BOYHOOD OF GEORGE III
George William Frederick, afterwards George III, was born on June 4,
1738. His advent into the world was so little expected at that time that
on the previous day his mother had walked in St. James's Park, had
scarcely returned from that exercise when she was taken ill, and between
seven and eight o'clock the following morning gave birth to a
seven-months' child. Frederick, therefore, could not be held responsible
because again no preparation for an _accouchement_ had been made, nor
could he be blamed because the King had only a few hours' notice of the
event.
The baby was so weak that it was thought it would not live, and at
eleven o'clock at night it was baptized by the Bishop of Oxford,[37] and
though it survived, its health was so delicate that it was thought
advisable, and indeed imperative, to abandon the strict court etiquette
dictating that a royal infant must be reared by a lady of good family,
and instead "the fine, healthy, fresh-coloured wife of a gardener" was
chosen. The woman was proud of her charge, but inclined to independence,
and when told that, in accordance with tradition, the baby could not
sleep with her, "Not sleep with me!" she exclaimed. "Then you may nurse
the boy yourselves!" As she remained firm on this point, tradition was
wisely cast to the winds, with the fortunate result that the young
Prince throve lustily and soon acquired a sound and vigorous frame of
body.[38]
[37] The baptism was repeated publicly on July 3, by the Bishop of
Oxford (as Rector of St. James's parish) at Norfolk House, when the
infant Prince was given the names of George William Frederick. The
sponsors, the King of Sweden, the Duke of Saxe-Gotha, and the Queen of
Prussia, were represented respectively by Lord Baltimore, the Marquis of
Carnarvon, and Lady Charlotte Edwin.
[38] Gait: _George III, His Court and His Family_.
It would be to throw away an opportunity for mirth to omit the lines
with which Whitehead greeted the birth of a son of the Prince of Wales.
These were enthusiastically acclaimed by a contemporary as "a beautiful,
prophetic compliment to the future monarch," but the present generation
may conceivably find another epithet.
"Thanks, Nature! thanks! the finish'd piece we own,
And worthy Frederick's love, and Britain's throne.
Th' impatient Goddess first had sketch'd the plan,
Yet ere she durst complete the wond'rous man,
To try her power, a gentler task design'd,
And formed a pattern of the softer kind.[39]
But now, bright boy, thy more exalted ray
Streams o'er the dawn, and pours a fuller day:
Nor shall, displeased, to thee her realms resign,
The earlier promise of the rising line.
And see! what signs his future worth proclaim,
See! our _Ascanius_ boast a nobler flame!
On the fair form let vulgar fancies trace
Some fond presage in ev'ry dawning grace;
More unconfined, poetic transport roves,
Sees all the soul, and all the soul approves:
Sees regal pride but reach the exterior part,
And big with virtues beat the little heart;
Whilst from his eyes soft beams of mercy flow,
And liberty supreme smiles on his infant brow.
Now, in herself secure, shall Albion rise,
And the vain frowns of future fate despise;
See willing worlds beneath her sceptre bend,
And to the verge of Time her fame extend."
[39] A poetic allusion to the Princess Royal.
[Illustration:
_Photo by Emery Walker_
_From a painting by Richard Wilson_
PRINCE GEORGE OF WALES, PRINCE EDWARD OF WALES, AND DR. AYSCOUGH]
A prince's education begins early, and George was not more than six
years of age when he was put into harness. The first tutor selected for
him was Dr. Francis Ayscough,[40] whose principal claim to distinction
was as brother-in-law to "good Lord Lyttelton," for at best he has been
described as a well-meaning but uninspired pedagogue, and at worst, by
Walpole, as "an insolent man, unwelcome to the clergy on suspicion of
heterodoxy, and of no fair reputation for integrity."[41] Ayscough, as a
courtier, was not unsuccessful, for, introduced by Lyttelton[42] and
Pitt to Frederick, Prince of Wales, he contrived to ingratiate himself
with that invertebrate royal personage; but as an instructor of youth he
was not the right man in the right place. He was ignorant of the course
to pursue in laying the foundation of a lad's education, and when George
was eleven years old, the Princess of Wales found to her dismay her son
could not read English, although (so Ayscough assured her) he could make
Latin verses. This latter accomplishment could not be accepted as of
sufficient importance to excuse ignorance of more practical subjects,
and a new preceptor, George Scott, was introduced on the recommendation
of Lord Bolingbroke, who, Walpole states significantly, "had lately seen
the Prince two or three times in private." This appointment marks the
beginning of the intrigues that centred round the young Prince.
