not till his brother Henry came to the throne that the Princess Catharine was united to him.
One of the most remarkable courting expeditions in which a prince of the blood ever engaged, was probably that which took Charles the First (when Prince of Wales) to Spain in 1623. Negotiations for a match between him and the Infanta had been going on for six years before: but, discontented with the delays of diplomacy, the ardent young Prince resolved to try the effect of a personal application. So Charles and Buckingham, under the names of John and Thomas Smith (not the last, if it was the first time that royalty assumed that illustrious nom de voyage), accompanied by a few gentlemen of the court and Archie Armstrong, the King’s fool, but, as has been justly said, “not the least sagacious member of the party,” set off for Madrid. The Prince was well received at the Spanish court, splendidly lodged, and superbly fêted: but little encouragement was given to his suit for the Infanta. At first he was allowed to see her only at a distance, “she wearing a blue riband about her arm, that the Prince might distinguish her, and as soon as she saw him her colour rose very high.” Afterwards he was permitted to speak with her, but only in the presence of others. He would watch for hours in the street to meet her. Once he leaped over the wall of a garden where she was walking, and would have addressed her, had not the old marquis who was in waiting thrown himself on his knees and solemnly protested that his head would be in danger if the Prince spoke a single word to his fair charge. In order to gain favour in the eyes of his mistress, Charles rode at the ring and distinguished himself in the tilting-ground “to the glory of his fortune and the great contentment both of himself and the lookers-on.” He also lavished presents on the Princess and the chief personages at the court. Jewels, over half a million in value, were consigned to Spain for this purpose. But, notwithstanding all the exertions of “Babie Charles” and “Steenie,” the love-mission did not prosper. The Spanish King was insincere, and the people both of Spain and England were against it on religious grounds. After six months’ philandering, the Prince bet the English ambassador at Madrid 1000l. against a “fair diamond” that in three weeks he would be out of the country, and won the wager. Prince Charles did not marry till after he was crowned.
The fourth Prince of Wales who, in that degree, entered the married state was Frederick, the eldest son of George II. His bride was Augusta of Saxe-Coburg, a pleasant, good-natured girl, if not very brilliant or beautiful. Lord Delaware brought her to Greenwich on the 25th of April (St. George’s Day), 1736. It was a Sunday when she arrived there, and only a few ladies and gentlemen of the court were in waiting to give her welcome. The citizens, however, turned out in large numbers, and greeted her with enthusiastic cheering. The Princess was lodged in the Queen’s House in the Park, where Prince Frederick came to pay his respects to her. The young couple dined and supped in public—that is, with the windows of the apartment open, so as to “oblige the curiosity of the people.” They also made an excursion up the river in a gaily decorated barge, amid salvos of artillery and musketry and the blowing of many horns. On the Monday she proceeded to St. James’s, being carried in a coach to Lambeth, in a boat across the river to Whitehall, and thence in a sedan-chair to St. James’s, where she was introduced to the King and Queen. Next day the marriage took place, after a state dinner, in the chapel of St. James’s. The bride was “in her hair,” and wore a crown with one bar as Princess of Wales. Her robe was a “virgin habit of silver,” over which was thrown a mantle of crimson velvet, bordered with row upon row of ermine, and with a train attached. The bridemaids, four in number, were also attired in dresses of silver tissue, and, like the Princess, were covered with a profusion of jewels. The booming of cannon announced to the world the completion of the ceremony. Immediately afterwards a drawing-room was held, at which the King and Queen gave the young couple their blessing, and at half-past ten there was a very jolly supper-party. Next followed the state reception in the bedroom. The bride and bridegroom, splendidly arrayed, the former one in superb lace, and the other in “silver stuff,” sat bolt upright in bed, while the King and Queen and lords and ladies in waiting filed past before them, offering their congratulations. His Majesty, we are told, wore a dress of gold brocade, turned up with silk, and embroidered with large flowers in silver and colours, with a waistcoat of the same, and buttons and star blazing with diamonds. Most of the peers were similarly dressed, it being worthy of note that nearly all the stuffs “were of the manufactures of England and in honour of our own artists.” Queen Caroline had on a plain yellow silk robe, with abundance of pearls and diamonds. This must have been among the last occasions when a bedroom reception was given. It soon after became a fashion of the past.
Of the last marriage of a Prince of Wales, when George IV. espoused Caroline of Brunswick, there is little to be said. The cold winter journey of the Princess to England, under the charge of Lord Malmesbury, who was always lecturing her on the untidiness of her dress and the freedom of her manners; her reception at Greenwich by her sneering rival, Lady Jersey; the silent ride to London, without a cheer from any one on the road; the mutual disappointment of the affianced pair at their first interview; the Prince’s demand for “A glass of brandy, Harris,” and his precipitate retreat; the Princess’s doleful exclamation, “Mon Dieu, qu’il est gros!” and the ill-omened nuptials, at which the bride was sulky and for which the bridegroom had fortified himself by somewhat too liberal libations—all these incidents combined to form a fit prelude to the unhappy drama which ensued.
It is pleasant to turn from this sad story to the marriage on which the hopes of the nation are just now fixed, which combines all the elements of happiness and all the omens of good, and which is, no doubt, destined to form one of the brightest episodes in the story of the wooings and weddings of the Princes of Wales.
