CHAPTER I.
PARENTAGE OF MISS KNIGHT—ANECDOTES OF HER FATHER—HER EARLY DAYS—EDUCATION—SOCIETY—SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS—BURKE—GOLDSMITH—BARETTI—ANECDOTE OF DR. JOHNSON—DEATH OF ADMIRAL KNIGHT.
My ancestors, on my father’s side, lost a very considerable landed property from their attachment to the cause of royalty, during the unfortunate reign of Charles the First. My grandfather had a trifling employment in Cornwall, where my father, his youngest son, was born. The latter entered the naval service of the Crown at the age of fourteen, on board a ship of war, commanded by his brother. He had previously received a good education, and had attained as much classical knowledge as could be expected at so early a period of life; and what is very remarkable, though constantly and almost exclusively engaged in the duties of his profession, he never forgot his Greek and Latin.[[2]]
That singular character, Wortley Montagu,[[3]] was on board my uncle’s ship, and, of course, became much acquainted with my father, insomuch that when my uncle was appointed to the command of another ship, and took his brother with him, Montagu would stay no longer, and suddenly disappeared. This was the commencement of his wanderings, as I was told by an old gentleman who had been his tutor, and who was struck by my resemblance to my father at nearly the same age as that at which he had known him.
During half a century my father served his king and country with unremitting zeal and attachment. He was present at most of the memorable sieges and engagements of his time, and died at the age of sixty-six, a rear-admiral of the white squadron and a knight.
Unassuming, disinterested, and possessing the nicest sense of honour, he never received a reprimand from a superior officer, and never injured the character of one under his command by a complaint to the Board of Admiralty. Strict in the performance of his own duty, he exacted the same from others. He was known to be kind, as well as just; he was beloved, and he was obeyed.
When very young, he had married a lady, by whom he had a son and two daughters. His son died a captain in the army before my father married his second wife, my mother, a lady of an Essex family, whose crest was a tortoise, while that of my father was an eagle on a spray. This contrast of the slow and the swift is not more remarkable than that of the histories of the two families. As the ancestor of my father, Sir Joseph Knight, lost his estates in Cheshire and part of Whittleby Forest on account of his supporting the cause of Charles the First, so Sir Anthony Dean,[[4]] one of my mother’s family, a warm partisan of the Commonwealth, having exchanged one of his Essex estates with Colonel Sparrow for Hyde Park, was deprived of the latter at the Restoration, and without receiving what he had given up, was obliged to relinquish the property belonging to government.
My mother was, however, no friend of revolutions; and her principles in that respect perfectly agreed with those of my father. She had great quickness of perception, wit, and vivacity, a happy facility in conversation, and a singular frankness of temper. I never knew any one who better combined economy with the most disinterested generosity, or the most affectionate warmth of heart with the keenest satirical penetration. She was feared by some, but loved by many. She had read much, but having lost her mother at her birth, and having been brought up in the country at a time when education had not made general progress, she was resolved that I should not labour under the same disadvantage, and her ideas on the subject were very extensive. Had I possessed half her acuteness of mind, firmness of character, and buoyancy of spirits, there is nothing that I might not have attained, from the pains that she took with my education.
The first event which I can recollect was the return of my father from the West Indies, where he had been left for some time after the conclusion of peace, with the command at the Havannah, until that place was restored to Spain by the new treaty. I remember being carried up the ship’s side, when I was taken by my mother to Portsmouth to meet him. The height of the ship and the waves of the sea left a strong impression on my mind.
My father liked the Spaniards, as I afterwards heard him say, and as my mother used to tell me in later times. He was friendly and kind to them, and they are not forgetful of benefits, nor, alas! of injuries.
One of the Judges of the Havannah, hearing Captain Knight called by his christian as well as his family name at a dinner-party, sprang from his chair and flew into my father’s arms, calling him his preserver, his benefactor. It seems, that when this Spaniard was very young, and on his first voyage to the West Indies, he had been taken prisoner by an English ship of war, on board of which my father was a lieutenant. Seeing the distress and fright of the youth, who, having just left his parents, loaded with valuable gifts, relics, and keepsakes, trembled for his treasures, and who, having been used to every comfort at home, was wretched in his present situation, my father gave him up his own cabin, took care of his property, and made him perfectly easy and happy.
Remembering all this with the most grateful feeling, the Spaniard, then in one of the highest offices of the Havannah, pressed my father to come to his house, and offered him every attention; but he declined it, for, as he said, he knew the man would want him to accept valuable presents, and he might offend him by refusing. He, indeed, constantly refused what might be called remuneration of any kind; and was of opinion that no man in a public situation could be just or independent unless he kept clear of such obligations.
