The Third George

Gloucester's secret marriage

George could not now find solace even at Kew. He missed his mother deeply and he thought of her constantly. He felt that all his brothers and sisters were alien to him; and he was a sentimental man; he had wanted to believe they were such a happy family. He could not bear to think of Caroline Matilda, virtually a prisoner in exile, her punishment for entering into an adulterous intrigue which she made no attempt to deny. Indeed how could she, with the evidence against her?

And this was his little sister. The news from Brunswick was sordid and unpleasant, although he believed his sister Augusta made the best of it and at least did not add to his humiliation by undignified conduct. But he had never loved Augusta; that year of seniority had always been between them. When they were young she had bullied him; and when they were older had shown her resentment because although she was the first born he was the boy. And now Cumberland's disgraceful marriage. And as for William, Duke of Gloucester, the only other brother left to him, there were whispers about his life to which George assiduously closed his eyes.

Charlotte was a comfort. She never caused him the slightest scandal. There she was calmly in the background, sewing, praying, living the quiet domestic life and being he had to admit it excessively dull. Not that she should ever know that he thought that. Not that he would betray by a look that he thought often of Sarah Lennox and wanted to hear all about the scandal she was creating, bearing another man's child and running off and leaving her husband. She had now left her lover and was, he heard, living quietly at Goodwood House under the protection of her brother, the Duke of Richmond. Sometimes he imagined that Richmond blamed him for what had happened to Sarah. There were often times when he thought Richmond went out of his way to plague him. But he felt that about many people. Yet occasionally there were times, though he felt well and his mind was lively, when he was a little afraid of that persecution mania which had been with him so strongly at the time of that fearful illness, on which even now he did not like to dwell.

But he still thought of Sarah ... longingly ... and of women like Elizabeth Pembroke. Ah, there was a beauty! Unsuccessfully married both of them; and he supposed his marriage with Charlotte would be called a success. It has to be, he told himself desperately. I have to set an example.

But in his fancy he thought of other women. It was as far as he would ever progress in infidelity.

He must set that example, more especially because there was such licence in his Court.

There was Elizabeth Chudleigh, that old friend of his who had helped him to pursue his relationship with Hannah Lightfoot. How grateful he had been then! But would he have been wiser not to have taken that advice? Oh, it was easy to be wise after the event. But at that time Elizabeth Chudleigh had wished to please him and that was why she had acted as she had.

Elizabeth had been creating a certain amount of scandal. She had travelled widely in Europe, had become a close friend of King Frederick in Berlin; and when her husband Augustus Hervey asked her for a divorce because he wished to marry, she hurried home. It had been a curious case.

Elizabeth was near to marry the Duke of Kingston, whose mistress she had been so many years, and when it was not possible to arrange the divorce, declared that she had never really been married, and now she had gone through a form of marriage with the Duke of Kingston.

It was all very complicated, thought the King; and he did not wish to hear of it. He did not wish to see Elizabeth because she reminded him of Hannah Lightfoot. So he was pleased to push her to the back of his mind, but her strange behaviour did underline the licentiousness of his Court which he was trying to combat. All these women he admired were adventuresses, it seemed; and the admirable one was Charlotte. Charlotte with her little body, the plain face, the wide mouth which the lampoonists likened to a crocodile's. Charlotte, his wife. So plain, so good, so dull.

So he must commit his infidelities in dreams and in reality remain Charlotte's good husband. He gave evidence of this. Elizabeth had been born as also had been Ernest Augustus bringing the total up to eight. Five boys and three girls; and they had not yet been married ten years! No one could doubt that they were doing their duty. But he was deeply disturbed about his brothers and he kept remembering his mother's injunctions to get a law passed which would prevent royal personages marrying without their sovereign's consent.

He thought of those five boys and three girls and sincerely hoped that they would not bring him as much trouble as their aunts and uncles had. And thinking of this he decided that his mother was right and that something should be done.

