The Madness of George III Page 10

  KING: No, no. Here, man. Here. (Gives him his cheek.) Push off now. This is where the King awakens. Are you ready? There.

  THURLOW: ‘How does my royal lord? How fares Your Majesty?’

  KING: (As Lear) ‘You do me wrong to take me out o’ th’ grave.

  Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound

  Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears

  Do scald like molten lead. (Oh, it’s so true!)

  Pray do not mock me.

  I am a very foolish, fond old man.

  (The KING clasps THURLOW.)

  And to deal plainly

  I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

  Do not laugh at me.

  For as I am a man, I think this lady

  To be my child Cordelia.’

  THURLOW: (Much affected) ‘And so I am. I am.’

  GREVILLE: ‘Be comforted good madam, the great rage

  You see is killed in him;

  Desire him to go in, trouble him no more

  Till further settling.’

  THURLOW: ‘Will’t please your Highness walk?’

  (The KING stands, first as Lear, then as himself.)

  WILLIS: Ah, so is that the end?

  KING: There.

  No, no … Cordelia – that’s Thurlow – dies. Hanged. And the shock of it kills the King. So they all die. It’s a tragedy.

  THURLOW: (Blowing his nose) Very affecting.

  KING: It’s the way I play it. Willis murders it.

  THURLOW: Your Majesty seems more yourself.

  KING: Do I? Yes, I do. I have always been myself even when I was ill. Only now I seem myself. That’s the important thing. I have remembered how to seem. What, what?

  GREVILLE: (Intervenes) What did Your Majesty say?

  KING: What? I didn’t say anything. Besides, Greville, you’re not supposed to ask the King questions, you should know that. What, what? Bear with me, Thurlow. (He sees the curtain, takes hold of it and does an old ham’s curtain call.) ‘Pray you now forget and forgive; I am old and foolish.’ Awfully good stuff you know … isn’t it?

  (The KING and THURLOW go off.)

  WILLIS: I will write to Mr Pitt straightaway. And send for Warren and Baker. They must see the King at once.

  (WILLIS and GREVILLE rush off as BRAUN and PAPANDIEK come on, each with a glass chamber-pot.)

  BRAUN: Look at his piss. We’re back to lemonade.

  PAPANDIEK: Mine isn’t. It’s still a bit inky.

  BRAUN: But that’s yesterday’s. This is today’s. Piss the Elder! Piss the Younger!

  (BRAUN and PAPANDIEK leave. PITT and DUNDAS come on.)

  PITT: Wreckers, destroyers. Thinkers. The nation is neatly governed, farming improves, manufacturing prospers, and Fox and his feckless friends cannot wait to ruin it all.

  DUNDAS: Another letter from Willis.

  (He is reading it.)

  PITT: The King is much better?

  DUNDAS: Yes.

  PITT: When did Willis say otherwise? He has been pretending the King is better for months. I never believed him but Parliament did. Now Parliament does not believe him either, and so the Bill of Regency will pass. By how many?

  DUNDAS: Oh, forty or fifty. I’ve given up counting. They’re all running for cover. William! A smile!

  PITT: At least it will clear my desk. It is the King one should pity. Declared mad, he will stay mad. His son would be a fool to have it otherwise. The asylums of this country are full of the sound-in-mind disinherited by the out-of- pocket.

  DUNDAS: Even if he did recover and found Fox his minister, he would go mad all over again.

  PITT: But how they will spend! All the money I have saved. All the waste I have eradicated. Gone. Money. That is the whole secret of government. Funds. Economy. The elimination of waste. I know that I can save this country and no one else can, but I needed five more years. Instead of which I must go back to the Bar.

  DUNDAS: Come, that’s not true. The City has offered to pay your debts and give you an income.

  PITT: To do what? Sit on the back benches and carp. There is no dignity in that. No. I will never consider taking any post but the first.

  FOOTMAN: The Lord Chancellor.

  PITT: This is an unexpected pleasure, Lord Chancellor. We see you so seldom nowadays. Your visits are always a joy.

  THURLOW: Leave all that, dammit. I’ve been with His Majesty and have had two hours’ uninterrupted conversation with him.

  DUNDAS: Oh God, you mean he’s talking again?

