City banquet to the Duke of Wellington — Costly vegetables — The Princess Charlotte — Squabbles about her presentation at Court — The Regent hooted — The Princess Charlotte and the Prince of Orange — Her future husband, Prince Leopold — Her flight from Warwick House, and return.

I still must chronicle feasting and rejoicing. This time it is the City of London who honoured the national Hero, the Duke of Wellington, with a banquet. Some may grumble at this way of doing honour to merit, but, after all, it is but one mode of public recognition. The Government cannot spend the public money on such matters. Private acknowledgment would be worthless, so the City of London always throws itself, so to speak, into the breach, and bridges over a chasm most gracefully. Their hospitality hurts no one, as it comes from their own funds, and it supplies a national want, and as such, is recognized as an honour done by the nation. So a feast was made, on the 9th of July, to welcome home the Conqueror of Napoleon. Nationally, the Duke was well rewarded, both with titles and money, but the graceful act of a public reception was wanting as a crown.

The preparations were as magnificent as if for the Allied Sovereigns, but the feast had this difference—the Lord Mayor was the real Host. In the former he was subsidiary, the Regent, of course, being the central star. This was a National welcome, and, if there were not so many High Mightinesses present, it was none the less hearty. It is of no use wearying my readers with details of the festivity, but I wish to point out what was typical of the age in dining. It is not so long ago that "nous avons changÉ tout cela." I, and very many of my readers, recollect the time when "the board" literally "groaned" under the provisions laid upon it, and which heu mihi! we were expected to carve, if placed before us. It was profusion, meant to honour your guests, but still unnecessary, and now, would be repulsive. But why? oh! why? was there, at this feast, placed on a side table "a large Baron of Beef, and near it a beautiful blue and white China jug, which will hold twenty-three gallons of stout, on the top of which (?) will be displayed the Union Flag?" One thing may be said in its defence, and it is a fact not generally known, that, after a Civic banquet, all the food that is left, is given to deserving poor families, who thus benefit by the festivities of their richer brethren. I believe this also obtains with the banquets of some of the City Companies.

Prior to the dinner, the Duke was presented with the Freedom of the City (an honour which any one under the rank of a monarch does not despise) in a gold box, and a splendid sword. Most of the Royal Dukes, and all the Cabinet Ministers, together with large numbers of the Nobility, were present. There was a gruesome long list of toasts, among which was "the Ladies," proposed by the Duke of Wellington. Poor man! he little thought what his gallantry would cost him, or perhaps, even he, the dauntless, might have quailed before what he had to undergo, with the exception of the last sentence, which probably served as the gilt to the pill. "Towards the close of the evening, a temporary staircase was opened from the galleries, into the body of the Hall, by which the Ladies descended, and passed round the hustings, and every one had the honour of shaking hands with the Immortal Hero, and the Royal Dukes, and some of the younger ones were saluted by his Grace." We afterwards learn that "nearly Seven Hundred Ladies were in the Galleries."

Apropos of what I wrote about dining, at this period, hear Captain Gronow, when writing on the same theme: "Even in the best houses, when I was a young man, the dinners were wonderfully solid, hot, and stimulating. The menu of a grand dinner was thus composed:—Mulligatawny and Turtle Soups were the first dishes placed before you; a little lower, the eye met with the familiar salmon at one end of the table, and the turbot, surrounded by smelts, at the other. The first course was sure to be followed by a saddle of mutton, or a piece of roast beef; and then you could take your oath that fowls, tongue and ham, would as assuredly succeed, as darkness after day.

"Whilst these never-ending piÈces de rÉsistance were occupying the table, what were called French Dishes were, for custom's sake, added to the solid abundance. The French, or side dishes, consisted of very mild, but very abortive, attempts at Continental cooking, and I have always observed that they met with the neglect and contempt they merited. The universally adored, and ever popular potato, produced at the very earliest period of the dinner, and eaten with everything, up to the moment when sweets appeared. Our Vegetables, the best in the world, were never honoured by an accompanying sauce, and, generally, came to the table cold. A prime difficulty to overcome, was the placing on your fork, and, finally in your mouth, some half dozen different eatables which occupied your plate at the same time. For example, your plate would contain, say, a slice of Turkey, a piece of stuffing, a sausage, pickles, a slice of tongue, cauliflower and potatoes. According to habit and custom, a judicious and careful selection from this little bazaar of good things was to be made, with an endeavour to place a portion of each in your mouth at the same moment. In fact, it appeared to me that we used to do all our compound Cookery between our jaws.

