Dr. Burney now became nearly absorbed by this interesting crisis in the life of his second daughter; of which, however, the results, not the details, belong to these Memoirs.
She was summoned almost immediately to Windsor, though only, at first, to the house of Mrs. Delany; in whose presence, as the Doctor learned from her letters, this Memorialist was called to the honourof an interview of more than two hours with her Majesty. Not, however, for the purpose of arranging the particulars of her destination. The penetrating Queen, who soon, no doubt, perceived a degree of agitation which could not be quite controlled in so new, so unexpected a position, with a delicacy the most winning put that subject quite aside; and discoursed solely, during the whole long audience, upon general or literary matters.
“I know well,” continued the letter to the Doctor, “how my kind father will rejoice at so generous an opening; especially when I tell him that, in parting, she condescended, and in the softest manner, to say, ‘I am sure, Miss Burney, we shall suit one another very well!’ And then, turning to Mrs. Delany, she added, ‘I was led to think of Miss Burney first by her books—then by seeing her—and then by always hearing how she was loved by her friends—but chiefly, and over all, by your regard for her.’”
The Doctor was then further informed, through Mrs. Delany, that the office of his daughter was to be that of an immediate attendant upon her Majesty, designated in the Court Calendar by the name of Keeper of the Robes.
His sense of the voluntary favour and good opinion shown by the Queen in this election, made now nearly the first pleasure of his life; yet not superior, even if equal, was, or could be, either his satisfaction or the gratitude of his daughter, to the pleasure of Mrs. Delany, at this approximating residence of a favourite whom she most partially loved, and by whom she knew herself to be most tenderly revered.
The business thus fixed, though unannounced, as Mrs. Haggerdorn, the predecessor, still held her place, the Doctor again, for a few weeks, received back his daughter; whom he found, like himself, extremely gratified that her office consisted entirely in attendance upon so kind and generous a Queen: though he could not but smile a little, upon learning that its duties exacted constant readiness to assist at her Majesty’s toilette: not from any pragmatical disdain of dress—on the contrary, dress had its full share of his admiration, when he saw it in harmony with the person, the class, and the time of life of its exhibitor. But its charms and its capabilities, he was well aware, had engaged no part of his daughter’s reflections; what she knew of it was accidental, caught and forgotten with the same facility; and conducing, consequently, to no system or knowledge that might lead toany eminence of judgment for inventing or directing ornamental personal drapery. And she was as utterly unacquainted with the value of jewelry, as she was unused to its wear and care.
The Queen, however, he considered, as she made no inquiry, and delivered no charge, was probably determined to take her chance; well knowing she had others more initiated about her to supply such deficiencies. It appeared to him, indeed, that far from seeking, she waived all obstacles; anxious, upon this occasion, at least, where the services were to be peculiarly personal, to make and abide by a choice exclusively her own; and in which no common routine of chamberlain etiquette should interfere.
And, ere long, he had the inexpressible comfort to be informed that so changed, through the partial graciousness of the Queen to the Memorialist, was the place from that which had been Mrs. Haggerdorn’s; so lightened and so simplified, that, in fact, the nominal new Keeper of the Robes had no robes in her keeping; that the difficulties with respect to jewelry, laces, and court habiliments, and the other routine business belonging to the dress manufactory, appertained to her colleague, Mrs. Schwellenberg; and that the manual labours and cares devolved upon the Wardrobe-women; while from herself all thatofficially was required was assiduous attention, unremitting readiness for every summons to the dressing-room, not unfrequent long readings, and perpetual sojourn at the palace.
Not till within a few days of the departure of Mrs. Haggerdorn for Germany, there to enjoy, in her own country and family, the fruits of her faithful services, was the vacation of her place made public; when, to avoid troublesome canvassings, Dr. Burney was commissioned to announce in the newspapers her successor.
Open preparations were then made for a removal to Windsor; and a general leave-taking of the Memorialist with her family and friends ensued.
Not, indeed, a leave-taking of that mournful cast which belongs to great distance, or decided absence; distance here was trifling, and absence merely precarious; yet was it a leave-taking that could not be gay, though it ought not to be sad. It was a parting from all habitual or voluntary intercourse with natal home, and bosom friends; since she could only at stated hours receive even her nearest of kin in herapartments; and no appointment could be hazarded for abroad, that the duties of office did not make liable to be broken.
These restrictions, nevertheless, as they were official, Dr. Burney was satisfied could cause no offence to her connexions: and with regard to her own privations, they were redeemed by so much personal favour and condescension, that they called not for more philosophy than is almost regularly demanded, by the universal equipoise of good and evil, in all sublunary changes.
General satisfaction and universal wishing joy ensued from all around to Dr. Burney; who had the great pleasure of seeing that this disposal of his second daughter was spread far and wide through the kingdom, and even beyond its watery bounds, so far as so small an individual could excite any interest, with one accord of approbation.
