Farmer George Volume I Part 17

"An injured martyr to her cause Undaunted meets his doom: Ah! who like me don't wish to see Some great ones in his room?

Then to New Palace Yard let us go, let us go.

"Behold the laurel, fresh and green, Attract all loyal eyes; The haughty thistle droops his head, Is blasted, stinks, and dies.

Then to New Palace Yard let us go, let us go.

"High mounted on the gibbet view The _Boot_ and _Bonnet's_ fate; But where's the _Petticoat_, my lads?

The _Boot_ should have its mate.

Then to New Palace Yard let us go, let us go.

"In vain the galling _Scottish yoke_ Shall strive to make us bend; _Our_ monarch is a Briton born, And will our rights defend.

Then to New Palace Yard let us go, let us go.

"For ages still might England stand, In spite of Stuart arts, Would Heaven send us men to rule With better heads and hearts.

Then to New Palace Yard let us go, let us go."

For a while, engaged in an amorous adventure, Wilkes remained at Paris, but in 1767 he issued a pamphlet explaining his position, and just before the general election of March, 1768, he reappeared in London[263]

and offered himself as a candidate for the parliamentary representation of the City, thus presenting the very strange spectacle, as Lecky puts it, "of a penniless adventurer of notoriously infamous character, and lying at this very time under a sentence of outlawry, and under a condemnation for blasphemy and libel, standing against a popular alderman in the metropolis of England."[264] In spite of his late appearance upon the scene, Wilkes polled 1,200 votes; and, thus encouraged, and supported by Lord Temple, who furnished the necessary freehold qualification, the Duke of Portland, and Horne Tooke, he stood for the county of Middles.e.x, and was elected by 1,290 votes against 827 of the Tory George Cooke and 807 of the Whig, Sir William Procter.

[263] It has been said that Wilkes had to leave Paris hastily, a _letter de cachet_ having been signed to lodge him in the Bastille, probably as the supposed author of "The Origin of Despotism." This supposition is, however, a direct contradiction of a statement in _Walpoliana_ attributed to Horace Walpole. "Depend upon it that Wilkes was in the pay of France, during the Wilkes and Liberty days. Calling one day on the French minister, I observed a book on his table, with Wilkes's name in the first page. This led to a conversation, which convinced me. Other circ.u.mstances, too long and minute to be repeated, strengthened, if necessary, that conviction. I am as sure of it, as of any fact I know.

Wilkes at first cringed to Lord Bute. The emba.s.sy to Constantinople was the object of his ambition. It was refused, and you know what followed."

[264] _History of England in the Eighteenth Century._

As Wilkes had received no reply to his pet.i.tion for a pardon addressed to the King, he, according to the undertaking he had given, surrendered himself on the first day of term, April 20, before Lord Mansfield in the Court of King's Bench. The proceedings dragged on until June 8, when, his outlawry having been annulled, he was sentenced for republication of "No. XLV" to a fine of 500 and ten months' imprisonment, and for the printing of the "Essay on Woman" to another fine of 500 and a further twelve months' imprisonment. The populace, delighted to have their hero again among them, escorted him to prison, illuminated their houses, and broke the windows of those who took no part in the rejoicings, with the result that there ensued a riot in which six people met their death.

The election of Wilkes to the House of Commons perplexed ministers, who at first sought refuge in inaction, but eventually, after much provocation from the new member[265] moved to expel him from Parliament and carried their resolution by 219 to 137 votes. This, however, led only to further trouble, for when a new writ for Middles.e.x was issued, Wilkes was re-elected on February 16. Again, on the following day, he was expelled, and a resolution pa.s.sed that he was incapable of sitting in the existing Parliament. This was clearly illegal, and the people avenged this attempted infringement of their rights by returning Wilkes for the third time on March 16. On the 17th he was once more expelled; and, when returned once more, a few days later, the House of Commons by 197 to 143 votes declared the defeated candidate, Colonel Luttrell,[266]

duly elected.

[265] "In the public press, on the platform, on the stage, his influence was enormous. His good pleasure sent politicians to Parliament; his good pleasure made London sheriffs, made provincial mayors."--Justin McCarthy: _History of the Four Georges_.

[266] Henry Lawes Luttrell (1743-1821), succeeded his father as second Earl of Carhampton, 1787.

