The watchers in the gallery said that it was more like a funeral than a wedding procession. The Queen was so obviously deeply affected and this was not the emotion of a mother seeing her daughter married; it was clear that the Queen was the most anxious because of the bridegroom.
In his gold and silver brocade he certainly looked like a performing animal dressed up to resemble a man; but his manners were good and he seemed affable; and he was a Prince. Only the bride seemed unaffected. She made her responses in a clear audible voice and she showed no sign of the repugnance she must have felt.
How can she thought the Queen. My poor dear child!
But the ceremony was carried out without a hitch and in time the banquet, which was eaten in public, took place. The Princess sat beside the Prince and they were seen smiling and talking together, neither in the least disturbed.
But, thought the Queen, the worst is to come.
She wished that they had not brought this old French custom to England whereby the married pair were put to bed by their courtiers—always an embarrassment to the couple but in circumstances like this a most trying ordeal.
There was a look of avid curiosity on the faces of all the people assembled in the bedchamber to see the arrival of the bride and groom who were in their separate apartments being undressed and prepared for bed by their servants.
Anne came in in her nightgown looking shorn of her dignity and to her mother extremely pathetic. Caroline was thinking of her own mother whose second marriage had been so disastrous and she felt ready to weep for all Princesses who were given in marriage to men almost strangers to them.
But Anne looked as serene as ever as she was helped to the bed and sat in it awaiting the arrival of the bridegroom.
Then he came.
Oh, God, thought the Queen, it is as bad as I thought. For with his nightcap replacing his flowing periwig he was revealed in all his deformity. From the back he appeared to have no head, so stooped was he, and from the front no neck nor legs.
There was a deep silence as he was led to the bed and took his place beside the Princess.
He did indeed look inhuman.
The Queen believed she was going to faint. Amelia and Caroline were on either side of her and she caught a quick glimpse of the horror on their faces.
Through the room passed all those whose duty it was to pay their respects and wish the marriage fruitful.
And through all this Anne sat up in bed smiling calmly as though, thought the Queen, it were a normal man who was beside her and not this ... monster.
The Queen had little sleep that night.
She kept waking and thinking of her daughter. My poor child, how is she surviving this terrible ordeal? Does she understand what marriage means?
She was silent while she was dressed and at breakfast she was joined by her daughters who could not refrain from talking of this terrible thing which had happened to their sister.
‘I would rather die than marry such a monster,’ declared Amelia.
‘How she must have suffered! ‘ sighed Caroline.
Lord Hervey joined the party; he was full of chat about what the people were saying.
The Queen sighed and said: ‘My lord, I have been weeping bitterly. When I saw that monster come into the room to go to bed with my daughter I thought I should faint. You must be sorry for my poor daughter.’
‘Madam,’ answered Lord Hervey, ‘the Princess Anne seemed satisfied with her lot and I have never been one to pity those who don’t pity themselves.’
‘My poor, poor Anne. It is all very well for you to talk, my lord. You married one of the most beautiful women at the Court.’
Lord Hervey lifted his shoulders and was aware that the Princess Caroline was regarding him intently. Poor child, he thought. How she adores me ... madly and hopelessly! What does she think will ever come of her passion for me? Still, it was pleasant to be so adored, particularly by one of the Princesses.
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘in half a year all persons are alike.
The figure of a body one is married to, like the prospect of the place one lives at, grows so familiar to one’s eye that one looks at it mechanically without regarding either the beauties or deformities which strike a stranger.’
As usual Lord Hervey had the power to comfort the Queen.
Yet Caroline and her daughters continued to mourn the terrible fate which had befallen the Princess Anne; but Anne herself showed no sign of mourning; and when she and the Prince appeared together although he took little notice of her, she was very eager to please him and Lord Hervey said he was sure that in the eyes of his wife the Prince of Orange was Adonis.
The End of a Habit
HENRIETTA HOWARD was seeking a way out of an intolerable position. The King still visited her, but everything she said he disagreed with, and did not hesitate to tell her so in the most abusive terms. He hated his visits, but because he had been making them for years he could not stop them. He would sit at a table setting his watch before him, waiting for the time to pass.
She had suggested to the Queen that she retire but the Queen would not hear of it. Henrietta knew why. She was known as the King’s first mistress and although the relationship between them was now platonic while she held the post the King would set up no one else. His affairs about the Court were necessarily brief. He could only have one first mistress and while Henrietta held that post no one else could take it. And, thought Henrietta desperately, the Queen insists that I hold that post because she is afraid of who might take it from me, and there might be someone bold and ambitious who would seek to influence the King.
But it was an intolerable state of affairs.
She had now become Lady Suffolk, for the husband whom she loathed had inherited the title a few years previously and he himself had now died. This had brought home to Henrietta that for the first time in her life she was free. If she could leave Court she could retire to her own house, be her own mistress, not be obliged to wait on the Queen or be ready to receive the King, not to receive faint praise from her and abuse from His Majesty. Oh, what peace, what joy!
She had perhaps not been a clever woman; most in her position would have collected certain prizes. Although she had in the first instance sought honours at Court when she had gone to Hanover it had been, she supposed, to find a place where she could live in some degree of comfort, for she and her husband had been in desperate straits then. Well, she was not a calculating woman and George was not a generous lover; and consequently if she left Court now she would not be a rich woman.
But there was one comfort. She had had the foresight to build a house for herself and it was true that George had helped her to do this. The house had been a great comfort to her in moments of humiliation and despair. She had called it Marble Hill; it was plain, white, and Augustan—in perfect taste. It had the most peaceful of outlooks being set on a slight hill which sloped gently down to the river. This house had been her joy all during the years of servitude; she herself had planned the apartments with their high ceilings and had designed the frescoes on gold and sepia; she had often sat by the large windows and looked out on the river and dreamed of entertaining her friends there—friends such as Alexander Pope who had always been devoted to her and whose company she found so stimulating. The King had little time, of course, for the man he called rather slightingly ‘little Mr Pope’ who spent his time writing ‘boetry’ to which the King always referred With a laugh, as an occupation not for gentlemen nor to be taken seriously. How little he understood! And how astonished he would be if he knew how she longed for the society of such people which would provide her with relief from the boredom of the royal conversation which was so often about soldiering, his prowess in past battles, his regrets that there were no wars now in which he could excel, the number of buttons on a lackey’s tunic, or the length of time it took to walk from the Palace to Great Paddock.