The Regency Bill passed through the House of Commons on February 12; by this time Pitt could afford to be magnanimous, and he accepted Daniel Pultney’s suggestion that the restrictions on the Regent’s power should end after three years. A week later, on the nineteenth, official bulletins announced that the King was convalescing. The Lords moved to adjourn the Regency Bill amidst noisy jubilation on the government benches. The Pittite Lady Stafford described the opposition’s reaction:
Dismay, Disappointment, and Mortification were strongly painted in their Countenances, and in the Evening at Assemblies they could not disguise their unexpected Distress. I do think it must be a sad hearing to them, after quarrelling among themselves about the Places, exulting in their approaching Power, and so late as Thursday protesting that they would come in, if it was only for a Week, to humble this proud Administration, and to torment his Majesty the more when he should resume his Government.20
The King’s recovery released the two sides from any remaining constraints of civility. Sheridan’s sister recorded that the Whigs were the object of public derision. Georgiana and her friends braved an assembly given by Lady Buckinghamshire, where they were “groan’d and hooted” at by the “Ladies on the Opposite Side.”21 Georgiana went ahead with a ball she had planned; it fell flat. The Prince made matters worse by provoking several drunken brawls in London clubs; one night the stewards actually threw him out of Ranelagh Gardens. At first the Whigs coped with the news of the King’s recovery by refusing to believe the medical reports. Grey still insisted a month later that the King was “foolish” and a Regency imminent. Gradually, however, the cold truth banished their dreams. The Whigs were silenced by their defeat, their stupefaction high-lighted by the joyful clamour around them.
After a short pause national celebrations began with the formal opening of Parliament on March 10. Carriages blocked every street and thoroughfare as people jostled for a clear view of the fireworks and illuminations marking the event. The Whigs who dared to venture out did so anonymously, squeezing past thousands of flag-waving citizens who cheered and hugged each other in unaffected joy. A group of artisans spotted the Prince’s carriage crawling towards Westminster and began singing “God Save the King” in sarcastic tones. William Elliot, who witnessed the incident, told his wife that at first the Prince joined in, shouting “Long live the King!” but when they also cried “Pitt for ever!” he shouted “Fox for ever,” which started a mini riot: “a man pulled the coach-door open, and the Prince endeavoured to jump out amongst them in order to defend himself; but his younger brother the Duke of York kept him back with one arm, and with the other struck the man on the head and called to the coachman to drive on, which he did at great pace, the coach door flapping about as they went.”22 The carnival-like atmosphere was galling for all the losers, but the exclusion from public rejoicing was especially painful for someone like Georgiana; in other circumstances she would have been the organizer. The last time mile-long traffic jams had been seen in Piccadilly was four years ago at her famous balloon launch. This time she was trapped inside Devonshire House, forced to listen to the bickering nonsense of Grey and Sheridan.
