The Prince of Wales did not attend the Council when the Queen broke the seals of the King’s commission making her Regent; he pretended that he had mistaken the hour. He tried by every possible means to discredit the Queen-Regent’s authority, and to cultivate popularity at the expense of his parents. It was fairly easy for him to pit himself against his father, for the King’s conduct in going to Hanover two years running, his affaire with the Walmoden, and the fact that he had left unfilled several commissions in the army because, people said, he wished to pocket the pay himself, had made him more unpopular than ever. Some measure of this unpopularity reflected itself upon the Queen, though she, poor woman, was the greatest sufferer by the King’s intrigue with the Walmoden. The Princess of Wales also suddenly discovered that she had scruples about receiving the Sacrament according to the rites of the Church of England, and declared that she was a Protestant and a Lutheran. This move, which was probably made by command of the Prince in order to gain the goodwill of the Dissenters, gave a great deal of annoyance to the Queen, for the bishops and clergy were up in arms about it, talked loudly of the Act of Succession, and declared that if the Princess would not conform to the rites of the Church of England she would have to be sent back again to Saxe-Gotha. The Queen spoke to the Prince on the subject, but he declared that he could do nothing, for when he reasoned to his wife she only wept and talked of her conscience. However, the threat of being sent back to Saxe-Gotha effectually abolished the Princess’s scruples; she dried her tears and attended the services at the chapel at Hampton Court like the rest of the Royal Family. Yet even when they came to church the Prince and Princess of Wales managed to show disrespect to the Queen’s office as Regent. They arranged always to come late, so that the Princess had to push past the Queen in the royal pew, an uncomfortable proceeding so far as the Queen was concerned, for she was stout and the pew was narrow. Moreover, the arrival of the Prince and Princess and a numerous suite half-way through the service was exceedingly disturbing, so, after bearing with it two or three Sundays, the Queen sent word that if the Princess came late she must make her entry by another door. The Princess, however, persisting, the Queen ordered a servant to stand at the main entrance of the chapel after she had gone in and not permit any one to pass until the service was over, which would have the effect of sending the Princess round to another door, or of keeping her out of the chapel altogether. The Prince, however, was equal even to this, for he told the Princess that if she was not ready to go into chapel with the Queen she was not to go at all, and so neatly avoided yielding the point.
The Queen, notwithstanding all these studied slights and petty insults, was determined not to quarrel with her son, and regularly asked the Prince and Princess to dine with her once or twice a week, and sometimes invited them to music and cards in the gallery at Hampton Court in the evening. The Princess came now and then to these latter functions, the Prince never, though they both were obliged to come to dinner when the Queen asked them. These dinners could not have been pleasant to either side; they certainly were not to the Queen, who, after they were over, used to declare that the dulness of her daughter-in-law and the silly jokes of her son gave her the vapours, and she felt more tired than “if she had carried them round the garden on her back”.
Meanwhile the King at Hanover was enjoying himself with his enchantress, who had presented him with a fine boy, which it suited her purpose to declare was his son.[116] The King, who was now fifty-three years of age, firmly believed her, and his affections became riveted to Madame Walmoden more firmly than ever. Yet he might well have doubted, for the lady had many friends to console her in his absence, and a suspicious incident occurred this summer even while George was at Hanover. The King was staying, according to his custom, at Herrenhausen, and Madame Walmoden was living in the apartments set apart for her by the King in the Leine Schloss. She spent most of her time with the King at Herrenhausen, returning to the Leine Schloss at night, where she was sometimes visited by the King. The Leine Schloss was very different then to what it is now, for it was fronted by extensive gardens on both banks of the Leine, the gardens through which poor Sophie Dorothea used to steal, disguised, to Königsmarck’s lodgings. The Walmoden’s bedchamber was on the garden side of the palace, and one night a gardener chancing to walk round the palace in the small hours found a ladder placed immediately under Madame Walmoden’s window. The man thought this must be the attempt of a burglar, who had come to steal the lady’s jewels, and made a careful search round the garden. He presently discovered a man hiding behind a bush, whom he immediately seized, and, shouting for the guard, had him placed under arrest. To every one’s astonishment, the prisoner proved to be no thief, but an officer in the Austrian service, named Schulemburg, a relative of the Duchess of Kendal’s, who was on a visit to Hanover in connection with some diplomatic mission. Schulemburg protested against the indignity put upon him, which he said would be resented not only by himself, but by his master, the Emperor, and made such a fuss that the captain of the guard released him at once.
