The health of the Sovereign prevented him from attending the concerts and other entertainments which he was accustomed to honour with his patronage. He was, however, sufficiently recovered to enjoy a sojourn at Weymouth, and, on his return to Kew, to ride over occasionally to visit the Princess of Wales at Blackheath. The daughter of the latter, the Princess Charlotte, was now four years of age, and the question of her separation from her mother was a frequent subject of discussion. In the meantime, the little Princess was very often a visitor at St. James’s or Windsor, by command of the Queen, and, of course, unaccompanied by her mother.
On the 29th of October, the King opened Parliament in person. The pleasant announcement was made in the royal speech that the eight years’ war had come to a conclusion. The gratification of the public was, however, somewhat marred by finding that the cost of carrying it on had doubled the national debt, and that the supplies required for the year amounted to forty millions.
The royal family now repaired to Windsor; and for the description of a home scene there we will again have recourse to one who describes what he saw and of which he was a part. Lord Malmesbury was a guest at the castle during the 26th, 27th, and 28th of November. ‘I went there,’ he says, ‘to present to the King and Queen copies of the new edition of my father’s works. I saw them both alone on the evening of the 26th, and was with them that and the next evening at their card party at the Lodge. Each evening the Queen named me of her party, and played at cribbage with me. I was with the King alone near two hours. I had not seen him since the end of October, 1800—of course, not since his last illness. He appeared rather more of an old man, but not older than men of his age commonly appear. He stoops rather more, and was apparently less firm on his legs; but he did not look thinner, nor were there any marks of sickness or decline in his countenance or manner. These last were much as usual—somewhat less hurried and more conversable: that is to say, allowing the person to whom he addressed himself more time to answer and talk than he used to do when discussing on common subjects, on public and grave ones. I at all times, for thirty years, have found him very attentive, and full as ready to hear as to give an opinion, though perhaps not always disposed to adopt it and forsake his own. He was gracious even to kindness. He asked how I continued to keep well; and on my saying, amongst other reasons, that I endeavoured to keep my mind quiet, and dismiss all unpleasant subjects from intruding themselves upon it, the King said, “’Tis a very wise maxim, and one I am determined to follow; but how, at this particular moment, can you avoid it?” And without waiting he went on, saying, “Do you know what I call the peace? An experimental peace, for it is nothing else. I am sure you think so, and perhaps do not give it so gentle a name; but it was unavoidable. I was abandoned by everybody—allies and all. I have done, I conscientiously believe, for the best, because I could not do otherwise: but had I found more opinions like mine, better might have been done.”’
His Majesty continued, at greater length than it is necessary to follow, to give his opinions upon the men and questions of the day; and this he did with great calmness, discrimination, and foresight. He was not one that believed Jacobinism was dead merely because it was quiet; and he spoke of the policy of Prussia of that day, and of the King who adopted it, as men speak of both in the present day—a mixture of atrocity, treachery, and meanness. Lord Malmesbury says little of the Queen, but enough to give an idea of her manner. ‘The Queen,’ he says, ‘kept me only a quarter of an hour. She said she should see me again in the evening, as I must be tired of standing so long with the King. Spoke kindly of my father and my dear children. Princess Mary was all good-humour and pleasantness: her manners are perfect, and I never saw or conversed with any princess so exactly what she ought to be.’
CHAPTER XI.
THE END OF GREATNESS.
