"'Tanto nomini nullum Par elogium.'"
"If English punning," says Mr. Croly, "be a proscribed species of wit; though it bears, in fact, much more the character of the 'chartered libertine,' every where reprobated, and every where received; yet classical puns take rank in all lands and languages. Burke's pun on 'the divine right of kings and toastmasters,'—the jure de-vino—perhaps stands at the head of its class. But in an argument with Jackson, the prince, jestingly, contended that trial by jury was as old as the time of Julius Cæsar; and even that Cæsar died by it. He quoted Suetonius: 'Jure cæsus videtur.'"
In October, 1788, George the III. was afflicted with a mental disease, which totally incapacitated him for the duties of government. We do not wish to be unjustly harsh, but when we consider the irritability which, as may be inferred from the anecdote we have related of the King's intention to retire from England, must have formed a prominent trait in his character, and the displeasure he could not help manifesting in his communications to Parliament respecting the Prince's debts, it is impossible to reject the idea that the conduct of the latter was a main cause of his affliction.
He recovered, however, before the preliminary arrangements for the entrance of the Prince upon the regency had been completed. From this period up to the moment when the King became again a victim of the same dreadful malady, from whose grasp he never afterwards was freed, the Prince mixed no more with politics, but "abandoned himself," in the words of our author, "to pursuits still more obnoxious than those of public ambition." The course of his life was only varied by his disastrous marriage with the unfortunate Caroline, Princess of Brunswick. One of Mr. Croly's chapters is headed "the Prince's Marriage," the next, "the Royal Separation." We need not occupy much space with a subject which must be familiar to all of our readers, and of which the details are as disgusting as they are pitiful. Of all the foul stains upon the character of the royal profligate, it has stamped the foulest. Every principle of honour, of virtue, of humanity, was violated in the grossest manner.
That the Prince of Wales was morally guilty of the crime of bigamy in marrying the Princess Caroline, we have no hesitation in asserting. No one can doubt that Mrs. Fitzherbert had the claims of a wife upon him previously to his entering into this second engagement, however it may be attempted, as has been done by Mr. Croly, to deny such claims, upon the ground that the connexion was void by the laws of the land, although the ordinances of religion may have been complied with. If it can be supposed, that the Prince was determined, whilst binding himself at the altar of God by the most sacred vows, to take advantage of the laws of the land to cast aside the solemn obligations he thus assumed, as soon as it suited his convenience, in what a despicable situation is he placed! Deceit, perjury, sacrilege, would be terms too weak for the act. But Mr. Croly's own words are sufficient to prove that the lady was, and is, considered to have been connected with him by other ties than those of a mistress. He says, "she still enjoys at least the gains of the connexion, and up to the hoary age of seventy-five, calmly draws her salary of ten thousand pounds a year!" Would that salary be continued to a mistress? It is evident from the English papers that Mrs. Fitzherbert is treated with the greatest consideration by the present king and royal family, and that she is received by them on the most intimate footing; her name is recorded amongst those of the constant guests at the royal table and social assemblages of every kind. On what other ground can this circumstance be accounted for, than that she is regarded as a sister-in-law by the sovereign, and as a reputable relative by his family?
It is singular enough that Mr. Croly seems to consider a violation of the laws of God less reprehensible than a violation of the laws of man. Such at least is the unavoidable inference to be drawn from his remarks on this matter. He is quite indignant at the idea of his Royal Highness having married a woman of inferior rank, and a Roman Catholic (there is the horrid part of the affair,) by which he would have been guilty of a sin against the state, and evinces great anxiety to prove that the crime was one of a much lighter dye—merely an adulterous connexion, by which he transgressed one of the Divine Commandments. This Mr. Fox also attempted to do in Parliament, when it was hinted by a member that the liaison was not of the character which usually subsists between individuals in the relative rank of the Prince and the lady, and the attempt was disgraceful enough even in a statesman—but in a minister of religion!—we leave it however to speak for itself.
In 1811, George the III. was a second time a lunatic, and the Prince ascended his throne, though only with the title of Regent, which he did not change for that of King until 1820, when the nominal monarch died, having survived his reason for nearly ten years. Ten years longer did the Fourth George sway the sceptre of the noblest empire in the world; and then he too mingled with the same dust as the meanest of his subjects. "C'est ainsi," in the words of Bossuet, "que la puissance divine, justement irritée centre notre orgueil, le pousse jusqu' au néant, et que, pour égaler á jamais les conditions, elle ne fait de nous tous qu' une même cendre."
During the last years of his life, George the IVth was the prey of various maladies, with which a remarkably strong constitution enabled him to struggle until the spring of 1830. His corporeal sufferings may have been one cause of his almost entire seclusion at Windsor Castle, where he was like the Grand Lama of Thibet, unseeing and unseen, except by a chosen few, but it cannot be doubted that the knowledge of the unpopularity under which he certainly laboured, had some effect in producing the slight communication which took place between him and his subjects. So notorious was his aversion to making an appearance in London, that when he was first announced, last April, to be seriously indisposed, it was rumoured for a time that the sickness was fictitious—a mere pretence to avoid holding a levee which had been fixed for a certain day in that month, and which was in consequence deferred. But before the period had arrived to which it was postponed, there was no longer a doubt that the angel of death was brandishing his dart, and that there was little chance of averting the threatened stroke. The bulletins which the royal physicians daily promulgated, though couched in equivocal and unsatisfactory terms, shadowed out impending dissolution. The reason of their ambiguity was currently believed to be the circumstance, that the King insisted upon reading the newspapers in which they were published; whilst the medical attendants were anxious to withhold from him a knowledge of his true situation.
Besides being in the public prints, these bulletins appeared, in manuscript copies, in the windows of almost every shop, and were likewise shown every day at the Palace of St. James, by a lord and groom in waiting, richly dressed, to all of the loving subjects who preferred repairing thither for the satisfaction of their affectionate solicitude. It was rather amusing to watch the manner in which this satisfaction was obtained. The bulletins were thrust into the faces of all as they entered into the great hall where the exhibitors were stationed, with laudable earnestness and zeal, and most of the visiters looked with great interest—upon the paintings with which the apartment was adorned. The multitudes of persons, however, of both sexes, and often of high distinction, who filled the rooms that were thrown open, during the fashionable hours of the day, rendered it an entertaining scene. The most anxious faces were those of the owners of dry-good shops, by whom the recovery of the monarch was indeed an object devoutly desired, as they had already laid in their varieties of spring fashions, which the universal mourning that was to follow the demise of the crown, would convert almost into positive lumber.
At length, on the 26th of June, intelligence was received that the monarch of Great Britain had been conquered by a still more powerful king. What mourning without grief! what weeping without a tear! The papers immediately commenced a chorus of lamentation and eulogy, in which but one discordant voice was heard. This was the voice of the "Times"—the only leading journal which had independence and spirit enough to vindicate its character as a guardian of the public morals, by disdaining to prostitute its columns to the purposes of falsehood. One paper affirmed, among other fulsome and mendacious remarks, that the royal defunct must have taken his departure from this world with a clear conscience, as he had never injured an individual! After such an assertion