The levée—The King goes to parliament—The first night of the opera—Garrick grievously offended—The King and Queen present on the Lord Mayor’s Day—Entertained by Robert Barclay, the Quaker—Banquet at Guildhall to the King and Queen—Popular enthusiasm for Mr. Pitt—Buckingham House purchased by the King for Queen Charlotte—Defoe’s account of it—The Duke of Buckingham’s description of it—West and his pictures—The house demolished by George IV.—First illness of the King—Domestic life of the King and Queen—Royal carriage—Selwyn’s joke on the royal frugality—Prince Charles of Strelitz—Costume—Graceful action of the Queen—Birth of Prince George.
The entire population seemed surprised at having got a young Queen and King to reign over them; and, except an occasional placard or two, denouncing ‘petticoat government,’ and pronouncing against Scotch ministers and Lord George Sackville, there seemed no dissatisfied voice in the whole metropolis. The graces of the young Sovereign were sung by pseudo-poets, and Walpole, in graceful prose, told of his surprise at seeing how completely the whole levée-room had lost its air of a lion’s den. ‘The Sovereign don’t stand in one spot, with his eyes fixed royally on the ground, and dropping bits of German news: he walks about and speaks to everybody. I saw him afterwards on the throne, where he is graceful and genteel; sits with dignity, and reads his answers to addresses well. It was the Cambridge address, carried by the Duke of Newcastle, in his doctor’s gown, and looking like the Médecin malgré lui. He had been vehemently solicitous for attendance, for fear my Lord Westmoreland, who vouchsafes himself to bring the address from Oxford, should out-number him. Lord Litchfield and several other Jacobites have kissed hands. George Selwyn says, “They go to St. James’s because now there are so many Stuarts there.”’
In allusion to the crowds of nobles, gentle and simple, going up to congratulate the King, or to view the processions flocking to the foot of the throne, or surrounding the King, as it were, when he went to the first parliament, Walpole remarks: ‘The day the King went to the house I was three quarters of an hour getting through Whitehall. There were subjects enough to set up half a dozen petty kings: the Pretender would be proud to reign over the footmen only; and, indeed, unless he acquires some of them, he will have no subjects left; all their masters flock to St. James’s.’ In a few words he describes the scene at the theatre on the King’s first visit, alone. ‘The first night the King went to the play, which was civilly on a Friday, not on the opera night, as he used to do, the whole audience sang God save the King in chorus. For the first act the press was so great at the door that no ladies could go to the boxes, and only the servants appeared there, who kept places. At the end of the second act the whole mob broke in and seated themselves.’ The play was ‘Richard the Third,’ in which Garrick represented the king. George III. repeated his visit on the 23rd of December to see ‘King John.’
His Majesty grievously offended Garrick on this night, by a manifestation of what the latter considered very bad taste. The King preferred Sheridan in Faulconbridge to Garrick in King John; and when this reached the ears of Garrick, he was excessively hurt; and, though the boxes were taken for ‘King John,’ for several nights, the offended ‘Roscius’ would not allow the play to have its proper run.
But there were other stages, on which more solemn pageants had to be performed. The Sovereigns had yet to make their first appearance within the city liberties.
The Queen was introduced to the citizens of London on Lord Mayor’s Day; on which occasion they may be said emphatically to have ‘made a day of it.’ They left St. James’s Palace at noon, and in great state, accompanied by all the royal family, escorted by guards, and cheered by the people, whose particular holiday was thus shared in common. There was the usual ceremony at Temple Bar of opening the gates to royalty and giving it welcome; and there was the once usual address made at the east end of St. Paul’s Churchyard, by the senior scholar of Christ’s Hospital School. Having survived the cumbrous formalities of the first, and smiled at the flowery figures of the second, the royal party proceeded on their way, not to Guildhall, but to the house of Mr. Barclay, the patent-medicine-vendor, an honest Quaker whom the King respected, and ancestor to the head of the firm whose name is not unmusical to Volscian ears—Barclay, Perkins, and Co.
Robert Barclay, the only surviving son of the author of the same name, who wrote the celebrated ‘Apology for the Quakers,’ was an octogenarian, who had entertained, in the same house, two Georges before he had given welcome to the third George and his Queen Charlotte. The hearty old man, without abandoning Quaker simplicity, went a little beyond it, in order to do honour to the young Queen; and he hung his balcony and rooms with a brilliant crimson damask, that must have scattered blushes on all who stood near—particularly on the cheeks of the crowds of ‘Friends’ who had assembled within the house to do honour to their Sovereigns. How the King—and he was at the time a very handsome young monarch—fluttered all the female Friends present, and set their tuckers in agitation, may be guessed from the fact that he kissed them all round, and right happy were they to be so greeted. The Queen smiled with dignity, her consort laughed and clapped his hands, and when they had passed into another room, the King’s young brothers followed the example, and in a minute had all the young Quakeresses in their arms—nothing loath. Those were unceremonious days, and ‘a kiss all round’ was a pleasant solemnity, which was undergone with alacrity even by a Quakeress.