The popularity of Wilkes was gall and wormwood to the King, whose authority and wishes were openly set at defiance, and who was openly threatened by the mob. It was known he had taken an active part in the prosecution of the popular demagogue, and this was deeply resented. "If you do not keep the laws, the laws will not keep you," so ran the lettering of a placard thrown at this time into the royal carriage.

"Kings have lost their heads for their disobedience to the laws." George III's courage was undeniable, and no threat could make him connive at any action likely to lessen the royal prerogative. "My spirits, I thank heaven, want no rousing," he wrote to Lord Chatham in May, 1767. "My love to my country, as well as what I owe to my own character and to my family, prompt me not to yield to faction. Though none of my ministers stand by me, I cannot truckle."[267] Lord North, too, was well acquainted with the royal firmness and intrepidity: "The King," he said, "would live on bread and water to preserve the const.i.tution of his country. He would sacrifice his life to maintain it inviolate."

[267] _Chatham Correspondence._

The courage George III displayed in politics was not lacking in moments of personal danger. Though, unlike George I and George II, he could not prove his valour on the field of battle, the several attacks upon his life gave him sufficient opportunity to show his fearlessness. It was, indeed, at these times he appeared at his best, not only in dignity, but in kind-heartedness and in tender consideration for his consort. The first murderous attack upon him was made August 2, 1786, as he alighted from his coach at the garden entrance of St. James's Palace. A woman, Margaret Nicholson, held out to him a paper, which, a.s.suming it to be a pet.i.tion, he took from her; but as he did so she struck at him with a knife, and the attempt to kill him only failed from the knife being so thin about the middle of the blade that, instead of entering the body, it bent with the pressure of his waistcoat.[268] The would-be a.s.sa.s.sin was at once seized, and seeing she was roughly handled, "The poor creature is mad," cried the King; "do not hurt her. She has not hurt me." He held the _levee_, and then drove hastily to Windsor to let the Queen know he was unhurt. "I am sure you must be sensible how thankful I am to Providence for the late wonderful escape of his Majesty from the stroke of an a.s.sa.s.sin," Mrs. Delany wrote to Miss Hamilton. "The King would not suffer any one to inform the Queen of that event till he could show himself in person to her. He returned to Windsor as soon as the Council was over. When his Majesty entered the Queen's dressing-room he found her with the two eldest Princesses; and entering in an animated manner, he said, "Here I am, safe and well!" The Queen suspected from this saying that some accident had happened, on which he informed her of the whole affair. The Queen stood struck and motionless for some time, till the Princesses burst into tears, on which she immediately found relief."[269]

[268] Subsequently George asked: "Has she cut my waistcoat? for I have had no time to examine. Nothing could have been done easier, for there was nothing for her to go through but a thin linen and fat."

[269] Mrs. Delany: _Autobiography and Correspondence_.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _From an old print_

THE KING'S LIFE ATTEMPTED]

Thirteen years later, on October 29, 1795, on his way to open Parliament, he was surrounded by a violent mob, who threw stones into the carriage, and demanded peace and the dismissal of Pitt. Lord Onslow, who was with the King, has left an account of the distressing incident.

"Before I sleep let me bless G.o.d for the miraculous escape which my King, my country, and myself, have had this day. Soon after two o'clock, his Majesty, attended by the Earl of Westmoreland and myself, set out for St. James's in his state coach, to open the session of Parliament.

The mult.i.tude of people in the park was prodigious. A sullen silence, I observed to myself, prevailed through the whole, very few individuals excepted. No hats, or at least very few, pulled off; little or no huzzaing, and frequently a cry of 'give us bread': 'no war': and once or twice, 'no King'! with hissing and groaning. My grandson Cranley, who was on the King's guard, had told me, just before we set out from St.

James's that the park was full of people who seemed discontented and tumultuous, and that he apprehended insult would be offered to the King.