On the day of my completing my fifth year I was taken to the school of Mesdames Thompets, four sisters from Switzerland, to which I was to go as a parlour day-boarder, three times a week, for the purpose of learning to dance and to speak French. This was certainly no hard injunction, and I had some young friends there; but it was long a great distress to me, and I dreaded the three unfortunate days to a degree not to be described.
On the intermediate days I had masters at home. One of these was M. Petitpierre, who had been a pastor of the Swiss church of Neufchatel, and had been dismissed by the synod of that place for having preached a doctrine which was not approved. He, it seems, pleaded that he had only, when ordained, promised to interpret the Scriptures to the best of his knowledge and comprehension; but the heads of his Church said that his doctrine, which implied the non-eternity of punishments, might not be dangerous for themselves, who were enlightened men, but would be greatly so for their wives and servants.
Frederick, King of Prussia, as in some measure sovereign of Neufchatel, interfered in behalf of Petitpierre, but without success; and he is said to have finished by remarking, “Eh bien! si messieurs de Neufchatel veulent être damnés à toute éternité, ainsi soit-il!”
M. Petitpierre had a great number of scholars in London, and was certainly an excellent master. He taught me French, Latin, the elements of Greek, and of the mathematics, with geography and history. He was a man of great simplicity of manners, and I had a sincere regard for him. He was the protector and comforter of all the Swiss who wanted his assistance, and generally esteemed by those who were settled in our country.
At length, the sister of one of those, who had chiefly caused his banishment, happened to be in great difficulties, from which he extricated her; and she wrote to her brother, saying that the man whom the synod had exiled was the guardian angel of his countrymen and countrywomen in England.
Petitpierre was, in consequence of this, and, perhaps, other letters of similar import, recalled to Neufchatel, by a solemn deputation of the synod, to his brother’s house. He went and paid a visit to his friends, but did not settle in his native country till after the death of his wife.
The too famous Marat was a Swiss physician, and used to visit at the school. All that I can recollect of him were his person and countenance, which were very repulsive.
The dancing-master was Novere, brother of the celebrated ballet-master of that name. It is, I believe, impossible for any one to have been a more proper instructor—graceful without affectation, a good time-ist, and, I believe, a good domestic character in private life. As he had many scholars—he and Gallini being the dancing-masters the most in fashion—he made some money, and bought, as he said, “an estate for himself and his ancestors.”
Sir Joshua Reynolds was, during my childhood, the painter in fashion, and his house was the resort of the men of letters most known at that time. He had living with him an unmarried sister (Miss Frances Reynolds), for whom my mother had a real friendship. She was an amiable woman, very simple in her manner, but possessed of much information and talent, for which I do not think every one did her justice, on account of the singular naïveté which was her characteristic quality, or defect, for it often gave her the appearance of want of knowledge. She was a good painter and musician, and I have seen some of her poetical compositions, which have appeared to me very pleasing, and in good taste.
I used often to pass the day with her, when she would give me instructions in drawing, and as I was very intimate with her younger niece,[[5]] we used to pass much time in rooms where the portraits of most of the celebrated beauties, men of letters, and politicians of the time, were exposed to view.
Sir Joshua Reynolds was a very popular person. All seemed satisfied with their portraits, and he had the art of rendering the costume picturesque, without departing from the mode of the time so as to make the resemblance less striking. There was in his paintings a fascination which still, in great measure, prevails, though many are faded; and the drawing was always correct. I believe he was good, friendly, and benevolent in a high degree. His pronunciation was tinctured with the Devonshire accent; his features were coarse, and his outward appearance slovenly, but his mind was certainly not inelegant, and the graces which he did not himself possess he could confer on his pictures. Sir Joshua loved high company, and wished his house to be considered as a Lyceum. In this he had Rubens and Vandyke in view. He was, indeed, surrounded by the wits and men of learning, and their society was harmonised by the goodness of his disposition, and the purity of his sister’s character and manners.
Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, Baretti, Langton,[[6]] Beauclerk,[[7]] and Mrs. Montagu, were often his guests. As President of the Royal Academy, the speeches of Sir Joshua Reynolds were admired for the style, though probably not for the matter of them. He was, I suppose, assisted by his literary friends, and more particularly by Johnson. Michael Angelo was his idol. Sir Joshua had been at Rome while young, but before he left England he had painted several portraits of sea officers, friends of Lord Edgecombe, which portraits are, I imagine, still to be seen at that most beautiful place Mount Edgecombe. I recollect seeing at Devonport the portrait of an old lady of ninety, of the same date, and I think it is one of his best performances. The colours, too, had not faded, as in many of his later works.
