He meant from his acquittal, and reception at the Queen’s house.
And I would not contradict him.
But, however,” I continued, “my acquaintance and regard began very fairly while I lived at home at my father’s and indeed I regret you could not then and so have known him, as I am satisfied you would have been pleased with him, which now you cannot judge. He is so gentle-mannered, so intelligent, so unassuming, yet so full-minded.”
I have Understood that,” he answered; “yet ’tis amazing how little unison there may be between mariners and characters, and how softly gentle a man may appear without, whose nature within is all ferocity and cruelty. This is a part of mankind of which you cannot judge — of which, indeed, you can scarce form an idea.”
After a few comments I continued what I had to say, which, in fact, was nothing but another malice of my own against him. I reminded him of one day in a former year of this trial, when I had the happiness of sitting at it with my dearest Mrs. Locke, in which he had been so obliging, with reiterated offers, as to propose seeing for my servant, etc.-” “Well,” I continued, “I was afterwards extremely sorry I had not accepted your kindness; for just as we were going away, who should be passing, and turn back to speak to me, but Mr. Hastings!” ‘O!’ he cried, ‘I must come here to see you, I find!’ Now, had you but been with me at that moment! I own it would have been the greatest pleasure to me to have brought you together though I am quite at a loss to know whether I ought, in that case, to have presented you to each other.”
He laughed most heartily,-half, probably, with joy at his escape; but he had all his wits about him in his answer. “If you,” he cried, “had been between US, we might, for once, have coalesced — in both bowing to the same shrine!”
(322) Wednesday, November 18.-ED.
(323) Covent Garden.-ED.
(324) A comedy by Reynolds, originally produced at Covent Garden, May 15, 1789.-ED.
(325) Sir Robert Gunning, the bride’s father.-ED.
(326) Fanny refers to Burke’s attitude during the Regency debates, in which, as a member of the opposition, he had supported Mr. Fox.-ED,
(327) “A Narrative of the mutiny on board his majesty’s ship Bounty; and the subsequent Voyage of part of the Crew, in the ship’s boat, from Tofoa, one of the Friendly Islands, to Timor, a Dutch settlement in the East Indies. Written by Lieutenant William Bligh.” London, 1790. Lieutenant (afterwards Admiral) Bligh was appointed to the command of the Bounty in August, 1787. He sailed from England in December, and arrived at Otaheite, October 26, 1788, the object of his voyage being to transplant the bread fruit tree from the South Sea Islands to the British colonies in the West Indies, with a view to its acclimatisation there. A delay of more than five months at Otaheite demoralized the crew, to whom the dolce far mente of life in a Pacific island, and the Charms of the Otaheitan women, offered greater attractions than the toils of sea-faring under a somewhat tyrannical captain. The Bounty left Otaheite April 4, 1789, and on the 28th of the same month a mutiny broke out under the leadership of the mater’s mate, Fletcher Christian. Captain Bligh and eighteen of his men were set adrift in the ship’s boat, in which they sailed for nearly three months, undergoing terrible privations, and reaching the Dutch settlement at Timor, an island off the east coast of Java, June 14. Bligh arrived in England, March 14, 1790. The mutineers finally settled in Pitcairn’s island, where their descendants are still living.-ED.
(328) See note ante 263, .-ED.
(329) Mrs. Piozzi’s youngest daughter, who had accompanied her mother and step-father abroad.-ED. 2 It appears from a note in (330) It appears from a note in the “Memoirs of Dr. Burney” (vol. iii. ), that Fanny had once before met Mrs Piozzi since her marriage, at an assembly at Mrs. Locke’s. This meeting must have taken place Soon after the marriage, as Mrs. Piozzi went abroad with her husband shortly afterwards.-ED.
(331) Fanny’s half-sister.-ED.
(332) An allusion to the personal resemblance between Windham and Hastings. See ante, .-ED.
SECTION 17. (1790-1)
MISS BURNEY RESIGNS HER PLACE AT COURT.
[The following section concludes the story of Fanny’s life at Court. Her entire unfitness for the position which she there occupied had been, from the commencement, no secret to herself; but her tenderness for her father had determined her to endure to the utmost before resigning a place to which her appointment had been to him, in his short-sighted folly, a source of such extreme gratification. But now she could endure no longer. The occasional relief which she had found in the society of Mrs. Delany and Colonel Digby had been brought to an end by the death of the one and the marriage of the other; her spirits were broken, her state of health was becoming daily more alarming and she at last summoned up courage to consult her father on the subject, and to make known to him her desire of resigning. Blind as he had shown himself to the true interests of his daughter, Dr. Burney was still the most affectionate of parents. He heard Fanny’s complaint with grief and disappointment, but with instant acquiescence in her wishes. His consent to her plan being obtained, Fanny for some months took no further steps in the matter. She was willing to remain at her post so long as she was capable, with whatever difficulty, of supporting its fatigues. But her health failed more and more, and the memorial was at last (December, 1790) presented to the queen. Even yet the day of release was far distant. The “sweet queen” was in no hurry to part with so faithful a servant, and although she had accepted the resignation, she did not conceal her displeasure at being reminded of it. Meanwhile the unfortunate victim of royal selfishness was growing daily weaker. Her friends were seriously alarmed: even her fellow-slaves at Court commiserated her, and urged her retirement. A successor was at length appointed, and on the 7th of July, 1791, Fanny found herself once more free During the interval which elapsed between the consultation with Dr. Burney and the presentation of the memorial, an incident occurred which occasioned to Fanny much distress and not a little annoyance. Her own narrative of the affair we have not thought it necessary to include in our selection from the “Diary,” but here a few words on the subject may be not unacceptable. Fanny’s man-servant, a Swiss named Jacob Columb, had fallen dangerously ill in the summer of 1790, and was sent, in August, to St. George’s Hospital. He was much attached to his mistress, who, he said, had treated him with greater kindness than father, mother, or any of his relatives, and on leaving Windsor he begged her to hold in trust for him the little money in his possession, amounting to ten guineas. She offered him a receipt for the money, but he refused it, and when she