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 collected. Useful, indeed, proved the previous lesson of the evening : it had stilled, If not fortified my mind, which had else, in a scene Such is this, been all tumult and emotion.
My poor royal mistress! never can I forget her countenance — pale, ghastly pale she looked; she was seated to be undressed, and attended by Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave and Miss Goldsworthy; her whole frame was disordered, 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 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 consented 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 Goldsworthy 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 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 Elizabeth 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 preserve my strength to the utmost of my ability, for the service of my unhappy mistress. I could not, however, sleep. I do not suppose an eye was closed in the house all night.
Nov. 6.-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 opened, and I saw Colonel Goldsworthy and Mr. Batterscomb.(298) 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 O what horror in every face I met! I waited here, 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 Goldsworthy, turning round, said, “’Tis 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 dearest 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 — colourless 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.” O, 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, with a candle in his hand, opened the bed- curtains, and satisfied himself she was there, and Miss Goldsworthy by her side. This observance 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 entrance was now so strongly upon the nerves of the poor queen, that she could hardly support herself.
THE KING’S DELIRIOUS CONDITION.
The king-the royal 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 rendered almost inarticulate; but its tone was still all benevolence — 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! 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 afflicting as this task; even now, it brings fresh to my ear his poor exhausted voice. “I am nervous,” he cried; “I am not ill, but I am nervous: if you would know what is the 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 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 Goldsworthy 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 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.
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 frankly calls herself the luckiest of all God’s creatures; and this, if not elegant, is sincere, and I hope will be permanently 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 once 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 herself had once stolen out to Consult with him. He became, indeed, for all who belonged to the queen, from this moment the oracle.
THE KING REFUSES TO SEE DR. WARREN.
Dr. Warren(299) 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 toll.
I returned speedily to the room of woe. The arrival of the physicians was there grievously awaited, for Dr. Heberden and Sir George would now decide upon nothi
ng 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 every moment to be broken in upon, and quite uncertain in what manner, yet determined not to desert her apartment, except by express direction from the physicians. Who could tell to what height the delirium might 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 that he had not seen the king, who refused him admittance This was terrible. But the king 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, etc., from Sir George Baker.
THE QUEEN’S ANXIETY TO HEAR DR. WARREN’S OPINION. 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 he 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 determination what step she should take.
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 Elizabeth was sent out on inquiries. She returned, and said Dr. Warren was gone.
“Run! 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 Goldsworthy, 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 have 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.
THE QUEEN REMOVES TO MORE DISTANT APARTMENTS. 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 re- Page 236 move to a more distant apartment, since the king would undoubtedly be worse from the agitation of seeing her, and there 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 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. O, what a meeting! They all, from a habit that has become a second nature, struggling to repress all outward grief, though the queen herself, wholly overcome, wept even aloud. They all went into the bedroom, 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 I then 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 admitted 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, the next minute, I would as eagerly have 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-parlour, 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 parlour.
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 the 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 royal mistress.
A VISIT FROM MR. FAIRLY.
Alone wholly, without seeing a human being, or gathering any, the smallest intelligence of what was going forwards, I remained till tea-time. Impatient then for information, I planted myself in the eating-parlour; 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 Columb came to propose bringing in the water.
No; for I could swallow nothing voluntarily.
In a few minutes he came again, and with the compliments of Mr. Fairly, who desired him to tell me he would wait Upon me to tea whenever I pleased.
A little surprised 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.
“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.” Page 238
Our tea was very sad. He gave me no hope Of a short seizure; he saw it, in perspective, as long as it was dreadful : 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 honourable 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, valued 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.
THE KING’S NIGHT WATCHERS.
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, bed-room and dressing-room, and stirred not a step but from one to the other. Fortunately 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.
Miss Goldsworthy had now a bed put up in the queen’s new bed-room. She had by no means health to go on sitting up, and it had been the poor king’s own direction that she should remain with the queen. It was settled that Mrs. Sandys and Mrs. 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; not think my strength sufficient. She allowed me however 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 bed-room 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 courtesy. 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 bed-room!
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.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 592