1789-1806

George III, as we have seen, had not been a favourite with his subjects, but in his distress the great heart of his people went out to him. His parsimony, his political intrigues, even his breaches of faith were forgotten by many and forgiven by more, and the sympathy of the whole nation was extended to him. Gillray might caricature, and "Peter Pindar" lampoon; the thought of the mightiest monarch in Christendom at the mercy of a mad-doctor was too touching for laughter and henceforth the title of "Farmer George" was not a sneer but a token of affection. The popularity that came to him on his recovery was very grateful to George, and he told George Hardinge that "his illness had in the end been a perfect bliss to him, as proving how nobly the people would support him when he was confined." This healthy feeling was of great value as it steadied the country at the time when the French Revolution and its effects were devastating Europe, and through the dark days which were to follow before the reign ended in a blaze of glory that at an interval of ten years culminated in Trafalgar and Waterloo. It was this revival of personal loyalty that enabled Englishmen to content themselves with an indulgent smile when their King declared to Colonel Landmann, "I should like to fight Bony single-handed: I'm sure I should; I should give him a good thrashing, I'm sure I should—I'm sure of it"; and brought monarch and people in harmony when in the days of the expected French invasion, "The King in this summer of excitement, was constantly to be seen at Windsor in the cocked-hat and jack-boots of the blues, in which regiment he had a troop of his own. He inspected the volunteers, who were drawn up under the wall of the Round Tower. He invited their officers to be present at the Sunday evening performances of sacred music. He walked upon the Terrace—'every inch a King'—and would call, with a stentorian voice, for the band to play, 'Britons, strike home.'"[290]

The first proof of the agreeable alteration in his people's feelings towards him was made clear to the King, when, by his physician's advice, he left Windsor in June 1789 for Weymouth. That seaside resort went mad with loyalty, and so great was the enthusiasm that in the parish church of Lyndhurst "God save the King" was substituted for a psalm. "The preparations of festive loyalty were universal," Miss Burney has written. "Not a child could we meet that had not a bandeau round its head, cap, or hat, of 'God save the King'; all the bargemen wore it in cockades, and even the bathing-women had it in large coarse girdles round their waists. It is printed in golden letters upon most of the bathing-machines, and in various scrolls and devices it adorns every shop and almost every house in the two towns ... Melcombe Regis and Weymouth. The King bathes, and with great success; a machine follows the royal one into the sea, filled with fiddlers, who play 'God save the King,' as his Majesty takes his plunge!"[291]

At Weymouth, George bathed, rode, paid visits to various towns and country seats in the neighbourhood, went to the little theatre, and was everywhere welcomed with a heartiness to which he had been a stranger since the first months of his reign. The life of the Court there was, of course, very quiet. "The King's bathing agreed beyond anything with him," Mrs. Harcourt wrote, "the Princess also looks well, but the Queen looks, I think, very ill, and by all accounts has been so low and languid that nothing but real illness can account for it. She always appears to me to look worse and worse every time I have seen her for the last half-year. Her foot is bad, but she walks a little. They have no society at all but those you know of. Mr. Pitt and Lord Grenville are here, but never asked in. The party has always been the Queen, Princess Royal, Lord Chesterfield and General Harcourt at casino; Princess Elizabeth, Lady Mary, Lady Caroline, Colonel Gwyn at cribbage; the King, Colonel Garth, and Lord Chesterfield at piquet. Lord and Lady Courtoun and Princess Augusta have hitherto played at piquet, but now I make a fourth. On Sunday, at eight, we all went to the rooms, which is, without exception, the oddest ceremony I ever saw. A very large room, two or three hundred people, none of which, except the two Lady Beauclerks and three or four men, one ever heard of. It is a circle like a drawing-room exactly, and there they stand—or walk, if they can—for about half-an-hour; then go into the card room, which opens into it, and where there are two or three tables. The King and Queen or Princesses play, the people all walking by the door, and looking in, but not coming in. The King walked about a little more; and they all went away at ten."[292]

