by Jean Plaidy
‘I shall speak to His Majesty myself,’ said Caroline.
Leibniz shook his head but Caroline was insistent.
She went straight to the King’s apartments.
The King was surprised to see her. He glanced at her sullenly and noticed her handsome looks. The pox had dimmed them a little, but she was still a beautiful woman; and with the colour in her face, the slight ravages were scarcely discernible. Proud, too. She would have to be watched. Bernstorff was right. She would be a meddler… given the chance. She must therefore not be given the chance.
‘I have come to speak to Your Majesty about Gottfried Leibniz.’
‘What?’
‘He is too brilliant a man to leave behind in Hanover. We shall need him in England.’
‘I do not need him.’
‘But I…’ She stopped, realizing that for the moment she had forgotten her own rule of conduct.
‘He is completing his history, so he remains.’
‘He could do more useful work.’
‘So you do not think his work here is useful?’
‘I do. But I think he should accompany me to England.’
‘No. He remains.’
‘Your Majesty, I ask you as a favour to me…’
The King shook his head. ‘He remains,’ he said.
‘But we shall be leaving very soon and I had arranged…’
‘You will not be leaving very soon.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You are not leaving with the Prince and me. You will follow later.’
This was a shattering blow, even worse than the knowledge that Leibniz would not be accompanying her.
‘But I thought…’
‘No. You will come later. You will be given instructions.’
Indignation burned in her eyes. She hated him, and all the will-power she had built up during the years was necessary at that moment to hold back her hatred.
‘You will follow us a month later. You and the little girls.’
‘But my son…’
‘He is to stay in Hanover.’
‘Oh, no!’
The King looked surprised. She was a woman indeed who would have to be watched.
He said quietly: ‘It would not be wise for the two heirs to the throne – your husband and your son – to be in England together… not until we have discovered what our reception will be. Frederick will stay behind to represent us.’
‘Little Fritzchen is only seven. Did Your Majesty remember?’
‘I remember Frederick’s age. He will stay here, and you will follow a month or so after we have arrived in England.’
It was useless to argue, useless to plead. Leibniz would not be allowed to go to England; Fritzchen would stay behind in Hanover; and she would not go to England with the King and her husband; she would wait until she was sent for.
This was indeed a frustrating discovery.
Ermengarda Schulemburg was preparing to leave for England. The King had managed to soothe her fears and since he said it was safe she accepted that it was; her great charm was that she believed he was always right.
Madam Kielmansegge was in difficulties because, learning that she was preparing to depart, her creditors – and she owed vast sums – swooped on her from all directions and demanded that she settled their bills before she went. Frantically she begged the King to settle them, but he told her he could do no such thing and she must deal with the matter herself. She was desperate, for there was no one who would help her if the King wouldn’t. Ermengarda was smugly secure; she had incurred no debts; her greatest characteristic, next to her placidity, was her avariciousness and during the years she had managed to amass a considerable fortune. She was not inclined to dip into this to help a rival. No, Kielmansegge must fend for herself. The Countess von Platen, too, was an angry woman; but any who had known the King for any length of time must be aware that once he had declined to give assistance it was useless to beg for it.
He himself was not in a happy mood, for as the time grew nearer for his departure the more he realized how deeply he loved Hanover and how loath he was to leave it for a country of which he knew little except that he disliked it.
He had been there once before as a young man – about thirty years ago – when it had been decided he should make a bid for the hand of the Princess Anne. That had been a most unsuccessful journey; the English had hated his German speech and German manners; the Princess had shown her dislike for him and he his for her. His stay had necessarily been brief; and afterwards he had come back to Hanover to be hustled into marriage with Sophia Dorothea.
He would have liked to delay – and he had done so to a certain extent – but he knew that it would be unwise to wait longer.
It was a month after the first news of Queen Anne’s death had been brought to Hanover when George the First set out for England.
The King’s yacht lay off Gravesend in a thick fog. It had been a rough crossing and everyone aboard was regretting it had ever been necessary to leave Hanover – most of all the King.
He felt irritable. Hanover had never looked so beautiful to him as it did on the day he had left it. He knew he would have been a fool to decline the crown of England for himself and his heirs, but how he wished it had never been necessary to claim it.
The sight of George Augustus added to his discontent. There he was, enjoying himself, rehearsing how he would show himself off to the English; he had already uttered the most flowery eulogies on his new country, and the English, although sensible enough in some respects, were not shrewd enough to recognize the gross flattery. Before they had set foot in England George Augustus was trying to rival his father, trying to turn any devotion they might feel towards him to his son.
It was a bitter thing when there was strife between families. His own father had taught him that, and by God it was true.
The Peregrine had been a fine sight when it had set out from The Hague with its escort of twenty ships. It was a little less splendid certainly after the rough storm they had encountered – and now, here at Gravesend was this accursed fog.
When shall I return to Hanover? wondered the King.
The mist was already lifting and they could go ashore. The sun broke through and it promised to be a glorious day.
