The Third George

The Prince of Wales. Fire over London

The King's eldest sons were giving him great cause for alarm, particularly the Prince of Wales. In the past he had looked to his family for comfort and found it. That was when they were children.

Alas, children grow up; and it seemed to be a tradition in the family that the Prince of Wales should be at enmity with the King.

"Why should he, of the whole family, have turned out so? eh?" he demanded of the Queen.

But she could not tell him. Poor Charlotte had had no opportunity to learn anything. In the nineteen years that she had been in England she had been kept as a prisoner, a queen bee in her cell, never allowed to know the secrets of politics, never asked an opinion. They had made of her a Queen Mother, nothing else; and they had kept her very busy at that.

She adored her eldest son; he had been the King of the nursery and well he had known it. With his rich colouring, his blue eyes and golden hair, he was beautiful; and if he was a little wild it was what everyone expected of such a little charmer.

Lady Charlotte Finch had declared him to be a handful, and, worse still, he carried his brother Frederick, who was a year younger than he was, along with him. But the young George had been full of curiosity; he had shown an aptitude for learning which delighted his father, who had never himself been good with his books. Young George, in the seclusion of the Bower Lodge at Kew, had shown good promise. There was nothing else to do but learn, so he learned. He had a good knowledge of the classics, spoke several languages, could draw and paint with a certain amount of talent and seemed avid for learning. High spirited, yes. Mischievous, certainly. Leading his brothers into trouble, it had to be admitted.

"He is such a boy," said his mother fondly and indeed wondered how such a plain creature as herself could have produced such a wonder.

Life at the Bower Lodge had been carefully laid out by the King. The children's domain was not to be contaminated by the Court. So influenced had George been by his mother that he had made the household of his children almost a replica of that which he had known as a boy. He did not pause to consider the conduct of his brothers which had brought such anxiety into his life; nor Caroline Matilda's unhappy experiences in Denmark. Even he himself had broken out over the Lightfoot affair and he could so easily have gone against his elders and married Sarah Lennox. He did not connect the wildness of his brothers with their sequestered childhood. And now here was young George threatening to be as difficult to control as George's brothers had been if not more so.

It was not possible, naturally, to keep the Prince of Wales at Bower Lodge when he was eighteen, that time when princes were considered to be of age. He would demand a household of his own and independence and if he did not demand it, the people would for him. They had always known that he was wilful; he had shown that in the schoolroom. He had swaggered before his brothers and sisters; he had bullied his tutors, slyly reminding them that they had better be careful and not forget that one day he would be king. Boyishness, they had called it.

On his eighteenth birthday he had been given his own establishment in Buckingham House. Now he showed how really troublesome he could be. He had taste for low company and liked to roam the streets with a band of friends as bad as himself incognito, going into taverns and coffee houses, talking about the politics of the day. He would extricate himself from any difficulty by blatant lying if the King saw fit to reproach him; and perhaps most alarming of all, he drank too much. The King, abstemious and puritanical, was very shocked.

"You will grow fat if you drink or eat too much," he told his son. "It's a failing in the family.”

The Prince pretended to be impressed and was laughing up his sleeve. Most grievous of all was that he had no respect for his father. He daren't announce this yet, but it was there between them and the King knew it. And what could he say to the Prince of Wales, his son, who was doubtless eager now to step into his shoes?

Moreover, the King was growing more and more unpopular. Lampoons were circulated about him. There were cartoons representing him in the most ridiculous situations. It was humiliating particularly as the Prince of Wales was so popular. He only had to appear in the streets to have a crowd cheering him.

"What a handsome fellow! ' cried the people; and they told themselves it would be different when he was king. Gone would be the dull old Court presided over by old George who never did anything to amuse them in his private life except go to bed with old Charlotte and produce more and more children to be an expense on the State.

And here was young George, already indicating how different it was going to be when he came to the throne. It would be like the days of Charles II again. A merry England where there was a brilliant Court and a king who would be up to all sorts of gay adventures to amuse his people.

"It causes me great concern," said the King to Charlotte. "What do you think of it, eh? What?”

"He'll settle down," Charlotte assured her husband. "He is so young and after all he is only just experiencing freedom.”

