The princess, however, had more regard, at all times, for sages than she had for satirists. It was at the request of Caroline that Newton drew up an abstract of a treatise on Ancient Chronology, first published in France, and subsequently in England. Her regard for Halley dates from an earlier period than Newton’s death or Caroline’s accession. She had, in 1721, pressed Halley to become the tutor of her favourite son, the Duke of Cumberland; but the great perfector of the theory of the moon’s motion was then too busy with his syzygies to be troubled with teaching the humanities to little princes. It was for the same reason that Halley resigned his post of secretary to the Royal Society.
This question of the education of the children of the Prince and Princess of Wales was one much discussed, and not without bitterness, by the disputants on both sides. In the same year that the Princess of Wales desired to secure Halley as the instructor of William of Cumberland (1721) George I. made an earl of that Thomas Parker who, from an attorney’s office, had steadily risen through the various grades of the law, had been entrusted with high commissions, and finally became Lord Chancellor. George I., on his accession, made him Baron of Macclesfield, and in 1721 raised him to the rank of earl. He paid for the honour by supporting the King against the Prince and Princess of Wales. The latter claimed an exclusive right of direction in the education of their children. Lord Macclesfield declared that, by law, they had no right at all to control the education of their offspring. Neither prince nor princess ever forgave him for this. They waited for the hour of repaying it; and the time soon came. The first ‘Brunswick Chancellor’ became notorious for his malpractices—selling places and trafficking with the funds of the suitors. His enemies resolved to impeach him. This resolution originated at Leicester House, and was carried out with such effect that the chancellor was condemned to pay a fine of 30,000l. George I., knowing that the son whom he hated was the cause of so grave, but just, a consequence, promised to repay to the ex-chancellor the amount of the fine which Lord Macclesfield had himself paid, a few days after the sentence, by the mortgage of a valuable estate. The King, however, was rather slow in acquitting himself of his promise. He forwarded one instalment of 1,000l., but he paid no more, death supervening and preventing the further performance of a promise only made to annoy his son and his son’s wife.
In one respect Lord Macclesfield and the Princess of Wales resembled each other—in entertaining a curious feeling of superstition. It will be seen, hereafter, how certain Caroline felt that she should die on a Wednesday, and for what reasons. So, like her, but with more accuracy, the fallen Macclesfield pointed out the day for his decease. In his disgrace he had devoted himself to science and religion. He was, however, distracted by a malady which was aggravated by grief, if not remorse. Dr. Pearce, his constant friend, called on him one day and found him very ill. Lord Macclesfield said: ‘My mother died of the same disorder on the eighth day, and so shall I.’ On the eighth day this prophecy was fulfilled; and the Leicester House party were fully avenged.
The feelings of both prince and princess were for ever in excess. Thus both appear to have entertained a strong sentiment of aversion against their eldest child, Frederick. Caroline did not bring him with her to this country when she herself first came over to take up her residence here. Frederick was born at Hanover, on the 20th of January 1707. He was early instructed in the English language; but he disliked study of every description and made but little progress in this particular branch. As a child, he was remarkable for his spitefulness and cunning. He was yet a youth when he drank like any German baron of old, played as deeply as he drank, and entered heart and soul into other vices, which not only corrupted both, but his body also. His tutor was scandalised by his conduct, and complained of it grievously. Caroline was, at that time, given to find excuses for conduct with which she did not care to be so far troubled as to censure it; and she remarked that the escapades complained of were mere page’s tricks. ‘Would to Heaven they were no more!’ exclaimed the worthy governor; ‘but in truth they are tricks of grooms and scoundrels.’ The Prince spared his friends as little as his foes, and his heart was as vicious as his head was weak.
Caroline had little affection for this child, whom she would have willingly defrauded of his birthright. At one time she appears to have been inclined to secure the Electorate of Hanover for William, and to allow Frederick to succeed to the English throne. At another time she was as desirous, it is believed, of advancing William to the crown of England and making over the Electorate to Frederick. How far these intrigues were carried on is hardly known, but that they existed is matter of notoriety. The law presented a barrier which could not, however, be broken down; but, nevertheless, Lord Chesterfield, in his character of the princess, intimated that she was busy with this project throughout her life.
Frederick was not permitted to come to England during any period of the time that his parents were Prince and Princess of Wales. An English title or two may be said to have been flung to him across the water. Thus, in 1717, he was called rather than created Duke of Gloucester. The Garter was sent to him the following year. In 1726 he became Duke of Edinburgh. He never occupied a place in the hearts of either his father or mother.
It is but fair to the character of the Princess of Wales to say that, severe as was the feeling entertained by herself against Lord Macclesfield—a feeling shared in by her consort—neither of them ever after entertained any ill feeling against Philip Yorke, subsequently Lord Chancellor Hardwicke, who defended his friend Lord Macclesfield, with great fearlessness, at the period of his celebrated trial. Only once, in after life, did George II. visit Lord Hardwicke with a severe rebuff. The learned lord was avaricious, discouraging to those who sought to rise in their profession, and caring only for the advancement of his own relations. He was once seeking for a place for a distant relation, when the husband of Caroline exclaimed, ‘You are always asking favours, and I observe that it is invariably in behalf of some one of your family or kinsmen.’ We shall hereafter find Caroline making allusions to ‘Judge Gripus’ as a character in a play, but it was a name given to Lord Hardwicke, on account of his ‘meanness.’ This feeling was shared by his wife. The expensively embroidered velvet purse in which the great seal was carried was renewed every year during Lord Hardwicke’s time. Each year, Lady Hardwicke ordered that the velvet should be of the length of one of her state rooms at Wimpole. In course of time the prudent lady obtained enough to tapestry the room with the legal velvet, and to make curtains and hangings for a state bed which stood in the apartment. Well might Pope have said of these:—
Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life?
Look but on Gripus and on Gripus’ wife.
But this is again anticipating the events of history. Let us go back to 1721, when Caroline and her husband exercised a courage which caused great admiration in the saloons of Leicester House and a doubtful sort of applause throughout the country. Lady Mary Wortley Montague had just reported the successful results of inoculation for the small-pox, which she had witnessed at Constantinople. Dr. Mead was ordered by the prince to inoculate six criminals who had been condemned to death, but whose lives were spared for this experiment. It succeeded admirably, and the patients were more satisfied by the result of the experiment than any one besides. In the year following, Caroline allowed Dr. Mead to inoculate her two daughters, and the doctor ultimately became physician-in-ordinary to her husband.