THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES.
1734–1735.
The Court and the Government acquired some little popularity over the
marriage of the Princess Royal, but it soon vanished before the fierce
assaults of the Opposition (or Patriots, as they called themselves) in
Parliament. The first session of 1734 was the last session under the
Septennial Act, and the Patriots strained every nerve to discredit the
Government with the country. A determined effort was made to repeal
the Septennial Act and revive triennial parliaments. This had always
been a favourite scheme of Wyndham and the Tories, though Pulteney,
the leader of the Patriots, had in 1716 voted for the Septennial Act.
But Bolingbroke’s influence compelled Pulteney to eat his words though
he sacrificed his political consistency in doing so. The debate in the
House of Commons on the repeal of the Septennial Act was almost as
exciting as the debates on the excise, and, if possible, a higher level
of eloquence was maintained. Pulteney’s speech, as was natural under
the circumstances, was brief and embarrassed, but Wyndham surpassed
himself and would have carried off the honours of the debate had it not
been for Walpole’s great speech in reply. Walpole, stung out of his
usual indifference by the taunts levelled at him in the _Craftsman_,
and knowing whose hand had penned those scathing words and whose master
mind had organised this attack, launched against Bolingbroke, under the
name of an “anti-minister,” a tremendous philippic. After sketching the
“anti-minister” in no covert terms he continued:--
“Suppose this fine gentleman lucky enough to have gained over to
his party some persons of really fine parts, of ancient families
and of great fortunes; and others of desperate views, arising from
disappointed and malicious hearts; all these gentlemen, with respect to
their political behaviour, moved by him, and by him solely, all they
say, in public or in private, being only a repetition of the words
he has put into their mouths and a spitting out of that venom he has
infused in them; and yet we may suppose this leader not really liked
by any, even of those who so blindly follow him, and hated by all the
rest of mankind. We will suppose this anti-minister to be in a country
where he really ought not to be, and where he could not have been but
by the effect of too much goodness and mercy, yet endeavouring with all
his might, and all his art, to destroy the fountain whence that mercy
flowed.... Let us further suppose this anti-minister to have travelled,
and at every Court where he was, thinking himself the greatest
minister, and making it his trade to reveal the secrets of every Court
he had before been at, void of all faith and honour, and betraying
every master he ever served.”
Walpole’s outburst was undoubtedly provoked by Bolingbroke, but it was
none the less cowardly thus to attack a man who could not answer him.
It was Walpole who had prevented Bolingbroke from fighting openly, who
had shut him out from the Senate, and thus forced him to employ any
weapons that came to his hand. Yet even now he feared his power. A
large minority supported the repeal of the Septennial Act, and in the
general election that followed, though Walpole employed every means to
corrupt the constituencies and spent no less than £60,000 of his own
private fortune besides, the Government majority was largely reduced.
Still Walpole won and it is difficult to see how he could have done
otherwise considering the resources at his command. The Queen took the
keenest interest in the struggle, and her joy at the result showed how
keen had been her apprehensions. “On the whole,” wrote Newcastle soon
after the general election, “our Parliament is, I think, a good one,
but by no means such a one as the Queen and Sir Robert imagine.”[109]
But the Patriots, who had indulged in high hopes over the result of
this appeal to the country, were frankly disappointed. They were
further discouraged by the resolution of Bolingbroke to leave England
for a time--a resolution which was ascribed to different causes. Some
said that money matters had to do with it, others that it was due to
differences between Bolingbroke and Pulteney, or to the retirement of
Lady Suffolk from court, or, most unlikely reason of all, to Walpole’s
denunciation of him in the House of Commons. The probable reason was
that Bolingbroke owned himself beaten, and threw up the cards. He
had led his hosts within sight of victory with consummate skill, but
victory was denied him. Walpole had a new lease of power for seven
