Chapter VII: Letters From England and France (2)

Towards the end of April Mrs Stanhope and her family moved to Versailles, and their account is not without interest of the appearance presented by that town after the strange transformations which it had witnessed.

VERSAILLES, _April 30th, 1818._

We are now beginning to feel settled, our House is comfortable and the
situation pretty, and, though in the town, we see only trees from our
windows. It is certainly the dullest looking large town I ever saw,
for the grass grows in some of the streets; but a place which formerly
was so splendid & contained 80,000 inhabitants, & has not now above
20,000, must look neglected.

We have delivered our letters and seen some of the People, but they
are very shy of the English, or rather Irish, for there are nothing
else here; friendly, good sort of People, but not very genteel. The
Caldwells are here only for a week, and Lady Hoste is at a
considerable distance. The other people you do not know.

There is _Mrs Beauman_ here, who is the "Beaumont" of the Place.
She gave a Ball, took off her doors, hung her rooms with red and gold,
and had her supper from Paris, at which there was nothing so vulgar as
a roast chicken. Her husband lives at Paris and is in the Navy. She
was a Miss Webber & rich. I have not seen her, nor am I anxious to
cultivate the English here.

VERSAILLES, _June 31st, 1818._

We have plenty of French society.... Philip wants Edward to take a
_Grande Chasse_ near Dresden, which he may have for thirty pounds
a year, full of Boars, Staggs, Does, Black Cock, Capercailzie,
Pheasants and Partridges innumerable. He writes an anecdote which I
must give you:--An English merchant was hunting one day with the King
of Saxony and, observing that the hounds were inferior, asked the
Intendant if he thought the King would accept any English Dogs. "To be
sure," replied the Intendant, and thought no more of it. About eight
months after, the King received notice from a Merchant at Frankfort
that a pack of hounds waited his orders there from England. The King
was delighted and wrote to the Regent to pass a Service of Dresden
China, duty free, to his generous friend; therefore the English
Merchant was well rewarded for his attention.

We were last night at a ball at Lady Hales's [13] where we found them
dancing at nine and left them dancing at two; such numbers of men I
never saw anywhere, and yet one may walk about for hours and scarcely
ever see one.

There is a very pretty Mrs FitzGerald here, her husband is related to
Lord Ilchester, but our acquaintance among the English is very small
and we have no wish to enlarge it.

VERSAILLES, _February 9th, 1819._

The Evelyns who live in Lord Mansfield's house gave an excellent ball.
Lady Allone invited, & the story is that Mrs Evelyn says this was on
condition that she--Mrs Evelyn--left out all her own friends.

Mrs Poplim is the gayest of the gay with Balls and Proverbs, but the
English society does not improve.

_Undated._

Robert Glyn writes word that Mrs Beaumont sent to him at Genoa to
complain of the extortion of some of the foreign Bankers; they had
amongst them cheated her of _thirty shillings_, and she seemed to
think the Glyns were answerable for this, which made the Sieur Robert
rather indignant, particularly as it turned out that she had left the
set of Bankers recommended by the Glyns and gone to those of whom they
knew nothing. She has laid out about £500 on curiosities at Genoa.

Sophy [14] has certainly had a very good offer in Italy, some very
rich Neopolitan Prince, _un grand parti_, but Madame refused him
in grand style.

In the next letter Marianne describes an event which electrified all France. The Duc D'Avaray was an intimate friend of Louis XVIII. His granddaughter Rosalba, aged seventeen, was extraordinarily handsome and much sought after by many aspirants for her hand. Among these latter was a young Englishman, twenty-six years of age, Charles Shakerley, [15] who was a great friend of the Stanhopes. Indeed, it appears extremely probable that Mrs Stanhope was responsible for his introduction to the Due D'Avaray as she was indirectly responsible for what followed, since it was owing to her invitation that Madame Contibonne, whose presence might have averted what happened, was absent from her home on the eventful evening when Charles Shakerley took his fate into his hands.

_February 25th, 1819._

I have secured the pen out of my mother's hand to announce the great
event which at this moment occupies all at Versailles and all Paris,
and probably will shortly occupy all the _beau monde_ of France.

This great event is Shakerley's elopement with Mlle. D'Avaray, on
Sunday the 21st.