The King was preparing a message which would be delivered to his Parliament: His Majesty, being desirous, from paternal affection to his own family and anxious concern for the future welfare of his people, and the honour and dignity of his Crown, that the right of approving all marriages in the royal family (which ever has belonged to the Kings of this Realm as a matter of public concern) may be made effectual, recommends to both houses of Parliament to take into their serious consideration whether it may not be wise or expedient to supply the defects of the law now in being, and by some new provision more effectually to guard the descendants of his late Majesty King George II (other than the issue of Princesses who may have married or may hereafter marry into foreign families) from marrying without the approbation of His Majesty, his heirs and successors.

When this message was delivered to the two Houses it was received with hostility. Chatham, on one of his rare appearances in the House of Lords, hobbled in, swathed in bandages, to thunder against the Act.

"New fangled and impudent," he cried. Others said: "This should be called "An Act to encourage Fornication and Adultery in the Descendants of George III".”

Lord North came to see the King and shook his head over the Bill. "It is most unpopular, Your Majesty.”

"I am sure it is right," declared George obstinately. "This must go through.”

The opposition continued. It was called a wicked act; but the King was determined.

He wrote to Lord North: I do expect every nerve to be strained to carry the Bill through both Houses with a becoming firmness, for it is not a question which immediately relates to the administration but personally to myself, and therefore I have a right to expect a hearty support from everyone in my service and shall remember defaulters.

The last phrase was ominous. Although this was a constitutional monarchy the King carried great weight, having the power to appoint ministers. There were some though who opposed him. One of these was Charles James Fox, a young man who was already beginning to make himself known in the House. Son of Lord Holland, nephew of Sarah Lennox, he was a man of overpowering personality. He stood firmly against the Marriage Act and resigned because of it.

A plague on young Fox, thought the King. His own mother, daughter of the Duke of Richmond, had run away from home to marry Henry Fox. A misalliance, thought the King. One could see the way that young man's mind worked. But he was angry with Mr. Fox. He would remember him.

The Bill had a stormy passage and could not be passed through exactly as the King wished. It was amended. The consent of the Sovereign should only be necessary until the parties were twenty-six years of age, after which a marriage might take place unless Parliament objected. A year's notice of the proposed alliance must be given.

Modified as the Bill was there were still storms of protest; but eventually it was passed with a meagre majority.

No sooner had the Marriage Bill been passed than George received a communication from his brother William Henry, Duke of Gloucester. William Henry had a confession to make. Six years before he had married and, because he believed that the King would not approve of his marriage, he had kept it secret. Now, of course, that the Marriage Bill had been passed, he must come out into the open.

And the woman he had married was Lady Waldegrave, the widow of their tutor whom George had so intensely disliked. That was not all. Lady Waldegrave was, in the King's opinion, most unsuited to be the wife of a royal duke. She was the illegitimate daughter of Sir Edward Walpole and her mother was said to have been a milliner! George was wounded not only by this most unsuitable marriage but by the fact that for six years his brother had kept it secret from him.

"The fool! The idiot!" he shouted. "They have no sense ... these brothers of mine. They think of nothing ... nothing but the gratification of their senses. They don't look ahead. They forget they are royal and they allow themselves to be caught by adventuresses.”

Charlotte, hearing the news, because it spread rapidly through the Court, tried to comfort her husband.

"At least we set a good example," she reminded him.

He looked at her ... plain little Charlotte, the mother of his numerous progeny. He had had to accept her; while his brothers chose these fascinating sirens whose unsuitability meant they must be doubly desirable, because even his reckless brothers would not be trapped into marriage unless they were. The more he thought of them, the more his lips tightened, and the more angry he became.

"They shall not be received at Court," he said. Then he was sad, thinking of the old days.

"Gloucester was my favourite brother after Edward died. We were often together and when he was young he was so serious.”

Charlotte nodded. "But that was only because he could not be anything else.”

