The Wives of George IV: Out Now

I'm thrilled to report that my new book, The Wives of George IV: The Secret Bride & the Scorned Princess, is out now from Pen & Sword Books. It's available from this link, or your favourite bookshop!

In Georgian England, few men were more fashionable or more eligible than George, Prince of Wales. Wild, glamorous, and with a penchant for beautiful women, the heir to George III’s throne was a very good catch – or so it seemed.

The two women who married him might beg to differ. Maria Fitzherbert was a twice-widowed Roman Catholic with a natural aversion to trouble. When she married the prince in a secret ceremony conducted in her Mayfair sitting room, she opened the door on three decades of heartbreak. Cast aside by her husband one minute, pursued tirelessly by him the next, Maria’s clandestine marriage was anything but blissful. It was also the worst kept secret in England.

Caroline of Brunswick was George’s official bride. Little did she know that her husband was marrying for money and when she reached her new home in England, she found him so drunk that he couldn’t even walk to the altar. Caroline might not have her husband’s love, but the public adored her. In a world where radicalism was stirring, it was a recipe for disaster.

In The Wives of George IV: The Secret Bride & the Scorned Princess, Maria and Caroline navigate the choppy waters of marriage to a capricious, womanising king-in-waiting. With a queen on trial for adultery and the succession itself in the balance, Britain had never seen scandal like it.

Caroline of Brunswick: Gothic Heroine

I am thrilled to welcome Hannah Moss today with the tale of a very real Gothic heroine!

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Caroline of Brunswick’s Mysterious Warning

In her Gothic parody Northanger Abbey (1818) Jane Austen describes the perils and pitfalls of relating horrid novels to everyday situations with all the wit and verve we know and love her for. It’s all too easy to laugh at the craze for sensationalist Gothic literature when the shock and awe plots of novels churned out by the Minerva Press can seem so unrealistic, but Catherine Morland has a rather illustrious real life forebear in the form of Caroline of Brunswick (1768-1821). The wife of George IV didn’t just read Gothic novels, she cast herself as the Gothic heroine of her own life story – and in many ways she had good reason to do so. The Hanoverians had far more family feuds, secret marriages, adulterous liaisons and illegitimate children than you’ll find in any eighteenth-century Gothic Romance.

Caroline of Brunswick

It has to be said that Caroline was a surprise choice of wife for her cousin George, Prince of Wales. She may have fulfilled the requirements of being a Protestant German princess, but she was passionate, wilful and impulsive by nature. As a teenager her parents had practically kept her under lock and key to prevent her causing a scene in public, but without the social interaction required to polish her manners she lacked refinement. Caroline could hardly be described as an accomplished young lady; her English was bad and her letters showed a disregard for spelling and punctuation – even her personal hygiene was somewhat deficient, and it is rather telling that she remained unmarried at 27. However, Countess Eleonore von Münster, who had been brought in to teach the 15 year-old Caroline in 1783, did succeed on at least one level – and that was by nurturing her young charge’s love of literature. Caroline read voraciously, consuming a diverse range of books. Her literary tastes encompassed everything from religion and history to poetry and plays, but she developed a particular fondness for Gothic novels.

When Caroline arrived in England for her wedding in April 1795 the Prince barely took one glance at her before demanding a glass of brandy and leaving the room, claiming that he felt unwell. Neither of the pair made a good first impression. What’s more, the Prince was far too preoccupied with his latest mistress, the formidable Countess of Jersey (1753-1821), to be concerned with the woman he’d only considered marrying as a means of increasing his income to settle his debts. The Prince treated his mistress as a superior being, and this did not go unnoticed by his slighted wife. Caroline wrote to her mother to complain about Lady Jersey’s hold over her husband and say that she was afraid of what would happen. The Duchess of Brunswick duly passed on these fears to her brother George III, writing in October 1795: ‘I fear some black design, Lady Jersey turns every word the poor Princess says, and her whole thrust is to hurt her in your opinion.’ The Duchess went on to lament that her daughter was ‘frightened out of her senses.’ Did Caroline think her husband and his mistress were plotting against her? Was she scared of being locked away in a castle - or even framed for adultery? She certainly had the overactive imagination to believe it, fuelled by both her novel reading and real life events.

