CAROLINE THE ILLUSTRIOUS
[Illustration: _Queen Caroline, and the Duke of Cumberland._
_Walter L. Colls Ph. Sc._]
Caroline the Illustrious
Queen-Consort of George II. and
sometime Queen-Regent
_A Study of her Life and Time_
BY
W. H. WILKINS, M.A., F.S.A.
AUTHOR OF “THE LOVE OF AN UNCROWNED QUEEN”
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1901
CONTENTS.
BOOK III. QUEEN CONSORT AND QUEEN REGENT.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE NEW REIGN 3
CHAPTER II.
THE QUEEN AND WALPOLE 29
CHAPTER III.
THE COURT OF QUEEN CAROLINE 53
CHAPTER IV.
THE ROYAL FAMILY 83
CHAPTER V.
CAROLINE’S FIRST REGENCY 112
CHAPTER VI.
THE QUEEN AND THE NATION 136
CHAPTER VII.
THE QUEEN AND LITERATURE 156
CHAPTER VIII.
THE EXCISE SCHEME 184
CHAPTER IX.
FREDERICK, PRINCE OF WALES 203
CHAPTER X.
CAROLINE AND THE CHURCH 223
CHAPTER XI.
THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL 249
CHAPTER XII.
THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES 269
CHAPTER XIII.
CAROLINE’S LAST REGENCY 296
CHAPTER XIV.
THE PRINCE AND THE PATRIOTS 325
CHAPTER XV.
THE QUEEN’S ILLNESS AND DEATH 344
CHAPTER XVI.
ILLUSTRISSIMA CAROLINA 361
APPENDIX 369
INDEX 373
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
QUEEN CAROLINE AND THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND _Frontispiece_
_to face page_
KING GEORGE II. From the painting by John Shackleton in the
National Portrait Gallery 14
THE CORONATION BANQUET OF GEORGE II. AND QUEEN CAROLINE 34
SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. From the painting by J. B. Van Loo in the
National Portrait Gallery 46
HAMPTON COURT, TEMP. GEORGE II. 60
HENRIETTA HOWARD (COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK) 78
THE PRINCESS AMELIA (SECOND DAUGHTER OF GEORGE II.) 96
LETTER OF QUEEN CAROLINE TO THE KING OF FRANCE 114
THE ALTSTADT, HANOVER 130
THE PRINCESS CLEMENTINA (CONSORT OF PRINCE JAMES FRANCIS EDWARD
STUART). From the painting in the National Portrait Gallery 146
MRS. CLAYTON (VISCOUNTESS SUNDON) 162
JOHN, LORD HERVEY 178
PHILIP STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. From the painting in the
National Portrait Gallery 194
FREDERICK, PRINCE OF WALES 214
BENJAMIN HOADLEY, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. From a painting by Mrs.
Hoadley in the National Portrait Gallery 238
ANNE, PRINCESS ROYAL, AND THE PRINCE OF ORANGE 256
AUGUSTA, PRINCESS OF WALES, AT THE TIME OF HER MARRIAGE 284
THE OLD TOLBOOTH, EDINBURGH, TEMP. 1736. From an old print 308
THE PRINCESSES MARY AND LOUISA (DAUGHTERS OF GEORGE II.) 328
THE PRINCESS CAROLINE (THIRD DAUGHTER OF GEORGE II.) 348
HENRY VII.’S CHAPEL, WESTMINSTER ABBEY, TEMP. 1737 364
BOOK III.
QUEEN CONSORT AND QUEEN REGENT.
CHAPTER I.
THE NEW REIGN.
1737.
The news of George the First’s death reached England four days after
he had breathed his last at Osnabrück. A messenger, bearing sealed
despatches from Lord Townshend, arrived at Sir Robert Walpole’s house
in Arlington Street at noon on Wednesday, June 14th. He was told that
the Prime Minister was at Chelsea, and he at once repaired thither. He
found the great man at dinner. Walpole was thunderstruck at the news,
for the old King was of so strong a constitution that, despite his
occasional fainting fits, every one expected him to live to a green old
age, as his mother had done before him. His sudden death, too, might
mean the end of the Prime Minister’s political career. But there was
no time for vain regrets--the King was dead, long live the King. So
ordering his horse to be saddled, Walpole rode off at full speed to
Richmond, where George Augustus then was, to announce the tidings and
pay homage to his new Sovereign. The day was hot, and so furiously did
he ride that he killed, his son tells us, two horses between Chelsea
and Richmond; but then his son was given to exaggeration.