"Experiencing fiddlesticks! ' retorted the King.

Charlotte was really more concerned about little Octavius who was not as strong as the others.

The health of her children had never before been a great cause for anxiety; not only had she been able to breed but to breed strong children. But Octavius had been a little sickly from birth and, though she might have thirteen, the thought that she might lose one of them terrified her. She had learned not to argue with her husband though, so she did not make any more attempt to defend George; fondly she went on believing that he would 'settle down'.

Charlotte was sewing when the King burst into her apartment. His blue eyes looked as though they would pop out of his head and the veins stood out at his temples. Charlotte dismissed her women hastily. When the King looked like this she was always reminded of that terrible illness of his. Like him she was constantly dreading a return of it.

"I have some shocking news ... most shocking ... I could scarce believe my ears. How long has this been going on? I do not know. It is a very degrading thing. Yes, that is what I would call it ...

degrading. I will not have it. I will put a stop to it. This cannot be allowed to go on, eh. What?

What? What?”

He was talking so rapidly that she was terrified. It was so like that other occasion.

"I pray you be seated and tell me what is distressing you.”

"It's that son of ours ... that George ... that Prince of Wales. I don't know what he thinks he is doing. No sense of place ... no sense of dignity, eh? What? What? There is trouble ... trouble ...

everywhere and he has to add to it. What are we going to do about it, eh? eh?”

"I beg of Your Majesty to tell me what has happened.”

"He's been to the play ... been to Drury Lane and he's found a woman there ... an actress ... What does he think he's doing at his age, eh, what?”

George paused. He had been about fourteen when he had first seen Hannah Lightfoot; he had not been much older when he had arranged that she should desert her husband immediately after her marriage to him ... to come away to that house at Islington to be with him. That was different.

That was not flaunting his infatuation. That wasn't setting the whole town talking. That was secret ... very secret. It was different, said George to himself, eh? eh? eh? What?

"Going to the play..." echoed Charlotte.

"Yes, every night to see this, this ... creature. And he has fallen in love with her. Calls her his dear Perdita. She's been playing in Winter's Tale or some such. Shakespeare. Cannot see why there is such a fuss for his plays.”

"But what of the Prince?”

"Making a fool of himself over this actress. Setting her up in an establishment. It's got to stop, I tell you. Can't go on. People talking. People will talk. He's the Prince of Wales ... The woman's an actress ... an adventuress ... laughing at him. Older than he is ... making a fine fool of him and everyone laughing at him behind his back. He has to be made to see, eh? What?”

"Perhaps if I spoke to him.”

George looked at his wife contemptuously. Charlotte speak to that young blade! What a hope that she could make an impression on him. When had Charlotte ever made an impression on anyone?

All she could do was be a petty tyrant in her own household where she had the authority to dismiss a maid if she wanted to. A lot of good Charlotte's speaking to him would do!

"I shall speak to him," declared George.

The Prince could not ignore his father's summons. He swaggered in looking very handsome in his elaborate embroidered waistcoat and buckskin breeches. Extravagant! thought the King. How much in debt is he? That'll be the next thing. Cards, tailors and women. Why should my son be like this?

George smiled insolently at his father. "Your Majesty requested a visit from me.”

"Requested, eh? What? I know nothing of requests. I commanded you to come here. Do you understand, eh? What?”

The King was heated, the Prince incredibly cool. He did not care. There was nothing the King could do to him. He even had his friends in the House, ambitious politicians who were ready to form a Prince's party when the opportunity arose. It was Hanoverian history repeating itself.

Princes of Wales always quarrelled with the Kings and if that King was their father all the fiercer was the quarrel. It was amusing in politics to have an Opposition led by the King-to-be while the King-that-was supported his Government. The Prince enjoyed the situation immensely, particularly as that most amusing, witty and brilliant of statesmen, Charles James Fox, was making overtures to him. The fact was the King was an ignorant old bore, an old fool and apart from a love of music he had no feelings for culture whatsoever.

The Prince felt very superior to the King and was certainly not going to attempt to hide something which in any case he felt to be obvious. The Prince bowed his head and waited with studied indifference for the storm to break.

"You're being talked about, young man.”

