Solemn and unusual Summons of the Council.--Announcement of
the King’s intended Marriage with the Princess of Mecklenberg
Strelitz.--The Princess Dowager’s aversion to her Son’s
Marriage.--The King’s attachment to Lady Sarah Lenox.--Schemes
of Mr. Fox.--Remarkable Speech of the King to Lady Susan
Strangways.--Frustration of Fox’s Intrigues.--Colonel Graeme
despatched to Germany to select a Queen.--The King’s deference
to his mother, and acceptance of the Bride she had chosen.--Lady
Sarah Lenox.--Serious Crisis in the Cabinet.--Lofty Conduct of
Mr. Pitt.--His Draught for a Treaty with France.--Reception of
this by the other Ministers.--Arrival of the new Queen.--Her
mental and personal Characteristics.--Anecdotes.--Disposal of the
vacant Bishopricks.--Lord Talbot.--Coronation Squabbles.--Sir
William Stanhope’s bitter Speech against the Scotch.--Lord Talbot
and the Barons of the Cinque Ports.
While the attention of mankind hung on the negotiation, the King’s
messengers were suddenly sent forth to all Privy Councillors to meet
at one o’clock, at St. James’s, July 8th, on urgent and important
business. The business itself was an absolute secret. Every body
concluded that so solemn and unusual a summons of the Council was to
give fuller sanction to peace. How great was the general surprise
when they heard his Majesty had convened this assembly to notify
his intended marriage with the Princess of Mecklenberg Strelitz! A
resolution taken and conducted with so much mystery, that till that
hour perhaps not six men in England knew such a princess existed.
It has been mentioned with what aversion the Princess Dowager had
opposed a marriage projected by the late King between his heir apparent
and a very accomplished Princess of Brunswick. A wife for her son, not
chosen by herself nor obliged to her, by no means suited the views of
the Princess. Could she have chained up his body, as she fettered his
mind, it is probable she would have preferred his remaining single. A
mistress would have been more tremendous than a wife. The next brother,
the Duke of York, was not equally tractable, had expressed little
reverence for his mother, and much antipathy to her favourite. If the
King should die and leave even an infant, a minority did not deprive
the Princess of all prospect of protracting her rule.
But there had happened circumstances still more pressing, more
alarming. The King was fallen in love with Lady Sarah Lenox, sister of
the Duke of Richmond; a very young lady of the most blooming beauty,
and shining with all the graces of unaffected, but animated nature.
What concurred to make her formidable to the mother and Favourite,
was, her being under the tutorage of Mr. Fox, her eldest sister’s[98]
husband; and in truth, she and her family spared no assiduity to fix
the young monarch’s heart. And though Fox would probably not have
been scrupulous or delicate on the terms of cementing that union, the
King’s overtures were so encouraging, that Fox’s views extended even
to placing the young lady on the throne. Early in the winter, the King
told Lady Susan Strangways,[99] Mr. Fox’s niece, and the confidant of
Lady Sarah, that he hoped she (Lady Susan) would not go out of town
soon. She said, she should. “But,” replied the King, “you will return
in summer, for the coronation?” Lady Susan answered, “I do not know; I
hope so.” “But,” said the King again, “they talk of a wedding. There
have been many proposals; but I think an English match would do better
than a foreign one. Pray, tell Lady Sarah Lenox I say so.” The next
time Lady Sarah went to Court (and her family took care that should not
be seldom) the King said, “he hoped Lady Susan had told her his last
conversation.”
The Junto was not blind to these whispers and dialogues. Lady Bute was
instructed to endeavour to place herself in the circle, and prevent
them. And the Princess Augusta marked her observation of what was going
forward to Lady Sarah herself, laughing in her face, and trying to
affront her. But Fox was not to be so rebuffed. Though he went himself
to bathe in the sea (possibly to disguise his intrigues), he left Lady
Sarah at Holland House,[100] where she appeared every morning in a
field close to the great road (where the King passed on horseback) in a
fancied habit, making hay.
