THE KING'S MALADY
Throughout his life George had persevered in a course of systematic
abstinence and regular exercise, and he had endeavoured to strengthen an
apparently sound and vigorous body by outdoor pursuits. He rose early
both in winter and summer, never remained at any entertainment later
than midnight, and usually went to bed before that hour. Corpulence was
the bane of his family, and, perturbed at the thought that he might
suffer from it, he discussed the question with his uncle, William of
Cumberland, whose stoutness was notorious. "It is constitutional," said
the latter, "and I am much mistaken if your Majesty will not become as
large as myself, before you attain to my age." "Perhaps," suggested
George, "it arises from your not using sufficient exercise?" "I use,
nevertheless, constant and severe exercise of every kind," his uncle
assured him. "But there is another effort requisite, in order to repress
this tendency, which is much more difficult to practise; and without
which, no exercise, however violent, will suffice. I mean, great
renunciation and temperance. Nothing else can prevent your Majesty
from growing to my size."[231] Always inclined to moderation in food and
drink, after this conversation the temperance of George's life became
almost proverbial. "It is a fact," says Wraxall, "that during many years
of his life, after coming up from Kew, or from Windsor, often on
horseback, and sometimes in heavy rain, to the Queen's House; he has
gone in a Chair to St. James's, dressed himself, held a _levee_, passed
through all the forms of that long and tedious ceremony, for such it was
in the way that he performed it; without leaving any individual in the
Circle unnoticed: and has afterwards assisted at a Privy Council, or
given audience to his Cabinet Ministers and others, till five and even
sometimes till six o'clock. After so much fatigue of body and of mind,
the only refreshment or sustenance that he usually took consisted in a
few slices of bread and butter and a dish of tea, which he sometimes
swallowed as he walked up and down, previous to getting into his
carriage, in order to return into the country."[232] It is probable,
however, that his complaint was increased by his extreme abstemiousness,
and his rigid morality, for, as Lord Carlisle has stated, "the family
disorder introduced by his mother required high living and strong wines.
The French call it, '_les humeurs froids_.'"[233]
[231] Wraxall: _Historical Memoirs of His Own Times_.
[232] _Ibid._
When Mrs. Delany praised George III for his moderation, "No, no, it is
no virtue," replied the monarch, "I only prefer eating plain and little,
to growing diseased and infirm."--_Diary and Letters of Madame
D'Arblay._
[233] _Reminiscences of the fifth Earl of Carlisle._
[Illustration: _From a caricature by Gear, 1788_
GEORGE III
_To face p. 202, Vol. II_]
Although wine was recommended to him to assist digestion, he declined to
believe in its efficacy;[234] and it is amusing to read that he desired
the members of his _suite_ to be as abstemious as himself. Miss Burney
has narrated a story of that quaint wag, Colonel Goldsworthy, who, after
his return from hunting with the King, damp, muddy, and tired, was
called by the King. "'Sir,' said I, smiling agreeably, with the
rheumatism just creeping all over! but still, expecting something a
little comfortable, I wait patiently to know his gracious pleasure, and
then, 'Here, Goldsworthy, I say,' he cries, 'will you have a little
barley water?' Barley water in such a plight as that! Fine compensation
for a wet jacket, truly!--barley water! I never heard of such a thing in
my life! barley water after a day's hard hunting." "And did you drink
it?" Miss Burney asked. "And did the King drink it himself?" "Yes, God
bless his Majesty!" replied the equerry, "but I was too humble a
subject to do the same as my King."[235]
[234] Papendiek: _Court and Private Life_.
[235] _Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay._
Wraxall and many other contemporaries have stated that the King enjoyed
almost perfect health until 1788, but this only shows with what success
the truth was hidden, for, as we have seen, he was seriously ill in
1762, and in danger of losing his life and reason three years later;
while in 1766 his health temporarily gave way under the mental
excitement occasioned by affairs of state,[236] and, a little known
chronicler states, in 1782 he was again "extremely indisposed".[237]
[236] _Grenville Papers._
[237] "On the day previous to the celebration of the Queen's birthday in
1782 [the Queen's birthday was officially recognized in the middle of
January], the King was extremely indisposed, and was twice let blood. At
the Drawing-room next day his Majesty was seized with a bleeding at the
nose, and was obliged to retire very soon after three o'clock; and his
Majesty continued so much indisposed that he did not appear in the
ball-room in the evening. In a few days his Majesty was so much
recovered as to be deemed entirely out of danger."--Southy: _Authentic
Memoirs of George the Third_.
