CHAPTER X.
SOCIETY IN ENGLAND—ELIZABETH CARTER—ARRANGEMENTS AT COURT—MISS KNIGHT ENTERS THE QUEEN’S SERVICE—STATE OF THE KING’S HEALTH—DEATH OF THE PRINCESS AMELIA.
At the change of administration in February, 1801, the king appointed Earl St. Vincent First Lord of the Admiralty, intimating to him that it was in consequence of his great victory in 1797. Mr. Addington succeeded Mr. Pitt as First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer, and preliminaries of peace[[98]] were signed with Napoleon Bonaparte, First Consul of the French Republic. Mr. Nepean continued Secretary to the Admiralty, and Sir Thomas Troubridge and Admiral Markham became two of the new Lords, with apartments at the Admiralty. To be near my friends I took apartments close to Whitehall, and passed much of my time with them, going frequently to the Opera with Sir Philip and Miss Stephens, and to the Concerts of Ancient Music with Lady Macartney. Lord[[99]] and Lady Bruce, whom I had known in Italy, came to town in the spring, as did also Lord and Lady Rolle, all of whom were very kind to me. The Prince and Princess Castelcicala—the former was the Neapolitan minister—likewise showed me every attention.
Mr. Pitt and his friends, who had quitted office because the country was clamorous for peace, had promised to support Mr. Addington’s administration; but the harmony that existed between the two parties was not of long duration. The reform of abuses in the Navy-office and dockyards excited a loud outcry against Lord St. Vincent and his adherents, and even Mr. Nepean took part against him. Sir Philip Stephens, however, like a prudent man long used to office, kept on good terms with all parties. He was the oldest member of Parliament, having represented Sandwich fourteen times.
About this time I became acquainted with Lady Macartney’s sister, Lady Lonsdale, a very agreeable person, and a great favourite with everybody. It was remarked, that if you had to invite to a dinner-party some who were intimate with one another and others who were not, and a lady were wanted to complete the arrangement, Lady Lonsdale was the person to be asked, as she was certain to be agreeable to all parties. I was likewise introduced by Lord Abercorn to the well-informed, mild, and amiable Dr. Howley, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. Early in 1802 I was presented to their Majesties at a drawing-room by Lady Aylesbury, and was received very graciously.
The people of England had been very desirous to have peace, but they soon perceived how little they had gained by it. It is the custom of the nation every now and then to be seized with a violent mania, but its good sense speedily recals it to a proper understanding of its real duties and interests. The war was, therefore, renewed, and carried on with vigour, though nothing was spoken of for some time but the threatened invasion. A gentleman, who was fishing in a sequestered spot not far from London, was accosted by an old woman of the neighbourhood, who entered into conversation with him on various matters. After a little he asked her if she were not alarmed about Bonaparte’s landing on the island. “Oh dear, no!” she answered. “I am up to all that. He was expected here when I was a young woman, and he nearly came. At that time they called him the Pretender, and now they call him Bonaparte.”
In the course of the following winter I frequently called upon Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, the translator of “Epictetus.” She was a person of excellent principles and solid good sense. She used to say, “There are two men of great talent who now govern the world: the one, Bonaparte, with his sword; and the other, Mr. Pitt, with his money.” With respect to women, she once remarked: “It is thought that men have all the advantage over us in this world, but I think we have one invaluable advantage over them—we are not obliged to be politicians.” She used to dine out every day with different friends while in London, though far advanced in years, and I often met her at Lady Charlotte Finch’s.
Of that charming person it would be difficult to say enough. She was the daughter of the Earl of Pomfret, and passed the early part of her youth at Florence, with her mother, whose correspondence with the Duchess of Somerset has been published.[[100]] They had destined her in marriage to the son of the duchess, but he died before the ceremony could take place, and she afterwards married Mr. Finch, a brother of the Earl of Winchilsea. As soon as the Prince of Wales was born she took her station by his cradle, on being appointed governess to the royal infant and his future brothers and sisters. She had continued in the exercise of that duty till they were all grown up, and never was any one in a similar employment more sincerely or more justly esteemed and beloved. Her judgment was clear, and her manners perfect. I have always thought it equally honourable to her royal pupils and to herself, that, however differing in pursuits and disposition, they were all warmly attached to Lady Charlotte Finch, and never varied in their affection for her. It might truly be said of her that she was “formed to make virtue amiable.” I spent many pleasant hours with her, her daughters, and grand-daughters, and indeed the whole month of October, 1804, at her son Lord Winchilsea’s seat, in Rutlandshire.
