Queen in waiting

Royal Arrival

If the new King was not excited by the prospect of leaving Hanover for England, everyone else at the Court was. Who should accompany him? Who should stay behind? These were the important questions of the hour.

In their apartments Caroline discussed the change of fortune with George Augustus. They both now had a new and glorious title: Prince and Princess of Wales. George Augustus was carried away by excitement. One day he would be the King of England.

"George the Second," he murmured to himself.

All he had to do was wait for his father to die and the old man was already past fifty.

He could scarcely wait to get to England. He discussed the matter continually with Caroline, to whom he had grown closer since the death of his grandmother and that, to him, much more significant event, the death of Anne.

Caroline was a good wife and he had no regrets at having married her. She had proved herself to be reliable in the past and was doing the same now. Always she talked of his interests as a wife should; and since these were in direct opposition to those of his father, this made an intriguing subject.

"We should get to England as quickly as possible," she reminded him. "Your father's delay is nothing short of foolish. What will the English think of a King who holds their country in so little regard that he delays going immediately to accept the crown they are offering him? But I'm glad he is so stupid. It gives us an opportunity to show we are different."

George Augustus nodded. "We will show them how much more agreeable we are."

"Speaking English is a great advantage and yours has improved greatly in the last months."

A reference to Henrietta Howard but it was given genially and sensibly and accepted in the same manner.

"And yours is good. Just imagine! My father cannot speak a word. What a fool that man is."

"Yes, but let us be glad of his folly. When do you think we shall go to England? It will be wonderful. I picture us riding through the streets with little Fritzchen beside us and all the girls. The people will see that we can give them heirs. How much more we can give them than your father. They'll know about your mother "

George Augustus's face darkened as it always did at the mention of his mother. "It's his own fault," he said. "He treated her badly and the people of England won't like him for it."

"They won't. And we shall be there with the children ... speaking in English, showing them how much we, at least, appreciate being in the country. There are glorious days ahead of us. And George Augustus, we shall always work together. We shall always be loyal to each other. Your father will regret the day he left himself without a wife."

George Augustus was content. He had been the wise one. His father had been the fool.

He would go off now to see his mistress, which he did regularly to the actual hour; he would tell her that he had the best wife in the world, and she would agree with him.

He was indeed a lucky man.

George Augustus would have been dismayed if he could have heard the conversation between his father and chief minister Bernstorff.

"It'll be necessary to watch the Prince," Bernstorff was saying "His knowledge of English will be a great advantage to him, and you may be sure he will seize it."

"Perhaps it would be better to leave him in Hanover."

Bernstorff was thoughtful for a moment, then he said: "Who knows what harm he would do at home! Better perhaps to keep our eyes on him. In that case he should come with us. The English will want to see the Prince of Wales."

The King grunted. "Would I could send him to England and stay here."

"Fatal, Your Majesty. Fatal. The Jacobites would have James on the throne in no time. In any case we don't know what opposition we have to face when we get there."

"I know it. We've had them here swearing allegiance, but I wouldn't trust any one of them. They're all like Marlborough ready to turn their coats with a change of the wind."

"We must remember it. Sir, here in Hanover and more especially when we set foot in England. That is why I think that while we must take the Prince of Wales with us, we might leave the Princess to follow later."

George looked surprised and Bernstorff hurried on: "The Prince relies on her more than he realizes. She will have to follow. It will be expected. But let her come later. Don't have the Prince and his family there when you make your entry into the capital. All attention will be for them; they are young; they have children. It will detract from Your Majesty to have your son and his family there."

George never minded plain speaking if it seemed good sense to him. He did not want to go to England. He would delay as much as possible; but since he had to go he must do his best to make a success.

"She shall follow later," he said, dismissing the matter.

Bernstorff hesitated. "Was Your Majesty thinking of taking Madam Schulemburg with you?"

"I doubt she would agree to stay in Hanover if I went to England," said George unemotionally. Of all his mistresses he was most fond of Ermengarda Schulemburg; she had been with him so long; she was truly fond of him as, he was shrewd enough to know, none of the others were. She was like a wife and he could not imagine life without her.

"And Madam Kielmansegge?"

George shrugged his shoulders. It was hardly likely that if Schulemburg went with him Kielmansegge would agree to stay behind. He said so; and knowing the habit forming ways of his master, Bernstorff agreed that it might be necessary to take these two women to England.