years, and who could tell what seven years would bring? There was
nothing more to be done. So Bolingbroke retired to his beautiful
château of Chanteloup in Touraine for a while, and devoted himself to
literature. “My part is over,” he wrote to Wyndham, “and he who remains
on the stage after his part is over deserves to be hissed off.”[110]
The King and Queen, no less than the Government, rejoiced over
Bolingbroke’s departure, but their rejoicings were premature, for he
had left his sting behind him. The Prince of Wales was deeply grieved
at the loss of his political mentor. Before leaving Bolingbroke had
given him a piece of advice--to bring his grievances formally before
the House of Commons, and ask that the £100,000 a year voted for
him should be settled on him by Parliament. Bolingbroke could not
have advised anything more calculated to embarrass the court and the
Government, as he knew full well. If the Prince carried out his advice
he would make the Government unpopular, by forcing them to appear
opposed to a popular demand; he would compel those politicians who
hitherto had sat on the fence to declare themselves definitely in
favour of either father or son, and he would drag the differences of
the Royal Family into the light of day, and do grievous harm to the
dynasty. The Prince was ready to act upon Bolingbroke’s advice, but his
more cautious friends, like Doddington, dissuaded him, and he did not
know how to proceed alone. But he threatened to do so, and the mere
threat sufficed to throw the King and Queen into an extraordinary state
of agitation. The Queen still retained some little influence over her
son, the relations between them had not yet been strained to breaking
point; her influence over her husband was boundless, and she was able,
by preaching at the one and pleading with the other, to avert the
threatened crisis. She assured the Prince that if he carried matters
to extremities he would gain nothing, and she besought the King not
to drive the Prince to extreme measures. The King, therefore, on the
principle of buying off his Danes, reluctantly made over a certain sum,
which sufficed for the Prince’s immediate necessities, and the crisis
was for the moment averted. But it was only for the moment.
This year (1735) the King paid his triennial visit to Hanover. He
appointed the Queen to act as Regent as before, a step which gave great
umbrage to the Prince of Wales, who on this occasion did not trouble to
disguise his feelings, and for the first time showed open disrespect
to his mother’s authority.
On this visit of the King to Hanover he began his _liaison_ with Amelia
Sophia de Walmoden, the wife of Baron de Walmoden, a Hanoverian. This
lady’s youthful charms soon made him forget the retirement of Lady
Suffolk, and her influence over him quickly became greater than Lady
Suffolk’s had ever been. The new mistress had a good deal of beauty,
and considerable powers of fascination; she flattered the King to the
top of his bent, and made him believe he was the only man she had ever
loved, or ever could love, in spite of the fact that she had one, if
not two, other intrigues going on at the same time. She was cautious,
and avoided making enemies by not trespassing in matters outside her
province.
The Queen in England was soon made aware that there was some disturbing
influence at work. The King’s letters to her became shorter, and he
usurped at Hanover some of the prerogatives which belonged to her as
Regent, such as signing commissions, and so forth. He also, through his
minister in attendance, Lord Harrington, cavilled at many of the acts
of the Queen-Regent, a thing he had never done before. In this perhaps
Harrington’s jealousy of Walpole had some share. Harrington knew that,
by embarrassing the Queen, he also embarrassed her chief adviser.
Therefore, between the jealousy of her son at home and the irritability
of her husband abroad, Caroline’s third Regency was anything but a
pleasant one. But she suffered no word of complaint to escape her lips,
and pursued her usual policy of trying to increase the popularity of
the Crown and strengthen the hands of Walpole and the Government. She
was afraid to keep up much state, lest the King in his present mood
should be jealous, so she removed the court to Kensington, where she
lived very quietly, holding only such drawing-rooms as were absolutely
necessary. These she held rather from policy than from pleasure, her
object being to conciliate the powerful Whig peers who were still
dissatisfied with the Government.
