The year after the King’s accession to the throne Princess Amelia went to Bath to drink the waters, attended by Lady Pomfret. Royal visits to Bath were as yet few and far between, indeed the only royal personages who had visited Bath before the Princess were Queen Anne (before she came to the throne) with her husband Prince George of Denmark.[33] Princess Amelia was received by the Mayor and Corporation in full state, and a hundred young men on horseback met her coach at the North Gate and formed an escort to her lodgings. Bath had already become a gay and fashionable place, and many persons of quality and of no quality at all, who suffered from gout, rheumatism, the results of dissipation, or that mysterious ailment which the ladies of the eighteenth century called “vapours,” flocked thither to drink the waters and kill the time. The pump room and assembly-rooms were “elegantly fitted” and a band played daily. Breakfast parties were much the vogue at “one and twenty pence a piece,” and the forenoon was passed in drinking the waters and listening to the concert. In the afternoon there were the bowling greens and the promenade in the gardens skirting the river, the toy shops and the coffee-houses where the beau monde loitered, drinking “dishes of tea” and eating Bath buns. In the evening there were cards and dancing—and there was scandal all day long. Bath was then under the reign of “King” Nash, who had become its arbiter elegantiarum. Opinions differ as to the services Nash rendered to Bath. Some say he made the place; others that he merely cloaked the grossness and licentiousness of the fashionable world there by throwing over it a garb of mock ceremony. Certainly Bath was a hotbed of gambling, and many undesirable characters were attracted thither simply by the high play.
Princess Amelia’s arrival caused quite a flutter in the gay world of Bath. She took the waters in the morning, and after drinking them strolled in Harrison’s walks, all the men and women of fashion following after her or keeping within a respectful distance. But there was one who would not pay her homage, and she was Lady Wigtown, a Jacobite peeress. One day in the public garden Lady Wigtown met the Princess face to face, and without taking the slightest notice of her, she pushed aside the ladies-in-waiting and walked past. Of this incident Lady Pomfret writes to Mrs. Clayton: “Lady Frances Manners asked me if I knew my Lady Wigtown (a Scottish countess). I said I had never heard of her in my life, and believed she had not yet sent to the Princess; upon which both she and the Duchess of Rutland smiled, and said: ‘No, nor will, I can tell you; for seeing the Princess coming to the pump the morning before, she had run away like a Fury for fear of seeing her; and declares so public an aversion for the King, etc., that she would not go to the ball made on the Queen’s birthday; and some of that subscription money remaining, the company had another ball, which she denied going to, and told all the people it was because the Queen’s money made it’.”[34]
These balls began at six o’clock in the evening, and were under the direction of Beau Nash, who commanded that they should be over by eleven at the latest. When the first stroke of the hour sounded the Beau waved his wand, and the music ceased, though it were in the middle of a dance. Once the Princess Amelia objected to this summary ending. “One more dance, Mr. Nash; remember I am Princess.” “Yes, madam, but I reign here and my law must be kept.”
It was creditable to the Princess Amelia that Lady Wigtown’s rudeness made no difference to her courtesy to the other Jacobites and Roman Catholics, of whom just then Bath was full. Acting under instruction from her mother, she had a gracious word and a smile for all of them who came her way. Among others were the unfortunate Lord Widdrington and his lady. Lord Widdrington was one of the Jacobite peers condemned to death for the part they had taken in the rising of ’15, but he was ultimately pardoned, though his estates were forfeited. He brought his broken health and ruined fortunes to Bath, where he was living in comparative poverty when the Princess Amelia came there. The Princess noticed Lady Widdrington in the Pump Room, and asked who she was. When she was told she talked to her, walked with her, and generally took much notice of her. “Her kindness,” writes Lady Pomfret, “had such an effect upon all that sort [Jacobites] in this city that is hardly to be imagined, and they all speak of the Princess Amelia as of something that has charmed them ever since.” But another lady in waiting, Mrs. Tichburne, was perturbed lest the Princess’s graciousness to a “rebel’s wife” should be misunderstood, and Lady Pomfret thought well to ask Mrs. Clayton to explain matters to the Queen. She need not have troubled, for the Princess had only done as the Queen wished.
It is a pity that we cannot take leave of the Princess Amelia with this pleasing illustration of her amiability. But truth compels us to add that as she grew older her character sadly deteriorated. She developed into a hard, mean, inquisitive woman, and was often insolent without provocation. Perhaps this was due to the crossing of her young affections, and her nature, driven back upon itself, grew warped in the cramped atmosphere of the court. In later life Bath continued to be a favourite resort of the Princess Amelia, for here she could indulge in her love of cards and scandal without let or hindrance; she used to play night after night for very high stakes, refreshing herself with pinches of snuff during the game. One night when she was playing in the public card room at Bath an old general, who was seated next her, ventured to take a pinch of snuff out of her box, which stood by him on the table. She haughtily stared at him without making any remark, and then beckoning to her footman, ordered him to throw the snuff in the fire and bring her a fresh box. Little peculiarities like this did not tend to make her popular, and she grew to be generally disliked. She lived far into the reign of her nephew George the Third, and died unmarried.
