Текст книги "Caroline the Queen"
Автор книги: Виктория Холт
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She impatiently dismissed such infirmities from her mind, smiled at the crowd, pressing close to the rail, who cheered her wildly. And the forty barons of the Cinque Ports who carried the canopy she guessed made a colourful background for her with the Sergeants at Arms going ahead and following behind.
The crowd was growing very excited, for behind the Queen came the four principal ladies of the Queen’s household and among them was Henrietta Howard, and everyone wanted a glimpse of the King’s mistress. They were a little disappointed; she was neither ravishingly beautiful nor comically ugly. There was a mildness about her, yet her gravity was charming and she had very beautiful hair of a striking light brown colour. The King’s habits of visiting her were talked of because such gossip quickly became common knowledge and there were titters of amusement in the crowd.
But when the King appeared the ridicule disappeared for he made a very fine figure under the canopy of gold in his crimson velvet furred with ermine and edged with gold lace. On his head was the cap of state—crimson velvet, decorated with enormous jewels and edged with ermine. His ruddy complexion gave him a look of health and because he was delighted to be the hero of the day his blue eyes were benign and beamed good will on all.
At the west door of the Abbey the Archbishop of Canterbury with other distinguished members of the Church was waiting and the procession began to move slowly up the nave.
As Caroline seated herself on her chair of state facing the altar she glanced at her husband on his. She thought how young he looked—like a boy who has at last grasped a gift for which he had waited a long time. He, of course, was completely unaware of her—unaware of everything, she thought, half cynically, half affectionately, except himself. Well, no one could deny that this was his triumph more than hers, his day; he was the King of England and she but his consort.
The Archbishop was conducting the communion service and afterwards the Bishop of Oxford preached the sermon.
George then subscribed the Declaration against Transubstantiation and took the Oath of Coronation.
He left his chair to kneel at the altar where he was anointed by the Archbishop, presented with the regalia, and the ring was placed on the fourth finger of his right hand. When the crown was placed on his head the trumpets sounded and all the guns in the Park and at the Tower fired the salute.
It was an impressive moment. Then the Te Deum was sung and the King sat solemnly on his throne while the peers, now wearing their coronets, which they had put on when the salute had rung out, paid homage to the King.
After that it was the turn of Caroline.
* * *
After the coronation in the Abbey, Caroline and George in the centre of the procession returned on foot to Westminster Hall for the banquet.
Seated on the dais with the King and her daughters, Caroline looked complacently about the hall at the long tables at which sat the dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses, and all the nobility.
George, benign but alert for any slip in etiquette or protocol was flushed and beaming. Caroline knew that he had only one regret which was that the father he hated could not be here today to see how well he comported himself and how delighted his people were with him, that he might draw comparisons between his own coronation and that of his son. But of course if the old man were here none of this would be taking place. Yet George would be thinking: If only he could see me now!
Caroline was telling herself that this was indeed the most glorious day of her life and wishing her legs would not throb so. They were more swollen than ever before; and there was that dull internal ache which could terrify her.
Not today, she thought. She must not think of it today.
The first course had been served and the moment for the King’s Champion to enter and make his traditional challenge had come.
How magnificent he looked on his white horse, very magnificently caparisoned, the red, white, and blue feathers in his helmet waving gracefully as he rode, the all important gauntlet in his hand.
His voice echoed throughout the hall.
‘If any person of what degree soever, high or low, shall deny or gainsay our Sovereign Lord King George II of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, son and next heir to our Sovereign Lord King George I, to be the right heir to the Imperial Crown of this Realm of Great Britain or that he ought not to enjoy the same, here is his Champion who says that he lyeth and is a false traitor being ready in person to combat with him and in this quarrel will adventure his life against him on what day soever he shall be appointed.’
Down he flung the glove and there followed a somewhat tense silence for everyone knew that the city abounded with Jacobites who believed that the son of James II was the true King of England and that the Germans should be sent back to Hanover.
Caroline glanced at the King, but George was unperturbed. He had a blind faith in his ability to charm his subjects. He could not believe that they wanted the man across the water who had made a feeble attempt to come back in 1715 when George I had ascended to the throne—a miserable attempt that was no real attempt at all and then had gone flying back to France as soon as King George’s soldiers marched up to the Border.
