Caroline the Illustrious, vol. 2 (of 2)

by W. H. Wilkins

FOOTNOTES TO BOOK III, CHAPTER X:

[97] London Gazette, 27th December, 1729.

[98] Daily Courant, 31st January, 1733.

[99] Sundon Correspondence. The Bishop of Killala to Mrs. Clayton, Dublin, 17th April, 1731.

[100] Ibid., 19th March, 1730.

[101] Sundon Correspondence. The Rev. Charles Chevenix to Lady Sundon, London, 24th November, 1734.

[102] Sundon Correspondence. Bishop Hoadley to Mrs. Clayton [undated].

[103] Hervey’s Memoirs.

CHAPTER XI.
THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL. 1733–1734.

Soon after the withdrawal of the excise scheme the King sent a message to Parliament with the news that his eldest daughter, the Princess Royal, was betrothed to the Prince of Orange. The match was not a brilliant one, for the Prince was deformed, not of royal rank, and miserably poor. But the “Prince of Orange” was still a name to be conjured with among the Whigs and the Protestant supporters of the dynasty generally, and the announcement was popular, as a further guarantee of the Protestant succession. The Government regained some of the credit they had lost over the excise scheme and Parliament willingly voted the Princess a dower of £80,000, which was double the sum ever given before to a princess of the blood royal.

The Princess Royal had no affection for her betrothed, whom she had never even seen, but she was exceedingly anxious to be married. It was said at court that the King of France had once entertained the idea of asking her hand in marriage for the Dauphin, but her grandfather, George the First, would not listen to it on account of the difference of religion. There was no evidence to support this story, and it was certain that since George the Second had ascended the throne no suitor of any importance had come forward; so that, despite his drawbacks, the Prince of Orange was the best husband that could be got. Indeed, it seemed as though it were a choice between him and no husband at all. The Prince of Wales was exceedingly indignant with his sister for getting married before him, and so obtaining a separate establishment, a thing for which he had hitherto asked in vain. He need not have envied her, for she was making a match that would satisfy neither her love nor her ambition.

The Queen showed no enthusiasm for the marriage, and the negotiations were unduly prolonged. Months passed before everything was settled, and it was November before the Prince of Orange set out for England and his intended bride. A royal yacht was sent to escort him to English shores, and, according to a journal: “The person who brought the first news of the Prince of Orange being seen off Margate was one who kept a public house there; who, upon seeing the yacht, immediately mounted his horse and rode to Canterbury, where he took post horses and came to St. James’s at eleven o’clock on Monday night. Her Majesty ordered him twenty guineas and Sir Robert Walpole five. Twenty he hath since laid out on a silver tankard, on which his Majesty’s arms are engraved.”[104]

Probably this messenger was the only person who had reason to rejoice at the arrival of the Prince of Orange. The Prince was lodged in Somerset House, and many of the nobility went to wait upon him there, hoping by paying him their court to please the King. They little knew that the King and Queen were in their hearts opposed to the match, and had only yielded to it from political exigencies, and the impossibility of finding any other suitable suitor for their daughter. The Queen sent Lord Hervey to Somerset House with orders to come back and tell her “without disguise what sort of hideous animal she was to prepare herself to see”. The Prince was not nearly so bad as he had been painted, for though he was deformed, he had a pleasant and engaging manner. The Queen seemed more interested in the appearance of the future bridegroom than the bride herself, for the Princess Royal, when she heard of the arrival of her lover, continued playing the harpsichord with some of the opera people as though nothing had happened. “For my part,” said the Queen, “I never said the least word to encourage her in this marriage or to dissuade her from it.” The King, too, left the Princess at liberty, but as she was determined to marry some one, and as the Prince, though not a crowned King, was the head of a petty state, she said that she was willing to marry him.[105] The King then remembered his duty as a father, and not too nicely warned his daughter of the Prince’s physical unattractiveness, but she said she was resolved, if he were a baboon, to marry him. “Well, then, marry him,” retorted the King in a huff, “and you’ll have baboon enough I warrant you.”

