The Duke of Cumberland performed the office of father to the bride, and they were ushered to the altar by the Duke of Grafton and Lord Hervey, the lord and vice-chamberlains of the household. The Countess of Effingham and the other ladies of the household left the Queen’s side to swell the following of the bride. The Lord Bishop of London, Dean of the Chapel Royal, officiated on this occasion; and when he pronounced the two before him to have become as one, voices in harmony arose within, the trumpets blazoned forth their edition of the event, the drums rolled a deafening peal, a clash of instruments followed, and above all boomed the thunder of the cannon in the park, telling in a million echoes of the conclusion of the irrevocable compact. A little ceremony followed in the King’s drawing-room, which was in itself appropriate, and which seemed to have heart in it. On the assembling there of the entire bridal party, the newly-married couple went, once more hand in hand, and kneeling before the King and his consort, who were seated at the upper end of the room, the latter solemnly gave their blessing to their children and bade them be happy.
A royally joyous supper succeeded, at half-past ten, where healths were drunk and a frolicsome sort of spirit maintained, as was common in those somewhat ‘common’ times. And then followed a sacred portion of the ceremony, which is now considered as being more honoured in the breach than the observance. The bride was conducted processionally to her sleeping apartment; while the prince was helped to disrobe by his royal sire, and his brother the duke. The latter aided in divesting him of some of his heavy finery, and the King very gravely ‘did his royal highness, the prince, the honour to put on his shirt.’ All this must have been considered more than nuisance enough by the parties on whom it was inflicted by way of honour, but the newly-married victims of that day had much more to endure.
When intimation had been duly made that the princess had been undressed and re-dressed by her maids, and was seated in the bed ready to receive all customary and suitable honour, the King and Queen entered the chamber. The former was attired in a dress of gold brocade, turned up with silk, embroidered with large flowers in silver and colours, with a waistcoat of the same, and buttons and star dazzling with diamonds. Caroline was in ‘a plain yellow silk, robed and faced with pearls, diamonds, and other jewels, of immense value. The Dukes of Newcastle, Grafton, and St. Albans, the Earl of Albemarle, Colonel Pelham, and many other noblemen, were in gold brocades of from three to five hundred pounds a suit. The Duke of Marlborough was in a white velvet and gold brocaded tissue. The waistcoats were universally brocades with large flowers. It was observed,’ continues the court historiographer, ‘most of the rich clothes were of the manufactures of England, and in honour of our own artists. The few which were French did not come up to those in goodness, richness, or fancy, as was seen by the clothes worn by the royal family, which were all of the British manufacture. The cuffs of the sleeves were universally deep and open, the waists long, and the plaits more sticking out than ever. The ladies were principally in brocades of gold and silver, and wore their sleeves much lower than had been done for some time.’
When all these finely dressed people were assembled, and the bride was sitting upright in bed, in a dress of superb lace, the princely bridegroom entered, ‘in a nightgown of silver stuff and cap of the finest lace.’ He must have looked like a facetious prince in a Christmas extravaganza. However, he took his place by the side of the bride; and while both sat ‘bolt upright’ in bed, the ‘quality’ generally were admitted to see the sight, and to smile at the edifying remarks made by the King and other members of the royal family who surrounded the couch.
The record of this happy event would hardly be complete were we to omit to notice that it was made the occasion of a remarkable débût in the House of Commons. An address congratulatory of the marriage was moved by Mr. Lyttelton, and the motion was seconded by Mr. Pitt, subsequently the first Earl of Chatham, who then made his first speech in parliament. The speech made by Lyttelton was squeaking and smart. That of Cornet Pitt, as he was called, was so favourable to the virtues of the son, and, by implication, so insulting to the person of the father, that it laid the foundation of the lasting enmity of George against Pitt—an enmity the malevolence of which was first manifested by depriving Pitt of his cornetcy. The poets were, of course, as polite as the senators, and epithalamia rained upon the happy pair in showers of highly complimentary and very indifferent verse. The lines of Whitehead, the laureate, were tolerably good, for a laureate, and the following among them have been cited ‘as containing a wish which succeeding events fully gratified.’
Such was the age, so calm the earth’s repose,
When Maro sung and a new Pollio rose.
Oh! from such omens may again succeed
Some glorious youth to grace the nuptial bed;
Some future Scipio, good as well as great,