But the chief notice of this transaction that charmed Dr. Burney, a notice which he hailed with equal pride and delight, was from Mr. Burke; to whom it was no sooner made known, than he hastened in person to St. Martin’s-street with his warm gratulations; and, upon missing both father and daughter, he entered the parlour, to write upon a cardthat he picked from a bracket, these flattering words:
“Mr. Burke,
“To congratulate upon the Honour done by“TheQueentoMiss Burney,—“And toHerself.”
The 17th of July, 1786, was the day appointed by the Queen for the entrance into her Majesty’s establishment of Dr. Burney’s second daughter.
Mrs. Ord, the worthy and zealous friend of Dr. Burney and his family, who, with even maternal affection, had long delighted to place the Memorialist by the side of her own and most amiable daughter, in chaperoning them to assemblies, or large societies; insisted upon resigning her kind adoption at the very place where it must necessarily cease, by being herself the convoy of the new Robe-keeper to Windsor. Dr. Burney, therefore, made his own carriage follow that of Mrs. Ord merely as a baggage-waggon, and to bring him afterwards back to town; as Mrs. Ord meant to travel on from Windsor to Bath.
The serene kindness of this excellent lady, who was enchanted at this appointment, kept up the gaiety of Dr. Burney to an height with his satisfaction, by banishing all discourse upon the only drawbacks to his contentment; immediate parting, and permanent separation from under his roof.
To their no small surprise, they did not find Mrs. Delany at home; but her lovely great niece[14]flew out, with juvenile joy, to hail the approaching residence of the Memorialist so near to the habitation of her aunt.
Mrs. Ord soon took leave, to proceed on her journey to Bath. Cordial and cheering was her congratulatory shake of the hand with Dr. Burney; but when she came to the quitting embrace with the new Windsor resident, an involuntary check to her pleasure, at sight of the disturbed air of its object, started into her eyes, and ran down her cheeks. But though thus sensible to foregoing an almost continual intercourse with a fondly favourite companion, her native equanimity of disposition soon resumed its steadiness; for sensibility, though now and then the excursive guest of sudden emotion, is soon chased forsomething wiser, at least, if not better, when it comes not in contact with habitual sympathies. She uttered, therefore, her kind wishes, and auspicious auguries of royal favour, with the usual firmness of her calm temperament; and then, with cheerful satisfaction, repaired to her carriage.
Mrs. Delany appeared shortly afterwards, and received her guests with an ardour as animated as that of her little niece, and nearly as youthful. Sensibility here was the characteristic of the composition. Untamed by age, unexhausted by calamity, it still crimsoned her pale cheeks, still brightened, or dimmed her soft eyes, as sorrow or as joy touched her still sensitive heart.
Delightful to Dr. Burney was the sight of her expansive pleasure; delightful and congenial. His own ever airy spirits caught the gay infection. He saw in it a gentle solace to every private care of his daughter, and an augmentation of every enjoyment: while the view of such blithe and pure hilarity, in beings so beloved and so revered, could not but mitigate the fears, the doubts, the fond regrets that waive over every experimental change of life to a reflecting mind.
To Mrs. Delany,—her time of life, her heart-rending recent loss ofthe friend most dear to her upon earth, and the tender affection she had conceived for the Memorialist considered—this appointment, which brought immediately and constantly within her reach, a person, whom she knew to be attached to her by the warmest ties of love and veneration, seemed an event too romantic for reality; and almost she thought it, she said, a dream.
The absence of Mrs. Delany had been occasioned by the honour of taking an airing with her Majesty; to whom intelligence was immediately conveyed of the arrival of the new attendant; which as immediately was followed by a command for that attendant to mount the hill forthwith to the Queen’s Lodge.
