George III – Not a Mistress in Sight, But a Prolific Parent

by Mike Rendell

The grandson of George II was twenty-two when he came to the throne. It is ironic that his reign coincided with an explosion in the trade of satirical prints. They mocked his avarice, they mocked his miserliness, they mocked his simple tastes, and his interest in agriculture, but the one thing they could not do was mock his family values and constancy to the woman who became his queen.

Not that this stopped a curious story emerging in 1770. This was to the effect that, as Prince of Wales, he had secretly married ‘a fair Quakeress’ by the name of Hannah Lightfoot on 17 April 1759, at Curzon Street Chapel, and that they had two children together.

In 1788 S.W. Fores published a caricature entitled The Fair Quaker of Cheltenham showing the young monarch addressing his ardour to a young lady under the shade of an overhanging tree. In the background, by way of being a complete anachronism, Queen Charlotte is spying on the couple. Not a shred of evidence supported this wild allegation, but ‘the story had legs’ to the extent that in the course of the next century various spurious claims were put forward. Futile applications were made through the courts, seeking to declare the children of Queen Charlotte illegitimate, on the basis that the King had married her bigamously. It shows the willingness of people to publish (and read) scandalous stories about the Royals. The idea that ‘truth should never get in the way of a good story’ is nothing new….

The legend of George Ill's attachment to the 'fair Quakeress' can be traced back to a paragraph in a newspaper from 1776, and it was not finally discredited until 1866. One rather suspects that the rumours started after King George had returned to Cheltenham at a time when he was suffering mentally, and perhaps he was overheard gabbling on about some imagined episode of his earlier life.

What appears to be the case is that George was faithful to Charlotte (and probably didn’t have the energy to be anything else, given that he gave her fifteen children). He had never met Charlotte until the occasion of their marriage on 8 September 1761. Mind you, she was not the first woman propelled in his direction. He had previously thought of marrying Lady Sarah Lennox, sister of the Duke of Richmond but Lord Bute managed to talk him out of the alliance, and she went off and married Sir William Bunbury. Her “disappointment” at failing to make it to the dizzy heights of Queen was lessened by the fact that, as she said, "Luckily for me, I did not love him, and only liked him." She was invited by the King to be one of his ten bridesmaids, which must have been a small consolation!

Whether he stayed faithful throughout his marriage to Charlotte I do not know, but certainly if there had been any whiff of scandal, the Press and in particular the caricaturists, would have surely alluded to it. After all, the King’s siblings were constantly in the news for their infidelities and peccadilloes, and no-one felt under any restraint in publicising the facts in great detail!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The story of George III and of the bedspring-busting antics of his entire family, is featured in Mike Rendell's book In Bed with the Georgians, Sex Scandal and Satire in the Eighteenth Century, published by Pen & Sword Books.

Amazon

Queen Charlotte's Christmas Tree

by Catherine Curzon

As a historian of Georgian royalty, I have to get that family from Hanover into all of my holiday celebrations. Of course, mad kings and mistresses aren’t always appropriate for Christmas but trees certainly are.

Most people believe that we have Prince Albert and Queen Victoria to thank for the tradition of Christmas trees in England, but that isn’t actually the case. In fact, for that particular tradition we should look back into the Georgian era, and Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. On 8th September 1761, George III married the 17-year-old Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz in the Chapel Royal at St. James's Palace. Their marriage was long, produced 15 children, and was filled with challenges, but when George was well, the couple were happy.

Charlotte put up the first known English tree at her home at Queen’s Lodge, Windsor, in December, 1800. It was a tradition that she brought with her from her home in Germany, where trees were a popular bit of festive decor. Legend has it that they were popularised by Martin Luther in 1536 who was strolling in a pine forest in Wittenberg one night when he glanced up through the canopy at the stars twinkling above him. Inspired, he hurried home and brought a fir red into his house, which he lit with candles. Luther hoped that this would remind his children of the heavens and, by extension, God.

Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz
by Nathiel Dance-Holland

Throughout the 17th century, trees of various types that were illuminated by candlelight became popular across Southern Germany whilst in Charlotte’s homeland of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, a single, mighty yew branch being decorated rather than a whole tree. Samuel Taylor Coleridge visited the country in 1799 and wrote of the traditions there. Among them, he noted, was the Yew branch.

"There is a Christmas custom here which pleased and interested me. The children make little presents to their parents, and to each other; and the parents to the children. For three or four months before Christmas the girls are all busy; and the boys save up their pocket money, to make or purchase these presents. What the present is to be is cautiously kept secret, and the girls have a world of contrivances to conceal it -- such as working when they are out on visits, and the others are not with them; getting up in the morning before daylight; and the like. then, on the evening before Christmas day, one of the parlours is lighted up by the children, into which the parents must not go.