The wedding was arranged to take place immediately after the arrival of the bridegroom elect, but as ill-luck would have it the Prince fell sick of a fever, and for some months lay dangerously ill. During the whole time of his sickness none of the Royal Family went to visit him, or took any notice of him, by command of the King, who wished to inculcate the doctrine that before his marriage to the Princess the Prince of Orange was nobody, and could only become somebody through alliance with the Royal Family. The Prince, though he must have felt this neglect, behaved with great good sense, and as soon as he was able to go out, he went to St. James’s Palace to pay his respects as if nothing had happened. He had an interview with his future bride, and stayed to dinner with the princesses informally. When the King heard of it he was very angry, and forbade them to receive him any more without his permission. The occasion did not arise, for a few days later the Prince of Orange went to Bath for a cure, and did not return to London until a fortnight before his wedding.

The marriage took place on March 14th, 1734. The Princess Royal, who had maintained an impassive front throughout her engagement, neither evincing pleasure at the Prince’s arrival, nor sorrow at his illness, showed the same impassive demeanour at her wedding. The ceremony took place at night in the Chapel Royal, St. James’s. A covered gallery of wood was built outside, through which the procession had to pass. This gallery gave great offence to old Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, who could see it from her windows of Marlborough House. It had been erected when the wedding was first settled to take place, four months before, and she was indignant at its being left standing so long. “I wonder,” she said, “when neighbour George will remove his orange chest.” On the night of the wedding, the “orange chest” was illuminated from end to end, and accommodated four thousand people who were favoured with tickets to see the processions pass. At seven o’clock in the evening the bridegroom with his attendants was waiting in the great council chamber of St. James’s, the bride with her ladies was ready in the great drawing-room, and the King and Queen, with the rest of the Royal Family were assembled in the smaller drawing-room. Three processions were then marshalled, that of the bridegroom, that of the bride, and that of the King and Queen. The Chapel Royal was upholstered for the occasion more like a theatre than a place of worship, being hung with velvet, gold and silver tissue, fringes, tassels, gilt lustres, and so forth. The Prince of Orange was magnificently clad in gold and silver, and as he wore a long wig that flowed down his back and concealed his figure, he made a more presentable appearance than was expected. The Princess Royal was also gorgeously attired; she wore a robe of silver tissue, and her ornaments included a necklace of twenty-two immense diamonds; her train, which was six yards long, was supported by ten bridesmaids, the daughters of dukes and earls, who were also clad in silver tissue. The Queen and her younger daughters were visibly affected during the ceremony, and could not restrain their tears at the sacrifice they considered the Princess was making. The King, who had shown himself very restive before the wedding, behaved very well on the day, but the Prince of Wales, though he was tolerably civil to the bridegroom, could not bring himself to be cordial to the bride.

At twelve o’clock, the Prince and Princess of Orange supped in public with the Royal Family, and after the banquet, which lasted two hours, came the most curious part of the ceremony. The English Court had borrowed a custom from Versailles, and a most trying one it must have been for the bride and bridegroom. As soon as the Prince and Princess of Orange had retired, the whole court were admitted to see them sitting up in bed—that is to say, the courtiers passed through the room and made obeisance. The bridegroom, now that he had doffed his fine clothes and peruke, did not look his best, but the bride maintained her self-possession, even under this ordeal. Referring next morning to the sight of the princely pair in bed, the Queen exclaimed: “Ah! mon Dieu! quand je voiois entrer ce monstre pour coucher avec ma fille, j’ai pensé m’évanouir; je chancelois auparavant, mais ce coup là m’a assommée.”

The Princesses bewailed the fate of their sister quite as much as their mother. Princess Amelia declared that nothing on earth would have induced her to marry such a monster. Their lamentations were wasted. The Princess of Orange, to her credit be it said, determined to make the best of her husband, and she behaved towards him in a most dutiful manner, and made his interests her own.

