mighty morphin power regent
Or, the life and times of famous slutty dirtbag King George IV.
Hello friends!
Let the Dead Bury the Dead comes out two weeks from today! Author copies showed up at my house this weekend and they are glorious. I’ve planned a few book events in late October and early November, both in-person and virtual. You’re all warmly invited to mark your calendars for any of them, because they will all be fun and because I’ve had anxiety dreams that no one shows up.
October 17
The Book Cellar, Chicago IL
With Olesya Salnikova GilmoreOctober 21
YouTube Live Costume Drama Watch Party (Virtual)
With Ann Foster and Lana Wood JohnsonOctober 25
Literati Bookstore, Ann Arbor MI
With Genevieve GornichecOctober 29
Panel Discussion (Virtual)
With Teressa H. Janssen, Lucy E.M. Black, and Joie DavidowNovember 16
Blue House Books, Kenosha WI
With Just Me But I’m A Delight, So.
Details and registration information are all on my website.
Also, I promise this is the very last time I will no-pressure invite you to preorder my book to help boost first-week sales and show my publisher I have a strong base of interested readers. After this issue, you will be safe from the inexorable preorder promo machine until mid-2024 at the earliest.
End author talk. Begin dirtbaggery.
I received many great suggestions for future dirtbags in the comments of our last post, and I plan to feature many of them in the near future! However, one floated to the top as requiring immediate attention, because it’s one of the Big Ones and it’s inconceivable to me that I haven’t already done it. Thanks to reader
for helping me correct this egregious wrong. Thanks also to my friend Lana Wood Johnson, this man’s number-one hater, for introducing me in the first place.Today, we’re covering:
King George IV of England, Arguably the Worst George Who Ever Georged!
The man who would become George IV was born in 1762 at St. James’s Palace in London. I will call him Prince George until he stops being prince in this story, because there are too many Georges. His parents called him Prinny, probably for the same reason, but I refuse, because I am an adult.
Prince George was the oldest son of King George III from the hit Broadway musical Hamilton, and of Queen Charlotte from the smash Netflix series Bridgerton. He was a spoiled, shitty child who grew up to be a spoiled, shitty young adult.
By the time he was 18, Prince George was basically living in a Georgian-era frat house. He spent his time getting wildly drunk, chasing down mistress after mistress, and spending 14 million pounds on horses. Logistically I’m not even sure how that’s possible.
At age 21, he got secretly and illegally married to a Catholic girl named Maria Fitzherbert. It’s doubtful whether Maria even liked him, and some rumors say he stabbed himself in front of her to make her say yes. (Ladies: if a man stabs himself because he loves you, run.) Of course, Prince George’s love for Maria wasn’t exactly faithful. As soon as being married to Maria got in the way of him paying off his debts, he immediately pretended it didn’t happen, and later in life he spent a lot of energy denying they were ever married.
All in all, a real shitheel, Prince George.
That’s My Boy. Oh No, My Boy.
Prince George’s terrible behavior was extra surprising to the public because George III and Charlotte were the most boring people in the world. George III’s most scandalous hobby was stargazing, and the closest Charlotte came to scandal was owning a bunch of small dogs some people found annoying. So they were less than thrilled about the Prince of Wales repeatedly crashing through the wall of Buckingham House like a horny alcoholic Kool-Aid Man.
Now, if you know one fact about Prince George’s father George III, it’s probably that he was king during the American Revolution. If you know two facts about George III, the other is probably that he lived with mental illness. Historical medical diagnosis is always a mess, though historians have narrowed it down to two theories: porphyria, which is a genetic liver disease, or bipolar disorder.
Whatever it was, George III’s mental health was in steep decline by the 1780s. In 1788, he was so incapacitated that he was unable to deliver the opening speech of Parliament. So whispers started going through government about instituting a regency—in other words, someone else to carry out the duties of the king while the king was too ill to do so.
The natural choice for a regent was Prince George, because he was basically already King Junior. However, as we have discussed, Prince George sucked. So Parliament really dragged its feet on this. They delayed so long that George III got better and could be acting king again, while his dirtbag son could carry on collecting venereal diseases and wasting money on horses.
Sweet Caroline (Ba Ba Ba!)
Time went on, and Prince George eventually ended up so badly in debt that he did what every nobleman has done since seemingly the dawn of time: ruined a woman’s life about it. By which I mean he found a rich wife whose dowry could pay off his debts. George III had already picked out a wife for his son: his paternal cousin Caroline of Brunswick. Prince George eventually went along with this, and he and Caroline were married in 1795.
This was a goddamn disaster.
And not even because Prince George was already married to Maria Fitzherbert. That was the least of this couple’s problems.
Caroline of Brunswick was a dirtbag (affectionate), Prince George was a dirtbag (derogatory), and they hated each other from the jump. Reports say that when Prince George first saw Caroline, he sighed deeply and called for a glass of brandy, which, can I just say, is not a great start. And honestly fuck him for this, because Caroline was spectacularly too cool for him.
Caroline flirted with everyone and had bucketloads of affairs. One time she faked going into labor at a party (she was not pregnant) to make her mom mad. She fought with people in the Letters to the Editor section of the newspaper. Later on she would run away from England and take an extensive Mediterranean cruise with her Italian lover, which ended with them riding on donkeys into Jerusalem surrounded by a herd of camels. I cannot emphasize enough how much I want to be friends with Caroline of Brunswick.
