The Uncrowned Queen Charlotte: The Tragic Tale of a Lost Princess

If you have ever had the pleasure of a visit to St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle, then you have probably stood in awe over the grave of Henry VIII, or gaped at the memorial display to Prince Albert; but far and away the most evocative sculptural grave marker is that of Princess Charlotte, only daughter of George IV, the Prince Regent. You may be familiar with good old George's preference for his first wife, Maria Fitzherbert, a Catholic widow with whom he actually lived for a time. Unfortunately since his marriage wasn't approved by his father George III it was never technically valid, and Georgie boy was forced to wed his cousin, Caroline of Brunswick. Perhaps it was this unwelcome choice that made him loathe his new legal bride (although he would have many lovers and mistresses in his life), or maybe it was simply an unsuited pairing on both sides. Caroline didn't much like him either, certainly. What George did get out of it was an increased income, badly needed on account of his uncontrolled debts, and an heir. 

For duty is duty. Though the royal couple were, by some accounts, outright repulsed by each other and separated a mere few weeks after their wedding in April of 1795, George did admit that they had slept together a whopping three times. 9 months later, on January 7th 1796 Princess Charlotte Augusta was born to the mild disappointment of her father, who had hoped that she would be a boy, and the absolute delight of the British public who adored her from the start. 

Charlotte from the first represented a way for George to lash out at his unwanted wife, who was forbidden from seeing their daughter except for once a day in the company of the servants who cared for the girl. Undeterred, Caroline flouted this requirement by going out with the girl in her carriage, and George was frequently none the wiser since he himself had little to do with either of them. Caroline was likewise barred from having any say in the care and upbringing of their daughter, and she responded by moving out of the Prince's household and into one of her own. When invited back to spend one Christmas she flatly refused, fully knowing that a lack of proximity meant that the Prince of Wales was unlikely to have any further legitimate children while she lived. When George tried to divorce her via a very public, scandalous, and frankly hypocritical trial over her supposed liaisons with other men, he was met with disappointment when the jury found in her favor. 

Through all of this, Charlotte grew up a healthy and robust child, cheerful despite the fact that she lived entirely on her own in a household away from either of her parents. During the trial of her mother the two were not permitted to see each other at all, and the little princess, who was ten at the time, was much hurt when her mother pretended not to see her while walking in a public park, being under threat from George at the time. As she grew into her teenage years many contemporaries remarked upon her artless and easy manners, some calling them "undignified" while others found her lack of pretense or airs charming. Charlotte herself found that she identified with passionate but confined characters, and no surprise there. Her father's instructions for her behavior as she grew became ever stricter, so much so that they drew the disapproval of much of his sprawling extended family of siblings and his own parents who found ways of giving the princess some of the freedom she craved.

Eventually thoughts turned to Charlotte's own marriage, and one was very nearly arranged with the son of the Prince of Orange. George was very for the match, though not enthralled with the young man. Caroline, true to form, was against it and in this public opinion was with her as they urged the princess not to quit England for a foreign land, or to disappoint her mother. Aw. It may have been this helpful suggestion from the vox populi that gave Charlotte the idea to stage an end to the engagement by requiring her intended husband to allow her mother to live with them. He refused and the betrothal was broken off. Meanwhile Charlotte had set her gaze on a young officer,  Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, heir to Belgium. The Prince Regent's response to the breaking of the troth was typical of George, he sent orders that the princess be confined to her house and allowed to see no one except the Queen. The spirited Charlotte learned of these orders and straightaway rushed by cab to her mother's home where she was apprehended by members of the family and convinced to return home.

The event fired not only the public imagination, but the politicians of the time and several of the prince's own brothers. When the Duke of Sussex dared to broach the matter with him the two had a falling out and never spoke to each other after that. Meanwhile Caroline decided to leave for the continent for a while, an absence which her aggrieved daughter resigned herself to not realizing that the two would never see each other again. Though a real future with "Leo," as she referred to him, seemed unlikely given the Prince Regent's obstinate rejection of the match, Charlotte was determined and continued to berate her father with requests, both personal and formal until at last, following the final defeat of Napoleon, he agreed to summon Leopold to Britain. On March 14th, 1816 the engagement announcement was made, and on May 2nd they wed. 

The public was overjoyed and when they appeared after the honeymoon they were greeted with wild cheering and applause and singing of "God Save the King" showing what an important PR influence Charlotte had on the monarchy. As to the lady herself, those who had known her remarked that she was calmer now, and more in control of herself. She and her new husband gave each other pet names, but by August she had already suffered one miscarriage. The next pregnancy was not announced until April of the following year when Charlotte was farther along.

