Lives of the Queens of England of the House of Hanover, volume 2 (of 2)

It is to the credit of the Princess Caroline that she took in such good part all that Lord Malmesbury told her, and that she was desirous of having him appointed her lord chamberlain; a prematurely expressed desire which did her honour, gratified the object of it, and was never realised. She, no doubt, respected him, for the advice he gave her was not only parental, but much of it might have come from a tender and affectionate mother. But her mother was a coarse-minded, weak-hearted woman, who had little regard for propriety, was not affected by the disregard of it in her husband, and who told stories at table, in her daughter’s presence, that would have called up a blush of shame, if not of indignation, on the cheek of a dragoon.

It was after such stories that Lord Malmesbury particularly enjoined the Princess, if she cared to please, to commune much with herself, and to think deeply before she spoke. Her family was a strange one, but not stranger, in many respects, than that into which she was going. Her admission there, indeed, at all, was perhaps a consequence of hate rather than love. Prince William, Duke of Clarence, had been among the first to speak of the Princess Caroline of Brunswick as a wife for the Prince of Wales. He had been led to do this because he hated the Duchess of York, knew that the Princess and Duchess hated each other, and felt sure that the marriage of the former with the heir to the throne would be wormwood to the Duchess. The Duke of Clarence was, ultimately, one of the bitterest and the most unreasonable of the enemies of this very Princess whom he had helped to drag up to greatness.

With regard to the feelings of the Princess against the excellent Duchess of York, the envoy endeavoured to turn them into a sentiment of respect for one who was worthy of such homage. Indeed, he was so indefatigable with his counsel that the ducal parents became fearful lest there might be even too much of it for his own profit, if not for their daughter’s good. It was suggested to him that the Princess, in a moment of fondness, might communicate to the Prince all he had said to her, and so he ‘would run the risk of getting into a scrape’ with his Royal Highness on his return. Lord Malmesbury, who was the envoy of the King and not of the Prince, replied with readiness, dignity, and effect. ‘I replied,’ he said, ‘that luckily I was in a situation not to want the Prince’s favour; that it was of infinitely more consequence to the public, and even to me (in the rank I filled in its service), that the Princess of Wales should honour and become her high situation, recover the dignity and respect due to our princes and royal family, which had, of late, been so much and so dangerously let down by their mixing so indiscriminately with their inferiors, than that I should have the emoluments and advantages of a favourite at Carlton House; and that idea was so impressed on my mind that I should certainly say to the Prince everything I had said to the Princess Caroline.’ He had a difficult pupil in the latter lady. After a whole page of record touching how important it was that she should practise reserve and dignity, we remark the condemnatory entry: ‘Concert in the evening; the Princess Caroline talks very much—quite at her ease—too much so.’

In another chapter of the family romance we find the aunt of the Princess—the Abbess of Gandersheim—exhorting her niece to put no trust in men at all; assuring her that her husband would deceive her, that she would not be happy, ‘and all the nonsense of an envious and a desiring old maid.’ The gaiety of the Princess was eclipsed, for a moment, by the chill cloud thrown across it by the remarks of her aunt. The envoy, however, restored the ordinary sunshine by requesting the Princess, the next time the Abbess held similar discourse, to ask her whether, if she proposed to give up the Prince to her aunt, and take the Abbey of Gandersheim in place thereof, she would then ‘think men to be such monsters, and whether she would not expose herself to all the dangers and misfortunes of such a marriage?’ This sally, with good counsel to garnish it, not only restored the good-humour of the Princess, but made her more desirous than ever to attach the envoy personally to her service as soon as her household as Princess of Wales should be established. Lord Malmesbury avoided an explicit answer, but entreated her not to solicit anything in his behalf. ‘I had,’ he says, ‘the Duke of Suffolk and Queen Margaret in my thoughts.’ He, further, was more anxious than ever with reference to the results of this marriage. With a steady man, he thought, the impulsive bride might have a chance of bliss; but with one that was not so he saw that her risks were many and great indeed. In the meanwhile he poured counsel into her mind—as Mr. Gradgrind used to pour facts into the juvenile intellect at Coketown—by the imperial gallon. The Princess continued to take it all well, but the giver of it was shrewd enough to see that ‘in the long run it must displease.’ He was right in his conclusion, for the night after he expressed the conviction the Princess remarked, on some grave monition of his, that she should never learn it all, and that she was too light-minded ever to do so.