I recollect being delighted with the conversation of Mr. Burke, amused by the buffoonery of Goldsmith, and disgusted with the satirical madness of manner of Baretti,[[8]] whose work, entitled “Frusta Literaria,” had, I believe, been the principal cause of his leaving Piedmont. He was, however, a great favourite in this society, and was warmly supported when he had to take his trial for having stabbed a man who insulted him one night in the street. He was acquitted, because it was considered to have been done in self-defence. Being a foreigner, he was probably more frightened than he might have been had he known our country better, and he used, therefore, a weapon not common with us, though it might be in Piedmont. I was then a child; but I remember being so shocked at his shaking hands with me, that I said to my mother at night, “Did I ever think I should shake hands with a murderer!” It is certain that Baretti was a man of great learning and information.
Goldsmith was, I feel sure, very good-natured, and though neither his features, person, nor manners had anything of grace to recommend them, his countenance, as far as I can recollect, was honest and open, and in his behaviour there was something easy and natural, removed from vulgarity no less than from affectation. His buffoonery, of which I have spoken, was a sort of childish playfulness, such as drinking off a glass of water reversed on the table without spilling a drop, and similar tricks. On some occasion—I forget what—he was told that he must wear a silk coat, and he purchased one second-hand, which had been a nobleman’s, without observing that there was visible on the breast a mark showing where a star had been. He was beloved, and his death was truly lamented.
The observations of so young a child as I then was can be of no consequence, but of all these personages the one whom I liked best was Mr. Burke, perhaps because he condescended to notice me. Of Mrs. Montagu,[[9]] all that I can remember is that she called me “a stupid child,” because I did not find out the puzzle of a gold ring which she wore.
As to Johnson, he was always kind to me, but he was very intimate at our house, had a high opinion of my father, and conversed willingly with my mother, who never failed to contradict him when she was not of his way of thinking, and yet never received from him a disagreeable reply.
An elderly lady, named Williams,[[10]] who had been a friend of his wife, lived with him. Though blind, and suffering very much from a pain in the head, she acted as his housekeeper, and managed all the affairs of his domestic life. Born in a respectable station, she had been well educated, but had no fortune. She had high principles, great strength of mind, and a sound judgment. Her manners were perfectly good, and her taste in literature correct. She was of a Welsh family, and had lost her sight irrecoverably when a young woman; but it was wonderful to see how little trouble she gave; she worked well, and even made her own gowns. My mother had a great regard for her, and she often passed the day with us.
I remember going with Mrs. Williams and Mr. and Mrs. Hoole to see the tragedy of “Cyrus,” written by Mr. Hoole,[[11]] in imitation of the “Ciro” of Metastasio, Mrs. Yates taking the part of Mandane.[[12]]
The King of Denmark[[13]] was at that time on a visit to England, and gave a masquerade ball at the Opera House, for which, of course, everybody was anxious to get tickets. In the epilogue to “Cyrus,” amongst other satirical strokes, as usual, on the habits and customs of the times, were the following lines:
With us what griefs from ills domestic rise,
When now a beau, and now a monkey dies!
In this our iron age, still harder lot,
A masquerade—no tickets to be got!
On the following morning, after the first hearing of this epilogue, tickets were left at the door of Mrs. Yates.
This, I have been told, was the first masquerade given in London after the death of George the Second, who was very fond of them, and seldom missed them at the theatre. George the Third did not approve of an amusement which he thought might lead to much that was wrong. He did not, however, refuse his brother-in-law, though he endeavoured to persuade him to give a fête of another description, and all he could afterwards do was not to encourage masquerades by his presence.
To return to Mr. Hoole. I was captivated by his translation of Tasso’s “Jerusalem,” which certainly has great merit. To translate from Italian into any other language is more than difficult; whereas the Italians can translate any author, not only of the dead but of the living languages, with the greatest facility, and with a correctness delightfully intelligible to the readers of their own country—an advantage also enjoyed by the Germans in a high degree.
When I first knew Dr. Johnson, I was a little afraid of his deep tone of voice and great wig; but when I had reached my seventh or eighth year, I was accustomed to all this, and felt grateful for his indulgence.
