FOOTNOTES:
[67] This was also a custom adopted by Prince Frederick.
[68] Mahon’s History of England.
[69] State Paper Office, Scotland, 1745, vol. i., VII.
[70] Chevalier Johnstone’s Memoirs, p. 73, 8vo ed.
[71] “Tales of a Grandfather.”
[72] Mahon, vol. 2, p. 203.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Summer Days.
All fear of the Pretender being dispelled, the Court turned to gaiety again, and the principal social event of the year 1746 was the marriage of the Princess Mary, the King’s second daughter, to the Prince of Hesse.
To celebrate this event there were a series of Royal entertainments, concerning one of which Horace Walpole relates a humorous incident. “A most ridiculous tumble t’other night at the Opera. They had not pegged up his,”—the Prince of Hesse’s, “box tight after the Ridotto, and down he came on all fours. George Selwyn says he carried it off with unembarrassed countenance.”
The marriage, however, proved a sad one for poor Princess Mary. She was back again in England in a year, under the excuse of having to drink the Bath waters, but really to escape from the cruelty of her husband. She was glad enough to get back to her favourite brother and sister, the Duke of Cumberland and the Princess Caroline; the former just in the full enjoyment of his new title, “the Butcher.” So common had this sobriquet become among the public, that when the Duke lost his sword one night at the opera, the people remarked: “The Butcher has lost his knife!”
However, the troubles of his newly-married daughter did not much affect the King. He was particularly annoyed about this time—1747—by a new opposition created by the Prince of Wales, which it was declared was to last until he ascended the throne. Father and son, despite their fussy reconciliation, were as far apart as ever, and the reception given by the King to the Duke of Cumberland after his bloody errand in the North, had not tended to mend matters.
Horace Walpole thus comments on the Prince’s new opposition:—
“He began it pretty handsomely the other day,” he remarks, “with one hundred and forty-three to one hundred and eighty-four, which has frightened the Ministry like a bomb. This new Party wants nothing but heads,” he continues, “though not having any, to be sure, the struggle is fairer.”
The Party was led by Lord Baltimore, “a man with a good deal of fumbled knowledge.”
An anecdote is related of the Prince of Wales’s second son, Edward Duke of York, whom Horace Walpole describes as “a very plain boy with strange loose eyes, but was much the favourite. He is a sayer of things.”
This is one of the “things” recorded of him:—
Baron Steinberg, one of the King’s Hanoverians, was sent by His Majesty to inform him of the progress of the Princes George and Edward in their studies.
Prince Edward showed considerable knowledge of his Latin Grammar, but Steinberg told him that it would please the King if he made himself more proficient in German.
“German, German,” repeated Edward, “any dull child can learn that.” Saying which he squinted with his “loose” eyes at the German Baron, who no doubt went back to the grandfather with a very unfavourable report.
But the old man was fond of his grandchildren—as far as it was in his nature to be—and determined to distinguish his heir at an early age, by conferring upon him the Order of the Garter; this was done in 1749, privately in the Palace.
The fact of the Prince of Wales having united his Party with that of the Jacobites in opposition to the Government did not interfere with King George bestowing this honour on his son. Perhaps the old man was softening a little, and becoming kinder at any rate to his grandchildren.
The relations existing between the King and the Prince of Wales at this time are very clearly shown by the manner in which the Order of the Garter was conferred on Prince George. The Prince of Wales carried the child, he was then eleven, in his arms to the door of the King’s Chamber; there he was taken in the arms of the Duke of Dorset and carried within the chamber to the King, the Prince of Wales remaining where he was, outside the door, which was half open.
National Portrait Gallery.Emery Walker.
PRINCE GEORGE (afterwards George III) AND PRINCE EDWARD, HIS BROTHER, SONS OF PRINCE FREDERICK, WITH THEIR TUTOR, DR. AYSCOUGH.
The child Prince, arriving in the presence of the King, commenced to repeat a speech which had been taught him by his tutor. Dr. Ayscough, Dean of Bristol. No sooner did the Prince of Wales hear his son commence his oration than he called out loudly, “No! No!”
The boy stumbled and stopped and then after an effort went on again, but his father for some reason would have none of it, and this time a more determined “No” stopped little Prince George altogether, and his fine speech was wasted.
But nevertheless he was duly invested with the Garter, an honour the magnitude of which it is doubtful whether he appreciated at that age.
Here is an extract from the Gentleman’s Magazine recording an event about the same time.
Thursday, 25th May, 1749 (O.S.).
“Being the birthday of H.R.H. Prince George, who entered into his twelfth year, the nobility and gentry paid their compliments at Leicester House. About seven in the evening the silver cup, value twenty-five guineas, given by the Prince, was rowed for by seven pairs of oars, from Whitehall to Putney. Their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales, with the nobility, were rowed in their barges ahead of the wager-men, followed by Prince George, the young Princesses, etc., in a magnificent new barge, after the Venetian manner, and the watermen dressed in Chinese habits, which, with the number of galleys attending, rowed by young gentlemen in neat uniforms, made a splendid appearance.