One morning in March, 1805, Lady Aylesbury communicated to me the queen’s wishes with regard to myself. Her Majesty had been pleased to express a desire that I should be attached to her person without any particular employment, but that I should be lodged at Windsor, in a house belonging to her Majesty, and with a maid in her service to do the work of the house. Her Majesty added, that she would allow me three hundred pounds a year, and that I should be present at her evening parties, when invited, and always on Sundays and red-letter days, and be ready to attend upon her in the morning when required to do so; but that I should have leave to visit my friends, particularly when their Majesties were at Weymouth, where my services would not be wanted. This proposal I accepted gratefully, and the more so that it was quite unsolicited on my part.
A short time before it had been reported, and even in the public prints, that Lady Aylesbury was to be governess to the Princess Charlotte, who was then nine years of age, and that I was to be sub-governess, but nothing of the kind was ever mentioned to me. Since then, indeed, I have had reason to believe that Mr. Pitt wished it should be so, but Lady Aylesbury declined, on account of the employments she held about the queen, as she was one of the senior ladies of her bedchamber. Lady Aylesbury and the Dowager Lady Ilchester shared this service between them, while the king and queen were stationary at Windsor, but both accompanied their Majesties to Weymouth. The former, as I have already said, was a most agreeable and amiable person. She was the eldest sister of Lord Moira, afterwards Marquis of Hastings, and was perfectly well-bred and natural in her manners, and to myself the kindest of friends. She took me one morning to the queen, after the arrangement had been made, and in June I received my first summons to Windsor. I stayed there for a fortnight before their Majesties and the princesses removed to Weymouth, where they had been in the habit of passing two or three months every summer. But this was their last visit to that watering-place, for the king was now losing his eyesight very fast.
In December I became a resident at Windsor. The unmarried princesses, who were still at home, were very kind and gracious to me. The Dukes of Cumberland and Cambridge were often at the Castle in the evening, but the Dukes of York and Clarence seldom, if ever, slept there. The queen had her ladies and those of the princesses to dine with her, and the king came in at the dessert, for he dined at an early hour. The aides-de-camp, and other gentlemen on service, dined at the Upper Lodge. It is difficult to form an idea of a more domestic family in any rank of life, or a house in which the visitors—for those on duty were considered as such—were treated with greater attention.
The queen used often to call for me between ten and eleven on her way to Frogmore, where she liked to spend her mornings. She was fond of reading aloud, either in French or English, and I had my work. Her library there was well furnished with books in those languages and in German, and she was so good as to give me a key, with permission to take home any that I liked. Sometimes we walked in the gardens of that pleasant place, Princess Elizabeth being usually of our party, and not unfrequently Princess Mary. The Princesses Augusta and Sophia rode with the king. The Princess Elizabeth had a pretty cottage and garden at Old Windsor, where she would sometimes in summer give little fêtes. It was at Frogmore that the queen generally celebrated the birthdays of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, as they were both in August, while Princess Elizabeth did the same for the Duke of Clarence’s birthday, which was also in that month. And in November the queen gave a fête for those of the Princesses Augusta and Sophia.
[At this point the autobiography breaks off suddenly, and a blank also occurs in the rough diaries. The former recommences in October, 1809, and the latter some months earlier, but the entries are wholly devoid of interest until the end of May, 1810.]
The year 1810 was a very melancholy one at Windsor. The attempt to assassinate the Duke of Cumberland caused great disquietude. Then followed the afflicting illness which ended in the death of the amiable Princess Amelia. And, lastly, the malady that overwhelmed our excellent sovereign cast a gloom over the Castle, which was never removed during the remainder of my stay in its neighbourhood.
It was only a few days[[101]] previous to the king’s birthday that the Duke of Cumberland was awakened by an assassin. He defended himself, but received several wounds. One of his people, a Piedmontese, named Sellis, was found with his throat cut in his bedroom, which was not far from the duke’s. Another page, an Irishman, who used to sleep in a closet adjoining the room of his royal highness, was not forthcoming at the moment, though it was the duke’s orders that every one should be at home by eleven o’clock. His excuse was, that he had gone to sup with his wife on some dainty that had been sent to her. A pair of slippers, with the name of Sellis inside, was found in a closet within the duke’s room, and the result of the inquest was a verdict that Sellis had been the assassin, and had afterwards committed suicide. Still there were some circumstances that threw a doubt upon his guilt. The slippers were old, and the name written in them appeared to be in French, whereas Sellis was a Piedmontese, and there were reasons for supposing that it was a greater person who had counselled the crime. Sellis was left-handed, but one of the physicians who examined the body said that a left-handed man could not have cut his throat in the manner indicated by the wound; another surgeon, however, said that he could. The duke gave a pension to his Irish page, and dismissed him. This man had a brother who had a good appointment in Windsor Castle, and a family, but he resigned, and went away. The duke was removed to Carlton House by the orders of the Prince of Wales, who watched over him with great tenderness until he was perfectly recovered, although from difference of political views they had not been on the best terms previous to this sad affair. It was the fashion to go and see the duke’s apartments, which for several days were left in the same state as when he was removed. The visitors discovered traces of blood upon the walls, &c. &c., but, for my part, I did not join the crowd whose curiosity led them to this horrid scene.