Walpole arrived at Richmond Lodge about three o’clock, and requested to
be shown at once into the royal presence. The Duchess of Dorset, who
was in waiting, said it was impossible, as the Prince had undressed and
gone to bed after dinner according to his custom, and the Princess was
resting also, and no one dared disturb them. But Walpole explained that
his business brooked of no delay, and the duchess went to wake them.
The King (as he must now be called), very irate at being disturbed,
came into the ante-chamber in haste with his breeches in his hand--he
was one of those princes who are fated to appear ridiculous even at the
greatest moments of their lives. Walpole fell on one knee, kissed the
hand holding the breeches, and told his Majesty that his royal sire
was dead, and he was King of England. “Dat is von big lie,” shouted
King George the Second, as he had shouted at the Duke of Roxburgh
on a memorable occasion some time before. But Walpole, unlike the
duke, showed no resentment at being given the lie, and for all answer
produced Townshend’s despatch, which gave particulars of the late
King’s death. George snatched the letter from him and eagerly conned
it; but his face did not relax as he read, nor did his manner unbend
towards the Prime Minister. Walpole uttered some words of formal
condolence, but they were ungraciously ignored. After an awkward pause,
he asked the King his pleasure with regard to the Accession Council,
the Proclamation, and other matters necessary to be done at once,
naturally expecting that he should be commanded to attend to them.
“Go to Chiswick, and take your directions from Sir Spencer Compton,”
said the King curtly, and turned his back as an intimation that the
interview was at an end. George the Second then went to tell the great
news to his Queen, and the crestfallen Minister withdrew, to go, as
ordered, to Compton.
Walpole’s reflections on his ride to Chiswick must have been bitter
indeed. Well might he exclaim, as his fallen rival, Bolingbroke,
had done under a similar reverse: “What a world is this and how
does Fortune banter us!” For years he had been Prime Minister with
almost absolute power, enjoying to the full the confidence of his
Sovereign. Suddenly he was stripped of every shred of authority, and
dismissed (for the King’s bidding him go to Compton was tantamount to
a dismissal) without the slightest consideration, like a dishonest
servant. Walpole knew that George the Second owed him a grudge for not
having kept his promises at the reconciliation, and disliked him, as he
disliked all who enjoyed the late King’s favour. But the Prime Minister
hoped that time and Caroline’s influence would put things right. He did
not know that Pulteney had repeated certain remarks he had incautiously
made soon after the reconciliation, when Pulteney asked him what terms
he had got for the Prince of Wales. Walpole answered with a sneer:
“Why, he is to go to court again, and he will have his drums and
guards, and such fine things”. “But,” said Pulteney, “is the Prince to
be left Regent as he was when the King first left England?” Walpole
replied, “Certainly not, he does not deserve it, we have done more than
enough for him; and if it were to be done again, we would not do so
much”.[1] George the Second’s little mind resented slights of this kind
more than greater wrongs, and he now took his revenge.
Sir Spencer Compton, to whom the disconcerted Minister sadly made his
way, had been Speaker of the House of Commons, Treasurer of the Prince
of Wales’s Household, and Paymaster of the Army. Compton was much
more of a courtier than a politician. He was a man of the mediocre
order of ability that often makes a good and safe official; he knew
all about forms, procedure, and precedents, but he was not a leader
of men, and he was quite unprepared for, and quite unequal to, the
great position now thrust upon him. Walpole, who knew the man with
whom he had to deal, felt towards Compton no personal resentment. He
acquainted him briefly with George the First’s death, gave him the new
King’s commands, and added on his own behalf: “Everything is in your
hands; I neither could shake your power if I would, nor would if I
could. My time has been, yours is beginning; but as we all must depend
in some degree upon our successors, and as it is always prudent for
these successors, by way of example, to have some regard for their
predecessors, that the measure they mete out may be measured to them
again--for this reason I put myself under your protection, and for
this reason I expect you will give it. I desire no share of power or
business, one of your white sticks,[2] or any employment of that sort,
is all I ask, as a mark from the Crown that I am not abandoned to the
enmity of those whose envy is the only source of their hate.”[3]
Though Compton was astonished at the news, he did not conceal his
delight at the unexpected honour that had fallen upon him. Walpole’s
speech flattered his vanity, and perhaps also touched his heart; he
grandiloquently promised him his protection, and, thinking he had
nothing to fear from the fallen statesman, took him into his confidence
and consulted him as to how he should proceed. The two Ministers then
drove together to Devonshire House to see the Duke of Devonshire,
President of the Council, and arrange for an immediate meeting of the
Privy Council. At forms Compton was an adept, but when it came to the
speech that had to be put into the King’s mouth he was nonplussed. He
took Walpole aside, and asked him, as he had composed all the speeches
of the late King, to compose this one also. Walpole pretended to demur,
but as Compton persisted, he consented and withdrew to a private room
in Devonshire House to draft the speech, while Compton set off to do
homage to the King and Queen. Walpole must have chuckled over his task,
for if the precedent-loving Compton had only consulted the back folios
of the _Gazette_ he would have found plenty of models for the King’s
speech; but he was so fussed with forms and ceremonies, and so elated
with the sense of his new importance, that he was incapable of thinking
coherently.