[40] Francis Ayscough, afterwards Dean of Bristol (1700-1766). Clerk of
the Closet to Frederick, Prince of Wales, 1740.
[41] Walpole: _Memoirs of George II_.
[42] George Lyttelton (1709-1773), created Baron Lyttelton 1756.
Tempted by the promise of an earldom, in October, 1750, Lord North[43]
became Governor--"an amiable, worthy man," says Walpole, "of no great
genius, unless compared with his successor;" but this arrangement did
not long endure, for the Pelhams, finding themselves in power, thought
it behoved them to endeavour to retain it perpetually by surrounding the
future king with their creatures. Lord North retired in April, 1751,
and, when the post had been offered to and declined by Lord Hartington,
he was replaced by Lord Harcourt,[44] a Lord of the Bedchamber to the
King, a "civil and stupid" person who, though unfitted for the post by
his ignorance of most things save hunting and drinking, was thought
unlikely to interfere with the ministers' plans. The real agent of the
Pelhams was the sub-governor, Andrew Stone,[45] the Duke of Newcastle's
private secretary, "a dark, proud man, very able and very mercenary," in
high favour with George II. Scott remained as Sub-Preceptor, and with
him as Preceptor was now put Dr. Hayter, Bishop of Norwich,[46] a
sensible man of the world. Lord Sussex, Lord Robert Bertie, and Lord
Downe were appointed Lords, and Peachy, Digby and Schulze, Grooms of the
Bedchamber to the young Prince; while his Treasurer was Colonel John
Selwyn, who, dying in December, was succeeded by Cresset, the holder of
the same position in the Household of the Princess, now Dowager Princess
of Wales.
[43] Francis, third Baron North (1704-1790), created Earl of Guilford,
1753.
[44] Simon, first Earl Harcourt (1714-1777).
[45] Andrew Stone (1703-1773), sometime Under-Secretary of State.
[46] Thomas Hayter (1702-1762), Bishop of Norwich, 1749; Bishop of
London, 1761.
For a while there was peace in the tutors' camp, but soon dissension
broke out, and it became an open secret that Harcourt and Hayter were in
opposition to Stone and Scott. The quarrel began when Hayter found in
the Prince of Wales's hands a copy of Father d'Orleans's "_Revolution
d'Angleterre_," a work written at the instigation of James II of England
to justify his measures. Stone was taxed with having introduced it into
the royal apartments, when he denied ever having seen it in thirty
years, and expressed his willingness to stand or fall by the truth or
falseness of the accusation; but when Hayter showed a desire to take him
at his word, it was admitted that the Prince had the book, and the
defence set up was that Prince Edward had borrowed it of his sister
Augusta. Then other works not suitable for use in the training of a
constitutional monarch were, it is said, discovered to be in the
possession of the Prince; and though Stone and Scott aped humility and
regret, they contrived notwithstanding to irritate their superior
officers, until one day Hayter lost his temper, and removed Scott from
the royal chamber "by an imposition of hands, that had at least as much
of the flesh as the spirit in the force of the action."[47] When
matters came to this pass, Cresset took a hand in the quarrel, and
finally Murray[48] added fuel to the flame by telling the Bishop that
Stone should be shown more consideration. Hayter replied, "He believed
that Mr. Stone found all proper regard, but that Lord Harcourt, the
chief of the trust, was generally present;" to which Murray retorted,
"Lord Harcourt, pho! he is a cypher, and must be a cypher, and was put
in to be a cypher." That was the last straw. There are men who are
cyphers without knowing it, and men who know they are cyphers and do not
resent their unimportance, but there are few who can with impunity be
told that they are cyphers, and of these Harcourt was not one, for, with
all his faults, he was not the man to acquiesce in the use of himself as
a cat's-paw.