The Prince and Princess of Orange stayed in England for six weeks after their marriage, and the Prince bade fair to become a popular hero. For the time, he quite outshone the Prince of Wales as the idol of the hour. This was very noticeable at the theatre; when the Prince of Wales came into the house he was received with but moderate applause, but the instant the Prince of Orange appeared the whole theatre rang with shouts and cheers. The King, too, noticed these signs of popular feeling and became jealous, and anxious to send his son-in-law back to Holland as soon as possible. The King was exceedingly unpopular, and the “Prince of Orange” was an ominous name in England to a royal father-in-law. The City of London, the University of Oxford, and many towns presented addresses on the occasion of the marriage of the Princess Royal, which, though couched in complimentary language, yet contained many covert sarcasms. They dwelt so much on the services rendered to England by a Prince who bore the name of Orange, and expressed so fervently the hope that this Prince might follow his great namesake’s example, that it almost seemed as if they wished him to depose his father-in-law, as William of Orange had deposed King James. The address of the City of London, for example, was thus paraphrased:—

Most gracious sire behold before you

Your prostrate subjects that adore you—

The Mayor and citizens of London,

By loss of trade and taxes undone,

Who come with gratulations hearty

Altho’ they’re of the Country Party,

To wish your Majesty much cheer

On Anna’s marriage with Mynheer.

Our hearts presage, from this alliance,

The fairest hopes, the brightest triumphs;

For if one Revolution glorious

Has made us wealthy and victorious.

Another, by just consequence,

Must double both our power and pence:

We therefore hope that young Nassau,

Whom you have chose your son-in-law,

Will show himself of William’s stock,

And prove a chip of the same block.

ANNE, PRINCESS ROYAL, AND THE PRINCE OF ORANGE.

The King was exceedingly restive under these historical parallels, and became more and more anxious to speed the parting guest. Therefore, at the end of April the Prince and Princess of Orange embarked at Greenwich for Holland. The parting of the Princess with her family was most affecting—except with her brother the Prince of Wales, who did not trouble to take leave of her at all. Her mother and sisters wept bitterly over her, the King “gave her a thousand kisses and a shower of tears, but not one guinea”. Yet, such is human nature, after a few weeks the Princess was as much forgotten at the English Court as though she had never existed.

Another familiar figure disappeared from the Court a few months later (in November, 1734), namely, Lady Suffolk, better known as Mrs. Howard. She had often wished to resign her office, but her circumstances for one reason did not admit of her doing so, and for another the Queen always persuaded her to remain, lest a younger and less amenable lady might take her place. The King, who had long since tired of her, resented this action on the part of the Queen. “I do not know,” he said, “why you will not let me part with a deaf old woman of whom I am weary?” Mrs. Howard was weary too, and had come to loathe her bonds. But what brought matters to a crisis cannot be certainly stated, it was probably a combination of events.

The year before, shortly after he succeeded to the earldom, Lord Suffolk died, and Lady Suffolk was left a widow, for which no doubt she was devoutly thankful. She was now free to marry again; and if she did not she possessed a moderate competency, which would enable her to live in a position befitting her rank. Lady Suffolk was friendly with many members of the Opposition, including Bolingbroke, who was of all persons most disliked at court. It was said by her enemies that she had a political intrigue with him, and had met him at Bath. Coxe tells a story which seems to show that the Queen was at the bottom of Lady Suffolk’s retirement. “Lord Chesterfield,” he says, “had requested the Queen to speak to the King for some trifling favour; the Queen promised, but forgot it. A few days afterwards, recollecting her promise, she expressed regret at her forgetfulness, and added she would certainly mention it that very day. Chesterfield replied that her Majesty need not give herself that trouble, for Lady Suffolk had spoken to the King. The Queen made no reply, but on seeing the King told him she had long promised to mention a trifling request to his Majesty, but it was now needless, because Lord Chesterfield had just informed her that she had been anticipated by Lady Suffolk. The King, who always preserved great decorum with the Queen, and was very unwilling to have it supposed that the favourite interfered, was extremely displeased both with Lord Chesterfield and his mistress. The consequence was that in a short time Lady Suffolk went to Bath for her health, and returned no more to Court.”