  THURLOW: No, dammit. Well, yes. But not fifty to the dozen, and not nonsense either. He’s actually a damned clever fellow. Had me reading Shakespeare. Have you read King Lear? Tragic story. Of course, if that fool of a messenger had just got that little bit more of a move on, Cordelia wouldn’t have been hanged, Lear wouldn’t have died, and it would all have ended happily … which I think would have made a much better ending. Because as it is, it’s so damned tragic …

  DUNDAS: Lord Chancellor …

  THURLOW: The point is, the King is better.

  PITT: Better than he was?

  THURLOW: No. Better in every respect. Improved out of all measure. The ‘what what’ is back. The ‘hey hey’. He is his old self.

  (PITT and DUNDAS are ready to rush off when THURLOW stops them.)

  That having been said, gentlemen, I would like to explain again that my aim as Lord Chancellor throughout this whole unfortunate episode has been to withdraw myself, so far as I could, from any allegiance to party or faction …

  PITT: Of course.

  THURLOW: (Acoustic changing to Parliament) There must be continuity, consistency. I was holding the scales …

  VOICE: Sitting on the fence.

  THURLOW: That is unkind. When I forsake my King in the hour of his distress may my God forsake me. But next to the King I reverence the Prince of Wales, nor do I believe there is a man in this assembly who entertains a higher opinion of his heart and head than I do, and though I rejoice that the Bill of Regency has proved unnecessary, I pray that one day the crown may in succession sit upon the Prince’s brow as undisturbed and as ornamental as it now sits upon that of his father. His Majesty has been restored to us. God – and I say this with all my heart and a clear conscience – God save the King.

  WINDSOR

  The concluding part of Zadok the Priest (‘God save the King, God save the King, May the King live forever’, etc.) as the full stage is revealed and the KING, wigged again and in his court uniform, awaits the arrival of the QUEEN, who comes in accompanied as ever by LADY PEMBROKE. WILLIS is in the background.

  GREVILLE: Her Majesty the Queen, Your Majesty.

  (They curtsey and LADY PEMBROKE withdraws as the KING embraces the QUEEN and sits her beside him. GREVILLE, having retired, now returns and whispers to the KING.)

  The doctors are here, Your Majesty.

  KING: The doctors? What do they want? I’m better, aren’t I? What, what?

  QUEEN: You are. You are.

  WILLIS: Sir, may I make a suggestion? Why does Your Majesty not dismiss them?

  KING: Yes, why do I not dis … (Pause.) Can I do that?

  WILLIS: It is what Your Majesty would have done before your illness.

  QUEEN: Do it, George.

  GREVILLE: The physicians, Your Majesty.

  (The doctors come in.)

  BAKER: (Taking the king’s pulse) With Your Majesty’s permission.

  WARREN: Did Your Majesty pass an untroubled night? Was there any sweating?

  KING: I’m sorry. Did someone speak?

  GREVILLE: Dr Warren enquired whether Your Majesty had passed a comfortable night, sir.

  KING: The King passed an excellent night, but to quiz him on the matter is a gross impertinence. And Greville?

  GREVILLE: Your Majesty?

  KING: There was no sweating.

  PEPYS: (Who has found the chamber-pot under the restraining chair) The stool is good. A model of its kind. May I congratulate Your Majesty on anot
her splendid stool.

  KING: (Vehemently) No, you may not.

  PEPYS: (Still not understanding) Oh. Well, it is very good.

  (Shows it to an equally furious WARREN. Pause.)

  QUEEN: Do it, George.

  KING: Yes. Well, will there be anything more, gentlemen?

  WARREN: Perhaps we might have a little general conversation with Your Majesty?

  QUEEN: What about?

  KING: Yes. What about?

  WARREN: Oh … topics.

  QUEEN: Do it, George.

  KING: No. That will be all, gentlemen.

  WARREN: All? All?

  KING: Yes, all, you fashionable fraud. Go and blister some other blameless bugger, what what.

  (The KING gets up and himself shows the door to the disconcerted doctors.)

  QUEEN: (Clapping her hands) Sir!

  KING: And Baker?

  BAKER: Sir?

  KING: Backwards, Baker. Backwards.

  (The KING is delighted at his own boldness, kisses the QUEEN and picks her up and whirls her round. The doctors go.)

  WILLIS: Well done, sir. Full marks.

  KING: Yes. And you can go too, Willis.

  WILLIS: I don’t think so, sir. Not quite yet.

