Caroline the Queen

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Having to put up with Fred?’

  ‘She has other consolations so I’ve heard. In any case, fancy being Queen and having to put up with Papa!’

  ‘You are right. Why should we not at least say what we think. And I say with you, Poor Mamma! Papa must be the greatest trial. Particularly when he is in his worst humours for then he is a devil to everyone. What surprises me is how angry he gets about small things. Have you noticed that. It is the little things that bother him. Perhaps his page has not powdered his periwig to his satisfaction. I heard him complain the other day because a housemaid put a chair in its unaccustomed place. Then of course there is this obsession with time. Is it because he has such a little mind that he is so concerned with little things.’

  ‘Now you are speaking frankly and it makes sense. As I said, Poor Mamma Who wants marriage, which might bring a husband like she has. And he is a King.’

  ‘I repeat,’ said Anne firmly, ‘I would marry anyone who could give me a crown.’

  Amelia shrugged. It was nearly time to go hunting and she was certain that Grafton would be of the party. She was a Princess; and they would not—or could not—find her a husband. Well they could not complain if she indulged in an occasional flirtation. She might so easily by now have been married to the Crown Prince of Prussia. She wondered what would have happened to her if she had. The King of Prussia was a madman and a brute. At least the King of England was only a fool. And she was sure flirtation with Grafton was far more exciting than marriage with Frederick of Prussia would have been. By all accounts he was more interested in military affairs than marriage; and the idea of living under the same roof with such a father-in-law! The thing to do was enjoy life as it came and that was what Anne should learn to do.

  ‘It’s time for my music lesson,’ said Anne. The hardness of her expression softened a little. ‘I must not keep Mr Handel waiting.’

  ‘What is it today?’ asked Amelia. ‘A lesson on the harpsichord or singing?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘You used to perform well, sister.’

  ‘It is such a pleasure to play for Mr Handel. He is a genius.’

  ‘Fred never plays now.’

  ‘Not with Mr Handel. I suppose he didn’t care for criticism.’

  ‘He was not bad at the fiddle.’

  ‘No. Nor at the cello. I used to enjoy it when we three played together. Frederick seems less ... offensive then.’ ‘Oh, he has become too important. A mistress in Soho Square and so many influential men ready to tell him how they admire him.’

  ‘Well, at least we agree on one thing: Fred. Now I must leave you, sister. And, as you say, Mr Handel is waiting for me.’

  * * *

  In the music room Georg Friedrich Haendel who was known as George Frederick Handel was waiting for his pupil. This was a lesson to which he always looked forward. The Princess Anne was an apt pupil with the right respect for the most important matter in the world: Music. Moreover she, who was so haughty to everyone else, had the grace to be humble before a man of his talent.

  The post of music master to the King’s daughters was an enviable one. Not that he cared for money. He cared only for music. But money was necessary to live.

  As the Princess entered he lifted his unwieldy frame from the stool on which he was seated and, bowing, kissed her hand.

  ‘I am a little late, dear master,’ said Anne. ‘The Princess Amelia detained me.’

  Handel smiled and when he smiled his heavy rather bad-tempered face became almost attractive. The smile rarely appeared for anything that was not concerned with music, but the Princess Royal was a very special friend of his.

  As she sat at the harpsichord and played the piece he set for her, her expression softened and she became almost pretty. When she had finished Handel complimented her and said that her touch was sure; after that he made a few criticisms to which she listened attentively. The most endearing characteristic of the royal family was their love of music, thought Handel, watching her. They all had good ears and a strong appreciation. He was extremely grateful for this because to it he owed his comfortable living, and he was a man who liked comfort.