The King and Queen had driven up from Richmond in the afternoon, and
were now arrived at Leicester House. The great news had spread abroad,
and all London was flocking to Leicester Fields. When Compton arrived
there, the square was so thronged with people who had assembled to
cheer their Majesties that the coaches and chairs of the mighty, who
were hurrying to pay their court, could scarce make way through the
crowd. Inside Leicester House the walls were already hung with purple
and black, and the Queen appeared in “black bombazine”; but these were
the only signs of mourning, all else wore an aspect of rejoicing and
congratulation. The new King and Queen held a court, the rooms were
thronged with the great nobility and high officials, and persons of
divers parties and creeds struggled up and down the stairs, all anxious
to kiss their Majesties’ hands, and to profess their loyalty and
devotion. The Queen, who had a keen sense of irony, must have smiled
to herself when she contrasted the crowded rooms before her with the
thinly attended receptions which Leicester House (except on great
occasions such as birthdays) had witnessed during the past few years.
This was the proudest hour of Caroline’s life. She had reached the
summit of her ambition, she had become Queen. But the mere show of
sovereignty did not content her, she was determined to be the power
behind the throne greater than the throne. It was not enough for her
that she had become Queen through her husband, she was determined to
rule through him also. Did this inscrutable woman, we wonder, in this
her hour of glory, recall the parallel Leibniz had drawn long before,
when the prospects of the House of Hanover were darkest, between her
and England’s greatest Queen, Elizabeth? May-be, for, like Elizabeth,
Caroline determined to have her Cecil. She knew there was but one man
in England capable of maintaining the Hanoverian dynasty upon the
throne in peace, and that one was Walpole. She had been dismayed when
the King told her that he had sent for Compton, for she knew Compton’s
weakness. But, like a wise woman she did not attempt to thwart her
husband in the first heat of his resentment against his father’s
favourite minister, who had been, willingly or unwillingly, the late
King’s mouthpiece for many slights to him, and perhaps, too, she
thought it would be good for Walpole to be taught a lesson. She bided
her time.
Compton at once had audience of the King. When he came out from the
royal closet he walked across the courtyard to his coach between lines
of bowing and fawning courtiers, all anxious to bask in the rays of the
rising sun. They knew full well what this audience portended. Compton,
greatly flattered by this homage, drove back to Devonshire House,
where he found that the man whom he had superseded had finished the
King’s speech. Compton was graciously pleased to approve the draft; he
took it and copied it in his own handwriting. He then again repaired
to Leicester House to present it to the King. On this occasion he was
accompanied by the Duke of Devonshire and other privy councillors,
including Walpole, who were to be present at the Accession Council.
George the Second liked the speech well enough, but found fault with
one paragraph and desired that it should be altered. Compton wished it
to stand, for he knew not how to change it, but the King was obdurate
and very testy at being opposed. Compton was then so incredibly
foolish, from the point of view of his own interest, as to ask Walpole
to go to the King’s closet and see what he could do. Walpole went,
nothing loath, and improved the occasion by declaring to the King his
willingness to serve him either in or out of office. This was the
Queen’s opportunity. According to some, it was she who suggested that
Walpole should be sent for; she certainly suggested to the King that
perhaps he had been a little hasty, and it would be bad for his affairs
to employ a man like Compton, who had already shown himself inferior in
ability to the Minister whom he was to succeed. But Caroline could do
no more at this juncture than suggest, and leave the leaven to work in
the King’s mind.
