Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire’s disgrace, a realm’s decay;
Ah! happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a Father’s fault away!
Weep–for thy tears are Virtue’s tears–
Auspicious to these suffering Isles;
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by thy People’s smiles!
Byron, “Lines to a Lady Weeping,” first published in the Morning Chronicle, March 7, 1812.[1]
Saturday, June 10
about 4 p.m.
Claremont House
Queen Caroline was in her daughter’s parlor with the two senior members of her legal team, Henry Brougham and Thomas Denman, along with Charlotte Augusta and Leopold.
“Consider this a rehearsal,” said Brougham. “When the time comes, you must have ready answers to whatever questions they ask.”
“I suppose I must,” said Caroline.
“Very well. Why was Pergami’s bedchamber always so near at hand to yours?”
“Apart from the fact that he was my majordomo, Will was getting old enough to sleep in his own room[2] and I needed protection.”
“You were expecting to be murdered in your bed?” said Denman.
“I wasn’t thinking so much of murder,” she said. “Allow me to explain. Did you know that before the late King Frederick of Württemberg married the Princess Royal, he was married to my older sister?”[3] Brougham nodded in reply, although he didn’t quite see the relevance.
“And he was a dreadful ogre, I might add. She was scarcely more than a girl, and he would berate her viciously at any excuse or none, strike her if he was the least bit angry, which from a brute that size[4] — well, it’s a wonder she survived. But that’s not the worst of it.
“When he finally tired of her and wanted to divorce her, he sent his…
aide-de-camp” — at this point, her eyebrows and tone of voice were doing everything they possibly could to indicate that this aide-de-camp might have served the king in some other capacity as well — “into her chambers at night under orders to rape her, so that he might charge her with adulter— are you all right, Thomas?” (Denman was choking on his tea. He had not expected the conversation to take this particular turn.)
“Quite… well, Your Majesty.” He took a deep breath. “Pray continue.”
“Well, fortunately she had taken the precaution of having her maid sleep in the room with her, and for the blackguard to have done the deed in front of an audience would rather have defeated the purpose — so he retreated as soon as he saw her. But I feared Prinny[5] might send someone to try some similar mischief against me.”
“You… believe Father might do such a thing,” said Charlotte Augusta. She sounded surprised, but only a little.
“I don’t know that he would,” said Caroline, “but I’ve been surprised more than once by the depths to which he will stoop. Some surprises I would sooner avoid, thank you.”
“Would it not have served to have a maid in the room, as your sister did?” said Brougham.
“My sister was in St. Petersburg at the time,” she said. “Frederick was governing Old Finland for Catherine, although after this she dismissed him. Under my own circumstances, I felt safer with a man close by. Particularly a capable warrior like Barty, who could fight and best any two villains in Europe.”
“No doubt he could,” said Brougham. “Nonetheless, it would be better to refer to him as ‘Pergami.’ You don’t want to seem too familiar with him.”
“Of course,” said Caroline. “Apart from that, is your question answered?”
“It is,” said Brougham. He wondered for a moment if the story were true. If it were, than George III (whom both Caroline and Charlotte Augusta both still held in some affection) had handed his own oldest daughter over to one of the worst monsters in Europe.
“So long as you add that last caveat — that you are speaking of your own fears, not of any known plot of His Majesty’s — you should be on safe legal grounds,” said Denman. “The only reputation damaged would be that of King Frederick, who, being dead, cannot sue.”
“Which reminds me,” said Brougham. He turned to the princess.
“You realize,” he said, “that in order to properly defend the Queen, it will be necessary to speak publicly of the King’s own… reputation. I hope you will be prepared for that.”
Charlotte snorted. “His reputation,” she said sarcastically. “‘O, he has lost his reputation!’ Who is his mistress this week, do you know? Is it Lady Hertford, or Lady Conyngham? I’ve quite lost track.” Caroline laughed out loud. No one else in the room ventured more than a slight chuckle. Leopold placed a hand on the princess’s arm.
“All my life I’ve seen my father disgracing himself in the sight of the whole kingdom, and all my life I’ve had to listen to the people around me trying not to speak of it where they think I can hear. Even the Tories have been kind to me. They… pity me.” She spoke this last through clenched teeth, then turned to look at Brougham squarely.
“I have had my fill and more of pity, Henry,” she said. “Do your worst. Spare nothing and no one, myself least of all. I insist.”
[1] When Prince George first became regent in 1811, everyone expected him to dismiss the current government and appoint his then-allies, the Whigs. By 1812, however, it was clear his loyalties had changed and this wasn’t going to happen. In fact, according to some accounts, on Charlotte Augusta's 16th birthday he delivered a toast in which he denounced the Whig leadership — whereupon Charlotte, already politically aware, burst into tears, inspiring Byron to write this little poem.
[2] Caroline had William Austin sleeping in her room until he was 13.
[3] Augusta of Brunswick, mother of William of Württemberg, who was first seen being awesome
here. She died in 1788. (Her body was never returned to Brunswick, so Caroline believes — or claims to believe — she’s still alive somewhere, but that’s another story.)
[4] King Frederick of Württemberg was one or two inches shy of seven feet tall and weighed 440 pounds.
[5] “Prinny” has been king for six months, but old habits die hard — especialy when talking about somebody no one really respects.