The Queen smiled upon me most graciously, and every 
 Princess came up separately to speak with me. I thanked 
 Her Majesty warmly for admitting me upon such an occa- 
 sion. " Oh ! " cried she, " I resolved to see you the mo- 
 ment I knew you were here." She then inquired when I 
 went into Norfolk, and conversed upon my summer plans, 
 &c., with more of her original sw^eetness of manner than I 
 have seen since my resignation. What pleasure this gave 
 me ! and what pleasure did I feel in being kept by her till 
 the further door opened, and the King entered, accompa- 
 nied by the Dukes of York and Clarence ! I motioned to 
 retreat, but, calling out, " What, Miss Burney ! " the King 
 came up to me, and inquired how I did ; and began talk- 
 ing to me so pleasantly, so gaily, so kindly, even, that I 
 had the satisfaction of remaining and of gathering courage 
 to utter my good wishes and warm fervent prayers for tliis 
 day. He deigned to hear me very benignly ; or make be- 
 lieve he did, for I did not make my harangue very audi- 
 bl}'' ; but he must be sure of its purport.
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 271 
 
 He said I was grown " quite fat " since he had seen me, 
 and appealed to the Duke of York : he protested my arm 
 •was half as big again as heretofore, and then he measured 
 it with his spread thumbs and forefingers ; and the whole 
 of his manner showed his perfect approbation of the step 
 I had taken, of presenting myself in the Royal presence 
 on this auspicious day. 
 
 The Queen soon after walked up to me, and asked if I 
 should like to see the ball at night. I certainly should 
 much like to have seen them " in all their glory," after 
 seeing them thus in all their kindness, as well as to have 
 been present at the first public appearance at Court of the 
 Princess Sophia : but I had no means to get from and to 
 Chelsea so late at night, and was, therefore, forced to excuse 
 myself, and decline her gracious proposition of giving me 
 tickets. 
 
 Princess Mary came to shake hands with me, and Prin- 
 cess Augusta spoke to me for some time with extreme 
 sweetness ; in short, I was gratified in every possible way 
 by the united goodness and condescension of all the family. 
 
 Thursday, June 18th. — After many invitations and 
 regulations, it was settled I was to accompany my father on 
 a visit of three days to Mrs. Crewe at Hampstead. 
 
 The villa at Hampstead is small, but commodious. We 
 were received by Mrs. Crewe with much kindness. The 
 room was rather dark, and she had a veil to her bonnet, 
 half down, and with this aid she looked still in a full blaze 
 of beauty. I was wholly astonished. Her bloom, perfectly 
 natural, is as high as that of Augusta Locke when in her 
 best looks, and the form of her face is so exquisitely per- 
 fect that my eye never met it without fresh admiration. 
 She is certainly, in my eyes, the most completely a beauty 
 of any woman I ever saw. I know not, even now, any 
 female in her first youth who could bear the comparison. 
 She uglifies everything near her.
 
 272 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 Her son was with her. He is just of age, and looks like 
 her elder brother ! he is a heavy, old-looking young man. 
 He is going to China with Lord Macartney. My former 
 friend, young Burke, was also there. I was glad to renew 
 acquaintance with, him; though I could see some little 
 strangeness in him : this, however, completely wore ofi' 
 before the day was over. 
 
 Soon after entered Mrs. Burke, Miss ¥ , a niece, and 
 
 Mr. Richard Burlce, the comic, humorous, bold, queer brother 
 of the Mr. Burke, who, they said, was soon coming, Avith 
 Mr. Elliot. The Burke family were invited by Mrs. Crewe 
 to meet us. 
 
 Mrs. Burke was just what I have always seen her, soft, 
 gentle, reasonable, and obliging ; and we met, I think, upon 
 as good terms as if so many years had not parted us. 
 
 At length Mr. Burke appeared, accompanied by Mr. 
 Elliot. He shook hands with my father as soon as he had 
 paid his devoirs to Mrs. Crewe, but he returned my curtsey 
 with so distant a bow, that I concluded myself quite lost 
 with him, from my evident solicitude in poor Mr. Hastings's 
 cause. I could not wish that less obvious, thinkinq- as I 
 think of it ; but I felt infinitely grieved to lose the favor 
 of a man whom, in all other articles, I so much venerate, 
 and whom, indeed, I esteem and admire as the very first 
 man of true genius now living in this country. 
 
 Mrs. Crewe introduced me to Mr. Elliot : I am sure we 
 were already personally known to each other, for I have 
 seen him perpetually in the managers' box, whence, as 
 often, he must have seen me in tlie Great Chamberlain's. 
 He is a tall, thin young man, plain in face, dress, and 
 manner, but sensible, and possibly much besides ; he was 
 reserved, however, and little else appeared. 
 
 The moment I was named, to my great joy I found Mr. 
 Burke had not recollected me. He is more near sighted,
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 273 
 
 considerably than myself. " Miss Burney ! " he now ex- 
 claimed, coming forward, and quite kindly taking my hand, 
 " I did not see you ; " and then he spoke very sweet words 
 of the meeting, and of my looking far better than " while 
 I was a courtier, " and of how he rejoiced to see that I so 
 little suited that station. " You look," cried he, " quite 
 renewed, revived, disengaged ; you seemed, when I con- 
 versed with you last, at the trial, quite altered ; I never 
 saw such a change for the better as quitting a court has 
 brought about ! " 
 
 Ah ! thought I, this is simply a mistake, from reasoning 
 according to your own feelings. I only seemed altered for 
 the worse at the trial, because I there looked coldly and 
 distantly, from distaste and disaffection to your proceedings ; 
 and I here look changed for the better, only because I 
 here meet you without the chill of disapprobation, an 1 
 with the glow of my first admiration of you and your 
 talents ! 
 
 Mrs. Crewe gave him her place, and he sat by me, and 
 entered into a most animated conversation upon Lord 
 Macartney and his Chinese expedition, and the two Chinese 
 youths who were to accompany it. These last he described 
 minutely, and spoke of the extent of the undertaking in 
 high, and perhaps fanciful, terms, but with allusions and 
 anecdotes intermixed, so full of general information and 
 brilliant ideas, that I soon felt the whole of my first en- 
 thusiasm return, and with it a sensation of pleasure that 
 made the day delicious to me. 
 
 After this my father joined us, and politics took the lead. 
 He spoke then with an eagerness and a vehemence that 
 instantly banished the graces, though it redoubled the 
 energies, of his discourse. " The French Kevolution," he 
 said, "which began by authorizing and legalizing injustice, 
 and which by rapid steps had proceeded to every species 
 
 VOL. II. 18
 
 274 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 of despotism except owning a despot, was now menacing 
 all the universe and all mankind with the most violent 
 concussion of principle and order. " My father heartily 
 joined, and I tacitly assented to his doctrines, though I 
 feared not with his fears. 
 
 One speech I must repeat, for it is explanatory of his 
 conduct, and .nobly explanatory. When he had expatiated 
 upon the present dangers, even to English liberty and 
 property, from the contagion of havoc and novelty, he 
 earnestly exclaimed, "This it is that has made me an 
 abettor and supporter of Kings ! Kings are necessary, and, 
 if we would preserve peace and prosperity, we must pre- 
 serve THEM. We must all put our shoulders to the work ! 
 Ay, and stoutly, too ! " 
 
 Some time after, speaking of former days, you may be- 
 lieve I was struck enough to hear Mr. Burke say to Mrs. 
 Crewe, " I wish you had known Mrs. Delany ! She was a 
 pattern of a perfect fine lady, a real fine lady, of other days ! 
 Her manners were faultless ; her deportment was all ele- 
 gance, her speech was all sweetness, and her air and address 
 all dignity. I always looked up to her as the model of an 
 accomplished woman of former times." 
 
 Do you think I heard such a testimony to my beloved 
 departed friend unmoved ? 
 
 Afterwards, still to Mrs. Crewe, he proceeded to say 
 she had been married to Mr. Wycherley, the author. 
 There I ventured to interrupt him, and tell him I fancied 
 that must be some great mistake, as I had been well 
 acquainted with her history from her own mouth. He 
 seemed to have heard it from some good authority ; but I 
 could by no means accord my belief, as her real life and 
 memoirs had been so long in my hands, written by herself 
 to a certain period, and, for some way, continued by me. 
 This, however, I did not mention.
 
 1792.1 * OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. .275 
 
 June 27th. — My father took me again to Mrs. Crewe, 
 in Grosvenor-street. 
 
 We set out for Long Acre, to see Lord Macartney's 
 chariots for the Emperor of China. Mrs. Crewe is par- 
 ticularly interested in all that belongs to this embassy, 
 both because her son will accompany it, and because Lord 
 Macartney is her intimate friend, as well as near relation. 
 I leave to the newspapers your description of these superb 
 carriages. 
 
 We next proceeded to the Shakespeare Gallery, which I 
 had never seen. And here we met with an adventure that 
 finished our morning's excursions. 
 
 There was a lady in the first room, dressed rather sin- 
 gularly, quite alone, and extremely handsome, who was 
 parading about with a nosegay in her hand, which she 
 frequently held to her nose, in a manner that was evidently 
 calculated to attract notice. We therefore passed on to 
 the inner room, to avoid her. Here we had but just all 
 taken our stand opposite different pictures, when she also 
 entered, and, coming pretty close to my father, sniffed at 
 her flowers with a sort of ecstatic eagerness, and then let 
 them fall. My father picked them up, and gravely pre- 
 sented them to her. She curtseyed to the ground in 
 receiving them, and presently crossed over the room, and, 
 brushing past Mrs. Crewe, seated herself immediately by 
 her elbow. Mrs. Crewe, not admiring this familiarity, 
 moved away, giving her at the same time a look of digni- 
 fied distance that was almost petrifying. 
 
 It did not prove so to this lady, who presently followed 
 her to the next picture, and, sitting as close as she could to 
 where Mrs. Crewe stood, began singing various quick pas- 
 sages, without words or connection. I saw Mrs. Crewe 
 much alarmed, and advanced to stand by her, meaning to 
 whisper her that we had better leave the room ; and this 
 
 /
 
 276 DIARY AJS^D LETTERS [1792. 
 
 idea was not checked by seeing that the flowers were arti- 
 ficial. By the looks we interchanged we soon mutually 
 said, " This- is a mad woman." We feared irritating her 
 by a sudden flight, but gently retreated, and soon got 
 quietly into the large room ; when she bounced up with a 
 great noise, and, throwing the veil of lier bonnet back, as if 
 fighting it, she looked after us, pointing to Mrs. Crewe. 
 
 Seriously frightened, Mrs. Crewe seized my father's arm, 
 and hurried up two or three steps into a small apartment. 
 Here Mrs. Crewe, addressing herself to an elderly gentle- 
 man, asked if he could inform the people below that a 
 mad woman was terrifying the company ; and while he 
 was receiving her commission with the most profound re- 
 spect, and with an evident air of admiring astonishment at 
 her beauty, we heard a rustling, and, looking round, saw 
 the same figure hastily striding after us, and in an instant 
 at our elbows. Mrs. Crewe turned quite pale ; it was pal- 
 pable she was the object pursued, and she most civilly and 
 meekly articulated, " I beg your pardon, ma'am," as she 
 hastily passed her, and hurried down the steps. 
 
 We were going to run for our lives, when Miss Towns- 
 hend whispered Mrs. Crewe it was only Mrs. Wells, the 
 actress, and said she was certainly only performing vaga- 
 ries to try effect, which she was quite famous for doing. 
 
 It would have been food for a painter to have seen Mrs. 
 Crewe during this explanation. All her terror instantly 
 gave way to indignation ; and scarcely any pencil could 
 equal the high vivid glow of her cheeks. To find herself 
 made the object of game to the burlesque humor of a bold 
 player, was an indignity she could not brook, and her mind 
 was immediately at work how to assist herself against such 
 nnprovoked and unauthorized effrontery. • The elderly 
 gentleman who, with great eagerness, had followed Mrs. 
 Crewe, accompanied by a young man who was of his party,
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 277 
 
 requested more particularly her commands ; but before 
 Mrs. Crewe's astonishment and resentment found words, 
 Mrs. Wells, singing, and throwing herself into extravagant 
 attitudes, again rushed down the steps, and fixed her eyes 
 on Mrs. Crewe. 
 
 This, however, no longer served her purpose. Mrs. 
 Crewe fixed her in return, and with a firm, composed, 
 commanding air and look that, thouo:h it did not make 
 this strange creature retreat, somewhat disconcerted her 
 for a few minutes. She then presently affected a violent 
 coughing — such a one as almost shook the room ; though 
 such a forced and unnatural noise as rather resembled 
 howling than a cold. 
 
 This over, and perceiving Mrs. Crewe still steadily keep- 
 ing her ground, she had the courage to come up to us, and, 
 with a flippant air, said to the elderly gentleman, " Pray, 
 sir, will you tell me what it is o'clock ? " He looked vexed 
 to be called a moment from looking at Mrs. Crewe, and, 
 with a forbidding gravity, answered her — "About two." 
 
 " No offence, I hope, sir ? " cried she, seeing him turn 
 eagerly from her. He bowed without looking at her, and 
 she strutted away, still, however, keeping in sight, and 
 playing vari/us tricks, her eyes perpetually turned towards 
 Mrs. CTe^4, who as regularly met them, with an expres- 
 sion suqh as might have turned a softer culprit to stone. 
 
 Oui/ cabal was again renewed, and Mrs. Crewe again 
 tolcj/this gentleman to make known to the proprietors of 
 t\/6 gallery that this person was a nuisance to the company, 
 {vhen, suddenly reapproaching us, she called out, '' Sir ! 
 sir ! " to the younger of our new protectors. He colored, 
 and looked much alarmed, but only bowed. 
 
 " Pray, sir," cried she, " what 's o'clock ? " He looked at 
 his watch, and answered. " You don't take it ill, I hope, 
 sir ? " she cried. He only bowed.
 
 278 ' DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 " I do no harm, sir," said she ; " I never bite ! " The 
 poor young man looked aghast, and bowed lower; but 
 Mrs. Crewe, addressing herself to the elder, said aloud, " I 
 beg you, sir, to go to Mr. Boydell ; you may name me to 
 him — Mrs. Crewe." 
 
 Mrs. Wells at this walked away, yet stiU in sight. 
 
 " You may tell him what has happened, sir, in all our 
 names. You may tell him Miss Burney — " 
 
 "0 no ! " cried I, in a horrid fright, " I beseech I may 
 not be named ! And, indeed, ma'am, it may be better to 
 let it all alone. It will do no good ; and it may all get 
 into the newspapers." 
 
 " And if it does," cried Mrs. Crewe, " what is it to us ? 
 We have done nothing ; we have given no offence, and 
 made no disturbance. This person has frightened us all 
 wilfully, and utterly without provocation ; and now she 
 can frighten us no longer, she would brave us. Let her 
 teU her own story, and how will it harm us ? " 
 
 " Still," cried I, " I must always fear being brought 
 into any newspaper cabals. Let the fact be ever so much 
 against her, she will think the circumstances all to her 
 honor if a paragraph comes out beginning ' Mrs. Crewe 
 and Mrs. Wells.' " Mrs. Crewe liked this sound as little 
 as I should have liked it in placing my own name where I 
 put hers. She hesitated a little what to do, and we all 
 walked downstairs, where instantly this bold woman fol- 
 lowed us, paraded up and down the long shop with a dra- 
 matic air while our group was in conference, and then, 
 sitting down at the clerk's desk, and calling in a footman, 
 she desired him to wait while she wrote a note. She scrib- 
 bled a few lines, and read aloud her direction, " To Mr. 
 Topham ; " and giving the note to the man, said, " Tell your 
 master that is something to make him laugh. Bid him not 
 send to the press till I see him." Now as Mr. Topham is
 
 1792.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 279 
 
 the editor of " The World," and notoriously her protector, as 
 her having his footman acknowledged, this looked rather 
 serious, and Mrs. Crewe began to partake of my alarm. 
 She therefore, to my infinite satisfaction, told her new 
 friend that she desired he would name no names, but 
 merely mention that some ladies had been frightened. 
 I was very glad indeed to gain this point, and the good 
 gentleman seemed enchanted with any change that occa- 
 sioned a longer discourse. We then got into Mrs. Crewe's 
 carriage, and not till then would this facetious Mrs. Wells 
 quit the shop. And she walked in sight, dodging us, and 
 playing antics of a tragic sort of gesture, till we drove 
 out of her power to keep up with us. What a strange A 
 creature ! 
 
 3Irs. Phillips to Miss Burney. 
 
 MiCKLEHAM, September, 1792. 
 
 We shall shortly, I believe, have a little colony of un- 
 fortunate (or rather, fortunate, since here they are safe) 
 French noblesse in our neighborhood. Sunday evening 
 Eavely informed Mr. Locke that two or three families had 
 joined to take Jenkinson's house, Juniper Hall, and that 
 another family had taken a small house at Westhamble, 
 which the people very reluctantly let, upon the Christian- 
 like supposition that, being nothing but French papishes, 
 they would never pay. Our dear Mr. Locke, while tliis 
 was aoitatina, sent word to the landlord that he would be 
 answerable for the rent ; however, before this message ai- 
 rived, the family were admitted. The man said they had 
 pleaded very hard indeed, and said, if he did but know 
 the distress they had been in, he would not hesitate. 
 
 This house is taken by Madame de Broglie, daughter of 
 the Marechal, who is in the army with the French Princes ;
 
 280 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 or, rather, wife to his son, Victor Broglie, till very lately 
 General of one of the French armies, and at present dis- 
 graced, and fled nobody knows where. This poor lady 
 came over in an open boat, with a son younger than my 
 Norbury, and was fourteen hours at sea. She has other 
 ladies with her, and gentlemen, and two little girls, who 
 had been sent to England some weeks ago ; they are all to 
 lodge in a sort of cottage, containing only a kitchen and 
 parlor on the ground floor. I long to offer them my house, 
 and have been much gratified by finding Mr. Locke imme- 
 diately determined to visit them ; his taking this step will 
 secure them the civilities, at least, of the other neighbors. 
 
 At Jenkinson's are — la Marquise de la Chatre, whose 
 husband is with the emigrants ; her son ; M. de Narboune, 
 lately Ministre de la Guerre ; M. de Montmorency ; Charles 
 or Theodore Lameth ; Jaucourt ; and one or two more, 
 whose names I have forgotten, are either arrived to-day, or 
 expected. I feel infinitely interested for all these perse- 
 cuted persons. Pray tell me whatever you hear of M. de 
 Liancourt, &c. Heaven bless you ! 
 
 Friday, October 5th. — I left Halstead, and set off", 
 alone, for Bradfield Hall, which was but one stage of nine- 
 teen miles distant. 
 
 Sarah, who was staying with her aunt, Mrs. Young, ex- 
 pected me, and came running out before the chaise stopped 
 at the door, and Mr. Young following, with both hands full 
 of French newspapers. He welcomed me with all his old 
 spirit and impetuosity, exclaiming his house never had 
 been so honored since its foundation, nor ever could be 
 again, unless I re- visited it in my way back, even though 
 all Englaiid came in the mean time ! 
 
 Do you not know him well, my Susan, by this opening 
 rhodomontade ?
 
 1792.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 281 
 
 " But where," cried he, " is Hetty ? that Hetty ! Why 
 did you not bring her with you ? That wonderful creature ! 
 I have half a mind to mount horse, and gallop to Halstead 
 to claim her ! What is there there to merit her ? What 
 kind of animals have you left her with ? Anything capa- 
 ble of understanding her ? " 
 
 The rest of the day we spoke only of French politics. 
 Mr. Young ^ is a severe penitent of his democratic princi- 
 ples, and has lost even all pity for the Constituant R^volu- 
 tionnaires, who had " taken him in " by their doctrines, but 
 cured him by their practice, and who " ought better to have 
 known what they were about before they presumed to 
 enter into action." 
 
 Even the Due de Liancourt, who was then in a small 
 house at Bury, merited, he said, all the personal misfortunes 
 that had befallen him. " I have real obligations to him," 
 he added, " and therefore I am anxious to show him any 
 respect, and do him any service, in his present reverse of 
 fortune ; but he has brought it all on himself, and, what is 
 w^orse, on his country." 
 
 He wrote him, however, a note to invite him to dinner 
 the next day. The Duke wrote an answer, that he lamented 
 excessively being engaged to meet Lord Euston, and! dine 
 wilh the Bury aldermen. 
 
 I must now tell you the history of this poor Duke's 
 arriving in England, for it involves a revival of loyalty — 
 
 * Arthur Young was the son of a learned divine who held a prebendal 
 stall in Canterbury Cathedral. He was born in 1741, and nearly the 
 whole of his long life was devoted to studies and pursuits connected with 
 the improvement of English agi-iculture. He first became known to the 
 world in 1770, by the publication of a useful work culled "The Farmer's 
 Calendar." Subsetjuently he established and conducted a periodical enti- 
 tled " Annals of Agriculture." These publications attracted the attention 
 of the government ; and he was employed to obtain information for them 
 throughout the country.
 
 / 
 
 282 DIARY AND LETTERS 11792. 
 
 an effort to make some amends to his unhappy sovereign 
 for the misery into which he had largely contributed to 
 plunge him — which, with me, has made his peace for 
 ever. 
 
 But first I should tell, he was the man who almost com- 
 pelled the every- way-deluded Louis to sanction the National 
 Assembly by his presence when first it resisted his orders. 
 The Queen and all her party were strongly against the 
 measure, and prophesied it would be the ruin of his author- 
 ity ; but the Duke, highly ambitious of fame, as Mr. Young 
 describes him, and willing to sacrifice everything to the 
 new systems then pervading all France, suddenly rushed 
 into his closet, upon the privilege of being one of the five 
 or seven Pairs de France who have that license, and, with 
 a strong and forcible eloquence, declared nothing but his 
 concession would save the nation from a civil war ; while 
 his entering, unarmed, into the National Assembly, would 
 make him be regarded for ever as the father and saviour of 
 his people, and secure him the powerful sovereignty of the 
 grateful hearts of all his subjects. 
 
 He succeeded, and the rest is public. 
 
 In wdiat manner he effected his escape out of Eouen he 
 has never mentioned. I believe he was assisted by those 
 who, remaining behind, could only be named to be torn in 
 pieces for their humanity. The same French gentleman 
 whom I have just mentioned, M. Jamard, a French priest, 
 tells me no human being knows when or how he got away, 
 and none suspected him to be gone for two days. He went 
 first to Abbeville ; there, for two days, he appeared every- 
 where, walking about in his regimentals, and assuming an 
 air of having nothing to apprehend. This succeeded, as his 
 indiscretion had not yet spread at Abbeville ; but, mean- 
 while, a youth whom he had brought up from a child, and 
 on whose fond regard and respect he could rely, was em-
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'aRBLAY. 283 
 
 ployed iu seeking him the means of passing over to Eng- 
 land. This was infinitely difficult, as he was to leave 
 France without any passport. 
 
 How he quitted Abbeville I know not ; but he was in 
 another town, near the coast, three days, still waiting for 
 a safe conveyance ; and liere finding his danger increased 
 greatly by delay, he went to some common house, without 
 dress or equipage or servants that could betray liim, ami 
 spent his whole time in bed, under pretence of indisposi- 
 tion, to avoid being seen. 
 
 At length his faithful young groom succeeded ; and he 
 got, at midnight, into a small boat, with only two men. 
 He had been taken for the King of France by one, who had 
 refused to convey him ; and some friend, who assisted his 
 escape, was forced to get him off, at last, by holding a pistol 
 to the head of his conductor, and protesting he would shoot 
 him through and through, if he made further demur, or 
 spoke aloud. It was dark, and midnight. 
 
 Both he and his groom planted themselves in the bot- 
 tom of the boat, and were covered with fagots, lest any 
 pursuit should ensue ; and thus wretchedly they were suf- 
 focated till they thought themselves at a safe distance from 
 France. The poor youth then, first looking up, exclaimed, 
 "Ah! nous sommes perdus ! they are carrying us back to 
 our own country ! " The Duke started up ; he had the 
 same opinion, but thought opposition vain ; he charged him 
 to keep silent and quiet; and-after about another league, 
 they found this, at least, a false alarm, owing merely to a 
 thick fog or mist. 
 
 At length they landed — at Hastings, I think. The boat- 
 man had his money, and they walked on to the nearest 
 public-house. The Duke, to seem English, called for " Pot 
 Portere. " It was brought him, and he drank it off in two 
 draughts, his drought being extreme ; and he called for an-
 
 284 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 other instantly. That also, without any suspicion or recol- 
 lection of consequences was as hastily swallowed ; and 
 what ensued he knows not. He was intoxicated, and fell 
 into a profound sleep. His groom helped the people of the 
 house to carry him upstairs and put him to bed. How 
 long he slept he knows not, but he woke in the middle of 
 the night without the smallest consciousness of where he 
 was, or what had happened. France alone was in his bead 
 — France and its horrors, which nothing, not even English 
 porter and intoxication and sleep, could drive away. 
 
 He looked round the room with amaze at first, and soon 
 after with consternation. It was so unfurnished, so miser- 
 able, so lighted with only one small bit of a candle, that 
 it occurred to him he was in a maison de force — thither 
 conveyed in his sleep. 
 
 The stillness of everything confirmed this dreadful idea. 
 He arose, slipped on his clothes, and listened at the door. 
 He heard no sound. He was scarce yet, I supposed, quite 
 awake, for he took the candle, and determined to make an 
 attempt to escape. 
 
 Downstairs he crept, neither hearing nor making any 
 noise ; and he found himself in a kitchen : he looked round, 
 and the brightness of a shelf of pewter plates struck his 
 eye ; under them were pots and kettles, shining and pol- 
 ished. ''Ah!" cried he to himself, "je siiis eyi Angleterre ! " 
 The recollection came all at once at sight of a cleanliness 
 which, in these articles, he says, is never met with in 
 France. 
 
 I am much interested in Susan's account of poor Madame 
 de Broglie. How terribly, I fear, all is proceeding in France ! 
 I tremble at such apparent triumph to such atrocious cru- 
 elty ; and though I doubt not these wretches will destroy 
 one another while combatting for superiority, they will not 
 set about that crying retribution, for which justice seems
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 285 
 
 to sicken, till they have first utterly annihilated all manner 
 of people, better, softer, or more human than themselves. 
 
 The Duke accepted the invitation for to-day, and came 
 early, on horseback. He had just been able to get over 
 some two or three of his horses from France. He has since, 
 I hear, been forced to sell them. 
 
 Mrs. Young was not able to appear ; JNIr. Young came to 
 my room door to beg I would waste no time ; Sarah and I, 
 therefore, proceeded to the drawing-room. The Duke was 
 playing with a favorite dog — the thing, probably, the 
 most dear to him in England ; for it was just brought him 
 over by his faithful groom, whom he had sent back upon 
 business to his son. He is very tall, and, were his figure 
 less, would be too fat, but all is in proportion. His face, 
 which is very handsome, though not critically so, has 
 rather a haughty expression when left to itself, but be- 
 comes soft and spirited in turn, according to whom he 
 speaks, and has great play and variety. His deportment 
 is quite noble, and in a style to announce conscious rank 
 even to the most sedulous equalizer. His carriage is pecu- 
 liarly upright, and his person uncommonly well made. 
 His manners are such as only admit of comparison with 
 what we have read, not what we have seen ; for he has all 
 the air of a man who would wish to lord over men, but to 
 cast himself at the feet of women. 
 
 He was in mourning for his barbarously-murdered cousin, 
 the Due de la Eochefoucault. His first address was of the 
 highest style. I shall not attempt to recollect his words, 
 but they were most elegantly expressive of his satisfaction 
 in a meeting he had long, he said, desired. 
 
 With Sarah he then shook hands. She had been his 
 intei'pretess here on his arrival, and he seems to have con- 
 ceived a real kindness for her ; an honor of which she is 
 extremely sensible, and with reason.
 
 286 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 A little general talk ensued, and he made a point of 
 curing Sarah of being afraid of his dog. He made no 
 secret of thinking it affectation, and never rested till he 
 had conquered it completely. I saw here, in the midst of 
 all that at first so powerfully struck me, of dignity, impor- 
 tance, and high-breeding, a true French polisson ; for he 
 called the dog round her, made it jump on her shoulder, 
 and amused himself as, in England, only a schoolboy or a 
 professed fox-hunter would have dreamt of doing. 
 
 This, however, recovered me to a little ease, which his 
 compliment had rather overset. Mr. Young hung back, 
 nearly quite silent. Sarah was quiet when reconciled to 
 the dog, or, rather, subdued by tlie Duke ; and then, when 
 I thought it completely out of his head, he tranquilly drew 
 a chair next mine, and began a sort of separate conversa- 
 tion, which he suffered nothing to interrupt till we were 
 summoned to dinner. 
 
 His subject was " Cecilia ; " and he seemed not to have 
 the smallest idea I could object to discussing it, any more 
 than if it had been the work of another person. 
 
 I answered all his demands and interrogatories with a 
 degree of openness I have never answered any other upon 
 this topic ; but the least hope of beguiling the misery of 
 an Emigre tames me. 
 
 Mr. Young listened with amaze, and all his ears, to the 
 many particulars and elucidations which the Duke drew 
 from me ; he repeatedly called out he had heard nothing of 
 them before, and rejoiced he was at least present when they 
 were communicated. 
 
 This proved, at length, an explanation to the Duke him- 
 self, that, the moment he understood, made him draw back, 
 saying, " Peut-etre que je suis indiscret ? " However, he 
 soon returned to the charge ; and when Mr. Young made 
 any more exclamations, he heeded them not : he smiled,
 
 1792.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 287 
 
 indeed, when Sarah also affirmed he had procured accounts 
 she had never heard before ; but he has all the air of a 
 man not new to any mark of more than common favor. 
 
 At length we were called to dinner, during which he 
 spoke of general things. The Frencli of Mr. Young, at 
 table, was very comic ; he never hesitates for a word, but 
 puts English where he is at a loss, with a mock French 
 pronunciation. Monsieur Due, as he calls him, laughed 
 once or twice, but clapped him on the back, called him 
 un h^ave homme, and gave him instruction as well as en- 
 couragement in all his blunders. When the servants were 
 gone, the Duke asked me if anybody might write a letter 
 to the King ? I fancy he had some personal idea of this 
 kind. I told him yes, but through the hands of a Lord of 
 the Bedchamber, or some state officer, or a Minister. He 
 seemed pensive, but said no more. 
 
 He inquired, however, if I had not read to the Queen ; 
 and seemed to wish to understand my office ; but here he was 
 far more circumspect than about " Cecilia." He has lived 
 so much in a Court, that he knew exactly how far he might 
 inquire with the most scrupulous punctilio. He inquired 
 very particularly after your Juniper colony, and M. de 
 Narbonne, but said he most wished to meet with M. d'Ar- 
 blay, who was a friend and favorite of his eldest son. 
 
 [It is hoped that some pages from Mrs. Phillips's jour- 
 nalizing letters to her sister, written at this period, may 
 not be unacceptable ; since they give particulars concern- 
 ing several distinguished actors and sufferers in the French 
 Eevolution, and also contain the earliest description of M. 
 d'Arblay.]
 
 288 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 Mrs. Phillips to Miss Burney. 
 
 MiCKLEHAM, November, 1792. 
 
 It gratifies me very much that I have been able to in- 
 terest you for our amiable and charming neighbors. 
 
 Mrs. Locke had been so kind as to pave the way for 
 my introduction to Madame de la Chatre, and carried 
 me on Friday to Juniper Hall, where we found M. de 
 Montmorency, a ci-devant due, and one who gave some of 
 the first great examples of sacrificing personal interest to 
 what was then considered the public good. I know not 
 whether you will like him the better when I tell you that 
 from him proceeded the motion for the abolition of titles 
 in France ; but if you do not, let me, in his excuse, tell 
 you he was scarcely one-and-twenty when an enthusiastic 
 spirit impelled him to this, I believe, ill-judged and mis- 
 chievous act. My curiosity was greatest to see M. de Jau- 
 court, because I remembered many lively and spirited 
 speeches made by him during the time of the AssemlUe 
 Legislative, and that he was a warm defender of my favorite 
 hero, M. Lafayette. 
 
 Of M. de Narbonne's abilities we could have no doubt 
 from his speeches and letters whilst Ministre de la Guerre, 
 which post he did not quit till last May. By his own 
 desire he then joined Lafayette's army, and acted under 
 him ; but, on the 10th of August, he was involved, with 
 perhaps nearly all the most honorable and worthy of the 
 French nobility, accused as a traitor by the Jacobins, and 
 obliged to fly from his country. 
 
 M. d'Argenson was already returned to France, and Ma- 
 dame de Broglie had set out the same day, November 2nd, 
 hoping to escape the decree against emigrants. 
 
 Madame de la Chatre received us with great politeness. 
 She is about thirty-three ; an elegant figure, not pretty,
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 289 
 
 but with an animated and expressive countenance ; very- 
 well read, pleine cCesprit, and, I think, very lively and 
 charmiiii?. 
 
 A gentleman was with her whom Mrs. Locke had not 
 yet seen, M. d'Arblay. She introduced him, and, when he 
 had quitted the room, told us he was adjutant-general to 
 M. Lafayette, tnar^chal de camp, and in short the first in 
 military rank of tliose who had accompanied that general 
 when he so unfortunately fell into the hands of the Prus- 
 sians; but, not having been one of the Assemblee Constit- 
 uante, he was allowed, with four others, to proceed into 
 Holland, and there M. de Narbonne wrote to him. " Et 
 corame il I'aime infiniment," said Madame de la Chatre, 
 " il I'a pri^ de venir vivre avec lui." ^ He had arrived only 
 two days before. He is tall, and a good figure, with an 
 open and manly countenance ; about forty, I imagine. 
 
 It was past twelve. However, Madame de la Chatre 
 owned she had not breakfasted — ces tnessieurs were not 
 yet ready. A little man, who looked very triste indeed, in 
 an old-fashioned suit of clothes, with long flaps to a waist- 
 coat embroidered in silks no longer very brilliant, sat in a 
 corner of the room. I could not imagine who he was, but 
 when he spoke was immediately convinced he was no 
 Frenchman. I afterwards heard he had been engaged by 
 M. de Narbonne for a year, to teach him and all the party 
 English. He had had a place in some college in France 
 at the beginning of th^ Eevolution, but was now driven 
 out and destitute. His name is Clarke. He speaks Eng- 
 lish with an accent tant soit peu Scotch. 
 
 Madame de la Chatre, with great franchise, entered into 
 details of her situation and embarrassment, whether she 
 might venture, like Madame de Broglie, to go over to 
 
 1 " And how infinitely he loves him ! He has begged that he will come 
 and live with him." 
 
 VOL. II. 19
 
 290 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 France, in which case she was dans le cas ou elle pouvait 
 toucher set fortune ^ immediately. She said she could then 
 settle in England, and settle comfortably. M. de la Chatre, 
 it seems, j)revious to his joining the King's brothers, had 
 settled upon her her whole fortune. She and all her fam- 
 ily were great favorers of the original Eevolution ; and 
 even at this moment she declares herself unable to wish 
 the restoration of the old rdgime, with its tyranny and cor- 
 ruptions — persecuted and ruined as she and thousands 
 more have been by the unhappy consequences of the Eev- 
 olution. 
 
 M. de Narbonne now came in. He seems forty, rather 
 fat, but would be handsome were it not for a slight cast of 
 one eye. He was this morning in great spirits. Poor 
 man ! It was the only time I have ever seen him so. He 
 came up very courteously to me, and begged leave de 
 me /aire set coitr at ]\Iickleham, to which I graciously 
 assented. 
 
 Then came M. de Jaucourt, whom I instantly knew by 
 Mr. Locke's description. He is far from handsome, but 
 has a very intelligent countenance, fine teeth, and expres- 
 sive eyes. I scarce heard a word from him, but liked his 
 appearance exceedingly, and not the less for perceiving 
 his respectful and affectionate manner of attending to Mr. 
 Locke ; but when Mr. Locke reminded us that Madame de 
 la Chatre had not breakfasted, we took leave after spend- 
 ing an hour in a manner so ple*ant and so interesting 
 that it scarcely appeared ten minutes. 
 
 Wednesday, November 7th. — Phillips was at work in 
 the parlor, and I had just stepped into the next room for 
 some papers I wanted, when I heard a man's voice, and 
 presently distinguished these words : " Je ne parle pas trop 
 
 ^ "So circumstanced that she could ipstantly get possession of her 
 fortune."
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 291 
 
 bien 1' Anglais, monsieur."^ I came forth immediately to 
 relieve Phillips, and then found it was M. d'Arblay. 
 
 I received him de lien bon cceur, as courteously as I 
 could. The adjutant of M. Lafayette, and one of those 
 who proved faithful to their excellent general, could not 
 but be interesting to me. I was extremely pleased at his 
 coming, and more and more pleased with himself every 
 moment that passed. He seems to me a true militaire, 
 franc et loyal — open as the day — warmly affectionate to 
 his friends — intelligent, ready, and amusing in conversa- 
 tion, with a great share of gaiete de cceur, and at the same 
 time, of na'ivcU and honne foi. He was no less flattering 
 to little Fanny than M. de Narbonne had been. 
 
 We went up into the drawing-room with him, and met 
 Willy on the stairs, and Norbury capered before us. " Ah, 
 Madame ! " cried M. d'Arblay, " la jolie petite maison que 
 vous avez, et les jolis petits botes ! " looking at the chil- 
 dren, the drawings, &c., &c. He took Norbury on his lap 
 and played with him. I asked him if he was not proud 
 of being so kindly noticed by the adjutant-general of M. 
 Lafayette ? " Est-ce qu'il salt le nom de M. Lafayette ? " 
 said he, smiling. I said he was our hero. " Ah ! nous 
 voil^ done bons amis ! II n'y a pas de plus brave homme 
 sur la terre ! " " Et comme on I'a traits ! " cried I. A 
 little shrug, and his eyes cast up, was the answer. I said 
 I was thankful to see at least one of his faithful friends 
 here. I asked if M. Lafayette was allowed to write and 
 receive letters. He said yes, but they were always given 
 to him open. 
 
 Norbury now (still seated on his lap) took courage to 
 whisper him, " Were you, sir, put in prison with M. Lafay- 
 ette?" "Oui,monami." "And — was it quite dark ? " I was 
 obliged, laughing, to translate this curious question. M. 
 
 1 "I speak very little English, sir."
 
 292 DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 d'Arblay laughed too : " N"on, mon ami," said he, " on nous 
 a mis d'abord dans une assez jolie chambre — c'etait a Ni- 
 velle." " Vous y etiez avec M. Lafayette, monsieur ? " " Oui, 
 madams, pour quelques jours, et puis on nous a separes." 
 
 I lamented the hard fate of the former, and the rapid 
 and wonderful revers he had met with after having been, 
 as he well merited to be, the most popular man in France. 
 This led M. d'Arblay to speak of M. de Narbonne, to 
 whom I found him passionately attached. Upon my men- 
 tioning the sacrifices made by the French nobility, and by 
 a great number of them voluntarily, he said no one had 
 made more than M. de Narbonne ; that, previous to' the 
 Kevolution, he had more wealth and more power than 
 almost any except the princes of the blood. 
 
 For himself, he mentioned his fortune and his income 
 from his appointments as something immense, but I never 
 remember the number of hundred thousand livres, nor can 
 tell what their amount is without some consideration. 
 " Et me viola, madame, reduit k rien, hormis un peu 
 d'argent comptant, et encore tres peu. Je ne sais encore 
 ce que Narbonne pourra retirer des debris de sa fortune ; 
 mais, quoique ce soit, nous le partagerons ensemble. Je ne 
 m'en fais pas le moindre scrupule, puisque nous n'avons 
 eu qu'un interet commun, et nous nous sommes toujours 
 aimes comme freres." ^ 
 
 I wish I could paint to you the TCi?a\\y franchise with 
 which these words were spoken ; but you will not find it 
 difficult to believe that they raised MM. de Narbonne and 
 d'Arblay very liigli in my estimation. 
 
 ^ "And here I am, madam," said he, "reduced to nothing, except a 
 little ready money, and very little indeed. I know not yet what Narbonne 
 will be able to save from the wreck of his fortune ; but be it what it may, 
 we shall share it together. I make not the least scruple about it, for we 
 have always had but one comnion interest, and we have always loved each 
 other like brothers."
 
 1792.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 293 
 
 M. d'Arblay was the officer on guard at the Tuileries 
 the night on which the King, &c., escaped to Yarennes, 
 and ran great risk of being denounced, and perhaps mas- 
 sacred, though he had been kept in the most perfect igno- 
 rance of the King's intention. 
 
 Tuesday, November 27th. — Phillips and I determined 
 at about half-past one to walk to Junipere together. M. 
 d'Arblay received us at the door, and showed the most 
 flattering degree of pleasure at our arrival. 
 
 M. de Narbonne said he hoped we would be sociable, 
 and dine with them now and then. Madame de la Chatre 
 made a speech to the same effect. " Et quel jour, par ex- 
 emj)le," said M. de Narbonne, "ferait niieux qu'aujourd'hui?" 
 Madame de la Chatre took my hand instantly, to press in 
 the most pleasing and gratifying manner imaginable this 
 proposal ; and, before I had time to answer, M. d'Arblay, 
 snatching up his hat, declared he would run and fetch the 
 children. 
 
 I was obliged to entreat Phillips to bring him back, and 
 entreated him to entendre raisoyi. 
 
 " Mais, mais, madame," cried M. de Narbonne, " ne soyez 
 pas disgracieuse." 
 
 " Je ne suis pas disgracieuse," answered I, assez na'ivc- 
 ment, which occasioned a general comical but not affronting 
 laugh : " sur ce sujet au moins ; " I had the modesty to 
 add. I pleaded their late hour of dinner, our having no 
 carriage, and my disuse to the night air at this time of the 
 year ; but M. de Narbonne said their cabriolet (they have 
 no other carriage) should take us home, and that tliere was 
 a top to it, and Madame de la Chatre declared she would 
 cover me well with shawls, &c. 
 
 " Allons, allons," cried M. d'Arblay ; " voila qui est fait, 
 car je parie que Monsieur Phillips n'aura pas le courage de 
 nous refuser."
 
 294 ' DIARY AND LETTERS [1792. 
 
 Effedivement, Monsieur Phillips was perfectly agreeable ; 
 so that all my efforts were vain, and I was obliged to sub- 
 mit, in despite of various worldly scruples, to pass a most 
 charmingly pleasant day. 
 
 M. d'Arblay scampered off for the little ones, whom all 
 insisted upon having, and Phillips accompanied him, as it 
 wanted I believe almost four hours to their dinner-time. 
 
 J'eus beau dire que ce serait une visite comme on n'en 
 fait jamais, " Ce sera," said Madame de la Chatre, " ce 
 qu'il nous faut ; ce sera une journee." 
 
 Then my dress : Oh, it was parfaiie, and Avould give 
 them all the courage to remain, as they were, sans toilette : 
 in short, nothing was omitted to render us comfortable and 
 at our ease, and I have seldom passed a more pleasant day 
 — never, I may fairly say, with such new acquaintance. 
 I was only sorry M. de Jaucourt did not make one of the 
 party. 
 
 Whilst M. d'Arblay and Phillips were gone, Madame 
 de la Chatre told me they had that morning received M. 
 Necker's Defense du Roi, and if I liked it that M. de Nar- 
 bonne would read it out to us. You may conceive my 
 answer. It is a most eloquent production, and was read 
 by M. de Narbonne with heaucoup cCdmc. Towards the 
 end it is excessively touching, and his emotion was very 
 evident, and would have struck and interested me had I 
 felt no respect for his character before.
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 295 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1793—1802. 
 
 Miss Burney to Dr. Burney. 
 
 NoHBURY Park, Monda)^ February 4th, '93. 
 
 How exactly do I sympathize iu all you say and feel, 
 my dear sir, upon these truly calamitous times ! I hear 
 daily more and more affecting accounts of the saint-Kke 
 end of the martyred Louis. Madame de Stael, daughter of 
 M. Necker, is now at the liead of the colony of French no- 
 blesse, established near ]\Iickleham. She is one of the first 
 women I have ever met with for abilities and extraordinary 
 intellect. She has just received, by a private letter, many 
 particulars not yet made public, and which the Commune 
 and Commissaries of the Temple had ordered should be 
 suppressed. It has been exacted by those cautious men of 
 blood that nothing should be printed that could atteiidrir 
 le peuple. 
 
 Among other circumstances, this letter relates that the 
 poor little Dauphin supplicated the monsters who came 
 with the decree of death to his unhappy father, that they 
 would carry him to the Convention, and the forty-eight 
 Sections of Paris, and suffer him to beg his father's life. 
 
 This touching request was probably suggested to him by 
 his miserable mother or aunt. When the King left the 
 Temple to go to the place of sacrifice, the cries of his 
 wretched family were heard, loud and shrill, through the 
 courts without ! — Good Heaven ! what distress and horror 
 equalled ever what they must then experience ?
 
 296 DIAJIY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 When he arrived at the scaffold, his Confessor, as if with 
 the courage of inspiration, called out to him aloud, after 
 his last beuediction, " Fils de Saint Louis, montez au ciel ! " 
 — The King ascended with firmness, and meant to harangue 
 his guilty subjects ; but the wretch Santerre said he was 
 not there to speak, and the drums drowned the words, 
 except to those nearest the terrible spot. To those he 
 audibly was heard to say, " Citoyens, je meurs innocent ! 
 Je pardonne a mes assassins ; et je souhaite que ma mort 
 soit utile a mon peuple." 
 
 M. de Narbonne has been quite ill with the grief of this 
 last enormity ; and M. d'Arblay is now indisposed. This 
 latter is one of the most delightful characters I have ever 
 met, for openness, probity, intellectual knowledge, and un- 
 hackneyed manners. M. de Narbonne is far more a man 
 of the world, and joins the most courtly refinement and 
 elegance to the quickest repartee and readiness of wit. 
 If anything but desolation and misery had brought them 
 hither, we should have thought their addition to the Nor- 
 bury society all that could be wished. They are bosom 
 friends. Your F. B. 
 
 Madame de Stael Uolstein to Miss Burney} 
 Written from Juniper Hall, Dorking, Surrey, 1793. 
 When J learned to read english J begun by milton, to 
 know all or renounce at all in once. J follow the same 
 system in writing my first english letter to Miss burney ; 
 after such an enterprize nothing can affright me. J feel 
 for her so tender a friendship that it melts my admiration, 
 inspires my heart with hope of her indulgence, and im- 
 
 ^ As literary curiosities, these subjoined notes from Madame de Stael 
 have been printed verbatim et literatim : they are probably her earliest 
 attempts at English writing.
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. . 297 
 
 presses me with the idea that in a tongue even unknown J 
 could express sentiments so deeply felt. 
 
 my servant will return for a french answer. J intreat 
 miss burney to correct the words but to preserve the sense 
 of that card. 
 
 best compliments to my dear protectress, Madame 
 PhiUipe. 
 
 Madarne de Stael Holstein to Miss Burney. 
 
 Your card in french, my dear, has already something of 
 your grace in writing english : it is cecilia translated, my 
 only correction is to fill the interruptions of some sen- 
 tences, and J put in them kindnesses for me. J do not 
 consult my master to write to you ; a fault more or less is 
 nothing in such an occasion. What may be the perfect 
 grammar of Mr. Clarke, it cannot establish any sort of 
 equality between you and J. then J will trust with my 
 heart alone to supply the deficiency, let us speak upon a 
 grave subject : do J see you that morning ? Wiiat news 
 from Captain phillip ? when do you come spend a large 
 week in that house ? every question requires an exact 
 answer ; a good, also, my happiness depends on it, and J 
 have for pledge your honor. 
 
 good morrow and farewell. 
 
 pray madame phillips, recollecting all her knowledge in 
 french, to explain that card to you. 
 
 Madame de Stael Holstein to Miss Burney. 
 
 January, 1793. 
 Tell me, my dear, if this day is a charming one, if it 
 must be a sweet epoch in my life ? — do you come to dine 
 here with your lovely sister, and do you stay night and day
 
 298 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 till our sad separation ? J rejoice me with that hope dur- 
 ing this week ; do not deceive my heart. 
 
 J hope that card very clear, mais, pour plus de certitude, 
 je vous dis en fran9ois, que votre chambre, la maison, les 
 habitants de Juniper, tout est pret a recevoir la premiere 
 fern me d'Angleterre. 
 
 Janvier. 
 
 Miss Burney to Br. Burney. 
 
 MiCKLEHAM, February 29th, 1793. 
 
 Have you not begun, dearest sir, to give me up as a lost 
 sheep ? Susanna's temporary widowhood, however, has 
 tempted me on, and spelled me with a spell I know not 
 how to break. It is long, long since we have passed any 
 time so completely together ; her three lovely children only 
 knit us the closer. The widowhood, however, we expect 
 now quickly to expire, and I had projected my return to 
 my dearest father for Wednesday next, which would com- 
 plete my fortnight here ; but some circumstances are inter- 
 vening that incline me to postpone it another week. 
 
 Madame de Stael, daughter of M. Necker, and wife of 
 the Swedish Ambassador to France, is now head of the 
 little French colony in this neighborhood. M. de Stael, her 
 husband, is at present suspended in his embassy, but not 
 recalled ; and it is yet uncertain wdiether the Eegent Duke 
 of Suderraania will send him to Paris, during the present 
 horrible Convention, or order him home. He is now in 
 Holland, waiting for commands. Madame de Stael, how- 
 ever, was unsafe in Paris, though an ambassadress, from 
 the resentment owed her by the Commune, for having 
 received and protected in her house various destined vic- 
 tims of the 10th August and of the 2nd September. She 
 was even once stopped in her carriage, which they called
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 299 
 
 aristocratic, because of its arms and ornaments, and threat- 
 ened to be murdered, and only saved by one of the worst 
 wretches of the Convention, Tallien, who feared provoking 
 a war with Sweden, from such an offence to the wife of 
 its Ambassador. She was obliged to have this same Tallien 
 to accompany her, to save her from massacre, for some 
 miles from Paris, when compelled to quit it. 
 
 She is a woman of the first abilities, I think, I have 
 ever seen ; she is more in the style of Mrs. Thrale than of 
 any other celebrated character, but she has infinitely more 
 depth, and seems an even profound politician and meta- 
 physician. She has suffered us to hear some of her works 
 in MS., which are truly wonderful, for powers both of 
 thinking and expression. She adores her father, but is 
 much alarmed at having? had no news from him since he 
 has lieard of the massacre of the martyred Louis ; and who 
 can wonder it should have overpowered him ? 
 
 Ever since her arrival she has been pressing me to spend 
 some time with her before I return to town. She wanted 
 Susan and me to pass a month with her, but, finding that 
 impossible, she bestowed all her entreaties upon me alone, 
 and they are grown so urgent, iipon my preparation for 
 departing, and acquainting her my furlough of absence was 
 over, that she not only insisted upon m}'- writing to you, 
 and telling why I deferred my return, but declares she 
 will also write herself, to ask your permission for tlie visit. 
 She exactly resembles Mrs. Thrale in the ardor and warmth 
 of her temper and partialities. I find her impossible to 
 resist, and therefore, if your answer to her is such as I con- 
 clude it must be, I shall wait upon her for a week. She 
 is only a short walk from hence, at Juniper Hall. 
 
 There can be nothing imagined more charming, more 
 fascinating, than this colony ; between their sufferings and 
 their agr^mens they occupy us almost wholly. M. de Nar-
 
 300 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 tonne, alas, has no £1,000 a-year ! he got over only £4,000 
 at the beginning, from a most splendid fortune : and, little 
 foreseeing how all has turned out, he has lived, we fear, 
 upon the principal ; for he says, if all remittance is with- 
 drawn, on account of the war, he shall soon be as ruined as 
 those companions of his misfortunes with whom as yet he 
 has shared his little all. He bears the highest character 
 for goodness, parts, sweetness of manners, and ready wit. 
 You could not keep your heart from him if you saw him 
 only for half an hour. He has not yet recovered from the 
 black blow of the King's death, but he is better, and less 
 jaundiced ; and he has had a letter which, I hear, has com- 
 forted him, though at first it was almost heart-breaking, 
 informing him of the unabated regard for him of the truly 
 saint-like Louis. This is communicated in a letter from 
 M. de Malesherbes. 
 
 M. d'Arblay is one of the most singularly interesting 
 characters that can ever have been formed. He has a 
 sincerity, a frankness, an ingenuous openness of nature, 
 that I had been unjust enough to think could not belong 
 to a Frenchman. With all this, which is his military por- 
 tion, he is passionately fond of literature, a most delicate 
 critic in his own language, well versed in both Italian and 
 German, and a very elegant poet. He has just undertaken 
 to become my French master for pronunciation, and he 
 gives me long daily lessons in reading. Pray expect 
 wonderful improvements ! In return, I hear him in Eng- 
 lish ; and for his theme this evening he has been writinsr 
 an English address a Mr. Burneij {i. e. M. le Docteur), 
 joining in Madame de Stael's request. 
 
 I hope your last club was more congenial ? M. de Tal- 
 leyrand insists on conveying this letter for you. He has 
 been on a visit here, and returns again on Wednesday. He 
 is a man of admirable conversation, quick, terse, fin, and
 
 17fc3.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 301 
 
 yet deep, to the extreme of those four words. They are a 
 marvellous set for excess of agreeability. 
 
 Adieu, most dear sir. Susanna sends her best love, and 
 the Fanni and Norbury kisses and sweet words. I beg 
 my love to my mother, and hope she continues amending. 
 I am ever, ever, and ever, my dearest father's F. B, 
 
 Miss Buriiei/ to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 MiCKLEHAM. 
 
 Your kind letter, my beloved Fredy, was most thank- 
 fully received, and we rejoice the house and situation 
 promise so much local comfort ; but I quite fear with you 
 that even the has bleu wiU not recompense the loss of the 
 J^cnipere society. It is, indeed, of incontestible superiority. 
 But you must burn this confession, or my poor effigy will 
 blaze for it. I must tell you a little of our proceedings, 
 as they all relate to these people of a thousand. 
 
 M. d'Arblay came from the melancholy sight of depart- 
 ing Norbury to Mickleham, and with an air the most triste, 
 and a sound of voice quite dejected, as I learn from Su- 
 sanna ; for I was in my heroics, and could not appear till 
 the last half-hour. A headache prevented my waiting 
 upon Madame de Stael that day, and obliged me to retreat 
 soon after nine o'clock in the evening, and my douce com- 
 pagne would not let me retreat alone. We had only robed 
 ourselves in looser drapery, when a violent ringing at the 
 door startled us ; we listened, and heard the voice of M. 
 d'Arblay, and Jerry answering, " They 're gone to bed." 
 " Comment? What ? " cried he : " C'est impossible ! Yhat 
 you say ? " Jerry then, to show his new education in this 
 new colony, said, " AlUe couchee ! " It rained furiously, 
 and we were quite grieved, but there was no help. He 
 left a book for Mile. Burnet, and word that Madame de
 
 302 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 Stael could not come on account of the bad weather. M. 
 Ferdinand was with him, and has bewailed the disaster ; 
 and M. Sicard says he accompanied them till he was quite 
 wet though his redingote ; but this enchanting M. D'Arblay 
 will murmur at nothing. 
 
 The next day they all came, just as we had dined, for 
 a morning visit, — Madame de Stael, M. Talleyrand, M. 
 Sicard, and M. D'Arblay ; the latter then made insistance 
 upon commencing my master of the language, and I think 
 he will be almost as good a one as the little Don.^ 
 
 M. de Talleyrand opened, at last, with infinite wit and 
 capacity. Madame de Stael whispered me, " How do you 
 like him ? " " Not very much," I answered, " but I do not 
 know him." " Oh, I assure you," cried she, " he is the 
 best of the men." 
 
 I was happy not to agree ; but I have no time for such 
 minute detail till we meet. She read the noble tragedy of 
 Tancrede till she blinded us all round. She is the most 
 charming person, to use her own phrase, " that never I 
 saw." 
 
 We called yesterday noon upon Madame de Stael, and 
 sat with her till three o'clock, only the little Don being 
 present. She was delightful ; yet I see much uneasiness 
 hanging over the whole party, from the terror that the war 
 may stop all remittances. Heaven forbid ! F. B. 
 
 Madame de Stael to Miss Burner/. 
 
 Juniper, ce 8 Mars. 
 My dear Miss, — Pour cette fois vous me permettrez 
 de vous ^crire en Francois ; il s'agit de m'arranger pour 
 vous voir, et je ne veux pas risquer d'^quivoques dans cet 
 
 1 Mr. Clarke.
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 303 
 
 important interet. Mardi entre midi et ime heiire je serai 
 k Chelsea College, avec votre maitre de Francois et Mr. 
 Clarke : tous les deux causeront ensemble, et vous — vous 
 me parlerez. Je sais q^ue vous etes pleine de bont^ pour 
 moi, et que vous mettez meme du courage contre la reac- 
 tion de quelques mechancetes Francoises auxquelles les 
 terns de guerre civile doivent accoutumer ; mais tout ce que 
 je vous deraande c'est m'aimer, dussiez-vous attendre a 
 d'autres tems pour le dire ? II faut laisser I'injustice aux 
 hommes malheureux ; il faut qu'ils s'occupent des per- 
 sonnes quand ils ne peuvent rien sur les affaires ; il faut 
 qu'ils donnent quelques unes de leurs preventions aux 
 Strangers, qui n'ont pas le tems de juger les proems des 
 individus ; il faut tout ce qui est ordinaire et extraordi- 
 naire dans une pareille epoque, et se confier au tems pour 
 I'opinion publique — a I'amitie pour le bonheur particulier. 
 lis vous diront que je suis democrate, et ils oublieront que 
 mes amis et moi nous avons ^chapp^ au fer des Jacobins : 
 ils vous diront que j'aime passionnement les affaires, et je 
 suis ici quand M. de Stael me presse d'aller k Paris, me 
 meler avec lui des plus importantes (ceci pour vous seule) : 
 enfin ils chercheront a troubler jusqu'au repos de I'amitie, 
 et ne permettront pas que, fidele a mes devoirs, j'aie eu le 
 besoin de partager pendant deux mois le malheur de celui 
 dont j'avois sauve la vie. II y a dans tout cela tant 
 d'absurdes fausset^s, qu'un jour ou I'autre je c^derai au 
 desir d'en parler. Mais qui pent maintenant se permettre 
 d'occuper de soi ? II n'y a pas d'idees generales assez 
 vastes pour ce moment. Je suis bien mal ce precepte en 
 vous ecrivant ; mais, parceque je vous ai trouve la meilleure 
 et la plus distingu^e ; parcequ'avant de vous connoitre, 
 j'ambitionnois de vous plaire ; parceque, depuis que je vous 
 ai vu, il m'est necessaire de vous interesser, je me persuade 
 que vous devez m'aimer ; je crois bien aussi que votre
 
 304 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 "bont^ pour moi m'a valu quelques envieiix ; ainsi il y a un 
 pen de justice dans ce que vous faites pour moi. Je chasse 
 toutes mes idees tristes en songeant que je vous verrai 
 Mardi, et les jours suivans, chez Madame Locke — en pen- 
 sant a votre aimable soeur Madame Phillips, qui, sentant 
 le besoin que j'avois d'etre consolee, a ^te doublement 
 aimable pour nioi apres votre depart. Eepondez a ma 
 lettre. Adieu I 
 
 Mrs. Phillips to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 MiCKLEHAM, April 2nd, 1793. 
 
 I MUST, however, say something of Juniper, whence I 
 had an irresistible invitation to dine, &c., yesterday, and 
 hear M. de Lally Tolendal read his " Mort de Strafford," 
 which he had already recited once, and which Madame 
 de Stael requested him to repeat for my sake. 
 
 I had a great curiosity to see M. de Lally. I cannot 
 say that feeling was gratified by the sight of him, though 
 it was satisfied, insomuch that it has left me without any 
 great anxiety to see him again. He is the very reverse 
 of all that my imagination had led me to expect in him : 
 large, fat, with a great head, small nose, immense cheeks, 
 notliing distingue in his manner; and en fait d' esprit, and 
 of talents in conversation, so far, so very far, distant from 
 our Juniinriens, and from M. de Talleyrand, who was there, 
 as I could not have conceived, his abilities as a writer and 
 his general reputation considered. He seems un hon gar- 
 ^on, U7i tres honnete gargon, as M. Talleyrand says of him, 
 et rien de phis. 
 
 He is extremely absorbed by his tragedy, wliich he re- 
 cites by heart, acting as well as declaiming with great 
 energy, though seated, as Le Texier is. He seemed, pre- 
 vious to the performance, occupied completely by it, except
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 305 
 
 while the dinner lasted, whicli he did not neglect ; but 
 he was continually reciting to himself till we sat down 
 to table, and afterwards between the courses. 
 
 M. Talleyrand seemed much struck with his piece, which 
 appears to me to have very fine lines and passages in it, 
 but which, altogether, interested me but little. I confess, 
 indeed, the violence of ses gcstes, and the alternate howling 
 and thundering of his voice in declaiming, fatigued me 
 excessively. If our Fanny had been present, I am afraid 
 I should many times have been affected as one does not 
 expect to be at a tragedy. 
 