The third daughter, Princess Caroline, was of a very different disposition to her elder sisters; she had no beauty, and suffered from delicate health, but she had much quiet goodness and unobtrusive piety. When she was a child her parents used to say of her: “Send for Caroline, and then we shall know the truth”. She was the Queen’s favourite daughter, and was greatly attached to her. Constantly with her mother, she was thrown a good deal into the companionship of Lord Hervey, and conceived for him a deep and lasting love, a most unfortunate attachment, as Lord Hervey was by no means a worthy object for her devotion, even if he had been able to requite it properly, which he could not, as he was married to the beautiful Lepel. Her attachment flattered his vanity, and he must have secretly encouraged it. The hopelessness of her passion made no difference to the gentle Princess; she continued to cherish it until Lord Hervey’s death, and even after his death she testified her devotion to his memory by showing great kindness to his children. After she lost her mother she became a confirmed invalid, and spent her life in retirement and works of benevolence. She died unmarried.
William, Duke of Cumberland, the second surviving son of George the Second and Caroline, was at the time they came to the throne a boy, and had not yet developed those unamiable qualities he displayed in later life, which earned for him undying infamy as “the butcher of Culloden”. He was a precocious youth, very grave and solemn in his demeanour, not caring to play like other boys, but preferring to mope in a corner over a book, or to gaze at uniforms and military evolutions—for quite early in life he showed a strong predilection for the army. Some characteristic anecdotes are related of his early years. When a child he was taken on one of his birthdays to see his grandfather, George the First. The King asked him at what time he got up in the morning; the young duke replied: “When the chimney-sweepers are about”. The King asked: “Vat are de chimney-sweepers”? “Have you been so long in England,” said his grandson, “and do not know what a chimney-sweep is? Why, he is like that man there;” and he pointed to Lord Finch, afterwards Earl of Winchelsea and Nottingham, who was in attendance. Lord Finch, like the rest of his family, “the black funereal Finches,” had a very swarthy complexion, and after this he was generally known by the nickname of “The Chimney Sweep”. On another occasion, after a display of temper, his mother ordered the duke to be locked up in his room. When he came out he was downcast and sullen. “William,” inquired the Queen, “what have you been doing?” “Reading,” he said shortly. “Reading what?” “The Bible.” “And what did you read there?” “About Jesus and Mary.” “And what about them?” asked the Queen. “Why,” replied William, “that Jesus said to Mary: ‘Woman, what hast thou to do with me?’”
Lady Strafford has left an account of the Duke of Cumberland’s birthday reception, a sort of children’s party which represents the young prince in a more amiable light:—
“My love” (her son, Lord Wentworth), she writes, “is perfectly well and vastly delighted with his Court ball. I took him to Court in the morning, and the Queen cried out: ‘Oh! Lord Wentworth! how do you do? you have mightily grown! My lady, he is prodigiously well dressed. I hope you will let him come to our ball to night.’ After the drawing-room was over the duke had a levée in his own room, so I desired my brother to take him there, and the duke told him he hoped he would do him the favour to come at night. But as a great misfortune Lady Deloraine fell in labour, and was just brought to bed of a dead son; so they could not have the room they used to dance in (it being next to hers), so they had a bad little room and they did not dance French dances. Princess Amelia asked Lord Wentworth to dance one with her, and afterwards the duke gave him Lady Caroline Fitzroy for his partner. They had a supper of cold chicken, tongue, jelly and sweetmeats, but they were (served) in an odd manner, for they had neither knives nor plates, so that well as my love loves eating, he says he ate but a leg of a chicken, for he says he did not (think) it looked well to be pulling greasy bones about in a room full of princesses; the way of getting rid of the bones was the children threw them out of the window. The King was present to see them dance, but not the Queen. The ball ended about half an hour after ten. The duke was quite free and easy, and extremely civil.”
Of the two younger princesses, Mary and Louisa, there is little to be said, as they were children during their mother’s lifetime. Mary, like her sister Caroline, was of a soft and gentle disposition. Some years after her mother’s death she was married to Frederick, Hereditary Prince of Hesse-Cassel, an obstinate, ill-tempered prince, who treated his wife with cruelty and infidelity, and her life was a very unhappy one. She survived her husband a few years.