George the Second held his Accession Council that same night at
Leicester House. He read his speech to his faithful councillors in
which he lamented “the sudden and unexpected death of the King, my
dearest father,” he spoke of his “love and affection” for England and
declared his intention of preserving the laws and liberties of the
kingdom, and upholding the constitution as it stood. If he felt any
relenting towards Walpole it was not visible in his manner. Compton
took the first place, and the man who had hitherto dominated the
councils of the King, and was still nominally Prime Minister, was
completely ignored by the new Sovereign. The office-seekers were not
slow to follow the lead. For the next few days Leicester House was
crowded every day, but whenever Walpole appeared the courtiers shrank
away from him as though he had the plague. Walpole himself, though he
knew the utter weakness of Compton, had no hope of being continued
in office, and hourly expected to receive the King’s command to give
up the seals. “I shall certainly go out,” he said to his friend Sir
William Yonge, after the Council, “but let me advise you not to go into
violent opposition, as we must soon come in again.” Yonge quickly had
experience of going out, for he was dismissed the next day, the King
had always hated him and called him “stinking Yonge”; Lord Malpas,
Walpole’s son-in-law, was dismissed also. But the public announcement
of the Prime Minister’s dismissal tarried unaccountably--unaccountably
that is to those who were not behind the scenes.
The Queen’s influence was now beginning to tell. At first she persuaded
the King to delay, for she knew that if he delayed he would reflect,
and if he reflected he would change his mind. She reminded him of the
trouble a change of Ministers would involve before he was comfortably
seated on the throne, and she knew the King hated trouble. The King
objected to Walpole’s notorious greed for gold, but the Queen met this
by saying that, with so many opportunities of amassing wealth, he must
by this time have become so rich that he would want no more, and this,
in a lesser degree, applied to his colleagues. “The old leeches,” she
cynically added, “will not be so hungry as the new ones, and will know
their business much better.” The critical situation of foreign affairs
was another of the arguments used by the Queen in favour of Walpole,
for no one had the same grasp of the tangled skeins of foreign policy
as he. The European courts, which did not understand the working of
the English Constitution, might become alarmed at a sudden change of
Ministry and imagine that it foretold a change in England’s foreign
policy, thus creating a general distrust, which would be dangerous to
the reigning dynasty, more especially as there was always the fear
of secret negotiations going on between James and the Roman Catholic
courts of Europe. This was particularly true of France, with whom
it was of the utmost importance to maintain good relations at the
present juncture. Whilst Caroline was thus arguing, as luck would have
it, Horace Walpole, the Prime Minister’s brother, who was ambassador
to France, arrived in England with a letter which his diplomacy had
obtained from Cardinal de Fleury, pledging his master to maintain
the treaties France had entered into with the late King, and to show
goodwill towards George and ill-will to James. All these considerations
told. But the most cogent argument which the Queen urged, and the one
which had undoubtedly the most weight with the King, was the settlement
of the Civil List. The new Civil List, Caroline reminded the King, was
pressing, but a change of Ministers was not. There was nobody so able
as Walpole to secure for them a handsome increase of the Civil List,
for, as the old King said, he “could turn stones into gold”. Why then
let private resentment lead to personal inconvenience?
Nothing was done during the King’s stay at Leicester House, and in the
eyes of the world Compton was still first in the King’s favour. At the
end of the week the Court moved to Kensington, and by that time the
Queen had worked so well that the King sent for Walpole, and asked him
about the Civil List. The new monarch mentioned a sum so large that
Walpole was staggered, accustomed though he was to Hanoverian rapacity;
but he showed nothing of his feeling in his face, and promised to do
his utmost to serve his Majesty. He then had an audience of the Queen,
who confided to him that Compton’s estimate had by no means satisfied
the King’s demands, and he had proposed that she should have only a
poor £60,000 a year. Walpole at once grasped the situation. He declared
that he would obtain a jointure for her Majesty of £100,000 a year,
which was £40,000 more than Compton had proposed, and he would force
Parliament to meet the King’s wishes. It was said that Walpole bought
his influence with the Queen for this extra £40,000 a year, but that
was not wholly true. Quite apart from money, Caroline had wit enough
to see that the interests of the House of Hanover could best be served
by Walpole, and of all English statesmen he was the one who could most
be trusted to frustrate the Jacobites--for the rival claims of the
Stuarts were an ever present danger to the Hanoverian family until
1745. She was, of course, not averse to receiving something in return
for her support, and Walpole, it must be admitted, paid, or rather made
the nation pay, for it handsomely. In addition to the Queen’s £100,000
a year, Somerset House and Richmond Lodge were made over to her. Her
income was double what any queen-consort had enjoyed before, and more
than any has been granted since.