 We sat down at seven to dinner, and had half finished 
 before M. d'Arblay appeared, though repeatedly sent for ; 
 he was profoundly grav^e and silent, and disappeared after 
 the dinner, which was very gay. He was sent for after 
 coffee and Norbury were gone, several times, that the 
 tragedy might be begun ; and at last Madame de S. im- 
 patiently proposed beginning without him. "Mais cela 
 lui fera de la peine," said M. D'Autun (Talleyrand), good- 
 naturedly ; and, as she persisted, he rose up and limped 
 out of the room to fetch him : he succeeded in bringing 
 him. 
 
 M. Malouet has left them. La Princesse d'Henin is a 
 very pleasing, well-bred woman : she left Juniper the next 
 morning with M. de Lally. 
 
 S. P. 
 
 Mrs. Fhillips to Miss Burney. 
 
 Tuesday, May 14th. 
 
 Trusting to the kindness of chance, I begin at the top 
 of my paper. Our Juniperians went to see Paine's Hill 
 yesterday, and had the good-nature to take my little happy 
 
 Norbury. In the evening came Miss F to show me a 
 
 VOL. II. 20
 
 306 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 circular letter, sent by the Archbishop of Canterbury to 
 all the parishes in England, authorizing the ministers of 
 those parishes to raise a subscription for the unfortunate 
 French clergy. She talked of our neighbors, and very 
 shortly and abruptly said, " So, Mrs. Phillips, we hear you 
 are to have Mr. Norbone and the other French company 
 to live with you — Pray, is it so ? " 
 
 I was, I confess, a little startled at this plain inquiry, 
 but answered as composedly as I could, setting out with 
 informing this hete person^nage that Madame de Stael was 
 going to Switzerland to join her husband and family in a 
 few days, and that of all the French company none would 
 remain but M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay, for whom 
 the Captain and myself entertained a real friendship and 
 esteem, and whom he had begged to make our house their 
 own for a short time, as the impositions they had had to 
 support from their servants, &c., and the failure of their 
 remittances from abroad, had obliged them to resolve on 
 breaking up housekeeping. 
 
 I had scarcely said thus much when our party arrived 
 from Paine's Hill : the young lady, though she had drunk 
 tea, was so obliging as to give us her company for near two 
 hours, and made a curious attack on M. de K, upon the 
 first pause, in wretched French, though we had before, all 
 of us, talked no other language than English : — " Je vous 
 prie, M. Gnawbone, comment se porte la Eeine ? " 
 
 Her pronunciation was such that I thought his under- 
 standing her miraculous : however, he did guess her mean- 
 inc' and answered with all his accustomed douceur and 
 politeness, that he hoped well, but had no means but gen- 
 eral ones of information. 
 
 " I believe," said she afterwards, " nobody was so hurt 
 at the King's death as my papa ! he could n't ride on horse- 
 back next day ! "
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 307 
 
 She then told M. de Narbonne some anecdotes (very new 
 to him no doubt), which she had read in the newspapers, 
 of the Convention ; and then spoke of M. Egalit^. " I hope," 
 said she, flinging her arms out with great violence, " he 11 
 come to be guUytined. He showed the King how he liked 
 to be gullytined, so now I hope he '11 be gullytined himself ! 
 — So shocking ! to give his vote against his own nephew ! " 
 
 If the subject of her vehemence and blunders had been 
 less just or less melancholy, I know not how I should have 
 kept my face in order. 
 
 Our evening was very pleasant when she was gone. 
 Madame de Stael is, with all her wildness and blemishes, 
 a delightful companion, and M. de N. rises upon me in 
 esteem and affection every time I see him ; their minds in 
 some points ought to be exchanged, for he is as delicate as 
 a really feminine woman, and evidently suffers when he 
 sees her setting les biens^ances aside, as it often enough be- 
 falls her to do. 
 
 Poor Madame de Stael has been greatly disappointed 
 and hurt by the failure of the friendship and intercourse 
 she*had wished to maintain with you, — of that I am sure ; 
 I fear, too, she is on the point of being offended. I am 
 not likely to be her confidante if she is so, and only judge 
 from the nature of things, and from her character, and a 
 kind of clejnt in her manner once or twice in speaking of 
 you. She asked me if you would accompany Mrs. Locke 
 back into the country ? I answered that my father would 
 not wish to lose you for so long a time at once, as you had 
 been absent from him as a nurse so many days. 
 
 After a little pause, " Mais est-ce qu'une fern me est en 
 tutelle pour la vie dans ce pays ? " she said. " II me parait 
 que votre sceur est comme une demoiselle de quatorze ans." 
 
 I did not oppose this idea, but enlarged rather on the 
 constraints laid upon females, some very uxi necessarily, in
 
 308 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 England — hoping to lessen her d^pit ; it continued, how- 
 ever, visible in her countenance, though she did not ex- 
 press it in words. 
 
 Madame de Stael to Miss Burtiey. 
 
 Juniper, 11th May. 
 Je vois bien, my dear Miss, que vous voulez vous acquit- 
 ter ^ force de services : mais si vous vous etiez permis de 
 lire Voltaire, je vous dirais ces deux vers un peu changes : — 
 
 Un sentiment est cent fois au-dessus 
 Et de I'esprit et de la bonte meme. 
 
 Oublions et le bonheur et le malheur de notre liaison en- 
 semble, pour retourner au doux penchant de la reconnais- 
 sance. Les dentelles de mon emigree peuvent etre ven- 
 dues en detail, parceque c'est le seul moyen de les vendre. 
 Quant au prix, c'est un marchand de dentelles a votre 
 choix qui doit le fixer. Une fille de chez Madame Roger, 
 Duke Street, Piccadilly, a estimd le tout £100 sterling. 
 Mais je ne sais pas un mot de details, et la premik^e mar- 
 ohande de dentelles que vous rencontrerez vous le dira. 
 
 Quant a tlic ogly, tall, and good servant, je demande 
 quatre jours pour repondre a cette grande affaire : je de- 
 mande aussi si elle salt ecrire ce qu'il faut pour le hill 
 d'un dejeuner, de sucre, de th^, &c. 
 
 Maintenaut que je vous ai bien fatigut^ de tous les ser- 
 vices que je veux rendre a mes amis, et que votre excel- 
 lent caractere vous fait d^sirer de partager, laissez moi 
 vous dire que je suis triste de partir peut-etre sans vous 
 revoir ; et qu'en ecartant tous les nuages de mon cceur je 
 serai toujours interessee dans vos succ^s, et dans votre 
 bonheur. 
 
 Soyez assez bonne pour exprimer, avec I'accent de C^ci-
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 309 
 
 lia, tout le regret que je sens d'avoir ^t^ bannie de la 
 chambre de nos aimables raalades, que ma pensee n'a pas 
 
 quitt(5es. 
 
 [The frequency and intimacy with which Miss Barney 
 and M. d'Arblay now met, ripened into attachment the 
 high esteem which each felt for the other ; and, after many 
 struggles and scruples, occasioned by his reduced circum- 
 stances and clouded prospects, M. d'Arblay wrote her an 
 offer of his hand ; candidly acknowledging, however, the 
 slight hope he entertained of ever recovering the fortune 
 he had lost by the Eevolution. 
 
 At this time Miss Burney went to Chesington for a 
 short period ; probably hoping that the extreme quiet of 
 that place would assist her deliberations, and tranquillize 
 her mind during her present perplexities.] 
 
 Mrs. Phillips to Miss Burnei/ at Chesington. 
 
 Sunday, after church, I walked up to Norbury ; there, 
 unexpectedly, I met all our Juniperians, and listened to 
 one of the best conversations I ever heard : it was on 
 literary topics, and the chief speakers, Madame de Stael, 
 M. de Talleyrand, Mr. Locke, and M. Dumont, a gentleman 
 on a visit of two days at Juniper, a Genevois, homme 
 d'esprit et de lettres. I had not a word beyond the first 
 " how d' yes " with any one, being obliged to run home to 
 my abominable dinner in the midst of the discourse. 
 
 On Monday I went, by invitation, to Juniper to dine, 
 and before I came away at night a letter arrived express 
 to Madame de Stael. On reading it, the change in her 
 countenance made me guess the contents. It was from the 
 Swedish gentleman who had been appointed by her hus-
 
 310 DIARY- AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 band to meet her at Ostend ; lie wrote from that place that 
 he was awaiting her arrival. She had designed walking 
 home with us by moonlight, but her spirits were too much 
 oppressed to enable her to keep this intention. 
 
 M. d'Arblay walked home with Phillips and me. Every 
 moment of his time has been given of late to transcribing 
 a MS. work of Madame de Stael, on " L'Influence des Pas- 
 sions." It is a work of considerable length, and written in 
 a hand the most difficult possible to decipher. 
 
 On Tuesday we all met again at Norbury, where we 
 spent the day. Madame de Stael could not rally her spirits 
 at all, and seemed like one torn from all that was dear to 
 her. I was truly concerned. 
 
 After giving me a variety of charges, or rather en- 
 treaties, to watch and attend to the health, spirits, and 
 affairs of the friends she was leaving, she said to me, " Et 
 dites a Mile. Burney que je ne lui en veux pas du tout — 
 que je quitte le pays I'aiment bien sinc^rement, et sans 
 rancune." 
 
 I assured her earnestly, and with more words than I 
 have room to insert, not only of your admiration, but affec- 
 tion, and sensibility of her worth, and chagrin at seeing no 
 more of her. I hope I exceeded not your wishes ; mais il 
 ny avait pas moyen de r^sister. Slie seemed pleased, and 
 said, "Vous etes bien bonne de me dire cela," but in a low 
 and faint voice, and dropped the subject. 
 
 Before we took leave M. d'Arblay was already gone, 
 meaning to finish transcribing her MS. I came home with 
 Madame de Stael and M. de Narbonne. The former ac- 
 tually sobbed in saying farewell to Mrs. Locke, and half 
 way down the hill ; her parting from me was likewise very 
 tender and flattering 
 
 I determined, however, to see her again, and met her 
 near the school, on Wednesday morning, with a short note
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 311 
 
 and a little offering which I was irresistibly tempted to 
 make her. She could not speak to me, but kissed her 
 hand with a very speaking and touching expression of 
 countenance. 
 
 It was this morning, and just as I was setting out to 
 meet her, that Skilton arrived from Chesington. I wrote 
 a little, walked out, and returned to finish as I could. 
 
 At dinner came our Tyo ^ — very bad indeed. After it 
 we walked together with the children to Norbury ; but 
 little Fanny was so well pleased with his society, that it 
 was impossible to get a word on any particular subject. 
 I, however, upon his venturing to question me whereabouts 
 was the campagne oil se trouvait Mdlle. Burnet, ventured de 
 mon coU to speak the name of Chesington, and give a little 
 account of its inhabitants, the early love we had for the 
 spot, our excellent Mr. Crisp, and your good and kind 
 hostesses. He listened with much interest and pleasure, 
 and said, " Mais ne pourrait-on pas faire ce petit voyage-la ? " 
 
 I ventured to say nothing encouraging, at least de- 
 cisively, in a great measure upon the children's account, 
 lest they should repeat ; and, moreover, your little name- 
 sake seemed to me surprisingly attentive and eveillee, as if 
 elle se doidait de quelque chose. 
 
 When we came home I gave our Tyo some paper to 
 write to you ; it was not possible for me to add more than 
 the address, much as I wished it. 
 
 1 An Otaheitian term signifying sworn brotherhood. The ceremony 
 which binds this relation consists in rubbing noses together and exchanging 
 the appellation of " Tyo," or " Taio," which means " chosen friend." The 
 title was sometimes playfully given to Miss Burney by Mrs. Thrale, and 
 the sisters occasionally employed it.
 
 312 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 Miss Burney to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 Chesington, 1793. 
 
 I have been quite enchanted to-day by my dear Susan's 
 intelligence that my three convalescents walked to the 
 wood. Would I had been there to meet and receive them ! 
 
 I have regretted excessively the finishing so miserably 
 an acquaintance begun with so much spirit and pleasure, 
 and the ddipit I fear Madame de Stael must have experi- 
 enced. I wish the world would take more care of itself, 
 and less of its neighbors. I should have been very safe, I 
 trust, without such flights, and distances, and breaches. 
 But there seemed an absolute resolution formed to crush 
 this acquaintance, and compel me to appear its wilful re- 
 nouncer. All I did also to clear the matter, and soften to 
 Madame de Stael any pique or displeasure, unfortunately 
 served only to increase both. Had I understood her dis- 
 position better I should certainly have attempted no 
 palliation, for I rather offended her pride than mollified 
 her wrath. Yet I followed the golden rule, for how much 
 should I prefer any acknowledgment of regret at such an 
 apparent change, from any one I esteemed, to a seeming 
 unconscious complacency in an unexplained caprice ! 
 
 I am vexed, however, very much vexed, at the whole 
 business. I hope she left Norbury Park with full satisfac- 
 tion in its steady and more comfortable connection. I fear 
 mine will pass for only a fashionable one. 
 
 Miss Kitty Cooke still amuses me very much by her in- 
 comparable dialect ; and by her kindness and friendliness 
 I am taken the best care of imaginable. 
 
 My poor brother, who will carry this to Mickleham, is 
 grievously altered by the loss of his little girl. It has 
 affected his spirits and his health, and he is grown so thin 
 and meao-re, that he looks ten years older than when I saw
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 313 
 
 him last. I hope he will now revive, since the blow is 
 over; but it has been a very, very hard one, after such 
 earnest pains to escape it. 
 
 Did the wood look very beautiful ? I have figured it to 
 myself, with the three dear convalescents wandering in its 
 winding paths, and inhaling its freshness and salubrity, ever 
 since I heard of this walk. I wanted prodigiously to have 
 issued forth from some little green recess, to have hailed 
 your return. I hope Mr. Locke had the pleasure of this 
 sight. Is Jenny capable of such a mounting journey ? 
 
 Do you know anything of a certain young lady, who 
 eludes all my inquiries, famous for having eight sisters, all 
 of uncommon talents ? I had formerly some intercourse 
 with her, and she used to promise she would renew it 
 whenever I pleased ; but whether she is offended that I 
 have slighted her offers so long, or whether she is fickle, or 
 only whimsical, I know not : all that is quite undoubted 
 is that she has concealed herself so effectually from my 
 researches, that I might as well Jook for justice and clem- 
 ency in the French Convention, as for this former friend 
 in the plains and lanes of Chesington, where, erst, she met 
 me whether I would or no. F. B. 
 
 Miss Burney to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 Chesington, 1793. 
 How sweet to me was my dearest Fredy's assurance that 
 my gratification and prudence went at last hand in hand ! 
 I had longed for the sight of her writing, and not dared 
 wish it. I shall now long impatiently till I can have the 
 pleasure of saying, " Ma'am, I desire no more of your 
 letters." 
 
 I have heard to-day all I can most covet of all my dear
 
 314 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 late malades. I take it for granted this little visit was 
 made known to my dearest sister confidant. I had pre- 
 pared for it from the time of my own expectation, and I 
 have had much amusement in what the preparation pro- 
 duced. Mrs. Hamilton ordered half a ham to be boiled 
 ready ; and Miss Kitty trimmed up her best cap and tried 
 it on, on Saturday, to get it in shape to her face. She 
 made chocolate also, which we drank up on Monday and 
 Tuesday, because it was spoiling. " I have never seen ' 
 none of the French quality," she says, " and I have a 
 piirdigious curosity ; though as to dukes and dukes' sons, 
 and these high top captains, I know they '11 think me a 
 mere country bumpkin. Howsever, they can't call me 
 worse than Fat Kit Square, and that 's the worse name I 
 ever got from any of our English pelite bears, which I 
 suppose these pelite French quality never heard the like of." 
 
 Unfortunately, however, when all was prepared above, 
 the French top ca/ptain entered while poor Miss Kitty was 
 in dishhill, and Mrs. Hamilton finishing washing up her 
 china from breakfast. A maid who was out at the pump, 
 and first saw the arrival, ran in to give Miss Kitty time to 
 escape, for she was in her round dress night-cap, and with- 
 out her roll and curls. However, he followed too quick, 
 and Mrs. Hamilton was seen in her linen gown and mob, 
 though she had put on a silk one in expectation for every 
 noon these four or five days past ; and Miss Kitty was in 
 such confusion, she hurried out of the room. She soon, 
 however, returned, with the roll and curls, and the forehead 
 and throat fashionably lost in a silk gown. And though 
 she had not intended to speak a word, the gentle quietness 
 of her guest so surprised and pleased her, that she never 
 quitted his side while he stayed, and has sung his praises 
 ever since. 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton, good soul ! in"lalking and inquiring since
 
 1793.] OF MADAME d'ARBLAY. 315 
 
 of his history and conduct, shed tears at the recital. She 
 says now she has really seen one of the French gentry that 
 has been drove out of their country by the villains she 
 has heard of, she shall begin to believe there really has 
 been a Eevolution ! and Miss Kitty says, " I purtest I did 
 not know before but it was all a sham." !F. B. 
 
 Miss Burney to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 Friday, May 31st, Chesington. 
 
 My heart so smites me this morning with making no 
 answer to all I have been requested to weigh and decide, 
 that I feel I cannot with any ease return to town without 
 at least complying with one demand, which first, at parting 
 yesterday, brought me to write fully to you, my Susan, if I 
 could not elsewhere to my satisfaction. 
 
 Much indeed in the course of last night and this morn- 
 ing has occurred to me, that now renders my longer silence 
 as to prospects and proceedings unjustifiable to myself I 
 will therefore now address myself to both my beloved con- 
 fidants, and open to them all my thoughts, and entreat their 
 own with equal plainness in return. 
 
 M. d'Arblay's last three letters convince me he is des- 
 perately dejected when alone, and when perfectly natural. 
 It is not that he wants patience, but he wants rational 
 expectation of better times : expectation founded on some- 
 thing more than mere aerial hope, that builds one day upon 
 what the next blasts ; and then has to build again, and 
 again to be blasted. 
 
 What affects me the most in this situation is, that his 
 time may as completely be lost as another's peace, by 
 waiting for the effects of distant events, vague, bewilder- 
 ing, and i-emote, and quite as likely to lead to ill as to
 
 316 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 good. The very waiting, indeed, with the mind in such a 
 state, is in itself an evil scarce to be recompensed. 
 
 My dearest Fredy, in the beginning of her knowledge of 
 this transaction, told me that Mr. Locke was of opinion 
 that the £100 per annum might do, as it does for many a 
 curate. M. d'A. also most solemnly and affectingly de- 
 clares that le siinple necessaire is all he requires, and here, 
 in your vicinity, would unhesitatingly be preferred by him 
 to the most brilliant fortune in another s^jour. 
 
 If he can say that, what must / be not to echo it ? I, 
 who in the bosom of my own most chosen, most darling 
 friends 
 
 I need not enter more upon this ; you all must know 
 that to me a crust of bread, with a little roof for shelter, 
 and a fire for warmth, near you, would bring me to peace, 
 to happiness, to all that my heart holds dear, or even in any 
 situation could prize. I cannot picture such a fate with 
 dry eyes ; all else but kindness and society has to me so 
 always been nothing. 
 
 • With regard to my dear father, he has always left me to 
 myself; I will not therefore speak to him while thus un- 
 certain what to decide. 
 
 It is certain, however, that, with peace of mind and re- 
 tirement, I have resources that I could bring forw^ard to 
 amend the little situation ; as well as that, once thus un- 
 doubtedly established and naturalized, M. d'A. would have 
 claims for employment. 
 
 These reflections, with a nmtual freedom from ambition, 
 might lead to a quiet road, unbroken by the tortures of 
 applications, expectations, attendance, disappointment, and 
 time-wasting hopes and fears ; if there were not apprehen- 
 sions the £100 might be withdrawn. I do not think it 
 likely, but it is a risk too serious in its consequences to be
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 317 
 
 run. M. d'A. protests he could not answer to himself the 
 hazard. How to ascertain this, to clear the doubt, or to 
 know the fatal certainty before it should be too late, ex- 
 ceeds my powers of suggestion. His own idea, to write to 
 the Queen, much as it has startled me, and wild as it 
 seemed to me, is certainly less wild than to take the chance 
 of such a blow in the dark. 
 
 Yet such a letter could not even reach her. His verv 
 name is probably only known to her through myself. 
 
 In short, my dearest friends, you will think for me, and 
 let me know what occurs to you, and I will defer any 
 answer till I hear your opinions. 
 
 Heaven ever bless you ! And pray for me at this 
 moment. F. B. 
 
 Dr. Burney to Miss Burney. 
 
 May, 1793. 
 
 Dear Fanny, — I -have for some time seen very plainly 
 that you are Uprise, and have been extremely uneasy at the 
 discovery. You must have observed my silent gravity, 
 surpassing that of mere illness and its consequent low 
 spirits. I had some thoughts of writing to Susan about it, 
 and intended begging her to do wliat I must now do for 
 myself — that is, beg, warn, and admonish you not to en- 
 tangle yourself in a wild and romantic attachment, wdiich 
 offers nothing in prospect but poverty and distress, \vith 
 future inconvenience and unhappiness. M. d'Arblay is 
 certainly a very amiable and accomplished man, and of 
 great military abilities I take for granted ; but what em- 
 ployment has he for them of which the success is not 
 extremely hazardous ? His property, whatever it was, has 
 been confiscated — decreU — by the Convention ; and if 
 a counter-revolution takes place, unless it be exactly such
 
 318 DIAKY AND LETTERS ' [1793. 
 
 a one as suits the particular political sect in which he 
 enlisted, it does not seem likely to secure to him an estab- 
 lishment in France. And as to an establishment in En^- 
 laud, I I'cnow the difficulty which very deserving natives 
 find in procuring one, w-ith every appearance of interest, 
 friends and probability ; and, to a foreigner, 1 fear, the 
 difficulty will be more than doubled. 
 
 As M. dArblay is at present circumstanced, an alliance 
 with anything but a fortune sufficient for the support of 
 himself and partner would be very imprudent. He is a 
 mere soldier of fortune, under great disadvantages. Your 
 income, if it was as certain as a freehold estate, is insuffi- 
 cient for the purpose ; and if the Queen should be dis- 
 pleased and withdraw her allowance, what could you do ? 
 
 I own that, if M. dArblay had an establishment in 
 France sufficient for him to marry a wife with little or no 
 fortune, much as 1 am inclined to honor and esteem him, I 
 should wish to prevent you from fixing your residence 
 there; not merely from selfishness, but foi^ your own sake. 
 I know your love for your family, and know that it is re- 
 ciprocal ; I therefore cannot help thinking that you would 
 mutually be a loss to each other. The friends, too, which 
 you have here, are of the highest and most desirable class. 
 To quit them, in order to make new friendships in a strange 
 land, in whicli the generality of its inhabitants at present 
 seem incapable of such virtues as friendship is built upon, 
 seems wild and visionary. 
 
 If M. dArblay had a sufficient establishment here for 
 the purposes of credit and comfort, and determined to 
 settle here for life, I should certainly think ourselves hon- 
 ored by his alliance ; but his situation is at present so very 
 remote from all that can satisfy prudence, or reconcile to 
 an affectionate father the idea of a serious attachment, that 
 I tremble for your heart and future happiness. M. d'Ar-
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 319 
 
 blay must have lived too long in the great world to accom- 
 modate himself contentedly to the little ; his fate seems so 
 intimately connected with that of his miserable country, 
 and that country seems at a greater distance from peace, 
 order, and tranquillity now than it has done at any time 
 since the revolution. 
 
 These considerations, and the uncertainty of M'hat party 
 will finally prevail, make me tremble for you both. You 
 see, by what I have said, that my objections are not per- 
 sonal, but wholly prudential. For Heaven's sake, my dear 
 Fanny, do not part with your heart too rapidly, or involve 
 yourself in deep engagements which it will be difficult to 
 dissolve ; and to the last degree imprudent, as things are 
 at present circumstanced, to fulfil. 
 
 As far as character, merit, and misfortune demand es- 
 teem and regard, you may be sure that M. d'Arblay will 
 be always received by me with the utmost attention and 
 respect ; but in the present situation of things, I can by no 
 means think I opght to encourage ( blind and ignorant as I 
 am of all but his misfortunes) a serious and solemn union 
 with one whose unhappiiiess would be a reproach to the 
 facility and inconsiderateness of a most affectionate father. 
 
 [Memorandum, this 7th of May, 1825. 
 
 In answer to these apparently most just, and, undoubt- 
 edly, most parental and tender apprehensions, Susanna, the 
 darlinff child of Dr. Burnev, as well as first chosen friend 
 of M. d'Arblay, wrote a statement of the plans, and means, 
 and purposes of M.dA. and F. B. — so clearly demonstrat- 
 ing their power of happiness, with willing economy, con- 
 genial tastes, and mutual love of the country, that Dr. B. 
 gave way, and sent, though reluctantly, a consent ; by 
 which the union took place the 31st of July, 1793, in 
 Mickleham church, in presence of Mr. and Mrs. Locke,
 
 320 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 Captain and Mrs. Phillips, M. de Narbonne, and Captain 
 Barney, who was father to his sister, as Mr. Locke was to 
 M. d'A. ; and on the 1st of August the ceremony was re- 
 performed in the Sardinian Chapel, according to the rites 
 of the Romish Church ; and never, never was union more 
 Messed and felicitous ; though after the first eight years 
 of unmingled happiness, it was assailed by many calam- 
 ities, chieJEiy of separation for illness, yet still mentally 
 unbroken. F. d'Arblay.] 
 
 To Mrs. . 
 
 August 2ud, 1796. 
 
 How in the world shall I begin this letter to my dearest 
 
 M ! how save her from a surprise almost too strong 
 
 for her weak nerves and tender heart ! 
 
 After such an opening, perhaps any communication may 
 be a relief ; but it is surprise only I would guard against ; 
 my present communication has nothing else to fear ; it has 
 nothing in it sad, melancholy, unhappy, but it has every- 
 thing that is marvellous and unexpected. 
 
 Do you recollect at all, when you were last in town, my 
 warm interest for the loyal part of the French exiles ? — 
 do you remember my ^loge of a French officer, in partic- 
 ular, a certain M. d'Arblay ? Ah, my dear M -, you 
 
 are quick as lightning; your sensitive apprehension will 
 tell my tale for me now, without any more aid than some 
 details of circumstance. 
 
 The eloffe I then made was with design to prepare you 
 for an event I had reason to expect : such, however, was 
 the uncertainty of my situation, from prudential obstacles, 
 that I dared venture at no confidence ; though my heart 
 prompted it strongly, to a friend so sweetly sympathizing 
 in all my feelings and all my affairs — so constantly affec-
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 321 
 
 tionate — so tenderly alive to all that interests and con- 
 cerns me. 
 
 My dearest M , you will give me, I am sure, your 
 
 heartfelt wishes — your most fervent prayers. The choice 
 I have made appears to me all you could yourself wish to 
 fall to my lot — all you could yourself have formed to 
 have best accorded with your kind partiality. 
 
 I had some hope you would have seen him that evening 
 we went together from Mrs. M. Montagu to Mrs. Locke's, 
 for he was then a guest in Portland-place ; but some mis- 
 erable circumstances, of which I knew nothing till after 
 your departure, had just fallen out, and he had shut him- 
 self up in his room. He did not know we were there. 
 
 Many, indeed, have been the miserable circumstances 
 that have, from time to time, alarmed and afflicted in turn, 
 and seemed to render a renunciation indispensable. Those 
 difficulties, however, have been conquered ; and last Sun- 
 day Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister and Captain Phillips, 
 and my brother Captain Burney, accompanied us to the 
 altar in Mickleham church ; since which the ceremony has 
 been repeated in the chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador, 
 that if, by a counter-revolution in France, M. d'Arblay 
 recovers any of his rights, his wife may not be excluded 
 from their participation. 
 
 You may be amazed not to see the name of my dear 
 father upon this solemn occasion ; but his apprehensions 
 from the smallness of our income have made him cold and 
 averse ; and though he granted his consent, I could not 
 even solicit his presence. 1 feel satisfied, however, that 
 time will convince him I have not been so imprudent as 
 lie now thinks me. Happiness is the great end of all our 
 worldly views and proceedings, and no one can judge for 
 another in what will produce it. To me, wealth and am- 
 bition would always be unavailing ; I have lived in their 
 
 VOL. II. 21
 
 322 DIARY AKD LETTERS [1793. 
 
 most centrical possessions, and I have always seen that 
 the happiness of the richest and the greatest has been the 
 moment of retiring from riches and from power. Domes- 
 tic comfort and social affection have invariably been the 
 sole as well as ultimate objects of my choice, and I have 
 always been a stranger to any other species of felicity. 
 
 M. d'Arblay has a taste for literature, and a passion 
 for reading and writing, as marked as my own ; this is a 
 sympathy to rob retirement of all superfluous leisure, and 
 insure to us both occupation, constantly edifying or enter- 
 taining. He has seen so much of life, and has suffered so 
 severely from its disappointments, that retreat, with a 
 chosen companion, is become his final desire. 
 
 Mr. Locke has given M. d'Arblay a piece of ground in 
 his beautiful park, upon which we shall build a Little neat 
 and plain habitation. We shall continue, meanwhile, in 
 his neighborhood, to superintend the little edifice, and 
 enjoy the society of his exquisite house, and that of my 
 beloved sister Phillips. We are now within two miles 
 of both, at a farm-house, where we have what apartments 
 we require, and no more, in a most beautiful and healthy 
 situation, a mile and a half from any town. The nearest 
 is Bookham ; but I beg that my letters may be directed to 
 me at Captain Phillips's, Mickleham, as the post does not 
 come this way, and I may else miss them for a week. 
 
 As I do not correspond with Mrs. Montagu, and it would 
 be awkward to begin upon such a theme, I beg that when 
 you write you will say something for me. 
 
 One of my first pleasures, in our little intended home, 
 will be finding a place of honor for the legacy of Mrs. 
 Delany. Whatever may be the general wonder, and 
 perhaps blame, of general people, at this connection, 
 equally indiscreet in pecuniary points for us both, I feel 
 sure that the truly liberal and truly intellectual judgment
 
 1793.] OF MA.DAME D'ARBLAY. 323 
 
 of that most venerated character would have accorded its 
 sanction, when acquainted with the worthiness of the ob- 
 ject who would wish it. 
 
 Adieu, my sweet friend. Give my best compliments to 
 Mr. , and give me your kind wishes, your kind pray- 
 ers, my ever dear M . F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. . 
 
 The account of your surprise, my sweet friend, was the 
 last thing to create mine : I was well aware of the general 
 astonishment, and of yours in particular. My own, how- 
 ever, at my very extraordinary fate, is singly greater than 
 that of all my friends united. I had never made any vow 
 against marriage, but I had long, long been firmly per- 
 suaded it was for me a state of too much hazard and too 
 little promise to draw me from my individual plans and 
 purposes. I remember, in playing at questions and com- 
 mands, when I was thirteen, being asked when I intended 
 to marry ? and surprising my playmates by solemnly re- 
 plying, " "When I tliink I shall be happier than I am in 
 being single." It is true, I imagined that time would 
 never arrive ; and I have pertinaciously adhered to trying 
 no experiment upon any other hope ; for, many and mixed 
 as are the ingredients which form what is generally con- 
 sidered as happiness, I was always fully convinced that 
 social sympathy of character and taste could alone have 
 any chance with me-; all else I always thought, and now 
 know, to be immaterial. I have only this peculiar, — that 
 what many contentedly assert or adopt in theory, I have 
 had the courage to be'guided by in practice. 
 
 We are now removed to a very small house in the sub- 
 urbs of a very small village called Bookham. We found
 
 324 DIARY AND LETTERS [1793. 
 
 it rather inconvenient to reside in another person's dwell- 
 ing, though our own apartments were to ourselves. Our 
 views are not so beautiful as from Phenice Farm, but 
 our situation is totally free from neighbors and intrusion. 
 We are about a mile and a half from Norbury Park, and 
 two miles from Mickleham. I am become already so stout 
 a walker, by use, and with the help of a very able sup- 
 porter, that I go to those places and return home on foot 
 without fatigue, when the weather is kind. At other times 
 I condescend to accept a carriage from Mr. Locke ; but it 
 is always reluctantly, I so much prefer walking where, as 
 here, the country and prospects are inviting. 
 
 I thank you for your caution about building : we shall 
 certainly undertake nothing but by contract ; however, it 
 would be truly mortifying to give up a house in Norbury 
 Park ; we defer the structure till the spring, as it is to be 
 so very slight, that Mr. Locke says it will be best to have 
 it hardened in its first stage by the summer's sun. It will 
 be very small, merely an habitation for three people, but 
 in a situation truly beautiful, and within five minutes of 
 either Mr. Locke or my sister Phillips : it is to be placed 
 just between these two loved houses. 
 
 My dearest father, whose fears and drawbacks have been 
 my sole subject of regret, begins now to see I have not 
 judged rashly, or with romance, in seeing my own road to 
 my own felicity. And his restored cheerful concurrence 
 in my constant principles, though new station, leaves me, 
 for myself, without a wish. L'ennui, which could alone in- 
 fest our retreat, I have ever been a stranger to, except in 
 tiresome company, and my companion has every possible 
 resource against either feeling or inspiring it. 
 
 As my partner is a Frenchman, I conclude the wonder 
 raised by the connection may spread beyond my own pri- 
 vate circle ; but no wonder upon earth can ever arrive near
 
 1793.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 325 
 
 my own in having found such a character from that nation. 
 This is a prejudice certainly, impertinent and very Jolin 
 Bullish, and very arrogant ; but I only share it with all 
 my countrymen, and therefore must needs forgive both 
 them and myself I am convinced, however, from your 
 tender solicitude for me in all ways, that you will be glad 
 to hear that the Queen and all the Eoyal Family have 
 deigned to send me wishes for my happiness through Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, who has written me " what you call " a very 
 kind congratulation. F. d'A.
 
 326 DIARY AND LETTERS [1795. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 1794—1800. 
 
 [In the year 1794, the happiness of the "Hermitage" 
 was increased by the birth of a son, who was christened 
 Alexander Charles Louis Piochard d'Arblay ; receiving the 
 names of his father, with those of his two godfathers, the 
 Comte de Narbonne and Dr. Charles Burney.] 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to I^lVs. . 
 
 BooKHAM, April 15, 1795. 
 
 So dry a reproof from so dear a friend ! And do you, 
 then, measure my regard of heart by my remissness of 
 hand ? Let me give you the short history of my tragedy, 
 fairly and frankly. 
 
 I wrote it not, as your acquaintance imagined, for the 
 stage, nor yet for the press. I began it at Kew Palace and 
 at odd moments, I finished it at Windsor; without the 
 least idea of any species of publication. 
 
 Since I left the Royal household, I ventured to let it 
 be read by my father, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister 
 Phillips, and, of course, M. dArblay, and not another hu- 
 man being. 
 
 Their opinions led to what followed, and my brother, 
 Dr. Charles, showed it to Mr. Kemble while I was on my 
 visit to my father last (3ctober. He instantly and warmly
 
 1795.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 327 
 
 pronounced for its acceptance, but I knew not when Mr. 
 Sheridan would see it, and had not the smallest expecta- 
 tion of its appearing this year. However, just three days 
 before my beloved little infant came into the world, an ex- 
 press arrived from my brother, that Mr. Kemble wanted 
 the tragedy immediately, in order to show it to Mr. Sheri- 
 dan, who had just heard of it, and had spoken in the most 
 flattering terms of his good will for its reception. 
 
 Still, however, I was in doubt of its actual acceptance 
 till three weeks after my confinement, when I had a visit 
 from my brother, who told me he was, the next morning, 
 to read the piece in the green-room. 
 
 This was a precipitance for which 1 was every way un- 
 prepared, as I had never made but one copy of the play, 
 and had intended divers corrections and alterations. Ab- 
 sorbed, however, by my new charge, and then growing ill, 
 I had a sort of indifference about the matter, which, in 
 fact, has lasted ever since. 
 
 The moment I was then able to hold a pen I wrote two 
 short letters, to acknowledge the state of the affair to my 
 sisters ; and to one of these epistles I had an immediate 
 laughing answer, informing me my confidence was some- 
 what of the latest, as the subject of it was already in all the 
 newspapers ! I was extremely chagrined at this intelli- 
 gence ; but, from that time, thought it all too late to be the 
 herald of my own designs. And this, added to my natural 
 and incurable dislike to enter upon these egotistical details 
 
 unasked, has caused my silence to my dear M , and to 
 
 every friend I possess. Indeed, speedily after, I had an 
 illness so severe and so dangerous, that for full seven 
 weeks the tragedy was neither named nor thought of by 
 M. d'Arblay or myself. 
 
 The piece was represented to the utmost disadvantage, 
 save only Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Kemble ; for it was not
 
 328 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1795. 
 
 written with any idea of the stage, and my illness and 
 weakness, and constant absorbment, at the time of its 
 preparation, occasioned it to appear with so many un- 
 dramatic effects, from my inexperience of theatrical requi- 
 sites and demands, that, when I saw it, I myself perceived 
 a thousand things I wished to change. The performers, 
 too, were cruelly imperfect, and made blunders I blush to 
 have pass for mine — added to what belong to me. The 
 most important character after the hero and heroine had 
 but two lines of his part by heart ! He made all the rest 
 at random, and such nonsense as put all the other actors 
 out as much as himself; so that a more wretched perform- 
 ance, except Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Kemble, and Mr, Bensley, 
 could not be exhibited in a barn. 
 
 All this occurred to make it very desirable to withdraw 
 the piece for alterations, which I have done. 
 
 And now you have the whole history — and now — are 
 you appeased ? F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Br. Burney. 
 
 Hermitage, Bookham, May 13, 1795. 
 Horticulture prospers beyond all former even ideas of 
 prosperity. How, how I do wish you could come and 
 take an hour's work here ! it would mingle so well with 
 Metastasio ! — the employment — the fragrant surrounding 
 air — the sweet refreshing landscape — and your partner 
 in labor, — all would be congenial with Metastasio, and, 
 consequently, with you ; for you know, when we were all 
 to choose who we would be if not our dear identical and 
 always all-preferable selves, you fixed upon Metastasio ; 
 and indeed, in many, nay most respects, it would hardly be 
 a change.
 
 1795.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 329 
 
 To be sure, as you say, 'tis pity M. d'A. and his rib 
 should have conceived such an antipathy to the petit mon- 
 sieur ! Oh if you could see him now ! My mother would 
 be satisfied, for his little cheeks are beginning to savor of 
 the trumpeter's, and Esther would be satisfied, for he eats 
 like an embryo alderman. He enters into all we think, 
 say, mean, and wish ! His eyes are sure to sympathize in 
 all our affairs and all our feelings. We find some kind 
 reason for every smile he bestows upon us, and some 
 generous and disinterested motive for every grave look. 
 If he wants to be danced, we see he has discovered that 
 his gaiety is exhilarating to us ; if he refuses to be moved, 
 we take notice that he fears to fatigue us. If he will not 
 be quieted without singing, we delight in his early gout for 
 les beaux arts. If he is immovable to all we can devise to 
 divert him, we are edified by the grand s^rietcx of his dig- 
 nity and philosophy : if he makes the house ring with 
 loud acclaim because his food, at first call, does not come 
 ready warm into his mouth, we hold up our hands with 
 admiration at his vivacity. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. . 
 
 BooKHAM, June 15, '95. 
 
 No, my dear M , no ; — " this poor intercourse " slmll 
 
 never cease, while the hand that writes this assurance can 
 hold a pen ! I have been very much touched with your 
 letter, its affection, and its — everything. Do not for the 
 world suffer this our only communication to " dwindle 
 away : " for me, though the least punctual of all corre- 
 spondents, I am, perhaps, the most faithful of all friends ; 
 for my regard, once excited, keeps equal energy in absence 
 as in presence, and an equally fond and minute interest in
 
 330 DIARY AND LETTERS [^''95. 
 
 those for whom I cherish it, whether I see them but at the 
 distance of years, or with every day's sun. Sun it is, even 
 in winter, that shines \ipon sights so sweet as of persons 
 beloved. My dear and darling sister Phillips will now 
 once more experience this truth, for last Monday she left 
 Mickleham — Norbury Park — Eookham — every spot most 
 dear to her, to go and live in London ! Will she, think 
 you, for that, be ever absent from my mind ? Will my new 
 ties, dear almost to adoration as they are to me, ever oblit- 
 erate my former ones ? No, my dear M , all those 
 
 whom I best love have something more or less, of resem- 
 blance one to another ; each, therefore, rather helps than 
 mars my affection for the rest. I love nobody for noihing ; 
 I am not so tindery ! therefore there must be change in the 
 object before there can be any in me. 
 I have much to say to you. — 
 
 And lastly, let me hasten to tell you something of my- 
 self that I shall be very sorry you should hear from any 
 other, as your too susceptible mind would be hurt again, 
 and that would grieve me quite to the heart. 
 
 I have a long work, which a long time has been in hand, 
 that I meaa to publish soon — in about a year.^ Should 
 it succeed, like " Evelina " and " Cecilia," it may be a little 
 portion to our Bambino. We wash, therefore, to print it 
 for ourselves in this hope ; but the expenses of the press 
 are so enormous, so raised by these late Acts, that it is out 
 of all question for us to afford it. We have, therefore, been 
 led by degrees to listen to coun'sel of some friends, and to 
 print it by subscription. This is in many — many ways 
 unpleasant and unpalatable to us both ; but the real chance 
 of real use and benefit to our little darling overcomes all 
 scruples, and, therefore, to work we go ! 
 
 1 Her novel of "Camilla."
 
 1795.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 331 
 
 You will feel, I dare believe, all I could write on this 
 subject ; I once rejected such a plan, formed for me by Mr. 
 Burke, where books were to be kept by ladies, not book- 
 sellers — the Duchess of Devonshire, Mrs. Boscawen, and 
 Mrs. Crewe; but I was an individual then, and had no 
 cares of times to come : now, thank Heaven ! this is not 
 the case ; — and when I look at my little boy's dear, inno- 
 cent, yet intelligent face, I defy any pursuit to be painful 
 that may lead to his good. 
 
 Adieu, my ever dear friend ! F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to the Conite de Narbonne (written during his embar- 
 rassments from the French Revolution, and in answer to a letter ex- 
 pressing bitter disappointment from repeated losses). 
 
 BooKHAM, 26th December, 1795. 
 
 What a letter, to terminate so long and painful a silence ! 
 It has penetrated us with sorrow^ing and indignant feelings. 
 Unknown to M. d'Arblay, whose grief and horror are upon 
 the point of making him quite ill, I venture this address 
 to his most beloved friend ; and before I seal it, I will give 
 him the option to burn or underwrite it. 
 
 I shall be brief in what I have to propose : sincerity 
 need not be loquacious, and M. Narbonne is too kind to 
 demand phrases for ceremony. 
 
 Should your present laudable but melancholy plan fail, 
 and should nothing better offer, or till something can be 
 arranged, will you, dear sir, condescend to share the pov- 
 erty of our Hermitage ? Will you take a little cell under 
 our rustic roof, and fare as we fare ? What to us two 
 hermits is cheerful and happy will to you, indeed, be 
 miserable ; but it will be some solace to the goodness of 
 your heart to witness our contentment — to dig with M.
 
 332 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 d'A. in the garden will be of service to your health ; to 
 nurse sometimes with me in the parlor will be a relaxation 
 to your mind. You will not blush to own your little god- 
 son. Come, then, and give him your blessing ; relieve the 
 wounded feelings of his father — oblige his mother — and 
 turn hermit at Bookham, till brighter suns invite you else- 
 where. 
 
 F. d'Aeblay. 
 You will have terrible dinners, alas ! — but your godson 
 comes in for the dessert. 
 
 [During the years 1794 and 1795, Madame d'Arblay 
 finished and prepared for the press her third novel, " Ca- 
 milla," which was published partly by subscription in 1796 ; 
 the Dowager Duchess of Leinster, the Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, 
 Mrs. Crewe, and Mrs. Locke, kindly keeping lists, and 
 receiving the names of subscribers. 
 
 This work having been dedicated by permission to the 
 Queen, the authoress was desirous of presenting the first 
 copy to her Majesty, and made a journey to Windsor for 
 that honor.] 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 Bookham, July 10, 1796. 
 
 If I had as much of time as of matter, my dear father, 
 what an immense letter should I write you ! But I have 
 still so many book oddments of accounts, examinations, 
 directions, and little household affairs to arrange, that with 
 baby-kissing included, I expect I can give you to-day only 
 part the first of an excursion which I mean to comprise in 
 four parts : so here begins. 
 
 The books were ready at eleven or twelve, but not so the 
 tailor ! The three Miss Thrales came to a short but cor-
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. • 333 
 
 dial hand-shaking at the last minute, by appointment ; and 
 at about half-past three we set forward. I had written 
 the day before to my worthy old friend Mrs. Agnew, the 
 housekeeper, erst, of my revered Mrs. Delany, to secure 
 us rooms for one day and night, and to Miss Planta to 
 make known I could not set out till late. 
 
 When we came into Windsor at seven o'clock, the way 
 to Mrs. Agnew's was so intricate that we could not find it, 
 till one of the King's footmen, recollecting me, I imagine, 
 came forward, a volunteer, and walked by the side of the 
 chaise to show the postilion the house. N.B. — No bad 
 omen to worldly augurers. 
 
 Arrived, Mrs. Agnew came forth with faithful attach- 
 ment, to conduct us to oar destined lodgings. I wrote 
 hastily to Miss Planta, to announce to the Queen that I 
 was waiting the honor of her Majesty's commands ; and 
 then began preparing for my appearance the next morn- 
 ing, when I expected a summons ; but Miss Planta came 
 instantly herself from the Queen, with orders of imme- 
 diate attendance, as her Majesty would see me directly ! 
 The King was just gone upon the Terrace, but her Majesty 
 did not walk that evening. 
 
 Mrs. Agnew was my maid. Miss Planta my arranger ; 
 my landlord, who was a hairdresser, came to my head, and 
 M. d'Arblay was general superintendent. The haste and 
 the joy went hand in hand, and I was soon equipped, 
 though shocked at my own precipitance in sending before 
 I was already visible. Who, however, could have expected 
 such prompt admission ? and in an evening ? 
 
 M, d'Arblay helped to carry the books as far as to the 
 gates. My lodgings were as near to them as possible. At 
 the first entry towards the Queen's lodge, we encountered 
 Dr. Fisher and his lady : the sight of me there, in a dress 
 announcing indisputably whither I was hieing, was such
 
 334 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 an astonishment that they looked at me rather as a recol- 
 lected spectre than a renewed acquaintance. When we 
 came to the iron rails, poor Miss Planta, in much fidget, 
 begged to take the books from M. d'Arblay, terrified, I 
 imagine, lest French feet should contaminate the gravel 
 within! — while he, innocent of her fears, was insisting 
 upon carrying them as far as to the house, till he saw I 
 took part with Miss Planta, and he was then compelled to 
 let us lug in ten volumes as we could. 
 
 The King was already returned from the Terrace, the 
 page in waiting told us. " 0, then," said Miss Planta, 
 " you are too late ! " However, I went into my old dining- 
 parlor ; while she said she would see if any one could ob- 
 tain the Queen's commands for another time. I did not 
 stay five minutes ruminating upon the dinners, " gone 
 where the chickens," &c., when Miss Planta returned, and 
 told me the Queen would see me instantly. 
 
 The Queen was in her dressing-room, and with only the 
 Princess Elizabeth. Her reception was the most gracious 
 imaginable ; yet, when she saw my emotion in thus meet- 
 ing her again, she was herself by no means quite unmoved. 
 I presented my little — yet not small — offering, upon one 
 knee, placing them, as she directed, upon a table by her 
 side, and expressing as well as I could my devoted grati- 
 tude for her invariable goodness to me. She then began a 
 conversation, in her old style, upon various things and 
 people, with all her former graciousness of manner, which 
 soon, as she perceived my strong sense of her indulgence, 
 grew into even all its former kindness. Particulars I have 
 now no room for ; but, when, in about half an hour, she 
 said, "How long do you intend to stay here, Madame 
 d'Arblay ? " and I answered, " We have no intentions, 
 ma'am," she repeated, laughing, " You have no intentions ! 
 — Well, then, if you can come again to-morrow morning, 
 you shall see the Princesses."
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 335 
 
 She then said she would not detain me at present ; and, 
 encouraged by all that had passed, I asked if I might pre- 
 sume to put at the door of the King's apartment a copy of 
 my little work. She hesitated, but with smiles the most 
 propitious; then told me to fetch the books; and whispered 
 something to the Princess Elizabeth, who left the room by 
 another door at the same moment that I retired for the 
 other set. Almost immediately upon my return to the 
 Queen and the Princess Elizabeth, the King entered 
 the apartment, and entered it to receive himself my little 
 offering. 
 
 " Madame d'Arblay," said her Majesty, " tells me that 
 Mrs. Boscawen is to have the third set ; but the first — 
 your Majesty will excuse me — is mine." This was not, 
 you will believe, thrown away upon me. The King, smil- 
 ing, said, " Mrs. Boscawen, I hear, has been very zealous." 
 I confirmed this, and the Princess Elizabeth eagerly called 
 out, " Yes, sir ! and while Mrs. Boscawen kept a book for 
 Madame d'Arblay, the Duchess of Beaufort kept one for 
 Mrs. Boscawen." 
 
 This led to a little discourse upon the business, in which 
 the King's countenance seemed to speak a benign interest: 
 and the Queen then said, " This book was begun here, sir." 
 Which already I had mentioned. 
 
 " And what did you write of it here ? " cried he. " How 
 far did you go ? — Did you finish any part ? or only form 
 the skeleton ? " 
 
 " Just that, sir," I answered ; " the skeleton was formed 
 here, but nothing was completed. I worked it up in my 
 little cottage." 
 
 " And about what time did you give to it ? " " All my 
 time, sir ; from the period I planned publishing it, I de- 
 voted myself to it wholly. I had no episode but a little 
 baby. My subject grew upon me, and increased my mate-
 
 336 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 rials to a bulk that I am afraid will be more laborious to 
 wade through for the reader than for the writer." 
 
 " Are you much frightened ? " cried he, smiling ; " as 
 much frightened as you were before ? " 
 
 " I have hardly had time to know yet, sir. I received 
 the fair sheets of the last volume only last night. I have, 
 therefore, had no leisure for fear. And sure I am, happen 
 what may to the book from the critics, it can never cause 
 me pain in any proportion with the pleasure and happiness 
 I owe to it." I am sure I spoke most sincerely ; and he 
 looked kindly to believe me. He asked if Mr. Locke had 
 seen it ; and, when I said no, seemed comically pleased, as 
 if desirous to have it in its first state. He asked next if 
 Dr. Burney had overlooked it ; and, upon the same answer, 
 looked with the same satisfaction. He did not imagine 
 how it would have passed current with my dearest father: 
 he appeared only to be glad it would be a genuine work : 
 but, laughingly, said, " So you kept it quite snug ? " 
 
 " Not intentionally, sir, but from my situation and my 
 haste ; I should else have been very happy to have con- 
 sulted my father and Mr. Locke ; but I had so much, to 
 the last moment, to write, that I literally had not a moment 
 to hear what could be said. The work is longer by the 
 whole fifth volume than I had first planned ; and I am 
 almost ashamed to look at its size, and afraid my readers 
 would have been more obliged to me if I had left so much 
 out than for putting so much in." He laughed ; and 
 inquired who corrected my j)roofs ? " Only myself;' I 
 answered. 
 
 " Why, some authors have told me," cried he, " that they 
 are the last to do that work for themselves. They know so 
 well by heart what ought to be, that they run on without 
 seeing what is. They have told me, besides, that a mere 
 plodding head is best and surest for that work; and that
 
 1796.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 337 
 
 the livelier the imagination, the less it should be trusted 
 to." 
 
 I must not go on thus minutely, or my four parts will 
 be forty. But a full half-liour of graciousness I could 
 almost call kindness was accorded me, though the King 
 came from the concert to grant it ; and it broke up by the 
 Queen saying, " I have told Madame d'Arblay that, if she 
 can come again to-morrow, she shall see the Princesses." 
 
 The King bowed gently to my grateful obeisance for 
 this offer, and told me I should not know the Princess 
 Amelia, she was so much grown, adding, " She is taller 
 than you ! " 
 
 I expressed warmly my delight in the permission of 
 seeing their Royal Highnesses ; and their Majesties re- 
 turned to the concert-room. The Princess Elizabeth 
 stayed, and flew up to me, crying, " How glad I am to see 
 you here again, my dear Miss Burney ! — I beg your par- 
 don, Madame d'Arblay I mean — but I always call all my 
 friends by their maiden names Avhen I first see them after 
 they are married." 
 
 I warmly now opened upon my happiness in this return 
 to all their sights, and the condescension and sweetness 
 with which it was granted me ; and confessed I could 
 hardly behave prettily and properly at my first entrance 
 after so long an absence. " Oh, I assure you I felt for 
 you ! " cried she ; " I thought you must be agitated ; it was 
 so natural to you to come here — to Mamma ! " 
 
 You will believe, my dearest father, how light-hearted 
 and full of glee I went back to my expecting companion : 
 Miss Planta accompanied me, and stayed the greatest part 
 of the little remaining evening, promising to let me know 
 at what hour I should wait upon their Royal Highnesses. 
 The next morning, at eight or nine o'clock, my old foot- 
 man. Moss, came with Mdlle. Jacobi's compliments to M. 
 VOL. II. 22
 
 338 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 and Madame d'Arblay, and an invitation to dine at the 
 Queen's Lodge. 
 
 Miss Planta arrived at ten, with her Majesty's commands 
 that I should be at the Queen's Lodge at twelve. I stayed, 
 meanwhile, with good Mrs. Agnew, and M. d'Arblay made 
 acquaintance with her worthy husband, who is a skilful 
 and famous botanist, and lately made gardener to the Queen 
 for Frogmore ; so M. d'Arblay consulted him about our 
 cabbages ! and so, if they have not now a high flavor, we 
 are hopeless. 
 
 At eleven M. d'Arblay again ventured to esquire me to 
 the rails round the lodge, whence I showed him my ci- 
 devant apartment, which he languished to view nearer. I 
 made a visit to Mdlle. Jacobi, who is a very good creature, 
 and with whom I remained very comfortably till her Ma- 
 jesty and the Princesses returned from Frogmore, where 
 they had passed two or three hours. Almost immediately 
 I was summoned to the Queen by one of the pages. She 
 was just seated to her hair-dresser. She conversed upon 
 A^arious public and general topics till the friseur was dis- 
 missed, and then I was honored with an audience, quite 
 alone, for a full hour and a half In this, nothing could 
 be more gracious than her whole manner and discourse. 
 The particulars, as there was no pause, would fill a duo- 
 decimo volume at least. Among them was Mr. Wyndham, 
 whom she named with great favor ; and gave me the op- 
 portunity of expressing my delight upon his belonging to 
 the Government. We had so often conversed about him 
 during the accounts I had related of Mr. Hastings's trial, 
 that there was much to say upon the acquisition to the 
 administration, and my former round assertions of his 
 goodness of heart and honor. She inquired how you did, 
 my dearest father, with an air of great kindness ; and, 
 when I said well, looked pleased, as she answered, " I was
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 339 
 
 afraid he was ill, for I saw him but twice last year at our 
 music." 
 
 She then gave me an account of the removal of the con- 
 cert to the Haymarket since the time I was admitted to 
 it. She talked of some books and authors, but found me 
 wholly in the clouds as to all that is new. She then said, 
 "What a very pretty book Dr. Burney has brought out 
 upon Metastasio ! I am very much pleased with it. Pray 
 (smiling) what will he' bring out next?" "As yet, Ma- 
 dam, I don't know of any new plan." " But he will bring 
 out something else ? " 
 
 " Most probably ; but he will rest a little first, I fancy." 
 
 " Has he nothing in hand ? " 
 
 " Not that I know of, Madam." 
 
 " Oh, but he soon will ■ " cried she, again smiling. " He 
 has so active a mind, Ma'am, that I believe it quite impos- 
 sible to him to be utterly idle ; but, indeed, I know of no 
 present design being positively formed." We had then 
 some discourse upon the new connection at Norbury Park 
 — the Fitzgeralds, &c. ; and I had the opportunity to speak 
 as highly as I believe her to deserve of Mrs. Charles. The 
 Queen had thought Miss Angerstein was dead. Prom this 
 she led to various topics of our former conferences, both in 
 persons and things, and gave me a full description of her 
 new house at Progmore, its fitting up, and the share of each 
 Princess in its decoration. 
 
 She spoke with delight of its quiet and ease, and her en- 
 joyment of its complete retirement. " I spend," she cried, 
 " there almost constantly all my mornings. I rarely come 
 home but just before dinner, merely to dress ; but to-day I 
 came sooner." This was said in a manner so flattering, I 
 could scarce forbear the air of thanking her ; however, I 
 checked the expression, though I could not the inference 
 which urged it.
 
 340 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 At two o'clock the Princess Elizabeth appeared. "Is 
 the Princess Eoyal ready?" said the Queen. She an 
 swered " Yes," and her Majesty then told me I might go 
 to her, adding, " You know the way, Madame d' Arblay." 
 And, thus licensed, T went to the apartment of her Pioyal 
 Highness upstairs. She was just quitting it. She received 
 me most graciously, and told me she was going to sit for 
 her picture, if I would come and stay with her while she 
 sat. Miss Bab Planta was in attendance, to read during 
 this period. The Princess Eoyal ordered me a chair facing 
 her ; and another for Miss Bab and her book, which, how- 
 ever, was never opened. The painter was Mr. Dupont. 
 She was very gay and very charming ; full of lively dis- 
 course and amiable condescension. 
 
 In about an hour the Princess Augusta came in : she 
 addressed me with her usual sweetness, and, when she had 
 looked at her sister's portrait, said, "Madame d' Arblay, 
 when the Princess Ptoyal can spare you, I hope you will 
 come to me," as she left the room. I did not flout her ; 
 and when I had been an hour with tlie Princess Eoyal, 
 she told me she would keep me no longer from Augusta, 
 and Miss Planta came to conduct me to the latter. 
 
 This lovely Princess received me quite alone ; Miss 
 Planta only shut me in ; and she then made me sit by her, 
 and kept me in most bewitching discourse more than an 
 hour. She has a gaiety, a charm about her, that is quite 
 resistless ; and much of true, genuine, and very original 
 humor. She related to me the history of all the feats, and 
 exploits, and dangers, and escapes of her brothers during 
 last year ; rejoicing in tlieir safety, yet softly adding, 
 " Though these trials and difficulties did them a great deal 
 of good." We talked a little of France, and she inquired 
 of me what I knew of the late unhappy Queen, through M. 
 dArblay ; and spoke of her with the most virtuous dis-
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 341 
 
 crimination between her foibles and her really great quali- 
 ties, with her most barbarous end. 
 
 She then dwelt upon Madame Eoyale, saying, in her 
 unaffected manner, " It 's very odd one never hears what 
 sort of girl she is." I told her all I had gathered from M. 
 d'Arblay. She next spoke of my Bambino, indulging me 
 in recounting his fails et gestes ; and never moved till the 
 Princess Royal came to summon her. They were all 
 to return to Frogmore to dinner. " We have detained 
 Madame d'Arblay between us the whole morning," said 
 the Princess Eoyal, with a gracious smile. " Yes," cried 
 Princess Augusta, " and I am afraid I have bored her to 
 death ; but when once I begin upon my poor brothers, I 
 can never stop without telling all my little bits of glory." 
 She then outstayed the Princess Ptoyal, to tell me that, 
 when she was at Plymouth, at church, she saw so many 
 officers' wives, and sisters, and mothers, helping their 
 maimed husbands, or brothers, or sons, that she could not 
 forbear whispering to the Queen, " Mamma, how lucky it 
 is Ernest is just come so seasonably with that wound in 
 his face ! I should have been quite shocked, else, not to 
 have had one little bit of glory among ourselves ! " 
 
 When forced away from this sweet creature, I went to 
 Mile. Jacobi, who said, "But where is M. d'Arblay?" 
 Finding it too late for me to go to my lodging to dress 
 before dinner, I wrote him a word, which immediately 
 brought him to the Queen's Lodge : and there I shall 
 leave my dear father the pleasure of seeing us, mentally, 
 at dinner, at my ancient table — both invited by the 
 Queen's commands. Miss Gomme was asked to meet me, 
 and the repast was extremely pleasant. Just before we 
 assembled to dinner, ]\Ille. Jacobi desired to speak with 
 me alone ; and, taking me to another room, presented me 
 with a folded packet, saying, " The Queen ordered me to
 
 342 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 put this into your hands, and said, ' Tell Madame d'Arblay 
 it is from us both.' " It was a hundred guineas. I was con- 
 founded, and nearly sorry, so little was such a mark of their 
 goodness in my thoughts. She added that the King, as 
 soon as he came from the chapel in the morning, went to 
 the Queen's dressing-room just before he set out for the 
 levee, and put into her hands fifty guineas, saying, " This 
 is for my set ! " The Queen answered, " I shall do exactly 
 the same for mine," and made up the packet herself " 'T is 
 only," she said, " for the paper, tell Madame d'Arblay — 
 nothing for the trouble ! " meaning she accepted that. 
 
