The Madness of George III

  GREVILLE: Sir George. Whatever his situation His Majesty is but a man …

  BAKER: You’re the King’s equerry with radical notions like that? Good God. With any patient I undertake a physical examination only as a last resort; it is an intolerable intrusion on a gentleman’s privacy. With His Majesty it is unthinkable. However, it’s probably only a fever – a tax our constitutions must pay for this dreadful climate.

  (Shouts of ‘The King! The King! Sharp! Sharp!’ The KING comes in.)

  GREVILLE: Here is your physician, sir.

  KING: Yes, Baker. A ninny, what, what. Tell him I am much better. I had a pretty smart bilious attack, very smart indeed, but it has passed.

  BAKER: Sir. Would it be possible to take His Majesty’s pulse?

  GREVILLE: Would it be …

  KING: Yes, yes. Here. Do it. Do it, sir, do it. Do not faff, sir. And firm, sir. Hold it, do not fondle it. This is the way you take a pulse, what? One two three four five six seven eight, what, what. Go on, go on.

  BAKER: I’ve lost count, sir.

  KING: Now. Were you responsible for the senna, Baker?

  BAKER: I prescribed it for Your Majesty, yes, sir.

  KING: Then you are a fool, Baker, what, what?

  BAKER: It’s just a mild purgative, sir.

  KING: Mild, sir, mild? Fourteen motions and you call it mild. I could have manured the whole parish. Where does it originate, this senna, what, what?

  BAKER: The tropics – Africa, America, sir.

  KING: America, ah! Well, I want no more of it. If two glasses of it can bring the King low, it could be the end of all government.

  BAKER: Two glasses! Your Majesty was only supposed to take three spoonfuls.

  KING: When did three spoonfuls of anything do anybody any good? Measure the medicine to the man, Baker. How is my pulse?

  BAKER: It’s very fast, sir.

  KING: Good, good.

  BAKER: Your Majesty would probably feel better after a warm bath. A warm bath has a settling effect on the spirits.

  KING: You have one, then. Your spirits are more agitated than mine.

  (The QUEEN has come in with LADY PEMBROKE.)

  FORTNUM: Her Majesty the Queen, Your Majesty.

  QUEEN: Well, Sir George, how is His Majesty?

  BAKER: His pulse is far too fast, Your Majesty.

  KING: Rubbish.

  QUEEN: Your Majesty works too hard. Perhaps we should have a holiday. Take the waters.

  KING: The waters, eh? Perhaps we should. Where do people go nowadays, Elizabeth, eh?

  LADY PEMBROKE: Bath, sir. Cheltenham.

  KING: Cheltenham, eh?

  QUEEN: The son goes to Cheltenham.

  KING: Well, so shall we. Progress through Gloucestershire. Loyal addresses, what? Keys of the city. People on every hand.

  Hooray, hooray! God save the King, what, what?

  QUEEN: Do not excite yourself, sir.

  KING: Take Elizabeth, of course. You know Cheltenham I suppose, what?

  LADY PEMBROKE: Yes, sir.

  KING: What do you think of it?

  LADY PEMBROKE: It is much resorted to by people of fashion, sir.

  KING: People of fashion, Mrs King. Do you hear that? Take a little house. No levees or drawing rooms, no talking to people we don’t wish to talk to. Live like an ordinary couple. Mr and Mrs King. People of fashion!

  WESTMINSTER

  There is a flourish and music and the curtain is drawn to reveal FITZROY, GREVILLE and BAKER bang interviewed by THURLOW, DUNDAS, a refined Scot, and PITT, who as ever holds himself aloof from the proceedings.

  THURLOW: Gossip, gossip, gossip. Still, we’d better hear the rest of it.

  FITZROY: Having left Cheltenham they lodged at Worcester, in the palace of Bishop Hurd, where the King rose before dawn, went round to the Dean’s lodgings, and by persistent battering on the door roused the Dean and commanded him to show him the cathedral.

  THURLOW: Well?

  BAKER: Lord Chancellor, it was still dark.

  PITT: His Majesty sounds in his customary rude health.

  BAKER: But the early rising? The visit to the Dean?

  DUNDAS: What time would you have him rise? Five? Six? Is there an hour consistent with rationality?

  THURLOW: Dammit, man, Mr Fox is seldom in bed by five. You doctors would have us all in Bedlam.

  GREVILLE: It is true His Majesty is an early riser.

  FITZROY: He walks about unattended by the court.

