(_From the Life and Correspondence of Sir Thomas Lawrence._)
"In 1817, Sir Thomas Lawrence was commissioned to paint the portrait of the
princess a second time, and he staid at Claremont during nine days. He one
morning filled up a few vacant hours in writing to his friend, and his
description of the habits of the newly-married and juvenile offsprings and
heirs of royalty, forms a calm, unostentatious, and delightful picture of
domestic life. How ill such pleasures would have been exchanged for the
public splendour and costly amusements by which they were tempted. It is a
source of infinite gratification to lay before the country such a testimony
to the disposition and virtues of one, in whom centered so much of the
public hope and love."
"_Extracts from Letters of Sir Thomas Lawrence._"
"I am now returned from Claremont, my visit to which was agreeable to me in
every respect; both in what regarded myself, my reception, and the complete
success of my professional labours, and in the satisfaction of seeing the
perfect harmony in which this young couple now live, and of observing the
good qualities which promise to make it lasting."
"The princess is, as you know, wanting in elegance of deportment, but has
nothing of the hoyden or of that boisterous hilarity which has been
ascribed to her: her manner is exceedingly frank and simple, but not rudely
abrupt nor coarse; and I have, in this little residence of nine days,
witnessed undeniable evidence of an honest, just, English nature, that
reminded me, from its immediate decision between the right and wrong of a
subject, and the downrightness of the feeling that governed it, of the good
king, her grandfather. If she does nothing gracefully, she does everything
kindly."
"She already possesses a great deal of that knowledge of the past history
of this country, that ought to form a part of her peculiar education."
"It is exceedingly gratifying to see that she both loves and respects
Prince Leopold, whose conduct, indeed, and character, seem justly to
deserve those feelings. From the report of the gentlemen of his household,
he is considerate, benevolent, and just, and of very amiable manners. My
own observation leads me to think, that, in his behaviour to her, he is
affectionate and attentive, rational and discreet; and, in the exercise of
that judgment which is sometimes brought in opposition to some little
thoughtlessness, he is so cheerful and slily humorous, that it is evident
(at least it appears to me so) that she is already more in dread of his
opinion than of his displeasure."
"Their mode of life is very regular: they breakfast together alone about
eleven: at half-past twelve she came in to sit to me, accompanied by Prince
Leopold, who stayed great part of the time: about three she would leave the
painting-room, to take her airing round the grounds in a low phaeton with
her ponies, the prince always walking by her side; at five she would come
in and sit to me till seven; at six, or before it, he would go out with his
gun to shoot either hares or rabbits, and return about seven or half-past;
soon after which we went to dinner, the prince and princess appearing in
the drawing-room just as it was served up. Soon after the dessert appeared,
the prince and princess retired to the drawing-room, whence we soon heard
the piano accompanying their voices. At his own time, Colonel Addenbrooke,
the chamberlain, proposed our going in, always, as I thought, to disturb
them."
"After coffee, the card-table was brought, and they sat down to whist, the
young couple being always partners, the others changing. You know _my
superiority_ at whist, and the unfairness of my sitting down with unskilful
players; I therefore did not obey command, and from ignorance of the
_delicacy_ of my motives, am recommended to study Hoyle before my second
visit there next week, which indeed must be a very short one."
"The prince and princess retire at eleven o'clock."
We leave out the link in the narrative that connects this pleasant
description with the melancholy scene described in the following (for it is
written in a sad taste) and only add, that the most amiable and beloved of
women died within a month from the date of the above letter.
"Popular love and the enthusiasm of sorrow, never towards greatness,
perhaps so real, saw in her a promised Elizabeth, and while yet she lived
it was a character which I should sincerely have assigned to her, as that
which she would most nearly have approached: certain I am that she would
have been a true monarch--have loved her people: charity and justice, high
integrity (as I have stated), frankness and humanity, were essentials and
fixed in her character: her mind seemed to have nothing of subtlety or
littleness in it, and she had all the courage of her station."