"The dessert—generally ordered at Messrs. Grange's, or at Owen's, in Bond Street—if for a dozen people, would cost, at least as many pounds. The wines were chiefly port, sherry, and hock; claret, and even Burgundy, being then designated as 'poor, thin, washy stuff.' A perpetual thirst seemed to come over people, both men and women, as soon as they had tasted their soup; as from that moment everybody was taking wine with everybody else, till the close of the dinner; and such wine as produced that class of Cordiality which frequently wanders into stupefaction. How all this sort of eating and drinking ended was obvious, from the prevalence of gout, and the necessity of every one making the pill-box their constant bedroom companion."

It must have been costly, too, to have then acted as Lucullus; for those were not the days when steam annihilated distance, and brought tropical fruits to our doors, and when any vegetable could be grown, at any time, by means of electric light, and never allowing the plants any rest or sleep. Then, at all events, rarities in vegetables fetched a price, such as we should not now dream of paying. Vide the following: "It is a standing order in the wealthy Company of Grocers to have plenty of green pease at their dinner, when they do not exceed the price of four guineas a quart; this year, from the unfavourableness of the season, they were not to be obtained under the price of six guineas; and, in consequence, the members were obliged so far to narrow their indulgence, as to put up with turtle, turbot, venison, house lamb, turkey poults, asparagus, and French beans."

This year of 1814 must, I am afraid, be given up to the high and mighty ones of this portion of the world, for it was, as I have said, an annus mirabilis, and ordinary people were, so to speak, nowhere.

Now it is the Regent's daughter. She came of age—she wanted a household of her own; she wanted unrestricted intercourse with her mother—and she wanted a husband.

She had no love for her father; what child could have any filial affection for a father who cared nothing for his daughter? She was forbidden to see her mother, and consequently longed for her. She was legally of age, and still was treated as a child.

The episode in her life, I am about to relate, is curious, and I have endeavoured to take the most temperate authorities on the subject, so that, whilst being contemporaneous, they are, as far as one can judge, historically unbiassed. She could have had no love for her father, for his failings were of public notoriety, and he never lavished any of his affection upon her. Her mother, too—badly brought up in a petty German Court, where licence was familiar—had, certainly, been indiscreet. Her Peers absolved her from anything worse than indiscretion, and I, who have studied her life, and written it (not as it appears in the "Dictionary of National Biography," for, there, it has been maimed, editorially), thoroughly endorse their verdict.

Of course, her public life began on her attaining her 18th year, when she legally became of age. Her mother wished, very naturally, to present her to the Queen, as launching her in life; but the Queen had a son, the father of Mademoiselle, who was not on good terms with his wife; and, although mother and son were not the best possible friends, still the probability is, that grandmamma thought that papa was best judge of his daughter's welfare, and therefore backed up the stern parent. Ergo, Mamma was nowhere, and went abroad, having an increased allowance, which she would not touch.

The imprimatur of a young lady's life, in Court circles, is, naturally, her presentation at Court; with men, it differs. I recollect a tailor, in Fenchurch Street, being presented—the Lord knows why, probably because he made the clothes for the Lord Mayor's footmen. But this case was different—this was the heiress to the throne—a personnage, of whom there could be no doubt. Her mother was not a persona gratissima at Court; and although she used to spend somewhat dreary days with Grandmamma Charlotte, and her Aunts at Windsor, she had not yet been presented legally, nor had she yet achieved the other grand step in her young life, and natural ambition of her sex, that of obtaining a husband.

She got a godmother, for her presentation, in the shape of the good fairy, the Duchess of Oldenburgh. I have not been able to unravel what this lady's mission was, but I know that both she and her brother backed up the suit of the Prince of Orange as husband to the coming Queen of England.

