7 August 1786 – 13 August 1786

This has been the first cheerful day since the memorable and alarming attack of the 2nd of August. It was the birthday of the little Princess Amelia: and the fondness of the whole family for that lovely child, and her own infantine enjoyment of the honours paid her, have revived the spirits of the whole house. The manner of keeping the birth-days here is very simple. All the royal family are new-dressed; so—at least so they appear—are all their attendants. The dinners and desserts are unusually sumptuous; and some of the principal officers of state, and a few of the ladies of the Court, come to Windsor to make their compliments; and at night there is a finer concert, by an addition from town of the musicians belonging to the queen's band. If the weather is fine, all the family walk upon the Terrace, which is crowded with people of distinction, who take that mode of showing respect, to avoid the trouble and fatigue of attending at the following Drawing-room. Another method, too, which is taken to express joy and attachment upon these occasions, is by going to the eight o'clock prayers at the royal chapel. The congregation all assemble, after the service, in the opening at the foot of the great stairs which the royal family descend from their gallery, and there those who have any pretensions to notice scarce ever fail to meet with it. To-day, this staircase Drawing-room, as it is named by Major Price, was very much crowded; and it was a sweet sight to me, from my windows, to see that the royal group respectfully followed by many people of distinction, who came on the occasion, and, at a still greater distance, encircled by humbler, but not less loyal congratulators, had their chief attention upon my dear, aged, venerable Mrs. Delany, who was brought in by the king and queen, to partake with them the birth-day breakfast. In the evening, for the first time since my arrival, I went upon the Terrace, under the wing and protection of my dear Mrs. Delany, who was tempted to walk there herself, in order to pay her respects on the little princess's birth-day. She was carried in her chair to the foot of the steps. Mrs. Delany was desirous to save herself for the royal encounter: she therefore sat down on the first seat till the royal party appeared in sight: we then, of course, stood up. It was really a mighty pretty procession. The little princess, just turned of three years old, in a robe-coat covered with fine muslin, a dressed close cap, white gloves, and a fan, walked on alone and first, highly delighted in the parade, and turning from side to side to see everybody as she passed: for all the terracers stand up against the walls, to make a clear passage for the royal family, the moment they come in sight. Then followed the king and queen, no less delighted themselves with the joy of their little darling. The princess royal, leaning on Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, followed at a little distance. This princess, the second female in the kingdom, shews, I think, more marked respect and humility towards the king and queen than any of the family. Next the Princess Augusta, holding by the Duchess of Ancaster; and next the Princess Elizabeth, holding by Lady Charlotte Bertie. Office here takes place of rank, which occasioned Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, as lady of her bedchamber, to walk with the princess royal. Then followed the Princess Mary with Miss Goldsworthy, and the Princess Sophia with Mademoiselle Monmoulin and Miss Planta then General Bude and the Duke of Montagu and, lastly, Major Price, who, as equerry, always brings up the rear, walks at a distance from the group, and keeps off all crowd from the royal family. On sight of Mrs. Delany, the king instantly stopped to speak to her. The queen, of course, and the little princess, and all the rest, stood still, in their ranks. They talked a good while with the sweet old lady; during which time the king once or twice addressed himself to me. I caught the queen's eye, and saw in it a little surprise, but by no means any displeasure, to see me of the party. The little princess went up to Mrs. Delany, of whom she is very fond, and behaved like a little angel to her: she then, with a look of inquiry and recollection, slowly, of her own accord, came behind Mrs. Delany to look at me. “I am afraid,” said I, in a whisper, and stooping down, “your royal highness does not remember me?” What think you was her answer? An arch little smile, and a nearer approach, with her lips pouted out to kiss me. I could not resist so innocent an invitation, but the moment I had accepted it, I was half afraid it might seem, in so public a place, an improper liberty: however, there was no help for it. She then took my fan, and, having looked at it on both sides, gravely returned it me, saying, “O! a brown fan!” The king and queen then bid her curtsey to Mrs. Delany which she did most gracefully, and they all moved on; each of the princesses speaking to Mrs. Delany as they passed, and condescending to curtsey to her companion.

An exceedingly pretty scene was exhibited to-day to their majesties. We came, as usual on every alternate Tuesday, to Kew. The queen's Lodge is at the end of a long meadow, surrounded with houses, which is called Kew green; and this was quite filled with all the inhabitants of the place—the lame, old, blind, sick, and infants, who all assembled, dressed in their Sunday garb, to line the sides of the roads through which their majesties passed, attended by a band of musicians, arranged in the front, who began “God save the King!” the moment they came upon the green, and finished it with loud huzzas. This was a compliment at the expense of the better inhabitants, who paid the musicians themselves, and mixed in with the group, which indeed left not a soul, I am told, in any house in the place. This testimony of loyal satisfaction in the king's safe return, after the attempted assassination, affected the queen to tears: nor were they shed alone; for almost everybody's flowed that witnessed the scene. The queen, speaking of it afterwards, said, “O! I shall always love little Kew for this!”

