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On the sunny noon of June 6th, Caroline arrived at Dover.

She had said goodbye to Pergami who had returned to Pesaro where he

bought a house and busied himself with clearing up Caroline’s affairs there.

Sir Matthew Wood had taken over Pergami’s duties and she was now as

affectionate towards him as she had been to Pergami.

No one at Dover had been advised of her arrival and when the Commander of

the garrison came down to the shore to discover who this important personage

was and found her to be the Queen, he ordered a royal salute to be fired. The

people came running out of their houses and when the rumour went round that the

Queen had come, they cheered her and were determined to give her a good

welcome.

She had not come to stay, she told them in her friendly manner; she was on

her way to London. And after a brief stay in the town she set out for Canterbury.

News had reached Canterbury that the Queen was on her way and as it was

dark by the time she and her suite arrived the townsfolk had lined the streets and stood with flambeaux to light her way and cheer her as she came. The landlord at

the Fountain Inn had prepared a feast for the travellers and there they stayed the night. As they ate Caroline heard the shouts: ‘Long live the Queen.’

‘Ah,’ she cried, ‘at least the people are glad to see me.’ The next day there

was waving of flags and more loyal greetings as she set out for London.

All along the route she was vociferously welcomed. At Gravesend and

Deptford eager helpers were waiting to change the horses. The people of

Blackheath were particularly determined to show her how glad they were to have

her back. Many remembered her kindness to them when she had lived among

them.

Some of them joined the party and rode with her into the Capital.

She had received no reply from Lord Liverpool and no place had been put at

her disposal. Sir Matthew however had suggested that she make use of his house

in South Audley Street until some suitable residence was offered her.

Into London she rode, triumphant and acclaimed. Next to her in her open

carriage was Sir Matthew Wood and opposite her Lady Anne Hamilton. In the

first of the carriages which followed sat Willikin, and other members of her

entourage followed, some of them Italians, who looked on the scene with wonder.

Flags were waved and the people shouted long life to her. This was indeed an

affectionate welcome home.

There was one spectator who looked on in horror. The King had gone to one

of the small windows on the top floor of Carlton House where he would be able to

watch unseen. He had asked his sister Mary to accompany him so that he would

have a member of the family at his side.

‘Oh, God,’ he whispered, ‘how vulgar she is— even more so than I

remembered! I cannot accept her as the Queen. The thought that she is considered

to be my wife nauseates me.’

Mary whispered comfort and the magic word:
Divorce
.

‘We’ll get the evidence,’ he said. ‘There can’t be a doubt of it. Soon I shall be free.’

THE King was determined that no time should be wasted. On the very day

Caroline had set foot on English soil Liverpool in the House of Lords and

Castlereagh in the Commons read a message from the King.

This stated that His Majesty thought it necessary to give to the House of Lords

certain documents concerning the conduct of the Queen. This was a painful thing

to do but the conduct of the Queen gave him no alternative.

Brougham who was present in the Commons when the message was read lost

no time in seeing Caroline and compiling an answer in which she stated that she

had been induced to return to England to clear her name for she was aware of the

calumnies which had been invented against her. Her name had been omitted from

the Liturgy; she had been denied a royal residence; she had been insulted at home and abroad. Efforts had been made to prejudice the world against her and she had

been judged without trial. Only trial and conviction could justify what had been

done to her.

Liverpool and members of the Government were disturbed by her attitude.

They could see that a trial could bring the Monarchy into disrepute. The King’s

private life had been far from moral and it was not so long ago that across the

Channel the people had risen in their wrath and annihilated the Monarchy.

Liverpool suggested a compromise. The £50,000 a year, a royal ship for

travelling abroad and the honours due to the Queen of England should be

accorded her.

This Caroline scornfully refused: There was nothing to be done but go ahead

and on the 5th July— only some few weeks after Caroline had set foot on English

soil— Lord Liverpool introduced a Bill to be read. This was known as the Bill of

Pains and Penalties. Its object was:

To deprive Her Majesty Caroline Amelia Elizabeth of the Title, Prerogatives, Rights,
Privileges and Exemptions of Queen-Consort of the Realm and to dissolve the marriage between
His Majesty and the said Caroline Amelia Elizabeth

The Bill set out that Caroline had engaged Bartolomeo Pergami to serve in her

household and that a disgraceful intimacy had sprung up between the Queen and

Pergami. This licentious relationship had brought disgrace on the King and the

royal family. Therefore it seemed right and proper that the Queen should be

robbed of her privileges and the King granted an annulment of his marriage.

Under the guidance of Brougham, Caroline likened herself to Catharine of

Aragon and demanded a fair trial.

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The people of London were intensely interested. In the streets they talked of

nothing else. The King’s great unpopularity meant that they were all on the side

of the Queen. Caroline only had to appear for the crowd to sing her praises and

cheer her.

The King’s carriage was pelted with mud. They saw him as a wicked old

lecher. He could be as promiscuous as he liked but they would not accept his

cruelty to his wife.

