The king, with the gayest good-humour, did his utmost to comfort them;
and then gave a relation of the affair, with a calmness and unconcern
that, had any one but himself been his hero, would have been regarded as
totally unfeeling.
You may have heard it wrong; I will concisely tell it right. His
carriage had just stopped at the garden-door at St. James's, and he
had just alighted from it, when a decently-dressed woman, who had been
waiting for him some time, approached him, with a petition. It was
rolled up, and had the usual superscription--“For the king's most
excellent majesty.” She presented it with her right hand; and at the
same moment that the king bent forward to take it, she drew from it,
with her left hand, a knife, with which she aimed straight at his heart.
The fortunate awkwardness of taking the instrument with the left hand
made her design perceived before it could be executed;--the king started
back, scarce believing the testimony of his own eyes; and the woman made
a second thrust, which just touched his waistcoat before he had time
to prevent her;--and at that moment one of the attendants, seeing her
horrible intent, wrenched the knife from her hand.
“Has she cut my waistcoat?” cried he, in telling it,--“Look! for I have
had no time to examine.”
Thank heaven, however, the poor wretch had not gone quite so far.
“Though nothing,” added the king, in giving his relation, “could have
been sooner done, for there was nothing for her to go through but a thin
linen, and fat.”
While the guards and his own people now surrounded the king, the
assassin was seized by the populace, who were tearing her away, no doubt
to fall the instant sacrifice of her murtherous purpose, when the king,
the only calm and moderate person then present, called aloud to the mob,
“The poor creature is mad!--Do not hurt her! She has not hurt me!”
He then came forward, and showed himself to all the people, declaring
he was perfectly safe and unhurt; and then gave positive orders that
the woman should be taken care of, and went into the palace, and had his
levee.[207]
There is something in the whole of his behaviour upon this occasion that
strikes me as proof indisputable of a true and noble courage: for in
a moment so extraordinary--an attack, in this country, unheard of
before--to settle so instantly that it was the effect of insanity, to
feel no apprehension of private plot or latent conspiracy--to stay out,
fearlessly, among his people, and so benevolently to see himself to the
safety of one who had raised her arm against his life,--these little
traits, all impulsive, and therefore to be trusted, have given me an
impression of respect and reverence that I can never forget, and never
think of but with fresh admiration.
If that love of prerogative, so falsely assigned, were true, what an
opportunity was here offered to exert it! Had he instantly taken refuge
in his palace, ordered out all his guards, stopped every avenue to St.
James's, and issued his commands that every individual present at this
scene should be secured and examined,--who would have dared murmur, or
even blame such measures? The insanity of the woman has now fully been
proved; but that noble confidence which gave that instant excuse for her
was then all his own.