The Queen found interest and relaxation in improving her house and
gardens at Richmond. In addition to a dairy and menagerie, which she
had established in the park, she erected several buildings, more
or less ornamental, in the gardens, of which the most peculiar was
the one known as “Merlin’s Cave”. This extraordinary edifice was
approached through a maze of close alleys and clipped hedges. The
_Craftsman_ ridiculed it, and declared that it looked like “an old
haystack thatched over”. A gloomy passage led to a large circular room,
decorated with several allegorical figures, of which we glean the
following account:--
“The figures her Majesty has ordered for Merlin’s Cave are placed
therein, namely: (1) Merlin at a table with conjuring books and
mathematical instruments, taken from the face of Mr. Ernest, page to
the Prince of Wales; (2) King Henry the Seventh’s Queen, and (3)
Queen Elizabeth, who came to Merlin for knowledge; the former from
the face of Mrs. Margaret Purcell, the latter from Miss Paget’s; (4)
Minerva, from Mrs. Poyntz’s; (5) Merlin’s secretary, from Mr. Kemp’s,
one of his Royal Highness the Duke’s grenadiers; and (6) a witch, from
a tradesman’s wife at Richmond. Her Majesty has ordered also a choice
collection of English books to be placed therein.”[111]
The people were much interested in Merlin’s Cave, and as soon as it was
finished the Queen threw it open to the public on certain days, and
crowds applied for admission. Similar imitations of this pleasure house
sprang up all over the country, despite its doubtful taste. So pleased
was the Queen with the cave that she erected another house hard by, and
called it “The Hermitage”. It was built to resemble a rude building
overgrown with moss, and was entered, incongruously, by an enormous
gilt gateway. Merlin’s Cave, the Hermitage, and the improvements in the
house and gardens at Richmond were expensive luxuries, so expensive
that the Queen was unable to pay for them out of her income. But
Walpole humoured her in these hobbies, and made her several little
grants from the Treasury, of which no one was the wiser.
In October the time arrived for the King to tear himself away from
Hanover and his Walmoden. It was necessary for him to be back in London
by October 30th to keep his birthday. He delayed until he could delay
no longer, and, when he had at last to tear himself away, he promised
his mistress that under any circumstances he would be with her next
year by May 29th. The Walmoden, between smiles and tears, publicly
pledged her royal lover a happy return on May 29th, at a farewell
banquet the night before his departure. It was a rash promise for the
King to make, for he had hitherto only visited Hanover once in three
years; and even so, not without protest from his English advisers.
George the Second set out from Hanover on Wednesday, October 22nd, and
arrived at Kensington the following Sunday. The Queen, who had long
been expecting him, received the news just after she returned from
morning chapel. She at once summoned her court, and went on foot to
meet him at the great gate. When the King stepped out of his coach she
stooped and kissed his hand, and he gave her his arm and led her into
the palace. It was only on the occasion of a return from Hanover that
the King offered the Queen his arm; he probably did so in consideration
of her holding the office of Regent, which she had not yet resigned
into his hands. The King held a small reception immediately after his
arrival, but the Queen, who saw that he was ill, soon dismissed the
company. The King had in fact tired himself by travelling too fast,
and for the next few days he was exceedingly unwell; he was also
exceedingly irritable, and every one who came near him, from the Queen
downwards, incurred his wrath. He loudly lamented his beloved Hanover
and abused England. “No English or even French cook could dress a
dinner; no English confectioner set out a dessert; no English player
could act; no English coachman could drive or English jockey ride,
nor were any English horses fit to be drove or fit to be ridden; no
Englishman knew how to come into a room, nor any English woman how to
dress herself.”[112] All this and much more from the King of England!
The Queen had to bear the brunt of his ill-humour, and, what was worse,
had to endure the fear that her influence over him was on the wane.
His manner towards her had completely changed; nothing she could say,
or do, was right, in little things or great. Among other trifles he
noticed that the Queen had taken some bad pictures out of one of the
rooms at Kensington, and replaced them by good ones. The King, who
knew nothing of art, and cared less, for the mere sake of finding
fault, made this a pretext for thwarting his wife. He peremptorily
ordered Lord Hervey to have the new pictures taken away and the old
ones replaced. This was impossible, for some of the pictures had been
destroyed and others sent to Windsor. But Lord Hervey did not dare tell
the King so; he demurred a little and asked the King if he would allow
two Vandykes at least to remain, to which George answered: “I suppose
you assisted the Queen with your fine advice when she was pulling my
house to pieces and spoiling all my furniture: thank God, at least she
has left the walls standing! As for the Vandykes, I do not care whether
they are changed or no, but for the picture with the dirty frame over
the door, and the three nasty little children, I will have them taken
away and the old ones restored; I will have it done too to-morrow
morning before I go to London, or else I know it will not be done at
all.” “Would your Majesty,” said Lord Hervey, “have the gigantic fat
Venus restored too?” “Yes, my lord; I am not so nice as your lordship.
I like my fat Venus much better than anything you have given me instead
of her.”