A great yew bough is fastened on the table at a little distance from the wall, a multitude of little tapers are fastened in the bough, but so as not to catch it till they are nearly burnt out, and coloured paper hangs and flutters from the twings. Under this bough, the children lay out in great order the presents they mean for their parents, still concealing in their pockets what they intend for each other. Then the parents are introduced, and each presents his little gift, and then bring out the rest one by one from their pockets, and present them with kisses and embraces.

An ancient yew

Where I witnessed this scene there were eight or nine children, and the eldest daughter and the mother wept aloud for joy and tenderness; and the tears ran down the face of the father, and he clasped all his children so tight to his breast, it seemed as if he did it to stifle the sob that was rising within him. I was very much affected.

The shadow of the bough and its appendages on the wall, and arching over on the ceiling, made a pretty picture, and then the raptures of the very little ones, when at last the twings and their needles began to take fire and snap! -- Oh, it was a delight for them! On the next day, in the great parlour, the parents lay out on the table the presents for the children; a scene of more sober joy success, as on this day, after an old custom, the mother says privately to each of her daughters, and the father to his sons, that which he has observed most praiseworthy, and that which was most faulty in their conduct.

Formerly, and still in all the smaller towns and villages throughout North Germany, these presents were sent by all the parents to some one fellow, who in high buskins, a white robe, a mask, and an enormous flax wig, personate Knecht Rupert, the servant Rupert. On Christmas night he goes round to every house, and says that Jesus christ his master sent him thither, the parents and elder children receive him with great pomp of reverence, while the little ones are most terribly frightened.

Coleridge by Washington Allston

He then inquires for the children, and, according to the character which he hears from the parent, he gives them the intended presents, as if they came out of heaven from Jesus Christ. Or, if they should have been bad children, he gives the parents a rod, and in the name of his master recommends them to use it frequently. About seven or eight years old the children are let into the secret, and it is curious to observe how faithfully they keep it."

Charlotte was devoted to her homeland and when she came to England as a bride, she brought many traditions with her. Among them was the traditional Christmas yew branch. Yet as a queen, even a private one, Charlotte didn’t content herself to a quiet corner of the castle. Instead, she used it as a way to bring the royal household, from family to friends to courtiers, together.

She and her ladies-in-waiting positioned and decorated the bough in the centre of the Queen’s House’s largest room. As evening fell and the tapers were lit, the court assembled around the yew and sang carols. Then, by the light of the tree, they exchanged opulent gifts to celebrate Christmas.

This was the first, but not the last notable Christmas foliage of the Georgian era.

In 1800, Queen Charlotte was planning a Christmas Day party for the children of the most important and wealthy families in Windsor - I should say that the poor weren't forgotten either, and the 60 poorest families were given an enormous Christmas lunch too. This time, however, there would be no yew bow, but a whole tree. From it were hung the traditional decorations as well as small gifts for the children from the royal family. The children were enchanted by the sight before them, for they had never seen anything like it before. It glittered with glass and crystal and the scent of fruit and spice filled the drawing room, capturing the heart and imagination of all who saw it.

Windsor Castle

Dr John Watkins, one of the adults present, wrote:

"Sixty poor families had a substantial dinner given them and in the evening the children of the principal families in the neighbourhood were invited to an entertainment at the Lodge. Here, among other amusing objects for the gratification of the juvenile visitors, in the middle of the room stood an immense tub with a yew tree placed in it, from the branches of which hung bunches of sweetmeats, almonds and raisins in papers, fruits and toys most tastefully arranged and the whole illuminated by small wax candles. After the company had walked round and admired the tree, each child obtained a portion of the sweets which it bore together with a toy, and then all returned home quite delighted."

Thanks to the queen, the fashionable world raced to put up their Christmas trees and no one who fancied themselves anyone went without. Across high society trees were soon glittering in the most opulent drawing rooms in Britain.

So, when the adoring Prince Albert first put up his tree, he really was following in the footsteps of the glorious Georgians. Far from being first to the show, he was actually one of the last!


References

"Yew Tree - 'Taxus baccata'" Grow Wild. https://www.growwilduk.com/blog/2015/12/15/yew-tree-taxus-baccata
Anonymous. The Magazine Antiques, Volume 108. Straight Enterprises, 1975.
Anonymous. Country Life, Volume 186. Country Life, 1992.
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Princeton University Press, 2015.
Craig, William Marshall. Memoir of Her Majesty Sophia Charlotte of Mecklenburg Strelitz, Queen of Great Britain. Henry Fisher, 1818.
Curzon, Catherine. Queens of Great Britain. Pen & Sword, 2017.
Delves Broughton, Vernon (ed.). Court and Private Life in the Time of Queen Charlotte. Richard Bentley, 1887.
Fitzgerald, Percy. The Good Queen Charlotte. Downey & Co, 1899.
Hadlow, Janice. The Strangest Family: The Private Lives of George III, Queen Charlotte and the Hanoverians. William Collins, 2014.
Desmond, Ray. Kew. Random House, 1998.
Foley, Daniel. The Christmas Tree. Chilton, 1960.
Groom, Suzanne & Prosser, Lee. Kew Palace. Merrell, 2006.
Harrison, Michael. The Story of Christmas. Odhams Press, 1951.
Hedley, Owen. Queen Charlotte. J Murray, 1975.
Holt, Edward. The Public and Domestic Life of George the Third, Volume I. Sherwood, Neely and Jones, 1820
Nash, Joseph. The Mansions of England in the Olden Time. TM Lean, 1869.
Pimlott, John & Pimlott, Ben. The Englishman's Christmas. Harvester Press, 1978.
Sfetcu, Nicolae. About Christmas. Sfetcu, 2014.