  It was the same with the late King who, for all his lack of appreciation for beauty in any other form, was blessed with this love of music. George I had forgiven Handel, who had fallen into disfavour for having come to England during the reign of Queen Anne and deserting Hanover by remaining there. But when George came to England Handel was restored to favour and in the year 1715 had composed his Water Music which was played when the royal family took barge from Whitehall to Limehouse. George had been delighted with this music and had completely forgiven the composer his neglect of the past. Handel was received at Court and in due course entrusted with the musical education of George II’s daughters. George II had been merely Prince of Wales at that time although, after the famous quarrel between the father and son, George I had had the charge of the young Princesses.

  That was long ago, thought Handel, and that Prince of Wales had now become King. There was, unfortunately, a new Prince of Wales.

  ‘You are looking troubled, master,’ said the Princess. ‘I trust my playing did not displease you.’

  ‘It was good,’ Handel told her, ‘apart from the faults I mentioned. But I have been disturbed lately.’

  ‘You disturbed, master! But that should not be. You have your music to think of. Now running in my head is the exquisite music of Acis andGalatea. I am taking a party to the Haymarket tomorrow night to hear Rinaldo.’

  ‘Your Highness has a rare love for music.’

  ‘But you have not told me why you are disturbed.’

  ‘People do not come to hear opera as they once did and it is very difficult to make the Haymarket pay. Alas artistes have to be paid; they won’t sing without it. And ever since Gay’s Beggar’s Opera found such popularity that light music seems to be the kind people look for.’

  ‘How foolish of them!’ Anne’s eyes flashed. ‘If I were Queen I would make a law forcing people to go to the opera your operas, master.’

  He gave his rather beautiful smile.

  ‘You would be a good friend, I know. Ah, it was different in the old days. You will not remember the trouble I had with those two women. They were two of the best singers in the world, I am sure. But each thought she should be the Queen of Music and could not abide the other one.’

  ‘Master, of course I remember. It is not so long ago ... only a few years and I have always been interested in musical matters. You are referring to the sopranos Cuzzoni and Faustina.’

  He nodded, his eyes under his very bushy black brows suddenly twinkling.

  ‘You told me yourself,’ she reminded him, ‘how they would not sing together and how you picked up Cuzzoni ... was it?’

  ‘Yes, Cuzzoni.’

  ‘You picked her up, carried her to the window and threatened to throw her out if she would not sing in your opera.’

  ‘And she did.’

  ‘Poor woman! ‘ laughed the Princess, ‘she had to save her life.’

  ‘And very beautifully she sang. She and Faustina together. The opera was Allessandro.... But we are wasting time; let me hear the harpsichord suite which I wrote for you.’

  She played it with skill and he was pleased with her. ‘You did not tell me, why you were disturbed,’ she said afterwards.

  ‘Oh, it is nothing. Only that Italian Buononcini. People are comparing his music with mine and I tell you his is worthless ... worthless.’

  ‘Indeed it is worthless,’ said Anne.

  ‘But people are foolish. They who have no true musical appreciation begin to believe what they are constantly told. They go to the opera because it is fashionable ... not to hear music.’

  ‘I will ask the King and Queen to come with me to the Haymarket to hear your new opera. They will be delighted to. And I will see that the whole Court attend. Then you will not have any fear of not being able to pay the artistes.’

  ‘Your Highnes
s is gracious.’

  ‘As a reward for my graciousness I demand to know what you are working on now.’

  Handel sat down at the harpsichord and began to play; Anne listened. He was a genius; he was a master of music; and if she could command every one to listen to his operas she would do her best to persuade those who would do him most good to attend the Haymarket.

  * * *

  Soho Square was filled with the carriages and Sedans of the great. Anne Vane was holding a soirée.

  Anne was in her element. She lived in luxury; whenever she went out in her carriage people pointed out the mistress of the Prince of Wales; people in high places sought her company. She had never been so important in her life.

  She had her nursery where little FitzFrederick flourished with his nurses and attendants. The Prince of Wales visited the child frequently and delighted in attempting to discover a likeness to himself. Anne was constantly discovering resemblances and George Bubb Dodington and Mrs Behan bore her out that the child was the living image of the Prince.

