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 sarcasms at Mrs, Schwellenberg by every opportunity, and colouring 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 words “ must not,” and protested she would not be directed by no one, and would tell it, if she pleased.
Upon this, he began a most boisterous threatening of the evil consequences which would accrue to herself, though in so ludicrous a manner, that how she could suppose him serious was my wonder. “Take care of yourself, ma’am,” he cried, holding up his finger as if menacing a child; “take care of yourself! I am not to be provoked twice!”
This, after a proud resistance, conquered her - and, really frightened at she knew not what, she fretfully exclaimed, “Ver well, sir! — I wish I had not come down! I won’t no more! you might have your tea when you can get It.”
Returning 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 liberty 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 “playing her off” in all manners; he braves her, then compliments her, assents to her opinion, and the next moment contradicts her; pretends uncommon 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 impossible 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 comparative reproach. This offends more than all.
When she complains to me of him, in his absence, I 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 apologised suddenly for her English, and Colonel Manners said, “O, 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 sometimes not quite right, what you call.”
“O 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.
“O ma’am, do? — I 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!”
“O, ’tis all the same! I shan’t not understand it, so I won’t not hear it.”
“But you must, ma’am. If I write it, I shan’t let you off so: — you must hear it!”
“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 SAILOR PRINCE.
On the 2nd of May I met Colonel Manners, waiting at the corner of a passage leading towards the queen’s apartments. “Is the king, ma’am,” he cried, “there? because Prince William(307) 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 royal father incapable of further governance. 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 parlour, 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 royal 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 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 indeed, -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 horridly agitated when I saw the king first. I could hardly stand.”
Then Mrs. Schwellenberg suddenly said, “Miss Berner, now you might see his royal highness; you wanted it so moch, and now you might do it. Your royal highness, that is Miss Berner.”
He rose very civilly, and bowed, to this strange freak of an introduction; and, of course, I rose and Curtsied low, and waited his commands to sit again; which were given instantly, 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. Schwellenberg, “Pray,” cried he, “ what is become of Mrs. — Mrs. — Mrs. Hogentot?”
“O, your royal highness!” cried she, stifling much offence, “do you mean the poor Haggerdorn? — O your royal 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 eligible 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. O, faith I do! I do indeed! she is one of the corps.”
Then he said he had been making acquaintance with a new princess, one he did not know nor remember-Princess 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 favourite. �
��I have had the honour,” 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; — Ha! ha! ha!”
Then, recollecting particulars, he laughed vehemently; but Mrs. Schwellenberg eagerly interrupted his communications. 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 interesting, — 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-humoured and familiar manner.
LOYAL RECEPTION OF THE KING IN THE NEW FOREST.
Thursday, June 25.-This morning I was called before five o’clock, though various packages and business had kept me up till near three.
The day was rainy, but the road was beautiful; Windsor great park, in particular, is charming. The crowds increased as we advanced, and at Winchester the town was one head. I saw Dr. Warton, but could not stop the carriage. The king was everywhere received with acclamation. His popularity is greater than ever. Compassion for his late sufferings seems to have endeared him now to all conditions of men.
At Romsey, on the steps of the town-hall, an orchestra was formed, and a band of musicians, in common brown coarse cloth and red neckcloths, and even in carters’ loose gowns, made a chorus of “God save the king,” In which the countless multitude joined, in such loud acclamation, that their loyalty and heartiness, and natural joy, almost surprised me into a sob before I knew myself at all affected by them.
The New Forest Is all beauty, and when we approached Lyndhurst the crowds wore as picturesque an appearance as the landscapes; They were all in decent attire, and, the great space giving them full room, the cool beauty of the verdure between the groups took away all idea of inconvenience, and made their live gaiety a scene to joy beholders.
Carriages of all sorts lined the road-side :-chariots, chaises, landaus, carts, waggons, whiskies, gigs, phatons — mixed and intermixed, filled Within and surrounded without by faces all glee and delight Such was the scenery for miles before we reached Lyndhurst. The old law of the forest, that his majesty must be presented with two milk-white greyhounds, peculiarly decorated, upon his entrance into the New Forest, gathered together multitudes to see the show. A party, also, of foresters, habited in green, and each with a bugle-horn, met his majesty at the same time.
Arrived at Lyndhurst, we drove to the Duke of Gloucester’s. The royal family were just before us, but the two colonels came and handed us through the crowd. The house, intended for a mere hunting-seat, was built by Charles II., and seems quite unimproved and unrepaired from its first foundation. It is the king’s, but lent to the Duke of Gloucester. It is a straggling, inconvenient, old house, but delightfully situated, in a village, — looking, indeed, at present, like a populous town, from the amazing concourse of people that have crowded into it.
The bow-men and archers and bugle-horns are to attend the king while he stays here, in all his rides.
The Duke of Gloucester was ready to receive the royal family, who are all in the highest spirits and delight.
I have a small old bed-chamber, but a large and commodious parlour, in which the gentlemen join Miss Planta and me to breakfast and to drink tea. They dine at the royal table. We are to remain here some days.
During the king’s dinner, which was in a parlour looking into the garden, he permitted the people to come to the window; and their delight and rapture in seeing their monarch at table, with the evident hungry feeling it occasioned, made a contrast of admiration and deprivation, truly comic. They crowded, however, so excessively, that this can be permitted them no more. They broke down all the paling, and much of the hedges, and some of the windows, and all by eagerness and multitude, for they were perfectly civil and well-behaved.