He was introduced to George the Fourth, then a child, in the library at St. James’s. He asked the young prince some questions about his studies, and when he took leave of him, said, “God bless you, sir! and make you as good a man and as great a king as your father.”
The ideas of Johnson on social order were carried so far, that when he wanted to send for his favourite cat he would not order his servant, who was a negro, to procure it, saying that it was not good to employ human beings in the service of animals; he therefore went himself on the errand. When I went abroad, Dr. Johnson gave me his blessing, and exhorted me not to become a Roman Catholic, adding, that “if I extended my belief, I might at length turn Turk.” I was insensible of the goodness of the advice, because I knew it to be unnecessary, and was therefore hurt at the supposition. Indeed, I still think, that if Dr. Johnson had possessed as much discrimination of character as learning, he would rather have advised me to remember I was a Christian, and never allow vanity or the love of pleasure to lead me into follies unworthy of that sacred character. I should have felt that I wanted such advice, and, probably, should have often thought of it, at least with gratitude.
Johnson was a sincere lover of equal justice, and though feeling great respect for the distinctions of rank and lawful authority, he was far from being servile, or what is called a courtier.
He had a great respect for men who served their country by sea or land, and was heard to say that, let a man be ever so distinguished for rank or abilities, he could not help thinking that he must, when in company with an officer of long and splendid services, feel himself his inferior.
He was very curious to see the manner of living and the discipline on board a ship of war, and when my father was appointed to the command of the Ramilies, of seventy-four guns, and to sail with the command of a squadron for Gibraltar, at the time when a war with Spain was expected, Johnson went to Portsmouth, and passed a week on board with my father. He inquired into everything, made himself very agreeable to the officers, and was much pleased with his visit.
When he was conveyed on shore, the young officer whom my father had sent to accompany him, asked if he had any further commands. “Sir,” said Johnson, “have the goodness to thank the commodore and all the officers for their kindness to me, and tell Mr. ——, the first lieutenant, that I beg he will leave off the practice of swearing.”
The young man, willing, if possible, to justify, or at least excuse, his superior, replied that, unfortunately, there was no making the sailors do their duty without using strong language, and that his Majesty’s service required it. “Then, pray, sir,” answered Johnson, “tell Mr. —— that I beseech him not to use one oath more than is absolutely required for the service of his Majesty.”
Among the persons of talent whom we knew, I must not forget Gainsborough. He might be said to be self-taught. I have heard my mother, who knew all about Essex and Suffolk people, say that his father kept a shop, and he was obliged to pink shrouds, &c. Every spare moment he gave to drawing. He studied every tree in the counties in which he lived, and was never out of England. Had he studied in Italy, he would not only have been the first of English painters, but probably would have formed a school in this country. His genius was very great. His landscapes are Nature itself, and his portraits, though perhaps not so fascinating as those of Sir Joshua, were correct likenesses. He had an almost equal talent for music as for painting, and I never saw an artist who had less presumption or vanity.
My father sailed for Gibraltar with a convoy of troops for that garrison; but, peace being settled, he brought back others in exchange. On his return, he was ordered to pay off the ships of war then at Chatham, and afterwards appointed to the command of the Ocean, of ninety guns, a guard-ship at Plymouth.
Thither we removed, and had a house in the square of what was then called Plymouth Dock. Admiral Spry commanded the fleet there; but as he was in Parliament, and often absent, my father, who was senior officer, had the duty of commander to perform during three-fourths of the year. Spry had an estate in Cornwall, and was a great friend of my father, in whom he placed the highest confidence, otherwise I do not believe that he would have made such frequent and long absences, for he was a sensible man and a good officer, though not fond of being confined to a seaport.
Whatever was duty was preferred by my father to every other consideration; and he not only took the greatest pains to acquit himself of that which was his portion at Plymouth, but was most hospitable and kind to the officers under his command, and to all the foreigners who either came on service or were recommended to him on visits of pleasure or curiosity. Among the latter were several Russian noblemen, and the Duc de Guignes, the French ambassador at our Court.
It was my father who despatched a frigate, under the command of Captain Macbride, to convey the unfortunate Queen Matilda[[14]] from Copenhagen to Germany; and on that occasion he acted with a dignity similar to that shown by our minister Sir Robert Keith; for he would not allow any of the Danish noblemen to hand the Queen into the barge, saying, “No, gentlemen, her Majesty is now under the protection of England.”
Sir Edward Hughes, Captain Barrington, Captain Fielding, and other officers commanding guard-ships, were constantly at our house. Captain Vandeput, who commanded a frigate, hearing that my father had a girl who was learning Italian, lent me his library, during a long cruise. It consisted of several books in that language, as well as in French.