Caroline had every reason to be wary after what had happened to her older sister, Augusta (1764-1788). In a story worthy of a Minerva Press novel, Augusta had married Prince Frederick of Württemberg (1754-1816) in 1780, who at 6ft 11” and weighing 200kg towered over the petite princess and was, by her account, a violent and profligate husband. In 1786 - after having four children together - he cruelly abandoned his wife, blaming her licentious behaviour. However, Augusta’s version of events was that her scheming husband had actually arranged for a man to be caught in her room, but fearing such a plot she had insisted that her maid stayed with her at all times to prove her innocence. Augusta turned to the Russian royal court for sanctuary, but she later fell from Catherine the Great’s favour and was imprisoned for we know not what crime. Then in 1788 the family were suddenly informed of Augusta’s death. Precise details were not forthcoming and the body was never sent to Brunswick, giving rise to fanciful stories that Augusta had in fact escaped. No-one relished the possibility more than Caroline who delighted in recounting the various supposed sightings that were made across Europe, including an appearance in a box at the Genoa opera. The sad truth was that Augusta had actually died in childbirth. She had begun a relationship with Wilhelm von Pohlmann whilst in his custody at Lohde castle and had gone into premature labour with his illegitimate child. Not wanting to reveal their secret by seeking medical assistance, the baby was stillborn and Augusta died of blood loss. Caroline’s literary diet of Gothic novels had taught her to hope that escape was possible, but also alerted her to the dangers a similarly unhappy marriage could present.

Augusta of Brunswick

The Prince and Princess of Wales had been married for a year and had a baby daughter by the time Eliza Parsons dedicated her 1796 novel The Mysterious Warning to Caroline – praising ‘the dignified features’ of the Princess’s character, which have insured ‘the affections of a grateful and admiring people’. The text is one of the seven ‘horrid novels’ which Isabella Thorpe recommends to Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey, and Parsons’ overriding message is one of filial obedience; marriage after marriage fails when entered into without parental consent. Given that the Prince had contravened the Royal Marriages Act (1772) by marrying the Roman Catholic widow, Maria Fitzherbert in secret makes the subject matter particularly relevant. Satirical prints, including Gillray’s ‘The Morning after Marriage’ (1788), had responded to the rumours that an illegal ceremony had taken place in 1785, but Parsons was more likely to have been interested in securing a fashionable patroness than in commenting on the unstable foundations of the Wales’ marriage in dedicating this work to her. Never the less, it is an interesting reminder of how life can imitate art, and vice versa. The plot twists of early Gothic novels definitely don’t seem quite so improbable when compared to the stories of family feuds, female incarceration, adultery and insanity amongst the Hanoverians!

Mysterious Warning

Detested by her own husband and with a limited circle of females of her own rank permitted to see her, Caroline disappeared from view – her conspicuous absence from society  duly noted by Lady Palmerston, who described her as ‘our poor captive princess.’ Holed up in Carlton House, Caroline sought solace in reading and would initiate long conversations about literature with the sub-governess Miss Ann Hayman, who was employed to care for Princess Charlotte in 1797. In her letters Miss Hayman records how Caroline was full of praise for Regina Maria Roche’s The Children of the Abbey (1796), which she insisted on lending to her. Caroline may have been guilty of casting herself in the role of persecuted Gothic heroine, but her enthusiasm for such books also helped her to communicate with other women and a create a network of readers from a position of isolation. After all, part of the excitement of reading Gothic novels is undoubtedly sharing what you have read with others.

About the Author

Hannah Moss is a postgraduate student at the University of Sheffield with a research interest in eighteenth-century Gothic novels. In her spare time she is busy writing a biography of Lady Jersey.

@HannahMoss86

https://georgianjezebels.wordpress.com/

Written content of this post copyright © Hannah Moss, 2016.

You can find out more about Caroline's scandalous life and disastrous marriage in Life in the Georgian Court, now available to order worldwide!

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The Marriage of George, Prince of Wales, and Princess Caroline of Brunswick

Today marks the anniversary anniversary of a far from happy royal marriage. Unlike the harmonious match of my rakish colonial gentleman and I, the relationship between George, Prince of Wales, and Princess Caroline of Brunswick, was tempestuous and unhappy. In fact, from the wedding night onwards, it was far from a match made in heaven.

On 8th April 1795, George, Prince of Wales, and Princess Caroline of Brunswick gathered in the Chapel Royal of St James's Palace. The couple were first cousins and though neither was particularly keen on the prospect of the marriage. Certainly there was no question of love between the participants, yet both agreed to the ceremony, though for very different reasons.

