The Third George: (Georgian Series) (32 page)

Charlotte did see; and she pointed out that with her constant childbearing it was hardly likely that she could be anything else.

George replied that he had his duties as she had. But although he was determined to live a completely virtuous life he could not help his heart beating a little faster every time he saw a pretty woman.

He was disturbed when he heard that Sarah Lennox had given birth to a daughter who, it was said, was not her husband’s, but that Sarah’s cousin Lord William Gordon was the father.

‘Shocking! Shocking!’ said the King and thought wistfully of Sarah, adding to himself: ‘Lucky escape. I was well rid of that one.’

But that did not prevent his thinking of her. However virtuous a man was, and intended to continue to be, he could not help erotic images coming into his mind, much as he tried to suppress them.

Then there was Elizabeth, Lady Pembroke, whom he had always admired. A beautiful woman, this Elizabeth, and not very happily married either. The Earl had eloped with a Miss Kitty Hunter some years before; George had been very sympathetic and had done his best to comfort Elizabeth, often holding her hand while he told her that if her husband failed to appreciate her, he, George, thought her one of the loveliest women he had ever seen. Elizabeth was grateful to him and if George had been slightly less virtuous he might have been her lover. But the Earl had returned and the marriage had been patched up. Yet he often dreamed of Elizabeth Pembroke.

There was Bridget, Lord Northington’s eldest daughter – a charming girl. He had been rather fond of her too.

Charlotte was, he admitted in his franker moments, so very plain and unexciting. But he must remember that it was the duty of the King to set an example to his people; so he diverted these
desires for beautiful women into stricter controls for his own household. He himself saw that the Sunday Observance was kept, and that gambling stakes were not too high.

It was soon being said that he was a petty tyrant in his household – obsessed by the need to live virtuously and force others to do the same.

He was beset by political anxieties. He had suffered great disappointment over Chatham whom he had thought would take the helm as he had in his grandfather’s day and guide them to prosperity. But Chatham was not the same man that William Pitt had been. His title was like a cloak which suffocated his brilliance. He had lost the confidence of the people, and his infirmity had taken possession of him.

He kept to his house in Bond Street and lay in a darkened room cursing the gout which had laid him low; overcome by melancholia. He knew that in his present condition even if he could hobble to the House his mind would not be sufficiently alert to grapple with the problems of state.

George, up to this time, had a pathetic belief in Chatham. If Chatham would be the man he had once been, the country’s affairs would be straightened out and all would go smoothly. But Lady Chatham was constantly writing to the King telling him that if only her husband’s health matched his devotion to His Majesty and his zeal to serve him, Lord Chatham would be waiting on the King at this time.

Meanwhile there was trouble with the American Colonies who so bitterly resented interference from St James’s and were declaring that they could not and would not submit to taxation imposed by the British Government.

England needed a Pitt at this time and Pitt had turned into Lord Chatham and lay writhing on his bed.

All during the summer Chatham saw no one. Whenever any of his colleagues in the Government called, Lady Chatham assured them that her husband was too ill to be seen. There were rumours as to his reasons for hiding himself away. Had he quarrelled with the King? Had he gone mad? Grafton sought to control the party and failed. Chatham’s policy of removing taxation from the American Colonies and establishing harmonious relations was overthrown and Townsend the Chancellor of the Exchequer imposed those taxes.

In his dark room Chatham lay a physical and mental wreck while his wife sought to keep this fact a secret from the world.

In his lucid moments Chatham wished above all things to resign and wrote to the King telling him so, but George would not let him go.

‘Your name has been sufficient to enable my administration to proceed,’ he wrote. He was determined that ill as he was Chatham should remain ostensibly head of the Government.

But this could not continue; and some two years after he had taken office Chatham insisted on retiring and delivered up the Seal.

The King was so worried on receipt of this that he paced up and down his apartment for hours. The name of Pitt had been a magic one to him and he clung to the belief that while that man was head of the Government all would be well.