Ward and guardian had been running a parallel between the former and her sister-in-law, younger than herself, the hereditary Princess of Brunswick. The Princess Caroline had asked Lord Malmesbury which he thought would make the better Princess of Wales, herself or her sister-in-law? To this difficult question the envoy replied gallantly that he knew which would be the Prince’s choice; that she possessed by nature what the hereditary Princess neither had or could ever acquire—beauty and grace. He added, in his character of mentor, ‘that all the essential qualities the hereditary Princess has she might attain—prudence, discretion, attention, and tact.’ ‘Do I want them?’ ‘You cannot have too much of them.’ ‘How comes my sister-in-law, who is younger than myself, to have them more than I?’ ‘Because, at a very early period of her life, her family was in danger; she was brought up to exertion of the mind, and now she derives the benefit d’avoir mangé son pain bis le premier!’ ‘I shall never learn this,’ was the remark of the Princess, with some confession of her defects. Lord Malmesbury encouraged her by saying that when she found herself in a different situation she would be prepared for its exigencies if she questioned and communed deeply with herself now. In short, he gave excellent advice, and if counsel could have cured the radical defects of a vicious education, Caroline would have crossed the seas to her new home peerless among brides.

At length the hour approached for the departure of the bride, but before it struck there had well-nigh been an angry scene. Lord Malmesbury had faithfully narrated to the Prince all that his commission allowed him to narrate touching his doings. His opinion of the bride he of course kept to himself. The Prince wrote back a complete approval of all he had done, but added a prohibition of the Princess being accompanied to England by a Mademoiselle Rosenzweit, who, as his Royal Highness understood, had been named as ‘a sort of reader.’ The Prince, for what reason is not known, would not have her in that or in any other character. The Duke and Duchess of Brunswick were exceedingly annoyed by this exercise of authority on the part of the royal husband, but they were, of course, compelled to submit. The motive for the nomination of this lady deserves to be noticed, particularly as the Duke, who kept a ‘favourite’ at the table where his wife presided, and the Duchess, who told coarse and indelicate stories there which disgusted the ‘favourite,’ had been particularly boastful concerning the very severe education of the Princess.

When it was agreed that Mademoiselle Rosenzweit should not accompany the Princess as ‘a sort of reader,’ the Duke of Brunswick took Lord Malmesbury aside, and stated that the reason why he wished her to be with the Princess was, that his daughter wrote very ill and spelt ill, and he was desirous that this should not appear. The noble diarist adds, ‘that his Serene Highness was not at all so serenely indifferent on the matter as he pretended to be. He affected to be so, ‘“but at the bottom was hurt and angry.”’

The last day the unhappy bride ever spent in a home which, considering all things, had been a happy home to her, was one of mingled sighs, tears, dignity, and meanness. The Duke rose into something like dignity also, and exhibited a momentary touch of paternal feeling as the hour of departure drew near, and his glory, as well as his paternal affection, was concerned in the conduct and bearing of his daughter.

There was a dinner, which would have been cordial enough but for the arrival of an anonymous letter, warning the Duchess and the Princess of the dangers the latter would run from a profligate ‘Lady ——,’ the blank of which may be filled up with the name of Jersey. The letter had been addressed to the Duchess, but that extremely prudent lady had informed her poor daughter of its contents, and discussed the letter openly with all those who cared to take part in the discussion. Lord Malmesbury suspected the epistle to come from the party of the disappointed Mademoiselle de Rosenzweit. It was a vulgar epistle, the chief point in which was the assertion that the ‘Lady ——’ would certainly do her utmost to lead the Princess into some act of injury to her own husband’s honour. The Princess was not herself much terrified on this point, and for that reason Lord Malmesbury told her very gravely that it was death for a man to approach the Princess of Wales with any idea of winning her affections from her husband, and that no man would be daring enough to think of it. The poor bride, something startled, inquired if that were really the law. Lord Malmesbury answered, ‘that such was the law; that anybody who presumed to love her would be guilty of high treason, and punished with death, if she were weak enough to listen to him; so also would she.’ This startled her. Naturally so; between advice, evil prophecy, menace, dark innuendoes, the necessity of going to church, and the possibility of ending on a scaffold, the bride might well be startled.

Nor was the letter above alluded to the only one which was a source of uneasiness to the Princess. George III. had written to the Duchess, expressing his ‘hope that his niece would not indulge in too much vivacity, but would lead a sedentary and retired life.’ This letter also was exhibited by the injudicious mother to her daughter; and while the latter was wondering what the conclusion of all this turmoil might be, Mademoiselle de Hertzfeldt reiterated that the only way for the Prince to manage her would be by fear. ‘Ay,’ said the virtuous lady, ‘even by terror; she will emancipate herself if care be not taken of her. Watched narrowly and severely, she may conduct herself well!’

Amid such a confusion of scenes, incidents, things, and persons, the Princess Caroline was variously affected. Her last banquet in her father’s halls was an epitome of the sorrows, cares, mock-splendour, and much misery of the time to come.