"She once said, 'I am a great coward, but I bluster it out like the best of
them till the danger's over.' I was told by one of the members of the
council awaiting her delivery, that Dr. Baillie came in, and said in answer
to some inquiries, 'She's doing very well: she'll not die of fear: she puts
a good Brunswick face upon the matter.' She had a surprisingly quick ear,
which I was pleasantly warned of: whilst playing whist, which being played
for shillings, was not the most silent game I ever witnessed, she would
suddenly reply to something that the baron or I would be talking of, in the
lowest tone, at the end of the room, whilst her companions at the table
were ignorant of the cause of her observations."
"I have increased respect for the Bishop of Salisbury, because he appeared
to have fully performed his duty in her education. She had, as I have said,
great knowledge of the history of this country, and in the businesses of
life, and a readiness in anecdotes of political parties in former reigns."
"How often I see her now entering the room (constantly on his arm) with
slow but firm step, always erect--and the small but elegant proportion of
her head to her figure, of course more striking from her situation. Her
features, as you see, were beautifully cut; her clear blue eye, so open, so
like the fearless purity of truth, that the most experienced parasite must
have turned from it when he dared to _lie_."
"I was stunned by her death: it was an event in the great drama of life.
The return from Elba! Waterloo! St. Helena! Princess Charlotte dead!--I did
not grieve, I have not grieved half enough for her: yet I never think of
her, speak of her, write of her without tears, and have often, when alone,
addressed her in her bliss, as though she now saw me, heard me; and it is
because I respect her for her singleness of worth, and am grateful for her
past and meditated kindness."
"Her manner of addressing Prince Leopold was always as affectionate as it
was simple--'My love;' and his always, 'Charlotte.' I told you that when we
went in from dinner they were generally sitting at the pianoforte, often on
the same chair. I never heard her play, but the music they had been playing
was always of the finest kind."
"I was at Claremont, on a call of inquiry, the Saturday before her death.
Her last command to me was, that I should bring down the picture to give to
Prince Leopold upon his birthday, the 16th of the next month. * * *"
"If I do not make reply to different parts of your letter (always
satisfactory in a correspondence), it is because I fear, having no long
time to write in, that I may lose something by delay, in narrating the
circumstances of my yesterday's visit to Claremont, when I was enabled
through the gracious kindness of my sovereign, to fulfil that promise so
solemnly given and now become so sacred a pledge."
"It was my wish that Prince Leopold should see the picture on his first
entering the room to his breakfast, and accordingly at seven o'clock I set
off with it in a coach. I got to Claremont, uncovered and placed it in the
room in good time. Before I took it there, I carried it in to Colonel
Addenbrooke, Baron Hardenbroch, and Dr. Short, who had been her tutor. Sir
Robert Gardiner came in, and went out immediately. Dr. Short looked at it
for some time in silence, but I saw his lips trembling, and his eyes filled
to overflowing. He said nothing, but went out; and soon after him Colonel
Addenbrooke. The baron and I then placed the picture in the prince's room."
"When I returned to take my breakfast, Colonel Addenbrooke came in; he
said, 'I don't know what to make of these fellows; there's Sir Robert
Gardiner swears he can't stay in the room with it: that if he sees it in
one room, he'll go into another.'--Then there's Dr. Short. I said, I
suppose by your going out and saying nothing, you don't like the picture.
'Like it,' he said, (and he was blubbering) ''tis so like her, and so
amiable, that I could not stay in the room.'--More passed on the subject,
not worth detailing. I learnt that the prince was very much overcome by the
sight of the picture, and the train of recollections that it brought with
it. Colonel Addenbrooke went in to the prince, and returning shortly, said,
'The prince desires me to say how much obliged to you he is for this
attention, that he shall always remember it. He said, 'Do you think Sir
Thomas Lawrence would wish to see me? If he would, I shall be very glad to
see him.'--I replied that I thought you would: so if you like, he will see
you whenever you choose, before your departure.' Soon after, I went in to
him. As I passed through the hall, Dr. Short came up to me, (he had
evidently been, and was crying,) and thanked me for having painted such a
picture. 'No one is a better judge than I am, sir,' and he turned away."