Georgiana’s next public appearance was on March 26 at the Queen’s Drawing Room to mark the King’s recovery. All the women had received prior notice to wear GOD SAVE THE KING in their caps in a direct riposte to Georgiana’s Regency caps. “I found it was much a subject of discussion and observation whether the Duchess would have it or no,” wrote George to Lady Spencer. After several heated arguments the Whigs agreed that their side would keep their heads bare.23 The order of presentation was published in advance, and it was clear that the Queen was particularly relishing the thought of having the Whigs under her scrutiny. The day was one of the longest Harriet could remember:
people did not get away till after eight o’clock though some were there by eleven. The Q. stood near the middle window with a small space round her, through which everybody pass’d one by one. She did not speak to any of the principal Opposition people. Fox, Sheridan, Tierney, Grey, and very cold to the Princes. . . . She was dress’d in blue and orange and had “God save the King” in her cap, as almost everybody else had except us; she look’d up at our heads as we past her.24
Their discomfort at this humiliating procedure was increased by the stifling heat. People pushed and shoved in an effort to get out of the slow-moving crush. “Nothing ever equalled the crowd,” wrote Harriet; “one heard nothing but screams and women carrying out in fits. The whole ground was strewed with different coloured foil, and pearls and diamonds crumbled to pieces.”25
The exhausted women returned to Devonshire House aching and dishevelled, furious at the Duke of Portland for having insisted that they expose themselves to further embarrassment. The Prince arrived a short time later for a quiet supper which he ruined by sobbing and ranting throughout. Sheridan attempted to calm him down by discussing strategies for a reconciliation between the brothers and their parents, but it was hollow talk. The Prince’s agitation increased over the next few days following the announcement that a concert and supper would be held at Windsor on April 2. Neither he nor the Duke of York was invited, and when he finally summoned the courage to question his mother she replied, “she supposed they would not come, as it was meant as a compliment to those who supported her and the King.”26 On March 30 the members of White’s held a ball in honour of the King at the Pantheon. Over 2,000 people danced beneath illuminated devices depicting “GR” and other symbols until the early hours of the morning. The Duchesses of Gordon and Richmond, who were the patrons for the event, had deliberately appointed only three milliners in London to make the white and gold uniforms in the expectation that the Whig ladies would humble them-selves to accept their lead. To their chagrin the Prince and all the Whigs boycotted the ball. Few people noticed the absence of the opposition; patriotic fervour combined with the champagne to intoxicate the hall, and “God Save the King” was sung many times until throats were hoarse.
The uniform for the concert at Windsor three days later was deep blue trimmed with scarlet and gold. “Loyalty is a most expensive virtue at present,” complained Lady Louisa Stuart to Lady Portarlington. “A good subject cannot be dressed for these three days for under a hundred pounds.”27 The Prince did attend this celebration, and it was a lesson in mortification. Many of the guests ignored him, his mother glared at him whenever their eyes met, and his sisters were forbidden to speak to him. The Prince and the Duke of York did their best to appear unconcerned even though the whole tone of the event was directed against them. Pitt’s famous winning vote after the Regency debate on December 16—268—was emblazoned above the banqueting table along with his coat of arms entwined with the Lord Chancellor’s. “All this,” complained William Elliot, “is quite new at Court, and most excessively indecent, as the King is always expected to be of no party.”28
The Whigs retaliated three weeks later on April 22, when they staged a rival ball at the Opera House. Initially the Queen forbade any friend to the court to go, which provoked such an outcry that she partly relented, forbidding only the members of the Royal Household. With such advance publicity the Whigs hoped to recapture some of their fighting spirit, but their demoralized state was apparent in the decree that there would be no uniform for the occasion. Thanks largely to Georgiana’s efforts the event was sold out. But the party’s usual expertise on these occasions had deserted them and the ball failed to match their former successes. There were not enough chairs, and by 4 a.m. women were sitting on the floor, too fatigued to care about their dresses. Mrs. Siddons declaimed an ode to the King which half the house couldn’t hear and the other half talked through. No one had remembered to arrange for runners to fetch the carriages, which resulted in confusion and delays.
The Whigs’ torture continued for one more day. The service of thanks-giving for the King took place at St. Paul’s on April 23, St. George’s day. The King and Queen, followed by the royal family and the entire household
, rode past a clamour of cheers and ringing bells until they reached the cathedral. They were all dressed in the Windsor uniform and, though the King looked thin and frail, there was no mistaking his calm demeanour. Ministers and members of both Houses followed in a slow march behind, which allowed the crowd to give clear indications of preference. The Times reported that Fox’s carriage was received with “an universal hiss which continued with very little intermission until he alighted at St Paul’s.”29 He threw back the door to a greeting of boos and catcalls which he ignored, keeping his head up above the sightline of the crowds. The view afforded no comfort; every building was covered in banners and ribbons. “God Save the King” was strung across hundreds of streets. As a precautionary measure against the mob, even Devonshire House was decorated with flags and royal insignia.
