On the 7th of September, the new Queen landed at Harwich. Lord Harcourt,[104] whose peace had been made by Lord Talbot, had been sent to fetch her, with the Duchesses of Ancaster[105] and Hamilton;[106] but as an earnest of the prison prepared for her, and to keep her in that state of ignorance which was essential to the views of the Princess, they were forbidden to see her alone. Her mother, who died during the treaty of marriage, ordered her to put herself entirely into the hands of the Princess. Mrs. Katherine Dashwood,[107] of a Jacobite family, and intimate of Lady Bute, was destined to live in the palace. No privy purse was allowed to the Queen, but Mr. Stone[108] received twenty thousand pounds a year to pay her servants.
She had been educated in that strict course of piety, which in Germany reaches to superstition; a habit in which she was encouraged to such a degree, that when the King visited his mother, which he soon, at the desire of the Princess, began to do, without the Queen, she was afraid of staying alone, and retired to her two German women; her English ladies not being suffered to keep her company. Yet this weakness seemed solely the result of a bad education. Her temper appeared to be lively, and her understanding sensible and quick. Great good-nature, set off by much grace in her manner, recommended all she said. Her person was small, and very lean, but well made. Her face pale and homely, her nose something flat, her mouth very large. Her hair was of a fine brown, and her countenance pleasing.
When first she saw the palace she trembled. The Duchess of Hamilton smiled. The Queen said, “You may laugh; you have been married twice; but it is no joke to me.” The King received her in the garden of St. James’s; she would have kneeled, but he raised and embraced her, and led her to the Princess, where they and Lady Augusta dined together. Between nine and ten at night they went to chapel. The Duke of Cumberland gave her away; and after the ceremony they appeared for a few minutes in the drawing-room, and then went to supper. She played and sung, for music was her passion, but she loved other amusements too, and had been accustomed to them; but excepting her music, all the rest were retrenched; nor was she[109] ever suffered to play at cards, which she loved. While she was dressing, she was told the King liked some particular manner of dress. She said, “Let him dress himself; I shall dress as I please.” They told her he liked early hours; she replied, she did not, and “qu’elle ne voulait pas se coucher avec les poules.” A few weeks taught her how little power she had acquired with a Crown. The affection she conceived for the King softened the rigour of her captivity. Yet now and then a sigh stole out, and now and then she attempted, though in vain, to enlarge her restraint. What must have penetrated deeper, was, that policy did not seem to be the sole motive of the mortifications she endured. At times there entered a little wantonness of power into the Princess’s treatment of her. The King made her frequent presents of magnificent jewels; and as if diamonds were empire, she was never allowed to appear in public without them. The first time she received the sacrament, she begged not to wear them, one pious command of her mother having been, not to use jewels at her first communion. The King indulged her; but Lady Augusta carrying this tale to her mother, the Princess obliged the King to insist on the jewels, and the poor young Queen’s tears and terrors could not dispense with her obedience.