Before the morning the story was all over the palace, and Madame Walmoden, who had been aroused in the night, was in a great state of agitation. But her woman’s wit came to her aid. As early as six o’clock the next morning she ordered her coach and drove off to Herrenhausen to give her version of the affair to the King before any one else could tell him. George was still a-bed when the lady arrived, but being a privileged personage she passed the guards and made her way to his bedside. She threw herself upon her knees, and besought the King, between her tears and sobs, to protect her from gross insult, or allow her to retire from his court for ever; she declared that she loved him not as a king but as a man, and for his own sake alone, but wicked envious people, who were jealous of the favour he had shown her, were plotting to ruin her. The King, astonished at this early visit, rubbed his eyes, and asked what it all meant. She then told him about the ladder, and declared that it must have been placed there by design of a certain Madame d’Elitz with intent to ruin her with the King. This Madame d’Elitz was also a Schulemburg, a niece of the old Duchess of Kendal. She was credited with having had intrigues with three generations of the Hanoverian family, the old King, George the First, the present King, George the Second, and Frederick, Prince of Wales, before he came over to England. This was probably an exaggeration, but it is certain that she was the mistress of George the Second before he deserted her for the superior charms of the Walmoden. So the story had at least the element of plausibility. At any rate the King accepted it, and ordered the captain of the guard to be put under arrest for having released Schulemburg, and sent word that he should again be apprehended. But Horace Walpole, the English Minister in attendance, fearing that this might involve the King in a quarrel with the Emperor, sent Schulemburg word privately to make speed out of Hanover, which he did forthwith.
All sorts of versions were given of this ladder incident, which quickly became known in London, and was much discussed by Queen Caroline and her court. The King wrote long letters to the Queen in England, telling her all about the affair, and asking her to judge it impartially for him, as he was so fond of the Walmoden that he could not judge it otherwise than partially, and if she were in doubt he asked her to consult le gros homme, Sir Robert Walpole, “who,” he said, “is much more experienced, my dear Caroline, in these affairs than you, and less prejudiced than myself in it”. But whatever was the Queen’s opinion the King remained devoted to his Walmoden, and refused to believe any evil of her. Whether Caroline really consulted Walpole or not it is impossible to say; but though she laughed about the incident in public she wept many bitter tears in private, and her patience was well-nigh exhausted.
Caroline had no easy part to play in this, her fourth and most eventful, regency. Her health had been failing for some time, and now was an ever-present trouble. The knowledge of the King’s infatuation, and the fear that her influence over him was waning, preyed upon her mind, and she was further harassed by the covert rebellion against her authority carried on by the Prince of Wales. All these were troubles from within, but those from without were also serious. The King was never so unpopular as now, and his unpopularity reflected itself upon the Government. There were discontents and disorders in different parts of the country; a riot broke out in the west of England because of the exportation of corn, and so violent were the farmers that in many districts the military had to be called out to quell the tumult. Another disturbance took place at Spitalfields among the weavers, who objected to Irishmen working there because they were willing to accept lower wages and could accustom themselves to a lower standard of living than Englishmen. A riot broke out and many Irish were killed and others wounded. Huge mobs assembled, and again the Queen-Regent had to command that soldiers should be called out, which had the effect of diverting the rage of the weavers from the Irish to the court. They now began to curse the Germans even more loudly than they execrated the Irish, and from cursing the Germans they proceeded to cursing the King and Queen, and shouting for James the Third. Eventually the soldiers quelled the riots, but not without bloodshed, and the discontent was all the more active for being driven below the surface.
Another source of dissatisfaction with the people was the Gin Act, which had been passed with the object of abating the vice of drunkenness, and especially the drinking of gin by the lower classes. Gin drinking at that time was the popular habit, and was carried to such a degree that the drunkenness of the mob and the depraved and debased condition of public morals became a crying scandal. The sale of gin was carried to such an extent in the taverns that a newspaper of the time informs us: “We hear that a strong-water shop was lately opened in Southwark with this inscription on the sign:—
Drunk for one penny,
Dead drunk for two pence,
Clean straw for nothing.”[117]