[47] Walpole: _Memoirs of George II_.
[48] William Murray, afterwards first Earl of Mansfield (1705-1763).
When the King returned in November, 1752, from Hanover, Harcourt
complained that dangerous and arbitrary principles were being instilled
into the Prince, and stated it was useless for him to remain as Governor
unless those who were misleading the lad were removed from their
official positions about his person. A few days after this protest was
registered, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chancellor sent
word that by the King's command they would wait on Lord Harcourt for
further particulars of his grievance, but the latter declined to receive
them on the ground that, "His complaints were not proper to be told but
to the King himself." At a private interview with George II on December
6, Harcourt tendered his resignation, which was accepted; but a similar
concession was not granted to the Bishop of Norwich, whose resignation
the King preferred to receive through the medium of the Archbishop of
Canterbury.[49]
[49] Shortly after, Dr. Hayter's portrait was published, with these
lines beneath it:
"Not gentler virtues glow'd in Cambray's breast;
Not more his young Telemachus was bless'd,
Till envy, faction, and ambitious rage,
Drove from the Court the pious sage;
Back to his flock with transport he withdrew,
And but one sigh--an honest one--he knew,
'O guard my royal pupil, Heaven,' he said,
'Let not his youth be like my age betray'd;
I would have formed his footsteps in Thy way,
But vice prevails, and impious men have sway."
[Illustration: _From an old print_
AUGUSTA, PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES]
The position of the Governor and Preceptor had gradually become
untenable, for they were exposed to the cross-influences of the Princess
Dowager of Wales and the ministers, and, in their efforts to secure for
themselves the favour of their charge, they took no trouble to win
the good graces of the Princess or to live at peace with their
subordinates. "The Bishop, thinking himself already minister to the
future King, expected dependence from, never once thought of depending
upon, the inferior governors. In the education of the two Princes, he
was sincerely honest and zealous; and soon grew to thwart the Princess
whenever, as an indulgent, or perhaps a little as an ambitious mother
(and this happened but too frequently), she was willing to relax the
application of her sons. Lord Harcourt was minute and strict in trifles;
and thinking that he discharged his trust conscientiously if on no
account he neglected to make the Prince turn out his toes, he gave
himself little trouble to respect the Princess, or to condescend to the
Sub-governor."[50] To this testimony must be added that of Bubb
Dodington, who declared that Lord Harcourt not only behaved ill to the
Princess Dowager and spoke to the children of their dead father in a
manner most disrespectful, but also did all in his power to alienate
them from their mother. "George," he says, "had mentioned it once since
Lord Harcourt's departure, that he was afraid he had not behaved as well
to her sometimes as he ought, and wondered how he could be so
misled."[51] The Princess was therefore overjoyed to be rid of Lord
Harcourt, not only for these reasons, but for another that will
presently be discussed.
[50] Walpole: _Memoirs of George II_.
[51] Bubb Dodington: _Diary_.
Stone and Scott retained their posts, but it was not found easy to
replace the men who had resigned. Ministers desired to appoint as
Preceptor Dr. Johnson,[52] the new Bishop of Gloucester, but the Whigs
were so bitterly opposed to the nomination, and had the support of the
Archbishop's objections, that eventually Dr. Thomas[53] was given the
office. "It was still more difficult to accommodate themselves with a
Governor," Walpole has recorded. "The post was at once too exalted, and
they had declared it too unsubstantial, to leave it easy to find a man
who could fill the honour, and digest the dishonour of it."[54]
Overtures were made in several quarters but without success, until at
last, at the request of the King, Lord Waldegrave[55] consented to
accept the responsibility. This he did only after "repeated assurances
of the submission and tractability of Stone," and then with great
reluctance, for he was a man of pleasure rather than of affairs, and
reluctant to be embroiled in intrigue. "If I dared," he said to a
friend, "I would make this excuse to the King, 'Sir, I am too young to
govern, and too old to be governed.'" Even this appointment was censured
by the Whigs, for, though Waldegrave was a man of great common sense and
undoubted honour, it was objected that "his grandmother was a daughter
of King James; his family were all Papists, and his father had been but
the first convert"!