All images from Wikipedia.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Catherine Curzon is a royal historian. She is the author of Life in the Georgian Court, Kings of Georgian Britain, and Queens of Georgian Britain. She has written extensively for publications including HistoryExtra.com, the official website of BBC History Magazine, Explore History, All About History, History of Royals and Jane Austen’s Regency World. Catherine has spoken at venues and events including the Stamford Georgian Festival, the Jane Austen Festival, Lichfield Guildhall, the National Maritime Museum at Greenwich and Dr Johnson’s House. In addition, she has appeared with An Evening with Jane Austen at Kenwood House, Godmersham Park, the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, the Jane Austen Festival, Bath, and the Stamford Georgian Festival.

Her novels, The Crown Spire, The Star of Versailles, and The Mistress of Blackstairs, are available now.

Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

Connect with Catherine through her website (http://madamegilflurt.com), Facebook, Twitter (@MadameGilflurt), Google Plus, Pinterest, and Instagram.

Alfred and Octavius, the Lost Princes

By Catherine Curzon

George III by Ramsay

There is much to be said for a loving home and a warm hearth, and George III was fond of both. Whatever challenges he faced in Parliament and no matter how much the government niggled and needled, George could always take comfort in his domestic life. As war raged, he took refuge in the gentle comfort of his devoted consort, Queen Charlotte, and their growing brood of children, using Richmond Lodge as a family home and commissioning a sweeping programme of renovation and repair at Windsor Castle. 

George was devoted to his children who were expected to study hard and behave in a manner befitting the offspring of the very pious king. Even so, he loved to spend time in the company of his children, playing with them and sharing with them his own favourite pastimes. They were permitted to attend the theatre and other entertainments and, behind the scenes, all seemed happy.

It would not last.

Real life was set to force its way into his family idyll in the most upsetting way and the household would never quite recover. So far, George and Charlotte had welcomed fourteen children (the last would be born in 1783) and remarkably for an eighteenth century couple, all of the children survived infancy. Tragically, that was about to change and in the space of less than twelve short months, those loving parents would lose not only one child, but two.

In the Georgian era, smallpox was a very real and present threat to the lives of everyone, whether king or pauper. The disease claimed hundreds of thousands and survivors rarely escaped devastating side effects that ranged from scars to blindness. For any parent, the news that their child had been infected would be terrifying and for the royal couple, things were no different.

Queen Charlotte by Ramsay

In 1782, George and Charlotte took the decision to have their youngest children inoculated against smallpox and by June, they no doubt rued that day. Little Alfred, the couple’s youngest son who was a full eighteen years younger than his oldest brother, fell ill not long after receiving the treatment. In order to speed his recovery he was taken to enjoy the sea air at Deal in the care of Lady Charlotte Finch, his devoted nurse.

A cheery little boy with a bright disposition, Alfred was nevertheless laid terribly low by his inoculation and began to experience smallpox-like blemishes on his face, whilst his breathing grew ever more laboured. Only when it appeared that the seaside was not working its magic was he returned to Windsor. Here he was attended by court physicians and their conclusion, when it came, was devastating.

Little Alfred would be dead within weeks.

“Yesterday morning died at the Royal Palace, Windsor, his Royal Highness Prince Alfred, their Majesties youngest son. The Queen is much affected at this domestic calamity, probably more so on account of its being the only one she has experienced after a marriage of 20 years and having been the mother of fourteen children.”1

Alfred by Gainsborough

Prince Alfred of Great Britain passed away on 20 August 1782, just a month shy of his second birthday, and the royal family were rocked by his unexpected death. Protocol did not demand official mourning for one so young but, officially or not, his parents and siblings wept for the cheerful child. He was buried at Westminster Abbey with full honours and though George and Charlotte mourned his loss, they could at least take comfort in their surviving children. The king, in particular, doted on the boy who was now his youngest son, three year old Octavius. In his darkest moments he admitted that, should Octavius have died, then he would wish himself dead too.

These were to be fateful words.