Such mutual propensity fixed the resolution of the Princess. One
Colonel Graeme was despatched in the most private manner as a
traveller, and vested with no character, to visit various little
Protestant Courts, and make report of the qualifications of the several
unmarried Princesses. Beauty, and still less, talents, were not, it is
likely, the first object of his instructions. On the testimony of this
man, the golden apple was given to the Princess of Mecklenburg; and the
marriage precipitately concluded. The ambassador was too remarkable
not to be farther mentioned. This Graeme, then, was a notorious
Jacobite, and had been engaged in the late rebellion. On a visit he
made to Scotland, his native country, after this embassy, David Hume,
the historian, said to him, “Colonel Graeme, I congratulate you on
having exchanged the dangerous employment of making Kings, for the more
lucrative province of making Queens.”
So complete was the King’s deference to the will of his mother, that
he blindly accepted the bride she had chosen for him; though, to the
very day of the council, he carried on his courtship to Lady Sarah;
and she did not doubt of receiving the crown from him, till she heard
the public declaration of its being designed for another. Yet, in
confirmation of the trust he had reposed in Lady Susan Strangways,
himself appointed Lady Sarah to be one of the bridemaids to the Queen.
Yet Lord Bute’s friends affected to give another turn to the story;
and insisted that the King had never thought of Lady Sarah but for his
mistress. All, they affirmed, he had said to Lady Susan was, to bid
her ask Lady Sarah if she should like a place in the family of the
new Queen; that she had accepted it; and that the King had destined
her to be Mistress of the Robes. Her surprise and disappointment,
however, were too strongly marked to make this legend credible. Lady
Susan adhered to the truth of what she had reported, in various
examinations by her father and uncle. And the resentment Lady Sarah
expressed, and which caused, as the Court said, her not being placed
about the new Queen, was proof enough on which side the truth lay. The
Junto persuaded the King she was a bad young woman; but if she was,
what hindered her becoming his mistress? Was it criminal to propose
being his wife rather than his mistress? And what became of the King’s
boasted piety, if he intended to place his mistress about his wife?
Some coquet attempts, which Lady Sarah afterwards made to recover
his notice, and her stooping to bear the Queen’s train as bridemaid,
did her more prejudice than all that was invented against her. Pique
and extreme youth might excuse both; and her soon after preferring a
clergyman’s son to several great matches, gave evidence that ambition
was not a rooted passion in her.
In my own opinion, the King had thoughts of her as a wife; but wanted
resolution to oppose his mother and Lord Bute. Fortunately, no doubt,
in this instance; for the daughter of a subject, and the sister-in-law
of so ambitious and exceptionable a man as Fox, would probably have
been productive of most serious consequences. To avoid returning to
this topic, I will only remember, that during the wedding-service, on
mention of Abraham and Sarah, the King could not conceal his confusion.
And the day following, when everybody was presented to the Queen, Lord
Westmoreland,[101] old and dimsighted, seeing Lady Sarah in the rich
habit of bridemaid, mistook her for Queen, and was going to kneel and
kiss her hand.
But while the arrival of the Queen was expected, and the approaching
ceremonies of the wedding and coronation engrossed the attention of
the public, affairs grew towards a serious crisis in the Cabinet.
Prince Ferdinand had opened the campaign with vivacity and advantage,
driving the French before him, and seizing, or reducing them to
destroy great part of their magazines; a success that enabled him to
form the sieges of Ziegenhayn and Cassel. Marshal Broglio was not
disheartened or inactive; but re-assembling his dispersed troops, he
attacked the Hereditary Prince, and routed the body under his command;
in consequence of which the sieges were raised, and Prince Ferdinand
retired, abandoning the whole country of Hesse to the enemy. This
advantage, it was apprehended, would make France less eager for peace.
Yet she continued the negotiation with much appearance of warmth; and
though she was far from bringing all the facilities our Court wished
for, the conclusion of the treaty seemed to be rather impeded by the
loftiness and firmness of Mr. Pitt, than by the insincerity of France.
Still, as it afterwards appeared, she had secret resources in reserve;
nor could she fail to hope but Mr. Pitt might be displaced, and her
condition mended, when the administration should fall into the hands of
men whose honour was not so much concerned in the event of the war, and
who had national honour much less at heart. The transactions have been
printed, and will appear in every common history. My part is to relate
by what steps and intrigues the negotiation was broken off.
In the end of August, the council had ordered their ultimate
concessions to be drawn and sent to France. Mr. Pitt made the draught
and carried it to Council. The other ministers thought it spoke his
sense, not theirs; or rather, contained more of an ultimatum than they
were disposed to adhere to. In defence of his own inflexibility, Mr.