"He was a good religious boy ... and so was Edward ... when we were all together in the schoolroom.”

"But they lost their seriousness with their freedom.”

"A madness seemed to possess them," began George, and was silent suddenly. That word which his mother had always hated to hear on his lips! No, no ... he thought ... a wildness. He went on: "A reckless desire to find pleasure ... everywhere. It seems as though they thought they had so much to make up for. I can't understand my brothers. Why do they have to behave in this way?”

Charlotte could not say. Her expression was prim. She was becoming very like her husband.

"I shall not receive them," said George. "I shall not accept this marriage. It may have been entered into before the Marriage Act but I shall not accept it all the same. Why should I, eh? What?”

But a further letter came from Gloucester. His wife was expecting a child. He hoped this would influence the King to accept them. When George read this he threw it on to his table. His brothers were going to be forced to realize their responsibility. He had had to make sacrifices; so should they. His family had displeased him and he was disappointed in them all. He remembered how he had adored Lord Bute and how he had been the last one to understand the relationship between that nobleman and his mother.

No, he was not going to be duped any more. They would have to understand that he was the King and he made the decisions. And why should his brothers enjoy the pleasures of matrimony with these fascinating women while he the King had constantly to think of his duty?

He wrote to his brother that, after the birth of the child, he would have the marriage as well as the birth 'enquired into'. This enraged Gloucester who replied that he must have an immediate enquiry, and if the King would not agree with this he would take the case personally to the House of Lords.

What could George do? He was hemmed in by the rules and regulations of constitutional monarchy. His power was limited; laws could be passed without his will. It was possible for the Lords to declare the marriage valid without his consent. There was nothing to be done.

He gave way. He accepted Gloucester's marriage; but that did not mean Gloucester would be welcome at Court. He would not receive his brother; and Queen Charlotte declared that she had no intention of receiving the milliner's daughter.

Gloucester laughed at them, and with his wife set about indulging his favourite hobby: travel. So the Gloucesters travelled all over the Continent and the Cumberlands enjoyed life at home; and neither of them cared that they were not received at Court. The Court was dull in any case. What else could it be, presided over by George and Charlotte?

George spent more and more time with his family. His children enchanted him. The model farm, the games of cricket, the wandering through the country lanes that was the life for him. But he knew in his heart that he would not hold out against his brothers. He could not forget how close they had all been in the schoolroom. In due course he would receive them; he would be kind to their wives; because whatever they had done they were his brothers and he was a very sentimental man. Loss of sister, colony and statesman. Harassed by family trouble, George was no less troubled by affairs of state.

The situation between his government and the American Colonists was growing more and more tense. The East India Company was in difficulties and the Government was forced not only to subsidize it but to give it a monopoly to export tea to America.

Previously their Bohea tea had been brought to England where a duty of one shilling in the pound was levied on it. Although tea which entered the American Colonies was taxed, the tax was much lower than that in England, being only three pence instead of a shilling, which meant that the Colonists were getting their tea at half the price of the English.

This was not the issue at stake, which was that the Americans refused to be taxed or governed by the Mother Country. It violated their rights, they insisted, and there were members of the British Government who agreed with them, notably Chatham.

Disaster was threatening, but neither the King nor Lord North could see this; they lacked the vision to put themselves in the place of the colonists and were being dragged farther and farther into a disaster which was all the more to be deplored because it was unnecessary.

That the colonists were in a fighting mood was apparent when a party of young men, disguised as Mohawk Indians, boarded a vessel belonging to the East India Company and which was carrying a consignment of Bohea tea to the value of 18,000 pounds and tipped it into Boston harbour. It was a sign for disorder to break out throughout the American Colonies.

George and Lord North discussed the matter together and decided that a firm hand was needed.

There must be no conciliatory measures. Those of the past, they agreed, were responsible for what was happening now.