Despite Alfred’s death, it was still reckoned that inoculating the children against smallpox posed less of a risk than leaving them open to the infection so little Octavius and his best friend, five year old Princess Sophia, were given the treatment. Whilst Sophia suffered no ill effects and would live to a ripe old age, things did not go so 

Octavius by Gainsborough

The queen was pregnant with her final child when, just days after receiving the smallpox inoculation, Octavius grew terribly ill. Unlike Alfred, whose sickness progressed over time, Octavius declined with alarming speed and died on 3 May 1783. The king was beyond devastated, tormented to distraction by grief and as the situation in America neared its endgame, George was perhaps lower than he had ever been.

“On Saturday, on the Majesties arriving at Kew, in their way to Windsor, and finding Prince Octavius in a dangerous Way, they determined to stay there all Night and sent an Express to Windsor to acquaint the Attendants of the Reason of their continuing there.

The same Night died at Kew, his Royal Highness Prince Octavius, his Majesty’s youngest Son, in the fifth Year of his Age.”2

The king brooded on the loss of his children, wondering whether their inoculation against smallpox had contributed to their early deaths. Where once there had been the laughter of infants, the gentle distraction offered when Charlotte and George played adoringly with the youngsters, now there was only silence and grief, the royal household plunged into sadness. A little respite came with the birth of Princess Amelia in August of that same year and George showered her with love, filling the void where his sons had been with the cheer of this new daughter. Little Amelia, or Emily, as she was known, lived through childhood but years later it would be her death that was to have a catastrophic effect on the father who adored her.

Sources

1. London Chronicle (London, England), August 20, 1782 - August 22, 1782; issue 4014, p.1.

2. Daily Advertiser (London, England), Monday, May 5, 1783; issue 17249, p.1.

Bibliography

Anonymous. George III: His Court and Family, Vol I. London: Henry Colburn and Co, 1821.

Black, Jeremy. George III: America’s Last King. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008.

Craig, William Marshall. Memoir of Her Majesty Sophia Charlotte of Mecklenburg Strelitz, Queen of Great Britain. Liverpool: Henry Fisher, 1818.

David, Saul. Prince of Pleasure. New York: Grove Press, 2000.

Hadlow, Janice. The Strangest Family: The Private Lives of George III, Queen Charlotte and the Hanoverians. London: William Collins, 2014.