But no one came forward and twice more the Champion repeated the challenge, and twice more no one came forward to accept it.
The King then called for a gold bowl from which he drank the health of his champion and the bowl was taken to the Champion who drank from it; then bowing to the royal table he left the hall with the bowl as his reward.
That anxious little ceremony over, the Queen felt relaxed and turned her attention back to the table. The two thousand wax candles which lighted the hall were dazzling, but the brightness was tiring and she found herself longing for her bed. Not so George; he was eager for this day to go on. So were the Princesses, particularly Anne who was giving herself, her mother noticed, the airs of a queen.
It was eight o’clock before the banquet was over and the royal party left the Hall for St James’s Palace.
Through the crowded streets to the sound of cheers. At every few yards, it seemed, there was a bonfire and the faces of loyal subjects reflected in the ruddy glow were joyfully bent on pleasure.
‘Long live King George. Long live Queen Caroline.’
Here was George, bowing, hand on heart, yet watchful lest there should be more applause for the Queen than the King.
Caroline was thankful that there was not.
And there was the palace dark against the sky, lit by the glow of bonfires.
To the sound of singing and cheers and the ringing of bells, Queen Caroline sat down heavily in her chair and called to her ladies to disrobe her.
Thoughtful Henrietta slipped a footstool under her feet to rest her aching legs.
* * *
The coronation had caught the public imagination. The management of the Drury Lane theatre had the idea of playing a coronation of its own and they staged it to take place at the end of Shakespeare’s Henry VIIIin which Anne Oldfield played Anne Boleyn. The pageant of Anne’s coronation which ended the play drew crowds to the theatre; and it was said that Queen Caroline herself was not as splendidly clad in Westminster Abbey as Anne Boleyn was on the stage of Drury Lane. Everyone was delighted with the show except Colly Cibber who was playing Wolsey, and in this new presentation his role was naturally reduced. No one cared for that; crowds went to see the coronation on the stage and night after night the theatre played to full houses.
When the King and Queen went the people stood on their seats and cheered them.
Those were the days of triumph.
The Queen’s Secret
IT had always been clear to Caroline that a king and queen who did not show themselves frequently would not be popular with the English people. The money paid to the present King far exceeded that which had been given to his father and the people wanted something in exchange.
They wanted a Court—a gay Court; they wanted to be amused; they wanted to see their King and to enjoy a little gossip at the expense of the royal family.
Walpole visited the Queen in her closet as he always did before an audience with the King; it was a tacit agreement. They would talk almost casually about matters which Walpole considered important, and between them decide on a line of action. Caroline’s task would be to bring the King to their point of view in such a manner that he would think that the project they wished to put into action was entirely his idea. This was not always an easy matter. But Caroline had grown in tact and skill and she was greatly aided by the conceit and blindness of the King.
Caroline would as if by chance be in the King’s closet when Walpole called; they would even make silent signs to each other—when to stress a point, when to speak, when to be silent.
It was a wonderful game of power and politics and Caroline delighted in it. Everything that she had been forced to suffer was of no consequence if only she could keep the position she now held. She and Walpole between them would make England great; and the only concession they must make was to let the King imagine he was the prime mover in all their schemes. Even this difficulty added zest to the game.
‘There should be a tour of the royal palaces,’ Walpole suggested. ‘The people expect it. It is a long time since royalty have used Windsor Castle.’
‘Neither the King nor his father ever liked the place,’ declared Caroline.
‘Even so, it would be wise if Your Majesties visited it for a while.’
It was not easy to persuade the King.
‘I believe the people of other parts of the country must be jealous of those who see you so frequently,’ Caroline told her husband.
He was sitting down, and crossing his legs he smiled with pleasure.
‘Ah, but I cannot in all places be at vonce.’
‘That is true, but they forget it. I’ll swear they vish much to see their King.’
She saw the expression in his eyes; he was imagining himself riding through towns and villages and the people running out to cheer him, perhaps throwing flowers in his path—buxom women, comely girls. Perhaps he should have a new mistress, He was weary of Henrietta. She was getting deafer every day.
‘Perhaps you vould decide you might visit some of your palaces.’