William saw him either Saturday or Sunday at Paris, very disconsolate
at having just been refused. He told him he was packing up, was just
going to England for a week and then intended to depart for
Petersburg, we supposed to take unto himself some Russian Belle.
William came down in the Célérifère with Madame & Mlle. de Contibonne,
who told him Mlle. D'Avaray was their particular friend, and they
related all the history of the refusal. Mdlle. de Contibonne came here
to dine with her mother, who was obliged to return, having company at
Paris in the evening, one of her daughters remained at home, and with
her Mdlle. D'Avaray dined. The latter was to walk home with her maid
to dress for the party. Instead of going home she got into a
_Cabriolet_ with her maid, and drove to the barrier where Shakerley,
with two carriages, was waiting. They went off to Ostend, the lady and
her maid in one carriage, the gentleman and his valet in the other. At
Ostend they set the telegraph to send word to the Duchesse D'Avaray
where they were, and in return the Duc sent a _permission de mariage_.

On Sunday William gave them your's and Philip's direction, so perhaps
you may see them.

Had he murdered three women, there could not be such an outcry; old
and young, male and female, married and single, all unite in abuse of
the poor lady. The French Dandies are in a rage that the prettiest
girl in Paris should have run off with _un Anglais_. The English
all are delighted, even the Mammas, which astonishes all the French,
_Mais cette nation d'Insulaires barbares a toujours insulté toutes
les bien-connues._

I have sent you the general details, very likely not all true, but
that he has run off is most certain. To me, he has married her, or
means to do so; the very height and front of his offending hath this
extent, no more.

To this information Mrs Stanhope added:--

What a scandal! In addition to what Anne has said, I must add what we
have heard since. Before Mlle. D'Avaray went away, she went into Mile,
de Contibonne's room, from which she made her way down the back
stairs. They wondered she did not return, and when they looked for
her, the bird was flown. I believe he was in the street waiting for
her. It was certainly a bold step for a French girl, as the eloping,
or as they call it being _enlevée_, is considered as everything
that is shocking! I say you will give him away when they are married
in England.

VERSAILLES, _March 3rd, 1819._

Shakerley returned Thursday, was married at the Ambassador's Friday.
The Duke of Gloucester [16] gave the Lady away & has taken Shakerley
with him to England, & she is gone to her friends, as she cannot be
married by the rights of the Church till the dispensation arrives,
which it cannot do for 21 days. Therefore he is lost and she is not--
what would you say to that? Report says her friends had fixed on
another person whose name I forget, and that the Hotel was ready. You
will probably see him and hear the truth.

Two days before the date of this letter, John Stanhope had encountered the delinquent in London. On March 1st, 1819, his diary records:--

It rained very hard. Met Shakerley in Bond Street. He had just arrived
from Paris. After having in vain attempted to get the Duc D'Avaray's
consent to marrying his granddaughter, he eloped with her. He had
previously got a passport under Lord B.'s name and sent his carriage
off on the road to Brussels. He got another under his own name, and on
the road to Calais he took up Mlle. D'Avaray.

His cabriolet drove most furiously to the place where Lord B's
carriage and four horses were waiting, thence going off at full speed.

The whole of Paris went after them, but by taking the only road where
there was no telegraph, they completely outwitted the police. At last
one of his pursuers found him on the other side of the frontiers and
conveyed to them the intelligence that the Due would forgive them and
consent to their marriage at the Ambassador's chapel.

Immediately after, Shakerley started for England in order to procure
his father's consent, as that was necessary for their marriage
according to the rites of the Catholic Church.

On March 30th, 1819, Mrs Stanhope adds the final word with regard to this episode:--

When Shakerley was married, rooms were prepared for them at the Duke
D'Avaray's, which had not been opened for three years, but no
"_Faire parts_" or "_Visites de noces_," and her friends say she will
have a difficult part to act, as her being received will depend upon
her future conduct. They are gone to Arras, where the Duke has the
command, and will I suppose be in London in May.

Lady Hunloke and various other people are inquiring for houses here.

Mrs Evelyn carried off her daughter in a hurry, as all the men were
after her.

It appears, however, that later the delinquents were honoured by some "_faire parts_" being sent out to their friends by their nearer relatives. Folded up with these old letters are two announcements, each printed on a large sheet of paper, one surmounted by a Cupid holding a blazing torch and supporting a large M.:--

Mr and Mme. SHAKERLEY out l'honneur de vous faire part du mariage de
M. SHAKERLEY, leur fils, avec Mlle. D'AVARAY.

