‘I know, my dear, but it could not be. You must realize that.’
‘Why not? It seems so senseless! Why should we have to be made unhappy when we could be happy, when we could have healthy children and bring them up in a happy home.’
‘It is the penalty of royalty.’
‘But we ourselves make those penalties! Why? Why? Why cannot we be free?
Why do we pen ourselves in with our misery merely to preserve our silly royalty?’
‘Pray do not speak in that way, daughter.’
‘So I may not even speak as I will!’ Her eyes flashed with sudden rage. ‘I will not endure this treatment, I tell you. I will make my own life I will go and find him— I will renounce your precious royalty for the sake of love.’
Madame de Hertzfeldt had returned; she was carrying a cup. ‘Caroline,’ she said, ‘you know you have my sympathy. Pray, do as I say.’
‘What is that?’
‘Drink this. It will help you to sleep for a while. You are distraught; and when you have recovered a little from this shock you may talk with your father.’
For a moment it seemed as though Caroline would dash the cup out of Madame de Hertzfeldt’s hand; then that tactful woman said, ‘You will feel calmer. You may be able to convert him to your ideas— or even accept his.’
The hopelessness of her situation was brought home to Caroline. The walls of the apartment seemed to close in upon her. Shut in, she thought, imprisoned in royalty.
The Princess Caroline was ill. She would eat nothing; she could not sleep. She lay hollow-eyed in her bed.
She had received a letter from Major von Töbingen in which he said goodbye to her. He begged her to accept their separation which in his heart he had known was inevitable from the beginning. She must not try to find him, for even if she did— which was not possible— he could not marry her. To do so would be an act of treason, she must realize that. He would never forget her. He would love her until he died if she would occasionally think of him with tenderness that was all he would ask of life.
She wept bitterly over the letter and kept it under her pillow to read again and again The dream of love and marriage with the man of her, choice was over. She was listless‚ and they feared for her life.
It gave her a savage pleasure to see their concern. Her father came to her room each day, he was very tender. If there was anything she wished for— except that one thing which was all she wanted— she might have it.
‘Nothing, nothing,’ she murmured and turned her face the wall.
But she was grieved to see his unhappiness. He had been a good father to her; and she loved him.
For his sake she ate a little and tried to feel resigned. And‚ after a while she was well enough to leave her bed.
The Duke suggested a change of scene and she left Court for a while and when she returned she was a little more like her old exuberant self.
But when Prince George of Darmstadt made an offer for her hand she refused him.
‘Although I am not allowed to choose,’ she said firmly, ‘at least I am permitted to reject.’
The Miracle
SHE was twenty-six. It was said of her: ‘She will never marry now.’
She began to think so herself. She was often in the houses of her father’s subjects; if a new baby was about to be born she expressed great interest; and each day she drove out to visit her children.
She often thought of Major von Töbingen and wondered whether he had married; the thought of his being the father of lovely children was almost unbearable. Perhaps she had been foolish; since they would not let her have the man she loved, it might have been wise to have taken one of those whom they thought were so suitable. She might at least have had her baby by now.
She was more subdued than she had been. The affair with Major von Töbingen had changed her. It did not worry her that there was scandal about her and that many malicious people said that she was unmarried because she had led an immoral life. They credited— or discredited— her with having given birth to at least two illegitimate children and they quoted as proof the occasion of the ball when the accoucheur had come to the Palace and the time when she had left Court after the Töbingen affair. What did she care? She had grown listless about such matters.
All the same she was weary of life at Brunswick. She was fond of her father, it was true; but she was conscious of her mother’s jealousy of Madame de Hertzfeldt and the latter’s toleration of the Duchess. It was an uneasy situation at the best and Caroline could enjoy no satisfactory relationship with either of them.
She began to grow a little morbid . I shall end my days at Brunswick, she thought, always longing for the children I never had. I have been a fool. I should have accepted marriage with one of the men who were offered to me. Then the miracle happened.
Her father sent for her one day and all unsuspecting she went to him to find her mother present. The Duke looked very solemn; the Duchess was needing all the little restraint she possessed to prevent herself shouting the news to her daughter.
But it was the Duke’s place to acquaint his daughter with the news and this he did. ‘Caroline, I have something of great importance to tell you. I think it is very good news. I have a letter here from your uncle the King of England. The Prince of Wales is asking for your hand in marriage.’
‘The Prince of Wales!’ A great joy came to her. She thought: I am not too late then. I waited and now I have the biggest prize. ‘It is a great honour,’ said the Duke. ‘Of course, the Prince is your first cousin and this is an opportunity which I am sure you will not want to miss.’
‘Of course you will not want to miss it.’ The Duchess could contain her excitement no longer. ‘Think of it, Caroline, you’ll be the Queen of England.
Imagine it. You— Caroline— a Queen!’
‘Yes,’ said Caroline slowly, ‘if I married him I should one day be Queen of England.’
Her father looked at her almost fearfully. He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked into those eyes which could suddenly grow so wild. ‘I would never wish to be rid of you or to send you away,’ he said gently. ‘But if you wish to marry, daughter, you will never have an opportunity like this again.’