An abridged account of the rest of this day’s transaction will be copied from a letter of Dr. Burney,
“To Lemuel Smelt, Esq.“When the summons from the Queen arrived, Mrs. Delany, who most kindly persuaded me to remain a day or two at Windsor, to see my daughter installed in her new office, persuaded me to walk with her to the Lodge. The weather was very fine, and the distance next to nothing. The approach, nevertheless, was so formidable to the poor new Robe-keeper, that I feared she[Pg 94]would not be able to get thither. She turned pale, her lips quivered, and she found herself so faint, that it was with the utmost difficulty she reached the portico; whence we were shewn immediately, by one of the pages, to her stated apartment.“This seizure was by no means from any panic at advancing to the presence of her Majesty, for that she already knew to be all gentleness and benignity; it was but the aggregate of her feelings in quitting her family and her friends; with whom she had ever lived in the most perfect harmony, and of whose cordial affection she was gratefully convinced.“She had scarcely a moment to indulge in these reflections, ere she was conducted, by a page, to her Majesty; from whose sight she returned to me in a quarter of an hour, quite revived; and relieved and rejoiced me past measure by saying, that the Queen’s reception had been so gracious, or rather so kind, as to have had the effect of a potent cordial; a cordial, dear Sir, of which, you may imagine, I had my full portion.“After dining the next day at Mrs. Delany’s, and walking in the evening upon the terrace, where I received congratulatory compliments from various friends I there met; and where I was honoured with the gracious notice of their Majesties, and nearly a quarter of an hour’s conversation; I called, in my way back to Mrs. Delany, upon my daughter in her new abode; and had the happiness to find her in recruiting spirits, and much pleased and flattered by all that had passed during the course of the day. And when, the following noon, I called again to take leave ere I returned to town, I heard that she had received visits and civilities from the whole female household at present resident at Windsor. She likes her apartments extremely. Her sitting[Pg 95]room, which is large and pleasant, is upon the lawn before the lodge, and has in full view, but at a commodious distance, the walk that leads to the terrace, which, of course, is gay and thronged with company; yet never noisy, nor riotously crowded.“I left her with the most comforting hope that her spirits will be soon entirely restored; for the condescending goodness of her Majesty is so sweet and gracious, that she is quite penetrated with reverence and gratitude. And I have since had a completely satisfactory letter from her, in which she says, ‘I have been told frightful stories of the precipices and brambles I shall find in my paths in a residence at court; but my road, on the contrary, only grows smoother and smoother; so that, if precipices and brambles there may be to encounter, they have not, at least, jutted forth to terrify me on the onset: I therefore hope that they will not occur till I am so well aware of their danger, that I shall know how to step aside without tumbling from one, or being torn by the other.’“But that which most has touched the new Robe-keeper, is the delicacy with which her Royal Mistress, during the first three or four days, forbore to call her into office, though she called her into presence. It was merely as if she had been a visitor; and one for whom the Queen deigned herself to furnish topics of conversation; an elegance so engaging, that it enabled the noviciate to glide into her office gradually, and without fright or embarrassment.“The Princesses, also, every one of the lovely six, come occasionally, upon various small pretences, to her apartment, with a sweetness of speech and manner that seems almost eager to shew her favour. The little Princess Amelia is brought often by her nurse,[15]at her own playful desire.[Pg 96]“I should make my letter of an unreasonable length, even, dear Sir, to you, if I were to enumerate all the flattering and encouraging things that have come to my knowledge, not from the household only, but from many others; all uniting to tell me, that no one speaks of this appointment without pleasure and approbation. The Bishop of Salisbury[16]said this to me aloud on the terrace, the first evening; and my daughter was much gratified by such episcopal approvance. The Bishop added that his brother, Lord Barrington, declared there never was any thing of the sort more peculiarly judicious than this choice. I mention these circumstances in hopes of exculpating you, dear Sir, in some measure, for your kind partialities upon this event; and I will frankly add, that though I have had the good fortune to marry to my own contentment three of my daughters, I never gave one of them away with the pride or the pleasure I experienced in my gift of last Monday.”
“To Lemuel Smelt, Esq.
“When the summons from the Queen arrived, Mrs. Delany, who most kindly persuaded me to remain a day or two at Windsor, to see my daughter installed in her new office, persuaded me to walk with her to the Lodge. The weather was very fine, and the distance next to nothing. The approach, nevertheless, was so formidable to the poor new Robe-keeper, that I feared she[Pg 94]would not be able to get thither. She turned pale, her lips quivered, and she found herself so faint, that it was with the utmost difficulty she reached the portico; whence we were shewn immediately, by one of the pages, to her stated apartment.
“This seizure was by no means from any panic at advancing to the presence of her Majesty, for that she already knew to be all gentleness and benignity; it was but the aggregate of her feelings in quitting her family and her friends; with whom she had ever lived in the most perfect harmony, and of whose cordial affection she was gratefully convinced.
“She had scarcely a moment to indulge in these reflections, ere she was conducted, by a page, to her Majesty; from whose sight she returned to me in a quarter of an hour, quite revived; and relieved and rejoiced me past measure by saying, that the Queen’s reception had been so gracious, or rather so kind, as to have had the effect of a potent cordial; a cordial, dear Sir, of which, you may imagine, I had my full portion.
“After dining the next day at Mrs. Delany’s, and walking in the evening upon the terrace, where I received congratulatory compliments from various friends I there met; and where I was honoured with the gracious notice of their Majesties, and nearly a quarter of an hour’s conversation; I called, in my way back to Mrs. Delany, upon my daughter in her new abode; and had the happiness to find her in recruiting spirits, and much pleased and flattered by all that had passed during the course of the day. And when, the following noon, I called again to take leave ere I returned to town, I heard that she had received visits and civilities from the whole female household at present resident at Windsor. She likes her apartments extremely. Her sitting[Pg 95]room, which is large and pleasant, is upon the lawn before the lodge, and has in full view, but at a commodious distance, the walk that leads to the terrace, which, of course, is gay and thronged with company; yet never noisy, nor riotously crowded.
“I left her with the most comforting hope that her spirits will be soon entirely restored; for the condescending goodness of her Majesty is so sweet and gracious, that she is quite penetrated with reverence and gratitude. And I have since had a completely satisfactory letter from her, in which she says, ‘I have been told frightful stories of the precipices and brambles I shall find in my paths in a residence at court; but my road, on the contrary, only grows smoother and smoother; so that, if precipices and brambles there may be to encounter, they have not, at least, jutted forth to terrify me on the onset: I therefore hope that they will not occur till I am so well aware of their danger, that I shall know how to step aside without tumbling from one, or being torn by the other.’