[Illustration: KING GEORGE II.
_From the Painting by John Shackleton in the National Portrait
Gallery._]
Walpole now realised that all that lay between him and power was a
question of money. He therefore went next morning to the King with
carefully prepared estimates. He proposed that his Majesty’s
Civil List should consist primarily of the £700,000 a year paid to
the late King; £100,000 more, which had been paid directly to the
Prince of Wales in the last reign, but which would now be vested in
the King to make what allowance he pleased to his eldest son; and a
further increase of £130,000 a year arising out of certain funds. In
all, therefore, the King would receive the enormous sum of more than
£900,000 a year. This George agreed to, for though he would have liked
more, he had the sense to see that it was impossible to get it. The
Queen had impressed upon him that Walpole was the only man who could
carry such a large increase through the House of Commons. Pulteney and
other Opposition politicians were ready to promise more to gain office,
but their promises were nothing worth, for they had neither the ability
nor the power to carry a large grant through Parliament. The King
therefore took Walpole by the hand, and said that he had considered the
matter, and intended to continue him in office on the understanding
that he would carry through the Civil List, at the sum named. He added
significantly: “Consider, Sir Robert, what makes me easy in this matter
will prove for your ease too; it is for my life it is to be fixed, and
it is for your life”.
Matters thus being settled, the Queen that night at the drawing-room
made known her approval of Walpole in a characteristic manner. Lady
Walpole had come to court to pay her respects to the King and Queen,
but she could not make her way to the royal daïs, for the lords and
ladies turned their backs on the wife of the fallen Minister (as they
considered him), and refused to yield her place. By dint of much
struggling she managed to reach the third row, where she was espied
by the Queen, who, beckoning to her, called out: “There, I am sure,
I see a friend.” The crowd in front immediately divided, and Lady
Walpole performed her obeisance in the sight of the wondering court.
The King and Queen smiled, and chatted with her some little time.
All the courtiers noted it, and, “as I came away,” said Lady Walpole
afterwards, “I might have walked over their heads had I pleased”. Thus
Compton’s brief dream of authority vanished, and Walpole’s tenure in
power was assured. The crowd of placemen who had surrounded Compton
transferred their attentions once more to Walpole, and the former was
now as much deserted as the latter had been. The most extraordinary
part of the whole affair was that, though Compton’s friends, chief
among whom were Mrs. Howard, the Duke of Argyll and Lord Chesterfield,
were plunged into despondency by his fall, Compton himself heeded
little these vicissitudes, and was content to be given, by way of
compensation, a place about the court, the garter, and a peerage under
the title of Earl of Wilmington. If the man had not been such a fool,
he might almost have passed for a philosopher.
When Parliament met a week later it was seen by all the world that
Walpole retained his old place. It was Walpole who proposed and
carried through Parliament the bloated Civil List. Such was the
Minister’s power that no one in the House of Commons dared raise
his voice against it except Shippen the Jacobite, who was known as
“Downright Shippen” for his outspokenness. He had been sent to the
Tower in 1717 for proclaiming in the House of Commons the obvious
truth that George the First “was a stranger to our language and
constitution”; yet, avowed Jacobite though Shippen remained, Walpole
never repeated this error. Walpole had a great respect for him and used
to say he was the only man in Parliament whose price he did not know.
Shippen on his part declared: “Robin and I are two honest men, he is
for King George and I am for King James, but these men in long cravats
only desire place under King George _or_ King James”. Parliament,
having duly passed the Civil List, was dissolved by the King in person,
who had one great advantage over his father in that he was able to read
his speeches in English, albeit with a broad German accent. Walpole
now had it all his own way. All the old King’s Ministers were kept
in office, even the Duke of Newcastle whom the King had especially
hated--all, that is, except Lord Berkeley, who was forced to resign
in consequence of the Queen having found in the late King’s cabinet
a paper (of which mention has already been made) containing a plan
to kidnap the Prince of Wales and send him off to America. Berkeley,
who had drawn up the document, found it convenient to withdraw to
the Continent. No other changes of importance were made. Malpas was
reinstated; Yonge had to remain out of office for a little time longer,
but was eventually given a small post.