The bells were chiming; the guns had begun to boom a welcome. The people of England wanted to show him that although they might not be glad he had come, they preferred him to Catholic James.
It was the eighteenth day of September in the year 1714. Hanover had come to England and this was the end of the House of Stuart. At least, it was to be hoped this was so, for who could say what the man whom many called James III was preparing to do even now? George wondered how many of these men who were bowing before him, welcoming him to their island, swearing allegiance to him, would if the Stuart were victorious, turn to him with the same loyal greetings.
George had few illusions.
There was Marlborough, all smiles and friendliness: a great soldier but a dangerous politician. George was well aware that Marlborough, like the majority of these men, was not to be trusted.
He received them noncommittally – Marlborough, Ormonde, Oxford, Harcourt. They would discover that he was not a man to be led by the nose. He might not speak their language, but they should soon become acquainted with his desires for all that.
The King noticed the gracious smiles of his son as the people called a welcome. It was George Augustus who secured most of the limelight.
He must be watched, thought George. He must be kept in his place.
Greenwich Palace was very grand but the King was homesick for the Leine Schloss and Herrenhausen.
‘Your Majesty,’ he was told. ‘If you would stand at the window with the Prince the people would be pleased.’
He stood there – with George Augustus beside him. George Augustus was bowing, smiling, waving – most gracious, most affable. And the King saw that the people liked it, and that it was the Prince of Wa
les they cheered rather than the King.
On the river craft of all kinds were assembled; crowds jostled each other in the streets; every window was occupied; people shouted to each other; and it was clear that London was in a festive mood. Sellers of pies and ballads called to the crowds to buy what they had to sell. The coffee and chocolate houses were full to overflowing; so were the taverns and even the very select mug houses. Under the brilliant painted signs – Mother Red Cap, The Merry Maidens, The Blue Cockade – knots of people gathered to talk excitedly of what the coming of a new king would mean.
There were the Jacobites who muttered darkly and whispered that this was an evil day for England; but these were few compared with the Protestants who were relieved that a new king had been chosen who would be true to the Reformed Church of England.
But even they talked of Germans. A pity, they thought, that the Stuarts had turned to Catholicism. How much more comfortable if King James’s son across the water had never become a Papist; then they would never have been obliged to bring in the Germans.
But today King George was making his entry into London and whatever had happened to bring him here, whatever would be the result was not to be thought of today. For this was a holiday, a day of pleasure; and every apprentice in the capital, every milkmaid, every merchant and his wife were going to see that a good time was enjoyed.
The Jacobites were the only ones who had been hoping for a dismal day. They would have preferred to see the rain teeming down in torrents or a cold wind to drive the people off the streets. But fate was on the side of the Guelphs that day; and the sun shone brilliantly. It was a glorious, golden September day.
Coaches emblazoned with arms led the procession from Greenwich and the spectators had an opportunity of seeing representatives of all the noble families of England.
There were exclamations and shouts as the coaches trundled by; and, breathless with excitement, the spectators waited for that which they had come to see – the royal coach.
And there it was – its glass glittering in the sun, and on the front seat the Duke of Northumberland and Lord Dorset; and inside – the new king and his son the Prince of Wales.
‘So that’s the King!’ There was a titter of dismay. He was not exactly what they had expected. A man past fifty on whom the royal robes did not hang very becomingly; he had a rather sour expression and it was quickly noticed that although he bowed his head in acknowledgement of their cheers and put his hand on his heart as he did so as a token of his determination to be their very good king, he did not smile.
Beside him was a much more pleasant personality: the Prince of Wales. There was a young man, not exactly handsome, but with a pleasant expression and manner. He seemed to enjoy wearing his magnificent robes, and his gracious smiles showed that he liked the people too. Now there was a man who seemed glad to be in England.
‘God bless the Prince of Wales!’ cried a voice in the crowd and others took it up.
The young man placed his hand on his heart and bowed.
‘Don’t do that,’ said the King sharply.
‘But…’
‘I said don’t. It is for me to bow. You sit still and do nothing.’
George Augustus’s affable expression turned to one of hatred, but he quickly changed it, knowing that he was watched.
‘The Prince of Wales!’ cried the crowd. He was delighted. They liked him – not his father. This was triumph. They were accepting him as they never would his father. He wished Caroline were here to see him.
So he must not bow. Very well. He could do as much with a smile. They seemed to think so, for they continued to shout for him.
The King noticed and his expression grew more grim.
I’m glad we came to England, thought George Augustus. England is the place for me.
He was already planning the Court he would have to rival that of his father; and the thought gave him much pleasure.
The royal coach passed on and in the cavalcade following it were the coaches in which rode the Hanoverian friends and servants whom the King had brought with him.
In one of these were two women – one very tall and thin, the other short and fat. They made a grotesque sight, the raddled cheeks of one painted scarlet, the purple ones of the other covered in white powder; the wig of one flaming red, the other jet black.
‘Who are they?’ was the cry; and the answer came promptly: ‘They are his mistresses.’
