Discussion Groups / English Usage / January 2009

September 1761 – Return to Mecklenburg

 In September of 1761 a coterie of handpicked aristocrats were
dispatched to the German duchy of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz. Their duty was
to perform a proxy marriage then transport Princess Charlotte—the
princess, Queen Mother, the late king, and the Prince had settled on—to
London for her formal marriage and coronation as Queen Consort to George
III.

Not long after six coaches pulled in front of the Palace of
Mecklenburg-Strelitz. Accompanying the six coaches were a detachment of
King's dragoons: 12 slim-waisted men bristling with sword, pistol, and
campaign gear.  Poor, Franz, the Duke's butler, looked out the window as
if the French Army was outside. The Duke came to the top of the stair
and called to him, "Franz, outside, quick!" Franz snapped to his
too-tall height, adjusted his alpine cap and flew out the door.
Somewhere in the room a woman gasped. The Duke whipped his head around
in search of the usurper. Seeing no one, he lost his patience: "Everyone
in front of me, now!" he commanded. Instantly the maids and attendants
came out of their hiding places. "We'll have none of this!" he
thundered. I won't stand for it!  And where is Frau Schwellenberg?”

"She's coming, Your grace."

The Duke looked at the woman. "You and Gertrude are supposed to be
outside assisting Franz!"

"Yes, my lord," said the two. And they flew out the door.

"Are the guest rooms ready?" the Duke wanted to know.

"Yes, My Lord. Fresh chamber pots and water in each."

"The dining room, then?"

"Yes, my lord, refreshments on each table, sir."

What else? The Duke asked himself. He knew there was something he was
forgetting, but try as he might, he couldn't think of it–then he thought
of it. "Maxim! Where's Maxim?"

"At the stables!" said a girl at the bottom of the stair.

"What is he doing there? Tell him to show the cavalry where  to water
their horses.  And he should set up a table with beer too – if  that
royal painter Shackleton is any measure, these Englishman will want ale
and plenty of it!"

"Yes, my lord," said the girl, and she flew out of the room.

The Duke was standing at the bend in the stairway where the upper stair
gives way to a wide landing. It was built wide to allow women in great
hoop petticoats sufficient space to turn before proceeding down the
lower stair. The Duke had stopped to inspect himself in the full-length
mirror. Also, it was here he’d make his welcoming speech as Franz led
the King's coterie in. At this instant, though, his main concern was the
cavalry outfit he was wearing. Along with the Prussian parade jacket,
high collar (which was beginning to choke him), blood red cuffs, gold
braiding hanging across his chest, and red campaign sash around his
stomach, it was of the utmost importance the saber at his waist be
tilted at a precise 90 degree angle if he was to affect the stance
Frederick the Great used after routing the French at Rossback.

The Duke adjusted all these things in the mirror and was pleased. He
reached down and adjusted the top cuff of his cavalry boots. One had to
be careful walking in these, the cuffs were large and meant for riding
not walking, and certainly not running up and down stairs.

"Would you like some wax, for your whiskers, sir?" came a voice from
downstairs.

“Wax?” The Duke looked at his whiskers. Yes, a bit of wax would be nice.

"Yes, girl, go fetch my wax! Run! Hurry!"

"I have it right here, sir" said the girl, offering the small tin in her
hand.

"Bring it up then–quickly!  We don't have all day, you know!"

The girl hurried up the stairs.

From the landing above him another voiced spoke: " Frederick, I’m ready."

It was  Princess Charlotte dressed in the wedding gown the King sent for
the proxy wedding.

"Good! Good!" said Duke Frederick. "And remember, stay right at the top
landing there, until you hear me say to Franz, 'Enter.'"

"Yes, Frederick."

Outside the gentlemen and ladies were alighting the coaches.

"Does anyone speak French?" called out Franz.

"We all speak French," said a lady with a giggle in her voice. "Would
you have anyone in the King of England's Court who did not?"

Franz went red in the face. "My apologies, My Lady. I only meant to say–"

"–One moment, sir. This is the castle of the King of Prussia, is it
not?" Lady Teasley asked.

"King of Prussia?” exclaimed Franz, suddenly alarmed. "But there must be
some mistake, Madam–this is the castle of the Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz."

Lady Teasley giggled.

"Pay her no mind, my good man," said Lord Anson taking Lady Teasley by
the arm. "She's driven several servants to the madhouse already with her
jests. But look here, man–are they ready for the proxy marriage inside?"

"Yes, My Lord, we are," said Franz, still not entirely recovered from
Lady Teasley's jest.