“But that which most has touched the new Robe-keeper, is the delicacy with which her Royal Mistress, during the first three or four days, forbore to call her into office, though she called her into presence. It was merely as if she had been a visitor; and one for whom the Queen deigned herself to furnish topics of conversation; an elegance so engaging, that it enabled the noviciate to glide into her office gradually, and without fright or embarrassment.
“The Princesses, also, every one of the lovely six, come occasionally, upon various small pretences, to her apartment, with a sweetness of speech and manner that seems almost eager to shew her favour. The little Princess Amelia is brought often by her nurse,[15]at her own playful desire.
[Pg 96]
“I should make my letter of an unreasonable length, even, dear Sir, to you, if I were to enumerate all the flattering and encouraging things that have come to my knowledge, not from the household only, but from many others; all uniting to tell me, that no one speaks of this appointment without pleasure and approbation. The Bishop of Salisbury[16]said this to me aloud on the terrace, the first evening; and my daughter was much gratified by such episcopal approvance. The Bishop added that his brother, Lord Barrington, declared there never was any thing of the sort more peculiarly judicious than this choice. I mention these circumstances in hopes of exculpating you, dear Sir, in some measure, for your kind partialities upon this event; and I will frankly add, that though I have had the good fortune to marry to my own contentment three of my daughters, I never gave one of them away with the pride or the pleasure I experienced in my gift of last Monday.”
Dr. Burney now felt perfectly, nay thankfully, at ease, as to the lot of his second daughter; who was distinguished in her new abode by the most noble benignity, and addressed even with elegance by all of the royal race who honoured her with any notice; a graciousness which, to Dr. Burney, in whose composition loyalty bore a most conspicuous sway, produced an even exulting delight.
His correspondence with the new Robe-keeper was active, lively, incessant; and he had no greater pleasure than in perusing and answering her letters from Windsor Lodge.
As soon as it was in his power to steal a few days from his business and from London, he accepted an invitation from Mrs. Delany to pass them in her abode, by the express permission, or rather with the lively approbation of the King and Queen; without which Mrs. Delany held it utterly unbecoming to receive any guests in the house of private, but royal hospitality, which they had consigned to her use.
The Queen, on this occasion, as on others that were similar, gave orders that Dr. Burney should be requested to dine at the Lodge with his daughter; to whom devolved, in the then absence of her coadjutrix, Mrs. Schwellenberg, the office of doing the honours of a very magnificent table. And that daughter had the happiness, at this time, to engage for meeting her father, two of the first characters for virtue, purity, and elegance, that she had ever known,—the exemplary Mr. Smelt, and the nearly incomparable Mrs. Delany. There were, also, some other agreeable people; but the spirited Dr. Burney was the principal object: and he enjoyed himself from the gay feelings of hiscontentment, as much as by the company he was enjoyed.
In the evening, when the party adjourned from the dining-room to the parlour of the Robe-keeper, how high was the gratification of Dr. Burney to see the King enter the apartment; and to see that, though professedly it was to do honour to years and virtue, in fetching Mrs. Delany himself to the Queen; which was very generally his benevolent custom; he now superadded to that goodness the design of according an audience to Dr. Burney; for when Mrs. Delany was preparing to attend his Majesty, he, smilingly, made her re-seat herself, with his usual benign consideration for her time of life; and then courteously entered into conversation with the happy Dr. Burney.
He opened upon musical matters, with the most animated wish to hear the sentiments of the Doctor, and to communicate his own; and the Doctor, enchanted, was more than ready, was eager to meet these condescending advances.
No one at all accustomed to Court etiquette could have seen him without smiling: he was so totally unimpressed with the modes which, even in private, are observed in the royal presence, that he moved, spoke, and walked about the room without constraint; nay, he even debated withthe King precisely with the same frankness that he would have used with any other gentleman, whom he had accidentally met in society.
Nevertheless, a certain flutter of spirits which always accompanies royal interviews that are infrequent, even with those who are least awed by them, took from him that self-possession which, in new, or uncommon cases, teaches us how to get through difficulties of form, by watching the manoeuvres of our neighbours. Elated by the openness and benignity of his Majesty, he seemed in a sort of honest enchantment that drove from his mind all thought of ceremonial; though in his usual commerce with the world, he was scrupulously observant of all customary attentions. But now, on the contrary, he pursued every topic that was started till he had satisfied himself by saying all that belonged to it; and he started any topic that occurred to him, whether the King appeared to be ready for another, or not; and while the rest of the party, retreating towards the wainscot, formed a distant and respectful circle, in which the King, approaching separately and individually those whom he meant to address, was alone wont to move, the Doctor, quite unconsciously, came forward into the circle himself; and, whollybent upon pursuing whatever theme was begun, either followed the King when he turned away, or came onward to meet his steps when he inclined them towards some other person; with an earnestness irrepressible to go on with his own subject; and to retain to himself the attention and the eyes—which never looked adverse to him—of the sweet-tempered monarch.
