3 May 1790 – 9 May 1790

This being the last Pantheon, I put in my long intended claim; and it was greatly facilitated by the circumstance of a new singer, Madame Benda, making her first appearance. My dearest father fetched me from the Queen’s house. Esther and Marianne kept me places between them. Marianne never looked so pretty; I saw not a face there I thought equally lovely. And, oh, how Pacchierotti sung!—How-with what exquisite feeling, what penetrating pathos! I could almost have cried the whole time, that this one short song was all I should be able to hear! At the beginning of the second act I was obliged to decamp. James, who had just found me out, was my esquire. “Well,” he cried, in our way to the chair, “will there be war with Spain?” I assured him I thought not. “So I am afraid!” answered the true English tar. “However, if there is, I should be glad of a frigate of thirty-two guns. Now, if you ask for it, don’t say a frigate, and get me one of twenty-eight!” Good heaven!—poor innocent James!— And just as I reached the chair—“But how shall you feel,” he cried, “when I ask you to desire a guard-ship for me, in about two years’ time?” I could make no precise answer to that! He then added that he intended coming to Court! Very much frightened, I besought him first to come and drink tea with me—which he promised. In my way home, as I went ruminating upon this apparently but just, though really impracticable demand, I weighed well certain thoughts long revolving, and of late nearly bursting forth and the result was this—to try all, while yet there is time. Reproach else may aver, when too late, greater courage would have had greater success. This idea settled my resolutions, and they all bent to one point, risking all risks.