[52] James Johnson (1705-1774), Bishop of Gloucester, 1752; Bishop of
Worcester, 1759.
[53] John Thomas (1696-1781), successively Bishop of Peterborough
(1747), Salisbury (1757) and Winchester (1761).
[54] Walpole: _Memoirs of King George II_.
[55] James, second Earl Waldegrave (1715-1763), married Maria Walpole, a
natural daughter of Sir Edward Walpole by Mrs. Clement, a milliner. After
the death of her first husband the Countess secretly married on
September 6, 1766, William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and the union was
publicly announced when the Royal Marriage Act was introduced into
Parliament.
The refusal of Lord Harcourt to discuss his complaints with any one but
the King was doubtless due to the fact that he traced the objectionable
doctrines taught to his pupil to Lord Bute.[56] In his earlier years
Bute had taken no part nor, indeed, shown any interest in politics. In
1723, at the age of twenty, he had succeeded to the earldom on the death
of his father; had married Mary, only daughter of Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu, and so came into possession of the Wortley estates; and, though
in 1737 elected representative peer of Scotland, had spent most of his
time on his estates, occupying himself with the theoretical and
practical study of agriculture and architecture.
[56] John Stuart, third Earl of Bute (1715-1792).
A great change in Bute's life was made in 1747 through a chance meeting
with Frederick, Prince of Wales. The Earl was then staying at Richmond,
and one day his neighbour, an apothecary, drove him over to Moulsey
Hurst to see a cricket match that had been organized by the Prince. It
came on to rain, the game had to be stopped, and Frederick retired to
his tent, proposing a rubber of whist to while away the time until the
weather should clear. Only two other players could be found, but some
one espied Bute in the carriage and, learning that he could play,
invited him to make up the table. The Prince, who had never before met
him, was charmed with his manners, and invited him to Kew. "How often do
great events arise from trifling causes," exclaims the worthy but
sententious Seward. "An apothecary keeping his carriage may have
occasioned the Peace of Paris, the American War, and the National
Assembly in France." Without going so far as that chronicler, it may be
said that the game of whist had far-reaching effects.
[Illustration: _From a print published 1754 for "Stowe's Survey"_
LEICESTER HOUSE]
Bute became a member of his patron's court,[57] where his influence
became a factor that could not be ignored. Nor did his power at
Leicester House wane after the death of the Prince, for he was high in
the Princess's favour, which latter good fortune was attributed not so
much to his intellectual attainments as to his personal qualities.
Scandal was busy coupling his name with that of the lady he served:
indeed, for years there was no caricature so popular with the public as
that of the Boot and the Petticoat, the symbols of the Peer and the
Princess. What truth there was in this charge, if, indeed, there was any
truth at all, is not, and probably never will be, known; but at the time
the intimacy was almost universally assumed. "It had already been
whispered that the assiduities of Lord Bute at Leicester House, and his
still more frequent attendance in the gardens at Kew and Carlton House,
were less addressed to the Prince of Wales than to his mother," says
Walpole. "The eagerness of the pages of the back-stairs to let her know
whenever Lord Bute arrived (and some other symptoms) contributed to
dispel the ideas that had been conceived of the rigour of her widowhood.
On the other hand, the favoured personage, naturally ostentatious of
his person, and of haughty carriage, seemed by no means desirous of
concealing his conquest. His bows grew more theatric; his graces
contracted some meaning; and the beauty of his leg was constantly
displayed in the eye of the poor captivated Princess.... When the late
Prince of Wales affected to retire into gloomy _allees_ with Lady
Middleton, he used to bid the Princess walk with Lord Bute. As soon as
the Prince was dead, they walked more and more, in honour of his
memory."[58] The same authority was on another occasion even more
explicit. "I am as much convinced of the amorous connexion between Bute
and the Princess Dowager as if I had seen them together," he said;[59]
and what he said was thought by the more reticent.
[57] He was appointed Lord of the Bedchamber to the Prince of Wales in
September, 1750.
[58] Walpole: _Memoirs of George II_.
