Caroline the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  Caroline who followed them, preceded by the Duke of St Albans, who was carrying her crown, was conscious of this being the proudest moment of her life. She had always secretly loved pomp and ceremonies even in the days when she had lived as a girl with the erudite Sophia Charlotte, Queen of Prussia, and had pretended to despise what Sophia Charlotte called empty ceremony because Sophia Charlotte had. But it wasn’t true. She loved the glitter of the diamonds she had borrowed, the milky sheen of pearls, the richness of velvet and ermine; and, most significant of all, the crown which St Albans carried with such reverence. If only Sophia Charlotte could see her now, what would she say? Don’t mistake the glitter of tinsel for gold; don’t attach more importance to power than to understanding. But the old Electress Sophia—through whom the Hanoverian branch of the family had come to the throne—would feel as Caroline did, for what Sophia had longed for beyond everything on Earth was the crown of England.

  Oh yes, this is a proud moment. Somewhere among the people who were assembling in the Abbey would be Sir Robert Walpole and Caroline believed that if they were careful—and of course they would be—between them he and she would rule England, for the little man—today such a splendid little man—who was at the very heart of this procession could be manipulated as though he were a puppet doll, provided one pulled the strings so expertly that he was unaware of their existence.

  On either side of her were the Bishops of Winchester and London and the three Princesses were bearing her train. Anne would be a proud girl on this day. As Princess Royal she would make sure that her sisters behaved with decorum. Not that one need fear they wouldn’t. Amelia had her own dignity and Caroline was quite meek. They must look very charming in their purple robes with the gold and jewelled circlets on their heads. She hoped theirs weren’t as heavy as hers for it pressed hard on her head and was giving her a headache. Her legs were a little painful too.

  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 VIII in 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 retu
rn 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.