I journeyed to town, with Mrs. Schwellenberg and Miss Planta; and this morning I was employed for the first time on a message to the queen. I was in the ante-room, when Mr. Nicolay, her majesty's page at St. James's, came and told me the Duchess of Ancaster sent her humble duty to the queen, and begged an audience before the Drawing-room. I told the queen, who, when dressed, all but her necklace, received the duchess in the ante-room. I mention all these little ceremonies as they occur, that hereafter I may have no occasion, when they lead to other matters, to explain them. The bedchamber woman was rung for on the queen's return. So you see I am not the only one to answer a bell. It was Mrs. Fielding, who looked at me with an attention that will not leave her much in doubt as to my dress, at least, though she could not speak. I have told you, I believe, that no one, not even the princesses, ever speak in the presence of the king and queen, but to answer what is immediately said by themselves. There are, indeed, occasions in which this is set aside, from particular encouragement given at the moment; but it is not less a rule, and it is one very rarely infringed. When the Drawing-room began, I went to my own room and there I had the great happiness of finding my father, who had contrived to be in town purposely, and to whom I had sent John, in St. Martin's Street, that he might be shown the straight way to my apartment. He had determined upon going to the Drawing-room himself, to manifest, amongst the general zeal of the times, his loyal joy in his majesty's safety. The drawing-room was over very late indeed. So anxious has been the whole nation to show their affectionate attachment to the king, that this, the first Drawing-room since his danger, was as splendid, and as much crowded, as upon a birthday. When the queen summoned me, upon returning to her dressing-room, and mentioned how full and how hot it had been, I ventured to say, “I am very glad of it, ma'am; it was an honest crowd to-day.”

Saturday. The Prince of Wales's birthday. How I grieve at whatever may be the cause which absents him from his family!—a family of so much love, harmony, and excellence, that to mix with them, even rarely, must have been the first of lessons to his heart; and here, I am assured, his heart is good, though, elsewhere, his conduct renders it so suspicious. I come now to the Oxford expedition. The plan was to spend one day at Lord Harcourt's, at Nuneham, one at Oxford, and one at Blenheim; dining and sleeping always at Nuneham. I now a little regretted that I had declined meeting Lady Harcourt, when invited to see her at Mrs. Vesey's about three years ago. I was not, just then, very happy—and I was surfeited of new acquaintances; when the invitation, therefore, came, I sent an excuse. But now when I was going to her house, I wished I had had any previous knowledge of her, to lessen the difficulties of my first appearance in my new character, upon attending the queen on a visit. I said something of this sort to Mrs. Schwellenberg, in our conversation the day before the journey; and she answered that it did not signify for, as I went with the queen, I might be sure I should be civilly treated. Yes, I said, I generally had been; and congratulated myself that at least I knew a little of Lord Harcourt, to whom I had been introduced, some years ago, at Sir Joshua Reynolds', and whom I had since met two or three times. “O,” she said, “it is the same,—that is nothing,—when you go with the queen, it is enough; they might be civil to you for that sake. You might go quite without no, what you call, fuss; you might take no gown but what you go in:—that is enough,—you might have no servant,—for what?—You might keep on your riding-dress. There is no need you might be seen. I shall do everything that I can to assist you to appear for nobody.” I leave you to imagine my thanks. But the news about the servant was not very pleasant, as I thought it most likely I could never more want one than in a strange house added to a strange situation. However, I determined upon assuming no competition in command, and therefore I left the matter to her own direction.

At six o'clock my hair-dresser, to my great satisfaction, arrived. Full two hours was he at work, yet was I not finished, when Swarthy, the queen's hair-dresser, came rapping at my door to tell me her majesty's hair was done, and she was waiting for me. I hurried as fast as I could, and ran down without any cap. She smiled at sight of my hasty attire, and said I should not be distressed about a hair-dresser the next day, but employ Swarthy's assistant, as soon as he had done with the princesses: “You should have had him,” she added, “to-day, if I had known you wanted him.” When her majesty was dressed, all but the hat, she sent for the three princesses—-and the king came also. I felt very foolish with my uncovered head; but it was somewhat the less awkward from its being very much a custom, in the royal family, to go without caps; though none that appear before them use such a freedom. As soon as the hat was on— “Now, Miss Burney,” said the queen, “I won't keep you; you had better go and dress too.” While I was dressing, a footman came to my door, with a formal message that Miss Vernons begged I would come to breakfast. I immediately promised to make haste, glad to find something more resembling civility at length coming round to me. Presently after entered Miss Planta, in high spirits and great enjoyment. She told me she had been acquainting the queen with the whole affair, and that the queen quite approved of our staying upstairs. She had been also with the equerries, and had a fine laugh with them about their “wanting the ladies”, they declared they had sent no message at all, and that the servant had simply received orders to tell us that Miss Vernons desired our company to supper. I thought it mighty unnecessary to have acquainted the equerries with what could only furnish a laugh against ourselves: however, the thing was done, and down we went together.