[59] _Walpoliana._
Whether there was "amorous connexion" or not, Bute was the most detested
man of his day, and the more prominently he came before the public the
more violent was the abuse heaped upon him. "Bute was hated with a rage
of which there have been few examples in English history. He was the
butt for everybody's abuse; for Wilkes's devilish mischief; for
Churchill's slashing satire; for the hooting of the mob that roasted the
boot, his emblem, in a thousand bonfires; that hated him because he was
a favourite and a Scotchman, calling him 'Mortimer,' 'Lothario,' I know
not what names, and accusing his royal mistress of all sorts of
crimes--the grave, lean, demure, elderly woman, who, I daresay, was
quite as good as her neighbours."[60]
[60] Thackeray: _The Four Georges_.
In those days to be a Scotchman was alone enough to secure the cordial
ill-will of the English, for national rivalries had not then been even
partially eliminated; and it was said that Bute used his power to
promote his countrymen, which, though to-day it does not seem a very
heinous crime, was then regarded as a sin unequalled in horror by any
enumerated in the decalogue. An amusing defence of Bute against this
charge is made by Huish who, however, was certainly unconscious of the
humour of the passage. "The truth of this charge rests upon no solid
foundation. That Bute brought forward his countrymen is true enough, but
it was by extending to them the patronage of office, not, except in some
few instances, by directly introducing them to the personal favour of
the King."[61] One of these exceptions was Charles Jenkinson,[62] Bute's
private secretary, who, when his master had, ostensibly, at least,
retired from the direction of affairs, was the go between the King and
the ex-minister.
[61] Huish: _The Public and Private Life of George the Third_.
[62] Charles Jenkinson, afterwards first Earl of Liverpool (1727-1808),
the father of Robert, Lord Liverpool, some time Prime Minister.
"Lord Bute was my schoolfellow," says Walpole. "He was a man of taste
and science, and I do believe his intentions were good. He wished to
blend and unite all parties. The Tories were willing to come in for a
_share_ of power, after having been so long excluded--but the Whigs were
not willing to grant that share. Power is an intoxicating draught; the
more a man has, the more he desires."[63] The effects of power upon Bute
will soon appear. It was not, however, this man's power or his use or
abuse of it, but his qualities, that earned for him the hatred of his
equals. Lord Chesterfield wrote him down as "dry, unconciliatory, and
sullen, with a great mixture of pride. He never looked at those he spoke
to, or who spoke to him, a great fault in a minister, as in the general
opinion of mankind it implies conscious guilt; besides that it hinders
him from penetrating others.... He was too proud to be respectable or
respected; too cold and silent to be amiable; too cunning to have great
abilities; and his inexperience made him too precipitately what it
disabled him from executing."[64] Further, he showed little _savoir
faire_, for he chose as his subordinates, men who were incapable, or
those who, disgusted by him, were undesirous to help him, and, giving no
man his confidence, found himself severely handicapped consequently by
receiving none. Indeed, his arrogance on occasion angered even the
Prince of Wales, who quarrelled with him before the death of George II,
and on his accession employed him only after the severest pressure of
the Princess Dowager.[65] However, Bute soon regained his ascendency
over the young King.
[63] _Walpoliana._
[64] _The Letters of Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield._
[65] _Walpoliana._
One result of the intimacy between the Princess Dowager and Bute was
that the actual superintendence, and, indeed, control of the education
of the Prince of Wales was indirectly exercised by him. This was
particularly unfortunate because Bute was a disciple of Bolingbroke's
doctrine of absolute monarchy, and his "high prerogative prejudice and
Tory predilections," similar to those that caused the Revolution of
1688, were specially dangerous at a time when the new dynasty had not
long been firmly established; and it seemed that while at worst they
might lead to a conflict between the Crown and the people, at best they
would, when the Prince of Wales became King, make Bute a dictator. Even
so early as 1752 Waldegrave "found his Royal Highness full of princely
prejudices, contracted in the nursing, and improved by the society of
bed-chamber women, and the pages of the back-stairs,"[66] and he records
the endeavours to make him resign his Governorship so that the place
might be open for Bute.
[66] Waldegrave: _Memoirs_.
