A coolness between the Prince and the beau arose after a few years; various reasons are assigned for it. He was, for instance, said to have taken the part of Mrs. Fitzherbert, who had been privately married to the Prince Regent at Carlton House; he is reported to have asked Lady Cholmondeley, in the hearing of the Prince, and pointing to him, ’Who is your fat friend?’ Though it is also reported that this question was put to Jack Lee, as he was walking up St. James’s Street, arm-in-arm with the Prince, a few days after the beau had quarrelled with the latter. But this blew over, and Brummell was again invited to Carlton House, where he took too much wine. The Prince said to his brother, the Duke of York: ’I think we had better order Mr. Brummell’s carriage before he gets quite drunk.’ Another version of the second rupture is that Brummell took the liberty of saying to the Prince: ’George, ring the bell.’ The Prince rang it, and told the servant who answered it: ’Mr. Brummell’s carriage.’ This Brummell always denied; however, he was a second time forbidden Carlton House. For a few years he was a hanger-on at Oatlands, the seat of the Duke of York, then, having lost large sums at play, he was obliged to fly the country, and having lived for some years in obscurity at Calais, he obtained the post of British Consul at Caen—for which his previous career, of course, eminently fitted him! He died in that town in poor circumstances in 1840.
Let us conclude this short account of the poor moth, basking in the royal sunshine for awhile, with one or two anecdotes. One day a youthful beau approached Brummell, and said: ’Permit me to ask you where you get your blacking?’ ’Ah,’ said the beau, ’my blacking positively ruins me. I will tell you in confidence—it is made with the finest champagne!’ He was once at a party in Portman Square. On the cloth being removed, the snuff-boxes made their appearance; Brummell’s was particularly admired; it was handed round, and a gentleman, finding it somewhat difficult to open, incautiously applied a desert-knife to the lid. Brummell was on thorns, and at last could contain himself no longer, and addressing the host, he said, loud enough to be heard by the company: ’Will you be good enough to tell your friend that my snuff-box is not an oyster?’