In the apartment to which the King and Queen had retired the latter was waited on by a youthful grand-daughter of Mr. Barclay, who kissed the royal hand with much grace, but would not kneel to do so, a resolute observance of consistent principle which made the young Queen smile. Later in the day, when Mr. Barclay’s daughters served the Queen with tea, they handed it to the ladies-in-waiting, who presented it kneeling to their Sovereign—a form which Rachel and Rebecca would never have submitted to. From the windows of this house, which was exactly opposite Bow Church, the Queen and consort witnessed the Lord Mayor’s procession pass on its way to Westminster, and had the patience to wait for its return.
The Princess of Wales was a spectator of the show on this occasion, with her son, King George, and her daughter-in-law, Queen Charlotte. Her husband, Frederick, Prince of Wales, once stood among the crowd in Cheapside to view the return of the Mayor’s procession to Guildhall. He was recognised by some members of the Saddlers Company, by whom he was invited into their ‘stand,’ erected in the street. He accepted their invitation, and made himself so agreeable that the company unanimously elected him their ‘Master,’ an office which he accepted with great readiness.
Queen Charlotte and George III. were the last of our sovereigns who thus honoured a Lord Mayor’s Show. And as it was the last occasion, and that the young Queen Charlotte was the heroine of the day, the opportunity may be profited by, to show how that royal lady looked and bore herself in the estimation of one of the Miss Barclays, whose letter descriptive of the scene appeared forty-seven years subsequently, in 1808. ‘About one o’clock papa and mamma, with sister Western to attend them, took their stand at the street-door, where my two brothers had long been to receive the nobility, more than a hundred of whom were then waiting in the warehouse. As the royal family came, they were conducted into one of the counting-houses, which was transformed into a very pretty parlour. At half-past two their Majesties came, which was two hours later than they intended. On the second pair of stairs was placed our own company, about forty in number, the chief of whom were of the Puritan order, and all in their orthodox habits. Next to the drawing-room doors were placed our own selves—I mean papa’s children, none else, to the great mortification of visitors, being allowed to enter; for, as kissing the King’s hand without kneeling was an unexampled honour, the King confined that privilege to our own family, as a return for the trouble we had been at. After the royal pair had shown themselves at the balcony, we were all introduced, and you may believe, at that juncture, we felt no small palpitations. The King met us at the door (a condescension I did not expect), at which place he saluted us with great politeness. Advancing to the upper end of the room, we kissed the Queen’s hand, at the sight of whom we were all in raptures, not only from the brilliancy of her appearance, which was pleasing beyond description, but being throughout her whole person possessed of that inexpressible something that is beyond a set of features, and equally claims our attention. To be sure she has not a fine face, but a most agreeable countenance, and is vastly genteel, with an air, notwithstanding her being a little woman, truly majestic; and I really think, by her manner is expressed that complacency of disposition which is truly amiable; and though I could never perceive that she deviated from that dignity which belongs to a crowned head, yet on the most trifling occasions she displayed all that easy behaviour that negligence can bestow. Her hair, which is of a light colour, hung in what is called coronation-ringlets, encircled in a band of diamonds, so beautiful in themselves, and so prettily disposed, as will admit of no description. Her clothes, which were as rich as gold, silver, and silk could make them, was a suit from which fell a train supported by a little page in scarlet and silver. The lustre of her stomacher was inconceivable. The King I think a very personable man. All the princes followed the King’s example in complimenting each of us with a kiss. The Queen was upstairs three times, and my little darling, with Patty Barclay and Priscilla Ball, were introduced to her. I was present and not a little anxious on account of my girl, who kissed the Queen’s hand with so much grace that I thought the princess-dowager would have smothered her with kisses. Such a report was made of her to the King, that Miss was sent for, and afforded him great amusement, by saying ‘that she loved the King, though she must not love fine things, and her grandpapa would not allow her to make a curtsy.’ Her sweet face made such an impression on the Duke of York, that I rejoiced she was only five instead of fifteen. When he first met her, he tried to persuade Miss to let him introduce her to the Queen; but she would by no means consent till I informed her he was a prince, upon which her little female heart relented, and she gave him her hand—a true copy of the sex. The King never sat down, nor did he taste anything during the whole time. Her Majesty drank tea, which was brought her on a silver waiter by brother John, who delivered it to the lady-in-waiting, and she presented it kneeling. The leave they took of us was such as we might expect from our equals; full of apologies for our trouble for their entertainment—which they were so anxious to have explained, that the Queen came up to us, as we stood on one side of the door, and had every word interpreted. My brothers had the honour of assisting the Queen into her coach. Some of us sat up to see them return, and the King and Queen took especial notice of us as they passed. The King ordered twenty-four of his guard to be placed opposite our door all night, lest any of the canopy should be pulled down by the mob, in which there were one hundred yards of silk damask.’