‘I might this do,’ he said.
The people of Vindsor never see you.’
‘I do not like the place. It is too big ... too much a castle.
The forest is goot ... for the hunt. That I like. But no more.’
‘Then you do not vish to go to Vindsor.’
‘I do not vish it. You look disappointed.’
‘No. I was thinking of the people of Vindsor.’
He did not speak any more but later when Walpole called and Caroline was in the King’s closet with him, the King said: ‘I have come to a decision. My people vish to see me and I believe it is time I visited them all. I shall go to all the palaces ... and this vill include Vindsor. I do not like the place but the people vill expect it.’
‘I am glad Your Majesty has had the idea of paying these visits,’ said Walpole. ‘It is a brilliant notion and I am sure it will do much good.’
The King was smiling complacently. Neither Walpole nor the Queen looked each other’s way.
It was exactly as they planned. And what did it matter if the King thought the plan was his? What did anything matter as long as he did what they desired?
* * *
‘In the past,’ said Walpole, ‘the royal family dined every Sunday in public. It was an occasion to which the people looked forward eagerly. It should be revived.’
‘Is it necessary?’ asked the Queen.
‘Your Majesty, it is very necessary to retain the popularity you and the King have won during the coronation.’
‘But to dine in public...!’
‘A small concession, Madam, for popularity. His Majesty should be made to conceive the idea.’
The Queen looked at him sharply. Was it wise to allow him to speak slightingly of the King, even to her? He read her thoughts and answered them with a look. If they were to work together they must dispense with subterfuge. She was the Queen, but he was a great statesman and her adviser; without him she could not expect to hold her position; and although he needed her, perhaps she was not quite so necessary to him as he was to her.
She decided that she would ask only absolute frankness from Walpole. He recognized this and was satisfied. They understood each other so well that often there was no need of verbal explanation.
She said: ‘I vill speak to the King. I doubt not that ere long you vill hear him say that ve must dine in public on Sundays.’
‘And, Madam, there is one other matter. The Prince of Wales cannot stay indefinitely in Hanover.’
‘Oh ... he has much to do there.’
‘He is the Prince of Wales. His place is here. The people will not wish him to remain abroad.’
‘The people vill say he is von German. Perhaps it is better he does not come.’
‘Your Majesty cannot mean you would keep him in Hanover for ever!’
‘He could be the Elector ... vy not?’
‘Elector of Hanover when he is Prince of Wales! I fear, Madam, that would not please the people.’
‘I have another son.’
Walpole looked shocked.
‘Madam, the Prince of Wales is the Prince of Wales ... and nothing can alter that.’
‘Because it vonce vas, must it alvays be?’
‘Always, Madam. Perhaps Your Majesty would speak to the King ...’
‘Oh ... sometime. The King vill not vish to have Frederick here.’
‘Madam, the people will wish it. Only today on the way to the Palace I heard the question: “Where is Fred?” Your Majesty the people are apt to be disrespectful when they think themselves unheard.’
‘And often ven they are heard.’
He smiled deprecatingly. ‘It is well to remember, Madam, that the will of the people should be the first consideration of us all.’
He was right; she acknowledged it; but although she soon persuaded the King to return to the habit of dining in public on Sundays, Walpole heard no more about the return of Frederick.
* * *
In the state chamber at St James’s Palace the table was laid for dinner.
Those who were privileged to see the royal family eat were already in their places. The officials in the royal livery had collected their tickets and they now stood expectantly behind the rail gaping with wonder at the magnificent plate that decorated the table, waiting for that ceremonial moment when the trumpets would announce the arrival of the King, the Queen, and their daughters.
At last they came—splendid glittering figures—smiling, bowing while the watchers cheered. They seated themselves at the table and the food was brought in. The band played softly while the meal progressed and the people stared in wonder to see the King and Queen served by kneeling ladies and gentlemen. It was a wondrous sight and people pointed out the Princess Royal as the haughty one who was not nearly so good looking as her sister Amelia who might have been called pretty even if she were not a royal princess; and the small pale one was Caroline.
The other children were too young to come to the table, but the people saw them on certain occasions and they were very interested in them.
Now they pressed about the rail which divided them from the diners, longing to be nearer, to hear what was said.
