When I was reading Diane Atkinson's 'The Criminal Conversation of Mrs Norton' earlier in the year, there was a tangential reference to her estranged husband's connection to the controversial insanity trial of the Earl of Portsmouth, and I was keen to learn more about that case. A man on trial to prove his sanity or lack thereof, and a peer of the realm no less? Tell me more! So I was delighted to hear of the publication of this book and made a note to get my hands on it as soon as I could.
And what a story it is! You could write a Victorian melodrama that Dickens or Wilkie Collins would be proud about a story like this. A man with title, wealth and position, almost everything a man in Georgian England could want, except the wits to appreciate it, the Earl of Portsmouth spent his entire life with almost every member of his extended family trying to control or manipulate him. He was twice subjected to a Commission of Lunacy by his own brother, Portsmouth's designated heir in the event that he died without issue - and his brother was determined that he would, to the point of marrying him to a woman too old to bear children and then reviving the lunacy argument when Portsmouth was manipulated by his own solicitor into marrying the latter's daughter. Newton, Portsmouth's brother, was keen to maintain the family wealth and estates and was horrified at the thought of his brother driving both into rack and ruin through his incapacity and lack of understanding. To publicly declare Portsmouth, the family must truly have been desperate - as this was an era when mental illness was something to be ashamed of and kept hidden, notwithstanding the famous 'madness of King George' III.
The question of Portsmouth's sanity, inevitably, runs throughout this book, and Foyster marshals the evidence for and against so exhaustively as to confuse any reader. Chapters are devoted to his relationships with his servants, with his family, both his wives, his innocent about sex, his brutality and casual cruelty to animals and staff, his enjoyment of manual labour, his morbid fascination with funerals, his tantrums and childish behaviour. And yet at the same time Portsmouth could host balls and mingle in society, attend church, brush paths with Lord Byron and Jane Austen, take his place in the House of Lords, with few questions that he seemed sane enough to do so.
So was Portsmouth insane, or just of limited intelligence? At the remove of nearly three hundred years it is impossible to say - and I imagine it was just as impossible back then, knowing so much less about mental illness and intelligence as they did. At the very least he deserved compassion and understanding and received so little of both. One can't help but feel that being his parents' first-born was his greatest misfortune.