There were one or two amusing incidents to enliven the dull routine, as when an old man, in the exuberance of his loyalty, kissed the back of the King as the latter came out of the water, and was solemnly assured by the royal attendants that he had committed an act of high treason.[293] Miss Burney witnessed another laughable episode. "When the Mayor and Burgesses came with the Address, they requested leave to kiss hands: this was graciously accorded; but the Mayor advancing, in a common way, to take the Queen's hand, as he might that of any Lady Mayoress, Colonel Gwyn, who stood by, whispered, 'You must kneel, sir!' He found, however, that he took no notice of this hint, but kissed the Queen's hand erect. As he passed him in his way back, the Colonel said, 'You should have knelt, sir.' 'Sir,' answered the poor Mayor, 'I cannot.' 'Everybody does.' 'Sir—I have a wooden leg.' Poor man! 'twas such a surprise! and such an excuse as no one could dispute."[294] It was, however, on a subsequent visit of the royal family to Weymouth that a most ludicrous event happened. Colonel Landmann, a German on the staff of the Duke of Cumberland, then in command of the district, was on the Esplanade when he heard cries of "The Queen! The Queen!" He walked towards the bathing place, looking round, however, to catch a glimpse of her Majesty. "I had not, however, taken two steps in that way, without looking before me," he told the story, "when I felt that I had come in contact with a female, whom, to save her and myself from falling, I encircled with my arms; and at the same moment, having observed that the person whom I had so embraced was a little old woman, with a small black silk bonnet, exactly similar to those now commonly worn by poor and aged females, and the remainder of her person was covered by a short, plain scarlet cloth cloak, I exclaimed, 'Hallo, old lady, I very nearly had you down.' In an instant I felt her push me from her with energy and indignation, and I was seized by a great number of persons, who grasped me tightly by the arms and shoulders, whilst a tall, stout fellow in a scarlet livery, stood close before my face, sharply striking the pavement with the heavy ferule of a long, golden-headed cane, his eyes flashing fire, and loudly repeating, 'The Queen—the Queen—the Queen, sir!' 'Where?—where?—where?' I loudly retorted, greatly perplexed and even irritated, as I anxiously cast an inquisitive look about me, amongst the twenty or forty persons by whom I was surrounded. 'I am the Queen!' sharply exclaimed the old lady. On this discovery I did not totally lose my presence of mind; for without the delay of a moment I fell on one knee, and seizing the hem of the Queen's dress, was about to apply it to my lips, after the German fashion, stammering out at the same time the best apology I was able to put together on so short a notice; when the Queen, although I believe much offended, and certainly not without cause, softened her irritated features, and said, as she held out to me the back of her right hand: 'No, no, no, you may kiss my hant. We forgiff: you must pee more careful; fery rute—fery rute, inteet; we forgiff; there, you may go'."

In September the King, supposed to be completely recovered, and certainly for the moment in good health, returned to Windsor to take up again the reins of government.

It is not proposed to treat further of the politics of the reign, nor of the Administrations entrusted with the conduct of the affairs of the nation. Such matters have been introduced into the pages of this work, which has no pretensions to be a political history of the period with which it deals, merely to show that aspect of the character of the King which became exposed in relation to politics. There has been traced, though only in outline, his attempts to "be King" as he and his mother understood it, his successful struggle with the Whig oligarchy, the decade when to a great extent he was his own minister, his defeat at the hands of Fox, and his subsequent victory over that statesman, and the appointment as Prime Minister of his favourite, Pitt.

During the seventeen years that the younger Pitt ruled, however, the power fell from George III, who little by little was reluctantly compelled to abandon the system of personal government for which he had fought so long and so strenuously. It was not, perhaps, entirely because he was attached to Pitt that he supported him, but because to have intrigued successfully against him could only result in giving office again to Fox. Thus, though George ventured to express disapproval of certain measures of the Government, such as the plan for parliamentary reform, and the proceedings against Warren Hastings, he had to content himself with ineffectual protests, not daring to take any drastic step that would drive the minister to resign. "There was too much originality in Mr. Pitt's character to allow him to be acceptable to the King," Nicholls has stated. "I believe they had many quarrels. There was one in particular, which became generally known. The King had relied that he could make Mr. William Grenville minister, in case he was compelled to separate himself from Mr. Pitt. Mr. Pitt determined to deprive the King of this great card. He therefore suggested to his Majesty that it was necessary that Mr. Grenville should be placed in the House of Lords. The King saw Mr. Pitt's object and resisted. It was said that this resistance was carried to such a length that Mr. Pitt had actually resigned, but that the Queen prevailed on the King to yield to Mr. Pitt's demand. Mr. William Grenville was removed to the House of Lords, and thus the King was deprived of the only man whom he could have named as successor to Mr. Pitt in the House of Commons."[295]