‘It’s true, Father,’ she said.
‘You realize it, do you not?’ cried the Duchess. ‘Oh, the Prince of Wales! My dear, dear nephew! The First Gentleman of Europe. I have heard that he is the most fascinating creature. And handsome— so handsome! Caroline, you are the luckiest of young women— and when you think that you will soon be twenty- seven. It is a God-given chance. I think I should write to my brother at once. I think there should be no delay. I think—’
‘Madam,’ said the Duke coldly, ‘it is Caroline who is to marry— not yourself.’
The Duchess opened her mouth to protest. It was humiliating— the way in which she was treated. And before her children too. He would never speak like that to the Hertzfeldt woman. Oh, no, her advice would be sought— and considered.
She flashed her husband a look of hatred, of which Caroline was acutely aware. It would be pleasant to get right away.
‘My dear,’ said the Duke, ‘you need time to consider.’
‘I have considered,’ said Caroline. ‘I will accept the Prince of Wales.’
The Duchess was clasping her hands in ecstasy. The Duke looked relieved. As for Caroline she stood very still, in a mood of rare calmness.
‘My child,’ said the Duke, ‘you have made a wise decision.’
She looked at him steadily and then threw herself into his arms. His sternness relaxed and he held her tightly. The Duchess looked on but she was not thinking of them; she was seeing the wedding preparations; the marriage; and she was exulting because this difficult daughter who had been such a trial to them was now going to be the Princess of Wales.
Caroline returned to her apartments and found there the Baroness de Bode who had realized that something of great importance was afoot and since she had seen the messengers from England, she guess
ed it might be an offer of marriage for the Princess.
Caroline said: ‘Well, you have come to hear the news.’
‘I trust it is good news.’
‘That,’ replied Caroline, ‘I shall not be able to tell you until I am on my deathbed.’
‘What does Your Highness mean?’
‘That only at the end of a marriage can one say whether it was good or bad.’
‘Marriage!’
‘Now do not look so surprised because you are not in the least. You guessed it was an offer, did you not?’
‘From England?’
‘How strange that everyone should be more excited about my wedding than I am.’
‘Pray tell me which of the sons of the King of England.’
‘The eldest, Madam. You should not be shouting questions at me in this manner. Rather you should be treating the future Princess of Wales and Queen of England with the greatest respect.’
‘Then it is indeed? Oh, what a great day this is!’
‘You are all to be relieved of the presence of your tiresome Princess.’
‘I did not mean that. I meant that it was an excellent prospect. Oh, Your Highness, you will— take care. You will always remember to profit from your past mistakes.’
The Princess regarded her governess slyly. ‘What is gone is gone,’ she said.
‘It will never return; and what is to come will come of itself, whatever I do.’
The Baroness was about to protest when Caroline held up her hand.
‘I want to be by myself to think,’ she said. ‘I have accepted the Prince of Wales whom I have never seen but of whom I have heard much. I have accepted him because I am so tired of my life at Brunswick.’
‘Your Highness—’
The Princess shook her head. ‘I am catching at the crown and sceptre as a drowning wretch catches at a straw.’
‘Do not speak so. It is dangerous— If it were to reach the Prince’s ears—’
‘The Prince of Wales.’ Caroline was laughing suddenly, the old wild laughter.
‘He has never seen me— yet he will take me for his wife. Don’t you think, Baroness, that his feelings about this marriage will be similar to mine?’
The Baroness was silent.
Caroline cried: ‘Don’t let us be so glum. This is a time for rejoicing. The Princess of Brunswick is now about to be betrothed to the Prince of Wales.’
Frederick, Duke of York, called on the Prince of Wales at Carlton House, where he was received in the Prince’s apartments overlooking St. James’s Park.
The Prince was elegantly clad in a coat of pearl grey, the diamond star flashing on his left breast; his buckskin breeches fitted tightly to his shapely if somewhat plump legs; his neck-cloth was a masterpiece of artistry of blue and grey tints worn in the fashion he himself had made because of a slight swelling in his neck; his abundant fair hair was frizzed and curled; his white shapely fingers were adorned not ostentatiously but noticeably with diamonds; and his entire person smelled of a delicately applied fragrance.
‘Now, Fred,’ said the Prince, ‘I want the truth. What is she like?’
Frederick thought back to those visits he had paid to the Brunswick Court, and tried to remember his cousin Caroline. Quite pretty, he had thought; he had not wanted to marry her, but would it have been such a tragedy? He could not have done worse than he had. When he thought of the woman with whom he had blithely entered into matrimony for, the same reason of course that George was compelled to contemplate it now— debts— any woman seemed attractive.
‘She’s a pretty creature, as far as I remember.’
‘Yet you might have married her and did not.’
‘Pray don’t talk to me about marriage— mine at least. It’s been a fiasco from start to finish.’
‘You seem to have arranged matters to your satisfaction, I notice.’
‘Merely by refusing to live with the creature.’
‘And since,’ said the Prince, ‘you have chosen to do this and there is therefore no hope of your marriage proving fruitful, I am forced to consider my obligations to the State.’
Frederick laughed. ‘You’ll admit, George, that it is your concern rather than mine.’
