Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  “No man, Mr. Turbulent, has any cause to be flattered that a woman talks with him, while it is only in reply; for though he may come, go, address or neglect, and do as he will, — she, let her think and wish what she may, must only follow as he leads.”

  He protested, with great warmth, he never heard any thing so proudly said in Ins life. But I would not retract.

  “And now, ma’am,” he continued, “how wondrous intimate you are grown! After such averseness to a meeting — such struggles to avoid him; what am I to think of the sincerity of that pretended reluctance?”

  “You must think the truth,” said I, “that it was not the colonel, but the equerry, I wished to avoid; that it was not the individual, but the official necessity of receiving company, that I wished to escape.”

  BANTERING A PRINCESS.

  March 1.- With all the various humours in which I had already seen Mr. Turbulent, he gave me this evening a surprise, by his behaviour to one of the princesses, nearly the same that I had experienced from him myself. The Princess Augusta came, during coffee, for a knotting shuttle of the queen’s. While she was speaking to me, he stood behind and exclaimed, `a demi voix, as if to himself, “Comme elle est jolie ce soir, son Altesse Royale!” And then, seeing her blush extremely, he clasped his hands, in high pretended confusion, and hiding his head, called Out, “Que ferai-je? The princess has heard me!”

  “Pray, Mr. Turbulent,” cried she, hastily, “what play are you to read to-night?”

  “You shall choose, ma’am; either ‘La Coquette corrigée,’ or—” [he named another I have forgotten.]

  “O no!” cried she, “that last is shocking! don’t let me hear that!”

  “I understand you, ma’am. You fix, then, upon ‘La Coquette?’

  ‘La Coquette’ is your royal highness’s taste?”

  “No, indeed, I am sure I did not say that.”

  “Yes, ma’am, by implication. And certainly, therefore, I will read it, to please your royal highness!”

  “No, pray don’t; for I like none of them.”

  “None of them, ma’am?”

  “No, none; — no French plays at all!” And away she was running, with a droll air, that acknowledged she had said something to provoke him.

  “This is a declaration, ma’am, I must beg you to explain!” cried he, gliding adroitly between the princess and the door, and shutting it With his back.

  “No, no, I can’t explain it; — so pray, Mr. Turbulent, do open the door.”

  “Not for the world, ma’am, with such a stain uncleared upon your royal highness’s taste and feeling!”

  She told him she positively could not stay, and begged him to let her pass instantly. But he would hear her no more than he has heard me, protesting he was too much shocked for her, to suffer her to depart without clearing her own credit!

  He conquered at last, and thus forced to speak, she turned round to us and said, “Well — if I must, then — I will appeal to these ladies, who understand such things far better than I do, and ask them if it is not true about these French plays, that they are all so like to one another, that to hear them in this manner every night is enough to tire one?”

  “Pray, then, madam,” cried he, “if French plays have the misfortune to displease you, what national plays have the honour Of your preference?”

  I saw he meant something that she understood better than me, for she blushed again, and called out “Pray open the door at once! I can stay no longer; do let me go, Mr. Turbulent!” Page 28

  “Not till you have answered that question, ma’am’ what country has plays to your royal highness’s taste?”

  “Miss Burney,” cried she impatiently, yet laughing, “pray do you take him away! — Pull him!”

  He bowed to me very invitingly for the office but I frankly answered her, “Indeed, ma’am, I dare not undertake him! I cannot manage him at all.”

  “The country! the country! Princess Augusta! name the happy country!” was all she could gain.

  “Order him away, Miss Burney,” cried she. “It is your room: order him away from the door.”

  “Name it, ma’am, name it!” exclaimed he; “name but the chosen nation!”

  And then, fixing her with the most provoking eyes, “Est-ce la

  Danemarc?” he cried.

  She coloured violently, and quite angry with him, called out, “Mr. Turbulent, how can you be such a fool!” And now I found . . . the prince royal of Denmark was in his meaning, and in her understanding!

  He bowed to the ground, in gratitude for the term “fool,” but added with pretended Submission to her will, “Very well, ma’am, s’il ne faut lire que les comédies Danoises.”