This was the occasion for which they had been waiting. George had pleased them at last; he had given them something to laugh at and there was nothing they liked better.
‘So that’s how he likes them. What kind of man is this they have brought us from Germany?’
‘Look at her. The Maypole, I mean… not the Elephant! Though look at her too! Did you ever see the like?’
‘Why did he bring those with him. Did he think we could not offer him better than that?’
The King’s mistresses had their nicknames – the Maypole and the Elephant, and because one was so tall and thin, the other so short and fat, they gave rise to ribaldry which went echoing through the crowds.
In the coffee houses the Jacobites reminded each other, and any who cared to listen, of the King’s cruelty to his wife and how even at this time she was languishing in a prison to which he had confined her many years ago.
‘This is the man you have brought here!’ cried the Jacobite speakers. ‘This man who hasn’t learned how to speak our language or even to smile.’
And even those who didn’t care whether a Guelph or a Stuart sat in the throne thought the new king was a sour-looking fellow.
The guns of the Tower boomed out and the Lord Mayor and City Father greeted the King while the Recorder read his speech of welcome. Then – over London Bridge to St Paul’s where children had been assembled to chant ‘God Save the King’, and flags were waved as the glass coach passed through the triumphal arches; the guns were booming and the bells from every church in London ringing.
Several people were already drunk on the wine which flowed from the fountains, and among the shouts of ‘God Save the King’ could be heard a growl or two.
If the King heard them he gave no sign; he was merely thinking that he would be glad when the procession had passed through his capital city and had reached the comfort of St James’s Palace, for then the nonsense would be over. His new subjects were a frivolous lot; he had gathered that much. They were shouting for him now, but they would be shouting for James if he were offered to them; anything for free wine and a day’s holiday!
St James’s at last. He was glad it was over. Now for the banquet and more expressions of loyalty and then the comfort of bed.
George Augustus was flushed and triumphant; no doubts there as to his feelings for his new country! Bernstorff was right. He would have to be watched; and when his clever wife appeared, even more so.
He listened to the loyal addresses; he presided over a meeting of his Council; and after that to bed.
In the streets the feasting continued. The lights of a hundred bonfires sent a glow into the sky; there was dancing and singing; there were brawls and lovemaking. A typical holiday for the people of the new king’s capital who had always chosen any opportunity for making merry except in the days of the Puritans, since when they had been doubly merry to make up for those lost years.
‘Long live King George!’ sang the Protestants.
‘Damn King George!’ sang the Jacobites.
And, in his new palace – alas many miles from Hanover which he knew now how much he loved – the new King of England serenely slept.
God Save King George
FROM THE DECK of the ship which was carrying her to England Caroline had her first glimpse of the land which would be her home and of which, if all went as she hoped, she would be Queen.
She had few regrets for what she had left behind, having caught the Electress Sophia’s enthusiasm for this land, compared with which, she fully believed, Hanover was a backward littl
e state. True she had been unable to bring Leibniz but this was the land of Newton, Swift, Addison and Steele – and she would have an opportunity of meeting these men. Here they wrote their satires and their lampoons and through these they moulded public opinion and so had as great an influence on the conduct of the Kingdom as any ruler.
Of this land she would one day be Queen, unless the Jacobites arose and drove them away. The future seemed full of stimulating possibilities.
It was true that she had left two of her children behind. How sad and angry she had been to part from Fritzchen; the parting was so unnecessary. Why should a little boy of seven be separated from his parents because he must act as the representative of his grandfather and father! How typical of the new King of England to care nothing for the tender feelings between a mother and her son. She would not rest until she had brought Fritzchen to England. And then baby Caroline had become ill just as they were about to depart and it had been thought wise to leave her behind. She would follow soon, but still it was sad to part.
The little girls, Anne and Amelia, five and three years old, now stood beside her, excitedly chattering as the land grew nearer and nearer. Anne pointed out the land to her little sister and told her what fun they were going to have in England; Amelia burst into tears now and then when she remembered Fritzchen, but Anne did not care. She was secretly pleased that he was left behind and there would be no one to strut and bully, and call attention to himself. She had explored the yacht Mary on which they were travelling; she had asked questions which the squadron of English men-of-war which had provided their escort.
And now land was in sight. The town of Margate was waiting to welcome them; and after the ten days’ journey from Hanover it was a pleasure to know that they were nearing their destination.
As the Mary came into the town, crowds had gathered to catch a glimpse of the new Princess of Wales. The people of Margate, who were both fishermen and farmers, rarely enjoyed such excitement and were determined to make the most of it; and the appearance of the newcomers pleased them. The Princess was a stately, comely woman, inclined to be plump but they liked her none the less for that. She was gracious to them and seemed genuinely pleased with their welcome; as for the little girls, they were quite enchanting in their excitement. Here was a lady who would have many children and give the country frequent reasons to celebrate. Poor Queen Anne – good Queen though she was – had been disappointed again and again in her hopes and there had been little cause for rejoicing on her account.