Hibbert, Christopher. George III: A Personal History. London: Viking, 1998.

~~~~~~~~~~

Glorious Georgian ginbag, gossip and gadabout Catherine Curzon, aka Madame Gilflurt, is the author of A Covent Garden Gilflurt’s Guide to Life. When not setting quill to paper, she can usually be found gadding about the tea shops and gaming rooms of the capital or hosting intimate gatherings at her tottering abode. In addition to her blog and Facebook, Madame G is also quite the charmer on Twitter. Her first book, Life in the Georgian Court, is available now, and she can be seen performing in An Evening with Jane Austen, starring Adrian Lukis and Caroline Langrishe, at Gloucester Cathedral on 22nd October.

"The tax which Greatness pays for its station": celebrating the Royal Birthday in 1790s Britain

by Jacqueline Reiter

The pattern of high society life in 1790s Britain was dictated by the sittings of Parliament, which called all the nobility and gentry to London in January and sent them back to their country estates when it rose in the summer. Two other significant events in Georgian Britain, however, also helped set the court calendar for the upper classes: the official birthdays of the King and Queen.

St James's Palace (Pyne's Royal Residences, 1819) (Wikimedia Commons)

George III's birthday was 4 June. His consort, Queen Charlotte, was born on 19 May, but because this was so close to her husband's birthday she celebrated it officially on 18 January. The Queen's Birthday thus opened the calendar of Court events, and the King's closed it. In between there were weekly levees (for the gentlemen, usually on Wednesdays) and drawing-rooms (mixed company, usually on Thursdays), but the Birthdays were the biggest draw.

George III in Windsor uniform, by C.W. Hunneman (Wikimedia Commons)

The Birthdays were not, of course, celebrated only by the Court. They were official public holidays, and celebrated nationwide with bell-ringing and patriotic sermons. In London, the royal standard was hoisted all over town (including on the ships lying in the Thames) and at noon the guns at Green Park and the Tower fired a royal salute of 21 guns. At six, the London mail companies ran a parade of new coaches in St James's Street while the royals watched. In 1796 this parade consisted of eighteen coaches, "each drawn by four beautiful blood horses, decorated with ribbons".[1]

At night the city was illuminated with candles and "transparencies", or coloured devices. The theatres, clubs and trades operating "by royal appointment" led the way, but some private residences also lit up in celebration.

The biggest spectacle of the day, however, was the official Drawing-Room held at St James's Palace. This was undoubtedly the place to be, and the aristocracy turned out in numbers twice each year to show off their wealth and status with swanky new coaches and extravagant Court dress. Spectators lined the streets as double lines of vehicles dropped off their hugely overdressed occupants outside the Palace from noon onwards.

Like all late Georgian Court events, the Royal Birthdays were governed by very strict etiquette. As such, although they provided an interesting diversion for the hoi polloi, they were not very comfortable to take part in. "A Court day is a day of pennance [sic], upon which royalty and rank pay the tax of their station" – a tax which was "frequently ... paid with an aching heart as well as a head-ache".[2]

Princess Augusta's Birthday gown in June 1799, from here

Dress and behaviour were strictly regulated, and Court fashion was stuck in a fossilised rut. Ladies had to wear large hoops and mantua gowns long after these fashions had been abandoned elsewhere (this continued even after the fashionable waistline had crept up to empire length towards the end of the 1790s, with ridiculous results). Gentlemen wore outdated long coats, either heavily-embroidered suits, plain "Windsor dress" (blue coat, red collar, gold lace), or military or naval uniform: the knights of the various Orders also wore their collars. 

Men's Court dress, ca. 1800 (LACMA)

Every year the newspapers described the gowns, but with increasingly obvious distaste:

The newspapers have been in the habit for some years past to detail ... the dresses made up for the Ladies; though year by year it is a repetition of the same unintelligible gibberish. It eternally consists of a satin or velvet train, and an embroidered petticoat, which glitter with half a dozen ornaments of tassels and fringe, flowers and foil, gold and silver, through as many insipid columns. The etiquette of Court demanding the obsolete hoop in the Ladies' dress, and the standing collar in the Gentlemen's, there is no scope for the exercise of either fancy or taste ... All of [this] is extremely useful to the Court milliners, and interesting to no human creature besides.[3]

Embroidery on a Court coat, showing sequins and gold thread (LACMA)

The drawing-room began each year at noon with a procession of royal coaches up the Mall from the Queen's House (modern Buckingham Palace). The royal family retired to their apartments to dress, after which the Queen would give a small-scale drawing-room in her own levee rooms. The reason for this was because formal introductions could not take place at the Birthday, and only those who had been formally introduced could attend the official celebrations. Young debutantes, newly-married couples, aristocrats in possession of a new title, freshly-appointed ambassadors, and people returning from trips abroad all had to be officially presented before the birthday "Great Circle" began. 

Queen's Levee Rooms (Pyne's Royal Residences, 1819) (Wikimedia)

At half past one the Poet Laureate read either the Ode to the New Year (at the Queen's Birthday) or the Birthday Ode (for the King). From 1790 the Laureate was Henry Pye, more distinguished for his political loyalty than for the quality of his writing. At two (or occasionally half past), the King and Queen entered the Grand Council Chamber. The company present – normally several hundred people (in 1790 the World named 250 gentlemen and 180 women, excluding, no doubt, several unrecognised faces and latecomers) – would have fought their way "with the utmost exertions" up the grand staircase and struggled in their swords and wide-hooped finery to pack themselves into the long, narrow state room.[4]

Drawing-Room in the Great Council Chamber (Wikimedia)