And then suddenly a voice from the back of the crowd shouted: ‘Where’s Fred?’
The King grew a shade pinker and the Queen pretended not to hear.
One of the officials was looking for the man who had spoken and there was silence in the crowd, for no one wanted to be thrown out.
The royal family went on eating as though nothing had happened.
The Queen retired early that night. She was very tired and her legs were swollen. What distressed her most was that voice she had heard at dinner.
Walpole was right, of course. He almost always was. The people were asking when Frederick was coming home. How much longer would they be able to keep him away? The King had been in a bad mood for he hated the thought of Frederick’s coming home. It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Frederick would hate his father as George had hated his.
Perhaps, thought the Queen, we shall grow to love him. But how could she love anyone who displaced her darling William? She was being foolish. Frederick would not displace William for William had never been in a position to be displaced. Yet she was as resentful as the King.
Why did they have to talk continually of Frederick? Why could they not let him stay in Hanover where he was apparently enjoying life?
She was tired suddenly. She had felt quite ill at dinner. She would retire early. They could say she had letters to write.
As she rose her legs seemed quite numb; she stumbled and fell.
Charlotte Clayton was at her side.
‘Your Majesty.’
The Queen smiled faintly. ‘I slipped. I am a little tired. I think I vill go to bed.’
* * *
Charlotte Clayton had been watching the growing friendship between the Queen and Sir Robert Walpole. It seemed to her that whenever she wished for a little tête-à-tête with Her Majesty, Sir Robert was either with her or on the point of calling.
Charlotte did not approve of Walpole. The man was a notorious lecher; he drank to excess; his conversation was crude; he was, in Charlotte’s eyes, not worthy of the Queen’s friendship.
In the past she and the Queen had been very close. They agreed about so many matters. They had had many interesting theological discussions; but since the coronation and the closer friendship between the Queen and Walpole, Charlotte felt shut out.
Moreover, she had always guessed that Walpole did not like her. There would come a day when he would poison the Queen’s mind against her and the Queen would become so besotted by the man that she would be ready to believe all he told her.
That must not happen. But how prevent it? Was she, Charlotte Clayton, going to stand out against the chief minister?
Something would have to be done.
It was definitely wrong for the Queen to be closely attended by the King’s mistress—and for all the woman’s soft ways and meekness Charlotte would never like Henrietta Howard—and a lecher like Walpole. One good godfearing companion had to be close at hand.
She was growing really alarmed. Only a few days ago she had heard Walpole speak of her disparagingly. He had called her ‘that old viper’. He never guarded his tongue but there was something in the tone of his voice which made her realize his dislike of her.
She was not going to be pushed aside at ‘Walpole’s decree. The Queen needed her ... and she needed the Queen.
* * *
The Queen was lying on her bed. Charlotte stood at the foot looking at her, her eyes were round with horror, her face pale.
‘Your Majesty ...’
‘It is nothing ... nothing....’ said the Queen.
‘But madam, I saw ...’
‘Nothing at all ... nothing....’
‘Madam ... I should call your physician.’
‘Please say nothing about it.’
‘But ...’
The Queen was almost pleading. ‘You know, Charlotte, what is wrong.’
‘I can only guess, Your Majesty.’
‘It is something which many women suffer from.’ ‘But the physician ...’
‘Do not speak to me of physicians. Listen Charlotte. I have had this ... affliction since the birth of Louisa.’
‘But Your Majesty should have treatment.’
‘No. No one must know. Do you understand that? It will pass, I tell you. It will pass. Charlotte I ask you ... I command you....’
‘Your Majesty!’ Charlotte bowed her head.
‘No one must know. I should feel so ... ashamed. It is such an unfortunate affliction. The King...’
‘Oh, Madam!’
‘Listen to me, Charlotte, I command you.’
‘Your Majesty, I would never disobey your command. This shall be our secret.’
Our secret. Sorry as she was for the Queen, Charlotte felt a thrill of triumph. She shared a secret with the Queen; always Caroline would remember it.
A secret, thought Charlotte, which she would share with no one ... not even Robert Walpole.