In the afternoon the royal party came into my parlour; and the moment the people saw the star, they set up such a shout as made a ring all around the village; for my parlour has the same view with the royal rooms into the garden, where this crowd was assembled, and the new rapture was simply at seeing the king in a new apartment!
They all walked out, about and around the village, in the evening, and the delighted mob accompanied them. The moment they stepped out of the house, the people, With voice, struck up “God save the king!” I assure you I cried like a child twenty times in the day, at the honest and rapturous effusions of such artless and disinterested loyalty. The king’s illness and recovery make me tender, as Count Mannuccia said, upon every recollection.
These good villagers continued singing this loyal song during the whole walk, without any intermission, except to shout “huzza!” at the end of every stanza. They returned so hoarse, that I longed to give them all some lemonade. Probably they longed for something they would have called better! ’Twas well the king could walk no longer; I think, if he had, they would have died singing around him.
June 30.-We continued at Lyndhurst five days and the tranquillity of the life, and the beauty of the country, would have made it very regaling to me indeed, but for the fatigue of having no maid, yet being always in readiness to play the part of an attendant myself.
I went twice to see the house of Sir Phillip Jennings Clerke, my old acquaintance at Streatham. I regretted he was no more; he would so much have prided and rejoiced in shewing his place. His opposition principles would not have interfered with that private act of duty from a subject to a sovereign. How did I call to mind Mrs. Thrale, upon this spot! not that I had seen it with her, or ever before; but that its late owner was one of her sincerest admirers.
Miss Planta and myself drove also to Southampton, by the queen’s direction. It is a pretty clean town, and the views from the Southampton water are highly picturesque : but all this I had seen to far greater advantage, with Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Thrale. Ah, Mrs. Thrale! — In thinking her over, as I saw again the same spot, how much did I wish to see with it the same — once so dear — companion!
On the Sunday we all went to the parish church; and after the service, instead of a psalm, imagine our surprise to hear the whole congregation join in “God save the king!” Misplaced as this was in a church, its intent was so kind, loyal, and affectionate, that I believe there was not a dry eye amongst either singers or hearers. The king’s late dreadful illness has rendered this song quite melting to me. This day we quitted Lyndhurst; not without regret, for so private is its situation, I could stroll about in its beautiful neighbourhood quite alone THE ROYAL JOURNEY TO WEYMOUTH.
The journey to Weymouth was one scene of festivity and rejoicing. The people were everywhere collected, and everywhere delighted. We passed through Salisbury, where a magnificent arch was erected, of festoons of flowers, for the king’s carriage to pass under, and mottoed with “The king restored,” and “Long live the king,” in three divisions. The green bowmen accompanied the train thus far; and the clothiers and manufacturers here met it, dressed out in white loose frocks, flowers, and ribbons, with sticks or caps emblematically decorated from their several manufactories. And the acclamations with which the king was received amongst them — it was a rapture past description. At Blandford there was nearly the same ceremony.
At every gentleman’s seat which we passed, the owners and their families stood at the gate, and their guests Or neighbours were in carriages all round.
At Dorchester the crowd seemed still increased. The city had so antique an air, I longed to investigate its old buildings. The houses have the most ancient appearance of any that are inhabited that I have happened to see: and inhabited they were indeed! every window-sash was removed, for face above face to peep Out, and every old balcony and all the leads of the houses seemed turned into booths for fairs. It seems, also, the most populous town I have seen; I judge by the concourse of the young and middle-aged — those we saw everywhere alike, as they may gather together from all quart
ers-but from the amazing quantity of indigenous residers; old women and young children. There seemed families of ten or twelve of the latter in every house; and the old women were so numerous, that they gave the whole scene the air of a rural masquerade.
Girls, with chaplets, beautiful young creatures, strewed the entrance of various villages with flowers.
WELCOME TO WEYMOUTH.
Gloucester House, which we now inhabit, at Weymouth, is Situated in front of the sea, and the sands of the bay before it are perfectly smooth and soft. The whole town, and Melcomb Regis, and half the county of Dorset, seemed assembled to welcome their majesties.
I have here a very good parlour, but dull, from its aspect Nothing but the sea at Weymouth affords any life Or Spirit. My bed-room is in the attics. Nothing like living at a Court for exaltation. Yet even with this gratification, which extends to Miss Planta, the house will only hold the females of the party. The two adjoining houses are added, for the gentlemen, an(] the pages, and some other of the suite, cooks, etc. — but the footmen are obliged to lodge still farther off.
The bay is very beautiful, after its kind; a peninsula shuts out
Portland island and the broad ocean.
The king, and queen, and princesses, and their suite, walked out in the evening; an immense crowd attended them — sailors bargemen, mechanics, countrymen; and all united with so vociferous a volley of “God save the king,” that the noise was stunning.
At near ten o’clock Lord Courtown came into my parlour, as it is called, and said the town was all illuminated, and invited Miss Planta and me to a walk upon the sands. Their majesties were come in to supper. We took a stroll under his escort, and found it singularly beautiful, the night being very fine, and several boats and small vessels lighted up, and in motion upon the sea. The illumination extended through Melcomb Regis and Weymouth. Gloucester-row, in which we live, is properly in Melcomb Regis; but the two towns join each other, and are often confounded.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 601