Complete Works of Frances Burney

by Frances Burney

  Upon the whole, however, when I summed up all, I found not cause sufficient for any change of system. No raillery had passed upon me; and, for him, he had stoutly evinced a determined contempt of it. Nothing of flirtation had been mentioned for either; I had merely been called a learned lady, and he had merely been accused Of liking such company. I had no other social comfort left me but Mr. Fairly, and I had discomforts past all description or suggestion. Should I drive him from me, what would pay me, and how had he deserved it? and which way could it be worth while? His friendship offered me a solace without hazard; it was held out to me Page 256 when all else was denied me; banished from every friend, confined almost to a state of captivity, harrowed to the very soul with surrounding afflictions, and without a glimpse of light as to when or how all might terminate, it seemed to me, in this situation, that providence had benignly sent in my way a character of so much worth and excellence, to soften the rigour of my condition, by kind sympathy and most honourable confidence.

  This idea was sufficient; and I thence determined to follow as he led, in disdaining any further notice, or even remembrance, if possible, of this learned accusation.

  Nov. 21.-All went better and better to-day, and I received from the king’s room a more cheering account to carry to my poor queen. We had now hopes of a speedy restoration : the king held long conferences with all his gentlemen, and, though far from composed, 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.

  Sir Lucas Pepys came to me in the morning and acquainted 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 Goldsworthy, and Mr. Fairly, who was now principal throughout the house, in universal trust for his superior judgment.

  The king, Sir Lucas said, now talked of everybody and everything he could recollect or suggest.

  So I have heard, thought I.

  And, presently after, he added, “No one escapes; you will have your turn.”

  Frightened lest he knew I had had it, I eagerly exclaimed, “O, no; I hope not.”

  “And why?” cried he, good-humouredly; “what need you care? He can say no harm of you.”

  I ventured then to ask if yet I had been named? He believed not yet.

  This doubled my curiosity to know to whom the “learned ladies” had been mentioned, and whether to Mr. Fairly himself, or to someone who related it; I think the latter, but there is no way to inquire.

  Very early in the evening I heard a rap at my door. I was in my inner room, and called out, “Who’s there?” The door opened and Mr, Fairly appeared He had been so long in attendance this morning with our poor sick monarch, that he was too much fatigued to join the dinner-party. He had stood five hours running, besides the concomitant circumstances of attention. He had instantly laid down when he procured his dismission, and had only risen to eat some cold chicken before he came to my room. During that repast he had again been demanded, but he charged the gentleman to make his excuse, as he could go through nothing further.

  I hope the king did not conclude him again with the learned; This was the most serene, and even cheerful evening,, I had passed since the poor king’s first seizure.

  REPORTS ON THE KING’S CONDITION.

  Nov. 22.-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 unfavourable, and the late amendment very transient. I heard nothing further till the evening, when my constant 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 bow, decamped. I fancy it was one of the princes; and the more, as he did not come back.

  Sunday, Nov. 23.-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 myself, I thank God, my hopes never wholly fall. A certain faith in his final recovery has uniformly supported my spirits from the beginning. . .

  In the evening, a small tap at my door, with, “Here I am again,” ushered in Mr. Fairly. He seemcd 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 company 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 memorandums, “I could live without sleep; I know not now how to spare my night.” He then explained to me various miscellaneous matters of occupation, and confessed himself forced to break from the confused scene of action as much as possible, 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!

  MR. FAIRLY THINKS THE KING NEEDS STRICTER MANAGEMENT. Nov. 24.-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 royal mistress, who heard it with her usual patience 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 tell 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 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 regulations, 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 another.

  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 discipline of forced quiet was necessary till he was capable of some reflection. At present he spoke everything that occurred 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 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 yesterday; 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— ’twas to meet Miss Fuzilier.” . . .

  Poor Lady Charlotte was answered, and, looking extremely sorry, went away.

  He then read me his messenger’s letter. ’Twas upon a very delicate affair, relative to the Prince of Wales, in whose service, he told me, he first began his Court preferment.

  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 seriously assured him,” he added, “that there was nothing in it, he said ‘I had made him the happiest of men.”’

  Nov. 25. — My morning account was from General Bud, 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 manuscript, which, of course, she desired to read; but I stipulated for its return, though I could not possibly stay in the room while she looked at it.

  MR. FAIRLY WANTS A CHANGE.

  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 liberally 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 service 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 (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 gentleman is to remain — which will be the equerry in waiting. This is now Colonel Goldsworthy. The rest will disperse.

  REMOVAL OF THE KING To KEW DETERMINED UPON. Nov. 26.-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 God bless you.”

  “Amen,” quoth I, after he had shut the door.

  Nov. 27.-This morning and whole day were dreadful My early account was given me by Mr. Charles Hawkins, and with such determined decision of incurability, 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 Planta 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 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 aspects, that I 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.

  Nov. 28.-How woful-how bitter a day, in every part, was this!

  My early account was from the king’s page, Mr. Stillingfleet, 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 calmness.

  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 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 favourite abode was all that rested. If they even attempted force, they had not a doubt but his smallest resistance would 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 loyalt
y. 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!”

  A PRIVY COUNCIL HELD.

  After he left me, a privy council was held at the Castle, with the Prince of Wales; the chancellor,(300) 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 sanctify their proceedings. The princess royal and Lady Courtown attended 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 reluctance 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 terrace or tops of houses. I believe they were perfectly right 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 everyone, lest the king, 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 in to 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 difficulty 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.

  All these circumstances, with various others, of equal sadness which I must not relate, came to my knowledge from Sir Lucas, Mr. de Luc, and my noon attendance upon her majesty, who was compelled to dress for her audience of the chancellor. And, altogether, with the horror of the next day’s removal, an([ the gloom of the ensuing Kew residence, I was so powerfully depressed, that when Mr. Fairly came in the evening, not all my earnestness to support my firmness could re-animate me, and I gave him a most solemn reception, and made the tea directly, and almost in silence.