There was a gasp of astonishment. How guilty was this woman who was afraid of a servant’s evidence!
It was easy to see why she was afraid as the court listened to Majocchi in the hands of his interrogators. He began by explaining the position of the Queen’s and Pergami’s bedrooms in Tunis. They had been separated only by a small chamber. He gave the impression that there could be no doubt of the liaison between the Queen and Pergami. Her maid Louise Demont was called— she who had served the Queen well and had kept a diary of her travels in the East and written only praise of Caroline in that diary. But having lived close to the Queen she was recognized as an ideal witness against her if she could be persuaded to give the damning evidence that was required of her. Temptation was too much for Louise and she agreed to become a witness for the Crown. So with the evidence of Majocchi and Louise Demont, the case looked very black against Caroline.
But it was a situation which Brougham and Denman found stimulating. As they sifted the evidence they began to believe that the Queen was innocent of all but an indiscretion so great that it was the utmost folly. But innocent she was of that which the Crown was trying to prove. And with innocence and Brougham, thought that gentleman, she must win.
It was easy to deal with Majocchi for the man was clearly lying. Captain Hownam was called to prove that the, Queen’s and Pergami’s bedrooms in Tunis had not been on the same floor. Majocchi had stated that the Queen dined in her bedroom with Peragami who sat on her bed while they ate together. Captain Hownam assured the Court that this was absolutely untrue. The whole suite had always dined together.
So under fire Majocchi withered. He took refuge in the phrase, ‘I don’t remember’— Non mi ricordo. The people who followed the trial day by day were immensely amused by this witness and a song was soon being sung in the streets:
‘To England I was trudged.
Nor cost me a single farden
And was safely lodged
In a place called Covent Garden
There I eat and drink
Of the best they can afford
Get plenty of the chink
To say Non mi ricordo .
‘To the House so large I went
Which put me in a stew
To tell a tale I was bent
Of which I nothing knew.
There was a man stood there
My precious brains he bored
To which I wouldn’t swear
I said Non mi ricordo.
There were many verses and these were added to hour by hour. People were singing them everywhere.
‘Their witness,’ said Brougham chuckling, ‘is our witness.’
It was the same with Louise Demont. How easily the liars could be discredited in the hands of men like Brougham and Denman.
There were other Italian witnesses, all eager to earn their money and testify against the Queen. There was a certain Raggazoni who admitted that he had seen indecent conduct between the Queen and Pergami. This had caused some concern to Brougham until Hownam was able to tell the court that it was impossible for the man to have seen this from the place in which he described himself to be.
Another witness, Sacchi, said that on a journey from Rome to Sinigaglia the Queen had insisted that she and Pergami travel in a coach and that he. was riding beside the coach in attendance when he saw an act of misconduct. There were other witnesses to prove that the Countess Oldi had travelled in the coach with them and that Sacchi had also ridden in a coach and not on horseback.
Rastelli, another bribed witness, had further stories to tell. These Brougham was not able to refute at the time but he had hopes of doing so.
He called on the Countess Oldi who had come to England with Caroline and knowing her devotion to the Queen— and moreover she was the sister of Pergami — he thought she would be a good witness.
She was distressed because of the cruel things which were being said about the Queen.
‘So untrue,’ she cried. ‘So untrue.’
It was clear that she had a great affection for Caroline.
Should he call her? She was a foreigner, and it would be good to have an Italian who had a good word to say for the Queen. But she was Pergami’s sister— what effect would that have?
‘Of course,’ said Brougham, ‘people did go in and out of the Queen’s bedroom.’
‘Never at any time,’ declared the Countess.
‘I thought the manners of the country might make this permissible.’
‘Never on any occasion.’
‘But it has been proved that people did wander in and out of Her Majesty’s bedroom rather freely.’
‘Never at any time.’
She had learned her phrase, he realized; and she was going to stick to it, having decided that only by denying everything could she serve the Queen.
Brougham imagined her in the hands of the Crown.
She would do as much harm to his cause as Majocchi had done to the other side.
He decided not to call her.
His great opportunity came when he proposed to recall the man Rastelli and heard that the Crown had sent him back to Italy.
What a sensation when the cry went up ‘Call Rastelli’ and the Crown had to admit that he had returned to Italy.
Brougham was a man to make the most of his opportunities. He wondered why the man had been sent back. He had questions to ask him which he very much doubted the fellow would be able to answer to the satisfaction of the court.
Was it not strange that he should have been sent away at such a time?
It was indeed strange, Lord Liverpool admitted. It was highly culpable; it was iniquitous.
From that moment Brougham knew he had won his case.
Denman summed up the case for the Queen brilliantly until he came to the end of his speech.