"Your Majesty will know that I have always been talked about.”

"I want no insolence," said the King. "You understand that, eh? What?”

The Prince raised his eyebrows.

"It's this woman ... this actress ... You know who I mean, eh?”

"I believe Your Majesty to be referring to Mrs. Mary Robinson.”

"Ah, so you've no doubt of that. It's got to stop. You understand me? It's got to stop, eh? It's got to stop.”

"Indeed.”

"Pray, sir, none of your insolence. I do not think you grasp the extent of your duty to er ... to the state. You must lead a more sober life. You must be er... more ...”

"Like Your Majesty?" said the Prince with the faintest sneer in his voice.

"You must remember that one day you may be King of this realm.”

"I have yet to learn that there is any doubt of that.”

"You be silent and listen to me. You will give up that actress. You will go to her and explain that your duties as Prince of Wales make it impossible for you to continue this er ... this er...”

"Liaison," prompted the Prince.

"This disgusting association," cried the King. "You understand me, eh? what? You stand there smiling. Take that grin off your face. You will go to this woman and tell her. You will do it at once, eh? what? Answer me. I tell you to take that grin off your face.”

"I thought Your Majesty's questions merely rhetorical and that in accordance with those habitually asked by Your Majesty required no answer.”

"You insolent... puppy.”

George advanced, his hand raised. He remembered suddenly an occasion when his grandfather had struck him. It was in Hampton Court and he had never liked the place since. But he had not been insolent like this young fellow. He had merely stammered. He was increasingly remem- bering scenes from the past.

The Prince stolidly stood his ground, amused by his father's vehemence.

"I'll cut your allowance," cried the King.

"That is a matter for the Government.”

Too clever, thought the King. And too much grace. He made his father feel clumsy. He was a social success whereas his father had been shy and gauche at his age. There was a world of difference between them. This George had all the airs and graces to make him popular. He was educated; he played the violin-cello with skill; he could chat in French and Italian and had a better command of the English language than his father could ever have; and his clothes! The King thought them outrageous but he supposed those who liked fashion would admire them. Oh, this son of his, of whom he had once been so proud, had grown too far from him. George realized with a start that he no longer had any control over him.

"And," he said angrily, 'you see too much of your uncle Cumberland. I daresay he thinks this is all very fine, eh, what? I daresay he thinks it's all very well to set actresses up in houses, eh? what?”

"We were discussing only one actress and one establishment, Your Majesty.”

"I'll have no more of your insolence. You learn your ways from Cumberland and his wife, I'll swear. That woman, eh? Very experienced before your uncle was such a fool as to marry her.

Eyelashes a yard long, I heard. Artful as Cleopatra and succeeded in making a fool of your uncle, eh? What?”

"My uncle seems very content to be made a fool of. Your Majesty.”

"Don't answer me back.”

"Ah, I understand. Another of those questions which require no answer. Your Majesty's pardon.”

What could he say to such a one? He was too quick for him. He was the Prince of Wales; people were on his side. He himself was growing old, he supposed; although he was not really old in years. But he felt tired and incapable of handling this young man.

"You will see less of your uncle Cumberland and his wife. You will stop seeing this actress altogether, eh? What? I want no scandal. We cannot afford more scandals in the family. You understand me?”

"A question Your Majesty? Or a prophecy?”

Oh the insolence of the boy!

"You get out of my sight before I... before I..." He needed no second order to do that. He bowed and, pretending to stifle a yawn, sauntered from the apartment. Insolent puppy! What could he do with such a one? George sat down, his brain was whirling. Everything went wrong. America! The Prince of Wales! Everything!

He covered his face with his hands and oddly enough he could see nothing but that woman of his brother's with the eyelashes a yard long and young George with his actress. He had made enquiries about the young woman; she was one of the most beautiful in London. Gloucester had a beautiful wife. They were rogues all of them and he tried to be a virtuous man, a good King. As a result he had Charlotte. Charlotte and a large family who would flout him as the eldest was doing now.

Life was a tragedy and a disappointment. It was as though Hannah and Sarah came to mock him.

It could have been different. At first he tried to shut out of his mind the erotic images that crowded into it. Then he made no attempt to do so. He sat thinking of what might have been.