‘I thought one of you might have taken on the task.’
‘With a woman who turns the house into a zoo. I tell you this, George, Oatlands Park is no longer a human habitation. It’s one big cage of animals.
Bitches with their puppies in the beds; monkeys climbing the banisters; parrots screeching. It’s a nightmare George. And the fleas―and the smells―’
‘Spare me,’ begged the Prince, taking a white-laced edged kerchief from his pocket and holding it to his nose as he sniffed its fragrance.
‘Well, I am explaining, George, that after marriage to my Duchess any woman seems desirable.’
‘Even Caroline of Brunswick?’
‘I did not say that. I thought her a pleasant creature. A little short in the legs perhaps and I fancy she does not carry herself as gracefully as she might— but then she was young and a bit of a hoyden. Doubtless she has grown out of that.
She has an abundance of fair hair and fine eyes, I believe.’
The Prince was obviously relieved.
‘So, George,’ went on his brother, ‘you will do well enough.’
‘I heartily wish this marriage need never take place.’
The brothers regarded each other sadly.
The proposed marriage was drawing them closer together than they had been for some time. In the days of their boyhood they had been inseparable. They had stood by each other and shared adventures and punishments. Frederick had patiently kept guard during the Prince’s assignations with Mrs. Robinson; many a time he had incurred his father’s anger in order to protect his brother; and the bond had been strong between them. The main reason why they had resented Frederick’s being sent abroad was because it meant they must be parted; and when he had come back, they had resumed their friendship as though it had never been broken.
The Prince had introduced his brother to Maria Fitzherbert whom he was then treating as the Princess of Wales and Frederick had been charmed by the lady.
She had become fond of him too although she did deplore the wild horseplay in which he indulged with the Prince, and she blamed Frederick for this because on his return the Prince had reverted to the practical joking and wild ways in which he had indulged before his association with her. But a rift had come through that wife of Frederick’s— that German Princess Frederica Charlotte Ulrica— who although she filled her house with different breeds of dogs, although she was indifferent to their fleas and habits, was a very haughty personage and determined to uphold her position as Duchess of York. She had therefore refused to accept Maria Fitzherbert’s right to any rank but that of mistress of the Prince of Wales— a fact which had humiliated Maria and, infuriated the Prince; and as he was at that time deeply in love with Maria, he had pettishly blamed Frederick for not having more control over his wife.
Frederick had considered this unfair, for he himself had always shown the greatest respect towards Maria— but the rift between the brothers widened; and it was an indication of the depth of the Prince’s feelings for Mrs. Fitzherbert that on her account the lifelong friendship with his brother could be impaired.
But now, Frederick no longer lived with his wife— and no one blamed him— and the friendship between the brothers was resumed, although it was clear to them both that it would never be quite the same again.
‘Cheer up, George,’ said the Duke. ‘Lady Jersey will comfort you.’
‘That’s true,’ replied the Prince dubiously. His affairs were indeed in a tangle.
Lady Jersey— that dainty, gadfly of a woman who while she fascinated him at the same time repelled him— was his consolation for this marriage with the German woman— and the loss of Maria.
Ah, Maria. He could never quite succeed in banishing her from his thoughts.
Sometimes he wo
ndered whether he ever would.
He thought now that if instead of marriage with this stranger he was going back to Maria how delighted he would have been. But that could not be; and another horrible thought had struck him: What was Maria, who considered herself married to him, going to say when she heard he contemplated marrying another woman?
He sat down on a gilded couch and, covering his face with his hands, wept.
Frederick was not unduly disturbed; like all the Prince’s associates he was accustomed to his tears. The Prince had always wept most effectively— and in fact, thought Frederick cynically, it was quite a family accomplishment. We Guelphs are a weeping family, he mused— but none of us can perform so artistically as the Prince of Wales. The Prince applied the scented kerchief to his eyes which like his complexion had not suffered from the display of emotion.
‘Fred,’ he said, ‘the truth is I shall never love another woman as I love Fitzherbert.’
‘Still, George?’
‘Still and forever,’ cried the Prince vehemently. ‘And yet—’
‘It’s money, Fred. How am I going to pay these damned debts without it? And the price— marriage with a German Frau.’
Frederick nodded grimly. ‘The price of royalty, George.’
‘Why do we accept it? What would I not give for my freedom.’
Well, considered Frederick, suppose he had resigned his rights . Suppose he had made a public announcement of his marriage to Fitzherbert instead of allowing Fox to make a public denial of it in the House of Commons? Could it have been different? He would not have been wearing that magnificent diamond star, the insignia of his rank of course; he would not have been living in this splendid residence— this grand Carlton House with its scintillating chandeliers, its gilt furniture, its exquisite porcelain, its priceless pictures.
George should consider all that, for there was nothing he enjoyed as much as taking a derelict house and transforming it into a palace. Look what he had done at his Pavilion in Brighton. And here in Carlton House the state apartments were far more grand than anything in gloomy old St. James’s, tumbledown Windsor and homely Kew. Even Buckingham House suffered in comparison. Trust George to see to that.
Indiscretions of the Queen Page 5