The mental derangement of 1788 is usually stated to have been first
discerned in the autumn, but as a matter of fact the symptoms were
obvious much earlier in the year, although it was then declared the King
was suffering only from a bilious disorder. In the spring Sir George
Baker attended him, and gave it as his opinion that the bile did not
flow properly; but the patient declined to take medicine, and, as Mrs.
Papendiek states, "he was up and down in his condition--better or worse,
but did not rally." At Easter, Dr. Heberden was called in, and,
considering the case alarming, invited Dr. Munro to consult with him.
"The great desire," according to Mrs. Papendiek, "was to keep the
circumstance secret as much as possible from the public, to hasten the
session, and direct their hopes to the ease of summer business, to
change of air, and other restorations. The King was aware of the
probability of his malady, but was unconscious of its having already
having made great strides. Dr. Munro retired and was not again called
in."[238]
[238] _Court and Private Life._
"Having had rather a smart bilious attack, which, by the goodness of
Divine Providence, is quite removed," the King wrote to the Bishop of
Worcester on June 8, "Sir George Baker has strongly recommended me to
the going for a month to Cheltenham, as he thinks the water efficacious
on such occasions, and that an absence from London will keep me free
from certain fatigues that attend long audiences."[239] The departure
was postponed until July 12, when the King went with the Queen and the
Princesses to Cheltenham, where he stayed at Bay's Hill Lodge, the seat
of the Earl of Fauconberg. From there he made excursions to Tewkesbury,
Gloucester, Worcester[240] and some other places; but neither the change
nor the waters benefited him, and on August 16, the royal family
returned to Windsor.
[239] Jesse: _Memoirs of George III_.
[240] It was not only at Windsor that George addressed him to the
passers-by. "This, I suppose, is Worcester New Bridge," he asked some
one in the streets of Worcester. "Yes, please your Majesty." "Then,"
said the King, "let me have a huzza"; and taking off his hat, he set the
example.--_Georgiana._
Miss Burney has told us how the King was very sensible of the great
change there was in himself, and how he said to Lady Effingham, when she
came to visit him, "You see me, all at once, an old man." Slowly but
surely the disorder increased, and it became more and more obvious that
his intellect was affected.[241] Then, on October 16, he went out in the
dew, and instead of changing his damp shoes and stockings, he rode to
town in them, and held a _levee_. It was clear that he had caught cold,
and on his return to Kew the Queen begged him to take a cordial, but
instead he ate a pear and drank a glass of cold water, after which he
felt unwell, and went to bed earlier than usual. "About one in the
morning," Sir Gilbert Elliot has recorded, "he was seized violently
with a cramp or some other violent thing in the stomach which rendered
him speechless, and was _all but_. The Queen ran out in great alarm in
her shift, or with very little clothes, among the pages, who, seeing her
in that situation, were at first retiring out of respect, but the Queen
stopped them, and sent them instantly for the apothecary at Richmond,
during which time the King had continued in the fits and speechless. The
apothecary tried to make him swallow something strong, but the King, who
appeared not to have lost his senses, still liked a bit of his own way,
and rejected by signs everything of that sort. They contrived, however,
to cheat him, and got some cordial down in the shape of medicine, and
the fit went off."
[241] _Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay._
After this, George was never really well until the attack had run its
course. He slept but little, talked unceasingly and only stopped when
actually exhausted, and was very weak. "I cannot get on without it," he
said, showing a walking stick, "my strength seems diminishing hourly."
On October 22, Sir George Baker informed ministers that the King's
condition was critical yet "to stop further lies and any fall of the
stock,"[242] he held a _levee_ on the 24th, when, however, his
disordered dress and vacant manner left no doubt as to the nature of
his malady. On the following Sunday at church, in the middle of the
sermon he started up and embraced the Queen and the Princesses in a
frantic manner, exclaiming, "You know what it is to be nervous." A day
or two later, after a private concert, he went up to Dr. Ayrton, and
laying his hand on the musician's shoulder, "I fear, Sir," he said, "I
shall not long be able to hear music: it seems to affect my head and it
is with difficulty I bear it," and then added softly, "Alas! the best of
us are but frail mortals."[243] About the same time, after a long ride,
he burst into tears, and exclaimed, "I wish to God I may die, for I am
going to be mad."
[242] Stanhope: _Life of Pitt_.