Very shortly afterwards the shortcomings of the Prince of Wales were forgotten in a disaster which threatened to lay waste the whole of London and Westminster.

Ever since George's association with Hannah Lightfoot he had felt the need for tolerance in religious matters and, although he favoured Quakers particularly, he wanted to be remembered as the King under whom religious freedom had been encouraged.

England was fiercely Protestant and had been ever since the reign of Mary I, when the Smithfield fires had shocked the country. The history of England might have been different if James II had not become a Papist. Then he would have continued to reign and his son after him, and the House of Hanover would never have been known in England. George was King because his ancestors had been Protestants.

The laws against Catholics were unjust, he had always considered. Catholics could not hold land; Army officers could not be Catholics; the son of a Catholic who became a Protestant could claim his father's property; Catholic religious services were officially illegal, although for many years they had been held and no one had taken any action.

There had been no great religious fervour in England; the natural impulse was to go one's way and let others do the same. Occasionally minorities suffered a little and George had on several occasions shown his desire to protect them. He had begun by professing his friendship for the Quakers and when there had been certain comment about this, had extended his benevolence to other sects. Two years previously the Catholic Relief Bill was brought before Parliament, was passed through both Houses without much publicity, and George had very willingly given it his signature.

All would have been well but for Lord George Gordon, who at thirty years old was weak, unbalanced and had a grudge against life. He was a younger son of the Duke of Gordon; and his brother, William had been the lover of Sarah Lennox which had brought him into some prominence because of Sarah's early relationship with the King.

He had had a commission in the Navy, but because he was not given a ship of his own he resigned. He was a strange man, fanatically religious while leading a life of debauchery. Six years previously he had entered Parliament where he sought to make a name for himself as he had in the Navy. He was very handsome and a good speaker, but he lacked something which was essential to success. He could grow hysterical; he was often the worse for drink and it was known that he often spent his nights in the brothels.

No one was very much aware of him. When he rose to speak in the House many members would slip out. He was there because of his family; and he was nothing on his own. This rankled, and looking about him for a way of calling attention to himself, he found it in the Catholic Relief Bill.

He himself was a Protestant and had opposed the Bill, but his little protest was quite unimportant.

Or was it? Well, they would see.

He hit on a way of making them take notice of him, and he became fanatically overjoyed at the result of his efforts. First he had joined the Protestant Association of England which was delighted to welcome a lord into its midst, and it was a very short step for Lord George between joining and becoming its President.

In Scotland the Society was very strong and there had been some dissension across the border when the Relief Bill was passed, the Protestant Association up there having encouraged its members to riot in one or two towns. Now if Lord George could bring about the abolition of the Catholic Relief Act or, failing that, whip the Protestants of London to such a fury that they would behave as those in Scotland, he would be famous.

No one could laugh at him then, no one could think him insignificant. No one could say that if he were not a Gordon he would be nowhere. Therefore he would start actions which would mean his name would be remembered in the history books of tomorrow while the Protestants of today claimed him as the hero who had saved them from the Catholic threat.

Having a mission, Lord George was indefatigable. His dark limp hair fell about his ears; his pale skin was damp with the sweat of exertion; the fanatic looked out from his wild eyes as he went to the newspaper offices to insert advertisements that the people might know he was working on their behalf. He had a petition for the Repeal of the Catholic Relief Act which had been signed by thousands; and anyone who wanted a copy of the petition and the signatures could get it at the various stated places. Meanwhile in the Houses of Parliament he asked for the Repeal of the Act; he declared that he was speaking for thousands and that the Government would be ill advised to ignore him. The Government ignored him.

Gordon then wrote a long pamphlet and asked for an audience with the King, and when George received him Gordon insisted on reading the pamphlet to him.

The King listened and then became tired of the excited fanatic who went on voicing arguments with which he could not agree. George yawned significantly, but Gordon went on. George looked at his watch, but if Gordon noticed his sovereign's impatience he gave no sign. At last George could bear it no more.

"Leave it," he said. "I will read the rest myself.”