It is possible that some such incident occurred, but it could not have been the immediate cause of Lady Suffolk’s retirement, as she held office for more than a year after Lord Chesterfield was dismissed in consequence of voting against the excise. It is true she went to Bath, and probably met Bolingbroke there too, but it is unlikely that she had a political intrigue with him. On her return to court, the King seems first to have ignored her, and then to have insulted her publicly. This was the last straw, and Mrs. Howard determined to resign at once. The Duke of Newcastle wrote to Walpole: “You will see by the newspapers that Lady Suffolk has left the Court. The particulars that I had from the Queen are, that last week she acquainted the Queen with her design, putting it upon the King’s unkind usage of her. The Queen ordered her to stay a week, which she did, but last Monday had another audience, complained again of her unkind treatment from the King, was very civil to the Queen, and went that night to her brother’s house in St. James’s Square.”[106]

The Duke of Newcastle’s statement is borne out by a curious manuscript, entitled “Memorandum of the conversation between Queen Caroline and Lady Suffolk, upon Lady Suffolk’s retiring from her Majesty’s service, 1734”.[107] This memorandum was probably jotted down by Lady Suffolk soon after her interview with the Queen, and runs as follows:—

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, I believe your Majesty will think that I have more assurance than ever anybody had to stay so long in your family, after the public manner his Majesty has given me of his displeasure. But I hope, when I tell you that it occasioned my not waiting sooner upon your Majesty, you will not think it was owing to assurance. I have always had, and I hope I have always shown, the greatest duty and attention for everything that relates to your Majesty, and I could not think it was proper, whilst you were so indisposed, to trouble you with anything relating to me, but I come now, Madam, to beg your leave to retire.”

The Queen: “You surprise me. What do you mean? I do not believe the King is angry. When has he shown his displeasure? Did I receive you as if you were under mine?”

Lady Suffolk: “No, madam. If your Majesty had treated me in the same manner as his Majesty did, I never could have had the assurance to appear again in your presence.”

The Queen: “Child, you dream. I saw the King speak to you; I remember now.”

Lady Suffolk: “Yes, madam, and his words marked more strongly his displeasure than his silence, before and since.”

The Queen: “Tell me, has the King really never been down with you since your return?”

Lady Suffolk: “No, madam. Will your Majesty give me leave to tell what has passed?...”[108]

The Queen: “Upon my word I did not know it.”

Lady Suffolk: “I hope you take nothing ill of me....”

The Queen: “Come, my dear Lady Suffolk, you are very warm, but believe me I am your friend, your best friend. You do not know a court. It is not proper of me to say this, but indeed you do not know a court.”

Lady Suffolk: “I am very sensible that I do not, and feel I do not; I have had a most convincing proof that I am ignorant. But I am afraid, madam, if I have not got knowledge in twenty years I never shall now.”

The Queen: “Why don’t you talk to your friends? I always do so. Indeed you cannot judge this for yourself.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, if twenty years’ service has not been able to prevent me from falling a sacrifice to my enemies, would your Majesty have me, by calling in my friends, make them answerable for the measure I shall take, and involve them in my ruin?”

The Queen: “Child, your enemies want to get you out, and they will be the first to drop you. Oh! my dear Lady Suffolk, you do not know, when you are out, how different people will behave.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, the first part of what your Majesty says I am very sure of, but really, madam, I do not understand the second part, and if some people may show me it was the courtier and not me that was liked, I cannot say that to keep such acquaintances will be any argument to me to stay at Court. Madam, such are better lost than kept.”

