AHLDEN AND ENGLAND.
The neglected captive of Ahlden--Unnoticed by her son-in-law,
except to secure her property--Madame von Schulenburg--The Queen
of Prussia prohibited from corresponding with her imprisoned
mother--The captive betrayed by Count de Bar--Death of Queen
Anne--Anxiety felt for the arrival of King George--The Duke
of Marlborough’s entry--Funeral of the Queen--Public entry of
the King--Adulation of Dr. Young--Madame Kielmansegge, the new
royal favourite--Horace Walpole’s account of her--‘A Hanover
garland’--Ned Ward, the Tory poet--Expression of the public
opinion--The Duchess of Kendal bribed by Lord Bolingbroke--
Bribery and corruption general--Abhorrence of parade by the King.
During marriage festivals and court _fêtes_ held to celebrate some step
in greatness, Sophia Dorothea continued to vegetate in Ahlden. She was
politically dead; and even in the domestic occurrences of her family,
events in which a mother might be gracefully allowed to have a part,
she enjoyed no share. The marriages of her children and the births of
_their_ children were not officially communicated to her. She was left
to learn them through chance or the courtesy of individuals.
Her daughter was now the second Queen of Prussia, but the King
cared not to exercise his influence in behalf of his unfortunate
mother-in-law. Not that he was unconcerned with respect to her. His
consort was heiress to property over which her mother had control, and
Frederick was not tranquil of mind until this property had been secured
as the indisputable inheritance of his wife. He was earnest enough in
his correspondence with Sophia Dorothea until this consummation was
arrived at; and when he held the writings which secured the succession
of certain portions of the property of the duchess on his consort, he
ceased to trouble himself further with any question connected with the
unfortunate prisoner; except, indeed, that he forbade his wife to hold
any further intercourse with her mother, by letter or otherwise.
Few and trivial are the incidents told of her long captivity. The
latter had been embittered, in 1703, by the knowledge that Mademoiselle
von der Schulenburg was the mother of another daughter, Margaret
Gertrude, of whom the Elector was the father. This child was ten years
younger than her sister, Petronilla Melusina, who subsequently figured
at the Court of George II. as Countess of Walsingham, and who was the
uncared-for wife of Philip Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield.
Previous to the prohibition laid on his wife by the King of Prussia,
an epistolary intercourse had been privately maintained between Sophia
Dorothea and her daughter. Such intercourse had never received the
King’s sanction; and when it came to his knowledge, at the period of
the settlement of part of the maternal property on the daughter, he
peremptorily ordered its cessation. It had been maintained chiefly by
means of a Chevalier de Bar; Ludwig, a privy-councillor at Berlin;
Frederick, a page of the Queen’s; and a bailiff of the castle of
Ahlden. There were too many confederates in a matter so simple, and the
whole of them betrayed the poor lady, for whom they professed to act.
The most important agent was the chevalier: in him the duchess confided
longest, and in his want of faith she was the last to believe. He had
introduced himself to her by sending her presents of snuff, no unusual
present to a lady in those days--though it is pretended that these
gifts bore a peculiar signification, known only to the donor and the
recipient. They probably had less meaning than the presents forwarded
to the prisoner by her daughter, consisting now of her portrait,
another time of a watch, or some other trinket, which served to pass a
letter with it, in which were filial injunctions to the poor mother to
be patient and resigned, and to put no trust in the Count de Bar.
The prisoner did not heed the counsel, but continued to confide in
a man who was prodigal of promise, and traitorous of performance.
Her hopes were fixed upon escaping, but they were foiled by the
watchfulness of noble spies, who exultingly told her that her husband
was a king. And it is asserted that she might have been a recognised
queen if she would but have confessed that she had failed in obedience
towards her husband. It is certain that a renewed, but it may not have
been an honest, attempt at reconciliation was made just previous to
the accession of George I., but the old reply fell from the prisoner’s
lips:--‘If I am guilty, I am not worthy of him: if I am innocent, he is
not worthy of me.’