He was extremely anxious to settle this niggling business of the Colonists and he was sure that Pitt could have done it and that he was the only man who could.

But Chatham’s resignation must perforce be accepted and Frederick second Earl of North became Leader of the House.

North was an old friend of George’s. He had played with him in the nursery when North’s father had been appointed his governor. George remembered Frederick North’s playing in Addison’s
Cato
when they had been very young and amateur theatricals had amused them so much. George had been Fortius and his sister Augusta, Marcia. It all came back so clearly; and it was pleasant to talk over those days with Frederick who had grown into a witty man. He was very good tempered too, as well as being very like George to look at; in fact when they had been young they could have been brothers. The Prince of Wales, when they were boys, had said that the likeness was suspicious and joked with North’s father that one of their wives must have played them false. The likeness was still undoubtedly remarkable; and not only that – North could be as obstinate as George himself, another trait they had in common.

He had the same prominent eyes which in his case were extremely short-sighted; he had a wide mouth and thick lips and with his plump cheeks and his eyes which rolled about ‘to no purpose’ commented Walpole, he looked (Walpole again) like a blind trumpeter.

But George did not agree with these unkind observations. He saw Frederick North as his childhood friend, so like him in many ways that the friendship could comfortably continue.

If he could not have Chatham, North would do very well.

*

George was preparing to receive Christian VII of Denmark and Norway, husband of Caroline Matilda.

The Princess Dowager was delighted that her son-in-law was coming to England, but deplored the fact that he was not bringing Caroline Matilda with him.

She was with Lord Bute discussing this when news was brought to her that the King was descending from his coach to call on her.

‘Oh, my dearest,’ she cried, ‘he had better not find you here.’

They embraced and parted and she watched her lover disappear through the door which led to the secret staircase by which he would reach the street.

‘So different,’ she sighed, ‘from the old days, when we were all together, the three of us. I can’t think what has happened, to George lately. Being king has gone to his head and he’s surrounded by the wrong people and we shall have trouble.’ She touched her throat and the thought came to her then that she might not be here to see it.

George came in and greeted her as affectionately as ever. However much he tried to escape from her influence she was still his mother and he was too sentimental to forget that.

‘My dearest son. How good it is to see you!’

‘You are looking a little tired, Mother.’

‘Nonsense. It’s the light. I am very much looking forward to Christian’s visit.’

‘That is what I came to talk to you about. How strange that he should not be bringing Caroline Matilda with him. After all, it is Caroline Matilda we are really eager to see.’

The Princess smiled. George was such a family man. She was pleased about that at least.

‘I have heard strange rumours from Frederiksberg.’

George nodded. ‘You think Caroline Matilda is unhappy?’

‘Perhaps we shall be able to talk to Christian.’

‘Do you think he will listen?’

‘He should listen to his mother-in-law if he has any courtesy.’

‘I wonder whether he has.’

The Princess Dowager sighed. Neither of her daughters had done very well. Poor Augusta merely Duchess of Brunswick and living in that hateful town in a poor sort of wooden house while her husband’s mistress flaunted her position under her nose. A fine comedown for proud Augusta! What had become of her sharp tongue? Was it any use to her in coping with this most indelicate situation which her boor of a husband insisted she accept? Well she had her daughter now, little Caroline Amelia Elizabeth, and the child must be a comfort to her, although naturally she would have preferred to have a son. But what that child would grow up like in such a court was beyond the Princess Dowager’s divination.

As for Caroline Matilda, her position was as bad, for quite clearly Christian did not have much affection for her – otherwise would he be travelling without her?

‘He seems to be a weak-willed young man from what I hear,’ said the Princess Dowager. ‘I do wish he was bringing your sister so that I could hear from her own lips what is happening over there.’

‘I fear you would not be comforted. What?’

‘Oh, you mean Christian’s step-brother. There’s no doubt that his mother will be wishing to see him inherit.’