"A notion has prevailed," says Nicholls, "that the Earl of Bute had
suggested political opinions to the Princess Dowager, but this was
certainly a mistake. In understanding, the Princess Dowager was far
superior to the Earl of Bute; in whatever degree of favour he stood with
her, he did not suggest, but he received, her opinions and her
directions."[67] As a matter of fact, the Princess Dowager was a woman
of very sound understanding up to a certain point, but her training at
the Court of Saxe-Gotha, where the Duke was practically a despot,
unfitted her for the task of bringing up a future King of England.
Constitutional monarchy was beyond the range of her experience, and she
could never accept the doctrine in force in this country that, while a
sovereign may choose his ministers, having chosen them he should either
be guided by their advice or change them. "Be a King, George," she
preached to the heir-apparent; and in her eyes to be a king was to be
omnipotent.
[67] Nicholls: _Recollections and Reflections_.
Though well-meaning and shrewd enough, the Princess Dowager's outlook on
life was narrow; she had many prejudices, and in the light of these
planned the education of her children so far as it lay in her power. She
was so afraid lest George should be influenced by the vulgarity and
immorality of the Court, that she tied him to her apron-strings. "The
Prince of Wales lived shut up with his mother and Lord Bute; and must
have thrown them into some difficulties: their connexion was not easily
reconcilable to the devotion which they had infused into the Prince; the
Princess could not wish him always present, and yet dreaded him being
out of her sight. His brother Edward, who received a thousand
mortifications, was seldom suffered to be with him; and Lady Augusta,
now a woman, was, to facilitate some privacy for the Princess, dismissed
from supping with her mother, and sent back to cheese-cakes, with her
little sister Elizabeth, on pretence that meat at night would fatten her
too much."[68] The result of this treatment was not only that the
children were miserable, but that they were all too well aware of their
state of mind. When the Princess Dowager, struck one day by the silence
of one of her sons, asked if he were sulking, "I was thinking," the lad
replied, "what I should feel if I had a son as unhappy as you make me."
[68] Walpole: _Memoirs of George II_.
There were not wanting those who declared that in secluding the Prince
of Wales, and in keeping from him all knowledge of the world--that
knowledge, valuable to all, but essential to the making of a useful
King--the Princess Dowager had formed the project herself to exercise
the regal power that would one day be his; and that her policy was
approved by Lord Bute, who, also with an eye to the future, saw that his
influence over an ignorant monarch was likely to be much greater than
over one well acquainted with men and matters. "The plan of tutelage and
future dominion over the heir-apparent, laid many years ago at Carlton
House, between the Princess Dowager and her favourite, the Earl of Bute,
was as gross and palpable as that which was concerted between Anne of
Austria and Cardinal Mazarin, to govern Lewis the Fourteenth, and in
effect to prolong his minority until the end of their lives. That Prince
had strong natural parts, and used frequently to blush for his own
ignorance and want of education, which had been wilfully neglected by
his mother and her minion. A little experience, however, soon showed him
how shamefully he had been treated, and for what infamous purposes he
had been kept in ignorance. Our great Edward, too, at an early period,
had sense enough to understand the nature of the connexion between his
abandoned mother and the detested Mortimer. But since that time human
nature, we may observe, is greatly altered for the better. Dowagers may
be chaste, and minions may be honest. When it was proposed to settle the
present King's household as Prince of Wales, it is well known that the
Earl of Bute was forced into it in direct contradiction to the late
King's inclination. _That_ was the salient point from which all the
mischiefs and disgraces of the present reign took life and motion. From
that moment Lord Bute never suffered the Prince of Wales to be an
instant out of his sight. We need not look farther."[69]
[69] Junius: _Address to the King_.
But while the Princess Dowager and Lord Bute agreed apparently as to the
advantage of keeping the heir-apparent in a backward state, each
desiring the mastery, they differed on other points. "The Princess began
to perceive an alteration in the ardour of Lord Bute, which grew less
assiduous about her, and increased towards her son," Walpole noted in
1758. "The Earl had attained such an ascendency over the Prince, that he
became more remiss to the mother; and no doubt it was an easier
function to lead the understanding of a youth than to keep up to the
spirit required by an experienced woman. The Prince even dropped hints
against women interfering in politics. These clouds, however, did not
burst; and the creatures of the Princess vindicated her from any breach
with Lord Bute with as much earnestness as if their union had been to
her honour."[70]
[70] Walpole: _Memoirs of the Reign of George II_.