Gordon could do nothing but retire at that, but he was not content when he heard no more from the King. He demanded other interviews during which he harangued the King, told him that many Protestants went so far as to believe the King was a Papist, and demanded something be done.

The King, worried by the conduct of the Prince of Wales, his brothers, the health of Octavius, the ever present subject of America, dismissed him again. But he was disturbed. He sent for North.

"I begin to think this man Gordon is bent on stirring up trouble, eh? what?”

"Your Majesty, the man is a born agitator.”

"He's saying they suspect me of being a Papist. What? Doesn't he know my family have always been stern Protestants. The man's a fool.”

"A fool, sir, but a dangerous one. He is having meetings. His followers are everywhere. They're a formidable body.”

"I don't think the Protestants are so fierce over their religion, eh?”

"Sir, I have had my servants at his meetings. It's not so much a matter of religion. He attracts the mob and the mob is glad of an opportunity to make trouble.”

"Better find a way of stopping him.”

North agreed that this was an excellent idea. North, with his genius for taking the wrong action, attempted to bribe Lord George, promising him money and a post in Parliament if he would leave the Protestant Association.

Lord George's eyes gleamed. Money! He didn't want money. His family had money. A position in Parliament which he would not be allowed to hold? He had never been able to hold any position.

What Lord George wanted was fame; and now he saw that it would be his. North must be afraid of him if he attempted to bribe him. That showed how powerful he was.

Lord George was a man intoxicated with his own power. They had never listened to him in Parliament. Well, they should see that there were some who were only too ready to listen. He left North and went home to plan his next action. A few days later a notice appeared in the Public Advertiser. All members of the Protestant Association were to assemble in St. George's Fields.

There they would hold a rally and decide on some plan of action. Members should wear a blue cockade to distinguish them from the spectators.

It was a sweltering hot day. When Lord George arrived at St. George's Fields he was delighted to see what a crowd was already there. There were thousands of blue cockades and many without them, for the London crowd could never resist a spectacle and from, all parts of the city they had come to see the fun.

Lord George was cheered wildly, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. This was what he needed. He addressed the assembly telling them that he was going to Parliament with his petition that the Catholic Relief Act might be repealed. This statement was applauded; little bands of people from the Association marched round the fields singing hymns; and in due course they ranged themselves into an orderly procession to march to the Houses of Parliament. On the way they were joined by many out for some sport. The crowd began to get nasty.

This will show them, thought Lord George. He was confident that after this session of Parliament the Act would be repealed and he would be the hero of the day and the years to come. He would be Prime Minister for he would have the support of the people. He saw a glorious future before him. The crowd surged about the entrance of the House. Some carried banners displaying the words "No Popery'. As the Ministers began to arrive the mob jeered at them, threw refuse at them, and tore off their jackets and hats.

No one was hurt, however. Gordon was a little disappointed for, dishevelled as they were, the members showed no fear of the mob outside, and going into the House he presented his petition.

This was seconded but completely defeated, for there were only nine votes in its favour.

Gordon was alarmed. It was in his power to incite the mob to violence, but if he did so he would be guilty of treason; yet if he did not, his petition would be dismissed and that was the end of the matter. He left the House and spoke to the people.

"His Majesty is a good and gracious King," he said, 'and when he hears that the people are surrounding the House he will command his Ministers to repeal the Bill.”

He went back to the House and was asked if he intended to bring his friends in. If he did, one member warned him, drawing his sword, he would thrust it into Lord George's body for a start.

Lord George grew pale. He was excited by violence but only when it was directed against others; it was because he so feared it, that he liked to think of others suffering it. He turned and went out once more to speak to the mob. He had the power to move them and they began to disperse.

George had gone to Kew to see the Queen. She was not as well as she usually was during pregnancies. Perhaps, he thought, it is the anxiety over Octavius. Her confinement was due in September so she had three months to go.

"You are feeling the heat, eh?" he said.

"It has been so hot, but very pleasant here. But not so pleasant in London, I daresay. And I hear that there has been trouble.”

"Trouble, eh? What? What trouble? Who said there was trouble?”

"This affair of the Catholics. I heard the women talking of it.”

"Women talk too much. Shouldn't listen. Better go and see Octavius. Been better has he, eh?”