‘I know that rumours are abroad of the most vague but at the same time of the most injurious character. I have heard them even as we are defending Her Majesty against charges which compared with these rumours are clear, comprehensible and tangible— There are persons and these not of the lowest condition, nor confined to individuals connected with the public press— not even excluded from this august assembly— who are industriously circulating the most odious and atrocious calumnies against Her Majesty— To a man who could even be suspected of so base a practice as whispering calumnies to judges— distilling leprous venom into the cars of jurors— the Queen might well exclaim: Come forward, thou slanderer and let me see thy face. If thou wouldst equate the respectability of an Italian witness come forth and depose in open court—’ Denman gazed contemptuously at the King’s supporters. ‘ As thou art, thou art worse than an Italian assassin. ‘
He went on declaiming the injuries the Queen had suffered and he had the sympathy of the court for he spoke with touching eloquence; but unfortunately as he neared the end of his speech he gave his listeners the opportunity to ridicule and this they seized eagerly.
He who the sword of Heaven will bearShould be as holy as severe. ‘And if your lordships have been furnished with powers which I might almost say scarcely omniscience itself possesses, to arrive at the secrets of this female, you will think that it is your duty to imitate the justice, beneficence and wisdom of that benignant Being who, not in a case like this when innocence is manifest but when guilt was detected and vice revealed said: If no accuser can come forward to condemn thee, neither do I condemn thee. Go and sin no more.’
It was a brilliant speech; no case had been proved against Caroline but Denman could not have chosen a peroratio which would have so delighted the people.
There was a new song now to replace that of Non mi ricordo. It was: Gracious Queen, we thee implore, Go away and sin no more. But if that effort be too great, Go away— at any rate. Poor Denman was furious with himself. But Brougham was not displeased.
He knew that they had won.
There was still the Bill of Pains and Penalties. It passed through the House of Lords with a majority of twenty-eig
ht.
If, reasoned Brougham, that Bill was passed in spite of the fact that the Queen could not be proved guilty of adultery, the first part of the Bill to exclude the Queen from her rights might still be put into force.
He called on Lord Liverpool.
‘If this Bill is passed,’ he said, ‘this will not be the end. We have had an enquiry into the Queen’s private life, what if there is an enquiry into the King’s?’
‘He has had his mistresses as most Kings have,’ began Liverpool.
‘This is not so much a matter of mistresses as of wives. There is a strong suspicion that as Heir Apparent, the King went through a form of marriage with Maria Fitzherbert, and in the Act of Succession since the lady is a Catholic, this could mean losing the Crown.’
Liverpool understood. The Bill must not be passed.
On its next reading, it received only a majority of nine in the Lords ‘This is the end of the Bill,’ said Brougham to Denman. ‘We’ve won, man.
They’ll never attempt to pass it through the Commons.’
He was right. Lord Liverpool withdrew his Bill. The Queen was acquitted.
Through the cheering crowds, she drove to Brandenburg House.
Return to Brunswick
CAROLINE called Lady Anne Hamilton to her. ‘You see me— triumphant—’
she said, and she smiled wryly.
‘Is it the pain, Your Majesty?’
She nodded. ‘Give me the magnesia.’
Lady Anne brought the drug and Caroline mixed it with water herself.
‘And I’ll add a little laudanum,’ she said.
‘Your Majesty— is it wise to take so much?’
‘Well, my dear,’ she laughed. ‘When have I ever been wise?’
The King was humiliated by the findings of the court. The Bill had been thrown out. And he was still tied to that woman. Even Lady Conyngham found it hard to console him. He was not feeling well; he was far too fat; he had the Crown but life had lost its savour.
He stayed at Windsor. He wanted to shut himself away. He had no desire to ride through the streets of London and suffer the further humiliation of having mud thrown at his carriage and overhear the remarks he guessed the people would make at his expense.
How different, he thought, from what he had dreamed in his youth. Then he had been Prince Charming and everywhere he went the people applauded him.
They had preferred him to his old dull father. What a King he will make! they said. And here he was— the King— skulking at Windsor, afraid to enter his capital, thinking sadly of the trail of scandal which marked his progress from Prince Charming to Prince Regent and King George IV.
It was dear Lady Conyngham who brought him comfort as usual.
She had changed the furniture in his bedroom a little and confessed to him that she had been very bold.
‘Change what you will,’ he said fondly. ‘What pleases you pleases me.’
She sat beside him and they played a game of patience.
She said: ‘I have heard that the people are not so much for the Queen as they were. They all believe she was guilty, of course.’
‘They cheer here wherever she goes.’
‘They are singing: Go away and sin no more.’ ‘Then they have changed.’
‘They always knew she was guilty only it wasn’t possible to prove it. I think they would like to see their King.’
‘You imagine them all to be as fond of him as you are,’ he told her indulgently.
But as they retired to bed, he thought: The public is fickle. Perhaps they are changing towards her. The enthusiasm was due to the impression that had been given by her supporters that she was a persecuted woman.
Surely they must see that she was not the woman they would want for their Queen. Whereas he was, in spite of his corpulence— until the doctors had persuaded him to abandon his corsets which he knew for the best while he regretted the result— a magnificent figure.