 The manner of this was so more than gracious, so kind, 
 in the words us both, that indeed the money at the time 
 was quite nothing in the scale of my gratification ; it was 
 even less, for it almost pained me. However, a delightful 
 thought that in a few minutes occurred made all light and 
 blithesome. " We will come, then," I cried, " once a year 
 to Windsor, to walk the Terrace, and see the King, Qneen, 
 and sweet Princesses. This will enable us, and I shall 
 never again look forward to so long a deprivation of their 
 sight." This, with my gratitude for their great goodness, 
 was what I could not refrain commissioning her to report. 
 
 Our dinner was extremely cheerful ; all my old friends 
 were highly curious to see M. d'Arblay, who was in spirits, 
 and, as he could address them in French, and at his ease, 
 did not seem much disapproved of by them. I went to 
 my lodging afterwards to dress, where I told my Monsieur 
 this last and unexpected stroke, which gave him exactly 
 my sensations, and we returned to tea. We had hopes of 
 the Terrace, as my Monsieur was quite eager to see all 
 this beloved Royal House. The weather, however, was 
 very unpromising. The King came from the Lodge during 
 our absence ; but soon after we were in the levee three 
 Royal coaches arrived from Frogmore : in the first was the
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 343 
 
 Queen, the Princesses Eoyal and Augusta, and some lady 
 in waiting. ]M. d'Arblay stood by me at a window to see 
 them ; Her Majesty looked up and bowed to me, and, upon 
 her alighting, she looked up again. This, I am sure, was 
 to see M. d'Arblay, who could not be doubted, as he wore 
 his croix the whole time he was at Windsor. The Prin- 
 cesses bowed also, and the four younger, who followed, all 
 severally kissed their hands to me, and fixed their eyes on 
 my companion with an equal expression of kindness and 
 curiosity ; he therefore saw them perfectly. 
 
 In a few minutes a page came to say " The Princesses 
 desire to see Madame d'Arblay," and he conducted me 
 to the apartment of the Princess Elizabeth, which is the 
 most elegantly and fancifully ornamented of any in the 
 Lodge, as she has most delight and most taste in pro- 
 ducing good effects. 
 
 Here the fair owner of the chamber received me, en- 
 circled with the Princesses Mary and Amelia, and no 
 attendant. They were exactly as I had left them — kind, 
 condescending, open, and delightful, and the goodness of 
 the Queen, in sparing them all to me thus, without any 
 alloy of ceremony, or gene of listening mutes, I felt most 
 deeply. They were all very gay, and I not very sad, so 
 we enjoyed a perfectly easy and even merry half-hour in 
 divers discourses, in which the}' recounted to me who had 
 been most anxious about " the book," and doubted not its 
 great success, as everybody was so eager about it. " And 
 I must tell you one thing," cried the Princess Elizabeth ; 
 " the King is very much pleased with the dedication." This 
 was, you will be sure, a very touching hearing to me ; and 
 Princess Mary exclaimed, " And he is very difficult ! " 
 
 " O, yes, he 's hardly ever pleased with a dedication," 
 cried one of the Princesses. " He almost always thinks 
 them so fulsome."
 
 344 DIARY AND LETTERS fl796. 
 
 " I was resolved I would tell it you/' cried the Princess 
 Elizabeth. Can you imagine anything more amiable than 
 this pleasure in giving pleasure ? 
 
 I now explained that politics were always left out ; that 
 once I had had an idea of bringing in such as suited me, 
 but that, upon second thoughts, I returned to my more 
 native opinion that they were not a feminine subject for 
 discussion, and that 1 even believed, should the little work 
 suflicieutly succeed to be at all generally read, it woiild be 
 a better office to general readers to carry them wide of all 
 politics to their domestic firesides, than to open new matter 
 of endless debate. 
 
 Soon after the Princess Augusta came in, smiling and 
 lovely. Princess Eoyal next appeared ; Princess Augusta 
 sat down and charged me to take a chair next her. Prin- 
 cess Eoyal did not stay long, and soon returned to summon 
 her sister Augusta downstairs, as the concert was begun ; 
 biit she replied she could not come yet ; and the Princess 
 Royal went alone. We had really a most delicious chat 
 then. 
 
 They made a thousand inquiries about my book, and 
 when and where it was written, &c., and how I stood as to 
 fright and fidget. I answered all with openness, and 
 frankly related my motives for the publication. Everything 
 of housekeeping, I told them, was nearly doubled in price 
 at the end of the first year and a half of our marriage, 
 and we found it impossible to continue so near our friends 
 and the Capital with our limited income, though M. dA. 
 had accommodated himself completely, and even happily, 
 to every species of economy, and though my dearest 
 father had assisted us ; I then, therefore, determined upon 
 adopting a plan I had formerly rejected, of pul)lishing 
 by subscription. I told them the former history of 
 that plan, as Mr. Burke's, and many particulars that
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 345 
 
 seerned extremely to interest them. My garden, our way 
 of life, our house, our Bambino — all were inquired after 
 and related. I repeatedly told them the strong desire M. 
 d'Arblay had to be regaled with a sight of all their House 
 — a House to which I stood so every way indebted — and 
 they looked kindly concerned that the weather admitted 
 no prospect of the Terrace. 
 
 I mentioned to the Princess Augusta my recent new ob- 
 ligation to their Majesties, and my amaze and even shame 
 at their goodness. " 0, I am sure," cried she, " they were 
 veiy happy to have it in their power." 
 
 " Yes, and we were so glad ! " 
 
 " So glad ! " echoed each of the others. 
 
 " How enchanted should I have been," cried I, " to have 
 presented my little book to each of your Eoyal Highnesses 
 if I had dared ! or if, after her Majesty has looked it over, 
 I might hope for such a permission, how proud and how 
 happy it would make me ! " 
 
 " 0, I daresay you may," cried the Princess Augusta, 
 eagerly. 
 
 I then intimated how deeply I should feel such an honor, 
 if it might be asked, after her Majesty had read it ; and 
 the Princess Elizabeth gracefully undertook the office. 
 She related to me, in a most pleasant manner, the whole 
 of her own transaction, its rise and cause and progress, in 
 " The Birth of Love : " ^ but I must here abridge, or never 
 have done. I told them all my scheme for coming again 
 next July, which they sweetly seconded. Princess Amelia 
 assured me she had not forgotten me ; and when another 
 summons came for the concert. Princess Augusta, comically 
 sitting still and holding me by her side, called out,." Do 
 you little ones go ! " But they loitered also ; and we went 
 
 1 "The Birth of Love ;" a Poein : with engravings, from designs by 
 Her Royal Highness the Princess Elizabeth.
 
 346 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 on, on, on, with our chat — they as unwilling as myself to 
 break it up — till staying longer was impossible ; and 
 then, in parting, they all expressed the kindest pleasure in 
 our newly-adopted plan of a yearly visit. 
 
 "And pray," cried Princess Elizabeth, "write again im- 
 mediately ! " 
 
 " 0, no," cried Princess Augusta, " wait half a year — to 
 rest ; and then — increase your family — all ivays ! " 
 
 " The Queen," said Princess Elizabeth, " consulted me 
 which way she should read ' Camilla ; ' whether quick, at 
 once, or comfortably at Weymouth : so I answered, ' Why. 
 mamma, I think, as yovi will be so much interested in the 
 book, Madame d'Arblay would be most pleased you should 
 read it now at once, quick, that nobody may be mentioning 
 the events before you come to them ; and then again at 
 Weymouth, slow and comfortably.' " 
 
 In going, the sweet Princess Augusta loitered last but 
 her youngest sister, Amelia, who came to take my hand 
 when the rest were departed, and assure me she should 
 never forget me. 
 
 We spent the remnant of Wednesday evening with my 
 old friends, determining to quit Windsor the next day, if 
 the weather did not promise a view of the Eoyal Family 
 upon the Terrace for M. d'Arblay. 
 
 Thursday morning was lowering, and we determined 
 upon departing, after only visiting some of my former 
 acquaintances. We met Miss Planta in our way to the 
 Lodge, and took leave ; but when we arrived at Mile. 
 Jacobi's we found that the Queen expected we should stay 
 for the chance of the Terrace, and had told Mile. Jacobi to 
 again invite us to dinner. 
 
 We left the friendly Miss Goldsworthy for other visits: 
 — first to good pld Mrs. Planta ; next to the very respecta-
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 347 
 
 ble Dr. Fislier and his wife. The former insisted upon 
 doing the honors himself of St. George's Cathedral to M. 
 d'Arblay, which occasioned his seeing that beautiful an- 
 tique building to the utmost advantage. Dr. Fisher then 
 accompanied us to a spot to show M. d'Arblay Eton in the 
 best view. 
 
 Dinner passed as before, but the evening lowered, and all 
 hopes of the Terrace were weak, when the Duke and 
 Duchess of York arrived. This seemed to determine 
 against us, as they told us the Duchess never went upon 
 the Terrace but in the finest weather, and the Eoyal Family 
 did not choose to leave her. We were hesitating therefore 
 whether to set off for Rose Dale, when Mile. Jacobi gave 
 an intimation to me that the Kino:, herself, and the Princess 
 Amelia, would walk on the Terrace. 
 
 Thither instantly we hastened, and were joined by Dr. 
 and Mrs. Fisher. The evening; wa? so raw and cold that 
 there was very little company, and scarce any expectation 
 of the Eoyal Family ; and when we had been there about 
 half an hour the musicians retreated, and everybody was 
 preparing to follow, when a messenger suddenly came for- 
 ward, belter skelter, running after the horns and clarionets, 
 and hallooing to them to return. This brought back the 
 straggling parties, and the King, Duke of York, and six 
 Princesses soon appeared. 
 
 I have never yet seen M. d'Arblay agitated as at this 
 moment ; he could scarce keep his steadiness, or even his 
 ground. The recollections, he has since told me, that rushed 
 upon his mind of his own King and Royal House were 
 so violent and so painful as almost to disorder him. His 
 Majesty was accompanied by the Duke, and Lord Beaulieu, 
 Lord Walsingham, and General Manners ; the Princesses 
 were attended by Lady Charlotte Bruce, some other lady, 
 and Miss Goldsworthy. The King stopped to speak to the
 
 348 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796, 
 
 Bishop of Norwicli and some others at the entrance, and 
 then walked on towards us, who were at the further end. 
 As he approached, the Princess Eoyal said, loud enough to 
 be heard by Mrs. Fisher, " Madame d'Arblay, sir;" and in- 
 stantly he came on a step, and then stopped and addressed 
 me, and, after a word or two of the weather, he said, " Is 
 that M. d'Arblay ?" and most graciously bowed to him, and 
 entered into a little conversation ; demanding how long he 
 had been in England, how long in the country, &c., &c., 
 and with a sweetness, an air of wishing us well, that will 
 never, never be erased from our hearts. 
 
 M. d'Arblay recovered himself immediately upon this ad- 
 dress, and answered with as much firmness as respect. 
 
 Upon the King's bowing and leaving us, the Comman- 
 der-in-Chief most courteously bowed also to M. d'Arblay, 
 and the Princesses all came up to speak to me, and to curt- 
 sey to him : and the Princess Elizabeth cried, " I 've got 
 leave ! and mamma says she won't wait to read it first ! " 
 After this the King and Duke never passed without taking 
 off their hats, and the Princesses gave me a smile and a 
 curtsey at every turn : Lord Walsingham came to speak to 
 me, and Mr. Fairly, and General Manners, who regretted 
 that more of our old tea-party w^ere not there to meet me 
 once more. As soon as they all re-entered the Lodge, we 
 followed to take leave of Mile. Jacobi ; but, upon moving 
 towards the passage, the Princess Eoyal appeared, saying, 
 " Madame d'Arblay, I come to waylay you ! " and made 
 me follow her to the dressing-room, whence the voice of 
 the Queen, as the door opened, called out, in mild accents, 
 " Come in, Madame d'Arblay ! " 
 
 Her Majesty was seated at the upper end of the room, 
 with the Duchess of York on her right, and the Princesses 
 Sophia and Amelia on her left. She made me advance, 
 and said, " I have just been telling the Duchess of York
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 349 
 
 that I find her Royal Highness's name the first upon this 
 list," producing " Camilla." 
 
 " Indeed," said the Duchess, bowing to me, " I was so 
 very impatient to read it, I could not but try to get it as 
 early as possible. I am very eager for it, indeed ! " 
 
 " I have read," said the Queen, " but fifty pages yet ; but 
 I am in great uneasiness for that poor little girl, that I am 
 afraid will get the small pox ! and I am sadly afraid that 
 sweet little other girl will not keep her fortune ! but I 
 won't peep ! I read quite fair. But I must tell Madame 
 d'Arblay I know a country gentleman, in Mecklenburg, ex- 
 actly the very character of that good old man the uncle ! " 
 She seemed to speak as if delighted to meet him upon 
 paper. 
 
 The King now came in, and I could not forbear making 
 up to him, to pour forth some part of my full heart for his 
 goodness ! He tried to turn away, but it was smilingly ; 
 and I had courage to pursue him, for I could not help it. 
 He then slightly bowed it off, and asked the Queen to re- 
 peat what she had said upon the book. 
 
 " 0, your Majesty," she cried, " I must not anticipate ! " 
 yet told him of her pleasure in finding an old acquaintance. 
 
 " "Well ! " cried the King archly, " and what other char- 
 acters have you seized ? " None, I protested, from life. 
 
 " !" cried he, shaking his head, " you must have some ! " 
 
 " Indeed your Majesty will find. none !" I cried. 
 
 " But they may be a little better, or a little worse," he 
 answered ; " but still, if they are not like somebody, how 
 can they play their parts ? " " 0, yes, sir," I cried, " as far 
 as general nature goes, or as characters belong to classes, I 
 have certainly tried to take them. But no individuals ! " 
 
 My account must be endless if I do not now curtail. 
 
 The Duke of York, the other Princesses, General JMan- 
 ners, and all the rest of the group, made way to the room
 
 350 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 soon after, upon hearing the cheerfulness of the voice of the 
 King, whose graciousness raised me into spirits that set me 
 quite at my ease. He talked much upon the book, and 
 then of Mrs. Delany, and then of various others that my 
 sight brought to his recollection, and all with a freedom 
 and goodness that enabled me to answer without difficulty 
 or embarrassment, and that produced two or three hearty 
 laufi;hs from the Duke of York. 
 
 While this was passing, the Princess Eoyal had repaired 
 to the apartment of Mile. Jacobi, where she had held a 
 little conversation with M. d'Arblay. 
 
 We finished the evening very cheerfully with Mile. Ja- 
 cobi and Mile. Montmoulin, whom she invited to meet us, 
 and the next morning left Windsor. At a little before 
 eleven we arrived at our dear cottage, and to our sleeping 
 Bambino. Y. d'A. 
 
 Madame d^Arblay to Br. Burney. 
 
 BooKHAM, Friday, October, 1796. 
 
 ■ How well I know and feel the pang of this cruel day 
 to my beloved father.^ My heart seems visiting him almost 
 every minute in grief and participation ; yet I was happy 
 to see it open with a smiling aspect, and encourage a 
 superstition of hoping it portentous of a good conclusion. 
 
 I am almost afraid to ask how my poor mother bore the 
 last farewell. Indeed, I hope she was virtuously cheated 
 of a leave-taking. I advised Susan to avoid it if possible, 
 as the parting impression would be lighter by such man- 
 agement ; and, much as she is recovered from her very 
 terrible state, she cannot be too cautious of emotions of 
 
 1 In reference to the departure of Mrs. Phillips and her children for 
 Ireland.
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 351 
 
 almost any sort, much less of such a separation. Our sor- 
 row, however, here, has been very considerably diminished 
 by the Major's voluntary promises to Mrs. Locke of certain 
 and speedy return. I shall expect him at the peace — not 
 before. I cannot think it possible he should appear here 
 during the war, except, as now, mei'ely to fetch his family. 
 
 But I meant to have begun with our thanks for my dear 
 kind father's indulgence of our extreme curiosity and in- 
 terest in the sight of the reviews. I am quite happy in 
 what I have escaped of greater severity, though my mate 
 cannot bear that the palm should be contested by " Eve- 
 lina " and " Cecilia ; " his partiality rates the last as so 
 much the highest ; so does the newspaper I have men- 
 tioned, of which I long to send you a copy. But those 
 immense men, whose single praise was fame and security 
 — who established, by a word, the two elder sisters — are 
 now silent. Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua are no more, and 
 ]\Ir. Burke is ill, or otherwise engrossed ; yet even without 
 their powerful influence, to which I owe such unspeakable 
 obligation, the essential success of " Camilla " exceeds that 
 of the elders. The sale is truly astonishing. Charles has 
 just sent to me that five hundred only remain of four thou- 
 sand, and it has appeared scarcely three months. 
 
 The first edition of " Evelina " was of eight hundred, the 
 second of five hundred, and the third of a thousand. What 
 the following have been I have never heard. The sale 
 from that period became more flourishing than the pub- 
 lisher cared to announce. Of " Cecilia " the first edition 
 was reckoned enormous at two thousand ; and as a part of 
 the payment was reserved for it, I remember our dear 
 Daddy Crisp thought it very unfair. It was printed, like 
 this, in July, and sold in October, to every one's wonder. 
 Here, however, the sale is increased in rapidity more than 
 a third. Charles says —
 
 352 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 " Kow heed no more what critics thought 'em, 
 Since this you know, all people bought 'em." 
 
 We have resumed our original plan, and are going imme- 
 diately to build a little cottage for ourselves. We shall 
 make it as small and as cheap as will accord with its being 
 warm and comfortable. We liave relinquished, however, 
 the very kind offer of Mr. Locke, whicli he has renewed, 
 for his park. We mean to make this a property salable 
 or letable for our Alex., and in Mr. Locke's park we could 
 not encroach any tenant, if the youth's circumstances, pro- 
 fession, or inclination should make him not choose the spot 
 for his own residence. M. d'Arblay, therefore, has fixed 
 upon a field of Mr. Locke's, which he will rent, and of 
 which Mr. Locke will grant him a lease of ninety years. 
 By this means, we shall leave the little Alex, a little prop- 
 erty, besides what will be in the funds, and a property 
 likely to rise in value, as the situation of the field is re- 
 markably beautiful. It is in the valley, between Mr. 
 Locke's park and Dorking, and where land is so scarce, 
 that there is not another possessor within many miles who 
 would part, upon any terms, with half an acre. My kind- 
 est father will come and give it, I trust, his benediction. I 
 am now almost jealous of Bookham for having received it. 
 
 Imagine but the ecstasy of M. d'Arblay in training, all 
 his own way, an entire new garden. He dreams now of 
 cabbage- walks, potato-beds, bean-perfumes, and peas-blos- 
 soms. My mother should send him a little sketch to help 
 his flower-garden, which will be his second favorite object. 
 
 Alex, has made no progress in phrases, but pronounces 
 single words a few more. Adieu, most dear sir. 
 
 r. d'a.
 
 1796.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 353 
 
 Madame d^ Arhlay to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 1796. 
 
 You are too good, my clearest friend, almost literally too 
 good ; which, you know, like all extremes, is naught. 
 
 My mate wants to send you a daisy, but says he will 
 carry it. Wliat can I send you ? Only what you have got 
 already, which is very Irish, for I have but my old heart, 
 with not one new thing in it for you these many years. 
 
 I have had this morning a letter that has quite melted 
 me with grateful sensations, written by command. I will 
 show it you when these eternal rains will take a little 
 rest. 
 
 A private letter from Windsor tells me the Prince of Wur- 
 temberg has much pleased in the Eoyal House, by his man- 
 ners and address upon his interview ; but that the poor 
 Princess Eoyal was almost dead with terror, and agitation, 
 and affright, at the first meeting. She could not utter a 
 word. The Queen was obliged to speak her answers. The 
 Prince said lie hoped this first would be the last disturb- 
 ance his presence would ever occasion her. She then tried 
 to recover, and so far conquered her tumult as to attempt 
 joining in a general discourse from time to time. He paid 
 his court successfully, I am told, to the sisters, who all 
 determine to like him ; and the Princess Eoyal is quite 
 revived in her spirits again, now this tremendous opening 
 sicrht is over. 
 
 You will be pleased, and my dearest ]\Ir. Locke, at the 
 style of my summons : 't is so openly from the Queen her- 
 self Indeed, she has behaved like an angel to me, from 
 the trying time to her of my marriage with a Frenchman. 
 " So odd, you know," as Lady Inchiquin said. 
 
 F. D'A. 
 
 VOL. II. 23
 
 354 DIARY AND LETTERS [1796. 
 
 Madame d^Arblai/ to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 BooKHAM, November 7, 1796. 
 
 Yes, my beloved Susan safe landed at Dublin was indeed 
 all-sufficient for some time ; nor, indeed, could I even read 
 any more for many minutes. That, and the single sen- 
 tence at the end, " My Norbury is with me," — completely 
 overset me, though only with joy. After your actual safety, 
 nothing could so much touch me as the picture I instantly 
 viewed of Norbury in your arms. Yet I shall hope for 
 more detail hereafter. 
 
 The last letter I had from you addressed to myself shows 
 me your own sentiment of the fatal event ^ which so speed- 
 ily followed your departure, and which my dear father has 
 himself announced to you, though probably the newspapers 
 will anticipate his letter. I am very sorry, now, I did not 
 write sooner ; but while you were still in England, and 
 travelling so slowly, I had always lurking ideas that dis- 
 qualified me from writing to Ireland. 
 
 The minute I received, from Sally, by our dearest father's 
 desire, the last tidings, I set out for Chelsea. I was much 
 shocked by the news, long as it has been but natural to 
 look forward to it. My better part spoke even before my- 
 self upon the propriety of my instant journey, and promised 
 me a faithful nursing attendance during my absence. I 
 went in a chaise, to lose no time ; but the uncertainty how 
 I might find my poor father made me arrive with a nervous 
 seizure upon my voice that rendered it as husky as Mr. 
 Kishton's. 
 
 While I settled with the postilion, Sally, James, Char- 
 lotte, and Marianne, came to me. Esther and Charles had 
 been there the preceding day ; they were sent to as soon 
 as the event had happened. My dearest father received 
 
 1 The death of Dr. Barney's second wife.
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 355 
 
 me with extreme kindness, but though far, far more calm 
 and quiet than I could expect, he was much shaken, and 
 often very faint. However, in the course of the evening, 
 he suffered me to read to him various passages from various 
 books, such as conversation introduced ; and, as his nature 
 is as pure from affectation as from falsehood, encouraged 
 in himself, as well as permitted in us, whatever could lead 
 to cheerfulness. 
 
 Let me not forget to record one thing that was truly 
 generous in my poor mother's last voluntary exertions. 
 She charged Sally and her maid both not to call my father 
 when she appeared to be dying ; and not disturtt liim i 
 her death should happen in the night, nor to let him hear 
 it till he arose at his usual time. I feel sensibly the kind- 
 ness of this sparing consideration and true feeling. 
 
 Yet, not so would I be served ! never should I forgive 
 the misjudged prudence that should rob me of one little 
 instant of remaining life in one who was truly dear to me ! 
 iSTevertheless, I shall not be surprised to have his first 
 shock succeeded by a sorrow it did not excite, and I fear 
 he will require much watching and vigilance to be kept as 
 well as I have quitted him. F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblai/ to Mrs. Burney. 
 
 April 3, '97. 
 Launcelot Gobbo — or Gobbo Launcelot — was nevermore 
 cruelly tormented by the struggles between his conscience 
 and the fiend than I between mine and the pen. Says 
 my conscience, " Tell dear Etty you have conquered one of 
 your worst fears for your little pet." Says my pen, " She 
 will have heard it at Chelsea." Says my conscience, " She 
 knows what you must have suffered, call, therefore, for her
 
 356 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 congratulations." Says my pen, " I am certain of her sym- 
 pathy ; and the call will be only a trouble to her." Says 
 my conscience, "Are you sure this is not a delicate device 
 to spare yourself ? " Says my pen, " Mr. Conscience, you 
 are a terrible bore. I have thought so all my life, for one 
 odd quirk or another that you are always giving people 
 when once you get possession of them, never letting them 
 have their own way, unless it happens to be just to your 
 liking, but pinching and grating and snarling, and causing 
 bad dreams, for every little private indulgence they pre- 
 sume to take without consulting you. There is not a more 
 troublesome inmate to be found. Always meddling and 
 making, and poking your nose into everybody's concerns. 
 Here 's me, for example ; I can't be four or five months 
 without answering a letter, but what you give me as many 
 twitches as if I had committed murder ; and often and 
 often you have consumed me more time in apologies, and 
 cost me more plague in repentance, than would have suf- 
 ficed for the most exact punctuality. So that either one 
 must lead the life of a slave in studying all your humors, 
 or be used worse than a dog for following one's own. I tell 
 you, Mr. Conscience, you are an inconceivable bore." 
 
 Thus they go on, wrangling and jangling, at so indecent 
 a rate I can get no rest for them — one urging you would 
 like to hear from myself something of an event so deeply 
 interesting to my happiness ; the other assuring me of the 
 pardon of perfect coincidence in my aversion to epistolary 
 exertion. And hitherto, I have listened, whether I would 
 or not, to one, and yielded, whether I would or not, to the 
 other. And how long the contest might yet have endured 
 I know not, if Mrs. Locke had not told me, yesterday, she 
 should have an opportunity of forwarding some letters to 
 town to-morrow. So now — 
 
 "I wish you were further!" I hear you cry; so now
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 357 
 
 you get out of your difl&culties just to make me get into 
 them. 
 
 " But consider, my dear Esther, the small-pox — " 
 
 " I have considered it at least six times, in all its stages, 
 Heaven help me ! " 
 
 " But then so sweet a bantling ! — " 
 
 " I have half a dozen, every one of which would make 
 three of him." 
 
 I was interrupted in this my pathetic appeal, and now I 
 must finish off-hand, or lose my conveyance. 
 
 I entreat, whenever you see Mrs. Chapoue, you will pre- 
 sent my affectionate respects to her, and ask if she re- 
 ceived a long letter I directed to her in Francis Street. 
 
 F. D'A. 
 
 Madame d' Arhlay to Mrs. Francis. 
 
 "West Hamble, November 16th, 1797. 
 
 Your letter was most welcome to me, my dearest Char- 
 lotte, and I am delighted Mr. Broome and my dear father 
 will so speedily meet. If they steer clear of politics, there 
 can be no doubt of their immediate exchange of regard 
 and esteem. At all events, I depend upon Mr. B.'s for- 
 bearance of such subjects, if their opinions clash. Pray 
 let me hear how the interview went off, 
 
 I need not say how I shall rejoice to see you again, nor 
 how charmed we shall both be to make a nearer acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Broome ; but, for Heaven's sake, my dear 
 girl, how are we to give him a dinner ? — unless he wdll 
 bring with him his poultry, for ours are not yet arrived 
 from Bookham ; and his fish, for ours are still at the bot- 
 tom of some pond we know not where ; and his spit, for 
 our jack is yet without one ; and his kitchen grate, for 
 ours waits for Count Eumford's next pamphlet; not to
 
 358 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 mention his table-linen ; — and not to speak of his knives 
 and forks, some ten of our poor original twelve having- 
 been massacred in M. d'Arblay's first essays in the art of 
 carpentering ; — and to say nothing of his large spoons, 
 the silver of our plated ones having feloniously made off 
 under cover of the whitening-brush ; — and not to talk of 
 his cook, ours being not yet hired ; — and not to start the 
 subject of wine, ours, by some odd accident, still remain- 
 ing at the wine-merchant's ! 
 
 • With all these impediments, however, so convivial hilar- 
 ity, if he will eat a quarter of a joint of meat (his share, 
 I mean), tied up by a packthread, and roasted by a log of 
 wood on the bricks, — and declare no potatoes so good as 
 those dug by M. d'Arblay out of our garden — and pro- 
 test our small beer gives the spirits of champagne — and 
 make no inquiries where we have deposited the hops he 
 will conclude we have emptied out of our table-cloth — 
 and pronounce that bare walls are superior to tapestry — and 
 promise us the first sight of his epistle upon visiting a 
 new-built cottage — we shall be sincerely happy to receive 
 him in our Hermitage; where I hope to learn, for my 
 dearest Charlotte's sake, to love him as much as, for his 
 own, I have very long admired him. 
 
 Manage all this, my dear girl, but let us know the day, 
 as we have resumed our Norbury Park excursions, where 
 we were yesterday. God bless you, my love, and grant 
 that your happiness may meet my wishes ! Ever and ever 
 yours most affectionately, F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 "West Hamble, December, '97. 
 This moment I received, through our dearest friend, my 
 own Susanna's letter. I grieve to find she ever waits anx-
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 359 
 
 iously for news ; but always imagine all things essential 
 ■ perpetually travelling to her, from so many of our house, 
 all in nearly constant correspondence with her. This leads 
 me to rest quiet as to her, when I do not write more fre- 
 quently; but as to myself, when I do not hear I am saddened 
 even here, even in my own new paradise, — for such I confess 
 it is to me ; and were my beloved Susan on this side the 
 Channel, and could I see her dear face, and fold her to my 
 breast, I think I should set about wishing nothing but to 
 continue just so. For circumstances — pecuniary ones I 
 mean — never have power to distress me, unless I fear ex- 
 ceeding their security ; and that fear these times will some- 
 times inflict. The new threefold assessment of taxes has 
 terrified us rather seriously : though the necessity, and 
 therefore justice of them, we mutually feel. My father 
 thinks his own share will amount to £80 a year ! We 
 have, this very morning, decided upon parting with four of 
 our new windows, — a great abatement of agrdmens to our- 
 selves, and of ornament to our appearance ; and a stiU 
 greater sacrifice to Vamour propre of my architect, who, 
 indeed, — his fondness for his edifice considered, — does 
 not ill deserve praise that the scheme had not his mere con- 
 sent, but his own free proposition. 
 
 Your idea that my builder was not able to conduct us 
 hither, I thank God, is unfounded. His indiscretion was 
 abominable, but so characteristic that I will tell it you. 
 Some little time before, he brought me home a dog, a young 
 thing, he said, which had hit his fancy at Ewell, where he 
 had been visiting M. Bourdois, and that we should educate 
 it for our new house-guard. It is a hai-bette, and, as it was 
 not perfectly precise in cleanliness, it was destined to a 
 kitchen residence till it should be trained for the parlor ; 
 this, however, far from being resented by the young stranger 
 as an indignity, appeared to be still rather too superb ; for
 
 360 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 " Muff " betook to the coal-hole, and there seemed to re- 
 pose with native ease. The purchaser, shocked at the 
 rueful appearance of the curled coat, and perhaps piqued 
 by a few flippancies upon the delicacy of my present, re- 
 solved one night to prepare me a divine surprise the fol- 
 lowing morning ; and, when I retired to my downy pillow 
 at eleven o'clock, upon a time severely cold, he walked 
 forth with the unfortunate delinquent to a certain lake, you 
 may remember, nearly in front of our Bookham habitation, 
 not very remarkable for its lucid purity, and there im- 
 mersed poor Muff, and stood rubbing him, curl by curl, till 
 each particular one was completely bathed. This business 
 was not over till near midnight, and the impure water 
 which he agitated, joined to the late hour and unwhole- 
 some air, sent him in shivering with a dreadful pain in the 
 head, and a violent feverish and rheumatic cold. 
 
 This happened just as we were beginning to prepare for 
 our removal. You will imagine, untold, all its alarm and 
 all its inconveniences ; I thank God it is long past, but it 
 had its full share, at the moment, of disquieting and tor- 
 menting powers. 
 
 We languished for the moment of removal with almost 
 infantine fretfulness at every delay that distanced it ; and 
 when at last the grand day came, our final packings, with 
 all their toil and difficulties and labor and expense, were 
 mere acts of pleasantry : so bewitched were we with the 
 impending change, that, though from six o'clock to three 
 we were hard at work, without a kettle to boil the break- 
 fast, or a knife to cut bread for a luncheon, we missed 
 nothing, wanted nothing, and were as insensible to fatigue 
 as to hunger. 
 
 M. d'Arblay set out on foot, loaded with remaining relics 
 of things, to us precious, and Betty afterwards with a 
 remnant glass or two ; the other maid had been sent two
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 361 
 
 days before. I was forced to have a chaise for my Alex, 
 and me, and a few looking-glasses, a few folios, and not a 
 few other oddments ; and tlien, with dearest Mr. Locke, our 
 founder's portrait^ and ray little boy, off I set; and I 
 would my dearest Susan could relate to me as delicious a 
 journey. 
 
 My mate, striding over hedge and ditch, arrived first, 
 thoucrh he set out after, to welcome me to our new dwell- 
 incr ; and we entered our new best room, in which I found 
 a glorious fire of wood, and a little bench, borrowed 
 of one of the departing carpenters : nothing else. We con- 
 trived to make room for each other, and Alex, disdained 
 all rest. His spirits were so high upon finding two or 
 three rooms totally free for his horse (alias any stick he 
 can pick up) and himself, unincumbered by chairs and 
 tables and such-like lumber, that he was as merry as little 
 Andrew and as wild as twenty colts. Here we unpacked 
 a small basket, containing three or four loaves, and, with a 
 garden-knife, fell to work ; some eggs had been procured 
 from a neighboring farm, and one saucepan had been 
 brought. We dined, therefore, exquisitely, and drank to 
 our new possession from a glass of clear water out of our 
 new well. 
 
 At about eiglit o'clock onr goods arrived. We had our 
 bed put up in the middle of our room, to avoid risk of damp 
 walls, and our Alex, had his dear Willy's crib at our feet. 
 
 We none of us caught cold. We had fire night and day 
 in the maids' room, as well as our own — or rather in my 
 Susan's room ; for we lent them that, their own liaving a 
 little inconvenience against a fire, because it is built with- 
 out a chimney. 
 
 We continued making fires all around us the first fort- 
 night, and then found wood would be as bad as an apothe- 
 cary's bill, so desisted ; but we did not stop short so soon
 
 362 DIA.RY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 as to want the latter to succeed the former, or put our cal- 
 culation to the proof. 
 
 Our first week was devoted to unpacking, and exulting 
 in our completed plan. To have no one thing at hand, 
 nothing to eat, nowhere to sit — all were trifles, rather, I 
 think, arausinrr than incommodious. The house looked so 
 clean, the distribution of the rooms and closets is so con- 
 venient, the prospect everywhere around is so gay and 
 so lovely, and the park of dear NorVjury is so close 
 at hand, that we hardJy knew how to require anything 
 else for existence than the enjoyment of our own situa- 
 tion. 
 
 At this period I received my summons. I believe I 
 have already explained that I had applied to Miss Planta 
 for advice whether my best chance of admission would be 
 at AVindsor, Kew, or London. I had a most kind letter of 
 answer, importing my letter had been seen, and that her 
 Majesty would herself fix the time when she could admit 
 me. This was a great happiness to me, and the fixture 
 was for the Queen's house in town. 
 
 I set off for town early the next day, Saturday. My 
 time was not yet fixed for my Eoyal interview, but I had 
 various preparations impossible to make in this dear, quiet, 
 obscure cottage. Mon ami could not accompany me, as 
 we had still two men constantly at work, the house without 
 being quite unfinished ; but I could not bear to leave his 
 little representative, who, with Betty, was my companion 
 tp Chelsea. There I was expected, and our dearest father 
 came forth with open arms to welcome us. He was in de- 
 lightful spirits, the sweetest humor, and perfectly good 
 looks and good health. My little rogue soon engaged him 
 in a romp, whicli conquered his rustic shyness, and they 
 became the best friends in the world. 
 
 Thursday morning I had a letter fronj M-l^^ Planta,
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'aRBLAY. 363 
 
 written with extreme warmth of kindness, and fixing the 
 next day at eleven o'clock for my Eoyal admission. 
 
 I went upstairs to Miss Plauta's room, where, while I 
 waited for her to be called, the charming Princess ]\Iary 
 passed by, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. She recollected 
 me, and turned back, and came up to me with a fair hand 
 graciously held out to me. " How do you do, Madame 
 d'Arblay ? " she cried : " I am vastly glad to see you 
 again ; and how does your little boy do ? " 
 
 I gave her a little account of the rogue, and she pro- 
 ceeded to inquire about my new cottage, and its actual 
 state. I entered into a long detail of its bare walls and 
 unfurnished sides, and the gambols of the little man un- 
 encumbered by cares of fractures from useless ornaments, 
 that amused her good-humored interest in my affairs very 
 much ; and she did not leave me till Miss Planta came to 
 usher me to Princess Augusta. 
 
 That kind Princess received me with a smile so gay, and 
 a look so pleased at my pleasure in again seeing her, that 
 I quite regretted the etiquette which prevented a chaste 
 embrace. She was sitting at her toilette, having her hair 
 dressed. The Eoyal Family were all going at night to the 
 play. She turned instantly from the glass to face me, and 
 insisted upon my being seated immediately. She then 
 wholly forgot her attire and ornaments and appearance, 
 and consigned herself wholly to conversation, with that 
 intelligent animation which marks her character. She in- 
 quired immediately how my little boy did, and then with 
 great sweetness after his father, and after my father. 
 
 My first subject was the Princess Royal, and I accounted 
 for not having left my Hermitage in the hope of once more 
 seeing her Royal Highness before her departure. It would 
 have been, I told her, so melancholy a pleasure to have 
 come merely for a last view, that I could not bear to take
 
 364 DIARY AND LETTERS ' [1797. 
 
 my annual indulgence at a period which would make it 
 leave a mournful impression upon my mind for a twelve- 
 month to come. The Princess said she could enter into 
 that, but said it as if she had been surprised I had not 
 appeared. She then gave me some account of the cere- 
 mony ; and when I told her I had heard that her Royal 
 Highness the bride had never looked so lovely, she con- 
 firmed the praise warmly, but laughingly added, " 'T was 
 the Queen dressed her ! You know what a figure she used 
 to make of herself, with her odd manner of dressing her- 
 self; but mamma said, ' Now really, Princess Ptoyal, this 
 one time is the last, and I cannot suffer you to make such 
 a quiz of yourself; so I will really have you dressed 
 properly.' And indeed the Queen was quite in the right, 
 for everybody said she had never looked so well in her 
 life." 
 
 The word quiz, you may depend, was never the Queen's. 
 I had great comfort, however, in gathering, from all that 
 passed on that subject, that the Ptoyal Family is persuaded 
 this estimable Princess is happy. From what I know of 
 her disposition I am led to believe the situation may make 
 her so. She is born to preside, and that with equal soft- 
 ness and dignity ; but she was here in utter subjection, for 
 which she had neither spirits nor inclination. She adored 
 the King, honored the Queen, and loved her sisters, and 
 had much kindness for her brothers ; but her style of life 
 was not adapted to the royalty of her nature, any more 
 than of her birth ; and though she only wished for power 
 to do good and to confer favors, she thought herself out of 
 her place in not possessing it. 
 
 I was particularly happy to learn from the Princess 
 Augusta that she has already a favorite friend in her new 
 court, in one of the Princesses of Wurtemberg, wife of a 
 younger brother of the Hereditary Prince, and who is
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 365 
 
 almost as a widow, from the Prince, her husband, being 
 constantly with the army. This is a delightful circum- 
 stance, as her turn of mind, and taste, and employments, 
 accord singularly with those of our Princess. 
 
 I have no recollection of the order of our conversation, 
 but will give you what morsels occur to me as they arise 
 in my memory. 
 
 The terrible mutiny occupied us some time. She told 
 me many anecdotes that she had learnt in favor of various 
 sailors, declaring, with great animation, her security in 
 their good hearts, however drawn aside by harder and 
 more cunnincj heads. The sweetness with which she de- 
 lights to get out of all that is forbidding in her rank is 
 truly adorable. In speaking of a sailor on board the St. 
 Fiorenzo, when the Eoyal Family made their excursion by 
 sea from Weymouth, she said, " You must know this man 
 was a great favorite of mine, for he had the most honest 
 countenance you can conceive, and I have often talked 
 with him, every time we have been at Weymouth, so that 
 we were good friends ; but I wanted now in particular to 
 ask him concerning the mutiny, but I knew I should not get 
 him to speak out while the King and Queen and my sisters 
 were by ; so I told Lady Charlotte Bellasyse to watch an op- 
 portunity, when he was upon deck, and the rest were in the 
 cabin, and then we went up to him and questioned him ; 
 and he quite answered my expectations, for, instead of tak- 
 ing any merit to himself from belonging to the St. Fiorenzo, 
 which was never in the mutiny, the good creature said he 
 was sure there was not a sailor in the navy that was not 
 sorry to have belonged to it, and would not have got out of 
 it as readily as himself, if he had known but how." 
 
 We had then a good deal of talk about Weymouth, but 
 it was all local ; and as my Susan has not been there, it 
 would be too long to scribble.
 
 366 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 " One tiling," cried she, her eyes brightening as she 
 spoke, " I must tell you, though I am sure you know it a 
 great deal better than me, that is about Mr. Locke's family, 
 and so I think it will give you pleasure. General and 
 Mrs. Harcourt went lately to see Norbury Park, and they 
 were in the neighborhood somewhere near Guildford some 
 time, the General's regiment being quartered thereabouts ; 
 and the family they were with knew the Lockes very well, 
 and told them they were the best people in the world. 
 They said Mr. Locke was always employed in some benev- 
 olent action, and all the family were good ; and that there 
 was one daughter quite beautiful, and the most amiable 
 creature in the world, and very like Mrs. Locke." 
 
 " The very representative," cried I, " of both parents ; " 
 and thus encouraged I indulged myself, without restraint 
 or conciseness, in speaking of the sweet girl and her most 
 beloved and incomparable parents, and Mr. William, and 
 all the house in general. 
 
 The Princess Elizabeth now entered, but she did not 
 stay. She came to ask something of her s-ister relative to 
 a little fete she was preparing, by way of a collation, in 
 honor of the Princess Sophia, who was twenty this day. 
 She made kind inquiries after my health, &c., and, being 
 mistress of the birthday-fete, hurried off, and I had not the 
 pleasure to see her any more. 
 
 I must be less minute, or I shall never have done. My 
 charming Princess Augusta renewed the conversation. Ad- 
 miral Duncan's noble victory became the theme, but it was 
 interrupted by the appearance of the lovely Princess Ame- 
 lia, now become a model of grace, beauty, and sweetness, 
 in their bud. She gave me her hand with the softest ex- 
 pression of kindness, and almost immediately began ques- 
 tioning me concerning my little boy and with an air of 
 interest the most captivating. But again Princess Augusta
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 367 
 
 declined any interruptors : " You shall have Madame d'Ar- 
 blay all to yourself, my dear, soon," she cried laughingly ; 
 and, with a smile a little serious, the sweet Princess Amelia 
 retreated. 
 
 It would have been truly edifying to young ladies living 
 in the great and public world to have assisted in my place 
 at the toilette of this exquisite Princess Augusta. Her 
 ease, amounting even to indifference, as to her ornaments 
 and decoration, showed a mind so disengaged from vanity, 
 so superior to mere personal appearance, that I could witli 
 difficulty forbear manifesting my admiration. She let the 
 hair-dresser proceed upon her head without comment and 
 without examination, just as if it was solely his affair ; and 
 when the man, Robinson, humbly begged to know what 
 ornaments he was to prepare the hair for, she said, " Oh, 
 there are my feathers, and my gown is blue, so take what 
 you think right." And when he begged she would say 
 whether she would have any ribbons or other things mixed 
 with the feathers and jewels, she said, " You understand 
 all that best, Mr. Robinson, I 'm sure ; there are the things, 
 so take just what you please." And after this she left 
 him wholly to himself, never a moment interrupting her 
 discourse or her attention with a single direction. 
 
 She had just begun a very interesting account of an 
 officer that had conducted himself singularly well in the 
 mutiny, when Miss Planta came to summon me to the 
 Queen. I begged permission to return afterwards for my 
 unfinished narrative, and then proceeded to the White 
 Closet. 
 
 The Queen was alone, seated at a table, and working. 
 Miss Planta opened the door and retired without entering. 
 I felt a good deal affected by the sight of her Majesty 
 again, so graciously accorded to my request ; but my first 
 and instinctive feeling was nothing to what I experienced
 
 368 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 when, after my profoundly respectful reverence, I raised 
 my eyes, and saw in hers a look of sensibility so expressive 
 of regard, and so examining, so penetrating into mine, as 
 to seem to convey, involuntarily, a regret I had quitted 
 her. This, at least, was the idea that struck me, from the 
 species of look which met me, and it touched me to the 
 heart, and brought instantly, in defiance of all struggle, a 
 flood of tears into my eyes. I was some minutes recov- 
 ering ; and when I then entreated her forgiveness, and 
 cleared up, the voice with which she spoke, in hoping I 
 was well, told me she had caught a little of my sensation, 
 for it was by no means steady. Indeed, at that moment, 
 I longed to kneel and beseech her pardon for the displeas- 
 ure I had felt in her long resistance of my resignation ; for 
 I think, now, it was from a real and truly honorable wish 
 to attach me to her for ever. But I then suffered too 
 much from a situation so ill adapted to my choice and dis- 
 positi-on, to do justice to her opposition, or to enjoy its 
 honor to myself Now that I am so singularly, alas ! nearly 
 singularly happy, though wholly from my perseverance in 
 that resignation, I feel all I owe her, and I feel more and 
 more grateful for every mark of her condescension, either 
 recollected or renewed. 
 
 She looked ill, pale, and harassed. The King was but 
 just returned from his abortive visit to the Nore, and the 
 inquietude she had sustained during that short separation, 
 circumstanced many ways alarmingly, had evidently shaken 
 her : I saw with much, with deep concern, her sunk eyes 
 and spirits ; I believe the sight of me raised not the latter. 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg had not long been dead, and I have 
 some reason to think she would not have been sorry to 
 have had me supply the vacancy ; for I had immediate 
 notice sent me of her death by Miss Planta, so written as 
 to persuade me it was a letter by command. But not all
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 369 
 
 my duty, all my gratitude, could urge me, even one short 
 fleeting moment, to weigh any interest against the sooth- 
 ing serenity, the unfading felicity, of a Hermitage such 
 as mine. 
 
 We spoke of poor Mrs. Sch welly, — and of her succes- 
 sor, Mile. Backraeister, — and of mine, Mrs. Bremy^re ; 
 and I could not but express my concern that Her Majesty 
 had again been so unfortunate, for Mile. Jacobi had just 
 retired to Germany, ill and dissatisfied with everything in 
 England. The Princess Augusta had recounted to me the 
 whole narrative of her retirement, and its circumstances. 
 The Queen told me that the King had very handsomely 
 taken care of her. But such frequent retirements are 
 heavy weights upon the royal bounty. I felt almost guilty 
 when the subject was started ; but not from any reproach, 
 any allusion, — not a word was dropped that had not 
 kindness and goodness for its basis and its superstructure 
 at once. 
 
 " How is your little boy ? " was one of the earliest 
 questions. " Is he here ? " she added. " yes," I an- 
 swered, misunderstanding her, " he is my .shadow ; I go 
 nowhere without him." 
 
 " But here, I mean ? " 
 
 " no ! ma'am, I did not dare presume — " I stopped, 
 for her look said it would be no presumption. And Miss 
 Planta had already desired me to bring him to her next 
 time ; which I suspect was by higher order than her own 
 suggestion. She then inquired after my dear father, and 
 so graciously, that I told her not only of his good health, 
 but his occupations,, his new work, a " Poetical History of 
 Astronomy," and his consultations with Herschel. 
 
 She permitted me to speak a good deal of the Princess of 
 Wurtemberg, whom they still all call Princess Eoyal. She 
 told me she had worked her wedding garment, and entirely, 
 VOL. II. 24
 
 370 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 and the real labor it had proved, from her steadiness to 
 have no help, well knowing that three stitches done by any 
 other would make it immediately said it was none of it 
 by herself. " As the bride of a widower," she continued, 
 " I know she ought to be in white and gold ; but as the 
 King's eldest daughter she had a right to white and silver, 
 which she preferred." 
 
 She then deigned to inquire very particularly about our 
 new cottage, — its size, its number of rooms, and its 
 grounds. I told her, honestly, it was excessively comfort- 
 able though unfinished and unfitted up, for that it had 
 innumerable little contrivances and conveniences, just 
 adapted to our particular use and taste, as M. d'Arblay 
 had been its sole architect and surveyor. " Then, I dare 
 say," she answered, " it is very commodious, for there are 
 no people understand enjoyable accommodations more than 
 French gentlemen, when they have the arranging them 
 themselves." 
 
 This was very kind, and encouraged me to talk a good deal 
 of my partner, in his various works and employments ; and 
 her manner of attention was even touchingly condescend- 
 ing, all circumstances considered. And she then related to 
 me the works of two French priests, to whom she has her- 
 self been so good as to commit the fitting up of one of her 
 apartments at Frogmore. And afterwards she gave me a 
 description of what another French gentleman — elegantly 
 and feelingly avoiding to say emigrant — had done in a 
 room belonging to Mrs. Harcourt, at Sophia Farm, where 
 he had the sole superintendence of it, and has made it 
 beautiful. 
 
 When she asked about our field, I told her we hoped in 
 time to buy it, as Mr. Locke had the extreme kindness to 
 consent to part with it to us, when it should suit our con- 
 venience to purchase instead of renting it. I thought I
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 371 
 
 saw a look of peculiar satisfaction at this, that seemed to 
 convey pleasure in the implication thence to be drawn, 
 tliat England was our decided, not forced or eventual resi- 
 dence. And she led me on to many minute particulars of 
 our situation and way of living, with a sweetness of interest 
 I can never forget. 
 
 Nor even here stopped the sensations of gratitude and 
 pleasure she thus awoke. She spoke then of my beloved 
 Susan ; asked if she were still in Ireland, and how the 
 " pretty Norbury " did. She then a little embarrassed me 
 by an inquiry " Why Major Phillips went to Ireland ? " 
 for my answer, that he was persuaded he should improve 
 his estate by superintending the agriculture of it himself, 
 seemed unsatisfactory ; however, she pressed it no further. 
 But I cannot judge by what passed whether she concludes 
 he is employed in a military way there, or whether she has 
 heard that he has retired. She seemed kindly pleased at 
 all I had to relate of my dear Norbury, and I delighted to 
 call him back to her remembrance. 
 
 She talked a good deal of the Duchess of York, who 
 continues the first favorite of the whole Royal Family. 
 She told me of her beautiful works, lamented her indif- 
 ferent liealth, and expatiated upon her admirable distribu- 
 tion of her time and plan of life, and charming qualities 
 and character. 
 
 She asked me about Mr. Locke and his family, and hon- 
 ored me with an ear of uninterrupted attention while I 
 made an harangue of no small length upon the chief in 
 particular, and the rest in general. She seems always to 
 take pleasure in the quick gratification this subject af- 
 fords me. 
 
 Of her own Eoyal daughters she permitted me also to 
 talk, especially of my two peculiar idols. And she gave 
 me a copious description of the new improvements still
 
 372 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 going on at Frogmore, with a detail of some surprises the 
 King had given her, by orders and buildings erected in the 
 gardens during her absence. 
 
 But what chiefly dwells upon me with pleasure is, that 
 she spoke to me upon some subjects and persons that I 
 know she would not for the world should be repeated, with 
 just the same confidence, the same reliance upon my grate- 
 ful discretion for her openness, that she honored me with 
 while she thought me established in her service for life. I 
 need not tell my Susan how this binds me more than ever 
 to her. 
 
 Very short to me seemed the time, though the whole con- 
 versation was serious, and her air thoughtful almost to 
 sadness, when a page touched the door, and said something 
 in German. The Queen, who was then standing by the 
 window, turned round to answer him, and then, with a 
 sort of congratulatory smile to me, said, " Now you will 
 see what you don't expect — the King!" I could indeed 
 not expect it, for he was at Blackheath at a review, and he 
 was returned only to dress for the levee. 
 
 The King related very pleasantly a little anecdote of 
 
 Lady . " She brought the little Princess Charlotte," he 
 
 said, " to me just before the review. ' She hoped,' she said, 
 ' I should not take it ill, for, having mentioned it to the 
 child, she built so upon it that she had thought of nothing 
 else ! ' Now this," cried he, laughing heartily, " was pretty 
 strong ! How can she know what a child is thinking of 
 before it can speak ? " 
 
 I was very happy at the fondness they both expressed 
 for the little Princess. " A sweet little creature," the King 
 called her ; " A most lovely child," the Queen turned to 
 me to add ; and the King said he had taken her upon his 
 horse, and given her a little ride, before the regiment rode
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 373 
 
 up to him. " 'T is very odd," he added, " but she always 
 knows me on horseback, and never else." " Yes," said the 
 Queen, " when his Majesty comes to her on horseback she 
 claps her little hands, and endeavors to say ' Gan-pa ! ' 
 immediately." I was much pleased that she is brought up 
 to such simple and affectionate acknowledgment of rela- 
 tionship. 
 
 The King then inquired about my father, and with a 
 look of interest and kindness that regularly accompanies 
 his mention of that most dear person. He asked after his 
 health, his spirits, and his occupations, waiting for long 
 answers to each inquiry. The Queen anticipated my rela- 
 tion of his astronomic work, and he seemed much pleased 
 with the design, as well as at hearing that his jprot^ge, Dr. 
 Herschel, had been consulted. 
 
 I was then a little surprised by finding he had heard of 
 " Clarentine." He asked me, smilingly, some questions 
 about it, and if it were true, what he suspected, that my 
 youngest sister had a mind to do as I had done, and bring 
 out a work in secret ? I was very much pleased then 
 when the Queen said, " I have seen it, sir, and it is very 
 pretty." There was time but for little more, as he was to 
 change his dress for the levee ; and I left their presence 
 more attached to them, I really think, than ever. 
 
 I then, by her kind appointment, returned to my lovely 
 and loved Princess - Augusta. Her hair-dresser was just 
 gone, and she was proceeding in equipping herself. " If 
 you can bear to see all this work," cried she, " pray, come 
 and sit with me, my dear Madame d'Arblay." 
 
 Nothing could be more expeditious than her attiring 
 herself, — nothinsj more careless than her examination how 
 it succeeded. But judge my confusion and embarrassment, 
 when, upon my saying I came to petition for the rest of 
 the story she had just begun, and her answering by inquir-
 
 0^7 
 
 74 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 ing what it was about, I could not tell ! It had entirely 
 escaped my memory ; and though I sought every way I 
 could suggest to recall it, I so entirely failed, that, after 
 her repeated demands, I was compelled honestly to own 
 that the commotion I had been put in by my interview 
 with their Majesties had really driven it from my mind. 
 She bore this with the true good humor of good sense ; but 
 I was most excessively ashamed. 
 
 She then resumed the reigning subject of the day. Ad- 
 miral Duncan's victory ; and this led [her] to speak again 
 of the Orange family ; but she checked what seemed 
 occurring to her about them, till her wardrobe- woman had 
 done and was dismissed ; then, hurrying her away, while 
 she sat down by me, putting on her long and superb 
 diamond earrings herself, and without even turning towards 
 a glass, she said, " I don't like much to talk of that family 
 before the servants, for I am told they already think the 
 King too good to them." 
 
 The Princess of Orange is, I find, a great favorite with 
 them all ; the Prince Frederick also, I believe, they like 
 very much ; but the Prince himself, she said, " has never, 
 in fact, had his education finished. He was married quite 
 a boy ; but, being married, concluded himself a man, and 
 not only turned off all his instructors, but thought it un- 
 necessary to ask, or hear, counsel or advice of any one. 
 He is like a fallow field, — that is, not of a soil that can't 
 be improved, but one that has been left quite to itself, and 
 therefore has no materials put in it for improvement." 
 
 Bhe then told me that she had hindered him, with great 
 difficulty, from going to a great dinner, given at the Man- 
 sion House, upon the victory of Admiral Duncan. It was 
 not, she said, that he did not feel for his country in that 
 defeat, but that he never weighed the impropriety of his 
 public appearance upon an occasion of rejoicing at it, nor
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 375 
 
 the ill effect of the history of his so doing would produce in 
 Holland. She had the kindness of heart to take upon her- 
 self preventing him ; " for no one," says she, " that is about 
 him dares ever speak to him, to give him any hint of ad- 
 vice ; which is a great misfortune to him, poor man, for it 
 makes him never know what is said or thought of him." 
 She related with a great deal of humor her arguments to dis- 
 suade him, and his naive manner of combating them. But 
 though she conquered at last, she did not convince. 
 
 The Princess of Orange, she told me, had a most supe- 
 rior understanding, and might guide him sensibly and hon- 
 orably ; but he was so jealous of being thought led by her 
 counsel, that he never listened to it at all. She gave me 
 to understand that this unhappy Princess had had a life of 
 uninterrupted indulgence and prosperity till the late revo- 
 lution ; and that the suddenness of such adversity had 
 rather soured her mind, which, had it met sorrow and evil 
 by any gradations, would have been equal to bearing them 
 even nobly ; but so quick a transition from affluence, and 
 power, and wealth, and grandeur, to a fugitive and de- 
 pendent state, had almost overuse wered her. 
 
 A door was now opened from an inner apartment, where, 
 I believe, was the grand collation for the Princess Sophia's 
 birthday, and a tall thin young man appeared at it, peep- 
 ing and staring, but not entering. 
 
 " How do you do, Ernest ? " cried the Princess ; " I hope 
 you are well ; only pray do shut the door." He did not 
 obey, nor move, either forwards or backwards, but kept 
 peering and peeping. She called to him again, beseeching 
 him to shut the door ; but he was determined to first gratify 
 his curiosity, and when he had looked as long as he thought 
 pleasant, he entered the apartment ; but Princess Augusta, 
 instead of receiving and welcoming him, only said, " Good- 
 bye, my dear Ernest ; I shall see you again at the play."
 
 376 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 He then marched on, finding himself so little desired, and 
 only saying, "No, you won't ; I hate the' play." 
 
 I had risen when I found it one of the Princes, and 
 with a motion of readiness to depart ; but my dear Prin- 
 cess would not let me. When we were alone again, " Er- 
 nest," she said, " has a very good heart ; only he speaks 
 without taking time to think." 
 
 She then gave me an instance. The Orange family by 
 some chance were all assembled with our Eoyal Family 
 when the news of the great victory at sea arrived ; or at 
 least upon the same day. " We were all," said she, " dis- 
 tressed for them upon so trying an occasion ; and at sup- 
 per we talked, of course, of every other subject ; but Er- 
 nest, quite uneasy at the forbearance, said to me, ' You 
 don't think I won't drink Admiral Duncan's health to- 
 night ? ' ' Hush ! ' cried I. ' That 's very hard indeed ! ' 
 said he, quite aloud. I saw the Princess of Orange looking 
 at him, and was sure she had heard him ; I trod upon his 
 foot, and made him turn to her. She looked so disturbed, 
 that he saw she had understood him, and he colored veiy 
 high. The Princess of Orange then said, ' I hope my 
 being here will be no restraint upon anybody : I know 
 what must be the subject of everybody's thoughts, and I 
 beg I may not prevent its being so of their discourse.' 
 Poor Ernest now was so sorry, he was ready to die, and the 
 tears started into his eyes ; and he would not have given 
 his toast after this for all the world." 
 
 The play they were going to was "The Merchant of 
 Venice," to see a new actress, just now much talked of — 
 Miss Betterton ; and the indulgent King, hearing she was 
 extremely frightened at the thoughts of appearing before 
 him, desired she might choose her own part for the first 
 exhibition in his presence. She fixed upon Portia. 
 
 In speaking of Miss Farren's marriage with the Earl of
 
 1797. J OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 377 
 
 Derby, she displayed that sweet mind which her state and 
 station has so wholly escaped sullying ; for, far from ex- 
 pressing either horror, or resentment, or derision at an 
 actress beins: elevated to the rank of second countess of 
 England, she told me, with an air of satisfaction, that she 
 was informed she had behaved extremely well since her 
 marriage, and done many generous and charitable actions. 
 She spoke with pleasiire, too, of the high marriage made by 
 another actress, Miss Wallis, who has preserved a spotless 
 character, and is now the wife of a man of fortune and 
 family, Mr. Campbell. 
 
 In mentioning Mrs. Siddons, and her great and affecting 
 powers, she much surprised me by intelligence that she 
 had bought the proprietorship of Sadler's Wells. I could 
 not hear it without some amusement ; it seemed, I s^id, so 
 extraordinary a combination — so degrading a one, indeed, 
 — that of the first tragic actress, the living Melpomene, and 
 something so burlesque as Sadler's Wells. She laughed, 
 and said it offered her a very ludicrous image, for 
 " Mrs. Siddons and Sadler's Wells," said she, " seems to 
 me as ill fitted as the dish they call a toad in a hole ; which 
 I never saw, but always think of with anger — putting a 
 noble sirloin of beef into a poor, paltry batter-pudding ! " 
 
 The door now again opened, and another Eoyal person- 
 age put in his head ; and upon the Princess saying, " How 
 d' ye do, William ? " I recollected the Duke of Clarence. 
 
 I rose, of course, and he made a civil bow to my curtsey. 
 The Princess asked him about the House of Lords the pre- 
 ceding evening, where I found he had spoken very hand- 
 somely and generously in eulogium of Admiral Duncan. 
 Finding he was inclined to stay, the Princess said to me, 
 " Madame d'Arblay, I beg you will sit down." 
 