The Princess did not deny that the seclusion of her son had its
drawbacks. "She was highly sensible how necessary it was that the Prince
should keep company with men: she well knew that women could not inform
him, but if it was in her power absolutely, to whom could she entrust
him? What company could she wish him to keep? What friendships desire he
should contract? Such was the universal profligacy, such the character
and conduct of the young people of distinction, that she was really
afraid to have them near her children." However, the Princess Dowager
made little or no effort to provide suitable companions for George, and
the only youth with whom he was allowed to have even a restricted
intercourse was his brother, Edward.
[Illustration: _From a painting by H. Kysing_
GEORGE, PRINCE OF WALES]
Frederick, Prince of Wales, had not set his wife a good example by
showing much interest in his son, though when he was on his deathbed
he sent for the child. "Come, George," he said, "let us be good friends
while we may." Occasionally, however, he had gone with him to a concert
at the Foundling Hospital, or to see various processes of manufactures;
and now and then had taken him for a walk in the city at night--which
latter proceeding gave rise to a lampoon when in 1749 the little boy was
installed a Knight of the Garter,--the Earl of Inchiquin appearing as
his proxy.
"Now Frederick's a knight and George is a knight,
With stalls in Windsor Chapel,
We'll hope they'll prowl no more by night,
To look at garters black and white,
On legs of female rabble."
On the death of his father, George succeeded to the title of Electoral
Prince of Brunswick-Luenenburg, Duke of Edinburgh, Marquis of the Isle of
Ely, Earl of Eltham, Viscount of Launceston and Baron of Snowdon; and
the "Gazette" of April 11, 1751, announced that, "His Majesty had been
pleased to order Letters Patent to pass under the Great Seal of Great
Britain for creating his Royal Highness George William Frederick ...
Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester." George II at this time began to
show a personal interest in his successor, inviting him to St. James's,
taking him to Kew, even for a while removing him from Leicester House
and lodging him at Kensington. The King did not approve of his
daughter-in-law's method of bringing up her son, and, when visiting her
unexpectedly one day, heard she had taken the Princes to visit a
tapestry factory in which she was interested. "D----n dat tapestry," he
cried, "I shall have de Princes made women of." Calling again at
Leicester House the next day, he inquired: "Gone to de tapestry again?"
and, on being told the Princes were at home, commanded that they should
be sent to Hyde Park where he had "oder things to show dem dan needles
and dreads." The "oder things" was a review, and, Princess Augusta being
dressed to go out, her grandfather took her with him. "This circumstance
gave rise to some unpleasant altercation between the King and the
Princess Dowager of Wales; for, on the latter being informed of the
expressions which his Majesty had used regarding her visit to the
tapestry manufactory, she retorted upon his Majesty by declaring if he
thought the view of a manufactory was beneath the attentions of her
sons, she considered the sight of a review to be attended with no
benefit to her daughter."[71]
[71] Huish: _Public and Private Life of George III_.
The Princess Dowager's retort to the King in this case was typical of
her character, for she was a strong-minded, fearless woman, and not
lightly to be brow-beaten or opposed.[72] On the whole, however, George
II and his daughter-in-law were not on unfriendly terms since, after the
death of her husband, she had thrown herself upon his protection. "The
King and she both took their parts at once," Walpole noted; "she of
flinging herself entirely into his hands and studying nothing but his
pleasure, but with wondering what interest she got with him to the
advantage of her son and the Prince's friends; the King of acting the
tender grandfather, which he, who had never acted the tender father,
grew so pleased with representing, that he soon became it in earnest."
This was made clear when the question arose of appointing a regent in
case of the sovereign's death before his successor was of age, for the
King advocated her right to be selected for that exalted position in a
Royal Message to the Houses of Parliament:
"That nothing could conduce so much to the preservation of the
Protestant succession in his royal family as proper provision for the
tuition of the person of his successor, and for the regular
administration of the government, in case the successor should be of
tender years: his Majesty, therefore, earnestly recommended this weighty
affair to the deliberation of Parliament and proposed that when the
imperial crown of these realms should descend to any of the late
Prince's sons, being under the age of eighteen years, his mother, the
Princess Dowager of Wales, should be guardian of his person, and Regent
of these kingdoms, until he should attain the age of majority; with such
powers and limitations as should appear necessary and expedient for
these purposes."