  KING: No? Horse not broken yet, is that it? But the day is coming, I promise. What? Lincolnshire shall see you soon. The wolds are agog.

  FITZROY: Their Royal Highnesses are here, Your Majesty.

  WILLIS: Your Majesty must not agitate yourself.

  KING: I know that.

  QUEEN: He knows that. Two hours late. It’s done on purpose. He knows it was always his lateness drove you ma –.

  (The QUEEN claps her hand over her mouth.)

  KING: Never fear. I shall strike a note of reconciliation. Love, that is the keynote.

  FITZROY: Their Royal Highnesses, Your Majesty.

  (The PRINCE OF WALES and the DUKE OF YORK come in.)

  DUKE OF YORK: Pa.

  KING: You may kiss my hand. And your mother’s.

  DUKE OF YORK: Ma.

  PRINCE OF WALES: How is Your Majesty?

  KING: A fat lot you care.

  QUEEN: Love, George.

  KING: I am well, sir.

  QUEEN: Though weary with waiting.

  KING: Two hours! Two hours!

  QUEEN: George. Love.

  (The KING controls himself.)

  He’s still fat.

  (The waistcoat is still on its stand by the restraining chair.)

  KING: I see you are looking at my waistcoat, sir.

  PRINCE OF WALES: No. No, sir. No.

  KING: No no no, sir. You may, sir, you may, because it is the best friend I ever had. But I have the advantage of you, sir. I can take off my waistcoat. (He nudges the QUEEN, having made the point which is lost on the DUKE OF YORK.) You smile, sir.

  PRINCE OF WALES: Only to see my father his old self, and in such good spirits, sir.

  KING: Good or bad, I am in control of them, sir. When a man can control himself, sir, his spirits are immaterial. When a man cannot control himself he would do well to be sober, he would do well to be …

  (WILLIS coughs discreetly and the KING instantly recovers himself.)

  For the future, we must try to be more of a family. There are model farms now, model villages, even model factories. Well, we must be a model family for the nation to look to.

  QUEEN: Yes. Try to be typical, Fred.

  PRINCE OF WALES: But Pa, I want something to do.

  KING: Do? Well, follow in my footsteps, that is what you should do. Off you go. And forget all this furniture. Style never immortalised anybody.

  (They go.)

  QUEEN: The oversized turbot. I rue the day he was born.

  KING: Yes. He is a feckless, weak, irresolute, lying, contemptible wretch.

  QUEEN: And he gambles too …

  KING: But you are right. We must try not to dislike him.

  FITZROY: Mr Pitt, Your Majesty.

  KING: (To the QUEEN) 1My dear.

  QUEEN: Oh yes. Männersache, ja?

  (The QUEEN goes off and the KING starts where he left off six months before.)

  Married yet, Mr Pitt?

  PITT: No, sir.

  KING: Good God.

  (The KING is suddenly transfixed by the paper PITT has given him and runs to the restraining chair.)

  Fasten me in.

  PAPANDIEK: Sir?

  WILLIS: Sir, what is it?

  KING: Is it any wonder a man goes mad? Doctors. Thirty guineas a visit? And travelling expenses. For six months of torture. They would make a man pay for his own execution. What? What?

  WILLIS: Your Majesty must not get excited.

  KING: Yes. I know. But we are about to see the back of ‘must not’ and renew our acquaintance with ‘as His Majesty pleases’. But no bill for Willis. How much is he getting?

  PITT: No fees, sir, but he has been promised an annuity.

  KING: How much?

  PITT: £1,000 a year, sir. He has done you some service, sir.

  KING: No. It is Time that has done me the service.

  GREVILLE: Mr Ramsden Skrymshir, Your Majesty.

  (RAMSDEN comes in, alone this time but as genially vacant as ever.)

  KING: Another asking face. Sir. What is this? (Looking at the paper PITT gives him) Markets? I bet he don’t know a pig from a goose.

  PITT: No, sir. But his uncle is Member for Berkshire and has the nomination of three other seats in Hampshire.

  (The KING sighs.)

  KING: I would have made a good Steward of the Market at Newbury. I would have done it very well. Counting the sheep. Overlooking the cattle. (He gives the warrant to RAMSDEN.) Happy man, Ramsden, happy man.

  (The KING offers his hand to be kissed but RAMSDEN shakes it heartily. SIR BOOTHBY suddenly materializes in the doorway.)

  SIR BOOTHBY: (Hissing) ‘Your devoted servant, sir.’