After this vain endeavour to secure his emancipation, the King remained quiescent for a long time, and indeed showered favours upon the minister. He offered him the Garter in 1790, and on the death of Lord North two years later appointed him to the (then) lucrative position of Warden of the Cinque Ports, subsequently offering £30,000 from the Privy Purse for the settlement of the minister's debts.[296] He even consented at Pitt's bidding in 1792 to dismiss Thurlow, whose insubordination was becoming a nuisance, if not a danger to the Administration. Thus Pitt was not hampered in his efforts to guide England while the French Revolution was raging, and, indeed, he might have held office for life but for his desire to complete his Irish policy with a conciliatory measure for Catholic Emancipation. To any such concession George was obdurate, and Pitt's attitude caused him many sleepless nights. He asked General Garth to read aloud the coronation oath, and, when this was done, remarked in tones of great agitation: "Where is that power on earth to absolve me from the due observance of every sentence of that oath, particularly the one requiring me to 'maintain the Protestant Reformed religion'? Was not my family seated on the throne for that express purpose? And shall I be the first to suffer it to be undermined, perhaps overturned? No, I had rather beg my bread from door to door throughout Europe than consent to any such measure." In vain Lord Eldon stated that "his Majesty was not in any degree fettered by his coronation oath in giving assent to a measure which should have the previous approbation of both Houses of Parliament": the King only replied: "I can give up my crown, and retire from power. I can quit my palace, and live in a cottage. I can lay my head on a block and lose my life, but I cannot break my coronation oath."[297]

Against such obstinacy and bigotry the gods contend in vain, and, in consequence of this difference of opinion, Pitt resigned on March 14, 1801. Addington succeeded him and for a while had his predecessor's support; but several of the measures of the new Administration displeased Pitt, who gradually fell into opposition, and, on Addington's resignation in May, 1804, became again Prime Minister, on condition that he did not offer office to Fox, with whom he had fought against Addington. He had, however, on the King's recovery from another mental attack, volunteered a promise not to introduce a measure for Catholic emancipation during George's lifetime.

Pitt died on January 6, 1806, and then the King had no alternative but to send for Lord Grenville. "When Pitt died, and old Nobbs sent for Grenville to make the Government," Creevey has stated, "the latter would not listen to any prejudice against Fox, but made the Crown divide the Government between them."[298] To accept Fox was even more unpalatable than ever to George. Fox had triumphantly beaten the Court candidate at the famous Westminster election, he had sided with the Prince of Wales, had expressed himself as in sympathy with the principles, though not the excesses, of the French Revolution, and had given at a Whig club the toast of "The Sovereignty of the People of Great Britain," for which last deed, the King in Council, having ordered the Council-book to be laid before him, erased the name of the Honourable Charles James Fox from the list of Privy Councillors.[299]

"At the period of Mr. Fox's return to power the King, then in full possession of his faculties, showed for several days considerable uneasiness of mind," Princess Augusta wrote. "A cloud seemed to overhang his spirits. On his return one day from London the cloud was evidently removed, and his Majesty, on entering the room where the Queen and Princess Augusta were, said he had news to tell them. 'I have taken Mr. Fox for my minister, and on the whole am satisfied with the arrangement.'" George behaved unexpectedly well, for when Fox entered the royal closet to kiss hands as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, "Mr. Fox," he said, "I little thought you and I should ever meet again in this place; but I have no desire to look back upon old grievances, and you may rest assured I shall never remind you of them." To which Fox replied dutifully: "My deeds, and not my words, shall commend me to your Majesty;" and until his death lived on amicable terms with his sovereign.