George, Prince of Wales by Richard Cosway, 1792

For George, the wedding was a matter of necessity. If he did not agree to the marriage then his father, George III, left his son in no doubt that he would not settle his constantly mounting gambling debts. His heart was with another though, and he had already illegally married Maria Fitzherbert though she was far from his only entanglement. For Caroline's part, the marriage was a matter of dynastic necessity and a chance to unite her small land of Brunswick with the powerful British nation. Although she had no great affection for the Prince she hoped that their relationship might at least be a companionate one that could, with time, grow into something more.

It was not to be. From their first meeting it was obvious that the couple were ill-suited; George ungallantly complained that Caroline made him feel unwell and the lady lamented that her husband-to-be was "not at all like his portrait". Still, the deal was done and the match made. To add further insult to injury, George established Frances, Countess of Jersey, as his fiancé's Lady of the Bedchamber; she was also the Prince's mistress and she would not make Caroline's life in England easy.

Caroline of Brunswick by James Tookey, after Friedrich Schroeder, 1795

At the wedding Caroline was resplendent in silver and ermine whilst George was in his cups. Drunk to the point of confusion, he tottered before the officiating Archbishop of Canterbury and had to be held up by his groomsmen. Things did not improve as the newlyweds retired to their wedding night bedchamber, where George passed out in a drunken stupor and spent the night on the floor.

It was an inauspicious start to a disastrous marriage. Just months after the birth of their only child, Princess Charlotte, the following year, George cut his wife out of his life and from that day, the couple would never reconcile.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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From Queen Caroline to Cannes: Henry Brougham, 1st Baron Brougham and Vaux

Henry Peter Brougham, 1st Baron Brougham and Vaux (Edinburgh, Scotland, 19th September 1778 – Cannes, France, 7th May 1868)

Henry Brougham by Sir Thomas Lawrence

Today's post is unapologetically self-indulgent as I am marking the birthday of one of my favourite, if somewhat abrasive, characters, whom I first discovered whilst happily adding to my  Pinterest boards many moons since. Henry Brougham, 1st Baron Brougham and Vaux achieved fame as the advisor to Caroline of Brunswick, bought his way out of a scandal involving Harriette Wilson and enjoyed a long and successful political career before retiring to the sunshine of France!

Brougham was born into a wealthy and influential Edinburgh family, the son of Henry and Eleanora Brougham, who made their home at Brougham Hall. As befitted his station in life, the young Brougham enjoyed the best in education and in his mid teens found himself at the University of Edinburgh, splitting his studies between science and law. His academic career was dazzling and by the age of 25 he was a Fellow of his University; despite his illustrious family connections Brougham was determined to make a success on his own and financed his studies through journalism, eventually founding The Edinburgh Review in 1802, a publication for which he wrote a number of erudite, challenging pieces.

Henry Brougham by James Lonsdale, 1821

The following year Brougham left Scotland to pursue a career as a barrister in London, his fame as the founder of The Edinburgh Review opening the most fashionable society doors to him. The stylish, urbane Brougham became a leading light in Whig political salons and in 1806 joined a diplomatic mission to Portugal on behalf of Charles James Fox. Whilst on the mission he developed a staunch opposition to the slave trade and found his interests diverted away from law and journalism towards politics, eventually becoming Member of Parliament for Camelford in 1810. Just as he had made his mark at university, so to did he throw himself into his political career, speaking often and eloquently in the House of Commons and distinguishing himself in debate.  In fact, Brougham still holds the record for the longest Commons speech, clocking in at six unbroken hours; that's a figure that even we very chatty Gilflurts would find hard to beat!

Tiring of toiling in the rotten borough where he held his seat, Brougham stood in Liverpool in 1812 but found himself utterly trounced; this same year he took office as advisor to Caroline of Brunswick, estranged and loathed wife of the Prince Regent. He was out of the House of Commons until 1816, when he was returned as Member for Winchelsea. Just as he campaigned passionately for the abolition of slavery, now he added the cause of education to his interests, championing schools for the poor and disenfranchised.