Concern for her and for the child were prominent on the minds of low and high-born alike. Betting shops took wagers on every aspect of the birth, and her doctors put Charlotte on a strict diet. Her main physician was one Sir Richard Croft, who was actually an accouchateur (from the French "to deliver" specific to childbirth) rather than a doctor. The decision to use this fashionable assistant rather than a medical professional was seen by some as a fatal mistake. Charlotte went into labor on November 3rd, but by the 5th was still unable to bring forth the baby. At 9pm that night a stillborn boy was finally delivered and Leopold, who had been by her side through it all, finally took to his own bed with the aid of an opiate. Later than evening when they tried to rouse him to see the fast-fading Charlotte he could not be woken and was unconscious when she died in the night. He would later write:-

"Two generations gone. Gone in a moment! I have felt for myself, but I have also felt for the Prince Regent. My Charlotte is gone from the country—it has lost her. She was a good, she was an admirable woman. None could know my Charlotte as I did know her! It was my study, my duty, to know her character, but it was my delight!"

The Prince Regent was devastated to the extent that he could not bear to attend his daughter's funeral. Princess Caroline collapsed at the news. The general public went into deep mourning and the country effectively shut for two weeks. Sir Richard Croft was blamed by many and would end up taking his own life. 

Several statues and plaques were erected to her memory, but none so moving as the one at Windsor where Charlotte was laid to rest with her infant son at her feet. Technically, the memorial is in what's called the Urswick Chapel, which is only one small part of the larger church structure, tucked into a back corner. It is impossible to miss though; the shrouded marble figure beneath the sheet giving way to the ascending figure of a young woman rapturously reaching for heaven attended by gentle angels. The memorial was constructed by subscription, meaning members of the public chipped in to contribute to its cost and creation, so beloved was this people's princess. She surely would have made a much-loved queen.

There is an interesting postscript, however, because it was in part due to this tragedy that England did get a much-revered Queen. Charlotte's death left no legitimate heir in the next generation of the royal family, prompting the youngest son of George III, the Prince Regent's brother, the Duke of Kent to propose to the widowed Leopold's sister; Victoria. They, of course, went on to have a single daughter of their own, later known as Britain's long-reigning Queen Victoria. 

18th Century Textiles and the Eden Agreement

 

I'm a university professor and my specialty is in the area of Costume and Identity, which is heavily expressed through an interest in textiles and clothing of the past. I mentioned in the most recent Diary entry that there was a treaty being worked out between France and Great Britain primarily having to do with tariffs on items between the two countries. Our narrator may not have much faith in the treaty being worked out, but historically it was in September of 1786 and is know as the Eden Agreement. Both countries were suffering in the aftermath of the American Revolutionary War, England and France having lost colonies and suffered severe financial hits, with huge losses to Black Market profiteers. The idea was for each country to give preferential treatment in taxes and tariffs to goods from the other, so that more legal trade would occur and increase the pecuniary fortunes of their respective governments. 

Alcohol, particularly wines, were a big part of this, but also olive oil and fabrics and fibers like wool, cotton, and cambric, and French millinery. So the French were supposed to buy more English cottons instead of Indiennes manufactured in (you guessed it) India, and the English were supposed to buy more French hats. Did it work out that way? Not exactly. The Black Market trade was still cheaper than paying any tax at all, and public preference didn't necessary follow the official line either. 

It's a fascinating look at not only commercial interests, but cultural attitudes as well, since both countries recognized the potential mutual beneficence, and yet felt threatened by the others' goods whether they saw them as cheap industrial versions that had the potential to replace traditional handicraft (a fear ironically expressed from each to each), or simply wanted to maintain the weakness of their "arch enemy". In England the prominent Whig politician Charles James Fox felt that such a treaty would undermine the absolute duty of England to keep France in check in Europe; while his opponent, the Tory Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger, was of the opinion that there were no need for continued and "eternal" opposition between the countries when the treaty might re-stabilize both parties. 

Unfortunately it wasn't only the English politicians who had strong feelings about the results. While some English manufacturing organizations and guilds wrote and disbursed their support and dissentions respective of their trade, in France the reaction was downright violent in some areas, with textile manufacturers in Normandy and Bordeaux seeing rioting and destruction in response to the idea that it would lead to the loss of French jobs as cheaper British goods flooded the market. Nor were they entirely wrong, as textiles jobs did see a large downturn in the years immediately following the Treaty which, combined with a poor harvest in 1788, would all become part of the distress leading up to the French Revolution. 

September 2nd, 1786

There are rumors that the trade negotiations between France and England may soon come to an end, though however devoutly that might be wished it must be remembered that this is a perennial rumor and therefore should receive no more credence than before. The war being past some years, one might expect that England would be glad to receive French goods and textiles once more on the open market, but I suspect (having heard it from some well-positioned to know) that the very negotiators have profited handsomely from the black market trading in those items. The recalcitrance of the English towards superior French goods bewilders me. Why would one wish for lesser materials when our craftsmen are demonstrably better and we have a longer history of producing them? Surely anything worth having is worth a fair price?