On Monday, December the 29th, 1795, the bride left Brunswick ‘for good.’ It was two o’clock in the afternoon when the envoy departed from the palace with his fair companion in his charge. To render her safety less exposed to risk, Major Hislop had gone forward ‘to give notice in case of danger from the enemy.’ The cannon from the ramparts of the city thundered out to her their last farewell, and the citizens assembled in crowds to see the Princess pass forth on her path—of roses, as they good-naturedly hoped; but, in fact, on her way strewn with thorns.

For three days the travellers pressed forward in something of long file, making, however, short journeys, and not getting very rapidly over them. On the third day the Princess, weary of being alone with two ladies, invited Lord Malmesbury to ride in the same coach with her. He ‘resisted it as impossible, from its being improper;’ and he continued to discountenance the matter, and she to laugh at him for his inviolable punctilio.

What with the impediments thrown in their way by the war then raging in front of them, between the French on one side and the Dutch and English on the other—and the alternating features of which now enabled them to hurry on, now checked their course—what with the incidents of these stirring times, and the hard frost during which they occurred, cavaliers and ladies made but tardy way, were half-frozen, and not inconsiderably dispirited. For a time they tarried at Osnaburg, where Lord Malmesbury narrates an anecdote for the purpose of showing the character of the Princess, and which is to this effect.

Many distressed French émigrés were to be found at Osnaburg, some of them ‘dying of hunger, and through want.’ The rest, the gallant leader of our escort shall tell in his own words: ‘I persuaded the Princess Caroline to be munificent towards them—she disposed to be, but not knowing how to set about it, I tell her liberality and generosity is an enjoyment, not a sworn virtue. She gives a louis for some lottery tickets. I give ten, and say the Princess ordered me—she surprised. I said I was sure she did not mean to give for the ticket its prime value, and that I forestalled her intention. Next day a French émigré with a pretty child draws near the table. The Princess Caroline immediately, of her own accord, puts the louis in a paper and gives them to the child. The Duchess of Brunswick observes it, and inquires of me (I was dining between them) what it was. I tell her a demand on her purse. She embarrassed: “Je n’ai que mes beaux doubles louis de Brunswick.” I answer: “Qu’ils deviendront plus beaux dans les mains de cet enfant que dans sa poche.” She ashamed, and gives three of them. In the evening the Princess Caroline, to whom this sort of virtue was never preached, on my praising the coin of the money at Brunswick, offers me very seriously eight or ten double louis, saying: “Cela ne me fait rien—je ne m’en soucie pas—je vous prie de les prendre.” I mention these facts to show her character: it could not distinguish between giving as a benevolence and flinging away the money like a child. She thought that the art of getting rid of the money, and not seeming to care about it, constituted the merit. I took an opportunity at supper of defining to her what real benevolence was, and I recommended it to her as a quality that would, if rightly employed, make her more admirers and give her more true satisfaction than any that human nature could possess. The idea was, I am sorry to see, new to her, but she felt the truth of it; and she certainly is not fond of money, which both her parents are.’

This indifference to money was amply manifested throughout the course of her after life. At a period of that life when she was most distressed she might have earned a right royal revenue, had she cared to sacrifice to it—her reputation. With all her faults, she had none of the avarice of her mother especially. She had more of the ignorance of the latter, but even she would not have been led into betraying it as her mother did when looking at the Dusseldorff collection of pictures, which at this time had been removed to Osnaburg, to save it from the calamities of war. Her Serene Highness was shown a Gerard Dow. ‘And who is Gerard Dow?’ said she; ‘was he of Dusseldorff?’ The severity of this lady’s education must have been something like that given to the Princess. The mother had never heard of Dow! The daughter wrote ill and spelt worse. She, some years subsequent to the journey upon which we are now accompanying her, described the Princess Charlotte in a letter as her ‘deer angle.’ She was indeed ever profuse with epithets of endearment. The ladies whom she saw for the first time during this her bridal progress to her husband’s house were addressed by her as ‘Mon cœur, ma chère, ma petite.’ Lord Malmesbury again played the monitor when these freedoms were indulged in, and his pupil began to care less for both advice and adviser. The bride’s mother, too, got weary of her journey—afraid of being taken prisoner by the enemy, and was anxious to leave her daughter and return home. The envoy resisted this as improper, until the moment she had placed the Princess in the hands of her proper attendants. Lord Malmesbury not only made ‘her lady mother’ continue at her post, but, on leaving Osnaburg, he induced her to give fifty louis to the servants—very much indeed against her will. She neither loved to give money away herself, nor to have the virtue of liberality impressed upon her daughter as one worth observing. In most respects, however, the daughter was superior to the mother. Thus, when at Benthem, they were waited on and complimented by President Fonk and Count Benthem de Steinfort—two odd figures, and still more oddly dressed—the Duchess burst into a fit of laughter at beholding them. The Princess had the inclination to do as much, but she contrived to enjoy her hilarity without hurting the feelings of the two accomplished and oddly-dressed gentlemen who had come to do her honour.