"The prince was looking exceedingly pale; but he received me with calm
firmness, and that low, subdued voice that you know to be the _effort_ at
composure. He spoke at once about the picture and of its value to him more
than to all the world besides. From the beginning to the close of the
interview, he was greatly affected. He checked his first burst of
affection, by adverting to the public loss, and that of the royal family.
'Two generations gone!--gone in a moment! I have felt for myself, but I
have felt for the Prince Regent. My Charlotte is gone from this country--it
has lost her. She was a good, she was an admirable woman. None could know
my Charlotte as I did know her! It was my happiness, my duty to know her
character, but it was my delight.' During a short pause I spoke of the
impression it had made on me. 'Yes, she had a clear, fine understanding,
and very quick--she was candid, she was open, and not suspecting, but she
saw characters at the glance--she read them so true. You saw her; you saw
something of us--you saw us for some _days_--you saw our _year!_ Oh! what
happiness--and it was solid--it could not change, for we knew each
other--except when I went out to shoot, we were together always, and we
_could_ be together--we did not tire.'"
"I tried to check this current of recollection, that was evidently
overpowering him (as it was me) by a remark on a part of the picture, and
then on its likeness to the youth of the old king. 'Ah! and my child was
like her, for one so young, (as if it had really lived in childhood.) For
one so young it was surprisingly like--the nose, it was higher than
children's are--the mouth, so like hers; so cut (trying to describe its
mouth on his own.) My grief did not think of it, but if I could have had a
drawing of it! She was always thinking of others, not of herself--no one so
little selfish--always looking out for comfort for others. She had been for
hours, for many hours, in great pain--she was in that situation where
selfishness must act if it exists--when _good_ people will be selfish,
because pain makes them so--and my Charlotte was not--any grief could not
make her so! She thought our child was alive; I knew it was not, and I
could not support her mistake. I left the room, for a short time: in my
absence they took courage, and informed her. When she recovered from it,
she said, 'Call in Prince Leopold--there is none can comfort him but me! My
Charlotte, my dear Charlotte! And now, looking at the picture, he said,
Those beautiful hands, that at the last, when she was talking to others
were always looking out for mine!'"
"I need not tell you my part in this interview; he appeared to rely on my
sharing his thoughts."
* * * * *
"Towards the close of our interview, I asked him, 'if the princess at the
_last_ felt her danger?' He said, 'No; my Charlotte thought herself very
ill, but not in danger. And she was so well but an hour and a half after
the delivery!--And she said I should not leave her again--and I should
sleep in that room--and she should have in the sofa bed--and she should
have it where she liked--she herself would have it fixed. She was strong,
and had so much courage, yet once she seemed to fear. You remember she was
affected when you told her that you could not paint my picture just at that
time; but she was much more affected when we were alone--and I told her I
should sit when we went to Marlborough House after her confinement, 'Then,'
she said, 'if you are to sit when you go to town, and after my
confinement--then I may never see that picture.' My Charlotte felt she
never should."
"More passed in our interview, but not much more--chiefly, my part in it.
At parting he pressed my hand firmly--held it long, I could almost say
affectionately, I had been, by all this conversation, so impressed with
esteem for him, that an attempt to kiss his hand that grasped mine was
resistless, but it was checked on both sides. _I_ but bowed--and he drew my
hand towards him: he then bade me good by, and on leaving the room turned
back to give me a slow parting nod,--and though half blinded myself, I was
struck with the exceeding paleness of his look across the room. His bodily
health, its youthfulness cannot sink under this heaviest affliction! And
his mind is rational; but when _thus_ leaving the room, his tall dark
figure, pale lace, and solemn manner, for the moment, looked a melancholy
presage."
"I know that your good-nature will forgive my not answering your letter in
detail, since I have refrained from it but to give you this narration of
beings so estimable, so happy, and so parted."
"Prince Leopold's voice is of very fine tone, and gentle; and its
articulation exceedingly clear, accurate, and impressive, without the
slightest affectation. You know that sort of reasoning emphasis of manner
with which the tongue conveys whatever deeply interests the mind. His 'My
Charlotte!' is affecting; he does not pronounce it as 'Me Charlotte,' but
very simply and evenly, '_My_ Charlotte.'"
* * * * *