Prince George immediately realized Caroline wasn’t going to be a chill dowry-provider who would pay off his debts and keep her mouth shut, and therefore he hated her. He was falling-down drunk during their wedding ceremony and treated Caroline like shit from that point forward.
Caroline and George had one child: a daughter named Charlotte, who died in childbirth at age 21. I blame George for this too, somehow.
Sorrows. Sorrows, Prayers.
Prince George was a terrible husband. But he had it in him to be something else too: a terrible almost-king!
George III had another mental health episode in 1810, this one understandably sparked by the death of his daughter Amelia. This time, Parliament ran out of ways to buy time, and Prince George became the Prince Regent in 1811, taking over the business of ruling England from his father.
Some of you may be familiar with the historical concept of “the Regency,” which shows up in movies as a time where string quartets played arrangements of “Chandelier” by Sia while Regé-Jean Page smoldered knowingly by candlelight. Well, this is the Prince Regent from that Regency. Really makes you rethink Jane Austen adaptations when you realize the monarch was a drunk fuckboi who Jane Eyre-d his wife.
Prince George continued to have very little interest in ruling England, even though it was his only job. He left as many responsibilities as he could in the hands of his ministers and carried on being a silly useless man. He had at least nine documented mistresses, which puts him slightly behind Charles II at 11 but still squarely in the running for Sluttiest British King. (This, by the way, is a Netflix series I would watch.)
The one nice thing I will say about the Prince Regent is that he was in charge when the Duke of Wellington kicked Napoleon’s ass at Waterloo, leading to Napoleon’s second abdication and eventual death by wallpaper. I am famously in favor of anything that means Napoleon had a bad time.
But it’s a sign of how useless George was that he couldn’t even depose Napoleon without being a shit. In 1821, after Napoleon died on Saint Helena, one of George’s ministers reportedly said “Sir, your bitterest enemy is dead.” To which George replied, “Is she?” referring to Caroline of Brunswick.
Sir. Can you chill.
Coronation Does Not Equal Causation
The Regency Era actually only lasted nine years, although you’d be forgiven for thinking it was two centuries long from the number of romance novels it spawned. King George III died in 1820, at which point Prince George was formally named King George IV.
This did not improve his personality. On the contrary, he was the same horny asshat he’d always been, except now addicted to laudanum and even more committed to being a shit to his wife. He tried multiple times during coronation preparations to divorce Caroline, even though the public was super on her side and rightfully called him out. Caroline wasn’t invited to George IV’s coronation, so she showed up on the steps of Westminster Abbey and banged on the doors demanding to be let in. Like, the mess of these two.
Only a month or two later, Caroline of Brunswick died under—what kind of circumstances, class?—mysterious circumstances! Rumors abounded that George IV had Caroline of Brunswick poisoned. I believe it. I am not interested in the facts. Do not come at me with facts if you have them. I am interest in the truth, which is that George IV absolutely wanted to poison Caroline of Brunswick and if he could have, he would.
Caroline of Brunswick’s funeral procession in London was such an event that it sparked a riot and two people died. RIP to a real one.
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Meanwhile, George IV kept being a shitty king, repressing Catholics to such an extent that his entire cabinet resigned in protest. The Duke of Wellington called George IV “the worst man he ever fell in with his whole life, the most selfish, the most false, the most ill-natured, the most entirely without one redeeming quality." Sick burn, Duke of Wellington.
To be fair, George IV did do some neat things in terms of arts and culture. It’s thanks to him that Buckingham Palace and Brighton Pavilion exist, and he collected many nice paintings. I’m really scraping the bottom of the barrel to say something nice here.
However, he also did some really gross and weird things. In 1822, George IV took a trip to Scotland, during which he famously wore a kilt that was way too small for him, to the amusement of all of Scotland. He also—and I don’t know how to introduce this in a way that isn’t batshit, so I’m just going to say it—made a gift of a small box of women’s pubic hair to a Scottish gentleman’s club, allegedly to help create a wig out of it.
If You Don’t Have Anything Nice to Say, Print It in the Times
George IV’s health was rapidly deteriorating because of all the drinking and the whoring, and he suffered from severe gout and spent multiple days unable to leave his bed. He died in June 1830 at the age of 67. Upon his death, the Times wrote the following obituary:
"There never was an individual less regretted by his fellow-creatures than this deceased king. What eye has wept for him? What heart has heaved one throb of unmercenary sorrow? ... If he ever had a friend—a devoted friend in any rank of life—we protest that the name of him or her never reached us."
Which, goddamn. If I didn’t agree so entirely, I’d almost feel bad for him.
Except I don’t. Fuck you, George IV. Please remember how badly this man sucks and how weirdly disproportionate his neck was every time you watch Bridgerton. I want it on the record.
That’s all for this time, friends. Until next time, be well, and honestly please don’t google “King George IV pubic hair” because I made that mistake myself to write this newsletter and already I deeply regret it,
-Allison
You’re providing graduate-level history here!
This just cracks me up, as always! Good stuff!