You’ve probably seen the movies. The wild hair, the nightgown, the King of England screaming at trees because he thinks they’re the King of Prussia. It makes for great TV, but the reality of King George III insanity is actually way more tragic and complicated than a caricature of a man losing his marbles. For a long time, historians basically just checked the "he was crazy" box and moved on. But lately, things have changed. We’re looking at his medical records with 21st-century eyes, and honestly, the diagnosis is shifting.
He wasn't just some eccentric royal. George III was actually a pretty diligent guy. He loved farming—hence the nickname "Farmer George"—and he was deeply devoted to his wife, Queen Charlotte. But then, in 1788, everything broke. He started talking until he literally foamed at the mouth. He couldn’t sleep. He became physically violent. It wasn't just "madness" in the way we think of it; it was a total systemic collapse.
The Porphyria Theory: Was It Just Purple Pee?
For decades, if you asked a historian about King George III insanity, they’d give you one word: Porphyria. This theory, popularized by Ida Macalpine and Richard Hunter in the 1960s, suggested the King had a genetic blood disorder. The big "smoking gun" was the color of his urine. Contemporary accounts mentioned it was dark, sometimes even bluish-purple.
In porphyria, the body fails to produce heme properly, leading to a buildup of toxic chemicals. It causes abdominal pain, limb weakness, and yes, acute mental confusion. It fits the bill. Mostly.
But here’s the kicker: modern researchers are starting to poke holes in this. A 2005 study led by Martin Warren at the University of Kent looked at hair samples from the King. They found massive levels of arsenic. Now, arsenic can trigger porphyria attacks in people who are already predisposed to it. Where did the arsenic come from? Probably his medicine. His doctors were basically poisoning him with antimony to try and "cure" him, and antimony is often contaminated with arsenic. It’s a vicious cycle. The more they tried to fix him, the crazier they made him.
It Might Actually Have Been Bipolar Disorder
If you look at the way his "fits" actually worked, the porphyria theory starts to look a bit shaky. A team at St George’s, University of London, led by Peter Garrard, used a computer to analyze the King's actual letters. They weren’t looking at what he said, but how he said it.
During his episodes, George’s sentence structure completely transformed. He used much more complex vocabulary. His sentences became incredibly long—sometimes over 400 words with very few pauses. He repeated himself constantly. This "pressured speech" is a classic, textbook symptom of the manic phase of Bipolar I Disorder.
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When you're manic, your brain is basically overclocked. You can't stop talking because your thoughts are moving faster than your mouth can keep up. George would talk for 19 hours straight. Think about that. Nineteen hours of non-stop vocalizing until your throat is raw and your mind is fried. That doesn't sound like a blood disorder. It sounds like a severe psychiatric crisis.
The Horror of 18th Century "Care"
Regardless of the diagnosis, the treatment was a literal nightmare. Imagine being the most powerful man in the world and suddenly being shoved into a straitjacket.
His primary physician during the 1788-1789 crisis was Francis Willis. Willis wasn't exactly a traditional doctor; he ran a private asylum. His method? "Breaking" the patient like a horse. George was frequently strapped into a "Chair of Correction." He was gagged when he wouldn't stop talking. They put blistering plasters on his legs—basically chemical burns intended to "draw out" the bad humors. It was torture disguised as medicine.
The King hated it. He was terrified of Willis. And honestly, wouldn’t you be? One day you’re presiding over the Privy Council, and the next, a man is slapping you across the face for "impertinence." This trauma likely made his subsequent relapses even worse. He lived in constant fear of the "cloud" returning, knowing exactly what kind of hell awaited him when it did.
The Long Decline and the Regency
While the 1788 episode is the most famous because it nearly caused a constitutional meltdown, George actually recovered. He had years of relative sanity. But the King George III insanity returned in 1801, 1804, and finally in 1810.
The 1810 collapse was the final blow. He was mourning the death of his youngest and favorite daughter, Princess Amelia. Grief is a massive trigger for mental health episodes, and this one he never came back from. For the last decade of his life, he was a ghost. He was blind from cataracts and increasingly deaf. He lived in a set of rooms at Windsor Castle, talking to people who had been dead for years.
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His son, the Prince of Wales (the future George IV), took over as Prince Regent in 1811. The "Mad King" was kept out of sight, a source of embarrassment and pity for the nation. It’s a pretty grim end for a man who had reigned through the American Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars.
Why We Should Stop Calling It "Madness"
The term "Mad King George" is catchy, but it’s kind of a disservice. When we look at the evidence today, we see a man struggling with a legitimate, debilitating medical or psychiatric condition. Whether it was the metabolic chaos of porphyria or the neurochemical roller coaster of Bipolar Disorder, it wasn't a failure of character.
It’s also worth noting how much his environment mattered. The stress of losing the American colonies, the constant political infighting, and the pressure of a massive family—he had 15 kids!—would be enough to break anyone. Add a genetic predisposition to mental illness and a medical team that literally burned your skin for fun, and it’s a miracle he stayed sane as long as he did.
Recent research into the King’s archives—which were only fully opened to the public recently—shows a man who was deeply aware of his own slipping mind. His letters during his lucid periods are filled with a heartbreaking kind of anxiety. He knew he was broken.
How This Rewrites the History Books
If George III was bipolar rather than "insane" in the old-school sense, it changes how we view his political decisions. Some historians have argued that his stubbornness regarding the American Revolution was a symptom of his mental state. But most of his "mad" episodes happened after the colonies were already gone. During the 1770s, he was mostly fine. He was just a hard-headed monarch who believed in the divine right of kings.
We have to separate the politics from the pathology. You can be a bad king and a sane man, or a good king and a sick man. George was a bit of both at different times.
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The takeaway here isn't just about a dead king. It’s about how we interpret history through the lens of modern science. We’re finally moving past the gossip and the caricatures to find a human being who was suffering.
Understanding the Reality of Royal Health
To get a clearer picture of what actually happened at Windsor, it's helpful to look at these specific areas of evidence:
- The Arsenic Evidence: Check out the 2005 Lancet study. The high levels of arsenic in George’s hair are hard to ignore and suggest that even if he had a natural illness, the 18th-century "cures" were making it significantly worse.
- The Linguistic Shift: If you’re interested in the Bipolar theory, look into the "King George III Digital Library." Comparing his letters from his "sane" years to the 1788 manic letters shows a clear, measurable change in how his brain processed language.
- The Porphyria Debate: While the "purple urine" theory is the most famous, many modern doctors point out that several common 18th-century medicines (like gentian) can turn urine different colors. It might have been a side effect, not a symptom.
If you want to understand the human side of this, read the diaries of Fanny Burney. She was a novelist and a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte. Her first-hand accounts of the King’s behavior during his first major breakdown are some of the most vivid—and terrifying—records we have. She describes a man who was clearly terrified of his own mind, running through the gardens to try and escape his doctors.
The best way to respect the history here is to look at the primary sources. Skip the sensationalized movies for a second and look at the actual medical notes from the Royal Archives. You’ll see a man who wasn't a villain or a punchline, but a patient who was born about 200 years too early for the help he actually needed.
Next Steps for Deeper Insight:
Research the Antimony treatments used in the 1700s to see how heavy metal poisoning mimicked psychiatric symptoms. Then, compare the symptoms of Acute Intermittent Porphyria (AIP) with the diagnostic criteria for Bipolar I Disorder to see where the overlap creates the most confusion for historians.