Lord Hervey says that he thought that “if his Majesty had liked his
_fat Venus_ as well as he used to do, there would have been none of
these disputations”. He told the Queen next morning what had passed.
She pretended to laugh but was evidently annoyed, and began to wonder
how she could obey the King’s commands. “Whilst they were speaking the
King came in, but by good luck, said not one word of the pictures:
his Majesty stayed about five minutes in the gallery; snubbed the
Queen, who was drinking chocolate, for being always stuffing; the
Princess Emily for not hearing him; Princess Caroline for being grown
fat; the Duke [of Cumberland] for standing awkwardly; Lord Hervey for
not knowing what relation the Prince of Sultzbach was to the Elector
Palatine: and then carried the Queen to walk, and be resnubbed, in the
garden.”
The Queen was very much perturbed by the King’s altered behaviour
towards her, and she took Sir Robert Walpole into her confidence, and
asked him what was to be done. Walpole spoke to her with a frankness
positively brutal. He told her that since the King had tasted “better
things,” presumably the Walmoden, it could not be other than it was;
he reminded the Queen that she was no longer young, and said that
“she should no longer depend upon her person, but her head, for her
influence, as the one would now be of little use to her, and the other
could never fail her.” No woman likes to be told that her personal
charms are gone, and Walpole made this advice the more unpalatable by
recommending the Queen to send for Lady Tankerville, a good looking
but stupid woman, to fill the place left vacant by Lady Suffolk. He
told the Queen that it was absolutely necessary that the King should
have some one to amuse him, “as he could not spend his evenings with
his own daughters after having tasted the sweets of passing them with
other people’s”; therefore, it would be much better that he should have
some one chosen by the Queen than by himself. Lady Deloraine, who was
the other likely candidate for the royal favour, and whom the King had
often noticed when she was governess to the young Princesses, Walpole
regarded as a dangerous woman, and therefore preferred Lady Tankerville.
The Queen resented this advice in her heart, and was deeply hurt; but
on the surface she took it well enough, laughing the matter off as was
her wont. She was not above making some bitter jokes upon the situation
in which she found herself. When she was dressed for the King’s
birthday drawing-room, she pointed to her head-dress and said: “I think
I am extremely fine too, though _un peu à la mode_; I think they have
given me horns.” Whereupon Walpole burst into a coarse laugh, and said
he thought the tire-woman must be a wag. The Queen laughed too, but
flushed angrily.
At this same birthday drawing-room the King noticed that it was poorly
attended, and those who came were indifferently dressed, a sure sign of
his unpopularity. The King, unpopular before, had disgusted his English
subjects by his long stay in Hanover, and by the new ties he had formed
there, for the people had had enough of German mistresses under George
the First. Many of the great noblemen, even the officers of state,
showed their resentment in a diplomatic manner by absenting themselves
from court and retiring into the country. This made the King angrier
than ever, and his manner towards the Queen, who was the only person
upon whom it was safe for him to vent his displeasure, became harsher
than before. She bore it uncomplainingly, until one morning when he
was unreasonable beyond endurance she said half in jest, though with
tears in her eyes, that she would get Walpole to put in a word in her
favour, as nothing she now did was right. The King flew into a passion,
and asked her what she meant by such complaints. “Do you think,” he
said, “I should not feel and show some uneasiness for having left a
place where I was pleased and happy all day long, and being come to one
where I am as incessantly crossed and plagued?” This was a little too
much for the Queen, who for once lost her self-control and turned upon
her tormentor. “I see no reason,” she said, “that made your coming to
England necessary; you might have continued there, without coming to
torment yourself and us: since your pleasure did not call you, I am
sure your business did not, for we could have done that just as well
without you, as you could have pleased yourself without us.” Thereupon
the King, who was as much astonished as Balaam was when his ass spake,
went out of the room, and banged the door.
The King endeavoured to propitiate the Queen by making her a present
of some horses from Hanover. This was a poor sort of gift, as by it
he charged the expense of the horses on her establishment, and used
them himself; most of his presents were of this nature. As she did
not accept the gift with becoming gratitude, he fell foul of Merlin’s
Cave, which had just been completed. The Queen told him that she heard
the _Craftsman_ had abused her hobby. “I am very glad of it,” said
the King, “you deserve to be abused for such childish silly stuff,
and it is the first time I ever knew the scoundrel in the right.”
