And now, for Queen Caroline in England, a very painful period had commenced. In the first place the Prince of Wales and his wife had taken very unkindly to the restrictions put upon them most unreasonably like two children by the absent King, and not even the influence of Lady Archibald Hamilton could prevent them from showing it.
The commands concerning moving about with the Queen from palace to palace were not complied with, and a very ingeniously arranged succession of illnesses of the Princess utterly defeated the King’s intention. So keenly had the Prince felt the humiliations put upon him by his father in appointing the Queen as Regent instead of himself, that he did not attend the opening of the Commission—which was invariably held when news arrived of the King’s landing on the Continent—but came designedly when the proceedings were over. In this and in many other ways the breach between the Prince and his mother widened, though it must be said that at this time the Queen showed both to him and his wife the utmost patience under very trying circumstances. This was no doubt owing to Walpole, who was, as Prime Minister, very naturally her constant attendant at this time; the patience and good sense of Walpole no doubt kept peace in the Royal Family for a much longer period than it would have been maintained under the counsels of a less sagacious minister, and it is much to be wondered at, that Sir Robert did not use his influence to persuade the King to give the Prince of Wales the full allowance of £100,000 a year to which he was so clearly entitled by the vote of Parliament.
But there was another matter, which was the subject of much discussion at Court and of much pain to the Queen, and this was the hopeless infatuation of the King for Madame Walmoden. It was well known to all the Court that the King had hastened back to Hanover after an interval of only eight months, instead of three years, and that, moreover, he showed no signs of coming back again. But now the Queen was not taking his infidelity with the same calmness which she had shown in former cases; there were signs that her patience was giving out, and that she was losing heart. Her letters were abridged, from the usual four dozen pages to seven or eight; it was this circumstance particularly which alarmed Walpole and others, till at last the rough, uncouth Sir Robert spoke out to her on the subject in perhaps the plainest language in which a subject has ever addressed a King’s wife. He naturally feared with the rest of the Court that her power over the King might die out altogether, especially if she showed any resentment to the infamous conduct of her husband which strangely enough she had never done before. Walpole did not spare her feelings; he reminded her of her age and the beauty of her rival, the Walmoden; he did not scruple to say that the Queen’s attractions had faded, and that she could never expect to regain the ascendency over the King which she had for so long enjoyed. He urged her to resume her long letters to her husband, and to write them in a spirit of humility and submission. Finally, he made the most extraordinary request that has ever been made to a wronged and angry wife; he advised her to write and invite the King to bring back his new mistress to England with him.
No wonder the tears sprang to the Queen’s eyes; but it is said she at once suppressed them, and attracted by the bait of fresh power over her husband temptingly held out by the wily Sir Robert—who wished to get this new mistress of the King into his own power, and under his own eye—the Queen consented to follow his advice.
Then came a time of doubt and apprehension; it was questioned whether the woman in the Queen’s nature would not get the ascendency, and that she would revolt from this vile thing. But she did nothing of the sort; in a few days Walpole had the satisfaction of knowing that the very letter he desired had been sent off to the King. Still Walpole had some distrust of the Queen; she was too calm and too compliant to satisfy him, and he confided to a friend that he could stand the Queen’s anger and reproof, but he was afraid of her when she “daubed” (i.e., flattered).
But the Queen spoke quite calmly of her rival, and actually allotted her rooms in the palace. Moreover, to Walpole’s amazement, she proposed to take her into her own service, no doubt with a view to keeping an eye upon her, as she had done in the case of the King’s former mistress, Lady Suffolk.
But this arrangement Walpole opposed, and she in reply quoted the case of Lady Suffolk; to this Sir Robert rejoined that “there was a difference between the King making a mistress of the Queen’s servant, and making a Queen’s servant of his mistress!”
“The people,” he continued, “might reasonably look upon the first as a very natural condition of things, whilst popular feelings of morality might be outraged by the second.”
The King’s reply to his wife’s letter was just what the old minister had calculated upon; it was full of admiration at his wife’s amiability, and he forthwith proceeded to give her by way of reward glowing descriptions of her rival’s attractions, both of the mind and body. Principally the latter, and he finished up with a fervent tribute to his wife’s virtue, which he longed to imitate, but he excused himself pitifully: “You know my passions, my dear Caroline”—he prided himself on his passions—“you know my weaknesses,” and he finished up with a semi-blasphemous appeal to God that Caroline might cure him of them. But as the Queen had failed to do this as a beautiful young woman, it was rather hopeless to look for a cure that way now that she was fat, getting wrinkled, and nearly fifty-four.
The King about this time also took an opportunity of consulting the Queen on the subject of that very convincing rope ladder which had been discovered dangling from Madame Walmoden’s bedroom window with Captain von der Schulemberg hiding in very close proximity to its earthly end, by which it is supposed that he intended to mount to a very carnal Elysium. Little George was anxious to hear what his wife thought of the matter, which looks very much as if he had not entirely swallowed that very ingenious story sobbed out by the implicated fair one that early morning at Herrenhausen. But much as he valued her opinion, still he advised her to take further advice on the point, as if it were a subject of State importance. He asked her to consult Walpole—who must have been intensely amused, and probably had a good laugh over it with the Queen. Walpole “le gros homme” as he called him, “who,” continued the simple little King, “has more experience in these sort of matters, my dear Caroline, than yourself, and who, in the present affair, must necessarily be less prejudiced than I am.” How they must have roared!