A History of the Four Georges and of William IV, Volume IV | Page 6

Queen did, indeed, make an
attempt to take the place which she claimed in the performances at
Westminster Abbey. "It was natural," says Miss Martineau, "that one so
long an outcast and at length borne back into social life by the
sympathies of a nation should expect too much from these sympathies
and fail to stop at the right point in her demands." Miss Martineau adds,
however, and her words will carry with them the feelings of every
reader now, "It would have been well if the Queen had retired into
silence after the grant of her annuity and the final refusal to insert her
name in the Liturgy." The Queen, of course, failed to obtain an
entrance to Westminster Abbey. It had been arranged by orders of the
King that no one was to be allowed admission, even to look on at the
ceremonial, without a ticket officially issued and properly accredited
with the name of the bearer. The Queen, therefore, was allowed to pass
through the crowded streets, but when she came to the doors of the
Abbey the soldiers on guard asked for her ticket of admission, and of
course she had none to present. Some of the friends who accompanied
her indignantly asked the soldiers whether they did not recognize their
Queen, the Queen of England; but the officers in command replied that
their orders were strict, and the unhappy Caroline Amelia was literally

turned away from the Abbey door. The King had accomplished his
object.
[Sidenote: 1821--Death of Queen Caroline]
The poor woman's story comes to an end very soon. On August 2, only
a few days after the Coronation, it was made known to the public that
the Queen was seriously ill. She was suffering, it appears, from internal
inflammation, and the anxieties, the excitements, the heart burnings,
the various agonies of emotion she had lately been undergoing must
have left her poorly prepared. On August 7 her condition became so
alarming to those around her that it was thought right to warn her of her
danger. She quietly said that she had no wish to live, that she hoped not
to suffer much bodily pain in dying, but that she could leave life
without the least regret. She {11} died that day, having lived more than
fifty-two years. It was her singular fate, however, that even in her death,
which otherwise must have brought so much relief, she became a new
source of trouble to her royal husband. George had made up his mind to
pay a visit after his coronation to his subjects in Ireland, to "the long
cherished isle which he loved," as Byron says, "like his bride." He had
got as far as Holyhead on his way when the news reached him of the
Queen's illness, and he thought that it would be hardly becoming for
him to make his first public appearance in Ireland at such a moment,
and to run the risk, perhaps, of having his royal entrance into Dublin
accompanied by the news that his Queen had just died. Then, when the
news of her death did actually reach him, it was still necessary to make
some little delay--joy bells and funeral bells do not ring well
together--and thus George, even as a widower, found his wife still a
little in the way. The remains of Caroline Amelia were carried back to
her native Brunswick, and there ended her melancholy story. It is
impossible not to regard this unhappy woman as the victim, in great
measure, of the customs which so often compel princes and princesses
to leave reciprocal love out of the conditions of marriage. "The birds
which live in the air," says Webster's immortal "Duchess of Malfi,"
On the wild benefit of nature, live Happier than we, for they can choose
their mates.

Other women, indeed, might have struggled far better against the
adverse conditions of an unsuitable marriage and have borne
themselves far better amid its worst trials than the clever, impulsive,
light-hearted, light-headed Caroline Amelia was able to do. There
seems no reason to doubt that she had a good heart, a loving nature, and
the wish to lead a pure and honorable life. But she was too often
thoughtless, careless, wilful, and headstrong, and, like many others who
might have done well under fair conditions, she allowed the worst
qualities of her nature to take the command just at the very moment
when there {12} was most need for the exercise of all that was best in
her. Even with regard to George himself, it seems only fair and
reasonable to assume that he, too, might have done better if his
marriage had not been merely an arrangement of State. Perhaps the
whole history of State marriages contains no chapter at once more
fantastic