This vivacity and this nature evidently amused the King, whose candour and good sense always distinguished an ignorance of the routine of forms, from the ill manners or ill-will of disrespect.
The Queen, also, with a grace all her own towards those whom she deigned to wish to please, honoured her Robe-keeper’s apartment with her presence on the following evening, by accompanying thither the King; with the same sweetness of benevolence of seeking Mrs. Delany, in granting an audience to Dr. Burney.
No one better understood conversation than the Queen, or appreciated conversers with better judgment: gaily, therefore, she drew out, and truly enjoyed, the flowing, unpracticed, yet always informing discourse of Dr. Burney.
One morning of this excursion was dedicated to the famous Herschel, whom Dr. Burney visited at Slough; whither he carried his daughter, to see, and totake a walkthrough the immense new telescope of Herschel’s own construction. Already from another very large, though, in comparison with this, very diminutive one, Dr. Herschel said he had discovered 1500 universes! The moon, too, which, at that moment, was his favourite object, had afforded him two volcanos; and his own planet, or theGeorgium Sidus, had favoured him with two satellites.
Dr. Burney, who had a passionate inclination for astronomy, had a double tie to admiration and regard for Dr. Herschel, who, both practically and theoretically, was, also, an excellent musician. They had much likewise in common of suavity of disposition; and they conversed together with a pleasure that led, eventually, to much after-intercourse.
The accomplished and amiable Mr. Smelt joined them here by appointment; as did, afterwards, the erudite, poetical, and elegant Dr. Hurd,Bishop of Worcester, and author of the Marks of Imitation; whose fine features, fine expression, and fine manners made him styled by Mr. Smelt “The Beauty of Holiness;” and who was accompanied by the learned Dr. Douglas, afterwards Bishop of Salisbury.
Miss Herschel, the celebrated comet-searcher, and one of the most truly modest, or rather humble, of human beings, having sat up all night at her eccentric vocation, was now, much to their regret, mocking the day-beams in sound repose.
In similar visits to his daughter, Dr. Burney had again and again the high honour and happiness of being indulged with long, lively, and most agreeable conversations with his Majesty; who, himself a perfectly natural man, had a true taste for what, in a court—or, in truth, out of one—is so rarely to be met with,—an unsophisticated character.
And thus, congenial with his principles, and flattering to his taste, softly, gaily, salubriously, began for Dr. Burney the new career of his second daughter. It was a stream of happiness, now gliding on gently with the serenity of enjoyment for the present; now rapidly flowing faster with the aspiring velocity of hope for the future.
What a reverse to this beaming sunshine was floating in the air! A second year was yet incomplete, when a cloud intercepted the bright rays that had almost revivified Dr. Burney, by suddenly and for ever closing from his view the inestimable, the exemplary, the venerated friend of his daughter, Mrs. Delany; for sudden was this mortal eclipse, though, at her great age, it could never be unexpected.
And yet, it was not the death of age that carried her hence; no shattering preparatory warning, either corporeally debilitating, or intellectually decaying, had raised that alarm which teaches the waning value, as well as duration, of life; and makes grief in the survivors blush at its selfishness; and regret appear nearly a crime. Her eyes alone had failed, and those not totally. Nor even was her general frame, though enfeebled, wholly deprived of its elastic powers. She was still upright; her air and carriage were full of dignity; all her motions were graceful; and her gestures, when she was animated, had a vivacity almost sportive. Her exquisitely susceptible soul, at every strong emotion, still mantled in her cheeks: and her spirits, to thelast, retained their innocent gaiety; her conversation its balmy tone of sympathy; and her manners, their soft and resistless attraction; while her piety was at once the most fervent, yet most humble.
The immediate cause of her death was an inflammation of the chest, brought on by a cold. Skill and care were unavailing for this world; and she, though she accepted, sought them not; her pious spirit had been long and cheerfully, though not impatiently, prepared for another—a better!
She seemed, indeed, to grieve at leaving her darling young niece; and a generous sorrow touched her kind and tender heart for the deep sadness with which she knew she must be mourned, almost incessantly mourned, by her latest adopted, but not least loved friend; to whom she left, by her faithful Astley, this affecting message: “Tell her—when I am gone—for I know how she will miss me!—tell her how much comfort she must always feel, in reflecting how mightily my latter days have been soothed by her!” Words of such heart-melting tenderness, that they consoled at once, and redoubled the survivor’s grief.
Dr. Burney was amongst the last persons that she mentioned; and witha kindness the most touching; but the latest name that, on the night of her death, she pronounced to this Memorialist, was that of the King; to whom she sent her most grateful duty, with a petition that he would deign to accept her humble bequest of what she thought the least worthless amongst her paintings, and what he most had approved.