I had a few lessons in Greek from the chaplain of the dockyard; but, in most respects, I had not here much assistance in continuing my studies; and from the circumstances in which we were placed, I was thrown more into society than was expedient at so early a period of my life; but, at the time, I was, of course, pleased with it to a certain degree, though I can now remember little that was interesting during our residence at Devonport.
No man, I think, was more generally beloved than Captain Barrington. His eldest brother, Lord Barrington, was long Secretary to the War Department, and had considerable influence; but Captain Barrington, who was unassuming and unambitious, seemed never to avail himself of this circumstance, unless by being the first to get his ship out of dock, or any other exigency of service, not perhaps being even conscious that his situation in life gained him this advantage with the persons on whom the business depended.
He was an enemy to all ostentation, kept a good table on board his ship, but without magnificence, that he might not hurt the feelings of his brother officers, who were not in circumstances as easy as his own. He was very charitable, and he paid for all the letters which came to the seamen under his command. It was remarked that there never was a dinner at which eight or ten sea officers were assembled without Barrington’s health being drunk.
One of his lieutenants, Mr. Blenkett, had been long known to my mother. He had wit and talent, knowledge of the world, and literary acquirements. When abroad, he used to correspond with my mother, and his letters were very amusing.
Bath was at that time a very fashionable place, and Mr. B., having leave of absence for two or three weeks, sent to my mother from thence the following lines, which he had composed doubtless in imitation of the “Bath Guide:”[[15]]
Miss Dolly Dapperlove to Miss Biddy Blossom.
I am all in a flurry! would you think it, my dear,
That sweet little creature, Bob Jervis, is here?
There is no alteration, except that he’s older,
And has got a small beard, which makes him look bolder.
He’s so smiling and nice, so neat and so trim,
That the ladies can look at no mortal but him;
When he enters the rooms the girls giggle and flirt,
While my hero, Bob Jervis, remains quite unhurt;
For he knows that his figure must charm every fair,
And to conquer their hearts he need only appear.
So ladies no longer your charms try in vain,
’Tis for me that Bob Jervis has come back again.
These lines were inserted in a newspaper, and they were the portrait of a Mr. D——, chaplain to one of the guard-ships, who was also on leave of absence at Bath. He was a very little man, and a great dandy. The officers made a great joke of his attention to his person and dress; and one evening at the Assembly, when he was about to dance with a very tall young lady, Captain M—— ran and pushed him a stool, desiring him to mount on it. He took all this very good naturedly, and, notwithstanding this little weakness in his character, he was a man of learning and taste in literature.
On our return to town, my father asked for the Newfoundland command; but received a very flattering letter from Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, implying that he deserved everything, but that the appointment was already promised. He was already in a very indifferent state of health, and lived but a few months after he was promoted to the rank of Rear-Admiral of the White. He died at Harwich, whither he had gone that he might have sea-bathing, and was interred in the family vault of my mother in the Chapel Royal, where I have since erected an humble monument to his memory and to that of my mother. His last meal consisted of a little fruit and a glass of wine, which I gave him, and which he drank to the health of his king, “wishing him out of all his trouble,” for the American business was then the theme of all politicians.
After this he begged my mother to read to him “The Sermon on the Mount”—a part of Scripture which he particularly loved. While she was reading, he expired. Nearly all the inhabitants of Harwich followed him to the grave, and many wore mourning for some days.
After this irreparable loss, we passed the winter in London. My mother applied for a pension, and a memorial of my father’s services, which she presented to the king at St. James’s, was drawn up by Dr. Johnson. It was graciously received, but Lord Sandwich having observed that she was not in absolute want, the request was not granted.
My mother, then finding that she could not live in London with that propriety which she had at heart, made up her mind to go abroad, with the intention of remaining three years on the Continent—a plan very congenial to my own wishes. She offered to take my sister with us, but she preferred remaining in England with a very amiable woman, an old friend of my mother. This lady was the widow of a clergyman, and my sister had already passed some years with her to finish her education, as she was not more than twelve years old when my father married for the second time. She afterwards married the Rev. Maurice Mosely, and died without children.
My mother’s first cousin, Sir Philip Staples, was at that time Secretary to the Admiralty. He was a man of talent and information, fond of the arts, and agreeable in society; but, for some years, we had seen little of him, on account of a dispute between a sister who lived with him and my mother. He was always on good terms with my father, and was present at the opening of his will.