Received most unexpectedly from Mme Elisabeth the superb gift of a small miniature of her Royal Highness. She writes that she grows ever more attached to her new god-daughter, the Princess Sophie and sees much of her brother in the child. There is a small embroidery project that we had worked on together prior to the unfortunate events of recent years and she charmingly reminds me that it remains unfinished and that I must return in due course that we may complete it together. My heart is so gladdened by her kind rememberances, that I could almost miss Versailles. Here, however, the air is fresher and I do begin to think that it does my heart and soul good.

I was quite active yesterday, in a way which I have not been for some time, riding out with my small company of guests, and even singing in the evening. I had not sung in company in more than a year and was afraid that my voice should be quite gone, but it revived well enough. My riding coat was snug and it cannot be denied that I am no longer quite as small as I had been when it was first made, so I have sent into town for a new one to be made in a burgundy velvet with a matching jupe. Perhaps I shall have a new hat as well. 

It is time, I think to put this diary away, and to reply to Mme Elisabeth's affectionate letter with one of my own. The Chevalier is hunting this morning and so I have the house in quiet seclusion and can gather my thoughts without interruption. Even in matters of affection, one may sometime be glutted. 

-Olympe

Tea With the Queen

You may not be able to actually drink tea with Marie Antoinette, but you can drink tea like Marie Antoinette thanks to the availability of some of her favorite porcelain designs to this day. Being fond of the lovely blue Cornflower, she had a set called ‘Pearl and Barbeaux’ featuring, as suggested, pearls and cornflowers. It may seem simple, compared to some of more ornate 18th century Sevres porcelains with which you may be familiar; however this service was created in 1781 by which point the philosophies of Rousseau and rising interest in English styles were influencing a simpler aesthetic. 

Not content to admire the Queen's taste from afar? You can acquire your own set from Bernardaud, or maybe just piece by piece as they start at $96 for a small plate and go up to more than $2K for large serving dishes. Want to see the originals for yourself? Me too, and when this pandemic and quarantine are over I look forward to a visit to the Hameau de la Reine to see them in all their original glory. Until then, cheers!

August 9th, 1786- Two Years Later

 

 Has it really been two years? Many times I have picked up my pen to continue, but laid it down again defeated by the events which have seemed both too swift and endless at once. When last I wrote we were preparing for the King's hunt, an episode which should have signaled much joy, but which proved misadventurous instead. I must out with the truth, no use in delaying. Thierry suffered a fall from his horse during the hunt, and though he seemed at first little injured with no apparent broken bones, he soon slipped into a sleep from which he could not be woken. Nine days into his endless sleep I inquired of the doctor on another matter and received the glad news that I was enceinte though I had little dared to hope for a child at that point. 

Thierry lingered into August of that year before expiring as gracefully as he had lived. Our child soon followed only a few weeks later, dead before it could live. My mistress, the Princess Elisabeth, with great kindness and gentleness, released me to mourn and recover at my home in Saint-Saturnin, where I stayed for the better part of the last two years. 

Grief knows no safe place, however. Word of Christine's death in Sweden in childbirth in early January of 1785 was followed swiftly by that of one of my aunt's, the apparent suicide of my mother's brother who did grieve her terribly, and then that of my sweet Reinette whom I found dead one October morning with little warning. I do not lie when I say that it was all I might do for some time thereafter to merely rise in the morning and live myself. 

Meanwhile the royal family have had their own difficulties, with the Affair of the Necklace only recently subsiding in May of this year. The Queen is naturally acquitted of blame, but that does not stop the wagging tongues of Paris who continue to abuse her reputation most pitilessly. There is now, though, a second young Prince, Louis Charles, and the sweetest baby Princess, Sophie, the latter of whom was only born a month ago. I, being for the last three months back at Versailles, have had the great fortune of seeing this newest child of France myself thanks to the unending support of my benefactress, Madame Elisabeth. Though she cannot now offer me the position in her household which once I held, she continues to champion my cause ensuring that a small pension is mine owing to the death of the Marquis. I remain Comtesse in my own right, but the title of Marquise de Mercoeur will die with me or be forfeited upon my remarriage.

The possibility of remarriage is on my mind, as I am very nearly too old for childbearing unless it be quite soon. There is, I confess, a young Chevalier, eldest son and heir to an old and established House, who declares his affections daily and with whom I am not at all sorry to have become better acquainted. Tongues do wag at the prospect of our union, however, as he is 14 years my junior! 

Even this little missive tires me, and my new puppy tugs at the hem of my dress urging me to play. I must go. I begin to hope again, but in my hope is such fear. Is it a friend or false-faced demon, I wonder.