 " Pray, madam," said the Duke, with a formal motion of 
 his hand, " let me beg you to be seated."
 
 o 
 
 78 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 " You know — you recollect JMadame d'Arblay, don't 
 you, William ? " said the Princess. He bowed civilly an 
 affirmative, and then began talking to me of Chesington. 
 How I grieved poor dear Kitty was gone ! How great 
 would have been her gratification to have heard that he 
 mentioned her, and with an air of kindness, as if he had 
 really entered into the solid goodness of her character. I 
 was much surprised and much pleased, yet not without 
 some perplexity and some embarrassment, as his knowledge 
 of the excellent Kitty was from her being the dupe of the 
 mistress of his aide-de-camp. 
 
 The Princess, however, saved me any confusion beyond 
 apprehension, for she asked not one question. He moved 
 on towards the next apartment, and we were again alone. 
 
 She then talked^to me a great deal of him, and gave me, 
 admirably, his character. She is very partial to him, but 
 by no means blindly. He had very good parts, she said, 
 but seldom did them justice. "If he has something of 
 high importance to do," she continued, " he will exert him- 
 self to the utmost, and do it really well ; but otherwise, he 
 is so fond of his ease, he lets everything take its course. 
 He must do a great deal, or nothing. However, I really 
 think, if he takes pains, he may make something of a 
 speaker by-and-by in the House." 
 
 She related a visit he had made at Lady Mary Duncan's, 
 at Hampton Court, upon hearing Admiral Duncan was 
 there ; and told me the whole and most minute particulars 
 of the battle, as they were repeated by his Royal Highness 
 from the Admiral's own account. But you will dispense 
 "with the martial detail from me. "Lady Alary," cried she, 
 " is quite enchanted with her gallant nephew. ' I used to 
 look,' says she, ' for honor and glory from my other side, 
 
 the T 's ; but I receive it only from the Duncans ! As 
 
 to the T 's, what good do they do their country ? —
 
 1797.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 379 
 
 why, they pky all day at tennis, and learn with vast skill 
 to notch and scotch and go one ! And that 's what their 
 country gets from them ! ' " 
 
 I thought now I should certainly be dismissed, for a 
 page came to the door to announce that the Duke of York 
 was arrived: but she only said, "Very well; pray shut 
 the door ; " which seemed her gentle manner of having it 
 understood she would not be disturbed, as she used the 
 same words when messages were brought her from tlie 
 Princesses Elizabeth and Mary. 
 
 She spoke again of the Duchess of York with the same 
 fondness as at Windsor. " I told you before," she said, " I 
 loved her like one of my own sisters, and I can tell you no 
 more : and she knows it ; for one day she was taken ill, 
 and fainted, and we put her upon one of our beds, and got 
 her everything we could think of ourselves, and let nobody 
 else wait upon her ; and when she revived she said to my 
 brother, ' These are my sisters — I am sure they are ! they 
 must be my own ! ' " 
 
 Our next and last interruption, I think, was from a very 
 gentle tap at the door, and a " May I come in ? " from a 
 soft voice, while the lock was turned, and a youthful and 
 very lovely female put in her head. The Princess imme- 
 diately rose, and said, " yes," and held out her two hands 
 to her ; turning at the same time to me, and saying, " Prin- 
 cess Sophia." 
 
 I found it was the Duke of Gloucester's daughter. She 
 is very fat, with very fine eyes, a bright, even dazzling 
 bloom, fine teeth, a beautiful skin, and a look of extreme 
 modesty and sweetness. She curtseyed to me so distin- 
 guishingly, that I w^as almost confused by her condescen- 
 sion, fearing she might imagine, from finding me seated 
 with the Princess Augusta, and in such close conference, 1 
 was somebody. 
 
 o
 
 380 DIARY AND LETTERS [1797. 
 
 " You look SO fine and so grand," cried she, examining the 
 Princess's attire, which was very superb in silver and dia- 
 monds ; " that I am almost afraid to come near you ! " Her 
 own dress was perfectly simple, though remarkably elegant. 
 
 "0 ! — I hate myself when so fine ! " cried Princess Au- 
 gusta ; " I cannot bear it ; but there is no help — the peo- 
 ple at the play always expect it." They then conversed a 
 little while, both standing; and then Princess Augusta 
 said, "Give my love to the Duke" (meaning of Gloucester), 
 " and I hope I shall see him by-and-by ; and to William " 
 (meaning the Duke's son). 
 
 And this, which was not a positive request that she 
 would not prolong her visit, was understood ; and the 
 lovely cousin made her curtsey, and retired. To me, again, 
 she made another, so gravely low and civil, that I really 
 blushed to receive it, from added fear of being mistaken. 
 I accompanied her to the door, and shut it for her ; and 
 the moment she was out of the room, and out of sight of 
 the Princess Augusta, she turned round to me, and with 
 a smile of extreme civility, and a voice very soft, said, " I 
 am so happy to see you ! — I have longed for it a great, 
 great while — for I have read you with such delight and 
 instruction, so often ! " I was very much surprised indeed : 
 I expressed my sense of her goodness as well as I could ; 
 and she curtseyed again, and glided away. 
 
 My charming Princess again made me take my seat 
 next her own, and again renewed her discourse. 
 
 I stayed on with this delightful Princess till near four 
 o'clock, when she descended to dinner. I then accom- 
 panied her to the head of the stairs, saying, "I feel quite 
 low that this is over ! How I wish it might be repeated 
 in half a year instead of a year ! " 
 
 " I 'm sure and so do I ! " were the last kind words she 
 condescendingly uttered.
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 381 
 
 I then made a little visit to Miss Planta, who was ex- 
 tremely friendly, and asked me why I should wait another 
 year before I came. I told her I had leave for an annual 
 visit, and could not presume to encroach beyond such a 
 permission. However, as she proposed my calling upon 
 her, at least when I happened to be in town or at Chelsea, 
 I begged her to take some opportunity to hint my wish of 
 admission, if possible, more frequently. 
 
 In the evening I went to the play with James and Ma- 
 rianne. It was a new comedy called " Cheap Living," by 
 Keynolds or Morton, and full of absurdities, but at times 
 irresistibly comic. 
 
 Very soon afterwards I had a letter from Miss Planta, 
 saying she had mentioned to her Majesty my regret of the 
 long intervals of annual admissions ; and that her Majesty 
 had most graciously answered, " She should be very glad 
 to see me whenever I came to town." 
 
 Januaey 18, 1798. — And now I have to prepare another 
 Court relation for my dearest Susanna. 
 
 I received on Wednesday morn a letter from our dearest 
 father, telling me he feared he should be forced to quit his 
 Chelsea apartments, from a new arrangement among the 
 officers, and wishing me to represent his difficulties, his 
 books, health, time of life, and other circumstances, through 
 Miss Planta, to the Queen. M. d'Arblay and I both 
 thought that, if I had any chance of being of the smallest 
 use, it would be by endeavoring to obtain an audience — 
 not by letter ; and as the most remote hope of success was 
 sufficient to urge every exertion, we settled that I should 
 set out instantly for Chelsea ; and a chaise, therefore, we 
 sent for from Dorking, and I set off at noon. M. d'A. 
 would not go, as we knew not what accommodation I might 
 find ; and I could not, uninvited and unexpected, take my
 
 382 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 little darling boy ; so I went not merrily, though never 
 more willingly. 
 
 My dear father was at home, and, I could see, by no 
 means surprised by my appearance, though he had not 
 hinted at desiring it. Of course he was not very angry 
 nor sorry, and we communed together upon his apprehen- 
 sions, and settled our plan. I was to endeavor to represent 
 his case to the Queen, in hopes it might reach his Majesty, 
 and procure some order in his fkvor. 
 
 I wrote to Miss Planta, merely to say I was come to 
 pass three days at Chelsea, and, presuming upon the 
 gracious permission of her Majesty, I ventured to make 
 known my arrival, in the hope it might possibly procure 
 me the honor of admittance. 
 
 The next morning, Thursday, I had a note from Miss 
 Planta, to say that she had the pleasure to acquaint me 
 her Majesty desired I would be at the Queen's house next 
 day at ten o'clock. 
 
 Miss Planta conducted me immediately, by order, to the 
 Princess Elizabeth, who received me alone, and kept me 
 tete-a-tete till I was summoned to the Queen, which was 
 near an hour. She was all condescension and openness, 
 and inquired into my way of life and plans, with a sort of 
 kindness that I am sure belonged to a real wish to find 
 them happy and prosperous. When I mentioned how 
 much of our time was mutually given to books and writ- 
 ing, M. d'Arblay being as great a scribbler as myself, she 
 good-naturedly exclahned, " How fortunate he should have 
 so much the same taste ! " 
 
 " It was that, in fact," I answered, " which united us ; 
 for our acquaintance began, in intimacy, by reading French 
 together, and writing themes, both French and English, for 
 each other's correction." 
 
 " Pray," cried she, " if it is not impertinent, may I ask
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 383 
 
 to what religion you shall bring up your son ? " " The 
 Protestant," I replied ; telling her it was M. d'Arblay's 
 own wish, since he was an Englishman born, he should be 
 an Englishman bred, — with much more upon the subject 
 that my Susan knows untold. She then inquired why M. 
 d'Arblay was not naturalized. This was truly kind, for 
 it looked like wishing our permanently fixing in this his 
 adopted country. I answered that he found he could not 
 be naturalized as a Catholic, which had made him relin- 
 quish the plan ; for thoiigh he was firmly persuaded the 
 real difference between the two religions was trifling, and 
 such as even appeared to him, in the little he had had 
 opportunity to examine, to be in favor of Protestantism, 
 he could not bring himself to study the matter with a 
 view of changing that seemed actuated by interest ; nor 
 could I wish it, earnest as I was for his naturalization. 
 But he hoped, ere long, to be able to be naturalized as an 
 Irishman, that clause of religion not being there insisted 
 upon ; or else to become a denizen, which was next best, 
 and which did not meddle with religion at all. She made 
 me talk to her a great deal of my little boy, and my father, 
 and M. d'Arblay; and -when Miss Planta came to fetch 
 me to her Majesty, she* desired to see me again before my 
 departure. 
 
 The Queen was in her White Closet, working at a round 
 table, with the four remaining Princesses, Augusta, Mary, 
 Sophia, and Amelia. She received me most sweetly, and 
 with a look of far better spirits than upon my last admis- 
 sion. She permitted me, in the most gracious manner, to 
 inquire about the Princess Koyal, now Duchess of Wurtem- 
 berg, and gave me an account of her that I hope is not 
 flattered ; for it seemed happy, and such as reconciled them 
 all to the separation. When she deigned to inquire, her- 
 self, after my dear father, you may be sure of the eager-
 
 384 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 ness with which I seized the moment for relating his 
 embarrassment and difficulties. She heard me with a 
 benevolence that assured me, though she made no speech, 
 my history would not be forgotten, nor remembered vainly. 
 I was highly satisfied with her look and manner. 
 
 The Princesses Mary and Amelia had a little ojjening 
 between them ; and when the Queen was conversing with 
 some lady who was teaching the Princess Sophia some 
 Avork, they began a whispering conversation with me about 
 my little boy. How tall is he ? — how old is he ? — is he 
 fat or thin ? — is he like you or M. d' Arblay ? &c., &c. — 
 with sweet vivacity of interest, — the lovely Princess Amelia 
 finishing her listening to my every answer with a " dear 
 little thing ! " that made me long to embrace her as I have 
 done in her childhood. She is now full as tall as Princess 
 Eoyal, and as much formed ; she looks seventeen, though 
 only fourteen, but has an innocence, an Hebe blush, an air 
 of modest candor, and a gentleness so caressingly inviting, 
 of voice and eye, that I have seldom seen a more captivat- 
 ing young creature. 
 
 Then they talked of my new house, and inquired about 
 every room it contained ; and then of our grounds, and 
 they were mightily diverted with the mixtures of roses and 
 cabbages, sweet l)riers and potatoes, &c. The Queen, catch- 
 ing the domestic theme, presently made inquiries herself, 
 both as to the building and the child, asking, with respect 
 to the latter, " Is he here ? " as if she meant in the palace. 
 I told her I had come so unexpectedly myself upon my 
 father's difficulties, that I had not this time brought my 
 little shadow. I believed, however, I should fetch him, as, 
 if I lengthened my stay, M. d' Arblay would come also 
 " To be sure ! " she said, as if feeling the trio's full objec- 
 tions to separating. 
 
 By degrees all the Princesses retired, except the Princess
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 385 
 
 Augusta. She then spoke more openly upon less public 
 matters, — in particular upon the affair, then just recent, 
 of the Duke of Norfolk, who, you may have heard, had 
 drunk, at the Whig Clnl), " To the majesty of the people ; " 
 in conset[uence of which the King had erased his name 
 from the Privy Council. His Grace had been caricatured 
 drinking from a silver tankard, with the burnt bread still 
 in flames touching his mouth, and exclaiming " Pshaw ! 
 my toast has burnt my mouth." 
 
 This led me to speak of his great brick house, which is 
 our immediate vis-a-vis. And much then ensued upon 
 Lady , concerning whom she opened to me very com- 
 pletely, allowing all I said of her uncommon excellence as 
 a mother, but adding, " Though she is certainly very clever, 
 she thinks herself so a little too much, and instructs others 
 at every word. I was so tired with her beginning every- 
 thing with 'I think,' that, at last, just as she said so, I 
 stopped her, and cried, ' 0, I know what you think, Lady 
 
 ! ' Really, one is obliged to be quite sharp with her 
 
 to keep her in her place." 
 
 Lady C , she had been informed, had a considerable 
 
 sum in the French funds, which she endeavored from time 
 to time to recover : but upon her last effort, she had the 
 following query put to her agent by order of the Directory : 
 how much she would have deducted from the principal, as 
 a contribution towards the loan raising for the army of 
 
 England ? If Lady C • were not mother-in-law to a 
 
 minister who sees the King almost daily, I should think 
 this a made story. 
 
 When, after about an hour and a half's audience, she dis- 
 missed me-, she most graciously asked my stay at Chelsea, and 
 desired I would inform Miss Planta before I returned liome. 
 This gave me the most gratifying feeling, and much hope 
 for my dearest father. 
 
 VOL. II. 25
 
 386 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 Eeturning then, according to my permission, to Princess 
 Elizabeth, she again took up her netting, and made me sit 
 by her. We talked a good deal of the new-married daugh- 
 ter of Lady Templetown, and she was happy, she said, to 
 hear from me that the ceremony was perform55 by her 
 own favorite Bishop of Durham, for she was sure a bless- 
 ing would attend his joining their hands. She asked me 
 much of my little man, and told me several things of the 
 Princess Charlotte, her niece, and our future Queen ; she 
 seems very fond of her, and says 't is a lovely child, and 
 extremely like the Prince of Wales. " She is just two 
 years old," said she, " and speaks very prettily, though not 
 plainly. I flatter myself Aunt Liby, as she calls me, is a 
 great iavorite with her." 
 
 My dearest Princess Augusta soon after came in, and, 
 after staying a few minutes, and giving some message to 
 her sister, said, " And when you leave Elizabeth, my dear 
 Madame d'Arblay, I hope you '11 come to me." This hap- 
 pened almost immediately, and I found lier hurrying over 
 the duty of her toilette, whicli she presently despatched, 
 though she was going to a public concert of Ancient Music, 
 and without scarcely once looking in the glass, from haste 
 to have done, and from a freedom from vanity I never saw 
 quite equalled in any young woman of any class. She 
 then dismissed her hair-dresser and wardrobe-woman, and 
 made me sit by her. 
 
 Almost immediately we began upon the voluntary con- 
 tributions to the support of the war ; and when I mentioned 
 the Queen's munificent donation of five thousand pounds 
 a-year for its support, and my admiration of it, from my 
 peculiar knowledge, through my long residence under the 
 Eoyal roof, of the many claims which her Majesty's benev- 
 olence, as well as state, had raised upon her powers, she 
 seemed much gratified by the justice I did her Royal
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 387 
 
 mother, and exclaimed eagerly, " I do assure you, my dear 
 Madame d'Arblay, people ought to know more how good 
 the Queen is, for they don't know it half. " And then she 
 told me that she only by accident had learnt almost all 
 that she knew of the Queen's bounties. " And the most I 
 gathered," she continued, laughing, " was, to tell you the 
 real truth, by my own impertinence ; for when we were at 
 Cheltenham, Lady Courtown (the Queen's lady-in-waiting 
 for the country) put her pocket-book down on the table, 
 when I was alone with her, by some chance open at a page 
 where mamma's name was written : so, not guessing at any 
 secret commission, I took it up, and read — Given by Her 
 Majesty's commands — so much, and so much, and so 
 much. And I was quite surprised. However, Lady Cour- 
 town made me promise never to mention it to the Queen : 
 so I never have. But I long it should be known, for all 
 that ; though I would not take such a liberty as to spread 
 it of my own judgment." 
 
 I then mentioned my own difficulties formerly, when 
 her ]\Iajesty, upon my ill state of health's urging my 
 resigning the honor of belonging to the Eoyal household, 
 so graciously settled upon me my pension, that I had been 
 forbidden to name it. I had been quite distressed in not 
 avowing what I so gratefully felt, and hearing questions 
 and surmises and remarks I had no power to answer. She 
 seemed instantly to comprehend that my silence might do 
 wrong, on such an occasion, to the Queen, for she smiled, 
 and with great quickness cried, " 0, I dare say you felt 
 quite guilty in holding your tongue." And she was quite 
 pleased with the permission afterwards granted me to be 
 explicit. 
 
 When I spoke of her own and her Eoyal sisters' contri- 
 butions, £100 per annum, she blushed, but seemed ready 
 to enter upon the subject, even confidentially, and related
 
 388 DIAHY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 its whole history. No one ever advised or named it to 
 them, as they have none of them any separate establishment, 
 but all hang upon the Queen, from whose pin-money they 
 are provided for till they marry, or have an household of 
 their own granted by Parliament. " Yet we all longed to 
 subscribe," cried she, " and thought it quite right, if other 
 young ladies did, not to be left out. But the difficulty was, 
 how to do what would not be improper for us, and yet not 
 to be generous at mamma's expense, for that would only 
 have been unjust. So we consulted some of our friends; 
 and then fixed upon £100 a-piece ; and when we asked the 
 Queen's leave, she was so good as to approve it. So then 
 we spoke to the King ; and he said it was but little, but 
 he wished particularly nobody should subscribe what would 
 really distress them ; and that, if that was all we could 
 conveniently do, and regularly continue, he approved it 
 more than to have us make a greater exertion, and either 
 bring ourselves into difficulties or not go on. But he was 
 not at all angry." 
 
 She then gave me the history of the contribution of her 
 brothers. The Prince of Wales could not give in his name 
 without the leave of his creditors. " But Ernest," cried 
 she, " gives £300 a-year, and that 's a tenth of his income, 
 for the King allows him £3,000." 
 
 All this leading to discourse upon loyalty, and then its 
 contrast, democracy, she narrated to me at full length, a 
 lecture of Thelwall's which had been repeated to her by M. 
 de Guiffardi^re. It was very curious from her mouth. 
 But she is candor in its whitest purity, wherever it is pos- 
 sible to display it, in discriminating between good and bad, 
 and abstracting rays of light even from the darkest shades. 
 So she did even from Thelwall. 
 
 She made me, as usual, talk of my little boy, and was 
 much amused by hearing that, imitating what he heard
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 389 
 
 from me, he called his father "mon ami" and tutoy^'d him, 
 drinking his health at dinner, as his father does to me — 
 " d ta sante." When at length the Princess Augusta gave 
 me the bow of conge, she spoke of seeing me again soon : 
 I said I should therefore lengthen my stay in town, and 
 induce M. d'Arblay to come and bring my boy. 
 
 " We shall see you then certainly," said she, smiling, 
 " and do pray, my dear Madame d'Arblay, bring your little 
 boy with you." " And don't say anything to him," cried 
 she, as I was departing ; " let us see him quite natural." 
 
 I understood her gracious, and let me say rational, desire, 
 that the child should not be impressed with any awe of 
 the Eoyal presence. I assured lier I must obey, for he was 
 so young, so wild, and so unused to present himself, except 
 as a plaything, that it would not be even in my power to 
 make him orderly. 
 
 My dear father was extremely pleased with what I had 
 to tell him, and hurried me back to West Hamble, to pro- 
 vide myself with baggage for sojourning with him. My 
 two Alexanders, you will believe, were now warmly invited 
 to Chelsea, and we all returned thither together, accom- 
 panied by Betty Nurse. 
 
 I shall complete my next Court visit before I enter upon 
 aught else. I received, very soon, a note from Madame 
 Bremyere, who is my successor. [I have told you poor 
 ]\Ille. Jacobi is returned to Germany, I think ; and that her 
 niece, La Bettina, is to marry a rich English merchant and 
 settle in London.] — This note says : " Mrs. Bremyere has 
 received the Queen's commands to invite Madame d'Arblay 
 to the play to morrow night" — with her own desire I 
 would drink coffee in her apartment before we went to the 
 theatre. 
 
 My dear father lent me his carriage, and I was now in- 
 troduced to the successor of Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mile.
 
 390 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 Baclimeister, a German, brought over by M. de Luc, who 
 travelled into Germany to accompany her hither. I found 
 she was the lady I had seen with the Queen and Prin- 
 cesses, teaching some work. Not having been to the 
 so-long-known apartments since the death of Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, I knew not how they were arranged, and had 
 concluded Madame Bremyere possessed those of Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg. Thither, therefore, I went, and was. re- 
 ceived, to my great surprise, by this lady, who was equally 
 surprised by my entrance, though without any doubt who 
 I might be, from having seen me with the Queen, and 
 from knowing I was to join the play-party to my ci-devant 
 box. I inquired if I had made a mistake ; but though 
 she could not say no, she would not suffer me to rectify 
 it, but sent to ask Madame Bremyere to meet me in her 
 room. 
 
 Mile. Bachmeister is extremely genteel in her figure, 
 though extremely plain in her face ; her voice is gentle and 
 penetrating ; her manners are soft, yet dignified, and she 
 appears to be both a feeling and a cultivated character. I 
 could not but lament such had not been the former pos- 
 sessor of an apartment I had so often entered with the 
 most cruel antipathy. I liked her exceedingly ; she is a 
 marked gentlewoman in her whole deportment, though 
 whether so from birth, education, or only mind, I am 
 ignorant. 
 
 Since she gave me so pleasant a prejudice in her favor, 
 you will be sure our acquaintance began with some spirit. 
 We talked much of the situation she filled ; and I thought 
 it my duty to cast the whole of ray resignation of one so 
 similar upon ill-health. Mrs. Bremyere soon joined us, 
 and we took up Miss Barbara Planta in our way to the 
 theatre. 
 
 When the King entered, followed by the Queen and his
 
 1798.] OF -MADAME D'AEBLAY. 391 
 
 lovely daughters, and the orchestra struck up " God save 
 the King," and the people all called for the singers, who 
 filled the stage to sing it, the emotion I was suddeidy filled 
 with so powerfully possessed me, that I wished I could, for 
 a minute or two, have flown from the box, to have sobbed, 
 I was so gratefully delighted at the sight before me, and 
 so enraptured at the continued enthusiasm of the no longer 
 volatile people for their worthy, revered sovereign, that I 
 really suffered from the restraint I felt of being forced to 
 behave decorously. 
 
 The play was the " Heir at Law," by Colman the 
 younger. I liked it extremely. It has a good deal of 
 character, a happy plot, much interest in the under parts, 
 and is combined, I think, by real genius, though open to 
 innumerable partial criticisms. 
 
 I heard a gentleman's voice from the next box call softly 
 to Miss Barbara Planta, " Who is that lady ? " and heard 
 her answer my name, and him rejoin " I thought so." I 
 found it was Lord Aylesbury, who also has resigned, and 
 was at the play only for the pleasure of sitting opposite 
 his late Royal mistress. 
 
 About a week after this theatrical regale, I went to the 
 Queen's house, to make known I had only a few more 
 days to remain at Chelsea. I" arrived just as the Royal 
 Family had set out for Windsor ; but Miss Bachmeister, 
 fortunately, had only ascended her coach to follow. I 
 alighted, and went to tell my errand. Mrs. Bremyere, 
 Mrs. Cheveley, and Miss Planta were her party. The 
 latter promised to speak for me to the Queen ; but, gather- 
 ing I had my little boy in my father's carriage, she made 
 me send for him. They took him in, and loaded him with 
 bonbons and admiration, and would have loaded him with 
 caresses to boot, but the little wretch resisted that part of 
 the entertainment.
 
 392 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 Upon their return from Windsor, you will not sup- 
 pose me made very unhappy to receive the following 
 billet : — 
 
 March 8th, 1798, 
 
 My dear Friend, — The Queen has commanded me to 
 acquaint you that she desires you will be at the Queen's 
 house on Thursday morning at ten o'clock, with your lovely 
 boy. You are desired to come upstairs in Princess Eliza- 
 beth's apartments, and Her Majesty will send for you as 
 soon as she can see you. Adieu ! Yours most affection- 
 ately, M. Planta. 
 
 A little before ten, you will easily believe, we were at 
 the Queen's house, and were immediately ushered into the 
 apartment of the Princess Elizabeth, who, to show she 
 expected my little man, had some playthings upon one of 
 her many tables ; for her Ptoyal Highness has at least 
 twenty in her principal room. The child, in a new muslin 
 frock, sash, &c., did not look to much disadvantage, and she 
 examined him with the most good-humored pleasure, and, 
 finding him too shy to be seized, had the graciousness, as 
 well as sense, to play round, and court him by sportive 
 wiles, instead of being offended at his insensibility to her 
 Poyal notice. She ran about the room, peeped at him 
 tlirough chairs, clapped her hands, half caught witliout 
 touching him, and showed a skill and a sweetness that 
 made one almost sigh she should have no call for her 
 maternal propensities. 
 
 There came in presently Miss D , a young lady 
 
 about thirteen, who seems in some measure under the 
 protection of her Eoyal Highness, who had rescued her 
 poor injured and amiable mother. Lady D , from ex- 
 treme distress, into which she had been involved by her 
 unworthy husband's connection with the infamous Lady
 
 irgS.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 393 
 
 W , wlio, more hard-hearted than even bailiffs, had 
 
 forced certain of those gentry, in an execution she had 
 ordered in Sir H. D 's house, to seize even all the chil- 
 dren's playthings ! as well as their clothes, and that when 
 
 Lady D had but just lain in, and was nearly dying ! 
 
 This charming Princess, who had been particularly ac- 
 quainted with Lady D , during her own illness at Kew 
 
 Palace, where the Queen permitted the intercourse, came 
 forward upon this distress, and gave her a small inde- 
 pendent house, in the neighborhood of Kew, with every 
 advantage she could annex to it. But she is now lately 
 no more, and, by the sort of reception given to her daugh- 
 ter, I fancy the Princess transfers to her that kind benevo- 
 lence the mother no longer wants. 
 
 Just then, ]\Iiss Planta came to summon us to the Prin- 
 cess Augusta. She received me with her customary sweet- 
 ness, and called the little boy to her. He went fearfully 
 and cautiously, yet with a look of curiosity at the state of 
 her head, and the operations of her friseur, that seemed to 
 draw him on more powerfully than her commands. He 
 w^ould not, however, be touched, always flying to my side 
 at the least attempt to take his hand. This would much 
 have vexed me, if I had not seen tlie ready allowance she 
 made for his retired life, and total want of use to the sight 
 of anybody out of our family, except the Lockes, amongst 
 whom I told her his peculiar preference for Amelia. 
 "Come then," cried she, "come hither, my dear, and tell me 
 about her, — is she very good to you ? — do you like her 
 very much ? " He was now examining her fine carpet, and 
 no answer was to be procured. I would have apologized, 
 but she would not let me. " 'T is so natural," she cried, 
 " that he should be more amused with those shapes and 
 colors than with my stupid questions." 
 
 Princess Mary now came in, and earnestly looking at
 
 394 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 him, exclaimed, " He 's beautiful ! — what eyes ! — do look 
 at his eyes ! " 
 
 " Come hither, my dear," again cried Princess Augusta, 
 " come hither ; " and, catching him to her for a moment, 
 and holding up his hair, to lift up his face, and make him 
 look at her, she smiled very archly, and cried, " horrid 
 eyes ! — shocking eyes ! — ■ take them away ! " 
 
 Princess Elizabeth then entered, attended by a page, 
 who was loaded with playthings, which she had been send- 
 ing for. You may suppose him caught now ! He seized 
 upon dogs, horses, chaise, a cobbler, a watchman, and all 
 he could grasp ; but would not give his little person or 
 cheeks, to my great confusion, for any of them. I was 
 fain to call him a little savage, a wild deer, a creature just 
 caught from the woods, and whatever could indicate his 
 rustic life and apprehension of new faces, — to prevent 
 their being hurt ; and their excessive good nature helped 
 all my excuses, nay, made them needless, except to myself. 
 
 Princess Elizabeth now began playing upon jin organ 
 she had brought him, which he flew to seize. " Ay, do ! 
 that 's right, my dear ! " cried Princess Augusta, stopping 
 her ears at some discordant sounds : " take it to mon ami, 
 to frighten the cats out of his garden." 
 
 And now, last of all, came in Princess Amelia, and, 
 strange to relate ! the child was instantly delighted with 
 her ! She came first up to me, and, to my inexpressible 
 surprise and enchantment she gave me her sweet, beauti- 
 ful face to kiss ! — an honor I had thought now for ever 
 over, though she had so frequently gratified me with it for- 
 merly. Still more touched, however, than astonished, I 
 would have kissed her hand, but, withdrawing it, saying, 
 " No, no, — you know I hate that ! " she again presented 
 me her ruby lips, and with an expression of such ingen- 
 uous sweetness and innocence as was truly captivating.
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 395 
 
 She is and will be another Princess Augusta. She then 
 turned to the child, and his eyes met hers with a look of 
 the same pleasure that they were sought. She stooped 
 down to take his unresisting hands, and, exclaiming, " Dear 
 little thing ! " took him in her arms, to his own as obvious 
 content as hers. 
 
 "He likes her!" cried Princess Augusta; "a little 
 rogue ! see, how he likes her ! " 
 
 " Dear little thing ! " with double the emphasis, repeated 
 the young Princess, now sitting down and taking him upon 
 her knee ; " and how does M. d'Arblay do ? " The child 
 now left all his new playthings, his admired carpet, and 
 his privilege of jumping from room to room, for the gentle 
 pleasure of sitting in her lap and receiving her caresses. I 
 could not be very angry, you will believe, yet I would have 
 given the world if I could have made him equally grateful 
 to the Princess Augusta. This last charming personage, I 
 now found, was going to sit for her picture — I fancy to 
 send to the Duchess of Wiirtemberg. She gave me leave 
 to attend her, with my bantling. The other Princesses 
 retired to dress for court. 
 
 It was with great difficulty I could part my little love 
 from his grand collection of new playthings, all of which 
 he had dragged into the painting-room, and wanted now 
 to pull them downstairs to the Queen's apartment. I per- 
 suaded him, however, to relinquish the design without a 
 quarrel, by promising we would return for them. I was 
 not a little anxious, you will believe, in this presentation 
 of my unconsciously honored rogue, who entered the Wlute 
 Closet totally unimpressed with any awe, and only with a 
 sensation of disappointment in not meeting again the gay 
 young party, and variety of playthings, he had left above. 
 The Queen, nevertheless, was all condescending indulgence, 
 and had a Noah's ark ready displayed upon the table for
 
 396 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 him. But her look was serious and full of care, and, 
 though perfectly gracious, none of her winning smiles 
 brightened her countenance, and her voice was never cheer- 
 ful. I have since known that the Irish conspiracy with 
 France was just then discovered, and O'Connor that very 
 morning taken. No wonder she should have felt a shock 
 that pervaded her whole mind and manners ' If we all are 
 struck with horror at such developments of treason, danger, 
 and guilt, what must they prove to the Eoyal Family, at 
 whom they are regularly aimed ? How my heart has ached 
 for them in that horrible business ! 
 
 " And how does your papa do ? " said the Queen, 
 
 " He 's at Telsea," answered the child. 
 
 " And how does grandpapa do ? " 
 
 " He 's in the toach," he replied. 
 
 " And what a pretty frock you 've got on ! who made it 
 you, mamma, or little aunty ? " 
 
 The little boy now grew restless, and pulled me about, 
 with a desire to change his situation. I was a good deal 
 embarrassed, as I saw the Queen meant to enter into con- 
 versation as usual ; which I knew to be impossible, unless 
 he had some entertainment to occupy him. She perceived 
 this soon, and had the goodness immediately to open Noah's 
 ark herself, which she had meant he should take away 
 with him to examine and possess at once. But he was 
 now soon in raptures ; and, as the various animals were 
 produced, looked with a de-light that danced in all his fea- 
 tures ; and when any appeared of which he knew the 
 name, he capered with joy ; such as, " 0, a tow [cow] ! " 
 But, at the dog, be clapped his little hands, and running 
 close to her INIajesty, leant upon her lap, exclaiming, " ; 
 it 's bow wow ! " 
 
 " And do you know this, little man ? " said the Queen, 
 showing him a cat.
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 397 
 
 " Yes," cried he, again jumping as he leant upon her, 
 " its name is tailed pussey ! " And, at the appearance of 
 Noah, in a green mantle, and leaning on a stick, he said, 
 " At's [that's] the shepherd's boy ! " 
 
 The Queen now inquired about my dear father, and 
 heard all I had to say relative to his apartments, with an 
 air of interest, yet not as if it was new to her. I have 
 great reason to believe the accommodation then arranging, 
 and since settled, as to his continuance in the College, has 
 been deeply influenced by some Eoyal hint. I know they 
 are extremely kind to my dear father, and, though they 
 will not openly command anything not immediately under 
 their control, I have no doubt they have made known they 
 wished such an accommodation might be brought about. 
 
 I imagine she had just heard of the marriage of Char- 
 lotte, for she inquired after my sister Frances, whom she 
 never had mentioned before since I quitted my post. I 
 was obliged briefly to relate the transaction, seeking to 
 adorn it, by stating Mr. Broome's being the author of " Sim- 
 kin's Letters." She agreed in their uncommon wit and 
 humor. 
 
 My little rebel, meanwhile, finding his animals were not 
 siven into his own hands, but removed from their mis- 
 chief, was struggling all this time to get at the Tunbridge- 
 ware of the Queen's work-box, and, in defiance of all ray 
 efforts to prevent him, he seized one piece, which he called 
 a hammer, and began violently knocking the table with it. 
 I would fain have taken it away silently : but he resisted 
 such grave authority, and so continually took it back, that 
 the Queen, to my great confusion, now gave it him. Soon, 
 however, tired also of this, he ran away from me into the next 
 room, which was their Majesties' bed-room and in which 
 were all the jewels ready to take to St. James's, for the court 
 attire. I was excessively ashamed, and obliged to fetch him
 
 398 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 back in my arms, and there to keep him. " Get down, little 
 man," said the Queen; "you are too heavy for your mamma." 
 
 He took not the smallest notice of this admonition. 
 
 The Queen, accustomed to more implicit obedience, re- 
 peated it ; but he only nestled his little head in my neck, 
 and worked about his whole person, so that I with diffi- 
 culty held him. The Queen now imagined he did not 
 know whom she meant, and said, " What does he call you ? 
 Has he any particular name for you ? " He now lifted up 
 his head, and before I could answer, called out, in a fond- 
 ling manner, " Mamma, mamma ! " 
 
 " ! " said she, smiling, " he knows who I mean ! " 
 
 His restlessness still interrupting all attention, in defi- 
 ance of my earnest whispers for quietness, she now said, 
 " Perha]DS he is hungry ? " and rang her bell, and ordered a 
 page to bring some cakes. He took one with great plea.s- 
 ure, and was content to stand down to eat it. I asked him 
 if he had nothing to say for it ; he nodded his little head, 
 and composedly answered, " Sanky, Queen ! " This could 
 not help amusing her, nor me, neither, for I had no expec- 
 tation of quite so succinct an answer. 
 
 The carriages were now come for St. James's, and the 
 Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth came into the apartment. 
 The little monkey, in a fit of renewed lassitude after his 
 cake, had flung himself on the floor, to repose at his ease. 
 He rose, however, upon their appearance, and the sweet 
 Princess Augusta said to the Queen, " He has been so good 
 upstairs, mamma, that nothing could be better behaved." 
 I could have kissed her for this instinctive kindness, ex- 
 cited by a momentary view of my embarrassment at his 
 little airs and liberties. 
 
 The Queen heard her with an air of approving, as well 
 as understanding her motive, and spoke to me with the 
 utmost condescension of him, though I cannot recollect
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 399 
 
 how, for I was a good deal fidgeted lest he should come to 
 some disgrace by any actual mischief or positive rebellion. 
 I escaped pretty well, however, and they all left us with 
 smiles and graciousness. 
 
 When we returned to the Queen's house, my father's 
 carriage was not arrived, and I was obliged to detain Mile. 
 Bachmeister in conversation for full half an hour, while I 
 waited ; but it served to increase my good disposition to 
 her. She is really an interesting woman. Had she been 
 in that place while I belonged to the Queen, Heaven knows 
 if I had so struggled for deliverance ; for poor Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg so wore, wasted, and tortured all my little leisure, 
 that my time for repose was, in fact, my time of greatest 
 labor. So all is for the best ! I have escaped offending 
 lastingly the Eoyal mistress I love and honor, and — I live 
 at West Hamble with my two precious Alexanders. 
 
 Madame d'Arhlai/ to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 West Hamble, August 28, '98. 
 
 If I could find words, — but the language does not 
 afford any, — my dearest, dearest Susan, to tell what this 
 final blow has been to me, I am sure I should be a brute 
 to make use of them ; but after so much of hope, of fear, 
 of doubt, of terror, to be lifted up at length to real expecta- 
 tion, and only to be hurled down to disappointment! And 
 you — sweetest soul! — that can think of anybody else in 
 such a situation ! — for though your neighbors are so good, 
 Ireland is so unsettled, in our estimation, that I believe 
 there is hardly one amongst us would not at least have 
 parted with a little finger by the hatchet, to have possessed 
 you for a few months in England. 
 
 I write because I must write, but I am not yet fit for it ;
 
 400 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 I can offer no fortitude to my Susan, and it is wrong to 
 offer anything else : but I must write, because I must let 
 her see my hand, to tempt a quicker sight again of her own 
 to eyes which yearn after it incessantly. Why did the 
 Major desire me to look after our old cottage at Bookham ? 
 and so obligingly, so pleasantly, so truly say he was certain 
 of the pleasui-e he gave me by the commission ? — Can you 
 tell ? 
 
 I have many things to say and talk of, but they all get 
 behind the present overbearing, engrossing disappointment, 
 which will take no consolation or occupation, except my 
 dear boy, who fortunately was out of the way when I first 
 received it ; for else he would have used the letter very ill ; 
 when I got that which announced that you were coming, 
 the one before the last, in which the Major liimself wrote 
 to James, and which James most kindly forwarded to me 
 instantly, saying, "We may now expect to see dear Susan 
 in a few days ; " those words from him, less easily elated 
 than most of us, so transported me that I appeared to my 
 poor Alex, in deep grief from a powerful emotion of sur- 
 prise and joy, which forced its way down my cheeks. 
 
 The little creature, who was playing on the sofa, set up 
 a loud cry, and instantly, with a desperate impulse, ran to 
 me, darted up his little hands, before I could imagine his 
 design, and seized the letter with such violence that Tmust 
 have torn it to have prevented him : and then he flew with 
 it to the sofa, and rumpling it up in his little hands, poked 
 it under the cushions, and then resolutely sat down upon 
 it. I was too happy at that moment to oppose his little 
 enterprise, and he sat still till my caresses and evident re- 
 establishment brought him to my lap. However, when 1 
 put him down and made up to the sofa for my letter, he 
 began crying again, and flying to his booty, put himself 
 into such an agony that I was fain to quiet him by waiting
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 401 
 
 till I could take it unobserved ; yet he could not express 
 himself better in words than by merely saying, " I don't 
 ike ou to ead a letter, mamma I " — He had never happened 
 to see me in tears before : happy boy ! — and oh, happy 
 mother ! 
 
 The little soul has a thousand traits of character that 
 remind me of Norbury, both in what is desirable and what 
 is fearful ; for he is not only as sweet, but as impetuous, 
 and already he has the same desire to hear me recount to 
 him his own good and bad conduct at the end of the day 
 that dear Norbury had when I visited Mickleham. Just 
 now, when we took leave for the night, he said, "And 
 what was I to-day, mamma ? " " Good, my dear." " But 
 what was I to dinner ? " "A little rude." He then looks 
 down very conscious, but raises his brightened eyes, to say, 
 " And what are I now, mamma ? " " Quite good, my love." 
 
 And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last 
 Court history of this year. 
 
 The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill since 
 my last Eoyal admittance, of some complaint in her knee 
 which caused spasms the most dreadfidly painful, was 
 now returning from her sea-bathing at Worthing, and I 
 heard from all around the neighborhood that her Eoyal 
 Highness was to rest and stop one night at Juniper Hall, 
 whither she was to be attended by Mr. Keate, the sur- 
 geon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician at 
 Worthing, 
 
 I could not hear of her approaching so near our habi- 
 tation, and sleeping within sight of us, and be contented 
 without an effort to see her ; yet I would not distress Lady 
 Eothes by an application she would not know how either 
 to refuse or grant, from the established etiquette of bring- 
 ing no one into the presence of their Eoyal Highnesses 
 but by the Queen's permission. So infinitely sweet, how- 
 voL. II. 26
 
 402 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 ever, that young love of a Princess always is to me, that I 
 gathered courage to address a petition to her Majesty her- 
 self, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave to pay 
 my homage. — I will copy my answer, sent by return of 
 post. 
 
 My dear Friend, — I have infinite pleasure in acquaint- 
 ing you that the Queen has ordered me to say that you 
 have her leave to see dear Princess Amelia, provided Sir 
 Lucas Pepys and Mr. Keate permit it. &c., &c., &c. 
 
 With so complete and honorable a credential, I now 
 scrupled not to address a few lines to Lady Eothes, telling 
 her my authority, to prevent any embarrassment, for en- 
 treating her leave to pay my devoirs to the young Princess 
 on Saturday morning, — the Friday I imagined she would 
 arrive too fatigued to be seen. I intimated also my wish 
 to bring my boy, not to be presented unless demanded, but 
 to be put into some closet where he might be at hand in 
 case of that honor. The sweet Princess's excessive go-a- 
 ciousness to him gave me courage for this request. Lady 
 Eothes sent me a kind note which made me perfectly 
 comfortable. 
 
 It was the 1st of December, but a beautifully clear and 
 fine day. I borrowed Mr. Locke's carriage. 
 
 Sir Lucas came to us immediately, and ushered us to the 
 breakfast-parlor, giving me the most cheering accounts of 
 the recovery of the Princess. Here I was received by 
 Lady Eothes, who presented me to Lady Albinia Cumber- 
 land, widow of Cumberland the author's only son, and one 
 of the ladies of the Princesses. I found her a peculiarly 
 pleasing woman, in voice, manner, look, and behavior. 
 
 This introcTuction over, I had the pleasure to shake 
 hands with Miss Goldsworthy, whom I was very glad to 
 see and who was very cordial and kind ; but who is be-
 
 1798.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 403 
 
 come, alas ! so dreadfully deaf, there is no conversing with 
 her, but by talking for a whole house to hear every word ! 
 With this infirmity, however, she is still in her first youth 
 and brightness compared with her brother ; who, though I 
 knew him of the party, is so dreadfully altered, that I with 
 difficulty could venture to speak to him by the name of 
 General Goldsworthy. He has had three or four more 
 strokes of apoplexy since I saw him. 
 
 I fancy he had a strong consciousness of his alteration, 
 for he seemed embarrassed and shy, and only bowed to me, 
 at first, without speaking. But I wore that off afterwards, 
 by chatting over old stories with him. 
 
 The Princess breakfasted alone, attended by Mrs. Cheve- 
 ley. When this general breakfast was over. Lady Albinia 
 retired. But in a very few minutes she returned, and said, 
 "Her Koyal Highness desires to see Madame d'Arblay 
 and her little boy." 
 
 The Princess was seated on a sofa, in a French grey 
 riding-dress, with pink lapels, her beautiful and richly 
 flowing and shining fair locks unornamented. Her break- 
 fast was still before her, and Mrs. Cheveley in waiting. 
 Lady Albinia announced me, and she received me with the 
 brightest smile, calling me up to her, and stopping my 
 profound reverence, by pouting out her sweet ruby lips for 
 me to kiss. 
 
 She desired me to come and sit by her ; but, ashamed of 
 so much indulgence, I seemed not to hear her, and drew a 
 chair at a little distance. " No, no," she cried, nodding, 
 " come here ; come and sit by me here, my dear Madame 
 d'Arblay." I had then only to say 't was my duty to obey 
 her, and I seated myself on her sofa. Lady Albinia, whom 
 she motioned to sit, took an opposite chair, and Mrs. 
 Cheveley, after we had spoken a few words together, 
 retired.
 
 404 DIARY AND LETTERS [1798. 
 
 Her attention now was bestowed upon my Alex., who 
 required not quite so much solicitation to take his part of 
 the sofa. He came jumping and skipping up to her Eoyal 
 Highness, with such gay and merry antics, that it was im- 
 possible not to be diverted with so sudden a change from 
 Ms composed and quiet behavior in the other room. He 
 seemed enchanted to see her again, and I was only alarmed 
 lest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing 
 agility. 
 
 I bid him, in vain, however, repeat Ariel's " Come unto 
 these Yellow Sands," which he can say very prettily ; he 
 began, and the Princess, who knew it, prompted him to go 
 on ; but a fit of shame came suddenly across him — or of 
 capriciousness — and he would not continue. 
 
 Lady Albinia soon after left the room ; and the Princess, 
 then, turning hastily and eagerly to me, said, " Now we 
 are alone, do let me ask you one question, Madame d'Ar- 
 blay — Are you — are you — [looking with strong expres- 
 sion to discover her answer] writing anything ? " 
 
 I could not help laughing, but replied in the negative. 
 
 " Upon your honor ? " she cried earnestly, and looking 
 disappointed. This was too hard an interrogatory for eva- 
 sion ; and I was forced to say — the truth — that I was 
 about nothing I had yet fixed if or not I should ever finish, 
 but that I was rarely without some project. This seemed 
 to satisfy and please her. 
 
 I told her of my having seen the Duke of Clarence at 
 Leatherhead fair. " What, William ? " she cried, surprised. 
 This unaffected, natural way of naming her brothers and 
 sisters is infinitely pleasing. She took a miniature from 
 her pocket, and said, " I must show you Meney's picture," 
 meaning Princess Mary, whom she still calls Meney, 
 because it was the name she gave her when unable to pro- 
 nounce Mary — a time she knew I well remembered. It
 
 1799.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 405 
 
 was a very sweet miniature, and extremely like. " Ah ! 
 what happiness," I cried, " your Eoyal Highness will feel, 
 and give, upon returning to their Majesties and their Eoyal 
 Highnesses, after such an absence, and such sufferings ! " 
 " Oh ! yes ! — I shall be so glad ! " she cried, and then Lady 
 Albinia came in and whispered her it was time to admit 
 Lady Eothes, who then entered with Lady Harriet and the 
 Miss Leslies. 
 
 When she was removing, painfully lifted from her seat 
 between Sir Lucas and Mr. Keate, she stopped to pay her 
 compliments and thanks to Lady Eothes with a dignity 
 and self-command extremely striking.^ F. d'A. 
 
 Madame cf Arhlay to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 August 14th, '99. 
 I know that my beloved Susan did not mean I should 
 see her true account of her precious health ; but it arrived 
 
 1 This sweet young Princess died in 1811, after long suffering, patiently 
 endured. She was the favorite child of her father, whose hopeless derange- 
 ment dated from the day on which her death was announced to him. The 
 .simple and touching verses which follow are attributed to her pen : — 
 
 " Unthinking, idle, vain, and young, 
 I laughed and danced and played and sung, 
 And, proud of health, of freedom vain, 
 Dreamt not of sickness, care, nor pain ; 
 Concluding, in those hours of glee, 
 That the whole world was made for me. 
 
 " But when the hour of trial came. 
 
 When sickness racked this trembling frame, 
 When folly's gay pursuit was o'er. 
 And I could laugh and sing no more, — 
 It then occurred, how sad 't would be 
 If the whole world were made for me ! "
 
 406 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1799. 
 
 at West Hamble while Estlier was there, and it has been 
 engraven on my heart in saddest characters ever since. 
 The degree in which it makes me — I had almost said — 
 wretched, would be cmel to dwell upon ; but had the letter 
 finished as it began, I must have surely applied for a 
 passport, without which there is now no visiting Ireland. 
 In case, my sweet soul, you are relapsed, or do not continue 
 improving, tell me if there is any way I can manage to 
 make a surprise give no shock of horror where I have 
 no expectation of giving pleasure ? I would not offend, 
 nor add to my beloved's hard tasks, God knows ! Should 
 I write thei^e, in that case, for leave ? or what do ? At 
 all events, and if the recovery continues, give me a hint 
 or two, I entreat. I consult no one here ; I must do such 
 a deed by storm ; I am sure of consent to everything that 
 my happiness and peace demand, from the only one who 
 can lawfully control me, — and that is enough. F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 West Hamble, December 10th, '99. 
 my Susan, my heart's dear sister ! with what bitter 
 sorrow have I read this last account ! With us, with your- 
 self, your children, — all, — you have trifled in respect to 
 health, though in all things else you are honor and veracity 
 personified ; but nothing had prepared me to think you in 
 such a state as I now fijid you. Would to God I could 
 get to you ! If Mr. Keirnan thinks you had best pass the 
 winter in Dublin, stay, and let me come to you. Venture 
 nothing against his opinion, for mercy's sake ! Fears for 
 your health take place of all impatience to expedite your 
 return ; only go not back to Belcotton, where you cannot 
 be under his direction, and are away from tlie physician he 
 thinks of so highly.
 
 1800.] OF MADAME d'ARBLAY. 407 
 
 I shall write immediately to Charles about the carriage. 
 I am sure of his answer beforehand, — so must you be. 
 Act, therefore, with regard to the carriage, as if already it 
 were arranged. But I am well aware it must not set out 
 till you are well enough to nearly fix your day of sailing. I 
 say nearly, for we must always allow for accidents. I shall 
 write to our dear father, and Etty, and James, and send to 
 Norbury Park ; but I shall wait till to-morrow, not to in- 
 fect them with what I am infected. 
 
 How I love that charming Augusta ! — tell her so ; I am 
 almost tempted to write to her, and to Mrs. Disney, and to 
 Mr. Keirnan. I expect everybody to love and be kind to 
 my Susan : yet I love and cherish them for it as if it were 
 any wonder. 
 
 my Susan ! that I could come to you ! But all must 
 depend on Mr. Keirnan's decision. If you can come to us 
 with perfect safety, however slowly, I shall not dare add 
 to your embarrassment of persons and package. Else, 
 Charles's carriage — 0, what a temptation to air it for you 
 all the way ! Take no more large paper, that you may 
 write with less fatigue, and, if possible, oftener : — to any 
 one will sufi&ce for alL Yours affectionately, E. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 9th January, 1800. 
 
 My most dear Padre, — My mate will say all say, — so 
 I can only offer up my earnest prayers I may soon be 
 allowed the blessing — the only one I sigh for — of em- 
 bracing my dearest Susan in your arms and under your 
 roof. Amen. E. d'A. 
 
 These were the last written lines of the last period — 
 unsuspected as such — of my perfect happiness on earth ;
 
 408 DIARY AND LETTERS [1800. 
 
 for they were stopped on the road by news that my heart's 
 beloved sister, Susanna Elizabeth Phillips, had ceased to 
 breathe. The tenderest of husbands — the most feeling of 
 human beings — had only reached JSTorbury Park, on his 
 way to a believed meeting with that angel, when the fatal 
 blow was struck ; and he came back to West Hamble — to 
 the dreadful task of revealing the irreparable loss which 
 his own goodness, sweetness, patience, and sympathy could 
 alone have made supported. 
 
 Madame d^ Arhlay to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 9th January, 1800. 
 
 " As a guardian angel ! " — Yes, my dearest Fredy, as 
 such in every interval of despondence I have looked up to 
 the sky to see her ; but my eyes cannot pierce through the 
 thick atmosphere, and I can only represent her to me seated 
 on a chair of sickness, her soft hand held partly out to me as 
 I approach her ; her softer eyes so greeting me as never 
 welcome was expressed before ; and a smile of heavenly ex- 
 pression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful soul 
 that God at length shoidd grant our re-union. From our 
 earliest moments, my Fredy, when no misfortune hap- 
 pened to our dear family, vm vmntcd nothing hut each other. 
 Joyfully as others were received by us — loved by us — all 
 that was necessary to our happiness was fulfilled by our 
 simple junction. This I remember with my first remem- 
 brance ; nor do I recollect a single instance of being af- 
 fected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment, 
 if its result was leaving us together. 
 
 She was the soul of my soul ! — and 't is wonderful to 
 me, my dearest Fredy, that the first shock did not join 
 them immediately by the flight of mine — but that over —
 
 1800.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 409 
 
 that dreadful, harrowing, never-to-be-forgotten moment of 
 horror that made me wish to be mad — the ties that after 
 that first endearing period have shared with her my heart, 
 come to my aid. Yet I was long incredulous ; and still 
 sometimes I think it is not — and that she will come — 
 and I paint her by my side — by my father's — in every 
 room of these apartments, destined to have checkered the 
 woes of her life with rays of comfort, joy, and affection. 
 
 O, my Fredy ! not selfish is the affliction that repines ; 
 her earthly course of sorrow was allowed no shade ! — that 
 at the instant soft peace and consolation awaited her she 
 should breathe her last ! You would understand all the 
 hardship of resignation for me were you to read the joyful 
 opening of her letter, on her landing, to my poor father, 
 and her prayer at the end to be restored to him. 
 
 0, my Fredy ! could you indeed think of me — be 
 alarmed for me on that dreadful day ! — I can hardly make 
 that enter my comprehension ; but I thank you from my 
 soul ; for that is beyond any love I had thought possil)le, 
 even from your tender heart. 
 
 Tell me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction. 
 I write so fast I fear you can hardly read ; but you will 
 see I am conversing with you, and that will show you how 
 I turn to you for the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, 
 you have all a loss, indeed ! F. D'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblai/ to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 Greenwich, Fiiday, February — , 1800. 
 Here we are, my beloved friend. We came yesterday. 
 All places to me are now less awful than my own so dear 
 habitation. 
 
 My royal interview took place on Wednesday. I was
 
 410 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1800. 
 
 five hours with the Royal family, three of them alone with 
 the Queen, whose graciousness and kind goodness I cannot 
 express. And each of the Princesses saw me with a sort 
 of concern and interest I can never forget. I did tolerably 
 well, though not quite as steadily as I expected ; but with 
 my own Princess Augusta I lost all command of myself. 
 She is still wrapt up, and just recovering from a fever her- 
 self ; and she spoke to me in a tone — a voice so commis- 
 erating — I could not stand it — I was forced to stop short 
 in my approach, and hide my face with my muff. She 
 came up to me immediately, put her arm upon my shoulder, 
 and kissed me. — I shall never forget it. — How much 
 more than thousands of words did a condescension so ten- 
 der tell me her kind feelings ! — She is one of the few 
 beings in this world that can be, in the words of M. de 
 Narbonne, " all that is douce and all that is spirituelle," — 
 his words upon my lost darling ! 
 
 It is impossible more of comfort or gratification could be 
 given, than I received from them all. F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Jrblay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 West Hamble, March 22, 1800. 
 
 Day after day I have meant to write to my dearest 
 father ; but I have been unwell ever since our return, and 
 that has not added to my being sprightly. I have not 
 once crossed the threshold since I re-entered the house till 
 to-day, when Mr. and Mrs. Locke almost insisted upon 
 taking me an airing. I am glad of it, for it has done me 
 good, and broken a kind of spell that made me unwilling 
 to stir. 
 
 M. d'Arblay has worked most laboriously in his garden ; 
 but his misfortunes there, during our absence, might
 
 1800.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 411 
 
 melt a heart of stone. The horses of our next neighboring 
 farmer broke through our hedges, and have made a kind of 
 bog of our meadow, by scampering in it during the wet ; the 
 sheep followed, who have eaten up all our greens, every 
 sprout and cabbage and lettuce destined for the winter; 
 while the horses dug up our turnips and caiTots ; and the 
 swine, pursuing such examples, have trod down all the 
 young plants, besides devouring whatever the others left of 
 vegetables. Our potatoes, left, from our abrupt departure, 
 in the ground, are all rotten or frost- bitt-en, and utterly 
 spoilt ; and not a single thing has our whole ground pro- 
 duced us since we came home. A few dried carrots, which 
 remain from the indoors collection, are all we have to 
 temper our viands. 
 
 What think you of this for people who make it a rule 
 to owe a third of their sustenance to the garden ? Poor M. 
 d'A.'s renewal of toil, to supply future times, is exemplary 
 to behold, after such discouragement. But he works as if 
 nothing had failed ; such is his patience as well as industry. 
 
 My Alex., I am sure you will be kindly glad to hear, is 
 entirely well ; and looks so blooming — no rose can be 
 fresher. I am encouraging back his spouting propensity, 
 to fit him for his royal interview with the sweet and gay 
 young Princess who has demanded him, who will, I know, 
 be diverted with his speeches and gestures. We must 
 present ourselves before Easter, as the Court then adjourns 
 to Windsor for ten days. My gardener will not again 
 leave his grounds to the four-footed marauders ; and our 
 stay, therefore,, will be the very shortest we can possibly 
 make it ; for though we love retirement, we do not like 
 solitude. 
 
 I long for some further account of you, dearest Sir, and 
 how you bear the mixture of business and company, of 
 fag and frolic, as Charlotte used to phrase it. F. d'A,
 
 412 DIAKY AND LETTEKS [1800. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 West Hamble, November 7, 1800. 
 
 I think it very long not to hear at least of you, my 
 clearest padre. My tranquil and happy security, alas ! has 
 been broken in upon by severe conflicts since I wrote to 
 my dearest father last, which I would not communicate 
 while yet pending, but must now briefly narrate. 
 
 My partner, the truest of partners, has been erased from 
 the list of emigrants nearly a year ; and in that period has 
 been much pressed and much blamed by his remaining 
 friends in France, by every opportunity through which they 
 could send to him, for not immediately returning, and see- 
 ing if anything could be yet saved from the wreck of his 
 own and family's fortune ; but he held steady to his origi- 
 nal purpose never to revisit his own country till it was at 
 peace with this ; till a letter came from his beloved uncle 
 himself, conveyed to him through Hambro', which shook 
 all the firmness of his resolution, and has kept him, since 
 its receipt, in a state of fermentation, from doubts and 
 difficulties, and crossing wishes and interests, that has 
 much affected his health as well as tranquillity. 
 
 All, however, now, is at least decided ; for a few days 
 since he received a letter from M. Lajard, who is returned 
 to Paris, with information from his uncle's eldest son, that 
 some of his small property is yet unsold, to about the 
 amount of £1,000, and can still be saved from sequestration 
 if he will immediately go and claim it : or, if that is im- 
 possible, if he will send his 'procuration to his uncle, from 
 son>e country not at v:ar tvith France. 
 
 This ended all his internal contest ; and he is gone this 
 very morning to town to procure a passport and a passage 
 in some vessel bound to Holland. 
 
 So unused are we to part, never yet for a week having
 
 1800.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 413 
 
 been separated during the eight years of our union, that 
 our first idea was going together, and taking our Alex. ; 
 and certain I am nothing would do me such material and 
 mental good as so complete a change of scene ; but the 
 great expense of the voyage and journey, and the inclement 
 season for our little boy, at length finally settled us to pray 
 only for a speedy meeting. But I did not give it up till 
 late last night, and am far from quite reconciled to relin- 
 quishing it even now. 
 
 He has no intention to go to France, or he would make 
 an ■ effort to pass by Calais, which would delightfully 
 shorten the passage ; but he merely means to remain at 
 the Hague, while he sends over his procuration, and learns 
 how soon he may hope to reap its fruits. 
 
 I can write upon nothing else just now, my dearest 
 father ; the misfortune of this call at such a boisterous, 
 dangerous season, wall oppress and alarm me, in defiance of 
 all I can oppose of hope ; yet the measure is so reasonable, 
 so natural, I could no longer try to combat it. Adieu, 
 dearest Sir. If any news of him reaches me before his 
 return, I will not enjoy it five minutes previous to commu- 
 nicating it to my dear father. He hopes at all events to 
 be able to embrace you, and beg your benediction before 
 he departs, which nothing but the very unlikely chance of 
 meeting a vessel just sailing for Holland immediately can 
 prevent. He is well — and oh, what a support to me ! 
 
 F. D'A. 
 
 Madame d^ Arhlay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 West Hamble, 16th December, 1800. 
 He is returned, my dearest father, already ! My joy and 
 surprise are so great I seem in a dream. I have just this 
 moment a letter from him, written at Gravesend.
 