insisted, exclaimed, “No, ma’am, I won’t take it! You know what it is, and I know what it is; and if I live I’m sure you won’t wrong me: and if I don’t, nobody else sha’n’t have it!” Moved to tears by the poor fellow’s earnestness, Fanny complied with his request. In the following month he died at the hospital, desiring, in his last moments, to leave everything to his sisters in Switzerland. “He certainly meant,” writes Fanny, “everything of his wearing apparel, watches, etc., for what money he had left in my hands he would never tell anybody.” She was preparing, accordingly, to transmit Columb’s effects, including, of course, the ten guineas, to Switzerland, when a claimant appeared in the person of Peter Bayond, a countryman of the deceased. This man produced a will, purporting to be Columb’s, by which the property was left to be divided between Bayond himself and James Columb, a cousin of the pretended testator, then in service with Horace Walpole. Fanny’s instant conviction was that the will was a forgery, and the appearance and behaviour of Bayond confirmed her in this belief. James Columb, moreover, concurred in her opinion, and she had decided to ignore this new claim, when she received an attorney’s letter, desiring her to pay to Bayond the sum in her hands of the late Jacob Columb. She then wrote to Walpole, who offered her his assistance, with many expressions of warm regard. But finally, after much trouble, and threats of a lawsuit, she was advised that her best plan would be to let the will take its course, and to pay over t
o the claimant the sum in question; and thus the matter was settled, “in a manner,” she writes, “the most mortifying to Mr. Walpole and myself.”-ED. A MELANCHOLY CONFESSION.
May 25.-The Princess Augusta condescended to bring me a most gracious message from the king, desiring to know if I wished to go to Handel’s Commemoration, 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.
My “Visions” I had meant to produce in a few days; and to know their chance before I left town for the summer.(333) But I thought the present opportunity not to be slighted, for some little opening, that might lighten the task of the exordium upon the day of attempt. He was all himself — all his native self- -kind, gay, open, and full fraught with converse.
Chance favoured 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 disunion, but it was now most opportune: it gave me three hours’ conference with my dearest father — the only conference 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,(334) particularly with the Duchesse de Biron, and the Mesdames de Boufflers(335) to whom he answered, he had no power; but was somewhat struck by the question of Madame de B. in return, who exclaimed, “Mais, monsieur, est-ce possible! Mademoiselle votre fille n’a-t- elle point de vacance?”(336)
This led to much interesting discussion, and to many confessions and explanations on my part, never made before; 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 repeated 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 royal mistress, her merits, her virtues, her condescension, and her even peculiar kindness towards me. But I owned the species of life distasteful 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 existence 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 honoured 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 — O 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 intention 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.
CAPTAIN BURNEY’s LACONIC LETTER AND INTERVIEW.
June.-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. Windham, who, fortunately, 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 honour 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 honour is quite left off now.”
How comic! to run away proudly from forms and etiquettes, and then pretend it was only to be more in the last mode. Mr. Windham 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 immediately.”
“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 out his pocket-book, made a memorandum, and wished James a good morning.
Whether or not it occurred to Mr. Windham, 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 applications and disappointments.
BURKE’S SPEECH ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
But I have found,” cried I afterwards, “another newspaper praise for you now, ‘Mr. Windham, with his usual vein of irony.”’
“O, yes,” cried he, “I saw that! But what can it mean? — I use no ‘vein of irony;’ — I dislike it, except for peculiar purposes, keenly handled, and soon passed over.”
“ Yet this is the favourite panegyric you receive continually, — this, or logic, always attends your name in the newspapers.”
“But do I use it?”
“Nay, not to me, I own. As a manner, I never found it out, at least. However, I am less averse now than formerly to the other panegyric — close logic, — for I own the more frequently I come hither the more convinced I find myself that that is no character of commendation to be given universally.”
He could say nothing to this; and really the dilatory, desultory style of these prosecutors in general deserved a much deeper censure.
“What a speech,” I continued, “has he lately made!(337) how noble, how energetic, how enlarged throughout!”
“O,” cried he, very unaffectedly, “upon the French Revolution?”
“Yes; and any party might have been proud of it, for liberality, for feeling, for all in one — genius. I, who am only a reader of detached speeches, have read none I have thought its equal.”
“Yet, such as you have seen it, it does not do him justice. I was not in the House that day; but I am assured the actual speech, as he spoke it at the moment, was highly superior to what has since been printed. There was in it a force — there were shades of reflection so fine — allusions so quick and so happy — and strokes of satire and observation so pointed and so apt, — that it had ten times more brilliancy when absolutely extempore than when transmitted to paper.”
“Wonderful, wonderful! He is a truly wonderful creature!” And, alas, thought I, as wonderful in inconsistency as in greatness!
In the course of a discussion more detailed upon faculties, I ventured to tell him what impression they had made upon James, who was with me during one of the early long speeches. “I was listening,” I said, “ with the most fer vent attention to such strokes of eloquence as, while I heard them, carried all before them, when my brother pulled me by the sleeve to exclaim, ‘When will he come to the point?”’
The justness, notwithstanding his characteristic conciseness, of this criticism, I was glad thus to convey. Mr. Windham however, would not subscribe to it; but, with a significant smile, coolly said, “Yes, ’tis curious to hear a man of war’s ideas of rhetoric.”
“Well,” quoth I, to make a little amends, “shall I tell you a compliment he paid you?”
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 608