Lady Teasley was so sugary pretty little boys stared at her. Lady
Teasley played on her delicious looks by always dressing in taffeta,
lace, and jewelry that leaned toward precious stones of great color.
Lady Teasley's first appearance in London high society is
well-documented. At the time Hyde Park was the Sunday gathering point of
the fashionable elite.  Arriving in their carriages or atop horses, they
took the circular road inside the park to show-off themselves. Gentlemen
and ladies of the younger sort displayed their horsemanship and if it
was particularly good,  mention of it would make the rounds of tea
parties for weeks. On the day in question, Lady Teasley came riding into
the park on a hired pony the same time the gentlemen had repaired to the
center of the park to talk and smoke. Whether planned or not what
happened next announced her entrance into society brilliantly. Just as
she was trotting past the section where the members of parliament stood,
she fell off her horse (some say slid) onto the ground exposing her lily
white legs to every man in eyesight. The collective gasp could be heard
all the way to Fleet Street.

Lady Teasley was accepted into the beau monde immediately–without anyone
bothering to confirm her bogus claim of Northumbrian nobility going back
70 quarters. Bona fide or not, she was useful and that was the paramount
thing. In time she acquired her own supper box at the Vauxhall paid for
by a dozen admirers. More telling still, wherever there was a gathering
of any social significance no doorman could long refuse her. She'd slip
him a guinea, whisper a promise she had absolutely no intention of
keeping, then waltz by him as his ears smoked.

Admiral Anson turned back to the other members of the coterie, some
still stepping from the coaches. Anson was about sixty, and one of
England's greatest naval heroes. He wore a sword but had elected to wear
civilian attire rather than his admiral's uniform.

"Did we all make it?" he called to them.

"I think we lost Baroness Hamilton along the way," joked the Earl of
Harcourt as he helped the Baroness Hamilton out of the coach.

"Then we must go back and find her," said Baroness Hamilton. "For
without her we cannot continue."

Everyone chuckled at this.

"Look, here, lads, let's have some order about ourselves before we go
in, please!" called Admiral Anson.

“Aye! Aye! Admiral!”

The Captain of the dragoons, a 23-year old whose horsemanship Lady
Teasley had admired all the way from the wharf, rode up and saluted
Admiral Anson with his saber.

"Lord Admiral, sir, would you have us stand guard outside the door when
you go in, sir?"

Anson looked around. "Don't quite know, Captain. Getting your horses
watered is more important than that, I should think. Hold on." Anson
looked to Franz who was trying to explain something to Lady Teasley
without success. "Sir!" Lord Anson called. "A word with you." Franz
bowed to Lady Teasley and rushed over. He exchanged a few words with
Lord Anson who then turned to the Captain and gave him his instructions.

“A  minute, Capeeton!” Lady Teasley called to the young captain. “I left
my parasol in the coach. Be a dear and fetch it for me, would you?”

The young captain's face turned tomato red.

Lady Teasley giggled.

“Never mind that, Captain,” said Anson taking Lady Teasley by the arm
and tugging her along like a naughty child. “See to your men and horses.”

In a moment the coterie was assembled in this order: Baroness Hamilton,
Duchess of Ancaster,  Lady Teasley, the Earl of Harcourt–who would be
proxy groom for the King – Admiral Anson, and the four Ladies of the
Bedchamber taking up the rear. The ceremony would take place as soon as
the coterie walked in the door. Inside the Duke and Princess would be
ready for this, or at least such were their instructions. Admiral Anson
nodded at the group then signaled for his servant to bring the King's
Bible from his coach.

As was the ancient custom of a proxy marriage, the Earl of Harcourt was
holding the new Queen's crown on a purple pillow. Like Anson, Harcourt
was a military man who'd been in many campaigns. Harcourt was 30 with a
perfect Englishman's face and a temperament harsh and unforgiving made
so by the horrors seen on the battlefield. His first day in battle had
been his baptism of fire. Before that day he'd been a merry enough
fellow who saw only the milk of human kindness in everyone he met. Then
came his first cavalry charge where he ran up on four enemy infantryman
fleeing for their lives.  His training kicked in: he spurred his horse
and cut them down: first one, then the other, then the last two because
they couldn't run away fast enough. These men had posed no threat; they
wanted only to escape with their lives. He could have watched them run
and no one would have said an untoward word to him about it. He could
have spared them but didn't.  The unfortunate event turned him into a
cynic for the rest of his life–and worse, it turned him into a person
with no value for human life. But here's the rub: 30 years later at 60,
Harcourt died  trying to rescue a dog from a well.

 "Are we ready?" Anson asked everyone again. He had the Bible in his
hand now. Without waiting for an answer he looked to Franz who was now
standing at the palace door and called, "The King's Coterie is ready to
enter, sir!"

Franz saluted, opened the door, then announced in German, "The King’s
Coterie is ready to enter, Lord Duke Frederick!"

At the stair landing above Duke Frederick called down, "Enter then!" On
the landing above Duke Frederick out of sight, Princess Charlotte
prepared to descend. Franz looked outside to the coterie and echoed,
"Enter then!"

