It was somewhere about 1788 or 1789, just when the French Revolution was beginning to throw its bloody foam over the tops of the Bastille, that temporary insanity in the old King George III. did for a very brief space bring the Prince into consequence as Regent. Of the happening of this, and of the gloom in the palace, there is story in the diary of Madame D’Arblay,[43] who was herself in attendance upon the Queen. If, indeed, George III. had stayed mad from that date, and the Prince--then in his fullest vigor, and a great friend of Fox and other Liberal leaders--had come to the full and uninterrupted responsibility of the Regency, his career might have been very different. But the old king rallied, and for twenty years thereafter put his obstinacies and Tory caution in the way of the Prince, who, with no political royalties to engage him, and no important official duties (though he tried hard to secure military command), ran riot in the old way. He lavishes money on Carlton House; builds a palace for Mrs. Fitzherbert; coquets with Lady Jersey; affects the fine gentleman. No man in London was prouder of his walk, his cane, his club nonchalance, his taste in meats, his knowledge of wines, ragoûts, indelicate songs, and arts of the toilette. Withal, he is well-made, tall, of most graceful address, a capital story-teller, too; an indefatigable diner-out; a very fashion-plate in dress--corsetted, puffed out in the chest like a pouter pigeon; all the while running vigorously and scandalously in debt, while the father is setting himself squarely against any further parliamentary grant in his favor. There are, however--or will be--relentings in the old King’s mind, if “Wales” will promise to settle down in life and marry his cousin, Caroline of Brunswick--if, indeed, he be not already married to Mrs. Fitzherbert, which some avow and some deny. It does not appear that the Prince is very positive in his declarations on this point--yes or no. So he filially yields and accedes to a marriage, which by the conditions of the bargain is to bring him £70,000 to pay his debts withal. She is twenty-seven--a good-looking, spirited Brunswicker woman, who sets herself to speaking English--nips in the bud some love-passages she has at home, and comes over to conquer the Prince’s affections--which she finds it a very hard thing to do. He is polite, however; is agreeably disposed to the marriage scheme, which finds exploitation with a great flourish of trumpets in the Chapel Royal of St. James. The old King is delighted with his niece; the old Queen is a little cool, knowing that the Prince does not care a penny for the bride, and believing that she ought to have found that out.