"I fancy he has been a little better," said Charlotte. Why won't he talk to me, she thought? Am I a fool that I am not supposed to understand? A brood mare? A queen bee? A cow for breeding? Is that the way he sees me?

She was beginning to dislike him. In the beginning she had thought him so good, for he had never been unkind. Or was it unkind to treat her as he had? His mother had started it but it had gone on since her death. She had not greatly cared because there were always the children, but now there was this trouble with George, and they were saying that Frederick was almost as bad. Frederick was teaching George to gamble and George was teaching Frederick to tipple. And neither of them ever came to see her. They despised her as they despised their father, perhaps even more.

Octavius was sleeping quietly and looked a little better. "The Kew air is good for him," said the King. "Make sure he doesn't get too much rich food, eh? Plenty of vegetables. Not much meat, and fresh air. That's the best, eh, what?”

They were interrupted by a messenger from Lord North. The King should return at once, for rioting had broken out all over London.

Charlotte said: "George, at such a time I should be with you.”

"You, eh? What? Nonsense. Never heard such nonsense. What of the child, eh? Next thing we'll be hearing you'll have had a miscarriage, eh?”

It was always the same. She was always kept out of affairs. Get on with the breeding. Leave state matters to the King and his ministers. She almost hated him as she watched him leave. The child moved within her. Three months and then another birth and again and again. No! She would rebel.

She found no pleasure in her relations with the King. She never had. She smiled grimly, imagining his comment if he had heard her say that.

"Pleasure, eh? Why pleasure? It's for the procreation of children, eh? What?”

Fires were springing up all over London. There was an ominous red light in the sky by night. The mob had gone mad. These were not, said North, the members of the Protestant Association; this was the rabble, the scum, that element in every big city which is ready to come to the surface when emotions boil up. These were the thieves and the vagabonds, the jailbirds, the criminals.

They burned, they looted and shouted "No Popery' without knowing what it meant.

The houses of well-known Catholics were the first targets. Members of Parliament were the next; and of course the prisons. Newgate was burned to the ground; Clerkenwell Prison was broken into and prisoners released to swell the throng. There was murder in the streets.

George remained in St. James's. The mob hovered, uncertain. The guard was doubled and the King never hesitated to show himself, but made a point of mingling with the soldiers and talking to them and bringing refreshments to them during the night watches. But something would have to be done. Lord North discussed this with the King.

"Action is needed without delay," said the King. "We dare not let this continue. It grows worse.

What do you say, eh?”

"Action, yes, sir, but what action?”

"We have an army. We must use it.”

North was aghast. "Fire on the people, sir?”

"Fire on them or let them destroy the capital.”

Lord North was horrified. He left the King to consult the Cabinet. George, who had always hated bloodshed of any sort, was thoughtful. That he should be the one to ask his soldiers to fire on his own subjects was abhorrent to him.

The mob, he thought. Poor deluded creatures. No sense. Led away. But I have my City to think of.

They're bent on destruction. They have to be stopped. He was not a man to shirk the unpleasant.

What had to be done had to be done and if it meant killing a few of his subjects to save many more, he would be ready to give the order.

"Fire," was the order, 'if peaceful methods are ineffective." All householders were to close their doors and keep within. The soldiers had a right to fire without awaiting orders.

The result of this order was to quell the riots. In a very short time the city was quiet. Three hundred rioters had been killed; some had died of drinking too much pilfered liquor, others had been burned to death, having in a drunken stupor fallen into the flames which they themselves had provoked. But the terror was over. One hundred and ninety-two rioters were convicted, twenty- five of whom were executed. And Lord George Gordon was taken to the Tower on a charge of high treason.

The King was overcome with melancholy. He had given orders to fire on his own subjects and many had lost their lives. The Dean of St. Paul's remarked that the King, by ordering the soldiers to fire on the mob had saved the cities of London and Westminster. This was true, but George was none the less grieved.

And all through that hot summer he was sad; but he did rejoice in September when another son was born. They called him Alfred. Alas, he was delicate like Octavius.

"We shall have to take great care of this little one, eh?" said the King.

"Perhaps we have had too many," replied the Queen with unusual spirit; and the King regarded her oddly.