Once the royals entered, the company formed themselves into a circle as best they could while the King and Queen went round in opposite directions, making informal and probably highly stressful small-talk with their subjects. Nobody was allowed to sit or turn their back on the Royal presence. Three hours of standing in uncomfortable shoes later, the King and Queen returned to their apartments and the nobility fought their way out again.

Their ordeal was not yet over, for an official Ball was held at eight or nine. Everyone wore the same clothes they had worn at the Drawing-Room, and (like every other aspect of the day) the dancing was strictly controlled. The royal children opened the Ball with a series of minuets – the Birthday Balls were the only places these were still danced by the end of the century. These went on for an hour and a half. At about eleven the first of two "country dances" began. Balls rarely went on past midnight, and must have been very formal, and tedious, affairs.

The gowns and suits were the most interesting features of the day, antiquated as they were. The newspapers had their favourites, and often waxed lyrical in describing the dress of the foppish Prince of Wales:

[the Prince was dressed in] a very superb garter blue silk coat and breeches, with a narrow pale blue silk stripe, most beautifully embroidered in front, and down all the seams with silver, gold, and stones, and handsomely variegated with silk flowers, white cuffs, and silk waistcoat, both very richly embroidered all over. The effect of this dress is beyond description grand.[5]

The Prince was usually diamond-studded from head to foot, including diamond epaulettes, diamond-encrusted Garter star and George, and a sword decorated with "upwards of 3000 diamonds".[6] Whenever he did not appear, he must have left an enormous sparkly hole in St James's. After the start of the war, the newspapers grew more critical of his spendthrift ways and his vicarious attempts to harness the military glory of others. In 1793 the Morning Chronicle panned the uniform he wore as honorary Colonel of the 10th Light Dragoons, "which the Ladies say but ill accords with the increasing rotundity of his figure".[7]

The rest of the royals were generally more restrained. The King and Queen had a tradition of wearing plain clothes on their own Birthdays (the Queen, for example, would leave off the diamonds, of which she was notoriously fond). On the King's birthday in 1791, however, Charlotte wore "a most beautiful and costly dress" with a hat of green silk trimmed with blonde and decorated with diamonds, a garter blue and silver train trimmed with silver fringe, and a white crepe petticoat embroidered all over with silver stars and spangles.[8] On the Queen's birthday in 1794 the King wore "a purple cloth coat, richly embroidered in gold, with a gold tissue waistcoat, covered with a very elegant embroidery".[9]

Court dress, ca. 1796, from the back, showing the train (N. von Heideloff, Gallery of Fashion vol. II, found here)

After the outbreak of war in 1793, the newspapers found little to say about men's court dress. Every year it was always the same: "The marking character of the dress for the day was, that the gentlemen were chiefly in military uniform".[10] In June 1799, the King preceded his birthday celebrations with a review of 8000 London volunteers in Hyde Park. The Morning Chronicle, a cynical chronicle of Court events at the best of times, damned the volunteers' military character with faint praise: "The corps in general conducted themselves with great propriety, and performed both their firing and their evolutions with precision, considering the short time they have been under drill. It would be too much to expect from corps, so constituted, all the minute regularity of regular troops."[11]

Military uniform ca. 1799 (LACMA)

Between 1793 and 1798, when the war was going badly, the economy suffered, and political unrest stalked the land, the Birthdays were thinly attended and the clothes more restrained. The Birthdays became an opportunity for the aristocracy to show their patriotism by "buying British": "We are happy to observe the great attention paid to the manufactories of the country, as the Spitalfields silks – fancy metal buttons – and shoes and buckles, were generally worn, which ... must give renewed vigour to trade, and bread to thousands".[12] Mostly, however, the war affected the rich by keeping them more on their country estates and forcing them to spend less on expensive outdated gowns: "These are not times for the indulgence of magnificent expence."[13]

In 1799, however, there was a resurgence of interest. The King's birthday celebrations that year, possibly because of the volunteer review that preceded it, was "one of the most splendid and brilliant Courts that has been witnessed for many years ... It would be impossible to enumerate the numbers who were present". It was a fitting close for a decade that had seen the British royal family endure so much political, social and private turbulence.

References

[1] True Briton, 6 June 1796

[2] Morning Chronicle, 5 June 1795, 20 January 1796

[3] Morning Chronicle, 20 January 1795

[4] Morning Chronicle, 5 June 1794

[5] World, 5 June 1790

[6] Morning Chronicle, 19 January 1791

[7] Morning Chronicle, 5 June 1793

[8] World, 6 June 1791

[9] Morning Chronicle, 19 January 1794

[10] Morning Chronicle, 20 January 1795

[11] Morning Chronicle, 5 June 1799

[12] Morning Chronicle, 19 January 1794

[13] Morning Chronicle, 20 January 1797

[14] Morning Chronicle, 5 June 1799

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Jacqueline Reiter has a Phd in 18th century political history. Her first book, The Late Lord: the life of John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham, will be published by Pen & Sword Books in January 2017. When she finds time she blogs about her historical discoveries at http://thelatelord.com/, and can be found on Twitter as https://twitter.com/latelordchatham.

A little-known glimpse into the court of George III

by Jacqueline Reiter


The court of George III has been well depicted in sources such as the diary of Fanny Burney and Horace Walpole. During my research for my book, however, a simple Google search turned up an unexpected and amazing find.

The Hon. Georgiana Townshend was the eldest child of Thomas Townshend, 1st Viscount Sydney (he for whom Sydney, Australia is named). Georgiana's younger sister Mary married the subject of my book, John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham. Their mother, Lady Sydney, and their aunt, the Countess of Courtown, were both Ladies in Waiting to George III's consort Queen Charlotte.