His political career back on track, Brougham was to take a new office as Attorney-General to Caroline in 1820. With her husband now king, Caroline found herself in the throes of a messy and vitriolic divorce, the full power of the Tory Pains and Penalties Bill focused on her. Fuelled by accusations of adultery on Caroline's part, the Bill aimed to dissolve the marriage and strip her of her title and she employed Brougham to lead her defence in the Lords. In fact the bill did pass through the House but by a meagre nine votes; fearing an embarrassing defeat in the Commons, the bill was withdrawn and Brougham found himself famous throughout England. One year later the charming and highly eligible bachelor married Mary Spalding, with whom he had two daughters.

Brougham was not without his own scandals and in 1826 was one of the illustrious clients named in the Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, written by the titular courtesan. Invited to buy his anonymity by Wilson and her publisher, John Joseph Stockdale, our hero paid up, saving his name for the time-being at least. Not content with mixing with royals, avoiding scandal and championing reform, he even found time to develop the Brougham, a small horse-drawn carriage!

Harriette Wilson

Happily ensconced in the twin worlds of politics and law, Brougham was not universally popular. Seen as ambitious, arrogant and overly-influential, Brougham's critics could do nothing to stop his still-rising star and in 1830 he was appointed Lord Chancellor and given the title Baron Brougham and Vaux. Whilst in office he passed the Representation of the People Act in 1832 and the Slavery Abolition Act of 1833, two causes for which he felt very strongly. However, his personal conflicts with his fellow Whigs began to become more prominent and when the government was reshuffled in 1834, Brougham was removed from office.

Statue of Brougham in Cannes

Although he continued to be a force to be reckoned with in the Lords, Brougham now returned to his early loves of journalism and academia and in 1835 visited Cannes whilst en route to Genoa, falling instantly in love with the picturesque surroundings. Just as he threw himself into politics, law and courtesans, the Baron became a pillar of the town, providing funds and leadership with which to improve and develop the burgeoning community where he would eventually die and be laid to rest. Today Baron Brougham and Vaux is still remembered in Cannes thanks to a very fine statue that commemorates this colourful, abrasive and very ambitious fellow.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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Debt, Debauchery and Decadence: King George IV

George Augustus Frederick (London, England, 12th August 1762 – Windsor, England, 26th June 1830) 

King George IV by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1816

It's no secret that we Gilflurts like a bit of extravagance and today we'll meet a man who knew what opulence was all about. Given the popularity of his Coronation, it seemed only right that we revisit King George IV, affectionately known to we Gin Laners as Prinny, and wish him a very happy birthday!

Before the caricatures and the debts and the women, George was born as the oldest of George III and Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz's fifteen children. From the moment of his birth at St James's Palace the young Prince of Wales would know the best of everything and by the time the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Secker, baptised him, he was already Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay and Earl of Chester.

King George IV by Richard Cosway

Whereas his father had relatively modest tastes, George developed a taste for the finer things in life and, even as his subjects endured poverty, the young prince's habits grew more and more profligate. At the age of 21 he moved into Carlton House with a £60,000 living grant from Parliament and an income of £50,000 courtesy of the King and set up home for himself, beginning what would be a wild and extravagant time. With a third of his money ploughed into his stables alone, the Prince lived as though cash was no object, throwing enormous parties, gambling and, of course, entertaining ladies. His father was mortified by the behaviour of the heir to the throne and the Prince surrounded himself with hangers-on who bowed to his every wish whilst at the same time using him to further their own influence.

Not long after he began to live his independent life, George met the twice-widowed Roman Catholic, Maria Fitzherbert and decided there and then that this would be the woman he would marry. In fact, the 1701 Act of Settlement ruled that no heir to the throne could be crowned if married to a Roman Catholic and the 1772 Royal Marriages Act prohibited any marriage without the consent of the King, but Prinny was not one to let such things stand in his way. He pursued Mrs Fitzherbert tirelessly, beginning the tradition of the lover's eye into the bargain. 

In fact, the lady concerned was considerably less enthused by the whole idea for a good long while but George's wit and charm paid off in the end and on 15th December 1785, an illegal marriage took place in the bride's home at Park Street, Mayfair. The marriage was not legally binding and all involved parties were sworn to secrecy; though the Prince and Mrs Fitzherbert's love affair would prove a rocky one, she always considered herself his true wife.