This Drawing Room took place on June 2nd, and the Princess started for the first time as "the Daughter of England," and went, in more than Cinderella state, in an elegant State Carriage—all her own—with splendid hammer Cloth of Scarlet and Gold, with the Royal Arms, and Union Wreath richly embroidered in the centre on White Satin. New harness of black leather and raised brass; three footmen, and a brand new coachman, all in brand new liveries. For the first time in her life she was somebody; for, let alone all this magnificence, she was assisted into her carriage by her would-be fiancÉ, the Prince of Orange.

According to the "Court Circular" of the time, the Duchess of Oldenburgh must have been exceeding magnifical, and more than rivalled the famous creature, "the Prox," two of whom came over in three ships; for I read, "The Duchess of Oldenburgh went in State in three of the Prince Regent's Carriages."[24]

It was, specially, on this occasion the Prince Regent was hissed, as politely hinted at in the account of the Allied Sovereigns' Reception (see p. 262). I do not say that His Royal Highness did not care to face the Populace on this latter occasion; it was thought so generally, and the Satirical prints, so often misnamed Caricatures, were de bon accord. These prints filled the part of our so-called Comic papers. There was no Punch, or the innumerable host of its followers now existing; and, what is more universally taken as good-humoured badinage, was just the same then, only the sense of humour was different. It is, perhaps, a little coarse to our taste, but then our grandfathers had not the advantage of the artistic education of a School Board, and they acted on such lights as were vouchsafed to them.

His conduct to his wife, at this time, rendered him very unpopular, and, in those days, people were accustomed to express their satisfaction, or the reverse, with either a Prince or an Actor. Nowadays, goodness only knows what might happen were popular opinion so expressed. Luckily, our Princes are too good men to have a shadow of unpopularity; and, as to Actors—well—it might end in an action for libel, or, slugs in a saw-pit.

I give a plain, and unadorned, version of the reception of the Regent, on this occasion, as reported in a paper, certainly not unfriendly to him. "Pall Mall and St. James's Street were kept perfectly clear for carriages to enter the Park, by the Stable Yard. The Prince Regent, with his superb retinue, passed along Pall Mall without interruption; but his carriage no sooner entered the Park, than the multitudes assembled there recognized his Royal Highness, and he was annoyed by the most dismal yells, groans and hisses, which continued the whole way from the Stable Yard to the Queen's House. The horses were put to their full speed to carry his Royal Highness through this ungracious scene. A very different welcome was given to the Military Heroes on their way to the Palace. It was with extreme difficulty that Lord Hill, Lord Combermere, and Lord Beresford were permitted to pass on in their Carriages, as the people wanted to take out the horses, and yoke themselves to the harness."

Launched into life, she became more independent. Papa had provided a husband for her, but we all know the old proverb, that "You may take a horse to the water, but you can't make him drink." She did not like the Prince of Orange, and, as any excuse is better than none, she made use of the fact that her husband in posse wanted to take her to Holland, if only for a fortnight, in order to show her the Country, and present her to his people. This she refused utterly to do, and the breach between them, which had been widening gradually, became complete. He had been treated with but scant courtesy, during the visit of the Allied Sovereigns, so much so, that it was commented upon. One exemplar will suffice.

"The Hereditary Prince of Orange, who was announced as the intended husband of our Princess Charlotte, and, consequently, as the Consort of our future Queen, has not been treated with much ceremony, while the other Illustrious Foreigners had State Carriages and Royal liveries, the Prince was suffered to shift for himself, and to find a lodging at the house of his Tailor."

In fact, she would not have him, and Papa did not like it. Naturally, the Satirists of the time got hold of their estrangement, and improved the occasion. I reproduce one print, "Miss endeavouring to excite a Glow with her Dutch Plaything." The Princess says to her father, "There! I have kept it up a long while; you may send it away now, I am tired of it. Mother has got some better play-things for me." The Regent replies, "What! are you tired already? Take another spell at it, or give me the whip." To which the Princess answers, "No, no! You may take the Top, but I'll keep the whip."

There was another, "The Dutch Toy." The Princess is represented as whipping a Top, with the letters P. O. painted on it, saying, "Take this for Ma! and this for Pa! and this! and this! for myself, you ugly thing, you." Through an open door the Regent's arm is seen, carrying a portentous birch rod; and he warns her that if she does not find pleasure in whipping the Top, he will exercise his paternal authority with the instrument which he bears. There are others, but they are hardly worth repeating.