Pitt spoke largely on the _haughtiness_ of France.
Lord Hardwicke[102] said he approved our not submitting to their
haughtiness, and congratulated his country in not having been behind
hand with them in that respect. Lord Granville[103] took the draught,
and applauded it exceedingly; said it deserved to be inserted in the
Acta Regia; but for his part he did not love fine letters on business.
He thought even bad Latin preferable to good in negotiations.
These speeches raised Pitt’s choler; and with reason. He had vindicated
the honour of his country; and now was supporting it with a dignity it
had never known since the days of Cromwell. He saw himself abandoned
and ridiculed by his master’s ministers; but he was not a man to recoil
before such adversaries. If he had assumed an unwarrantable tone, his
situation might well justify it. He broke out with great asperity, and
told them dictatorially, they should not alter an iota of the letter.
Rhodomontade had been too favourite a figure with Lord Granville to
leave him the dupe of it in another man. He himself had made glory but
a step to ambition, instead of making ambition a footstool to glory.
He neither admired Pitt’s exalted diction, nor exalted views; and
continuing to canvass the point with him, said, he had understood from
Bussy--“From Bussy,” interrupted Pitt; “nor you, nor any of you shall
treat with Bussy: nobody shall but myself.”
The Duke of Bedford, whom the rest always summoned when they wanted to
combat Pitt and did not dare, said, “he did not know why he was called
to council, if he was not at liberty to debate; and since he was told
they were not to be permitted to alter an iota, he would come thither
no more,” and retired. Some of the others were less stout. Lord Bute
said little, but that he thought the King’s honour was concerned in
sticking to our own terms; and therefore he should be for adhering to
them. This short turn in the Favourite produced a like sentiment in
some who waited on his nod. Besides Mr. Pitt and Lord Temple, the
Chancellor, Lord Halifax, and Lord Ligonier assented to the Favourite’s
opinion; Hardwicke, Newcastle, Mansfield, and Granville adhered to
the softer method. The Duke of Devonshire remained, who had uttered
no opinion. At last he said, if they were not permitted to alter
the draught of the letter (which implied his inclination to have it
altered), he should give no opinion. Mr. Pitt asked what he should
report to the King as his Grace’s advice? He replied as he had said
before, “he would give no opinion.”
Newcastle was alarmed, and jealous of the sudden and unexpected turn
Lord Bute had taken, but was soon satisfied by his Lordship that he was
in no connection with Mr. Pitt; and, indeed, it is probable that he had
only been overawed, and had apprehended being taxed by Pitt with any
unpopular measure. On the 25th, another council was held, to which,
notwithstanding his declaration, the Duke of Bedford returned. He and
Devonshire seemed to have no concern but lest any wayward humour of
Newcastle should be crossed. Pitt at this council was more temperate,
and submitted to some small concessions.
On the 7th of September, the new Queen landed at Harwich. Lord
Harcourt,[104] whose peace had been made by Lord Talbot, had been sent
to fetch her, with the Duchesses of Ancaster[105] and Hamilton;[106]
but as an earnest of the prison prepared for her, and to keep her
in that state of ignorance which was essential to the views of the
Princess, they were forbidden to see her alone. Her mother, who died
during the treaty of marriage, ordered her to put herself entirely into
the hands of the Princess. Mrs. Katherine Dashwood,[107] of a Jacobite
family, and intimate of Lady Bute, was destined to live in the palace.
No privy purse was allowed to the Queen, but Mr. Stone[108] received
twenty thousand pounds a year to pay her servants.
She had been educated in that strict course of piety, which in Germany
reaches to superstition; a habit in which she was encouraged to such a
degree, that when the King visited his mother, which he soon, at the
desire of the Princess, began to do, without the Queen, she was afraid
of staying alone, and retired to her two German women; her English
ladies not being suffered to keep her company. Yet this weakness
seemed solely the result of a bad education. Her temper appeared to be
lively, and her understanding sensible and quick. Great good-nature,
set off by much grace in her manner, recommended all she said. Her
person was small, and very lean, but well made. Her face pale and
homely, her nose something flat, her mouth very large. Her hair was of
a fine brown, and her countenance pleasing.
When first she saw the palace she trembled. The Duchess of Hamilton
smiled. The Queen said, “You may laugh; you have been married twice;
but it is no joke to me.” The King received her in the garden of St.