The Queen: “You are very warm.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, I beg if, in talking to your Majesty, I say one word that does not mark the respect both to his and your Majesties, you will be pleased to tell me; for, madam, I come fully determined to take my leave, with the same respect, submission and duty, as I have behaved for twenty years. Your Majesty has often told me that I have never failed in anything for your service in any of those places that you have honoured me with. Madam, I do not know how far your Majesty may think it respectful to make this declaration, but I beg that I may for a moment speak of the King only as a man that was my friend. He has been dearer to me than my own brother, so, madam, as a friend I feel resentment at being ill-treated, and sorry to have lost his friendship; but as my King and my master I have the greatest submission to his pleasure, and wish I knew what I was accused of, for I know my innocence. But, madam, I know it must be some horrid crime.”

The Queen: “Oh! fie! you commit a crime! Do not talk so.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, as I know his Majesty’s goodness, his justice, his warmth of friendship, I know he could not for anything else punish me so severely.”

The Queen: “I daresay that if you have a little patience the King will treat you as he does the other ladies. I suppose that would satisfy you.”

Lady Suffolk: “No, madam. Why, did you never see him show what you call ‘respect’ to the Duchess of R—— and to Lady A——? Madam, I believe and I hope they are ladies of more merit than I, and possibly in every respect of greater consequence than I am; but in this case is very different. They have not lived twenty years conversing every day with his Majesty, nor had the same reason to think themselves honoured with his friendship as I have had till now; nor has it been in his power to give the public so remarkable an instance of his displeasure of them. Consider, madam, I have been absent seven weeks, and returned sooner than was proper for my health to do my duty in my place to your Majesty, and to show my respect to his Majesty on his birthday.”

The Queen: “I heard that you were at the Bath, and that you did not design to come back; but I did not mind such reports.”

Lady Suffolk: “I heard, too, madam, that I was not to come back, and that my business was done at Court. I knew, madam, that I had a mistress who had often told me that she was perfectly satisfied with my services. I felt I had a king, and master, and a friend, (whom I could not, nor ever will, suspect of injustice) who would not punish me without I was guilty, and I knew, madam, I had done nothing. But still these reports must now make me think his Majesty’s public neglect could not escape any bystanders, and I know it was remarked, for my brother came on Thursday morning and asked if it were true that the King took no notice of me since I came from the Bath.”

The Queen: “Well, child, you know that the King leaves it to me. I will answer for it that all will be as well with you as with any of the ladies, and I am sure you can’t leave my service then.”

Lady Suffolk: “Really, madam, I do not see how it is possible for me to continue in it. I have lost what is dearer to me than anything in the world. I am to be put upon the footing of the Duchess of R—— or Lady A——, and so by the public thought to be forgiven of some very grave offence because I have been your servant twenty years. No, madam, I never will be forgiven an offence that I have not committed.”

The Queen: “You won’t be forgotten. This is indeed the G.L. (sic) why I am forgiven.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, your Majesty and I cannot be named together. It is a play of words for your Majesty, but it is a serious thing for me.”

The Queen: “Why, child, I am the King’s subject as well as you.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, what I mean is what I cannot make your Majesty understand unless you are pleased to lay aside the Queen and put yourself in my place for some moments. After twenty years to be ill-treated without knowing your crime, and then stay upon the foot of the Duchess of A——!”

The Queen: “Upon my word, Lady Suffolk, you do not consider what the world will say. For God’s sake, consider your character. You leave me because the King will not be more particular to you than to others.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, as for my character, the world must have settled that long ago, whether just or unjust, but, madam, I think I have never been thought to betray his Majesty, or to have done any dishonest thing by any person whatever, and I defy my greatest enemies (your Majesty owns I have such) to prove anything against me, and I cannot and will not submit to anything that may make that believed of me.”

The Queen: “Oh! fie! Lady Suffolk, upon my word that is a very fine notion out of Celia, or some other romance.”

Lady Suffolk: “This may not be a very great principle, but I think it is a just one, and a proper one for me to have.”

The Queen: “I will send you down one. Come, you love figures. Let me persuade you two-thirds. Go down and think of this. There are people who want to get you out of Court; they will be the first to drop you.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, I consult nobody in this; there is no occasion.”

