This year saw the reconciliation of the Prince with his parents, and a public manifestation of this reconciliation of the heir-apparent with his family took place on the terrace at Windsor Castle. The Prince appeared there, chiefly that by his presence he might do honour to a particular incident—the presentation of the Duchesse de Polignac and her daughter, the Duchesse de Guiche, to the King and Queen. The noble visitors themselves, to do honour to the occasion, repaired to the terrace, attired, as they thought, in full English costume—‘plain undress gowns, with close ordinary black silk bonnets.’ They were startled at finding the Queen and the Princesses dressed with elaborate splendour. For the spectators, however, the most interesting sight was that of the heir-apparent conversing cordially with his illustrious parents. The lookers-on fancied that all, henceforth, would be serene, and that ‘Lovely Peace’ would reign undisturbedly.
But a pleasanter scene even than this was witnessed shortly after in the Queen’s dressing-room. Her Majesty was under the hands of her hair-dresser, and in the room, during the ceremony, were Mr. de Luc, Mr. Turbulent (a pseudonym), and Miss Burney. The Queen conversed with all three. But the sacrilegious and well-named Turbulent, instead of fixing there his sole attention, contrived, ‘by standing behind her chair and facing me, to address a language of signs to me the whole time, casting up his eyes, clasping his hands, and placing himself in various fine attitudes, and all with a humour so burlesque that it was impossible to take it either ill or seriously.... How much should I have been discountenanced had her Majesty turned about and perceived him, yet by no means so much disconcerted as by a similar Cerberic situation; since the Queen, who, when in spirits, is gay and sportive herself, would be much farther removed from any hazard of misconstruction.’[4] Nor was this the only ‘pleasant’ incident of the year. It was not long after the above that Lady Effingham, at Windsor, exclaimed to the Queen, ‘Oh, ma’am, I had the greatest fright this morning. I saw a huge something on Sir George’s throat. “Why, Sir George,” says I, “what’s that? a wen?” “Yes,” says he, “countess, I’ve had it three-and-twenty years.” However, I hear it’s now going about—so I hope your Majesty will be careful!’
One more court incident of this year will afford us a specimen of playfulness as understood by the Prince of Wales. The latter was at Windsor with the Duke of York, who had just returned from the Continent, after an absence from England of seven years. His return caused great joy both to the King and Queen; but it was not a joy of long enduring.
‘At near one o’clock in the morning, while the wardrobe-woman was pinning up the Queen’s hair, there was a sudden rap-tap at the dressing-room door. Extremely surprised, I looked at the Queen, to see what should be done; she did not speak. I had never heard such a sound before, for at the royal doors there is always a particular kind of scratch used, instead of tapping. I heard it, however, again, and the Queen called out, “What is that?” I was really startled, not conceiving who could take so strange a liberty as to come to the Queen’s apartment without the announcing of a page; and no page, I was very sure, would make such a noise. Again the sound was repeated, and more smartly. I grew quite alarmed, imagining some serious evil at hand, either regarding the King or some of the Princesses. The Queen, however, bid me open the door. I did; and what was my surprise to see there a large man, in an immense wrapping great-coat, buttoned up round his chin, so that he was almost hid between cape and hat. I stood quite motionless for a moment; but he, as if also surprised, drew back. I felt quite sick with sudden terror—I really thought some ruffian had broken into the house, or a madman. “Who is it?” cried the Queen. “I do not know, ma’am,” I answered. “Who is it?” she called aloud; and then, taking off his hat, entered the Prince of Wales. The Queen laughed very much, and so did I too, happy in this unexpected explanation. He told her eagerly that he only came to inform her there were the most beautiful northern lights to be seen that could possibly be imagined, and begged her to come to the gallery windows.’[5]
CHAPTER VII.
SHADOWS IN THE SUNSHINE.
The Princess Amelia—Her connection with the Duke of Grafton—Beau Nash and the Princess—Her despotism as Ranger of Richmond Park—Checked by Mr. Bird—A Scene at her Loo-table—Her fondness for stables—Her eccentric Costume—Inordinate love of Snuff—Her Death—Conduct of the Princes—The King’s Illness—Graphic picture of the state of affairs—Lord Thurlow’s treachery—Heartlessness of the Prince—Deplorable condition of the Queen—The King delirious—Particulars of his Illness—Dr. Warren—Melancholy scene—The King wheedled away to Kew—Placed under Dr. Willis—The Prince and Lord Lothian eavesdroppers—The King’s Recovery—The King unexpectedly encounters Miss Burney.