 414 DIARY AND LETTERS [1800. 
 
 What he has been able to arrange as to his affairs, I 
 know not ; and just now cannot care, so great is my thank- 
 fulness for his safety and return. He waits in the river 
 for his passport, and will, when he obtains it, hasten, I 
 need not say, to West Hamble. 
 
 This blessed news my dearest father will, I am sure, be 
 glad to receive ; I am sure, too, of the joy of my dear, 
 affectionate Fanny. He will be here, I hope, to keep his 
 son's sixth birthday, on Thursday. He is well, he says, but 
 horribly fatigued. Heaven bless and preserve you, dearest 
 sir, your ever dutiful and affectionate, F. d'A.
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 415 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 .1802 — 1813. 
 
 [In October, 1801, M. d'Arblay received from the French 
 government the appointment of commercial consul at Lon- 
 don, and went to Paris to receive orders. The appoint- 
 ment was annulled in consequence of his stipulation that 
 at no time should he be called on to bear arms against the 
 British government. Having been required by the Alien 
 Office, on leaving England, to engage that he would not 
 return for the space of one year, Madame d'Arblay and 
 her son joined him at Paris in April, 1802, where circum- 
 stances detained her for ten years.] 
 
 Madame d'' Arblay to Miss Planta. 
 
 Paris, April 27, 1802. 
 
 A week have I been here, my dear Miss Planta, so aston- 
 ishingly engaged, so indispensably occupied, or so suffering 
 from fatigue, that I have not been able till now to take up 
 my pen, except to satisfy my dear father of our safe arrival. 
 To give you some idea of these engagements, occupations, 
 Audi fatigues, I must begin with the last. 
 
 We were a whole long, languid day, a whole restless, 
 painful night, upon the sea ; my little Alex, sick as death, 
 suffering, if possible, yet more than myself, though I had 
 not a moment of ease and comfort. My little Adrienne de 
 Chavagnac was perfectly well aU the time, singing and
 
 416 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 skipping about the cabin, and amusing every one by her 
 innocent enjoyment of the novelty of the scene. 
 
 At Calais we spent a day, and half a night to refit ; and 
 pray try to imagine my pleased emotion and surprise, 
 wlien, as soon as we were seated to dinner at the hotel, 
 a band of musicians came to the window, with French 
 horns and other instruments, and struck up " God save the 
 King." So unexpected a sound in a foreign country, and 
 a country so lately hostile, affected me with uncommon 
 pleasure. 
 
 As to mj occupations ; — my little apartment to arrange, 
 my trunks and baggage to unpack and place, my poor 
 Adrienne to consign to her friends, my Alex, to nurse from 
 a threatening malady ; letters to deliver, necessaries to 
 buy ; a femme de chambre to engage ; and, most important 
 of all ! my own sumptuous wardrobe to refit, and my own 
 poor exterior to reorganize ! I see you smile, methinks, at 
 this hint ; but what smiles would brighten the countenance 
 of a certain young lady called Miss Rose, who amused her- 
 self by anticipation, when I had last the honor of seeing 
 her, with the changes I might have to undergo, could she 
 have heard the exclamations which followed the examina- 
 tion of my attire ! " This won't do ! That you can never 
 wear ! This you can never be seen in ! That would make 
 yoa stared at as a curiosity! — Three petticoats! no one 
 wears more than one ! — Stays ? everybody has left off 
 even corsets ! — Shift-sleeves ? not a soul now wears even 
 a chemise !" &c. &c. In short, I found all that I possessed 
 seemed so hideously old-fashioned, or so comically rustic, 
 that as soon as it was decreed I must make my appearance 
 in the grand monde, hop'eless of success in exhibiting my- 
 self in the costume Frangais, I gave over the attempt, and 
 ventured to come forth as a Gothic Anglaise, who had
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 417 
 
 never heard of, or never heeded, the reigning meta- 
 morphoses. 
 
 As to my engagements ; — when should I finish, should 
 I tell of all that had been made or proposed, even in the 
 short space of a single week ? The civilities I have met 
 with, contrary to all my expectations, have not more 
 amazed me for myself, than gratified me for M. d'Arblay, 
 who is keenly alive to the kind, I might say distinguished, 
 reception I have been favored with by those to whom my 
 arrival is known. 
 
 Your favorite hero is excessively popular at this moment 
 from three successive grand events, all occurring within the 
 short time of my arrival, — the Eatification of the Treaty 
 of Peace — the Eestoration of Sunday, and Catholic Wor- 
 ship — and the amnesty of the Emigrants. At the Opera 
 Buffa, the loge in which I sat was exactly opposite to that 
 of the First Consul ; but he and his family are all at 
 Malmaison. Adieu, my dear Miss P., and believe me ever, 
 your affectionate friend and servant, F. dAhblay. 
 
 Nothing since my arrival has so sensibly gratified me, as 
 a visit from Madame Lafayette. 
 
 Madame Lafayette is the daughter of the ci-devant Due 
 dAyen, and consequently niece of Madame de Tesse, the 
 Due's sister. She was married to M. de Lafayette when 
 she was only seventeen years of age. By some cold, or 
 mismanagement, and total want of exercise in the prison 
 of Olmutz, some humor has fallen into one of her ankles, 
 that, though it does not make her absolutely lame, causes 
 walking to be so painful and difficult to her that she moves 
 as little as possible, and is always obliged to have a stool 
 for her foot. She now resides with M. Lafayette and their 
 three children entirely in the country, at a chateau which 
 VOL. II. 27
 
 418 DIARY AND LETTEES [1802. 
 
 has descended to lier since the revolutionary horrors, and 
 therefore has not been confiscated, called La Grange. 
 They never come to Paris but upon business of positive 
 necessity. She had arrived only this morning on a visit to 
 her aunt, Madame de Tesse, to make some preparations for 
 the approaching marriage of her only son. 
 
 Her youngest daughter. Mademoiselle de Lafayette, ac- 
 companied her. She is a blooming young creature of 
 English fairness — as we English choose to say — with a 
 bright native color, and beautiful light hair ; otherwise 
 with but indifferent features, and not handsome ; yet her 
 air, though modest even to the extreme that borders upon 
 bashfulness, is distinguished, and speaks her to be both 
 sensible and well brought up. 
 
 Madame de Lafayette, also, is by no means handsome ; 
 but has eyes so expressive, so large, and so speaking, that 
 it is not easy to criticise her other features, for it is almost 
 impossible to look at them. Her manner is calm and mild, 
 yet noble. She is respected even by surrounding infidels 
 for her genuine piety, which, in the true character of true 
 religion, is severe only for herself, lenient and clieerful for 
 all others. I do not say this from what I could see in the 
 hour she was so good as to pass with me, but from all I 
 have heard. 
 
 She warmly invited me to La Grange, and requested me 
 to name an early day for passing some time there. I pro- 
 posed that it might be after the marriage had taken place, 
 as till then all foreign people or subjects might be obtrusive. 
 She paused a moment, and then said, " Apres ? — c'est vrai ! 
 — we could then more completely enjoy Madame d'Ar- 
 blay's society ; for we must now have continual interruptions, 
 surrounded as we are by workmen, goods, chattels, and 
 preparations ; so that there would be a nail to hammer 
 between almost every word ; and yet, as we are going to
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 419 
 
 Auvergne after the ceremony, it will be so long before a 
 meeting may be arranged, that I believe the less time lost 
 the better." 
 
 I knew M. d'Arblay desired this acquaintance for me 
 too earnestly to offer any opposition ; and I was too much 
 charmed with its opening to make any myself: it was 
 therefore determined we should go the following week to 
 La Grange. 
 
 {May 5.) Again a full day. M. d'Arblay had procured 
 us three tickets for entering the apartments at the Tuileries, 
 to see the parade of General Hulin, now high in actual 
 rank and service, but who had been a sous-ojicier under M. 
 dArblay's command ; our third ticket was for Madame 
 d'Henin, who had never been to this sight — nor, indeed, 
 more than t^vice to any spectacle since her return to France 
 — till my arrival ; but she is so obliging and good as to 
 accept, nay, to seek, everything that can amuse, of which 
 I can profit. We breakfasted with her early, and were 
 appointed to join the party of M. le Prince de Beauveau, 
 who had a General in his carriaoe, through whose aid and 
 instructions we hoped to escape all difficulties. 
 
 The crowd was great, but civil and well dressed ; and we 
 met with no impediment till we came to the great entrance. 
 Alas, I had sad recollections of sad readings in mountin"»^ 
 the steps 1 We had great difficulty, notwithstanding our 
 tickets, in making our way — I mean Madame d'Henin 
 and ourselves, for Madame de Beauveau and Mademoiselle 
 de Mortemar having an officer in the existing military to 
 aid them, were admitted and helped by all the attendants ; 
 and so forwarded that we wholly lost sight of them, till we 
 arrived, long after, in the apartment destined for the exhi- 
 bition. This, however, was so crowded that every place at 
 the windows for seeing the parade was taken, and the row 
 formed opposite to see the First Consul as he passed through
 
 420 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 the room to take horse, was so thick and threefold filled, that 
 not a possibility existed of even a passing peep. Madame 
 d'Henin would have retired, but as the whole scene was 
 new and curious to me, 1 prevailed with her to stay, that 
 I might view a little of the costume of the company ; though 
 I was sorry I detained her, when I saw her perturbed 
 spirits from the recollections which, I am sure, pressed 
 upon her on re-entering this palace : and that her sorrows 
 were only subdued by her personal indignation, which was 
 unconscious, but yet very prominent, to find herself included 
 in the mass of the crowd in being refused all place and 
 distinction, where, heretofore, she was amongst the first for 
 every sort of courtesy. Nothing of this, however, was said ; 
 and you may believe my pity for her was equally unuttered. 
 
 We seated ourselves now, hopeless of any other amuse- 
 ment than seeing the uniforms of the passing officers, and 
 the light drapery of the stationary ladies, which, by the 
 way, is not by any means so notorious nor so common as 
 has been represented ; on the contrary, there are far more 
 who are decent enough to attract no attention, than who 
 are fashionable enough to call for it. 
 
 During this interval M. d'Arblay found means, by a 
 ticket lent him by M. de Narbonne, to enter the next apart- 
 ment, and there to state our distress, not in vain, to General 
 Hulin ; and presently he returned, accompanied by this 
 officer, who is, I' fancy, at least seven feet high, and was 
 dressed in one of the most showy uniforms I ever saw. 
 M. d'Arblay introduced me to him. He expressed his 
 pleasure in seeing the wife of his old comrade, and taking 
 my hand, caused all the crowd to make way, and conducted 
 me into the apartment adjoining to that where the First 
 Consul receives the ambassadors, with a fiourish of man- 
 ners so fully displaying power as well as courtesy, that I 
 felt as if in the hands of one of the seven champions who
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY, 421 
 
 meant to mow down all before him, should any impious 
 elf dare 'dispute his right to give me liberty, or to show 
 me honor. 
 
 He put me into the first place in the apartment which 
 was sacred to general officers, and as many ladies as could 
 be accommodated in two rows only at the windows. M. 
 d'Arblay, under the sanction of his big friend, followed 
 with Madame d'Henin; and we had the pleasure of re- 
 joining Madame de Beauveau and Mademoiselle de Morte- 
 mar, who were at the same windows, through the exertions 
 of General Songis. 
 
 The scene now, with regard to all that was present, was 
 splendidly gay and highly animating. The room was full, 
 but not crowded, with officers of rank in sumptuous rather 
 than rich uniforms, and exhibiting a martial air that be- 
 came their attire, which, however, generally speaking, was 
 too ojorcjeous to be noble. 
 
 Our window was that next to the consular apartment, 
 in which Bonaparte was holding a levee, and it was close 
 to the steps ascending to it ; by which means we saw all 
 the forms of the various exits and entrances, and had op- 
 portunity to examine every dress and every countenance 
 that passed and repassed. This was highly amusing, I 
 might say historic, where the past history and the present 
 office were known. 
 
 Sundry footmen of the First Consul, in very fine liveries, 
 ' were attending to bring or arrange chairs for whoever re- 
 quired them ; various peace-officers, superbly begilt, pa- 
 raded occasionally up and down the chamber, to keep the 
 ladies to their windows and the gentlemen to their ranks, 
 so as to preserve the passage or lane through whicli the 
 First Consul was to walk upon his entrance clear and 
 open; and several gentlemanlike-looking persons, whom 
 in former times I should have supposed pages of the back
 
 422 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 stairs, dressed in black, with gold chains hanging round 
 their necks, and medallions pending from them, seemed to 
 have the charge of the door itself, leading immediately to 
 the audience chamber of the First Consul. 
 
 But what was most prominent in commanding notice, 
 was the array of the aides-de-camp of Bonaparte, which 
 was so almost furiously striking, that all other vestments, 
 even the most gaudy, appeared suddenly under a gloomy 
 cloud when contrasted with its brightness. We were long 
 viewing them before we could discover what they were to 
 represent, my three lady companions being as new to this 
 scene as myself ; but afterwards M. d'Arblay starting for- 
 ward to speak to one of them, brought him across the lane 
 to me, and said, " General Lauriston." 
 
 His kind and faithful friendship to M. d'Arblay, so 
 amiably manifested upon his late splendid embassy to 
 England, made me see him with great pleasure. It was 
 of course but for a moment, as he was amongst those who 
 had most business upon their hands. General d'Hennezel 
 also came to me for a few minutes, and three or four others 
 whom M. d'Arblay named, but whom I have forgotten. 
 Indeed I was amazed at the number of old friends by 
 whom he was recognized, and touched far more than I can 
 express, to see him in his old coat and complete undress, 
 accosted by his fine (former) brethren, in all their new and 
 beautiful costume, with an eagerness of regard that, result- 
 ing from first impulse, proved their judgment, or rather 
 knowledge of his merits, more forcibly than any profes- 
 sions, however warm, could have done. He was indeed, 
 after the aides-de-camp, the most striking figure in the 
 apartment, from contrasting as much with the general herd 
 by being the plainest and worst dressed, as they did by 
 being the gayest and most showy. 
 
 General Lauriston is a very handsome man, and of a
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 423 
 
 very pleasing and amiable countenance ; and his manly- 
 air carried off the frippery of his trappings, so as to make 
 them appear almost to advantage. 
 
 In the first row of females at the window where we 
 stood, were three ladies who, by my speaking English with 
 Mademoiselle de Mortemar and Madame de Beauveau, dis- 
 covered my country, and, as I have since heard, gathered 
 my name ; and here I blush to own how unlike was the 
 result to what one of this nation might have experienced 
 from a similar discovery in England ; for the moment it 
 was buzzed "c'est une etrangere, c'est une Anglaise" every 
 one tried to place, to oblige, and to assist me, and yet no 
 one looked curious, or stared at me. Ah, my dear Padre, 
 do you not a little fear, in a contrasted situation, no one 
 would have tried to place, oblige, or assist, yet every one 
 would have looked curious and stared ? Well, there are 
 virtues as well as defects of all classes ;- and John Bull 
 can fight so good a battle for his share of the former, that 
 he need not be utterly cast down in acknowledging now 
 and then a few of the latter. 
 
 The best view from the window to see the marching 
 forwards of the troops was now bestowed upon me, and I 
 vainly offered it to the ladies of my own party, to whom 
 the whole of the sight was as new as to myself The three 
 unknown ladies began conversing with me, and, after a 
 little general talk, one of them with sudden importance of 
 manner, in a tone slow but energetic, said, " Avez-vous vu, 
 Madame, le Premier Consul ? " 
 
 " Pas encore, Madame." 
 
 " C'est sans doute ce que vous souhaitez le plus, Madame?" 
 
 " Oui, Madame." 
 
 " Voulez-vous le voir parfaitement bien, et tout a fait a 
 votre aise ? " 
 
 " Je le desire beaucoup, Madame." She then told me to
 
 424 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 keep my eyes constantly upon her, and not an instant lose 
 sight of her movements ; and to suffer no head, in the 
 press that would ensue when the First Consul appeared, to 
 intervene between us. " Faites comme cela, Madame," 
 continued slie ; " et vous le verrez bien, bien ; car," added 
 she, solemnly, and putting her hand on her breast, — " moi 
 — je vais lui parler !" I was very much surprised, indeed, 
 and could only conclude I was speaking to a wife, sister, 
 or cousin at least, of one of the other consuls, or of some 
 favorite minister. " Et lui, Madame, il me repondra ; vous 
 I'entendrez parler, Madame, oui, vous I'entendrez ! car il 
 est bon, bon ! — bon homme tout h. fait et affable — affa- 
 ble ! — oui, vous I'entendrez parler." 
 
 I thanked her very much, but it was difficult to express 
 as much satisfaction as she displayed herself. You may 
 suppose, however, how curious I felt for such a conversation, 
 and how scrupulously I followed her injunctions of watch- 
 ing her motions. A little squat good-humored lady, witli 
 yellow flowers over a mob cap upon her hair; who had 
 little sunken eyes, concise nose, and a mouth so extended 
 by perpetual smiling, that, hardly leaving an inch for the 
 cheek, it ran nearly into the ear, on my other side now de- 
 manded my attention also, and told me she came regularly 
 every month to the great review, that she might always 
 bring some friend who wanted to see it. I found by this 
 she was a person of some power, some influence, at least, 
 and not entirely averse to having it known. She was ex- 
 tremely civil to me ; but as my other friend had promised 
 me so singular a regale, I had not much voluntary time to 
 spare for her ; this, however, appeared to be no impedi- 
 ment to that she was so obliging as to determine to bestow 
 upon me, and she talked on, satisfied with my acquiescence 
 to her civility, till a sort of bustle just before us making me 
 look a little sharp, she cried — " Vous le voyez, Madame ? "
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 425 
 
 " Qui ? " exclaimed I, " Le Premier Consul ? " 
 
 " Mais non ! — pas encore ; — mais — ce — ce monsieur 
 la ! " I looked at her to see whom I was to remark, and 
 her eyes led me to a tall, large figure, with a broad 
 gold-laced hat, who was clearing the lane, which some of 
 the company had infringed, with a stentorian voice, and an 
 air and manner of such authority as a chief constable 
 might exert in an Englisli riot. 
 
 " Oui, Madame," I answered, not conceiving why I was to 
 look at him ; " je le vois ce Monsieur ; il est bien grand ! " 
 
 " Oui, Madame," replied she, with a yet widened smile, 
 and a look of lively satisfaction ; " il est bien grand ! Vous 
 le voyez bien?" 
 
 " Mais oui : et il est tres bien mis ! " 
 
 " Oui surement ! vous etes sure que vous le voyez ? " 
 
 " Bien sure, Madame, — mais, il a un air d'autorite, il 
 me semble." 
 
 " Oui, Madame ; et bientSt, il ira dans I'autre apparte- 
 ment ! il verra le Premier Consul ! " 
 
 " 0, fort bien ! " cried I, quite at a loss what she meant 
 me to understand, till at last, fixing first him, and then 
 me, she expressively said — " Madame, c'est mon mari ! " 
 The grin now was distended to the very utmost limits of 
 the stretched lips, and the complacency of her countenance 
 forcibly said, "What do you think of me now?" My 
 countenance, however, was far more clever than my head, 
 if it made her any answer. But, in the plenitude of her 
 own admiration of a gentleman who seemed privileged to 
 speak roughly, and push violently whoever, by a single 
 inch, passed a given barrier, she imagined, I believe, that 
 to belong to him entitled her to be considered as sharing 
 bis prowess ; she seemed even to be participating in tlie 
 merits of his height and breadth, though he could easily 
 have put her into his pocket.
 
 426 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 Not perceiving, as I imagine, all the delight of felicita- 
 tion in my countenance that she had expected, her own 
 fell, in a disappointed pause, into as much of length as its 
 circular form would admit of ; it recovered, however, in 
 another minute, its full merry rotundity, by conjecturing, 
 as I have reason to think, that the niggardliness of my ad- 
 miration was occasioned by my doubt of her assertions ; for, 
 looking at me with an expression that demanded my at- 
 tention, she poked her head under the arm of a tall grena- 
 dier, stationed to guard our window, and trying to catch 
 the eye of the object of her devotion, called out, in an 
 accent of tenderness, " M'Ami ! M'Ami ! " 
 
 The surprise she required was now gratified in full, 
 though what she concluded to be excited by her happiness, 
 was simply the effect of so caressing a public address from 
 so diminutive a little creature to so gigantic a big one. 
 Three or four times the soft sound was repeated ere it 
 reached the destined ear, through the hubbub created by 
 his own loud and rough manner of calling to order ; but, 
 when at last he caught the gentle appellation, and looked 
 down upon lier, it was with an eyebrow so scowling, a 
 mouth so pouting, and an air that so rudely said, " What 
 the D — do you want ? " that I was almost afraid he would 
 have taken her between his thumb and finger and given 
 her a shake. However, he only grumbled out, " Qu'est-ce 
 que c'est done ? " A little at a loss what to say, she gently 
 stammered, "M'Ami, — le — le Premier Consul, ne vient-il 
 pas ? " " Oui ! oui ! " was blustered in reply, with a look 
 that completed the phrase by " i/oti fool, yo7i ! " though the 
 voice left it unfinished. 
 
 Not disconcerted even yet, though rather abashed, she 
 turned to me with a pleased grin that showed her proud of 
 his noble ferociousness, and said, " C'est mon mari, Ma- 
 dame ! " as if still fearful I was not fully convinced of the
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 427 
 
 grandeur of her connection. " M'ami " having now cleared 
 the passage by ranging all the company in two direct lines, 
 the officers of highest rank were assembled, and M^ent in a 
 sort of procession into the inner apartment to the audience 
 of the First Consul. During the time this lasted, some re- 
 laxation of discipline ensued, and the gentlemen from the 
 opposite row ventured to approach and peep at the win- 
 dows with the ladies ; but as soon as the generals de- 
 scended from the steps they had mounted, their short 
 conference being over, " m'ami " again appeared, to the 
 inexpressible gratification of his loving little mate, again 
 furiously hustled every one to his post ; and the flags, next, 
 as I think, were carried in procession to the inner apart- 
 ment, but soon after brought back. 
 
 The Prince of Orange then passed us to enter the audi- 
 ence chamber, with a look so serious, an air so depressed, 
 that I have not been at all surprised to hear he was that 
 very night taken very ill. 
 
 The last object for whom the way was cleared was the 
 Second Consul, Cambaceres, who advanced with a stately 
 and solemn pace, slow, regular, and consequential ; dressed 
 richly in scarlet and gold, and never looking to the right 
 or left, but wearing a mien of fixed gravity and impor- 
 tance. He had several persons in his suite, who, I think, 
 but am not sure, were ministers of state. 
 
 At length the two human hedges were finally formed, 
 the door of the audience chamber was thrown wide open 
 with a commanding crash, and a vivacious officer — senti- 
 nel — or I know not what, nimbly descended the three 
 steps into our apartment, and placing himself at the side 
 of the door, with one hand spread as high as possible above 
 his head, and the other extended horizontally, called out in 
 a loud and authoritative voice, " Le Premier Consul ! " 
 
 You will easily believe nothing more was necessary to
 
 428 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 obtain attention ; not a soul either spoke or stiiTed as he 
 and his suite passed along, which was so quickly that, had 
 I not been placed so near the door, and had not all about 
 me facilitated my standing foremost, and being least crowd- 
 obstructed, I could hardly have seen him. As it was, I 
 had a view so near, though so brief, of his face, as to be 
 very much struck by it. It is of a deeply impressive cast, 
 pale even to sallowness, while not only in the eye but in 
 every feature — care, thought, melancholy, and meditation 
 are strongly marked, with so much of character, nay, ge- 
 nius, and so penetrating a seriousness, or rather sadness, as 
 powerfully to sink into an observer's mind. 
 
 Yet, though the busts and medallions I have seen are, 
 in general, such good resemblances that I think I should 
 have known him untold, he has by no means the look to 
 be expected from Bonaparte, but rather that of a profoundly 
 studious and contemplative man, who " o'er books con- 
 sumes " not only the " midniglit oil," but his own daily 
 strength, " and wastes the puny body to decay " by ab- 
 struse speculation and theoretic plans, or rather visions, 
 ingenious but not practicable. But the look of the com- 
 mander who heads his own army, who fights his own bat- 
 tles, who conquers every difficulty by personal exertion, 
 who executes all he plans, who performs even all he sug- 
 gests ; whose ambition is of the most enterprising, and 
 whose bravery is of the most daring cast : — this, which is 
 the look to be expected from his situation, and the exploits 
 which have led to it, the spectator watches for in vain. 
 The plainness, also, of his dress, so conspicuously con- 
 trasted by the finery of all around him, conspires forcibly 
 with his countenance, so " sicklied o'er with the pale hue 
 of thought," to give him far more the air of a student than 
 a warrior. 
 
 The intense attention with which I fixed him in this
 
 1802.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 429 
 
 short but complete view made me entirely forget the lady 
 who had promised me to hold him in conference. When 
 he had passed, however, she told me it was upon his return 
 she should address him, as he was too much hurried to be 
 talked with at the moment of going to the parade. I was 
 glad to find my chance not over, and infinitely curious to 
 know what was to follow. 
 
 The review I shall attempt no description of. I have no 
 knowledge of the subject, and no fondness for its object. 
 It was far more superb than anything I had ever beheld ; 
 but while all the pomp and circumstance of war animated 
 others, it only saddened me ; and all of past reflection, all 
 of future dread, made the whole grandeur of the martial 
 scene, and all the delusive seduction of martial music, fill 
 my eyes frequently with tears, but not regale my poor 
 muscles with one single smile. 
 
 Bonaparte, mounting a beautiful and spirited white horse, 
 closely encircled by his glittering aides-de-camp, and ac- 
 companied by his generals, rode round the ranks, liolding 
 his bridle indifferently in either hand, and seeming utterly 
 careless of the prancing, rearing, or other freaks of his 
 horse, insomuch as to strike some who were near me with 
 the notion of his being a bad horseman. I am the last to be 
 a judge upon this sabject ; but as a remarker, he only ap- 
 peared to me a man who knew so well he could manage 
 the animal when he pleased, that he did not deem it worth 
 his while to keep constantly in order what he knew, if 
 urged or provoked, he could subdue in a moment. 
 
 Precisely opposite to the window at which I was placed, 
 the Chief Consul stationed himself after making his round ; 
 and thence he presented some swords of honor, spreading 
 out one arm with an air and mien which changed his look 
 from that of scholastic severity to one that was highly 
 military and commanding.
 
 430 DIARY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 Just as the consular band, with their brazen drums as 
 well as trumpets, marched facing the First Consul, the sun 
 broke suddenly out from the clouds which had obscured it 
 all the morning ; and the effect was so abrupt, and so daz- 
 zling, that I could not help observing it to my friend, the 
 wife of m'avii, who, eying me with great surprise, not un- 
 mixed with the compassion of contempt, said, — 
 
 " Est-ce que vous ne savez pas cela, Madame ? D^s que 
 le Premier Consul vient a la parade, le soleil vient aussi ! 
 II a beau pleuvoir tout le matin ; c'est ^gal, il n'a qu'^ 
 paraitre, et tout de suite il fait beau." 
 
 I apologized for my ignorance ; but doubt whether it 
 was forgiven. 
 
 The review over, the Chief Consul returned to the palace. 
 The lines were again formed, and he re-entered our apart- 
 ment with his suite. As soon as he approached our win- 
 dow, I observed my first acquaintance start a little forward. 
 I was now all attention to her performance of her promise ; 
 and just as he reached us she stretched out her hand to 
 present him — a petition ! 
 
 The enigma of the conference was now solved, and I 
 laughed at my own wasted expectation. Lidparler, how- 
 ever, the lady certainly did ; so far she kept her word ; for 
 when he had taken the scroll, and was passing on, she 
 rushed out of the line, and planting herself immediately 
 before him, so as to . prevent his walking on, screamed, 
 rather than spoke, for her voice was shrill with impetu- 
 osity to be heard and terror of failure, " C'est pour mon 
 fils ! vous me I'avez promis ! " • 
 
 The First Consul stopped and spoke ; but not loud 
 enough for me to hear his voice ; while his aides-de-camp 
 and the attending generals surrounding him more closely, 
 all in a breath rapidly said to the lady, "Votre nom, 
 Madame, votre nom ! " trying to disengage the Consul
 
 1802.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 431 
 
 from her importunity, in which they succeeded, but not 
 with much ease, as she seemed purposing to cling to him 
 till she got his personal answer. He faintly smiled as he 
 passed on, but looking harassed and worn ; while she, 
 turning to me, with an exulting face and voice, exclaimed, 
 " Je I'aurai ! je I'aurai ! " meaning what she had petitioned 
 
 for — " car tous ces Generaux m'ont demand^ 
 
 mon nom ! " Could any inference be clearer ? 
 
 The moment the Chief Consul had ascended the steps 
 leading to the inner apartment, the gentlemen in black with 
 gold chains gave a general hint that all the company must 
 depart, as the ambassadors and the ministers were now 
 summoned to their monthly public audience with the Chief 
 Consul. The crowd, however, was so great, and Madame 
 d'Henin was so much incommoded, and half ill, I fear, by 
 internal suffering, that M. d'Arblay procured a pass for us 
 by a private door down to a terrace leading to a quiet exit 
 from the palace into the Tuileries' garden. F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney. 
 
 Paris, 1802. 
 With the nearest relatives now existing of M. d'Arblay 
 I am myself more pleased than I can tell you. We have 
 spent a fortnight at Joigny, and found them all awaiting us 
 with the most enthusiastic determination to receive with 
 open arms and open heart the choice and the offspring of 
 their returned exile. Their kindness has truly penetrated 
 me ; and the heads of the family, the uncle and the aunt, are 
 so charming as well as so worthy, that I could have re- 
 mained with them for months had not the way of life 
 which their residence in a country town has forced them 
 to adopt been utterly at war with all that, to me, makes
 
 432 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1802. 
 
 peace, and happiness, and cheerfulness, namely, the real 
 domestic life of living with my own small but all-sufficient 
 family. I have never loved a dissipated life, which it is no 
 virtue in me, therefore, to relinquish ; but I now far less 
 than ever can relish it, and know not how to enjoy any- 
 thing away from home, except by distant intervals ; and 
 then with that real moderation, I am so far from being a 
 misanthrope or sick of the world, that I have real pleasure 
 in mixed society. It is difficult, however, in the extreme, 
 to be able to keep to such terms. M. d'Arblay has so 
 many friends, and an acquaintance so extensive, that the 
 mere common decencies of established etiquette demand, as 
 yet, nearly all my time ; and this has been a true fatigue 
 both to my body and my spirits. 
 
 I am now endeavoring to make an arrangement, after a 
 fashion of my own, to put an end to these claims, at least, 
 to their being fulfilled. I am sure I shall have a far better 
 chance to do well by those I mix with, as well as by my- 
 self, if I succeed; for my voice is as wearied of pronouncing 
 as my brain is wearied in searching words to pronounce. 
 All I experienced, however, from company, interruption, 
 and visiting at Paris was so short of what I found at 
 Joigny, that, in the comparison, I seemed completely mis- 
 tress of my time ; for at Joigny I can truly affirm I never 
 had one hour, or even half a one, to myself. By myself I 
 mean to our three, selves. 
 
 M. d'Arblay is related, though very distantly, to a 
 quarter of the town, and the other three-quarters are his 
 friends or acquaintance ; and all of them came, first, to see 
 me ; next, to know how I did after the journey ; next, were 
 all to be waited upon in return ; next, came to thank me 
 for my visit; next, to know how the air of Joigny agreed 
 with me; next, to make a little further acquaintance; and, 
 finally, to make a visit of cong^. And yet all were so civil,
 
 1808.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 433 
 
 SO pleasant, and so pleased with my Monsieur's return, that 
 could I have lived three lives, so as to have had some res- 
 pite, I could not have found fault ; for it was scarcely 
 ever with the iudividual intruder, but with the continuance 
 or repetition of interruption. F. d'A. 
 
 Lr. BuDiey to Madame cf Arblay. 
 
 June 12, 1803. 
 
 My dear Fanny, — The complaint made in one of two 
 short notes I have received, of letters never answered, old 
 Charles returns, as his account of family affairs, he finds, has 
 never reached you. Indeed, for the last two or three years, 
 I have had nothing good to say of own self, and I peremp- 
 torily charged all the rest of the family to say nothing had 
 on the subject of health, for I nevef understood the kind- 
 ness of alarming distant friends with accounts of severe 
 illness, as we may be recovered or dead before the informa- 
 tion reaches them. 
 
 Last autumn I had an alarming seizure in my left hand ; 
 and, mine being pronounced a Bath case, on Christmas Eve 
 I set out for that city, extremely weak and dispirited — 
 put myself under the care of Dr. Parry, and after remain- 
 ing there three months I found my hand much more alive, 
 and my general health considerably amended. 
 
 During my invalidity at Bath I had an unexpected visit 
 from your Streatham friend, of whom I had lost sight for 
 more than ten years. I saw very few people, but none of 
 an evening nor of a morning, on the days my hand was 
 pumped on. When her name was sent in I was much 
 surprised, but desired she might be admitted ; and I re- 
 ceived her as an old friend with whom I had spent much 
 time very happily, and never wished to quarrel. She still 
 looks well, but is grave, and candor itself ; though still she 
 
 VOL. II. 28
 
 434 DIARY AND LETTERS [1808. 
 
 says good things, and writes admirable notes and letters, 
 I am told, to my granddaughters C. and M., of whom she 
 is very fond. We shook hands very cordially, and avoided 
 any allusion to our long separation and its cause ; the Caro 
 Sjjoso still lives, but is such an object from the gout that 
 the account of his sufferings made me pity him sincerely ; 
 he wished, she told me, " to see his old and worthy friend," 
 and, un heau maim, I could not refuse compliance with his 
 wish. She nurses him with great affection and tenderness, 
 never goes out or has company when he is in pain. God 
 bless you and yours, prays — your very affectionate Padre. 
 
 Madame d^ Arblay to Dr. Burney, Chelsea. 
 
 • ce 16 Septembre, 1807. 
 
 My most dear Father, — I have just received a kind 
 offer to send a few lines to the spot whence my most ar- 
 dent wishes are to receive many, but whence the hand- 
 writing that most of all I sigh to behold has not blessed 
 my sight since the return of Madame de Cadignan. Nor 
 have I ever heard whether the last six letters I have 
 written have as yet been received. Two of them were 
 antiques that had waited three or four years some oppor- 
 tunity ; a third was concerning the Institute, and M. le 
 Breton's wish to see you installed one of the foreign mem- 
 bers and correspondents ; the two last were to reach you 
 through a voyage by America, and therefore may not yet be 
 ■arrived. I do not count the few lines sent by Maria, though 
 to obtain even a smaller mite myself would fill me with 
 joy and thankfulness. 
 
 21 A(yM, 1808. — The expected opportunity for which I 
 had strung this lamentable list of unacknowledged claims, 
 nearly a twelvemonth since, failed ; another at this mo-
 
 1808.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 435 
 
 ment offers — may it prove more propitious ! Could it but 
 rebound to me with news of your health, such as it con- 
 veys from hence of ours, how should I bless it ! But an 
 intercourse such as that must wait for other blessings than 
 mine — the blessings of peace — and those, tbe whole 
 wounded imiverse would surely join to hail. My paper is 
 so stinted, and my time so limited, that I can begin no 
 regular account of our proceedings, which, indeed, have 
 but little varied since we lost Maria. that any one 
 could give me here the history of yours ! I am in such 
 terril)le arrears of all such knowledge th^t I know not 
 who will ever undertake to pay me. My last intelligence 
 was that you were well, my dearest father, and that the 
 family at large, in that at least, imitated you. But details 
 — none, none reach me ! I have a bitter anxiety of sus- 
 pense upon some subjects very near my heart. Not even 
 the loved names of any of my family now reach me ; 
 Esther, James, Charles, Charlotte, Sally, with all their 
 younger selves, and Richard and his boys, all are sounds 
 strange to my ears, and my beloved friends of Norbury are 
 banished thence with the same rigor I I am sad, sad indeed, 
 at this deprivation ; though in all else I am still and 
 constantl}'' happy, for in my two faithful companions I 
 find sympathy in all my feelings, and food, sweet food for 
 all my hopes. F. d'A. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 September, 1808. 
 
 After being so long robbed of all means of writing to 
 my beloved father, I seize, with nearly as much surprise 
 as gratitude, a second opportunity of addressing him almost 
 before the first can have brought my hand to his sight. 
 When will some occasion offer to bring me back — not my
 
 436 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 revenge, but my first and most coveted satisfaction ? With 
 how much more spirit, also, should I write, if I knew what 
 were received of what already I have scrawled ! Volumes, 
 however, must have been told you, of what in other times 
 I should have written, by Maria. For myself, when once 
 a reunion takes place, I can scarcely conceive which will be 
 hardest worked, my talking faculties or my listening ones. 
 
 what millions of things I want to inquire and to know ! 
 The rising generation, methinks, at least, might keep me 
 some letters and packets ready for occasional conveyances. 
 
 1 should be grateful beyond measure. M. d'Arblay writes 
 — " How desired is, how happy shall be, the day in which 
 we shall receive your dearest blessing and embrace ! Pray 
 be so kind not to forget the mate, always remembering 
 your kindness for him and his. A thousand thousand 
 loves to all." 
 
 [During this year Madame d'Arblay's correspondence 
 with her English connections was interrupted not only by 
 the difficulty of conveying letters, but also by a dangerous 
 illness and the menace of a cancer, from which she coald 
 only be relieved by submitting to a painful and hazardous 
 operation. The fortitude with which she bore this suffer- 
 ing, and her generous solicitude for Monsieur d'Arblay and 
 those around her, excited the warmest sympathy in all who 
 heard of her trial, and her Frencli friends universally gave 
 her the name of Z'Ange ; so touched were they by her ten- 
 derness and magnanimity.] 
 
 Journal from Paris to London. 
 
 Dunkirk, 1812. 
 There are few events of my life that I more regret not 
 having committed to paper wliile tliey were fresher in my
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 437 
 
 memory, tlian my police adventure at Dunkirk, the most 
 fearful that I have ever experienced, though not, alas, the 
 most afflicting, for terror, and even horror, are short of deep 
 affliction ; while they last they are, nevertheless, absorbers ; 
 but once past, whether ill or well, they are over, and from 
 them, as from bodily pain, the animal spirits can rise 
 uninjured : not so from that grief which has its source in 
 irremediable calamity ; from that there is no rising, no 
 relief, save in hopes of eternity : for here on earth all 
 buoyancy of mind that might produce the return of peace 
 is sunk for ever. I M'ill now, however, put down all that 
 recurs to me of my first return home. 
 
 In the year 1810, when I had been separated from my 
 dear father, and country, and native friends, for eight 
 years, my desire to again see them became so anxiously 
 impatient that my tender companion proposed my passing 
 over to England alone, to spend a month or two at Chel- 
 sea. Many females at that period, and amongst them the 
 young Duchesse de Duras, had contrived to procure pass- 
 ports for a short similar excursion ; though no male was 
 permitted, under any pretence, to quit France, save with 
 the army. 
 
 Eeluctantly — with all my wishes in favor of the scheme 
 — yet most reluctantly, I accepted the generous offer ; for 
 never did I know happiness away from that companion, 
 no, not even out of his sight ! but still, I was consuming 
 with solicitude to see my revered father — to be again in 
 his kind arms, and receive his kind benediction. 
 
 For this all was settled, and I had obtained my passport, 
 which was brought to me without my even going to the 
 police office, by the especial favor of M. le Breton, the 
 Secretaire Perpetuel a VInstitut. The ever active services 
 of M. de Narbonne aided this peculiar grant ; though, had 
 not Bonaparte been abroad with his army at the time,
 
 438 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 neither the one nor the other would have ventured at so 
 hardy a measure of assistance. But whenever Bonaparte 
 left Paris, there was always an immediate abatement of 
 severity in the police ; and Fouche, though he had borne a 
 character dreadful beyond description in the earlier and 
 most horrible times of the Eevolution, was, at this period, 
 when Ministre de la Police, a man of the mildest manners, 
 the most conciliatory conduct, and of the easiest access in 
 Paris. He had least the glare of the new imperial court 
 of any one of its administration ; he affected indeed all the 
 simplicity of a plain Kepublican. I have often seen him 
 strolling in the most shady and unfrequented parts of the 
 JElysian Fields, muffled up in a plain brown rocolo, and 
 giving his arm to his wife, without suite or servant, merely 
 taking the air, with the evident design of enjoying also an 
 unmolested tete-a-tete. On these occasions, though he 
 ■was universally known, nobody approached him ; and he 
 seemed, himself, not to observe that any other person was 
 in the walks. He was said to be remarkably agreeable 
 in conversation, and his person was the best fashioned and 
 most gentlemanly of any man I have happened to see, 
 belonging to the government. Yet, such was the impres- 
 sion made upon me by the dreadful reports that were 
 spread of his cruelty and ferocity at Lyons, that I never 
 saw him but I thrilled with horror. How great, therefore, 
 was my obligation to M. de Narbonne and to M. le Breton, 
 for procuring me a passport, without my personal applica- 
 tion to a man from whom I shrunk as from a monster. 
 
 I forget now for what spot the passport was nominated 
 — perhaps for Canada, but certainly not for England ; and 
 M. le Breton, wlio brought it to me himself, assured me 
 that no difficulty would be made for me either to go or to 
 return, as I was known to have lived a life the most inof- 
 fensive to government, and perfectly free from all species
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 439 
 
 of political intrigue, and as I should leave behind me such 
 sacred hostages as my husband and my son. 
 
 Thus armed, and thus authorized, I prepared, quietly 
 and secretly, for my expedition, while my generous mate 
 employed all his little leisure in discovering where and 
 how I might embark ; when, one morning, when I was bend- 
 ing over my trunk to press in its contents, I was abruptly 
 broken in upon by M. de Boinville, who was in my secret, 
 and wlio called upon me to stop ! He had received certain, 
 he said, though as yet unpublished information, that a uni- 
 versal embargo was laid upon every vessel, and that not a 
 fishing-boat was permitted to quit the coast. 
 
 Confounded, affrighted, disappointed, and yet relieved, I 
 submitted to the blow, and obeyed the injunction. M. de 
 Boinville then revealed to me the new political changes 
 that occasioned this measure, wliich he had learned from 
 some confiding friends in office ; but which I do not touch 
 upon, as they are now in every history of those times. 
 
 I pass on to my second attempt, in the year 1812. Dis- 
 astrous was that interval ! All correspondence with Eng- 
 land was prohibited under pain of death ! One letter only 
 reached me, most unhappily, written with unreflecting ab- 
 ruptness, announcing, without preface, the death of the 
 Princess Amelia, the new and total derangement of the 
 King, and the death of Mr. Locke. Three such calamities 
 overwhelmed me, overwhelmed us both, for Mr. Locke, my 
 revered Mr. Locke, was as dear to my beloved partner as 
 to myself. Poor Mrs. * * * * concluded these tidings must 
 have already arrived, but her fatal letter gave the first in- 
 telligence, and no other letter, at that period, found its 
 way to me. She sent hers, I think, by some trusty re- 
 turned prisoner. 
 
 She little knew my then terrible situation ; hovering 
 over my head was the stiletto of a surgeon for a menace of
 
 440 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 cancer; yet, till that moment, hope of escape had always 
 been held out to me by the Baron de Larrey — hope 
 which, from the reading of that fatal letter, became extinct. 
 When I was sufficiently recovered for travelling, after a 
 dreadful operation, my plan was resumed ; but with an 
 alteration which added infinitely to its interest, as well as 
 to its importance. Bonaparte was now engaging in a new 
 war, of which the aim and intention was no less than — 
 the conquest of the world. This menaced a severity of 
 conscription to which Alexander, who had now spent ten 
 years in France, and was seventeen years of age, would 
 soon become liable. His noble father had relinquished all 
 his own hopes and emoluments in the military career, from 
 the epoch that his king was separated from his country ; 
 though that career had been his peculiar choice, and was 
 suited peculiarly to the energy of his character, the vigor 
 of his constitution, his activity, his address, his bravery, 
 his spirit of resource, never overset by difficulty nor wea- 
 ried by fatigue — all which combination of military re- 
 quisites — 
 
 " The eye could in a moment reach, 
 
 And read depicted in his martial air." 
 
 But his high honor, superior to his interest, superior to 
 his inclination, and ruling his whole conduct witli unremit- 
 ting, unalienable constancy, impelled him to prefer the hard 
 labor and obscure drudgery of working at a Bureau of the 
 Minister of the Interior, to any and every advantage or 
 promotion that could be offered him in his own immediate 
 and favorite line of life, when no longer compatible with 
 his allegiance and loyalty. To see, therefore, his son bear 
 arms in the very cause that had been his ruin — bear arms 
 against the country which had given himself as well as his 
 mother birth, would indeed have been heart-breaking. 
 
 We agreed, therefore, that Alexander should accompany
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 441 
 
 me to England, where, I flattered myself, I might safely 
 deposit him, while I returned to await, hy the side of my 
 husband, the issue of the war, in the fervent hope that it 
 would prove our restoration to liberty and re-union. 
 
 My second passport was procured with much less facility 
 than the first. Fouch^ was no longer Minister of Police, 
 and, strange to tell, Fouch^, who, till he became that min- 
 ister, had been held in horror by all France, — all Europe, 
 — conducted himself with such conciliatory mildness to 
 all ranks of people while in that office, evinced such an 
 appearance of humanity, and exerted such an undaunted 
 spirit of justice in its execution, that at his dismissal all 
 Paris was in affliction and dismay ! Was this from the 
 real merit he had shown in his police capacity ? Or was 
 it from a yet greater fear of malignant cruelty awak- 
 ened by the very name of his successor, Savary, Duke of 
 Eovigo ? ^ 
 
 Now, as before, the critical moment tvas seized by my 
 friends to act for me when Bonaparte had left Paris to 
 proceed towards the scene of his next destined enterprise ; 
 and he was, I believe, already at Dresden when my appli- 
 cation was made. My kind friend, Madame de T , 
 
 here took the agency which M. de ISTarbonne could no 
 longer sustain, as he was now attending the Emperor, to 
 whom he had been made aide-de-camp, and through her 
 means, after many difficulties and delays, I obtained a li- 
 cense of departure for myself and for Alexander. For 
 what place, nominally, my passport was assigned, I do not 
 recollect ; I think for Newfoundland, but certainly for some 
 part of the coast of America. Yet everybody at the police 
 of&ce saw and knew that England was my object. They 
 connived, nevertheless, at the accomplishment of my wishes, 
 with significant though taciturn consciousness. 
 
 1 The reputed assassin of the Duke d'Enghien.
 
 442 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 From all the friends whom I dared trust with my secret 
 expedition, I had commissions for London ; though merely 
 verbal, as I was cautioned to take no letters. No one, at 
 that time, could send any to England by the post. I M-as 
 charged by sundry persons to write for them, and in their 
 Dames, upon my arrival. INIadame de Tracy begged me to 
 discover the address of her sister-in-law, Madame de Civ- 
 rac, who had emigrated into the wilds of Scotland, and of 
 whom she anxiously wished for some intelligence. This 
 occasioned my having a little correspondence with her, 
 which I now remark because she is named as one of the 
 principal Dames de la SocieU by Madame de Genlis. 
 Madame d'Astorre desired me to find out her father, M. 
 Le Comte de Cely, and to give him news of her and her 
 children. This I did, and received from the old gentleman 
 some visits and many letters. Madame la Princesse de 
 Chimay entrusted me with a petition — a verbal one, to 
 the Prince of AVales, in favor of the Due de Fitzjames, 
 who, in losing his wife, had lost an English pension. This 
 I was to transmit to his Eoyal Highness by means of the 
 Duchess Dowager of Buccleugh ; who was also entreated 
 to make known the Duke's situation to M. d'Escars, who 
 was in the immediate service of Louis XVIII. ; for M. 
 d'Escars I had a sort of cipher from Madame de Chimay, 
 to authenticate my account. 
 
 Our journey — Alexander's and mine — from Paris to 
 Dunkirk was sad, from the cruel separation which it ex- 
 acted, and the fearful uncertainty of impending events ; 
 though I was animated at times into the liveliest sensations, 
 in the prospect of again beholding my father, my friends, 
 and my country. 
 
 General d'Arblay, through his assiduous researches, 
 aided by those of M. de Boinville and some others, found 
 that a vessel was preparing to sail from Dunkirk to Dover,
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 443 
 
 under American colors, and with American passports and 
 license ; and, after privately landing such of its passengers 
 as meant but to cross the Channel, to proceed to tlie west- 
 ern continents. M. d'Arblay foiind, at the same time, six 
 or seven pefsons of his acquaintance who were to embark 
 in this vessel, namely, Madame and Mademoiselle de 
 Cocherelle, Madame de Carboniere, Madame de Ronche- 
 rolle, Madame de Caillebot and her son and daughter, tlie 
 two Miss Potts, and Mrs. Gregory. 
 
 We all met, and severally visited at Dunkirk, where I 
 was compelled, through the mismanagement and miscon- 
 duct of the captain of the vessel, to spend the most pain- 
 fully wearisome six weeks of my life, for they kept me 
 alike from all that was dearest to me, either in France or 
 in England, save my Alexander. I was twenty times on 
 the point of returning to Paris ; but whenever I made 
 known that design, the captain promised to sail the next 
 morning. The truth is, he postponed the voyage from day 
 to day and from week to week, in the hope of obtaining 
 more passengers ; and, as the clandestine visit he meant to 
 make to Dover, in his vmy to America, was whispered 
 about, reinforcements very frequently encouraged his 
 cupidity. 
 
 The ennui of having no positive occupation was now, for 
 the first time, known to me ; for though the first object of 
 my active cares was with me, it was not as if that object 
 Lad been a daughter, and always at my side ; it was a 
 youth of seventeen, who, with my free consent, sought 
 whatever entertainment the place could afford, to M'hile 
 away fatigue. He ran, therefore, wildly about at his 
 pleasure, to the quay, the dockyard, the sea, the suburbs, 
 the surrounding country ; but chiefly, his time was spent 
 in skipping to the " Mary Ann," our destined vessel, and 
 seeing its preparations for departure.
 
 444 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 To stroll about the town, to call upon my fellow-suffer- 
 ers, to visit the principal shops, and to talk with the good 
 Dutch people while I made slight purchases, was all I 
 could devise to do that required action. 
 
 When I found our stay indefinitely protracted, it oc- 
 curred to me that if I had the papers of a work which I 
 had then in hand, they might afford me an occupation to 
 while away my truly vapid and uninteresting leisure. I 
 wrote this idea to my "partner in all — as M. de Talleyrand 
 had called M. d'Arblay; and, with a spirit that was al- 
 ways in its first youth where any service was to be per- 
 formed, he waited on M. de Saulnier at the police office, 
 and made a request that my manuscripts might be sent 
 after me, with a permission that I might also be allowed 
 to carry them with me on board the ship. He durst not 
 say to England, whither no vessel was supposed to sail ; 
 but he would not, to M. de Saulnier, who palpably con- 
 nived at my plan and purpose, say America. M. de Saul- 
 nier made many inquiries relative to these papers ; but on 
 being assured, upon honor, that the work had nothing in it 
 political, nor even national, nor possibly offensive to the 
 government, he took the single word of M. d'Arblay, 
 whose noble countenance and dauntless openness of man- 
 ner were guarantees of sincerity that wanted neither seals 
 nor bonds, and invested him with the power to send me 
 what papers he pleased, without demanding to examine, or 
 even to see them — a trust so confiding and so generous, 
 that I have regretted a thousand times the want of means 
 to acknowledge it according to its merit. 
 
 This work was " The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties," 
 of which nearly three volumes were finished. They ar- 
 rived, nevertheless, vainly for any purpose at Dunldrk ; 
 the disturbance of my suspensive state incapacitating me 
 for any composition, save of letters to ray best friend, to
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 445 
 
 whom I wrote, or dictated by Alexander, every day ; and 
 every day was only supported by the same kind diurnal 
 return. But when, at length, we were summoned to the 
 vessel, and our goods and chattels were conveyed to the 
 custom-house, and when the little portmanteau was pro- 
 duced, and found to be filled with manuscripts, the police 
 officer who opened it began a rant of indignation and 
 amazement at a sight so unexpected and prohibited, that 
 made him incapable to inquire or to hear the meaning of 
 such a freight. He sputtered at the mouth, and stamped 
 with his feet, so forcibly and vociferously, that no endeav- 
 ors of mine could induce him to stop his accusations of 
 traitorous designs, till, tired of the attempt, I ceased both 
 explanation and entreaty, and stood before him with calm 
 taciturnity. Wanting, then, the fresh fuel of interruption 
 or opposition, his fire and fury evaporated into curiosity to 
 know what I could offer. Yet even then, though my ac- 
 count staggered his violence into some degree of civility, 
 he evidently deemed it, from its very nature, incredible ; 
 and this fourth child of my brain had undoubtedly been 
 destroyed ere it was born, had I not had recourse to an 
 English merchant, Mr. Gregory, long settled at Dunkirk, 
 to whom, happily, I had been recommended, as to a per- 
 son capable in any emergence to afford me assistance ; he 
 undertook the responsibility ; and the letter of M. d'Ar- 
 blay, containing the license of M. de Saulnier, was then 
 all-sufficient for my manuscripts and their embarkation. 
 
 The second event I have to relate I never even yet 
 recollect without an inward shuddering. In our walks out 
 of the town, on the borders of the Ocean, after passing be- 
 yond the dockyard or wharf, we frequently met a large 
 party of Spanish prisoners, well escorted by gens d' amies, 
 and either going to their hard destined labor, or returning 
 from it for repast or repose. I felt deeply interested by
 
 446 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 them, knowing they were men with and for whom our own 
 English and the immortal Wellington were then fighting : 
 and this interest induced me to walk on the bank by which 
 they were paraded to and fro, as often as I could engage 
 Alexander, from his other pursuits, to accompany me. 
 Their appearance was highly in their favor, as well as their 
 situation ; they had a look calmly intrepid, of concentrated 
 resentment, yet unalterable patience. They were mostly 
 strong-built and vigorous ; of solemn, almost stately de- 
 portment, and with fine dark eyes, full of meaning, roll- 
 ing around them as if in watchful expectation of insult ; 
 and in a short time they certainly caught from my counte- 
 nance an air of sympathy, for they gave me in return, as 
 we passed one another, a glance that spoke grateful con- 
 sciousness. I followed them to the place of their labor; 
 though my short-sightedness would not let me distinguish 
 what they were about, whether mending fortifications, 
 dykes, banks, parapets, or what not : and I durst not use 
 my glass, lest I should be suspected as a spy. We only 
 strolled about in their vicinity, as if merely visiting and 
 viewing the sea. 
 
 The w^eather — it was now August — was so intensely 
 hot, the place was so completely without shade, and their 
 work was so violent, that they changed hands every two 
 hours, and those who were sent off' to recruit were allowed 
 to cast themselves upon the burnt and straw-like grass, to 
 await their alternate summons. This they did in small 
 groups, but without venturing to solace their rest by any 
 species of social intercourse. They were as taciturn with 
 one another as with their keepers and taskmasters. 
 
 One among them there was who wore an air of superior- 
 ity, grave and composed, yet decided, to which they all 
 appeared to bow down with willing subserviency, though 
 the distinction was only demonstrated by an air of pro-
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 447 
 
 found respect whenever they approached or passed him, for 
 discourse held they none. One morning, when I observed 
 him seated at a greater distance than usual from his over- 
 seers, during his hour of release, I turned suddenly from 
 my walk, as if with a view to bend my way homewards, 
 but contrived, while talking with Alexander and looking 
 another way, to slant my steps close to where he sat sur- 
 rounded by his mute adherents, and to drop a handful of 
 small coin nearly under the elbow upon which, wearily, he 
 was reclining. We proceeded with alertness, and talking- 
 together aloud ; but Alexander perceived this apparent 
 chief evidently moved by what I had done, though for- 
 bearing to touch the little offering, which, however, his 
 companions immediately secured. 
 
 After this I never met him that he did not make me a 
 slight but expressive bow. This encouraged me to repeat 
 the poor little tribute of compassion, which I soon found 
 he distributed, as far as it would go, to the whole set, by 
 the kindly looks with which every one thenceforward 
 greeted me upon every meeting. Yet he whom we sup- 
 posed to be some chief, and who palpably discovered it was 
 himself I meant to distinguish, never touched the money, 
 nor examined what was taken up by the others ; who, on 
 their part, nevertheless seemed but to take charge of it in 
 trust. 
 
 We were now such good friends, that this became more 
 than ever my favorite walk ; and these poor unhappy cap- 
 tives never saw me without brightening up into a vivacity 
 of pleasure that was to me a real exhilaration. 
 
 We had been at Dunkirk above five weeks, when one 
 evening, having a letter of consequence to send to Paris, I 
 begged Alexander to carry it to the Post himself, and to 
 deposit me upon the quay, and there to join me. As the 
 weather was very fine I stood near the sea, wistfully re-
 
 448 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 garding the element on which depended all my present 
 hopes and views. But presently my meditations \\;ere in- 
 terrupted, and my thoughts diverted from mere self, by the 
 sudden entrance, in a large body, of my friends the Spanisli 
 prisoners, who all bore down to the very place where I was 
 stationed, evidently recognizing me, and eagerly showing 
 that it was not without extreme satisfaction. I saw their 
 approach, in return, with lively pleasure, for, the quay be- 
 ing, I suppose, a place of certain security, they were un- 
 encumbered by their usual guards, the gens d'armes, and 
 this freedom, joined to their surprise at my sight, put them 
 also off their guard, and they flocked round though not 
 near me, and hailed me with smiles, bows, and hands put 
 upon their breasts. I now took courage to speak to them, 
 partly in French, partly in English, for I found they under- 
 stood a little of both those languages. I inquired wlience 
 they came, and whether they knew General Wellington. 
 They smiled and nodded at his name, and expressed infinite 
 delight in finding I was English ; but though they all, 
 by their head movements, entered into discourse, my friend 
 the chief was the only one who attempted to answer me. 
 
 When I first went to France, being continually embar- 
 rassed for terms, I used constantly to apply to M. d'Arblay 
 for aid, till Madame de Tesse charged him to be quiet, say- 
 ing that my looks filled up what my words left short, "c/c 
 sorte que" she added, " ')wus la devinons ;" this was the 
 case between my Spaniards and myself, and we devine-d 
 one another so much to our mutual satisfaction, that while 
 this was the converse the most to my taste of any I had 
 had at Dunkirk, it was also, probably, most to theirs of 
 any that had fallen to their lot since they had been torn 
 from tlieir native country. 
 
 While this was going on I was privately drawing from 
 my purse all that it contained of small money to distribute
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. ' 449 
 
 to my new friends ; but at this same moment a sudden 
 change in the countenance of the chief from looks of grate- 
 ful feeling to an expression of austerity, checked my pur- 
 pose, and, sorry and alarmed lest he liad taken offence, I 
 hastily drew my empty hand from my reticule. I then 
 saw that the change of expression was not simply to aus- 
 terity from pleasure, but to consternation from serenity ; 
 and I perceived that it was not to me the altered visage 
 was directed ; the eye pointed beyond me, and over my head; 
 startled, I turned round, and what, then, was my own con- 
 sternation when I belield an officer of the police, in full 
 gold trappings, furiously darting forward from a small 
 house at the entrance upon the quay, which I afterwards 
 learned was his official dwelling. When he came within 
 two yards of us he stood stUl, mute and erect ; but with an 
 air of menace, his eyes scowling first upon the chief, then 
 upon me then upon the whole group, and then upon me 
 again, with looks that seemed diving into some conspiracy. 
 My alarm was extreme ; my imprudence in conversing with 
 these unhappy captives struck me at once with foreboding 
 terror of ill consequences. 1 had, however, sufficient pres- 
 ence of mind to meet the eyes of my antagonist with a 
 look that showed surprise rather than apprehension at his 
 wrath. 
 
 This was not without some effect. Accustomed, prob- 
 ably, to scrutinize and to penetrate into secret plots, he 
 might be an adept in distinguishing the fear of ill-treat- 
 ment from the fear of detection. The latter I certainly 
 could not manifest, as my compassion had shown no out- 
 ward mark beyond a little charity ; but the former I tried, 
 vainly, perhaps, to subdue ; for I well knew that pity to- 
 wards a Spaniard would be deemed suspicious, at least, if 
 not culpable. 
 
 We were all silent, and all motionless ; but when the 
 VOL. II. 29
 
 450 DIAKY AND LCTTEES [1812. 
 
 man, having fixed upon nie his eyes with intention to petri- 
 fy me, saw that I fixed him in return with an open though 
 probably not very composed face, he spoke, and with a 
 voice of thunder, vociferating reproach, accusation, and 
 condemnation all in one. His words 1 could not distin- 
 guish ; they were so confused and rapid from rage. This 
 violence, though it secretly affrighted me, I tried to meet 
 with simple astonishment, making no sort of answer or 
 interruption to his invectives. When he observed my 
 steadiness, and that he excited none of the humiliation of 
 discovered guilt, he stopped short, and, after a pause, 
 gruffly said, — "Qui etes-vous?" 
 
 " Je me nomrae d'Arblay." 
 
 " Etes-vous mariee ? " 
 
 " Oui." 
 
