One can imagine the little lonely boy wandering through the deserted corridors of the Palace of Herrenhausen and picturing the figures of those dearest to him, those who had left him and whose faces he was not to see again for many a long year. In the early days of that separation one can picture the child in the orange walks of the beautiful grounds in the warm autumn time and looking and longing for his mother—she was a good and affectionate mother to him then—whose face he was not to see again for nearly fourteen years. During the next two years while the excitement of the Pretender’s invasion was passing in England, the little Prince lived the ordinary life of a child, but with the difference from ordinary children that he must have been an exceedingly lonely child. That he was without companions of his own age is quite certain from what followed. From his great-uncle it is unlikely that he received much sympathy, if that Prince partook of the nature of his brother the King-Elector George. But there was one left behind there who possibly showed him some kindness—although there is not a vestige of evidence to show that she did—and that was the beautiful Countess Platen, the mistress of the King who was left behind on account of the religion she professed, and because Bernstorff, the Hanoverian Prime Minister, was jealous of her influence over the King.
So for two years the little Prince lived his child’s life and nothing was recorded of him. Then we hear of him from two sources: from Lady Mary Wortley-Montagu, who visited Hanover in 1716, like many other English in the train of the King, and from his governor who reported upon his conduct to his mother about this time.
The former of these who could be trusted—for Lady Mary was no Court sycophant and lied to no one—writes as follows of Frederick:—
“Our young Prince, the Duke of Gloucester”—he had just received that title from his grandfather, but the patent never passed the Seal—“has all the accomplishments which it is possible to have at his age, with an air of sprightliness and understanding, and something so very engaging and easy in his behaviour that he needs not the advantage of his rank to appear charming. I had the honour of a long conversation with him last night before the King came in. His governor retired on purpose, as he told me afterwards that I might make some judgment of his genius by hearing him speak without constraint, and I was surprised by the quickness and politeness that appeared in everything that he said, joined to a person perfectly agreeable, and the fine fair hair of the Princess.”
So much for little Prince Frederick at the age of nine. It may be here explained that his mother Caroline, Princess of Wales, had beautiful fair hair and a lovely skin; she was said also to possess the finest bust in Europe.
But from the very favourable account of Lady Mary we have to turn to the other, that of his governor, and that is far from flattering. Indeed, in this record we shall be continually turning from good report to evil report, and from evil report back again to the good. It will be necessary later to draw a line and divide the makers of these reports into two distinct parties, the prejudiced and interested, the unprejudiced, those who had nothing to gain by vilifying him.
But on the occasion we refer to, the governor of the young Prince had a good deal to say; he spoke with feeling, as one who had suffered, and most probably he had: he reveals a very pitiable state of affairs.
His complaints were embodied in a letter to Prince Frederick’s mother, and were as follows; he was a precocious youth—it must be remembered he was only nine years old—he already gambled and drank.
The Princess of Wales, however, made light of the matter.
“Ah,” she answered, “I perceive that these are the tricks of a page.”