The Princess was less delicate with regard to odd women. Thus, she met Madame la Présidente Walmoden at Osnaburg, whom she asked to play at cards at her table, and made giggling remarks about her, in half-whispers, to the younger ladies of the party. The Princess disliked the Présidente; the Duchess, on the other hand, had pleasure in her society. Présidente and Duchess vied with each other in telling stories, and the latter was comically indelicate to her heart’s content.

Great difficulties had still to be encountered in the way of their progress towards the sea-coast, and more than one wide wave from far-off battles drove them back, again and again, to cities of which they had before taken, as they believed, a final farewell. In the midst of it all there was much ‘fun,’ some frowning, a little bickering, advice without end, and amendment always beginning. Still, as the party proceeded, half-frozen to death on their way by the rigour of a winter such as Lord Malmesbury had not felt since he was in Russia, the Princess especially loved to talk of her future prospects and intentions. Perhaps the most singular dream in which she indulged was that of undertaking and accomplishing—for she had no doubt as to the result—the reformation of the Prince. She felt, she said, that she was to fill the vide in the situation in which he stood, caused by his isolation from the King and Queen. She would domesticate him, she said, and give him a taste for all the private and home virtues. His happiness would then be of a higher quality than it ever had been before, and he would owe it all to her. This was the pleasant dream of a young bride full of good intentions, and who was strangely called upon to project the reformation of her husband, even before she had seen him, or could have taken that interest in him which could only arise from esteem founded on personal intercourse. This result, she declared, the nation expected at her hands; and she would realise it, for she felt herself capable of effecting it.

To all this agreeable devising Lord Malmesbury replied in encouraging speeches, mingled with gravest counsel and solemn admonition as to her bearing. This the Princess generally took in excellent part, while the Duchess, her mother, was grumbling at the intense cold or slumbering uneasily under it; and the servants outside the carriages were as nearly frozen as people could be, but were kept from that absolute catastrophe by generous liquor and the warmth of their indignation.

The bride ought to have been perfect in her character, for her mentor lost no opportunity in endeavouring to so prepare her that she might make a favourable impression upon the King and Queen. It must, too, be said for her, that her amiability under this reiterated didactic process was really very great. She felt nothing but respect for her teacher, and that says much for the instruction given, as also for the way in which it was conveyed. On one occasion, we are told, she ended, on retiring for the night, by saying that she hoped the Prince would let her see Lord Malmesbury, since she never could expect that any one would ‘give her such good and such free advice as myself;’ and she added, ‘I confess I could not bear it from any one but you.’

On Saturday, the 24th of January 1795, the travellers entered Hanover blue with cold, of which the benumbed Duchess complained in no very elegant terms. Lord Malmesbury was exceedingly anxious that the Princess should be popular here, as according to the impression of her reported hence to England would probably be that of the King and Queen on her arrival. Lord Malmesbury told her that she was Zémire and Hanover Azor; and that, if she behaved rightly, the monster would be metamorphosed into a beauty; that Beulwitz (at the head of the regency, the most ugly and most disagreeable man possible) would change into the Prince of Wales; that the habit of proper princely behaviour was natural to her—an assertion which was not true, as even the diplomatist showed, by adding ‘that it would come of itself; that acquired by this (in that respect) fortunate delay in our journey, it would belong to her, and become familiar to her on her coming to England, where it would be of infinite advantage.’

And yet Hanover was not a very particular place; that is, it was not inhabited—the court end of it, at least—by very particular, strict, or strait-laced people. The Princess was particularly careful of her conduct before persons, some of whom appear to have generally got intoxicated before dinner was over. Nevertheless, Lord Malmesbury did effect a very notable change for the better in the Princess’s habits. He had been before addressing himself to the improvement of principle; he now came to a personal matter, and, if one might be pardoned for laughing at any incident in the life of a poor woman whose life was anything rather than a matter to be laughed at, this is the time when one might do so with least reproach.

The party had been three weeks at Hanover, and, during that time, Lord Malmesbury had held frequent discussions with the Princess upon the very delicate matter of the toilette. She prided, or to use the noble lord’s own term, ‘she piqued herself on dressing quick.’ He disapproved of this; for a quick dresser is a slovenly and unclean dresser. On this point, however, she would not be convinced: probably she was the less inclined to be so as the weather continued intensely cold, and the next luxury to lying in bed was being quickly dressed when she got out of it. He could not come to details with a young bride who despised perfect ablutions; but he found a court lady, Madame Busche, through whom he poured the necessary amount of information that should induce the Princess to be more liberal towards her skin in the dispensation of water. He desired Madame Busche to explain to her that the Prince was very delicate, and that he expected a long and very careful toilette de propreté, of which she had no idea. ‘On the contrary,’ he says, ‘she neglects it sadly, and is offensive from this neglect. Madame Busche executes her commission well, and the Princess came out, the next day, well washed all over!’

