The Crown, the Mistress, and the Knife: George IV’s Pity Party

Описание: Tonight, we unravel a tale so extra it makes Bridgerton look like a tax seminar. Picture thunder. Picture velvet. Picture a grown man stabbing himself because feelings.
Yes — this is the story of the time George IV, Prince of Wales, said “You know what this tantrum needs? A sword.”
Grab your smelling salts, your satin gloves, and possibly a therapist —Because this is:“Blood on the Velvet: The Night George IV Stabbed Himself (Dramatically and in Satin).”Roll the chaos.

🌩️ Act I: Storms Outside, Tantrums Inside
Picture it: London, 1788. The rain is doing its best Brontë impression outside Carlton House. Thunder cracks. Lightning flashes. Somewhere, a powdered footman drops a tray of crystal goblets. And in the middle of all this stands the most extra prince Britain has ever produced — George Augustus Frederick, Prince of Wales, 26 years old and deep in his "I'm not like other royals" phase.
He’s standing alone in his chamber — but not just any chamber. This is Carlton House: the architectural fever dream of a man who decorated every room like it might be visited by Marie Antoinette and Liberace on the same night. There’s damask everywhere. There are plaster columns that support nothing. There’s a life-size portrait of George himself dressed as Henry VIII, because subtlety is for commoners.
And our boy is not okay.

💸 Act II: Debts, Drama, and Daddy Issues (Triple Threat)
To the world, George is the "First Gentleman of Europe" — the human glitterball of late-Georgian society. But behind the embroidery? The lace cuffs? The smug grin? Pure chaos.
Let’s review:
He’s £600,000 in debt, which is like burning down Versailles and replacing it with a casino made of wigs.
He’s secretly married to Maria Fitzherbert, a twice-widowed Roman Catholic, which is basically high treason with a garter belt.
His father, George III, thinks he’s a spoiled brat.
Parliament thinks he’s a national embarrassment.
The tabloids think he’s a bloated cartoon of vanity (and honestly, not wrong).
And the public? Oh, they call him "The Prince of Whales." Yes. WHALES. Because he’s getting chonky.
And worst of all? He’s bored.
He’s gambled. He’s cavorted. He’s commissioned portraits of himself as Caesar. Nothing helps. His soul is an empty goblet, and he’s too lazy to refill it.

🗡️ Act III: The Slicing Heard 'Round the Palace
And so, sometime during that stormy night, George grabs a ceremonial sword off the wall — something given to him when he was still cute and had cheekbones — and plunges it into his own chest.
(Yes. He stabbed himself. In the chest. With a sword. Wearing silk. Probably near an expensive chaise longue.)
Now, let’s be clear — historians don’t agree on how deep the stab went. Some say it was barely more than a dramatic paper cut. Others claim it was deep enough to warrant an emergency blood mop.
Either way? There was blood. There was a collapsed George. And there was a valet absolutely losing his powdered mind.
Valet:
“Oh God, Your Royal Highness, what have you done!?”George, probably:"It’s called a mood, Jonathan. Look it up."