It was exciting. Nothing like this had happened for a long time. The funerals

had been depressing occasions; but this was amusing. They had someone whom

they could champion; they had someone whom they could hate; and they did so

with enthusiasm.

Mobs went about crying
Caroline forever
. They stopped carriages and

demanded: ‘Are you for the Queen?’

They even stopped that of the great Duke of Wellington such a short time

before, the hero of the crowd.

‘Declare for the Queen!’ they cried. ‘Declare for the Queen!’

The Duke was furious that he, the great Wellington, should be drawn into this

undignified squabble. The hero of Waterloo to be forced to
declare
for a woman like the Queen. But the mob was ugly. They carried brooms and pickaxes, and

who could say that there was not a gun or two among them?

‘All right,’ cried the great soldier. ‘The Queen— damn you all. The Queen!

And may you all have wives like her.’

That made the crowd laugh. Trust Wellington to give as good as he got. A

laugh went up. A cheer went up. He had after all saved them from Old Boney.

And the day of the trial approached and the excitement was intense.

Everyone was asking what the outcome would be.

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Caroline left Brandenburg House, where she had taken up residence, for the

court. She was dressed dramatically for the occasion in a dress of black figured

gauze with enormous white Bishop’s sleeves decorated with lace. A heavy lace

veil was swathed about her head and beneath this were seen the curls of her wig.

She was heavily painted and leaded. She looked, remarked one observer, like a

toy which was called a Fanny Royd— a product of Holland with a heavy round

bottom so that in whatever position it was placed it jumped upright. She came

rushing into the House in a most ungraceful fashion and made a bob at the throne

before seating herself, short legs apart, her dress falling in an ungainly manner over her chair.

Sir Robert Gifford, the Attorney General, presented the case for the Crown

with the Solicitor General Sir John Copley. The Queen’s leading counsel were

Brougham and Denman who were the opposite numbers of Gifford and Copley.

General opinion was that the Queen had the better men on her side.

The first two days of the trial were devoted to legal arguments and then the

first witnesses were called.

This was disastrous for the Queen because to her amazement the first witness

for the prosecution was Theodore Majocchi, one whom she had always regarded

as her faithful servant. The knowledge that he had come to give evidence against

her made her cry out somewhat incoherently. Some people said she denounced

him as a traitor and what she said was ‘Traditore’. Others that it was his name that she spoke. But in any case she was so overcome emotionally that in her usual

impetuous manner she rose and left the court.

There was a gasp of astonishment. How guilty was this woman who was

afraid of a servant’s evidence!

It was easy to see why she was afraid as the court listened to Majocchi in the

hands of his interrogators. He began by explaining the position of the Queen’s

and Pergami’s bedrooms in Tunis. They had been separated only by a small

chamber. He gave the impression that there could be no doubt of the liaison

between the Queen and Pergami. Her maid Louise Demont was called— she who

had served the Queen well and had kept a diary of her travels in the East and

written only praise of Caroline in that diary. But having lived close to the Queen she was recognized as an ideal witness against her if she could be persuaded to

give the damning evidence that was required of her. Temptation was too much for

Louise and she agreed to become a witness for the Crown. So with the evidence

of Majocchi and Louise Demont, the case looked very black against Caroline.

But it was a situation which Brougham and Denman found stimulating. As

they sifted the evidence they began to believe that the Queen was innocent of all but an indiscretion so great that it was the utmost folly. But innocent she was of that which the Crown was trying to prove. And with innocence and Brougham,

thought that gentleman, she must win.

It was easy to deal with Majocchi for the man was clearly lying. Captain

Hownam was called to prove that the, Queen’s and Pergami’s bedrooms in Tunis

had not been on the same floor. Majocchi had stated that the Queen dined in her

bedroom with Peragami who sat on her bed while they ate together. Captain

Hownam assured the Court that this was absolutely untrue. The whole suite had

always dined together.

So under fire Majocchi withered. He took refuge in the phrase, ‘I don’t

remember’—
Non mi ricordo.

The people who followed the trial day by day were immensely amused by this

witness and a song was soon being sung in the streets:

‘To England I was trudged.

Nor cost me a single farden

And was safely lodged

In a place called Covent Garden

There I eat and drink

Of the best they can afford 0

Get plenty of the chink

To say
Non mi ricordo
.

‘To the House so large I went

Which put me in a stew

To tell a tale I was bent

Of which I nothing knew.

There was a man stood there

My precious brains he bored 0

To which I wouldn’t swear

I said
Non mi ricordo.

There were many verses and these were added to hour by hour. People were

singing them everywhere.

‘Their witness,’ said Brougham chuckling, ‘is our witness.’

It was the same with Louise Demont. How easily the liars could be discredited

in the hands of men like Brougham and Denman.

There were other Italian witnesses, all eager to earn their money and testify

against the Queen. There was a certain Raggazoni who admitted that he had seen

indecent conduct between the Queen and Pergami. This had caused some concern

to Brougham until Hownam was able to tell the court that it was impossible for

the man to have seen this from the place in which he described himself to be.

Another witness, Sacchi, said that on a journey from Rome to Sinigaglia the