There was a storm of protest in the Government. Charles James Fox was using his considerable talents to oppose Lord North. Chatham, wrapped in flannel, arrived to make a protest in which he cried: "Let the Mother Country act like an affectionate parent towards a beloved child, pass an amnesty on their youthful errors, and clasp them once more in her arms.”

North raged against the feeble conduct of the Opposition and a great problem faced the Government: to give the Colony independence in the hope that it would remain loyal to the Crown, or to force it to remain subservient to the Mother Country by force of arms.

North and the King chose the second alternative, and it was decided to send Lieutenant General Thomas Gage to subdue the colonists. He told the King that the colonists would be lions if they were lambs, but that if they themselves were resolute the colonists would be very meek.

This misconception was not proved until too late, and George was soon writing to North: "The die is now cast and the Colonies must either submit or triumph. I do not wish to come to severer measures, but we must not retreat." The die was indeed cast; and George was about to commit that error of judgement which was to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Then there was a further tragedy.

In her exile at Celle, Caroline Matilda had settled down to a not uncomfortable existence. It was a relief to be free of the Danish Court and not to have to see Christian, that husband who disgusted her and had become almost a lunatic by now. All she regretted was the loss of her children and for them she did pine. News was, however, brought to her of them from time to time and she tried to make the best of life.

Remembering the old days when they had all practised amateur theatricals, she arranged for a theatre to be constructed in the castle; and this was done. There she gathered together a little band of actors and they performed plays in which Caroline Matilda took a prominent part. She would tell them of her childhood when her family had all enjoyed amateur theatricals and how Lord Bute, who had been almost like a father to them for she had never known her own, having been born after his death, had been so clever at stage-managing and acting, in fact everything concerned with the theatre.

She read a great deal and was visited often, by people who came from England. They brought her news from home which she welcomed. Her resignation ended when she received a visit one day from a young Englishman, a Mr. Wraxall, who was gay, handsome and in search of adventure.

It was pleasant to have such a charming and amusing young man at her Court and when he told Caroline Matilda that he believed there were many people in Denmark who would welcome her back, they put their heads together to try to work out a scheme to bring about her return.

Caroline Matilda was not certain that she wished to go; but she was only twenty-three and although she had put on a great deal of weight she was still attractive; she was so fair that her hair was almost white and her eyes, so like George's, were blue and sparkling. She was attracted to Mr.

Wraxall and his devotion gave her great pleasure, so she found herself drawn more and more into his schemes. They would sit together in the French garden within the castle grounds, and talk of the days when she would again mount the throne of Denmark.

"It will be wonderful," she told Mr. Wraxall, 'to see my children again. Little Frederick must miss me and Louisa ... she will not remember, but she will hear tales of me ... perhaps unpleasant tales.

They will turn her against me.”

"They will not do that," Mr. Wraxall assured her, 'because you are going to be there with them ...

before long.”

It was so pleasant to bask in Mr. Wraxall's admiration and dream of the future that she wondered why she had ever been content to remain in exile. They talked constantly of the glory that would be hers when she was back in her rightful place. She would start again; she would be the great Queen of the Danes; and when her little Frederick ruled, she would be beside him. It was a very alluring picture ... pleasant to imagine, exciting to talk of.

Sometimes when she was alone, though, she thought of the charms of Celle, of her delightful French garden, of her theatre, of the little world of which she was the centre. Apart from the fact that she was separated from her children she could have been perfectly happy here.

She thought of England where she had led an extremely sheltered life, shut away from fun, kept behind the scenes by a stern mother. Her mother was dead now, but she had heard that the English Court was dull. She had never greatly cared for Charlotte who had always seemed so insignificant. She loved George, of course, but he was scarcely the most exciting person in the world. That was England. And then Denmark. Exciting, yes, when she and Struensee had been lovers; but what had been the end of that? She shivered; she had come rather near to losing her life.