When faintly, but most impressively, she had articulated this message, she spoke a word of fondness to her sorrowing niece; and murmured a gentle, a tender “Good night!” to her afflicted friend; and then, with evident intent to compose her mind to pious meditation, she turned away her head; uttering, though with closed eyes, but a cheerful smile upon her lips; “And now—I’ll go to sleep!—”
This was not more than a quarter of an hour ere, to all human perception, that sleep became eternal![18]
Such was the cloud that obscured the spring horizon of Dr. Burney in 1788; but which, severely as it damped and saddened him, was but as a point in a general mass, save from his kind grief for his heart-afflicted daughter, compared with the effect produced upon him by the appalling hurricane that afterwards ensued; though there, he himself was but as a point, and scarcely that, in the vast mass of general woe and universal disorder, of which that fatal storm was the precursor.
The war of all the elements, when their strife darts with lightnings, and hurls with thunder, that seem threatening destruction all around, is peace, is calm, is tameness and sameness, to that which was causedby the first sudden breaking out of a malady nameless, but tremendous, terrific, but unknown, in the King—that father of his people, that friend of human kind.
To mourn here was but the nation’s lot; daily to rise in the most anxious expectation; nightly to go to rest in the most fearful dismay, was but the universal fate, from the highest peer to the lowest peasant of Great Britain. With one heart the whole empire seemed to beat for his sufferings; and to unite with one voice in supplication for his recovery.
This malady, however, so baleful in itself, so affrighting in its concomitants, so agitating in its effects, is now become not a page but a volume of history. All recurrence to it here would, therefore, be superfluous; especially as Dr. Burney, though amongst the most poignantly interested in its progress, from the loyalty of his character joined to the situation of his daughter, had no intelligence upon the subject but such as was public: for the Memorialist received the commands of her Majesty, immediately upon the breaking out of alarm, not to touch upon this calamity in a single letter sent from the Lodge, even to her father: an order which she strictly obeyed, till,first, the evil had become publicly known, and, next, was worn away.
This event, then, is foreign to all domestic memoirs; and to such as are political, Dr. Burney’s can have no pretensions. It will rapidly, therefore, be passed over, in consonance with the intentions of the Doctor, manifested by an entire omission of any intervening memorandums, from his grief at the illness, to his joy at the recovery of his Sovereign; a joy which, however diversified by the endless shadings of multitudinous circumstances, was almost universally felt by all ranks, all classes, all ages; and hailed by a chorus of sympathy, that resounded in songs of thanksgiving and triumph throughout the British empire.
The Heavens then,—as far as the Heavens with the transitory events of living man may be assimilated—once again were clear, transparent, and bright with lustre to every loyal heart in the King’s dominions. The royal sufferer, renovated in health, mental and corporeal, re-instated in his exalted functions, and restored to the benediction of his family, the exercise of his virtues, and the enjoyment of his beneficence; suddenly emerged from an enveloping darkness of mystery and seclusion, to an unexampled eclât of popularity; reverberatingfrom every voice, beating in every heart; streaming from every eye, to hail his sight, wherever even a glimpse of him could be caught, with a joy that seemed to shed over his presence a radiance celestial.
Who, in the fair front of humble individual rejoicers, stood more prominent in vivacity of exultation than Dr. Burney? whose whole soul had been nearly monopolized by the alternating passions of fear, hope, pity, or horror, successively awakened by the changeful rumours that coloured, or discoloured, all intelligence during the illness.
And yet—though joy flew to his bosom with such exalting delight, when that joy had spent its first effervescence; when, exhausted by its own eager ebullition, it subsided into quiet thankfulness—did Dr. Burney find himself in the same state of self-gratulation at the position of his daughter, as before that blight which bereaved her of Mrs. Delany? did he experience the same vivid glow of pleasure in her destination, that he had felt previously to that tremendous national tempest that had shaken the palace, and shattered all its dwellers, through terror,watchfulness, and sorrow?
Alas, no! the charm was broken, the curtain was dropt! the scene was changed by unlooked-for contingencies; and a catastrophe of calamity seemed menacing his peace, that was precisely the reverse of all that the opening of this part of his life’s drama had appeared to augur of felicity.
The health of his daughter fell visibly into decay; her looks were alarmingly altered; her strength was daily enfeebling; and the native vivacity of her character and spirits was palpably sinking from premature internal debility.
Nevertheless, not the first, nor even the twentieth, was Dr. Burney to remark this change. Natively unsuspicious of evil, the pleasure with which his sight always lighted up the countenance of his daughter, kept him long in ignorance of the threatening decline which, to almost all others who beheld her, was apparent. But when her family and friends perceived his delusion, they conceived it to be more kind to give him timely alarm, than to leave him to make the discovery himself—perhaps too late. They agreed, therefore, after various consultations, to point out to him the aspect of danger.
This indeed, was a blight to close, in sickly mists, the most brilliant avenues of his parental ambition. It was a shock of the deepest disappointment, that the one amongst his progeny on whom fortune had seemed most to smile, should be threatened with lingering dissolution, through the very channel in which she appeared to be gliding to honour and favour; and that he, her hope-beguiled parent, must now, at all mundane risks, snatch her away from every mundane advantage; or incur the perilous chance of weeping over her precipitated grave.
