MRS. SCHWELLENBERG’S PARLOUR.
Dec. 3.—Worse again to-day was the poor king: the little fair gleam, how soon did it pass away!
I was beginning to grow ill myself, from the added fatigue of disturbance in the night, unavoidably occasioned by the neighbourhood to an invalid who summoned her maids at all hours; and my royal mistress issued orders for a removal to take place.
My new apartment is at the end of the long dark passage mentioned, with bed-room cells on each side it. It is a very comfortable room, carpeted all over, with one window looking to the front of the house and two into a court-yard. It is the most distant from the queen, but in all other respects is very desirable.
I must now relate briefly a new piece of cruelty. I happened to mention to la première présidente my waiting for a page to bring the morning accounts.
“And where do you wait?”
“In the parlour, ma’am.”
“In my parlour? Oh, ver well! I will see to that!”
“There is no other place, ma’am, but the cold passages, which, at that time in the morning, are commonly wet as well as dark.”
“O, ver well! When everybody goes to my room I might keep an inn—what you call hotel.”
All good humour now again vanished; and this morning, when I made my seven o’clock inquiry, I found the parlour doors both locked! I returned so shivering to my queen, that she demanded the cause, which I simply related; foreseeing inevitable destruction from continuing to run such a hazard. She instantly protested there should be a new arrangement.
Dec. 4.—No opportunity offered yesterday for my better security, and therefore I was again exposed this morning to the cold dark damp of the miserable passage. The account was tolerable, but a threat of sore-throat accelerated the reform.
It was now settled that the dining-parlour should be made over for the officers of state who came upon business to the house, and who hitherto had waited in the hall; and the room which was next to Mrs. Schwellenberg’s, and which had first been mine, was now made our salle à manger. By this means, the parlour being taken away for other people, and by command relinquished, I obtained once again the freedom of entering it, to ‘gather my account for her majesty. But the excess of ill-will awakened by my obtaining this little privilege, which was actually necessary to my very life, was so great, that more of personal offence and harshness could not have been shown to the most guilty of culprits.
One of the pages acquainted me his majesty was not worse, and the night had been as usual. As usual, too, was my day sad and solitary all the morning—not solitary but worse during dinner and coffee.
Just after it, however, came the good and sweet Mr. Smelt. The Prince of Wales sent for him, and condescended to apologise for the Windsor transaction, and to order he might regain admission.
How this was brought about I am not clear: I only know it is agreed by all parties that the prince has the faculty of making his peace, where he wishes it, with the most captivating grace In the world.