But she was young and she did not want to be like her great-grandmother and spend twenty years in exile. When she next saw Mr. Wraxall she pointed out to him that their plan could not possibly succeed unless they had money, and the only place where they could hope for that was from England.

"My brother," she said, 'is the only one who could help us. If he gave his approval to this scheme I would be ready to act without delay.”

Mr. Wraxall looked dismayed, but he had to agree that she was right. If the plan were to succeed, they would need money. "And you think your brother would help us?”

She was thoughtful. Would George help? George was just a little mean, but was that over the small household matters? As for Charlotte, she had the reputation of being a miser, but Charlotte was not involved in this. She, poor insignificant creature, had no say in anything.

She did not really believe anything would come of the affair; it was something to dream about as one sat in the spring sunshine in the French garden.

Mr. Wraxall said he would go to London to see if he could arrange an interview with the King, which he was sure he would be able to do when the King knew he had come from his sister. Then he would ask George for his help and when they had it, they would go triumphantly ahead with their plan.

"Pray do that," said Caroline Matilda. "And I will await your return with the good news.”

So Mr. Wraxall left for London and Caroline Matilda waited, without any great enthusiasm, for her brother's response.

The King's equerry stood before him.

"A gentleman, Your Majesty, who asks an audience. He says his name is Wraxall and that he comes from the Queen of Denmark.”

George's emotions were in revolt. There had been so much trouble already, that he had come to expect nothing else from his relations. Caroline Matilda with some request. He could guess what that request would be. She was tired of her exile; she wanted to return to Denmark or to come to England. She was tired of living in the shadows. But only there was she safe.

She was his little sister though, and he remembered her as a chubby baby and afterwards as the little girl with the bright eyes and eager smile who was always clamouring for a part in the family plays. He smiled fondly. But she was not the same. She had become the woman who had indulged in an adulterous intrigue and who had nearly involved her country in war. The scandal of her behaviour had swept through Europe.

"No, no," said George. "If people will not learn restraint, they must take the consequences.”

He had had to restrain his impulses; he had had to give up Hannah, give up Sarah and marry Charlotte. Others had to make sacrifices. His mouth was primly set.

"I do not know Mr. Wraxall," he said, 'and I cannot see him." But as usual his conscience would not let him rest. Caroline Matilda's face was constantly before him. He kept thinking of the day she had been born when he had first seen her and his mother had said: "You must take care of your little sister always, George, for remember she has no father." And he had vowed he would take care of her. He asked one of his gentlemen-in-waiting to see Mr. Wraxall and find out what he wanted.

He listened to the plan. His help and money was needed to bring Caroline back to Denmark. What a child she was! Did she not understand that she might be asking him to involve his country in war? Had he not enough troubles? His two brothers had made unsatisfactory marriages; they were not received at Court because of this; and the eternal American question was in his mind day and night.

"Mr. Wraxall should be told that "there is nothing England can do until the Queen of Denmark is securely back on the throne of Denmark. If she were, we would support her. You think you can make him understand, eh? What?”

And Mr. Wraxall, being the most optimistic of gentlemen, stayed on in London hoping that the King would change his mind. Caroline Matilda waited listlessly in Celle for the return of Wraxall.

She guessed that George would do nothing. George did not approve of the scheme; he knew it was doomed to failure right from the start.

One morning in May she arose early and sat at her window looking out over the gardens. The trees were in bud and some were already showing a glimpse of tiny leaves. Oh, she thought, it is very beautiful here in Celle. One of her women came to her with an expression half shocked, half excited.

"Madam," she said, 'one of the pages is dead.”

"Dead! Where is he?”

"He is in the pages' room.”

Caroline Matilda went straight there and looked at the young boy who was lying on a couch. She shivered and turned away.

"How did it happen?”

"We do not know, Your Majesty," was the answer. "We can only believe it must have been something he ate.”

"Have the doctors been called?”

"Yes, Your Majesty. They say it may well be something he has eaten.”