The other (on which a Cupid has just lit two hearts flaming on one altar) runs thus:--

Mr le Duc et Mme. la DUCHESSE D'AVARAY, M. le MARQUIS et Mme. la
MARQUISE D'AVARAY ont l'honneur de vous faire part du Mariage de Mlle.
D'AVARAY, leur petite fille et fille, avec M. SHAKERLEY.

Sad to relate, this romance had an untimely ending. Gronow states:--

"It was the only case I remember of a young French lady running away from her father's house, and the sensation created by such an extraordinary occurrence was very great. The marriage, as runaway marriages usually are, was a very unhappy one; and the quarrels of the ill-matched couple were so violent that the police had to interfere. Unfortunately, the fair lady having once eloped, thought she might try the same experiment a second time, and one cold winter's night she decamped from a ball at the Austrian Ambassador's with a black-haired Spanish Don, the Marquis d'Errara."

* * * * *

After this unprecedented Parisian excitement, the news from England which filtered through the post to the family in exile must have appeared lacking in interest. On March 25th, 1819, John Stanhope mentioned a little incident which has since become history. "Yesterday, I went to Almack's," he relates, "a tolerably full ball. Many people were shut out, as at twelve Lady Castlereagh ordered the doors to be closed. In the number were her Lord and Master, and the Duke of Wellington." From Brighton came news of another old friend, Mr Macdonald, who was under a course of treatment from "Mr Mahomet, the Oriental Vaporist, "during which he sent them a description of his surroundings, which might be written to-day.

16 NEW STEINE, BRIGHTON, _August 7th, 1819._

What a multitude of people we have here, Jews, Haberdashers, and
money-lenders without number, a sort of Marine Cheapside, Mr Solomons,
Mrs Levis, and all the Miss Abrahams; in short, Hook Noses, Mosaical
Whiskers and the whole tribe of Benjamin occupy every shop, every
donkey-cart, and every seat in Box, Pit, and Gallery. I am very tired
of them, and shall probably take flight at the end of the week to
Worthing.

The Beaumonts no doubt are still travelling _en suite_ in Scotland. I
wonder how many darts and hearts have been fired and wounded amongst
my too susceptible Countrymen! We shall see when they return. I
suppose half the Country will follow them back into Yorkshire.

Later in the year, from the same town, another friend, Sir James Graham, [17] wrote:--

BRIGHTON, _December 28th, 1819._

The Regent is in the best possible state of health and spirits, and
moves to London and back frequently. He leaves to-day for a few days.
The Pavilion Palace is not in a state to receive Company and therefore
he sees very few. The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester have been here
some time, and remain until the 5th or 6th of January, and this place
is quite full of company-not a good house to be got. Lady Elizabeth
Lowther has been here and is much better than usual.

Perhaps stirred by the letters received from their friends in England, the thoughts of the exiled family turned more and more towards their home, and Marianne wrote to her brother--

I shall be delighted to nationalise in old England. I think as much as
mind is superior to body, so much is English society better than
French-I mean that in which we live.... This is a dancing generation,
I think people's wits live in their heels and they cultivate nothing
else, though Mrs Poplim, who is now at the bottom of the precipice,
_tout à fait_, gives Proverbs and Concerts.

Lady Morgan [18] is quite the light of Paris, people flock to her
house as they would to a wild beast show. She has Talma, Mile.
Georges, and all the other Lions, foreign and home-bred. She and the
Rochefoucaulds are very thick--a great proof of their want of tact,
for she is the most impudent pretender to literature I ever met with.

_Mrs Spencer-Stanhope to Charles Spencer-Stanhope._
_December 12th, 1819._

Although I have written this morning till my hand is tired and my head
confused, I cannot allow the remainder of this sheet to depart merely
blank paper.... The French dance as if they feared they might not live
to begin again after Lent. Lady Hales's ball was so full and hot that
the dancing was not agreeable. There is a very pretty French girl
there, a Paris Belle, and the first _partie_ in France, Mlle. de
Proneville; she is the only Peeress in her own right in France, and
has a large fortune. I say, as our fortunes come here, she should
marry into England. I see that Lord Mountmorris claims the title of
Annesley; should he succeed, the little Belle here will lose her
title, if not her fortune also, probably not all, as I believe her
mother had a large one.

I hope by this time you have John in London. I wish you could persuade
him to marry, though not to sacrifice family to fortune.