  “ Do let me go!” cried she, seriously; and then he made way, with a profound bow as she passed, saying, “Very well, ma’am, ‘La Coquette,’ then? your royal highness chooses ‘La Coquette corrigée?’”

  “Corrigée? That never was done!” cried she, with all her sweet good-humour, the moment she got out - and off she ran, like lightning, to the queen’s apartments.

  What say you to Mr. Turbulent now?

  For my part, I was greatly surprised. I had not imagined any man, but the king or Prince of Wales, had ever ventured at a badinage of this sort with any of the princesses; nor do I suppose any other man ever did. Mr. Turbulent is so great a favourite with all the royal family that he safely ventures upon whatever he pleases, and doubtless they find, in his courage and his rhodomontading, a novelty extremely amusing to them.

  MR. TURBULENT MEETS WITH A REBUFF.

  March — I must now, rather reluctantly I own, come to recite a quarrel, a very serious quarrel, in which I have been involved with my most extraordinary fellow-traveller. One evening at Windsor Miss Planta left the room, while I was winding some silk. I was content to stay and finish the skein, though my remaining companion was in a humour too flighty to induce me to continue with him a moment longer. Indeed I had avoided pretty successfully all tęte-ŕ-tęetes with him since the time when his eccentric genius led to such eccentric conduct in our long conference in the last month.

  This time, however, when I had done my work, he protested I should stay and chat with him. I pleaded business — letters — hurry — all in vain: he would listen to nothing, and when I tried to move was so tumultuous in his opposition, that I was obliged to re-seat myself to appease him.

  A flow of compliments followed, every one of which I liked less and less; but his spirits seemed uncontrollable, and, I suppose, ran away with all that ought to check them. I laughed and rallied as long as I possibly could, and tried to keep him in order, by not seeming to suppose he wanted aid for that purpose: yet still, every time I tried to rise, he stopped me, and uttered at last Such expressions of homage — so like what Shakspeare says of the school-boy, who makes “a sonnet on his mistress’ eyebrow,” which is always his favourite theme — that I told him his real compliment was all to my temper, in imagining it could brook such mockery.

  This brought him once more on his knees, with such a volley of asseverations of his sincerity, uttered with such fervour and eloquence, that I really felt uneasy, and used every possible means to get away from him, rallying him however all the time, and disguising the consciousness I felt of my inability to quit him. More and more vehement, however, he grew, till I could be no longer passive, but forcibly rising, protested I would not stay another minute. But you may easily imagine my astonishment and provocation, when, hastily rising himself, he violently seized hold of me, and compelled me to return to my chair, with a force and a freedom that gave me as much surprise as offence.

  All now became serious. Raillery, good-humour, and even pretended ease and unconcern, were at an end. The positive displeasure I felt I made positively known; and the voice manner, and looks with which I insisted upon an immediate’ release were so changed from what he had ever heard or observed in me before, that I saw him quite thunderstruck with the alteration; and all his own violence subsiding, he begged my pa
rdon with the mildest humility.

  He had made me too angry to grant it, and I only desired him to let me instantly go to my room. He ceased all personal opposition, but going to the door, planted himself before it, and said, “Not in wrath! I cannot let you go away in wrath!”

  “You must, sir,” cried I, “for I am in wrath!” He began a thousand apologies, and as many promises of the most submissive behaviour in future; but I stopped them all, with a peremptory declaration that every minute he detained me made me but the more seriously angry. His vehemence now was all changed into strong alarm, and he opened the door, profoundly bowing, but not speaking, as I passed him.

  I am sure I need not dwell upon the uncomfortable sensations I felt, in a check so rude and violent to the gaiety and entertainment of an acquaintance which had promised me my best amusement during our winter campaigns. I was now to begin upon quite a new system, and instead of encouraging, as hitherto I had done, everything that could lead to vivacity and spirit, I was fain to determine upon the most distant and even forbidding demeanour with the only life of our parties, that he might not again forget himself.