This conversation took place in the evening, when the King was always
peculiarly irascible. He formerly spent two or three hours of an
evening in Lady Suffolk’s apartments, snubbing and worrying her, but
since that lady had retired, and no one as yet was found to take her
place, he had perforce to spend it with his wife and daughters, and
vent his ill-humour on them. The same evening that he abused Merlin’s
Cave, he found fault with the Queen for giving away money to servants
when she went to visit the nobility in London. The Queen defended
herself by saying that it was the custom, and appealed to Lord Hervey,
who said it was true that such largess was expected of her Majesty.
The King retorted: “Then she may stay at home as I do. You do not see
me running into every puppy’s house, to see his new chairs and stools.
Nor is it for _you_,” said he, turning to the Queen, “to be running
your nose everywhere, and trotting about the town to every fellow
that will give you some bread and butter, like an old girl that loves
to go abroad, no matter whether it be proper or no.” The Queen, who
was knotting, flushed, and tears came into her eyes, but she answered
nothing. Lord Hervey somewhat officiously said that the Queen had a
love of pictures, whereat the King turned to the Queen and poured forth
a flood of abuse in German. She made no reply, but knotted faster than
ever until she tangled her thread and snuffed out one of the candles
in her agitation, whereupon the King, falling back into English, began
to lecture her on her awkwardness. This may be taken as a specimen of
the way the Royal Family spent their evenings for some weeks after the
King’s return from Hanover.
From a hundred little things, the Queen feared that her day was over.
The King always used to stay with her till eleven o’clock in the
morning, before beginning the business of the day; but now he hurried
off soon after nine o’clock, in order that he might write love letters
to Madame de Walmoden. He was a great letter-writer, especially of love
letters, an art in which he excelled, and probably inherited from his
mother, Sophie Dorothea.
[Illustration: AUGUSTA, PRINCESS OF WALES, AT THE TIME OF HER MARRIAGE.]
The only matter in which the King seemed to be at one with his consort,
at this time, was in blaming the Prince of Wales, who took the occasion
of his father’s return to renew his demands. He had for a long time
absented himself from the King’s levées, but he was prevailed upon by
Doddington to appear at one. His appearance, as the King suspected,
foreshadowed a definite demand, which was not long in coming. The
Prince requested that he should have his full income of £100,000 a
year, a separate establishment, and be married. It was no use ignoring
Frederick, he only became more troublesome, so the King determined to
yield the point, which would cost him least money, and get him married
at once. He sent his son a formal message, by five of the Cabinet
Council, to say that, if the Prince liked, he would ask for him the
hand of the Princess Augusta of Saxe-Gotha. She was the daughter of
the Duke of Saxe-Gotha, and the King had met her, as if by accident,
on his last visit to Hanover, with a view to seeing if she would
be a suitable wife for his son. It was not a gracious way of meeting
the Prince’s wishes, but Frederick answered with great propriety,
that whoever his Majesty thought a proper match for his son would be
agreeable to him. One of the most irritating features of the Prince’s
conduct was that he was always polite and circumspect to the King and
Queen in public, and disrespectful and disobedient in private. He
followed up his answer by asking how much money he was to get. When
the King, reluctantly, promised to disgorge £50,000 a year, the Prince
expressed great dissatisfaction, but, on the principle of half a loaf
being better than no bread, he determined to accept the sum as an
instalment, and let the marriage go forward.
Lord Delaware was therefore despatched to Saxe-Gotha to complete the
negotiations which had been already set on foot, and bring the bride
over to England. These negotiations took some little time, and the
young Princess naturally wished to pay her farewells before setting
forth to an unknown husband and an unknown land; but the King was so
impatient to return to his Walmoden that after a week or two he sent
word to Delaware to say that if the Princess could not come by the end
of April the marriage must either be put off till the next winter, or
solemnised without him, as to Hanover he would go. This message had the
effect of hastening matters. The Princess Augusta landed at Greenwich
on Sunday, April 25th, 1735, and stayed the night at the palace there.