Almack's and the French Plays are to be the _ton_, and will it be
advisable to apply soon? How is the Opera?

_Engraved by S. W. Reynolds, and Pubd. by His Majesty's Most Gracious Permission, February 24th, 1820._

When the ear heard him, then it blessed him, and when the eye saw him it gave witness of him.

He delivered the poor that cried, the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. Kindness, meekness, and comfort, were in his tongue; if there was any virtue, and if there was any praise, he thought of those things. His body is buried in peace, but his name liveth evermore.

_To the British Nation this print of the FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE is most respectfully dedicated by Samuel M Reynolds._

PROOF

_A print taken of George III when mad. The possession of Rowland Pickering, Esq._]

As shown by the last sentence, Mrs Stanhope was already thinking of securing her Opera box betimes in view of her approaching return to her native land. Ere she did so, however, an event occurred which terminated all thoughts of gaiety. On Sunday, January 30th, the Journal of John Stanhope records:--

Went to Portland St. Chapel. Observed that the Clergyman prayed--not
for the Prince and Princess of Wales--but for the Royal Family in
general. Called on Mrs Arthur Stanhope and learned that the King had
died at half past eight the night before. Singular that the very day
we had put on mourning for the Duke of Kent should be that on which
the death of his father was announced. The _Observer_ states that
the King died without any appearance of pain and without a lucid
interval. He had reigned fifty-nine years, three months and nine days.
He was 81 years, 7 months, and 126 days old.

_31st._

After breakfast, went down to Carlton House to see the Proclamation of
King George IV. The King-at-Arms cut a ridiculous figure. The guns
fired, the Proclamation was read, the Bands saluted, and some say the
new King appeared at the window and was greeted with cheers, but it is
since said that he did not appear and the cheers were in consequence
of the Proclamation only. Many of the Princes were present.

_February 24th, 1820._

Greeted with the intelligence of a fight that had taken place between
the Radicals and the Bow St. Officers and a detachment of the Guards.
It appeared that twenty-five of them, headed by Thistlewood, had
formed a plot to attack the Ministers when dining at Lord Harrowby's.
Two of them were to go there with red Boxes in lieu of dispatch Boxes.
Whilst the porter was taking these pretended dispatches, one of them
was to open the door to the remainder of the gang. They were to throw
fire-balls into the Mall, and, in the midst of the confusion thus
occasioned, to rush into the Dining-room and kill the Ministers.

Lord Harrowby had been warned by a person he met in the Park, and the
dinner was accordingly postponed. The Conspirators, however, met in a
small street (Cato Street) near Edgware Road. Mr Birnie, the
Magistrate, directed the police officers to enter the house & secure
them. The Guards, who were to second, entered unfortunately by the
wing end of the street. The Police Officers ascended into the Hay
Loft, where the Conspirators were assembled, by a ladder. They found
about 25 in a room with candles & arms of various descriptions upon
the table, and called them to surrender. Thistlewood made a thrust at
Smithers with a long sword & the Officer immediately fell, crying out
"Oh God!" The Conspirators then put the candles out with their swords
and in the confusion many of them escaped. Fitzclarence in the
meantime advanced at the head of the detachment of Guards. One of the
Conspirators presented a pistol at him, but fortunately the Serjeant
knocked it aside and received part of the contents in his coat sleeve.
Another made a thrust at him, and that was also knocked aside. He then
advanced at the head of the Guards into the room. He secured a man who
again presented a pistol at him, but it missed fire, so that he had
three narrow escapes. Nine of the Conspirators were taken, and
Thistlewood, for whom a reward of a Thousand Pounds was offered, was
taken during the course of the day in his bed. Saunders, in company
with another Bow St. Officer, entered the room and threw himself on
the bed. He said, "I have made no resistance. You could not have taken
me otherwise!"

Thistlewood and four of his companions were hanged and then beheaded, but the horrid spectacle of their execution roused the public to demand the abolition of the punishment of decapitation, and they were the last persons who thus suffered in England.