"Enter we shall!" called back Admiral Anson leading the group in.

At the top of the stair, Charlotte steeled her nerves. The lavish
wedding gown her betrothed, King George III, had sent, fitted her
perfectly for the seamstress sent several months earlier by him had made
sure of this. And now, although she and the King had not once laid eyes
upon each other, she would in a few moments become his wife and the
Queen of England … at least in proxy.

From the landing below, the Duke called up, "Charlotte, come down now,
they're here!"

And she came down just as the King's Coterie walked through the door.
She walked past the Duke down the flight of stairs beneath him to the
main floor. She came to a standstill in front of the coterie just as it
came to a standstill in front of her. She stared at them, they at her.
Lord Anson forgot his speech, Lord Harcourt's  mouth fell open, Lady
Hamilton's eyes popped, Lady Ancaster gasped. And then to add to perfect
surrealism of it all, Lady Teasley giggled.

Now the way things were supposed to happen is that Lord Anson was to
begin the proxy marriage ceremony on the spot. That's how such things
were done from time immemorial, or at least going back to William the
Conqueror. Indeed, at the very instant Princess Charlotte appeared
before them, the next thing uttered from Anson's lips should have been :

"I, Lord Anson, Vice-Admiralty of Great Britain in the powers vested in
me by George William Frederick, King of Great Britain and Ireland, Duke
and Elector of Hanover, Duke of Cornwall and Rothesay, Duke of
Edinburgh, Marquess of Ely, Earl of Eltham, Viscount of Launceston,
Baron of Snowdon, Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester, do hereby present
his proxy in marriage to you the most serene Princess Charlotte Sophia
of Mecklenburg, the Earl of Harcourt…"

At which point, Anson would have paused and allowed the Earl of Harcourt
to take two steps forward, bow at the feet of the princess then stand
and offer up the crown on the purple pillow. But, so struck was Anson
with the features of the princess, words failed him, as in fact, words
failed everyone in the coterie, save the giggly Lady Teasley.

Indeed, it is not hard to imagine they'd all still be standing there
mouths agape hadn't the next extraordinary thing happened. At the top of
the stairs, Duke Frederick, instead of giving the speech he had
intended, rushed down the stairs to see why everyone was speechless.
This was ill-advised … at least at the rate of speed he chose. It was
the cavalry boots that did him in. The top cuffs meant for protecting
the knee from the flanks of the horse got caught-up–and so did the
Duke–sending him spilling down the stair heels over head like a circus
tumbler.

"Well done!" said Lady Hamilton without thinking.

"No, madam," came the Duke's pained voice from the floor. "Not well done."

Seeing the opportunity to stall he needed, Anson, bent down to the
fallen man and said, "Harcourt give me a hand—I  think he's hurt!"

"I am not hurt!" cried the Duke. And he tried to stand, but couldn't
because in his fall he had bent his saber around his leg. "It's this
saber. If you could help me unbend it from 'round my leg–"

Wisely, Lord Anson ignored this. He was, after all, vice admiral of the
most powerful navy in Europe and well knew how to think on his feet. In
a moment—on Anson's orders—Franz and another house servant were carrying
the protesting duke away from the foyer –  where the proxy marriage
should have been in progress—into the long dining hall next door, where
it could not.

"Put me down, Franz! I command you!"

"Hold him fast, Franz," countered Anson. "And, Lord Duke, I insist you
allow us to examine your wound before we proceed further."

"But it isn't a wound…it's nothing…if you could just help me unwrap the
saber from my legs."

"I've called for our surgeon. He'll be here in a moment."

"I don't need a surgeon!"

"Better safe than sorry."

No … Duke Frederick didn’t like it one bit, but …  no matter all the
power he wielded in his tiny principality, the Duke was no match for the
cunning of Admiral Anson who – upon seeing Princess Charlotte–had
decided some serious discussion was in order before proceeding with the
proxy marriage.

Meanwhile, Lady Hamilton and Lady Ancaster took Charlotte by the hand
and led her back upstairs to her bed chamber. They too had sensed a
pause was needed before proceeding. Also, both ladies had worked with
Anson on Kingly business before (which, is why the Queen Mother chose
them) and had picked up by voice and inflection his reluctance to proceed.

"A momentary delay," Lady Hamilton said to the bewildered girl. "The
surgeon will attend to your brother and we'll commence straight-away …
My, my, this is a lovely bedchamber, is it not, Lady Ancaster?"

"Indeed—and are those portraits of your parents above your bed, Princess
Charlotte?" said Lady Ancaster pointing to the portraits on the wall.

"Yes, they are."

Both women dropped the girl's hands and went to the portraits. Baroness
Hamilton dug into her silk purse for her spectacles. "May we take them
down?"  she  asked, already unhooking one from the wall while Lady
Ancaster unhooked the other.