It was time he had a coronation. Perhaps he would go to the theatre and see how he was received.
‘Your Majesty is thoughtful,’ said Lady Conygham.
He patted her shoulder. ‘As usual, my dear,’ he said, ‘you have succeeded in comforting me.’
The people were pleased to see him and because they now began to believe that Caroline was guilty of infidelity and that he had come rather badly out of the trial they felt a little more affectionate towards him. He was a splendid figure and always would be; and he did look grand and imposing with the great diamond star flashing on his chest.
It was time he gave them a coronation and coronations were great occasions when there was feasting and revelry and everyone enjoyed life.
So cheers for the King and let him be crowned soon, and they would all turn out to sing: ‘God save the King’.
He was deeply moved. He smiled and waved and showed his pleasure— and the more he showed his pleasure the more they cheered.
He stood in his box at Drury Lane and received the ovation. Bowing, his band on his heart, the tears of emotion visible on his cheeks, he loved his people. And, temporarily, they were prepared to love him.
Preparations for the Coronation had begun and London was in a state of excitement.
‘And what of the Queen?’ they asked each other. ‘She is not going to be crowned. More trouble!’
When the King rode out they called after him: ‘Where’s your, wife, George?’
But it was asked with bantering affection and no mud was thrown at the royal carriage.
But Caroline in Brandenburg House was determined to attend the Coronation.
She wrote to Lord Liverpool to tell him so.
Her Majesty feels under the necessity to establish herself in England and communicates to Lord Liverpool that the Queen intends to be present at the Coronation and request him to present the enclosed letter to His Majesty,
Caroline R.
The letter to which she referred was addressed to the King and in it she asked him to command which ladies he desired should attend her on Coronation Day and in what dress he wished her to appear.
Lord Liverpool replied that it was the King’s determination to receive no communication from her and she was to form no part of the ceremonial of the coronation.
Caroline’s reply was curt and to the point.
The Queen is much surprised— and assures the Earl that Her Majesty is determined to attend the Coronation; the Queen considers it one of her rights and privileges which she is determined to maintain. This was the state of affairs as Coronation Day grew nearer. The Queen was determined to attend; and the King determined that she should not.
July 19 1821! The day when His Majesty King George IV was to be crowned.
The previous day he had left Carlton House in a closed carriage to spend the night at the Speaker’s House and next morning the procession assembled in Westminster Hall for the walk to the Abbey.
When the King appeared, there was a gasp of admiration. One observer remarked that he was ‘a being buried in satin, feathers and diamonds’. He could always be relied upon to give a good performance on occasions such as this and the people who had waited in the streets since the early morning were not going to be disappointed.
The procession was led by the King’s herb woman and six of her assistants.
They threw down flowers on the path which the King would take to the Abbey.
Under the canopy came the centre of attraction: King George IV; and the crowds roared its approval. His crimson velvet train decorated with gold stars was nine yards long and on his head was a black hat with ostrich feathers.
The people went mad with joy. Trust old George to give them a good show.
The manner in which he walked was alone worth watching, and it was said no one on Earth could bow as he did.
He was a king, all said and done, and if he had had a few wild adventures, who could blame him?
God save the King.
An open carriage drawn by six horses was making its w
ay from Brandenburg House to the Abbey.
‘I am going!’ Caroline had cried, her eyes alight with purpose. ‘I have said I shall go to the Coronation and no one is going to stop me.’
Painted more heavily than usual— it was necessary she told Lady Anne for her face was a peculiar shade of yellow under the lead and rouge— dressed in outrageous colours, her jewels flashing, she rode through the crowd.
‘The Queen!’ they cried and ran after her carriage. They surrounded it, impeding its passage towards the Abbey. What now? Everyone knew that the King had forbidden the Queen to come to the Coronation.
She was surprised to detect a note of jeering laughter. Someone started to boo.
She did not believe that could be meant for her. The people had always been on her side and she had just been acquitted.
She had been warned against coming to the Abbey by all those who wished her well. It would be considered had taste, they told her. This was after all the day when the King was to be crowned. But she had been determined and had gone against them.
At the door of the Abbey her way was barred.
‘Madam, no one is allowed to enter the Abbey without a ticket,’ said the stalwart doorkeeper.
‘I am the Queen.’
‘No one without a ticket, Madam.’
She turned away. Someone in the crowd laughed. Flushed beneath her rouge, her head shaking so that her enormous hat was jerked rakishly to one side, she ordered her coach-man to drive her to another door.
‘No entrance without a ticket.’
‘I am the Queen.’
‘No entrance without a ticket, Your Majesty. Those are orders.’
She stood dismayed. The pain started to nag. A voice in the crowd called: ‘Go home.’
She looked wildly about her as though she were about to speak and someone cried: ‘Go to Como. Go and enjoy yourself with the Italian.’
Indiscretions of the Queen Page 36