Mary, Countess of Courtown (Wikigallery.org)

The Townshends were thus very much at the forefront of court life, and the eldest Townshend girls virtually grew up at court, making friends with the older princesses.

The three eldest daughters of George III: the Princess Royal, Princess Augusta, and Princess Elizabeth (Wikimedia Commons)

My discovery was a stash of letters sent by Georgiana to Mrs Catherine Stapleton, who lived in Somerset as the companion of Mary's mother-in-law the Dowager Countess of Chatham. Everybody and their dog wrote to Mrs Stapleton (she was a spinster, and the "Mrs" was purely a title of respect) but hardly any letters survive. In the mid-19th century, however, a family member published the life of Mrs Stapleton's nephew and literary executor, Lord Combermere. The biography included a large selection of letters, and buried among them were Georgiana Townshend's. To my joy, there were even a small handful of letters from Georgiana's sister Mary.

They are, unfortunately, heavily edited. Even more unfortunately, when I finally managed to track down the original letters (they are, in all places, at the National Army Museum in London) I discovered Lord Combermere's 19th century family had snipped them up and pasted a number of them on card. There is enough, however, to give a wonderful and intimate portrait of Georgiana and of her insight into the late 18th century royal family.

Queen Charlotte (Wikimedia Commons)

The correspondence opens in the summer of 1789, when George III was at Weymouth recovering from his previous year's attack of "madness" (probably porphyria). Georgiana was in attendance:

"The night before last the King went into the warm sea-bath for the first time, was remarkably well yesterday, in high spirits &c ... I had the honor of losing my money [at the Princess Royal's] last night at Commerce; we had three tables there again ... We were seven, Princess Royal, two Lady Waldegraves, Lady M[ary] Howe, Lord Loudoun, Colonel Gwynne, & myself ... The Queen was so good as to do me the honor of whipping me yesterday evening as I was looking attentively at some plants Princess Augusta was showing me, her good dear Majesty came slyly behind & corrected me. I started round, and to my astonishment saw the Queen, she laughed and said, 'I believe you never was whipped by a Queen before,' which, to be sure, was pretty true."

Depiction of a royal visit to the fleet (1773) (Wikimedia Commons)

In another letter, Georgiana accompanied the Royal Family aboard some ships:

"We sallied forth about six o'clock in five ten-oared boats, (belonging to the Magnificent, a 74 just arrived in Portland Road for His Majesty's use) ... The sea was very calm; we had several other boats to look at us, one with a band of musick, & the numbers of people upon the Point, & everywhere where they could see us, huzzaing, made it a most delightfull scene. ... The ladies all went up [into the ship] in the chair. I never saw so ridiculous an appearance in all my life; it entertained the King very much, he laughed very heartily at my arrival ... He stood to watch us all. They were all vastly pleased with the ships; the Princesses had never seen one before."

A few letters on, Georgiana touches on the French émigrés flocking to England after the beginning of the French revolution. She's not sympathetic:

"We swarm here still with French. I wish the Duchess of Gordon had not had any at her assembly, or soirée as she calls it; she had only two, but one was a fine lady, & the other a fine gentleman; those I am sure we have no business with ... Those that are really objects of compassion would not be inclined to figure away at an assembly ... A great many are aristocrats in France, but are hand in glove with our Opposition. I have no patience with their being received as they are ... One hears French all round one at every assembly. I hate the sight of them."

The Prince of Wales (Wikimedia Commons)

Then there's gossip about, erm, the Prince of Wales:

"There were several men very drunk that made it very disagreable so we came away, there was one worse than all rest … he … was most beastly drunk indeed, you may guess who I mean ye first in company but quite otherwise in behaviour [the Prince of Wales] he was drinking with all the Regimental band that was there, & was at least carried out speachless [sic], one of our servants who was there said he never saw such a sight in his life, people were getting upon chairs & tables to look at him till they absolutely gave way, … I never heard anything like it, he sung & hallowed until he lost his voice."

Georgiana's sister Lady Chatham had a few things to say about Court protocol. She had introduced Mrs Stapleton's nieces to the Queen, and made a small observation on the inconvenience of Court fashion:

"The feathers in the Q[ueen]'s face is what now always happens with all the young Ladies who kiss her hand, for in the way in which they now wear them, it is unavoidable, tho' the Q[ueen] leans as back as she can. To be sure it annoys her, but she's always good humoured to young Ladies."

"A Modern Belle", James Gillray (Wikimedia Commons)

(I can only imagine the scene.)

There is plenty more where these came from -- more, in fact, than I had time to take down before I was forced to return home. Georgiana was quite the gossip, and I suspect what survives is only a small proportion of what she wrote. But it makes for an interesting and fresh view into a well-worn subject. I wonder what other untapped sources are out there waiting to be discovered?


References

Quotations come from The Memoirs and Correspondence of Field-Marshal Viscount Combermere... vol. II (London, 1866) and the National Army Museum Combermere MSS 8408-114


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Jacqueline Reiter has a Phd in 18th century political history. Her first book, The Late Lord: the life of John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham, will be published by Pen & Sword Books in January 2017. When she finds time she blogs about her historical discoveries at http://thelatelord.com/, and can be found on Twitter as https://twitter.com/latelordchatham.

Queen Charlotte's Ladies in Waiting

by Laura Purcell

Queen Charlotte was never one to cause a scandal. Search for her in the history books and you will find a pious, sensible, good-humoured woman. She clung to propriety like a life-raft. Her political enemies once tried to spread a rumour that she was sleeping with the Prime Minister, William Pitt, but the gossip fizzled out instantaneously: no one would believe it.