Pro-government witnesses accused the Prince of Wales and his brother of giggling throughout the service. In contrast, Whig observers thought they had behaved surprisingly well. The Whigs themselves acted with strict decorum, as if attending a funeral rather than a celebration. At the end of the service they departed in their carriages to endure a repeat reception from the crowds. The Devonshire carriage was mostly ignored and escaped the missiles being thrown at the losers. Pitt’s carriage, on the other hand, was stopped by the cheering mob and unhinged from the horses. Hundreds of people helped to pull it back to Downing Street, where another crowd was waiting to greet them. It was Pitt’s day. “He is admired and adored by all who wish well to Great Britain,” wrote one supporter. He was still only twenty-nine.30
The Duchess of Gordon was also triumphant. The night of White’s ball she hosted a select party which included Pitt, Dundas, and Dr. Willis; people stopped to applaud them as they walked arm in arm. She had become a significant rival to Georgiana, whose reign over the ton for the past fifteen years now looked seriously in doubt. The thought that the Duchess of Gordon might topple her from her place caused widespread excitement and immense satisfaction in government circles. By common agreement Georgiana, and not the Duchess of Gordon, was blamed for having divided society down party lines. “We have seen no times when it had been so necessary to separate parties in private company,” wrote a Tory peer to a friend. “The acrimony is beyond anything you can conceive.”31 The uniforms, the tribal politics, the use of private female influence to affect the voting outcome—Georgiana had perfected the technique and the Duchess of Gordon had copied her with successful results.
The Regency crisis established the future path of the two parties: the diminution of the Whigs as a credible opposition and Pitt’s unassailable pre-eminence. “I have often thought,” wrote the Whig peer Lord Palmerston, that “we have more Wit and Ingenuity on our side than sound judgement in managing Parliamentary matters.”32 Pitt had learned from the 1784 Westminster election how to combine both. Many Whigs expressed regret at their party’s lack of professionalism. “We despise parliamentary craft too much, and are sadly deficient in it,” complained Lord George Cavendish.33 This was also Georgiana’s criticism—lack of discipline among the leadership.34 Re-reading her journal some years later, she wrote:
I think the following journal offers two epochas. The first when there seem’d no doubt of the Prince’s being Regent, and that the formation of a new administration occupied the minds and produced the circumstances of rivalship and anxiety which attend a new Ministry. The second when the King’s recovery revived the hopes of Mr Pitt’s friends, and when the opposition seemed only to differ on the part the Prince and themselves were to take. . . . From hence is to be trac’d the facility with which the Prince yields to the pleasure of making himself agreeable to those whom he happens to associate. . . . We can trace . . . the Virtues and foibles of Mr Fox, the comprehensive mind, undaunted genius, . . . [but] a contempt for even necessary expedients, [and] a great imprudence in conversation. . . . I have so long lamented, and often been provoked with his negligence, sometimes even to decent attention. . . . These fragments, I think, prepare to the disunion and want of method which so soon brought the destruction of opposition about during the years ’92 and ’93.35
CHAPTER 14
THE APPROACHING STORM
1789–1790
The Duchess of Devonshire has thought it proper to quit Paris during the present convulsions in that capital. The amiable Duchess was advised to this measure by Madame de Polignac, who told her Grace that she could not depend upon her own safety. The Duchess of Devonshire, it is supposed, has proceeded to Spa.
Morning Post, July 10, 1789
The Whigs retreated to Brooks’s after the King’s recovery; only small numbers bothered to turn up for debates and there was no attempt to organize a coherent strategy for the next session. Almost everyone held a grievance about the way the leadership had dealt with the crisis. Sheridan’s supporters blamed Fox for having discredited the party with his claim that Parliament had no right to discuss the Regency. Fox’s friends, in turn, felt Sheridan had played an underhanded game and were quick to point out that his own comments in the House had not been particularly helpful. The Cavendishes and the Duke of Portland did not have a good word to say about either of them. Georgiana adopted a conciliatory role and tried to bring the various factions together by holding quiet dinners at Devonshire House. But she, too, retreated from public life and avoided all large gatherings.