[72] "The Princess Dowager was a woman of strong mind. When she was very
ill, she would order her carriage, and drive about the streets, to show
she was alive. The King and Queen used to go and see her every evening
at eight o'clock; but when she got worse they went at seven, pretending
they mistook the hour. The night before her death they were with her
from seven to nine. She kept up the conversation as usual, went to bed,
and was found dead in the morning. She died [on February 8, 1772] of the
evil, which quite consumed her."--_Walpoliana._
A Bill embodying these recommendations was accordingly introduced by the
Duke of Newcastle into the House of Lords, when the King sent a second
Message proposing that such a council to assist the Regent as
the Bill advised should consist of the Duke of Cumberland, then
Commander-in-Chief, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lord Chancellor,
the Lord High Treasurer, or First Lord Commissioner of the Treasury, the
President of the Council, the Lord Privy Seal, the Lord High Admiral of
Great Britain, or First Commissioner of the Admiralty, the two principal
Secretaries of State, and the Lord Chief Justice of the King's
Bench--all those great officers except, of course, the Duke of
Cumberland, for the time being.
This aroused the bitterest opposition, and many members dwelt on the
danger of leaving in command of a large standing army a prince of the
blood, who was the only permanent member of the Council as well as the
uncle of the minor, and the names of all the wicked uncles in history,
John Lackland, Humphrey of Gloucester, and the rest were freely
introduced into the discussion. William Augustus Duke of Cumberland, was
indeed a deeply hated man, and the astonishing popularity of his elder
brother, Frederick, was perhaps due more to the fact that he stood
between William and the throne than to any other reason. Indeed, when
Frederick died, in many cases the lament was phrased "Would that it had
been his brother!" "Would that it had been 'the butcher!'" and Walpole
is careful to mention that the nickname was not given in the sense it
was formerly: "_Le boucher etoit anciennement un surnom glorieux qu'on
donnoit a un general apres une victoire, en reconnoissance du carnage
qu'il avoit fait de trente ou quarante mille hommes._"[73] Yet, "there
never was a prince so popular, so winning in his ways, as William of
Cumberland during his minority," says Dr. Doran, who adds that "_the_
Duke," as he was called, was "gentlemanlike without affectations,
accomplished without being vain of his accomplishments."[74] He had
courage in plenty, and distinguished himself at Dettingen and Culloden,
but his severities after the latter battle secured him the undesirable
nickname that clung to him for life--in his defence it may be offered
that this same harshness might well have earned for him the gratitude of
those who hated civil war, for it scotched further rebellion and made
his father's throne secure. He had hoped to be appointed regent,
although Walpole tells us "the consternation that spread on the
apprehensions that the Duke would be regent on the King's death, and
have the sole power in the meantime, was near as strong as what was
occasioned by the notice of the rebels being at Derby."[75] None the
less, when the Lord Chancellor was sent to inform him that his hope
would not be realized, the Duke bore the blow well, and said, "I return
my duty and thanks to the King for the communication of the plan of
regency; while, for the post allotted to me, I would submit to it,
because he commands it, be that regency what it will." He felt
resentful, however, wished "the name of William could be blotted out of
the English annals," and declared he now felt his insignificance, "when
even Mr. Pelham would dare to use him thus." The opposition to the
inclusion of his name even on the council to assist the regent gave him
pain; but he was much more deeply wounded when, the young Prince of
Wales calling upon him, to amuse his visitor he took down a sword and
drew it, and noticed that the lad turned pale and trembled. "What must
they have told him about me," he wondered, and in no measured terms
complained to the Princess of Wales of the impression that had been
instilled into his nephew.
[73] De Saintfoix: _Essais Histor. sur Paris_.
[74] Doran: _History of the Queens of England of the House of Hanover_.
[75] _Memoirs of George III_.