I come now to a most melancholy time. Dear Princess Amelia,[[102]] who had derived no benefit from a lengthened visit to Weymouth, was removed to Windsor, and inhabited a lodge near the Castle. Day by day she sank more and more under her great sufferings. Though pale and emaciated, she still retained her beauty. She wished to live, but was thoroughly resigned when she found there was no hope of her remaining long upon earth. Her sentiments of piety were pure, enlightened, and fervent. I saw her a few days before her death, when, taking off her glove, she showed me her hand—it was perfectly transparent.
She was particularly fond of music, but latterly could not bear the sound of a pianoforte even in another room. The Princess Augusta thereupon gave her a bird which sang very sweetly, and with a very soft note, and she took pleasure in listening to it. When the king saw his beloved daughter for the last time, she said to him, “Remember me, but do not grieve for me.” Alas! the king was soon no longer himself. Her illness and the loss of Hanover preyed sadly upon his mind.
I shall never forget the last evening of my seeing him. It was the anniversary of his accession. The whole family, except the Queen of Würtemberg[[103]] and dear Princess Amelia, were present when he entered the room, the queen holding his arm. As he went round the circle as usual, it was easy to perceive the dreadful excitement in his countenance. As he could not distinguish persons, it was the custom to speak to him as he approached, that he might recognise by the voice whom he was about to address. I forget what it was I said to him, but shall ever remember what he said to me: “You are not uneasy, I am sure, about Amelia. You are not to be deceived, but you know that she is in no danger.” At the same time he squeezed my hand with such force that I could scarcely help crying out.[[104]] The queen, however, dragged him away. When tea was served, I perceived how much alarmed I had been, for my hand shook so that I could hardly take the cup.
When the king was seated he called to him each of his sons separately, and said things to them equally sublime and instructive, but very unlike what he would have said before so many people had he been conscious of the circumstance. I never did and never will repeat what I then heard, and I sincerely believe that all present felt as I did on that occasion. His Majesty had a long conversation with Count Munster on the affairs of Hanover, so that it could only be understood by those who were acquainted with the German language. I was then convinced of the very deep impression made on him by the fate of that country. On the following evening I was not at the Castle, and it was the last on which he appeared in society.
Princess Amelia expired on the birthday of the Duke of Kent, who had had some dispute with the Duke of York, then commander-in-chief. I was told, however, by Lady Aylesbury, who was in waiting, and had dined quietly with the melancholy party of the royal family, that the Duke of York said to her, in a whisper: “Though this is a sad day, I must drink the health of poor Edward.”
Two days afterwards Princess Augusta sent for me, and as I was sitting with her, one of her dressers entered the room with a birdcage in her hand, and her fingers in her eyes. “Princess Amelia,” she said, “gave orders before her death that this bird should be returned to your royal highness; but not on the day she died, nor the day after, that it might not afflict you too much in the first hours of your grief. But she wished you to know how much she was obliged to you for giving it to her, and what a comfort its sweet voice had been.”
Two ladies sat up with the corpse every night until the time of the funeral. I was directed to perform this duty one night with Lady George Murray.[[105]] We were in a room adjoining that in which was the coffin, with the doors open. On the table was a book, which had been a favourite with Princess Amelia. It was Tillikeper’s “Thoughts on Religious Subjects,” and many of them had a pencil mark. The passages thus distinguished testified to the feelings and judgment of the Princess, and I asked leave to transcribe them into the copy of that work which she herself had given to me.
The King recovered sufficiently to be told of her death, and he arranged everything relating to the ceremony of the funeral. It appeared, indeed, that before his late serious attack he had made some preparations for this event, although, in the wanderings of his imagination, he could not think her in danger. However this might be, the matter was settled very properly. One of the Queen’s ladies was to go as chief mourner,[[106]] followed, of course, by others belonging to the Princesses; but, although I had no engagement of that kind, the King chose that I should have a place in the procession, knowing how sincerely I was attached to the Princess. I also heard that when lying on her death-bed, that the two persons whom the Princess most warmly recommended to her father, were Mrs. Williams—who had been her nurse, and was then attending her—and myself. I was also named amongst the few persons to whom she desired that remembrances should be given.
For the anthem the King had selected a passage from the sixteenth Psalm, which used to be often sung by the Princess and her father. The conclusion,[[107]] “In thy presence is gladness, and fulness of joy,” raised my spirits from the depression into which they had fallen; and, when I returned home, gave me a better night’s rest than I had enjoyed for some time.