"Poor child," she said, and lightly touched his forehead.

She could not get him out of her mind. Something he ate? Something tainted, by accident or by design? How could one be sure? Poor child. What harm had he done anyone? She lay in her bed; her women had come to help her dress.

"No news from England then?" she asked.

"None, Your Majesty.”

"I doubt not we shall soon have Mr. Wraxall with us," she said.

They dressed her hair; they put on her gown; and she went walking in the French garden. One must take a little exercise. George had always said that the family had a tendency to fatness, and how right he was. She was beginning to feel the inconvenience of too much weight; it made one so breathless.

When she came in from the garden she felt a little unwell; so she retired to her apartments and lay down. Her throat felt hot and dry. Her women came in and were alarmed at the sight of her; the rich colour which was characteristic of her family had left her cheeks; she looked oddly different.

"I am a little unwell," she said.

"Madame, should we call the doctors?”

She shook her head. "It is like a red hot vice grasping my throat.”

They did not say that the little page who had died recently had complained of the same symptoms.

When she allowed the doctors to come to her they saw at once that she was very ill.

**** George was a worried king. Events were not going as he and North had believed they should in North America. He regarded the Opposition's attitude as little short of treason. It was their continual haranguing of the Government and disagreement with its American policy which gave heart to the Colonists. Chatham was making a nuisance of himself in the Lords.

"We shall be forced," he declared, 'ultimately to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when we must.”

Withdraw the troops from America? "Impossible!" said North.

"Impossible!" echoed the King.

Chatham, Charles Fox and Edmund Burke were against the King and the Government. John Wilkes, who had become Lord Mayor of London, drew up a petition with the Livery of the City suggesting that the King dismiss his government because they were responsible for the existing bad relations between the Country and America. George, who had always hated Wilkes, retorted that when he wanted advice he would go to his government for it.

Meanwhile the conflict was going from bad to worse. Gage, as Commander in Chief, had attempted to seize the colonists' arms at Concord and was defeated at Lexington, and shortly after there followed the disaster of Bunkers Hill.

And it was while George was tormented and distressed by this alarming event that news was brought to him from Celle. When he read the letter he stared at it and tears filled his eyes. His sister Caroline Matilda ... dead! It could not be. She was only twenty-four years old. It was true she had lived through a great deal but she was little more than a child.

He questioned the messenger. "How, eh? Tell me. How did it happen ... what?”

There was little to tell. The Queen had fallen sick of an affliction in her throat and in a few days she had died.

"But she was strong ... she was healthy ... and so young.”

Oh, yes, she was young to die. How could it have happened? He heard the story of the page who had died, possibly through eating 'something'. Had Caroline Matilda died for the same reason? No one could say. No one could be sure. Poor ill-fated Caroline Matilda who had lived so quietly in the heart of her family and then for a few violent years as Queen of Denmark.

"It is all trouble," said George. "Sometimes I feel as though I am going mad.”

**** Everyone at Court was talking about the trial of Elizabeth Chudleigh. George was horrified at what had been unfolded. This was the woman whom he had regarded as his friend; and here she was exposed in the courts as the most scheming of adventuresses.

What a devious course she had travelled! Her life was one long tangle of lies. When she had been living at Court as spinster Elizabeth Chudleigh she had in fact been married to the Honourable Augustus John Hervey. There had even been a child of the union, who, perhaps fortunately, had died. Elizabeth had been unsure whether she would acknowledge her marriage to Hervey until his uncle, the Earl of Bristol, whose heir he was, had been on the point of dying. Then she had considered it would not be such a bad thing to become Countess of Bristol; but before the Earl had died she had become the mistress of the Duke of Kingston and had decided that she would rather be the Duchess of Kingston than the Countess of Bristol. Because she did not wish to suffer the scandal of a divorce she had pretended her marriage to Hervey had not taken place and when there was an opportunity of marrying the Duke of Kingston she had done so, forcing Hervey to silence on their marriage.