With such a mistress, you would think Charlotte’s ladies in waiting and maids of honour must be paragons of virtue. You could not be further from the truth.

Almost immediately after her arrival in England to marry George III, Charlotte ran into difficulties with her staff. Two beloved servants, Mrs Haggerdorn and Mrs Schwellenberg, had accompanied her from Mecklenburg-Sterlitz and naturally had a special place in her heart.

However, jealousy began to brew between the English and German factions. Schwellenberg did nothing to help matters with her pride and overpowering manners. She insisted upon being called “Madame”, though she was nothing but a bedchamber woman. Through bullying and aggression, she rose all the way to become Mistress of the Robes in the young Queen’s household. Taking rooms right next to Charlotte’s, she ensured no one could gain access to the royal presence without her permission. From old affection and a desire to keep her countrywoman beside her, Charlotte endured it all without censure. Her husband took it less kindly.

George would have dismissed Schwellenberg and sent her back across the sea, but Charlotte entreated him in the presence of her mother-in-law to let the servant stay. Grudgingly, he conceded, provided Schwellenberg changed her behaviour. She never did.

Miss Elizabeth Chudleigh

Pride and self-aggrandizement were small sins, compared with those of a maid of honour, Miss Elizabeth Chudleigh. Unhappily married to a son of Lord Hervey, Miss Chudleigh embarked on a series of affairs, scandalising London with her revealing masquerade costumes. She finally separated from her husband and remarried a former lover. However, when her second husband died, his heir and nephew accused Miss Chudleigh of bigamy. She was tried, found guilty and fled to Paris.

Another young woman forced to leave England for her crime was Sarah Wilson, femme de chamber to the maid of honour Miss Vernon (yes, that’s right: a servant of a servant). While going about her duties, Sarah broke open Charlotte’s cabinets and stole her jewels. Needless to say, she was found out. A judge sentenced Sarah to death, but fortunately the wronged queen interceded for her. The penalty was transmuted to banishment. Sarah was shipped to Maryland and sold as a slave.

Despite their shenanigans, Charlotte’s maids of honour felt entitled to strike in 1775. Their grievance was simple: supper. They were entitled to a free supper at the cost of the royal household, but often duties prevented them being able to take it. They petitioned King George, who actually granted them an additional £70 a year in compensation.

There were many interesting characters in Charlotte’s household, from Miss Meadows who ran off with a penniless officer, to Lady Effingham, who supposedly died of fright after a fire in her apartments at Hampton Court. But few come close to the eccentricity of Lady Mary Coke.

Lady Mary Coke

Lady Mary was married, against her will, to Lord Leicester’s son. She was treated with astounding cruelty by her new family, who went to the lengths of imprisoning her in her room for months. But to be fair to the Cokes, they were not the only ones who struggled to get along with Mary. She was famously opinionated, stubborn and ridiculously proud. Even Princess Amelia, the King’s tolerant Great-Aunt, was forced to terminate her friendship with Mary after a bout of highly unreasonable behaviour.

Fortunately widowed in 1750, Mary set her cap at King George’s younger brother, the Duke of York. She was thirty-two to his nineteen and played the boy like a lute. She kept him at arm’s-length, while secretly revelling in his devotion. Nothing ever came of the liaison, for the Duke died tragically young. Demented by grief and loneliness, Mary set herself up as a royal widow. She would cry at the mere sight of Westminster Abbey, where her admirer was buried. Throughout the years, she kept up a morbid fascination with royal vaults. This would all be rather touching, were the poor woman not fooling herself. Princess Amelia often assured Mary the Duke had never meant to marry her, and “made such a joke of you”.

The last lady in our tale, Lady Elizabeth Pembroke, caused a stir without ever meaning to. To start with, she had a scandalous marriage, through no fault of her own. Her cheating husband shamed her by disguising himself as a soldier and eloping to the Low Countries with a mistress. Elizabeth was forced to take him back the next year, writing that “Husbands are dreadful and powerful animals”. Some six years later, Lord Pembroke carried off another lady on the very eve of her wedding.

Elizabeth hoped to find some peace in Charlotte’s household, but she unwittingly became the focus of George III’s passion during his many bouts of insanity. George would call her “Queen Esther”, his “Queen of Hearts”. Whenever he played cards, he would stop at that point in the deck and kiss the drawing. Fortunately for Charlotte, Lady Pembroke was a true friend. She behaved very sensibly and stopped the crisis escalating. Devoted to her mistress, Elizabeth stayed in Charlotte’s service until February 1818, just nine months before the Queen’s death.

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London 1788. The calm order of Queen Charlotte's court is shattered by screams. The King of England is going mad. Left alone with thirteen children and with the country at war, Charlotte has to fight to hold her husband's throne. It is a time of unrest and revolutions but most of all Charlotte fears the King himself, someone she can no longer love or trust. She has lost her marriage to madness and there is nothing she can do except continue to do her royal duty. Her six daughters are desperate to escape their palace asylum. Their only chance lies in a good marriage, but no prince wants the daughter of a madman. They are forced to take love wherever they can find it, with devastating consequences. The moving true story of George III's madness and the women whose lives it destroyed.

Laura Purcell is a writer, history fan and guinea pig lover living in Colchester. She is writing a series of novels about the women who loved (and hated!) the Hanoverian monarchs. Her debut novel, Queen of Bedlam, was published by Myrmidon on 10 June 2014.
http://laurapurcell.com/
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