“The Prince has also given a plate to be sailed for by six or seven yachts, or pleasure boats, to the Nore, and back again.”
This last prize was sailed for on Tuesday, 1st August, 1749, and was won by the “Princess Augusta” belonging to George Bellas, Esq., a “register” of Doctor’s Commons.
The Prince of Wales attended in his Venetian-Chinese barge (the rowers in Chinese habits) being greatly cheered by the people, “at which he pulled off his hat.”
Turning to other matters, there was an accident at Kensington Palace which occurred when Lady Yarmouth—our old acquaintance Madame Walmoden—took up her quarters there, very nearly causing the demolition of the building, which would have been an event much to be regretted from the point of view of picturesqueness.
The Walmoden was installed in the same rooms which the King’s former mistress the Countess of Suffolk occupied, and they were exceedingly damp, a drawback which apparently was not heeded by Lady Suffolk. The Walmoden, however, was a chilly person, and contracted ague, which was rather to be wondered at on such a well-known gravel soil.
However, to counteract this complaint, she made up such huge fires that the woodwork of the building caught and the palace was nearly burnt down.
There were plenty of other less damp rooms, but the King would not allow them to be used, and commenting on this Horace Walpole remarks:
“The King hoards all he can, and has locked up half the Palace since the Queen’s death, so he does at St. James’s, and I believe would put the rooms out at interest if he could get a closet a year for them.”
But as the King grew older, there were no further signs of a rapprochement between himself and his eldest son, and no doubt the latter’s lavish expenditure—on such things as Venetian barges with Chinese crews—tended to set the father as he grew more avaricious, more against the son. But the riches hoarded by King George did not endure, but were swallowed up in that disastrous Hanoverian campaign, which also swallowed up the military reputation of the Duke of Cumberland, and put a final period to his war experiences.
The following extracts from the Gentleman’s Magazine, for the year 1750, are pathetic when read by the light of an event which followed but too quickly.
They represent the Prince, in fine summer weather, with his wife and children, happily making a “Progress” and visiting certain English country towns. There is a holiday air of peace and relaxation about them all, and the Prince is shown in those circumstances in which he loved best to live, with a devoted and beautiful wife, for whom without doubt he had a tender affection, by his side, and a bevy of loving children surrounding them both.
So in the balmy summer air, rent by the plaudits of the people who loved him also, it is better to leave him so depicted in the last public scene in which he appears in these pages, for that happy summer of 1750 was the last he spent on earth.
Wednesday, July 11th, 1750.
Their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales, and Lady Augusta, eldest daughter of their Royal Highnesses, arrived at Bath, attended by the Lords Bathurst, Middlesex, Bute and Inchiquin, and four or five gentlemen and ladies. The Mayor, Aldermen and Common Council of Bath waited on their Royal Highnesses, to congratulate them on their arrival; when Mr. Clutterbuck, Deputy Town Clerk, made the following speech:
“May it please your Royal Highnesses to permit us the Mayor, aldermen and citizens of this city to approach your Royal Highnesses with hearts full of joy on your safe arrival here, an addition of your many favours to us, of which we retain the most grateful sense. It gives us the greater satisfaction when we consider that this indulgent visit is not on the occasion of your Royal Highnesses’ health, and that it affords us this happy opportunity of congratulating you on the birth of another Prince, an increase of his Majesty’s family. We beg leave to assure your Royal Highnesses that the power we enjoy as magistrates shall, on this and all other occasions, be exercised in strict loyalty and obedience to his Majesty and his family.”
To which his Royal Highness returned the following answer:
“I and the Princess thank you for this mark of duty to the King and regard to us; the city of Bath may always depend on my good wishes.”
Friday, July 13th.
Their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales, with the Princess Augusta and some of the nobility, went on wherries about four miles down the river from Bath to Salford, and dined in publick under two tents in a large mead, where abundance of the country people resorted, and to whom his Highness gave several hogsheads of beer. A band of musicians attended the whole time.
Letter from Gosport, August 17th, 1750.
On the 15th, in the afternoon, their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales, with the Princes William and Henry and Princess Augusta, arrived in the harbour in the Commissioner’s yacht. Before they went on shore they did Sir Edward Hawke the honour of a visit on board the “Monarch” man-of-war; from thence they went on shore to the Commissioner’s house, where they lodged that night.
Next morning his Royal Highness surveyed the dock and yard, then went on board the guard-ships, which were all made clear to receive him; there the exercise of the great guns was performed in his presence, at which he expressed much satisfaction.