Nothing material, however, happened, till we got down to the narrowest part of the street called St. Margaret's, between the two palace yards, when, the moment we had pa.s.sed the Office of Ordnance, and were just opposite the parlour window of the house adjoining it, a small ball, either of lead or marble, pa.s.sed through the window gla.s.s on the King's right hand and perforating it, leaving a small hole, the bigness of the top of my little finger (which I instantly put through to mark the size), and pa.s.sed through the coach out of the other door, the gla.s.s of which was down. We all instantly exclaimed, 'This is a shot!' The King showed, and I am persuaded, felt no alarm; much less did he fear, to which indeed he is insensible. We proceeded to the House of Lords, when, on getting out of the coach, I first, and the King immediately after, said to the Lord Chancellor, who was at the bottom of the stairs to receive the King, 'My Lord, we have been shot at.' The King ascended the stairs, robed, and then perfectly free from the smallest agitation, read his speech with peculiar correctness, and even less hesitation than usual. At his unrobing afterwards, when the event got more known (I having told it to the Duke of York's ear as I pa.s.sed under the throne, and to the others who stood near us), it was, as might be supposed, the only topic of conversation, in which the King joined with much less agitation than anybody else. And afterwards, in getting into the coach, the first words he said were, 'Well, my Lords, one person is _proposing_ this, and another is _supposing_ that, forgetting that there is One above us all who _disposes_ of everything, and on whom alone we depend.'

The magnanimity, piety, and good sense of this, struck me most forcibly, and I shall never forget the words.

"On our return home to St. James's, the mob was increased in Parliament Street and Whitehall, and when we came into the park, it was still greater. It was said that not less than 100,000 people were there, all of the worst and lowest sort. The scene opened, and the insulting abuse offered to his Majesty was what I can never think of but with horror, or ever forget what I felt, when they proceeded to throw stones into the coach, several of which hit the King, which he bore with signal patience, but not without sensible marks of indignation and resentment at the indignities offered to his person and office. The gla.s.ses were all broken to pieces, and in this situation we were during our pa.s.sage through the park. The King took one of the stones out of the cuff of his coat, where it had lodged, and gave it to me, saying, 'I make you a present of this, as a mark of the civilities we have met with on our journey to-day.'"[270]

[270]

"Talk no more of the lucky escape of the _head_, From a flint so unluckily thrown, I think very diff'rent, with thousands indeed, 'Twas a lucky escape for the _stone_."

_Epitaph on a Stone thrown at A Very Great Man, but which missed him._

In connexion with this episode an accusation of ingrat.i.tude was brought against the King. "Now the tradition is," wrote Lady Jerningham, "that at a certain critical moment, when the guards had actually been pushed back or disorganized for a while by a rush of the rabble, a gentleman sprang forward in front of the carriage door, drew on the a.s.sailants, threatening to kill forthwith any one who approached nearer, and thus kept the mob at bay sufficiently long to allow the guards to rally round the coach, and prevent further a.s.sault. The King inquired about 'the name of his rescuer,' and was informed that it was Mr. Bedingfeld."[271]

According to Lady Jerningham, "no further notice was taken," but this was not so, although there was some delay, owing to Mr. Bedingfeld's sense of humour offending a minister. The King instructed Dundas to give his preserver an appointment of some profit, and Dundas asked Bedingfeld what could be done for him, to which question came the witty but unfortunate reply: "The best thing, sir, you can do for me is to _make me a Scotchman_." Dundas angrily dismissed the humorist, but George, after making frequent inquiries as to what had been done, and each time receiving the reply that no suitable position was vacant, at last said very tartly: "Then, sir, you must _make_ a situation for him," and a new office with a salary of 650 a year was created for Mr. Bedingfeld.

[271] _The Jerningham Letters._

Twice more and on the same day, May 31, 1800, was the King's life in danger. In the morning he was present at a review of the Grenadier Guards in Hyde Park, and during one of the volleys of, presumedly, blank cartridge, a bullet struck Mr. Ongley, a clerk in the Admiralty, who was standing only a few paces from his Majesty. It was never discovered, however, whether this accident was deliberate or unintentional. George visited Drury Lane Theatre the same evening, and the moment he appeared in his box, a man in the pit near the orchestra discharged a pistol at him. "It's only a squib, a squib; they are firing squibs," he rea.s.sured the Queen as she entered the box; and, when the man was removed, "We will not stir," he added, "but stay the entertainment out." "No man ever showed so much courage as our good King's disregard of his person, and confidence in the overshadowing Providence on the pistol being fired,"