But the country did not readily resume the more peaceful conditions which had been thus rudely disturbed, and it was to a land distracted by rioting as well as to a land of mourning that Mrs Stanhope and her family returned early in 1820, in order to prepare for the wedding of her son, Edward Collingwood. [19]

Manifold, indeed, were the changes which had occurred within the last few years. Not only had the long and chequered reign of George III. ended and the Regent at length grasped the power which he had so long coveted, but the subject of the succession was creating universal interest. Since 1817, the luckless Princess Charlotte had lain in her untimely grave with the still form of the babe which had cost her existence-mother and child in one dark tragedy bereft of the great destiny which was their heritage. And now in the nursery of Kensington Palace was a little fatherless girl of a year old on whom the hopes of England centred. But of the absent Queen of George IV. disparaging rumours were circulated, and while in the affections of her fickle husband it was said Lady Conyngham had supplanted Mrs Fitzherbert, Lady Hertford and Lady Jersey, whispers of a Royal divorce were in the air, and the threatened coming of Caroline was awaited with increasing anxiety.

The spirit of unrest which pervaded the country had even penetrated to Yorkshire. The weavers there were rioting, and so threatening was their behaviour that about this date Mr Frederick Wentworth actually sent to offer them a bribe of £20 not to burn down Wentworth Castle. The North was deemed unsafe, and, abandoning all thoughts of visiting it, Mrs Stanhope, whose former home in Grosvenor Square had been sold, decided to settle in Langham Place. She therefore took a large house in that locality, which was entered by great gates and stood in the midst of a fine garden, and there her family swiftly resumed the old routine of their London life. Despite the mourning for the late King, Mrs Stanhope wrote: "Mrs Malcolm who called yesterday tells me there is a great deal of quiet society & that if you get into a set, you may be engaged every night." While Marianne regaled her brother with her usual "quiz."

I am not in love with the dinnerings in the neighbourhood, we met 14
people yesterday at Lord Ashtown's, none of whom I trust I shall ever
see again.

I must tell you the derivation of the word _dinnering_. The lady
of a new-made baronet in Dorsetshire informed us that her husband was
put under a regiment & ordered the _tippet_ bath to cure him of
the effect of London "dinnerings."

I am afraid you did not hear of our meeting with a lady who had once
nearly taken a house in Yorkshire "_in a remote part, near West
Riding_"--which she certainly took for a town.

In June that year the arrival of the Queen brought public excitement to a climax. On the day when she was to land, greatly to the relief of the authorities who dreaded a riot, there was an unusually heavy storm. The Heavens themselves seemed in league against the unhappy woman. It poured on her first arrival in England, it poured on her return from her long exile, it was destined to pour during her last sad exit from the scene of so many humiliations. John Stanhope, who had last seen Caroline as she wrathfully turned her back upon his friend, Mr Maxwell, at Naples, was anxious to witness her reception in England as Queen. On June 6th his diary records:--

It rained heavily, and between the wet and the unexpected arrival of
the Queen, London was in a state of indescribable confusion.

Lord ---- had been sent down to negociate with her. He was
commissioned to offer her £50,000 a year on condition of her remaining
abroad and not bearing the title of Queen. These conditions she
rejected, and abandoning herself entirely to the advice of Alderman
Wood, did not attempt to keep the negociation open, but embarked on
board the Leopold packet with Lady Anne Hamilton, Alderman Wood and
her suite. Sir Neil Campbell drove me a little way on the Kent Road,
the whole was lined with people, but we soon got tired of waiting--to
receive the Queen in the midst of the violent storm and returned home.

The Queen arrived between six and seven. A mob was immediately
assembled round Alderman Wood's house, in which she has taken up her
abode, and forced people to pull off their hats as they passed the
house. The Queen made her appearance on the Balcony.

The Ministers brought a green bag down to the House containing the
charges against the Queen.

_Mrs Spencer-Stanhope._
_August 8th, 1820._

The Review on Saturday went off most brilliantly--The Duke of
Wellington told the King to show himself, which he did, and was
received with the greatest applause.

The first day the Troops wanted to have cheered him, but were not
allowed. He and the Queen did not meet, tho' she hovered about. She
has now a smart coach and Royal liveries.

The public trial of Caroline, which lasted from August 19th to November 10th, entirely absorbed the public attention. The early partisanship of the Stanhopes for the unfortunate lady had waned since the conviction had become unavoidable that her manners were less "royal" than they had at first imagined. On October 13th Mrs Stanhope writes:--

Philip is much engaged with the House of Stanhope. He has been two
evenings at Harrington House, last night with Lady Stanhope to the
Playgoers, again to-night with the Carringtons with whom he dines. He
has just been here and says it is possible the Queen's business may be
over to-day, as Brougham called for one of the Government witnesses,
and was told he was gone, which may give him an opportunity of
concluding the affair--rather stopping it entirely. I do not think
that her own witnesses have proved much in her favour, tho' they
admitted facts which made against her with great reluctance.