Maria Fitzherbert by Sir Joshua Reynolds

In fact, the secret wedding was soon anything but as, utterly drowning in debt, George left Carlton House in 1787 and moved into Park Street whilst trying to negotiate a further financial grant from Parliament. Despite the King's distaste at his son's close ties to Charles James Fox, the Whig leader brokered a deal with the Prince, securing him the money he needed in return for a public denial of the marriage to the Catholic widow. In dire straits, George agreed and though the public denial was rewritten in less stark terms by Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the damage was done. Mrs Fitzherbert was furious at what she saw as a betrayal and was very likely glad to put some space between herself and her lover, who moved back into Carlton House nearly £170,000 better off. 

All of this was, of course, a public relations disaster and he sank in the public's affection to a new low. In 1788 as the King grew increasingly mentally disturbed, Parliament found itself stuck in something of a vicious circle; King George was too ill to deliver his State Opening Speech and yet the Commons could not officially sit until the speech had been given. With the King showing no sign of recovery, the Members of Parliament met to discuss the possibility of establishing a Regency. Although a Regency Bill was created by Pitt, the King recovered before it was passed and the Prince's first opportunity for power slipped away.

Caroline of Brunswick by James Lonsdale, 1821

Despite his enormous payout in 1787, George was soon spending beyond his means again and this time, the conditions of the bail out went even further. Financial aid would be forthcoming once more, but only if  George would consent to marry his cousin, Princess Caroline of Brunswick. With no other likely options and his debts mounting, George agreed and the wedding took place on 8th April 1795. The pair hated one another almost from the outset and once their child, Charlotte was born, they parted company within a year of their wedding day. Besides, George had little time for a wife, he was kept busy with his many mistresses and the illegitimate children they bore him, let alone building up piles of new debt!

Princess Charlotte by George Dawe, 1817

George's life remained one of extravagance, debt and scandal and he became a figure of fun in England, thought things must have seemed slightly less amusing when, in 1810, the King fell ill again. This time the groundwork had already been laid two decades earlier and the Regency Act was passed in 1811, with the Prince of Wales now being known as the Prince Regent. The Regent's once left-wing political interests were moving increasingly to the right and he fell under the influence of ambitious ministers who guided the country through the Napoleonic Wars, among other notable events. When the Prince did directly involve himself in politics the outcomes were not always favourable, such as his disastrous attempts to assemble an all party government. Far more to our hero's liking were aesthetic pursuits and he considered himself a leader of fashion, championing much of the Regency clothing and building style that we recognise today.

Brighton Pavilion

Working with John Nash, George presided over architectural developments including Regent Street and the famous Brighton Pavilion, which reflect perfectly his own taste for grand and exotic styles. As the years passed the once handsome young man grew corpulent, caricatured as a crass, indulgent boor; he developed a taste for drink and laudanum that caused his health to deteriorate even as his extravagant lifestyle continued unabated. Although little liked by the public, when George III died in 1820 the Regent's magnificent Coronation ushered in a new sense of patriotism among the people of England and he enjoyed a period of affection from his subjects. The public had long been sympathetic to his estranged wife, yet her efforts to enter Westminster Abbey and be crowned alongside her husband were to prove a public relations disaster and the crowd turned on her, leaving her humiliated. Retiring to her home in despair, she was dead within a month.

Loyal Addresses and Radical Petitions by George Cruikshank, 1819

The new King retired to Windsor Castle, his love of parties and socialising giving way to an interest in political matters, though he continued to correspond with Mrs Fitzherbert even as he supported anti-Catholic measures in parliament. His health continued to fail and by the age of 60, he was wearing corsets intended to confine a 50-inch waist, his weight ballooning out of control. He died in the early hours of 26th June 1830 and his last words, reported by the friend who was with him at the moment of his demise were, "my boy, this is death." He was buried at Windsor wearing the eye miniature Mrs Fitzherbert had sent him during their courtship and she died 8 years later, still maintaining that she was the first and rightful wife of the late King.

King George IV by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1822

George's only child, Princess Charlotte, predeceased her father by 13 years and the next heir to the throne, Prince Frederick, predeceased him by three years so the crown was taken by William, Duke of Clarence. England had seen its last King George and William IV took his place on the throne. In death George was mocked and loathed as he had been for so much of his life with The Times reporting his death and asking, "What eye has wept for him? What heart has heaved one throb of unmercenary sorrow? ". For all his failings as a man, and they were numerous, one cannot deny that Prinny had an eye for the aesthetic and was, by all accounts, a witty, charming and intelligent man. His influence on the style and architecture of the Regency era is unquestionable; indeed, Buckingham Palace owes its appearance to his sense of design. He was a man of contradictions and one who was not easy to like but he continues to fascinate and frustrate today - happy birthday Prinny!