 " Ou est votre mari ? " 
 
 " A Paris." 
 
 " Qui est-il ? " 
 
 " II travaille aux Bureaux de I'lnterieur." 
 
 " Pourquoi le quittez-vous ? " I was here sensibly em- 
 barrassed. I durst not avow I was going to England ; I 
 could not assert I was really going to America. I hesi- 
 tated ; and the sight of his eyes brightening up with the 
 hope of mischief abated my firmness ; and, Mdiile he 
 seemed to be staring me through, I gave an account, very 
 imperfect indeed, and far from clear, though true, tliat I 
 came to Dunkirk to embark on board the " Mary Ann " 
 vessel. " Ah ha ! " exclaimed he, " Vous etes Anglaise ? " 
 Then, tossing back his head with an air of triumphant vic- 
 tory, " Suivez-moi ! " he added, and walked away, fast and 
 fierce, but looking back every minute to see that I fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 Never can I forget the terror with which I was seized at 
 this command ; it could only be equalled by the evident
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 451 
 
 consternation and sorrow that struck me, as I turned my 
 head around to see where I was, in my poc: chief and his 
 group. Follow I did, though not less per force than if I 
 had been dragged by chains. Wlien I saw him arrive at 
 the gate of the little dwelling I have mentioned, which I now 
 perceived to belong to him officially, I impulsively, invol- 
 untarily stopped. To enter a police-office, to be probably 
 charged with planning some conspiracy with the enemies 
 of the state, my poor Alexander away, and not knowing 
 what must have become of me ; my breath was gone ; my 
 power of movement ceased ; my head, or understanding, 
 seemed a chaos, bereft of every distinct or discriminating 
 idea ; and my feet, as if those of a statue, felt riveted to 
 the ground, from a vague but overwhelming belief I was 
 destined to incarceration in some dungeon, where I might 
 sink ere I could make known my situation to my friends, 
 while Alex., thus unaccountably abandoned, might be 
 driven to despair, or become the prey to nameless mis- 
 chiefs. 
 
 Again the tiger vociferated a " Suivez-moi ! " but finding 
 it no longer obeyed, he turned full round as he stood upon 
 his threshold, and perceiving my motionless and speech- 
 less dismay, looked at me for two or three seconds in scorn- 
 ful, but investigating taciturnity. Then, putting his arms 
 a-kimbo, he said, in lower but more taunting accents, 
 " Voiis ne lejugez done pas d propos de me suivre ?" This 
 was followed by a sneering, sardonic grin that seemed an- 
 ticipating the enjoyment of vising compulsion. On, there- 
 fore, I again forced myself, and with tolerable composure I 
 said, " Je n'ai rien, Monsieur, je crois, a faire ici ? " 
 
 " Nous verrons ! " he answered bluffly, and led the way 
 into a small hovel rather than parlor ; and then haughtily 
 seated himself at a table, on which were pen, ink, and pa- 
 per ; and, while I stood before him, began an interrogation.
 
 452 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 with the decided asperity of examining a detected criminal, 
 of whom he was to draw up the jprocls verbal. 
 
 When I perceived this, ray every fear, feeling, nay 
 thought, concentrated in Alexander, to whom I had deter- 
 mined not to allude, while I had any hope of self-escape, 
 to avoid for us both the greatest of all perils, that of an 
 accusation of intending to evade the ensuing conscription, 
 for which, though Alex, was yet too young, he was fast ad- 
 vancing to be amenable. 
 
 But now that I was enclosed from his sight, and there 
 was danger every moment of his suddenly missing me, I 
 felt that our only chance of safety must lie in my naming 
 him before he should return. With all the composure, 
 therefore, that I could assume, I said that I was come to 
 Dunkirk with my son to embark in the " Mary Ann," an 
 American vessel, with a passport from M. de Sauluier, 
 secretary to the Duke de Eovigo, Minister of the Police. 
 And what had I done with this son ? I had sent him to 
 the post-office with a letter for his father. At that instant, 
 I perceived Alexander wildly running past the window. 
 This moment was critical. I instantly cried, " Sir, there is 
 my son ! " The man rose, and went to the door, calling 
 out, " Jeune homme ! " Alex, approached, and was ques- 
 tioned, and though much amazed, gave answers perfectly 
 agreeing with mine. I now recovered my poor affrighted 
 faculties, and calmly said that if he had any doubt of our ve- 
 racity, I begged he would send for Mr. Gregory, who knew 
 us well. This, a second time, was a most happy reference. 
 Mr. Gregory was of the highest respectability, and he was 
 near at hand. There could be no doubt of the authenticity 
 of such an appeal. The brow of my ferocious assailant 
 was presently unbent. I seized the favorable omen to 
 assure him, with apparent indifference, that I had no objec- 
 tion to being accompanied or preceded to I'Hotel Sauvage,
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY, 453 
 
 where I resided, nor to giving him the key of my portman- 
 teau and portfolio, if it were possible I had excited any 
 suspicion by merely speaking, from curiosity, to the Span- 
 ish prisoners. No, he answered, he would not disturb me ; 
 and then, having entered the name of Alexander by the 
 side of mine, he let us depart. Speechless was my joy, 
 and speechless was the surprise of Alexander, and we 
 walked home in utter silence. 
 
 Happily, this incident occurred but just before we set 
 sail, for with it terminated my greatest solace at Dunkirk, 
 the seeing and consoling those unhappy prisoners, and the 
 regale of wandering by the sea-coast. 
 
 Six weeks completely we consumed in wasteful weari- 
 ness at Dunkirk ; and our passage, when at last we set 
 sail, was equally, in its proportion, toilsome and tedious. 
 Involved in a sickening calm, we could make no way, but 
 lingered two days and two nights in this long-short pas- 
 sage. The second night, indeed, might have been spared 
 me, as it was spared to all my fellow voyagers. But when 
 we cast anchor, I was so exhausted by the unremitting 
 sufferings I had endured, that I was literally unable to rise 
 from my hammock. 
 
 Yet was there a circumstance capable to have aroused 
 me from any torpidity, save the demolishing ravage of sea- 
 sickness ; for scarcely were we at anchor, when Alex., ca- 
 pering up to the deck, descended with yet more velocity 
 than he had mounted, to exclaim, " Oh, maman, there are 
 two British officers now upon deck ! " 
 
 But, findinsj that even this could not make me recover 
 speech or motion, he ran back again to this new and de- 
 lighting sight, and again returning, cried out in a tone of 
 rapture, " Maman, we are taken by the British ! We are 
 all captured by British officers 1 " 
 
 Even in my immovable, and nearly insensible state, this
 
 454 DIARY AND LETTERS [1812. 
 
 juvenile ardor, excited by so new and strange an adventure, 
 afforded me some amusement. It'did not, however, afford 
 me strength, for I could not rise, though I heard that every 
 other passenger was removed. With difficulty, even next 
 morning, I crawled upon the deck, and there I had been but 
 a short time, when Lieutenant Harford came on board to 
 take possession of the vessel, not as French, but American 
 booty, war having been declared against America the pre- 
 ceding week. 
 
 Mr. Harford, hearing my name, most courteously ad- 
 dressed me, with congratulations upon my safe arrival in 
 England. These were words to rewaken all the happiest 
 purposes of my expedition, and they recovered me. from 
 the nerveless, sinking state into which my exhaustion had 
 cast me, as if by a miracle. My father, my brothers, my 
 sisters, and all my heart-dear friends, seemed rising to my 
 view and springing to my embraces, with all the joy of 
 renovating reunion. I thankfully accepted his obliging 
 offer to carry me on shore in his own boat ; but when I 
 turned round, and called upon Alexander to follow us, Mr. 
 Harford, assuming a commanding air, said, " No, madam, I 
 cannot take that young man. No French person can come 
 into my boat without a passport and permission from 
 Government." 
 
 My air now a little corresponded with his own, as I 
 answered, " He was born, sir, in England ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " cried he, " that 's quite another matter ; come 
 along sir ! we '11 all go together." I now found we were 
 rowing to Deal, not Dover, to which town we had been 
 destined by our engagement : but we had been captured, 
 it seems, chemin faisant, though so gently, and with such 
 utter helplessness of opposition, that I had become a pris- 
 oner without any suspicion of my captivity. 
 
 AYe had anchored about half a mile, T imagine, from the
 
 1812.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. ' 455 
 
 shore ; which I no sooner touched than, drawing away my 
 arm from Mr. Harford, I took up on one knee, with irre- 
 pressible transport, the nearest bright pebble, to press to 
 my lips in grateful joy at touching again the land of my 
 nativity, after an absence, nearly hopeless, of more than 
 twelve years. 
 
 Of the happiness that ensued — my being again in the 
 arms of my dearly loved father — iji those of my dear 
 surviving sisters — my brothers — my friends, some faint 
 details yet remain in a few letters to my heart's confidant 
 that he preserved : but they are truly faint, for my satisfac- 
 tion was always damped in recording it to him who so 
 fondly wished to partake of it, and whose absence from 
 that participation always rendered it incomplete. 
 
 And on one great source of renovated felicity I did not 
 dare touch, ev^en by inference, even by allusion — that of 
 finding my gracious Eoyal mistress and her august daugh- 
 ters as cordial in their welcome, as trustingly confidential, 
 and as amiably condescending, I had almost said affection- 
 ate, as if I had never departed from the royal roof under 
 which, for five years, I had enjoyed their favor. To have 
 spoken of the Royal Family in letters sent to France under 
 the reign of Bonaparte, might have brought destruction on 
 him for whom I would a thousand times sooner have 
 suffered it myself. 
 
 Madame d'' Arblay to Mrs. Broome. 
 
 Aug. 15, 1812. 
 In a flutter of joy such as ray tender Charlotte will feel 
 in reading this, I w^ite to her from England ! I can hardly 
 believe it ; I look around me in constant inquiry and doubt ; 
 I speak French to every soul, and I whisper still if I utter 
 a word that breathes private opinion.
 
 456 DIARY AJS'D LETTERS [1812. 
 
 We set off for Canterbury, where we slept, and on the 
 20th "proceeded towards Chelsea. While, upon some com- 
 mon, w^e stopped to water the horses, a gentleman on 
 horseback passed us twice, and then, looking in, pronounced 
 ray name ; and I saw it was Charles, dear Charles ! who 
 had been watching for us several hours and three nights 
 following, through a mistake. Thence we proceeded to 
 Chelsea, where we arrived at nine o'clock at niglit. I was 
 in a state almost breathless. I could only demand to see 
 my dear father alone : fortunately, he had had the same 
 feeling, and had charged all the family to stay away, and 
 all the world to be denied. I found him, therefore, in his 
 library, by himself — but oh! my dearest, veiy much al- 
 tered indeed — weak, weak and changed — his head almost 
 always hanging down, and his hearing most cruelly impaired. 
 
 I was terribly affected, but most grateful to God for my 
 arrival. Our meeting, you may be sure, was very tender, 
 though I roused myself as quickly as possible to be gay 
 and cheering. He was extremely kind to Alex., and said, 
 in a tone the most impressive, " I should have been very 
 glad to have seen M. d'Arblay ! " In discourse, however, 
 he re-animated, and was, at times, all himself. But he now 
 admits scarcely a creature but of his family, and will only 
 see for a short time even his children. He likes quietly 
 reading, and lies almost constantly upon the sofa, and will 
 never eat but alone ! What a change !
 
 1813.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 457 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1813—1815. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Barney. 
 
 Chenies Street, London, February 8, 1813. 
 
 Your kind invitation, my dearest Padre, I should instantly 
 have answered, and not with my pen, had all been as favor- 
 able as my inclination and the weather ; but this last week 
 has been wholly dedicated to the Queen and the Princesses; 
 a letter came to me from Windsor to prepare me for their 
 arrival, and, consequently, to keep me always in readiness 
 for the honor of a summons ; and, out of their five days' 
 residence in town, they have had the gracious indulgence 
 to admit me three, and, upon those occasions, I never 
 quitted the palace till they went to one of the Princes' 
 to dinner, between seven and eight o'clock. Nor then, 
 neither, in fact, for I still stayed to dine myself with 
 my successor. 
 
 But why, my dearest father may say, not hasten to 
 Chelsea now ? The fact is, I have been obliged to omit 
 various precautionary measures during the whole of this 
 week, and I now feel an absolute necessity to nurse again 
 and refit. To-day I have entirely kept quiet and silent 
 upstairs in my room, and as, these other days, I have kept 
 wholly the reverse, my lungs, strength, and spirits, all de- 
 mand the recruit. I fear that for some days I must go on 
 doctoring myself after these late excesses ; but bad weather 
 alone, after Wednesday, shall withhold me from embracing 
 my dearest fatlier.
 
 458 DIARY AND LETTERS [1813. 
 
 Madame d'Arbtay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 March 16, 1813. 
 How will my kindest father rejoice for me ! for my dear 
 partner — for my boy ! The election is gained, and Alex- 
 ander has obtained the Tancred scholarship. He had all 
 
 the votes : the opponent retired. Sir D behaved 
 
 handsomely, came forward, and speechified for us. Sir 
 Francis Milman, who was chairman, led the way in the 
 harangue. 
 
 Madame d'Arblat/ to Dr. Burney. 
 
 May 11, 1813. 
 
 My own inclination and intention kept in mind your 
 charge, my dearest Sir, that as soon as I was able I would- 
 wait upon Lady Crewe ; fortunately, I found her at home, 
 and in her best style, cordial as well as good-humored, and 
 abounding in acute and odd remarks. I had also the good 
 fortune to see my lord, who seems always pleasing, unaf- 
 fected, and sensible, and to possess a share of innate 
 modesty that no intercourse with the world, nor addition 
 of years, can rob him of I was much satisfied wuth 
 my visit ; but what I shall do for time, now once I have 
 been launched from my council, or sick chamber, I wot 
 not. 
 
 Wliat a terrible alarm is this which the poor tormented 
 Queen has again received ! ^ I wrote my concern as soon 
 as I heard of it, though I have not yet seen the printed 
 account, my packet of papers reaching only to the very day 
 before that event. My answer has been a most gracious 
 summons to the Queen's house for to-morrow. Her Ma- 
 jesty and two of the Princesses come to town for four days. 
 This robs me of my Chelsea visit for this week, as I keep 
 
 ^ An attempt to enter her apartment by a crazy woman.
 
 1813.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 459 
 
 always within call during the town residences, when I 
 have royal notice of them ; and, indeed, there is nothing 
 I desire more than to see her Majesty at this moment, and 
 to be allowed to express what I liave felt for her. My 
 letter from Madame Beckersdorff says that such an alarm 
 would have been frightful for anyhody, but how much more 
 peculiarly so for the Queen, who has experienced such 
 poignant horror from the effects of disordered intellects ! 
 who is alwaya suffering from them, and so nearly a victim 
 to the unremitting exercise of her duties upon that subject 
 and these calls. 
 
 I have had a visit this morning from Mrs. Piozzi, who is 
 in town only for a few days upon business. She came 
 while I was out ; but I must undoubtedly make a second 
 tour, after my royal four days are passed, in order to wait 
 upon and thank her. 
 
 I have been received more graciously than ever, if that 
 be possible, by my dear and honored Queen and sweet 
 Princesses Eliza and Mary. The Queen has borne this 
 alarm astonishingly, considering how great was the shock 
 at the moment ; but she has so high a character, that she 
 will not suffer anything personal to sink her spirits, which 
 she saves w^holly for the calls upon them of others, and 
 sreat and terrible have been those calls. The beloved 
 King is in the best state possible for his present melancholy 
 situation ; that is, wholly free from real bodily suffering, or 
 imaginary mental misery, for he is persuaded that he is 
 always conversing with angels. 
 
 Madame d^Arhlay to Dr. Burney. 
 
 EiCHMOND Hill, Oct. 12, 1813. 
 
 My most dear Padre will, I am sure, congratulate me 
 that I have just had the heartfelt delight of a few lines
 
 460 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814. 
 
 from M. d'Arblay, dated September oth. I had not had 
 any news since the 17th of August, and I had the melan- 
 choly apprehension upon my spirits that no more letters 
 would he allowed to pass till the campaign was over. It 
 has been therefore one of the most welcome surprises I 
 ever experienced. 
 
 I have had, also, this morning, the great comfort to hear 
 that my Alexander is "stout and well" at Cambridge, 
 where his kind uncle Charles still remains. 
 
 I am indescribably occupied, and have been so ever since 
 my return from Eamsgate, in giving more and more last 
 touches to my work,^ about which I begin to grow very 
 anxious. I am to receive merely £500 upon delivery of 
 the MS. ; the two following £500 by instalments from nine 
 months to nine months, that is, in a year and a half from 
 the day of publication. 
 
 If all goes well, the whole will be £3000, but only at 
 the end of the sale of eight thousand copies. Oh, my 
 Padre, if yoio approve the work, I shall have good hope. 
 
 F. B. D'A. 
 1814 
 
 [In the beginning of this year Madame d'Arblay pub- 
 lished her fourth novel, The Wanderer, and nearly at the 
 same time Peace was declared between France and Eng- 
 land. Her satisfaction at an event so long wished for, was 
 deeply saddened by the death of her father. Dr. Burney ; 
 whom she nursed and attended to the last moment with 
 dutiful tenderness. 
 
 Soon after the restoration of the French Eoyal Family, 
 Monsieur d'Arblay was placed by the Duke de Luxem- 
 bourg in the French " Garde du Corps." He obtained leave 
 of absence towards the close of the year, and came to Eng- 
 
 1 '* The Wanderer " — published the following year.
 
 1814.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 461 
 
 land for a few weeks ; after which Madame d'Arblay re- 
 turned with him to Paris, leaving their son to pursue his 
 studies at Cambridge.] 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. . 
 
 March 19, 1814. 
 
 Be not uneasy for me, my tender friend : my affliction is 
 heavy, but not acute ; my beloved father had been spared 
 to us something beyond the verge of the prayer for liis 
 preservation, which you must have read, for already his 
 sufferings had far surpassed his enjoyments. I could not 
 have wished him so to linger, though I indulged almost to 
 the last hour a hope he might yet recover, and be restored 
 to comfort. I last of all gave him up, but never wished 
 his duration such as I saw him on the last few days. Dear 
 blessed parent ! how blest am I that I came over to him 
 while he was yet susceptible of pleasure — of happiness ! 
 My best comfort in my grief, in his loss, is that I watched 
 by his side the last night, and hovered over him two hours 
 after he breathed no more ; for though much suffering had 
 preceded the last hours, they were so quiet, and the final 
 exit was so soft, that I had not perceived it though I was 
 sitting by his bedside, and would not believe when all 
 around announced it. I forced them to let me stay by 
 him, and his revered form became stiff before I could per- 
 suade myself that he was gone hence for ever. 
 
 Yet neither then nor now has there been any violence, 
 anything to fear from my grief ; his loss was too indubita- 
 bly to be expected ; he had been granted too long to our 
 indulgence to allow any species of repining to mingle with 
 my sorrow ; and it is repining that makes sorrow too hard 
 to bear with resignation. Oh, I have known it ! 
 
 r. D'A.
 
 462 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1814. 
 
 - Presentation to Louis XVIII. 
 
 1814. 
 
 "While I was still under the almost first impression of 
 grief for the loss of my dear and honored father, I received 
 a letter from Windsor Castle, written by Madame Beckers- 
 dorff, at the command of Her Majesty, to desire I would 
 take the necessary measures for being presented to ^Son 
 Altesse Royale Madame Duchesse d'Angouleme, who was 
 to have a drawing-room in London, both for French and 
 English, on the day preceding her departure for France. 
 The letter added, that I must waive all objections relative 
 to my recent loss, as it would be improper, in the present 
 state of things, that the wife of a General Officer should 
 not be presented ; and, moreover, that I should be person- 
 ally expected and well received, as I had been named to 
 Son Altesse Royale by the Queen herself. In conclusion, 
 I was charged not to mention this circumstance, from the 
 applications or jealousies it might excite. 
 
 To hesitate was out of the question ; and to do honor to 
 my noble absent partner, and in his name to receive honor, 
 were precisely the two distinctions my kind father would 
 most have enjoyed for me. 
 
 I had but two or three days for preparation. Lady 
 Crewe most amiably came to me herself, and missing me 
 in person, wrote me word she would lend me her carriage 
 to convey me from Chelsea to her house in Lower Gros- 
 venor Street, and thence accompany me herself to the 
 audience. When the morning arrived 1 set off with toler- 
 able courage. 
 
 Arrived, however, at Lady Crewe's, when I entered the 
 room in which this dear and attached friend of my father 
 received me, the heaviness of his loss proved quite over- 
 powering to my spirits ; and in meeting the two hands of
 
 1814.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 463 
 
 my hostess, I burst into tears, and could not, for some time, 
 listen to the remonstrances against unavailing grief with 
 which she rather chid than soothed me. But I could not 
 contest the justice of what she uttered, though my grief 
 was too fresh for its observance. Sorrow, as my dearest 
 father was wont to say, requires time, as well as \nsdom 
 and religion, to digest itself; and till that time is both 
 accorded and well employed, the sense of its uselessness 
 serves but to augment, not mitigate, its severity. 
 
 Lady Crewe purposed taking this opportunity of paying 
 her own respects, with her congratulations, to Madame la 
 Duchesse d'Angouleme. She had sent me a note from 
 Madame de Gouvello, relative to the time, &c. for presenta- 
 tion, which was to take place at Grillon's hotel, in Albe- 
 marle Street. 
 
 We went very early, to avoid a crowd. But Albemarle 
 Street was already quite full, though quiet. We entered 
 the hotel without difficulty, Lady Crewe having previously 
 demanded a private room of Grillon, who had once been 
 cook to her lord. This private room M-as at the back of the 
 house, with a mere yard or common garden for its prospect. 
 Lady Crewe declared this was quite too stupid, and rang 
 the bell for waiter after waiter, till she made M. Grillon 
 come himself. She then, in her singularly open and easy 
 manner, told him to be so good as to order us a front 
 room, where we might watch for the arrival of the Eoy- 
 als, and be amused ourselves at the same time by seeing 
 the entrances of the Mayor, Aldermen, and Common 
 Councilmen, and other odd characters, who would be 
 coming to pay their court to these French princes and 
 princesses. 
 
 M. Grillon gave a nod of acquiescence, and we were in- 
 stantly shown to a front apartment just over the street 
 door, which was fortunately supplied with a balcony.
 
 464 DIAKY AND LETTERS [18U. 
 
 I should have been much entertained by all this, and 
 particularly with the originality, good humor, and intrepid 
 yet intelligent odd fearlessness of all remark, or even con- 
 sequence, which led Lady Crewe to both say and do exactly 
 what she pleased, had my heart been lighter ; but it was 
 too heavy for pleasure ; and the depth of my inourning, 
 and the little, but sad time that was yet passed since it 
 had become my gloomy garb, made me hold it a matter even 
 of decency, as well as of feeling, to keep out of sight. I left 
 Lady Crewe, therefore, to the full enjoyment of her odd 
 figures, while I seated myself, solitarily, at the further end 
 of the room. 
 
 In an instant, however, she saw from the window some 
 acquaintance, and beckoned them up. A gentleman, mid- 
 dle-aged, of a most pleasing appearance and address, im- 
 mediately obeyed her summons, accompanied by a young 
 man with a sensible look ; and a young lady, pretty, gentle, 
 and engaging, with languishing soft eyes ; though with a 
 smile and an expression of countenance that showed an 
 innate disposition to archness and sport. 
 
 This imcommon trio I soon found to consist of the 
 celebrated Irish orator, Mr. Grattan, and his son and 
 daughter. 
 
 Lady Crewe welcomed them with all the alertness be- 
 longing to her thirst for amusement, and her delight in 
 sharing it with those she thought capable of its participa- 
 tion. This she had sought, but wholly missed in me ; and 
 could neither be angry nor disappointed, though she was a 
 little vexed. She suffered me not, however, to remain long 
 in my seclusion, but called me to the balcony, to witness 
 the jolting out of their carriages of the aldermen and com- 
 mon councilmen, exhibiting, as she said, their " fair round 
 bodies with fat capon lined ; " and wearing an air of 
 proudly hospitable satisfaction, in visiting a Kiug of France
 
 1814.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 465 
 
 who had found an asylum in a street of the city of West- 
 minster. 
 
 The crowd, however, for they deserve a better name 
 than mob, interested my observation still more. John Bull 
 has seldom appeared to me to greater advantage. I never 
 saw him en masse behave with such impulsive propriety. 
 Enchanted to behold a Iving of France in his capital ; con- 
 scious that le grand Monarqiie was fully in his power ; yet 
 honestly enraptured to see that " The king would enjoy 
 his own again," and enjoy it through the generous efforts, 
 of his rival, brave, noble old England ; he yet seemed 
 aware that it was fitting to subdue all exuberance of pleas- 
 ure, which, else, might annoy, if not alarm, his regal guest. 
 He took care, therefore, that his delight should not amount 
 to exultation ; it was quiet and placid, though pleased and 
 curious : I had almost said it was gentlemanlike. 
 
 And nearly of the same color, though from so inferior 
 an excitement, were the looks and attention of the Grattans, 
 particularly of the father, to the black mourner whom 
 Lady Crewe called amongst them. My garb, or the news 
 papers, or both, explained the dejection I attempted not to 
 repress, though I carefully forbade it any vent ; and the 
 finely speaking face of Mr. Grattan seemed investigating 
 the physiognomy, while it commiserated the situation of 
 the person brought thus before him. His air had some- 
 thing foreign in it, from the vivacity that accompanied his 
 politeness ; I should have taken him for a well-bred man 
 of fashion of France. Good breeding, in England, amongst 
 the men, is ordinarily stiff, reserved, or cold. Among the 
 exceptions to this stricture, how high stood Mr. Wyndham ! 
 and how high in gaiety with vivacity stood my own hon- 
 ored father ! Mr. Locke, who was elegance personified in 
 his manners, was lively only in his own domestic or chosen 
 
 circle. 
 
 vol,. 11. 30
 
 466 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814, 
 
 A new scene now both astonished and discomposed me. 
 
 A lady, accompanied humbly by a gentleman, burst into 
 the room with a noise, a self-sufficiency, and an assuming 
 confidence of superiority, that would have proved highly 
 offensive, had it not been egregiously ridiculous. Her at- 
 tire was as flaunting as her air and her manner ; she was 
 rouged and beribboned. But English she was not ; she 
 was Irish, in its most flaunting and untamed nature, and 
 possessed of so boisterous a spirit, that she appeared to be 
 just caught from the woods — the bogs, I might rather 
 say. 
 
 When she had poured forth a volley of words, with a 
 fluency and loudness that stunned me, Lady Crewe, with 
 a smile that seemed to denote she intended to give her 
 pleasure, presented me by name to Madame la Baronne 
 de M . 
 
 Slie made me a very haughty curtsey, and then, turning 
 rudely away, looked reproachfully at Lady Crewe, and 
 screamed out, " Oh, fie ! fie ! fie ! fie ! " Lady Crewe, 
 astonished and shocked, seemed struck speechless, and I 
 stood still with my eyes wide open, and my mouth proba- 
 bly so also, from a sort of stupor, for I could annex no 
 meaning nor even any idea to such behavior. She made 
 not, however, any scruple to develop her motives, for she 
 vehemently inveighed against being introduced to such an 
 acquaintance, squalling out, " She has writ against the 
 emigres I — she has writ against the Great Cause ! fie ! 
 fie ! fie ! " 
 
 When she had made these exclamations, and uttered 
 these accusations, till the indulfied vent to her racje began 
 to cool it, she stopped of her own accord, and, finding no 
 one spoke, looked as if she felt rather silly ; while M. 
 
 le Baron de M , her very humble s'poso, shrugged his 
 
 shoulders. The pause was succeeded by an opening ha-
 
 1814.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 467 
 
 rangue from Lady Crewe, begun in a low and gentle voice, 
 that seemed desirous to spare me what might appear an 
 undue condescension, in taking any pains to clear me from 
 so gross an attack. She gave, therefore, nearly in a whis- 
 per, a short character of me and of ra}'- conduct, of which 
 I heard just enough to know that such was her theme ; 
 and then, more audibly, she proceeded to state, that far 
 from writing against the emigrants, I had addressed an ex- 
 hortation to all the ladies of Great Britain in their favor. 
 
 " Oh, then," cried Madame de M •, " it was some- 
 body else — it was somebody else ! " And then she 
 screamed out delightedly, " I 'm so glad I spoke out, be- 
 cause of this explanation ! — I 'm so glad ! — I never was 
 so glad ! " 
 
 She now jumped about the room, quite crazily, protest- 
 ing she never rejoiced so much at anything she had ever 
 done in her life. 
 
 But when she found her joy, like her assault, was all 
 her own, she stopped short, astonished, I suppose, at my 
 insensibility, and said to me, " How lucky I spoke out ! 
 the luckiest thing in the world ! I 'm so glad ! A' n't you ? 
 Because of this edaircisseinent" 
 
 " If I had required any edaircissement," I dryly began. 
 
 " Oh, if it was not you, then," cried she, " 't was Char- 
 lotte Smith." 
 
 Lady Crewe seemed quite ashamed that such a scene 
 should pass where she presided, and Mr. Grattan quietly 
 stole away. 
 
 Not quietly, nor yet by stealth, but with evident disap- 
 pointment that her energies were not more admired, 
 Madame la Baronne now called upon her attendant sjmso, 
 and strode off herself. I found she was a great heiress of 
 Irish extraction and education, and that she had bestowed 
 all her wealth upon this emigrant Baron, who miglit easily
 
 468 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1814. 
 
 merit it, when, besides his title, he gave her his patience 
 and obseqniousness. 
 
 Some other friends of Lady Crewe now found her out, 
 and she made eager inquiries amongst them relative to 
 Madame la Duchesse d'Angouleme, but could gather no 
 tidings. She heard, however, that there were great ex- 
 pectations of some arrivals downstairs, where two or three 
 rooms were filled with company. 
 
 She desired Mr. Grattan, junior, to descend into this 
 crowd, and to find out where the Duchess was to be seen, 
 and when, and how. He obeyed. But, when he returned, 
 what was the provocation of Lady Crewe, what my own 
 disappointment, to hear that the Duchess was not arrived, 
 and was not expected ! She was at the house of Monsieur 
 le Comte d'Artois, her father-in-law, 
 
 " Then what are we come hither for ? " exclaimed her 
 ladyship : " expressly to be tired to death for no purpose ! 
 Do pray, at least, Mr. Grattan, be so good as to see for my 
 carriage, that we may go to the right house." Mr. Grattan 
 was all compliance, and with a readiness so obliging and 
 so well-bred that I am sure he is his father's true son in 
 manners, though there was no opportunity to discover 
 whether the resemblance extended also to genius. 
 
 He was not, however, cheered when he brought word 
 that neither carriage nor footman was to be found. 
 
 Lady Crewe then said he must positively go down, and 
 make the Due de Duras tell us what to do. In a few 
 minutes he was with us again, shrugging his shoulders at 
 his ill-success. The King, Louis XYIIL, he said, was ex- 
 pected, and M. le Due was preparing to receive him, and 
 not able to speak or listen to any one. 
 
 Lady Crewe declared herself delighted by this informa- 
 tion, because there would be an opportunity for having me 
 presented to his Majesty. " Go to M. de Duras," she cried,
 
 1814.] OF MADAME d'ARBLAY. 469 
 
 " and tell him Madame d'Arblay wishes it." " For heav- 
 en's sake ! " exclaimed I, " do no such thing ! I have not 
 the most distant thought of the kind ! It is Madame la 
 Duchesse d'Angouleme alone that I — " 
 
 " 0, pho, pho ! — it is still more essential to be done to 
 the king — it is really important : so go, and tell the Duke, 
 Mr. Grattan, that INIadame d'Arblay is here, and desires to 
 be presented. Tell him 't is a thing quite indispensable." 
 
 I stopped him again, and quite entreated that no such 
 step miglit be taken, as I had no authority for presentation 
 but to the Duchess. However, Lady Crewe was only pro- 
 voked at my backwardness, and charged Mr. Grattan not 
 to heed me. " Tell the Duke," she cried, " that Madame 
 d'Arblay is our Madame de Stael ! — tell him we are as 
 proud of our Madame d'Arblay as he can be of his 
 Madame de Stael." Off she sent him, and off I flew again 
 to follow him ; and whether he was most amused or most 
 teased by our opposing petitions, I know not ; but he took 
 the discreet side of not venturing again to return among us. 
 
 Poor Lady Crewe seemed to think I lost a place at Court, 
 or perhaps a peerage, by my untameable shyness, and was 
 quite vexed. Others came to her now, who said several 
 rooms below were filled with expectant courtiers. Miss 
 Grattan then earnestly requested me to descend with her, 
 as a chaperon, that she might see something of what was 
 going forwards. 
 
 I could not refuse so natural a request, and down we 
 went, seeking one of the commonly crowded rooms, that we 
 might not intrude where there was preparation or expecta- 
 tion relative to the King. 
 
 And here, sauntering or grouping, meditating in silence 
 or congratulating each other in coteries, or waiting with 
 curiosity, or self-preparing for presentation with timidity, 
 we found a multitude of folks in an almost unfurnished and
 
 470 DIARY AND LETTEKS [1814. 
 
 quite unadorned apartment. The personages seemed fairly- 
 divided between the nation at home and the nation from 
 abroad, the English and the French : each equally, though 
 variously, occupied in expecting the extraordinary sight of 
 a monarch thus wonderfully restored to his rank and his 
 throne, after misfortunes that had seemed irremediable, and 
 an exile that had appeared hopeless. 
 
 Miss Grattan was saluted, eii passant, by several acquain- 
 tances, and amongst them by the son-in-law of her dear 
 country's Viceroy, Lord Whitworth, the young Duke of 
 Dorset; and Lady Crewe herself, too tired to abide any 
 longer in her appropriated apartment, now descended. 
 
 We picii'^^oled about, zig-zag, as we could ; the crowd, 
 though of very good company, having no chief or regulator, 
 and therefore making no sort of avenue or arrangement for 
 avoiding inconvenience. There was neither going up nor 
 coming down ; we were all hustled together, without di- 
 rection and without object, for nothing whatsoever was 
 present to look at or to create any interest, and our expec- 
 tations were merely kept awake by a belief that we should 
 know in time when and where something or somebody was 
 to be seen. 
 
 For myself, however, I was much tormented during this 
 interval from being named incessantly by Lady Crewe. 
 My deep mourning, my recent heavy loss, and the absence 
 and distance of my dear husband, made me peculiarly wish 
 to be unobserved. Peculiarly, I say ; for never yet had 
 the moment arrived in which to be marked had not been 
 embarrassing and disconcerting to me, even when most 
 flattering. 
 
 A little hubbub soon after announced something new, 
 and presently a whisper was buzzed around the room of 
 " The Prince de Conde." 
 
 His Serene Highness looked very much pleased — as no
 
 1814.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 471 
 
 •wonder — at the arrival of such a day ; but he was so sur- 
 rounded by all his countrymen who were of rank t-o claim 
 his attention, that I could merely see that he was little and 
 old, but very unassuming and polite. Amongst his court- 
 iers were sundry of the French noblesse that were known 
 to Lady Crewe ; and I heard her uniformly say to them, 
 one after another, " Here is Madame d'Arblay, who must 
 be presented to the king." 
 
 Quite frightened by an assertion so wide from my inten- 
 tions, so unauthorized by any preparatory ceremonies, un- 
 known to my husband, and not, like a presentation to the 
 Duchess d'Angouleme, encouraged by my Queen, I felt as 
 if guilty of taking a liberty the most presumptuous, and 
 with a forwardness and assurance the most foreign to my 
 character. Yet to control the zeal of Lady Crewe was 
 painful from her earnestness, and appeared to be ungrate- 
 ful to her kindness ; I therefore shrunk back, and presently 
 suffered the crowd to press between us so as to find my- 
 self wholly separated from my party. This would have 
 been ridiculous had I been more happy ; but in my then 
 state of affliction, it was necessary to my peace. 
 
 Quite to myself, how I smiled inwardly at my adroit 
 cowardice, and w'as contemplating the surrounding masses 
 of people, when a new and more mighty hubbub startled 
 me, and presently I heard a buzzing whisper spread 
 tliroughout the apartment of " The King ! — Le Eoi !" 
 
 Alarmed at my strange situation, I now sought to de- 
 camp, meaning to wait for Lady Crewe upstairs : but to 
 even approach the door was impossible. I turned back, 
 therefore, to take a place by the window, that I might see 
 his Majesty alight from his carriage, but how great was my 
 surprise when, just as I reached the top of the room, the 
 Iving himself entered it at the bottom ! 
 
 I had not the smallest idea that this was the chamber of
 
 472 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814. 
 
 audience; it was so utterly unornamented. But I now 
 saw that a large fauteuil was being conveyed to the upper 
 part, exactly where I stood, ready for his reception and 
 repose. 
 
 Placed thus singularly, by mere accident, and freed from 
 my fears of being brought forward by Lady Crewe, I felt 
 rejoiced in so fair an opportunity of beholding the King of 
 my honored husband, and planted myself immediately be- 
 hind, though not near to his prepared seat ; and, as I was 
 utterly unknown and must be utterly unsuspected, I in- 
 dulged myself with a full examination. An avenue had 
 instantly been cleared from the door to the chair, and the 
 King moved along it slowly, slowly, slowly, rather dragging 
 his large and weak limbs than walking ; but his face was 
 truly engaging ; benignity was in every feature, and a smile 
 beamed over them that showed thankfulness to Providence 
 in the happiness to which he was so suddenly arrived ; 
 with a courtesy, at the same time, to the spectators, who 
 came to see and congratulate it, the most pleasing and 
 cheering. 
 
 The scene was replete with motives to grand reflections ; 
 and to me, the devoted subject of another monarch, whose 
 melancholy alienation of mind was a constant source to me 
 of sorrow, it was a scene for conflicting feelings and pro- 
 found meditation. 
 
 His Majesty took his seat, with an air of mingled sweet- 
 ness and dignity. I then, being immediately behind him, 
 lost sight of his countenance, but saw that of every indi- 
 vidual who approached to be presented. The Due de 
 Duras stood at his left hand, and was le Grand Maitre des 
 Ceremonies ; Madame de Gouvello stood at his right side ; 
 though whether in any capacity, or simply as a French 
 lady known to him, I cannot tell. In a whisper, from that 
 lady, I learned more fully the mistake of the hotel, the
 
 1814.] ' OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 473 
 
 Duchess d'Angoul^me never having meant to quit that of 
 her heau-phre, Monsieur le Comte d'Artois, in South Audley 
 Square. 
 
 The presentations were short, and without much mark 
 or Hkelihood. The men bowed low, and passed on ; the 
 ladies curtseyed^ and did the same. Those who were not 
 known gave a card, I think, to the Due de Duras, who 
 named them ; those of former acquaintance with his Ma- 
 jesty simply made their obeisance. 
 
 M. de Duras, who knew how much fatigue the King had 
 to go through, hurried every one on, not only with speed 
 but almost with ill-breeding, to my extreme astonishment. 
 Yet the English, by express command of his Majesty, had 
 always the preference and always took place of the 
 French ; which was an attention of the King in return for 
 the asylum he had here found, that he seemed delighted to 
 display. 
 
 Early in this ceremony came forward Lady Crewe, who 
 being known to the King from sundry previous meetings, 
 was not named ; and only, after curtseying, reciprocated 
 smiles with his Majesty, and passed on. But instead of 
 then moving off, though the Duke, who did not know her, 
 waved his hand to hasten her away, she whispered, but 
 loud enough for me to hear, " FbtYo, Madame d'Arhlay ; 
 il faut qiCdh soit pr^sentSe." She then went gaily off, 
 without heeding me. 
 
 The Duke only bowed, but by a quick glance recognized 
 me, and by another showed a pleased acquiescence in the 
 demand. 
 
 Eetreat, now, was out of the question; but I so feared 
 ray position was wrong, that I was terribly disturbed, and 
 felt hot and cold, and cold and hot, alternately, with excess 
 of embarrassment. 
 
 I was roused, however, after hearing for so long a time
 
 474 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814. 
 
 nothing but French, by the sudden sound of English. An 
 address in that language was read to his Majesty, which 
 was presented by the Noblemen and Gentlemen of the 
 county of Buckingham, congratulatory upon his happy 
 restoration, and filled with cordial thanks for the gracious- 
 ness of his manners, and the benignity of his conduct, 
 during his long residence amongst them; warmly pro- 
 claiming their participation in his joy, and their admiration 
 of his virtues. The reader was Colonel iSTugent, a near 
 relation of the present Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 But, if the unexpected sound of these felicitations 
 dehvered in English roused and struck me, how much 
 greater arose my astonishment and delight when the 
 French Monarch, in an accent of the most condescending 
 familiarity and pleasure, uttered his acknowledgments in 
 English also — expressing his gratitude for all their atten- 
 tions, his sense of their kind interest in his favor, and his 
 eternal remembrance of the obligations he owed to the 
 whole county of Buckingham, for the asylum and consola- 
 tions he had found in it during his trials and calamities ! 
 
 I wonder not that Colonel Nugent was so touched by 
 this reply, as to be led to bend the knee, as to his own 
 Sovereign, when the King held out his hand ; for I myself, 
 though a mere outside auditress, was so moved, and so 
 transported with surprise by the dear English language 
 from his mouth, that I forgot at once all my fears, and 
 dubitations, and, indeed, all myself, my poor little self, in 
 my pride and exultation at such a moment for my noble 
 country. 
 
 Fortunately for me, the Due de Duras made this the mo- 
 ment for my presentation, and, seizing my hand and draw- 
 ing me suddenly from behind the chair to the Eoyal presence, 
 he said, " Sire, Madame d'Arblay." 
 
 How .singular a change, that what, but the instant before.
 
 1814.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 475 
 
 would have overwhelmed me with diffidence and embar- 
 rassment, now found me all courage and animation ! and 
 when his Majesty took my hand — or, rather, took hold of 
 my fist — and said, in very pretty English, " I am very 
 happy to see you," I felt such a glow of satisfaction, that, 
 involuntarily, I burst forth with its expression, inco- 
 herently, but delightedly and irresistibly, though I cannot 
 remember how. He certainly was not displeased, for his 
 smile was brightened and his manner was most flattering, 
 as he repeated that he was very glad to see me, and added 
 that he had known me, " though without sight, very long : 
 for I have read you — and been charmed with your books 
 — charmed and entertained. I have read them often, I 
 know them very well indeed ; and I have long wanted to 
 know you! " 
 
 I was extremely surprised, — and not only at these un- 
 expected compliments, but equally that my presentation, 
 far from seeming, as I had apprehended, strange, was met 
 by a reception of the utmost encouragement. When he 
 stopped, and let go my hand, I curtseyed respectfully, and 
 was moving on ; but he again caught my fist, and, fixing 
 me, with looks of strong though smiling investigation, he 
 appeared archly desirous to read the lines of my face, as if 
 to deduce from them the qualities of my mind. His 
 manner, however, was so polite and so gentle that lie 
 did not at all discountenance me ; and though he re- 
 sumed the praise of my little works, he uttered the pane- 
 gyric with a benignity so gay as well as flattering, that 
 I felt enlivened, nay, elevated, with a joy that overcame 
 onauvaise lionte. 
 
 The Due de Duras, who had humed on all others, seeing 
 he had no chance to dismiss me with the same sans c4r4- 
 monie speed, now joined his voice to exalt my satisfaction, 
 by saying, at the next pause, " £t M. d'Arblay, Sire, bon
 
 476 DIARY AND LETTERS [1814. 
 
 et brave, est un des plus devours et fidMes serviteurs de 
 votre Majesty." 
 
 The King, with a gracious little motion of his head, and 
 with eyes of the most pleased benevolence expressively 
 said, " Je le crois.'" And a third time he stopped my retir- 
 ing curtsey, to take my hand. This last stroke gave me 
 such delight, for my absent best ami, that I could not 
 again attempt to speak. The King pressed my hand — 
 wrist, I should say, for it was that he grasped, — and then 
 saying, " Bon jour, Madame la Comtesse," let me go. 
 
 My eyes were suffused with tears, from mingled emo- 
 tions ; I glided nimbly through the crowd to a corner at 
 the other end of the room, where Lady Crewe joined me 
 almost instantly, and with felicitations the most amiably 
 cordial and lively. 
 
 We then repaired to a sideboard, on which we contrived 
 to seat ourselves, and Lady Crewe named to me the nu- 
 merous personages of rank who passed on before us for 
 presentation. But every time any one espied her and ap- 
 proached, she named me also ; an honor to which I was 
 very averse. This I intimated, but to no purpose ; she 
 went on her own way. The curious stares this produced, 
 in my embarrassed state of spirits, from recent grief, were 
 really painful to sustain ; but when the seriousness of my 
 representation forced her to see that I was truly in earnest 
 in my desire to remain unnoticed, she was so much vexed, 
 and even provoked, that she very gravely begged that, if 
 such were the case, I would move a little further from her ; 
 saying, " If one must be so ill-natured to people as not to 
 name you, I had rather not seem to know who you are 
 myself." 
 
 When, at length, her ladyship's chariot was announced, 
 we drove to Great Cumberland Place, Lady Crewe being 
 so kind as to convey me to Mrs. Angerstein.
 
 1814.] 
 
 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 477 
 
 As Lady Crewe was too much in haste to alight, the 
 sweet Amelia Angerstein came to the carriage to speak to 
 her, and to make known that a letter had arrived from M. 
 de la Chatre relative to my presentation, which, by a mis- 
 take of address, had not come in time for my reception.
 
 478 DIARY AND LETTERS [1815. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1815 — 1840. 
 
 [The news of Bonaparte's return from Elba recalled 
 General d'Arblay to France. His wife accompanied him, 
 to share in the apprehensions and anxieties which pre- 
 ceded Waterloo, and afterward served as nurse to her hus- 
 band, who was severely injured by a kick from a horse, — 
 an injury from which he never entirely recovered.] 
 
 Madame d^ Arblay to Mrs. Locke and Mrs. Angerstein. 
 
 Dover, Oct. 18, 1815. 
 
 Last night, my ever dear friends, we arrived once more 
 in Old England. 
 
 I write this to send the moment I land in London. I 
 cannot boast of our health, our looks, our strength ; but I 
 hope we may recover a part of all when our direful fatigues, 
 mental and corporeal, cease to utterly weigh upon and 
 wear us. 
 
 We shall winter in Bath. The waters of Plombieres 
 have been recommended to my poor hoiteux, but he has 
 obtained a conge that allows this change. Besides his 
 present utter incapacity for military service, he is now un- 
 avoidably on the retrcdU list, and the King of Prance 
 permits his coming oyer, not alone without difficulty, but
 
 1816.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 479 
 
 with wishing him a good journey, through the Due de 
 Luxembourg, his captain in the Gardes clu Corps. 
 
 Adieu, dearest both ! — Almost I embrace you in dating 
 from Dover. Had you my letter from Treves ? I suspect 
 not, for my melancholy new history would have brought 
 your kind condolence : or, otherwise, that missed me. Our 
 letters were almost all intercepted by the Prussians while 
 we were there. ISTot one answer arrived to us from Paris 
 save by private hands. 
 
 My kindest love to my dear Lady Martin. I waited a 
 happy moment to write her my congratulations. Alas ! 
 I have been persecuted by disaster almost from the time 
 I left England. Flights, illness, terrors, and grievous acci- 
 dents have followed or met me at every step. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke. 
 
 Bath, February 15, 1816. 
 Incredible is the time I have lost without giving in 
 that claim which has never been given in vain for news of 
 my own dear friend ; but I have been — though not ill, so 
 continually unwell, and though not, as so recently, in dis- 
 ordered and disorganizing difficulties, yet so incessantly 
 occupied with small, but indispensable occupations, that 
 the post hour has always gone by to-day to be waited for 
 to-morrow. Yet my heart has never been satisfied — I 
 don't mean with itself, for with that it can never quarrel 
 on this subject, — but with my pen — my slack, worn, 
 irregular, fugitive, fatigued, yet ever faithful, though never 
 punctual pen. My dearest friend forgives, I know, even 
 that ; but her known and unvarying lenity is the very 
 cause I cannot forgive it myself.
 
 480 DIARY AND LETTERS [1816. 
 
 We have had our Alexander for six weeks ; he left us 
 three days ago, and I won't tell my dear friend whether or 
 not we miss him. He is precisely such as he was — as 
 inartificial in his character, as irregular in his studies. He 
 cannot bring himself to conquer his disgust of the routine 
 of labor at Cambridge ; and while he energetically argues 
 upon the innocence of a preference to his own early prac- 
 tice,^ which he vindicates, I believe unanswerably, with 
 regard to its real superiority, he is insensible, at least for- 
 getful, of all that can be urged of the mischiefs to his 
 prospects in life that must result from his not conquering 
 his inclinations. I have nearly lost all hope of his taking 
 the high degree adjudged to him by general expectation at 
 the University, from thepromise of his opening. 
 
 Of all friends here, I have found stationary, Mrs. Holroyd, 
 and Mrs. Frances and Harriet Bowdler. Mrs. Holroyd 
 still gives parties, and tempted me to hear a little medley 
 music, as she called it. Mrs. F. Bowdler lives on Lans- 
 downe Crescent, and scarcely ever comes down the hill ; 
 Mrs. Harriet I have missed, though we have repeatedly 
 sought a meeting on both sides ; but she left Bath for some 
 excursion soon after my arrival Another new resident 
 here will excite, I am sure, a more animated interest — 
 Mrs. Piozzi. 
 
 The Bishop of Salisbury, my old friend, found me out, 
 and came to make me a long and most amiable visit, which 
 
 was preceded by Mrs. F , and we all spent an evening 
 
 with them very sociably and pleasantly. 
 
 r. B. D'A. 
 
 1 He had studied mathematics in Paris according to the analytical 
 method, instead of the geometrical, which was at that time exclusively 
 taught at Cambridge.
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 481 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to her Son. 
 
 Bath, April 30. 
 Your uncle has bought the picture of my dearest father 
 at Streatham. I am truly rejoiced it will come into our 
 family, since the collection for which it was painted is 
 broken up. Your uncle has also bought the Garrick, which 
 was one of the most agreeable and delightful of the set. 
 To what recollections, at once painful and pleasing, does 
 this sale give birth ! In the library, in which those pictures 
 were hung, we always breakfasted ; and there I have had 
 as many precious conversations with the great and good 
 Dr. Johnson as there are days in the year. Dr. Johnson 
 sold the highest of all ! 't is an honor to our age, that ! — 
 360/. ! My dear father would have been mounted higher, 
 but that his son Charles was there to bid for himself, and, 
 everybody must have seen, was resolved to have it. There 
 was besides, I doubt not, a feeling for his lineal claim and 
 pious desire. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to General d^Arblay.^ 
 
 Ilfracombe, Devonshire, July 2, 1817. 
 This very day of our arrival, before Alex, had had time to 
 search out Mr. Jacob, somebody called out to him in the 
 street, " Ah, d'Arblay ! " w^ho proved to be his man. They 
 strolled about the town, and then Jacob desired to be 
 brought to me. Unluckily, I was unpacking, and denied. 
 He has appointed Alex, for a lesson to-morrow. May he 
 put him a little en train ! 
 
 July 'drcl. — Alexander began with Mr. Jacob, and was 
 enchanted at his method of instruction, as well as by his 
 kindness. 
 
 ^ Then in Paris. 
 VOL. II. 31
 
 482 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1817, 
 
 July 5th, Saturday. — I must now give you some account 
 of this place. We are lodged on the harbor. The mistress 
 of our apartments is widow to some master of a vessel 
 that traded at Ilfracombe, with Ireland chiefly. She has 
 tliree or four children : the eldest, but twelve years old, is 
 the servant of the lodgers, and as adroit as if she was thir- 
 ty. Our situation is a very amusing one : for the quay is 
 narrow, and there are vessels just on its level, so close that 
 even children walk into them all day long. When the sea 
 is up, the scene is gay, busy, and interesting ; but on its ebb 
 the sands here are not clean and inviting, but dark and 
 muddy, and the reverse of odoriferous. But the entrance 
 and departure of vessels, the lading, unlading, and the 
 management of ships and boats, offer constantly something 
 new to an eye accustomed only to land views and occupa- 
 tions. But chiefly I wish for you for the amusement you 
 would find from a Spanish vessel, which is close to the 
 quay, immediately opposite to our apartments, and on a 
 level with the parlor of the house. It has been brought in 
 under suspicion of piracy, or smuggling, or aiding the slave 
 trade. What the circumstances of the accusation are I 
 know not ; but the captain is to be tried at Exeter on tlie 
 ensuing western circuit. Meantime, his goods are all se- 
 questered, and he has himself dismissed all his sailors and 
 crew, to rejoin him when the trial is over. He is upon his 
 parole, and has liberty to go whithersoever he will ; but he 
 makes no use of the permission, as he chooses not to leave 
 his cargo solely under the inspection of the excisemen and 
 custom officers here, who have everything under lock and 
 key and seal. He is a good-looking man, and, while not 
 condemned, all are willing to take his word for his inno- 
 pence. Should that be proved, what compensation will be 
 sufficient for repairing his confinement ? He has retained 
 with him only his physician, his o\yn servant, his cook, and a
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 483 
 
 boy, with another lad, who is an American. I see him all 
 day long, walking his quarter-deck, and ruminating upon his 
 situation, with an air of philosophy that shows strong char- 
 acter. His physician, who is called here the Doctor, and is 
 very popular, is his interpreter; he speaks English and 
 French, has a spirited, handsome face, and manners the 
 most courteous, though with a look darkly shrewd and 
 Spanish, But the person who would most entertain you is 
 the cook, who appears the man of most weight in the little 
 coterie ; for he lets no one interfere with his manoeuvres. 
 All is performed for the table in full sight, a poele being 
 lighted with a burning fierce fire upon the deck, where he 
 officiates. He wears a complete white dress, and has a 
 pail of water by his side, in which he washes everything he 
 dresses, and his own hands to boot, with great attention. 
 He begins his }^ot au feu soon after seven every morning, 
 and I watch the operation from my window : it is entire- 
 ly French, except that he puts in more meat, and has it 
 cut, apparently, into pounds : for I see it all carved into 
 square morsels, seemingly of that weight, which he inserts 
 bit by bit, with whole bowls, delicately cleaned, washed, and 
 prepared, of cabbages, chicory, turnips, carrots, celery, and 
 small herbs. Then some thick slices of ship ham, and an- 
 other bowl of onions and garlic ; salt by a handful, and 
 pepper by a wooden spoon full. This is left for many 
 hours ; and in the interval he prepares a porridge of pota- 
 toes well mashed, and barley well boiled, with some other in- 
 gredient that, when it is poured into a pan, bubbles up like 
 a syllabub. But before he begins, he employs the two lads 
 to wash all the ship. To see all this is the poor captain's 
 only diversion ; but the cook never heeds him while at 
 his professional operations ; he even motions to him to 
 get out of the way if he approaches too near, and is so in- 
 tent upon his grand business that he shakes his head with-
 
 484 DIARY AND LETTERS [1817. 
 
 out answering, when the captain speaks to him, with an air 
 that says, " Are you crazy, to try to take off my attention ? " 
 And when the doctor, who often advances to make some 
 observation, and to look on, tries to be heard, he weaves his 
 hand in disdain, to silence him. Yet, when all is done, 
 and he has taken off his white dress, he becomes all obse- 
 quiousness, respectfully standing out of the way, or dili- 
 gently flying forward to execute any command. 
 
 Diary continued. 
 
 The term for Alexander's studies with Mr. Jacob was 
 just finishing, and a few days only remained ere the party 
 was to be dispersed, when I determined upon devoting a 
 morning to the search of such curiosities as the coast pro- 
 duced. I marched forth, attended only by M. d'Arblay's 
 favorite little dog, Diane, with a large silk bag, to see what 
 I could find that I might deem indigenous, as a local offer- 
 ing to the collection of my General, who was daily increas- 
 ing his mineralogical stores, under the skilful direction of 
 his friend, the celebrated naturalist, M. de Bournon. 
 
 I began my perambulation by visiting the promontory 
 called the Capstan — or rather attempting that visit ; for 
 after mounting to nearly its height, by a circuitous path 
 from the town, by which alone the ascent is possible, the 
 side of the promontory being a mere precipice overlooking 
 the ocean, a sudden gust of wind dashed so violently 
 against us, that in the danger of being blown into the sea, 
 I dropped on the turf at full length, and saw Diane do the 
 same, with her four paws spread as widely as possible, to 
 flatten her body more completely to the ground. 
 
 This opening to my expedition thus briefly set aside, I 
 repaired to the coast, where there are pebbles, at least, in 
 great beauty as well as al^undance. The coast of Ilfra-
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 485 
 
 combe is broken by rocks, which bear evident marks of 
 being fragments of some one immense rock, which, under- 
 mined by the billows in successive storms, has been cast 
 in all directions in its fall. We went down to the edge of 
 the sea, which was clear, smooth, and immovable as a lake, 
 the wind having subsided into a calm so quiet, that I could 
 not tell whether the tide were in or out. Not a creature 
 was in sight ; but presently a lady descended, with a book 
 in her hand, and passed on before us to the right, evidently 
 to read alone. Satisfied by this circumstance that the tide 
 was going out, and all was safe, I began my search, and 
 soon accumulated a collection of beautiful pebbles, each of 
 which seemed to merit being set in a ring. The pleasure 
 they afforded me insensibly drew me on to the entrance of 
 the Wildersmouth, which is the name given to a series of 
 recesses formed by the rocks, and semi-circular, open at the 
 bottom to the sea, and only to be entered from the sands 
 at low tide. I coasted two or three of them, augmenting 
 my spoil as I proceeded ; and perceiving the lady I have 
 already mentioned composedly engaged with her book, I 
 hurried past to visit the last recess, whither I had never 
 yet ventured. I found it a sort of chamber, though with 
 no roof but a clear blue sky. The top was a portly moun- 
 tain, rough, steep, and barren ; the left side was equally 
 mountainous, but consisting of layers of a sort of slate, 
 intermixed with moss ; the right side was the elevated 
 Capstan, which here was perpendicular ; and at the bottom 
 were the sands by which I entered it, terminated by the 
 ocean. The whole was altogether strikingly picturesque, 
 wild, and original. There was not one trace of art, or even 
 of any previous entrance into it of man. I could almost 
 imagine myself its first human inmate. 
 
 My eye was presently caught by the appearance, near 
 the' top, of a cavern, at the foot of which I perceived
 
 486 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1817. 
 
 something of so brilliant a whiteness that, in hopes of a 
 treasure for my bag, I hastened to the spot. What had 
 attracted me proved to be the jawbone and teeth of some 
 animal. Various rudely curious things at the mouth of the 
 cavern invited investigation ; Diane, however, brushed 
 forward, and was soon out of sight ; but while I was busily 
 culling, hoarding, or rejecting whatever struck my fancy, 
 she returned with an air so piteous, and a whine so 
 unusual, that, concluding she pined to return to a little 
 puppy of a week old that she was then rearing, I deter- 
 mined to hasten ; but still went on with my search, till 
 the excess of her distress leading her to pull me by the 
 gown, moved me to take her home ; but when I descended, 
 for this recess was on a slant, how was I confounded to 
 find the sands at the bottom, opening to the recess, whence 
 I had entered this marine chamber, were covered by the 
 waves ; though so gentle had been their motion, and so 
 calm was the sea, that their approach had not caught my 
 ear. I hastily remounted, hoping to find some outlet at 
 the top by which I might escape, but there was none. 
 This was not pleasant ; but still I was not frightened, not 
 conceiving or believing that I could be completely en- 
 closed : the less, as I recollected, in my passage to the 
 cavern, having had a glimpse of the lady who was reading 
 in the neighboring recess. I hastily scrambled to the spot 
 to look for her, and entreat her assistance ; but how was 
 I then startled to find that she was gone, and that her 
 recess, which was on less elevated ground than mine, was 
 fast filling with water ! 
 
 I now rushed down to the sea, determined to risk a wet 
 jerkin, by wading through a wave or two, to secure myself 
 from being shut up in this unfrequented place : but the 
 time was past ! The weather suddenly changed, the lake 
 was gone, and billows mounted one after the other, as
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 487 
 
 if with enraged pursuit of what they could seize and 
 swallow. 
 
 I eagerly ran up and down, from side to side, and 
 examined every nook and corner, every projection and 
 hollow, to find any sort of opening through which I could 
 pass — but there was none. 
 
 Diane looked scared ; she whined, she prowled ahout ; 
 her dismay was evident, and filled me with compassion — 
 but I could not interrupt my affrighted search to console 
 her. Soon after, however, she discovered a hole in the 
 rock at the upper part, which seemed to lead to the higher 
 sands. She got through it, and then turned round to bark, 
 as triumphing in her success, and calling upon me to share 
 its fruits. But in vain ! — the hollow was too small for 
 any passage save of my head, and I could only have re- 
 mained in it as if standing in the pillory. I still, therefore, 
 continued my own perambulation, but I made a motion to 
 my poor Diane to go, deeming it cruel to detain her from 
 her little one. Yet I heard her howl as if reduced to 
 despair that I would not join her. Anon, however, she was 
 silent — I looked after her, but she had disappeared. 
 