His Highness afterwards landed at the Sally Port of Portsmouth, and walked round the fortifications, attended by one of the engineers with a plan of them. From whence he went in the Commissioner’s coach, attended by Sir Edward Hawke, the Commissioner and engineer, to see Cumberland Fort, and about three o’clock he embarked on board the yacht at Southsea Castle. Words cannot express the joy and pleasure all ranks and degrees of people expressed at his presence amongst us.
Saturday, 18th August, 1750.
The Prince and Princess of Wales arrived in the Isle of Wight, and after viewing Carisbrooke Castle, came to Newport, and were met by the Mayor and Corporation in their formalities, and conducted with great acclamations to the Guildhall, where his Royal Highness did the Corporation the honour to accept the freedom of the town, and at five in the evening departed for Southampton.
Southampton, August 18th.
About nine in the evening their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess landed at our Key. Our Mayor being confined to his bed by sickness, they were met by his deputy, Robert Sadlier, Esquire, and the rest of the Corporation, in their scarlet robes, and by Mrs. Mayoress, and several ladies of the town, and conducted to the Council Chamber, where a collation of sweetmeats and wines of divers kinds were prepared, preceded by the town trumpets, and the sergeants bearing the maces and silver oar, attended with flambeaux and torches, in the midst of loud acclamations of the populace, the bells in every church ringing, and the houses being illuminated all the time of their continuing in the town.
On their Royal Highnesses’ arrival in the Council Chamber the Prince saluted the ladies present, and the Corporation and gentlemen had the honour of kissing their hands (sic); and afterwards, their Royal Highnesses having taken their seats, Mr. Godfrey, the Town Clerk, in the name of the Corporation, made a speech to them, concluding with a humble request that his Royal Highness would accept the freedom of the town; with which he complied, assuring them that he should be always ready to promote the happiness of the town. His Royal Highness also upon his being solicited that the Princes present should be made free, not only consented thereto, but also directed his two eldest sons, the Princes George and Edward, to be enrolled with them. Their Royal Highnesses then set out for the seat of William Midford, Esquire; where the two Princes reside for the benefit of the salt water.
The Duke of Queensberry was also presented with his freedom and took the usual oath.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Finis.
Under the date of March 6th, 1751, Bubb Doddington—who had entered the Prince’s household in July, 1749—writes in his Diary:
“Went to Leicester House where the Prince told me he had catched cold the day before at Kew, and had been blooded.”[73]
The full history of the catching of the cold was as follows:—
It seems that at the commencement of this year the Prince had had an attack of pleurisy from which he had not entirely recovered. Nevertheless he was most careless of his health, a habit he had derived from his father, who on one occasion, when he refused to nurse himself was asked by Walpole:
“Sir, do you know what your father died of? Thinking he could not die!”
Frederick in this way certainly partook of this attribute of George the Second.
In addition to the attack of pleurisy, the Prince had during the previous year had a severe fall from his horse, which had left him ailing. It cannot be doubted that his constitution had been showing signs of breaking down for some months before the attack of pleurisy in the winter.
However, on the 5th of March, 1751, he attended at the House of Lords to hear his father give his sanction to some Acts of Parliament.
This ceremony concluded, the Prince left the hot Chamber, no doubt overcrowded and stuffy, and came out into the cold March wind, proceeding to Carlton House in his chair with the windows down. In other words sitting in a thorough draught. This was not sufficient; at Carlton House he took off his heavy ceremonial suit, and replaced it by light unaired clothing. He appears then to have hurried off to Kew, and there walked about the Gardens in a cold wind for three hours. Returning to Carlton House he lay upon a couch in a room without a fire, with the windows open.
It appears that the Earl of Egmont, who was a member of his household, came into the room, and finding him there reasoned with him on the risk he was running, no doubt knowing full well that the Prince was in a weak state of health.
Frederick simply laughed at the idea of danger, and finally went over to Leicester House.
It is not surprising that when Mr. Doddington called there the next day, he found him very ill.
But not so ill as to warrant him calling there again the day following.
He went, however, on March 8th, and this is the entry he made of the visit in his diary:
“March 8th. The Prince not recovered. Our passing the next week at Kew put off.”
Doddington did not consider the Prince ill enough for a visit on the 9th, but he went there again on the 10th.
“At Leicester House. The Prince was better and saw company.”
Incredible as it may appear, the Prince seems to have gone out to supper at Carlton House on the 12th, and relapsed of course.
Doddington did not go again until the 13th, and then he recorded the following:—
“At Leicester House. The Prince did not appear, having a return of a pain in his side.” And no wonder!
This pain in his side was the worst symptom of the Prince’s illness, had the doctors but known it; but the diagnosis of a case in those days must have been a very rough and ready affair.