The Queen: “You cannot judge for yourself. Let me prevail. Put yourself in somebody’s hands and let them act for you. Indeed you are so warm you are not fit to act for yourself.” (Repeated the same as I said before.) “Nor indeed very respectful. But you will repent it. I cannot give you leave to go.”

Lady Suffolk: “If anybody could feel as I feel, and could be so entirely innocent as to let me be the only sufferer for the advice they give, I might follow the method your Majesty proposes, but as that is impossible, I must beg leave to act for myself. I wish I might know what I am accused of. In my absence I have been ruined in his Majesty’s favour. At the Bath I have a thousand witnesses of my behaviour. I know my own innocence. Nobody dare tell me that to my knowledge I have ever failed in my duty in any manner.”

The Queen: “You are very G. L. (sic). Not dare to tell you you have been guilty!”

Lady Suffolk: “No, madam, for the Princess and the duke could justify my behaviour, Lord —— and many more; what I meant was as regards to myself. But I cannot think that any wretch is so abandoned to all shame as to stand having the —— (pardon the word) before such a number as was there.”

The Queen: “Pray how did you live at the Bath?”

(Here I told all. Who B. denied, and what happened to Lord B. No parties distinguishable to me.)

The Queen: “Lady Suffolk, pray consider, be calm.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, I beg your Majesty will give me permission to retire. Indeed I have not slept since I came back to your house, and believe I never shall under this suspicion of guilt. Madam, will you give me leave to speak?”

The Queen: “Do.”

Lady Suffolk: “I am here by your Majesty’s command. Your Majesty should look upon me when I assert my innocence. Your Majesty knows what I am accused of.”

The Queen: “Oh! oh! Lady Suffolk, you want to get it out of me.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, I do want to face the accusation; I am not afraid; I know it would be to the confusion of my accusers.”

The Queen: “I will not give you leave to go, I tell you plainly. If you go to-day you go without my consent.”

Lady Suffolk: “Madam, I beg you to think of my unhappy situation. I own after what passed, that the next time I saw his Majesty, I should have dropped down if I had not gone out.”

The Queen: “Well, Lady Suffolk, will you refuse me this? Stay a week longer, won’t you; stay this week at my request.”

Lady Suffolk: “Yes, madam, I will obey you, but as I am under his Majesty’s displeasure, your Majesty will not expect my attendance, or that I come again to receive your commands.”

The Queen: “Yes, I do, and I will see you again, because you will come again.”

Lady Suffolk: “I will obey your Majesty.”

The Queen: “Harkee, Lady Suffolk, you will come up as you used to do.”

Lady Suffolk stayed her week and then, despite the arguments of the Queen, she resigned her appointment, and left the court for ever. She was forty-eight years of age, and had fairly earned her retirement. She was not of a nature to live long alone, and the following year she married George Berkeley, fourth son of Charles, second Earl of Berkeley, a man not distinguished for fortune or good looks, but who, nevertheless, made her a very good husband. The King was in Hanover when he heard of Lady Suffolk’s marriage, and had already given her a successor. He received the news very philosophically, and wrote to the Queen:—

“J’étois extrêmement surpris de la disposition que vous m’avez mandé que ma vieille maîtresse a fait de son corps en mariage à ce vieux goutteux George Berkeley, et je m’en réjouis fort. Je ne voudrois pas faire de tels présens à mes amis; et quand mes ennemis me volent, plut à Dieu que ce soit toujours de cette façon.”

The King probably called Berkeley his enemy because he was a member of the Opposition. Berkeley died a few years after his marriage with Lady Suffolk, but she survived him for more than twenty years. She lived, in dignified retirement, at her villa at Marble Hill, and retained, until the end of her life, the charm of manner and amiability, which had won her many friends. Horace Walpole used to visit her in her old age, and gleaned from her much material for his famous Memoirs. She died in 1767, in her eightieth year, having survived George the Second seven years.