She had the promise of beauty and the charm that always goes with
youth. At this time she looked, as she was, an overgrown girl, tall
and slender, and somewhat awkward in her movements, but her pleasant
expression and engaging manner soon won her popularity. The poets in
their odes of welcome endowed the youthful pair with all the graces, as
for example:--
That pair in Eden ne’er reposed
Where groves more lovely grew;
Those groves in Eden ne’er enclosed
A lovelier pair than you.
The Prince of Wales went down to Greenwich to meet his bride-elect,
and was much pleased with her. The next day she showed herself to the
people on the balcony of the palace, and was warmly received. The
young Princess was only seventeen years of age; she was quite alone,
unaccompanied by any relative, and could not speak a word of English.
Yet she was allowed to remain at Greenwich forty-eight hours after her
landing in England without any one of the Royal Family going near her
except the Prince. She was treated with the same neglect as the Prince
of Orange had been treated. The excuse put forward on behalf of the
King and Queen was that until she was Princess of Wales there was no
rule of precedence to guide them as to how she should be received. They
were no doubt jealous of the pretensions which the Prince of Wales put
forward; but in any case, even if they could not have gone themselves
to welcome her, they might have sent one of the Princesses to befriend
the young and inexperienced girl in what must necessarily have been a
difficult and delicate position. The Prince endeavoured to make amends
for this neglect by paying his betrothed great attention. He came to
Greenwich again the next day and dined with his future bride. “He
afterwards,” we are told, “gave her Highness the diversion of passing
on the water as far as the Tower and back in his barge, finely adorned,
preceded by a concert of music. Their Highnesses afterwards supped in
public.”[113]
The next morning the Princess was escorted from Greenwich in one of the
royal coaches to Lambeth, and thence she proceeded down the river to
Whitehall in a barge. At Whitehall she landed, and was carried through
St. James’s Park in a sedan chair to the garden entrance of St. James’s
Palace, where the Prince of Wales, who had preceded her, was waiting.
The Prince led his betrothed up to the great drawing-room, where the
King and Queen and all the court were ready to receive her, and curious
to see what she was like. The King had been waiting more than an hour,
for the Princess was late, and he was consequently impatient, and not
in the best of tempers, but the young girl by her tact overcame any
awkwardness that might have attended her reception. She prostrated
herself at the King’s feet, and made a similar obeisance to the Queen.
Her behaviour throughout this trying ceremony was marked by such
propriety and discretion, that she immediately created a favourable
impression, and did away with any prejudice against her.
The Princess was not allowed much time to rest after her journey, for
the marriage was arranged to take place that night, at nine o’clock in
the Chapel Royal, St. James’s. Before the ceremony the King and Queen,
to avoid vexed questions of precedence, dined in private, but the Duke
of Cumberland and the Princesses were commanded to dine with the Prince
and his betrothed. Unfortunately the harmony of this family party was
marred by quarrels over minute questions of ceremony. The King, with
a view to overcoming any difficulties, had ordered the Duke and the
Princesses to go “undressed,” that is, informally, and in other clothes
than those they were to wear later at the wedding. The Prince resented
this as a slight upon himself and his bride, and in return began
disputing as to where, and how, his brother and sisters should sit at
dinner. He demanded that they should be seated upon stools without any
backs, whilst he and his bride occupied armchairs at the head of the
table; also that he and his bride should be served on bended knee,
while the others should be waited upon in the ordinary manner. The King
and Queen had anticipated some of those difficulties, and had coached
the Princesses beforehand in what they were to do. So they flatly
refused to go into the room where dinner was served until the stools
had been carried away and chairs put in their places, but they so far
yielded the other point as to order their personal servants to wait
upon them in the usual manner. Thus the wedding dinner passed off, if
not exactly harmoniously, without any more childish disputes, though
the Princesses went without their coffee as it was offered to them by
a servant of the bride. The dinner, and the altercations in connection
with it, occupied the best part of the afternoon, and the bride had
scarcely time to dress for the wedding.