It has been mentioned that some years before Frederick had received a blow on the chest from a cricket ball—some say a tennis ball—while playing on the lawn at Cliefden. It had caused him some pain, but, as usual, he had neglected it, and some trouble had formed there; trouble perhaps, fostered by the abundance of the bons-pères the Prince was in the habit of drinking in the custom of the time. Now on the 13th of March Doddington records that the Prince had a return of a pain in his side. This was doubtless the old spot injured by the cricket ball.
Doddington was evidently now getting alarmed—and he had reason for it, for all his hopes and many ambitions were centred in the Prince—he went to Leicester House the next day and writes down carefully the result of his visit.
“14. At Leicester House. The Prince asleep—twice blooded, and with a blister on his back, as also on both legs, that night.”
He was there again on the 15th.
“The Prince ... and was out of all danger.”
“16. The Prince without pain or fever.”
It is told that in this painless interval, Frederick did that, which perhaps he had been longing to do in those weary days and nights of suffering. He sent for his eldest son George. Then when the boy came, in his state of weakness, his mind seemed to revert to the unkindness of his own father and the bitterness that unkindness had mingled with his life. With his arms round the child he dearly loved, and with the boy’s fair head drawn down to his own, he said these touching words:—
“Come, George, let us be good friends while we are permitted to be so.”
He had evidently, in his mind, the fear that his father would sooner or later come between him and his boy.
The Prince is said to have had three physicians in attendance on him, of whom Dr. Lee was one, and two surgeons, Wilmot and Hawkins, to do the copious blood letting, which doubtless drained away his strength.
But of these five doctors not one saw the imminent danger he was in.
Doddington, however, was still anxious, and was at the Prince’s again on the 17th.
“Went twice to Leicester House. The Prince had a bad night, till one this morning, then was better, and continued so.”
He was there again on the 18th.
“The Prince better and sat up half an hour.”
The general impression then was that Frederick was recovering, and Doddington did not call again the next day at all. Cards were indulged in by the members of the Prince’s family and some of the household in an adjacent room, and Frederick’s faithful follower Desnoyers, the French dancing-master and violinist, was admitted to soothe the invalid with his beautiful music. He sat by the bed and played to him with that wonderful touch for which he was celebrated.
It is not difficult to reconstruct that scene on the evening of the 20th of March. Doddington had called at Leicester House at three o’clock in the afternoon, and had been told that the Prince was much better and had slept eight hours the night before. Doddington had gone off quite satisfied to the House of Commons.
But now it is evening, late evening, past nine o’clock, the Prince is lying thoughtful in his high four-post bedstead. The room is lighted by wax candles, their glare shaded from his eyes by the curtains of the bed; by his bedside is the old French dancing-master, violin in hand playing some soft melody which Frederick loves; this soft strain is broken occasionally by the voices of the card players in an adjoining room.
Stealing about the large room with soft tread are the pompous doctors, the ignorant doctors, who declared their patient to be getting well.
Stately bewigged powdered men these, with silver topped canes carried almost as wands of office; ready at a moment’s notice to draw the lifeblood from their patient, or to order their dispensers in attendance on them in a room hard by to pound up a nauseous drug, in a great mortar, to be administered crude in a revolting draught without any attempt to conceal its horrid taste, for medicine was not administered in those days, in attractive tinctures, with every bitterness covered by some subtle flavouring; it was taken usually in the form of a gritty, stringy draught which turned the stomach of the patient.
But around the sick chamber flitted the young wife of Frederick; she was only thirty-two then, and the mother of eight children, which number was very soon to be increased to nine. She was a most devoted wife and scarcely left him, it is said, during his illness.
There Frederick lay thinking, with the soft notes of the violin floating around him, and the jarring laughter of the card players breaking in upon him at times. Perhaps he was thinking of his boy George as the music moved him, as it will an artistic nature.
“Come, George, let us be good friends while we are permitted to be so!”
A clock has just struck the half hour after nine; perhaps the last thought in Frederick’s mind, as he is lying there listening to Desnoyer’s music, is of the God he is so soon to meet. The hand of the clock creeps on to the quarter; it is nearly a quarter to ten.
Suddenly the music stops. Frederick is taken with a violent fit of coughing; when it ceases, Dr. Wilmot comes to the bedside.
“I trust Your Royal Highness will be better now, and pass a quiet night.”
The Princess comes to the foot of the bed and leans over it; Dr. Hawkins approaches the Prince with a candle and gazes anxiously at him; at last he sees something which alarms him, the cough breaks out again with increased violence, Desnoyer places his arms round the Prince and raises him in the bed to relieve him, as he does so the Prince shivers and cries out:—
“Je sens la mort!” (I feel death.)
Desnoyers alarmed, cries out to the Princess at the foot of the bed:—
“Madame, the Prince is going.” She rushes round to the head of the bed and bends over her husband.
It is over; he is dead.
And from the next room comes a burst of laughter from the card players.