Yet, where such seemed the alternative, there could be no hesitation: the tender parent took place of the provident friend, and his decision was immediate to recal the invalid from all higher worldly aspirations to her retired natal home.
The gratitude of his daughter at this paternal tenderness rose to her eyes, in her then weakened state, with constant tears every time it occurred to her mind; for well she knew how many a gay hope, and glowing fond idea, must be sacrificed by so retrograde a measure.
Medical aid was, however, called in; but no prescription was efficacious: no further room, therefore, was left for demur, and with the sanction, or rather by the direction of her kind father, sheaddressed a letter to the Queen—having first besought and obtained her Majesty’s leave for taking so direct a course.
In this letter, the Memorialist unreservedly represented the altered state of her health; with the fears of her father that her constitution would be utterly undermined, unless it could be restored by retirement from all official exertions. She supplicated, therefore, her Majesty’s permission to give in her resignation, with her humblest acknowledgments for all the extraordinary goodness that had been shown to her; the remembrance of which would be ever gratefully and indelibly engraven on her heart.
Scarcely with more reluctance was this letter delivered than it was received; and as painful to Dr. Burney were the conflicting scenes that followed this step, as had been the apprehensions by which it had been produced. The Queen was moved even to tears at the prospect of losing a faithful attendant, whom she had considered as consecrated to her for life; and on whose attachment she had the firmest reliance: and the reluctance with which she turned from the separation led to modifying propositions, so condescendingly urgent, that the plan of retreat wassoon nearly melted away from grateful devotion.
To withstand any kindness is ungenial to all feeling; to withstand that which a Sovereign deigns to display is revolting to the orders of society. The last person upon earth was Dr. Burney for such a species of offence; from week, therefore, to week, and from month to month, this uncertain state of things continued, and his daughter kept to her post; though, from the view of her changed appearance, there was almost an outcry in their own little world at such continual delay.
In no common manner, indeed, was Dr. Burney beset to adhere to his purpose; he was invoked, conjured, nay, exhorted, by calls and supplications from the most distinguished of his friends, which, however gratifying to his parental feelings, were distressful to his loyal ideas from his conviction that the gracious wish of detention sprung from a belief that the restoration of the invalid might be effected without relinquishing her place.
And while thus poignantly he was disturbed by this conflict, his daughter became accidentally informed of plans that were in secretagitation to goad his resolves. Mr. Boswell, about this time, guided by M. de Gaiffardiere, crossed and intercepted her passage, one Sunday morning, from the Windsor cathedral to the Queen’s lodge.
Mr. Boswell had visited Windsor to solicit the King’s leave, which graciously had been granted, for publishing Dr. Johnson’s dialogue with his Majesty.
Almost forcibly stopping her in her path, though making her an obsequious, or rather a theatrical, bow, “I am happy,” he cried, “to find you, Madam, for I was told you were lost! closed in the unscalable walls of a royal convent. But let me tell you, Madam!” assuming his highest tone of mock-heroic, “it won’t do! You must come forth, Madam! You must abscond from your princely monastery, and come forth! You were not born to be immured, like a tabby cat, Madam, in yon august cell! We want you in the world. And we are told you are very ill. But we can’t spare you.—Besides, Madam, I want your Johnson’s letters for my book!”
Then, stopping at once himself and his hearer, by spreading abroad both his arms, in starting suddenly before her, he energetically added, “For the book, Madam! the first book in the universe!”
Swelling, then, with internal gratulation, yet involuntarily half-laughing, from good-humouredly catching the infection of the impulse which his unrestrained self-complacency excited in his listener, he significantly paused; but the next minute, with double emphasis, and strong, even comic gesticulation, he went on: “I have every thing else! every thing that can be named, of every sort, and class, and description, to show the great man in all his bearings!—every thing,—except his letters to you! But I have nothing of that kind. I look for it all from you! It is necessary to complete my portrait. It will be the First Book in the whole universe, Madam! There’s nothing like it—” again half-laughing, yet speaking more and more forcibly; “There never was,—and there never will be!—So give me your letters, and I’ll place them with the hand of a master!”
She made some sportive reply, to hurry away from his urgency; but he pursued her quite to the Lodge; acting the whole way so as to make gazers of all whom they encountered, and a laughing observer of M. de Gaiffardiere. “You must come forth, Madam!” he vociferated; “this monastic life won’t do. You must come forth! We are resolved to aman,—we, The Club, Madam! ay,the club, Madam! are resolved to a man, that Dr. Burney shall have no rest—poor gentleman!—till he scale the walls of your august convent, to burn your veil, and carry you off.”
At the iron gate opening into the lawn, not daring to force his uninvited steps any farther, he seriously and formally again stopped her, and, with a look and voice that indicated—don’t imagine I am trifling!—solemnly confirmed to her a rumour which already had reached her ears, that Mr. Windham, whom she knew to be foremost in this chivalrous cabal against the patience of Dr. Burney, was modelling a plan for inducing the members of the Literary Club to address a round-robin to the Doctor, to recall his daughter to the world.