The death of the Electress Sophia, in 1714, was followed very shortly
after by the demise of Queen Anne. This event had taken all parties
somewhat by surprise. They stood face to face, as it were, over the
dying Queen. The Jacobites were longing for her to name her brother
as her successor, whom they would have proclaimed at once at the
head of the army. The Hanoverian party were feverish with fears and
anticipations; but they had the regency dressed up and ready in the
back ground, and Secretary Craggs, booted and spurred, was making such
haste as could then be made on his road to Hanover, to summon King
George. The Jacobite portion of the cabinet was individually bold in
resolving what ought to be done, but they were, bodily, afraid of the
responsibility of doing it. Each man of each faction had _his_ king’s
name ready upon his lips, awaiting only that the lethargy of the Queen
should be succeeded by irretrievable death to give it joyful utterance.
Anne died on the 1st of August 1714; the Jacobites drew a breath of
hesitation; and in the meantime the active Whigs instantly proclaimed
King George, gave Addison the mission of announcing the demise of one
sovereign to another, who was that sovereign’s successor, and left the
Jacobites to their vexation and their threatened redress.
Lord Berkley was sent with the fleet to Orange Polder, in Holland,
there to bring over the new King; but Craggs had not only taken a very
long time to carry his invitation to the monarch, but the husband of
Sophia, when he received it, showed no hot haste to take advantage
thereof. The Earl of Dorset was despatched over to press his immediate
coming, on the ground of the affectionate impatience of his new
subjects. The King was no more moved thereby than he was by the first
announcement of Lord Clarendon, the English ambassador, at Hanover.
On the night of the 5th of August that envoy had received an express,
announcing the demise of the Queen. At two o’clock in the morning he
hastened with what he supposed the joyful intelligence to Herrnhausen,
and caused George Louis to be aroused, that he might be the first to
salute him as King. The new monarch yawned, expressed himself vexed,
and went to sleep again as calmly as any serene highness. In the
morning some one delicately hinted, as if to encourage the husband of
Sophia Dorothea in staying where he was, that the presbyterian party
in England was a dangerous regicidal party. ‘Not so,’ said George, who
seemed to be satisfied that there was no peril in the new greatness;
‘not so; I have nothing to fear from the king-killers; they are all on
my side.’ But still he tarried; one day decreeing the abolition of the
excise, the next ordering, like King Arthur in Fielding’s tragedy, all
the insolvent debtors to be released from prison. While thus engaged,
London was busy with various pleasant occupations.
On the 3rd of August the late Queen was opened; and on the following
day her bowels were buried, with as much ceremony as they deserved,
in Westminster Abbey. The day subsequent to this ceremony, the Duke
of Marlborough, who had been in voluntary exile abroad, and whose
office in command of the imperial armies had been held for a short
time, and not discreditably, by George Louis, made a triumphant entry
into London. The triumph, however, was marred by the sudden breaking
down of his coach at Temple-Bar--an accident ominous of his not again
rising to power. The Lords and Commons then sent renewed assurances
of loyalty to Hanover, and renewed prayers that the lord there would
doff his electoral cap, and come and try his kingly crown. To quicken
this, the lower house, on the 10th, voted him the same revenues the
late Queen had enjoyed--excepting those arising from the Duchy of
Cornwall, which were, by law, invested in the Prince of Wales. On
the 13th Craggs arrived in town to herald the King’s coming; and on
the 14th the Hanoverian party were delighted to hear that on the
Pretender repairing from Lorraine to Versailles, to implore of Louis
to acknowledge him publicly as king, the French monarch had pleaded,
in bar, his engagements with the House of Hanover, and that thereon
the Pretender had returned dispirited to Lorraine. On the 24th of the
month the late Queen’s body was privately buried in Westminster Abbey,
by order of her successor, who appeared to have a dread of finding the
old lady of his young love yet upon the earth. This order was followed
by another, which ejected from their places many officials who had
hoped to retain them--and chief of these was Bolingbroke. London then
became excited at hearing that the King had arrived at the Hague on
the 5th of September. It was calculated that the nearer he got to his
kingdom the more accelerated would be his speed; but George was not
to be hurried. Madame Kielmansegge, who shared what was called his
regard with Mademoiselle von der Schulenburg, had been retarded in her
departure from Hanover by the heaviness of her debts. The daughter
of the Countess von Platen would not have been worthy of her mother
had she suffered herself to be long detained by such a trifle. She,
accordingly, gave her creditors the slip, set off to Holland, and was
received with a heavy sort of delight by the King. The exemplary couple
tarried above a week at the Hague; and, on the 16th of September George
and his retinue set sail for England. Between that day and the day of
his arrival at Greenwich, the heads of the Regency were busy in issuing
decrees:--now it was for the prohibition of fireworks on the day of his
Majesty’s entry; next against the admission of unprivileged carriages
into Greenwich Park on the King’s arrival; and, lastly, one promising
one hundred thousand pounds to any loyal subject who might be lucky
enough to catch the Pretender in England, and who would bring him a
prisoner to London.