  THURLOW: At five in the morning? You should be grateful!

  BAKER: When he takes the waters, whereas others take a glass he dashes back several bumpers.

  PITT: Have we come to the end of this catalogue of regal nonconformities? Because I have heard nothing to suggest His Majesty’s behaviour is in any way unusual. It was after all a holiday. Now that he is back at Windsor he will doubtless settle down.

  FITZROY: He also harps on America. The colonies.

  (At this PITT turns and looks, and there is a slight pause. PITT nods to DUNDAS.)

  DUNDAS: That will be all.

  (FITZROY and GREVILLE turn to go.)

  But Captain Fitzroy, for the strongest reasons, both foreign and domestic, a degree of discretion.

  THURLOW: Yes. Goddammit, man. Keep your mouth shut. It’s all tittle-tattle.

  (FITZROY and GREVILLE go.)

  BAKER: The colic’s not tittle-tattle. The sweats are not tittle-tattle, nor the pains in the legs. Though I have not been well myself lately.

  THURLOW: What do you think it is?

  BAKER: I may have caught a chill.

  THURLOW: Not you, man, His Majesty.

  BAKER: It may be that he has caught rheumatism in his legs and it has flown to his stomach. Or gout, of course.

  DUNDAS: He scarcely drinks.

  BAKER: Flying gout.

  THURLOW: I have been assured that the sovereign remedy for gout is to cut the toenails in hot water.

  BAKER: It may be.

  THURLOW: God’s teeth. You’re President of the Royal College of Physicians. You ought to know.

  BAKER: I did however venture to take his pulse. It has become languid.

  (He absentmindedly takes THURLOW’s.)

  THURLOW: Languid? What does that mean?

  BAKER: Well, yours you see is hard and wiry.

  THURLOW: And?

  BAKER: There are physicians who believe that we each have our fixed allotment of heartbeats, and that a hard pulse such as this one uses up that deposit of heartbeats quicker than a languid one.

  THURLOW: Good God, really? Then there is an economy here too. (He feels his pulse.) How do I slow it down?

  DUNDAS: You will keep us informed?

  BAKER: I am at Windsor every day. (BAKER bows to PITT, who ignores him. Leaves.)

  DUNDAS: At thirty guineas a time I’m not surprised.

  THURLOW: Hard and wiry. What’s yours like?

  PITT: I can’t believe that he’s that ill. Baker makes out he is so that when in due course he recovers, Baker gets the credit. I’ve done the same myself. Before we came in I said the nation was sick, deliberately predicted national bankruptcy, so that when the economy recovered, prosperity was put down to me. No, he is not ill.

  THURLOW: Well, I don’t like it. Though there was a mysterious illness once before, in your father’s time. Government was at a standstill.

  DUNDAS: It was of no consequence.

  THURLOW: It was of no consequence because he recovered.

  PITT: It was of no consequence because the Prince of Wales was then a child of three. It was of no consequence because Mr Fox and his friends were not perched in the rafters waiting to come in. We consider ourselves blessed in our constitution. We tell ourselves our parliament is the envy of the world. But we live in the health and well-being of the Sovereign as much as any vizier does the Sultan.

  THURLOW: And the Sultan orders it better. He has his son and heir strangled. (He goes off, still trying to take his pulse.)

>   CARLTON HOUSE

  The PRINCE OF WALES, the DUKE OF YORK, SHERIDAN, BURKE and the Prince’s physician, DR RICHARD WARREN, are listening to FITZROY, who is telling his tale here too and plainly much more at ease than in the previous scene, even lounging in a chair.

  FITZROY: His Majesty then downed three bumpers of the spa water. The effect on his system I will not venture to describe.

  PRINCE OF WALES: We are grateful for your forbearance, Captain Fitzroy. Well, Warren, what do you make of it?

  WARREN: Diagnosis is difficult unless I see His Majesty.

  PRINCE OF WALES: You’re not likely to. The King is more likely to go to my tailor than my doctor.

  WARREN: But I take the gravest view of his symptoms.

  DUKE OF YORK: (Reading the report) His Majesty’s discourse is sporadic. What’s that?

  SHERIDAN: Fits and starts, sir.

  DUKE OF YORK: Usual thing, you mean.

  FITZROY: He hardly sleeps.

  SHERIDAN: And is often in excruciating pain.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Oh. Poor pa. There’s no danger … is there?

  (WARREN says nothing.)

  Dear me. Death, Fred.

  DUKE OF YORK: Gosh.