“And the whole matter was puissantly discussed,” added Mr. Boswell, “atthe club, Madam, at the last meeting— Charles Fox in the chair.”
The alarm of this intimation sufficed, however, to save the Doctor from so disconcerting an honour; for the next time that the invalid, who, though palpably waning away, was seldom confined to the house, went to Westminster Hall during the trial of Mr. Hastings, and was joined by Mr. Windham, she entreated that liberal friend to relinquish his tookind purpose; assuring him that such a violent measure was unnecessary, since all, however slowly, was progressive towards her making the essay so kindly desired for her health, of change of air and life.
Mr. Windham, at first, persisted that nothing short of a round-robin would decisively re-urge Dr. Burney to his “almost blunted purpose.” But when, with equal truth and gratitude, she seriously told him that his own personal influence had already, in this most intricate difficulty, been persuasively powerful, he exclaimed, with his ever animated elegance, “Then I have not lived in vain!” and acquiesced.
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Horace Walpole, and all the Burkes, were potent accomplices in this kind and singular conspiracy; which, at last, was suddenly superseded by so obviously a dilapidated state of health in its object, as to admit of no further procrastination; and this uncommon struggle at length ended by the entrance at Windsor of a successor to the invalid, in July, 1791; when, though with nearly as much regret as eagerness, Dr. Burney fetched his daughter from thepalace; to which, exactly five years previously, he had conveyed her with unmixed delight.
It is here a duty—a fair and a willing one—to mention, that in an audience of leave-taking to which the Memorialist was admitted just before her departure, the Queen had the gracious munificence to insist that half the salary annexed to the resigned office should be retained: and when the Memorialist, from fullness of heart, and the surprise of gratitude, would have declined, though with the warmest and most respectful acknowledgments, a remuneration to which she had never looked forward, the Queen, without listening to her resistance, deigned to express the softest regret that it was not convenient to her to do more.[19]
All of ill health, fatigue, or suffering, that had worked the necessity for this parting, was now, at this moment of its final operation, sunk in tender gratitude, or lost in the sorrow of leave-taking; and the Memorialist could difficultly articulate, in retiring,a single sentence of her regret or her attachment: while the Queen, the condescending Queen, with weeping eyes, laid her fair hand upon the arm of the Memorialist, repeatedly and gently wishing her happy—“well, and happy!” And all the Princesses were graciously demonstrative of a concern nearly amounting to emotion, in pronouncing their adieus. Even the King, the benign King himself, coming up to her, with an evident intention to wish her well, as he entered the apartment that she was quitting, wore an aspect of so much pity for her broken health, that, utterly overpowered by the commiserating expression of his benevolent countenance, she was obliged, instead of murmuring her thanks, and curtseying her farewell, abruptly to turn from him to an adjoining window, to hide a grateful sensibility of his goodness that she could neither subdue, nor venture to manifest.
A minute or two he deigned to wait in silence her resumption of self-command, that he might speak to her; but finding she could not enough recover to look round, he moved silently, and not very fast, away; taking with him a fervency of prayers and blessings that issued from the heart’s core of his humblest, but most grateful subject.
No one, not even the bitterest of his political enemies, could have passed five years under the roof of his Majesty George the Third, and have seen him, whether overwhelmed by the most baneful of calamities, or brightened by the most unexampled popularity, always, through every vicissitude, save in the immediate paroxysms of his malady,himselfunchanged, in zeal for his people; in tender affection for his family; and in the kindliest benevolence for all his household—without looking up to him with equal reverence and attachment, as a being of the most stainlessintentionalpurity both in principle and in conduct.
Arrived again at the natal home, Dr. Burney welcomed back his daughter with the most cheering tenderness. All the family,—and in the same line in partial affection,—Mr. and Mrs. Locke, hastened to hail and propitiate her return; and congratulatory hopes and wishes for the speedy restoration of her health poured in upon the Doctor from all quarters.
But chiefly Mrs. Crewe, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Messrs. Windham, Horace Walpole, and Seward, started forward, by visits or by letters,upon this restitution, with greetings almost tumultuous; so imbued had been their minds with the belief that change of scene and change of life, alone could retard a change more fatal.
Mr. Burke was at Beaconsfield; and joined not, therefore, in the kind participation which the Doctor might else have hoped for, on the re-appearance of his invalid daughter in those enlightening circles of which Mr. Burke, now, was the unrivalled first ornament.
It may here be right, perhaps, as well as interesting, to note, since it can be done upon proof, the kindness of heart and liberality of Mr. Burke, even in politics, when not combatted by the turbulence and excitement of public contention. Too noble, indeed, was his genuine character, too great, too grand, for any warp so offensive to mental liberty, as that of seeking to subject the opinions of his friends to his own.
This truth will be amply illustrated by the following letter, writtenin answer to some apology from Dr. Burney, for withholding his vote, at a Westminster Election, from the friend and the party that were canvassed for in person by Mr. Burke.