  This disagreeable conduct I put into immediate practice. I stayed in my own room till I heard every one assembled in the next : I was then obliged to prepare for joining them, but before I opened the door a gentle rap at it made me call out “Who’s there?” and Mr. Turbulent looked in.

  I hastily said I was coming instantly, but he advanced softly into the room, entreating forgiveness at every step. I made no other answer than desiring he would go, and saying I should follow. He went back to the door, and, dropping on one knee, said, “Miss Burney! surely you cannot be seriously angry?-’tis so impossible you should think I meant to offend you!”

  I said nothing, and did not look near him, but opened the door, from which he retreated to make way for me, rising a little mortified, and exclaiming, “Can you then have such real ill-nature? How little I suspected it in you!”

  “’Tis you,” cried I, as I passed on, “that are ill-natured!”

  I meant for forcing me into anger; but I left him to make the meaning out, and walked into the next room. He did not immediately follow, and he then appeared so much disconcerted that I saw Miss Planta incessantly eyeing him, to find out what was the matter. I assumed an unconcern I did not Page 31 feel for I was really both provoked and sorry, foreseeing what a breach this folly must make in the comfort of my Windsor expeditions,

  He sat down a little aloof, and entered into no conversation all the evening; but just as tea was over, the hunt of the next being mentioned he suddenly, asked Miss Planta to request leave for him of the queen to ride out with the party.

  “I shall not see the queen,” cried she; “you had much better ask

  Miss Burney.”

  This was very awkward. I was in no humour to act for him at this time, nor could he muster courage to desire it; but upon Miss Planta’s looking at each of us with some surprise, and repeating her amendment to his proposal, he faintly said, “Would Miss Burney be so good as to take that trouble?”

  An opportunity offering favourably, I spoke at night to the queen, and she gave leave for his attending the chase. I intended to send this permission to Miss Planta, but I had scarce returned to my own room from her majesty, before a rap at my door was followed by his appearance. He stood quite aloof, looking grave and contrite. I Immediately called out “I have spoken, sir, to the queen, and you have her leave to go.” He bowed very profoundly, and thanked me, and was retreating, but came back again, and advancing, assumed an air of less humility, and exclaimed, “Allons donc, Mademoiselle, j’espčre que vous n’ętes plus si méchante qu’hier au soir!”

  I said nothing; he came nearer, and, bowing upon his own hand, held it out for mine, with a look of most respectful Supplication. I had no intention of cutting the matter so short, yet from shame to sustain resentment, I was compelled to hold out a finger: he took it with a look of great gratitude, and very reverently touching the tip of my glove with his lip, instantly let it go, and very solemnly said, “Soyez sűr que je n’ai jamais eu la moindre idée de vous offenser.” and then he thanked me again for his licence, and went his way.

  A SURPRISE AT THE PLAY.

  I had the pleasure of two or three visits from Mr. Bryant, whose loyal regard for the king and queen makes him eagerly accept every invitation, from the hope of seeing them in my room; and one of the days they both came in to speak to him, and were accompanied by the two eldest princesses, who stood chatting with me by the door the whole time, and saying comical things upon royal personages in tragedies, particularly Princess Augusta, who has a great deal of sport in her disposition. She very gravely asserted she thought some of those princes on the stage looked really quite as well as some she knew off it.

  Once about this time I went to a play myself, which surely I may live long enough and never forget. It was “Seduction,” a very clever piece, but containing a dreadful picture of vice and dissipation in high life, written by Mr. Miles Andrews, with an epilogue — O, such an epilogue! I was listening to it with uncommon attention, from a compliment paid in it to Mrs. Montagu, among other female writers; but imagine what became of my attention when I suddenly was struck with these lines, or something like them: —

  Let sweet Cecilia gain your just applause, Whose every passion yields to Reason’s laws.”

  To hear, wholly unprepared and unsuspicious, such lines in a theatre — seated in a royal box — and with the whole royal family and their suite immediately opposite me — was it not a singular circumstance? To describe my embarrassment would be impossible. My whole head was leaning forward, with my opera glass in my hand, examining Miss Farren, who spoke the epilogue. Instantly I shrank back, so astonished and so ashamed of my public situation, that I was almost ready to take to my heels and run, for it seemed as if I were there purposely in that conspicuous place —

  “To list attentive to my own applause.”