  WARREN: Or if not death a state of mind so tenuous as to make His Majesty unfit to govern.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Mad, Fred.

  DUKE OF YORK: Oh dear.

  SHERIDAN: Pitt will have to recall Parliament and if His Majesty is ill your Royal Highness must in due course be declared Regent.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Regent?

  SHERIDAN: King in all but name.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Regent. With all the powers?

  SHERIDAN: Yes.

  PRINCE OF WALES: And all the funds?

  SHERIDAN: Oh yes.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Where’s Fox? We’d better send for him.

  SHERIDAN: Bath. Lying on the conscientious bosom of Mrs Armistead.

  DUKE OF YORK: Bet that’s sporadic. Fits and starts there, what.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Fred, please. Pa is ill.

  DUKE OF YORK: Sorry, Prin.

  SHERIDAN: It would be best, sir, if in this matter of His Majesty’s health we should be seen to disclaim any party advantage.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Quite agree. Quite agree. Why exactly?

  SHERIDAN: A month or so ago Pitt looked set for another ten years. Now we have a chance to turn him out because the King is ill, but we must not seem over-eager, lest we be thought unpatriotic or self-seeking.

  PRINCE OF WALES: A son who must … reluctantly … shoulder the responsibilities of a sick – who knows, possibly a dying father – that is hardly self-seeking.

  SHERIDAN: But it must be reluctantly.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Of course. A necessary duty; a task unshirked. No joy in it. No joy in it at all. Windsor would have to be entirely altered, of course. It’s impossible as it is.

  WINDSOR

  The curtains have been drawn across the full width of the stage and the KING in his nightshirt begins to pull them back.

  KING: What is this? The King is unattended. Up with you. Papandiek.

  (PAPANDIEK rushes on in his nightshirt (a shorter version than

  the King’s). He is the kindest of the pages and the one with a

  genuine concern for his master.)

  PAPANDIEK: What’s the matter, sir?

  (FORTNUM hurries in, still dressing.)

  KING: The matter is, sir, that it is morning. That is the matter. Morning is the matter. Not being attended to is the matter. And don’t mutter. Or mutter will be the matter.

  PAPANDIEK: What time is it, sir?

  KING: What is that to you? The King is up. You attend on the King, not on the clock. When the King is awake, you are awake. It is four o’clock. Six hours’ sleep is enough for a man, seven for a woman, and eight for a fool.

  FORTNUM: Then we’ve only had three. We didn’t go to bed till one.

  KING: Is that insolence, sir?

  FORTNUM: No, sir. Arithmetic.

  (The king tries to strike him.)

  KING: What’s your name?

  FORTNUM: Fortnum, sir.

  KING: Fetch me my breeches.

  (Enter BRAUN.)

  BRAUN: What’s all this damned noise? Has the old boy rung?

  KING: Yes, he has rung. He has been ringing for half-an-hour. Lazy hound. Stir yourself, boy. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Find me my breeches.

  PAPANDIEK: I have them, sir.

  (BRAUN goes off.)

  KING: What is your name, sir?

  PAPANDIEK: You know my name, sir.

  KING: Don’t tell me what I know and don’t know. What is it?

  PAPANDIEK: Papandiek, sir. Arthur, sir.

  KING: (Peering at him) Is it Arthur? And you?

  FORTNUM: Fortnum, sir.

  KING: Well, hold me, boys, hold me. Or I shall fall.

  PAPANDIEK: It’s all this hurry and flurry, sir. If Your Majesty would just lift your leg.

  KING: I am the King. You lift my leg. Oh … oh … (He is falling over.)

  PAPANDIEK: I have you, sir.

  KING: Why do you shiver? I am not cold. I am warm. I am burning. No, I am not burning. It is my body that is burning. And I am locked inside it. Where’s that other rascal Braun? He’s not gone back to bed?

  BRAUN: I’m here, sir.

  KING: Well, give me my shirt then. What shirt is this?

  PAPANDIEK: Your shirt, sir.

  KING: No. It’s rough. Feel. It’s like calico. Sailcloth. It’s a hairshirt.

  BRAUN: It’s linen, sir, and laundered yesterday.

  KING: How long have you been in my service?

  BRAUN: Your Majesty knows.

  KING: How should I know, sir, if I ask. (Shaking him.) How long?

  BRAUN: Three years, sir. And before that I was in the service of the Prince of Wales.

  KING: (Mutters) God help you.