Lady Jerningham wrote. "He went back one step and whispered to Lord Salisbury: it is now known that it was to endeavour to stop the Queen, for that it was likely another shot would be fired, he himself remaining at his post. The Queen, however, arrived a moment after, and he then said they had fired a squib."[272] When Sheridan said to the King that after the shot he should have left the box lest the man fired again, "I should have despised myself for ever, had I but stirred a single inch. A man on such an occasion should need no prompting but immediately see what is his duty," the latter rejoined; and indeed he had his nerves so well under control that "he took his accustomed doze of three or four minutes between the conclusion of the play and the commencement of the farce, precisely as he would have done on any other night."[273] "I am going to bed with a confidence that I shall sleep soundly," he said later in the evening, "and my prayer is that the poor unhappy person, who aimed at my life, may rest as quietly as I shall." It was _a propos_ of this attempt that Sheridan at once composed an additional verse for the Royal Anthem, which was sung at the conclusion of the performance.

"From every latent foe, From the a.s.sa.s.sin's blow, G.o.d save the King!

O'er him Thine arm extend; For Britain's sake defend Our father, Prince, and friend; G.o.d save the King!"

[272] _The Jerningham Letters._

[273] Wraxall: _Historical Memoirs of My Own Times_.

In spite of these attacks, which had no political significance, for the perpetrators, Margaret Nicholson and James Hatfield, were mad, the King would have no guards except on state occasions, and when remonstrated with by a member of his Court, "I very well know that any man who chooses to sacrifice his own life may, whenever he pleases take away mine, riding out, as I do continually, with a single equerry or footman," he said calmly. "I only hope that whoever may attempt it will not do it in a barbarous or brutal manner."[274]

[274] Wraxall: _Historical Memoirs of My Own Times_.

A king who could face death without a tremor was not to be frightened by any demagogue.

"Though entirely confiding in your attachment to my person, as well as in your hatred of every lawless proceeding," he wrote to Lord North on April 25, "yet I think it highly proper to apprise you that the exclusion of Mr. Wilkes appears to be very essential, and must be effected."[275]

[275] _Correspondence of George III with Lord North._

The King's anger greatly handicapped ministers. "The ministers are embarra.s.sed to the last degree how to act with regard to Wilkes," the Bishop of Carlisle wrote to Grenville. "It seems they are afraid to press the King for his pardon as that is a subject his Majesty will not easily hear the least mention of; and they are apprehensive, if he has it not, that the mob of London will rise in his favour."[276] When the City of London presented an address, complaining of the arbitrary conduct of the House of Commons, the King burst out laughing and turned his back on the Lord Mayor. A second deputation was treated in much the same way, when the Lord Mayor, William Beckford, replied to the King's abrupt reply with an impromptu speech, that was subsequently inscribed on a monument erected in his honour in the Guildhall. "Permit me, Sire, further to observe that whosoever has already dared, or shall hereafter endeavour, by false insinuations, and suggestions, to alienate your Majesty's affections from your loyal subjects in general, and from the City of London in particular, is an enemy to your Majesty's person and family, a violator of the public peace, and a betrayer of our happy const.i.tution as it was established at the glorious and necessary revolution."

[276] _Grenville Papers._

While Wilkes was in prison his admirers paid his debts, it is said, to the amount of 17,000, and on his release on April 17, 1770, he was greeted with as much enthusiasm as a king on his coronation. "It seemed," as Heron remarked, "as if the population of London and Middles.e.x were the _plebs_ of ancient Rome, and Wilkes a tribune." The Common Council of the City elected him, in quick succession, Alderman and Sheriff, and, after the Court of Aldermen had twice selected another candidate, he became Lord Mayor in 1774, the year that witnessed his return for the fifth time as Member of Parliament for Middles.e.x, "Thus,"

said Walpole, summing up the career of this indomitable man, "after so much persecution by the Court, after so many attempts upon his life, after a long imprisonment in gaol, after all his own crimes and indiscretions, did this extraordinary man, of more extraordinary fortune, attain the highest office in so grave and important a city as the capital of England, always reviving the more opposed and oppressed, and unable to shock Fortune, and make her laugh at _him_ who laughed at everybody and everything."

In the end, however, Wilkes made his peace with the King, was received at Court, and became somewhat of a courtier, declaring that himself had never been a Wilkite. The strange spectacle of the monarch and the demagogue engaged in amicable conversation delighted Byron, who could not miss so excellent an opportunity for humour.