 This was an alarming moment. Alone, without the 
 smallest aid, or any knowledge how high the sea might 
 mount, or what was the extent of my danger, I looked up 
 wistfully at Capstan, and perceived the iron salmon ; but this 
 angle of that promontory was so steep as to be utterly 
 impracticable for climbing by human feet ; and its height 
 was such as nearly to make me giddy in considering it 
 from so close a point of view. I went from it, therefore, 
 to the much less elevated and less perpendicular rock 
 opposite ; but there all that was not slate, which crumbled 
 in my hands, was moss, from which they glided. There 
 was no hold whatever for the feet. 
 
 I ran therefore to the top, where a large rock, by
 
 488 . DIARY AND LETTERS [1817. 
 
 reaching from the upper part of this slated one to Capstan, 
 formed the chamber in which I was thus unexpectedly 
 immured. But this was so rough, pointed, sharp, and 
 steep that I could scarcely touch it. The hole througli 
 which Diane had crept was at an accidentally tliin part, and 
 too small to afford a passage to anything bigger than her 
 little self The rising storm, however, brought forward the 
 billows with augmented noise and violence ; and my wild 
 asylum lessened every moment. Now, indeed, I compre- 
 hended the extent of my danger. If a wave once reached 
 my feet, while coming upon me with the tumultuous vehe- 
 mence of this storm, I had nothing I could hold by to sustain 
 me from becoming its prey ; and must inevitably be car- 
 ried away into the ocean. 
 
 I darted about in search of some place of safety, rapidly, 
 and all eye ; till at length I espied a small tuft of grass on 
 the pinnacle of the highest of the small rocks that were 
 scattered about my prison ; for such now appeared my fear- 
 ful dwelling-place. This happily pointed out to me a spot 
 that the waves had never yet attained ; for all around bore 
 marks of their visits. To reach that tuft would be safety, 
 and I made the attempt with eagerness ; but the obstacles 
 I encountered were terrible. The roughness of the rock tore 
 my clothes ; its sharp points cut, now my feet, and now my 
 fingers ; and the distances from each other of the holes by 
 which I could gain any footing for my ascent, increased the 
 difficulty. I gained, however, nearly a quarter of the height, 
 but I could climb no further ; and tlien found myself on a 
 ledge where it was possible to sit down ; and I have rarely 
 found a little repose more seasonable. But it was not more 
 sweet than short: for in a few minutes a sudden gust of wind 
 raised the waves to a frightful height, whence their foam 
 reached the base of my place of refuge, and threatened to at- 
 tain soon the spot to which I had ascended. I now saw a
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 489 
 
 positive necessity to mount yet higheT,co'iife qui coilte ; and, 
 little as I had thought it possible, the pressing danger gave 
 me both means and fortitude to accomplish it : but with so 
 much hardship that I have ever since marvelled at my 
 success. My hands were wounded, my knees were bruised, 
 and my feet were cut ; for I could only scramble up by 
 clinging to the rock on all fours. 
 
 When I had reached to about two-thirds of the height 
 of my rock, I could climb no further. All above was so 
 sharp and so perpendicular that neither hand nor foot could 
 touch it without being wounded. My head, however, was 
 nearly on a level with the tuft of grass, and my elevation 
 from the sands was very considerable. I hoped, therefore, 
 I was safe from being washed away by the waves ; but I 
 could only hope ; I had no means to ascertain my situation ; 
 and, hope as I might, it was as painful as it was hazardous. 
 The tuft to which I had aimed to rise, and which, had I 
 succeeded, would have been security, was a mere point, as 
 unattainable as it was unique, not another blade of grass 
 being anywhere discernible. I was rejoiced, however, to 
 have reached a spot where there was sufficient breadth to 
 place one foot at least without cutting it, though the other 
 was poised on such unfriendly ground that it could bear 
 no part in sustaining me. Before me was an immense 
 slab, chiefly of slate, but it was too slanting to serve for a 
 seat — and seat I had none. My only prop, therefore, was 
 holding by the slab, where it was of a convenient height 
 for my hands. This support, besides affording me a little 
 rest, saved me from becoming giddy, and enabled me from 
 time to time to alternate the toil of my feet. 
 
 Glad was I, at least, that my perilous clambering had 
 finished by bringing me to a place where I might remain 
 still ; for with affright, fatigue, and exertion I was almost 
 exhausted. The wind was now abated, and the sea so
 
 490 DIARY AND LETTERS [1817. 
 
 calm, that I could not be sure whether the tide was still 
 coining in. To ascertain this was deeply necessary for my 
 tranquillity, that I might form some idea what would be 
 the length of my torment. I fixed my eyes, therefore, upon 
 two rocks that stood near the sea entrance into my recess, 
 almost close to the promontory, from which they had prob- 
 ably been severed by successive storms. As- they were 
 always in the sea I could easily make my calculation by 
 observing whether they seemed to lengthen or shorten. 
 With my near-sighted glass I watched them ; and great 
 was my consternation when, little by little, I lost sight of 
 them. I now looked wistfully onward to the main ocean, 
 in the hope of espying some vessel, or fishing-boat, with 
 intention of spreading and waving my parasol, in signal of 
 distress, should ' any one come in sight. But nothing 
 appeared. All was vacant and vast ! I was wholly alone 
 — wholly isolated. I feared to turn my head lest I should 
 become giddy, and lose my balance. 
 
 In this terrible state, painful, dangerous, and, more than 
 all, solitary, who could paint my joy, when suddenly, re- 
 entering by the aperture in the rock through which she had 
 quitted me, I perceived my dear little Diane ! For the 
 instant I felt as if restored to safety — I no longer seemed 
 abandoned. She soon leaped across the flat stones and the 
 sands which separated us, but how great was the difficulty 
 to make her climb as I had climbed ! Twenty times she 
 advanced only to retreat from the sharp points of the rock, 
 till ultimately she picked herself out a passage by help of 
 the slate, and got upon the enormous table, of which the 
 upper part was my support ; but the slant was such, that 
 as fast as she ascended she slipped down, and we were 
 both, I believe, almost hopeless of the desired junction, 
 when, catching at a favorable moment that had advanced her 
 paws within my reach, I contrived to hook her collar by
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 491 
 
 the curved end of my parasol and help her forward. This 
 I did with one hand, and as quick as lightning, dragging 
 her over the slab and dropping her at my feet, whence she 
 soon nestled herself in a sort of niche of slate, in a situation 
 much softer than mine, but in a hollow that for me was 
 impracticable. I hastily recovered my hold, which I mar- 
 vel now that I had the temerity to let go ; but to have at my 
 side my dear little faithful Diane was a comfort which no 
 one not planted, and for a terra that seemed indefinite, in 
 so unknown a solitude, can conceive. What cries of joy 
 the poor little thing uttered when thus safely lodged ! and 
 with what tenderness I sought to make her sensible of my 
 gratitude for her return ! 
 
 I was now, compared with all that had preceded, in 
 Paradise ; so enchanted did I feel at no longer considering 
 myself as if alone in the world. Oh, well I can conceive 
 the interest excited in the French prisoner by a spider, 
 even a spider ! Total absence of all animation in a place 
 of confinement, of which the term is unknown, where voli- 
 tion is set aside, and where captivity is the work of the 
 elements, casts the fancy into a state of solemn awe, of 
 fearful expectation, which I have not words to describe ; 
 while the higher mind, mastering at times that fancy, seeks 
 resignation from the very sublimity of that terrific vacuity 
 whence all seems exiled, but self : seeks, and finds it in the 
 almost visible security of the omnipresence of God. 
 
 To see after my kind little companion was an occupation 
 that for awhile kept me from seeing after myself; but 
 when I had done what I could towards giving her comfort 
 and assistance, I again looked before me, and saw the 
 waters at the base of my rock of refuge, still gradually 
 rising on, while both my rocks of mark were completely 
 swallowed up ! 
 
 My next alarm was one that explained that of Diane
 
 492 DIARY AXD LETTERS [1817. 
 
 when she came back so scared from the cavern ; for the 
 waves, probably from some subterraneous passage, now 
 forced their way through that cavern, threatening inunda- 
 tion to even the highest part of my chamber. 
 
 This was horrific. I could no longer even speak to Di- 
 ane — my eyes were riveted upon this unexpected gulf, 
 and in a few minutes an immense breaker attacked my 
 rock, and, impeded by its height from going straight for- 
 ward, was dashed in two directions, and foamed onward 
 against each side. 
 
 I did not breathe — I felt faint — I felt even sea-sick. 
 On, then, with added violence came two wide-spreading 
 waves, and, being parted by my rock, completely encom- 
 passed it, meeting each other on the further and upper 
 ground. I now gave up my whole soul to prayer for my- 
 self and for my Alexander, and that I might mercifully be 
 spared this watery grave, or be endowed with courage and 
 faith for meeting it with firmness. 
 
 The next waves reached to the uppermost end of my 
 chamber, which was now all sea, save the small rock upon 
 which I was mounted ! How I might have been subdued 
 by a situation so awful at once, and so helpless, if left to 
 its unmixed contemplation, I know not ; had I not been 
 still called into active service in sustaining my poor Diane. 
 No sooner were we thus encompassed than she was seized 
 with a dismay that filled me with pity. She trembled 
 violently, and rising and looking down at the dreadful 
 sight of sea, sea, sea all around, and sea still to the utmost 
 extent of the view beyond, she turned up her face to me, 
 as if appealing for protection ; and when I spoke to her 
 with kindness, she crept forward to my feet, and was in- 
 stantly taken with a shivering fit. 
 
 I could neither sit nor kneel to offer her any comfort, 
 but I dropped down as children do when they play at hunt
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 493 
 
 the slipper, for so only could I lose my hold of the slab 
 without falling, and I then stroked and caressed her in as 
 fondling a way as if she had been a child ; and I recovered 
 her from her ague-lit by rubbing her head and back with 
 my shawl. She then looked up at me somewhat com- 
 posed, though still piteous and forlorn, and licked my 
 hands with gratitude. 
 
 While this passed the sea had gained considerably in 
 height, and a few minutes afterwards all the horrors of a 
 tempest seemed impending. The wind roared around me, 
 pushing on the waves with a frothy velocity that, to a by- 
 stander, not to an inmate amidst them, would have been 
 beautiful. It whistled with shrill and varying tones from 
 the numberless crevices in the three immense rocky moun- 
 tains by whose semicircular adhesion I was thus immured ; 
 and it burst forth at times in squalls, reverberating from 
 height to height or chasm to chasm, as if " the big-mouthed 
 thunder " 
 
 " Were bellowing through the vast and boundless deep." 
 
 A wave, at length, more stupendous than any which had 
 preceded it, dashed against my rock as if enraged at an 
 interception of its progress, and rushed on to the extremity 
 of this savage chamber, with foaming impetuosity. This 
 moment I believed to be my last of mortality ' but a mo- 
 ment only it was ; for scarcely had I time, with all the 
 rapidity of concentrated thought, to recommend myself, 
 my husband, and my poor Alexander, humbly but fervently 
 to the mercy of the Almighty, when the celestial joy broke 
 in upon me of perceiving that this wave, which had bounded 
 forward with such fury, was the last of the rising tide ! In 
 its rebound, it forced back with it, for an instant, the whole 
 body of water that was lodged nearest to the upper ex- 
 tremity of my recess, and the transporting sight was granted
 
 494 DIARY AND LETTERS [1817. 
 
 me of an opening to the sands ; but they were covered 
 again the next instant, and as no other breaker made a 
 similar opening, I was still, for a considerable length of 
 time, in the same situation ; but I lost hope no more. 
 The tide was turned ; it could rise therefore no higher ; the 
 dauger was over of so unheard-of an end ; of vanishing no 
 one knew how or where — of leaving to my kind, deplor- 
 ing friends an unremitting uncertainty of my fate — of my 
 re-appearance or dissolution. I now wanted nothing but 
 time, and caution, to effect my deliverance. 
 
 The threat of the tempest, also, was over ; the air grew 
 as serene as my mind, the sea far more calm, the sun 
 beautifully tinged the west, and its setting upon the ocean 
 was resplendent. By remembrance, however, alone, I speak 
 of its glory, not from any pleasure I then experienced in 
 its sight : it told me of the waning day ; and the anxiety 
 I had now dismissed for myself redoubled for my poor 
 Alexander. 
 
 I now turned to considering how I might be placed less 
 painfully ; for what I had supported while in such immi- 
 nent danger seemed now insupportable, and when my eyes 
 and my whole faculties were no longer monopolized by 
 immediate care of life, in watching the tide, I was able to 
 devise various contrivances for my better accommodation. 
 I found out crevices for holding my feet so as to allow of 
 my standing upright, and I discovered a spot of the slab 
 upon which I could occasionally lean one of my elbows. 
 Not small were these solaces ; I felt them to be almost in- 
 valuable, so cramped had been my position. But no pos- 
 sible means could I discover for procuring myself a seat, 
 and this I have since regarded as providential ; for, had I 
 been a little more at my ease, the fatigue I had undergone, 
 the profound silence all around me, the heaviness of soli- 
 tude, and the vast monotony of the view, joined to the
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 495 
 
 necessity of remaining motionless, must inevitably have 
 invited sleep. I should then have lost my balance, and 
 my waking start must have plunged me into the sea. I 
 have reason, therefore, to bless the various torments which 
 saved me from any possibility of drowsiness. 
 
 With my bag of curiosities I made a cushion for Diane, 
 which, however little luxurious, was softness itself com- 
 pared with her then resting-place. She, also, could take 
 no repose, but from this period I made her tolerably happy, 
 by caresses and continual attentions. 
 
 But no sooner had the beams of the sun vanished from 
 the broad horizon, than a small gentle rain began to fall, 
 and the light as well as brightness of the day became ob- 
 scured by darkling clouds. 
 
 This greatly alarmed me, in defiance of my joy and my 
 philosophy ; for I dreaded being surprised by the night in 
 this isolated situation. I was supported, however, by per- 
 ceiving that the sea was clearly retrograding, and behold- 
 ing, little by little, the dry ground across the higher 
 extremity of my apartment. How did I bless the sight ! 
 the sands and clods of sea-mire were more beautiful to my 
 eyes than the rarest mosaic pavement of antiquity. Never- 
 theless, the return was so gradual, that I foresaw I had still 
 many hours to remain a prisoner. 
 
 The night came on — there was no moon ; but the sea, 
 by its extreme whiteness, afforded some degree of pale 
 light, when suddenly I thought I perceived something in 
 the air. Affrighted, I looked around me, but nothing was 
 visible ; yet in another moment something like a shadow 
 flitted before my eyes. I tried to fix it, but could not 
 develop any form ; something black was all I could 
 make out ; it seemed in quick motion, for I caught and 
 lost it alternately, as if it was a shadow reflected by the 
 waters.
 
 496 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 [1817. 
 
 I looked up at Capstan : nothing was there, but the now 
 hardly discernible iron salmon. I then looked at the op- 
 posite side . . . ah, gracious Heaven, what were my sensa- 
 tions to perceive two human figures ! Small they looked, 
 as in a picture, from their distance, the height of the rock, 
 and the obscurity of the night ; but not less certainly from 
 their outline, human figures. I trembled — I could not 
 breathe — in anotlier minute I was espied, for a voice loud, 
 but unknown to my ears, called out " Holloa ! " I unhesi- 
 tatingly answered, " I am safe ! " " Thank God ! " was the 
 eager reply, in a voice hardly articulate, " Oh, thank God !" 
 but not in a voice unknown though convulsed with ao-ita- 
 tion — it was the voice of my dear son ! Oh what a quick 
 transition from every direful apprehension to joy and de- 
 light ! yet knowing his precipitancy, and fearing a rash 
 descent to join me, in ignorance of the steepness and dan- 
 gers of the precipice which parted us, I called out with all 
 the energy in my power to conjure him to await patiently, 
 as I would myself, the entire going down of the tide. He 
 readily gave me this promise, though still in sounds almost 
 inarticulate. I was then indeed in heaven while upon 
 earth. 
 
 Another form then appeared, while Alex, and the first 
 companion retired. This form, from a gleam of light on 
 her dress, I soon saw to be female. She called out to me 
 that Mr. Alexander and his friend were gone to call for a 
 boat to come round for me by sea. The very thought 
 made me shudder, acquainted as I now was with the na- 
 ture of my recess, where, though the remaining sea looked 
 as smooth as the waters of a lake, I well knew it was but 
 a surface covering pointed fragments of rock, against which 
 a boat must have been overset or stranded. Loudly, there- 
 fore, as I could raise my voice, I called upon my informant 
 to fly after them, and say I was decided to wait till the
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY, 497 
 
 tide was down. She replied that she would not leave me 
 alone for the world. 
 
 The youths, however, soon returned to the top of the 
 mountain, accompanied by a mariner, who had dissuaded 
 them from their dangerous enterprise. I cheerfully re- 
 peated that I was safe, and begged reciprocated patience. 
 
 They now wandered about on the heights, one of them 
 always keeping in view. Meanwhile, I had now the pleas- 
 ure to descend to the sort of halfway-house which I had 
 first hoped would serve for my refuge. The difficulty was 
 by no means so arduous to come down as to mount, espe- 
 cially as, the waters being no longer so high as my rock, 
 there was no apprehension of destruction should my foot- 
 ing fail me. 
 
 Encouraged by this exploit, Diane contrived to get down 
 entirely to the bottom ; but though she found not there the 
 sea, the sands were so wet that she hastily climbed to re- 
 join me. 
 
 Some time after I descried a fourth figure on the sum- 
 mit, bearing a lantern. This greatly rejoiced me, for the 
 twilight was now grown so obscure that I had felt much 
 troubled how I might at last grope my way in the dark out 
 of this terrible Wildersmouth. 
 
 They all now, from the distance and the dimness, looked 
 like spectres: we spoke no more, the effort being extremely 
 fatiguing. I observed, however, with great satisfaction, an 
 increase of figures, so that the border of the precipice 
 seemed covered with people. This assurance that, if any 
 accident happened, there would be succor at hand, relieved 
 many a fresh starting anxiety. 
 
 Not long after, the sea wholly disappeared, and the man 
 
 with the lantern, who was an old sailor, descended the 
 
 precipice on the further part, by a way known to him ; 
 
 and, placing the lantern where it might give him light, yet 
 
 VOL. II. 32
 
 498 DIARY AND LETTERS [1817. 
 
 allow him the help of both his hands, he was coming to 
 me almost on all fours ; when Diane leaped to the bottom 
 of the rock, and began a barking so loud and violent that 
 the seaman stopped short, and I had the utmost difficulty 
 to appease my little dog, and prevail with her, between 
 threats and cajolements, to suffer his approach. 
 
 He then brought me a coat from my son. It rained in- 
 cessantly. 
 
 " Is it his own ? " I cried. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Take it then back, and entreat him to put it on. The 
 wind is abated, and I can hold my parasol." I would take 
 to this no denial ; and my son's companion, Mr. Le Fevre, 
 as I afterwards heard, sent then to the house for another. 
 
 For this, however, we waited not; my son no sooner 
 perceived that the seaman had found footing, though all 
 was still too watery and unstable for me to quit my rock, 
 than he darted forward by the way thus pointed out, and 
 clambering, or rather leaping up to me, he was presently 
 in my arms. Neither of us could think or care about the 
 surrounding spectators — we seemed restored to each other, 
 almost miraculously, from destruction and death. Neither 
 of us could utter a word ; but both, I doubt not, were 
 equally occupied in returning the most ardent thanks to 
 Heaven. 
 
 Alexander had run wildly about in every direction ; 
 visited hill, dale, cliff, bye-paths, and public roads to 
 make and instigate inquiry — but of the Wildersmouth he 
 thought not, and never, I believe, had heard ; and as it 
 was then a mere part of the sea, from the height of the 
 tide, the notion or remembrance of it occurred to no one. 
 Mr. Jacob, his cool-headed and excellent-hearted friend, 
 was most unfortunately at Barnstaple ; but he at length 
 thought of Mr. John Le Fevre, a young man who was emi-
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 499 
 
 nently at the head of the Ilfracombe students, and had 
 resisted going to the ball at Barnstaple, not to lose an hour 
 of his time. Eecollecting this, Alex, went to his dwelling, 
 and bursting into his apartment, called out, " My mother 
 is missing ! " 
 
 The generous youth, seeing the tumult of soul in which 
 he was addressed, shut up his bureau without a word, and 
 hurried off with his distressed comrade, giving up for that 
 benevolent purpose the precious time he had refused him- 
 self to spare for a moment's recreation. 
 
 Fortunately, providentially, Mr. Le Fevre recollected 
 Wildersmouth, and that one of his friends had narrowly 
 escaped destruction by a surprise there of the sea. He no 
 sooner named this, than he and Alexander contrived to 
 climb up the rock opposite to Capstan, whence they looked 
 down upon my recess. At first they could discern nothing, 
 save one small rock uncovered by the sea : but at length, 
 as my head moved, Le Fevre saw something like a shadow 
 — he then called out, " Holloa ! " &c. 
 
 To Mr. Le Fevre, therefore, I probably owe my life. 
 
 Two days after, I visited the spot of my captivity, but it 
 had entirely changed its appearance. A storm of equinoc- 
 tial violence had broken off its pyramidal height, and the 
 drift of sand and gravel, and fragments of rocks, had given 
 a new face to the whole recess. I sent for the seaman to 
 ascertain the very spot : this he did ; but told me that 
 a similar change took place commonly twice a year ; and 
 added, very calmly, that two days later I could not have 
 been saved from the waves. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Alex. d^Arhlay, Esq. 
 
 Bath, November 9, 1817. 
 We have here spent nearly a week in a manner the most 
 extraordinary, beginning with hope and pleasure, proceed-
 
 500 DIARY AND LETTERS [1817. 
 
 ing to fear and pain, and ending in disappointment and 
 grief. 
 
 The joy exhibited on Monday, when her Majesty and 
 her Koyal Highness arrived, was really ecstatic ; the illu- 
 mination was universal. The public offices were splendid ; 
 so were the tradespeople's who had promises or hopes of 
 employment ; the nobles and gentles were modestly gay, 
 and the poor eagerly put forth their mite. But all was 
 flattering, because voluntary.' Nothing was induced by 
 power, or forced by mobs. All was left to individual 
 choice. Your padre and I patrolled the principal streets, 
 and were quite touched by the universality of the homage 
 paid to the virtues and merit of our venerable Queen, upon 
 this her first progress through any part of her domains by 
 herself. Hitherto she has only accompanied the poor 
 King, as at Weymouth and Cheltenham, Worcester and 
 Exeter, Plymouth and Portsmouth, &c. ; or the Prince 
 Eegent, as at Brighthelmstone. But here, called by her 
 health, she came as principal, and in her own character 
 of rank and consequence. And, as Mr. Hay told me, the 
 inhabitants of Bath were all even vehement to let her see 
 the light in which they lield her individual self, after so 
 many years witnessing her exemplary conduct and dis- 
 tinguished merit. 
 
 She was very sensible to this tribute ; but much affected, 
 nay, dejected, in receiving it, at the beginning ; from coming 
 without the King where the poor King had always meant 
 himself to bring her ; but just as he had arranged for the 
 excursion, and even had three houses taken for him in the 
 Eoyal Crescent, he was afflicted by blindness. He would 
 not then come ; for what, he said, was a beautiful city to 
 him who could not look at it ? This was continually in 
 the remembrance of the Queen during the honors of her re- 
 ception ; but she had recovered from the melancholy recol-
 
 1817.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 501 
 
 lection, and was cheering herself by the cheers of all the 
 inhabitants, when the first news arrived of the illness of 
 the Princess Charlotte. At that moment she was having 
 her diamonds placed on her head for the reception of the 
 mayor and corporation of Bath, with an address upon 
 the honor done to their city, and upon their hopes from 
 the salutary spring she came to quaff. Her first thought 
 was to issue orders for deferring this ceremony ; but when 
 she considered that all the members of the municipality 
 must be assembled, and that the great dinner they had pre- 
 pared to give to the Duke of Clarence could only be post- 
 poned at an enormous and useless expense, she composed 
 her spirits, finished her regal decorations, and admitted the 
 citizens of Bath, who were highly gratified by her conde- 
 scension, and struck by her splendor, which was the same 
 as she appeared in on the greatest occasions in the capital. 
 The Princess Elizabeth was also a blaze of jewels. And 
 our good little mayor (not four feet high) and aldermen 
 and common councilmen were all transported. The Duke 
 of Clarence accepted their invitation, and was joined by 
 the Marquis of Bath and all the Queen's suite. But the 
 dinner was broken up. The Duke received an express 
 with the terrible tidings : he rose from table, and struck 
 his forehead as he read them, and then hurried out of the 
 assembly with inexpressible trepidation and dismay. The 
 Queen also was at table when the same express arrived, 
 though only with the Princess and her own party : all were 
 dispersed in a moment, and she shut herself up, admitting 
 no one but her Eoyal Highness. She would have left 
 Bath the next morning ; but her physician. Sir Henry Hal- 
 ford, said it would be extremely dangerous that she should 
 travel so far, in her state of health, just in the first per- 
 turbation of affliction. She would see no one but her im- 
 mediate suite all day, and set out the next for Windsor
 
 502 DIARY AND LETTEES [1817. 
 
 Castle, to spend the time previous to the last melancholy 
 rites in the bosom of her family. All Bath wore a face of 
 mourning. The transition from gaiety and exultation was 
 really awful. What an extinction of youth and haf)piness ! 
 The poor Princess Charlotte had never known a moment's 
 suffering since her marriage. Her lot seemed perfect. 
 Prince Leopold is, indeed, to be pitied. I have left no 
 room for your padre ; but the turn was fairly mine ; and 
 both are so deliglited with your new spirit of correspon- 
 dence, that whichever holds the pen, the heart of both 
 writes in truest affection to the dearest of sons. 
 
 Madame d^Arhlay to Mrs. Broome. 
 
 Bath, November 25, 1817. 
 
 We are all here impressed with the misfortunes of the 
 Royal house, and chiefly with the deadly blow inflicted 
 on the perfect conjugal happiness of the first young couple 
 in the kingdom. The first couple not young had already 
 received a blow yet, perhaps, more frightful : for to have, 
 yet lose — to keep, yet never enjoy, the being we most 
 prize, is surely yet more torturing than to yield at once 
 to the stroke which we know awaits us, and by which, 
 at last, we must necessarily and indispensably fall. The 
 Queen supports herself with the calm and serenity belong- 
 ing to one inured to misfortune, and submissive to Provi- 
 dence. The Princess Elizabeth has native spirits that 
 resist all woe after the first shock, though she is full of 
 kindness, goodness, and zeal for right action. The Duke 
 of Clarence was strongly and feelingly affected by the sud- 
 den and unexpected disaster, and he looks much changed 
 by all he has gone through in the solemn ceremonies 
 of the interment. All is so altered from the gay, bril-
 
 1818.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 503 
 
 liant scene with which this Bath excursion had opened, 
 that the meanest person and most uneducated character 
 reads a moral in the vicissitude that requires no com- 
 mentary. 
 
 Daily I go with my respectful and most warm inquiries 
 to Sydney Place, to know how the Bath beverage agi-ees 
 with lier Majesty, whose weakened and disordered stomach 
 terribly wants ameliorating. We are flattered with the 
 hope that the progress is all on the right side, though slow. 
 But she looks better, and is much more like her native self, 
 than upon her second arrival. The Princess, the dear, 
 sweet, and accomplished Princess Elizabeth, is visibly bet- 
 ter for bathing in the Bath waters ; and I sometimes per- 
 mit myself to hope they may sufficiently profit from these 
 springs to be tempted to return to them another year. I 
 have just read a letter from Miss Knight, dated Eome, in 
 which she mentions, with great regard and intimacy, Mr. 
 Mathias, and speaks of him as belonging to her select 
 society, without any reference to the alarming stroke and 
 attack which preceded his journey, and simply as one who 
 enlivens the Italian coterie. How delightful is such a 
 recovery ! 
 
 From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay. 
 
 Bath, Thursday, February 26, 1818. 
 
 My dear Madam, — I had company in the room when 
 
 Lady K 's note arrived, desiring I would send you 
 
 some papers of hers by the person who should bring it. 
 I had offered a conveyance to London by some friends of 
 my own, but she preferred their passing through your 
 hands. Accept my truest wishes for the restoration of 
 complete peace to a mind which has been so long and so
 
 504 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 justly admired, loved, and praised by, dear Madam, your 
 ever faithful, H. L. P. 
 
 Who attends the General ? and why do you think him 
 so very bad ? 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi. 
 
 Bath, February 26, 1818. 
 
 There is no situation in which a kind remembrance from 
 you, my dear Madam, would not awaken me to some plea- 
 sure ; but my poor sufferer was so very ill when your note 
 came, that it was not possible for me to answer it. That 
 I think him so very had, is that I see him perpetually in 
 pain nearly insupportable ; yet I am assured it is local, 
 and unattended with danger while followed up with con- 
 stant care and caution. This supports my spirits, which 
 bear me and enable me to help him through a malady of 
 anguish and difficulty. It is a year this very month since 
 he has been in the hands of Mr. Hay as a regular patient. 
 Mr. Hay was recommended to us by Mrs. Locke and Mrs. 
 Angerstein, whom he attends as physician, from their high 
 opinion of his skill and discernment. But, alas ! all has 
 failed here ; and we have called in Mr. Tudor, as the case 
 terminates in being one that demands a surgeon. Mr. 
 Tudor gives me every comfort in prospect, but prepares me 
 for long suffering, and slow, slow recovery. 
 
 Shall I apologize for this wordy explanation ? No ; you 
 will see by it with what readiness I am happy to believe 
 that our interest in each other must ever be reciprocal. 
 
 Lady K by no means intended to give me the 
 
 charge of the papers ; she only thought they might procure 
 some passing amusement to my invalid. I must, on the 
 contrary, hope you will permit me to return them you,
 
 1819.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 505 
 
 in a few days, for such conveyance as you may deem safe : 
 I am now out of the way of seeking any. 
 
 Believe me, dear Madam, with unalterable affection, 
 your ever obliged and obedient, F. d'Arblay. 
 
 I hope you were a little glad that my son has been 
 among the high wranglers. 
 
 Narrative of the Illness and Death of General d'Arblay. 
 
 Bolton Street, Berkeley Square, November 17, 1819. 
 
 It is now the 17th of November, 1819. A year and a 
 half have passed since I was blessed with the sight of my 
 beloved husband. I can devise no means to soothe my 
 lonely woe so likely of success as devoting my evening 
 solitude to recollections of his excellences, and of every 
 occurrence of his latter days, till I bring myself up to the 
 radiant serenity of their end. I think it will be like pass- 
 ing with him, with him himself, a few poor fleeting but dear- 
 ly-cherished moments. I will call back the history of my 
 beloved husband's last illness. Ever present as it is to 
 me, it will be a relief to set it down. 
 
 In Paris, in the autumn of 1817, he was first attacked 
 with the deadly evil by which he was finally consumed. 
 I suspected not his danger. He had left me in June, in 
 the happy but most delusive persuasion that the journey 
 and his native air would complete his recovery from the 
 jaundice, which had attacked him in February, 1817. Far 
 from ameliorating, his health went on daily declining. His 
 letters, which at first were the delight and support of my 
 existence, became disappointing, dejecting, afflicting. I 
 sighed for his return ! I believed he was trying experi- 
 ments that hindered his recovery ; and, indeed, I am per- 
 suaded he precipitated the evil by continual changes of 
 system. At length his letters became so comfortless, that
 
 506 DIARY AND LETTERS [1819. 
 
 I almost expired with desire to join him ; but he positively 
 forbade my quitting our Alexander, who was preparing for 
 his grand examination at Cambridge. 
 
 On the opening of October, 1817, Alex, and I returned 
 from Ilfracombe to Bath to meet our best friend. He ar- 
 rived soon after, attended by his favorite medical man, Mr. 
 Hay, whom he had met in Paris. We found him extremely 
 altered — not in mind, temper, facilities — oh, no ! but in 
 looks and strength : thin and weakened so as to be fatigued 
 by the smallest exertion. He tried, however, to revive ; 
 we sought to renew our walks, but his strength was insuf- 
 ficient. He purchased a garden in the Crescent Fields, 
 and worked in it, but came home always the worse for the 
 effort. His spirits were no longer in their state of native, 
 genial cheerfulness : he could still be awakened to gaiety, 
 but gaiety was no longer innate, instinctive with him. 
 
 In this month, October, 1817, I had a letter from the 
 Princess Elizabeth, to inform me that Her Majesty and 
 herself were coming to pass four weeks in Bath. 
 
 The Queen's stay was short, abruptly and sadly broken 
 up by the death of the Princess Charlotte. In twenty- 
 four hours after the evil tidings, they hastened to Windsor 
 to meet the Prince Regent ; and almost immediately after 
 the funeral, the Queen and Princess returned, accompanied 
 by the Duke of Clarence. I saw them continually, and 
 never passed a day without calling at the Royal abode by 
 the Queen's express permission ; and during the whole 
 period of their stay, my invalid appeared to be stationary 
 in his health. I never quitted him save for this Royal 
 visit, and that only of a morning. 
 
 He had always purposed being presented to Her Majesty 
 in the pump-room, and the Queen herself deigned to say 
 " she should be very glad to see the General." Ill he was ! 
 suffering, emaciated, enfeeble4 ! But he h^d always spirit
 
 1819.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 507 
 
 awake to every call; and just before Christmas, 1817, we 
 went together, between seven and eight o'clock in the 
 morning, in chairs, to the pump-room. 
 
 I thought I had never seen him look to such advantage. 
 His fine brow so open, his noble countenance so expressive, 
 his features so formed for a painter's pencil ! This, too, was 
 the last time he ever wore his military honors — his three 
 orders of " St. Louis," " The Legion of Honor," and " Du 
 Lys," or " De la Fidelite ; " decorations which singularly be- 
 came him, from his strikingly martial port and character. 
 
 The Queen was brought to the circle in her sedan-chair, 
 and led to the seat prepared for her by her vice-chamber- 
 lain, making a gracious general bow to the assembly as she 
 passed. Dr. Gibbs and Mr. Tudor waited upon her with 
 the Bath water, and she conversed with them, and the 
 mayor and aldermen, and her own people, for some time. 
 After this she rose to make her round with a grace indescri- 
 bable, and, to those who never witnessed it, inconceivable ; 
 for it was such as to carry off age, infirmity, sickness, 
 diminutive stature — and to give her, in defiance of such 
 disadvantages, a power of charming that rarely has been 
 equalled. Her face had a variety of expression that made 
 her features soon seem agreeable ; the intonations of her 
 voice so accorded with her words ; her language was so 
 impressive, and her manner so engaging and encouraging^ 
 that it was not possible to be the object of her attention 
 without being both struck with her uncommon abilities 
 and fascinated by their exertion. Such was the effect 
 which she produced upon General d'Arblay, to whom she 
 soon turned. Highly sensible to the honor of her distinc- 
 tion, he forgot his pains in his desire to manifest his grat- 
 itude ; — and his own smiles — how winning they became ! 
 Her Majesty spoke of Bath, of Windsor, of the Continent ; 
 and while addressing him, her eyes turned to meet mine
 
 508 DIARY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 with a look that said, " Now I know I am making you 
 happy ! " She asked me, archly, whether I was not fatigued 
 by coming to the pump-room so early ? and said " Madame 
 d'Arblay thinks I have never seen you before ! but she is 
 mistaken, for I peeped at you through the window as you 
 passed to the terrace at Windsor." Alas ! the Queen no 
 sooner ceased to address him than the pains he had sup- 
 pressed became intolerable, and he retreated from the circle 
 and sunk upon a bench near the wall ; he could stand no 
 longer, and we returned home to spend the rest of the day 
 in bodily misery. 
 
 Very soon after the opening of this fatal year 1818, ex- 
 pressions dropped from my beloved of his belief of his 
 approaching end : they would have broken my heart, had 
 not an incredulity, — now my eternal wonder ! — kept 
 me in a constant persuasion that he was hypochondriac, 
 and tormented with false apprehensions. Fortunate, mer- 
 ciful, as wonderful was that incredulity, which, blind- 
 ing me to my coming woe, enabled me to support my cour- 
 age by my hopes, and helped me to sustain his own. In 
 his occasional mournful prophecies, which I always rallied 
 off and refused to listen to, he uttered frequently the kind 
 words, " Et jamais je n'ai tant airae la vie ! Jamais, jamais, 
 la vie ne m'a ^te plus chere ! " How sweet to me were 
 those words, which I thought — alas, how delusively ! — 
 would soothe and invigorate recovery ! 
 
 The vivacity with which I exerted all the means in my 
 power to fly from every evil prognostic, he was often struck 
 with, and never angrily ; on the contrary, he would ex- 
 claim, " Comme j 'admire ton courage!" while his own, on 
 the observation, always revived. " My courage ? " I always 
 answered, " what courage ? Am I not doing what I most 
 desire upon earth — remaining by your side ? When you 
 are not well, the whole universe is to me there !"
 
 1818.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 509 
 
 Soon after, nevertheless, recurring to the mournful idea 
 ever uppermost, he said, with a serenity the most beauti- 
 ful, " Je voudrais que nous causassions sur tout cela avec 
 calme, — doucement, — cheerfully m^me, as of a future 
 voyage — as of a subject of discussion — simply to ex- 
 change our ideas and talk them over." 
 
 Alas, alas ! how do I now regret that I seconded not this 
 project, so fitted for all pious Christian minds, whether 
 their pilgrimage be of shorter or longer duration ! But I 
 saw him ill, oh, how iU ! I felt myself well ; it was, there- 
 fore, apparent who must be the survivor in case of sunder- 
 ment ; and, therefore, all power of generalizing the subject 
 was over. And much and ardently as I should have re- 
 joiced in treating such a theme when he was well, or on 
 his recovery, I had no power to sustain it thus situated. 
 I could only attend his sick couch ; I could only live by 
 fostering hopes of his revival, and seeking to make them 
 reciprocal. 
 
 During this interval a letter from my affectionate sister 
 Charlotte suggested our taking further advice to aid Mr. 
 Hay, since the malady was so unyielding. 
 
 On January the 24th Mr. Tudor came, but after an inter- 
 view and examination, his looks were even forbidding. Mr. 
 Hay had lost his air of satisfaction and complacency ; Mr. 
 Tudor merely inquired whether he should came again ? 
 " Oh, yes, yes, yes ! " I cried, and they retired together. 
 And rapidly I flew, not alone from hearing, but from form- 
 ing any opinion, and took refuge by the side of my beloved, 
 whom I sought to console and revive. And this very 
 day, as I have since found, he began his Diary for the 
 year. It contains these words : — 
 
 " Jamais je n'ai tant aime la Vie que je suis en si grand 
 danger de perdre ; malgre que je n'aie point de fievre, ni le 
 moindre mal a la tete ; et que j'aie non seulement I'esprit
 
 510 DIARY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 libre, mais le coeur d'lin contentement parfait. La vo- 
 LONT^ DE DiEU soiT Faite ! J'attends pour ce soir ou 
 demain le resultat d'une consultation." 
 
 On this same day Madame de Soyres brought me a 
 packet from her Majesty, and another from the Princess 
 Elizabeth. The kind and gracious Princess sent me a pair 
 of silver camp candlesticks, with peculiar contrivances 
 which she wrote me word might amuse the General as a 
 military man, while they might be employed by myself 
 to light my evening researches among the MSS. of my dear 
 father, which she wished me to collect and to preface by 
 a Memoir. 
 
 Her mother's offering was in the same spirit of benevo- 
 lence ; it was a collection of all the volumes of " L'Her- 
 mite de la Chaussee d'Antin," with Chalmers' Astronomi- 
 cal Sermons, and Drake's two quartos on Shakespeare ; 
 joined to a small work of deeper personal interest to me 
 than them all, which was a book of prayers suited to 
 various circumstances, and printed at Her Majesty's own 
 press at Frogmore. In this she had condescended to write 
 ray name, accompanied by words of peculiar kindness. 
 My poor Ami looked over every title-page with delight, 
 feeling as I did myself that the gift was still more meant 
 for him than for me — or rather, doubly, trebly for me in 
 being calcinated to be pleasing to him ! — he was to me 
 the soul of all pleasure on earth. 
 
 What words of kindness do I find, and now for the first 
 time read, in his Diary dated 2nd February ! After speak- 
 ing — h^las, helas ! — " de ses douleurs inouies" he adds, 
 " Quelle Strange maladie ! et quelle position que la mienne ! 
 11 en est une, peut-etre plus facheuse encore, c'est celle de 
 ma malheureuse compagne — avec quelle tendresse elle me 
 soigne ! et avec quelle courage elle supporte ce qu'elle a k 
 souffrir ! Je ne puis que r^p^ter, La Volenti de Dieu soit 
 faite ! "
 
 1818.] OF MA.DAME D'ARBLAY. 511 
 
 Alas ! the last words he wrote in February were most 
 melancholy : — "20 Fevrier, Je sens que je m'affaiblis hor- 
 ribleraent — je ne crois pas que ceci puisse etre encore bien 
 long. Chere Fanny . . . cher Alex. God bless you ! and 
 unite us for ever, Amen ! " 
 
 Oh ray beloved ! Delight, Pride, and Happiness of my 
 heart ' May Heaven in its mercy hear this prayer ! 
 
 In March he revived a little, and Mr. Tudor no longer 
 denied me hope ; on the 18th Alex, came to our arms and 
 gratulations on his fellowship : which gave to his dearest 
 father a deli";ht the most touching. 
 
 I have no Diary in his honored hand to guide my nar- 
 rative in April ; a few words only he ever wrote more, and 
 these, after speaking of his sufferings, end with " Pazienza ! 
 Pazienza ! " — such was his last written expression ! 'T is 
 on the 5th of April 
 
 On the 3rd of May he reaped, I humbly trust, the fair 
 fruit of that faith and patience he so pathetically implored 
 and so beautifully practised ! 
 
 At this critical period in April I was called down one 
 
 day to Madame la Marquise de S , who urged me to 
 
 summon a priest of the Roman Catholic persuasion to my 
 precious sutferer. I was greatly disturbed every way ; I 
 felt in shuddering the danger she apprehended, and resisted 
 its belief ; yet I trembled lest I should be doing wrong. . . . 
 I was a Protestant, and had no faith in confession to man. 
 I had long had reason to believe that my beloved partner 
 was a Protestant, also, in his heart ; but he had a horror of 
 apostasy, and therefore, as he told me, would not investigate 
 the differences of the two religions ; he had besides a tie 
 which to his honor and character was potent and persua- 
 sive ; he had taken an oath to keep the Catholic faith when 
 he received his Croix de St. Louis, which was at a period
 
 512 DIARY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 when the preference of the simplicity of Protestantism was 
 not apparent to him. All this made me personally easy 
 for him, yet, as this was not known, and as nothing defini- 
 tive had ever passed between us upon this delicate subject, 
 I felt that he apparently belonged still to the Eoman 
 Catholic Church ; and after many painful struggles I 
 thought it my absolute duty to let him judge for himself, 
 even at the risk of inspiring the alarm I so much sought to 
 save him ! . . . I compelled myself therefore to tell him 
 
 the wish of Madame de S , that he should see a priest. 
 
 "Eh bien," he cried, gently yet readily, "je ne m'y oppose 
 pas. . . . Qu'en penses tu ? " I begged to leave such a 
 decision wholly to himself. 
 
 Never shall I forget the heavenly composure with which 
 my beloved partner heard me announce that the priest, 
 Dr. Elloi, was come. Cheerfully as I urged myself to 
 name him, still he could but regard the visit as an invita- 
 tion to make his last preparations for quitting mortal life. 
 With a calm the most gentle and genuine, he said he had 
 better be left alone with him, and they remained together, 
 I believe, three hours. I was deeply disturbed that my 
 poor patient should be so long without sustenance or medi- 
 cine ; but I durst not intrude, though anxiously I kept at 
 hand in case of any sudden summons. When, at length, 
 the priest reappeared, I found my dearest invalid as placid 
 as before this ceremony, though fully convinced it was 
 meant as the annunciation of his expected and approach- 
 ing departure. 
 
 Dr. Elloi now came not only every day, but almost 
 every hour of the day, to obtain another interview; but 
 my beloved, though pleased that the meeting had taken 
 place, expressed no desire for its repetition. I was cruelly 
 distressed ; the fear of doing wrong has been always the 
 leading principle of my internal guidance, and here I felt
 
 1818.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 513 
 
 incompetent to judge what was right. Overpowered, there- 
 fore, by my own inability to settle that point, and my 
 terror lest I should mistake it, I ceased to resist ; and Dr. 
 Elloi, while my patient was sleeping from opium, glided 
 into his chamber, and knelt down by the bed-side with his 
 Prayer Book in his hand. Two hours this lasted ; but 
 when the doctor informed me he had obtained the Gen- 
 eral's promise that he should administer to him the last 
 Sacrament, the preparations were made accordingly, and 
 I only entreated leave to be present. 
 
 This solemn communion, at which I have never in our 
 own church attended Avith unmoistened eyes, was adminis- 
 tered the same evening. The dear invalid was in bed ; his 
 head raised with difficulty, he went through this ceremony 
 with spirits calm, and a countenance and voice of holy 
 composure. 
 
 Thenceforth he talked openly, and almost solely, of his 
 approaching dissolution, and prepared for it by much si- 
 lent mental prayer. He also poured forth his soul in 
 counsel for Alexander and myself I now dared no longer 
 oppose to him my hopes of his recovery ; the season 
 was too awful. I heard him only with deluges of long- 
 restrained tears, and his generous spirit seemed better satis- 
 fied in thinking me now awakened to a sense of his danger, 
 as preparatory for supporting its consequence. 
 
 " Parle de moi ! " He said, afterwards, " Parle — et 
 souvent. Surtout h, Alexandre ; qu'il ne m'oublie pas ! " 
 
 " Je ne parlerai pas d' autre chose ! " I answered . . . 
 and I felt his tender purpose. He knew how I forbore ever 
 to speak of my lost darling sister, and he thought the con- 
 straint injurious both to my health and spirits : he wished 
 to change my mode with regard to himself by an injimc- 
 tion of his own. " Nous ne parlerons pas d'autre chose ! " 
 I added, " Mon Ami ! — mon Ami ! — Je ne survivrai que 
 VOL. II, 33
 
 514 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 pour cela ! " He looked pleased, and with a calm that 
 taught me to repress my too great emotion. 
 
 He then asked for Alexander, embraced him warmly, 
 and half raising himself with a strength that had seemed 
 extinct but the day before, he took a hand of Alexander 
 and one of mine, and putting them together between both 
 his own, he tenderly pressed them, exclaiming, " How 
 happy I am ! . . . I fear I am too happy ! " . . . 
 
 Kindest of human hearts ! His happiness was in seeing 
 us together ere he left us ; his fear was lest he should too 
 keenly regret the quitting us ! 
 
 From the time that my dearly beloved had received the 
 last Sacrament, and made his confession, his mind was 
 perfectly at ease with respect to all public offices of re- 
 ligion ; the religion of his heart and of his faith was often, 
 nay, continually, at work in prayer and pious meditation. 
 
 Dr. Elloi, however, and Madame de S , were incessant 
 
 in their demands for admission and further ceremonies ; 
 and with such urgency of remonstrance, that at length I 
 could not answer to myself further resistance without lay- 
 ing the case once more before my poor invalid. This 
 was a barbarous task; I saw him devoutly at rest with 
 God and man, and I was miserable lest I should risk 
 shaking his settled spiritual calm ; but he readily and 
 instantly answered, " J'ai rec^u les saints sacramens ; je 
 me suis confesse, — je n'ai rien en arriere ! Ainsi il 
 me semble — si moi j'etais Madame d'Arblay, je dirais 
 tout bonnement, que j 'avals fait tout ce que Ton m'avait 
 demand^ d^s le commencement, et que Ton doit se con- 
 tenter." 
 
 Thus strengthened, I sent them word that I had com- 
 plied with all their original requests ; but that, a Protes- 
 tant myself, zealously and upon principle, they must not 
 expect me to make a persecution for the performance of a
 
 1818.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 515 
 
 Catholic rite that might impede all chance of restoration 
 by its appalling solemnities. 
 
 At this time he saw for a few minutes my dear sister 
 Esther and her Maria, who had always been a great favo- 
 rite with him. When they retired, he called upon me to 
 bow my knees as he dropped upon his own, that he might 
 receive, he said, my benediction, and that we might fer- 
 vently and solemnly join in prayer to Almighty God for 
 each other. He then consigned himself to uninterrupted 
 meditation ; he told me not to utter one word to him, even 
 of reply, beyond the most laconic necessity. He desired 
 that when I brought him his medicine or nutriment, I 
 would give it without speech and instantly retire ; and take 
 care that no human being addressed or approached him. 
 This awful command lasted unbroken during the rest of 
 the evening, the whole of the night, and nearly the follow- 
 ing day. So concentrated in himself he desired to be ! — 
 yet always as free from irritation as from despondence — 
 always gentle and kind, even when taciturn, and even 
 when in torture. 
 
 When the term of his meditative seclusion seemed to be 
 over, I found him speaking with Alexander, and pouring 
 into the bosom of his weeping son the balm of parental 
 counsel and comfort. I received at this time a letter from 
 my affectionate sister Charlotte, pressing for leave to come 
 and aid me to nurse my dearest invalid. He took the 
 letter and pressed it to his lips, saying, " Je I'aime bien ; 
 dis le lui. Et elle m'aime." But I felt she could do me 
 no good. We had a nurse whose skill made her services 
 a real blessing ; and for myself, woe, such as he believed 
 approaching, surpassed all aid but from prayer and from 
 heaven — lonely meditation. 
 
 When the morning dawned, he ordered Payne to open 
 the shutters and to undraw the curtains. The prospect
 
 516 DIARY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 from the windows facing his bed was picturesque, lively, 
 lovely : he looked at it with a bright smile of admiration, 
 and cast his arm over his noble brow, as if hailing one 
 more return of day, and light, and life with those he loved. 
 But when, in the course of the day, something broke from 
 
 me of my reverence at his heavenly resignation, " i2^- 
 
 sig7i^? " he repeated, with a melancholy half smile ; " mais 
 .... comme qa I " and then in a voice of tenderness the 
 most touching, he added, " Te quitter I " I dare not, even 
 yet, hang upon my emotion at those words ! 
 
 That night passed in tolerable tranquillity, and without 
 alarm, his pulse still always equal and good, though 
 smaller. On Sunday, the fatal 3rd of May, my patient 
 was still cheerful, and slept often, but not long. This cir- 
 cumstance was delightful to my observation, and kept off 
 the least suspicion that my misery could be so near. 
 
 My pen lingers now ! — reluctant to finish the little 
 that remains. 
 
 About noon, gently awaking from a slumber, he called 
 to me for some beverage, but was weaker than usual, and 
 could not hold the cup. I moistened his lips with a spoon 
 several times. He looked at me with sweetness inexpress- 
 ible, and pathetically said, " Qui .....?" He stopped, but 
 I saw he meant " Who shall return this for you ? " I in- 
 stantly answered to his obvious and most touching mean- 
 ing, by a cheerful, exclamation of " You ! my dearest Ami ! 
 You yourself ! You shall recover, and take your revenge." 
 He smiled, but shut his eyes in silence. 
 
 Thus ever awake was his tender solicitude for me ! — 
 and in the midst of all his sufferings, his intellects had a 
 clearness, nay, a brightness, that seemed as if already they 
 were refined from the dross of worldly imperfection. 
 
 After this, he bent forward, as he was supported nearly 
 upright by pillows in his bed .... and taking my hand,
 
 1818.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 517 
 
 and holding it between both his own, he impressively said, 
 " Je ne sais si ce sera le dernier mot . . . mais ce sera la 
 derni^re pensee — Notre reunion / " . . . . Oh, words the 
 most precious that ever the tenderest of husbands left for 
 balm to the lacerated heart of a surviving wife ! I fas- 
 tened my lips on his loved hands, but spoke not. It was 
 not then that those words were my blessing ! They awed 
 
 — they thrilled — more than they solaced me. How little 
 knew I then that he should speak to me no more ! 
 
 Towards evening I sat watching in my arm-chair, and 
 Alex, remained constantly with me. His sleep was so 
 calm, that an hour passed in which I indulged the hope 
 that a favorable crisis was arriving ; that a turn would 
 take place by wliich his vital powers would be restored 
 but .... when the hour was succeeded by an- 
 other hour, when I saw a universal stillness in the whole 
 frame, such as seemed to stagnate all around, I began to 
 be strangely moved. " Alex. ! " I whispered, " this sleep 
 is critical ! a crisis arrives ! Pray God — Almighty God ! 
 
 — that it be fav ." I could not proceed. Alex, looked 
 
 aghast, but firm. I sent him to call Payne. I intimated 
 to her my opinion that this sleep was important, but kept 
 a composure astonishing, for when no one would give me 
 encouragement, I compelled myself to appear not to want 
 it, to deter them from giving me despair. Another hour 
 passed of concentrated feelings, of breathless dread. His 
 face had still its unruffled serenity, but methought the 
 hands were turning cold ; I covered them ; I watched over 
 the head of my beloved ; I took new flannel to roll over 
 his feet ; the stillness grew more awful ; the skin became 
 colder. 
 
 Alex., my dear Alex., proposed calling in Mr. Tudor, and 
 ran off for him. I leant over him now with sal volatile to 
 his temple, hi^ forehead, the palms of his hands, but I had
 
 518 DIARY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 no courage to feel his pulse, to touch his lips. Mr. Tudor 
 came ; he put his hand upon the heart, the noblest of 
 hearts, and pronounced that all was over ! 
 
 How I bore this is still marvellous to me ! I had always 
 believed such a sentence would at once have killed me. 
 But his sight — the sight of his stillness, kept me from dis- 
 traction ! Sacred he appeared, and his stillness I thought 
 should be mine, and be inviolable. 
 
 I suffered certainly a partial derangement, for I cannot 
 to this moment recollect anything that now succeeded, 
 with truth or consistency ; my memory paints things that 
 were necessarily real, joined to others that could not possi- 
 bly have happened, yet so amalgamates the whole together 
 as to render it impossible for me to separate truth from in- 
 definable, unaccountable fiction. 
 
 Even to this instant I always see the room itself charged 
 with a medley of silent and strange figures grouped against 
 the wall just opposite to me. Mr. Tudor, methought, was 
 come to drag me by force away ; and in this persuasion, 
 which was false, I remember supplicating him to grant me 
 but one hour, telling him I had solemnly engaged myself 
 to pass it in watching 
 
 But why go back to my grief ? Even yet, at times, it 
 seems as fresh as ever, and at all times weighs on me with 
 a feeling that seems stagnating the springs of life. But for 
 Alexander — our Alexander ! — I think I could hardly have 
 survived. His tender sympathy, with his claims to my 
 love, and the solemn injunctions given me to preserve for 
 him, and devote to him, my remnant of life — these, 
 through the Divine mercy, sustained me. 
 
 May that mercy, with its best blessings, daily increase 
 his resemblance to his noble father. 
 
 March 20, 1820.
 
 1818.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 519 
 
 Extracts from Pocket-Book Diary. 
 
 August SOih. — The seventeenth week's sun rises on my 
 deplorable change I A very kind, cordial, brotherly letter 
 arrives from my dear James. An idea of comfort begins 
 to steal its way to my mind, in renewing my intercourse 
 with this worthy brother, who feels for me, I see, with 
 sincerity and affection. 
 
 September 5th. — A letter from Dowager Lady Harcourt, 
 on the visibly approaching dissolution of my dear honored 
 E,oyal mistress ! written by desire of my beloved Princess 
 Mary, Duchess of Gloucester, to save me the shock of sur- 
 prise, added to that of grief. 
 
 Sunday, September Qtli. — A fresh renewal to me of woe 
 is every returning week ! The eighteenth this of the dread 
 solitude of my heart ; and miserably has it passed, aug- 
 menting sorrow weighing it in the approaching loss of my 
 dear Queen ! 
 
 Again I took the Sacrament at the Octagon, probably 
 for the last time. Oh, how earnest were my prayers for 
 re-union in a purer world ! 
 
 Prayers were offered for a person lying dangerously ill. 
 I thought of the Queen, and prayed for her fervently. 
 
 Sunday, Septemler 21th. — This day, the twenty-first 
 Sunday of my bereavement, Alexander, I trust, is ordained 
 a deacon of the Church of England. Heaven propitiate 
 his entrance ! I wrote to the good Bishop of Salisbury to 
 beseech his pious wishes on this opening of clerical life. 
 
 September 28th — Still my preparations to depart from 
 Bath take up all of time that grief does not seize irresisti- 
 bly ; for, oh ! what anguish overwhelms my soul in quit- 
 ting the place where last he saw and blessed me ! — the 
 room, the spot on which so softly, so holily, yet so tenderly, 
 he embraced me, and breathed his last !
 
 520 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 Wednesday, September 30th. — This morning I left Bath 
 with feelings of profound affliction ; yet, reflecting that 
 hope was ever open — that future union may repay this 
 laceration — oh, that my torn soul could more look for- 
 ward with sacred aspiration ! Then better would it sup- 
 port its weight of woe ! 
 
 My dear James received me with tender pity ; so did 
 his good wife, son, and daughter. 
 
 Thursday, October 8th. — I came this evening to my new 
 and probably last dwelling. No. 11, Bolton-street, Piccadilly. 
 My kind James conducted me. Oh, how heavy is my for- 
 lorn heart ! I have made myself very busy all day ; so only 
 could I have supported this first opening to my baleful 
 desolation ! No adored husband ! No beloved son ! But 
 the latter is only at Cambridge. Ah ! let me struggle to 
 think more of the other, the first, the chief, as also only 
 removed from my sight by a transitory journey ! 
 
 Wednesday, October 14:th. — Wrote to my — erst — 
 dearest friend, Mrs. Piozzi. I can never forget my long 
 love for her, and many obligations to her friendship, 
 strangely as she had been estranged since her marriage. 
 
 Friday, October SOth. — A letter from my loved Madame 
 de Maisonneuve, full of feeling, sense, sweetness, informa- 
 tion to beguile me back to life, and of sympathy to open 
 my sad heart to friendship. 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 7th. — A visit from the excellent Harriet 
 Bowdler, who gave me an hour of precious society, min- 
 gling her commiserating sympathy with hints sage and 
 right of the duty of revival from every stroke of heaven. 
 
 Oh, my God, Saviour ! To thee may I turn more and 
 more! 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 17th. — This day, at one o'clock, breathed 
 her last the inestimable Queen of England. Heaven rest 
 and bless her soul !
 
 1818.] OF MADAME D'AJIBLAY. 521 
 
 Sketch of Queen Charlotte's Character, from a Memorandum Book of 
 
 Madame d'Arblay. 
 
 Her understandiug was of the best sort ; for while it 
 endued her with powers to form a judgment of all around 
 lier, it pointed out to her the fallibility of appearances, and 
 thence kept her always open to conviction where she had 
 been led by circumstances into mistake. 
 
 From the time of my first entrance into her household, 
 her manner to me was most kind and encouraging, for she 
 had formed her previous opinion from the partial accounts 
 of my beloved Mrs. Delany. She saw that, impressed with 
 real respect for her character, and never-failing remem- 
 brance of her rank, she might honor me with confidence 
 without an apprehension of imprudence, invite openness 
 without incurring freedom, and manifest kindness without 
 danger of encroachment. 
 
 If Mrs. Delany's goodness made her trust me, my own 
 interior view of her made the tnist reciprocal, for I had 
 the firmest reliance, not alone on her prudence, but on her 
 honor, which was so inviolate, it might justly be called 
 religious. 
 
 When I was alone with her she discarded all royal con- 
 straint, all stiffness, all formality, all pedantry of grandeur, 
 to lead me to speak to her with openness and ease ; but 
 any inquiries which she made in our tete-^-tetes never 
 awakened an idea of prying into affairs, diving into secrets, 
 discovering views, intentions, or latent wishes, or causes. 
 No, she was above all such minor resources for attaining 
 intelligence ; what she desired to know she asked openly, 
 though cautiously if of grave matters, and playfully if of 
 mere news or chit-chat, but always beginning with, " If there 
 is any reason I should not be told, or any that you should not 
 tell, don't answer me." Nor were these words of course ;
 
 522 DIARY AND LETTERS [1818. 
 
 they were spoken with such visible sincerity, that I have 
 availed myself of them fearlessly, though never without 
 regret, as it was a delight to me to be explicit and confi- 
 dential in return for her condescension. But whenever 
 she saw a question painful, or that it occasioned even hes- 
 itation, she promptly and generously started some other 
 subject. 
 
 Wednesday, Dec. 2nd. — The Queen, the excellent exem- 
 plary Queen, was this day interred in the vault of her 
 royal husband's ancestors, to moulder like his subjects, 
 bodily into dust ; but mentally, not so ! She M'ill live in 
 the memory of those who knew her best, and be set up as 
 an example even by those who only after her death know, 
 or at least acknowledge, her virtues. 
 
 I heard an admirable sermon on her departure and her 
 character from Mr. Eepton in St. James's Church. I wept 
 the whole time, as much from gratitude and tenderness to 
 hear her thus appreciated as from grief at her loss — to me 
 a most heavy one ! for she was faithfully, truly, and solidly 
 attached to me, as I to her. 
 