But still the envoy’s trouble in connection with his charge in no way diminished. Now, he was gently reproving her for calling strange ladies by very familiar terms; anon, he had to censure her for unasked-for confidences touching past loves; and then, more seriously than all, to reprimand her even, and with strong license of phrase, for her undutiful and sneering conduct towards her mother, who, although silly and undignified, yet deserved the respect of her own child. On all these occasions there was some pouting, followed by acquiescence in the reproof, and ardent promises of improvement, that were still long a-coming. In the meantime, that delicate article of personal cleanliness remained, upon which the Princess became as indifferent as ever. We must again have recourse to the envoy’s own description of what passed between him and the pretty, wayward girl he was endeavouring to persuade out of dirtiness. On the 6th of March he says: ‘I had two conversations with the Princess Caroline. One on the toilette, on cleanliness, and on delicacy of speaking. On these points I endeavoured, as far as it was possible for a man, to inculcate the necessity of great and nice attention to every part of dress, as well as to what was hid as what was seen. I knew she wore coarse petticoats, coarse shifts, and thread stockings, and these never well washed or changed often enough. I observed that a long toilette was necessary, and gave her no credit for boasting that hers was a short one. What I could not say myself on this point I got said through women: through Madame Busche, and afterwards through Mrs. Harcourt. It is remarkable how amazingly on this point her education has been neglected, and how much her mother, although an Englishwoman, was inattentive to it. My other conversation was on the Princess’s speaking slightingly of the Duchess, being peevish to her, and often laughing at her or about her. On that point I talked very seriously indeed; said that nothing was so extremely improper, so radically wrong; that it was impossible, if she reflected for a moment, that she should not be sorry for everything of the kind which escaped; and I assured her it was the more improper from the tender affection the Duchess had for her. The Princess felt all this, and it made a temporary impression. But on this, as on all other subjects, I have had too many opportunities to observe that her heart is very, very light, unsusceptible of strong or lasting feelings. In some respects this may make her happier, but certainly not better. I must, however, say that on the idea being suggested to her by her father that I should remain on business in Germany, and not be allowed to attend her to England, she was most extremely affected, even to tears, and spoke to me with a kindness and feeling I was highly gratified to find in her.’

On the 24th of March the travelling bridal party quitted Hanover. The bride made presents to the amount of 800 golden Fredericks—a generosity which cost her little, for the money was supplied by Lord Malmesbury, who took a receipt for it, like a man of business. It was now that the mother and daughter parted—not again to meet till the former was without a duchy and the latter without a spouse. The Duchess was considerably affected. The Princess kept up her spirits, and behaved with grace and propriety. After passing through Rottenberg and Klosterseven, where they ‘slept at the curate’s,’ the wayfarers reached Stade on Friday, the 27th of March. Early on the following morning they embarked in Hanoverian boats upon the Schwinde; by nine they reached the ‘Fly’ cutter, and in that, when the wind served, or in boats when it slackened, they proceeded down the river, and at seven o’clock were taken on board the ‘Jupiter,’ fifty-gun ship, amid all the dreadful noise, confusion, and smoke which go towards doing welcome to an illustrious traveller. As she was stepping on board a young midshipman, named Doyle, handed her a rope, in order to assist her. He was the first to help her, as it were, into England. Something more than a quarter of a century later he who thus aided the bride was charged with the mission of taking back her body. The fleet re-echoed the thundering salute which burst from the sides of the ‘Jupiter,’ yards were manned, streamers flung out their silky lengths to the wind, and as the Princess passed on to Cuxhaven all went as merrily as became a marriage party.

The next day they cleared the Elbe, and on the following were off the Texel. The Princess was cheerful, affable, good-humoured, not alarmed by the terrors of the sea or the sight of French privateers, and a favourite with both officers and seamen. She only made one ‘slip’ on the passage, from a repetition of which the jealous Lord Malmesbury guarded her by giving her a lesson in English, and counselling her not to use a nasty word to express a nasty thing. While the royal bride was conning her lesson her guardian was conferring with ‘Jack Payne,’ from whom he learned that the bridegroom at home was not behaving in the most prudish way possible, and that his favourite was comporting herself with the impudence natural to favourites before they fall.