On the 18th of September the King landed at Greenwich; and on the
two following days, while he sojourned there, he was waited on by
various officials, who went smiling to the foot of the throne, and
came away frowning at the cold treatment they received there. They who
thought themselves the most secure endured the most disgraceful falls,
especially the Duke of Ormond, who, as captain-general, had been three
parts inclined to proclaim the Pretender. He repaired in gorgeous array
to do homage to King George; but the King would only receive his staff
of office, and would _not_ see the ex-bearer of it; who returned home
with one dignity the less, and for George one enemy the more.
The public entry into London on the 20th was splendid, and so was
the court holden at St. James’s on the following day. A lively
incident, however, marked the proceedings of this first court. Colonel
Chudleigh, in the crowd, branded Mr. Allworth, M.P. for New Windsor,
as a Jacobite; whereupon they both left the palace, went in a coach to
Marylebone Fields, and there fought a duel, in which Mr. Allworth was
killed on the spot. This was the first libation of blood offered to the
King.
No poet affected to deplore the decease of Anne with such profundity of
jingling grief as Young. He had not then achieved a name, and he was
eagerly desirous to build up a fortune. His threnodia on the death of
Queen Anne is a fine piece of measured maudlin; but the author appears
to have bethought himself, before he had expended half his stock of
sorrows, that there would be more profit in welcoming a living than
bewailing a defunct monarch. Accordingly, wiping up his tears, and
arraying his face in the blandest of smiles, he addressed himself to
the double task of recording the reception of George and registering
his merits. He first, however, apologetically states, as his warrant
for turning from weeping for Anne to cheering for George, that all the
sorrow in the world cannot reverse doom, that groans cannot ‘unlock th’
inexorable tomb’; that a fond indulgence of woe is sad folly, for, from
such a course, he exclaims, with a fine eye to a poet’s profit--
What fruit can rise or what advantage flow!
So, turning his face from the tomb of Anne to the throne of George, he
grandiosely waves his hat, and thus he sings:--
Welcome great stranger to Britannia’s throne!
Nor let thy country think thee all her own.
Of thy delay how oft did we complain!
Our hope reach’d out and met thee on the main.
With pray’r we smooth the billows for thy feet,
With ardent wishes fill thy swelling sheet;
And when thy foot took place on Albion’s shore,
_We, bending, bless’d the Gods and ask’d no more!_
What hand but thine should conquer and compose,
Join those whom interest joins, and chase our foes,
Repel the daring youth’s presumptuous aim,
And by his rival’s greatness give him fame?
Now, in some foreign court he may sit down,
And quit without a blush the British crown;
Secure his honour, though he lose his store,
And take a lucky moment to be poor.
This sneer at the Pretender is as contemptible as the flattery of
George is gross; and the picture of an entire nation on its knees,
blessing Olympus, and bidding the gods to restrain all further gifts,
is as magnificent a mixture of bombast and blasphemy as ever was made
up by venal poet. But here is more of it:--
Nor think, great sir, now first at this late hour,
In Britain’s favour you exert your power;
To us, far back in time, I joy to trace
The numerous tokens of your princely grace;
Whether you chose to thunder on the Rhine,
Inspire grave councils, or in courts to shine,
In the more scenes your genius was display’d
The greater debt was on Britannia laid:
They all conspired this mighty man to raise,
And your new subjects proudly share the praise.
Such is the record of a rhymer: Walpole, in plain and truthful prose,
tells a very different story. He informs us that the London mob were
highly diverted at the importation by the King of his uncommon seraglio
of ugly women. ‘They were food,’ he says, ‘for all the venom of the
Jacobites,’ and so far from Britain thanking him for coming himself, or
for bringing with him _these_ numerous tokens of his princely grace,
‘nothing could be grosser than the ribaldry vomited out in lampoons,
libels, and every channel of abuse, against the sovereign and the new
court, and chanted even in their hearing about the public streets.’
Mademoiselle von Schulemberg (_sic_) was created Duchess of Kendal.