The wedding procession was formed at eight o’clock, and it took some
time to marshal. The peers and peeresses, and other personages invited
to the wedding, met in the great drawing-room of St. James’s, and then
walked in order of precedence to the chapel. The Bishop of London
performed the marriage ceremony, and the joining of hands was made
known to the public by the firing of guns in St. James’s Park. The
following extract from a contemporary print gives the best account of
the ceremony:--
“Her Highness was in her hair, wearing a crown with one bar, as
Princess of Wales, set all over with diamonds; her robe likewise, as
Princess of Wales, being of crimson velvet, turned back with several
rows of ermine, and having her train supported by four ladies, all of
whom were in virgin habits of silver, like the Princess, and adorned
with diamonds not less in value than from twenty to thirty thousand
pounds each. Her Highness was led by his Royal Highness the Duke of
Cumberland, and conducted by His Grace the Duke of Grafton, Lord
Chamberlain of the Household, and the Lord Hervey, Vice-Chamberlain,
and attended by the Countess of Effingham, and the other ladies of
her household. The marriage service was read by the Lord Bishop of
London, Dean of the Chapel; and, after the same was over, a fine anthem
was performed by a great number of voices and instruments. When the
procession returned, his Royal Highness led his bride; and coming into
the drawing-room, their Royal Highnesses kneeled down and received
their Majesties’ blessing. At half-an-hour after ten their Majesties
sat down to supper in _ambigu_, the Prince and the Duke being on the
King’s right hand, and the Princess of Wales and the four Princesses
on the Queen’s left. Their Majesties retiring to the apartments of
the Prince of Wales, the bride was conducted to her bedchamber, the
bridegroom to his dressing-room, where the Duke undressed him, and his
Majesty did his Royal Highness the honour to put on his shirt. The
bride was undressed by the Princesses, and, being in bed in a rich
undress, his Majesty came into the room, the Prince following soon
after in a night-gown of silver stuff, and cap of the finest lace. The
Quality were admitted to see the bride and bridegroom sitting up in bed
surrounded by all the Royal Family.”[114]
The King had grumbled because there were few new clothes at his
birthday drawing-room, but no such complaint could be made on this
occasion, for the splendour and richness of the costumes had never been
excelled. The Georgian beau was a gorgeous being; the men seemed to
outshine the ladies. We read:--
“His Majesty was dressed in a gold brocade, turned up with silk,
embroidered with large flowers in silver and colours, as was the
waistcoat; the buttons and stars were diamonds. Her Majesty was in
plain yellow silk, robed and faced with pearls, diamonds, and other
jewels of immense value. The Dukes of Grafton, Newcastle, and St.
Albans, the Earl of Albemarle, Lord Hervey, Colonel Pelham and many
other noblemen, were in gold brocades of from three to five hundred
pounds a suit. The Duke of Marlborough was in a white velvet and gold
brocade, upon which was an exceedingly rich _point d’Espagne_. The Earl
of Euston and many others were in clothes flowered or sprigged with
gold; the Duke of Montagu in a gold brocaded tissue. The waistcoats
were universally brocades, with large flowers. ’Twas observed most of
the rich clothes were the manufacture of England, and in honour of our
own artists. The few which were French did not come up to these in
richness, goodness, or fancy, as was seen by the clothes worn by the
Royal Family, which were all of the British manufacture. The cuffs of
the sleeves were universally deep and open, the waists long, and the
plaits more sticking out than ever. The ladies were principally in
brocades of gold and silver, and wore their sleeves much lower than
hath been done for some time.”[115]
After her marriage the Princess of Wales maintained the favourable
impression she created at first, a notable feat considering that she
had been brought up in the seclusion of her mother’s country house in
Saxe-Gotha, and had come to a Court far more splendid than any she
could have ever dreamed of. Walpole, who noted how she had won the
King’s approval and gained the Prince’s esteem, declared that these
“were circumstances that spoke strongly in favour of brains which had
but seventeen years to ripen”. Lord Waldegrave testified that the
Princess distinguished herself “by a most decent and prudent behaviour,
and the King, notwithstanding his aversion to his son, behaved to her
not only with great politeness, but with the appearance of cordiality
and affection”. Even old Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, who hated
Queen Caroline, and generally had a bad word to say for every one,
relented in favour of the Princess, declaring that she “always appeared
good-natured and civil to everybody”. The Princess’s subsequent conduct
justified these praises, and she showed herself as the years went by to
be a clever woman, with considerable force of character.