George nodded grimly. He felt so responsible for his sister’s welfare and he had often wished that they had not hurried Caroline Matilda into marriage. Fifteen was so young; and he liked to have as many members of his family around him as possible. Continually shocked as he was at the wild life his brothers indulged in, he would particularly have enjoyed having a young sister, whom he could advise and on whom he could dote.

But poor little Caroline Matilda had been sent far from home to a young bridegroom – a weak, dissolute young man, more interested in some of his male attendants than in his young bride, and in the strange land she was confronted by this unfortunate scene. And there was a stepmother-in-law with a son whom naturally she would wish to inherit.

‘Poor little Caroline Matilda,’ mused George. ‘I wonder if I shall be able to
talk
to Christian.’

George was obtuse, thought his mother. Did he really believe
that this little pervert would listen to him just because he was King of England!

‘I have heard that Christian has taken Count von Holck as his favourite now.’

George flushed and looked shocked. ‘It’s all so unpleasant. What? But Caroline Matilda has her son, little Frederick, so …’

‘So,’ said the Princess Dowager grimly, ‘our dissolute Christian is at least capable of begetting a child.’

‘I really find this so distasteful, I find it most distasteful,’ said George. ‘I shall do my best to make this known to Christian.’

But when Christian arrived George saw how impossible it was to make any impression on the young man. He sent for Lord Weymouth and asked him to consult the Danish ambassador as to what would best please the young King and to ask for ideas on how to entertain him.

When Weymouth returned to George he said he had had a very direct answer.

‘The way to entertain the King of Denmark is to amuse him,’ was the answer. ‘And the wilder and more perverted the entertainment the more he will be amused.’

‘This is most unpleasant, eh? What?’ said the King; and Weymouth agreed that it was.

It was impossible for George to feel any affection for his brother-in-law. The very sight of the young man disgusted him. If he had seen him before the marriage he would never have agreed to it, but Caroline Matilda had been married by proxy.

There was no doubt of his character. He was not only perverted, he was depraved; and it seemed to be having its effect on his wits.

He was surrounded by courtiers whose main duty it was to praise and glorify him; and the visit depressed George, particularly when he learned that Christian spent his time in the brothels of London in which all kinds of unnatural spectacles had been arranged for his entertainment.

George decided that he would no longer attempt to entertain his brother-in-law, so he went down to Kew to be with Charlotte and the children for a while.

‘I cannot help reminding myself how fortunate we are, eh? When I think of what a life my poor sister is leading in Denmark
… and Augusta is not much better off in Brunswick. We have been lucky, eh? What?’

Charlotte agreed that they had. She was pregnant again, and that year gave birth to her second daughter; she called her Augusta Sophia.

She now had six children after seven years of marriage. It was pleasant to see the nurseries so full; but she was beginning to feel that she would like a little respite, if only for a few years.

*

Meanwhile that inveterate troublemaker, John Wilkes, was getting a little bored with exile and was thinking nostalgically of home.

When he had arrived he had found it most diverting to be welcomed as he was by the literary world of Paris. In the Hôtel de Saxe he had held his little court and later when he took up residence in Rue St Nicaise he had that exciting and much-sought-after courtesan Corradini to live with him and share his exile. This he had found very much to his taste, and after a short residence in Paris they had travelled together to Rome and Naples, and it was in the latter city that he met his fellow countryman James Boswell and they, finding they possessed similar tastes, mostly for women and literature, greatly enjoyed each other’s companionship.

Wilkes had then intended to write a
History of England
but when Corradini left him for another lover he lost interest in the project and returned to Paris to look at a lodging in the Rue des Saints Pères.

Homesickness became more acute; if he had been able to make money with his literary efforts it would have been different; and so would it have been if Corradini had not deserted him. These two factors together made him decide that he did not wish to live among the French. He was pining for the streets of London, for the coffee and chocolate houses, for the taverns and his literary friends; he wanted to be in the thick of the fight, to live dangerously, to send out his scandal sheets and await the consequences. And he wanted money. There was his beloved daughter Mary to educate. She was the only person in the world he cared about and he wanted to give her all that he believed her worthy of, which was a good deal.