One of the unlikeliest causes ever taken up by British rebels was that of Caroline of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, Princess of Wales, heroine to millions of her subjects. Mind you, her husband really was an absolute knob, so that might explain it.
In 1794, George, Prince of Wales, considered himself already married to “the wife of my heart,” the widow Mrs Maria Fitzherbert. In fact, as he and she were well aware, their union was illegal since it had not been approved by the king, but even so, George had a wife and wasn’t looking for another one.
His problem was that he, an incurable sybarite, was gigantically in debt and the only way the state would bail him out was if he did his duty to the monarchy by making a suitable marriage. A perfect candidate had been chosen for him. Caroline was first cousin to George, though they’d never met; she understood English, she was a Protestant, and an alliance with her homeland would be strategically useful to the United Kingdom.
Oh well, thought George – how bad could it be?
Terrible, as it turned out. George and Caroline loathed each other on first sight, and their feelings of disgust, contempt and bitterness only grew. She was famously averse to washing; contemporaries describe her as filthy. She was also outspoken, unladylike, ungovernable and prone to embarrassing dinner table conversations with the in-laws. The phrase “I can’t take her anywhere” might have been created for Caroline of Brunswick. So: beginning to see why the British public took to her.
She discovered in him, meanwhile, a drunken playboy, a rampant adulterer, physically unattractive, and cold and snobbish even by royal standards. During the wedding itself he was so drunk he could hardly stand up. Despite the scarcity of their intimate liaisons, they did manage to produce one child, and heir to the throne, Princess Charlotte. She was born nine months after the wedding, and a few weeks later her parents officially separated.
In the press and amongst the people, George was already disliked while Caroline was seen as a good sort: down-to-earth, warm-hearted, full of life. She was also viewed by the public as the innocent victim of a horrible husband in a misbegotten marriage. Her habit of adopting poor children didn’t hurt her image. When she went out in public she was often cheered – the prince was as often hissed.
In 1806, rumours about Caroline’s lively private life led to the Delicate Investigation, a committee consisting of the Prime Minister, the Home Secretary, the Lord Chief Justice and the Lord Chancellor. They determined that there was no foundation for allegations of infidelity, but leaks concerning the supposedly secret inquiry increased public sympathy for her and anger against the crown, as did the fact that she was prevented from seeing her daughter while the Delicate Investigation was carried out.
Caroline moved to the Continent in 1814, paid by the British government to get out of the country, and three years later heard that her daughter, Charlotte, had died in childbirth at the age of 21. She found out the news by chance; George hadn’t bothered to tell her.
Another death brought her back to England in 1820: the old king was dead at last, which meant that Caroline was now, in name at least, Queen of the United Kingdom. She wanted her throne. Her husband, the new king, was having none of that, and determined to divorce her.
Accusing her of adultery with her chief household servant, the government proposed a “Bill of Pains and Penalties for an Act to deprive Caroline of the rights and title Queen Consort and to dissolve her marriage to George.” As the House of Lords considered the Bill, its proceedings effectively became a public trial of the queen, complete with witnesses for and against.
The public went mad. The persecution of Caroline was the topic of conversation throughout the kingdom – why was her sex life to be interrogated, when George’s went unquestioned? - to an extent which was described at the time, and by some historians since, as unprecedented. Radical politicians, liberal newspapers and revolutionary news-sheets championed her cause and cursed her husband and his administration, while vast numbers of ordinary people signed petitions and demonstrated in her favour. She was seen almost as a leader of the opposition to a corrupt, chaotic and conservative regime at a time when the country was calling out for reform and being met only with repression.
Parliament lost its nerve in the face of this uprising, and the Pains and Penalties legislation was humiliatingly abandoned. The monarchy, as an institution, has never forgotten the trouble it had with Caroline, and the potential risk posed to it by people marrying-in to the family business who, through some chance mixture of charisma, victimhood, rebelliousness and timing, become figureheads of general dissatisfaction. Lessons in ruthlessness were learned, and have been applied when necessary since.
Having been physically prevented from attending her own husband’s coronation in July 1821 – by guards with fixed bayonets - Queen Caroline took ill, and died a few weeks later, aged 53, probably from an obstructed bowel. Attempts by the state to prevent her funeral turning into an anti-George riot led, with tragi-comic inevitability, to an anti-George riot. The government tried to divert the funeral procession (on its way to Brunswick, via Harwich) so that it mostly avoided London; in response, mobs closed off roads and blocked gates, forcing the cortège to parade through heavily populated areas where it was greeted at every corner by loud cheers.
At the height of this struggle soldiers fired repeatedly into a crowd, killing two men: carpenter Richard Honey, 36, and George Francis, bricklayer, aged 43. Their own funerals, on 26th August, became another occasion for conflict between people and government. The memorial stone to Honey and Francis, erected by their workmates, still stands at St Paul’s Church, Hammersmith, and its inscription is well worth reading.
During her final journey a supporter of the late queen was able to affix an inscribed plate to her coffin, in accordance with her dying wishes. It was quickly removed by the authorities, but the point had been made. It read: “CAROLINE OF BRUNSWICK, THE INJURED QUEEN OF ENGLAND.”
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Sources:
The laughter of triumph by Ben Wilson (Faber, 2005)
https://archives.blog.parliament.uk/2020/10/29/after-the-affair-caroline-and-the-radical-movement-in-1821/
https://app.dorsetcouncil.gov.uk/bankes-archive/queen-carolines-farcical-funeral-procession/
https://stpeterscolchester.org/resources/history-heritage/rumpus/