  BRAUN: Those were the days. None of this four o’clock in the morning game. And a drink now and again.

  KING: Do not talk of the Prince, sir. Who has put you up to talking of the Prince? Fortnum, have you sons?

  FORTNUM: I am not married, sir.

  KING: That will not save you. Fetch me another.

  BRAUN: Another what, sir?

  KING: Another shirt, sir. A softer shirt. You’ve brought this up to scratch. Go, go.

  (BRAUN goes.

  PAPANDIEK and FORTNUM are putting on his stockings.)

  KING: Do not snatch and pull, sir.

  FORTNUM: I am not snatching and pulling, sir.

  KING: I am the King. You are pulling, sir.

  FORTNUM: Yes, sir.

  KING: Stop, you clumsy oaf. Arthur, you do it.

  (FORTNUM stands aside as BRAUN comes back with another shirt.)

  PAPANDIEK: Your Majesty’s legs are tender.

  KING: These are not my proper stockings.

  PAPANDIEK: Sir?

  KING: They itch, too. I burn all inward. My limbs are laced with fire. But I will not give in to it. Have you said your prayers this morning?

  BRAUN: I started, sir, but I was interrupted.

  KING: Say after me – Our Father, which art in heaven …

  (As the KING leads the pages in the Lord’s Prayer, the QUEEN and LADY PEMBROKE, still in their nightclothes, come anxiously down the stairs accompanied by GREVILLE, who is also half dressed, and BAKER.

  The KING suddenly catches sight of LADY PEMBROKE.) Oh God, my blood is full of cramps, lobsters crack my bones, there are stones in my belly. Oh, Elizabeth!

  (He embraces LADY PEMBROKE and kisses her full on the lips.)

  QUEEN: Sir, we are in company.

  KING: Mind your own business.

  LADY PEMBROKE: You must rest, sir.

  KING: No. I am the King. I cannot rest. I must rule. Half the day gone already. There is much to do, there is government …

  PAPANDIEK: Government hasn’t begun yet, sir. Government is in bed.

  BRAUN: Government is lucky.

&n
bsp; (The KING rushes off. GREVILLE hurries after him, gathering up the PAGES.)

  GREVILLE: Follow, follow.

  QUEEN: Well, Baker, what is to be done?

  BAKER: His Majesty must be bled. If only he will keep still. Forgive me – (He is wanting to go after the King.)

  QUEEN: Yes, yes. Go! Mr Pitt must be informed.

  (The QUEEN and LADY PEMBROKE are left alone. There is an awkward silence.)

  QUEEN: Elizabeth.

  LADY PEMBROKE: Ma’am.

  QUEEN: His Majesty is not himself.

  LADY PEMBROKE: No, ma’am.

  QUEEN: Something has got into him. He has been a faithful husband. Though he does not lack opportunity. What was your husband like – Lord Pembroke?

  LADY PEMBROKE: A fiend, ma’am.

  QUEEN: In what way?

  LADY PEMBROKE: In the usual way, ma’am.

  QUEEN: Elizabeth, if the King should pay you undue attention, it means nothing. You must try and ignore it.

  LADY PEMBROKE: Yes, ma’am.

  (Pause.)

  LADY PEMBROKE: Ma’am.

  QUEEN: Yes? (Surprised to be spoken to.)

  LADY PEMBROKE: So must Your Majesty.

  (The QUEEN looks less certain about this but they go as FORTNUM, coming on with a glass chamber-pot, runs into BRAUN.)

  FORTNUM: Look.

  BRAUN: What?

  FORTNUM: It’s blue.

  (He holds the pot up to the light and we see that the piss is dark blue. There is a hint of music which, though not quite the Lilac Fairy, should focus the attention.)

  BRAUN: I’d call it purple. You and me, we piss plain. Kings piss purple.

  (FITZROY enters.)

  FITZROY: What are you dawdling here for? The King is unattended.

  FORTNUM: It’s this, sir.

  FITZROY: What?

  FORTNUM: The King’s water, sir. It’s blue, sir.

  BRAUN: Purple.

  FORTNUM: It’s been this colour since this business began.

  FITZROY: What business? Don’t be insolent.

  FORTNUM: We thought it might be important.

  FITZROY: What is important is not to dangle about. Where is His Majesty?

  Unattended, and half undressed. That’s what’s important. Give me that.

  (He takes the chamber-pot. The PAGES go off as BAKER enters, an apron on, ready to bleed the King.)

  Sir George … I … This is the King’s water.