The Jacobites had always expected that the death of George the First
would, in some way, benefit the Stuart cause--in what way it is not
clear, for George the Second when Prince of Wales was less unpopular
than his father. But the Jacobites hugged the hope that the death of
the first Hanoverian king would plunge the country into confusion,
and so it might have done, if George the First had not been so
inconsiderate as to die at a moment when the Jacobites were in great
confusion themselves. For the last two or three years James’s little
court had been distracted by internal jealousies and intrigues. Lord
Mar, who superseded Bolingbroke, had, notwithstanding all his services,
been superseded by Hay, whom James appointed his Secretary of State
and created Earl of Inverness. Hay had a wife, who shared in these
barren honours, which, it was said, she had done much to win. Her
brother, Murray, James created Earl of Dunbar. This trio, of whom the
lady was the most arrogant, entirely governed James, who, like a true
Stuart, was swayed by favourites. They created great dissatisfaction
at his court. It was not long before his consort, Clementina, who was
a princess of great beauty and virtue, but extremely high-spirited,
had cause to complain of the insolence of Inverness and his wife. It
was said that Lady Inverness was James’s mistress, and colour was lent
to the rumour by the fact that Clementina insisted upon her dismissal
from her court. James refused, and she withdrew from her husband’s
palace and retired to the convent of St. Cecilia at Rome. A long
correspondence ensued between James and Clementina, but she declined
to return unless Lady Inverness was dismissed, and so brought about
a virtual separation. This domestic scandal did great harm to the
Stuart cause among the Roman Catholic princes of Europe, all of whom
warmly espoused Clementina’s side. The Emperor, who was her kinsman,
was highly displeased, the Queen of Spain, who was her friend, was
indignant, the Jacobites in England were divided amongst themselves,
and in Scotland James’s followers fell off everywhere in numbers and in
zeal. The strongest representations were made to James from every side,
but for a long time he turned a deaf ear to them all. At last, after
protracted negotiations, he accepted Inverness’s resignation and Lady
Inverness went with her husband. Clementina agreed to leave her convent
and rejoin her husband who was then at Bologna. She was actually on the
road when the news arrived of George the First’s death. Immediately all
domestic considerations were swallowed up in the political necessities
of the moment.
Seeing the advisability of being nearer England at this crisis, James
set out from Bologna on the pretext of meeting his consort, but turning
back half-way, he posted with all speed to Lorraine. As soon as he
arrived at Nancy in Lorraine he sent a messenger to Atterbury, who
was acting as his agent in Paris, another to Lord Orrery, his agent
in London, and a third to Lockhart at Liège, who was acting as his
agent for Scotland. James had no lack of courage, and was anxious to
set out for the Highlands at once, though he had neither a settled
scheme nor promise of foreign aid. But the news he received from the
north of the Tweed was discouraging, and the despatches from England
were worse. Lord Strafford wrote to him[4] saying that the tide in
favour of the “Prince and Princess of Hanover,” as he called them,
was too strong at present for the Jacobites to resist, and it would
be better to wait until dissatisfaction broke out again, which he
anticipated would not be long. “I am convinced,” he wrote, “that the
same violent and corrupt measures taken by the father will be pursued
by the son, who is passionate, proud, and peevish, and though he talks
of ruling by himself, he will just be governed as his father was. But
his declarations that he will make no distinction of parties, and his
turning off the Germans make him popular at present.” Strafford, like
many others, made the mistake of leaving Queen Caroline out of his
calculations.
It was impossible for James to stay in Lorraine, for the French
Government, at the instigation of Walpole, ordered the Duke of Lorraine
to expel the “Pretender” from his territory. The duke, who was only a
vassal of France, was forced to obey, and urged his unwelcome guest to
leave Lorraine within three days. So James withdrew under protest. “In
my present situation,” he wrote to Atterbury, “I cannot pretend to do
anything essential for my interest, and all that remains is that the
world should see that I have done my part.”[5] It must be admitted that
he was ready to do it bravely.
James first sought refuge in the Papal State of Avignon, but here again
the relentless English Government, acting through the French, managed
to hunt him out, and the following year the heir of our Stuart Kings
was forced to return a fugitive to Italy. He was joined by Clementina
and afterwards lived harmoniously with her. Unfortunate in all else,
James was at least fortunate in his consort, for all authorities unite
in praising her grace and goodness, her talents and charity.