  (RAMSDEN nods amiably, as if in agreement.)

  KING: Off you go, young man.

  (RAMSDEN heads for the door (and not backwards), but the KING stops him.)

  KING: And Ramsden, a little tip. The cow is the one with horns and the pig is the one with the little curly tail, what what. Do well, Ramsden, do well. (SIR BOOTHBY’s arm comes out to yank the hapless RAMSDEN away.)

  Except that Ramsden will not do well. He will not even do. He will go away and nominate a deputy and the deputy will put in a substitute and the substitute find him a drudge, and the drudge will do the work. Or not. And so it is from top to bottom in England. But what of Europe, Mr Pitt? Nobody has talked of that yet.

  PITT: Nothing of moment, sir. There have been some minor disturbances in Paris, and the mob broke open the Bastille.

  KING: The Bastille? The terror is in the word. It is no different from the prison I have been in these last few months. So, Mr Pitt, we meet tomorrow at St Paul’s. A service of thanksgiving for my recovery. As for the future, Mr Pitt, you must try not to disagree with me on anything, what?

  My mind is not strong enough to stand it.

  (It should not be clear if the KING is serious or trying it on.)

  FOOTMAN: Sharp! Sharp! The King! The King!

  (The KING is ready for bed when LADY PEMBROKE enters with her invariable candlestick.)

  KING: Hey, hey. Lady Pembroke.

  LADY PEMBROKE: Your Majesty.

  KING: Elizabeth.

  LADY PEMBROKE: Sir.

  KING: You know, Elizabeth. You are a model of English womanhood, what, what.

  LADY PEMBROKE: I hope so, sir.

  KING: Though there is what I would call the Upper Woman and the … the Lower Woman, hey, hey?

  LADY PEMBROKE: Your Majesty must take care not to catch cold.

  KING: Quite, yes, quite. When I was ill … Elizabeth … they tell me … I said … certain things, hey?

  LADY PEMBROKE: It’s possible, sir.

  KING: These things I said, can you recollect any of them?

  LADY PEMBROKE: I hav
e no memory of them, sir.

  KING: Well, perhaps I can refresh your memory because among the things I believe I suggested to you was that you and I might … that you and I had …

  LADY PEMBROKE: It’s possible that things were said then that in happier circumstances would not have been said.

  KING: Said by both of us? Said by you and me, what, what?

  LADY PEMBROKE: No, sir. Your Majesty was the persistent conversationalist.

  KING: It’s not so much what was said, as what was done, what. So did we … Did we ever …?

  LADY PEMBROKE: Your Majesty?

  KING: Did we ever forget ourselves utterly, because if we did forget ourselves I would so like to remember. What, what?

  LADY PEMBROKE: No, sir. Your Majesty’s behaviour throughout was impeccable. If I may say so, Your Majesty has always acted by me as the kindest brother as well as the most gracious of sovereigns.

  KING: Have I? (Sadly) I am glad to hear it.

  LADY PEMBROKE: Her Majesty is ready, sir.

  KING: Yes.

  (LADY PEMBROKE conducts the KING to the QUEEN who is in bed, knitting as she was at the start of the play.)

  KING: My dear.

  QUEEN: How is Your Majesty this evening, sir?

  KING: Oh, better, madam. So much better. Better and better. Do not be nervous. I have missed you, madam.

  QUEEN: Yes, sir.

  KING: There is something about you …

  QUEEN: (Letting down her hair) I am grey now, sir. Grey as an old mouse.

  KING: Oh well. It is no matter.

  QUEEN: I have lost what little share of beauty I once possessed.

  KING: Still, you’re a good little pudding.

  QUEEN: When you were ill, it was said by some that had you led a … a normal life … it might not have happened.

  KING: A normal life?

  QUEEN: Other women, sir.

  KING: Kicked over the traces, you mean, hey! No life is without its regrets. Yet none is without consolations. You are a good little woman, Mrs King. And we have been happy, have we not?

  QUEEN: Yes, Mr King, we have.

  KING: And shall be again. And shall be again.

  (The KING begins to stutter on the last phrase so that we are left with the sense that the future may not be quite as trouble-free as it appears.)

  FITZROY, GREVILLE and the PAGES

  BRAUN: Sacked? Jesus!

  PAPANDIEK: And me? I was His Majesty’s devoted servant.