"Yes, you may."

The older woman took the portrait to the window so as to inspect it in
better light. "Very Corinthian-looking, to be sure … which makes me but
wonder, Lady Charlotte, about your grandparents …”

“My grandparents, madam?”

“Do you have portraits of them?”

"Yes, we do," said Charlotte.

"And your great–grandparents?" interjected Lady Ancaster.

"Great–grandparents, madam?" said Charlotte looking from one face to the
other, her own face now confused.

“Portraits of them?”

“Oh, yes, there are,” said Charlotte.

"Both sets."

“Both sets, madam?”

“Yes, portraits of each – going back to your great–grandparents.... Let
me see, that would be … gosh, how many portraits would that be, Lady
Hamilton?”

“Fourteen.”

“Yes, 14,  I think you're right.”

The girl shrugged. She didn't understand why they would want to see so
many portraits, but the ladies were nice and their French so wonderful
to hear. “I can do much better than that,” she said. “Our portrait room
has  portraits of 70 sets of ancestors. If you ladies would follow me,
please.”

Lady Hamilton's voice was an astonished whimper: “How perfectly sweet of
you.”

When the surgeon walked into the dining room Admiral Anson put him on
the Duke then took Harcourt by the arm and left. Franz caught up with
them at the door.  He was biting his lip and his hands were shaking.
"Gentlemen, is their something wrong?" he asked.

Anson pointed to where the Duke and Surgeon were. "See to your duke.
We'll be back directly.”

“But is there something wrong–”

Anson’s stare shut him up. “Yes, sir,” said Franz, and then he turned
and hurried away from the Englishmen.

Once outside, Anson and Harcourt got into the first coach. Anson locked
the door and closed the windows.

"Did you see her?" asked Anson.

"Of course I saw her. Do you think I'm blind?" answered the Harcourt.

"Not you–the royal painter, perhaps. That girl and the girl in his
painting are not the same person.”

"They never are,” said Harcourt. “Those damn royal painters—they don't
do likenesses; they do flattery art. You can't tell a thing about how
the subject actually looks from their silly portraits."

Anson looked his man in the face. It was an impossible situation, one
that could incite war between all Europe if not handled correctly.
Still, there were things that had to be said before the marriage
proceeded, things that if surfaced after the girl became queen might
warrant a charge of treason.

"Just to be clear, Harcourt. We're only discussing the difference in
appearance between the portrait and the girl, correct?"

"I beg your pardon?" said Harcourt immediately on guard.

Anson tried to bend the Harcourt to his iron gaze but could not.
Harcourt, although under his command today, was an accomplished military
man himself. "All I'm saying, Harcourt, is you don't see any other
reason for not proceeding, do you?"

 "Such as? ..."

"I'm not intimating there is a reason. I merely asked if you saw one, sir."

"But I already told you I do not, Admiral Anson."

"Of course you did, but–”  and here  Anson stopped because he suddenly
had a better idea: "Let me put it to your like this, Harcourt: what do
you understand your duties to be?"

Harcourt was waiting for this very question for it gave him the chance
to—for the record—extract himself from what was beginning to look like a
horrid mess.

"My duties, as you well know, Lord Anson, are to be the King's proxy in
marriage to the Princess Charlotte Sophia—per your directions."

Anson winced at the words per your directions. The Earl's position was
now crystal clear: he had no intention of discussing the girl's
extraordinary features, at least not without assurances such talk would
not come back to haunt him.

A tap came on the coach window. It was Baroness Hamilton. Anson opened
the door and let her in. "Sirs," said Lady Hamilton winded. "Where have
you been? I've been looking all over the castle for you."

"Have you been with the girl?" Anson asked.

"Yes, Lady Ancaster and I were in her bedchamber. She showed us
portraits of her parents and grandparents.

"Did she ...?" said Harcourt.

"They have a room where they keep them. The collection goes back 70
quarters, possibly longer."

Another tap came on the window. It was the Duke. He was not happy.

"Gentlemen, the sword is removed from around my leg. The Princess is
waiting. If you would follow me, please."

"One minute, sir," said Anson.

"But we are ready, sir!" said the Duke. “And the agreement says the
proxy marriage must take place as soon as you walk through the door …
which you've already done, sir!”

"I said one minute, sir!" said Anson slamming the window shut. He turned
to Harcourt and Lady Hamilton: "Bloody little Hun and his monkey-faced
sister!–" Anson didn't finish the sentence because the look of shock on
the Harcourt's and the Baroness's faces stopped him cold. Then the
tapping on the window came again, then the Duke's voice: "I have the
marriage contract in my hands, sir. It says the proxy marriage is to
take place immediately upon the arrival of the King's proxy–IMMEDIATELY!
..."