‘The younger Mademoiselle von Schulemberg, who came over with her, and
was created Countess of Walsingham, passed for her niece, but was so
like the King, that it is not very credible that the duchess, who had
affected to pass for cruel, had waited for the left-handed marriage.’
Lady Walsingham, as previously said, was afterwards married to the
celebrated Philip Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield.
To the Duchess of Kendal--George (who was so shocked at the infidelity
of which his wife was alleged to be guilty) was to the mistress as
inconstant as to the wife he had been untrue. He set aside the former,
to put in her place Madame Kielmansegge, called, like her mother,
Countess von Platen. On the death of her husband, in 1721, he raised
her to the rank of Countess of Leinster in Ireland, Countess of
Darlington and Baroness of Brentford in England. Coxe says of her, that
her power over the King was not equal to that of the Duchess of Kendal,
but her character for rapacity was not inferior. Horace Walpole has
graphically portrayed Lady Darlington in the following passage:--
‘Lady Darlington, whom I saw at my mother’s in my infancy, and whom I
remember by being terrified at her enormous figure, was as corpulent
and ample as the duchess was long and emaciated. The fierce black
eyes, large, and rolling beneath two lofty arched eyebrows, two acres
of cheeks spread with crimson, an ocean of neck that overflowed, and
was not distinguished from, the lower part of her body, and no part
restrained by stays--no wonder that a child dreaded such an ogress.’
The mob had a strong Tory leaven at this time, and among the multitude
circulated a mass of broadsides and ballads, of so openly a seditious
character that the power of the law was stringently applied to suppress
the evil. Before the year was out half the provincial towns in England
were infected with seditious sentiments against the Whig government,
which had brought in a King whose way of life was a scandal to them.
This feeling of contempt for both King and government was wide as well
as deep; and it was so craftily made use of by the leaders of public
opinion, that, before George had been three months upon the throne, the
‘High-church rabble,’ as the Tory party was called, in various country
towns were violent in their proceedings against the government; and
at Axminster, in Devonshire, shouted for the Pretender, and drank his
health as King of England. The conduct of George to his wife, Sophia
Dorothea, was as satirically dealt with, in the way of censure, as any
of his delinquencies, and his character as a husband was not forgotten
in the yearly tumults of his time, which broke out on every recurring
anniversary of Queen Anne’s birthday (April the 23rd) to the end of his
reign.
If the new King was dissatisfied with his new subjects, he liked as
little the manners of England. ‘This is a strange country,’ said his
Majesty; ‘the first morning after my arrival at St. James’s, I looked
out of the window, and saw a park, with walks, a canal, and so forth,
which they told me were mine. The next day, Lord Chetwynd, the ranger
of _my_ park, sent me a fine brace of carp out of _my_ canal, and I
was told that I must give five guineas to Lord Chetwynd’s servant, for
bringing me _my own_ carp, out of _my own_ canal, in _my own_ park!’
The monarch’s mistresses loved as much to receive money as the King
himself loved little to part from it. The Duchess of Kendal’s rapacity
has been mentioned: one instance of it is mentioned by Coxe, on the
authority of Sir Robert Walpole, to the effect that ‘the restoration of
Lord Bolingbroke was the work of the Duchess of Kendal. He gained the
duchess by a present of eleven thousand pounds, and obtained a promise
to use her influence over the King for the purpose of forwarding his
complete restoration.’ Horace Walpole states that the duchess was no
friend of Sir Robert, and wished to make Lord Bolingbroke minister in
his room. The rapacious mistress was jealous of Sir Robert’s credit
with the monarch. Monarch and minister transacted business through the
medium of indifferent Latin; the King not being able to speak English,
and Sir Robert, like a country gentleman of England, knowing nothing
of either German or French. ‘It was much talked of,’ says the lively
writer of the ‘Reminiscences of the Courts of the first two Georges,’
‘that Sir Robert, detecting one of the Hanoverian ministers in some
trick or falsehood before the King’s face, had the firmness to say to
the German, “_Mentiris impudentissime!_” The good-humoured monarch
only laughed, as he often did when Sir Robert complained to him of his
Hanoverians selling places, nor would be persuaded that it was not
the practice of the English court.’ The singularity of this complaint
is, that it was made by a minister who was notorious for complacently
saying, that ‘Every man in the House of Commons had his price.’