Queen as an author—Domestic life of the Royal Family—Return of the King’s illness—His continual agitation—Dr. Symonds not the medical officer for the King—Capricious changes made by the King in his household—His humorous eccentricities—Contest between the King and the Prince—The Queen’s conduct—Scant courtesy to the royal invalid—Errors committed by the King—Wellesley and Nelson—Gradual decay of the King—His eccentricity at the installation of Knights of the Garter—Picture of the daily life of the Royal Family—Position of the Queen—The King’s resignation on his blindness—Distress of his mind—Renewal of the Regency question—Extraordinary assertion by Lord Eldon—The King’s person confided to the Queen—The Queen’s letters to Lord Eldon—Her merry letter to him—A touching incident—The Queen’s unpopularity—Marriage of the Princess Charlotte—Decline of the Queen’s health—Disgraceful reception of her by the City—Her death—Considered as a parent—Her political influence—The debts of Prince of Strelitz—The Court on George III.’s ceasing to exercise authority—Regal retinue about the old King dismissed—The Queen’s funeral—Her will—Her diamonds—Death of the Duke of Kent—Death of the King—Visit of the Emperor of the French to the Duchess of Gloucester.
In the year 1804 Queen Charlotte became entitled to be enrolled among royal and noble authors or translators. It was now discovered that she, and not Bishop Porteus, had translated Freylighausen’s ‘Abstract of the whole Doctrine of the Christian Religion.’ The Queen translated it, for the use of her daughters, from a German manuscript in her library. This book was the first that was stereotyped in England according to the Stanhope process. It was familiarly known as ‘the Queen’s book.’ ‘The Queen’s book has come out, with an introduction by the Bishop of London;’ thus writes the Rev. Thomas Belsham to Mr. Aspland, in September, 1804. The letter is printed in the ‘Memoirs of the Rev. Thomas Aspland.’ The writer adds: ‘I have just dipped into it. I presume it was the Catechism which she learned when she was a child, and which she still faithfully adheres to. I have just glanced over it as it lies in Johnson’s shop. It is a mass of absurdity.’ This testimony, it must be remembered, is given by a disciple of the eminent Dr. Priestley and by an Unitarian minister—the most illustrious of the church which claimed to be Christian as well as Unitarian.
The utmost regularity marked the course of the royal life during the short time which elapsed between the King’s last illness and that of 1804. It was the period when anecdotes were being constantly told, and perhaps sometimes made, of his simplicity and gentle nature. The Queen, with a great love for display, could readily adapt herself to the circumstances required by the exigencies of the time; and she as much enjoyed the quietness of their domestic life as she had done the most brilliant days and episodes of her reign. Her eldest son, who, in spite of his conduct, loved his mother as well as he could love anybody, caused her continual anxiety; but this was little compared with the trials which awaited her from another source.
The mental maladies of the King usually occurred after taking cold; but this fact did not seem to render him in any way cautious and prudent. Thus, early in the present year he caught a violent cold, followed by gout, in consequence of remaining in wet clothes after returning from a walk in the rain. The malady speedily assumed the appearance of something more formidable than a mere attack on his bodily health. At the evening assembly at the Queen’s House, held in celebration of her Majesty’s birthday, the King was unusually incoherent in his style of speaking. The Queen played at cards, as was her custom; but her anxiety was very manifest, and she never kept her eyes off the King during the entire time the assembly lasted.
In the course of a few weeks the King grew worse; and, in addition to his ordinary physicians, the attendance was required of persons accustomed to these peculiar cases. The royal dislike to the Willises (father and son) was the cause of Dr. Symonds being called in. The august patient was in extreme danger during the 12th and 13th of January. He partially recovered; but the mania, in a modified form, still continued. He remained in this condition till May—fanciful, suspicious, and unsteady in his manners and conversation, particularly with the Queen and royal family and his usual society. ‘He was apparently quite himself,’ says Lord Malmesbury, ‘when talking on business and to his ministers. He then collected and re-collected himself.’ Dr. Symonds was by no means so efficient a man in these cases as the Willises, against whom the monarch had taken a rooted antipathy. In the King’s first illness, as Willis, the clergyman, once entered the room to visit the patient, the latter asked him if he, a clergyman, was not ashamed of himself for exercising such a profession. Willis gently hinted that the Saviour himself went about healing the sick. ‘Ay, ay!’ said the King, ‘but he hadn’t 700l. a-year for it.’