On Good Friday morning, the 3rd of April, the ‘Jupiter’ passed Harwich, and in the evening anchored at the Nore. On the following day the bride ascended the Thames to Gravesend, whence, in a barge, on Easter Sunday, and amidst thousands of welcoming spectators, she proceeded to Greenwich, where she arrived at twelve, and found—not a soul from St. James’s to receive her. She waited a full hour before the royal carriages arrived, and the delay was attributed to the contrivance of the Prince’s favourite. In the meantime the officers at the Hospital did their honest best to welcome the poor stranger. At length the carriages arrived, but with them no eager bridegroom. To represent him came his mistress, with a bevy of lords and ladies. Lady Jersey no sooner beheld the embarrassed Princess than she began to ridicule her dress; and having done that till she was sharply reproved for her effrontery by Lord Malmesbury, she made a sort of claim to be placed by the side of the Princess in the carriage, on the ground that riding backwards always made her sick. But Lord Malmesbury would listen to no such claim, told her that she was unfit to be a lady of the bedchamber if she were unable to ride with her back to the horses, and although the favourite would have been glad now to ride even in that fashion in the same carriage with the bride, the envoy would not permit it. He placed there two ladies who were not addicted to qualms in such a situation; and with the Princess occupying a seat alone, and sitting forward, so as to be more easily seen, the cortège set out for the metropolis. The bride was but coldly received by the few spectators on the road, and when she alighted at the Duke of Cumberland’s apartments, in Cleveland Row, St. James’s, at half-past two, she must have half wished herself back again in Brunswick.

On due notice of the arrival being made to the royal family the Prince of Wales went immediately to visit his cousin and bride. What occurred at the interview, of which Lord Malmesbury was the sole witness, he has the best right to tell. ‘I, according to the established etiquette, introduced (no one else being in the room) the Princess Caroline to him. She very properly, in consequence of my saying to her it was the right mode of proceeding, attempted to kneel to him. He raised her (gracefully enough) and embraced her, said barely one word, turned round, retired to a distant part of the apartment, and, calling me to him, said: “Harris, I am not well; pray get me a glass of brandy.” I said: “Sir, had you not better have a glass of water?” Upon which he, much out of humour, said with an oath: “No; I will go directly to the Queen.” And away he went. The Princess, left during this short moment alone, was in a state of astonishment, and on my joining her said: “Mon Dieu, est-ce que le Prince est toujours comme cela? Je le trouve très gros et nullement aussi beau que son portrait.”’

What could the bringer of the bride say to comfort her? He stammered out that his Royal Highness was naturally much affected and fluttered—poor bashful man and susceptible creature—at the interview; but he would be better by dinner time!

The Princess, however, was not herself blameless. She had already entirely forgotten, or entirely disregarded, the good advice given to her by Lord Malmesbury, and, short as the time had been which she had spent at Greenwich with Lady Jersey, she had been foolish enough to communicate to that person the alleged fact of her heart having been already preoccupied by a young German. The interesting intelligence was speedily communicated to the Prince, and the knowledge so acquired—although the fact itself may have been at first doubted—certainly had great influence on the conduct observed by the bridegroom to the bride.

Lord Malmesbury was exceedingly perplexed. He had been so careful of his charge that when the chances of war had obstructed the progress of their journey, sooner than take her back to a court, the ladies of which, never expecting to see her raised to a more exalted station than that in which she was born, had treated her with great familiarity, he had conducted her to dull and decorous Hanover. So tender had he been of her that he would not allow her to remain at Osnaburg, for the simple reason that Count d’Artois was in the vicinity; and although Lord Malmesbury was, as he says, very far from attributing, either to him or to those who attended him, all those vices and dangerous follies which it was said belonged to them in the days of prosperity, yet he felt it highly improper that the Princess of Wales and a fugitive French prince should remain in the same place. His charge could not have had a colder welcome had such a meeting taken place, and all the inconveniences resulted from it which the noble lord foresaw and dreaded. The poor deserted lady was now upon the point of indulging in some sharp criticism upon her welcome, when her troubled conductor, feigning necessity to attend upon the King, left the room, and her alone in it, or with no better company than her meditations.

The usual Sunday drawing-room had just come to a close, and Lord Malmesbury found his Majesty at leisure to converse. The last thing, however, thought about by the King was the subject of the Princess. His whole conversation turned upon home and foreign politics. That ended, he inquired if the Princess were good-humoured. Lord Malmesbury reported favourably of her in this respect, and the King expressed his gratification in such a tone as to induce his lordship to believe that his Majesty had seen the Queen since she had seen the Prince, and heard from him an unfavourable report of the Princess.

The after-conduct of the latter was not calculated to create a favourable impression. At the dinner which took place that day the Princess was ‘flippant, rattling, affecting raillery and wit,’ and throwing out coarse, vulgar hints about Lady Jersey, who was present, silent, and biding her time. The disgust of the bridegroom was now permanently fixed; and the disgust raised by lightness of bearing and language passed into hatred when the Princess began to indulge in coarse sarcasm.