During her spell as Duchess of Kingston, Elizabeth had haunted her position; one of her many extravagances had been to build a mansion in Knightsbridge which was known as Kingston House. The Duke, who was many years older than Elizabeth, did not long survive the marriage; and he left his fortune to Elizabeth on condition that she remained a widow since he feared that her vast fortune might attract adventurers.

This caused some amusement among those who knew Elizabeth for the biggest adventuress of them all. Elizabeth, however, was not satisfied with the arrangement and the story of her remarkable adventures would never have been known had not her late husband's nephew, on information he had received from an ex-maid of Elizabeth's, brought a charge of bigamy against Elizabeth which, if proved, would mean that she had never been the Duke's true wife.

Elizabeth who had been travelling in Italy enjoying her wealth was forced to come home to face the charges. She was a woman who was in the thick of adventure even in Rome, where she had difficulty in obtaining the money she needed from the English banker until she produced a pistol and forced him to supply it. Nothing it seemed was too outrageous for Elizabeth to do.

And now the trial was entertaining the whole of London. There was Elizabeth the young adventuress, whose portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds had delighted London before her arrival, which fact had decided her to leave Devonshire and seek her fortune in the capital city. To London she had come, found a place in the household of the Princess Dowager, attracted the interest of the King George II, secretly married Hervey, decided she had made a mistake, destroyed the church register; and then when there had been a possibility of Hervey's becoming Earl of Bristol, forged a new sheet in the register to replace the old one she had destroyed. Then deciding that Kingston had more to offer her she ignored her marriage with Hervey and married the Duke.

This was Elizabeth Chudleigh, the sparkling vivacious maid-of-honour who had befriended George when Prince of Wales, who had learned the secret of Hannah Lightfoot, who had used it to blackmail the Princess Dowager and Lord Bute and now faced a charge of bigamy. No wonder everyone was talking about Elizabeth Chudleigh; it was far more interesting than all the dreary controversy about the American Colonies.

But the King could not escape from the American problem; he could not sleep for thinking of it.

He grew more and more stubborn; he would not give way to these rebels; he was not going to be browbeaten. The fact that so many in his own kingdom believed his policy and that of North to be wrong made him stand more firmly behind his chief Minister.

"I am ever ready," he said, 'to receive addresses and petitions, but I am the judge where." That was the crux of the matter. He was going to be the judge. He was King George and he was going to rule. For years his mother had said to him: George, be a king. Well, now he was the King; and he was going to show it.

He no longer had the blind faith in Chatham that he once had had. There had been a time when he had believed that if Pitt would form a government all would be well; the people had believed it too; but Pitt had become Chatham and Chatham was a poor invalid, a man who suffered cruelly from the gout and who, it was said, had once lost his reason through his illness.

Lost his reason! The King shivered at the thought; and tried not to remember that period of his own life when his brain had become a little crowded. That was past. It should never happen again; but it haunted him like a grey ghost, always ready to leap out at him and torment him at unguarded moments.

Now when he spoke of Chatham he called him that 'perfidious man', 'that trumpet of sedition', for there were times when Chatham in the House of Lords thundered his disapproval of the Government with all the fire which had belonged to the Great Commoner.

Chatham was now urging the King at all costs to put an end to the strife in America, to stop this barbarous war against 'our brethren'. He wanted every oppressive Act passed since 1763 to be repealed.

Lord North, who like the King had become deeply affected by the struggle, wanted to retire, but George would not allow this. In this conflict with America, George declared, he had the majority of Englishmen behind him; he was stubborn; he had made up his mind that weakness was disaster.

He shut his eyes to military losses; he had set himself on a course of action and he believed it would be folly to give it up. It would be construed as weakness and they could not afford to be weak. He kept hearing his mother's voice ringing in his ears: "George, be a king.”