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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The Coronation of King George IV

At 10.30am on Thursday 19th July 1821, George Augustus Frederick Hanover entered Westminster Hall half an hour late to begin the procession to Westminster Abbey, kicking off a day of ceremony, celebration and, because it was our Georgie, excess.

King George IV by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1816

During his long Regency George had planned the Coronation in the minutest detail, determined that when his day finally came, it would be the greatest Europe had ever seen. He envisioned a themed event with all the guests dressed in Elizabethan or Jacobean costume and no expense spared when it came to showing Europe that Hanovers did it better. Parliament provided £100,000 for the event, adding a further £138,000 received from France under the terms of a financial indemnity; it was to be the most expensive Coronation England had ever seen, bringing the country to a pitch of patriotic fever. The forthcoming extravagances caught the imagination of Georgian merchandisers too and souvenirs of the day proved immensely popular, with more than a few of our Covent Garden neighbours making a tidy sum out of Georgie!

The future monarch spent £24,000 on a Coronation robe of crimson, gold stars and ermine, the train stretching for 27 feet that would be carried on the day by eight pages. Never one to shirk on luxury, he rejected the traditional St. Edward's Crown and instead commissioned a new piece containing over 12,000 diamonds that were on hire from Rundell and Bridge, with the Hope Diamond occupying pride of place. Unfortunately, George grew somewhat fond of his rented diamonds and did his best to hang onto them, only returning them to the jewellers once parliament rejected his requests for the country to purchase them on his behalf.

A gown worn by one of the Herbwoman's attendants (Royal Pavilion, Museums and Libraries, Brighton)

At the head of the Coronation procession came Miss Fellowes, the King's herbwoman, and her six attendants, scattering flowers and sweet-smelling herbs in a traditional ceremony to ward off plague and pestilence. Behind them were the Officers of State bearing the iconic orb, sceptre, crown and sword and then three bishops carrying chalice, bible and paten. After the bishops came the man the crowd had come to see and George made a splendid sight in his robes, followed by Barons of the Cinqu Ports carrying the Coronation Canopy. Bringing up the considerable rear were the assembled peers of the realm and other other dignitaries.

The Coronation Procession by George Scharf, 1821

Mingled among the procession were a number of suspiciously burly pages. These professional fighters were there to act as minders to George, fearing that his estranged wife, Caroline of Brunswick, might make a dramatic appearance. He was right to be suspicious as she did just that but found the Abbey barred to her, the assembled crowd jeering her as she was forced to retreat to her carriage. For Caroline, this was a public relations disaster; until this point the people of England had been supportive of her well-publicised troubles with George but with her appearance at the Coronation the affection of the celebratory crowd evaporated. Caroline returned to Brandenburg House in humiliation and died within three weeks.

Caroline of Brunswick by James Lonsdale, 1821

Queen or no queen, the monumental procession eventually reached Westminster Abbey where George was subject to the traditional and ancient Coronation ceremony; the day was stifling and George wilted under the weight of his robes and flamboyant hat, almost losing consciousness on one occasion. Still, Georgie kept himself together and five hours of ceremony culminated in the anointment of the new monarch whilst seated in King Edward's chair. With the crown placed on his head, England could finally celebrate the Coronation of George IV, with the Abbey erupting in a spontaneous cheer that onlookers commented both pleased and perhaps surprised the new Sovereign.

The procession then made it way back to Westminster Hall amid cheering crowds, Queen Caroline's attempted intervention already forgotten. We all know that George liked his food and the coronation banquet was testament to this. The King thanked the assembled guests and did them "the honour of drinking their health and that of his good people". It was a night to remember as three hundred male guests tucked into a vast array of delicacies, whilst we girls and the children were herded into viewing galleries to watch the fun!

The Coronation Banquet

Finally the newly-crowned King George IV departed for Carlton House with the people of London joining the Hyde Park Coronation Fête, where fireworks were let off throughout the evening. The day had been a flamboyant, excessive triumph and as the newly-crowned King settled into life as monarch, parties went on late into the summer night as the people of London celebrated the crowning of the new King George IV.



Thanks to Ken Titmuss, who called in for a toddy and to let us know that the Coronation route included what is now Warwick Way, Pimlico; at the time it was a track through market gardens.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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