‘You May Strut, Dapper George’
TO Windsor went their Majesties; they walked in the Park; they dined in public; they hunted in the forest—the King, young William, Anne, and Amelia on horseback, and the Queen in her chaise and Caroline in another. The Queen did not care for the hunt and she made Lord Hervey ride beside her and entertain her with his witty talk, for that young man was becoming a greater favourite with her every day.
They were pleasant days at Windsor, but the King was a little sullen because he hated the place and was longing to be back at Hampton or his beloved Kensington. Still the cheers of the people delighted him and there was no doubt that they had been wise to make the tour.
Caroline made sure that they spoke to the people whenever possible; moreover, she gave a sum of money towards paying the creditors of many who had been for years in the debtors’ prison there and thus securing their release.
Caroline could have been very gratified apart from the nagging pain she suffered now and then, apart from wondering whether Anne should be reprimanded for showing too much haughtiness, Amelia for flirting with the Duke of Grafton, Caroline for not sitting up straight, William for his forwardness. The one of whom she must be most watchful was of course the King. Never must she betray by a look that she believed herself to be his intellectual equal.
There were so many things to remember.
Everything was going well. At the last general election Walpole had emerged triumphant; his government had been returned with a big majority, having secured this by bribery; he laughed at the ease with which it had been accomplished, explaining to Maria Skerrett during brief respites from public life at Richmond that every man had his price. He was ruling with a cynical ease which proved to be the best possible thing for the country. He wanted a successful England and that meant an England at peace both at home and abroad. The Jacobite menace was always with them but under Walpole it grew more remote. Unscrupulous he might be, but he was a strong man and he wanted to see the country strong. In this Caroline was immediately beside him. Their alliance was becoming friendship. They were both fully aware of each other’s qualities and the greatest bond between them was their need of each other.
Choleric conceited little George, although he was no absolute monarch, was not without power. The government needed the support of the King and Walpole knew that Caroline could slip those invisible reins on her little man and lead him where she would. Her dexterity, her tact, her cool intelligence and her ability to play the humble wife filled Walpole with admiration. They were ideal partners; and it was not long before the results of their rule began to be seen. Trade increased at home; the price of wheat fell; credit abroad rose. Politicians were aware of this; and the people knew that life was more comfortable than it had been for a long time. For this they would reject romantic dreams of a handsome King across the water, of the stories of the charming King Charles II and his lovely Court. The Hanoverians might be dull and ugly, but if they brought prosperity to England the English preferred them to the more glamorous branch of the family.
The reign was becoming popular thanks to Caroline and Sir Robert Walpole.
But they were surrounded by astute politicians and enemies. William Pulteney was one, Viscount Bolingbroke another. Both these men were intensely ambitious and coveted Walpole’s position. That he owed much to the Queen was apparent to them and they and their friends believed that the best way to disrupt this alliance was to bring it to the notice of the King.
George himself was of the impression that the country’s growing prosperity was due to him. He liked to compare his reign with the previous ones, himself with other Kings of England to his own glorification.
On one occasion he said: ‘These Kings of England . . . they have not known how to rule . . . they have not ruled. Others have ruled for them.’
Bolingbroke, always ready for mischief, pointed out that the constitutional monarchs of the day lacked the power of the kings of the past. Such a remark was bound to anger George.
‘Pooh and stuff!’ This inelegant expression was a favourite of his. ‘I vill show you. Charles I was ruled by his vife, Charles II by his mistresses, James II by his priests, Villiam III by his men-favourites, and Anne by her vomenfavourites.’
‘And Your Majesty’s father?’ asked Bolingbroke.
George’s blue eyes bulged. ‘By anyvon who could get at him!’ he sneered. The sneer was replaced by a delighted smile. ‘And who do they say governs now?’
Bolingbroke bowed to hide the mockery in his eyes. ‘Who but his august Majesty, King George II.’
George was satisfied; but Bolingbroke saw what mischief could be made by the mere suggestion that the King was led by the Queen.
Bolingbroke had always been a frequenter of taverns and coffee houses where writers congregated, for he had long realized the power of the pen and he made full use of it. Consequently, shortly afterwards a verse was being quoted and laughed over, not only in the coffee and chocolate houses but throughout the Court.
‘You may strut, dapper George, but ‘twill all be in vain,
We know ‘tis Queen Caroline, not you, that reigns.