John Stanhope attended the trial assiduously and thus describes its close:--

_October 26th._

Went to Macdonald's and accompanied him to the House of Lords, heard
the Attorney General's reply; thought the first part but feeble, but
latterly he became very good. His delivery and his voice are bad and
he is not pleasant.

_October 27th._

Went to the House of Lord's, heard the conclusion of the Attorney
General's speech, and the commencement of that of the Solicitor
General, which was very good.

_November 10th._

The Bill was read a third time, by a majority of 9. The Ministers
declared that they could not think of proceeding with it with so small
a majority. The joy of the people was tremendous. They forced an
illumination at night.

_November 11th._

A second Illumination.

_November 13th._

It rained hard, towards night it cleared. I walked about the streets
to see the illuminations. There were detachments of horse-guards at
every street corner.

_November 14th._

Some partial Illuminations.

Meanwhile, throughout the Kingdom rejoicings were taking place, and Yorkshire was not behind-hand. In Wakefield, indeed, the demonstrations were unusually effective. An ox with gilded horns was led round the town, all gaily bedecked with flowers, while on its back was conspicuously painted a device surrounded by the words _Caroline Rex_ (sic), this being the work of a loyal and enthusiastic Irishman who lived in the town. The animal was finally roasted whole in the bull-ring, bonfires and public illuminations concluding the feast. On the Bank was exhibited a magnificent transparency, an original design, showing the Queen in a crimson glory which rose from the smoke produced by the explosion of a Green Bag, underneath which was represented Majocci in a fright, saying, "_Non mi ricordo_" his invariable answer at trial. In the Corn Market was displayed another huge Green Bag fixed upon a pole and bearing the inscription: "Green Bags manufactured wholesale for witnesses on oath." After hanging for some time, to the great delight of the assembled crowd, this was set on fire and exploded with much noise and brilliance.

On the 20th of November the Queen went to St Paul's to return thanks for her escape from the snares of her enemies, and the diary of John Stanhope relates:--

Went to Hyde Park at nine to see Sir Robert Wilson [20] muster his
ragged Regiment of Cavalry to escort the Queen to St Paul's. Whilst he
was marshalling his forces, a troop of Horse Guards passed down the
line on the way to the Barracks; the contrast was admirable! At ten he
marched them to Piccadilly where he waited till the Queen arrived.

She came preceded by some horsemen, driving in a barouche-and-six with
a handsome equipage. She was followed by another carriage and by the
great Alderman Wood.

I followed them as far as Temple Bar where I took my stand within a
fishmonger's shop and waited in patient expectation till she returned,
which was not till near three. The Gates then opened, the City Marshal
took his stand within and bowed out the procession. There was a large
detachment of shop-keepers on horseback, then came the Queen in her
open carriage. She was all in white and covered with a white veil.
There were loud cheers. She continued bowing. The procession was
brought up by the different trades with a great variety of flags. The
whole was closed by a Green Bag!

I returned home having had my pocket picked. I know not whether I was
most struck at the extraordinary nature of this triumphant procession,
partaking of a strong rebellious feeling and made in the teeth of the
Government, or at the tranquillity with which it passed off.

Hard upon the rejoicings at the acquittal of the Queen came news of the festivities in connection with the approaching coronation, and accounts of the conduct of the new King which point to his having occupied himself more assiduously with the graver duties of his new condition than has been credited by posterity. Mrs Stanhope writes:--

_January 27th, 1821._

Marianne and Frances were much gratified by hearing the King's speech,
which he read with great grace. He was well received. His servant who
waited on Philip the day he was on duty told him that the King rises
at eight. He has seldom above one or two people to dinner--when
anybody. He dines at six or half-after, and _occupies himself almost
the whole day in writing_. He looks remarkably well.

_Marianne Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope._
_May 12th, 1821._

The Carlton House ball was very superb; only one Quadrille danced at a
time, & great attention paid to the dancers. His Majesty sat between
Lady Conyngham and Countess Lieven, [21] great attention paid to the
former, who was most superbly dressed, and violent attention paid to
the Opposition. Much civility also to Lord Lauderdale and Lord Cowper,
at which notice of the Opposition the Ministers were furious.

