"Such an accumulated succession of mortifications has rarely fallen on a royal family in so short a space. They seemed to have inherited the unpropitious star of the Stuarts, from whom they are descended, as well as their crown. The marriage of the Duke of Cumberland with Colonel Luttrell's sister, the dangerous illness of the Princess of Wales and the Duke of Gloucester, and the dishonour of the Queen of Denmark: all happening within three months."
We are told—though let us hope that it was only the floating gossip of the day—that the princess dowager, on receiving the fatal news from the Continent, prayed most fervently for her speedy dissolution; declaring that the world could not be more weary of her than she was of the world, and desiring her attendants never to mention the name of a "certain princess" in her presence.
For the next few days the newspapers necessarily contained only what information could be picked up at the coffee-houses. Thus we find that it was generally believed that the worst part of the news from Denmark was not yet published, and, therefore, all was suspense, doubt, and anxiety, among the constant visitors at St. James's. The politicians at the new Lloyd's Coffee-house very busily engaged in speculative bets upon a war with Denmark; but considerate people imagined that Lord North was much too wise to engage offensively against any power merely on account of a family faux-pas, especially when the conduct of the person to be supported was indefensible.
The natural inclination to think ill of one's neighbour was only heightened at this time through the profound secrecy maintained by the government. Still, it is gratifying to find some writers at this early period calling for the assistance of a fleet to vindicate, rather than the voice of the British nation to condemn, the Queen of Denmark; and further on in the same article Caroline Matilda is spoken of as the "Royal Innocent."
Early in February, a long letter appeared in the General Evening Post, calling attention to the whole affair in very powerful language. The writer, after urging the nation not to decide on ex parte statements, proceeds to defend Caroline Matilda in the following warm terms:—
"Recollect the manner in which that lady was educated, and that, when delivered into the hands of her husband, she was in full possession of every virtue. All the graces were in her: she knew nothing but what was good. Can it then, with any degree of reason, be concluded that in so short a time the lady could forget every virtuous precept, and abandon herself to infamy? My dear countrymen, it cannot be; and until we have a certainty of guilt, believe it not, though an angel from Copenhagen should affirm it. It was but the other day we were told of certain regulations which had taken place, and are for the advantage of that kingdom, and which were wholly attributed to the counsel of that lady. Alas! there is too much reason to fear that her exalted character, justly acquired with the populace, has produced in those of rank—envy, hatred, confusion, and ruin."
The writer, who like most of his countrymen appears to have been in a state of blessed ignorance about the affairs of foreign courts, then bursts into a furious and quite irrelevant diatribe on poor Baron Schimmelmann, whom he supposes to be the prime minister of Denmark. After giving a concise account of that gentleman's chequered career, and displaying an amount of malice in raking up dirty things which makes one believe that C. P. owed Schimmelmann grudge, he vents his bile in the following words, which certainly contain some truth:—
"It is wickedly asserted that the monarch's (Christian VII.) illness is attributed to some medicines given him by his physician, &c. The truth is, that you ought rather to wonder that his Majesty is now alive, than that he is afflicted with nervous and paralytic disorders. My eyes were witness to the manner and excess of his living when he was at Altona. I could say a great deal, but it does not become me. I shall only say this one thing, which is an indisputable truth: that many who then saw his Majesty, concluded from his delicate constitution that it could not hold long, and execrated our baron for his introducing him to, and encouraging him in, the most destructive vices. Therefore, if any disorder affects the head of his Majesty, may it not be more justly attributed to such excess than to the queen, who was educated in the fear of God?"
The illness of the princess dowager prevented George III. from taking any decided action on behalf of his sister. On the morning of February 8 the princess departed this life. On the previous evening her physician felt her pulse, and told her it was more regular than it had been for some time; her Highness answered, "Yes, and I think I shall have a good night's rest." She then embraced the king, and he observed nothing particular in her except that she kissed him with greater warmth and affection than usual. The king afterwards retired to a private room with the physician, who told him that her Highness could not outlive the morning, which determined his Majesty on staying at Carlton House all night. He did not see his royal mother any more till she was dead, for she remained very quiet all the night, and gave no token of death, till a few minutes before she expired, when she laid her hand upon her heart and went off without a groan. His Majesty was then informed, and he came in and took his mother's hand, kissed it, and burst into tears; a short time after which he returned to St. James's.[57]
There is but little to add to the character of this princess than that communicated in the opening chapter. When she was gone to a state far superior to mortal praise or blame, where the lying voice of calumny and faction could not reach her, people began to discover that "never was a more amiable, a more innocent, or a more benevolent princess." It was publicly denied that she had interfered in the politics of the country, or influenced the king in affairs of state. She discharged, to the utmost of her power and out of her own income, the large private debts of her husband. Her charity was extensive; and it was stated that she gave away upwards of £10,000 a year, and that so secretly, that the recipients of her bounty would only learn who their benefactress was through the cessation of her charities. Hence it is not surprising that she made no will, for she had nothing to leave.