The immediate danger of a Jacobite rising was thus warded off, but so
long as James and his two sons lived the House of Hanover could not
enjoy undisputed title to the throne of England. In these early days,
as Caroline knew well, it behoved the princes of the new dynasty to
walk warily and court the popular goodwill, for there was always an
alternative king in James, who by a turn of Fortune’s wheel might find
himself upon the throne of his fathers. Though the official world and
most of those in high places were all for the Hanoverian succession,
and though Walpole had the means to corrupt members of Parliament and
buy constituencies as he would, yet the heart of the people remained
very tender towards the exiled royal family and felt a profound
compassion for their misfortunes.
The excitement consequent on the new reign continued for some months,
and the King, not having had time to make himself enemies, was, to
outward semblance, popular. A good deal was due to interested motives.
The court was crowded with personages struggling for place. Lord Orrery
wrote to James inveighing bitterly against “the civility, ignorance
and poor spirit of our nobility and gentry, striving who shall sell
themselves at the best price to the court, but resolved to sell
themselves at any”. Yet he is constrained to add: “There do not appear
to be many discontented people”.[6] Pope, too, who was now quite out
of favour at court, wrote to a friend that the new reign “has put the
whole world into a new state; but,” he adds enviously, “the only use I
have, shall, or wish to make of it, is to observe the disparity of men
from themselves in a week’s time; desultory leaping and catching of
new modes, new manners and that strong spirit of life with which men,
broken and disappointed, resume their hopes, their solicitations, their
ambitions”. The political Jeremiahs of the time bewailed the wholesale
trafficking in places, and the universal corruption. The King himself
did not set a high example of public or private honesty; he had wrung
the highest sum he could from Parliament for his Civil List, and at
one of his early Councils he distinguished himself by an act which can
only be described as dishonest. The timid and time-serving Archbishop
of Canterbury, old Dr. Wake, produced the late King’s will, which had
been entrusted to him, and handed it to George, fully expecting him to
open it and read it to the Council. The King took it without a word,
put it into his pocket, and walked out of the room. The Archbishop was
so taken aback at this proceeding, that neither he nor the other privy
councillors present raised a word in protest. George probably burnt
the will after reading it, in any case it was never seen again. But
the old King, who probably feared that some such fate would befall his
testament, had taken the precaution to make a second copy, which he
entrusted to the safe keeping of his cousin, the Duke of Wolfenbüttel.
The duke soon intimated this fact to the new King of England, and at
the same time hinted that he had no wish to make matters disagreeable
(which he could easily do if he wished, for the King and Queen of
Prussia were furious), if his silence were made worth his while. George
took the hint, and despatched a messenger to Wolfenbüttel promising the
duke a subsidy. In return the messenger brought back the duplicate of
the will, and this too was destroyed.
The only excuse that can be urged for the King’s conduct, which
probably defrauded among others his sister, the Queen of Prussia,
and his son Prince Frederick, was that George the First had treated
the will of his consort, Sophie Dorothea of Celle, in the same way,
to the detriment, it was suspected, of both his son and his daughter.
George the Second also, when Electoral Prince of Hanover, had reason
to believe that his father had unjustly deprived him of a substantial
inheritance which had been left him by his maternal grandfather, the
Duke of Celle. The burning of wills seems to have been a peculiarity of
the Hanoverian family at this time, for a year or two later, Frederick,
Prince of Wales, accused his father of destroying the will of his uncle
Ernest Augustus Duke of York and Bishop of Osnabrück. He died a year
after his brother, George the First, and both Prince Frederick and the
Queen of Prussia declared that they would have largely benefited by his
death had it not been for the chicanery of George the Second. Queen
Caroline always stoutly denied this imputation, and maintained that the
Duke of York had nothing to leave, except £50,000 which he left to his
nephew King George, and his jewels which he bequeathed to his niece the
Queen of Prussia, to whom they were immediately sent. But neither the
King nor the Queen of Prussia were satisfied with this explanation,
and they also had a further dispute with George about the French
possessions of his mother, Sophie Dorothea, which she had inherited
through her mother, Eléonore d’Olbreuse, who was descended from an
ancient Huguenot family of Poitou.