  The friendship between Frederick and Bubb was not quite so firm as it had been. The Prince continued to win large sums of money from his friend, but Frederick’s character had changed after contact with men such as Bolingbroke and Wyndham. He was less simple than he had been. Bubb, he believed, was a bit of a buffoon with his vulgar displays of lapis lazuli in his house and his brocades and velvets on his scarcely prepossessing figure.

  Behind Bubb’s back Frederick was apt to laugh at the easy manner in which he had been allowed to take his winnings. The fool was really paying for the privilege of calling the Prince of Wales his friend.

  Frederick was important. Bolingbroke said so. He was ill-treated by his father, but it would not always be so. Soon he would be found a wife; his debts would be paid and his father would be forced to give him an income commensurate with his position.

  Frederick was beginning to realize his own importance and changing subtly from the young man who had come to England eager to make himself pleasant and popular.

  Townshend had asked for a place in his household and got it. That, thought Frederick, would be a blow to his father and old Walpole. Occasional meetings with Bolingbroke, listening to commiseration on his ill-treatment, planning for better days—all this was changing Frederick.

  Now his greatest pleasure was to bring discomfort and embarrassment to his parents.

  So on these occasions when Anne entertained in Soho Square he made it clear that he liked as many members of Parliament as possible to call on his mistress. They were received with flattering pleasure and more and more were flocking to these gatherings.

  The fact that Walpole was uneasy was a great delight to his enemies, who said that it was the same story all over again. Once the present King had held a second Court in Leicester House in defiance of his Father’s at St James’s.

  Now here was Frederick Prince of Wales defying his father.

  Anne, the Prince beside her, was telling Bubb what a pleasant gathering it was and how pleased she was to see so many of the King’s Court with them.

  ‘There might have been more,’ said Bubb, ‘but half the Court is at the Haymarket.’

  ‘Oh, Handel! ‘ cried Anne. ‘That is the Princess. She says he is the finest musician in the world. But some seem to like the Italian. I myself for one.’

  ‘Buononcini is a fine musician,’ said Bubb. ‘How does he compare with Handel? His Highness will tell us, doubtless.’

  ‘They are different,’ said Frederick. ‘Handel is so German and Buononcini typically Italian.’

  ‘I suppose I am very stupid with no taste,’ sighed Anne. ‘Am I, my love? I find Handel a bore.’

  ‘You could never be stupid,’ said Frederick, kissing her hand.

  ‘No,’ pouted Anne. ‘Look how I produced my adorable FitzFrederick.’

  ‘And,’ whispered some malicious voice, ‘deluded Fred into thinking he was his.’

  But no one heard or even cared to listen, for so many of those present believed it would be profitable to support the Prince’s party, as no one had a chance of breaking into Walpole’s.

  ‘Buononcini is a fine musician,’ said the Prince.

  Then everyone began comparing him with Handel and declaring that Handel was heavy, obsessed with religious subjects, and above all dull. Buononcini’s was gay, as music should be. It was a mistake to delude oneself into thinking that because music was dull it was good.

  And the King and the Queen and Princess Anne doted on Handel.

  ‘Buononcini should set up in opposition,’ said Bubb. ‘I’d wager Handel would still command the bigger audience.’ ‘What will you wager?’ asked Frederick.

  Two thousand.’

  ‘Make it five and I’ll take you on.’

  Dodington agreed and the bet was made. When the Prince betted others must too and that evening nothing else was talked of but Italian and the German musicians—not so much their merits but who could draw the bigger crowds, for that was to be the test.

  * * *

  Buononcini must have his rival theatre, but it was not difficult to obtain backers for a proposition so favoured by the Prince.

  Soon at the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields Buononcini’s operas were being performed in rivalry with Handel’s at the Haymarket.

  The Princess Royal was furious, seeing in this her brother’s hatred of herself and his parents; and that he should direct this against her beloved music master was more than she could bear.

