The Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay Volume I Part 57

A good deal of talk then followed about his own health, and the extreme temperance by which he preserved it. The fault of his const.i.tution, he said, was a tendency to excessive fat, which he kept, however, in order, by the most vigorous exercise and the strictest attention to a simple diet.

Mrs. Delany was beginning to praise his forbearance, but he stopped her.

"No, no," he cried, "'tis no virtue; I only prefer eating plain and little to growing diseased and infirm."

During this discourse, I stood quietly in the place where he had first spoken to me. His quitting me so soon, and conversing freely and easily with Mrs. Delany, proved so delightful a relief to me, that I no longer wished myself away; and the moment my first panic from the surprise was over, I diverted myself with a thousand ridiculous notions, of my own situation.

The Christmas games we had been showing Miss Dewes, it seemed as if we were still performing, as none of us thought it proper to move, though our manner of standing reminded one of "Puss in the corner." Close to the door was posted Miss Port; opposite her, close to the wainscot, stood Mr. Dewes; at just an equal distance from him, close to a window, stood myself. Mrs. Delany, though seated, was at the opposite side to Miss Port; and his majesty kept pretty much in the middle of the room.

The little girl, who kept close to me, did not break the order, and I could hardly help expecting to be beckoned, with a PUSS! PUSS! PUSS! to change places with one of my neighbours.

This idea, afterwards, gave way to another more pompous. It seemed to me we were acting a play. There is something so little like common and real life, in everybody's standing, while talking, in a room full of chairs, and standing, too, so aloof from each other, that I almost thought myself upon a stage, a.s.sisting in the representation of a tragedy,--in which the king played his own part, of the king; Mrs. Delany that of a venerable confidante; Mr. Dewes, his respectful attendant; Miss Port, a suppliant Virgin, waiting encouragement to bring forward some pet.i.tion; Miss Dewes, a young orphan, intended to move the royal compa.s.sion; and myself,--a very solemn, sober, and decent mute.

These fancies, however, only regaled me while I continued a quiet spectator, and without expectation of being called into play. But the king, I have reason to think, meant only to give me time to recover from my first embarra.s.sment; and I feel infinitely obliged to his good breeding and consideration, which perfectly answered, for before he returned to me, I was entirely recruited.

To go back to my narration.

When the discourse upon health and strength was over, the king went up to the table, and looked at a book of prints, from Claude Lorraine, which had been brought down for Miss Dewes; but Mrs. Delany, by mistake, told him they were for me. He turned over a leaf or two, and then said--

"Pray, does Miss Burney draw, too?"

The too was p.r.o.nounced very civilly.

"I believe not, Sir," answered Mrs. Delany "at least, she does not tell."

"Oh!" cried he, laughing, "that's nothing; she is not apt to tell! she never does tell, you know!--Her father told me that himself. He told me the whole history of her 'Evelina.' And I shall never forget his face when he spoke of his feelings at first taking up the book!--he looked quite frightened, just as if he was doing it that moment! I never can forget his face while I live!"

THE KING CATEGORICALLY QUESTIONS Miss BURNEY.

Then coming up close to me, the king said--

"But what?--what?--how was it?"

"Sir"--cried I, not well understanding him.

"How came you--how happened it--what?--what?"

"I--I only wrote, Sir, for my own amus.e.m.e.nt,--only in some odd, idle hours."

"But your publishing--your printing,--how was that?

"That was only, sir,--only because--"

I hesitated most abominably, not knowing how to tell him a long story, and growing terribly confused at these questions;--besides,--to say the truth, his own "what? what?" so reminded me of those vile "Probationary Odes," that, in the midst of all my flutter, I was really hardly able to keep my countenance.

The What! was then repeated, with so earnest a look, that, forced to say something, I stammeringly answered--

"I thought-sir-it would look very well in print!"

I do really flatter myself this is the silliest speech I ever made! I am quite provoked with myself for it; but a fear of laughing made me eager to utter anything, and by no means conscious, till I had spoken, of what I was saying. He laughed very heartily himself,--well he might--and walked away to enjoy it, crying out,

"Very fair indeed! that's being very fair and honest."

Then, returning to me again, he said,

"But your father--how came you not to show him what you wrote?"

"I was too much ashamed of it, sir, seriously."

Literal truth that, I am sure.

"And how did he find it out?

"I don't know myself, sir. He never would tell me."

Literal truth again, my dear father, as you can testify.

"But how did you get it printed?"

"I sent it, sir, to a bookseller my father never employed, and that I never had seen myself, Mr. Lowndes, in full hope by that means he never would hear of it."

"But how could you manage that?"

"By means of a brother, sir."

"O!--you confided in a brother, then?"

"Yes, sir,--that is, for the publication."

"What entertainment you must have had from hearing people's conjectures, before you were known! Do you remember any of them?"

"Yes, sir, many."

"And what?"

"I heard that Mr. Baretti[194] laid a wager it was written by a man for no woman, he said, could have kept her own counsel."

This diverted him extremely.

"But how was it," he continued, "you thought most likely for your father to discover you?"

"Sometimes, sir, I have supposed I must have dropt some of the ma.n.u.script; sometimes, that one of my sisters betrayed me."

"O! your sister?--what, not your brother?"