The Prince, heartily weary of his bargain, asked Lord Malmesbury, after one of these dinners, what he thought of the manners exhibited at them by the Princess. The envoy could not defend them; on the contrary, he expressed his unqualified censure, and informed the Prince of the paternal injunctions of the Duke of Brunswick, whereby he recommended that a strict curb should be kept upon the Princess, or she would certainly emancipate herself. The Prince declared that he saw it too plainly, and half reproachfully asked ‘Harris’ why he had not told him as much before. The envoy, thus appealed to, pleaded the strictness of his commission, which was not discretionary, but which directed him to ask for the hand of the Princess Caroline in marriage, and nothing more; and that, had he presumed to give any opinion of his own upon the lady, he would have been guilty of an impertinent disregard of his instructions, which were at once limited and imperative. Lord Malmesbury endeavoured to put the gentlest construction upon the sentiments expressed by the Duke of Brunswick concerning his daughter, and added that, for his own part, he had seen nothing but slight defects of character, which he hoped might be amended; and that, had he observed anything more serious, he should have considered it his duty to communicate it, but only confidentially, to the King himself. The Prince sighed, appeared to acquiesce, but was neither consoled nor convinced.

The ceremonial of the unhappy marriage was celebrated on Wednesday, the 8th of April, in the Chapel Royal, St. James’s. The whole of the royal family previously dined together at the Queen’s Palace, Buckingham House, after which they proceeded to their several apartments at St. James’s to dress. As the Princess passed through the hall of Buckingham House the King saluted her in the heartiest fashion, and then shook as heartily, by both hands, the Prince of Wales who had in vain sought to raise his spirits by the adventitious aid of wine. The bridal party assembled in the Queen’s apartment, and walked from thence to the state drawing-rooms, which were not rendered less gloomy than usual by any addition of festive light. They were ‘very dark,’ says Lord Malmesbury, who walked in the procession, by command of his Majesty. The chapel was very crowded. There is a picture of the interesting scene, which is said to have been painted, at the King’s command, by Hugh Douglas Hamilton, an Irish artist, whom both King and Queen had, formerly, much patronised. All the royal sons and daughters—a beautiful family group they were—are present in the Chapel Royal, St. James’s. The bride is dressed in a white satin dress, worked down the front with pearls. She wears a small crown, and from her shoulders falls a robe of rich red crimson velvet, lined with ermine. The Prince of Wales wears a court costume, knee breeches and buckles with pointed shoes. His coat, of blue velvet, is richly ornamented somewhat after the fashion of the ornaments on the dress of his bride. The ladies wear enormous hoops, except the bride, who has no hoop. Their hair is powdered, and their arms project from their bodies in rather a stiff attitude, rendered necessary by the projection of the hoops. They all wear long, white kid gloves, which extend nearly up to the elbow. Ostrich feathers bend or bow on the ladies’ heads, rising from the forehead, and curling gracefully at a considerable height. Near the bride are her ‘maids,’ Lady Mary Osborne, Lady Charlotte Legge, Lady Caroline Villiers, Lady Charlotte Spencer, Lady Caroline Waldegrave. When Queen Charlotte heard of this picture (she appears not to have sat for it) she is said to have declared that if it was brought into Windsor Castle she would go out of it. The King paid for but declined to receive this work, which ultimately was disposed of by lottery, and is now in the Tussaud Gallery, in Baker Street.

The ceremony which it represents was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Moore. The ‘Prince of Wales gave his hat, with a rich diamond button and loop, to Lord Harcourt to hold, and made him a present of it. After the marriage we returned to the Queen’s apartment. The Prince very civil and gracious, but I thought I could perceive he was not quite sincere, and certainly unhappy, and as a proof of it he had manifestly had recourse to wine or spirits.’

Upon this point Lord Holland has afforded ample corroborative evidence. The noble baron has stated that the Prince of Wales had had such recourse to brandy that he with difficulty could be kept upright between two dukes. The wedding was as melancholy a one as was ever celebrated. The only hearty actor in it was the King, who advanced to give the bride away with an eager alacrity. As for the bridegroom, after having been got upon his knees, he rose, unconsciously, but restlessly, before the proper time. The Archbishop paused, the service was interrupted, and the Prince looked very much as if he were inclined to run away. The King, however, had presence of mind for all. He rose from his seat, crossed to where his son was standing with a bewildered air, whispered to him, got him once more upon his knees, and so happily, or unhappily, brought the ceremony to a conclusion.

The usual legal formalities followed; these were succeeded by a supper at Buckingham House, and at midnight the luckless pair retired to their own residence at Carlton House, quarrelling with each other, it is said, by the way. Meanwhile the metropolis around them was rejoicing and exhibiting its gladness by the usual manifestations of much drunkenness and increased illumination to show it by. Asmodeus might have startled the Spanish student that night with an exhibition such as he had never seen beneath any of the unroofed houses of Madrid!

