FALSE RUMOURS OF MISS BURNEY’S RESIGNATION.
Wednesday, Sept. 14—We went to town for the drawing-room, and I caught a most severe cold, by being oblige to have the glass down on my side, to suit Mrs. Schwellenberg, though the sharpest wind blew in that ever attacked a poor phiz. However, these are the sort of desagremens I can always best bear; and for the rest, I have now pretty constant civility.
My dear father drank tea with me but told me of a paragraph in “The World,” that gave me some uneasiness; to this effect:—“We hear that Miss Burney has resigned her place about the queen, and is now promoted to attend the princesses, an office far more suited to her character and abilities, which will now be called forth as they merit.”—Or to that purpose. As “The World” is not taken in here, I flattered myself it would not be known; for I knew how little pleasure such a paragraph would give, and was very sorry for it.
The next day, at St. James’s, Miss Planta desired to speak to me, before the queen arrived. She acquainted me Of the same “news,” and said, “Everybody spoke of it;” and the queen might receive twenty letters of recommend, to my place before night. Still I could only be sorry. Another paragraph had now appeared, she told me, contradicting the first, and saying, “The resignation of Miss Burney is premature; it only arose from an idea of the service the education of the princesses might reap from her virtues and accomplishments.”
I was really concerned conscious how little gratified my royal mistress would be by the whole—and, presently, Miss Planta came to me again, and told me that the princesses had mentioned it! They never read any newspapers; but they had heard of it from the Duke of York. I observed the queen was most particularly gracious with me, softer, gentler, more complacent than ever; and, while dressing, she dismissed her wardrobe-woman, and, looking at me very steadfastly, said, “Miss Burney, do you ever read newspapers?”
“Sometimes,” I answered, “but not often: however. I believe I know what your majesty means!”
I could say no less; I was so sure of her meaning.
“Do you?” she cried.
“Yes, ma’am, and I have been very much hurt by it: that is, if your majesty means anything relative to myself?”
“I do!” she answered, still looking at me with earnestness. “My father, ma’am,” cried I, “told me of it last night, with a good deal of indignation.”
“I,” cried she, “did not see it myself: you know how little I read the newspapers.”
“Indeed,” cried I, “as it was in a paper not taken in here, I hoped it would quite have escaped your majesty.”
“.So it did: I only heard of it.”
I looked a little curious, and she kindly explained herself.
“When the Duke of York came yesterday to dinner, he said almost immediately, ‘Pray, ma’am, what has Miss Burney left You for?’ ‘Left me?’ ‘Yes, they say she’s gone; pray what’s the reason?’ ‘Gone?’ ‘Yes, it’s at full length in all the newspapers: is not she gone?’ ‘Not that I know of.’”
“All the newspapers” was undoubtedly a little flourish of the duke; but we jointly censured and lamented the unbridled liberty of the press, in thus inventing, contradicting, and bringing on and putting off, whatever they pleased.
I saw, however, she had really been staggered: she concluded, I fancy, that the paragraph arose from some latent Muse, which might end in matter of fact; for she talked to me of Mrs. Dickenson, and of all that related to her retreat, and dwelt upon the subject with a sort of solicitude that seemed apprehensive—if I may here use such a word-of a similar action. It appeared to me that she rather expected some further assurance on my part that no such view or intention had given rise to this pretended report; and therefore, when I had again the honour of her conversation alone, I renewed the subject, and mentioned that my father had had some thoughts of contradicting the paragraph himself.
“And has he done it?” cried she quite eagerly.
“No, ma’am; for, upon further consideration, he feared it might only excite fresh paragraphs, and that the whole would sooner die, if neglected.”
“So,” said she, “I have been told; for, some years ago, there was a paragraph in the papers I wanted myself to have had contradicted, but they acquainted me it was best to be patient, and it would be forgot the sooner.”
“This, however, ma’am, has been contradicted this morning.”
“By your father?” cried she, again speaking eagerly.
“No, ma’am; I know not by whom.”
She then asked how it was done. This was very distressing but I was forced to repeat It as well as I could, reddening enough, though omitting, you may believe, the worst.
Just then there happened an interruption; which was vexatious, as it prevented a concluding speech, disclaiming all thoughts of resignation, which I saw was really now become necessary for the queen’s satisfaction; and since it was true—why not say it? And, accordingly, the next day, when she was most excessively kind to me, I seized an opportunity, by attending her through the apartments to the breakfast-room, to beg, permission to speak to her. It was smilingly granted me.
“I have now, ma’am, read both the paragraphs.”
“Well?” with a look of much curiosity.
“And indeed I thought them both very impertinent. They say that the idea arose from a notion of my being promoted to a place about the princesses!”
“I have not seen either of the paragraphs,” she answered, “but the Prince of Wales told me of the second yesterday.”
“They little know me, ma’am,” I cried, “who think I should regard any other place as a promotion that removed me from your majesty.” “I did not take it ill, I assure you,” cried she, gently.
“Indeed, ma’am, I am far from having a wish for any such promotion—far from it! your majesty does not bestow a smile upon me that does not secure and confirm my attachment.”
One of her best smiles followed this, with a very condescending little bow, and the words, “You are very good,” uttered in a most gentle Voice; and she went on to her breakfast.
I am most glad this complete explanation passed. Indeed it is most true I would not willingly quit a place about the queen for any place; and I was glad to mark that her smiles were to me the whole estimate of its value.
This little matter has proved, in the end, very gratifying to me for it has made clear beyond all doubt her desire of retaining me, and a considerably increased degree of attention and complacency have most flatteringly shown a wish I should be retained by attachment.