The person who probably lost most by the destruction of George the
First’s will was the Duchess of Kendal, but she did not venture to
lift her voice in protest. George the Second no doubt felt that she
had amassed more than she deserved during the late King’s lifetime,
and if he allowed her to remain in peaceable possession of her plunder
it was as much as she had any right to expect. The duchess seems to
have thought so too, but her daughter, Lady Walsingham, who was also
the late King’s daughter, was not so complaisant. When a few years
later Lord Chesterfield married her in the belief that she was a great
heiress (in which hope he was disappointed), she confided to him that
George the First had left her £40,000 in his will, which had never been
paid. Lord Chesterfield, who was then out of favour at court and had
no hope of regaining it, instituted, or threatened to institute, legal
proceedings to recover the legacy. The case never came into court, for
half the sum, £20,000, was offered, and accepted, as a compromise.
The aged Duchess of Kendal was the only person in the world who really
mourned the late King. Within a week of his death George the First
was as completely forgotten as though he had never been; the only
reminder of his reign was the official mourning. The Duchess of Kendal
had accompanied him on his last journey, but, being indisposed by the
sea voyage, she had tarried at the Hague a day to recover, and, like
Lord Townshend, was following the King on the road to Hanover, when
a messenger rode up to her coach with the tidings of his death. The
duchess was overwhelmed with grief; she beat her breast, tore her hair,
and rent the air with her cries. But her sorrow did not get the better
of her prudence, for, not being sure of the reception that awaited her
from the new King, she resolved to remove herself from his Hanoverian
dominions, and repaired to the neighbouring territory of Wolfenbüttel.
Her fears proved to be groundless, for Queen Caroline harboured towards
the ex-mistress no feelings of ill-will, and it followed that the King
did not either. On the contrary, Caroline had liked the duchess, who,
unlike Lady Darlington, was no mischief-maker, and had personally
interceded with George the First, though unsuccessfully, to restore
her children to the Princess. Moreover she was such an old-established
institution that Caroline had come to look upon her almost in the light
of the late King’s wife. The Queen wrote the following letter to her
within a fortnight of George the First’s death:--
“KENSINGTON, _June 25th, 1727_.
“My first thought, my dear Duchess, has been of you in the misfortune
that has befallen us; I know well your devotion and love for the
late King, and I fear for your health; only the resignation which
you have always shown to the divine will can sustain you under such
a loss. I wish I could convey to you how much I feel for you, and
how anxious I am about your health, but it is impossible for me to
do so adequately. I cannot tell you how greatly this trouble has
affected me. I had the honour of knowing the late King, you know that
to know him was sufficient to make one love him also. I know that
you always tried to render good service to the King (George II.); he
knows it too, and will remember it himself to you by letter. I hope
you realise that I am your friend, it is my pleasure and my duty
to remind you of the fact and to tell you that I and the King will
always be glad to do all we can to help you. Write to me, I pray you,
and give me an opportunity to show how much I love you.--CAROLINE.”
It is impossible to accept literally these expressions of affection.
Allowing for exaggeration they do credit to Caroline’s heart, but
the letter was probably dictated as much by prudence as by sympathy,
for the Duchess of Kendal was then at Wolfenbüttel, and the Duke of
Wolfenbüttel had the duplicate of the late King’s will. Caroline was
anxious to avoid a family scandal, for she knew by experience how bad
these things were for the dynasty, and in the negotiations which passed
between George the Second and the duke it is probable that the Duchess
of Kendal played a part, though it is improbable that she received any
portion of the subsidy. That matters were amicably arranged is shown
by the fact that a few months later the duchess returned to England,
and took up her abode at Kendal House, Twickenham, where she lived
in comfortable retirement until the end of her days. She no longer
appeared at court, but the King and Queen would never permit her to
be molested in any way--so she may be said to have enjoyed their
protection. She made a cult of her George’s memory, dressing always as
a widow and wearing the deepest weeds. She was of a pious, not to say
superstitious, turn of mind, and declared that George the First had
told her that his devotion was so great that he would return to her
even after death. So one day when a raven hopped in at the window the
bereaved duchess took it into her head that this was the reincarnation
of the dead King. She captured the bird, put it into a golden cage,
kept it always by her, and provided for it in her will. Her death took
place in 1743, at the advanced age of eighty-five years. Her wealth was
divided among her German relations, and Kendal House was converted into
a tea garden and afterwards pulled down.
FOOTNOTES TO BOOK III, CHAPTER I:
[1] Pulteney’s _Answer to an infamous Libel_.
[2] The officers of the Royal Household carried white wands.
[3] Hervey’s _Memoirs_.
[4] The Earl of Strafford to James, 21st June, 1727.
[5] James to Atterbury, 9th August, 1727.
[6] Lord Orrery to James, August, 1727.