[243] _Relics of Royalty._
We are indebted to Philip Withers for our knowledge of the King's first
attack. "My office places me at the fountain head of information," he
has written. "As senior Page of the Presence my apartment is situated
between the grand Anti-chamber and the Closet of Private Audience. In
each room there is a door of communication with my apartment, and I am
constantly prepared to execute commands. The doors of my apartment open
near the fireplaces of the Closet and Anti-chamber; and as there is a
current of air passing through the doors (for they are opposite to each
other) the Fireplaces are defended by lofty, magnificent screens so
that either door may be left a little open without being noticed. In the
common course of things I am accustomed to disregard both the company
and conversation; and, indeed, it would be highly indecent."[244] That
Withers was an unscrupulous fellow is obvious, for he was scoundrel
enough to turn a dishonest penny by publishing the secrets he acquired
by eavesdropping; but, in spite of the way it was obtained, his
testimony is valuable. He was, however, an ingenuous youth, and after
stating in his narrative that there was abroad a suspicion that the
disease was hereditary, he begs that people "will forbear to credit an
opinion in which so many innocent and amiable children are interested."
"I do not deny the possible existence of hereditary disease," he
continues. "In all ages of the world, and among every complexion of men,
the opinion has been corroborated by fact. But what forbids our hoping
better things in the case before us? Who will have the temerity to aver
on oath that His Majesty's complaint is not the _Gout_, or some kindred
disorder, unhappily driven to the seat of intelligence?" Withers has
related how, about this time, the King and Queen, with himself in
attendance, were driving one day through Windsor Park, when the King
stopped the horses, and, crying, "There he is," alighted. His Majesty
then approached an oak, and when within a few yards of it, uncovered and
advanced, bowing with the utmost respect, and then, seizing one of the
lower branches, shook it heartily, as one shakes the hand of a friend.
The Queen turned pale and after a terrified pause told Withers to
dismount and tell the King that her Majesty desired his company. From
the words that were uttered, the page learnt that George imagined he was
discussing European politics with the King of Prussia!
[244] _History of the Royal Malady, with Variety of Entertaining
Anecdotes, to which are added Strictures of the Declaration of Horne
Tooke, Esq., respecting "Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales,"
commonly called Mrs. Fitzherbert. With Interesting Remarks on a Regency.
By a Page of the Presence._ (1789.)
The narrative of the illness of George III is headed, presumedly to
evade prosecution, "Curious and Entertaining Anecdotes of Henry IV, King
of France."
After this distressing episode, there ensued a period of fluctuation,
when occasional paroxysms were succeeded by intervals of clear
understanding, during which everybody at Windsor went about in fear and
trembling, not knowing what would happen next. The Queen was almost
overpowered with terror. "I am affected beyond all expression in her
presence to see what struggles she makes to support her serenity," Miss
Burney wrote on November 3. "To-day she gave up the conflict when I was
alone with her, and burst into a violent fit of tears. It was very, very
terrible to see."[245] At this critical moment Sir George Baker was far
from well, and, feeling unable to undertake the entire charge of the
royal invalid, and perhaps disinclined to take upon himself the entire
responsibility, called in Dr. Warren, whom, however, the King declined
to receive. "Dr. Warren was then placed where he could hear his voice,
and all that passed, and receive intelligence concerning his pulse,
etc., from Sir George Baker."[246]
[245] _Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay._
[246] _Ibid._
Dr. Warren came to the conclusion that the disorder under which the King
laboured was an absolute mania, and wholly unconnected with fever, which
statement of the case he had later to announce to the sufferer. On
November 5, the King broke out in violent delirium at dinner, flew at
the Prince of Wales, clutched him by the throat, and threw him against a
wall, crying, he would know how to dare keep the King of England from
speaking his mind. That night George was hopelessly mad; his physical as
well as his mental health was impaired, and his life despaired of. "The
doctors say it is impossible to survive it long, if his situation does
not take some extraordinary change in a few hours," Sheridan was
informed. "Since this letter was begun, all articulation even seems to
be at an end with the poor King; but, for the two hours preceding, he
was in a most determined frenzy."[247] After a time he slept, and when
he awoke the fever had somewhat abated, but he had still all the
gestures and ravings of the most confirmed maniac, and a new noise in
imitation of the howling of a dog. Then he became calmer and talked of
religion, and declared himself inspired, but soon relapsed into a
turbulent and incoherent state, and tried to jump out of a window.[248]
On November 9 a rumour ran through the city that the King was dead, but
on the 12th orders were sent to the office of the Secretary of State
that it should be notified to foreign courts that no apprehensions were
entertained of immediate danger of the King's life. On November 16 a
public prayer was offered in all churches for his recovery.