You govern no more than Don Philip of Spain.
Then if you would have us fall down and adore you,
Lock up your fat spouse as your dad did before you.’
Bolingbroke’s next task was to see that this verse was brought to the King’s notice.
* * *
It was not difficult for one of Walpole’s enemies to arrange this; and the place in which it should be done appeared to be in the apartments of the King’s mistress. Henrietta was not taken into the scheme; she would never have agreed to that. All she wanted was to live in peace. But Bolingbroke, Pulteney, and members of the Opposition were soon able to arrange it and a young lady in whom the King was displaying a fleeting interest was soon found to show him the lampoon.
‘Such lies these scribblers write, Your Majesty. Why this latest verse which has caught everyone’s fancy ...’
George was not inclined to show interest in what he called ‘boetry’ which he said was for little men like Mr Pope not for kings and the nobility. However, the matter was pressed and eventually he asked to see the rhyme. By what seemed to be an odd chance the lady had one in the pocket of her gown, torn in halves to show her contempt for it.
But it was not difficult to put the two pieces together and when he read them George was overcome by such a rage that those who had planned the scheme could not have been more delighted.
He turned to the unfortunate gentleman nearest him who happened to be Lord Scarborough, and cried: ‘Have you seen this ... this scandal!’
Scarborough, a little pink, took the paper and frowned at it.
‘Have you!’ cried the King. ‘Have you?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘Then vere have you it seen? Who showed it to you?’ ‘I ... I could not in honour tell Your Majesty.’
‘You stand there and tell me ...’
The whole of the room was watching, some with alarm, but some with amusement—secret amusement—and others in delight.
‘Your Majesty ... it was a lady.’
The King’s face was tinged with purple; the veins stood out at his temples.
‘It is von lie!’ he screamed.
‘Your Majesty, the whole Court knows this ...’
‘Then vy such lies are they written?’
There was silence and as the King’s rage increased he turned to Scarborough and for a moment everyone thought he was going to strike the noble lord.
Instead he said in a low voice which betrayed sorrow, disappointment, and a fury which could break into a frenzy at any moment: ‘Had I been you, Scarborough, I should have shot the man who showed me such insolent lies.’
‘I ... I understand, Your Majesty, and this I should have done ... but it was a lady ...’
The King did not answer. He strode from the room.
* * *
The matter rankled in his mind. He had been forced to look at the truth and he did not like it. The people were hinting that he was a man who was governed by his wife! It was the very conclusion he was determined to avoid.
He did not tell Caroline of the incident. He was determined that he would not be the one to bring that scurrilous verse to her notice; but his manner towards her changed.
It appeared that he disliked her. She could never offer the simplest opinion but he could deride it. He began by doing so in front of her women.
He would call for her in her apartments so they could do their walk together in the park.
I do not care for that cloak. You vill another year.’ ‘Oh, that one is a little heavy for this time of the year.’ ‘I say you vill this von year.’
The women were startled, but Caroline meekly put on the cloak.
Something has happened, she thought. Why should there be so much drama about a cloak.
They sauntered in the gardens. If she made a comment to anyone he would immediately contradict it.
‘Pooh and stuff. That is von nonsense.’
The Queen was humiliated, but smilingly she agreed with all he said.
He strutted ahead of her. Let her keep her distance. His voice was strident, arrogant. He was implying to everyone that he was the master and the Queen was entirely subservient to him.
She dared not offer an opinion, for if she did he would certainly contradict it. Yet he did not change his habits in one way. He always visited her at precisely the same time as before; they walked at the same hour; the state papers were still delivered to her for perusal. The King’s great obsession was to show the Court that the Queen was his slave.
His greatest pleasure seemed to be to snub her in public, and he never lost an opportunity of doing this.
‘The position,’ Caroline told Walpole, ‘is becoming intolerable.’
‘You will overcome the difficulty,’ soothed Walpole. ‘A plague on these scribblers.’
So it became a new challenge to lead the King even more skilfully than ever before; and gradually she made a little headway. Her method must be to express an adverse opinion of something she sought to bring about. The King would immediately see its advantages; and once he had committed himself she could agree with him and strengthen his views.