  The king immediately raised his opera-glass to look at me, laughing heartily — the queen’s presently took the same direction — all the princesses looked up, and all the attendants, and all the maids of honour!

  I protest I was never more at a loss what to do with myself: nobody was in the front row with me but Miss Goldsworthy, who instantly seeing how I was disconcerted, prudently and good-naturedly forbore taking any notice of me. I sat as far back as I could, and kept my fan against the exposed profile for the rest of the night, never once leaning forward, nor using my glass.

  None of the royal family spoke to me on this matter till a few days after; but I heard from Mrs. Delany they had all declared themselves sorry for the confusion it had caused me. And some time after the queen could not forbear saying, “I hope, Miss Burney, YOU minded the epilogue the other night?”

  And the king, very comically, said, “I took a peep at you! — I could not help that. I wanted to see how you looked when your father first discovered your writing — and now I think I know!”

  THE KING’s BIRTHDAY.

  St. James’s Palace, June 4-Take a little of the humours of this day, with respect to myself, as they have arisen. I quitted my downy pillow at half-past six o’clock, for bad habits in sickness have lost me half an hour of every morning; and then, according to an etiquette I discovered but on Friday night, I was quite new dressed: for I find that, on the king’s birthday, and on the queen’s, both real and nominal, two new attires, one half, the other full dressed, are expected from all attendants that come into the royal presence.

  This first labour was happily achieved in such good time, that I was just seated to my breakfast — a delicate bit of roll half-eaten, and a promising dish of tea well stirred — when I received my summons to attend the queen.

  She was only with her wardrobe-woman, and accepted most graciously a little murmuring congratulation upon the- day, which I ventured to whisper while she looked another way. Fortunately for me, she is always quick in conceiving what is meant, and never wa
stes time in demanding what is said. She told me she had bespoke Miss Planta to attend at the grand toilette at St. James’s, as she saw my strength still diminished by my late illness. Indeed it still is, though in all other respects I am perfectly well.

  The queen wore a very beautiful dress, of a new manufacture, of worked muslin, thin, fine, and clear, as the chambery gauze. I attended her from the blue closet, in which she dresses, through the rooms that lead to the breakfast apartment. In One of these while she stopped for her hair-dresser to finish her head-dress, the king joined her. She spoke to him in German, and he kissed her hand.

  The three elder princesses came in soon after: they all went up, with congratulatory smiles and curtsies, to their royal father, who kissed them very affectionately; they then, as usual every Morning, kissed the queen’s hand. The door was thrown open Page 34 to the breakfast-room, which is a noble apartment, fitted up with some of Vandyke’s best works; and the instant the king, who led the way, entered, I was surprised by a sudden sound of music, and found that a band of musicians were stationed there to welcome him. The princesses followed, but Princess Elizabeth turned round to me to say she could hardly bear the sound: it was the first morning of her coming down to breakfast for many months, as she had had that repast in her own room ever since her dangerous illness. It overcame her, she said, more than the dressing, more than the early rising, more than the whole of the hurry and fatigue of all the rest of a public birthday. She loves the king most tenderly; and there is a something in receiving any person who is loved, by sudden music, that I can easily conceive to be very trying to the nerves.

  Princess Augusta came back to cheer and counsel her; she begged her to look out at the window, to divert her thoughts, and said she would place her where the sound might be less affecting to her.

  A lively “How d’ye do, Miss Burney? I hope you are quite well now?” from the sweet Princess Mary, who was entering the ante-room, made me turn from her two charming sisters; she passed on to the breakfast, soon followed by Princess Sophia, and then a train of their governesses, Miss Goldsworthy, Mademoiselle Montmoulin, and Miss Gomme, all in full dress, with fans. We reciprocated little civilities, and I had then the pleasure to see little Princess Amelia, with Mrs. Cheveley, who brought up the rear. Never, in tale or fable, were there six sister princesses more lovely.