She had met with her fate. We all know that there is in a woman's life but one "Prince Charming." Sometimes he never comes, but, as a rule, he does. Well! here was a case. That fairy Godmother, the Duchess of Oldenburgh, living at her Pulteney Hotel, could, of course, entertain any guests she liked; and one morning, Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, whilst paying a visit to the Duchess, met with the Princess Charlotte. People have given up thinking of how marriages are made, and put the onus on a Higher Power, and say they are made in Heaven. She met her kismet, and, as far as is publicly known, her brief life was spent happily. England, as a nation, ought to be very thankful for this union, for it gave our most gracious Queen Victoria one of the wisest and kindest Counsellors possible—King Leopold of Belgium. There must be many, besides myself, who read these pages, who recollect the kindly gentleman who used to come over here, just as if he was going to pay a call in the next street, without any fuss, and to whom one would regret the not paying the ordinary courteous form of recognition, because he was so unostentatious. The History of Europe knows the effect of his quiet counsel.

But who would recognize him in the accompanying illustration? Ay de mi! He and the Princess Charlotte danced that Minuet, and are no more; but, for the time being, they were a handsome, graceful couple. The Orange affair fell through; and, as far as I am concerned, who only have to deal with what people talked about in England at that time, there is an end of it. But something, or somebody, irritated Papa, and he resolved that Mademoiselle's independence must be curtailed, and that in future she must live—well, not exactly with him, but under his roof, at Carlton House. I have read all I know that there is to be read on the subject, and I prefer letting one of the parties tell the tale. It, and much more, can be found in "The Autobiography of Miss Cornelia Knight, Lady Companion to the Princess Charlotte of Wales" (2 vols. London, 1861).

"About this time the Bishop,[25] who often saw the Chancellor, and Lord Liverpool, and was, also, I believe, employed by the Regent, who, formerly, disliked and despised him, hinted to Princess Charlotte, in a private conversation, and to me, on paper—as I wrote to him on the subject—that, unless Princess Charlotte would write a submissive letter to her father, and hold out a hope that in a few months she might be induced to give her hand to the Prince of Orange, arrangements would be made, by no means agreeable to her inclinations. Her Royal Highness wrote to the Regent a most submissive and affectionate letter, but held out no hope of renewing the treaty of marriage.

"This letter was sent on Saturday, the 9th of July. We heard various reports of the intentions of the Regent: it was said that I, and the servants, were to be dismissed, and that an apartment was being fitted up for the Princess Charlotte at Carlton House. Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, a handsome young man, a General in the Russian Service, brother-in-law to the Grand Duke Constantine, and a great favourite with the Emperor of Russia, told Miss Mercer Elphinstone many of these particulars. He had been once at Warwick House, the Duchess of Leeds and myself being present. Miss Mercer Elphinstone, who was intimately acquainted with him, came in while he was there. He paid many compliments to Princess Charlotte, who was by no means partial to him, and only received him with civility. However, Miss Mercer evidently wished to recommend him; and when we drove in the Park, he would ride near the carriage, and endeavour to be noticed. There were reasons why this matter was by no means agreeable to Princess Charlotte. However, he certainly made proposals to the Regent, and, though rejected, found means to get into his favour.

"In the mean while, it was reported that he was frequently at Warwick House, and had even taken tea with us, which not one of the princes had done, except Prince Radzivil, whom we invited to sing, and accompany himself on the guitar. We heard that Lady Ilchester and Lady Rosslyn were talked of as being about Princess Charlotte, and I had hints from some of my friends, particularly from Lady Rolle, that a change was about to take place.

"However, the letter of the 9th remained unanswered till the 11th, on which day the Bishop was detained almost the whole morning at Carlton House, and, at five, Princess Charlotte and I were ordered to go over. Her Royal Highness was too ill to obey; but I went, and found the Regent very cold, very bitter, and very silent. I, however, took the opportunity of contradicting any false reports he might have heard relative to the Prince of Saxe-Coburg, and he answered that this Prince was a most honourable young man, and had written him a letter which perfectly justified himself, and said that he was invited by Princess Charlotte; but that it was Prince Augustus of Prussia, and not he, who was in the habit of going to Warwick House. I justified Prince Augustus, as he well deserved; and apologized for Princess Charlotte's not coming over to Carlton House. The Prince said she must either come the next day, or Baillie must come to say she was not capable of walking over.