 Saturday, Dec. 12th. — A letter from the Duchess of 
 Gloucester, to my equal gratification and surprise. She 
 has deigned to answer my poor condolence the veiy mo- 
 ment, as she says, that she received it. Touched to the 
 heart, but no longer with pleasure in any emotion, I wept 
 abundantly. 
 
 Saturday, 19th. — Yesterday was the twenty-fourth birth- 
 day of my dear fatherless Alex. ! Oh, how far from a day 
 of gratulation, as for twenty-three years have been its other 
 anniversaries ! 
 
 Dec. 25th, Christmas Day. — Oh, most melancholy ! 
 My Alex. — who alone gives me a sense of life — for all 
 others that I love are dispersed, Alex, left me for Richmond. 
 I favored his going, yet what am I without him ?
 
 1819.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 523 
 
 I took the Sacrament from the Eeverend and excellent 
 Dr. Andrews. Oh, how was I affected at his sight and the 
 sound of his voice ! He knew, and highly esteemed, my 
 beloved. I wept at the altar irresistibly. 
 
 1819. 
 
 Sunday, April 11. — This morning my dearest Alexander 
 ■was ordained a priest by the Bishop of Chester in St. 
 James's Church. I went thither with my good Eliz. Kam- 
 say, and from the gallery witnessed the ceremony. Fifty- 
 two were ordained at the same time. I fervently pray to 
 God that my son may meet this his decided calling with a 
 disposition and conduct to sanction its choice ! and with 
 virtues to merit his noble father's name and exemplary 
 character ! Amen ! Amen ! 
 
 Thursday, July 15. — A message from H. R. H. Princess 
 Augusta, with whom I passed a morning as nearly delight- 
 ful as any, now, can be ! She played and sang to me airs 
 of her own composing — unconscious, medley reminis- 
 cences, but very pretty, and prettily executed. I met the 
 Duke of York, who greeted me most graciously ; saying, 
 as if with regret, how long it was since he had seen me. 
 
 In coming away, I met, in the corridor, my sweet Duch- 
 ess of Gloucester,^ who engaged me for next Sunday to 
 herself. 
 
 1 Princess Mary, married, in July, 1816, to her cousin, H. R. H. the 
 Duke of Gloucester. The cousins had been lovers from childhood, but 
 their attachment was long in receiving the royal sanction, for the reason 
 that the Duke was, so to speak, reserved as a possible candidate for the 
 hand of the Princess Charlotte, heiress to the throne. It was not till after 
 the marriage of the Princess with Prince Leopold that the long-deferred 
 union was at length permitted. It is said that when the Princess Char- 
 lotte came to Windsor, after the formal announcement of her betrothal to 
 Parliament, Princess Mary met her at the foot of the grand staircase, and,
 
 524 DIARY AND LETTEES [1820. 
 
 Monday, 2Wh. — Her Eoyal Highness presented me to 
 the Duke, whom I found well-bred, polite, easy, unassum- 
 ing, and amiable ; kind, not condescending. 
 
 [An interval of four months elapsed between the preced- 
 ing entries and the letters following, during which the 
 mind of Madame d'Arblay became more resigned to her 
 great affliction. At this time the public attention was 
 much occupied by the return of Queen Caroline, to which 
 event Madame d'Arblay alludes in the following letter.] 
 
 Madame d'Arblai/ to 3Irs. Locke. 
 
 Wednesday, June 7, 1820. 
 
 . . . All London now is wdld about the newly arrived 
 royal traveller. As she is in this neighborhood, our part 
 of the town is surprised and startled every other hour by 
 the arrival of some new group of the curious rushing on 
 to see her and her 'squire the Alderman, at their balcony. 
 Her 'squire, also, now never comes forth unattended by a 
 vociferous shouting multitude. I suppose Augusta, who 
 resides still nearer to the dame and the 'squire of dames, 
 is recreated in this lively way yet more forcibly. 
 
 The 15th of this mopth is to be kept as King's hirthday 
 at Court. Orders have been issued to the Princesses to 
 that effect, and to tell them they must appear entirely out 
 of mourning. They had already made up dresses for half 
 mourning, of white and black. I should not marvel if the 
 royal traveller should choose to enter the apartments, and 
 offer her congratulations upon the festival. 
 
 bathed in tears of joy, embraced her with grateful affection. Her own 
 marriage with the Duke of Gloucester took place four months later, 
 Princess Mary being then forty years of age. The union is said to have 
 been one of singular happiness.
 
 1820.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 525 
 
 From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblaj/. 
 
 Bath, October 20. 
 
 It was very gratifying, dear Madam, to find myself so 
 kindly remembered, and with all my heart I thank you for 
 your letter. My family are gone to Sandgate for the pur- 
 pose of bathing in the sea, this wonderfully beautiful 
 October ; and were you not detained in London by such a 
 son as I hear you are happy in, I should wish you there 
 too. Apropos to October, I have not your father's admir- 
 able verses upon that month ; those upon June I saw when 
 last in Wales ; could you get me the others ? — it would 
 be such a favor, and you used to like them best. 
 
 How changed is the taste of verse, prose, and painting ! 
 since le Ion vieux temps, dear Madam ! Nothing attracts 
 us but what terrifies, and is within — if within — a hair's 
 breadth of positive disgust. The picture of Death on his 
 Pale Horse, however, is very grand certainly — and some 
 of the strange things they write remind me of Squoire 
 Pilchard's visit to the Tower Mena-gerie, when he says, " Odd, 
 they are i^ure grim devils," — particularly a wild and hid- 
 eous tale called Frankenstein. Do you ever see any of 
 the friends we used to live among ? Mrs. Lambart is yet 
 alive, and in prosperous circumstances ; and Fell, the book- 
 seller in Bond Street, told me a fortnight or three weeks 
 ago, that Miss Streatfield lives where she did in his neigh- 
 borhood, — Clifford Street, S. S. still. 
 
 Old Jacob and his red night-cap are the only live crea- 
 tures, as an Irishman would say, that come about me of 
 those you remember, and death alone will part us, — he 
 and I both lived longer with Mr. Piozzi than we had done 
 with Mr. Thrale. 
 
 Archdeacon Thomas is, I think, the only friend you and 
 I have now quite in common : he gets well ; and if there
 
 626 DIARY AND LETTERS [1820. 
 
 was hope of his getting clear from entanglement, he would 
 be young again, — he is a valuable mortal. 
 
 Adieu ! Leisure for men of business, you know, and 
 business for men of leisure, would cure many complaints. 
 
 Once more, farewell ! and accept my thanks for your 
 good-natured recollection of poor H. L. P. 
 
 Madame d 'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi. 
 
 Bolton Street, December 15, 1820. 
 
 Now at last, dear Madam, with a real pen I venture to 
 answer your kind acceptance of my Bath leave-taking 
 address, of a date I would wish you to forget — but the 
 letter is before me, and has no other word I should like to 
 relinquish. But more of grief at the consequence of my 
 silence, namely, your own, hangs upon the circumstance 
 than shame, for I have been so every way unwell, — un- 
 hinged, shattered, and unfitted for any correspondence that 
 could have a chance of reciprocating pleasure, that perhaps 
 I ought rather to demand your thanks than your pardon 
 for this delay. I will demand, however, which you please, 
 so you will but tell me which you will grant, for then I 
 shall hear from you again. 
 
 I must, nevertheless, mention that my first intention, 
 upon reading the letter with which you favored me, was to 
 forward to you the verses on October, of my dear father, 
 which you honored with so much approbation ; but I have 
 never been able to find them, unless you mean the ode, 
 written in that month, on the anniversary of his marriage 
 with my step-mother, beginning : — 
 
 *' Hail, eldest offspring of the circling year, 
 October ! bountiful, benign, and clear, 
 Whose gentle reign, from all excesses free, 
 Gave birth to Stella — happiness to me."
 
 1820.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 527 
 
 If it be this, I will copy it out with the greatest alacrity, 
 for the first opportunity of conveyance. 
 
 So here, again, like the dun of a dinner card, I entitle 
 myself to subjoin " An answer is required." 
 
 And now I must, and will add, that I was very far from 
 insensible to the known approach of your last birthday, 
 fully purposing to take that occasion for making my peace- 
 offering, with my most sincere felicitations, and warmest 
 wishes for your happiness ; and, mentally, I prepared at 
 least twenty letters for that day : — but they were com- 
 monly composed in the night, when no substantial pen was 
 in the way, and though the broad light faded nothing of my 
 intentions, it withered their expression, and a general dim- 
 ness of general dejection made me feel quite unequal to 
 coming forward at an epoch of joy, when faint phrases 
 might have seemed cold, and rather have damped than 
 exhilarated the spirits required for the fete, — and which, 
 my nieces write word, had the effect of exciting them all 
 a-round. 
 
 You inquire if I ever see any of the friends we used to 
 live amongst : — almost none ; but I may resume some of 
 those old ties this winter, from the ardent desire of my son. 
 I have, till very lately, been so utterly incapable to enjoy 
 society, that I have held it as much kindness to others as 
 to myself, to keep wholly out of its way. I am now, in 
 health, much better, and, consequently, more able to con- 
 trol the murmuring propensities that were alienating me 
 from the purposes of life while yet living, — this letter, 
 indeed, will show that I am restored to the wish at least 
 of solace, and that the native cheerfulness of my tempera- 
 ment is opening from the weight of sadness by which I 
 had long believed it utterly demolished. But Time, " un- 
 called, unheeded, unawares," — works as secretly upon our 
 spirits as upon our years, and gives us as little foresight
 
 528 DIARY AND LETTERS [1821. 
 
 into what we can endure, as into how long we shall exist. 
 — I am sure you will have been very sorry, and very sorry 
 was I, for him whom you call " the only friend we now 
 have in common" — Archdeacon Thomas. And I am told 
 his valuable life was lost through a neglect of attention to 
 the regimen prescribed by Dr. Gibbs, — to whose prescrip- 
 tions I, for one, should always be ready to bow down. I 
 think he has much of that sort of sagacity that so charmed 
 us in our favorite Sir Eichard Jebb. Yet I only saw him 
 once ; but that was in a tete-a-tete, alteruized with a trio 
 by my son, that lasted a whole afternoon. I am told by 
 Mrs. H. Bowdler, that S. S. now resides in Queen Street, 
 May Fair ; but I have not seen her, nor Sir W. W. Pepys, 
 though the latter made sundry kind efforts to break the 
 spell of my obscurity on my first arrival in Bolton Street. 
 Your obliged and affectionate F. d'Arblay. 
 
 My sou is at Cambridge, far, alas, from robust ; but free 
 from complaint. 
 
 From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d 'Arblay. 
 
 Penzance, Thursday, January 18, 1821. 
 Dear Madame d'Arblay was very considerate in giving 
 me something to answer, for something original to say 
 would be dif&cult to find at Penzance ; but your letter has 
 no date, and I am not sure that Bolton Street is sufficient. 
 Poor Mrs. Byron, who used to inhabit it, would have en- 
 joyed her grandson's reputation, would not she ? had it 
 pleased God to lengthen her life like that of Mrs. Lambart, 
 who died only last week, but a few days short of her 
 expected centenary — as did Fontenelle. You are truly 
 fortunate, dear Madam, so was your father, in leaving those 
 behind who knew and could appreciate your merits —
 
 1821.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 529 
 
 eveiy scrap will properly be valued — but those verses 
 belong not to the October I meant. 
 
 Have no fears for the healtli of your son ; a slight frame 
 escapes many ills that beset a robust one ; water-gruel and 
 spinach were all you ever wanted ; and if Sir George Gibbs 
 would live as our beloved Sir Eichard did, he would last 
 for ever. The dear Archdeacon's disorders were less amena- 
 ble to diet, and he was still more careless. 
 
 The once charming S. S. had inquired for me of Norna- 
 ville and Fell, the Old Bond Street booksellers, so I thought 
 she meditated writing, but .was deceived. Mrs. H. Bow- 
 dler lives, however; and the ever affectionate and kind 
 Pepyses. Your constant admirer, Doctor Whalley, too, 
 keeps his tall figure and high head above water, spite of 
 many efforts to hold him down — but the list of dead ac- 
 quaintance has been frightful of late, and lowered my spirits 
 cruelly. This air to which wise mortals recommended me 
 is beyond all belief contrary to consolation. Foggy and 
 phlegmatic — neither hot nor cold — my moimtain-born 
 lungs feel its effects but too plainly ; and the first prim- 
 roses shall find me picking them upon Clifton Hill. 
 
 Mrs. Bourdois and her sisters — all true Burneys — will 
 be angry I don't live wholly at Bath, and their society 
 would prove a strong temptation ; but Bath is too much 
 for me, who am now unwilling to encounter either crowds 
 or solitude : I feared neither for threescore years of my 
 life, and earnestly now join my too disinterested solicita- 
 tions to those of your son, that you will no longer bury 
 your charming talents in seclusion. Sorrow, as Dr. John- 
 son said, is the mere rust of the soid. Activity will 
 cleanse and brighten it. 
 
 You recollect the 's ; Fanny married Sir Something 
 
 , and is a widowed mother. The young man, of whom 
 
 high expectations were formed, took to the gaming-table, 
 
 VOL. II. 34
 
 530 DIARY AND LETTERS [1821. 
 
 forged for £5,000, and was saved out of prison by the dex- 
 terity of his servant : — a complete coup de theatre. That 
 I call sorrow scarce possible to be borne. You saw the 
 story in the newspapers, but possibly were not aware who 
 was the sufferer. 
 
 Will it amuse you to hear that fine Mr. Daniel, as you 
 used to call my showy butler, died an object of disgust and 
 horror, whilst old Jacob, with whose red nightcap you 
 comically threatened the gay dandy — lived till the other 
 day, and dying, left £800 behind lum ? Such stuff is this 
 world made of ! 
 
 The literary world is to me terra incognita, far more de- 
 serving of the name (now Parry and Eoss are returned) 
 than any part of the polar region ; but the first voyage 
 amused me most ; and when I had seen red snow, and 
 heard of men who wanted our sailors to fly, because they 
 perceived they could swim, I really thought it time to lie 
 down and die ; but one cannot die when one will, so I 
 have hung half on, half off society this last half year ; 
 and begin 1821 by thanking dear Madame d'Arblay for 
 her good-natured recollection of poor H. L. Piozzi. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi. 
 Bolton Street, Berkeley Square, Feb. 6, 1821. 
 You w^ould be repaid, dear Madam, if I still, as I be- 
 lieve know you, for the great kindness of your prompt 
 answer, had you witnessed the satisfaction with which it 
 was received, even at a time of new and dreadful solicitude ; 
 for my son returned from Cambridge unwell, and in a few 
 days after his arrival at home was seized with a feverish 
 cold which threatened to fasten upon the whole system of 
 his existence, not with immediate danger, but with a per-
 
 1821.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 531 
 
 spective to leave but small openings to any future view of 
 health, strength, or longevity. I will not dwell upon this 
 period, but briefly say, it seems passed over. He is now, I 
 thank heaven, daily reviving, and from looking like — not 
 a walking, but a creeping spectre, he is gaining force, spirit, 
 and flesh visibly, and almost hour by hour ; still, however, 
 he requires the utmost attention, and the more from the 
 extreme iiisouciance, from being always absorbed in some 
 mental combinations, with which he utterly neglects him- 
 self. I am therefore wholly devoted to watching him. I 
 am quite vexed not to find the right October. However, I 
 do not yet despair, for in the multitude of MSS. that have 
 fallen to my mournfully surviving lot to select, or destroy, 
 &c., chaos seems come again ; and though I have worked 
 at them during the last year, so as to obtain a little light, 
 it is scarcely more than darkness visible. To all the vast 
 mass left to my direction by my dear father, who burnt 
 nothing, not even an invitation to dinner, are added not 
 merely those that devolved to me by fatal necessity in 
 1818, but also all the papers possessed from her childhood 
 to her decease of that sister you so well, dear Madam, 
 know to have been my heart's earliest darling. When on 
 this pile are heaped the countless hoards which my own 
 now long life has gathered together, of my personal prop- 
 erty, such as it is, and the correspondence of my family 
 and my friends, and innumerable incidental windfalls, the 
 whole forms a body that might make a bonfire to illumi- 
 nate me nearly from hence to Penzance. And such a bon- 
 fire might, perhaps, be not only the shortest, but the wisest 
 way to dispose of such materials. This enormous accumu- 
 lation has been chiefly owing to a long unsettled home, 
 joined to a mind too deeply occupied by immediate affairs 
 and feelings to have the intellect at liberty for retro- 
 spective investigations.
 
 532 DIARY AND LETTERS [1821. 
 
 What a long detail ! I know not what has urged me to 
 write it — yet I feel as if you would take in it some in- 
 terest; and an instinct of that flattering sort is always 
 pleasant, though far from always infallible. And in truth, 
 in this case, Bolton Street offers not much more choice of 
 subject than Penzance ; for if you have nobody to see, I 
 see nobody, which amounts to the same thing. It is not 
 that my intentions are changed from those I mentioned in 
 my last, of seeking revival, in some measure, to social life 
 for the remaining acts of my worldly drama ; my quick 
 acceptance of the assistance to that purpose for which I 
 called from Penzance, and which has been accorded me 
 with such generous vivacity, may show my steadiness, as 
 well as my gratitude : but I had not taken into my self- 
 bargain this illness of my son. However, as he gets better, 
 I shall do better. I am much obliged by Dr. Whalley's 
 kind remembrance; he often called upon me, but never 
 
 till my doors were shut to all occasional visitors, alas ! 
 
 I shall soon be very glad to see Sir Wm. Pepys, who has a 
 constancy in his attachments as rare as it is honorable. 
 The " once charming S. S." I have never met with since I 
 last saw her under the roof where first we made acquaint- 
 ance. I hope the P 's have been more fortunate than 
 
 the 's. Oh ! yes ! — well do you say for my serious 
 
 consolation, a sorrow such as that son has given makes any 
 other lighter ! Edifying, however, as well as satisfactory, 
 is the contrasted termination of the two servants whose 
 lives merited such equally exemplary justice. Adieu, dear 
 Madam, and believe me with faithful attachment, your 
 obliged, affectionate, and obedient servant, F. d'A.
 
 1821.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. , 533 
 
 From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d^Arhlay. 
 
 SiON Row, Clifton, near Bristol, March 15, 1821. 
 I feel quite happy in being able to reply to dear Ma- 
 dame d'Arblay's good-natured inquiries, from this, the liv- 
 ing world. Such we cannot term Penzance — not with 
 propriety — much like Omai, who said to you, " No mutton 
 there, missee, no fine coach, no clock upon the stairs," &c. ; 
 but e,n revanche here is no Land's End, no submarine mine 
 of Botallock ! What a wonderful thing is that extensive 
 cavern ! stretching out half a mile forward under the roar- 
 ing ocean, from whence 't is protected only by a slight cov-, 
 ering, a crust of rock, which, if by any accident, exploded, 
 
 *' Would let in light on Pluto's dire abodes, 
 Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful even to Gods." 
 
 Plutus, however, not Pluto, is professed proprietor ; 't is an 
 immense vacuity filled with the vapors of tin and copper, 
 belonging to Lord Falmouth and a company of miners, 
 where sixty human beings work night and day, and hear 
 the waves over their heads ; sometimes regularly beating 
 the Cornish cliffs, sometimes tossing the terrified mariner 
 upon the inhospitable shore ; where shipwreck is, even in 
 these civilized days, considered as a godsend. 
 
 I am glad I saw it, and that I shall see it no more. You 
 would not know poor Streatham Park. I have been forced 
 to dismantle and forsake it ; the expenses of the pres- 
 ent time treble those of the moments you remember ; and 
 since giving up my Welsh estate, my income is greatly di- 
 minished. I fancy this will be my last residence in this 
 world, meaning Clifton, not Sion Row, where I only live till 
 my house in the Crescent is ready for me. A high situation 
 is become necessary to my breath, and this air will agree 
 with me better than Bath did.
 
 534 DIARY AND LETTERS [1821. 
 
 You ask how the Pitches family went on. Jane married 
 a rough man, quarter-master to a marching regiment, and 
 brought him three sons : the first a prodigy of science, wit, 
 and manners : he died early : the second I know nothing 
 of : the third, a model of grace and beauty, married the 
 Duke of Marlborough's sister. Peggy is Countess Coven- 
 try, you know, and has a numerous progeny. Emily is 
 wife to Mr. JoUiffe, M.P. for some place, I forget what. 
 Penelope married Sir John Sheffield, but died before he 
 came to the title. I dined with them all last time I was 
 in London, at Coventry House. Poor old Davies's depart- 
 ure grieved me, so did that of good Mr. Embry ; aic resie, 
 the village of Streatham is full of rich inhabitants, the 
 common much the worse for being so spotted about with 
 houses and the possibility of avoiding constant intercourse 
 with their inhabitants (as in Mr. Thrale's time) wholly lost. 
 
 . . . The Denbighshire people will be half a year talking 
 of a Mr. G , that was detained two months in the moun- 
 tains of Calabria for ransom, with a sword at his breast 
 and the Welsh relations had £200 to raise for the purpose 
 of gaining his release. Adieu, dear madam, and accept my 
 best wishes for your health and your son's; and if you 
 ever see Marianne Francis, beg of her not quite to give up 
 as reprobate yours, and her affectionate servant, 
 
 H. L. P. 
 
 May, 1821. 
 
 I have lost now, just lost, my once most dear, intimate, and 
 admired friend, Mrs. Thrale Piozzi, who preserved her fine 
 faculties, her imagination, her intelligence, her powers of 
 allusion and citation, her extraordinary memory, and her 
 almast unexampled vivacity, to the last of her existence. 
 She was in her eighty-second year, and yet owed not her 
 death to age nor to natural decay, but to the effects of a fall
 
 1821.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 535 
 
 in a journey from Penzance to Clifton. On her eightieth 
 birthday she gave a great ball, concert, and supper, in the 
 public rooms at Bath, to upwards of two hundred persons, 
 and the ball she oj^ened herself. She was, in truth, a most 
 wonderful character for talents and eccentricity, for wit, 
 genius, generosity, spirit, and powers of entertainment. 
 She had a great deal both of good and not good, in com- 
 mon with Madame de Stael Holstein. They had the same 
 sort of highly superior intellect, the same depth of learning, 
 the same general acquaintance with science, the same ar- 
 dent love of literature, the same thirst for universal knowl- 
 edge, and the same buoyant animal spirits, such as neither 
 sickness, sorrow, nor even terror, could subdue. Their con- 
 versation was equally luminous, from the sources of their 
 own fertile minds, and from their splendid acquisitions from 
 the works and acquirements of others. Both were zealous 
 to serve, liberal to bestow, and graceful to oblige ; and 
 both were truly high-minded in prizing and praising what- 
 ever was admirable that came in their way. Neither of 
 them was delicate nor polished, though each was flattering 
 and caressing ; but both had a fund inexhaustible of good 
 humor, and of sportive gaiety, that made their intercourse 
 with those they wished to please attractive, instructive, and 
 delightful ; and though not either of them had the small- 
 est real malevolence in their compositions, neither of them 
 could ever withstand the pleasure of uttering a repartee, let 
 it wound whom it might, even though each would serve 
 the very person they goaded with all the means in power. 
 Both were kind, charitable, and munificent, and therefore 
 beloved ; both were sarcastic, careless, and daring, and 
 therefore feared. The morality of Madame de Stael was 
 by far the most faulty, but so was the society to which she 
 belonged ; so were the general manners of whose by whom 
 she was encircled.
 
 536 DIARY AND LETTERS [1823. 
 
 Madame d^ Arhlay to Mrs. Burnet/. 
 
 February 29, 1823. 
 
 Thanks for that kind jump of joy for the success of Alex, 
 at Lee, and for my hopes from St. Paul's. You ask who 
 named him Preacher for the 5th Sunday in Lent ? How 
 could I omit telling you 't was the Bishop of London him- 
 self ? — This has been brought about by a detail too long 
 for paper, but it is chiefly to my faithful old friends Bishop 
 Fisher of Salisbury and the Archdeacon of Middlesex 
 that we owe this mark of attention ; for Alex, has never 
 been presented to the Bishop of London. 
 
 You still ask about my health, &c. I thought the good 
 result would have sufficed ; but thus stands the detail : I 
 was packing up a hoard of papers to carry with me to 
 Eichmond, many months noAV ago, and employed above an 
 hour, bending my head over the trunk and on my knees ; 
 — when, upon meaning to rise, I was seized with a giddi- 
 ness, a glare of sparks before my eyes, and a torturing pain 
 on one side of my head, that nearly disabled me from 
 quitting my posture, and that was followed, when at last I 
 rose, by an inability to stand or walk. My second threat 
 of seizure was at Eliot Vale, while Alex, was at Tunbridge. 
 I have been suddenly taken a third time, in the middle of 
 the night, with a seizure as if a hundred windmills were 
 turning round in my head : in short, — I had now recourse 
 to serious medical help, . . . and, to come to the sura 
 total, I am now so much better that I believe myself to be 
 merely in the common road of such gentle, gradual decay 
 as, I humbly trust, I have been prepared to meet with 
 highest hope, though with deepest awe — for now many 
 years back. 
 
 The chief changes, or reforms, from which I reap benefit 
 are, 1st. Totally renouncing for the evenings all revision or
 
 1823.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 537 
 
 indulgence in poring over those letters and papers whose 
 contents come nearest to my heart, and work upon its 
 bleeding regrets. Next, transferring to the evening, as far 
 as is in my power, all of sociality, with Alex., or my few 
 remaining friends, or the few he will present to me of new 
 ones. 3rd. Constantly going out every day — either in 
 brisk walks in the morning, or in brisk jumbles in the 
 carnage of one of my three friends who send for me, to 
 a " tete-^-tete " tea-converse. 4th. Strict attention to diet. 
 
 I ought to have told you the medical sentence upon 
 which I act. These were the words — " You have a head 
 overworked, and a heart over-loaded." This produces a 
 disposition to fulness in both that causes stagnation, &c., 
 with a consequent want of circulation at the extremities, 
 that keeps them cold and aching. 
 
 Knowing this, I now act upon it as warily as I am able. 
 
 The worst of all is, that I have lost, totally lost, my 
 pleasure in reading ! except when Alex, is my lecturer, for 
 whose sake my faculties are still alive to what — erst ' 
 gave them their greatest delight. But alone, I have no 
 longer that resource ! I have scarcely looked over a single 
 sentence, but some word of it brings to my mind some 
 mournful recollection, or acute regret, and takes from me 
 all attention — my eyes thence glance vainly over pages 
 that awaken no ideas. — This is melancholy in the ex- 
 treme ; yet I have tried every species of writing and writer 
 — but all pass by me mechanically, instead of instructing 
 or entertaining me ilitellectually. But for this sad de- 
 privation of my original taste, my evenings might always 
 be pleasing and reviving — but alas !
 
 638 DLA.EY AND LETTERS [1835. 
 
 1835 — 1838. 
 
 Madame d'Arblay's letters were now very few. A com- 
 plaint in one of her eyes, which was expected to terminate 
 in a cataract, made both reading and writing difficult to 
 her. The number of her correspondents had also been 
 painfully lessened by the death of her eldest sister, Mrs. 
 Burney, and that of her beloved friend, Mrs. Locke ; and 
 she had sympathized with other branches of her family in 
 many similar afflictions, for she retained in a peculiar de- 
 gree not only her intellectual powers, but the warm and 
 generous affections of her youth. 
 
 " Though now her eightieth year was past," she took her 
 wonted and vivid interest in the concerns, the joys, and 
 sorrows of those she loved. 
 
 At this time her son formed an attachment which prom- 
 ised to secure his happiness, and to gild his mother's re- 
 maining days with affection and peace ; and at the close 
 of the year 1836 he was nominated minister of Ely Chapel, 
 which afforded her considerable satisfaction. But her joy 
 was mournfully short-lived. That building, having been 
 shut for some years, was damp and ill-aired. The Eev. 
 Mr. d'Arblay began officiating there in winter, and during 
 the first days of his ministry he caught the influenza, 
 which became so serious an illness as to require the at- 
 tendance of two physicians. Dr. Holland and Dr. Kings- 
 ton exerted their united skill with the kindest interest ; but 
 their patient, never robust, was unable to cope with the 
 malady, and on the 19th of January, 1837, in three weeks 
 from his first seizure, the death of this beloved son threw 
 Madame dArblay again into the depths of affliction. Yet. 
 she bore this desolating stroke with religious submission, 
 receiving kindly every effort made to console her, and con-
 
 1839.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 539 
 
 fining chiefly to her own private memoranda the most 
 poignant expressions of her anguish and regret, as also of 
 the deeply religious trust by which she was supported. 
 
 The following paragraph is taken from her private note- 
 book : — 
 
 " 1837. — On the opening of this most mournful — most 
 earthly hopeless, of any and of all the years yet commenced 
 of my long career ! Yet, humbly I bless my God and Sa- 
 viour, not hopeless ; but full of gently-beaming hopes, count- 
 less and fraught with aspirations of the time that may 
 succeed to the dread infliction of this last irreparable pri- 
 vation, and bereavement of my darling loved, and most 
 touchingly loving, dear, soul-dear Alex." 
 
 At this period some letters on religious subjects passed 
 between Madame dArblay and her excellent friend Arch- 
 deacon Cambridge, who proposed, as her increased deaf- 
 ness and infirmity prevented her attending the public 
 worship of the church, to administer the Holy Sacrament 
 to her at her own dwelling ; and " her devout, earnest, and 
 composed manner of going through this sacred duty, gave 
 much comfort " to her pious and venerable friend. 
 
 Much as Madame dArblay had been tried by the se- 
 verest penalty of lengthened days, the loss of those who 
 were dearest to her, one more such sorrow remained in 
 her cup of life. Her gentle and tender sister Charlotte, 
 many years younger than herself, was to precede her in 
 that eternal world for which they were both preparing ; 
 and in the autumn of the year 1838, a short illness ter- 
 minated in the removal of that beloved sister. 
 
 In November, 1839, Madame dArblay was attacked by 
 an illness which showed itself at first in sleepless nights 
 and nervous imaginations. Spectral illusions, such as Dr. 
 Abercrombie has described, f(5rmed part of her disorder ;
 
 540 DIARY AXD LETTERS 11840. 
 
 and though after a time Dr. Holland's skill removed these 
 nervous impressions, yet her debility and cough increased, 
 accompanied by constant fever. For several weeks hopes 
 of her recovery were entertained ; her patience assisted the 
 remedies of her kind physician ; and the amiable young 
 friend, " who was to her as a daughter," watched over her 
 with unremitting care and attention ; but she became more 
 and more feeble, and her mind wandered ; though at times 
 every day she was composed and collected, and then given 
 up to silent prayer, with her hands clasped and eyes up- 
 lifted. 
 
 During the earlier part of her illness she had listened 
 with comfort to some portions of St. John's Gospel, but she 
 now said to her niece, " I would ask you to read to me, but 
 I could not understand one word — not a syllable ! but I 
 thank God my mind has not waited till this time." 
 
 At another moment she charged the same person with 
 affectionate farewells and blessings to several friends, and 
 with thanks for all their kindness to her. Soon after she 
 said, " I have had some sleep." " That is well," was the re- 
 ply ; " you wanted rest." " / shall have it soon, my dear" 
 she answered emphatically: and thus, aware that death 
 was approaching, in peace with all the world, and in holy 
 trust and reliance on her Kedeemer, she breathed her last 
 on the 6th of January, 1840 ; the anniversary of that day 
 she had long consecrated to prayer, and to the memory of 
 her beloved sister Susanna. 
 
 Hitherto Madame d'Arblay has been known chiefly as 
 an Author. These Journals and Letters may show the mer- 
 its and peculiarities of her individual character, and the 
 bright example she gave in the most important relations of 
 life. If any one was entitled to 'confide in talents or yield 
 to the guidance of imagination, she might have claimed 
 that privilege : but her own words were, " A fear of doing
 
 1840.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 541 
 
 wrong has always been the leading principle of my internal 
 guidance ; " and hers was not the fear which shrinks from 
 efforts or responsibility. She pursued the strait path of 
 duty in defiance of difficulty or distaste, and employed the 
 best means with which she was acquainted, for bringing 
 her feelings into accordance with her judgment. 
 
 Thus, when enduring at the Queen's house daily dis- 
 comforts, which not even the penetration and benevolence 
 of her Royal mistress could prevent, she "resolved to be 
 happy," and from that time she never allowed herself to 
 ponder on days gone by, or on any subject that could lead 
 to repining ; and by such discipline she established herself 
 in a state of calm content, though her fatigues and the tyr- 
 anny of Madame Schwellenberg continued in full force. 
 Her strict economy during many years was another proof 
 of this inflexible purpose. For a considerable time the in- 
 come on which she, her husband, and her child subsisted, 
 did not exceed £125 a year. They were too independent 
 in spirit to accept assistance from friends ; too upright to 
 rely on contingencies ; and Madame d'Arblay pursued, es- 
 pecially for herself, in all the minutise of domestic life, a 
 course of self-denial such as, she wrote to her Susanna, 
 " would make you laugh to see, though perhaps cry to 
 hear." With all this, her mind and thoughts were never 
 shut up in lier economy. The friends who visited Camilla 
 Cottage (and they were among the distinguished and excel- 
 lent of two countries) were made welcome to its frugal 
 fare : and the hand and purse of the " hermits" were al- 
 ways open to distress. Madame d'Arblay used to say, there 
 was no merit in any charity unaccompanied by some priva- 
 tion. It was at this period that she originated the invita- 
 tion sent by her and M. d'Arblay to his friend the Comte 
 de Narbonne, to make their cottage his home ; and it was 
 also during these straitened circumstances that she with-
 
 642 DIARY AND LETTERS [1840. 
 
 drew her comedy of "Love and Fashion" from rehearsal, in 
 dutiful compliance with the wishes of her father ; although 
 the manager of Covent Garden had promised her £400 for 
 the manuscript. 
 
 Queen Charlotte's expression, that she was " true as 
 gold," was abundantly verified in her friendships. Faithful 
 in the duty of private admonition, generous in never be- 
 traying to others the faults her penetration had discovered, 
 she was wise in counsel and cordial in sympathy, devoting 
 her best powers to the service of those she loved. 
 
 It has been elegantly said of Madame d'Arblay that 
 " she lived to be a classic ; " but she attained this distinc- 
 tion only by surviving all that could give it value. Yet at 
 this period, when she spoke of herself as one " from whom 
 happiness, in this nether sphere, was cut off for ever," she 
 still interested herself warmly for many whose distress was 
 their only claim to the never-tiring patience with which 
 she heard their long histories, and the judicious advice and 
 benefactions with which she sought to relieve them. 
 
 Some readers of this journal may perhaps have wished 
 to find Madame d'Arblay's sentiments on religious subjects 
 more fully detailed. The friends most intimate with her 
 knew that she was actuated by a strong and abiding reli- 
 gious principle, founded on a serious study of the Holy 
 Scriptures. What else, indeed, could have formed and sus- 
 tained such a character ? But while this was the main- 
 spring of her thoughts and actions, a feeling of reverential 
 awe made her fearful of introducing religious subjects into 
 conversation, and also led her to preserve in a separate 
 journal those devotional impressions which she deemed too 
 sacred for admixture with the trifles and amusements of 
 every-day life. Eespect for what it is presumed would 
 have been her desire, now forliids the publication of these 
 private meditations.
 
 1840.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 543 
 
 In conclusion, may we not find throughout these memoirs 
 a confirmation of General d'Arblay's parting testimony, 
 that those who knew her only from public reputation were 
 unacquainted with the best and most valuable parts of her 
 character ? 
 
 And this is no slight praise when given to the Author of 
 Evelina, Cecilia, and Camilla.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 A. 
 
 Addington, Dr., ii. 73. 
 
 Amelia, Princess, i. 249, 259, 260, 
 301, 318 ; ii. 133, 366, 384, 401. 
 Death of, 405. 
 
 Ancaster, Duchess of, i. 250, 272, 
 366. 
 
 d'Arblay, Alexander, birth of, ii. 
 326, 355. Presented to Queen 
 Charlotte, 392. Anecdotes of, 
 400, 411, 447, 452, 454, 481, 
 496, 498, 505, 506, 518. Or- 
 dained deacon, 519 ; priest, 523. 
 Death of, 538. 
 
 d'Arblay, Madame, Fide Barney, 
 Frances. 
 
 d'Arblay, M., ii. 287, 291, 293, 
 309, 315, 316, 322, 333. 342, 347, 
 352, 359, 410, 412, 419, 431, 440, 
 460, 478. Illness and death of, 
 505. 
 
 Asai^h, St., Bishop of, i. 136, 137. 
 
 Ascot races, i. 367. 
 
 Augusta, Princess, i. 346, 356 ; ii. 
 
 49, 344, 363, 367, 386, 410. 
 d'Autun, Monsieur. Vide Talley- 
 rand. 
 
 B. 
 
 Bagshot, visit to, ii. 239. 
 Baker, Sir George, ii. 34. 
 Baltimore, Lord, i. 410. 
 
 Barclay, David, purchases brewery, 
 i. 112. 
 
 Baretti, i. 210, 475, 477. 
 
 Benda, Madame, ii. 178. 
 
 Benson, Miss, i. 144. 
 
 Betterton, Miss, ii. 376. 
 
 Bill, the Regency, ii. 120. 
 
 Birch, ]\Iiss, i. 84, 86. 
 
 Bonaparte, ii. 421, 428. 
 
 Boswell, Mr., i. 123, 226 ; ii. 187, 
 188, 268. 
 
 Bouchier, Captain, i. 100. 
 
 Broglie, Madame de, ii. 279, 284. 
 
 Broome, Mr., ii. 357. 
 
 Broome, Mrs., ii. 455, 502. 
 
 Bryant, Mr., i. 355, 377, 410. 
 
 Bude, General, i. 306. 
 
 Bunbury, Mr., i. 393. 
 
 Burke, Edmund, i. 136, 138, 150, 
 374, 422. Speech at trial of 
 Warren Hastings, 446, 451. Eu- 
 logy of Pitt, 458 ; ii. 167, 252, 
 273. His opinion of Mrs. De- 
 lany, 274. 
 
 Burke, Kichard, i. 137, 426. 
 
 Barney, Charles, i. 156, 427 ; ii. 
 
 158, 456. 
 Burney, Charlotte. Fid.e Francis, 
 
 Mrs. 
 Burney, Dr., i. 4, 10. Commended 
 by Queen Charlotte, 201. His 
 " History of Music," 212. Visits 
 Windsor, 239, 332. Remem- 
 bered by King George III., ii. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 35
 
 546 
 
 INDEX 
 
 118. Consents to resignation of 
 Miss Burney's place at Court, 
 182. Letter in reference to her 
 marriage, 317. His consent, 319. 
 Meets her on her return from 
 France, 456. Death of, 460. 
 
 Burney, Esther, i. 82, 360 ; ii. 10, 
 355, 407, 535, 538. 
 
 Burney, Frances (Madame d'Ar- 
 blay) , reads Evelina to Mr. Crisp, 
 i. 3. Letter to Dr. Burney, 5. 
 First visit to Streatham, 14. Ac- 
 quaintance with Dr. Johnson, 16. 
 Meets Mrs. Montagu, 44. Visits 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, 59. Meets 
 Mrs. Cholmondely, 60. Mr. Sher- 
 idan, 65. Visits the Streatfields, 
 82. Letter to Dr. Johnson, 90. 
 Journey to Bath, 97. Visits Mr. 
 Ferry, 99. Encounters Lady Say 
 and Sele, 130. Mr. Burke, 138. 
 Assembly at Miss Monckton's, 
 148. Calls on Dr. Johnson, 154. 
 First meeting with Mrs. Delany, 
 157. With the Duchess of Port- 
 land, 161. Letters to and from 
 Dr. Johnson, 167, 168. Visits 
 Mrs. Delany, 169, 171. Letters to 
 Mrs. Piozzi, 174. Last interview 
 with Dr. Johnson, 175. Her 
 judgment of Dr. Johnson, 183. 
 Letter from Madame de Genlis, 
 184. Visits Mrs. Delany at 
 Windsor, 194. First interviews 
 with tlie King and Queen, 205, 
 212, 216, 223, 226. Is offered a 
 place in the Royal Household, 
 228. Reluctant acceptance, 232, 
 233. Arrival at Queen's Lodge, 
 237. Manner of life at Windsor, 
 244. "Cooks snuff," 256. En- 
 counters the little Princess Amelia 
 on Windsor Terrace, 260. Visit to 
 Nuneham, 267. To Oxford, 277. 
 Visit from Madame la Roche, 294. 
 Misunderstanding with Equerries, 
 304. Col. Goldsworthy's expla- 
 
 nation, 307. Incidents of life at 
 Court, 313, 326, 351, 356, 359, 
 389. Makes acquaintance with 
 Dr. and Miss Herschell, 391. 
 Trial of Warren Hastings, 422, 
 427, 446, 450, 451, 456, 460. 
 Death of Mrs. Delany, 461. 
 Legacies from Mrs. Delany, 465. 
 Visit to Cheltenham, 470. In- 
 terview with Lalande, ii. 5. Fa- 
 tigues of the drawing-room, 10. 
 Insolence of Mrs. Schwellenberg, 
 11, 14, 15. Illness of King, 22, 
 33. Miss Burney's knowledge of 
 his insanity, 32. Sympathy with 
 Queen, 33, 35, 43. Painful days 
 at Windsor, 45, 54. Journey to 
 Kew, 77. Present from Germany, 
 105. Encounters King in Kew 
 gardens, 112. Illness, 146. Visit 
 to Weymouth, 148. Visit to 
 Longleat, 157. Return to Wind- 
 sor, 158. Receives Mrs. Fairly, 
 166. Is reader to the Royal party, 
 169. Meets Mrs. Piozzi, 172, 177. 
 Confesses to Dr. Burney her wish 
 to resign, 182. Meets Mr. Eos- 
 well, 188. Presents "Memorial," 
 195. Hastings's trial, 213. Of- 
 fered pension, 230. Bids fare- 
 well to the Court, 231, 233, 235. 
 Journey, 240. AVith her father, 
 253. Calls on Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, 255. Revisits Windsor, 
 258, 265, 269. Encounter with 
 Mrs. Wells, 276. Letters from 
 Madame de Stael, 296, 297, 302, 
 First impressions of M. d'Arblay, 
 296. Offer of marriage, 309. 
 Marriage, 320. Letters on her 
 marriage, 321, 323. Birth of her 
 son, 326. Letter to the Comte de 
 Narbonne, 331. Visits Windsor 
 with her husband, 333. Removes 
 toAVest Hamble, 359. Summoned 
 to Windsor, 362. Takes her child 
 to Windsor, 392. Interview with
 
 INDEX. 
 
 547 
 
 Princess Amelia, 403. Grief at 
 death of Mrs. Phillips, 408. Goes 
 to Paris, 415. Impressions of the 
 First Consul, 428. Illness of, 436. 
 Adventures at Dunkirk, 442, 446. 
 Return to England, 454. Pre- 
 sented to Louis XVIII., 474. Ad- 
 venture at Ilfracombe, 486. Let- 
 ters to and from Mrs. Piozzi, 525, 
 526, 528, 530. Illness of, 536. 
 Death of, 540. Character of, 
 540, 541, 542. 
 
 Bumey, James, ii. 178, 183. 
 
 Burney, Mrs., i. 3, 31. Death of, 
 ii. 354. 
 
 Burney, Sally, i. 3, 4. 
 
 Burney, Susan. Fide Phillips, 
 Mrs. 
 
 C. 
 
 Cambaceres, ii. 427. 
 
 Cambridge, Miss, i. 229, 418 ; ii. 
 
 85. 
 "Camilla," ii. 332, 351. 
 Camilla Cottage, ii. 542. 
 Carmarthen, Lady, ii. 37. 
 Cater, Mr., i. 112, 113, 115. 
 " Cecilia," i. 128, 162. 
 Chapone, Mrs., i. 158, 421. 
 Charlotte, Princess, iL 372, 386. 
 
 Death of, 502. 
 Chatham, Lord, ii. 183. 
 Chatre, Madame de, ii. 288. 
 Cheltenham, visit to, i. 470. 
 Chester, Bishop of, i. 357. 
 Cholmondely, Mrs., i. 6, 8, 60, 62. 
 
 Visit to, 64, 103> 357. 
 Clarence, Duke of, ii. 217. 
 Clayton, Miss, i. 315, 407. 
 Clerk, Mr., ii. 71, 480. 
 Clive, Mrs., ii. 417, 428. 
 Consul, the First, ii. 417-428. 
 Courtown, Lady, i. 474. 
 Crewe, Mrs., i. 450 ; ii. 271, 462. 
 Crisp, Mr., i. 3, 9, 13, 80, 159. 
 
 His tragedy, 191. 
 
 Crutchley, Mr., i. 50, 112, 117, 
 
 119, 125, 426. 
 Cumberlands, the, i. 23, 64, 87, 86. 
 
 D. 
 
 Davenant, Mrs., i. 107. 
 
 De Fen-ars, Lady, i. 142. 
 
 Delany, Mrs., i. 151, 157. Her 
 paper mosaic, 160. Illness of, » 
 186. Accepts from the King and 
 Queen a house at Windsor, 186. 
 Anecdotes of, 189, 212. Visits 
 Miss Burney at Court, 241. 
 Notes for her biography, 313. 
 Illness of, 337, 375. Indigna- 
 tion at Mrs. Schwellenberg, 400. 
 Death of, 461. Mr. Burke's tes- 
 timony to her character, 274. 
 
 Delap, Dr., i. 75, 77. 
 
 Desmoulins, Miss., i. 39, 154. 
 
 Devonshire, Duchess of, i. 119 ; ii. 
 248, 251. 
 
 Devonshire, Duke of, i. 145. 
 
 Dewes, Mr. Bernard, i. 202. 
 
 Directions for a private encounter 
 with the Royal Family, i. 203. 
 
 Dobson, Mrs., i. 94. 
 
 Dor.set, Duke of, i. 64. 
 
 Duncan, Admiral, ii. 376, 378. 
 
 Dunkirk, adventures at, ii. 437. 
 
 Dui-ham, Dean of, ii. 22. 
 
 E. 
 
 Effingham, Lady, ii. 24. 
 
 "Egalite," ii. 307. 
 
 Egerton, Mrs. Ariana, i. 327. 
 
 Elizabeth, Princess, i. 200, 203 ; 
 ii. 2, 8, 343, 392. 
 
 Ernest, Prince, ii. 375. 
 
 Etiquette observed in the Royal 
 presence, i. 223, 227. 
 
 " Evelina," i. 2, 3, read by Dr. Bur- 
 ney, 4. Authorship made known, 
 11, 27, 45.
 
 548 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Fairly, Col., i. 412, 419, 473, 475, 
 
 481 ; ii. 8, 29, 47, 52, 65, 84, 108, 
 
 161, 164. 
 Farren, Miss, ii. 376. 
 Farnham visited, ii. 240. 
 Fauconberg Hall, i. 470. 
 Ferry, Mr., i. 98, 99. 
 Finch, Lady Charlotte, ii. 66. 
 Fisher, Dr., i. 306, 347, 376, 291 ; 
 
 ii. 347. 
 Fite, Madame la, i. 362, 365, 407 ; 
 
 ii. 30. 
 Flint, Bet, i. 32. 
 Fouche, ii. 438. 
 Fox, Mr., i. 448, 450. 
 Francis, Mrs. (Charlotte Burney), 
 
 i. 4, 167, 235. Letter to, ii. 357. 
 Francis, Sir Philip, i. 432. 
 Freuss, Madame de, i. 377. 
 Frogmore, ii. 339. 
 »vi Fuzilier, Miss, ii. 9, 69, 160. Mar- 
 ■^ riage of, 164, 165. 
 
 G. 
 
 Garrick, David, i. 17. 
 
 Garrick, Mrs., i. 420. 
 
 Genlis, Madame de, i. 184, 185, 322. 
 
 Gloucester, Duchess of, ii. 523. 
 
 Goldsworthy, Col., i. 306, 309, 327, 
 
 367, 387 ; ii. 18, 403. 
 Granville, ii. 157. 
 Gregory, Miss, i. 42, 46. 
 Grenville, Gen., i. 384, 419 j ii. 18. 
 Gwynn, Mrs., ii. 150. 
 
 Haggerdorn, Mrs., i. 234, 243, 397, 
 
 399 ; ii. 86. 
 Handel, ii. 117. 
 Harcourt, Lord and Lady, i. 270, 
 
 390. 
 Hartington, Marquis of, ii. 247. 
 Hastings, Mrs., i. 263, 264. 
 
 Hastings, "Warren, i. 374. Trial of, 
 422, 423, 424 ; ii. 166, 167, 213. 
 Hawke, Lady, i. 131. 
 Hawkins, Sir Jehu, i. 18. 
 Henry, Mr., i. 96. 
 Heberden, Dr., ii. 36. 
 Herschel, Dr., i. 331, 368, 391. 
 Herschel, Miss, i. 392. 
 Hervey, Mrs., i. 44. 
 Hoare, Mr., i. 94. 
 Household of Dr. Johnson, i. 38. 
 Hulin, Gen., ii. 419. 
 Humphreys, Miss, i. 2. 
 Hutton, Mr., ii. 21. 
 
 Ilfracombe, ii. 482. 
 Illumination of London, ii. 132. 
 Impey, Sir Elijah, i. 444, 445. 
 
 Jackson, Mr., i. 155. 
 
 Jacobi, Mdlle., ii. 227, 256, 341, 
 369, 389. 
 
 Jebb, Sir Richard, i. 108. 
 
 Jessop, Mr., i. 123. 
 
 Johnson, Dr., i. 7, 11, 12, 16, 22, 
 38, 56, 58, 114, 117, 126, 140, 
 143, 149, 153, 156. Illness of, 
 166. His fear of death, 168, 173. 
 Anecdote of his wife, 175. Last 
 illness of, 180. Death of, 182, 
 459. Anecdote of, 467. 
 
 K. 
 
 Kauffmann, Angelica, ii. 148. 
 
 Kemble, Mr., ii. 326. 
 
 Kennicott, Mrs., i. 324. 
 
 Kew, i. 262, 366, 380. Description 
 of palace, ii. 80. 
 
 King George III. Offers a house 
 to Mrs. Delany, i. 186. Praises 
 Mrs. Siddons, 224. Criticises
 
 INDEX. 
 
 549 
 
 Shakespeare, 225. His affection 
 for the Princess Amelia, 250. 
 Attempt on life of, 251, 252. 
 Kindness of heart, 384. Failing 
 health, ii. 21, 23. Affection for 
 Queen, 25. Insanity, 32, 35, 51, 
 65. Encounter with Miss Bur- 
 ney in Kew Gardens, 112. Res- 
 toration to health, 128. Receives 
 the address of Lords and Com- 
 mons, 134. Royal birthdays, 
 217, 269. Renewed and con- 
 tinued insanity, 502. 
 
 L. 
 
 Ladd, Lady, i. 54, 55. 
 
 Lafayette, Mons. de, ii. 291. 
 
 Lafayette, Madame de, ii. 417. 
 
 Lalande, Mr., ii. 2, 5. 
 
 Langton, Mr., i. 21. 
 
 Lansdowne, Earl of, ii. 157. 
 
 Levelt, Mr., i. 39. 
 
 Lever, Sir John Ashton, i. 156. 
 
 Liancourt, Due de, ii. 281. Narra- 
 tive of, 282. 
 
 Lind, Dr., i. 196, 200, 416. 
 
 Locke, Mr., ii. 124, 322, 465. 
 
 Locke, Mrs., i. 288, 361, 362 ; ii. 
 84, 288, 316, 321. Death of, 
 538. 
 
 Long Acre, i. 275. 
 
 Longleat, ii. 157. 
 
 Louis XVI., ii. 282, 295, 296. 
 
 LouisXVIII.,ii. 468, 471. 
 
 Lowndes, Mr., i. 20. 
 
 Luc, de, Mr., i. 369. 
 
 Lyttelton, Life of Lord, i. 113, 114, 
 115. 
 
 M. 
 
 Macbean, Mr., i. 39. 
 
 Manners, CoL, i. 359, 367, 370; 
 
 ii. 64. 
 Marie Antoinette, ii. 340. 
 
 Marlborough, Duke of, i. 216. 
 Mary, Princess, i. 365 ; ii. 218, 232. 
 
 Marriage of, 523. 
 Mawr, Miss, ii. 13. 
 "Memorial, the," ii. 196. 
 Merlin, Mr., i. 107. 
 Molesworth, Mr., i. 129. 
 Monckton,. the Hon. Miss, i. 144, 
 
 147. 
 Montagu, Mrs., i. 37, 38, 42, 46, 
 
 50, 357, 421 ; ii. 265. 
 Montague, Duke of, i. 384. 
 Montmorency, Due de, ii. 288. 
 Montmoulin, Mdlle., ii. 19, 163. 
 More, Miss, i. 191. 
 Mount Edgecumbe, ii. 154. 
 Mount Edgecumbe, Lord and Lady, 
 
 ii. 155, 156. 
 Murphy, Mr.,i. 69. 
 Musgrave, Mr., i. 122, 124. 
 
 N. 
 
 Narbonne, Mons. de, ii. 288, 290, 
 
 331. 
 Norfolk, Duke of, ii. 385. 
 Nuneham, visit to, i. 267. 
 
 o. 
 
 Orange, Prince and Princess of, 
 
 ii. 374, 375. 
 Ord, Mrs.,i. 129, 237, 408, 420; 
 
 ii. 185, 239. 
 Orford, Lord, ii. 258. 
 Oxford, i. 277. 
 
 P. 
 
 Pacchierotti, i. 130 ; ii. 178. 
 Palmer, Miss, i. 59, 136, 263. 
 Palmerston, Lord, i. 60. 
 Palmyra, i. 35. 
 
 Paradise, Mr. and Mrs., i. 129, 130. 
 Pendarves, Mr., ii. 157. 
 Pepys, Dr. (Sir Luca.s), i. 104, 113, 
 140 ; ii. 60, 73.
 
 550 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Peterborough, Bisliop of, i. 98, 99 ; 
 ii. 23. 
 
 Phillips, Capt., i. 138. 
 
 Phillips, Mrs. (Susan Burney), 
 i. 42, 107, 361 ; ii. 17, 159. Let- 
 ters from, 279, 288, 304, 309. 
 . Illness, 407. Death of, 408. 
 
 Pinkethman, Mrs., i. 33. 
 
 Piozzi, Mrs. Vide Thrale, Mrs. 
 
 Pitt, Mr., i. 432 ; ii. 74, 75. 
 
 Planta, Miss, i. 187, 267, 270, 318, 
 333 ; ii. 157, 191. 
 
 Pleydell, Mrs., i. 84. 
 
 Poll, i. 40. 
 
 Port, Miss, 1. 195, 223, 237 ; ii. 
 126. 
 
 Portland, Duchess of, i. 150, 161, 
 
 Price, Major, i. 277, 302. 
 
 Princes Royal, the, i. 478, 479, 
 
 Princess Royal, i. 271, 300 ; ii. 12, 
 340. Her marriage, 353, 364, 
 
 Privy Council, ii. 74, 
 
 Q. 
 
 Queen Charlotte, regard for Mrs. 
 Delany, i. 169, 187. Gift of 
 weaver bird, 198. Offers a place 
 in household to Miss Burney, 
 229. Kindness of heart, 302, 
 315. Visits Mrs. Delany, 325. 
 Present from King of Naples, 
 394. Anxiety for the King, ii. 
 24, 32, 35, 83. Reception at 
 Weymouth, 149. Receives Miss 
 Burney's resignation, 206. Tes- 
 timony to character of same, 207. 
 Kindness, 270, 334, 368, 392. 
 Death of, 520. Sketch of char- 
 acter of, 521. 
 
 R. 
 
 Ramsden, Colonel, i. 368. 
 Redlinch, ii. 157- 
 Regency, the, ii. 92, 127. 
 
 Reynolds, Mrs., i. 19, 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, i. 50, 58, 102, 
 
 137, 155, 357, 421. Death of, ii. 
 
 263. 
 Roche, Madame la, i. 292. 
 Rochefoucauld, Due de la, ii. 285, 
 Rousseau, anecdote of, i. 224. 
 Royale, Madame, ii. 341. 
 Rudd, Mrs,, i. 34. 
 Runiford, Count, ii. 357, 
 
 S. 
 
 Salisbur)', visit to, ii. 241. 
 Salisbury, Bishop of, i. 242, 385. 
 Say and Sele, Lady, i, 130, 132, 
 
 469. 
 Say and Sele, Lord, i. 133. 
 Schwellenberg, Mrs., i. 231, 242, 
 T^f,;.3^, 303, 33^, 366, 378, 386, 395, 
 403 ; ii. 11. Illness of, 17. Re- 
 turn to Windsor, 54. Evil tem- 
 per, 82, 131. Talk with Colonel 
 Manners, 143. Death of, 368. 
 Scrase, Mr., i. 111. 
 Selwyn, Mr., i. 141. 
 Seward, Mr., i. 15, 54, 73, 114, 474. 
 Shakespeare, criticism of King 
 
 George III., i. 225. 
 Shelley, Lady, i. 142. 
 Shepherd, Dr., i. 390 ; ii. 1. 
 Sheridan, Mr., i. 65. Conversation 
 
 with Dr. Johnson, 66 ; ii. 327. 
 Siddons, Mrs., L 153, 224, 387; ii. 
 
 150, 152, 328. 
 Sidmouth, visit to, ii. 241. 
 Smelt, Mr. and Mrs., i. 230, 303, 
 320, 342 ; ii. 47, 50, 85, 139, 159. 
 Smith, Mr., i. 51, 112. 
 Sophia, Princess, i. 221, 395 ; ii. 26. 
 Spencer, Lady, ii. 245. 
 Stael, Madame de, ii. 295. Her 
 
 letters, 296, 297, 302, 308. 
 Stonehenge, ii. 241. 
 Streatfield, Mi.ss, i. 37. Her tears, 
 71, 75, 83, 125 ; ii. 267-
 
 INDEX. 
 
 551 
 
 Streatham, i. 14, 140, 426. 
 Streathara letters, i. 421, 427. 
 Swinerton, Mr., i. 142. 
 
 Tallej-rand, ii. 302, 305. 
 
 Thackeray, Mrs., i. 402. • 
 
 " The Bh-th of Love," ii. 345. 
 
 " The Task," ii. 56. 
 
 Thrale, Mr., i. 21. Illness of, 71, 
 105, 108. Death of, 109. 
 
 Thrale, Mrs., i. 5, 6, 10, 14, 45, 48. 
 Persuades S. S. to cry, 71, 75, 
 98, 101. Takes Dr. Johnson to 
 task, 117. Her raptures over 
 " Cecilia," 135. Remarks on Mrs. 
 Siddons, 153. Letter from Bath, 
 170. Marriage to Piozzi, 173, 
 174. Returns to England, 357, 
 376, 475. Last letters to Miss 
 Burney, ii. 503, 525, 528, 533. 
 Death of, 534. Character of, 535. 
 
 Thurlow, Lord Chancellor, i. 424. 
 
 Trimmer, Miss, ii. 246, 247. 
 
 Trimmer, Mrs., ii. 246. 
 
 Turbulent, Mr., i. 317, 320, 335, 
 338, 344, 346, 360, 366, 378, 386, 
 400 ; ii. 22, 224, 226. 
 
 Vesey, Mrs., i. 77, 145. 
 
 W. 
 
 Waldegrave, Lady Elizabeth, i. 260 ; 
 ii. 33, 37, 62, 
 
 Wales, Prince of, i. 385 ; ii. 2, 7, 
 
 29, 41, 50, 51, 74. 
 Waller, Mr. Edmund, death of, i. 
 
 484. 
 Walpole, Horace, 1. 191, 421. 
 Walsingham, Mrs., i. 216. 
 Warren, Dr., ii. 38. 
 Warren, Lady, i. 141 
 Webb, Mr., i. 220. 
 Welbred, Colonel, i. 335, 341, 368, 
 
 413. 
 Wells, Mrs., ii. 276. 
 West, Benjamin, i. 154, 332, 366. 
 West Hamble, ii. 358, 389, 399. 
 Westminster Hall, iL 263. 
 Weymouth, visit to, ii. 147. 
 Weymouth, Lady, i. 186. 
 Whalley, Mr. and Mrs., i. 95. 
 William, Prince, ii. 144. 
 Williams, Mrs., i. 12, 39, 154. 
 Willis, Dr., ii. 93. 
 WilUs, Dr. John, ii. 97. 
 Windsor Terrace, i. 260 ; ii. 347. 
 "Witlings, the," i. 78. 
 Worcester, Bishop of, i. 328 ; ii. 59. 
 Wurtemburg, Princess of. Vide 
 
 Princess Royal. 
 Wycherly, Mr., ii. 274. 
 Wyndham, Mr., i. 427 ; ii. 125, 
 
 174, 215. 
 
 York, the Archbishop of, i. 429. 
 York, Duchess of, ii. 371, 379. 
 York, Duke of, i. 383 ; ii, 7, 27. 
 Young, Miss, i. 58. 
 Young, Mr., ii. 280, 281. 
 
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