One story is that Lord & Lady Grey went up followed by two sons &
three daughters, and that the King said, laughing heartily, "Did you
all come in the Slap-Bang?" The Duchess of Bedford was much scolded
for not bringing Miss Russell, Frank Russell's [22] sister. She was
sent for out of bed. When she arrived, the King met her at the door,
and presented her with a partner, & stood by her while she danced.

The King is going to the theatres to _feel_ the public mind with
regard to a coronation. The Queen stays to annoy him. She had written
in her own hand to say, "As I am not to partake in _our_ coronation, I
expect to have a Gallery for myself and Ladies."

Lady Worcester [23] was not expected to live thro' last night. She was
at the Birthday & at the ball, danced a great deal, felt unwell, and
was fool enough to take a shower bath before she went to bed. She was
seized with inflammation in her bowels & in great danger immediately.

Lord Conyngham is nicknamed the "Small toothcomb"--all back and teeth.

I hear there is a new version of an old story of the Duke of
Gloucester. He went to see Bedlam; a man called out--"Ha! Silly Billy!
Are you come here?" The Duke exclaimed--"God bless me! How odd he
should know my name!" Upon which the keeper remarked innocently--"He
_has sometimes_ glimmerings of sense, please your Royal Highness."

They are in a great fright lest Lord Worcester [24] should marry Miss
Belle Calcraft. [25] It is supposed there has been an intrigue between
them for some time.

Lady Worcester's sufferings were most extreme, her complaint a
twisting of the guts. She died sensible but screaming. On one side of
the bed sat Lady E. Vernon, on the other, Lady Jersey, also screaming
with grief. The Duke of Wellington had to drag them by force out of
the room. There were eighty people standing round when she died.

The Ministers are said to be very angry with the King. Lord Liverpool
sent to announce Dr Dodsworth's [26] death, and the Canonry of Windsor
vacant in consequence, to ask who his Majesty would choose it to be
given to. He said very short--"Oh, I have given it away already."

_May 25th, 1821._

The French Play is going down fast, the Patronesses never attending,
so poor Sequin wrote a memorial to the ladies to say he should be
ruined, and, in consequence, last Tuesday was very well attended. I
hear of no marriage excepting Miss Lockhart, who used to go about with
Lady C. Durham, to an Italian Count who had followed her from Italy.

A melancholy accident happened the other day to Sir J. Smith's second
son, Marriott. He was riding through the town of Bridgwater with a
young man of the name of Morris who is at the same Tutor's. The horse
became unmanageable, the two young men were thrown, Morris pitched on
his head and was killed on the spot, young Smith was very little hurt,
but his state of distress is such that they hardly know what to do
with him.

Your sisters who are looking over the catalogue of books at the
library have just met with _Countess Moreau's Works_--alias _Contes
Moraux_.

_July 21st, 1821._

We have just finished reading the newspaper account of the Coronation
which must have been a magnificent spectacle. We were horrified at the
Queen debasing herself so much as to ask admission at the door--a
request she was certain of being denied. We long to hear how you and
Philip saw the ceremony, and whether the latter is not half killed by
the fatigue of it.

But John Stanhope seems to have been more interested in the various events attendant upon the Coronation than in the ceremony itself. His diary records:--

_July 19th, 1821._

The morning was beautiful. I had not attempted to get a ticket for the
Abbey or the Hall, so I determined after breakfast to sally forth and
see the Balloon ascend, and then to walk down Palace Yard and try
whether there was not a place to be got. Nothing could be more
animating than the scene, the St James's Park and the Green Park were
entirely covered with Spectators. The Balloon ascended to a
considerable height before it was at all carried away by the wind, it
rose, indeed, out of our sight.

As soon as this spectacle was over, I went to see the guns fired, and
from thence to George St., where for five shillings I got a place in a
Booth for which the previous night they asked as many guineas, and
after waiting for some time I saw the procession go from the Abbey to
the Hall,--a superb sight. I afterwards returned home much fatigued,
but issued forth again to see the illuminations.

But a long time elapsed before I could get into the Park owing to the
string of carriages through the large gates and the pressure of the
mob through the smaller ones. At last I was obliged to go round by
Grosvenor Gate.