"Next day, Baillie said she was quite capable of going over, and advised her so to do; but she was really so ill, and so much affected, that it was impossible. Her Royal Highness, therefore, wrote to the Regent, entreating he would come to her. The Duchess of Leeds, who, unfortunately, had been ordered to send in her resignation some time before, but still came as usual to Warwick House, called that morning, but I could not persuade her to stay till the Prince's arrival, as she said he might think it improper her being there.

"About six, he came, attended by the Bishop, only, (as I supposed); but he came up alone, and desired I would leave him with the Princess Charlotte. He was shut up with her three quarters of an hour, and, afterwards, a quarter more with the Bishop, and her Royal Highness. The door then opened, and she came out in the greatest agony, saying she had but one instant to speak to me, for that the Prince asked for me. I followed her into her dressing-room, where she told me the new ladies were in possession of the house; that I, and all the servants, were to be dismissed; that she was to be confined at Carlton House for five days, after which she was to be taken to Cranbourne Lodge, in the midst of Windsor Forest, where she was to see no one but the Queen, once a week; and that if she did not go immediately, the Prince would sleep at Warwick House that night, as well as all the ladies. I begged her to be calm, and advised her to go over, as soon as possible, assuring her that her friends would not forget her. She fell upon her knees in the greatest agitation, exclaiming, 'God Almighty, grant me patience!' I wished to stay and comfort her, but she urged me to go to the Prince, for fear of greater displeasure.

"I went to him, and he shut the door; the Bishop was with him. He told me he was sorry to put a lady to inconvenience, but that he wanted my room that evening for the ladies, repeating what Princess Charlotte had already told me. I asked in what I had offended, but he said he made no complaint, and would make none; that he had a right to make any changes he pleased, and that he was blamed for having let things go on as they had done. He repeated his apology for putting a lady to the inconvenience of leaving the house at so short a notice; and I replied that, my father having served His Majesty for fifty years, and sacrificed his health and fortune to that service, it would be very strange if I could not put myself to the temporary inconvenience of a few hours. He then said that in the arrangements at Carlton House there was a room which I might have for a night or two, if I had nowhere to go. This I declined, thanking him, but saying I had lodgings, which, fortunately, were now vacant; and that Lord and Lady Rolle, who seemed to know much more of the business than I did, had, to my surprise, offered me their house, for the last fortnight. I then made a low courtesy to him, and left the room."

This, and what occurred afterwards, formed the topic of conversation for the time; and, of the Comic Prints, which naturally followed, the accompanying one, by George Cruikshank, is the most amusing. It is called, "The R——t kicking up a Row; or, Warwick House in an Uproar!!!" The Regent, addressing Miss Knight and the Princess's ladies, says, "Get out! get out! you faggots! Get out of the House, I say. Zounds! I've burst my stays. What! what! you'll let her see her mother, will you?!!! Oh! you Jades! But I'll soon put a stop to that—I'll lock the young baggage up, that's what I will; and I'll kick you to the Devil, and that's what I will. So turn out! turn out! out! out! and be d——d to you all."

The Princess is seen running away to her mother, crying out, "Oh, mamma! mamma! Pappe's going to whip me. Oh! oh! oh!!" The Bishop of Salisbury is in the background looking on. The Bishop is aghast, and says, "Dash my wig, here's a pretty kick up!!!" John Bull is looking in at a window, wondering "What the Devil is he about, now?"

Directly after the interview with the Princess, described by Miss Knight, the former left Warwick House, and hailing a hackney coach in Cockspur Street, ordered the coachman to drive to Connaught House, at the corner of the Bayswater and Edgware Roads, her mother's residence. We get a graphic view of this in an illustration called "Plebeian Spirit; or Coachee and the Heir Presumptive." The Princess, who, to judge by the size of the coin she is tendering, is paying lavishly,[26] says, les larmes aux yeux, "Coachman, will you protect me?" to which the gallant Jehu, hand on heart, replies, "Yes, your Highness, to the last drop of my blood." I have not given the background, for it is too painful. Britannia and the British Lion appear, and both are weeping, the Lion very copiously.