  ‘It will be useless,’ she stormed to Amelia and Caroline.

  ‘Lincoln’s Inn will never rival the Haymarket. And how can anyone in his senses compare the Italian with great Handel?’

  But music had little to do with the affair. The King’s Court was dull; the Prince’s was becoming more lively. To it went all the rebels, all the young who wanted a change; and the way in which they could show their willingness to follow the Prince was to go to the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

  Anne was desperate; she implored her parents to come with her to the opera.

  ‘Frederick is deliberately flouting us all,’ she declared; and the Queen agreed with her.

  As for the King, he had hated his son from the first and he was ready to make a state occasion of a visit to the Haymarket.

  And each week it became more and more obvious that the audience at the Haymarket was growing less and less and that at Lincoln’s Inn Fields greater.

  There came a night when the King, the Queen, with the Princesses and young William, all seated in the royal box, were the only audience for the Handel opera.

  To make this more humiliating the roads were jammed on the way to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and as the theatre was filled to its capacity, people stood outside to wait for the Prince and his friends to leave that they might give them a cheer and shout ‘Long Live the Prince of Wales ... and Buononcini.’

  The Prince had won his wager. The King was mightily discomfited; Handel and the Haymarket were in financial difficulties; and Walpole and the Queen were worried.

  This was the full cycle.

  The Prince of Wales had now come into the open as the enemy of the King and Queen.

  Sarah Churchill’s Bargain

  THERE was a woman who watched the antics of the Court with malicious pleasure. She was one of the richest women in England and had at one time been the most powerful. This was Sarah, the widowed Duchess of Marlborough.

  Her husband had died in 1722 and since then she had lost the zest for life except when she was quarrelling. Consequently she gave herself up to this, which was to her an exciting pastime.

  She had had a glorious quarrel with John Vanbrugh over the building of Blenheim; she had others with all the members of her family in turn and especially her only two living daughters. She had turned her attention to her grandchildren and the story was current that she had blacked the face on a painting of Anne Egerton, her granddaughter, and scrawled beneath it: ‘She is blacker within.’ She had quar
relled with Lord Sunderland, her son-in-law, because he had remarried; she had indulged in several lawsuits, but these were minor matters and Sarah could not forget the days when as chief adviser to Queen Anne she had been at the centre of the nation’s affairs. That was where she longed to be and only that could give her something to live for now that her husband, her dear Marl, was no more.

  Therefore she must quarrel with the most important man in the country; and no quarrel meant quite so much to Sarah as her quarrel with Sir Robert Walpole.

  It was galling for her, who had been the wife of the greatest General of his age, who had ruled him and ruled Queen Anne, to find that Walpole dismissed her as a silly old woman of no importance to him. Gone were the days when she could have marched into action against him, could have undermined his power, could have set her own men around him to pull him down. Now she was just a feeble old woman, or so they thought.

  Marlborough was dead and she had to be doing something all the time to forget that depressing fact. The only time when her face softened, when she felt lonely and defenceless was when she thought of him in the days of his prime—the handsomest man alive she had thought, and a genius among his fellows—and remembered then that he was gone for ever.

  But she never allowed such moods to continue. She would stamp through her house—either at Windsor or Marlborough House next to St James’s—harry her servants, summon whatever members of her family were at hand, berate them, scorn them, and tell them they were unworthy to be the offspring of the great Duke.

  Only when she was angry could she find a reason for living.

  There were a few people who did not irritate her. Of her grandchildren, most of whom she had quarrelled with, as they grew older, she cared most for Diana Spencer, her dear Lady Di as she called her. Lady Di was young, handsome, and intelligent. Her family thought her extremely clever to be able to keep on good terms with the old lady, but Di seemed to manage it without much effort. She had always seemed to be able to please her grandmother, even from the days when as a child she had been so much in her household, for Diana’s mother, Anne Churchill, had died at the age of twenty-eight and had left her children to her mother’s care.