It was not only the animosity she encountered from “Tory ladies,” as she started to refer to them, which made Georgiana reluctant to go out: by April she was personally bankrupt and in terror of the Duke discovering her debts.1 Neither Coutts nor Calonne would answer her appeals for further loans. “I really think the best thing is to lay before the Duke the very worst of your situation at once,” Coutts wrote after she implored him for another £6,000. “At the same time take an absolute determination to reform your system. If his excusing the past, together with your viewing the precipice you are standing on the verge of, does not cure you I can only say you have gone beyond the point of recovery.”2 Fortunately for her, she had means of persuasion: Coutt’s daughters were learning French at a convent in Paris and it was within her power to introduce them to the French court. It was an unspoken quid pro quo, but Georgiana had no illusions about what was expected of her. She enlisted the help of the Duke of Dorset and the Little Po to welcome Coutts’s daughters into society. Her efforts brought her a brief respite, especially after she had explained to Coutts that money would be forthcoming as soon as she gave birth to a son. Once she had produced the future sixth Duke of Devonshire her husband would no longer be barred from borrowing money against the estate.
At the end of May the Duke announced that he had made up his mind to take Georgiana and Bess to Spa. Both women were delighted: Georgiana hoped the waters would help her to conceive, while Bess regarded the trip as an opportunity to see her two children, Caroline and Clifford. She was still fighting to gain access to her sons by John Foster, which made her all the more determined to rescue the two she had abandoned in France. Charlotte Williams was to accompany them, and Little G and Harriet, whom they nicknamed Harryo, would stay with Lady Spencer. On June 20, 1789, Georgiana set sail for Calais with Bess and the Duke. She had managed to secure a £500 loan from her brother before setting off from London. It was all the cash she had to last her while she was abroad.3
The enthusiastic reception Georgiana received from the French temporarily enabled her to forget her worries.* The Devonshires’ visit during such uncertain times was a reassuring sign of normality for the Parisians. French farmers were still suffering the effects of a prolonged drought which had turned grain fields into dust and caused livestock to die of thirst. Those crops that survived the scorching sun had drowned in the violent storms that followed. In some areas people were facing starvation: there were riots in the marketplace, grain stores were being attacked, and there were frequent reports of bakers being forced by the mob to sell bread at a “fair price.” Rumours that the nobles and the parlement had conspired in a “pacte de famine�
�� to use as leverage against the King, though unfounded, acted as a powerful incitement to political unrest. In April Paris had been brought to a standstill after an off-the-cuff remark at an electoral meeting by a wallpaper manufacturer called Reveillon sparked two days of rioting. Pitched battles between workers and the army left fifty dead and hundreds wounded. The bloodshed terrified the authorities at the same time as it convinced them that the King had to do something.
Having decided to delay their trip to Spa for a few weeks, the Devonshires arrived in France just after the Third Estate had voted to give itself the new title of National Assembly. Since it represented 96 percent of the country its members felt they should have the majority share of power. The Assembly lost no time in declaring that taxes could only be collected while it remained in session. This challenge to the ancien régime affected the various participants in different ways. Some of the clergy and a hard core of liberal nobles, including the Marquis de Lafayette and the Marquis de Condorcet, supported the Third Estate, but most were angered by its presumption. The King now had to assert his authority over the renegades or else, the Duke of Dorset wrote in his dispatches, “it will be little short of laying his crown at their feet.”4 During the five days it took Georgiana to reach Paris the King was judged to have surrendered his crown, his dignity, and any last remnants of the government’s credibility. On June 19 the Royal Council met and agreed that the King should call a special session of all the Estates: it was the only hope of regaining the initiative. After much heated argument, and a tearful entrance by the Queen, who burst in on the proceedings and begged the King to take a strong line, they decided that he should annul the proceedings of June 17 and impose his own compromise plan—although quite what that would be no one could say. Unfortunately no one told the deputies that, in the meantime, all meetings were suspended. The Third Estate arrived at the great hall on June 20 to find the doors padlocked. Fearing they were the victims of some royal plot, the deputies tumbled into an indoor tennis court near by and, while a delirious crowd outside shouted “Vive l’Assemblée,” took an oath not to disperse until they had achieved constitutional reform.
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