Mamma was not at home, but was sent for, and met on the road from Blackheath. The news somewhat upset her, but she adopted the very sensible plan of seeking advice from her friends, Mr. Whitbread and Earl Grey; but, neither being at home, she drove to Connaught House, and Mr. Brougham was sent for. Meantime Papa did not know what to do, so he sent for his Ministers, and consulted with them; and, so grave was the occasion, that a Council was held at the Foreign Office, and also at Carlton House. In fact, to judge properly of the unprecedented gravity of the situation, I need only mention that when the Queen heard of it, she immediately left a Card party she was holding. A National Revolution could hardly have had a greater effect.

Then remonstrance was tried with this wicked, rebellious girl, and first was sent my lord the Bishop of Salisbury, followed by the Duke of York, who seems to have had carte blanche to promise anything; there was the Lord Chancellor, Lord Ellenborough, Adam, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Cornwall, and yet more, all come to see what they could do with this awful young lady, who had given her papa's nerves such a rude shaking. Her kind uncle, the Duke of Sussex, she would see, because he came independently, and, afterwards, asked pertinent questions in her behalf in the House of Lords.

Let Lord Brougham, who had so much to do with this interview, describe it: "After dinner I first begged the Princess Charlotte to give me a full account of what had caused her flight. She said she could not bear any longer the treatment she met with in changing her ladies without her consent, and of interrupting her intercourse with her mother and Margaret (meaning Miss Mercer[27]), her most intimate friend; and that it was her fixed resolution, after throwing herself on her mother's protection, to reside with her entirely. But she dwelt much upon the match; and, although I repeated what I had often assured her of, that without her consent freely given, it never could take place, she said, 'They may wear me out by ill-treatment, and may represent that I have changed my mind and consented.'

"We then conversed upon the subject with the others, and, after a long discussion on that and her lesser grievances, she took me aside, and asked me what, upon the whole, I advised her to do. I said at once, 'Return to Warwick House, or Carlton House, and on no account to pass a night out of her own house.' She was extremely affected, and cried, asking if I too refused to stand by her. I said, quite the contrary; and that as to the marriage, I gave no opinion, except that she must follow her own inclination entirely, but that her returning home was absolutely necessary; and in this all the rest fully agreed—her mother, the Duke of Sussex, Miss Mercer, and Lady Charlotte Lindsay, for whom she had a great respect and regard. I said that, however painful it was for me, the necessity was so clear and so strong that I had not the least hesitation in advising it. She again and again begged me to consider her situation, and to think whether, looking to that, it was absolutely necessary she should return.

"The day now began to dawn, and I took her to the window. The election of Cochrane (after his expulsion owing to the sentence of the Court, which both insured his re-election and abolished the pillory) was to take place that day. I said, 'Look there, Madam; in a few hours all the streets and the park, now empty, will be crowded with tens of thousands. I have only to take you to the window, show you to the crowd, and tell them your grievances, and they will all rise in your behalf.' 'And why should they not?' I think she said, or some such words. 'The commotion,' I answered, 'will be excessive; Carlton House will be attacked—perhaps pulled down; the soldiers will be ordered out; blood will be shed; and if your Royal Highness were to live a hundred years, it never would be forgotten that your running away from your father's house was the cause of the mischief; and you may depend upon it, such is the English people's horror of bloodshed, you never would get over it.' She, at once, felt the truth of my assertion, and consented to see her uncle Frederic (the Duke of York) below stairs, and return with him. But she required one of the royal carriages should be sent for, which came with her governess, and they, with the Duke of York, went home about five o'clock.

"Before she went, however, she desired me to make a minute of her declaration that she was resolved not to marry the Prince of Orange, and that, if ever there should be an announcement of such a match, it must be understood to be without her consent, and against her will. She added, 'I desire Augustus [Duke of Sussex] and Mr. Brougham would particularly take notice of this.' When I had made the note, it was read distinctly, and signed by all present, she signing first, and six Copies were made and signed, and one given to each person present."[28]

And so this little episode was ended. Who, think you, scored? I must say, I think that victory was on the side of Mademoiselle.