It sounds singular to hear that the young husband’s first serious occupation, on thus beginning life, was the settlement of his debts. These were enormous, and their amount only proved the reckless dishonesty of him who had incurred them. Mr. Pitt proposed that the income of the Prince should be 125,000l. a-year, exclusive of the revenue of the Duchy of Cornwall, some 13,000l. more. This was eventually agreed to. In addition, Parliament fixed the jointure of the Princess of Wales at 50,000l. per annum; and the smaller but pleasant items of 20,000l. for jewels and 26,000l. for furnishing Carlton House were also agreed upon. Out of the above-named revenue, however, a yearly deduction was to be made, in order that the debts of the Prince should be discharged within nine years. This deduction he denounced, and his brothers joined him in the denunciation, as a breach of contract, he having married solely upon the promise that his debts should be paid off at once. He immediately claimed the amount of the accumulation of the receipts of the Duchy of Cornwall during his minority. He was answered, on the part of the King, that the receipts had been expended on his education and establishment. The consequent debates were a scandal to the nation, a disgrace to royalty in the person of the Prince, and cruelly insulting to the Princess, as they betrayed to her the fact that the heir-apparent had accepted her as a consort solely on condition that his debts should be paid off. When the Romans made a bargain they confirmed it by breaking a bit of straw between them. This straw was called ‘stipula,’ and the Princess Caroline was the bit of straw that was broken—the stipulation, in fact, whereby it was agreed that if the Prince married the woman whom he already detested his creditors should have satisfaction in full of all demands!

Some of these were found heavy. There was a bill of 40,000l. to his farrier! Bills like these were allowed. Not so an annuity of 1,400l. to Mrs. Crouch, the actress. The Parliament took a commercial view of the matter and disallowed the claim, on the ground that no valuable consideration had been given for the liability which the Prince had voluntarily incurred. For the allowed debts, debentures payable with interest were given, and the Prince immediately withdrew into comparative retirement, in order, as Lord Moira stated in the House of Lords, that he might be able to save enough to discharge certain claims upon his honour. These claims were supposed to exist on the part of the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel and the Duke of Orleans, from whom the Prince had borrowed money. Perhaps they included the 10,000l. per annum which he had engaged himself to pay to Mrs. Fitzherbert, whom he had settled in a superb mansion in Park Lane, and comforted with assurances that his attentions to her would be as devoted now as before his marriage! All this was an outrage on the poor bride, whom the Prince took down to Windsor on a visit to the King and Queen. That persons might not suppose this was a commencement of positive domestic and virtuous life, the husband took with him his mistress, Lady Jersey.

The usual formality, which George III. loved, of visiting the public at the theatre, was observed on this occasion, and a short time after the royal marriage the wedded couple were accompanied to Covent Garden by the whole of the royal family. They were very dully entertained with the very worst of O’Keefe’s comedies, ‘Life’s Vagaries,’ in which two cousins fall in love and marry; and so perhaps the piece was thought appropriate. It was followed by ‘Windsor Castle,’ a pièce d’occasion by Pearce, who brought together in it Edward III., Peleus, the Prince of Wales, Minerva, Thetis, and the Countess of Kent. The last lady is represented as expected at the castle; she is detained on her way by an overflow of the Thames which threatens to drown her, and from which she is rescued by the Prince of Wales; whereupon all the heathen gods and goddesses are as much delighted as if they formed an Olympian Royal Humane Society, and exhibit their ecstasy by dancing and singing. In such wise were our rulers entertained when George III. was king.

Queen Charlotte had looked grimly cold upon the Princess, but she gave an entertainment in honour of the event which made Caroline of Brunswick a Princess of Wales. The locality was Frogmore, and the scene was brilliant, except that the hostess looked, as Lord Malmesbury once described her, ‘civil, but stiff,’ and her daughter-in-law superbly dressed, and black as midnight.

Meanwhile, the Prince’s first wife, Mrs. Fitzherbert, was in sorrow. Their honeymoon had not lasted long. The Prince had met Lady Jersey at Brighton, and a letter from him, which was put into Mrs. Fitzherbert’s hands at a dinner at the Duke of Clarence’s, where she had expected to meet the Prince, satisfied her that all intimacy between them had come to an end. From that time, according to what appears to be an erroneous statement in the ‘Memoirs of Mrs. Fitzherbert,’ ‘she never saw the Prince;’ and this interruption of their intimacy was followed by his marriage with the Queen (Princess) Caroline, brought about, as Mrs. Fitzherbert conceived, under the twofold influence of the pressure of his debts on the mind of the Prince, and a wish on the part of Lady Jersey to enlarge the royal establishment, in which she was to have an important situation!