James’s; she would have kneeled, but he raised and embraced her, and
led her to the Princess, where they and Lady Augusta dined together.
Between nine and ten at night they went to chapel. The Duke of
Cumberland gave her away; and after the ceremony they appeared for a
few minutes in the drawing-room, and then went to supper. She played
and sung, for music was her passion, but she loved other amusements
too, and had been accustomed to them; but excepting her music, all the
rest were retrenched; nor was she[109] ever suffered to play at cards,
which she loved. While she was dressing, she was told the King liked
some particular manner of dress. She said, “Let him dress himself;
I shall dress as I please.” They told her he liked early hours; she
replied, she did not, and “qu’elle ne voulait pas se coucher avec les
poules.” A few weeks taught her how little power she had acquired with
a Crown. The affection she conceived for the King softened the rigour
of her captivity. Yet now and then a sigh stole out, and now and then
she attempted, though in vain, to enlarge her restraint. What must have
penetrated deeper, was, that policy did not seem to be the sole motive
of the mortifications she endured. At times there entered a little
wantonness of power into the Princess’s treatment of her. The King made
her frequent presents of magnificent jewels; and as if diamonds were
empire, she was never allowed to appear in public without them. The
first time she received the sacrament, she begged not to wear them, one
pious command of her mother having been, not to use jewels at her first
communion. The King indulged her; but Lady Augusta carrying this tale
to her mother, the Princess obliged the King to insist on the jewels,
and the poor young Queen’s tears and terrors could not dispense with
her obedience.
Previous to the Coronation the vacant Bishopricks were bestowed. The
Archbishoprick of York was given to Dr. Drummond;[110] and Hayter[111]
of Norwich, who had been disgraced with Lord Harcourt, was, by the
interest of the same patron, Lord Talbot, promoted to the See of
London. Newcastle vehemently opposed it, and solicited for Thomas
of Lincoln,[112] but received this thundering sentence from Lord
Bute:--“If Thomas is such a favourite with your Grace, why did not you
prefer him when you had the power?” The Duke, however, obtained the
mitre of Norwich for Dr. Yonge; and being bidden to observe that the
King’s answer to the address of Oxford on his marriage was kinder than
that to Cambridge, he replied, it is true; but two of the new Bishops
are Cambridge men--so easily did he comfort himself even with the
shadow of power!
Here ended, almost as soon as it began, the credit of Lord Talbot.
He was sometimes well, sometimes ill with Lord Bute, and though
remaining in favour at Court, never seemed to have any influence
there. A trifling circumstance, because it occasioned an event that
made much noise afterwards, must be mentioned. As Lord Steward, Lord
Talbot composed part of that ridiculous pageant at the coronation, the
entry of the Champion. So fond was Lord Talbot of his share in this
mummery, that he rehearsed his part on his steed in Westminster-hall,
and carried his new Bishop of London to be witness of his feats. The
Duke of York calling Hayter, who was lame, up to the _haut pas_, which
he ascended with difficulty, the Bishop said, “You see, sir, how hard
it is for me to get a step.” When the day came, Lord Talbot piqued
himself on not turning his back to the King, and produced a strange
hubbub of laughter by trying to force his horse to retire backwards
out of the hall. With the City, with the Knights of the Bath, and the
Barons of the Cinque Ports, Lord Talbot had various squabbles, by
retrenching their tables at the coronation. Beckford told him it was
hard if the citizens should have no dinner, when they were to give
the King one, which would cost them ten thousand pounds. This menace
prevailed. Sir William Stanhope, brother of Lord Chesterfield, a man of
not less wit, and of more ill-nature than his elder, said, “It was an
affront to the Knights of the Bath; for _some_ of us,” added he, “are
_gentlemen_.” It was a more bitter speech he made against the Scotch
and their Protectress. “He would not go to Court,” he said, “for fear
of the itch, which would reduce him to go to the Princess’s Court for
brimstone.” To the Barons of the Cinque Ports Lord Talbot said, “If
they came to him as Lord Steward, their request could not be granted;
if, as Lord Talbot, he was a match for any of them.” This boisterous
and absurd behaviour drew aside much odium from the Favourite; but as
puppet-shows were not exhibited every day, the zany was forgotten, and
the hisses of the mob soon fastened on the principal performer.