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.
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