Book Review- Dancing to the Precipice

I'm tempted to write as my review simply "This book is extraordinary, you should read it" and leave it at that, but I'm sure you want to know why in particular this might appeal to you.

Certainly the book is well-researched and the writing is fluid, conversational, and lacks condescension; but while that would help to make a mediocre story appealing, the life of Luice de la Tour du Pin requires no such support because it was, devoid of all ornamentation, extraordinary.

I've worried in the past that writing a character like Olympe who, while an 18th century french aristocrat, is devoted solely to one man might be a little unusual, it's not, apparently without precedent. Nor is her insistence on choosing her own husband. Lucie did both; she chose her husband against her strong-willed family's initial desires, and enjoyed a harmonious, exclusive, long relationship with him. It was even remarked upon by others at the time that she treated her husband like a lover, and had such genuine affection.

Even had Lucie herself been more typical of her peers, the circumstances of her life, living through the French Revolution, the Terror, the Directoire, Napoleon, the Restoration of the Monarchy and it's fall would make this a narrative worth exploring. If you want adventure and heartbreak and the highs and lows of hope, ambition, and strength it has them all in abundance. It's not merely Lucie's story though, it's the story of those who came in contact with her and influenced the course of events; the prescient politician Tallyrand, the beautiful Theresia Tallien who helped people escape the guillotine, the daring Duchess du Berri who dressed like a man and carried pistols, and figures everyone knows like Marie-Antoinette, Napoleon, and Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire.

In Holland, America, France, Rome, England, or starving on a vessel in the middle of the ocean Lucie was always formidable, whatever her circumstances she was a survivor, and her story, like the woman herself, is hard to put down.

Favourite- Marie Antoinette

I just love this sketch of Marie Antoinette by Count Fersen!

April 21st, 1782- The Presentation at Court

Exhausted as I am by the events of the day I feel compelled to recount them before retiring to bed. Despite her brother's death being nearly two years ago now (how fast the time does fly!), the Dowager Countess insisted that Clementine should at least wear a white gown for her presentation, which was very becoming on her with it's silver and gold embroidery. I told her I would loan her some pearls, but I ended by giving them to her as a present for the occasion. We had, of course, also procured for her use a set of diamonds on loan for her hair and her throat, this by the courtesy and influence of cousin Godfrey.

By further use of the Duke de Bouillon, a change was made in the presentation arrangements five days prior to the event, and Clementine's mother was convinced that it would be better to allow my cousin, the Princess de Guemene, to take her place as Patroness. This meant that no one actually related in any way to Clementine presented her, but so it is for many ladies. It is better to have a personage of the highest standing possible, provided that the lady being presented will not falter. The Dowager Countess was still in attendance.

Clementine did not falter. We introduced her into the room where she made her obeisance to the King. He performed his part by granting her the single kiss on her cheek which is proper for a lady of her station, and she passed on to the Queen. Bowing in the same manner to her, she deftly removed her glove, moved to kiss the hem of the Queen's robe, and was raised up by the Queen instead as is customary. Clementine managed her train with good grace as she stepped backwards, curtsying at the appropriate intervals, and with relief evident on her youthful features was then subject to the scrutiny of those assembled.

I must mention that the Queen did speak to me, an occurrence which I was not prepared for, and she commented that I had not been seen at court in a long time. I replied that I hoped to be in attendance more in the future. She said that she hoped that I would. That was all that passed between us. In truth, like most courtiers, I vastly prefer Paris to Versailles, and unlike some I even more greatly prefer the countryside of Auvergne to Paris. The Queen also exchanged words with the Princess de Guemene, but as she is Governess to the Royal Children it was all to do with them.

We have only just returned, though it is very late, from the "jeu" (gaming) at Versailles, and tomorrow will be another big day for Clementine, as Godfrey is to hold a ball in her honor. There we shall really see how much of an advantage her presentation has wrought. After mine I could have had my pick of Dukes and even a few Princes, but I did not want to run straight from the convent of St. Cyr into a marriage. I wonder what it is that Clementine really wants.

Olympe, Comtesse

Paul Revere...the Dentist

You never know when a connection to the 18th century will spring up. I have an amateur interest in forensics, and have for about twenty years; but just recently I came across an interesting fact. We think of Paul Revere as being, amongst other things, a patriotic messenger during the American Revolution. It turns out that he may have been the first forensic odontologist as well.

On top of being a silversmith and engraver, Revere was also a dentist, and in 1776 he was able to identify the body of none other than Dr. Joseph Warren, (the man who sent him on his now-famous ride) by the wiring and hippo tusk partial he had made for him. Since Dr. Warren and many others had been buried for months since the battle of Bunker Hill, forensic dentistry was one of the only ways in which the bodies could be positively identified.

Neat, huh?