Bernstorff's mouth hardened imperceptibly. The Countess von Platen was not going. He was going to have his revenge on her. She would be taught a lesson. She was a dabbler, therefore could menace his power. It was enough for Schulemburg to be as a wife to the King; Kielmansegge was content as long as she could have her lovers; but von Platen was an ambitious woman; she had secured the place of cofferer for her lover Craggs and when Bernstorff had heard about it second-hand, his fury was great. In the past those who sought favours had come to him. He would not tolerate a woman who sought to deprive him of his privileges.

"I think the Countess von Platen should remain in Hanover, Your Majesty," he said. "Two ladies ... and both of an age to have earned respectability ... that is well enough. But the Countess von Platen should remain in Hanover for I think if she accompanied you, the English might feel three was too much."

George considered this, fleetingly thinking of the beautiful countess hiding in his apartment, a robe over her naked body, coming to beg him to show her a little honour and not bestow all on those two ageing ladies. It had been a moment of rare amusement and he admired her shrewdness. She was a beautiful woman; but there would be many beautiful women in England—slightly different, as foreigners always were, but he liked a little variety now and then. Schulemburg and Kielmansegge to satisfy habit and a few new ladies to make a change.

All women were very much alike; and the Platen was inclined to meddle. He had never really liked meddlers.

So he nodded. It should be as Bernstorff suggested.

When he went to Ermengarda's apartment he found her in tears. He was surprised for she rarely showed any emotion except a pleasant complacency in his company.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She tried to smile but it was no use. "I'm afraid of what will happen to you," she told him.

"What should?"

"You are going to England as the King. Not very long ago they beheaded one of their Kings; they drove another away. If he had stayed he might have lost his head."

He looked at her with affection. She had even tried to learn a little history for his sake.

"They wouldn't dare kill me."

"They might try. Let us stay here in Hanover. What does it matter if you are a King or an Elector?"

She had always been concerned for him; it suddenly occurred to him that she was one of the few persons in his life who had a genuine affection for him.

"The king-killers are on my side,' he said with a guffaw. "So you see there's nothing to fear."

"I shall come with you," she said.

"You're coming," he told her. He made a sign for her to disrobe; he never wasted time in words. She knew why he had come at this hour as he had been doing for years. He did not like habits to be broken.

Meekly she rose; her attraction had always been her meakness; she had been such a contrast to the haughty Sophia Dorothea. If Schulemburg had been his wife, he reflected briefly, they would have lived in harmony and would doubtless have a brood of children to show for their long relationship. She would ride with him in the state coach through the streets of London and the people would cheer him.

Now they would think of the wife who would have beer with him if she were not a prisoner—his prisoner—in the castle of Ahlden.

Yes, Bernstorff was right. They couldn't have George Augustus riding through the streets with Caroline and their children. But that matter was settled and Ermengarda was ready.

Caroline was eagerly awaiting departure. This was the best thing that could happen to make her forget the loss of Sophia.

She must think ahead to the future and never look back on the past. That was the advice Sophia Charlotte would have given her and how wise it was.

England! Land of promise! The Princess of Wales. It was a fine sounding title; and in time, if all went well, she would be Queen of England.

Her position would be a difficult one, for the very fact that the King's wife would not be in England meant that she would immediately be the first lady in the land. The people would know she was their future Queen; they would seek her favour. Her task would be to control George Augustus—oh, so discreetly—and on the day when he became King of England she could be the real ruler of that country; a glorious, dazzling prospect. She could scarcely wait to leave for England.

She sent for Leibniz to come to her apartments. He was one of the few to whom she could talk frankly of her hopes. He had taken the measure of George Augustus; he was well aware of the absurd vanities of the little man; he knew that it would be clever Caroline who would in time rule; and she needed the help of clever men such as he was.

When he came to her, she said: "You should make ready to leave for England, for you must certainly come with us. I shall need your help in so many ways."

Leibniz looked sad. "Your Highness has not heard then?'*

"Heard what?"

"That I am to remain in Hanover."

"But who gave such an order?"

"His Majesty ... through Bernstorff."

"But you are my friend. It is not for them "

"To give orders. Highness? His Majesty has always given orders in Hanover. It is only when he was not interested that others were allowed to do so."

"But for what reason should you remain in Hanover?" "To finish my task," he says. "I am here to write a history of the Princes of Brunswick and that is what I am to do." "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 had 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 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 Wales 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 tool 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 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. Pauls 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 I 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.