[247] Moore: _Life of Sheridan_.
[248] Dr. Ray: _The Insanity of King George III_.
The physicians in attendance had been divided upon the question of the
possibility of the King's physical recovery, but they were in agreement
as to the unlikelihood of his regaining his reason. The first ray of
hope came on November 19 from Sir Lucas Pepys, who declared that there
was "nothing desponding in the case," but advised stronger measures,
the denial of dangerous indulgences, and greater quiet. In spite of this
pronouncement, on the following day Dr. Warren had the unpleasant task
to inform the King he was regarded as incapable of transacting business
of any kind. "To-day, I have heard, is fixed upon to speak reason to One
who has none," George Selwyn wrote to Lady Carlisle on November 20. "Dr.
Warren, in some set of fine phrases, is to tell his Majesty that he is
stark mad, and must have a straight waistcoat. I am glad I am not chosen
to be that Rat who is to put the bell about the Cat's neck. For if it
should please God to forgive our transgressions, and restore his Majesty
to his senses, for he can never have them again till we grow better, I
suppose, according to the opinion of churchmen, who are perfectly
acquainted with all the dispensations of Providence, and the motive of
His conduct; I say, if that unexpected period arrives, I should not like
to stand in the place of that man who has moved such an Address to the
Crown."[249]
[249] _George Selwyn: His Life and Letters._
The favourable opinion of Sir Lucas Pepys was confirmed by Dr.
Addington, who, called in on November 26, was the only physician of all
those consulted who had experience of mental cases, and even he was not
professedly a practitioner in them. For some reason Dr. Addington
discontinued his attendance after a few days, and then at last it was
deemed imperative to add to the medical staff some one skilled in the
treatment of insanity. Why this had not been done before is inexplicable
except on the hypothesis that secrecy was essential in the public
interest;[250] but now a summons was sent to the Rev. Dr. Francis
Willis.
[250] "It was found impossible, however, to divert public attention from
the lengthy confinement of the King in 1788, and in November the Queen
was greatly offended by some anecdote relative to the indisposition
which appeared in _The Morning Herald_, and after instructing Miss
Burney to burn the paper, she sought for some one who should represent
to the editor that 'he must answer at his peril any further such
treasonable paragraphs.'"--_The Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay._
It was decided, further, for the sake of greater quiet, to move the King
to Kew, but at first this seemed impossible unless violence were used,
for he resolutely refused to leave Windsor. Eventually the object was
achieved by strategy. "The poor Queen was to get off in private: the
plan settled between the princes and physicians was, that her Majesty
and the princesses should go away quietly, and then that the King should
be told that they were gone, which was the sole method they could devise
to prevail with him to follow. He was then to be allured by a promise
of seeing them at Kew; and, as they knew he would doubt their assertion,
he was to go through the rooms and examine the house himself."[251] This
was done on November 29, and the King established himself at Kew in the
ground floor rooms that look towards the garden. The bribe was not paid,
however, and the anger it aroused in him produced the worst results.
Indeed, his separation from the Queen was in his lucid hours one of his
greatest troubles. "She is my best friend; where could I find another?"
he asked on one occasion; and at another time complained bitterly, "I am
eight-and-twenty years married, and now have no wife at all; is not that
hard?"
[251] _Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay._
Dr. Willis was the incumbent of a Lincolnshire living, and, having taken
a medical degree at Oxford, he frequently acted as physician to his
parishioners. He was especially successful in treating mental cases, and
when this became known, so many persons from all parts of England came
to him that at last he founded an asylum at Gretford, where, it is said,
he never at any time had less than thirty cases under his care.[252]
When Willis took up his quarters at Kew on December 6, the King asked
him if he, who was a clergyman, was not ashamed of himself for
exercising such a profession, "Sir," said the specialist, "our Saviour
Himself went about healing the sick." "Yes," retorted George, "but He
had not L700 for it."[253] Willis, who was at this time seventy years of
age, seems to have won golden opinions at Court, except from some of his
colleagues who inclined to regard his methods as more in place with the
quack than with the qualified practitioner. "In the practical knowledge
of insanity, and the management of the insane, Willis was unquestionably
in advance of his associates," Dr. Ray has written, "but following the
bent of his dictatorial habits, he often spoke without meaning his
words, and often overstepped the limits of professional etiquette."[254]
Miss Burney thought him "a man in ten thousand, open, honest, dauntless,
lighthearted, innocent, and high-minded;" "an upright, worthy man,
gentle and humane in his profession, and amiable and pious as a
clergyman," said Mrs. Papendiek; while Wraxall thought Willis "seemed to
be exempt from all the infirmities of old age, and his countenance,
which was very interesting, blended intelligence with an expression of
placid self-possession."[255]
[252] "Gretford and its vicinity at that time exhibited one of the most
peculiar and singular sights I ever witnessed. As the unprepared
traveller approached the town he was astonished to find almost all the
surrounding ploughmen, gardeners, threshers, thatchers and other
labourers attired in black coats, white waistcoats, black silk breeches
and stockings, and the head of each '_bien poudre, frise, et arrange_.'