One event of this year brings us back to the persons and memories of the age of Caroline. Three-quarters of a century had passed away since the day when the then little Princess Amelia Sophia, who was born in Hanover, arrived in London, some three years old, at the period when her parents ascended the throne of England. She was an accomplished and a high-spirited girl, and grew into an attractive and ‘lovable’ woman. No prince, however, ever came to the feet of Amelia Sophia. She did not, nevertheless, want for lovers of a lower dignity. Walpole, in allusion to this, states of her that she was ‘as disposed to meddle’ in State matters as her elder sister Anne; and that ‘she was confined to receiving court from the Duke of Newcastle, who affected to be in love with her; and from the Duke of Grafton, in whose connection with her there was more reality.’
The latter connection is said to have been more romantic than platonic. The Princess and the Duke were given to riding out in company, conversing together in the recesses of windows, keeping together when out hunting, and occasionally losing themselves together in Windsor Forest and other places convenient for lovers to lose themselves in. This last incident in the love passages of the Princess’s life afforded great opportunity for good-natured gossips to indulge in joking, and for ill-natured gossips to indulge in affectedly indignant reproof. The Princess troubled herself very little with the remarks of others on her conduct. It was only when Queen Caroline was worked upon by the ill-natured gossips to notice and to censure the intimacy which existed between the Princess and the Duke that Amelia took the matter somewhat to heart, and wept as a young lady in such circumstances was likely to do at finding a violent end put to her violent delights. The Queen indeed threatened to lay the matter before the King, and it is said that it was only through the good and urgent offices of Sir Robert Walpole that so extreme a course was not taken.
Like her sister Anne, Amelia was rather imperious in disposition, and she never found but one man who openly withstood her. That man was Beau Nash. The Beau had fixed eleven o’clock at which dancing should cease in the rooms at Bath, where he was despotic Master of the Ceremonies. On one occasion, when the Princess was present, the hour had struck, and Nash had raised his jewelled finger, in token that the music was to stop, and the ladies were to ‘sit down and cool,’ as the Beau delicately expressed it. The imperious daughter of Caroline was not disposed to end the evening so early, and intimated to the Master her gracious pleasure that there should be another country dance. Nash looked at her with surprise. He laughed an agitated laugh, shook all the powder out of his wig in signifying his decided refusal, and, muttering something about the laws of the Medes and Persians, set down the Princess as a rather ill-bred person.
In her way she was as imperious as Nash; and as Ranger of Richmond Park she was as despotic as the Beau within his more artificial territory at Bath. She kept the park closed, sacred to the pleasure and retirement of royalty and the favoured few. There were, however, some dreadfully democratic persons at Richmond, who had a most obstinate conviction that the public had a right of passage through the park, and they demanded that the right should be allowed them. The royal Ranger peremptorily refused. Democratic cobblers immediately went to law with her, and proved that the right was with them. The Princess yielded to the counsel of her own legal advisers, and, allowing the right of passage, made a very notable concession; she planted rickety ladders against the walls, and bade the ladies and gentlemen of the vicinity pass through the park as they best could by such means. But the persevering people maintained that if they had right of passage the right must be construed in a common-sense way, and that passage implied a pass or gate by which such passage might be made. The royal lady thought the world was coming to an end when the vulgar dared thus to ‘keep standing on their rights’ in presence of a princess. She was in some measure correct; for the age of feudal royalty was coming to a close, and that great shaking-up of equality was beginning from which royalty has never perfectly recovered. The troublesome people, accordingly, kept most vexatiously to the point, and after a fierce struggle they compelled their Ranger to set open a gate whereby they might have free and constant access to their own park. Had this daughter of Caroline been a wise woman, she would have cheerfully gone through this gate with the people, and so, sharing in their triumph, would have won their love. But ‘Emily,’ as she was often called, was of quite another metal, and was so disgusted at the victory achieved by the vulgar that she threw up her office in disgust, and declared that the downfall of England commenced with the opening of Richmond Park.