A.D. 1809. The venerable monarch was not able to attend the grand fête given by Queen Charlotte, at Frogmore, in celebration of his having reached the fiftieth year of his reign. His sight had grown so dim that, although he rode out every day, his horse was led by a servant, and when he walked he felt his way along the terrace by means of a stick. London and all the principal cities of the kingdom were illuminated at the time of the jubilee, and large sums of money were raised by subscription for the benefit of the poor. In this way many were made happy, but the king was sad and dejected. He would often shed tears during the performance of Handel's "Total Eclipse,"—a composition of which he was very fond, even though it reminded him of his increasing blindness. One morning the Prince of Wales entered his father's apartment unannounced, and heard him reciting the following well-known lines of Milton:—
"Oh dark! dark! dark! amid the blaze of noon!
Irrevocably dark! Total eclipse
Without all hope of day!
Oh first created beam, and Thou great word,
Let there be light, and light was over all;
Why am I thus deprived, thy prime decree?"
A.D. 1810. The royal household was indeed a sorrowful one when the death of the Princess Amelia occurred, for she was the youngest of the children and had always been a pet. Nothing could have been more touching than the appearance of the afflicted father, aged and almost blind, as he leaned over the couch of his dying child, whispering to her words of consolation and hope of future glory. When the princess bade the king farewell, just before she died, she placed a ring on his finger, on which were inscribed these words, "Remember me."
From that period the king's mental state became gradually worse, and the following year the Prince of Wales was appointed regent, though the queen still retained the care of her husband, with the assistance of the council, who were constantly at Windsor. At times his majesty would appear better, then he would relapse into a state that offered little hope. The queen's position was by no means a pleasant one. She was constantly brought in contact with the Princess of Wales, whom she thoroughly disliked; and her heart was torn by the sad scenes in which her poor, afflicted consort played the leading part. Thus one day she entered his room and found him singing a hymn to the accompaniment of a harpsichord, on which he was performing himself. On concluding the hymn, he knelt down, prayed for his family and the nation, and finally that God would restore to him the reason which he felt he had lost. At other times he was heard begging that he might die; then he would imagine that he really had departed this life, and ask for a suit of black, that he might wear mourning for the old king. Such pathetic scenes Queen Charlotte witnessed constantly. And she had other matters to worry her; for the public distress was so great that she became excessively unpopular, not because she had been guilty of any wrong, but simply because indignation had to be vented on somebody.
A.D. 1815. One day, when she was going to attend her last drawing-room, she was hissed and insulted by a mob that actually had the audacity to stop her chair. She was equal to the occasion, and showed a great deal of pluck. Quietly letting down the window of the chair, she spoke without agitation to those nearest to her: "I am about seventy years of age," she said, sorrowfully; "I have been more than half a century Queen of England, and I never was hissed by a mob before." The vulgar are easily silenced by true dignity and courage, and so the venerable lady was allowed to pass on unmolested. The Prince of Wales sent several aides-de-camp to escort his mother back home in safety; but she said to them: "You have left Carlton House by his royal highness's orders; return there by mine, or I will leave my chair and go home on foot."