These were the Doctor's patients; and dress, neatness of person, and
exercise being the principal features of his admirable system, health
and cheerfulness conjoined to aid the recovery of every person attached
to that most valuable asylum. The Doctor kept an excellent table, and
the day I dined with him I found a numerous company. Nothing occurred
out of the common way till soon after the cloth was removed, when I saw
the Doctor frown at a patient who immediately hastened from the room,
taking with him my _tail_, which he had slyly cut off."--_Life and Times
of Frederick Reynolds._
[253] _Diary and Correspondence of the first Earl of Malmesbury._
[254] _The Insanity of George III._
[255] _Historical Memoirs of his Own Times._
Pitt introduced the physician to the King: "We have found a gentleman
who has made the illness under which your Majesty is now labouring his
study for some years, and we doubt not that he can render comfort, and
alleviate many of the inconveniences your Majesty suffers." "Will he let
me shave myself, cut my nails, and have a knife at breakfast and
dinner?" asked the King who resented the precautions that had been
taken; "and will he treat me as his sovereign, and not command me as a
subject?" "Sir, I am a plain man, not used to courts, but I honour and
respect my King;" and he won George's confidence by letting him
forthwith shave himself. Willis watched the King for twenty-four hours,
and then expressed his opinion that "the malady had been too long
suffered to remain, but that if the constitution could bear the remedies
necessary to work out the disease, he had no fear for a cure."[256]
[256] Papendiek: _Court and Private Life_.
"In the consultation which settled the respective functions", Dr. Ray
has stated, "Willis was to have charge of all the domestic and strictly
moral management--in accordance, however, with such general views as had
been agreed upon. The medical treatment was arranged in the morning
consultations, and it was understood that Willis was to take no decisive
measure, either medical or moral, not previously discussed and
permitted. Pepys, Gisborne and Reynolds attended, in rotation, from four
o'clock in the afternoon until eleven the next morning. Warren or Baker
visited in the morning, saw the King, consulted with Willis and the
physicians, who had remained over night, and agreed with them upon the
bulletin for the day. Willis was soon joined by his son John, whose
particular function seems not to have been very definitely settled.
Willis professed to regard him as equal to himself in point of dignity
and responsibility, but his colleagues considered him merely as an
assistant to his father. Two surgeons and two apothecaries were also
retained, each one, in turn, staying twenty-four hours in the palace.
The personal service was rendered by three attendants whom Willis had
procured from his own establishment, and the King's pages--one attendant
and one page being constantly in his room."[257]
[257] Dr. Ray: _The Insanity of King George III_.
It would be out of place in this work to enter into the details of
Willis's treatment, but it may be stated that for the mode of restraint
used before he came on the scene, he employed one that, while exercising
a more firm coercion, was not so teasing to the patient. It has been
told how when the King, convalescent, was walking through a corridor at
Kew with one of his equerries, he saw a straight-jacket lying in a
chair, "You need not be afraid to look at it," he said to his companion,
who, somewhat embarrassed, had averted his eyes, "Perhaps it is the best
friend I ever had in my life." Willis did not, however, rely entirely
upon coercion, as did most of the physicians of that day in cases of
insanity; but endeavoured by kindness to establish a hold upon the King.
"Willis has, I understand, already acquired a complete ascendency over
him," William Grenville wrote a couple of days after the mad-doctor took
charge, "which is the point for which he is particularly famous."[258]
Sheridan, too, remarked, in one of his speeches that Willis professed to
have the gift of seeing the heart by looking at the countenance, and,
with a touch of delicious humour, added, looking at Pitt, that this
simple statement seemed to alarm the right honourable gentleman.
[258] Duke of Buckingham: _Court and Cabinets of George III_.