freedom.’
Well, considered Frederick, suppose he had resigned his rights . Suppose he had made a public announcement of his marriage to Fitzherbert instead of
allowing Fox to make a public denial of it in the House of Commons? Could it
have been different? He would not have been wearing that magnificent diamond star, the insignia of his rank of course; he would not have been living in this
splendid residence— this grand Carlton House with its scintillating chandeliers,
its gilt furniture, its exquisite porcelain, its priceless pictures.
George should consider all that, for there was nothing he enjoyed as much as
taking a derelict house and transforming it into a palace. Look what he had done
at his Pavilion in Brighton. And here in Carlton House the state apartments were
far more grand than anything in gloomy old St. James’s, tumbledown Windsor
and homely Kew. Even Buckingham House suffered in comparison. Trust George
to see to that.
Consider the Chinese parlour, the blue velvet closet and crimson drawing
room, the silver dining room and most magnificent of all, the throne room with its gilded columns displaying the Prince of Wales’s feathers. Even what he called his own intimate apartments— these facing the park— were fit for a king as well as a
Prince of Wales. No, George was too fond of his royalty to give it up even for
Fitzherbert.
George was above all self-indulgent; his emotions were superficial and even
the affection he bore for the incomparable Fitzherbert had not prevented his
deserting her for the momentarily more alluring Lady Jersey. He was not the man
to resign his hopes of the crown for the sake of a woman. Imagine George,
wandering about the Continent in exile an impecunious prince whose debts would
never then be settled by an understanding if somewhat tutorial Parliament; and
how could George live but in the most extravagant manner? He was born to
elegance; he was a natural spend-thrift; he could never understand the value of
money. He was only aware that he wished to surround himself with beautiful
things and that as Prince of Wales and future King of England he had a natural
right to them.
And who was Frederick to criticize his brother? Had he not been forced into
marriage for the very same reason?
So now he sought to comfort George by embellishing his picture of Caroline.
She was really quite charming, and bright and intelligent, he thought. To tell
the truth he might have decided to marry her himself, but she wouldn’t have him.
Of course he was not the Prince of Wales. He remembered particularly her
beautiful hair. It was very light and abundant. The Prince was very fond of
beautiful hair, was he not?
The Prince nodded and thought of Maria’s abundant honey-coloured curls.
She had never powdered it although it was the fashion to do so; but had worn it
naturally. But then of course few women had hair to compare with Maria’s.
The fact was in all ways no woman could compare with Maria.
He would always think of her as his wife.
Oh, damn these debts. Damn cruel necessity which snatched Maria from him
and gave him in her place a German Frau . Yet it was Lady Jersey who had driven him from Maria.
But it was not serious, he told himself. I never meant it seriously. It was Maria who had taken it so.
But the Duke of York had comforted him considerably.
His betrothed was not a monster, it seemed; she was not hideous like poor
Fred’s wife; she was not marked by the pox like that arrogant creature; and she
would not bring an army of animals to perform their disgusting functions on the
gilded couches of Carlton House.
Frederick, seeing that his mission had been accomplished and that he had
succeeded in bringing some relief to his brother, took his departure.
————————
The Prince sought further comfort from Lady Jersey, but he did not find it.
How different, he was thinking, it would have been with Maria.
Frances was beautiful, there
Well, considered Frederick, suppose he had resigned his rights . Suppose he had made a public announcement of his marriage to Fitzherbert instead of
allowing Fox to make a public denial of it in the House of Commons? Could it
have been different? He would not have been wearing that magnificent diamond star, the insignia of his rank of course; he would not have been living in this
splendid residence— this grand Carlton House with its scintillating chandeliers,
its gilt furniture, its exquisite porcelain, its priceless pictures.
George should consider all that, for there was nothing he enjoyed as much as
taking a derelict house and transforming it into a palace. Look what he had done
at his Pavilion in Brighton. And here in Carlton House the state apartments were
far more grand than anything in gloomy old St. James’s, tumbledown Windsor
and homely Kew. Even Buckingham House suffered in comparison. Trust George
to see to that.
Consider the Chinese parlour, the blue velvet closet and crimson drawing
room, the silver dining room and most magnificent of all, the throne room with its gilded columns displaying the Prince of Wales’s feathers. Even what he called his own intimate apartments— these facing the park— were fit for a king as well as a
Prince of Wales. No, George was too fond of his royalty to give it up even for
Fitzherbert.
George was above all self-indulgent; his emotions were superficial and even
the affection he bore for the incomparable Fitzherbert had not prevented his
deserting her for the momentarily more alluring Lady Jersey. He was not the man
to resign his hopes of the crown for the sake of a woman. Imagine George,
wandering about the Continent in exile an impecunious prince whose debts would
never then be settled by an understanding if somewhat tutorial Parliament; and
how could George live but in the most extravagant manner? He was born to
elegance; he was a natural spend-thrift; he could never understand the value of
money. He was only aware that he wished to surround himself with beautiful
things and that as Prince of Wales and future King of England he had a natural
right to them.
And who was Frederick to criticize his brother? Had he not been forced into
marriage for the very same reason?
So now he sought to comfort George by embellishing his picture of Caroline.
She was really quite charming, and bright and intelligent, he thought. To tell
the truth he might have decided to marry her himself, but she wouldn’t have him.
Of course he was not the Prince of Wales. He remembered particularly her
beautiful hair. It was very light and abundant. The Prince was very fond of
beautiful hair, was he not?
The Prince nodded and thought of Maria’s abundant honey-coloured curls.
She had never powdered it although it was the fashion to do so; but had worn it
naturally. But then of course few women had hair to compare with Maria’s.
The fact was in all ways no woman could compare with Maria.
He would always think of her as his wife.
Oh, damn these debts. Damn cruel necessity which snatched Maria from him
and gave him in her place a German Frau . Yet it was Lady Jersey who had driven him from Maria.
But it was not serious, he told himself. I never meant it seriously. It was Maria who had taken it so.
But the Duke of York had comforted him considerably.
His betrothed was not a monster, it seemed; she was not hideous like poor
Fred’s wife; she was not marked by the pox like that arrogant creature; and she
would not bring an army of animals to perform their disgusting functions on the
gilded couches of Carlton House.
Frederick, seeing that his mission had been accomplished and that he had
succeeded in bringing some relief to his brother, took his departure.
————————
The Prince sought further comfort from Lady Jersey, but he did not find it.
How different, he was thinking, it would have been with Maria.
Frances was beautiful, there
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