I first directed my steps to the fireworks, which were let off under
the direction of the Military from the middle of the Park. I
afterwards saw the Serpentine where there was a very brilliant
display. There was a splendid illumination at the lower end on the
water, a car drawn by elephants with lanterns, and boats with
variegated lamps, water rockets, and, at intervals, lights on the
terrace at Kensington Gardens which lighted up the whole park.

From the Park I proceeded to Piccadilly, down St James's St., along
Pall Mall, up the Haymarket and Bond St., and went as far as Portland
Place where some of the houses were illuminated most splendidly. The
French and Spanish Ambassadors' houses also produced a magnificent
effect. I returned home about two o'clock, much exhausted.

_July 20th._

I went to the Opera, it was very full, and after the Opera and Ballet
we had a grand _God Save The King_. Nothing could exceed the
enthusiasm of the audience. Tumults of applause at the end of every
stanza, and the whole encored. A solitary hiss was heard, but it was
soon silenced by cries of "Turn him out! Throw him over!"

But save for the descriptions in the newspapers and the accounts sent to her by her sons, Mrs Stanhope saw nothing of the splendid spectacle which had been taking place. That year of general rejoicing had proved for her a year of seclusion and of mourning. After her return home the health of her husband had rapidly declined, and with the coming of April, 1821, while all England was awakening to a summer of festivity and gladness, Walter Stanhope, overborne with the burden of his seventy-one years, had peacefully breathed his last.

He left behind him the record of a blameless and honourable life, and on April 21st, while his funeral was in progress in Yorkshire, his wife wrote to her son John:--

Upon this mournful day my first wish is to converse with my children-
the only remaining tie I now have in this world. I hope in God you
will all bear up during the awful and heart-rending Ceremony. The
prayers of the poor and the afflicted will follow your beloved parent
to the Grave, and may they fall upon his children.

FOOTNOTES

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

[1] She married, March 1828, Robert Hudson, Esq. of Tadworth Court, near Reigate. Died September 1862, aged 76.

[2] He succeeded to the estates of Cannon Hall and Horsforth, etc.; married, in 1822, Elizabeth Wilhelmina, youngest daughter of Thomas William Coke, Esq., afterwards 1st Earl of Leicester. Died 1873, aged 86.

[3] She died, unmarried, 17th March, 1860, in her 72nd year.

[4] Assumed by Royal Licence, in 1816, the name and arms of Collingwood, pursuant to the will of his great-uncle, Edward Collingwood, Esq., whose estates he inherited. He married, September 9th, 1820, Arabella, daughter of General John Calcraft, of Cholderton, Hants. Died August 4th, 1866, in his 75th year.

[5] He assumed the name of Roddam on succeeding to the estates of his kinsman and godfather, Admiral Roddam of Roddam, Northumberland. He married, first, Charlotte, daughter of Henry Percy Pulleine, Esq. of Crakehall; and secondly, Selina Henrietta, daughter of John Cotes, Esq. of Woodcote. Died 1864, aged 71.

[6] He was subsequently Vicar of Weaverham in Cheshire, and for fifty-two years non-resident Vicar of Cawthorne, Yorkshire. Married Frederica Mary, daughter of the late Robert Philip Goodenough, Prebendary of Carlisle and Southwell. Died October 29th, 1874, aged 79.

[7] Died, unmarried, 1857, aged 60.

[8] Captain in the Grenadier Guards and Page of Honour to George III. and George IV. General in the Army and Colonel of the 13th Light Infantry. Married, May 2nd, 1865, Mary Catherine, relict of Edward Strickland, Esq. She died in July of the same year. General Stanhope died in 1880, aged 81.

[9] Died, unmarried, February 5th, 1885, in her 85th year.

[10] Died, unmarried, December 30th, 1884, aged 82.

[11] Barrister-at-Law of the Middle Temple; lived at Glen Alien in Northumberland, near Alnwick. Married, 1848, Amy Anne, 5th daughter of Henry Percy Pulleine, Esqre. of Crakehall. D.S.P. 1871, aged 67.

[12] It is now No. 32 Upper Grosvenor Street, the door being in the latter street. In the directories prior to 1800 it is described as being in Upper Grosvenor Street, but subsequently it was No. 28 Grosvenor Square.

[13] The culminating achievement of his public life was his strenuous promotion of the grand scheme of volunteer service at a time of great national danger: yet in his old age he used to state that the most interesting act of his existence on which he could look back was his having persuaded the Prime Minister, Pitt, to colonize Australia.