The port city of Brighton, on the south coast of England, a city of the quasi-spiritual, a city which encompasses the superficiality of Regency England and pseudo-exotic Orientalism is a monument to the queer relationship between the royal crown and the British people—a relationship which expresses a strange symbiosis of grandiose pride and suppressed shame, the desire for leadership and the illusion of self-rule. It is a city of such monumental spectacle which some visitors describe as "ridiculous," while others are bowled over by its beauty. In 1783, at the age of 21, the Prince Regent, George IV, first went to Brighton to visit his uncle, the Duke of Cumberland. It was during this time that the young man, of moderate intelligence and great personality, would first develop his love for the city and officiate over its transformation into a mini-Mecca that would serve the elite’s rather confused understanding of personal health-care, spirituality, and social conformity.
Prior to the Prince Regent’s visit, it was Bath which functioned as Britain’s most celebrated focal point of health and culture—a sort of vacation destination which pre-dated the modern concept of "holiday." The natural hotsprings of Bath were thought to provide "healing waters" during the 18th century, and following Queen Anne’s influence, Bath grew to a population of 30,000. But when Dr. Richard Russell wrote his 1750 book, A Dissertation on the Effects of Seawater on the Glands, the seawater of Brighton would begin to assume properties beyond that of the future harvesting of melanogrammus aeglefinus (haddock) for use in the ubiquitous modern day fish and chips basket. And with the help of George IV, the city, which already supported libraries and theatres and a concert hall, would soon eclipse the 4000-year-old hotsprings of Bath, and establish itself quickly as the new Vegas of the UK.
The love life of the Prince Regent reads like a Kubrick-directed, Krantz-scripted serial daytime drama, whereas his secret nuptials to Mary Fitzherbert, whose Catholicism was widely disapproved of, were followed by an arranged marriage to Caroline of Brunswick (Spain)—a woman whose personal hygiene, and uncouth manner (not to mention the vacancy of any love for her) are said to have driven George to a corpulent glass of brandy during their first night of marital bliss. The entire tale has been produced for stage at the National Theatre in London under the title Battle Royal, which your Oshkoshian ambassadors had the pleasure of seeing.
So, Brighton took on an undercurrent of secrecy, as a place where the Prince Regent and Mary Fitzherbert were accepted as husband and wife, while their marriage was otherwise unknown to the masses and unrecognized by the Church of England. And the monument to this fantasy life is best exemplified in the construction of The Royal Pavilion. This John Nash designed structure, which largely resembles the Taj Mahal, with its onion-shaped domes, minarets, and pinials, began first as the Prince Regent’s modest country house before assuming the illusion of such gross indulgence.
And it is the notion of illusion which pervades the interior design of the palace: where mirrors are used to simulate the infinite, and caste iron is painted to resemble bamboo, where wall patterns are shaded to appear three dimensional, and walls are painted with doors to further impress the Prince Regent’s guests with a sense of the structure’s infinity. The Long Gallery is packed with items from the Orient, including Oriental figurines, in which the heads of women were accidentally placed on the bodies of men by ignorant personnel in the Prince Regent’s service. Although it is extremely beautiful, it is a ghastly display of accumulated wealth and the absorption of foreign culture, which recalls Edward Said’s discussion of Orientalism. Yet, room after room, one is impressed by the extravagence which the palace was created to host.
However such exorbitant spending did not go unreproached by the people of the day. Countless cartoons depict the Prince Regent sitting Buddha-style in Lotus position, in the laps of nude concubines and with half-eaten roasted swan legs overflowing his plate (only Royalty is allowed the "privilege" of eating swan). Yet, today, the city of Brighton has taken upon itself the maintenance and restoration of this monument to this unique monarch. It has marketed countless books, postcards, napkins, and paperweights; it has produced informational videos, records and tapes on the subject which serve to propel Regency England into the mythical. And although the guides are careful to acknowledge the dubious nature of The Prince Regent’s example, they seem quite willing to celebrate its resultant income. Perhaps, there’s the rub. Perhaps, the ghost of George IV best lives on through those who maintain the façade of his legend itself; perhaps beneath the historical significance of such a structure lies the unconscious celebration of its spirit, and of the period in history during which it arguably reached its zenith.