By George! I’ll Give This to You, and That to You, and…

While there may have been some who viewed the George IV’s imminent demise with sorrow, this outlook was not shared by many of those who knew him best. Which certainly says something. His brothers were beside themselves at the prospect of better days. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the government spend real money on them for a change?

The people the King counted as real friends were pretty much gone. Fox had died long ago, the Earl of Moira, Sir John McMahon, the Duke of Northumberland, the Duchess of Devonshire. All gone. No one, to this day knows how many illegitimate children he sired. Having it off with serving girls and the like simply didn’t count. There was little doubt in anyones mind that Lady Conyngham would be deeply grieved to loose the steady stream of expensive baubles her liaison with his Majesty produced.

Then there was Mrs Fitzherbert. There had been no contact between them for many years; but Fleet Street kept her informed of his Majesties activities. She didn’t believe what the papers said regarding his health. She, of all people, knew how much the King liked to blow his health problems all out of proportion.

It was not until Sir Henry Halford, an old friend, wrote and told her what he had seen that she took the stories seriously. She wrote to the King of her great reluctance to communicate with him. To bother him in any way, especially after so many years of silence. “I trust your Majesty will believe me most sincere when I assure you how truly I have grieved to hear of your sufferings.” She went on to say how sincerely she prayed for his complete recovery and his future happiness. How nice. And she no doubt meant it. Few others had had to endure as much as Maria Fitzherbert at the hands of his Majesty.

His Majesty intended to repay her decades of almost superhuman patience with a grant of 10,000 pounds per year, up from the 6,000 she was then receiving. That was very nice of him, but it was only a trifle compared to what he planned to bestow on Lady Conyngham; a woman who barely tolerated him even as he lavished expensive gifts on her.

In fact, after discussions on the matter of his will, he came to a stunning decision. Once bequests and other previously made promises had been seen to, he intended to leave everything to Lady Conyngham. He sent Knighton to visit Her Ladyship and give her the news. Knighton reported back, as ordered. “Well, how did she receive it?” The King asked. “She was very much affected, Sir, and burst into tears.” “Oh, she did, did she?” Ah, True Love. Later, in the presence of three witnesses, Sir Henry Halford, Sir Matthew Tierney and Sir William Knighton, he made it official. “His wishes were that everything he stood possessed of should become the property of Lady C.”

How very, very nice for Lady Conyngham. Whatever delight she may have experienced upon hearing this news, tears notwithstanding, was short-lived. About a fortnight before the Kings death, Wellington heard all about it and paid Her Ladyship a visit. According to George Agar-Ellis, First Baron Dover; “The D of W was told of it and came down to Windsor and threatened Lady C if she took advantage of it. He told her among other gentlemanlike speeches that she was like Madame du Barri and that Madame du B’s conduct brought about the French Revolution.”

The D of W had no intention of executing his Majesties will if he could possibly avoid it. If the Duke had a plan to get his Majesty to amend his will, he had precious little time to work with. As Spring turned into Summer, the King was clearly on his way out. Oddly enough, as his physical condition deteriorated, his mental functions became quite sharp. Just the opposite of his father.

His spirits were up with the racing season about to begin. Wellington noted that his hands were steady and his eyes bright and clear. On May 12 “Wellington saw him again and found him good humored and alive.” (Very important, that last bit.) “His eyes as brilliant as ever, though several quarts of water had been taken from his feet the day before and his colour was now “dark and sodden.” Needless to say, the King was not walking about at this point.

According to the Duchess of Gloucester, he was “enormous, like a feather bed.” And he still had family issues with his son-in-law. The lad wasn’t going to be the King of Greece after all! No, now that the King was about to drop dead, he decided to hang around England for a while and see how things played out. As it happened, Leopold’s decision to refuse the Greek throne would have enormous consequences, not only for Europe, but Africa as well. But that is another story.

Oh, as an aside, Leopold had NOTHING good to say about George IV to Victoria after she became Queen and he was King of the Belgians. Apparently, the subject of her uncle’s dissolute lifestyle was one that she found deeply fascinating. Which is not to say that she approved of it in any way, she just found it intriguing. She also came to realize that Leopold’s attitude had as it’s basis, the way his late wife, Princess Charlotte, was treated by her father while growing up. That was something Victoria could definitely relate to.

By mid-June the King’s condition was becoming critical. He was still mentally alert, but the end was near and everyone knew it. On June 12, The Times reprinted an article from the medical journal Lancet. That article harshly criticized the doctors surrounding his Majesty for the “ vague, unsatisfactory and mysterious bulletins that emanated from Windsor.” It was clear the King was suffering from a disease from which there was “no instance of recovery upon record.” As dismayed as they may have been, the reports from Windsor were not going to change.

At the end of the third week of June, the doctors “expressed their unanimous opinion that his system was now giving way at all points.” On the night of June 25, he awoke at 1:45 AM and asked for his medicine. He washed this down with some clove tea, then dozed off again until about three, awoke, asked for his “night chair” and, according to Wathen Waller, who was sitting up with him, “He instantly had a purgative motion.” His Majesty then remarked, “I do not think all is right.”

The King returned to his sleeping chair. Then, feeling faint, he ordered the windows to be opened. At this point, Sir Henry Halford was sent for. According to one historian, “He was still holding Wallers hand “more strongly than usual” when suddenly he looked him full in the face and “with an eager eye” exclaimed, “My dear boy! This is death!” He then closed his eyes and lay back in his chair. At that point Halford entered the room. His Majesty gave him his hand but never spoke afterwards and, with a very few short breathings, expired exactly as the clock struck the quarter after three, June 26, 1830.”

— Mr. Al