At first her position was exceedingly difficult in consequence of the
strained relations between the Prince and his parents. She necessarily
saw more of the Queen than of the King, and though the Queen’s
kindness to her never wavered, there was always a barrier of reserve
between them, for the Prince had now come to dislike his mother even
more than his father. Just before his marriage the Queen had had a
difference with her son over the question whether Lady Archibald
Hamilton was, or was not, to be one of the ladies in waiting to the
Princess; the Prince wishing her to be appointed, and the Queen
declaring that it was not proper that the Prince’s mistress should be
one of his wife’s household. She was undoubtedly right, but the Prince
might have retorted, and he probably did, that he was only following
precedent, since Lady Suffolk had filled a similar position in the
household of his parents. The matter was compromised by only three
ladies in waiting being appointed by the Queen, and the Princess was
left free to nominate one other when she arrived. The Prince gained
such an ascendency over his wife that the first thing she did was
to appoint Lady Archibald Hamilton, who soon became her constant
companion. Lady Archibald was not a wise adviser to the young Princess
even in minor matters, or perhaps she deliberately set about to make
her look ridiculous. The Princess was quite ignorant of the customs of
the English Court, and was imbued by her husband with a strong sense
of what was due to her as Princess of Wales. Either at his bidding or
Lady Archibald’s suggestion, she took to walking in Kensington Gardens
with two gentlemen-ushers going before her, a chamberlain leading her
by the hand, a page holding up her long train, and her maids of honour
and ladies in waiting following behind. The Queen met this grotesque
procession one morning when she was out on her walks, and burst into
peals of laughter. The poor Princess of Wales, who was not conscious of
having done anything wrong, begged to know the reason of her Majesty’s
merriment, whereupon the gentle Princess Caroline so far forgot her
gentleness as to tell her sister-in-law, tartly, that it was ridiculous
for her to walk out like a tragedy queen, when she was merely taking
the air privately in the gardens.
If the King and Queen had thought to pacify their eldest son by
yielding to his wish to be married, they quickly found themselves
mistaken. The Prince accepted this concession only as an instalment,
and immediately began to ask for more. He did not consider his demand
for a separate establishment met by his being given apartments in
the royal palaces, and he refused to be contented with anything less
than the full sum voted for him by Parliament. The King stoutly
refused to yield more and expressed himself very forcibly on, what he
called, his son’s ungrateful conduct. Thus baffled, the Prince began
to raise money right and left by giving bills and bonds payable on
the death of his father and his own accession to the throne, and the
money-lenders were willing to advance him money on these conditions at
an extortionate rate of interest. When the King heard of this he became
greatly frightened lest the rapacity of the usurers should cause them
to hasten his death by assassination. The Queen feared for the King’s
safety too, and had long talks with Walpole and Lord Hervey on the
subject. Lord Hervey, who hated the Prince, offered to bring forward a
bill in the House of Lords making it a capital offence for any man to
lend money on the consideration of the King’s death, but Walpole wisely
pooh-poohed the idea. He strongly objected to bringing the disputes of
the Royal Family before the public, and told the Queen he could see no
way of keeping the Prince in order except through the good influence of
the Princess of Wales. The Queen then tried to discuss matters with the
Princess, but, coached by her husband, she would not listen. She was
very sorry she said, but her Majesty must excuse her, she must decline
to take any part in the controversy. Whatever her husband did was right
in her eyes and it was her duty to obey him, whom she had sworn to
obey. This drew from the Queen the expression: “Poor creature, if she
were to spit in my face I should only pity her for being under such a
fool’s direction, and wipe it off”. She pitied the Princess rather than
blamed her, and allowed this little incident to make no difference to
her behaviour towards her. The Princess no doubt had done wisely and
the Prince showed his appreciation by treating his wife with courtesy
and kindness, and the marriage, which had begun inauspiciously, turned
out better than any one expected.
FOOTNOTES TO BOOK III, CHAPTER XII:
[109] Duke of Newcastle to Horace Walpole, 24th May, 1734.
[110] Bolingbroke to Wyndham, 29th November, 1735.
[111] _Gentleman’s Magazine_, 21st August, 1735.
[112] Hervey’s _Memoirs_.
[113] _Gentleman’s Magazine_, April, 1736.
[114] _Gentleman’s Magazine_, April, 1736.
[115] _Gentleman’s Magazine_, April, 1736.