other. If we admired each other less, we should hate each other less. So we have this animosity and these occasional outbreaks of imitation when the desire to be like each other is irresistible. Remember imitation is the greatest form of flattery.”
I laughed at him and told him that he was so solemn that he made an issue out of everything.
“Really,” I said, “I do believe you should be in Parliament with Mr. Pitt, Mr. Burke, Mr. Fox and the rest.”
“A career for which I should prove most unsuitable.”
“Nonsense. You could do anything you set your mind to, and as the affairs of the country seem to be in a certain disorder, surely we need clever men to put them right.”
“You overrate my cleverness,” he said. “Politicians have to be single-minded. They have not only to think they are right, they must know it. For one thing, I doubt myself all the time.”
“That is because you are clever enough to know that there are two sides to every question.”
“Which would damn me as a politician.”
He laughed, and arms entwined, we walked the short distance to Albemarle Street.
Looking back, I am surprised by how much we did in those few days. We visited the piazza at Covent Garden and David told me how Dryden had been assaulted there because of some verses in his Hind and Panther, and how a soldier had been shot dead on the spot. He had stories to tell of so many people: Steele, Dryden, Pope, Colly Cibber, Dr. Johnson and famous names of the theatre such as Peg Woffington and David Garrick; and painters, Sir Peter Lely and Sir Godfrey Kneller—all of whom used to frequent the piazza in their day.
I marvelled at his knowledge. I said to him: “And to think I shall be able to draw on it for the rest of my life!”
We went to Covent Garden to hear the marvellous voice of Elizabeth Billington, which was thrilling—particularly as the glittering audience included the Prince of Wales with Mrs. Fitzherbert. I was drawn to them because they seemed—as David and I were—very much in love.
I often thought afterwards of the way in which life deals with us all. It seems that even when we are at the height of our bliss, evil lurks, waiting to strike. That was one of the last performances Elizabeth Billington gave, for the next year she left the country and retired to the Continent because of scandalous publications about herself. And the royal lovers had their vicissitudes to face in the years to come, as all know now.
As for myself—I was so young, and innocent enough to believe I was going to live happily ever after.
The next day friends began to call on us. I enjoyed meeting them, but it was not quite the same as those idyllic first days.
Of course we could not shut ourselves away from events for ever. We had to face reality. There was a great deal of talk at dinner parties about what was happening in France, and there was no doubt that the people in the centre of things were very uneasy. David was deeply interested to hear the views expressed. He listened with great attention. I supposed that was why he was so clever. He never missed any piece of information, any point of view.
When we returned to the house he would sit on the bed and talk while I lay back on my pillows watching him.
“What does this mean to us?” he said. “That is what we have to decide. How is the revolution in France going to affect us here in England?”
“It already has,” I answered. “It has killed my grandmother; it has taken my grandfather’s estates; it has ruined the family, for who knows where my Aunt Sophie is? And now it has taken my brother Charlot, Louis Charles and your brother Jonathan.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But that is personal… our family tragedy. What effect is it having on our country? And that, Claudine, can have every bit as much effect on us in the future as purely personal trials. Have you noticed that no one seems to be certain… even the politicians. Who are our leading men just now? I’d
I laughed at him and told him that he was so solemn that he made an issue out of everything.
“Really,” I said, “I do believe you should be in Parliament with Mr. Pitt, Mr. Burke, Mr. Fox and the rest.”
“A career for which I should prove most unsuitable.”
“Nonsense. You could do anything you set your mind to, and as the affairs of the country seem to be in a certain disorder, surely we need clever men to put them right.”
“You overrate my cleverness,” he said. “Politicians have to be single-minded. They have not only to think they are right, they must know it. For one thing, I doubt myself all the time.”
“That is because you are clever enough to know that there are two sides to every question.”
“Which would damn me as a politician.”
He laughed, and arms entwined, we walked the short distance to Albemarle Street.
Looking back, I am surprised by how much we did in those few days. We visited the piazza at Covent Garden and David told me how Dryden had been assaulted there because of some verses in his Hind and Panther, and how a soldier had been shot dead on the spot. He had stories to tell of so many people: Steele, Dryden, Pope, Colly Cibber, Dr. Johnson and famous names of the theatre such as Peg Woffington and David Garrick; and painters, Sir Peter Lely and Sir Godfrey Kneller—all of whom used to frequent the piazza in their day.
I marvelled at his knowledge. I said to him: “And to think I shall be able to draw on it for the rest of my life!”
We went to Covent Garden to hear the marvellous voice of Elizabeth Billington, which was thrilling—particularly as the glittering audience included the Prince of Wales with Mrs. Fitzherbert. I was drawn to them because they seemed—as David and I were—very much in love.
I often thought afterwards of the way in which life deals with us all. It seems that even when we are at the height of our bliss, evil lurks, waiting to strike. That was one of the last performances Elizabeth Billington gave, for the next year she left the country and retired to the Continent because of scandalous publications about herself. And the royal lovers had their vicissitudes to face in the years to come, as all know now.
As for myself—I was so young, and innocent enough to believe I was going to live happily ever after.
The next day friends began to call on us. I enjoyed meeting them, but it was not quite the same as those idyllic first days.
Of course we could not shut ourselves away from events for ever. We had to face reality. There was a great deal of talk at dinner parties about what was happening in France, and there was no doubt that the people in the centre of things were very uneasy. David was deeply interested to hear the views expressed. He listened with great attention. I supposed that was why he was so clever. He never missed any piece of information, any point of view.
When we returned to the house he would sit on the bed and talk while I lay back on my pillows watching him.
“What does this mean to us?” he said. “That is what we have to decide. How is the revolution in France going to affect us here in England?”
“It already has,” I answered. “It has killed my grandmother; it has taken my grandfather’s estates; it has ruined the family, for who knows where my Aunt Sophie is? And now it has taken my brother Charlot, Louis Charles and your brother Jonathan.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But that is personal… our family tragedy. What effect is it having on our country? And that, Claudine, can have every bit as much effect on us in the future as purely personal trials. Have you noticed that no one seems to be certain… even the politicians. Who are our leading men just now? I’d
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