It was alarming to learn that Americans were visiting the Court of France and the French were offering help in all forms, short of declaring war, and that there were many Frenchmen who were urging Louis XVI to go as far as that.

North was in a panic. He longed to escape from the storm which he had helped to raise. England needed a strong man now and there was one whom the French feared above all other Englishmen.

William Pitt had brought humiliation and disaster to their country; he had snatched Canada, America and India from them! He had made England a force to be reckoned with. And Pitt was still in the field of action even though he masqueraded under the name of Chatham.

North sought to introduce two Bills which he believed would win the approval of both England and America. In the first the right of the English Parliament to tax Americans would be relinquished; in the second a commission would be set up to adjust all differences.

Charles Fox supported this Bill, but some members of the Opposition were against it. North had shown himself to be the enemy of America, they said, and the Americans would be too proud to accept such offers from him. George himself clung to his desire to remain strong, but he did not oppose North's proposals; yet North again attempted to give up the seals and step into the background. He wrote to the King informing him of this desire.

"Lord North feels that both his mind and body grow every day more infirm and unable to struggle with the hardships of these arduous times.”

But George would not let him go. His great desire was to keep North as head of his Government, for he would never approach Chatham again.

Chatham, watching the way events were shaping was now seeing himself once more as the one man who could bring his country out of the morass of disaster into which she had fallen. It was Chatham who had brought America to England; how right that it should be Chatham who should heal the breach between the two countries.

He could not agree that America should be allowed to declare her Independence. He could not bear to let America go. He deplored the faulty statesmanship which had brought about this disastrous situation. But he was certain that it was not too late. He hobbled into the House of Lords, his legs encased in flannel, supported by his son and his son-in-law.

"I rejoice," he cried, with a return of his old fire, 'that the grave has not closed over me so that I can raise my voice against the dismemberment of this ancient and most noble monarchy. Pressed down as I am, I am little able to help my country at this perilous juncture, but while I have sense and memory I will never consent to deprive the royal offspring of the House of Brunswick, the heirs of the Princess Sophia, of their fairest inheritance...”

His voice faltered a little and then the old power rang out.

"I am not, I confess, well informed of the resources of this kingdom, but I trust it has still sufficient to maintain its just rights, though I know them not. But any state is better than despair.

Let us make one effort and if we must fall, let us fall like men.”

He sat down in his seat helped by the members of his family.

The Duke of Richmond replied that it was not practical to keep the American Colonies. They could not hold them and to continue to attempt to would weaken the country still further and make an attack by France possible. The country was not prepared for war.

Chatham rose and protested once more against the dismemberment of this ancient and most noble monarchy. The threat of French invasion made him laugh. He turned violently to the Duke of Richmond and then suddenly he swayed and would have fallen had his son not caught him in his arms. The debate ended and Pitt was carried out to a nearby house in Downing Street. There was no doubt that he was very ill.

A few days later he expressed a wish to go to his beloved house at Hayes and he was taken there.

In three weeks he was dead.

The body of the Great Commoner lay in state for two days and was buried in the north transept at Westminster Abbey.

"That," said the people," is the end of Pitt, one of the greatest of English statesmen." But this was not quite the truth. The chief mourner was the dead man's second son, his firstborn being abroad.

His son was William Pitt, named after his father; he was nineteen and he was determined to be as great a politician as the father he mourned.

So the great struggle had come to an end with ignominious defeat for the King and his country.

George knew this humiliating memory would haunt him for the rest of his life; and he was right: it did. Often he was heard to murmur: "I shall never lay my head on my last pillow in peace as long as I remember my American Colonies.”

In the meantime Charlotte had spent the greater part of her time being pregnant. Ernest had been born in June 1771; Augustus in January 1773; Adolphus in February 1774; Mary in April 1776; Sophia in November 1777; and Octavius in February 1779. So that by the year 1780 they had thirteen children.

And at the beginning of that year no one was very surprised to learn that Charlotte was pregnant again.